#above it. and you are not. grow up and be earnest

[mrswhymrhow]

do not become a closed off person. slowly take steps into opening up and discussing yourself. or you will become nothing

[xxplastic-cubexx]

what is your favorite thing about charles and your favorite thing about erik? separately, as in what you like most about their characters :]

a devious question this one is, my friend!!! it's hard enough for me to explain my thoughts cohesively, but having to pick ONE thing i particularly love is difficult. with characters like charles and erik, theres been so much done with their characters over the decades and so they have so many components to them that make them so interesting and fun to observe. BUT I TRY FOR YOU TODAY. under the cut i kinda ramble and the size of this text box makin me anxious

i think if i were to be simple and broad, what i enjoy most about charles is his determination to help others, even if he isn't really thanked and/or if people don't even like him. ofc, this isn't to say he hasn't done wrong- to be honest, the fact he does wrong/questionable things at times is another aspect of him i really enjoy, maybe because- broadly speaking- he's meant to be altruistic (intent vs outcome and all that). i don't know if that's super exciting to most people, but it is for me

as for erik, my reason for liking him is easier to explain tbh. To Be Simple And Broad, his progression from villain to antihero over the decades has been fun to observe (as much as i have so far anyhow) and analyze. i think to be a bit more specific, him using his rage and pain as justifications for his villainous actions is definitely what compels me the most: hurt people hurt and the sort, an idea i've always found interesting (something something vicious cycles and the like). yet now, he recognizes this wasn't really. A Just Thing To Do and is beginning to change that, which i enjoy

[wh1msic4lwasab1]

… 𝙄𝙨 𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙗𝙤𝙙𝙮 𝙜𝙤𝙣𝙣𝙖 𝙢𝙖𝙩𝙘𝙝 𝙢𝙮 𝙛𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙠? ᯓ★୭ ˚. l

synopsis: genshin men and some of their kinks that surprised you a bit…but might as well match their freak?

tags: sub!reader, size kink, cum play, orgasm control

a/n: my bestie @astarionapologist helped me make these certified freaky !!!

☆ 𝙕𝙝𝙤𝙣𝙜𝙡𝙞 -> 𝙎𝙞𝙯𝙚 𝙆𝙞𝙣𝙠 ୭ ˚.⁺⊹ .ᐟ

More specifically, Morax, has got to have the biggest size kink. The thought of taking his human and their measly body sent a cold wave through his scales.

Of course he’s impossibly huge, and the thought of trying to take it inside you is both terrifying and exhilarating.

…

'I want to show you what it's like,' Zhongli says, his voice soft and gentle. 'I want to share this part of myself with you.' He says, guiding you into your bedroom as he towers over your frame; forcing you to look up into his lapis eyes.

Before you can answer, he's on you, his massive body pressing you against the wall. His shaft is pressing against your entrance, and you can feel the heat of it radiating through your clothes.

'Are you ready, my love?' he asks, his voice a low growl.

You nod, your heart pounding in your chest. You're not sure if you're ready, but you want this more than anything.

As his single arm is enough to hold your body against the wall, his other is pulling at your robes.

Zhongli enters you slowly at first, his shaft stretching you wider than you've ever been stretched before. You cry out as he fills you, your body trembling with the effort of taking him inside you.

But Zhongli doesn't stop. He keeps pushing, his cock sliding deeper and deeper inside you until you're completely impaled on him. You can feel him pulsing inside you, his energy coursing through your veins and making you feel more alive than you've ever felt before.

'Taking me so well…y/n,' he growls, his voice rough and raw. '… so, so perfect.” he manages to say, feeling your walls practically strangle him.

He starts to move, his shaft sliding in and out of you with rough, powerful strokes. You cry out with each thrust, the pleasure overwhelming you.

' harder,' you gasp, your voice barely above a whisper. 'I can take it.'

Zhongli responds, his thrusts becoming more urgent, more desperate. You can feel him losing control, his massive body trembling with the effort of holding back. Moreso now hearing how much you’re actually enjoying this, something he was so worried about.

'Fuck-,' he growls, his voice barely audible. 'I'm going to come. I can't hold back any longer.' You feel his forked tongue lick your ear, making you groan louder as you feel his hand on your lower stomach, tracing the shape of his cock inside you; getting off to how big he must feel inside your womb.

'Do it,' you gasp, your body quivering with anticipation. 'Please- fill me up. I want to feel it inside me Moraz!-“

With a final, desperate thrust, Zhongli comes, his energy surging through you and making you see stars. You cry out, your body shaking with the force of your own orgasm.

☆ 𝙏𝙖𝙧𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙡𝙞𝙖 -> 𝘾𝙪𝙢𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙮 ୭ ˚.⁺⊹ .ᐟ

Something about Tartaglia being such a family man and wanting to 100% breed you makes it way too plausible that he’s into cum, especially on your face.

…

'Come here, baby,' he growls, beckoning you closer.

You eagerly comply, dropping to your knees before him and wrapping your eager hands around his girth. You can feel the heat radiating from his member, and you can't wait to taste him.

'That's it' Tartaglia moans as you begin to stroke him, your fingers slick with his precum. 'Just like that.'

You take the tip of his cock into your mouth, savoring the salty taste of him. He groans, his hands fisting in your hair as you begin to suck him in earnest. You can feel his cock swelling in your mouth, growing harder and hotter as you worship him.

