#I want him to at first barely be able to bare touching it

[bluukive]

gojo x touch-avoidant!reader (fluff)

You’re not sure when the fixation began. All you knew was that it was slowly beginning to manifest as a growing itch, eventually gnawing at your mind with an unbearable intensity. Unfortunately for you, you were reserved by nature. Affection didn’t come to you naturally— in both giving and receiving. You’d shy away from your boyfriend, freezing at the briefest bit of contact.  

Sometimes, all you could do was ask the question— why was Satoru even with you in the first place?

Your boyfriend was always loud with his affection, dramatic proclamations of love spilling from his lips every day whilst remaining conscious of your boundaries. Satoru made sure to look you in the eye before initiating anything, the deep blue twinkling regardless of whether you rejected his advances or not. He gave you time. He gave you space.

But now you don't want either. 

“Doin’ okay, sweetcheeks?” Satoru’s voice brought you out of your thoughts as you watched him cook breakfast. Your head rested in your hand, legs swinging from where you sat on the countertop. He was facing you now, sunlight dancing over his fair lashes. Your boyfriend was simply stunning. 

Your throat dried up— as it usually did when you felt vulnerable. You nodded, but the lie felt wrong. You shrugged, then shook your head with a sigh. 

Satoru doesn’t push you to elaborate. He merely watched with those glinting eyes, sizzling pan set down onto the stove. The lopsided grin he usually gave you melted into one that was much softer. He didn’t want to scare his pretty girl off.

His lack of response prompted you, urged you to fill the silence. 

“I kinda… want a kiss,” you begin, clammy fingers twisting into your hoodie,”but I don’t know how to tell you that.”

“You just did, my pretty,” Satoru coos out softly, trying not to let the glee on his face show.  His closed-off girlfriend wanted some loving, and he was more than happy to provide. He leans in closer— not enough to touch you, but enough so that the warmth of his body could soothe your frazzled nerves. 

Oh, he could have just jumped in delight when he felt your warm fingers circle around his wrist. One tug of his arm turns into two, until he’s snuggled up between your parted legs. 

The kiss didn’t come right away. A tender palm rubbed at your knee, massaging the bare skin in slow circles. 

For once, you didn’t flinch. Yes, the touch is foreign. Your heart lurched in your chest and your skin prickled with an uncomfortable heat. But you looked at Satoru, eyes boring into his as you silently pleaded for more. The taller man could sense the uncertainty, the way you questioned whether you were deserving of his touch. He saw it all. 

Your insecurity was uncalled for in his eyes. Satoru swore he’d never seen a being so divine before, and he was the lucky recipient of your love— regardless of whether or not you were able to reciprocate. If anything, he was the one that felt unworthy of even an ounce of your attention. 

Satoru wanted to use his words, but he felt as if they weren’t adequate enough to convey his undying devotion to you. Instead, his safe palms slid up your arms, gently coaxing the sleeves from out of your clenched hands. To be seen is to be loved, and your boyfriend saw the way you held all your tension in your body. He saw the way your shoulders remained stiff, the tight chest… He wanted to alleviate that, so he proceeded to cup each side of your face before leaning in for a lingering peck. 

Not on your lips, though. 

One soft kiss to your cheek.

Another one landed on your furrowed brow, easing the stress you held there.

Your two eyelids.

The tip of your nose. 

Finally, the corner of your lips. 

...

You’ve never felt lighter. 

Your boyfriend could tell you didn’t want to push for a proper kiss, but he was fine with that. Perfectly fine. He would happily wait until you wanted all of him, even if it took another day, another year, or perhaps— an entire infinity. ༄.°

[sturnioz]

‘UNFAITHFUL’ — CHRIS STURNIOLO

pairing. chris sturniolo x fem!reader genre. angst. word count. 3.1k

❝you don’t get to talk about love, chris. not after what you did. love doesn’t look like that.❞

content warning. cheating, insecurities, cursing, heartbreak, breakdowns, shit relationships and shit friendships.

authors note. still on a writing hiatus, just in my feels and wanted to do something. this is very angsty and yet again, no happy ending. no part twos either. (sorry)

You had always been wary of the closeness between your boyfriend and your best friend.

It wasn’t jealousy—at least that’s what you told yourself. You wanted them to get along as it would’ve been awkward if they didn’t. But sometimes, their smiles felt too private, their touches lingered just a second too long, and the way their eyes found each other in a crowded room made your stomach twist in knots.

Still, you ignored it. You had to. After all, these were the two people you loved the most in the world. You told yourself it was all in your head, that your own insecurities were painting them in such a bad light. And even when they started spending time with you, you silenced the small voice beside you that begged you to question it. 

You were too blinded by happiness. You were happy that your two favourite people in the world had not only cherished you deeply, but also got along so well.

But now, standing frozen in the bedroom doorway after returning from visiting your parents, your breath catches in your throat—ragged and shallow—as your eyes burn, the tears blurring your vision, but unfortunately not enough to hide the sight in front of you. 

Chris, the person you thought you’d spend forever with, is tangled up in the sheets with Ani, your best friend. Their naked bodies move together in a way that leaves no room for doubt that they’ve done this before, and the sounds that spill from their lips pierces through the air.

“Oh my god!” It’s Ani who notices you first, her face contorting in horror as she turns her head at the right moment. She scrambles to grab the blanket to cover herself as if that will erase what’s already been done.

Confused by her outburst, Chris props himself up on his elbows, his brows furrowing for a split second before his gaze finds yours. His eyes widen in panic, his face draining of colour as the realisation hits him like cold water.

“W-wait, wait, wait,” he stammers quickly, shoving Ani off him as he stumbles out of bed, his movements frantic and clumsy as his hands shake, reaching for you. “It’s not—it’s not what it looks like, I—please, let me just—I need to explain.”

“Don’t touch me,” you choke out, barely able to speak through the lump resting in your throat. You take a step back, your hands trembling as you push him away from you.

“Please,” he begs, his voice cracking under the weight of his regret. The tears begin to well in his eyes, but they only make you angrier. “Please, baby. Don’t—don’t do this. Just hear me out. Please—”

You can’t bear to look at him any longer, so your gaze shifts to Ani who is sitting on the edge of the bed, clutching the blanket to her bare chest. Her face is flushed and her eyes are glassy with bubbling tears, but she doesn’t say a word. She doesn’t have to. The guilt etched across her face says enough.

Turning away from both of them, you spin on your heel and walk out of the room, your legs trembling beneath you which makes it harder for you to move in a straight line. Chris calls out your name, his voice cracking, but you don’t stop. You can hear him fumbling behind you, the sound of his feet hitting the floor as he hurriedly follows while grabbing his boxers, pulling them on in a rush as he chases after you.

“Wait!” he cries, his hand catching your arm just as you round the corner. His touch burns, and you yank yourself free with a sob, slapping his hand away as the tears stream down your cheeks. 

You’re shaking now, your chest heaving with every breath as the weight of what you’ve just seen crashes down on you.

“Please… please, baby,” Chris pleads, refusing to let up. “Just listen to me, okay? Please. Don’t walk away from us—don’t throw this away.”

You freeze, his words hitting you like a slap to the face. “Don’t walk away from us?” you find yourself repeating, words riddled with disbelief. “Are… are you serious right now? You walked away from us the second you started fucking her!”

Chris flinches, his face crumpling as your words cut through him. “I-I’m sorry,” he whispers, breaking into a sob as he takes a step closer, his hands trembling as he cups your face. “I’m so fucking sorry. I didn’t mean it, okay? I didn’t—please, just don’t go. I love you. I love you so much. I love you.”

The pain in his voice only deepens your own, and you shake your head repeatedly, your tears falling faster as you try to pull away from him, but he doesn’t let go. Instead, he presses his forehead against yours, his own tears mingling with yours as his grip tightens.

You want to push him away, to scream and curse and hate him with every fiber of your being, but your body betrays you as the sobs wrack through you. Your knees buckle beneath your weight, and Chris catches you with ease, his arms wrapping around you tight as you collapse against him.

He holds you like he’s trying to piece you back together, to try and mend what’s been broken as his own cries echo yours. He strokes the back of your head and whispers apologies you don’t want to hear. 

Chris loves you—he swears it, over and over again—but love doesn’t fix anything.

He loves you, but he’s destroyed you too.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet me,” Chris whispers softly as you stiffly sit across from him at the table in the café. The room feels too calm and chilled compared to what’s brewing inside you both. It’s been a little over a week since you last saw Chris, having pulled out of his arms and bolting out of the house in a rush after your breakdown. “I’m, uh.. I’m happy that you came.”

“You and your brothers didn’t exactly give me a choice,” you reply coldly, and the embarrassed flush that creeps up his neck tells you he knows exactly what you mean. His brothers had practically begged you to hear him out, to give him one last chance to explain himself.

You had agreed, but not because you wanted to. You had agreed because you needed the closure—you needed answers.

Your hands tremble as you rub them together for warmth as you can feel them tingle with numbness. Chris notices this instantly. Of course he does. He always did have a way of reading you—knowing what you needed before you even had to ask, and just like he would have done before, he reached out, his hand hovering over yours.

“C’mere, let me—”

“No,” you yank your hands back before his warmth can touch you, despite craving the heat that emits from his palms. You refuse to let him soothe you. Not now. Not after everything.

Chris flinches at your harsh words and actions, “I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I just… I didn’t—”

 “Can you just tell me what you wanted to say?” you interrupt, your tone a lot colder than you meant it. 

“Everything that happened that day… it didn’t mean shit,” Chris jumps straight into it, his voice raw and desperate as he leans forward on the table. “It was a huge fucking mistake, okay? And—and I don’t even know how it got that far. I fucked up. Bad. I know that. I didn’t mean for it to happen, and I didn’t want it to happen. You… you’ve got to believe me.”

You let his words hang in the air, only hearing the distant clatter of cups and the coffee machines humming. Then, you speak, your voice steady but ice-cold. “How did Ani get into the house?” 

Chris freezes, his face paling. His lips part like he’s about to respond, but no words come out.

You press on, “How did her clothes come off? How did she get naked in our bed? How did you end up inside her?” Your breath hitches for a moment, the bile rising in your throat. “Did she do it all by herself?”

Chris’ expression crumbles, and you believe he might actually break down right here in the middle of this café. But instead, he shakes his head quickly, his hands trembling on the table.

“Ani means nothing to me. Nothing. But you mean everything to me, you always have,” he says, licking his lips nervously. “You’re the first woman I ever fell in love with, okay? And I swear to god, you’ll be the last.”

Tears sting your eyes, but you blink them back, unwilling to let him see you cry. Chris, on the other hand, makes no effort to hide as his shoulders shake slightly, his bright blues red-rimmed and glassy.

“I just… shit, baby. I love you so much, and I can’t forgive myself for what I did. I’ll never forgive myself. Ever.”

“Chris,” you speak his name, and his eyes snap up to meet yours, something desperate and hopeful swimming in his irises. “You don’t get to talk about love, Chris. Not after what you did. Love doesn’t look like that.”

Chris opens his mouth to respond, but you hold up a hand to silence him. “You don’t get to apologise either. You don’t get to tell me it was a ‘mistake’ and that it ‘doesn’t mean shit’ because you made that choice in the first place. You chose her.”

He shakes his head quickly as his tears fall freely. “What? No... no, I didn’t choose her, baby. I—”

“And you can’t say you love me when you were in bed with another woman. In the same bed where we shared our first kiss. In the same bed where I gave you my virginity. In the same bed where we made promises about our future together.”

“W-we can still do that,” Chris stammers, filled with fragile hope. “Baby, look at me. We can still keep those promises, okay? We can still have that future,” his hand twitches on the table like he wants to reach for yours. “We can fix this, I swear—”

“What are you not understanding?!” you cut him off, your voice rising in a way that startles even you. Chris flinches back at your volume, his wide and tearful eyes locked on yours. “That promise was broken the second you got into bed with Ani. You fucked up everything we had. Everything.”

“I…” his voice cracks as he tries to speak. “I’m so sorry,”

His shoulders sag, and he wipes his nose and eyes with the sleeve of his jacket, looking like a pitiful man who’s just lost everything—and he has. 

You shake your head, tears now spilling from your eyes as you bite down hard on your bottom lip, trying to ground yourself. You turn your head away from him and toward the window, watching the world outside as it moves on without you, and your stomach churns as you spot couples strolling by; their hands intertwined, their faces lit up with the kind of love and happiness you used to know.

One couple walks past, laughing as they nuzzle into each other’s arms, and the sight makes your chest tighten, their joy feeling like a slap in the face to remind you of what you’ve lost too. 

It feels cruel, like the universe is mocking you.

You swallow hard as the bitterness consumes you. The thought of someone else’s love life makes you feel sick. It’s as if their happiness is rubbing salt into a wound that’s already bleeding you dry. 

You want to run. You want to scream. You want to cry. You want to disappear.

Actually, you just want to go home. To go home and to shut the world out.

“I’m gonna go,” your voice is quiet, but Chris hears it loud and clear as you push yourself up from your seat, zipping your coat as your hands tremble.

His eyes widen in panic, and he shoots to his feet. “Wait—wait, please,” he begs. “Don’t go. Please just… just stay a little longer. I—”

“Don’t contact me again,” you say, watching as he blinks, taken aback. “We’re done. For good. We… we’re never getting back together, Chris… not after this.”

Chris’ tears fall harder as he chokes out, “I’m so fucking sorry.”

Before you can stop him, he grabs your arm and pulls you into a hug. You freeze as his arms wrap around you tightly—desperately—and you let him hold you, only because you know it’ll be the last time. You pat his back awkwardly, the gesture hollow and distant, but you don’t pull away. You let him cling to you as he sobs into your shoulder, his body shaking against yours.  

Finally, he loosens his hold, his tear-streaked face tilting to meet your gaze. His eyes are all red, swollen, pleading. 

“I love you.”

“Goodbye, Chris.”

And with that, you turn and walk away, leaving him standing alone in the middle of the café, refusing to look back at him as you push open the door—not even when you hear his broken sobs behind you.

“Chris hasn’t been sleeping well. He’s not eating either,” Nick says as soon as he walks through the front door of your apartment. He doesn’t even stop to take off his jacket as he heads straight for the sofa where you’re curled up under a blanket, a pint of ice-cream nestled in your lap. “He comes out of his room with bags under his eyes. Sometimes he doesn’t come out at all. It’s… it’s getting concerning.”

“Shame,” you mutter, scooping a spoonful of vanilla ice-cream and shoving it into your mouth. You keep your eyes glued to the TV as you pretend Nick isn’t even there. “Did you know the actor in this is forty? He looks twenty-seven at most… insane.”

Nick glances at the screen. “Haven’t you already seen this episode?”

“Yep.”

Your attention stays fixed on the TV as the main character and her love interest bicker back and forth over something stupid, and you let out a soft scoff, spooning another mouthful of ice-cream into your mouth.

It’s so much easier to focus on fiction problems than your own.

However, Nick doesn’t take the hint.

“Chris said you’re completely done with him, like, I’m talking there’s no chance of you two getting back together,” his words come out slow and cautious as he eyes you. “I think you should reconsider, you know? Maybe just give him one more chance to fully explain himself. Just the two of you—no distractions.”

You glance down at your phone, ignoring the knot tightening in your chest. “I think it’s supposed to be really sunny tomorrow,” you say lightly, opening your weather app. “I might head down to the park or something.”

Nick blinks, baffled. “Are you even listening to me? Chris is—”

“Oh my god, Nick. Just stop!” 

The words explode from your mouth before you can stop them, and Nick physically recoils, his eyes widening in shock with his hand firm against his chest. You throw the blanket off your lap and rub your palm against your forehead, exhaling heavily as the frustration burns through your veins. 

“You do this all the time… Chris did that, Chris did that. Chris feels like this, Chris feels like that—I don’t care!”

