#a tiny tiny clever commander

[touhoutunes]

Title: アナスタシア (Anastasia)

Arrangement: 松井庸

Album: 幻想郷 Electronic Shoegazer

Circle: minimum electric design

Original: A Tiny, Tiny, Clever Commander

[my-life-is-pain]

so is nazrin canonically fun-sized or….

https://twitter.com/8tsugatake/status/1748661339902345491?s=46&t=4cxDdjbZD_TI1_6a45WDoQ

[devilcroc]

i think i'll always have a soft spot for UFO because it was the first touhou to come out after i was done messing with the big ol zip file of 6-11. I felt like it'd be impossible to top SA and like i was right but the hype of a new game drove me insane

[tokoyamisstuff]

omg I definetly need more about the Invincible variants if you may!!

Second Chance At Love Pt. 2

After -> this <- silly lil' adorable idea by @rainydaygotham (but I made Reader a civilian instead).

Variant! Invincible x gn! Reader

Warnings: stockholm-syndrome, mentions of death, angst, (fabricated) tragic backstory, canon divergence, not proofread

A/N: whew, I never imagined you people would enjoy it this much. thanks for all the feedback, it really means the world to me! 💌🐞

"Our satellites found the missing variant, Sir."

"And what?" Cecil unintentionally stared daggers towards Donald, probably due to the stress and the fact that both of them had given their everything those past 32 hours. "Spit it out, damn it!"

Even through the reflection of his glasses Donald's mannerism were an open book for the head of the GDA, and right now he acted like he always did when he was unsure how to deliver troublesome information to his boss.

But this time it wasn't particulary bad news that made him hesistant, but the sheer absurdity of the situation.

"He-he is...with an old friend of our Mark, and...currently not attacking anyone."

The elder man rubbed his temples, lack of sleep being a steady companion in this profession but damn his advancing age sure made it harder to function properly.

"I want him on screen immediately!" he commanded harshly, voice not even slightly hinting the extent of his exhaustion.

This one apparently is more clever than the original Mark if he was able to slip past their organization's surveilance, Cecil concluded as the spitting image of his involuntary ally popped up on the monitor.

The young Viltrumite perfectly blended in with the crowd, sitting in a tiny suburban cafè far away from all the chaos. On the opposite end of the coffee table were you - not an unknown face to the GDA solely because of your affiliation with the world's strongest hero.

Cecil worked his jaw in irritation at the unfitting piece to this mess of a puzzle he was expected to solve. No way one of them came here merely to catch up with an old acquaintace...

...and yet for now, there were more urgent matters that he was needed to tend to first.

"Keep an eye on them and report shall he do anything out of the ordinary." As if this right now wasn't enough. "As long as he's preoccupied we have one less monster to worry about...for now."

Meanwhile you were sitting in front of your still untouched drink, watching your reflection on the liquid surface.

There was a radio running in the background, almost constantly updating you about how the other variants were still wreaking havoc everywhere, laying waste to the world as you knew it while you were trapped here acting as if it's a normal fucking tuesday.

You really shouldnt't be playing all domestic with a man that's just as much of a villain as his alternate selves currently on the run, and yet you keep reminding yourself that the only reason you're still alive is the uncertain benevolence of that very same person.

Trying to convince him to see the error of his ways or maybe even switch sides was out of the question - this Mark, just as the other sociopaths you saw in the news, has totally lost it a long time ago. You should be glad that he currently entertains himself with this little obsession of his, but that's no guarantee he couldn't snap and reduce you to a bloodied pulp any time.

And still, even though you have no other choice, it felt so terribly wrong to have a date - that felt more like a hostage situation - during an international emergency of apocalyptic scale.

Starting to feel sick as reality of your predicament dawned on you once again, you shoved the cup to aside, bracing yourself to interact with your kidnapper that hasn't initiated anything by himself until now.

Invincible on the other hand had destroyed Levi's orb long before finding you, never having disclosed his true intentions of joining this war. Also, with all the damage he's done the other 19 versions of himself would be sufficient, surely their 'boss' wouldn't care if one went astray from the plan. Not that he ever trusted Angstrom to not stab him in the back at some point, so who cares.

Back in the day you always had some spare clothes for this world's Mark in your room, in case he needed them - which was frankly quite often as they tend to get either torn or bloody from spontaneous fights. Maybe it was the sentimental value that made you keep them long after your friendship had ended, but right now they came in handy.

The other Mark nervously picks and tugs on the fabric, not used to wear civilian clothing after what felt like an eternity. It made him feel incredibly vulnerable to present himself this way. For years his costume had served as a barrier between himself and humanity, a symbol that the person he once was had long since ceased to exist so his Viltrumite side could rise.

Still, those familiar clothes, especially since given to him by you of all people, offered a strange comfort all the same.

At least he looked remotely normal like this, but god this man can be awkward at times. Some things really never change, even across different dimensions. Right now he was a perfect picture of misery, looking at you expectantly like a lost puppy that had just been kicked. Almost adorable, if you shun out the circumstances.

An uninvolved stranger would never believe that this is the villain who reduced entire cities to ashes just a few hours ago.

"So" you finally dare speaking up, casually leaning back in your seat as you take a sip of your already ice cold drink."I take it you're not a Seance Dog fan anymore?"

Noticing the bright logo on his shirt, Invincible actually managed to crack a smile - that trademark lopsided smirk of his that seemed more like a snarl now that you saw it after all this time. "Oh, you'd be shocked: The author is actually one of the few people I deliberately kept alive."

He's right, you are shocked not only with the answer, but the delivery as well. Suddenly you regret having pried in the first place. "Just a joke" he adds as soon as he sees the slightest shift of your expression, clutching the edge of the tabletop in frustration until it left a dent of his handprint.

You don't want to laugh. This isn't even remotely funny, and his reaction was awfully concerning as well. And yet you force yourself to snort, nails digging into your palm in an attempt to keep up the facade. "Glad to know you're as much of a weirdo as the original one."

It amazed yourself how calm and collected you could act, despite being as terrified of him as in the very beginning. Maybe you got used to the feeling already, or you had discovered a hidden talent of working well under pressure. May apply for a job at the GDA if you're ever alive and free again.

For the remaining duration of this afternoon, the two of you exchanged trivial stories about the past with your respective counterparts, many of whom were shared experiences. And as much as you tried to deny it, deep down you were aware you enjoyed this conversation more than you should.

There were only mild differences between your two dimensions as it seemed - at least when it came to your friendship, that was.

Invincible was pretty secretive about anything else really, but judging from the bits he threw in between you deduced he got his abilities way earlier than your Mark, which caused his father to never lose track of his original goal.

Occasionally Mark would state contradictionary opinions and you were sure most of it was just him mindlessly repeating the indoctrination his father had hammered into his head through inhumane methods.

You can only imagine what it meant for a gentle, sensitive soul like Mark to be subjected to a Viltrumite upbringing.

The sun was already starting to set when you were scooped up once again, however this time around you weren't afraid of the height in the slightest. You felt his chin resting atop of your head as he carried you through the sky, holding you firmly but carefully like you were a precious porcellain doll - and compared to his strenght you might as well be.

Yet all you could think of was the beauty of the twilight sky, and how oddly content you felt at that very moment.

Your date had promised to bring you to a secret location with a breathtaking view, and he really did not disappoint. It was in the midst of nature, absent of any human intervention. Just the two of you, surrounded by the sounds of the earth and the sight of the most horrible day in history of mankind slowly coming to an end.

Invincible spread his jacket out for you to sit on, and you secretly appreciated the gesture. A murderer, but also a gentleman, you mentally noted. Ironic. He slumped down on the damp grass an appropriate distance away from you, subconsciously starting to rip out some leaves.

You lean your head against his shoulder and he freezes in his tracks at the unexpected display of affection - or at least he hopes it's the absence of fear. For a long while you remain like this, admiring the view and each other's closeness, until you disturb the comfortable silence.

"How did you..." You hesitated for a moment, but then you met his eyes, so completely and utterly filled with genuine affection that caused something to blossom beneath your ribcage which you didn't want to acknowledge.

Even though you were still wary of him, it was hard to stay objective in the proximity of a literal carbon copy of the love of your life in nearly every single way.

"...how did you become like this?"

There was a long pause between your question and his answer.

"I got my powers shortly before my 13th birthday..." In hindsight, after having met the other variants who got them even earlier, it could've been worse. At least he was granted a few good years. "...and from then on, everything suddenly changed. My mom had an 'accident', so my dad was left to raise me on his own. It was-"

Mark's voice cracked, eyes glossed with unshed tears he was long since taught to repress as they were a sign of weakness. "The only times I felt truly happy was when I sneaked out to see you...I think for a long time those visits were what kept me sane. But nothing went past him..."

He balled a fist in the fabric over his sternum, and there was so much agony in his tone that it made your own heart clench painfully. "Dad- no, he's not a father. Never was. Anyways, Nolan tolerated it for a while, thinking I'd outgrow this sentiment and understand humans are beneath us. But when I turned 18..."

A tidal wave of shame and guilt washed over him, making him unable to bear looking at you as he continued his story. "He made me watch...I should've done something, I should've defended you, but...I was so scared of him. I just stood there when he snapped your neck."

The disclosure of the other's fate ultimately caused the panic attack that was seething inside of you ever since your first encounter with this variant to finally unravel. You frantically tug on your collar as you began to hyperventillate, feeling as if it was actually your neck that was being assaulted.

"Don't worry, I took care of it..." Invincible still had his face buried in his hands, and there was an eerie coldness in the following statement. "It took me a while, but I got stronger just to avenge you...ripped his sorry excuse of a heart right out of his fucking chest."

That's hardly a solace for either of you, isn't it.

Mark looks down at his palms as vivid images of his past crimes creep up on his mind, accompanied by a neurotic laughter that could only be described as absolutely broken...

...until you cup his hands with yours, the gesture conveying emotions you would never be able to put into words.

"Everything felt so pointless after you were gone..." he snivels, not resisting as you couldn't help but tug his head towards your lap. "You have no idea what emptiness you left behind...at some point I started doing unspeakable things just in order to feel something, anything to distract myself from the grief..."

You hum in between choked sobs, weeping for this lost soul as you rake your fingers through his hair, listening to him repeat countless apologies. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry...I should've just flown into the sun...I should've been stronger, better...I didn't want to become cruel...I wanted to be good...for you..."

What were you even doing here? Have you lost your mind?! Snap out of it, this is insane!

"Shh...it's enough. Stop tormenting yourself." No. He deserves far worse. Victim of circumstance or not, this man is beyond saving.

"Accompany me to my homeworld. Let me indulge you the way you deserve. Never leave me again" was what he desperately wanted to say, but instead he gulped harshly around the lump forming in his throat before announcing "I'll take you back home soon...phase one of Angstrom's plan is over, the variants will leave and you're safe again."

"Huh? I thought-"

"Drop the performance" he ordered as he fought to regain his composure. "You can speak freely. I meant what I said, I won't hurt you. Even if you hate me, even if you hurl all kinds of insults and accusations at me...I can take it. I'm just grateful for today. I'll cherish this memory forever."

Yes. This was more than he could possibly ask for. He already destroyed the life of your counterpart in his world, it's not fair of him to do the same to someone so precious twice.

Mark doesn't care what happens to him from now on, because thanks to you he was able to make peace with what happened.

"Come." He jolts up as he wipes his tear-stained cheeks clean, not biding you another look as he fears that otherwise he won't be able to pull through with his good intentions. "It's getting cold, we should-"

"No!"

Out of a whim you tackle hug the Viltrumite, who is caught off guard enough to stagger and fall. You softly punch against his chest and he allows you to let it all out, though he has no idea what you're on about.

"You-you're not like those other variants of Mark...please..." Your bottom lip is trembling as you speak, voice wavering with an emotion you couldn't quite decipher yourself. "Don't leave. If you have nothing to live for in your timeline, then...just stay in this one."

"And then what? Go to the Pentagon and say 'hi, I'm one of the Invincibles that ruined simply everything, but now I'd like to stay here'? They'll never believe that I don't have an ulterior motive!"

"So what? It's not like they can contain or even scratch you. And even if they could, I-I'll make sure to visit you every day!" You giggle like an infatuated teenager as you add that last sentence, and even a maniac like him realizes you must've lost your mind.

God, this is all his fault...

"What are you even talking about?" he almost yells, now on top of you and softly grabbing your shoulders to shake you ever so slightly. "Why are you trying to convince me? That can't seriously be what you want!"

"I-I...don't know." You're staring straight at him now, a stubborn determination in your eyes that almost frightens this unstoppable man. Wrapping your arms around his neck to make your foreheads touch, you whisper "All I'm sure of is that you didn't deserve any of this, and maybe...shit, just give us some time to figure it out, would you?"

Mark's hands were hovering over your body, giving it his best to hold back yet it was a lost battle before it even started. He utters vile curses under his breath before finally crushing you flush against his body, lips brushing against yours as if to ask for permission. You're quick to take the initiative, tossing all reason overboard as you give in to this all-consuming madness some might call hope...

...but just when you were about to pull him in for a long overdue kiss, the man that was straddling your waist mere seconds ago had disappeared in the blink of an eye.

The soundwave reached your ears much later than the actual impact, and much to your shock, when you saw not one but two Invincibles - yours having been knocked into a nearby rock formation - you immediately understood what it meant.

"Mark, wait!" you screamed, but your plea went on deaf ears.

After everything your world's Invincible had to endure those past few days, he wasn't even slightly in an amenable constitution. The only thing he was able to feel at this moment was rage, and he needed to direct it to something or otherwise he'd burst.

Sadly the next best target of his fury was the variant right in front of him - a man who not only attacked his homeplanet, but tried to violate someone he once held dear.

Mark will make him pay for trying to harm you.

"C'mon, stand up. Right now all I want to do is hit something...as hard as I can."

[Next Part]

[rafeysbunny]

hyperbaric chamber sex with jj

two hours, twenty-seven minutes, forty-three seconds... forty-four... forty-five... that's the time jj and you have been locked up inside this thing. how did they call it again? oh yeah, a hyperbaric chamber —whatever the hell that is. not that you can complain about it, tho, it has saved you both from a painful ass death.