“Hey… calm—”

“Look, I know he’s your brother. I get that, but you’re constantly talking about him. You bring him up in every single conversation we have now, and you’re pitying him like he’s the victim in all of this!” The tears begin to well in your eyes as your voice cracks, but you don’t stop as you feel the anger bubbling up, making you powerless to contain it. “Chris wasn’t the one who got cheated on, Nick. Chris wasn’t the one who had to find a new place to live. Chris wasn’t the one who walked in on the love of his life balls deep in his best friend!”

Nick raises his hands in a defensive gesture, his voice softening. “I’m just trying to—”

“You know, you haven’t even asked me how I’m feeling. Not even once,” your voice wavers now, raw and broken as you stare at him with tears dripping down your cheeks. “You come over just to shove information about him down my throat. You… you’re making it impossible for me to breathe. It’s like I can’t even catch a break from him even though we broke up four weeks ago. Four weeks, Nick.”

“I just wanted to—”

“So, what do you even tell him when you see him?” you cut him off, your tone sharp. You’re aware that interrupting him all the time is starting to affect him as his jaw tightens a little, but you don’t care. “Do you tell him how shitty I’ve looked or felt? Do you tell him that I cried for days until I was too numb to cry anymore? Do you tell him that I spent weeks wallowing in self-hatred wondering when I had become such a shitty girlfriend that he felt the need to cheat on me? Do you tell him that I blamed myself for all of it? That I thought I wasn’t good enough?”

Nick stares at you, stunned into silence. He rubs the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze as he looks down. “It’s not like that,” he mutters. “I try to cheer him up, okay? He’s a—”

“You try to cheer him up,” you repeat with a bitter, humourless laugh. You sniffle, wiping your nose with the sleeve of your sweater. “That’s great, Nick. That’s all I needed to know.”

Nick frowns as he takes a step toward you, “You’re taking everything I say the wrong way—”

“You’re a really shitty friend, Nick,” you cut him off once again, and the words hit him like a punch to the throat. You can see it in the way his shoulders slump and his face falls. “It’s good to know where I stand with you on your friendship scale. Or are you only acting this way because it’s your brother? He gets a free pass?”

“I…” he opens his mouth to respond, but no words come out as he looks at you helplessly.

“Just get out of my apartment,” you say firmly. “Go console your brother… make sure he’s all fine and well,” you turn on your heel, heading toward your bedroom with every intention of shutting the door and locking the world out. 

But before you turn the corner, you pause, glancing back over your shoulder to see Nick who hasn’t moved an inch; standing there frozen with his eyes filled with tears and guilt as he stares at you.

“I don’t want to see any of your faces again.”

©STURNIOZ 𐔌 . all rights reserved

[em1i2a3]

A House In Nebraska

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry/The Void x (Ex?)Thunderbolts!Fem!Reader!

Summary: After considering it for a long time, you have decided that it is time to leave the Thunderbolts and pursue a normal life after being passed from team to team for years. When you make the announcement it is met with a mix of emotions, but nobody is taking it harder than Bob.

Warnings: Angst and more Angst (with an ending that everyone will like hopefully), Hurt/Comfort (technically), Bob is going through it kinda, Unspoken Feelings Between Reader and Bob.

Author’s Note: I’ve been wanting to write this scenario for a while and I was finally able to get an ending that I truly loved and adored, and I am so glad that I was able to finish this and get this out to you guys, and I hope you guys enjoy it <3

Word Count: 8,336

”I’m leaving…”

The words felt foreign as they left your mouth. Soft. Like they didn’t quite belong to you. Like someone else had said them first, quietly, in some dream you didn’t remember waking from. They drifted into the room like smoke–barely there, but impossible to ignore. They were the kind of words that rearranged the air, and twisted it up into something totally different and new.

It was supposed to be a normal night.

Everyone was tucked into their usual spots around the low table in the compound’s common room–takeout containers open, steam curling toward the ceiling, the hum of the base’s heating vents filling the quiet between bites. You had ordered everything–from the popular Chinese takeout place down the road that somehow knew everyone’s preferences better than they knew each other’s. Spicy drunken noodles for Yelena. Chicken, Duck and Pork with extra rice for Alexei. Garlic dumplings with extra garlic and extra chili oil sauce for Bucky. Sweet-and-sour chicken for Walker. Tom Yum Soup and Spring Rolls for Ava. And Bob’s quiet favourite–plain lo mein with shredded pork, no veggies, extra sauce–which was nestled in front of him barely touched.

He had known something was off the moment you said dinner was on you. Everyone did actually. They had racked their brains trying to think if they somehow missed a birthday, or if a holiday passed and somehow they didn’t realize it, but after hours of thinking they had said to themselves that it was just a regular Thursday…Which raised their suspicions and their worries. But nobody could’ve ever expected this.

You were sitting between Bob and Yelena, your knees pulled up under you on the worn-down couch, your tray balanced on your lap. Bob’s thigh was pressed lightly against yours, as it always was–casual, comforting, and familiar, something he always did because it was second nature for him to be close to you. But the second your words hit the air, it was as if that contact felt electric, like a shock went through his body. You could feel him go stiff, and you didn’t even have to turn your head to know he was looking at you.

So was Yelena.

Both their heads had twisted toward you almost simultaneously, disbelief etched into the sharp lines of their profiles. It wasn’t often that they mirrored one another. But tonight, confusion and a quiet thread of betrayal lit up both their expressions like a crack of lightning.

You didn’t dare to look at either of them. You didn’t want to. You didn’t trust yourself not to fall apart. Not when you had already made the impossible decision.

So you kept your eyes on your food instead, though your appetites had vanished hours ago when you made the choice to tell the team tonight about what your plans were.

The silence that overtook the room was instant, not even the low tapping of chopsticks could be heard. Nobody moved, and no one dared to speak.

Except Bucky. Or rather–not Bucky. He was the only one who didn’t react. He stayed perfectly still at the far end of the couch, arms braced on his knees, jaw flexed like he was trying not to wince at how tense the room was at the moment. He blinked slowly, lifted his beer and took a long sip.

He was playing his part well, because he was the only one who knew–the only one you had told. You didn’t want the others trying to stop you. You didn’t want soft glances or hands on your arm or late-night conversations asking if this was about a mission, a memory or a nightmare you couldn’t shake. You didn’t want to be the problem they tried to fix.

You were done being that.

And the only person who you knew would understand where you were coming from was Bucky.

When you had told him, he had looked at you like you were speaking a different language. You had cornered him in the weapons bay a week ago, in the quiet lull between missions. He was restocking tranquilizers, and you just stood there until he looked up.

”I’m leaving,” You had said then. His brow furrowed at the announcement.

”Is everything alright?” You hadn’t hesitated to respond.

”Everything’s fine…I’ve never felt more sure about a decision actually.” That was when he stilled.

He didn’t argue. Didn’t scold you for even thinking about it. He just watched you like he knew how much it cost you to finally say it out loud. He let you speak for what felt like the first time in months. You told him about the way the noise was finally too much. The walls. The walls in your mind and the ones around this compound. You told him about waking up every morning with a part of yourself missing, hollowed out by years of being someone else’s weapon.

Bucky had listened in silence. Because he understood.

He knew what it was like to be built for the battlefield. To want to come home and realize you didn’t even know what home meant.

By the end, he nodded. Not in resignation–but in understanding. He didn’t try to convince you to stay. He promised to keep your secret.

And now, watching him at the edge of the couch–quiet, still, unreadable–you were genuinely impressed. He was playing the part like a professional. Eyes neutral. Shoulders stiff. Not a single twitch of his mouth betrayed what he knew. What only he knew.

Before anyone could speak–before the team could do what you were dreading—you jumped in again.

“I told Val a few days ago,” you said, your voice calm but low. “She’s aware of it. And… She’s actually helping me relocate.” A sharp scoff broke the tension like a blade.

“Bullshit,” Walker muttered, dropping his chopsticks onto his plate with a dull clatter, “Is hell frozen over or something? She would never do that.” You gave him a long look, steady but not unkind.

“I thought the same thing too. Trust me. But Mel followed up with a bunch of housing options…And that’s when I realized she actually meant it. She’s…Allowing me to go.” There was a pause–one of those unnatural ones where it felt like the whole room was holding its breath.

And in that silence, you noticed it.

Bob was rubbing his knees. His hands were pressing down on the fabric of his black sweatpants, fists tightening over and over like he didn’t know what to do with them. He hadn’t spoken. He hadn’t moved. But something was coming undone beneath the surface, and it was almost unbearable to watch.

Your jaw clenched as you leaned the slightest bit toward him, fingers moving gently to rest over his wrist. You didn’t grip, you just placed your hand there–soft, grounding. It was something small, but he flinched like the contact had burned him. Ava’s voice broke through next, sharp and direct.

“Why the hell are you leaving?” She asked, eyes locked on yours. Her tone was level, but there was something trembling behind it. Something brittle. “You’re one of us. This team–we’ve been through hell together. Why now?” You didn’t answer right away.

You breathed in through your nose. Let it fill your lungs like it might soften the blow. Then you met her gaze.

“I was born into an environment where I was trained to fight. Kill. Infiltrate. Deceive,” you said, each word measured, not cold–but tired. “I never saw the sun until I was sixteen. I was kept in rooms without windows. I was…Catalogued. Modified. Passed around like I was inhuman.”

You swallowed hard.

“I’ve never had a home. Never had a normal day. Never been able to choose anything for myself. I’ve spent my whole life being used–over and over again–and all I want now…Is to live in peace, and to have a normal life. I don’t want to travel and go after people anymore…I don’t want to harm people and fight them to the death. I want to wake up in a house I could call mine, and exist without being needed.” You looked around the table, eyes landing on each of them in turn, “I’m not built for this life anymore…And I know you might hate me for it and think I’m selfish…But my task here is done…” You added.

There was a long pause, thick enough to choke you–and maybe that’s what you wanted.

And then–

“…S-So you can’t live a no–normal life with us?” Bob’s voice was barely a whisper. Barely even a sound. But it shattered something deep in your chest.

You turned your head slowly to look at him.

His face was twisted into something small. Vulnerable. His eyes, wide and watery. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t furious. He was just…Breaking.

“Bob…” You said gently, your voice catching. “You know it’s not like that.”

But he was already pulling his arm away from your touch.

“Sure se–seems like it,” He said, and his voice cracked halfway through the sentence. Then he stood abruptly–too fast, too sharp–and walked out of the room.

His food remained untouched.

The only trace he had even been there was the imprint left in the cushion beside you. It felt like the air had been sucked out of the room, and your lungs were compressing and begging for air.

Yelena let out a slow, frustrated sigh, shifting in her spot, her knuckles turning white around her chopsticks, jaw set tight, clenching so hard it seemed like her teeth made a sharp grinding noise.

“When are you going?” She asked, not looking at you, not daring to even make eye contact. You licked your lips, feeling your throat tighten from the dryness that you were suddenly aware of in the air.

”Next Wednesday.” Yelena let out a low, bitter laugh. One that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Well,” She muttered, getting up from her spot slowly, “I hope it’s peaceful for you.” And without another word she walked away too. The remaining warmth of the room had left with her, and in its place was an empty, brittle kind of quiet that came after an argument no one wanted to admit had just happened.

“Wow,” Walker muttered, low and sardonic, shoving a piece of checking into his mouth without looking at anyone, “You really know how to thin out a crowd.” Bucky shot him a sharp look. A warning.

”Walker.” But he turned towards him, fork pausing halfway to his mouth, eyes narrowing with that familiar glint of provocation.

”What?” He snapped, “Are we seriously supposed to be okay with this? Just sit here and clap for her while she walks out? We all have fucking baggage here. We all bleed for this team. You were the one that was brainwashed for seventy years, Bucky. If anyone deserves a normal life, it’s you.” His jaw tightened at the comment.

”This is where I want to be, John,” He said firmly, “She doesn’t want to be here anymore…She’s burned out and exhausted. She’s done. Do you understand? Or do I need to get out the whiteboard and draw it out for you like you’re a fucking child?” That shut Walker up for a beat.

You bit the inside of your cheek, the metallic tang of blood blooming faintly on your tongue. Your stomach turned with the weight of being discussed like you weren’t even there, like you were some walking existential crisis just dropped into the center of dinner.

“Can we not act like I’m not sitting right here?” You asked, voice tight and edged.

Walker looked like he wanted to say something back, but Alexei shifted heavily in his chair, making the wood groan under his weight. He leaned forward on his elbows–his plate long forgotten in his lap–and looked at you with something gentle in his eyes.

”I support…Whatever you do,” He started slowly, his accent heavy but words carefully chosen, “You must do what you feel. Think for yourself. Not for team. Not for mission. That is not weakness. That is freedom.” His massive hand reached over and patted your shoulder—solid and warm, like he was trying to anchor you to something. His expression was soft in a way that felt rare. Earnest.

Your eyes stung.

”Thank you Alexei.” You said quietly, throat already tightening from the tears that were threatening to escape. Alexei just nodded and leaned back again, folding his arms over his chest as if he’d said all he needed to.

Walker blew out a sigh and rubbed a hand over his face, muttering something under his breath that sounded vaguely like “Still think it’s bullshit”, but he didn’t continue to push the subject–he knew it was no use.

As you stared down at your hands–at the faint tremble in your fingers, at the spot where Bob had sat, now empty–you realized something painful and true.

You weren’t just leaving a team…You were breaking a family.

And even though it was the right decision for yourself…That didn’t make it hurt any less.

———————————

You were in your bedroom, surrounded by half-filled boxes–some sealed, some still yawning open with uncertainty. The floor was a mess of folded sweaters, books, tangled cords, and scraps of your life that had clung to the corners of the compound without you realizing it. A permanent layer of dust had formed beneath the bed, now exposed, and a lone sock had somehow ended up behind your nightstand. The hum of the ventilation system buzzed quietly above you, low and steady, the only constant sound in an otherwise hollow space.

There were labels on each box–Clothes, Gear, Kitchen Stuff, Important Docs, To Val–but one sat alone at the edge of your bed.

A box labeled simply: Bob.

Polaroids, mostly. Ones you’d snapped at odd hours, between missions, at safe houses and gas stations and rooftops during sunset. There was one of him half-asleep with his hoodie pulled over his face, slumped sideways on a bench in Prague. One where he was squinting into the camera because you’d caught him mid-chew during a ramen run in Oslo. A few blurry ones he’d taken of you without asking, and you hadn’t even realized until weeks later when you found them in the stack.

You added one last thing–a keychain.

It was dumb. A glittery, over-the-top crescent moon trinket you’d won from a claw machine on a mission in Atlantic City. Bob had said it looked like something a seven-year-old would clip to their backpack. And then later, quietly, he’d asked if you could win him one too.

He’d kept it on him for months before it broke. You’d found the spare in your drawer last week, still sealed in its plastic, and tucked it into the tissue beside the photos.

The ache in your chest hadn’t stopped since that night in the common room. Not once. It hadn’t dulled. If anything, it had grown sharper with every day Bob avoided you. Every time he turned down a hallway the moment he saw you coming. Every time he shut the door a little too fast behind him. You’d tried–three separate times–to catch him when he was alone. To talk. To explain. But each time he shut you down with silence. His eyes flickered, his hands clenched, and he walked away.

He didn’t hate you.

You knew that much.

But something in him had closed off. Locked down. Like if he said a single word, the rest of it–all that golden, aching softness–would pour out and ruin everything.

Yelena, on the other hand, had surprised you.

She gave you a chance.

A few nights after the dinner fallout, she found you in the training bay–sitting against the wall with your knees drawn up, water bottle dripping condensation between your palms. She didn’t ask questions at first. Just sat beside you in silence. For nearly ten minutes, neither of you spoke.

Then she muttered, “I’m here if you want to talk.”

And this time…You did.

You told her everything. Not all at once, not easily, but enough. Enough for her to understand that you weren’t running from the team–you were running toward something you had never been allowed to have. Peace. Quiet. Your own name, your own morning, your own walls that didn’t have reinforced steel embedded in them.

Yelena didn’t say anything when you finished. Not at first.