"this sucks," jj whines in the silence —it must be two or three in the morning, so the hospital it's pretty quiet.

he's laying on his back next to you, your bodies pressed together since the space is a little bit small for two people, though it is not entirely uncomfortable... you even have pillows, which is more than you were expecting —yay.

"it could be worse," you answer, big eyes fixed on the ceiling of the chamber as you listen to the weird sounds it makes. "we could be dead, for instance."

it's warm inside, so you aren't cold despite wearing just a tiny pair of shorts and a thin tank top, your bikini still slightly wet underneath the clothes. the pressure is quite intense, which makes your ears hurt a little, but you try your best not to focus on that, or you might just go crazy in here

jj grumbles a response, shifting his weight to get more comfortable. "you know what's the worst part?" you turn your head to the side to look at him questioningly, and you find him already staring at you, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of his pink lips despite the situation you're both in. "we finally found some alone time, just the two of us, and we're stuck in a tin can. talk about romantic, huh?" he says, a certain amused tone in his voice.

you can't help but laugh softly at his words, loving how he always finds the way to lift the mood nonetheless. unconsciously, you shift closer to him, the roguish look in his handsome face drawing you in.

"yeah.... that definitely sucks," you mutter, nodding in agreement.

jj leans in to press a slow kiss to your lips, his hand reaching out to wrap around your waist and pull you closer. your bodies now flush against each other. your eyelids flutter shut instantly, a little gasp leaving your lips in response.

"we could... make the best out of it?" he suggests softly, his voice barely a whisper.

"well, we're not getting out any time soon, so..." you murmur against his lips with a smile, small hands gripping the fabric of his worn-out t-shirt.

jj hums lowly in agreement, his fingers trailing up and down your side as he seals his mouth over yours again. this time, his tongue slips past your parted lips to tangle with yours as he shifts to hover over you, the heat of his body enveloping you in the tight space.

you return the kiss lazily while you spread your legs for him, wrapping them around his waist as soon as he places himself in between them. he groans softly against your mouth as he grinds his hips against yours slowly, his touch becoming more insistent as he drags his fingertips along the skin bare skin of your supple thighs; the friction makes you gasp.

"wait," you mumble into the kiss, gently breaking it, and he takes the opportunity to start pressing wet kisses to your neck instead.

you open your eyes as you fumble for his pillow next to you. once you grab it, you shove it against the window, blocking the view from outside. he pulls back slightly to peer at you with a mischievous glint in his eye as he registers what you've done.

"my clever girl," he murmurs approvingly.

he kisses you once more before making quick work of your shorts, swiftly yanking them down your plush thighs alongside your bikini bottom. you lift your hips to help him take them off, and as soon as he's pulled down the pieces of clothing, he tosses them aside. you open your legs for him, pussy now exposed in all its glory; the sight alone has him hard already.

"suck 'em f'me, princess," he commands softly, pushing his middle and ring finger inside your mouth to get them wet.

you comply eagerly, hollowing your cheeks around his digits and sucking until they're covered in your saliva. you can feel his free hand sneaking up your thigh, his thumb eventually latching onto your little clit to rub it in tight circles. the gentle rubbing, added to the high risk of getting caught, gets you wet in a second.

a thread of saliva stretches in between his fingers and your lips as he takes them out of your mouth, aiming for your cunt. you can't help but moan when he slips both of them inside, brows knitting together in a frown at the delicious stretch.

"shh, baby, gotta be quiet," he murmurs with a lopsided smirk, biting his bottom lip as he relishes in the way you squirm underneath him. "can you do that?" after you nod in response, he adds, "of course you can, such a good girl."

he keeps fingering you for a little bit, crooking his digits just right to hit that spongy spot at the front that makes your toes wiggle. he also scissors them as he moves them in and out, slowly opening you up for his cock —that's much bigger than his fingers, for sure. his thumb is still touching your swollen clit with just enough pressure to drive you wild.

soon, you're begging him. "jay, please," you whisper breathlessly, hips desperately bucking against his veiny hand. "need you... need your cock."

with a self-satisfied smile, he slowly withdraws his digits, leaving your pussy fluttering around thin air. you're soaking wet by now, hands eagerly helping him get rid of his annoying clothing so he can get inside you as quickly as possible.

when he finally thrusts into your sopping cunt, neither of you can hold back the moans, jj covering your mouth and hiding his face on the crook of your neck to muffle the sounds as he starts pounding hard into you.

"jesus christ," he grunts, his fingers pressing your mouth shut so harshly that the cool metal of his rings is biting into your sensitive skin. "princess, fuck... you feel so good."

his warm breath caresses your ear as he keeps whispering his filth in it, "you're fucking dripping... getting this wet for being fucked in public, what a slut, huh?" his teeth bite your earlobe, his tongue soothing the sting afterwards. "gonna fuck you in every damn place we go from now on if you like it this much."

your eyes roll back, his dirty talk just adding to the pleasure his thrusts provide. he'd not fail to fuck you dumb, his cock hitting all the right spots inside your cunt until you're cumming around it the hardest you've ever cum, pussy tightening and pulsing around his dick so good that he's right behind you, spilling inside you with the most gorgeous moan.

more.

taglist: @jesschalamet

[shotmrmiller]

pornstar au

f!reader x ghost x price :)

2.7k words

tw: teacher-student scenario again, just for the sake of the porn. also, DP. first time writing it, so be NICE!

big thanks to @waves-against-a-cliff for reading what i won't

You sat on Professor Riley's lap after class, his rigid length smearing precum in between your soft, bare thighs as he fucked them. His large hands curled around your waist, long fingers creating tiny dents where he dug them into the supple flesh.

His breath warmed the delicate skin of your throat, as pants escaped his lips. You deliberately pressed your legs closer together— hoping that it provided enough amount of friction for him to finish.

You need this extra credit, after all.

Ghost inhaled sharply when you did, the grip he had on you almost painful.

"Fuckin' hell." His rich groan resonated in your chest. The gusset of your knickers was damp with arousal, both yours and his. The languid drag of his cock against your clothed pussy was so tantalizing, your core ached to be filled.

You were about to urge him to forget intercrural sex— to undress and fuck you already when a sharp knock on the door cuts through the fog in your head; a sudden rush of clarity pouring over you like a bucket of ice-cold water.

Shit.

Your back straightens at the interruption and quickly move to get off of Ghost's lap when he wraps an arm around your middle, keeping you firmly in place. A strangled noise claws up your throat. He cannot be serious.

"Come in," he calls out.

"No. No no no, you can't— you'll be fired, I'll be expelled, Professor Riley, please—" your voice warbles in your panic. His hold on you is as strong as steel, leaving no room for escape or resistance. You're helpless as the doors creep open and Professor Price steps in.

Of course, it's the most pretentious asshole teacher in existence.

"Hey, Riley, have you gotten the ema—" he trails off. His striking blue eyes flick down to your legs. Or more precisely, to what's still in between them fully erect.

"I was unaware you were busy with a...student." The sound of his footsteps draws closer. "Is this what you call detention?" Price leans on the desk with his hip, eyes never straying from you.

Ghost stifles a laugh. "Ask a better question, Price."

Heat licks up your jaw and cheeks when he resumes his thrusting as if there isn't another whole grown man in the room— one who can potentially ruin both his career and your collegiate one.

"Like what, Riley? Want me to ask if I can get a taste?" You look at Price and notice that his eyes are dark, limpid blue rings around the edges— knuckles stained white with how tightly he's clenching his hands. "You've never been a sharing type."

"Well, this sweet toy of mine loves being shared, doesn't she?" Swiftly, Ghost lifts you, his manhood now nestled against the curve of your back. His clever fingers move to your covered center, and draw featherlight circles on your hood, right above your clit. A whimper falls from your lips at the feeling.

"Answer him, pet. Tell Price ya don't mind gettin' this pretty pussy licked by him." He presses down on your bundle of nerves firmly with the pad of his thumb when you take a second too long to answer.

"I, I don't," you hiss when he rubs, "d-don't mind." Ghost gives your cunt a gentle tap.

"Don't mind what?" You swallow the lump lodged in your throat.

"I don't mind getting my pussy licked by Professor Price." His teeth tenderly graze the shell of your ear, followed by a small nip.

"Good girl," he mutters into your hair. Then directs his attention to Price, who's biting his bottom lip— the look he's giving you making your head swim. "She answered, so get down here or get out," he commands.

Ghost clasps his hands under your thighs and lifts until your feet rest flat above his knees. He hooks a finger into the sodden fabric of your knickers and drags it to the side, baring your glistening slit to the cold air of the room, erupting your heated skin in goosebumps. "On your knees, old man, unless they're too creaky to handle this."

Price's lip curls with unveiled amusement. "I was simply admirin' the view, Riley. Don't get your pants in a twist." He lowers himself to the floor smoothly until he's kneeled within inches of your exposed sex.

His prickly beard tickles the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, and his mouth is warm and wet as his tongue slides between your folds.

Another former industry giant devouring your passion with the hunger of a starved man at a lavish feast. Each stroke of his tongue spreads the warmth in your stomach, a pressure slowly rising, building—

"Sit her on you," Price mouths against your cunt.

When you find yourself wedged between two burly men, there's not much you can do except surrender to their wishes. That means being lowered onto Ghost— instinctively closing your eyes as you savor the stretch and biting the inside of your gummy cheek at the mildly uncomfortable burn.

Gravity does most of the work as you sink into him in one gentle stroke.

And without reprieve, Price dives right back in. The dull ache from where Ghost's tip presses into the plug of your womb, to the pleasure coming from the attention given to your swollen bundle of nerves.

An intoxicating mix of bliss with pain furling at the edges.

It's so good, teetering on the edge of too much, but when Price sucks lightly on your clit, your body seizes. You scrabble to grab his dark brown hair, blunt nails biting into his scalp as your shatter around Ghost's cock and Price's mouth.

Ecstasy pulses through you like the steady beat of your heart, white-hot euphoria coursing through your veins. There's a ringing in your ears, shrill and deafening, and your breathing comes in ragged pants as you come down from your high.

Your face glistens with sweat as droplets trickle down your temples, hair plastered to your forehead.

Jesus.

Price lapped at the arousal that dripped down Ghost's length, softly groaning at the taste before giving you a wolfish grin behind his coarse facial hair that was damp with your desire.

"Welcome back, sweetheart," he murmurs.

You relax the tight hold you have on his hair as he tenderly kisses where you and Ghost are joined.

Ghost nudges your ear with his nose, and his deep voice rolls over you like a wave. "Greedy little cunt jus' about cut off my circulation, pet." He shifts under you, sliding even deeper than before, a hiss escaping from behind your teeth.

"I think Price is feelin' a little left out, don't you?" With a shaky nod and a quiet mhm, you feel his lips press against the side of your neck.

"Think you can take us both?" It feels more like a warning of what's to come than a genuine question. The idea of being stuffed by both of them sends a thrill up your back.

Price sits back on his haunches, palming himself from outside his trousers. "Think so, sweetheart?" He rises to his feet and promptly sweeps away everything from the wooden desk, scattering them across the floor. Taking a seat on the desk, he positions himself comfortably, his legs slightly bent and his feet firmly touching the ground. How unfair.

With a hand, Price beckons you to him.

Your legs tremble almost comically after having them in such an unnatural position for so long; tingling when you finally stretch them out in front of you. Ghost's hands at your waist help you stand, wincing when he pulls out of you unceremoniously.

Under his breath, he apologizes and gently nudges you towards Price by pressing his hand on your shoulder blades. "Go on, it's rude to keep him waiting." You're then guided forward as warm hands wrap around your biceps, leading you to stand in front of Price.

You drag your eyes from his down to his groin, where his erection is confined behind the strained zipper. Suddenly, Ghost's toned arms surround you, his hands eagerly reaching for the button on the front. "Lemme help ya out, love."

In seconds, Price's heavy manhood bobs as it springs out, ruddy tip hitting just below his navel. Simon firmly grabs your hand and swiftly turns it, exposing your palm. Without warning, he shamelessly spits on it before wrapping it around Price.

A guttural noise escapes him when you squeeze the thick of it tightly. He bucks his hips in a deliberate rhythm— taking hold of your wrist, ensuring your hand remains in position as he continues to thrust upwards until his cock is slick with his precum.

You can't help but rub your thighs together in hopes of getting some of the friction you're desperate for.

"Not gonna come already, are ya Price? We haven't even gotten started." Ghost ignores his scoff, rapping his knuckles on the desk. "Knickers off and climb up, pet."

You hastily tear off your smallclothes, shucking them to the side with your foot before hopping up on the desk, one leg at a time. Price steadies you with his hands on your waist. As you straddle him, your muscles ignite with a satisfying burn as they adjust the expanse of his thighs.

His voice is soft, gentle even, when he whispers into your ear. "Good?" You gasp sharply when Ghost spanks your arsecheeks before nodding at Price. "Jus' like we practiced, yeah?"

Yeah, just like you practiced. The plug you had to wear throughout the week whenever they both weren't tearing you in half should be more than enough prep. You hope.

Ghost taps the side of your thigh. "Cockwarm him while I get this perfect arse ready."

The stretch is intense as you lower yourself on Price— his cock thicker than Ghost's just not as long— it pushes the air out of your lungs. He bites his lip til it reddens, his eyes fixed onto where he disappears inside of you, fingers digging into the meat of your waist.

Your eyes flutter closed when he finally bottoms out, his girth splitting your swollen walls apart mercilessly.

God, he feels so good.

And then the sting of one thick, lubed finger pressing into your tight ring of muscle smothers some of that pleasure.

"Hey, hey. Look at me." Price tips your chin up with his hand, your eyes meeting his. "Good. Breathe for me, sweetheart." He leans forward to place open-mouthed prickly kisses on your neck. "Breathe, love. You've already taken us before. You did beautifully then, and you'll do beautifully now."

He distracts you from the discomfort by suckling on your skin, leaving red little love bites behind. Then, a second finger, so much bigger than your own. Price hisses sympathetically when you do— a tiny whimper coming from the back of your throat.

This time it's Ghost that breathes into your ear. "Doin' so good f'me."