She just sat beside you, her shoulder barely brushing yours, her eyes fixed on the far wall of the training bay like maybe she was trying to memorize every crack in the concrete. Her jaw was tense. You could hear the way she was breathing through her nose–slow, controlled. Not angry. Just…Processing.

The silence stretched. But it wasn’t the suffocating kind. It was careful. Heavy with meaning. Like the two of you were both sitting in the aftermath of something important.

You didn’t expect her to speak. You didn’t need her to.

Because she stayed.

She didn’t storm off or call you a coward. She didn’t try to talk you out of it. She didn’t even ask you to stay for her. She just sat there with you in the grief of it. Like someone holding vigil beside a wound that couldn’t be stitched.

When she finally did speak, her voice was low. Rough.

“Felt like we were finally building something here,” She murmured. “Like maybe… we were gonna be okay.”

Your throat tightened. “We are gonna be okay.”

She turned to look at you. Not cold. Not bitter. Just…Wounded.

“It won’t be the same.”

You didn’t argue. You didn’t lie. You didn’t try to sugarcoat it or cushion the fall with reassurances you couldn’t promise.

Instead, you nodded.

“I know,” You said softly. “It really won’t.”

Yelena blinked slowly, like that answer hurt more than anything you could have said. But there was a kind of respect in it, too. The way she held your gaze. The way she didn’t look away.

You offered her the only thing you could.

“I’ll FaceTime you. Anytime you want. Doesn’t matter what hour it is. If I’m free, I’ll answer.”

She gave a soft, humorless snort and rolled her eyes–but the corner of her mouth twitched. “You say that now. Wait until I call you at three a.m.”

“I’ll still be there…Even if I’m half asleep.” You replied, nudging her shoulder with yours. She looked down at her hands for a moment, then looked back at you, her eyes glossy.

”I’m still mad at you.” You nod.

”I know.”

”And I still think you’re abandoning me…”

You nodded again, “I know that too.” Yelena’s jaw twitched. She looked like she was going to say something else, but then she just reached down, picked up your water bottle, and twisted the cap off. She took a sip and handed it back like nothing had happened. Like the training bay wasn’t holding the fractured pieces of your friendship in its concrete walls.

“Doesn’t mean I’m not gonna miss you,” she muttered.

You smiled, soft and aching. “I’d be worried if you didn’t.”

She glanced at you again—this time longer. The look in her eyes was weighted, but steadier now. Not entirely okay, but… accepting. Like the fight had drained out of her and what was left was only the sharp sting of goodbye.

“You better not disappear,” she said quietly. “Or I will come find you. And I’ll drag your sorry ass back here kicking and screaming.”

You laughed–really laughed, even as tears burned behind your eyes. “Okay. Deal.” She stood then, brushing her hands on her sweats, and offered you one last look before she walked off.

It was simple. Wordless.

But it said everything.

And after the door clicked shut behind her, you exhaled a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

The ache in your chest was still there. Still raw. Still full of Bob’s silence and Yelena’s resignation and the ghost of the team you were leaving behind.

But somewhere beneath it all…Was the first glimmer of peace.

———————————

That night, sleep didn’t come—it hovered just out of reach, like a memory you couldn’t hold onto. Every time you closed your eyes, your mind filled with static. Movement. Noise. A hundred moments pressing down on your chest all at once.

So you gave up trying.

The clock read 2:47 a.m. when you finally swung your legs over the edge of the bed, the floor cool beneath your bare feet. You pulled on a robe, soft and worn from too many laundry cycles, and padded quietly across the room. The boxes seemed to watch you as you passed—silent witnesses to the pieces of yourself you were leaving behind.

You didn’t bother with shoes. It was spring, and the air was warm enough to touch your skin without biting.

The elevator ride up to the roof was quiet, but your stomach twisted tighter with every passing floor. You weren’t sure what you were hoping to find up there–maybe just some air. Maybe some stillness.

But when the doors slid open with a soft ding, your breath caught in your throat.

Bob was there.

He was lying back on one of the outdoor couches, head tilted up toward the stars, arms folded across his chest. The glow of the rooftop lights had dimmed to their nighttime setting–just enough to paint the space in soft gold. You could see the outline of his shoulders rising and falling, slow and deep.

At the sound of the elevator, he lifted his head slightly. His eyes met yours for only a second before he turned away again and let his head drop back down with a quiet thud against the cushions.

You stepped out onto the roof, swallowing the lump that was already forming in your throat.

“Bob…” You called softly, moving toward him, “I’m leaving tomorrow morning.”

He didn’t answer.

“You can’t just let me go without saying goodbye.”

Still nothing.

You moved closer, your steps careful, hesitant. When you reached the couch, you saw he had rolled halfway onto his side–facing away from you now, his back rigid, spine curved like he was holding the weight of something that wouldn’t let go. There was just enough space behind him on the cushions. You lowered yourself gently, wedging into the curve his body didn’t fill. Close, but not pressing. Not yet at least.

“C’mon, Bob…” You murmured. “Can you please just talk to me?”

You heard it first. A soft, quiet sniffle.

Then a voice, broken in half:

“Am I not wo–worth staying for?”

The question hit you like a punch to the ribs. You blinked hard, reaching toward him before you could stop yourself. Your hand rested on his chest, over the thin cotton of his t-shirt—his heartbeat thudding unevenly beneath your palm.

“Bob…” You said, your voice catching. “Of course you are. Of course you are. But I can’t stay. I can’t be a Thunderbolt anymore.”

He didn’t look at you.

But you saw the tears glistening on the bridge of his nose, catching in the faint rooftop light as they slid down into the fabric of the pillow.

“So why don’t you ju–just quit the te–team and stay?” He asked, his voice barely above a whisper, thick and shaking. “Stay with me?” You closed your eyes, your thumb brushing gently back and forth against his chest.

“Because I need a clean slate,” You whispered. “I love you guys so much…But I can’t surround myself with these things anymore. I’m so tired of it.”

His hand rose shakily and settled over yours. His fingers curled around yours like he needed to hold onto something before it slipped away.

And his chest shook beneath your hand as he cried.

“I have been owned by people my entire life,” You said, your voice low and slow, every word weighted. “I never got to make decisions for myself. I never got the choice to be… who I am now. I was born into it. I didn’t get a say. I was punished for things I couldn’t control, and I had to pick up the pieces of myself that I never knew existed.”

Bob was silent, but his grip tightened slightly.

“I have never had a sense of normalcy,” You continued. “I’ve never experienced being on my own–really on my own–and being in control of my own life without the strict schedules of missions or handlers or daily combat briefings. I’ve been surviving for so long, Bob… And I want to live.”

You shifted closer, forehead resting gently between his shoulder blades, your breath warming the fabric of his shirt.

“I’m trying to find who I am outside of a weapon, outside of what I was raised to be. I need to know who that person is. Do you understand?” For a long time, he didn’t say anything. The only sound was the soft hum of the wind brushing across the roof, and the quiet, unsteady rhythm of Bob’s breathing.

Then, finally–so softly you almost didn’t hear it:

“I understand.” He turned his head slightly, just enough for you to see the side of his face. His eyes were rimmed red, lashes damp. “…But…” He whispered, voice cracking like a fault line beneath the surface, “I ca–can’t imagine living my life without you in it…”

The words struck something so deep inside you, you almost didn’t breathe.

Your heart seized.

A slow, aching twist that started in your chest and moved outward like a ripple through still water. Your eyes filled instantly, no warning, just heat behind your lashes and the sudden blurring of everything around him.

“Bob…” You breathed. The name didn’t even feel like a word–it was just grief in a single exhale. Heavy and fragile all at once.

But before you could say anything else, he moved.

His hand found yours, and with trembling fingers, he brought it to his mouth.

You felt his breath first–hot, unsteady. It fanned across your knuckles like the flicker of a flame. His lips hovered, trembling, and then your fingertips accidentally grazed the curve of his bottom lip. You flinched–barely–but the touch set your pulse reeling.

“Yo–You can’t say that,” You whispered, voice unsteady. “You can’t…”

He nodded, his eyes closed now, like he was bracing for impact.

“I kn–know,” He said, his voice thudding low in his throat. “But I need you to also understand the truth from my eyes as well… I ca–can’t keep that bottled in.”

A single tear broke free from your lashes and slipped down your cheek. You felt it trace your jaw, warm and cold all at once. You didn’t wipe it away.

And then–

His lips pressed to the tips of your fingers.

It wasn’t a kiss, not really.

It was something else.

Like a confession made in silence. A truth laid bare in skin and breath and trembling restraint. You felt the warmth of his mouth wetting your fingertips slightly, felt the tremor in his body as he held you there like he was hoping time might pause.

Like maybe if he just held on long enough, the rest of the world might forget to take you away.

The moment stretched, thick and reverent, until all you could do was whisper into it.

“I never wanted to hurt you.”

“I know,” Bob murmured, mouth still brushing your skin.

“I think I love you.” The words tumbled out before you could catch them–raw and stripped down and full of everything that had gone unsaid for too long.

You felt him still beneath your touch.

Then he exhaled–shaky, wrecked.

“I do lo–love you,” He whispered, broken and sure and barely there.

Your throat closed around the sound.

He finally turned to face you fully then–his eyes red and glassy, the soft streetlight glow catching his hair. And the way he looked at you…God. You’d never been looked at like that before. Like you were everywhere in his world. Like you had taken root in the hollow behind his ribs and nothing–not even the grief–could pull you out.

You leaned forward, forehead brushing his, and for a second the two of you just breathed the same air. Sharing silence like it was the only language that wouldn’t break you. Bob wrapped his arms around you like he didn’t know how else to stay whole.

There was no hesitation anymore. He just pulled you into him–tightly, fully–like he was trying to memorize the way you fit against his body. His hand slid up your back and cupped the base of your skull, his fingers trembling slightly in your hair. You buried yourself in his chest, the soft fabric of his shirt warm from his skin, damp from his tears.

“I sh–should’ve said it sooner…” He whispered, voice frayed at the edges. “And I know it’s too late no–now… But I wanted you to know before you le–left…”

You pressed your face harder against him, your forehead nudging the hollow of his collarbone. His scent wrapped around you like a balm–soft and warm and impossibly sweet. He smelled like vanilla bean and the faintest trace of brown sugar, like the last page of a well-read book and fresh sheets on a summer night. There was a lingering note of coffee in there too–familiar, comforting, so Bob.

“I wa–want you to be happy,” He murmured, his lips brushing the crown of your head. “And if th–this is the way you’ll be happy…Do what you need to do…”

A fresh wave of tears slipped down your cheeks, warm against his shirt, soaking into the cotton like ink into paper. You felt the rise and fall of his chest match your own–uneven and trembling, the both of you wrapped in grief you couldn’t outrun. Not this kind.

Neither of you spoke after that.

You just held each other, clinging to the fading moment, to the ache of what was about to be lost. The silence was thick, but not empty. It was shared. Like the pause between heartbeats before something new begins.

You didn’t know how long you sat there.

But eventually, when your sobs had softened to slow, silent exhales, you shifted your weight just slightly. Your hand moved to rest over his heart, and you tilted your head to look up at him, chin resting lightly on his chest.

“Did I ever tell you about the first time I was able to go outside?” you asked softly.

Bob blinked down at you, his eyes still red and rimmed with salt. He shook his head gently, brushing your cheek with the back of his hand in a way that made your throat clench.

“I was in a lab in Nebraska,” you began, voice distant, like it was echoing down a hallway of memory. “I’d just been transferred there. One of the lab assistants was going through my records…Noticed how often I got sick, how reactive my skin was. All my charts said the same thing–chronic immune issues, recurrent infections, photophobia–but no one ever questioned why.”

You swallowed.

“They asked if I’d ever been outside. And I told them no. I didn’t even know what ‘outside’ really meant.”

Bob’s brow furrowed, his fingers curling around your waist, pulling you in closer.

“They brought me out the next day. Just behind the facility, this patch of open field surrounded by chain-link and barbed wire. It wasn’t much, but it was sky. Real sky. And sunlight.” You exhaled slowly, remembering. “I stayed out there until my skin burned. My arms, my face, the back of my neck. I couldn’t stop shaking. But I didn’t care. I was sixteen. I had spent every day of my life inside a room with no windows. I wasn’t going to waste it. I wanted the full experience.”

Bob gave the smallest, broken smirk. It was laced with so much hurt, but also wonder. He was listening with his whole body.

And then you said, voice softer still:

“…When I first saw you in the Vault… I thought I was having the same experience.”

He blinked.

“You did?”

You nodded. “When you looked at me…I swear Bob, it was like I was seeing the sun for the first time…The awe…The ache in my chest…I knew from the moment I saw you…You were going to be someone special to me…Just like the sun.” His mouth opened slightly, as if he wanted to say something–but he didn’t have the words. He just stared at you like the world had stopped moving for a moment. Like you’d just told him something too big to hold.

Then–

Ding.

The soft mechanical chime of the elevator broke the stillness, and both your heads turned.

Bucky stepped onto the rooftop, eyes adjusting quickly. His brows raised when he saw you tangled in Bob’s arms, cheeks flushed, eyes swollen from crying.

He froze.

“…Sorry,” He said quietly. “Hope I’m not interrupting.”

You sat up slowly, gently pulling away from Bob–but not far. You looked at Bucky and gave a faint shake of your head.

“No,” You said softly. “You’re not.”

And that was where the conversation ended.

——————————

The quinjet loomed like a shadow against the early morning sky, sleek and still beneath the soft haze of sunrise. The compound’s landing pad was bathed in gold light, long shadows stretching beneath your feet as the team worked in quiet rhythm, hauling your boxes up the ramp one by one.

Everyone was there.

Except Bob.

You scanned the area again–half-hoping, half-desperate–but his tall frame was nowhere in sight. Not lingering by the cargo bay. Not leaning against the railing like he always did. Not even watching from a distance the way you knew he sometimes did when he thought you wouldn’t notice.

Gone.

After everything you shared on the roof last night, part of you had believed–naively, maybe–that he’d come. That he’d meet your eyes one last time. That you’d have a goodbye that felt like something final and full and whole. Something sacred. But the empty space where he should’ve been said everything you didn’t want to hear.

And your heart cracked. Quietly. With no fanfare. Just a hollow snap beneath your ribs.

The last box clunked into place in the cargo hold. You stood at the foot of the ramp, hands hanging uselessly at your sides, watching the team slowly gather near you, one by one.

Alexei came first. He was cradling your coffee machine under one arm–comically oversized in his grip–and he set it down gently before reaching for you. His hug was firm. Solid. The kind of hug that wrapped you in safety without words.

His arms enveloped you fully, a wall of warmth and steady breath as he muttered gruffly, “Is always place for you at my table. No matter where that table is.” He squeezed once, hard, then stepped back like anything more would undo him.

Ava followed. Her hug was briefer, more reserved, but no less sincere. She touched your upper arms and rested her forehead lightly against yours. “You come visit when you can…We’ll miss you a lot.” You nodded, throat tight, and she offered a faint smile before stepping aside.

Walker surprised you.

He stood awkwardly for a moment, scratching the back of his neck like he was unsure whether a goodbye was earned between you. Then he stepped forward, arms spreading almost defensively like he expected to be swatted away. But when you let him hug you, he pulled you in–not hard, but secure. Not rigid, but genuine. His hand patted your back once, and he muttered under his breath, “It was fun working with you…And I hope you find what you’re looking for…”

You smiled, and let out a small breath, “Thanks, Walker.” Bucky was last before Yelena. He stood a little off to the side, arms crossed, jaw set. But when he stepped forward, it wasn’t with the stoic air he wore in the field—it was something softer. Tired. Human. He looked at you like he wanted to say more, but all he did was pull you into a single-armed hug, metal arm staying at his side.

“When you figure out what ‘home’ really means…Let me know…Maybe I’ll find mine too.” He murmured.

Your throat closed up. “You can visit anytime. Seriously.”

He nodded, releasing you gently, his lips twitching into something almost like a smile. “One day. I will.”

Then it was just Yelena.

And everything in you stilled.

She didn’t rush. She walked to you like she was measuring every step. Then she opened her arms without a word, and you crashed into them.