Then he works a third finger in, and your back arches at the jolt of pain that licks up your spine.

Words of praise fall upon your ears, syrupy and saccharine, dulling the ache. He scissors and stretches gingerly, as he's always done. Ghost takes his time, curling his fingers inside— a slow and steady in and out that eventually has you clamping around Price.

He sucks in a breath through his teeth when you do. "So bloody tight."

"Alrigh' Price." Ghost takes you by the hips and cants them forward slightly, a cry falling from your lips at the change in angle. "Hold her open f'me."

He does just that; rough, worn hands spreading you open almost embarrassingly. There's a hot and heavy weight tapping your arse once, thrice— and then there's a blunt pressure pushing into your other much smaller hole. Your spine bows at the thick invasion, it burns, it throbs, but smart fingers find your neglected pearl and start to circle it.

The pain is merely physical, it can be overcome. Focus on the touch on your clit, focus on the hands that hold you, the heat that radiates from both of them. The harsh breathing of the man behind you as he fights to keep himself from fucking himself into you unfettered. Strained noises spilled from Price's parted lips as he felt your channel constrict, your sex beginning to get slick with your desire.

Ghost hilts, leaning forward until his barrel chest hits your back, a strangled groan coming from him. You felt unbearably full, about to tear at the bloody seams. Every single nerve from your navel down to the tips of your toes was on fire. You felt a throbbing sensation radiating from the back of your skull.

It was scalding hot, searing. The thin membrane that separated them felt stretched beyond its limit.

"Y'okay?" You can't even tell who asked you that past the rushing of blood that's in your ears. Your head feels too heavy on your shoulders, letting it lull forward until your forehead rests on Price's collarbone.

Ghost's chest vibrates as he speaks, the low rumble sinking into your skin, warming you from the inside. "Breathe for us, love. Deep in, slow out."

Right.

You remember what Price had said the very first time they fucked you. 'Breathing helps to process any pain and supports the nervous system.'

As you inhale deeply, your lungs expand to the point where you can feel a twinge of discomfort. But as you exhale, the tension in your body melts, your muscles gradually slackening.

Ghost undulates his hips once languidly, and while the ache flared back to life, below that was the pleasure you've become well acquainted with, desperately clawing its way to the surface.

A moan slips out of you unbidden.

"Perfect. So fuckin' perfect." Price's praise makes you dig your fingers into his broad shoulders, nails biting into his skin.

Then you're lifted by two sets of hands— one on your hips, the other on the underside of your thighs and brought back down. Fuck.

"Tha's it, love. Takin' us both so well," Ghost murmurs. When you begin to mewl, a clear sign of pleasure, Price plants his feet on the floor, and snaps his hips up. Black spots dot your vision, a euphoria shooting through your veins.

God, you hope your hips hold out.

They begin to move in tandem, one pushing in completely, while the other pulls out until just an inch stays inside.

It's sublime, obscene squelching coming from both your front and back. Once your body gives in to their assault, everything starts to blur at the edges, from your sight to your thoughts. You melt in their hands, softening under their touch as they take their pleasure from you.

They begin to fuck you in earnest, breath punched out of you with every thrust, and when Ghost takes control by grabbing a fistful of your hair, it sends waves of something through your stomach. The loud whine that comes from you is filthy.

"Always meltin' into a puddle over a firm hand, pet. Isn't tha' right?" He asks you as if you could even dream of answering. Your tongue is heavy in your dry mouth, and throat like sandpaper.

"Ready to make Price come? Choke his cock with tha' vice-like cunt, love. Wrench it outta him, take every drop of his cum, and then take mine."

Who are you to disobey such an edict?

The snarl Price lets out is animalistic when you squeeze him snugly, his thrusts turn jarring as he swells and stills— twitching inside of you, warmth pooling in your belly.

Only to realize that Ghost finished simultaneously.

There's a joke in there somewhere, about a couple finishing together, but you've been thoroughly fucked stupid.

Cut.

Simon takes you home— his home, and soaks you in a warm, bubble bath that smells like something he shouldn't have.

"I bough' it for you," he hums.

His callused palms knead into your sore calf muscles, hand making its way down to press into the arch of your foot.

"Don't go makin' those noises, love."

Eventually, you address the elephant in the room, and his answer makes your pulse race. "Gotta create a soft safe place f'you to land after somethin' tha' intense. Ya need to wind down, catch your breath."

He says it so casually as if it was common sense.

"Here. Drink your water." The bottle in your hands is room temperature, just how you like it.

[urno1luv]

i know aeri and giselle is the same person butttttttttt hear me out bruv, giselle is the hot girl (aka aeri's idol persona) while aeri is the loser (herself outside of being an idol) plsspslspslslspslsspsplsspsls 🙏🙏🙏🙏

summary: dating giselle, on stage, she’s fierce and magnetic, but offstage, when the lights are down and the crowd’s gone home, she’s aeri, your secretly-lovesick girlfriend who melts for you and only you.

cw: none🥳but still men and minors dni

♡ dating giselle is like falling in love with two people at once! one of them is a flame. bold and sharp and dazzling, the kind of woman you can’t look away from even when it hurts. she steps on stage with a look that could kill and a body that knows it’s being watched. giselle lives in the spotlight. her hair is always perfect, her tongue quick and clever, her voice like honey and smoke. when she performs, she owns the air around her, commands it- eyes full of mischief, lips curling into the kind of smirk that makes you ache. she’s fierce. flirtatious. impossibly cool.

and when she throws a wink at the camera or does that slow body roll that drives fans wild, you have to remind yourself that later, when the crowd dies down, when the makeup wipes come out, and her lashes are off, she’ll curl up beside you in bed, mumble “missed you,�� and pull your arm over her waist like it’s the only thing grounding her.

♡ because offstage, she’s not giselle. she’s aeri. she’s the girl who steals your clothes, sings in the shower at full volume, and pouts when you don’t kiss her good morning. she eats cereal at 3 a.m. while balancing a cat video on her knee and a text to you in the other hand. she sleeps with socks on (and one always ends up missing) and insists on brushing her teeth with your toothpaste because “mine doesn’t taste like you.”

♡ she gets clingy when she’s tired, folding herself around you like a warm, sleepy koala, whispering, “don’t go. not yet. i just got you here.” and she gets jealous in ways she doesn’t always say, tightened fingers around yours when someone compliments you, or that unreadable look she gives when a stylist touches your hair a little too much. she won’t say anything until you’re alone, until you’re half-asleep in her hoodie, and then she’ll kiss your neck and mumble, “you’re mine. they don’t get to look at you like that.”

♡ talking about jealousy, aeri tries to play it off when she is. she’s so smug with her arm around your shoulder, smiling at the person who dared flirt with you like she’s not thinking about murder. but her nails dig just a little tighter into your waist. her kisses last a little longer in front of them. and later, behind closed doors, she’ll pull you into her lap and say in a low voice, “you looked real pretty laughing at their joke, baby. should i remind you who you belong to?”

but it’s not just possessive, it’s devotion. full love that simmers under her skin. she remembers your coffee order, your comfort movie, the way you bite your lip when you’re overthinking. she’ll pause mid-rehearsal to text you a meme that reminded her of you. send voice notes that are just her saying, “hi. miss you. love you. okay bye.” she’ll fly home from a tour and show up at your door in a hoodie and no makeup, dropping her bags just to kiss you breathless and whisper, “you’re still the only thing that feels like home.”

♡ you get to see her in every form. at her highest—on stage, in interviews, charming the world like it’s what she was born to do. and at her softest, her head in your lap, voice muffled against your thigh as she groans about choreography and missed meals. you learn what makes her tick: she hates being told to rest, but secretly loves when you baby her.

♡ she’ll groan dramatically if you try to tuck her in but cling to your waist like she’ll die without you there. she acts all cool when you surprise her with food, but you’ll catch the tiny flush in her cheeks when she says, “you didn’t have to,” and leans in to kiss you on the cheek three times in a row. she calls you “baby” when she’s being bratty, “love” when she’s in public, and just breathes your name like a prayer when she’s too tired to pretend she isn’t completely addicted to you.

♡ and when it gets spicy, because with giselle, it always does- she’s surprisingly gentle until she’s not. she’ll tease you with soft little kisses and coy fingers under your shirt, only to flip the switch in a breath. suddenly you’re pressed against the wall, her voice low and dangerous in your ear, whispering things only you get to hear. “you like watching me on stage? like how i move my hips, baby? come here. i’ll show you how it really feels.”

♡ but even then, it’s not about power. it’s about closeness. she wants to be so close to you she forgets where she ends and you begin. she wants to taste the parts of you no one else gets. and when it’s over, when the heat fades and your heartbeat slows, she’s the one pulling you close and whispering, “you okay? did i do too much? i’ve got you. always.”

♡ being with aeri is like coming home after a long, glittery fever dream. she’s warm, she’s real, she’s soft around the edges in a way she doesn’t let anyone else see. but she never loses that spark, that fire. she’ll always be giselle on stage, always be the girl that thousands of people wish they could have. but when the lights go out, the crowd fades, and the makeup’s gone, she’s in your arms. and she’s yours, unapologetically yours .and she wouldn’t have it any other way.

[tyrantisterror]

A Flight of Dragons, I Command It! A FLIGHT! OF! DRAGONS!

doom DOOM DOOM

Hey fuckers, it's February and my Seasonal Affective Disorder is at its fucking PEAK, so it's gonna get REAL weird around here for a while. Luckily, my old ass has spent the last thirty-some years figuring out how to deal with this particular recurring problem, and one of the many tools and tricks I've learned is an age old classic:

I gotta treat myself.

So, ok, I work at a daycare, and one of the things that's very popular with the kids these days are 3-D printed dragons. They're inexpensive, customizable, and pretty easy to transport and store, so it's no wonder kids like them. But, you know, I'm something of a child at heart myself, and I love dragons, so when I saw my kids bringing all these 3-D printed dragons to the center... well, I got a bit envious. And, well... when you're an adult with disposable income... there's no one STOPPING you from buying a 3-D printed dragon for yourself.

Or two.

Or three.

Or... lots. Lots and lots. Because you're an adult and they don't cost much money and you've always loved having swarms/herds/big families of creatures ever since you were a kid, and because it was January when this idea struck you and looking at the estimated time of arrival on etsy for these things you realized most of them would arrive by February, when you might NEED the serotonin provided by having a big ol' flight of dragons.

So let's go on a journey, fuckers. A journey of excess, a journey into imagination, a journey through the marvelous world of people with 3-D printers making a quick buck on etsy. Let's look at some fucking dragons.

I'm going to go ahead and link the store pages for each dragon I purchased, in case you too are deranged and need some dragons in your life, and because I want to give some form of credit to the artists who made these. Granted, that won't always be possible - while a few of these seemed to be unique to the shops I bought them from, many of them could be found from NUMEROUS sellers, which makes it difficult if not impossible to figure out who originally programmed the project files for them to be 3-D printed from.

Case in point is The Crystal Dragon here, which can be found in SO MANY etsy stores. Most of the 3-D printed dragons my students at the daycare had were of this variety, in fact, so it seems to be a very popular pattern for 3-D printing. It's definitely a cute and pretty little thing, and sort of sets the standard bar for a 3-D printed dragon. I wish the face was a bit more detailed, but the rough, angular nature of it does help convey the idea that this thing is made of crystals.

The second most common design, as far as I can tell anyway, is this Chinese Dragon/Loong (oh hey, they used my favorite English spelling!). I really like the face of this guy, and it seems like an excellent rendition of the standard East Asian dragon design - there's even tiny holes under its nostrils where you could insert a wire or thread to serve as its barbells, though most sellers (including the one I bought from) don't make use of it.

While most of the dragons I bought are "realistic," there were some cartoony/more stylized ones for sale that I decided to partake in. This little guy is one such dragon, and I think he's probably the best one to get if you're buying for a kid - the smoother body and smaller, nubbier horns makes it less likely to break, and just a bit more fun to play with in your hands. These things are often marketed as fidgets, after all, so the tactile feel of them is something to take into account.

While on the surface just a variation of the fidgets we've seen so far, this dragon has one particularly clever feat of engineering: because of the way the spikes on its neck are set up, you can get its head in a nice "snake rearing up to strike" position, which, combined with its distinctive short-snouted face, goes a long way to giving it an extra bit of character among the 3-D printed dragons.

While most of the dragons I found seemed to have the same simple color options to choose from, a few sellers seemed to have their own custom ones that were unique to their shop. This mix of bronze and olive greens was unique to this particular dragon, which, along with its painted eyes, really helps its stand out! I will note that the joints of this dragon tend to stick a bit more than my other dragons - perhaps a result of using different plastic colors than is standard? - but if you let gravity do its work they'll sort themselves out, and it's worth it to have such a striking little fellow.

Since this particular style of toy really suits serpentine creatures better than all else, I decided to look for some explicitly marine dragons to add to the group. I really like this sea serpent I found, which comes is very basic crayola-ish plain colors, but has just enough personality in its sculpt (and eyes and teeth in different colors) to stand out.

If you're looking for sea dragons on etsy, though, you're much more likely to encounter this fellow, which almost every store selling it calls Jormungandr and/or the Midgard Serpent. It's got these vaguely Nordic runes carved into it, as well as grooves in its tail designed to fit its prominent fangs so it can make an ouroboros, which makes the Jormungandr connection feel pretty intentional. It's a really distinct design, but I do think it's a little funny that it's far from the beefiest of my dragons. I wonder if there's a shop that sells an upsized model...

While not notable in terms of engineering, paint work, or plastic color options, this dragon IS notable in having heads based on a statue of Quetzalcoatl, who is in turn one of my favorite mythological figures, so I had to get it.

Of course, I also wanted a Quetzalcoatl-style feathered serpent that had the classic "winged snake" look, and this one fit the bill well enough. It originally came with little hair clips attached to its underside, allowing it to cling to your head and/or clothes, which I thought was really clever... but I also didn't like the clips sticking out from under the little thing so I took them off. A lovely little dragon either way, though.

So, ok, I'd been going relatively cheap at this point, but as I shopped I was struck with a sort of passing fancy, an idle thought... what was the most elaborate, fanciest 3-D printed dragon I could get? It's not this one, mind you, but this was very much the start of that rabbit hole. While mechanically it's not significantly different than the dragons we've seen till now, the amount of colors it's printed in immediately make it stand out as a higher quality dragon.

The same store that sold the dragon above also sold this fellow, which may well be my favorite of the many East Asian dragons I found on this little quest. Just look at that wonderfully monstrous face! And he's got a pearl, the little devil!

While the color of the plastic and the engineering of this sea dragon may not seem particularly notable, what has to be taken into account here is the sheer SIZE of this lass. This is one of the biggest dragons of my lot, not only in length but in sheer girth and weight of its joints. The Midgar Serpent needs to move over, this is the REAL leviathan of my 3-D printed dragon collection.

Of course, if you know me, you know I'm a basic bitch who loves the European "four legs and two wings" style of dragon the most of all, so my search for fancy 3-D printed dragons started to focus on finding some that fit this description. I can't actually find the store page for this guy anymore (it's not in my past purchases on etsy for some reason), but it's a pretty solid low budget take on the concept. But we can do better - and we will...

But first, a detour to some wyverns! This little guy is really cute, with a head based on the Peter Jackson Herbit movie's design for Smaug, and a feathery little body that makes it looks like a fantastical archeopteryx.

The same shop makes a more reptile-ish dragon, with leathery wings and scaly skin, which I got in a larger size because, well, you know my preferences. It's like the perfect size to perch on your shoulder, though I'd want something to hold it in place because I'm pretty sure falling off from that height onto a hardwood floor would be the end of it.

There's no shop link for this one or the next because it was a freebie - which is to say I didn't actually order this dragon, but found it in one of my packages as a free gift from the seller. That's the nice thing about shopping on places like etsy and ebay - sometimes the people on the other side of the screen are really solid and decide to give you an extra little treat. This is clearly a Games of Throne-style wyvern specifically, based on the proportions and the shape of the head, and that's pretty cool. The dragons are one of the only things that made it out of that show still looking cool.

The second freebie dragons I got were these little toys of Toothless and Girl Toothless from How to Train Your Dragon. Look at them, they're so cute!

But now... now it's time for the answer to the question:

What

Is the most Deluxe 3-D Printed Dragon

I can get?

The Bronze Medal goes to this marvelous dragon here, which feels like it flew right off of some medieval coat of arms and into my own flesh and blood ones. It's solid, beautifully sculpted, and full of articulation points. However, the method in which it's articulated makes it a bit frustrating to pose, as some of these joints end up bending and twisting in ways you don't want them too. Still an excellent dragon, mind you, but outdone by the next two...

The Silver Medal goes to this marvelous wyvern, which has much tighter joints that are a lot less frustrating to pose. Its wings are a mixture of cloth and plastic, allowing them to flex and bend into a variety of poses (though admittedly the weight of the wings keeps them from holding most of those poses very well). Also, look at that regal face, that sleek sculpt, and those elegant proportions! It's almost a perfect dragon for me. Almost.

My one and only gripe with the previous dragon is that, well, I'm a basic bitch who likes dragons with four legs and two wings the best! And what do you know, they made one of those too! And god, does this dragon look magnificent in person, sporting all of the elegance of the dragon above but with magnificent grasping hands! HANDS! Hands that you'll have to be careful with because the joints are a little loose and like to pop off when you play with them, but still, HANDS!

This is a high enough point to end off on, but there's one more 3-D printed gift I'd like to cover here. My favorite one.

Well, ones I guess. This all started with my students, and well, some of them noted my interest in the 3-D printed dragons they were bringing to school. And a couple of them actually ended up getting 3-D printers of their own (well, their parents' own, ayway) and decided to print off a dragon and a crocodile for me - smaller than all the other dragons here (except the Toothless keycains), but no less dear for it. I guess one of the pros about taking an active interest in the things your students like and letting them gush about it is that they might give you a 3-D printed dragon or crocodile out of the kindness in their little hearts.

[isak-dot-gov]

Compact and efficient

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Short!reader

Word count: 1044

Based on this request.

My masterlist :)

...............................................

Living with Paige Bueckers had its perks—she was kind, funny, and always up for an adventure. There was never a dull moment when she was around, whether it was spontaneous road trips, surprise date nights, or even something as simple as cozy movie marathons on the couch. But one of the unexpected challenges of dating someone much taller than you was...reaching things.

You would think that after all this time, you’d have gotten used to it. You’d have figured out some clever system or bought a stool specifically for this kind of thing. But no, there you were again, standing on your tiptoes in the kitchen, straining to grab a mug from the top shelf. Your fingers brushed against the handle, but it remained just out of reach.

You huffed in frustration, glaring at the cupboard as if it were the one responsible for your vertically challenged situation. Why did everything have to be placed so high up? And why did Paige insist on putting things away in the hardest-to-reach places? You weren’t sure if it was intentional or if her long limbs just made her oblivious to your struggle, but either way, it was maddening.

Just as you were about to give up and make do with a different mug—the purple one that you didn’t really like, but could actually reach—you heard a familiar laugh behind you.

“Need some help, short stuff?” Paige’s voice was filled with amusement as she leaned against the doorway with that signature smirk on her face.

You turned around and shot her a playful glare, crossing your arms in mock annoyance. “You know, not everyone can be a giant like you.”

Paige walked over, her tall frame effortlessly filling the small kitchen. She didn’t even have to stretch as she reached up, grabbing the mug from the shelf with one hand and handing it to you with a mockingly exaggerated bow. “Your mug, milady,” she said, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. This was a regular occurrence between you two—Paige teasing you about your height, and you pretending to be annoyed, even though you secretly loved the attention. There was something endearing about the way she always came to your rescue, even if she never let you forget it afterward.

“Thanks,” you muttered, taking the mug from her. “One of these days, I’ll figure out how to do this on my own.”

“Sure you will,” she said with a wink, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you into her side. Her warmth was comforting, and you couldn’t help but relax against her. “But until then, I’ll be here to rescue you from all those high shelves.”

You leaned into her, enjoying the closeness, the way her arm felt like a protective shield around you. “You’re never going to let me live this down, are you?”

“Absolutely not,” Paige said, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. Her lips lingered there for a moment, and you felt a shiver of warmth spread through you. “Teasing you is one of my favourite things.”

You groaned, but the smile on your face betrayed you. “I should’ve known what I was getting into when I started dating a basketball player.”

“Hey, you knew what you signed up for,” Paige said with a laugh. “It’s not my fault you’re so tiny.”

“Tiny?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow as you turned to look up at her. “I prefer ‘compact and efficient.’”

“Uh-huh, whatever you say.” She chuckled, giving you a playful squeeze before letting you go. Her hands lingered on your hips for a moment longer than necessary, making your heart skip a beat. “Anyway, what do you need the mug for? Tea? Coffee?”

“Tea,” you said, turning back to the counter. You tried to focus on preparing the tea, but Paige’s presence behind you was impossible to ignore. Even when she wasn’t trying, she had a way of commanding the space around her. “Want to join me?”

Paige smiled, leaning against the counter and crossing her arms as she watched you. “Sure, why not? I’ll even reach for the sugar for you, if you ask nicely.”

You threw a kitchen towel at her, and she dodged it effortlessly, her laughter filling the small kitchen. Despite her teasing, you knew that Paige loved taking care of you in her own way. Whether it was reaching things on the top shelf, holding your hand in a crowded place, or just being there when you needed her, she always had your back.

As you poured the hot water into the mugs, you glanced over at her, feeling a surge of affection for the woman who had become such a huge part of your life—literally and figuratively. It wasn’t just her height that made her presence so big. It was the way she filled every room with her energy, the way she made you feel safe, loved, and never alone.

“Thanks, P,” you said after a moment, your tone softer now.

She tilted her head, her teasing expression melting into something more tender. “For what?”

“For always being there when I need you,” you said, glancing up at her with a small smile. “Even if you make fun of me for it.”

Paige’s grin softened into a warm smile as she stepped closer, wrapping her arms around you and pulling you into a hug. She rested her chin on top of your head, and for a moment, the world outside the kitchen seemed to disappear. It was just the two of you, wrapped up in each other.

“Always, babe,” she whispered, her voice low and comforting. “I’ve got you.”

You closed your eyes, sinking into the embrace. In moments like these, it didn’t matter that she teased you about your height or that you sometimes struggled to reach things. What mattered was that she was there—always, without fail, making sure you were okay, making sure you knew you were loved.

As you stood there in her arms, you realised that while being shorter than your girlfriend might have its challenges, it also came with a whole lot of love, laughter, and—yes—teasing. And you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

........................................................

[abii-reb]

Kang Dae-ho

"Stay Behind Me" pt1

❥ summary: where our ex-marine can't help but feel strangely attracted to the beautiful girl with blonde hair and cute freckles.

❥ word count: 1.7k

❥ warnings: fem!Reader, mention of death and blood

❥ authors note: Hi! I'm Abi. This is my first time writing on Tumblr :) and my first language is not English, so if I misspelled anything please let me know!

From the moment he saw her smile and pose for the photo they were taking at the start, Dae-ho couldn’t help but notice her. Not because he wanted to, but because something about her presence seemed to draw attention effortlessly. She was the blonde girl with long hair, the kind of golden tone that caught the soft light in the room, making it appear gentler than anyone in a place like this had a right to be. And those freckles... damn, they were like tiny specks of art scattered across her face, framing eyes that shone with a mix of calmness and determination.

Not that Dae-ho cared, of course. He wasn’t there to admire anyone’s beauty. He was there to win. But somehow, his gaze kept drifting back to her, no matter how hard he tried to resist. It was absurd how his mind insisted on taking in every detail—from the way she tucked her hair behind her ear to how she seemed to analyze the situation with a precision that intrigued him.

“She’s nothing special,” he told himself in an attempt to cut off those thoughts. But almost immediately, he corrected himself: “Well, yeah, she’s cute, I guess.” That simple admission made him frown at himself. This wasn’t the time or place to be thinking about things like that, and he knew it.

When the first game began, "Red Light, Green Light," she caught his attention again—this time because of the way she stepped slightly away from the crowd. It was a smart move, albeit risky. Most people stuck to the center, as if being surrounded offered some false sense of security. But not her. She stayed near the edge, choosing an open space where no one could sabotage her. That’s when Dae-ho realized something else about her: she wasn’t just cute—she was clever.

Her decision paid off. Soon enough, some players started pushing each other for no reason, and gunshots rang out as the cameras detected even the smallest movements. The chaos that erupted only confirmed what he already suspected: the girl knew how to think strategically.

For his part, Dae-ho decided that sticking close to her wasn’t a bad idea. Not because she was cute, of course, but because she seemed to know what she was doing. At least, that’s what he told himself as he carefully advanced.

Step by step, syncing his movements with the game, he eventually positioned himself behind her. Just when he thought he had everything under control, something unexpected happened: she stumbled. It was a small movement, almost imperceptible, but enough to make her lurch forward. Before she could hit the ground and risk her life, Dae-ho acted purely on instinct. He lunged forward and grabbed her by the waist, his hands finding a firm hold to steady her.

The contact was brief but intense. Gently yet firmly, he helped her stand upright, making sure she didn’t move more than necessary. She turned slightly to look at him, her eyes reflecting a mix of surprise and gratitude, while he tried to keep his composure as if it were no big deal.

“Be careful,” he muttered quietly, his tone more commanding than he intended. But inside, his heart was pounding, and it had nothing to do with the stress of the game.

Dae-ho didn’t think twice before stepping forward and placing himself in front of her, shielding her with his broad frame. It was as if some protective instinct had taken over—a reflex he couldn’t explain. If that doll detected any movement, he’d rather it be his than hers.

“Stay behind me and don’t move,” he whispered firmly, without looking back at her. He knew that even the slightest distraction could cost them their lives.

She obeyed, but couldn’t help whispering back, her voice so soft it almost blended with the wind:

“Thank you… that was really brave of you.”

Dae-ho didn’t respond right away. His jaw was tight, his eyes locked on the path ahead. Talking during the game was risky, but he couldn’t deny that a small part of him was affected by her words. Even so, he forced himself to stay focused, blocking out any emotions that could betray him.

“Just focus on moving forward,” he replied, curt but not cold. It was his way of protecting her, of keeping her from letting her guard down too soon.

Long seconds passed that felt like hours. Each pause in the doll’s song brought a brief sense of relief, but every time the music stopped, the danger pulsed in the air again. Dae-ho moved with precise steps, ensuring his body remained a shield between her and that fucking doll.

When they were close to the finish line, the tension in his body was almost suffocating. He could feel the pressure behind him, as if she were holding her breath, waiting for his next move. That’s when he made a decision: he subtly reached his hand back, his fingers searching for hers until he found them.

“When the music starts again, run with me, okay?” he murmured, his tone more of a command than a suggestion.

She didn’t reply, but her hand gripped his firmly—a silent confirmation that she was ready. The song resumed, and without a second thought, Dae-ho pulled her forward with him, sprinting full speed toward the finish line. His heart pounded, not just from the physical exertion but because he knew one wrong move could doom them both.

When they finally crossed to the other side, relief hit them like a wave. She dropped to her knees, gasping for air, while Dae-ho bent over, hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. There were no victory cries or triumphant smiles—just the sound of their breathing, mingling with the screams of those still struggling to survive.

When they’d both calmed down a little, their eyes met at last. It was a strange moment, charged with something neither of them could put into words.

“Y/n…” she said finally, breaking the silence as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “My name’s Y/n.”

Dae-ho straightened, still not looking away from her. His voice, when he replied, was softer than usual, as if saying her name was a privilege.

“Kang Dae-ho.”

“Thank you, Dae-ho,” she whispered, her gaze filled with a mix of gratitude and something else—something he wasn’t ready to figure out.

(...)

The massive room, packed with bunk beds stacked to dizzying heights, was enveloped in an eerie silence, broken only by scattered murmurs and the muffled sobs of a few players. The cold lights cast long shadows, making the space feel even more oppressive. Dae-ho, sitting on his bunk, couldn’t take his eyes off her. She was on the highest bed of one of the rows across the dorm, sitting cross-legged with her gaze fixed somewhere on the floor. Her blonde hair fell messily over her shoulders, though it was clear she didn’t care. There was something different about her now, a glow that was no longer there.