Her hug was everything.

Tight. Unyielding. Unapologetically emotional. Her fingers curled into the back of your shirt, and her breath hitched against your shoulder.

“I don’t forgive you yet,” She whispered shakily, “but I’m trying.”

You nodded, arms squeezing her just as tight. “I know.”

She sniffled, pulled back just enough to look you in the eye. Her mascara was smudged.

“I’ll call you once I land and get everything sorted,” You said, voice trembling.

“You better,” she said, and tried to blink away the tears. “Or I will track you down.”

You nodded again, unable to say anything else without falling apart.

And then–it was time.

You turned, climbing the ramp slowly. Every step away from them felt like it dragged a little piece of your heart behind. You didn’t look back. You couldn’t. If you did, you weren’t sure you’d be able to leave at all.

Inside the cockpit, you slipped into the seat, fingers shaking slightly as you ran through launch protocol. The quinjet hummed around you. Systems came online. The ramp sealed shut behind you. You typed in the coordinates for your new house, and pressed enter.

You stared out at the horizon, waiting for the weight in your chest to lessen.

But it didn’t, and as the jet lifted off–smooth, steady, rising into the quiet morning–you pressed your forehead against the glass and whispered so low only the sky could hear:

“Goodbye, Bob.”

And the clouds swallowed you whole.

———————————

The quinjet touched down in a slow, whisper-soft descent, the grass parting gently beneath it as though the land had been expecting you. You powered down the systems one by one, the low hum of machinery giving way to stillness–pure and uninterrupted. There were no voices. No distant alarms. No radio chatter or metal doors hissing open in the background.

Just silence.

When the ramp hissed open, the world met you with a breath of spring.

The air was cool–cooler than it had been at the compound–but not cold. It wrapped around your skin like a clean sheet pulled fresh from the line. There was a weight to it, not heavy, but full. Damp with dew. Sweet with the scent of tilled soil, blooming clover, and the soft tang of wild lilacs carried from somewhere far down the slope.

You stepped onto the grass, and the earth gave a little beneath your feet. The field rolled out around you like a green sea, golden in the sunlight. The quinjet stood in the middle of it like some strange, sleeping bird. A few feet away, tucked against a thicket of trees and set back from the gravel path, was your house.

Your house.

Your throat tightened as you looked at it.

It wasn’t grand. Wasn’t sleek or modern or fortified with anything but wood and love.

But it was everything.

A one-story farmhouse with soft grey-blue siding and white trim that had weathered seasons of wind and sun. The porch stretched across the front like open arms, its columns uneven and chipped but sturdy. A rickety wooden swing hung on rusted chains from one corner, moving slightly in the breeze. The railing was scuffed in places, like someone had leaned against it a hundred times to watch the sun go down. Ivy had started to creep along one edge.

There were windows everywhere.

Tall ones. Bare ones. Not a single one had bars. They were thrown open to the wind like someone had once opened them and never thought to close them again. Light poured from the inside, golden and warm, dancing over the warped floorboards of the porch.

You took a step forward.

And then another.

The mailbox stood on a crooked wooden post, its red flag bent sideways like a tired elbow. You popped it open and found the envelope tucked inside. Your name was written across the front in soft cursive. Inside: one brass key.

Your fingers curled around it.

It was heavier than you thought it would be. Not physically. Just…Symbolically. Tangibly. Like something final.

You climbed the porch steps slowly, savoring the sound of each creak under your feet. They weren’t sharp or alarming–just lived in. Familiar. You reached the front door and slid the key into the lock.

It turned with a quiet, satisfying click.

And then you stepped inside.

The warmth hit you first.

It wasn’t the kind of warmth that came from heat or sunlight. It was the kind that came from home. From a place that had been touched, loved, settled in–even if only by someone preparing it for you.

The floor beneath your feet was hardwood–old, slightly warped, but recently cleaned. A wide area rug stretched across the living room, woven in soft tones of sage, clay, and wheat. A couch was tucked beneath a large window, throw blankets tossed lazily over one arm. There were mismatched pillows, soft and frayed at the seams, like they had been used to prop up lazy Sunday afternoons.

To the right, the kitchen opened up–warm wood counters, a farmhouse sink with a deep basin, and cabinets painted buttercream yellow. A cast iron kettle sat on the stove. The window above the sink looked out into the field, and the breeze was gently lifting the gauzy curtains.

There was a small dining table tucked into the corner, set with two chairs. One of the seats had a tiny chip in the backrest. It didn’t look lonely. It looked like someone had pulled it out and sat there for hours, sipping coffee while the wind spoke against the windows.

You moved forward and set your keys in the ceramic dish that waited on the entryway table.

They landed with a soft clink.

You smiled.

It was the first real smile you’d felt in weeks. Maybe longer. A smile that didn’t ask anything from you. A smile that came from a chest slowly, slowly uncoiling.

You walked further into the house. Past the fireplace. Past the faded print on the wall of rolling hills and prairie skies. Past the stack of firewood and the tiny woven basket someone had left on the coffee table filled with lavender sachets and a handwritten note: Welcome home.

And that’s when you heard it.

A voice–low and familiar, carved with hesitation, but laced with that gentle brand of humor only one man ever used on you.

“You’re going to ha–have to get a better security system…” You stopped mid-step. Every hair on your body stood up. The air shifted around you–suddenly warmer, suddenly sharper. You turned slowly, your feet rooted to the hardwood, your breath caught somewhere between your lungs and your ribs.

The voice had come from the back hallway.

From the open doorway at the far end.

And when you stepped into the frame and followed it with your eyes–you saw him.

Bob.

Leaning casually against the bedroom door frame like he belonged there. Like he’d always been there. He was wearing grey sweatpants and a navy blue crewneck, the sleeves pushed up to his forearms, exposing the lines of his hands–familiar, scarred, warm. His hair was tousled, and wind-tangled. And his mouth–God, that soft, crooked smile was already stretched across his face.

His eyes flicked over your expression, and something about the way he looked at you made the shock in your chest soften. Melt. Like the earth had tilted just slightly under your feet but settled in a better position.

“I th–thought,” He started, his voice cracking slightly, “Instead of saying goodbye…I’d be the fi–first to say hello.” Your mouth opened, but no sound came out at first.

You blinked in shock.

And then–your smile broke through, wide and disbelieving, laced with something just this side of laughter. “How did you… How did you know? And how the hell did you get here?”

He pushed off the doorway with one shoulder and walked toward you slowly, like he didn’t want to spook you. His hands were tucked into the pockets of his sweats, and his eyes never left your face.

“Well…” He said, shrugging, “I as–asked Val.”

You raised your brows, still trying to catch up. “You asked Val?”

“She’s still ki–kind of scared of me snapping, so she…” He gave you a sheepish, apologetic glance. “Gave me the information pretty fast.”

That made you huff out a laugh.

He paused a few feet away, then looked down for a second. “Then I just…Fl–Flew here.”

You stared at him. “You used Sentry?”

He nodded once. No shame. “Of co–course I did.”

Your hand rose to your mouth, trying to hide the slow, surprised grin spreading across your face. “Jesus, Bob.”

He shrugged again. Like it wasn’t a big deal. Like flying to you was as natural as taking the subway. There was a pause. Just the two of you standing there in the middle of your new living room, the breeze moving through the open windows, the quiet pulse of shared history hanging between you.

Then Bob added, voice softening:

“Af–After you told me about that story yesterday…I thought you were go–going to be moving here.”

You tilted your head at him, warmth blooming slow and thick in your chest.

He smiled again, smaller this time. “Glad I caught on and that you didn’t just ra-randomly tell me that story about Nebraska for the hell of it.”

You laughed under your breath, a sheepish little sound, and rolled your eyes. “Even though it was still relevant…”

“Mhm,” He hummed, and then his gaze drifted past you, scanning the space like he was seeing it all for the first time–the porch swing, the chipped paint, the breeze in the curtains, the scent of lavender and old wood. “It’s ni–nice.”

You nodded. “It is.”

He looked back at you. His eyes were soft, and gentle, glistening in the lighting.

“Is it okay…If I st–stay for a little?” He asked.

Your breath hitched–just for a second–but the answer was already in your chest before he’d finished the question. You nodded once, slow and sure, the weight of your breath caught just beneath your ribs.

“Of course…” you murmured, voice soft. Then–after a beat, after a shift in the air that felt impossibly delicate–you added, “But I need to do something that I should’ve done last night.”

Bob blinked. His eyes searched yours—gentle, uncertain, wide like he hadn’t dared to hope for this exact thing. His hands slid a little deeper into his pockets, like he didn’t trust them not to reach for you on instinct.

You stepped forward. Just one step. Then another.

And when you were close enough to feel his breath on your face, you looked at him–really looked at him.

At the soft barely–there freckles scattered across his cheeks, at the faint lines beneath his eyes from sleepless nights, at the way his bottom lip trembled just slightly, as if bracing for something too good to be true.

“I should’ve kissed you last night,” You whispered.

His breath caught.

The seconds that passed between you then were slow and golden and suspended in something you couldn’t name. Something like awe. Something like gravity giving you mercy.

And when you rose onto the balls of your feet and brought your hand to the side of his face–fingertips ghosting along his cheekbone–he leaned into it like it was instinct. Like he didn’t remember how to breathe without you.

Your noses brushed.

His lashes fluttered.

And then, finally–

You kissed him.

It was slow. Soft. Barely a breath at first.

But God, it was everything.

It was months of unsaid words, of near-misses and held-back glances and aching silence pressed into a single point of contact. It was the exhale of something sacred. The kind of kiss you only get once in a lifetime. The kind that feels like a promise made in a language no one else will ever speak.

Bob’s lips were warm–tentative at first, trembling slightly against yours like he couldn’t quite believe it was happening. But then he sank into you, deepening it just a little. One hand lifted–hesitant, reverent–and cradled your jaw like you were something precious. His thumb brushed the edge of your cheekbone. His nose bumped yours gently.

You sighed against his mouth. A sound that was equal parts relief and wonder.

When you finally pulled back, your foreheads stayed pressed together, your noses still brushing, breath shared in the quiet space between your mouths.

His voice was barely a whisper.

“…Wo–Worth the wait.”

You smiled–soft, a little wrecked, fully his. “Yeah,” you breathed. “It was…And I’m glad you came…”

[sabanakurou]

★ Leona x Gn!Reader, Reader is Yuu here! Mentions of Grim too but like, BARELY. A little over 1k words!

★ SYNOPSIS: In short, you made realizations about your relationship with Leona that you probably should've had... months ago.

★ A little warning for possible OOC, bad writing, and grammar mistakes, hehe! Regardless, I hope you enjoy :D

Being sure of yourself was something that you took pride in. That was the case back on Earth and especially the case now that you were thrown into Twisted Wonderland— a place so unfamiliar that you might as well have been considered an alien.

Maybe you already were? You were magicless with a strange fire-hazard for a cat-raccoon thing. Even now as you walked towards the botanical garden, you were carrying Grim. It wasn't hard at that point to take into account the way the other students looked at you. With their scrutinizing eyes and avoidance, you figured that your guess isn't so far off from the general opinion of the public.

You didn't care, though! You're CONFIDENT that you've experienced enough to have already met the worst jerks that this “d!$ney-knockoff house of villains-ahh” college had to offer.

Well,

that is…

…until you met Leona Kingscholar.

The most prickly jerk you ever came to know. A man so VILE that you're on your way to meet up with him in the garden for your regularly scheduled naps.

Honest to whatever God your current world had, as much as you wanted to moan about how long the stick in Leona’s mud of a butt is, he's nooooot… the worst guy ever. Actually, deny it as you might, the prince of the Afterglow Savannah was more of a friend than a jerk to you.

Still a jerk though.

One heck of a comfortable one, at that (much to your dismay). In fact, in recent times, he's quite the substitute for a pillow, if you could say so yourself. And you do! You even insisted on meeting today just to nap because you sleep better when Leona is your pillow.

"Huh?"

You suddenly stop walking, hit with the reality and weight of your own thoughts.

You use... Leona as… a pillow?

You… you use Leona as a pillow…???

You… huh…????

????

‘I DO WHAT NOW???’ You suddenly drop Grim onto the floor in the middle of the hallway, hands flying to your head as a slow, slow, quiet crisis takes over you. It was as if you gained sentience the moment you thought too deeply about your relationship with him.

No, but seriously!? Now that you put more of a conscious effort to evaluate your actions, you realized that you've been so affectionate with Leona! Using him as a pillow, resting on his side, napping with him in the garden and in his bed…!?!? In his bed for goodness’ sake!

How come no one has told you that you do these things!? (Ace and Deuce have mentioned it before.)

Why has no one mentioned how weird it is for you to act that way with Leona!? (Many have mentioned it: Namely the Heartslabyul folks, the first years, and even Grim.)

Is this even legal!? (It is but you were not being rational at that moment.)

“OH MY GOD!?”

So much for being sure of yourself!

Thinking back to your entire relationship, you wouldn't be able to say when it all started. When did the frightening lion of a beastman stop being so… frightening?

Was it after the Octavinelle fiasco when the subtle touches— lingering and often leaving an explicable amount of warmth in an otherwise tepid patch of skin— started to come about? You never would've thought that you'd say this but forced-proximity does wonders with communication and you did stay in his room for a good while (but you still don't advocate for it…).

Or was it after VDC when the softness held behind each of your gazes when you come across one another reared its worrying head?

Worrying to the point that the once untouchable prince became within reach of your hands, of your heart, and of your mind to be consumed with him, him, and only him.

When did the two of you stop being hesitant but oh so very careful as to avoid any alarm?

When exactly did the sands of your friendship break down into something so… different yet all the same? Like a sandcastle broken by the heavy tides. The foundation may have been broken and yet the material was still, irrevocably, sand.

Who knew a crisis driven by cuddles could induce metaphors?

And metaphors aside, you like the beach, and the sand, and the waves. Very much. It was always so warm to the touch, just like h— Oh.

When did—

“Oi, Herbivore, eyes on me.”

Leona's voice snaps you out of your overactive mind in an instant, as if your entire being knew that its main focus should be the person right in front of you. The person that had your left cheek cupped in his hand that could easily cover your entire face up if he wanted to do so.

But he won't. Especially when you haven't flinched away when you both knew how keen you were with keeping to yourself.

He would've backed off the moment you showed any reluctance. After all, your comfort is his priority. But you haven't shown him the slightest bit of discomfort and he was willing to take the chance to assume that perhaps he wasn't just seeing things when he thought you looked at him in a way no way else had before.

And by the Sevens were the two of you so compatible as similarly, your brain had decided to grow blank with only one thought to entertain it with.

No beastman should ever look that soft.

And yet, he does.

Because of me.

What the hell were you thinking? You weren't even fully conscious when you dragged your body to find his after your little crisis half an hour ago.

You supposed that that was simply another thing you aren't sure of.

“Herbivore, c'mon. Look at me. You can't possibly ignore me when you were the one who insisted on meeting up.” He almost whispers and you could've sworn that your heart had melted faster than anything under the scorching sun.

You almost felt like defying him just to see how far he'll go.

But you look at him anyways— eyes peering right into his viridescent ones that shined so ethereally under the setting sun.

You met this vile, vile man's gaze, growing worried as the sound of birds chirping could've beaten the quiet volume your voice had taken. Still, you spoke, albeit without any thinking,

“Oh, God, I like you.”

And at this point? That was apparently the one thing you were sure of.

★ END NOTE: hiiii, I REALLY like Leona and SHORT YAP!! I always felt like he'll be the kind of love where you'll suddenly realize that you love him one day. Maybe the realization gets prompted because of how comforting he is, idk 👉👈 anyways!! header by me and stuff :D!

[wendichester]

⋆˚✿˖° say my name,

summary. sam has you captive. or a resemble of who sam used to be. he's not in his right mind. and neither are you.

pairing. demon!sam winchester x gn!reader genre. dark, weird, nsfw

wordcount. 1569

notes / warnings. captivity (reader is restrained), dubiously consensual vibes (very much a tension-based fantasy setup), morally grey dynamics, corrupted!sam, powerplay, heavy tension, implied dom/sub energy, degradation (light), reader is conflicted and into it, seriously filthy in a twisted kind of way — reader is fully into it, even if they hate themselves for it

You don’t know how long it’s been. Days, maybe. Or maybe it’s only been hours. Time feels weird in this place—too quiet, too dark. You're tied to the bed with soft leather straps that look expensive and feel… weirdly personal. Like they were picked out just for you.

Which, knowing him, they probably were.

The door creaks open and your breath catches before you even see him.

There’s a heaviness that hits the room first. That twisted sort of energy that makes your spine straighten and your lungs forget how to work. The air gets hotter. The space gets smaller.

And then he walks in.

Sam. Or… the thing wearing Sam.

You used to be able to tell the difference. You think.

But now? God, it’s hard. It’s so hard.

He still looks like him—tall, broad, hands in his jacket pockets, that slow walk like he’s got all the time in the world and nothing to fear. His hair falls into his eyes, and his lips curve in that little smirk that used to mean he was about to kiss you. Or pin you down.

Only now, it means something else entirely.

“Well,” he purrs, voice like velvet and smoke, “someone’s awake.”

You don’t say anything. Not right away. You try not to give him the satisfaction of seeing how fast your pulse kicks up.

He stalks closer, lazy. Controlled. A predator with nothing better to do than play with his food.

“You've been so quiet,” he murmurs, brushing a strand of hair from your face. His touch is gentle. Too gentle. It hurts.

“I miss your voice, sweetheart.”

You glare, but your throat’s dry. You’re too warm. The way he looks at you—like he wants to ruin you, like he already has—is making it hard to hold your ground.

“Not gonna say anything?” he tilts his head. “Not even a ‘screw you, Sam’?”

“You’re not him,” you manage to whisper.

That earns you a grin. Full teeth. Sinister.

“Oh, sweetheart.” He leans in closer, breath ghosting your jaw. “That’s the fun part.”

He drags a finger along your collarbone, slow and deliberate, like he’s tracing his name there. “You think you can tell where I end and he begins?”

You hate how your stomach flutters.

He’s too close now. And you can smell him—Sam—earthy and warm and familiar, like he just stepped out of your memories and twisted them into something filthy.

“Maybe I’m just pulling what was already inside him to the surface,” the demon muses, fingers sliding down your arm. “Maybe he likes this. Maybe he’s been waiting for a reason to stop being the good guy.”

Your breath hitches.

Because deep down, you’ve wondered that too.

You’ve seen the fire in Sam’s eyes before, the hunger he tried to pretend wasn’t there. The way his grip would tighten on your hips, on your waist, like he was barely keeping something chained.

What if this is just… him, unfiltered?

No guilt. No leash. Just raw want.

“Poor thing,” the demon says, tilting your chin up. “You can’t even decide if you want to fight me or fuck me.”

You flinch. But only a little.

He smiles.

“You know what the best part is?” he says, almost giddy. “He can feel all of it. Every sound you make. Every little whimper. Every time your thighs press together.”

He runs a knuckle down your sternum. “He likes how much you want this.”

“Shut up,” you breathe, but your voice is barely a whisper.

He just laughs. “Why would I, when I’m finally getting the truth out of you?”

He climbs onto the bed, straddling you, moving with that maddening grace. Like he owns you. Like he’s entitled to this.

His face dips lower, lips ghosting your ear.

“Say my name.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. “You’re not him.”

A pause. Then a soft, dangerous hum.

“Maybe not.” He traces your jaw with his mouth, barely touching. “But I sound like him. I taste like him. And if you let me…” He presses his lips just below your ear. “I’ll make you come harder than he ever did.”

Your body shudders. You hate him. You hate how much you want him.

“Say it,” he whispers. “Say my name, and I’ll let you scream.”

You bite your lip. You try not to let the moan escape—but it does. Just a tiny one. His grin sharpens.

“That’s what I thought.”

You look up at him, breathless. Torn. Thrumming with need and shame and something far too dark to name.

“Sam,” you whisper.

He stills.

Then he smiles. Slow. Sinister. Triumphant.

And you swear you see the glint of something real—not just the demon. Him.

You don’t know who you’re begging for anymore.

And honestly?

You’re not sure it matters.

Your wrists ache, but you’re barely aware of it. Not with him hovering over you like that—his weight caging you in, mouth dragging heat and ruin down your neck, breath warm against your skin. You can’t tell where the demon ends and Sam begins anymore. It’s all tangled up: the voice, the touch, the hunger.

And worst of all? It feels good. Too good.

You don’t know what you were expecting when you said his name—Sam—but it wasn’t this. It wasn’t the way he stilled, like you’d yanked on a leash. It wasn’t the way his hands trembled, like he was fighting something off… or fighting to stay in control.

But now?

Now he’s kissing you like he’s starving.

And not just the demon. Him.

“Sam,” you breathe again, dazed.

He groans into your mouth like it hurts to hear his name in your voice. Like it’s pulling him back up through the black sludge of whatever’s holding him under.

“You don’t know what you’re doing,” he rasps against your lips. His voice is rough, strained. His voice.

“Then tell me to stop,” you whisper.

He kisses you harder.

You can feel it—feel him clawing through the surface. His hands tremble where they grip your hips, and when he pulls back to look at you, something flickers in his eyes.

That softness. That guilt.

But underneath it, still there, still hungry—the demon.

You don’t know who’s kissing you anymore.

Sam’s mouth crashes into yours again, deeper this time. Like he’s trying to memorize you, consume you. He groans against your tongue like he’s just found air after drowning.

“God, you’re so—” he breaks off, panting. His forehead drops to yours, his grip on your body bruising.

“I shouldn’t,” he says. But his hips are grinding down against yours and he’s not stopping.

“You already are,” you whisper.

He snarls, half-demon, half-man. “You think I don’t know what this is doing to you? The way you squirm when I get close? The way your thighs press together when I speak?”

You gasp, but he doesn’t stop.

“You like this. You like me like this.”

“Sam—”

“I’m still me, sweetheart,” he says, dragging his mouth down to your throat. “Still the one who fucked you in the back of the Impala. Still the one who made you cry on my tongue.”

Your whole body shudders.

“I’m just... better now.”

You shake your head, chest heaving. “This isn’t right.”

“Doesn’t mean it doesn’t feel good,” he growls, biting down gently on your pulse. “Tell me you don’t want it. Lie to me. I dare you.”

You open your mouth. You try. But nothing comes out.

Because you do want it. Want him.

Whatever this version of Sam is—drenched in darkness, wild and unfiltered—it’s him. Just more. Less rules. Less hesitation.

Still the same hands. Still the same mouth.

Still the same ache he’s always pulled from you like it was his.

“I hate you,” you whisper.

He laughs, dark and dangerous. “No, baby. You hate how much you want me.”

His fingers wrap around your jaw, tilting your face up so you’re forced to look at him.

“I could let go,” he murmurs, eyes boring into you. “Let him come fully back. Let just Sam fuck you. Let him be soft.”

Your lips part. Heat coils deep in your stomach.

“Or,” he adds, voice dipping into a snarl, “I could stay right here and break you open myself.”

You whimper.

“Yeah,” he purrs. “That’s what I thought.”

But then—suddenly—his grip falters. His expression changes. Something in his eyes shifts. Softens. Flares.

And then, just like that, he’s Sam again.

Fully.

Panting. Shaking. His hands are still on you. His mouth is still red from kissing you.

And his eyes are horrified.

“I—I didn’t mean to…” he breathes, looking down at your restrained form like it’s the first time he’s really seen you. “I didn’t want to hurt you. I never—fuck, I didn’t want this.”

You stare up at him, chest rising and falling. Your lips are red. Your wrists are raw. And you’ve never wanted him more.

“Then don’t stop,” you say, voice low. “Do it as you.”

Sam blinks.

You tug on the restraints. “You’re already in this deep. Might as well make me yours.”

His jaw clenches. “I’ve always been yours.”

And just like that, his mouth is on you again—desperate, messy, real. No demon. Just Sam.

But god help you, it’s worse. Because it’s better.

Because it’s him—and you’re still tied up, and you’re still wrecked, and now you’re crying out his name like a prayer.

And he’s answering every single one.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

[lvl109]

“so what i'm hearing is that you hate me and you want me dead.”

a noncommittal hum sounds through the speakers of your phone. “i said no such thing. is there a reason why the dramatics are pertinent even more tonight?”

your eyes narrow. “you haven't called in two days. two days. clearly you hate me.”

a laugh now, tinged with fondness. you try your best to fight off the smile threatening to spread across your lips. “my most sincere apologies, my love. how can i begin to grovel for your forgiveness?”

“you're not getting a lick of forgiveness from me. two days! i was worried.” your brows furrow, amping up the act. “i keep forgetting my stupid boyfriend loves to put himself in harm’s way.”

sylus’ expression softens in the face of your exaggerated complaints, going quiet in the way he does when he realizes his actions have upset you even if just a little bit. it makes your heart sink a little.

“i really was worried,” you finally relent, cracking first underneath the silence. “i know you have to do these things, but. it's not just you anymore. you have people who care about you.”

he looks away for a moment, his gaze downcast. when his gaze returns to the screen, he offers an apologetic smile. “i'm sorry, sweetheart. i didn't mean to frighten you. i'm alright. i promise.”

“you can show you're sorry by getting on the earliest flight home.” your joke slips past in an attempt to divert attention from your growing sadness from being apart for so long. his expression knowing, he agrees without hesitation. “i mean it. i want to see the wine glass when you're on board.”

it's not long before the two of you are engrossed in a recount of your day—from grueling paperwork to wanderer attacks to discounted groceries (a steal) and so on. he listens with rapt attention, adding little comments either to stoke your dramatized frustration or make you laugh between words. in turn, sylus fills you in on what he's able to share on his end, ensuring you that while things were hectic, he'd run into little to no trouble in the two days you hadn't heard from him.

opening your mouth to grill him once again—really, it was that serious—your attention is caught by the sound of keys entering a lock at the front door. sylus pauses when you stop talking, letting out a confused sound at your silence.

“sweetheart? is everything alright?”

muffled footsteps sound from the living room followed by the faint sound of a bag dropping on the couch. the drag of socked feet against the floor is heard for a few more seconds until the bedroom door is pushed open a bit wider, revealing none other than a tired mass of limbs in slight rumpled work clothes.

still, the sight of him makes you smile. “zayne is home,” you say quietly, partly in response to sylus’ question, partly in greeting to your other boyfriend.

too tired for words at the moment, he sheds his jacket and falls forward on to the bed, letting out a tired sigh as he worms his way between your legs much to your vocal surprise. his cheek rests against your thigh, your legs folded over his shoulders.

“long day?” you ask softly, threading a hand through his hair. his lashes rest above his cheeks, casting shadows as he nods after a long beat.

“missed you.” he noses against your bare skin, pressing kisses from your knee to just shy of where your sleep shorts just barely cover your pussy. the sudden mood switch makes you inhale sharply, the hand in his hair tightening a fraction in surprise. “can i?”

you nod immediately, momentarily forgetting about your phone when zayne lifts your legs up and gently tugs your shorts off. two fingers trace against your heat over the thin cotton of your panties, watching through a steadily darkening gaze when your hips shift towards his touch. “you know that doesn't mean anything to me. i need words.”

“yes,” you whimper quietly, spreading your legs on your own. the slight raise of his brows in approval is enough to make you bite your lower lip as large hands grip your thighs. “please touch me. i want you to touch me.”

“and i’m supposed to sit here alone while the two of you ravage each other like animals? how cruel.”

zayne’s eyes narrow when he hears the other voice, pulling at the band of your underwear and soothing over the skin when the fabric snaps back in place. “good to know you're alive,” he mutters dryly. “nobody was worried about you. you can go back to fighting criminals and the like.”

hazel green eyes narrow a bit in faint mirth when you giggle at sylus’ answering scoff. “not true. i was just getting an earful about how incredibly inconsiderate i was concerning the lack of hearing my voice.”

“i cussed him out,” you pipe up cheerfully, earning a kiss to your skin once more.

“good girl.” if you had feathers, they would be fanned out as you preened from the praise. at your boyfriend’s detriment, but it was a little deserved.

sylus sighs, the sound crackling through the tiny speakers. “rewarding bad behavior, doctor? that's a first for you. color me surprised.”

“some rules can be bent within reason.” zayne’s hands slip your panties off, cold fingers spreading your lips open before ghosting over your hole. you muffle your squeak of surprise with a gasp that doesn't go unnoticed by the silver hired man. “watch, will you? keep the phone in view of your face.”

it takes a beat for you to realize the last part was addressed to you. a shaky okay is all you can muster up before his thumb presses against your clit in slow circles. immediately your eyes close against the slowly building pleasure, letting out a sweet sigh. but zayne stops, eliciting a confused sound.

“keep your eyes open for me.” after you let out a quiet sound of affirmation, zayne continues his movements between your legs. “and don't touch yourself.

sylus’ barely stifled sound of surprise makes your heart skip a beat. he lets out a slightly peeved sigh, grumbling incoherently, but when you glance back at your screen you catch a glimpse of his reddening ears. “i wasn't—”

“lying will only make your punishment worse when you come back home.” his sharp rebuttal silences him immediately, making you twitch in anticipation. zayne resumes toying with your clit, his pace increasing with his slowly building impatience. “i told you to watch. how do you expect someone to give you what you want when you can't follow simple instructions?”

your hand grip the phone as pleasure zips up your spine, letting out small gasps and whines—but you force yourself to keep your eyes open despite wanting to close them so desperately. zayne rewards your compliance with two fingers inside of you, a pleased hum going barely unheard over your sharp cry.

“see what happens when you behave? you get what you deserve. isn't that right?” his hand moves to cup the side of your face. “see how good she is? texts me her location even before i ask. so kind. so considerate.”

you just barely hear the sound of muffled curses coming from your phone through the heightened haze of desire, your hips rutting down against his fingers as your bleary gaze focuses on the man before you. the tips of his ears flushed pink being the only giveaway that he, too, was becoming just as affected.

pulling out his fingers, he doesn't have to utter a word before your lips part and wrap around them. “just perfect,” he praises quietly. your thighs squeeze together in an attempt to stave off an impending orgasm.

the sound of zayne’s belt zipping through his belt loops makes the both you groan in tandem, sylus’ immediately beginning to complain about the angle. “let me see her. don't be cruel.”

wordlessly, your phone is picked up and the view is switched to the back camera, letting the other man see through zayne’s perspective. his fingers wet with your spit, your shirt pulled up just under your chest from your squirming, and your pussy wet from his teasing. a little further down is the sight of zayne straining against his slacks. his wet hand leaves your mouth and splays over your navel, his thumb toying with your clit again.

zayne laughs a bit when your hips jerk to chase your orgasm, putting the camera in view of your petulant expression. “you know what you have to do if you want to cum.”

you don't waste a single second. “can i?” your eyes widen with unshed tears, already at your limit with zayne’s teasing. “please, sylus? i've b-been so—aah—good, fuck!”

you can't see his expression from where your spread out, but the sight of you on his screen, pleading with him for your orgasm makes his pupils dilate. the hunger in his voice is near tangible when his voice grits out, shared greed for your pleasure palpable even through the phone. “give her what she wants and more.”

everything is a blur soon after. zayne’s barely suppressed groan of relief when he pushes inside of you, hips smacking the back of your thighs as his hand remains pressed against your stomach. praise crackling through the phone followed by slick noises and low curses. the headboard hitting against the wall over and over again. the intense feeling of being watched.

half completed begging turns into a repeated mantra of the same three words that affects them both. tears streaming down your face, hair askew across your pillow as your hands scramble for anything to hold on to. “i wanna cum—i wanna cum, i wanna—i—”

“let go, sweetheart, do it—”

“show us how good you can take it—”

your orgasm feels like an explosion of light behind your eyes, squeezed shut as your body curls in on itself. you cry out and grip zayne’s arm as he shudders through the sudden grip around his cock, spitting out filth that makes your heart skip. 