Without thinking too much about it, Dae-ho stood up and began climbing the bunks toward her. He didn’t care about the curious glances from the others. He just knew he had to get closer. When he reached her bed, he leaned in carefully so as not to startle her.

“Can I sit here?” he asked, his voice low but gentle.

She looked up, visibly surprised to see him there. She hesitated for a moment but finally nodded, scooting over slightly to make room for him.

Dae-ho sat next to her, observing her quietly. He could see how she nervously fidgeted with the hem of her shirt, twisting and untwisting it, as if she needed something tangible to occupy her restless mind.

“What’s wrong?” he finally asked, his tone direct but tinged with concern.

She sighed, keeping her gaze down, avoiding his.

“I didn’t expect… this,” she murmured, gesturing vaguely at the emptiness around them, as if trying to encompass everything that had happened. “The deaths, the blood… I didn’t think it would be like this.”

Dae-ho waited silently, giving her space to continue.

“I thought they’d just be kids’ games. Harder, sure, but not so… inhuman,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “I can’t believe how many people died out there… and I… I just want to leave.”

Her confession hung in the air. Dae-ho watched her in silence, seeing how her strong, determined facade was crumbling. It was hard to process, but he understood exactly how she felt.

“Listen,” he said firmly, turning slightly to face her. “None of us thought it would be like this. We’re all scared, but you survived, okay? You made it through that game. It’s not easy, but if you want to make it out of here alive, you have to keep going.”

She looked at him, her brown eyes glistening with tears she didn’t dare let fall.

“What if I can’t?”

“You can.” he said without hesitation. “And I’ll make sure you do.”

She let out a nervous, almost incredulous laugh.

“Why do you care so much? You barely know me.”

Dae-ho shrugged, though his gaze was intense.

“Why do you trust me so much? You barely know me.” he countered with the same logic.

“I don’t know… something tells me I should,” She said, shrugging as a shy smile crept onto her face.

“Exactly. Something tells us to.” he replied, his tone unwavering.

For a moment, she studied him in silence. Eventually, a small, tired smile formed on her lips.

“Thanks, Dae-ho.” she whispered, her voice softer now.

He nodded and, almost instinctively, placed his large hand over her delicate one, giving it a gentle squeeze of encouragement.

“Get some sleep. Tomorrow’s a new day, and you’ll need to be rested.”

[touhoutunes]

Title: Nazrin Rodenticide

Arrangement: HAGISOPH

Vocals: 籠目サク

Album: TOHO DEMHﾟARD ～とーほーでんぱーど Vol.3～

Circle: Dドライブ

Original: A Tiny, Tiny, Clever Commander

[malleleothreesome]

Femdom!Reader x Sub!Malleus Draconia

💚 summary: Malleus grovels before you as you sit upon his throne in the Diasomnia dorm lounge ༶༶༶ 💚 warnings: afab fem reader, no pronouns (use of you/your) but Malleus does refer to you as his Queen. Malleus has two cocks, consensual bdsm scene, all actions taken agreed upon offscreen prior to starting and are within Malleus' boundaries, collar & leash, you use him as a footrest, use of good/bad boy, you slap him (it doesn't hurt), punishment: you masturbate in front of him, edging (him), orgasm denial (him), face sitting cunnilingus, vagina stretching spell, breeding, creampie, aftercare ༶༶༶ 💚 word count: 4.5k words ripped from my tortured soul

Oh, how easy it was to turn the powerful, brooding future King of Briar Valley into a needy, desperately loyal little puppy. Completely dependent on your attention—and your touch. Who could have known he would fall so deeply—and wretchedly—in love with the first girl who didn’t run away? After centuries of Malleus walking alone under the dark void of night, you came and filled the sky with bright, twinkling stars. From the very second he was met with your crinkled, smiling eyes—a far cry from the usual look of dread—he was yours, and yours alone. Without a second thought, you’ve folded him into your sweet embrace, promising eternity. You’ve taken it upon yourself to fill his days with love, companionship, happiness—things he has indeed always deserved, but all of which, until now, were missing entirely.

You were inseparable. When he wasn’t tending to Kingly duties, he could be found close behind you, clinging to your comfort and familiarity. Malleus always admired your confidence, strength, and what seemed to be sheer fearlessness. You packed a lot of spunk in that tiny, mortal body of yours. You were determined to get the other students to accept him—you would have done it by force if you’d had to. (You didn’t have to. You were far too clever for that.) 

He was your plus one, always. You introduced him with such adoration, that any preconceived ideas of him were pushed aside without much thought. If someone dared question his presence, you’d make an example of their rude presumptions. All the while, Malleus towered sheepishly behind you, blushing, and elated. You were the only one in his life who truly saw him.

Dominance was Malleus’ birthright. His ability to command inferiority and trepidation from every single person in a room was an unwanted side effect that had been passed down for generations. Dominance is a role he was forced into by his Kingdom—it’s all he’d ever known. But then, there was you. The way you stand up to and for him with no fear or hesitation. The way you simultaneously treat him like he’s Just Some Guy, and also the most precious treasure in the world. Watching you take the lead makes his heart race—and loins ache—faster and deeper than anything before. He was absolutely desperate for you to take advantage.

So there you were, sitting on Malleus’ throne in the Diasomnia lounge, in the depths of the night. Everyone else had retreated to their rooms. The Prince of Thorns was kneeling before you, his alabaster face enveloped in the faint purple and green glow that danced around the throne—the only source of light in an otherwise pitch black room. Your feet—costumed in 6-inch, dagger-like heels that might be lethal to both body and soul—rest heavy on his shoulders. If only Malleus’ ancestors could see their tyrannizing heir being used as a footrest by a common human…

Your lingerie is devoid in the places it matters most—a corset that leaves your breasts propped up and completely exposed, panties with a slit that perfectly frames your exposed, wet cunt. So close, yet so far away. A flick of his forked, serpent-like tongue slips out of his mouth. His eyes get lost in the view. For you, he would reduce himself down to just a tongue—how he yearns to be useful. His twin cocks create a prominent bulge against his tight, leather pants. You keep a short, firm grip on the leash that connects to the patent black collar around his neck. 

“What are you looking at?” You ask rhetorically, taking your right foot off his shoulder and placing the toe of your stiletto against his forehead, forcing his gaze to meet yours. You let it linger there, making a point: The feared crown Prince of Briar Valley is beneath you.

His heart stammers and he gulps, lips parted but unable to form an answer. A low moan escapes his throat, eyelids fluttering closed—this is pure ecstacy. Unfiltered submission. Total loss of control. Absolute surrender. It was intoxicating. He had no control of his body, and he could hardly form a coherent thought. His cock muscles begin to flex against his pants, as his desperation to create friction shows face.

But it’s not time for relief or release. You yank his collar, forcing his face toward you. “Bad boy!” you purr, through gritted teeth, slapping him hard across the cheek. “Did I give you permission for pleasure?” 

His eyes roll back, hand instinctively rushing to his cheek. Not to tend to the wound—to relish in the feeling of your touch. The slap didn’t hurt, but the sheer audacity of the move was almost enough to make him cum right then and there. In his long life, no one had ever dared challenge him in such a way. You loved how your precious Malleus showed his emotions so plainly on his face. A strong wave of arousal flooded your nervous system as you admired his flushed face. His eyes had gone hazy, drool glistened on the corners of his mouth, which had curled into the lewdest smile you’d ever seen. There was no doubt—he was getting off to this.

You yank the leash again, forcing him out of sexual gratification. “What a shame.” You look down at him with so much contempt that he winces. You almost wanted to break the scene and comfort him, but these were the rules. This was what he wanted. 

You continue to follow through with your punishment, reminding him of his place and purpose in the bedroom: service and obedience. You take a deep breath and sigh. "I was really looking forward to using that pretty face of yours to make myself cum. Guess I’ll have to take matters into my own hands.”

You remove your feet from his body, bracing them on the seat of the throne and spreading your legs in one smooth motion. His pout transitions into a dropped jaw as your free hand crawls down your stomach to spread your labia apart. You hold his eye contact and you see his slitted pupils dilate. You begin to draw slow, sensual circles around your clit.

Every neuron fires off in delicious agony, screaming that he should be the one pleasuring you. His heart aches—he vowed to himself that his Queen shouldn’t have to lift a finger as long as he was around. Malleus was holistically devoted; your pleasure has become his entire purpose. 

He dedicated his days to chasing the high of your smiles and his nights to getting drunk off of your moans. He didn’t deserve to revel in your precious light, but you let him in without a second thought. That was just the type of person his beloved human was, and for that, he would serve you until his last breath. 

But now he had to sit idly and watch as you enjoyed yourself without him. What a beautiful torture. A fitting punishment. Perfect for stripping away his ego, forcing him out of everything he knew, all while reminding him of his subservient status. As much as it hurt him… he craved moments like these.

Malleus studies your movements carefully, internalizing every detail of how you pleasure yourself. The way you slid your middle finger up through your delicate folds, gathering the slick of your own arousal for lubrication. How you alternate between light flicks on your clit and flat, rapid rubbing with two fingers. The way you allow yourself to become absorbed in your lechery. 

You’re sure to drag out Malleus’ punishment, taking time to honor every part of yourself. You explore every surface of your body, through your hair, teasing your hardened nipples on the way back down to your cunt. What a naughty tease. How beautiful it was to watch your vulva swell as you got closer and closer to orgasm. His heart raced, breath running ragged as he became consumed by theories of what you could be thinking of to bring yourself closer to the edge. Were you thinking about him? What dirty fantasy about him would transform your pleasure, forcing you to the point of no return?

Whatever it was, you couldn’t fight it. Your eyes widened, and Malleus watched as you wrapped his leash around your wrist to grip the armrest of his throne, holding on for dear life as you rode out the high of your orgasm. Malleus made a tight fist with his right hand, digging his nails into his palm to prevent himself from cumming too, just from the sight of you. There was no bigger turn-on than seeing you receive the pleasure you deserve. It had been weeks since his Queen had allowed him to cum. His balls were desperate to release—even a nipple poking through your t-shirt was enough to feel like he was edging. 

Currently, it was taking every fiber of his being not to slip up. He was ever careful not to take any action that his Queen would consider stepping out of line, lest his orgasm be denied further. But that look on your face… every sound of pleasure from your sweet lips… every involuntary twitch of your legs and each curl of your toes—safely filed away in his mind to replay when his Queen finally gives him permission to cum.

“What a good boy you were. I know that was hard for you.” 

You sit back up on the throne, leaning towards Malleus’ face, smiling sweetly as you let your smug, cunning eyes tell a different story. You know you’re driving him mad—and you’re goddamn proud of it. You lean even closer, lifting his chin with your blood-red, manicured fingertips. You can’t help but giggle as you poke and prod, rubbing his pale, soft cheeks with your thumb, dragging your fingernail along his pointed ear. His blush deepens. You lift his upper lip up with one teasing finger, admiring his cute little fangs. 

“How adorable you are. My perfect little obedient pet. My perfect lover. I love everything about you.” 

You settle back into the chair, cheek resting on your fist, face arranged in a coy little smile. 

“You may speak.”

A faint, “T-thank you, m-my Queen” is all he can muster before dropping eye contact and falling silent again, cheeks sizzling. He doesn’t know how to process your earnest adoration.

“Aw, is that the best you can do? I can only hope you have more to say when giving a royal address, or appearing before the faerie courts. Let’s hope the domestication of a future King isn’t grounds for dethronement. By a human, no less.” 

You both know Malleus remains ever-so-diligently authoritative when it comes to his duties to his Kingdom—it’s one of the reasons you felt so honored how eager Malleus was to lower himself for both of your pleasure.

“You know, I don’t like punishing you when you’re a bad boy. I want to take care of you, too.” You yank his leash in a final act of correction, watching his upper body stumble forwards once again. “Don’t make me do it again, or I swear on the Seven you will not like what follows. Now lay on your back. I’m not even close to being satisfied.”

Without hesitation, Malleus falls to the floor. Another place you shouldn’t find a powerful crown Prince: laying on the cold, hard, dirty ground. He wears a stupid smile on his face—he knows what’s coming. Rolling your eyes, you get in position; feet framing his eager face, offering a direct bird’s-eye view of your plump, glistening cunt. Slowly lowering yourself into a squat above his face, you purr, “beg for it.”

He can smell the musk of your pussy and his cocks throb painfully against his pants. His heart races, eyes once again hazy with arousal, mouth completely agape. His body twitches—he’s already edging. I guess a month of being denied orgasm will do that.

He looks up at you, eyes watering, lip quivering, hands in tight fists as he fights the urge to touch himself. He closes his eyes, savoring the warmth radiating from your cunt, and deeply inhales your scent. A deep, warm exhale swirls around your clit—still sensitive from your first orgasm—which sends a surge of electricity through your entire nervous system. You can’t help but shudder.

The corners of his lips curve upward, his ego is beginning to show itself again. You yank his leash upwards, meeting his eyes with a narrowed stare. Malleus knows the drill. He doesn't want his Queen's kindness to turn cold, after all. He gulps, all arrogance vanishing in an instant. You relax your grip.

A pathetic whine accompanies his plea: deep, smooth, and dripping with arousal. "Please," he begins. His eyes are wide and his lip trembles, desperate to satisfy his Queen. "I will worship your beautiful body. I will show you my love, my loyalty, my devotion, with the entirety of my being. My tongue will show you my adoration and gratitude. Please..." he begs and whimpers, more pathetic with each word.

"You're drooling." You wipe his mouth with your thumb, smearing it across his lips and forcing them apart. You stick your thumb into his mouth, on which he sucks hungrily. You can't help but smile—he really is greedy for your love. "Such a filthy, desperate, pitiful, whiny boy."