“fucking—take it—take it all—” his voice is shot, frantic movements jostling you up the mattress as he chases his own orgasm. the phone drops from his hand when yours find his hair and tug sharply, one final moan leaving his lips before his hips stutter and his cock pulses inside of you. 

as he catches his breath, your shaky hand pats around for your phone and angles right at the mess of cum and sweat between your bodies, the sight enough for sylus to choke on his next inhale and finish with a muffle grunt into his fist.

quiet panting fills the air. zayne’s forehead rests against your shoulder, his eyes closed as your other hand strokes through his hair. exhaustion catches to him quick, just barely having enough energy to pull out and clean the two of you up before he slumps back down into the sheets and passes out.

you and sylus share a look of faint amusement before you turn a press a kiss to zayne’s forehead. “he definitely needed that.” 

[cecinderal]

Saja Boys (seperate) Nsfw hcs!

If anyone asks then I was possessed - Also this is my second time uploading this, the first time was taken down for “mature content” bc i put an ecchi pic up😞 tumblr is trying to silence me

Warnings: nsfw (obvi), demon x human, size k., choking, oral, sub/dom dynamics, sub! boys, dom! boys, afab reader, filming, ooc mystery bc i haven’t decided how i like writing him yet but the rest are canon🔫

Jinu // puppy boy, submissive, momma’s boy

He’s a heavy sub-leaning switch! He leans more towards being a top, but like… His ass is too pretty not to plowed, but you’d definitely have to take your time with that part

Thick more the long, feels good but it doesn’t help the fact that this man has no idea how to use it

He doesn’t really groan or moan, but he’ll let out a whimper or “Oh fuck” every so often, and he’s the best at begging!

Being a puppy boy- Not in the way that he wears ears and tail (although I think he’d look great with a tail), but in the way that he’ll let you collar him, leash wrapped in your fist as you let him rut against you from behind. His large hands on your waist, and while you both now that he can overpower you physically, it’s the fact that he doesn’t actually want to that’s such a fucking turn on.

Being a demon, you can’t actually ‘hurt’ him, but that doesn’t mean you can’t still torture him with that poor cock of his:) just grab the weeping, flushed thing and jerk it off, swipe your thumb over the head, and stop just as he begins bucking his hips. He’ll whine and huff at your innocent look, but that’s just the beginning.

Nursing handjobs!! I’ve mentioned this before, but he’s a suck for being able to nuzzle into your tits while you stroke him. He’s a tits guy, idk what to tell you.

I think any kind of teasing or denial would be the death of him, the vulnerability of it makes him dizzy

Be gentle with the degradation, he’s not against it but it doesn’t have him melting like praise does! you can have praise w/o degradation, but not degradation w/o praise yk?

Won’t actually call you a title unless you call yourself it first, he’s embarrassed

“C’mon baby, be good and make a mess in momma’s hand.” will have that man creaming and calling you momma, mommy, etc. faster than you can actually process it

Abby // Bull, sweet and spicy, strong

Biggest cock in the group, biggest balls, and you’ll fucking feel them when has you gripping the wall, toes barely touching the ground as he pounds into you. His balls’ll slap your clit and he’ll happily watch the jiggle of your ass as you squeak ‘n cream around his cock.

I’m sorry that was rabid I just need him so bad🙏

loads literal buckets of thick, creamy cum. you might not be eating but he’ll make sure you’re nice and full!

Doesn’t believe in condoms either, so good luck. Will genuinely laugh at you if you ask about it, and then have you on top of him, fucking up into you while gravity does nothing but help him in making you feel everything. He’ll fill you up with a cocky look “Y’see? This pussy is just too hungry for me to think about something as stupid as condoms.”

His favorite positions are any that he can hold you in- whether that’s holding you up against the wall or holding you down, holding your legs up on either side of your head

He loves when you wear make up, he loves seeing the mixture of lip gloss, spit, and precum on your lips and his cock when you suck him off.

#1 ass man, don’t just lay on your stomach in front of him, unaware, unless you want the rude awakening of his big ass hand coming down on your ass. Don’t you dare think he’ll be gentle about it, either, because he loves leaving hand prints😭

Choking isn’t something he’s particularly into, but god forbid he finds out you’re into it because then he’ll never leave you alone. A hand always on the back of your neck in public, bicep curled around your neck, squishing your cheeks together as he whispers in your ear…

“You’re so perverted, sweetheart. Who knew a sweet girl like you would be into this, of all fuckin’ things. What do y’like about my hand being wrapped around your throat?” NGHHHH

One of his biggest kinks is seeing you all fucked out afterwards. Watching you, all marked up and full of cum, panting on the bed, sweaty… It has his still half-hard cock twitching, kissing your neck as he tries to convince that can take “just one more round”

Sorry i just came✌️

Mystery // Possessive, dog boy, marking

“B- b- but jinu is already the puppy boy-“ exactly. Mystery is a DOG boy, like a mutt, yk why? this man is a FREAK, some get him a leash and a dog house:(

he’s not extremely talkative during sex, but there’s no questioning whether or not he’s loving it as he holds you down on the bed, face buried in your skin and panting into you

Sloppy asl and will drool and mark you. He doesn’t really care where- This man will put a hickey on your fucking wrist if you don’t stop him

joking but not really

He doesn’t have the thickest or even longest cock (not that it’s at all disappoint), but the way his mouth makes out with your twitching hole makes up for it.

Mystery has a long tongue and will use it to his advantage. He fucking loves having you spread out for him and will dig his nails into your thighs when you try to close them around his head. He’ll get pissy if you try to tug him away by his hair, nothing- and I mean NOTHING- will tear that man away from his fuckin’ meal.

Isn’t particularly mean, but isn’t exactly nice either- He knows what you like even if you whine about it, how to make you have near explosive orgasms on his cock- So why’re begging him to slow down? That’s not how this works, you don’t get to deny him chances, the pleasure, of seeing your eyes roll back as your walls squeeze around him.

His kinks include but aren’t limited to; predator/prey (watching you run away, heart racing even though you already know the ending is exhilarating), ‘branding’ you (whether that’s hickeys, coming inside, or actually literally branding you), rimming (That’d be the one time you hear him squeak in surprise), and dumbification

I have so much to say about the dumbification!! he’s not going to degrade you for it, because he lovesss the foggy look in your eyes, the cockdrunk giggles bubbling in your throat aa your thighs tremble around his hips. That’s what he wants every single time you have sex, so that’s what he’ll get.

Sensitive nipples and I won’t be elaborating.

Romance // Sweet, sensual, breeder

Cock is curved just slightly, not too thick as to require loads of prepping, and the length is perfect. He has the prettiest cock!!

Not a load of ‘hard’ kinks, but might indulge you if you ask nicely!

Choking? No, but will lovingly and gently wrap a hand around your nice and he buries his face in your hair. Spanking? No, but will grope you

He lovessss grabing the fat of your ass and thighs to hold you or pull you closer, second only to handholding

Will tease you, though, murmuring into your skin while keeping eye contact. “You’re so sensitive, birdie. Just focus on me, please.” He’ll massage your body, praising you while traveling down.

#2 muncher, second only to Mystery. He’s not messy, not spitting on your twitching clit and fingering you roughly- But you almost wish he would because what he does is worse. He’ll be slow and gentle, pushing his tongue inside, nose bumping against your throbbing clit. He’ll kiss your pretty pussy like he kisses you, talking to it to,

“Look at how much she likes it when I lick right-“ The pads of Romance’s fingers caress your thighs, his tongue swipes against a particularly sensitive spot, “- Here. She’s dripping f’me…”

You almost sob in relief when he pushes in just one of his long fingers, but then you’ll come to realize that that doesn’t mean relief- Just more torture.

I stand by what I said a few posts ago, he’s 100% a milf chaser and maker. He wouldn’t know he’s one at first, but he just can’t keep the thought of you cooing at a kid who happened to lose his mom. Ideas of you being full of his offspring and waddling around in those pretty maternity dresses have him weak.

That night, he’ll be grabbier than usual, kneading the fat of your stomach as if trying to manifest a fucking baby- But he’s not just going to pray and wait around, no, that night will be the roughest you’ll actually have him. His mind is solely focussed on wanting to make sure you’re bred, he’ll make it up to you afterwards!

If you want him to do it again, then just mention- even briefly- about seeing some cute baby clothes, or send him videos of parents with their kids - It’ll have him fantasizing and he’ll fuck you until you’re both gone stupid, completely pussy and cock drunk.

Baby // Sadism, doomed to fail, power dynamics

#2 biggest cock of the group and knows how to use it. He’s lazy with the keep-up, so happy trail galore🙏

He’s a massive sadist- Choking, spanking, biting until he sees blood. He’ll have you looking like someone mauled your ass (bc he did)

He loves using his fingers, whether that means fingering your poor pussy until your leaking your brains out or shoving his long fingers past those pretty lips of yours to watch you drool.

Baby may, if he feels nice, let you on top of him… Not. On the off chance he does allow that, it’s a trap- You’ll get no help from him, and he knows damn well you can’t fuck yourself as well as he can fuck you. Even if you ask, he won’t move an inch until you’re teary eyed, “aw, what? Can’t do this one little thing? No, because you can only cum when I’m holding you down and making you cum, right?”

He’ll ask you questions about how you’re feeling as your pussy is twitching and stretched over his thick cock, and he expects an answer- Even if you can barely think

“Come on, I told you- You have to keep telling me about how good it feels. Keep that fuckin’ mouth moving.”

His favorite positions are then ones where you’re forced to look up at him- Mating press is ideal! His second favorite is laying you on your back, head hanging over the edge of the bed, the perfect fuckhole for him! He goes feral over seeing your throat bulge around him, lips swollen, drool soaking his cock while your nose is buried against him…

Doesn’t get jealous, but will use it as an excuse to punish you anyways- He’s huge on punishment/rewards systems (although both leave you gasping and in tears, it may as well all be punishment)

Camera man should be his new profession with how much he holds his fucking phone to your face, “Look at this slutty girl, she can’t help wanting a mouthful, huh? I bet that pussy is drenched. You wanna show the camera?”

“Eyes on the fucking camera. I want to catch your face when you cum on my cock- Fuck, you got tight. Y’like that, slut? I’ll make it my wallpaper.”

and please clarify (aka ask really nicely) for him not to actually share those videos, because he’ll assume you’re serious about wanting to be a pornstar and upload them😭

He’s happy to keep them for himself, though. His personal star<3

[toxycodone]

desire v. devotion

ship. hector x reader

content. nsfw, dom!reader, chastity cage, reader is gender neutral but w afab genital references

author’s note. she heating on my ventilation until I air condition…..or whatever. anyways <3 yearners are earners yipppee. Hector can I please fuck your greate please please pleaaaase

song.

Since becoming human, Hector has experienced much outside his self imposed confinement in the attic. And yet despite it all its wonders, you are still the greatest thing he’s bear witness too. Once reduced to admiring you from the shadows, now able to see you in person. Touch you. Feel you. It’s awe inspiring, truly. In every which way you allow him to have you, the man will most gladly accept.

In the current moment, Hector finds himself in his newfound most natural position—bare and kneeling between your legs. He’ll sit until his knees ache, until the muscles in his back contort in agony. As long as you are happy, he’s on top of the world.

“What do you want, my love?” His lips tremble with anticipation. “Anything. Just ask for it.”

The way his dark eyes peer up at you are akin to a loyal dog. Watching and waiting for your next command.

You know what you want, and you know he does too. His mouth is merely inches from your own heat. He’s not asking out of confusion, he’s well aware of his next step, yet he’s doing this to tease you.

You pause only for a moment, before moving your foot towards his crotch.

“Hector.”

He almost yelps when you skin grazes his caged cock. He hasn’t touched himself in over a week, as per your request. As difficult it has been to comply (and who can blame him, having full access to you at all times), Hector has been sure not to give into his desires. Unfortunately, this has made him exponentially more sensitive than before. The friction of you barely ghosting over the covering has him wanting to keel over and beg for more.

“You must be pent up. You want me to help you out a little? I can let you out if you want to cum.”

A whimper escapes his lips as you continue to touch him. Such small motions and he’s already cracking. You’re sure to give him another stroke, before pressing your foot against the cage. You can tell that does something for the man below you, as he audibly moans. His brows scrunch, sweat beads on his forehead, but Hector doesn’t give in. He takes a deep breath to steady himself.

“No. No…don’t, please.”

He speaks as if he’s nearly out of breath, shaky hands moving to part your thighs.

“You first…” His tongue traces over his lips. The expression he makes is almost pained as your foot drags across the metal cage, he’s so close to breaking but stays committed through sheer willpower. “You come first, always.”

Ever so devoted, bending to your command—your partner leans forward. His hands move to caress your thighs and perch them on his shoulders. The familiar feeling of his warm skin and rough callouses on you sends a tingle down your body.

Knowing you have so much control over him does wonders for your self-confidence as well as your libido. Hector will forgo his own satisfaction in order to see you delighted. You’re sure he’d keep that on for the rest of his life as long as you promised to let him service you.

Hector always starts by pressing gentle kisses up the slope of your thighs, before lowering his head to where you want it most. His thumbs part your lips to allow his tongue to splay across your folds. Slow and methodical, takes note of which areas are most sensitive. The way you squirm in his grasp and buck against his face have Hector humming in contentment. He loves having this effect on you—giving you the upmost pleasure in ways others could only dream of. It’s truly and honor he gets to witness you like this.

But what interests him most are the areas that have you whimpering and whining for more. The ones that cause you to grip his dark curls in desperation, urging him to service your further. Here he is, on his knees and seemingly at your command, yet you’re the one vying for his touch. You need it, need him, to get you off. He knows just how tease and toy with you without you realizing.

You. And only you. That’s what consumes his mind. You swallow him wide and whole, clutching his thoughts in your jaws and binding him to your ver existence. Between your legs is his solace. The feeling of your skin, the warmth of your body, the heady smell so uniquely your own. It overtakes him. Here he knows his purpose. Knows his place. And it’s to be of your eternal service.

Hector’s stirred from his thoughts as your toes graze the skin of his pelvis and find their way back to his cock. Even though the cage prevents him from truly getting any relief, the ghosting of your skin against his over the slits has the man reeling. God, it’s amazing—yet so, so frustrating. He’s missed your touch dearly and longs for it again. To feel you against him once more would be a dream come true. He lets his desire take control and allows himself to hump pathetically against your foot, chasing a release not yet to come, before finally steeling himself to move you away.

This isn’t about him. This is for you. Everything he does is for you. And this is a commitment Hector takes seriously. He’s only allowed to cum if you feel he’s deserved the opportunity.

Getting you close was a simple task. He can tell your own orgasm is coming by the way you flutter against his lips and grind against his face. He loves it when you’re on the brink of orgasm. You no longer hesitate to use him for your own pleasure, riding the slope of his nose and smearing yourself down his face. Hector feels less like a person and more like a sex toy—much to his own pleasure.

He pulls you flush against his mouth and buries his face fully into you now. There’s no more need for discretion anymore, as you’re clearly on the cliff of your own pleasure, and he’s eager to ease you off. You finally cum as he curls his fingers into you, gently sucking on your unsheathed clit. These ministrations continue as you spasm on his face, ebbing into gentler kitten licks as you start to pull away. Hector’s not fully keen to move until you push him away. He’s only disappointed for a moment, until he gets to revere your beautifully flushed demeanor. Regarding you is like witnessing an angel. Hector starts to feel himself crumble under your gaze.

“Was that okay….?” Attempting to swallow his nerves did him no good, as it persists in his tone. He starts to massage your thighs as a way to busy his hands. “Are you satisfied?”

It’s a question almost not worth answering. You’re honestly spent and need more than a few moments to recover. He’s an expert at his craft, yet always feels the need to ask for feedback.

“God, yes.” You answer him, to which he lets out a sigh of relief. “You’re amazing, Hector, like always.”

You wonder when he’ll ever come to terms with the fact he’s more than enough for you. But until then, you’re happy to keep reminding him. For now, taking care of his flushed cock swelling against its confinement seems a lot more urgent.

“Now how about we get you outta that cage?”

[hy6erion]

I’m been frothing at the mouth over perv!Viktor.

Would you be able to write a little something with gn!reader being comfy cuddling with Viktor and him getting unbelievably turned on by it?

Like he’s trying to be good because he doesn’t want you to know but he can’t help but press you a little closer… breathe you in a little more… this can be coupled with whatever else you have in mind (panty stealing, voyeurism, etc etc).

Your writing is so beautiful, I swear. 🖤

sacrament — viktor x reader

synopsis: because he worships you the only way he knows how—quietly. obsessively

cw: gn! reader, explicit, perv! viktor, voyeurism, somnophilia, masturbation (viktor), grinding/ cumming untouched, obsession

a/n: you’re so sweet, thank you! perv viktor is also literally CONSUMING me, i need him so bad

fanart by @/ edwintarm on twitter / X

The first time Viktor did it, it had been late.

You were curled into him the same way you always were—sweetly tangled in sleep, breath warm against his collarbone, your skin flushed from the heat under the blanket. His body had betrayed him without warning. He hadn’t even touched you. He never would—not really, not without your permission.

But…

He’d stared at you for hours that night, eyes burning.

He’d done it. Quietly. Above you. One hand shoved into his pants, stroking his cock so slowly it made his eyes roll back in his skull. Your soft breathing never changed. You never stirred. And when he came—biting down into the crook of his elbow to muffle it—it was the hardest he’d come in his life.

It never should have happened again.

But it did.

Many, many times.

Now? Now he was rotting from the inside.

You didn’t know what you were doing to him. You never did. Tonight was no different.

You laid across his lap, draped over his thigh like something gift-wrapped just for him. His old sweater framing your body, the hem barely covering the tops of your thighs. No pants. Just bare legs pressed against him.

You yawned. Rubbed your cheek into his chest. Mumbled something drowsy and sweet.

He thought he might die on the spot.

His cock was already twitching in his pants.

Just a single glance at your sleepy face and he was hard. Pathetically, aching hard. Again. His palm rested gently on your hip, like it was harmless. Like it wasn’t his anchor to sanity right now.

Because his other hand?

It was clenched on the couch cushion. White-knuckled. Veins raised. Fighting the urge to slide down his own pants and do what he always did once you fell asleep.

But tonight was different.

Because you hadn’t fallen asleep yet. Not quite.

Which made everything worse.

“Mm… Vik” you breathed, sleepy and sugar-sweet, not even opening your eyes.

A shiver carved down his spine. You didn’t know what that nickname did to him. You couldn’t. It made him ache in places he didn’t know could ache. It made his cock kick against his thigh, trapped and throbbing inside his pants.

“Yes?” he rasped, voice wrecked already.

You only hummed in response and nestled closer. Closer. Your thigh sliding between his. Your cheek against his chest, lips just barely parted against the fabric. The shape of your body molding against him like it belonged there.

He nearly bucked.

He could feel your body heat soaking into his hip. The way your skin kissed his, even through layers. And when you exhaled? A tiny, hot breath? It seeped straight through him.

He could smell you again.

That scent he’d memorized by now.

Clean skin. A little sweat. Sleep. You. So intoxicating it made his cock throb, leak. A sticky bead already forming beneath the fabric.

His breathing picked up. Not loud. Just ragged. Controlled—but just barely.

Your weight against him, your warmth, your soft, natural sound as you relaxed more deeply—he was soaking in it, marinating in it. Slowly going mad.

He should leave.

Get up. Go to the bathroom. Rub one out furiously in silence and come back.

But he didn’t. He just sat there.

Breathing you in. Soaking in the way your thigh shifted gently against his groin as you unconsciously moved in your sleep. Soaking in the subtle drag of your skin against his. The faint warmth of your breath soaking through his shirt.

Your lips were right over his heart.

His cock pulsed violently. Painfully.

He wanted to come. God, he wanted to come. Right there. Right underneath you.

The shame made it worse. Made it hotter.

He imagined it—your sleepy form still curled against him while he came untouched, soaking the inside of his slacks, panting silently against your scalp, his stomach tight and flexing as he rutted into nothing.

He could. He knew how to do it now. How to breathe through it. How to grind just barely enough…

His hips twitched once.

You stirred slightly. Innocent. Unaware.

He let out a suppressed whimper.

“Shh…” you mumbled, one arm reaching to stroke his chest like you were soothing him back to sleep.

Your fingers—so gentle—just brushing across his shirt, not even aware of what you were doing. Just instinctively sweet. Comforting him.

As if he deserved that.

As if he wasn’t hard as a rock beneath you, throbbing, leaking, craving the friction of your bare thigh against his desperate cock.

He clenched his teeth.

His hand slipped. Just an inch.

From your hip… to your thigh.

The soft inner part.

Warm. Smooth. He didn’t grope. Didn’t dare. Just held. Let his hand settle there. Let his fingertips feel the softness of your skin under the edge of his sweater.

You exhaled again. So sweet.

Didn’t move. Didn’t notice.

And Viktor?

He started rocking. Just slightly. Subtly. His hips tilting—millimeter by millimeter—grinding his clothed cock against your thigh, chasing friction.

He didn’t even mean to.

It was instinct. Animal. A slow, hungry grind. Deliberate. Rhythmic. Just enough to feel that slight, hot pressure—soft fabric sliding across his aching head. Dampening with each pass.

He was going to come.

You didn’t even know.

That was the filthiest part.

That you were letting him. Unknowingly, sweetly—letting him use your sleeping body like this. Letting him grind into your warmth and come in his pants like a desperate, broken man.

He could hear his own breathing now.

Shaky.

He bit the inside of his cheek. Focused. Ground again—slow, shallow. Felt the pressure cresting, low and tight, his abdomen pulling, his cock swelling—

And then it hit. He froze. The orgasm crashed through him in a hot, choking wave—no noise, no release, no explosion—just desperate tension as his cock throbbed and leaked, soaking his briefs in helpless pulses.

He didn’t dare move. Didn’t dare make a sound.

You sighed softly. Rubbed your cheek against him again. Your thigh pressed tighter between his.

Viktor? He sat there. Panting quietly. Soaking wet.

Stiff with shame. Still unbelievably hard. Still twitching.

Still so in love.

[taebinlvr]

— myungjae bending you over the kitchen counter

wc : 934 nsfw + mdni . . . the idea of this came to me in the middle of the night and i haven't been able to stop thinking about it,, i'm a needy myungjae PREACHER

boynextdoor masterlist .

────────────────────────────────────────────

“pleasee, baby? just real quick?”

the voice of your loving boyfriend cooed into your ear, as his chest pressed up against your back and his arms snaked around your waist. he held you firmly against him, shamelessly starting to grind his raging hard-on against your ass.

you had just gotten home from work, an unusually long shift that left you extremely exhausted – and your lover extremely needy. you started working more hours just a couple weeks ago at your boss’s request, but jaehyun – and, honestly, yourself – hadn’t gotten near used to it yet.

“‘hyun, wait a second- can i at least take a shower, first?” you breathed, feeling a growing warmth settle into your core as jaehyun’s hands slid under your shirt, one splayed on your stomach as the other palmed at your bra.

“there’s no point, i’m gonna make a mess of you anyway.” he smiled into your neck, pressing firm kisses and playful bites into your skin.

you showed little resistance as jaehyun maneuvered you away from the hallway, where you stood, and into the kitchen. you stumbled into the counter, your bag and its contents spilling out over the surface as you let go of it in order to grasp at the counter’s edges instead.

“just wanna pound that pretty pussy, baby.. can i please?”

you realized quickly that you couldn’t stop him, even if you wanted to. not only was his mind hard to change when he touched you so needily, when his eyes were glossed over with a hazy desire – but you wanted it, too. you could already feel a wetness soaking into your panties, your hole aching through the fabric with a need to be filled.

submitting yourself to him, you bent over the counter, crossing your arms and resting your cheek against your skin as you glanced over your shoulder to watch. you could swear your cunt throbbed at the sight of his drunken smile against his flushed face.

“fuck, so fucking hot when you’re bent over for me-” his hands moved quickly, thumbs hooking your waistband before pulling down both your slacks and your panties in one swift movement. he moaned at the sight of your glistening pussy, a shiver running down your spine as you watched him hurry to pull his length out of his shorts.

“been waiting all day for this..” jaehyun practically whimpered as he lined up the head of his cock at your opening, small, needy sounds falling from his lips as he teased it. “god- i’m not gonna fucking last-”

loud, drawn out moans were dragged from the deepest parts of the both of you as jaehyun slid in between your folds, every inch sending a shockwave of pleasure up your spine.

he doesn’t even wait – as soon as he bottoms out in you he’s already pulling back out, slamming back into with full force and at a ruthless pace. his thrusts aren’t steady or clean, either. they’re messy. sloppy. needy.

“fuck, fuck, fuck-” his moans are different from his regular low, husky tone. they’re higher-pitched and whiny, ripping through his throat as desperate cries with every thrust he’s shoving into you.

“j-jaehyun, slow d-down-” you choke out, your own moans barely able to compete with the volume of his, “‘s s-so.. rough-”

“i can’t, y/n- i fucking can’t-” he pants out his words. you could see in the way his half-lidded eyes are laser focused on your throbbing cunt that there was nothing else on his mind. you were utterly at his mercy as he desperately fucked himself into you.

“h-here- put your leg up for me.” although his pace doesn’t slow for a second, he takes a moment to remove one of his hands from your ass, tapping the surface of the counter beside you. with shaky legs, you obey.

but the new angle the position opens you up to is enough to make you see stars. your nails dig into the soft skin of your arms as you practically scream into the air, your knees threatening to buckle beneath you with every thrust.

“‘hyunnie-” you cry, “‘m g-gonna cum soon..”

“please baby, please,” he tears his eyes away from your cunt to meet your gaze, mouth agape at just the sight of you, “cum all over this dick, please- making a fucking mess for me.”

one more rough thrust and you’re fulfilling jaehyun’s request, your cunt mercilessly twitching and spasming around his length. your head slams into your arms, your skin muffling your cries as your legs finally undo beneath you. moving quickly, jaehyun catches you, his rhythm never faltering.

but it’s only a few moments later, as your cunt is still desperately clamping down around his cock, that he reaches his own release. the moan he lets out is practically pornographic, loud and whiny as if he hadn’t cum in weeks. it was only then that he stilled inside of you, his throbbing length softening within your walls.

jaehyun leans down, his chest pressing against your back as he’s moving your hair out of the way of your neck, giving him the space to leave gentle kisses on your skin. you were both still half dressed, both of your trousers pooled around your ankles with your shirts clinging to your sweaty bodies, now rampant with the scent of sex.

but as his lips are pressing into your neck, his hands are tracing up your waist, taking hold of the hem of your shirt before lifting.

“baby..” his voice was already hoarse, his words coming out as a breathy moan.

“can we go again in the shower..?”

[noctiva]

okay but how would the guys react to the reader breaking up with them?

aha! the flip side!

Toby: Goes through four stages of grief in the span of like, ten minutes. everything except for acceptance. he won’t ever truly accept it. it could be literal years later and he’d still be dreaming of you, still touching himself to the thought of you.

the day it actually happens, he’ll try to play it off at first. hit you with a ‘th-that’s not fuckin’ funny’ with a soft snort and a roll of his eyes. like you being serious wasn’t even an option. but of course, you’ll insist - and that’s when the dam breaks.

first comes the anger. his eyes sharpening into a glare as his jaw sets. accusatory in every word he spits at you. throwing every single thing that he’s every done for you back in your face. glossing over everything he’s ever done wrong. hoping that maybe you’ll fight back - maybe you two can just get into another fight like you always do, and end up tangled up together in his sheets by the time night falls.

but that doesn’t happen. you just take it. just listen silently as you pack your things - already detached. and that’s when it really sets in. the anger will simmer, and then he’s apologizing profusely. offering up things he can’t even give you, all in the hopes of changing your mind. and when that doesn’t work? he just breaks. a mess of ugly sobs and hands trying to pull you to him. pleading. begging. borderline grovelling at your feet.

you’ll leave him a mess of tears. he probably won’t move from his spot on the floor for hours. days maybe.

- “W-What do you want? What can I d-do to make you stay? Just name it - I’ll g-give it to you.”

-

Jack: Just so incredibly cold. Like the moment you utter the words, every ounce of affection he held for you fizzled into smoke. You can practically see it when the switch in his brain flips, how his entire body tenses up, how his lips set into a firm line. He won’t say anything for a good long while. He’ll just stand before you, waiting, like he’s giving you a chance to take it back.

‘Jack? Did you hear what I said?’ To which he’ll just reply with a snippy; ‘I heard you.’ And barely elaborate further.

He won’t let you in. Won’t let you pry into his mind in an attempt to figure out how he feels about all of it. He’ll keep it all locked far deep down, under a shroud of bitter nonchalance. If you didn’t know him better, you’d almost think he didn’t care - but the slight tremble in his fingers proves that otherwise.

He won’t fight you. He knows better than that. Though he loved you to the ends of the earth, he knew he wouldn’t be able to continue on with you after this. Knowing that you don’t wholeheartedly want to be with him.

He’ll leave silently. Give you short, simple answers to every question you ask. Leave you second guessing if this was even the right decision at all.

- “What? Did you want me to scream? Beg? Cry? I’m not giving you that satisfaction.”

-

Brian: Horribly toxic. Blackmail supreme over here. You sit him down, tell him you want to break up with him, and the first thing he’s saying is, ‘are you sure you want to do that? with all the shit I have on you?’

And you know he’s right. He has drawers full of tapes depicting you in the most compromising positions known to man. Taken with the promise that they’d only be for his eyes. But, that was on the basis that you’d stick around. He’ll be patronizing, cruel, dangling this threat over your head with a raised eyebrow - daring you to have the guts to still go through with it.

Promising you that no one else will ever want to be with you after him. A little too calm, a little too composed. Like he’s so sure deep down that you’ll cave under the weight of what he’s saying and just roll over.

But if you don’t? If you hold your ground? You can just barely see him crack. A little twitch in his jaw, his gaze hardening over. The way his eyes flick away from you like he just can’t the sight of you any longer. He’ll freeze over until you gain the courage to pack up and leave. All that confidence lost, swapped for a silent resignation.

Won’t say a single thing to you on your way out the door.

(And he probably won’t actually make true on his threats, he was just really banking on that working).

- “Fine. Leave. See where it gets you.”

-

Tim: Just resigned acceptance. He saw it coming from the start, never really expecting you two to be in it for the long haul. He hoped that maybe you’d go against the odds, but he was smarter than to bank on that. Your life didn’t mix with his. He took a risk letting you in. He had set himself up, and he knew it.

It’s his shoulders slumping. His expression dropping. The slight quiver when he lets out a deep sigh and lets his eyes flutter closed for a moment like he’s trying to shut it all out. He doesn’t ask why, because he knows why. It’s everything about him. And he’d rather spare himself the burden of hearing that fact come from your lips.

He’ll be silent for a good long while. Reach into his coat pocket with trembling fingers, pull out his pack of smokes, light one and take a few drags before he speaks a word. And when he does, it’s just all apologies.

Apologies for dragging you into this in the first place. Apologies for wasting your time. For getting your hopes up. For making you believe that you could be the cure for everything that plagues him.

He won’t look at you the entire time, because he just knows he’ll break - and he doesn’t want to burden you with that too.

- “‘Bout time you smartened up. Always knew you deserved someone better.”

-

Cody: Really doesn’t know how to handle it - and maybe that was the issue all along. His good with the physical aspect of humans. The blood, the flesh, the chemical reactions. What he’s not good at, is the mind. The emotions. The inner workings of relationships, and person to person connection. He really tried with you, broke out of his shell in an attempt to let you have that closeness you craved.