His eyelids flutter and he moans, loving how your words make him feel. His cocky, confident demeanor completely dissipates as you degrade him. He's a complete mess, completely dependent on your words and your touch. The second your finger is out of his mouth, he begins begging again, more frantically. "Please. Sit on my face. I want to be useful. I want to make you feel good. Please, please, use my mouth, I want to make you cum. I want to be covered in your essence. I want to taste the sweetness of your arousal. I want to drink it up, and breathe you in. I want to be completely engulfed in the warmth of your cunt. Please, my Queen. Use me for your pleasure. Let me worship your pussy.”

"You may."

Those two words felt electric. Malleus' heart raced and his cocks leaked and his eyes rolled back, lost in the euphoria of this moment. His arms reach around to squeeze the sides of your thighs, pulling your dripping cunt to his face before you could change your mind. A demanding action like that normally wouldn’t have been allowed, but you were already losing yourself to pleasure. 

He pressed his nose into your pubic bone, licking at every inch of skin he could reach. Malleus wastes no time giving his Queen exactly what she wants. His tongue strokes up and down your pulsing pussy, lapping up your wetness and savoring every taste. His eyelids flutter in carnal ecstasy and his mind floats away, primal instincts taking over. Breathing deeply through his nose, practically drowning in your scent, a moan escapes his lips. He licks faster, swirling his tongue around your clit. He looks up, moaning again as he takes in the view: the plump undersides of your breasts bouncing lightly with every lick, fire-red fingernails squeezing your right nipple, your head thrown back in unmistakable pleasure. His moan pulsates against your soaking wet pussy, intensifying your pleasure to something even more carnal. Your pelvis—suddenly with a mind of its own—thrusts and grinds against his tongue.

He's hungry and messy, but he knows exactly how to please you. You run your fingers through his dark, sweaty bangs, pushing his hair back to expose the gorgeous scales hidden on his forehead. You hold onto his horns like a saddle, taking back some control.

"You're such a good boy, Malleus. Keep going." His long, forked tongue is immediately thrust inside of you, desperate to gather up every bit of slick from your last orgasm. You can feel his thick tongue prod against your sensitive, contracting walls as he eagerly laps up your sweet, musky juices. His tongue could do things a mortal man couldn’t dream of. You grind down harder, pushing his face further into you.

Arching your back, his tongue continues to devour you, licking and sucking with primal desperation. He licks the entire length of your vulva and then sucks his way up your labia, finishing his trail with a wet “pop,” leaving your clit swollen and throbbing. He revisits your labia with his entire mouth, sucking it taut and letting it go. The sensation of the blood rushing back is divine, and your whole body shivers. You’re so close. His fingers dig into the soft flesh of your plush thighs, holding on for dear life as his adrenaline pulses through every blood vessel.

Your moans are music to his ears, and he wants more. He sucks on your clit, circling it with his tongue, flicking and licking up and down, positioning it safely between the fork of his tongue. It's too much, but you want more. He vibrates his tongue, sending shockwaves up and down your spine. Your leg muscles twitch and your breath catches. He can tell that you're almost there, and his cocks throb harder than ever. He’s desperate to cum when you do.

"Don't cum." You read his mind. "If you obey me, I'll let you cum in my womb."

He moans loudly, and his hips involuntarily jerk upward, trying to find friction in the air. His cocks are dripping, his pants soaked with clear, sticky precum. He feels so hot and needy, it's almost painful. But he loves it. The idea of finally releasing into you—his Queen. His love. His entire universe. If he could cum right now, he'd fill you to the brim, and then some. He'd give you the family you've always wanted. He'd make sure you'd never want for anything else. He'd give you everything in his universe, just like he promised.

Malleus can't help but whimper as you pull his hair, forcing his mouth back against your pussy. "Focus," you remind him. You can feel him nod, and then his tongue is back to work, licking, sucking, and flicking your clit, vibrating his tongue and moaning against your folds, the sound muffled by your flesh.

"You're such a good boy," you praise him. His eyes roll back and he moans even louder, sending vibrations up through your pussy. "Mmm... that's a good boy, Malleus. Such a good boy." He's getting sloppy, moaning and whimpering and bucking his hips uncontrollably. "You're so needy. Just a little more... a little longer. I'm close. Don't stop. Make me cum."

You feel his fingers digging into your flesh, his whole body is trembling. His face is red, and tears stream down his cheeks. His cocks ache—he won’t be able to hold on much longer. 

For his finishing move, he pulls your clit between his lips and begins to suck, swirling his tongue around, and then flicking the tip. He vibrates his tongue as hard and as fast as he can, sending shockwave after shockwave straight through you until you’re completely uninhibited. You shudder and convulse, completely lost in orgasmic ecstasy. “MALLEUS,” you scream, cumming so hard that your juices squirt into his mouth and run down his chin. He shoves his tongue deep within your pussy, feeling your walls contract around him, lapping up the sweet, sticky liquid as it releases. He's in Heaven. His eyes are closed, breathing ragged, his chest heaves. He's panting, covered in sweat. His cocks twitch, and his balls ache, but he wouldn't dare let himself go over the edge. His prize awaits. 

You crawl away from this face, legs wobbling and mind scrambling to catch up. Looking back at him, you see smudged eyeliner, swollen lips, and a face glistening in your juices. His chest heaves, cocks leaking with desperate arousal. He looks so pitiful, completely lost in the throes of carnal desire. He meets your gaze, his eyes out of focus. Small, desperate whimpers escape his lips. He's desperate for your touch—and you love seeing him this way.

You slowly undo the buttons on his shirt, one by one, taking the time to appreciate each reveal of toned muscle. He's so beautiful. Pure. Innocent. Perfect. You run your fingers down his chest, feeling the smooth, firm skin, and the rise and fall of his chest. His nipples are hard, and you can't resist. You tease them with your red, stiletto fingertips, feeling him shudder under your touch. He's so cute when he's aroused.

"M-my Queen..." he mumbles, and you know exactly what he wants. You kiss his chest, he moans. Arching his back, his hips buck forward, and a frustrated groan exits his airway. You kiss his nipples, playfully sucking, then a quick nibble. He cries out, body trembling, cocks twitching with excitement.

"Patience, my love," you coo. "You’ll get your reward."

You trail kisses down his torso as he squirms beneath you. His cocks are painfully hard. By the time you reach the waistband of his pants, his entire being is begging for you to take them off. In the same moment you’ve tugged the zipper down, his cocks spring free, bouncing against his abdomen. They're hard as rocks, covered in precum, and twitching with need. He's whimpering, and you know he can’t hold on much longer. 

Slipping his pants down, you free his legs of their final constraint. You look up to find him gazing at you through half-lidded eyes, breathing heavily. He's so beyond ready for release. You climb back up him, straddling his hips, careful not to make contact with either cock—you don't want him to cum just yet. Not before he fills you up, and makes you his.

"I want to take both of them. I don't want to waste a single drop." This is new. Usually it’s one cock inside of you while you jerk the other off or rub it against your clit. Two at once require a bit of fae magic. He nods, shuddering. Reaching up, his fingers brush against your pussy. His gasp is voracious—he felt how soaking wet you are. His hand glows green and he pushes two fingers into your tight little pussy, his magic spreading inside of you. It tingles in the best way. You feel like you're being filled up with warmth and love and ecstacy. Your body buzzes, pussy throbbing. As his magic begins to take effect, he adds two more fingers, your pussy eagerly and willingly stretching to accommodate his entire fist. Euphoria courses through your veins.

“Give yourself to me. Fill me up with every last bit of you. Make me see stars.”

Finally, permission. 

In one swift motion, Malleus removes his fist and plunges both pulsing, throbbing, needing cocks inside of your enchanted pussy. Within an instant, Malleus can't hold back any longer. He erupts, and a guttural moan escapes his lungs as his orgasm hits him like a freight train. His whole body convulses, hips jerking violently, pumping his hot, sticky, viscous essence deep within your womb. Your eyes roll back, feeling his thick, warm cum paint your insides. The sheer force of his orgasm pushes you over the edge, and you cum for the third time that night, your walls clenching around his cock, milking him for every last drop. The feeling is almost indescribable—both of your aching bodies become one, pleasure and cum filling you to the absolute brim. He pummels you again and again, your eyes rolling back, jaw slack, holding on for dear life.

He's continues to cum—it's been a month, after all. His moans are desperate, his breathing ragged. His hips buck, and his body trembles. His fingers dig into the flesh of your ass cheeks, pulling you flush against him. He can't get enough. His head spins thinking about how badly he wants to impregnate you. To breed with you. To have you bear his children. To make you a mommy. He imagines your beautiful, swollen belly; a physical manifestation of the love you share.

After what may have been eons, his orgasm finally subsides. His vision clears, and he's met with a glorious sight: you, above him, blissed out and dripping with cum. His heart swells, his love for you now deeper than ever. You allow him to kiss you, after seeing him yearn for it. You taste his love, his desperation, and his complete submission to you. It's divine.

You collapse, falling on top of his chest. Lay there together, breathing hard, you both come down from the most intense orgasm of your lives. His cocks soften, and slip out of your overflowing cunt. Your body shudders. It feels strange to be empty again.

“Bathe me," you command him.

"Anything for my beloved."

You both stand, legs wobbly. With a flick of his wrist, Malleus uses his magic to clean up, restoring the room to a pristine state. Before you can protest, Malleus scoops you up, and in a flash, you're back in his dorm room. The green teleportation fireflies fade as he carries you to the bath. You relax into his arms. With one, strong hand, he turns the water on, making sure it's just the right temperature, cuddling you until the water fills. Sleepily, you disconnect the leash from his collar, leaving his collar fastened around his neck as a sign of ownership.

Malleus carefully slides the straps of your corset off your shoulders, unlacing the back and letting it fall to the ground. He kisses along your clavicle, leaving goosebumps in his wake. He kneels before you, slowly pulling your panties down. Watching them fall, he can't help but blush, remembering the way he'd seen them just moments before. Your nudity is absolutely mesmerizing.

You step into the soothing water in the tub, and Malleus steps in behind you, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you onto his lap. He's so good at caring for you. He washes and scrubs every inch of your skin, finishing with a scalp massage. His movements are soft and intentional—full of love and adoration. He wraps his arms around you, holding you tight. You let your eyes close, listening to his heart beat, feeling the warmth of his skin.

"Thank you for tonight. It was perfect," he coos into your ear.

"I'm so happy you trust me so much with your fantasies." You feel him smile as he buries his face into the crook of your neck. "Do you feel more comfortable in your submission?"

"Every time, it gets easier. I've never felt this safe or this loved. I am forever indebted to you. I love you, now and always."

"I love you too, Malleus. Now and always."

His hands rest on your lower belly. One day, it will swell with change, and you'll bear his heirs. You'll live your life together, and you'll rule his kingdom by his side. He can hardly wait—he’s already vowed to serve and protect you and your future children with every bone in his body. But for now, he takes pride in knowing you choose to be with him. To show him that his submission is not weakness, it’s power. It's a privilege. And more than anything, it's love.

You fall asleep like this, in his arms, dreaming of your future together. He holds you close, cherishing the moment. You're his everything—now, and always.

This was my first ever fic! If you enjoyed it, it would mean the absolute world to me if you told me either in the replies, in my ask box, or in the tags! Please know you have my endless gratitude for reading my fanfic — thank you for supporting my passion. I have been a long time lover of fanfic and I am absolutely honored to finally contribute to the community I care so deeply about! I hope you had a great time! 💚 Erica Malleleothreesome

[saebyeokbliss]

trust me on this one. professor!saebyeok/reader

PICTURE YOU

synopsis: sae-byeok is your professor. what happens when the professional, incredibly attractive teacher you've been pining over in secret reciprocates? warnings: teacher/student romantic relationship, tiny angst if you squint

pairing: professor!sae-byeok x fem!student!reader

a/n: oh i trusted and did it. now I'm obsessed

Sae-byeok is a young, brilliant professor at Seoul National University (SNU), teaching Comparative Politics with a focus on global systems of inequality and power dynamics.

Her reputation precedes her: she’s strict but fair, incredibly sharp, and always composed. She’s also insanely beautiful, which has earned her a quiet fanbase of admirers on campus.

You’re a second-year student majoring in Political Science who signed up for her class because of her stellar reputation.

You didn’t expect her to be… this. The first time she walked into the lecture hall, her presence was magnetic. She was all sharp cheekbones, dark, intense eyes, and a voice that commanded attention.

You’re sitting in the middle row, trying to be invisible, but Professor Kang Sae-byeok’s eyes scan the room like a hawk. Despite yourself, you can’t help but be drawn to the way she carries herself—calm authority in every step.

During one of her lectures, she asks a question about the intersection of political theory and economic disparity. You hesitantly raise your hand, and to your surprise, she seems genuinely interested in your answer.

After class, she stops you briefly. “That was a good point,” she says, her voice soft but firm. “You should speak up more often.”

You start attending her office hours to ask about assignments, but it becomes clear that the two of you share a love for deep philosophical debates. Conversations flow effortlessly, and you begin to see glimpses of the person behind the professional exterior.

Sae-byeok is reserved, but the way her lips twitch into the smallest smile when you say something clever sends your heart racing.

One day, you run into her outside campus—she’s at a bookstore downtown, flipping through a thick hardcover. She looks surprised to see you but doesn’t brush you off. Instead, she spends a few minutes talking about her favorite authors. You leave the encounter feeling giddy, clutching the book she recommended.

There’s also the time you bump into her in the hallway, and she catches your arm to steady you. It’s nothing, really, but her hand lingers for just a second too long.

You start noticing the way her gaze lingers on you in class, just for a moment longer than anyone else.

She always finds a way to give you thoughtful feedback on your work, and it feels more personal than it should.

It happens late one evening, after you’ve stayed behind to help her organize papers for a conference she’s attending. The room is quiet, the golden glow of the desk lamp casting soft shadows.

“You shouldn’t spend so much time here,” she says, her tone gentle but strained. “People will talk.”

You hesitate before replying. “And if I don’t care about what they say?”

She looks at you then, really looks at you, and for the first time, her composure cracks. “You don’t understand what you’re saying.”

“I do,” you insist, stepping closer. “I think about you all the time, Professor Kang.”

For a moment, there’s only silence. Then, quietly, she admits, “You think I don’t feel the same?”

From that night on, everything changes. You and Sae-byeok begin seeing each other in secret.