It feels like an insult to have it thrown back in his face. He’s not upset, he’s offended, a silently brewing anger simmering in his veins with every word you speak. It just feels like he wasted so much time. Put in so much effort into something that ultimately proved fruitless. Like a failed experiment, but this time it affects him deeply. Like you were taking one of his limbs with you when you left him.

Asks you so many questions it makes your head spin. Why are you leaving him? What specific thing did he do? What could he have done better? Do you really truly believe there’s nothing that can fix this? Why are you giving up? Why don’t you want to try?

He’ll let you leave. He won’t beg and plead, but he will borderline interrogate you before he stalks back to his lab and shuts himself in there for the next week and a half.

- “All that time wasted. Such a needless distraction.”

-

Habit: Laughs in your fucking face. Cruel and mocking. Near doubles over with it. The type of laughter that absolutely stuns you, with the way he wheezes and cackles, wipes a tear from his eye and shakes his head like you’ve just performed a comedy special for him.

To him, you have. Because that’s fucking rich. You leaving him? As if you had that choice. It’s comical to him how you’d even entertain that thought, that you thought it might just be as easy as showing him the door and expecting him to walk through it. It’s not happening. Not by a long shot.

In fact, when you call him cruel, he’ll show you just exactly how cruel you can be. You hate him now? Let’s see how much you hate him when he chains you to the bed and leaves you there. Chuckling under his breath about how stupid you are. How you should’ve just kept your mouth shut, and appreciated the fact that he was being easy on you this whole time.

So, no. You will not be breaking up with him. This relationship ends on his terms, and his terms only.

- “That’s cute. You think you get to make that choice?”

[patchw0rks]

Ok, reread of scum villain vol. 2 has been accomplished. Here are my thoughts and just things I wanted to note down (disclaimer: make sure to read these knowing the important context that liushen is my favorite ship lol)

I can't get over the Shen-Mu-Liu trio. Those are SQQ's BOYS and watching them interact is very fun. I also love that Mu Qingfang is medicine-pilled in the way that Shen Qingqiu is monster-pilled. Little did we know LQG is actually the most normal of the three

Shen "im just here to cause problems" Qingqiu saying "I know to get my way all i have to do is bat my pretty eyelashes at YQY and he will fold like a house of cards"

SQQ basically telling LQG that he's so strong so he must row the boat, and LQG is just absolutely FUMING because of how attracted he is to SQQ

SQQ referring to LQG as gege ah my heart

More of SQQ causing problems by trying stick Yang Yixuan onto LQG, which I love because you KNOW that in his grief post-Hua Yue City LQG went "fucking WATCH me"

Ngl I've read enough fanfic to realize that people don't really capture LQG's full personality. The usually make him so shy and tsundere that he's barely able to get a word in (Lan Zhan gets similar treatment) but no, he's just as catty as the rest of them

I need to figure out the timeline of how long Shen Yuan had been reading PIDW, it's endlessly important to me

LQG and MQF being like "our beloved little shixiong, please don't fret your pretty little head, just sit there and relax"

There really is some excellent physical comedy in SVSSS, like when SQQ is confronted by LBH and just defenestrates himself. You know that one scene in Angel Beats? Yeah it's exactly that

Qi Qingqi's eyebrows have now been brought up for a second time and it screams gender envy to me. Why are you as a "cis man" admiring a women's eyebrows so thoughtfully? So much to where it's the first thing you bring up about her appearance?

"Why?! Why were two grown men neurotically discussing a pice of clothing while surrounded by staring eyes?" never change Shen Yuan

I'm actually such a simp for Liu Qingge, i'm literally highlighting every mention of him and every word he speaks. I did not appreciate the Liuber my first time reading. He's also so incredibly tsundere "huff puff i can't believe you can't even ride your sword...get on"

Ugh I actually cried while reading the big confrontation. This did not happen my first read, but man it just got me. Also the very subtle POV switch that happens so we don't get any insight into SQQ's thoughts as he prepares to self-detonate

Mushroom Shen Qingqiu!!!! My Beloved!!!!!!! Def one of my favorite parts of the whole series. I think there are so many ways to play around with this character (hence my AU) but also there's this degree of freedom about it where even his internal dialogue is much more loose and less concerned with acting the part

Oh my...he referenced the succubus adventure...

Im sorry how did I completely black out the scene of LQG and SQQ playing hot potato with his corpse?!!?! Remember what I said about physical comedy!!

"Even a few hours ago, he genuinely wouldn't have cared where others (especially those of the same sex) touched him. They could touch wherever they liked, please go ahead" -- Things only said by straight who are 100% comfortable in their sexuality. Yeah. Totally

There are still good moments of seeing SQQ's dissociating himself from the events of the series and just treating everything and everyone as if it weren't "real," and how these thought patterns shift. Once again I think this would be a very fun thing to play around with and explore more

LIU QINGGE!!!! STOP MAKING ME SAD!!!!!!!! HE YEARNS SO MUCH

[thatnightlamp]

Nsfw alphabet Ferrus? Please

FERRUS NSFW ALPAHBET

Tags: @incrediblethirst, @iluminatka16, @absynthe-mind

A = Aftercare

Ferrus doesn’t believe in softness, but that doesn’t mean he leaves you bleeding. After sex, he’ll inspect you like a piece of finely forged work, running metal fingers over bruises, checking your breath, wiping you clean in silence. Then, without a word, he’ll carry you to bed, lay you down, and stay until you fall asleep. That’s all the affection he allows himself.

B = Body part

His hands. They’re metal, shine and heavy. He knows they terrify and arouse you in equal measure.

C = Cum

Scalding hot and heavy. He always finishes deep inside, barely able to hold back low, guttural growls as he fills you. If you whimper from the heat or clench around him, he’ll press deeper, grinding into you as if trying to brand you from the inside.

D = Dirty secret

He keeps the first cloth he ever cleaned you with. Hidden in a sealed container beneath his forge tools. It still smells like you. When he's too far gone with want or rage, he takes it out, presses it to his face, and loses himself.

E = Experience

Technically skilled, emotionally inexperienced. Ferrus learns your body like he learns a new alloy, testing, pushing, observing reactions. He might not woo you with words, but his hands (and tongue) are brutally effective. What he doesn’t say, he shows in action.

F = Favorite position

Standing doggy, with you braced on a workbench, your legs shaking while he fucks you hard and deep, his hand around your throat or in your hair. He loves watching your back arch, the angle letting him pound into you with force and control.

G = Goofy

Not at all. He’s serious, intense, and almost overwhelmingly focused. If you try to lighten the mood mid-act, he’ll just stare at you and say, “Focus on what matters.”

H = Hair

Short-cropped, black, and always a little dusted with forge ash. His chest is broad and covered in coarse hair, but his groin is kept trimmed, neat, practical. His skin smells like hot metal, old fire, and the sharpness of steel.

I = Intimacy

Quiet. Heavy. Ferocious. He doesn’t speak love in the traditional way, he holds you until your heartbeat slows. He kisses the back of your hand after he finishes inside you. He rests his metal palm between your legs, cradling your heat like a live ember.

J = Jack off

Rarely. He’s disciplined to a fault. If he does it, it's late at night, when he's worked himself into exhaustion and the ache won’t leave. He does it fast and dirty, knuckles white, your name bitten out between clenched teeth.

K = Kink

Strength play. He loves holding you down, restraining your wrists in his metal grip while he ruts into you.

Temperature play. His hand is cold. He'll spread you open with it, press it to your inner thigh, trace your lips with the chill until you shiver.

Obedience. Tell him “Yes, sir,” and he’ll lose control. Defy him? He’ll break you down until you’re crying with pleasure.

L = Location

The forge. A cot in the corner. A slab of metal. A stone bench. He doesn’t need comfort, he needs access. He also has a hidden chamber sealed by voice-code, meant for long, uninterrupted use.

M = Motivation

He doesn’t understand why he craves you. But when you touch him first, or sigh his name like a prayer, something inside him burns. That fire drives him to take you hard, possessively, like he can’t afford to let go.

N = No

He will not share you. Ever. He doesn’t do public play, doesn’t allow others to touch, watch, or even talk suggestively about you. You are his, and his temper is deadly when provoked.

O = Oral

Giving. He’s focused, a bit rough, but good. Will pin your thighs open and lick until you’re boneless. He wants to feel your muscles twitch.

P = Pace

Brutal and punishing. Deep thrusts, strong enough to make furniture shake. But if you’re emotional or sore, he can slow down, holding you still while he makes love to you with trembling control.

Q = Quickie

If the need is mutual, he’s all for it. He’ll press you against a wall, pull your clothes aside, and take you with a hand over your mouth to keep you from screaming. Especially common when you come into the forge “just to say hi.”

R = Risk

Medium. He’s willing to try new things if they make you happy, but nothing reckless. If you suggest something new, he’ll ask questions, think it through, and only proceed if he knows he can do it without hurting you.

S = Stamina

Unbelievable. The man’s a machine. He doesn’t stop until you beg, and even then, he keeps going. He’s not trying to overstimulate you, he just doesn’t see a reason to stop until you break.

T = Toys

All custom-forged. Metal vibrators, cuffs, plugs, designed for you and no one else. He watches how you react to each one and adjusts them over time. If he catches you using them without him? He’ll punish you, sweetly and thoroughly.

U = Unfair

Not naturally a tease, but if you test him, he will edge you into madness. He’ll bring you to the brink over and over, whispering, “You wanted to play, didn’t you?” while his fingers stay just too slow.

V = Volume

Low. A growler, not a moaner. His sounds are deep, guttural, and controlled. But when he cums? He grunts, curses under his breath, and might whisper your name like it’s been torn from his soul.

W = Wild card

He’s kept every ruined pair of panties, bitten collar, or cracked tool you’ve left behind during sex. Stored in a drawer only he opens. He says it’s for “analysis”, but the truth? It reminds him you’re real. That he has you.

X = X-ray

A massive, girthy cock, bronze-hued with thick veins, just a little too warm, heavy with weight. Circumcised, long with a broad blunt head. When aroused, it twitches and leaks like a forge about to burst.

Y = Yearning

Buried. He hides it under anger, under silence, under discipline. But it’s there. Raging. He craves your touch like fire needs fuel, burning for your skin, your voice, your surrender.

Z = Zzz

He falls asleep like a boulder. One arm around you, cock still half-hard inside you, breath heavy and warm. He doesn’t dream often, but when he does, he curls tighter around you. Like he’s afraid of waking up without you.

[redandgreyscale]

hey! i saw you were taking writing requests, so if you're still doing that i would like more ace evan and bipolar barty

(i like a mentally ill character/a-spec person ship? that's gay? this never happens! [sarcasm])

Yes! I like myself a complex dynamic and these two for sure are one so a bit more on them <3

There are a couple indicators Evan has learnt to see to anticipate a manic episode. The first one is Barty becoming more impulsive. He talks a lot more, has no filter and does exactly what he wants to do, says things that don't make a lot of sense. The second one is Barty being more horny than usual (which is a lot to say).

They have their limits, their no crossing lines perfectly marked, but he also knows Barty's brain blurs a lot when he's like this, and he has learnt it will take more denying than it normally would for him to stop kissing or touching.

So now, once he tracks Barty having an episode, he completely avoids kissing. Is it the best option? Maybe not, but it is the one he's most comfortable with.

Barty doesn't like it at all because he just wants a kiss, and they fight, they scream, and then he bolts God knows where until he or Regulus find him doing shit he definitely shouldn't do.

Evan would love to be able to give Barty what he needs, but he's not. He won't. Still, he hates how much it affects their relationship even if they both think it doesn't. Of course it fucking does, Barty is the most sexual person you'll ever meet and Evan can barely tolerate touching his own dick less so his boyfriend's.

Barty always apologizes once he's feeling better. Sometimes they avoid talking about the things gone wrong, sometimes they're able to talk about it, but there are always apologies to be made, and that they do.

[velorvm]

i have opened and closed your asks at least three times. i have come to you in shame to ask you about sunday and fingers.

sedkhlflkdf, at least three times??? and in shame??? niku-neko, there's no reason to feel shame sdkljfsdlkf (fingers got nothing to do with feathery pubes, soooooo)

to sunday, any touch carries a certain weight. so, inevitably, his fingers ever only meet the skin of people he deeply cares about. and with his touch, there's a certain devotion permeating each gesture. the way his fingers trail over your facial features, over your throat, and even lower as he's mesmerized by everything that makes you you, and his heart shakes with the way he feels about you, feeling the need to dedicate himself to you fully and truly. every time his fingers touch your skin, it's feather-light, nothing more than a graze, and yet, it feels like so much more. he loves drawing along the line of your face and jawline, to cup your face with his palm and to be able to keep you safe within his grasp that easily. also, nothing beats intertwining your fingers together, feeling as if there's no other way to get even closer to you than this. touching him can easily elicit a reaction out of him. he's so unused to any contact, so the lightest touch is capable of making him melt underneath your touch. he's incredibly sensitive and conscious of you, of every single one of your fingers trailing up his exposed throat and over his skin. it makes him feel hot and he doesn't quote know what to do with himself. and if you happen to touch his wings or halo, you can easily make a mess out of him, as they're so so so sensitive, he's a complete mess underneath your touch, pure putty just for you. and he loves when you touch and prod at him, shivering and almost moaning at the contact, because it shows him how much you want him, how much you want to learn and to know him.

he loves fingering you, ngl. he's so good with his fingers due to various reasons, and he can use his abilties to bring you the pleasure you deserve. and he's a fast learner. he immediately notices how you react to certain stimuli and will act accordingly, moving just how you like it, pressing at the exact spots you need. he loves nothing more than to show you his love by giving you pure ecstacy with his own fingers. and your warmth and wetness around his digits make him feel a certain way he can't quite explain, but will get weird about for sure. as easily as you can make him a mess with a couple of touches, he absolutely falls apart when you wrap your fingers around him. his sensitivity mixed with the vulnerability makes him absolutely dizzy and he's just completely done. just watching you take care of him with your fingers, on your own, is something that gets him going he almost cums the moment you even touch him in the first place. and maybe he will if you already stimulated him through his wings and halo.

as he's keen to devote himself to you to prove himself, he will take your fingers into his mouth and meticulously suck on your fingers, and lap and lick endlessly. maybe he leaves a mark in his eagerness, and when he sees it, something in him just snaps and you could never go on without your fingers being marked by him in one way or another. he takes such good care of you, making sure that you enjoy it fully, and that you understand and feel his utmost love towards you as he looks up to you while your fingers lay comfortably in his warm mouth. to him, in a way, this feels like a prayer. similarly to the above, any stimulation can easily make a mess out of him. so once you take his bare fingers into your mouth, his brain stops working and it seems like he might overheat. all he can do is let you completely take over and watch the way you love him. the warmth and wetness strike weird feelings in him, and they feel way too similar to the ones when he's touching you. maybe it's the fact that he can reach deep into your insides like that, deeper than anyone ever.

(fingers!!)

[gothic-mothic]

Have I ever posted my Water Narrator thoughts?

For a while, I’ve thought of the use of Water as symbolism for The Narrator, in and out of game context

I think these thoughts are most reasonable when looking at The Skip Button Ending and The Epilogue. In The Skip Button ending when The Narrator first sees a bad review they (Stanley and The Narrator) go outside to see that it’s starting to rain. This continues the duration they spend outside, The Narrator’s stirring mind evident by the distant thunder and as we get closer to the edge of the land we see a large ocean. And what rises out of it? The Narrator’s newest creation, The Skip Button. With this all happening it wouldn’t be outlandish to associate The Narrator and the water outside. Once Stanley’s inside the concrete room we are taken away from the water over time. It dries up along with The Narrator and at the end of those many years we’re left with a tundra; a desert that hasn’t seen water in years. And The Epilogue doesn’t dispute this, the only life we see being Stanley and TK

More into my personal thoughts, The Narrator is vast like the ocean we see. All encompassing; he surrounds his story (a comic I made that slightly echos these ideas).

It rains when he cries, it boils when he’s angry, the clouds fly as he breathes

I talk ab this a tiny bit more in the tags of this post (warning: he’s a bit naked) (ignore the last tag um)