She’s cautious, always reminding you of the risks—her career, your future—but she can’t seem to stay away from you.

Late-night study sessions in her office turn into stolen kisses. You text each other under the guise of “academic discussions,” but the messages are laced with longing.

On weekends, she takes you to quiet, out-of-the-way places where no one would recognize her.

Sae-byeok struggles with the morality of it all. She’s your professor, after all, and the power dynamic weighs heavily on her mind.

“You deserve someone who can love you freely,” she says one night, her voice breaking. “Not someone who has to hide you.”

But you refuse to let her go. “I don’t care about any of that. I just want you.”

Eventually, you both agree to keep things discreet until you’re no longer in her class.

The secrecy is thrilling but also exhausting, and it tests your relationship in ways you didn’t expect.

When the semester ends, and you’re no longer her student, she finally lets herself love you without restraint. The first time she takes your hand in public, you feel like you’re floating.

It’s a rainy night, and you’re at her apartment, sitting cross-legged on the couch while she grades papers. The sound of the rain against the windows fills the space, and she looks impossibly soft without her usual professional armor—her hair tied back loosely, reading glasses perched on her nose.

“You’re staring,” she says without looking up, a small smirk tugging at her lips.

“Well, what can I say?” you reply, and she finally glances at you, her eyes warm in a way that makes your chest ache.

Sae-byeok sets the papers aside and leans over, cupping your face in her hands. “You’re impossible,” she murmurs, but the way she kisses you says otherwise.

[lunatf-ao3]

HEAT CYCLE ❦︎

[TFP] Megatron/Minicon!Reader

[⚠︎]: NONCON, nsfw, size difference, submissive reader

I'm hesitating whether to make a more complete part two of this. Thank you so much for the support I have received, it excite me so much!!

-

Megatron's gaze is disdainful as he stares at the diminutive technician a few feet away from him, fixing the sound system of some of your holographic communication systems.

Your small structure and design is similar, a minicon, of course. Smaller, weaker Cybertronians, initially created as low-level, unimportant workers. The war made that a thing of the past. In fact, you were the only minicon on your ship.

Was it low to have one working for him, in his strong legion? Something so small, so weak, useless? Hm, but you're cute.

Maybe it's his initiating heat cycle, but it's inevitable to find you attractive so vulnerable there, at his beck and call, even being so small and simple. Those optics barely looking at you nervously, those blunt antennae, those tiny servos....

Simply thrilling.

Unable to help it, your designation leaves his dermas.

"Come here." He barked, with contempt and excitement.

Your antennae perk up at the call, laying down your tools as if your life depended on being there as soon as possible (maybe it does, you'll never know). The steps are hollow until you bow to him submissively.

"How may I serve you, Lord Megatron?"

Megatron watches your timid approach intently, just having you there, so docile and harmless, he could tear you apart with his claws without any effort.

But that was not his plan. "Come here, between my legs."

You empty them a little before nodding and heading obediently up to between her legs, your tank bubbling. Your optics can't meet his filled with.... Something. You're unsure what his intentions are.

"Oh, come closer, do not be afraid. I will not hurt you." His voice is silky, too gentle for you who, without choice, can only move closer.

And with that you are facing their interface panel as a requested invader.

Megatron's red optics lustfully pierce you, and you can feel the heat radiating from him. You had casually heard something from Knockout about a heat cycle and Megatron.

You begin to suspect that your powerful leader is in a heat cycle. And you are his unfortunate victim. You're about to open your mouth when he speaks again.

"You are obedient, are not you? You do not question, you do not hesitate, how clever of you." He strokes one of your antennae, you swallow your words. "What delicate components, what fragile parts."

"I am going to enjoy you very much, little one."

With that statement, your interface panel retracts completely to expose a thick, hard, weeping spike. It confirms your doubts and fears.

"Suck."

The command is clear, but you hesitate. His spike is large, of course, too intimidating for a helmet as small as yours. Gray dominated the length, accompanied only by faint square biolights on the sides and a grayish purple tip that dripped thick, sickly violet transfluid.

Though seeing it squint through the optics with menace was enough.

Pulling out the glossa, you awkwardly lick the tip, the transfluid tasting odd, but you say nothing, continuing on. You only hear a hum from him, so you keep licking around it, smearing every part of his spike with oral lubricant.

The metal moves with each of your licks and his tip drips enough to cover his entire cock.

You think it's weird. It's definitely weird, and you can't exactly say you're enjoying it in any way.

After a few clicks, Megatron gets tired and pulls you away by tugging you away from an antenna. "I told you suck, not lick."

"I am sorry."

You mutter, turning your attention to a more specific spot. You take his spike in your smaller servos awkwardly, sucking the tip hesitantly.

Megatron looks down at you from above, satisfied with your submission. You were adorable, a perfect little toy.

He pushed your helmet with one of his claws to push a little more of his spike into your intake, unsatisfied with only receiving attention at its tip.

"Hm." You're annoyed to find that just a few inches in you can't push any further.

It made you pull away again, your words coming out quickly.

"I am sorry, Lord Megatron, my mouth is too small for your spike, it is too big."

"Then set aside some of those irrevelant parts in your intake to make room for me. You do not want to disappoint me now."

"They are not irrevelant..."

The tyrannical leader crouched down, looking directly into your optics. "What did you say?"

"Nothing." And your transformation mechanisms quickly do their job of pushing important parts of your intake further down. It's uncomfortable and a little painful, but more painful is death, so you open your mouth once more.

This time, he inserts his spike more freely, abusing the space until your intake can take no more and tears overflow from your optics.

"That is it." Megatron's moan is choppy, enjoying the tight, wet space. His claws hold your helmet firmly in place as he begins to wiggle his hips, fucking your little intake as if it was made for exactly that.

The lunges are lazy but hard. The penetration feels strange, painful, his spike touches your intake all the way down and crushes your glossa down, completely filling the already limited space.

You lean back on his thighs, letting him use you for several more clicks.

Finally, after upping the pace a few more lunges, his overload comes with a deep grunt of pleasure. The stream of warm, slippery semen went straight down into your tank and overflowed down your dermas.

Despite your moans, Megatron kept you going until the last drop of transfluid went right down into your tank.

The structure of your ingestion returned to its place as you felt the evil leader's spike withdraw. You'd be lying to say it's not too good a relief. Still, your vocalizer needs to reboot.

"Ah, you did magnificently, little minicon! What a good little thing, so obedient. You wll make a good toy for your master, will not you?"

He purrs, sitting on his lap with a hop. His spike now almost exceeded the height of your entire abdomen.

One of his claws caressed your interface panel as the crimson optics locked onto it. What a tiny valve you must have had under that tiny panel! I could almost lick your dermas with anticipation.

He was not surprised when you immediately obeyed his command to open before him. And he was right, you did have a small valve, made more for someone your own size. A little bigger than the size of the tip of his spike, well, that was enough for him.

He stroked the soft rubber already lubricated. "Do you enjoy serving your leader in this way?".

"Yes, my lord. I enjoy it very much." The tremor in your barely restarted voice amused him. You were so nervous, so shy.

"That is good to hear. From now on, I claim you as my property, unique to my use."

Followed by his words, he inserted one of his claws into your valve, earning a squeal from you. It felt big and long enough to touch a good spot inside you. Without waiting, he rammed in quickly, withdrawing his claw just long enough before inserting it forcefully again.

"Lord Megatron!" Your moan is sweet in his audio receivers, and he turns up the speed hoping to get more of those sweet calls out.

"That's it, moan my name like that, sweet little thing." He cheered, rubbing your node with his thumb.

*M-My Lord!" You wiggle your hips, whimpering and moaning like you're in heat.

Your valve quickly begins to lubricate, the pain delicious to Megatron, who quickly grows impatient as your cycle intensifies.

It's okay, surely you're ready enough as it is. I was planning to make you beg for your overload, but that would be for later.

I pull his claw from your wet valve, lapping up the rest of your fluids. "Delicious."

He quickly accommodated you, lining up the tip of his spike with your little valve. The difference in size was noticeable, almost sinful, and that further ignited Megatron's spark.

"Lord Megatron, that won't fit inside me!" Your intervention is annoyed, terrified and shocked.

Megatron rolled the optics. "Make it fit." And he pushed.

You barely get your mechanisms to push aside components inside you, making room for his spike once more, before you feel the tip penetrate the soft sealed rubber. The pain kicks in, and you doubt it will go all the way in.

When he pushes a little further, you swallow saliva, squeezing the servos. "Lord Megatron..." You plead, unsure of what you are asking.

A particularly hard thrust makes you whimper, clinging to him. He's opening you up like a newly purchased toy, waiting to use you to your heart's content.

When he keeps going lower, you gasp out some pleas as you give in and fall against the underside of his chest, clawing at his shoulders. "L-Lord!"

But Megatron doesn't plan to stop. Your valve expands like never before, and your insides desperately try to accommodate the painful invader. "L-Lord Megatron!!!"

For a click the door to the room opens amidst your shout, revealing a Knockout who, with quickly cut off words, turns around and goes back the way he came.

At least he'll know what happened to you, because you'll definitely have to pay him a visit.

Finally, Megatron settles himself inside you with a deep moan of pleasure, clenching his claws on your hips. Your legs hang limp on the sides of his thighs, and your servos squeeze him weakly.

"So tight..." Megatron murmurs, almost overwhelmed. Just as he imagined, you were deliciously tight, smothering his spike between your wetness. "What a greedy little hole, looking to get my transfluid out so fast."

You can barely mumble a few words. You feel... Drunk and overwhelmed. Her spike fills half of where your tank and processing system should be, pushing straight into your gestation chamber like it's nothing. You are... too full, too full to be comfortable. The heavy metal pushes against your abdomen, as if to split you in two.

Megatron is kind enough to wait a few clicks for you to halfway get used to it before, without asking, grabbing your hips and lifting you up to leave only half of his spike inside. "Wow, even so you are squeezing me so well!"

He teased, lowering you once more to take it all the way in. He leaned back on the throne, manipulating your hips to his liking.

"We are going to have so much fun, my little companion."

[airandyeah]

Footballplayer!Sukuna X Toughgirl!Reader Who Do You Think I Am? Pt.10

My Masterlist Series Masterlist

Sukuna’s hand lingers at your back, protective and grounding, even as tension rolls off him in thick waves. You hear the shuffle of shoes behind you, voices starting again—angry, scared, defensive. But you don't turn back.

Meanwhile, in another part of the school, Yorozu paces the private administrative office the secretary had begrudgingly let her use. Her phone is clutched so tightly in her manicured hand that her knuckles pale.

“He’s not answering,” one of her friends mutters from the corner.

Yorozu glares and redials.

On the fourth ring, the line picks up. A deep sigh. Her father's voice, stiff with annoyance.

“Yorozu.”

“Daddy,” she starts, already shifting her voice into something syrupy. “The school is trying to suspend me—there was a fight, and I—”

“Stop.”

The command hits like a slap. She stiffens.

“You dragged me into another mess. Again. How many times is this now? The third? Fourth?”

“But I didn’t do anything—she started it! She—”

“You lied,” her father growls. “Again. I already got the call from the board chair. They pulled security footage. Do you think I didn’t tell them to run checks before I even answered this call?”

Yorozu goes silent, eyes wide.

Her father sighs, slow and disappointed. “You’re lucky you haven’t been expelled already. This is the last time. You’ve embarrassed me for the last time.”

“Wait—Daddy—”

“You’re on your own.”

The line goes dead.

Yorozu stares at the screen, the dull beep echoing in the tiny room. Her fingers twitch. Then she throws the phone against the wall with a shriek.

It shatters on impact.

And there’s no one left to clean up after her. Then, the door slams open. Yorozu. Hair tousled, cheeks blotchy with anger, her expression twisted with something almost feral. Her gaze zeroes in on you like a missile. “You—you did this!” she shrieks, lunging a step forward. “You think you’re so fucking clever? So cute? You ruined everything!” Sukuna moves without hesitation, a wall of muscle and fury rising between the two of you. “Back. Off.” “You think this is over?” she spits, ignoring him entirely. “My life is ruined because of you! Because you couldn’t just stay in your lane! Because he couldn’t keep his dick in his pants—” “Yorozu!” a sharp voice barks behind her. One of the teachers strides in, face pale with fury. “Enough.” She tries to twist away, another scream bubbling in her throat, but the teacher grabs her by the elbow. “No—don’t touch me!” she cries, thrashing. “They did this! They’re the ones you should be punishing! They—” “I’ve had it,” the teacher says, stern and cold, dragging her back. “This is your last warning. You’re lucky the dean hasn’t already expelled you.” “Let go of me!” But she’s already being pulled down the hall, her screams echoing. And for the first time all week, the hallway falls quiet. Sukuna’s hand drops to yours again, a quiet weight, and for a moment, you both just sit there. Breathing. Processing. “…Fucking psycho,” he mutters under his breath, and you don’t disagree. ~~~

Your dorm is quiet..

The low hum of the heater kicks on, a soft buzz that fills the silence between breaths. Outside your window, campus life carries on. Inside, you're curled beneath warm blankets with Sukuna beside you — his arm draped around your waist, his hand splayed protectively across your stomach like he’s anchoring himself to the moment. His cheek is pressed to your shoulder, breath slow and even against your skin.

You trace little circles over the back of his hand, staring at the ceiling.

“She’s really gone,” you murmur.

Sukuna shifts, his voice gruff with lingering adrenaline. “Yup. Dean said her transfer papers are already being processed. Guess Daddy got tired of bailing her out.”

You smile a little. “Didn’t even show up to defend her.”

He snorts against your shoulder. “Why would he? This was her last rope, and she hung herself with it.”

There’s a comfortable silence.

You turn to face him, resting your head against his chest, feeling his heart thudding slow and steady beneath your cheek.

“They’re making the other girls do probation. Counseling. One of them already withdrew,” you say.

“Good,” he replies, voice low and dangerous. “They got off easy.”

You glance up at him, and his expression softens when he sees the worry in your eyes. He cups your cheek gently.

“But you’re okay,” he says. “They didn’t take anything from you. You’re still here. Still you.”

Your chest aches, but it’s the good kind—the kind that comes from release, from finally being safe.

“I think I can breathe now,” you whisper.

He pulls you tighter. “Then breathe, baby. You’ve got me.”

His lips brush your forehead, and you close your eyes.

Yorozu is gone. Her claws clipped, her shadow finally chased from your doorstep.

And for the first time since you walked onto this campus, you feel like maybe—just maybe—this place can be home.

Especially if he's there to share it.

Sukuna’s hand is warm against your cheek, his thumb brushing gently under your eye like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you. He hasn’t moved for minutes now, just holding you, like he’s afraid if he lets go even for a second, it might all vanish.

The silence between you isn’t uncomfortable. It’s full—thick with unspoken words and shared exhaustion, but it’s peaceful. A rare thing.

You shift closer, curling against his chest. His heartbeat is steady beneath your ear.

“You know,” he says quietly, almost like he’s talking to himself. “I keep thinking… I don’t want to call this a thing anymore.”

You tilt your head to look up at him, eyes searching. “What do you mean?”

His eyes flick down to meet yours. For once, there’s no smugness. No teasing. Just sincerity, naked and real.

“I mean… I don’t want this to be something undefined,” he says. “I want you. Only you. And I want you to be mine—not just in rumors, not just ‘whatever we are.’ I want to call you my girlfriend. For real.”

Your breath catches. His hand finds yours between your bodies, fingers lacing, fitting perfectly.

“Well?” he asks, lips quirking into the faintest grin. “Gonna leave me hanging here, sweetheart?”

You stare at him for a beat, and then laugh softly—breathless and disbelieving—before nudging his forehead with yours.

“You really are a fucking idiot,” you murmur fondly. “But yeah… I’ll be your girlfriend.”

His grin explodes into something downright dangerous as he leans forward and kisses you full, deep, and smiling.

Outside the wind howls faintly against the windows, but inside—under the blankets, in his arms—you are finally, irrevocably safe. ~~~

The engine roars like a beast tearing across campus grounds, echoing through the courtyard as heads whip around in unison.

And there you are—arms wrapped tightly around Sukuna's waist, chin tucked against his shoulder, your hair whipping in the wind as his motorcycle screeches to a halt at the front gates like it owns the damn place.

Correction: he owns the place. But today… he’s not the main event.

You are.

You swing off like you’ve done it a hundred times before, fixing the hem of your skirt with practiced ease, eyes flicking toward the stunned crowd. Sukuna joins you, helmet in hand, the sleeves of his jersey pushed up just enough to reveal his ink and that lazy, cocky smirk that says he knows exactly what kind of chaos this is causing.

And he lives for it.

He doesn’t hesitate to grab your hand, fingers laced tightly with yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Whispers start, waves of them crashing around you.

“Are they…?” “No way.” “She’s dating Sukuna?!”

You don’t even blink. Tiffany meets you at the steps with her mouth wide open, giddy as ever, practically bouncing on her heels.

“Oh my god, you guys are gonna make people pass out—this is iconic.”

You just roll your eyes and give her a smug shrug.

By the time third period rolls around, you’re in the courtyard under a tree, legs tossed over Sukuna’s lap like it’s his natural habitat. He’s fiddling with your fingers, kissing your knuckles between sentences as if that’s something totally normal to do during a study period. (It’s not. People are staring.)

But it only gets worse when he pulls you into a slow, deep kiss mid-conversation, like he couldn’t help himself.

"Jesus Christ," Gojo groans nearby, flopping dramatically onto the grass beside Tiffany, who’s kicking her feet in the air and practically squealing. “Someone spray them with a hose.”

You pull back just long enough to glare, breathless but unbothered. “Go crawl back into your window.”

Sukuna’s still grinning, thumb brushing your lower lip like he’s not even trying to keep his hands to himself.

He doesn’t need to say it, not out loud—but it’s in the way he looks at you.

You're his.

And he doesn’t care who knows.

“You know,” she says between bites of soggy fries, “you and Sukuna should totally get matching jackets. Varsity lovers aesthetic. You could share his helmet too. Wouldn’t that be so cute—”

“She already wears my jacket,” Sukuna mutters, chewing on a toothpick and leaning lazily against the bench behind you, his hand comfortably resting on your thigh like it’s his seat now.

“And it’s not an aesthetic,” you add dryly. “We’re just dating.”

Tiffany squints, twirling a strand of her hair. “Yeah, but like. Epic romance dating. Y’know, like Bonnie and Clyde, but with more eyeliner and less crime—”

“Speak for yourself,” Gojo chimes in, flopping down across from you and stealing a fry off Tiffany’s tray like he’s earned it. “Tiff and I are more Romeo and Juliet, if they lived and had a very active social life.”

You don’t even flinch. “So doomed and dramatic?”

“Hot and misunderstood,” Gojo corrects with a wink, shoving the stolen fry into his mouth.

Your eye twitches. “Don’t you two have practice?”

Gojo waves him off. “Coach Yaga won’t even notice. Besides, we’re in the middle of emotional support duty—Tiff was spiraling because your text was shorter than usual this morning.”

“I was,” Tiffany whines dramatically. “You just said 'on my way' and not 'see you soon, pretty girl.' I was this close to tears, you emotionally stunted gremlin—”

“Oh my god.” You drop your forehead into your hand.

But before anyone can spiral further, a roar echoes from behind the bleachers.

“GOJO! SUKUNA!”

Tiffany and Gojo both freeze.

Coach Yaga rounds the corner with the fury of a thousand gym whistles. “If I have to drag you two back to practice by your ears, I will. Move it. And Sukuna—cut the lovebird act and bring your ass, too.”

Gojo’s already scrambling. “I was emotionally supporting someone, Coach—”

“Emotionally support the bench press!”

Sukuna groans as he stands, pulling you up with him and brushing his knuckles over your cheek. “Gotta go, princess.”

“I’m not your—”

He kisses your forehead. “Save me a seat in class.”

Gojo shouts from the field, “Tell my girlfriend I love her!”

Tiffany squeals from across the grass.

And then they’re gone, dragged off by the wrath of Coach Yaga, leaving you to shake your head and mutter under your breath:

“…Idiots. All of them.” “So,” Tiffany says, cracking open her pink polish bottle with a flourish, “are you gonna keep dodging my texts forever, or should I start sending smoke signals?”

You roll your eyes, but there’s a smile tugging at your lips. “Sorry. Things have been... a lot.”

“A lot, she says.” Tiffany snorts and pats the spot in front of her. “Sit. Hands out. I’m giving you back your trademark ugly nails whether you like it or not.”

You sigh, dragging yourself over and plopping down. “You know I only let you do this because you’re emotionally manipulative.”

“Oh, please.” She starts swiping the fluorescent pink over your nails, tongue sticking out in concentration. “You love this color. It screams bad decisions and mall food.”

You scoff. “It screams legally blind.”

Tiffany giggles, head tilted. “You missed me.”

You don’t answer at first—just watch the way she moves with a gentleness that doesn't quite match her chaotic energy. “Yeah,” you finally say. “I did.”

It’s quiet for a beat before she leans in, voice softer now. “You okay? After everything with Yorozu?”

You hesitate, eyes drifting to the polish slowly coating your nails. “I think I’m getting there.”

She nods, not pushing. “You’ve been through hell, babe. And I mean, sure, Sukuna’s got a jawline that could cut glass, but I’ll still key his bike if he hurts you.”

You snort. “You’d never survive the wrath of the football team.”

“I don’t need to survive. I just need to make my dramatic exit with a trail of glitter and vengeance.”

You grin, warmth blooming in your chest. “You’re insane.”

Tiffany beams. “I’m your insane.”

The two of you fall into a quiet comfort, the scent of acetone hanging in the air.. For a moment, it's just the two of you—nails, laughter, and the reassurance that through every storm, Tiffany would be there… pink polish and all. ~~~

The morning hallways are buzzing with life—students chattering, lockers slamming, and the low hum of caffeine-driven energy. But all of that fades into static as your back hits the lockers with a soft thud, Sukuna’s lips crashing into yours with all the subtlety of a car crash.

His hands are warm, one gripping your waist, the other braced beside your head. You barely have time to gasp between kisses before he mutters, “Couldn’t stop thinking about you all night.”

“You’re insatiable,” you manage to whisper against his mouth.

He grins, breath ghosting over your skin. “You love it.”

“You’re not wrong.”

Before the moment can drag into something too indecent for 9:00 a.m., a familiar, obnoxiously loud voice cuts through the tension like a chainsaw.

“OH MY GOD,” Gojo yells from down the hall. “It’s 8:47! At least pretend you don’t want to swallow each other whole!”

You break the kiss first, chest heaving as you glance over Sukuna’s shoulder, already glaring.

Gojo’s standing there with his hands dramatically clasped over his heart like he’s just witnessed a war crime. “Get a room, lovebirds! Preferably not one next to my locker, please. Some of us are trying to survive this academic prison without trauma.”

Sukuna groans but doesn’t move away, keeping his arm around your waist possessively. “You’re just mad no one’s tongue is down your throat right now.”

Gojo gasps. “Excuse you, Tiffany is refined. We make out in elegant silence.”

You snort. “You made out behind the vending machines and knocked over two kids last week.”

“They lived!” Gojo calls back defensively, already walking away. “Love responsibly, you filthy animals!”

You roll your eyes as Sukuna leans in again, his smirk widening. “Where were we?”

“You were being gross,” you say, even as your fingers curl into his hoodie.

He tilts his head. “Wanna be gross a little longer?”

You pretend to consider it for a second. “...Ten more seconds.”

He doesn’t wait for permission twice.

Tags: @nina6708 , @sherrieblossoms , @charlie-xo , @iloveredwineee , @kyo-kyo1 , @clp-84 , @book0fdr3ams , @enhasrii , @sanzuhoe , @strangelovedream , @keiva1000 , @tsumoorin Perm tags: @thenightperson , @makingtimemine , @nina-from-317

[jessicas-pi]

k so I tried to write this as a notfic for my AO3 The Space Family But.. series but I got stuck because I have no plot actually. so. I guess i'll just be rambling about it on here!

anyway.

Star Wars Rebels modern AU where they were all actors in a TV show set in the star wars universe. It was called Quest of Rebellion and was less of a connected story and more of a monster/villain/random-event-of-the-week type show. It was almost more like classic Star Trek, in a way. But in the Star Wars universe.

It starred, in order:

Caleb Dume as Kanan Jarrus, the charming--and slightly cocky, but with a heart of gold--captain of the ship. He completely embraced his character. The rest of the cast was always slipping up and calling him Kanan even off the set. He was by far the fan favorite.

Hera Syndulla as the bright, confident first mate and pilot Layda Dawn. Her character was sometimes a bit more damsel-y than she would have liked, but she was still the role model of a generation of little girls, and she's proud of it. Her finest moment was when she argued her way into having a scene where Layda carried a wounded Kanan out of danger while explosions and epic music were in the background.

Chopper... as... Chopper. He's legit just the same droid. Fully functional and an agent of chaos. Don't ask me how this works, I don't know. Chopper transcends logic. He's too powerful.

Garazeb Orellios as Commander Mel Loorun, the gruff chief of security. He was a stage actor, I'm thinking maybe Shakespeare, before he took on this role and is a little salty about how goofy his character can be. But he's dedicated to the art. He's always in costume, purple alien makeup and all. ALWAYS.  A L W A Y S.

Sabine Wren as Ria Talla, the perky young junior mechanic. Ria got a lot of hate, mostly because a certain writer had a habit of putting Ria in mortal danger due to her own incompetence, and it was in enough episodes that people kind of forgot that she was usually a clever, capable crewmember and an essential part of the team. (She has a personal vendetta against the episode on Zarvon 4, particularly. Everyone knows: you do not mention it to her.) This really got to Sabine, because she wanted to be a role model to a generation of little girls, like Hera was, and instead, she was just plain unpopular.

Ezra Bridger as Dev Morgan, a Jedi Padawan who joined the ship's crew. He embraced his character as much as Kanan did, with far less positive results. Again, this was due to some writers making terrible decisions with his character--half the time, he was the idiotic comic relief, and half the time, he was the smartest one, who saved everyone else. The only consistent thing was his sass. Audience reception to his character made Ria look like a fan favorite. But it doesn't bother him. No, really. He's fine.

The show ran for a few seasons, got a devoted following, and then got unexpectedly cancelled. In the years that followed, the actors kinda sorta moved on with their lives. Well, some of them did.

Ten years later, the cast's lives look like:

Caleb and Hera, whose characters had very unsubtle hints of a romance (which was unexpectedly reconned in Season 4, to the ire of the fandom), actually got married in real life and are now the proud parents of a ten-year-old boy named Jacen, who thinks Quest of Rebellion is stupid and his parents are lame.

Chopper... is still Chopper.

Zeb's gone back to Shakespeare acting---or, well, he's tried to, but after playing a purple furry alien on a sci-fi show, it's hard to get taken seriously.

Sabine lives in a condo her rich parents own. She's currently unemployed and going through some Mental Health Things.

And Ezra can't keep a job down, which he blames on Dev's issues with authority (he just gets so in character, and then management fires him! It's totally unfair!) He's currently looking for a job and is sleeping on the couch at Zeb's tiny apartment. He's been clinging to an upbeat, positive facade with every shred of strength he's got, but he recently set Sabine off on an angry tirade (she was having a bad day to start with and then he mentioned the Zarvon 4 episode) where she says a lot of things to him that are actually things she's been thinking about herself (pointless, worthless, failure, nothing but a joke, nobody wants you here). Well, that was the breaking point that finally brought it all crashing down, and he's hit rock bottom, feeling utterly useless and lost and purposeless.

Which is when the aliens abduct him.

See, unbeknownst to them all, in a galaxy far far away, a civilization of aliens has been picking up on our Earth channels for the past decade or so. Quest of Rebellion is a planetwide favorite. But the thing is, these aliens have no concept of fiction. They think Quest of Rebellion is a docuseries.

And when an evil Empire begins to rise in their galaxy, threatening their peaceful, unmilitarized, defenseless society, they turn to their heroes for salvation.

Help us, Padawan Morgan. You're our only hope.

(Well, Ezra can't say no to that, can he?)