'Fuck,' Tartaglia pants, his hips bucking as you take him deeper. 'Your little mouth feels so good.'

You moan around him, the vibrations sending shivers down his spine. You can feel his balls tightening, and you know he's close. You redouble your efforts, determined to make him cum harder than ever before.

'Y/n, I'm gonna...fuck!-' Tartaglia cries out, his cock twitching as he releases a massive load of cum down your throat. You swallow what you can eagerly, savoring the taste of him and basking in the knowledge that you pleased him so thoroughly.

But Tartaglia isn't done yet. He pulls out of your mouth, his cock still hard and glistening with your saliva. He reaches down, smearing his tip around on your face, leaving a thick, sticky trail of cum across your cheek.

'Look at you, my love,' he growls, his eyes dark with lust. 'So cute with my cum painting your face.'

You blush, but you can't deny the thrill that runs through you at his words.

'You like that huh?' Tartaglia asks, his fingers tracing patterns in the cum on your cheek. 'You like it when I cum on your face?'

You nod, unable to speak as you watch him play with his load. He smears it around your face, coating your cheeks and forehead with his essence.

Tartaglia grins, his eyes shining with excitement.

'Then maybe next time, I'll cum inside you,' he says, pressing another kiss to your lips. 'But for now, my love, I have to go meet with the other harbingers. I'll see you later, okay? He says? Flicking your forehead before zipping up his pants and flashing you a smile.

“Count on it.”

☆ 𝙒𝙧𝙞𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙨𝙡𝙚𝙮 -> 𝙊𝙧𝙜𝙖𝙨𝙢 𝘿𝙚𝙣𝙞𝙖𝙡 ୭ ˚.⁺⊹ .ᐟ

This man will demand respect from you, not because he’s so stern and moralus, but because he finds it so hot to be able to control you in such an intimate way.

You groan as you enter Wriothesley's office, your body already aching for his touch. He looks up from his paperwork, a wicked grin crossing his face as he beckons you over to his desk with a single finer. You waste no time closing the door behind you, locking it tight as you make your way over to him.

'I was beginning to think you'd never get here,' he says, his voice low and husky. He stands up from his chair, towering over you as he pulls you in for a kiss. His tongue probes your mouth, demanding entry as his hands roam your body.

'I've been thinking about you all day,' you admit, your voice breathless as you wrap your arms around his neck.

'Good,' he growls, his fingers finding the hem of your shirt. He pulls it up and over your head, tossing it aside as his lips find your neck. You moan as he nips at your skin, his teeth grazing your sensitive flesh.

'You know I have a meeting in ten minutes,' he says, his voice muffled against your skin.

'Then you better make it quick,' you reply, your voice dripping with desire and eagerness.

He chuckles, his hands working at the button and zipper of your pants. He pushes them down, along with your underwear, leaving you standing in front of him in nothing but your bra. He takes a step back, his eyes raking over your body as he takes in the sight of you.

'Fuck, you're beautiful,' he says, his voice filled with reverence.

You blush at the compliment, but the heat in your cheeks is quickly replaced by a surge of desire as he steps closer to you once again. His hands roam your body, cupping your breasts and pinching your nipples through the fabric of your bra.

'You like that?' he asks, his voice husky.

‘Yes,' you moan, your hips grinding against his as you seek out the friction you crave, getting pushed back into sitting atop his desk as your knees buck.

He chuckles, his fingers finding the clasp of your bra. He unhooks it, letting it fall to the ground.

He reaches for you again, pulling you close as he kisses you deeply. His hands roam your body, grabbing your ass and pulling you closer to him. You can feel his hard cock pressing against your stomach, and you can't help but grind against him.

He breaks the kiss, his lips finding your ear.

‘You really want me to fuck you, don’t you?' he asks, his voice low and husky.

'Yes,' you moan, your voice desperate as you cling onto his collar.

He chuckles, his fingers finding your clit. He starts to rub slow circles around it, his touch light and teasing.

'Beg for it,' he says, his voice commanding.

'Please-' you whisper, your hips grinding against his hand. 'Please fuck me.'

He chuckles, his fingers still circling your clit.

'Beg harder,' he says, his voice low and dangerous, his smirk plastered into his face.

'Please, I need it,' you moan, your voice desperate. 'Please, Wrio….'

He growls, his fingers quickening their pace.

He lets out a deep groan, 'You're so wet for me,' he says, his voice filled with lust.

He slides a finger inside of you, his thumb still rubbing circles around your clit. You moan as he starts to move his finger in and out of you, his pace slow and teasing.

'Did I tell you to stop?,' he says again, his voice low and commanding.

'Please, I need it,' you moan, your voice desperate. 'Please, Wriothesley, I need you…”.

He growls, his finger sliding out of you. He grabs your hips, spinning you around so that your back is facing him. He pushes you down, bending you over his desk as he positions himself behind you.

'You're mine,' he growls, his cock pressed against your entrance.

'Yes-!,' you moan, your body trembling with desire.

He thrusts into you, hard and deep. You moan as he starts to move, his hips slamming against yours as he fucks you rough and raw.

He reaches around, his fingers finding your clit. He starts to rub slow circles around it, his touch light and teasing.

'You're not allowed to cum, got that?,' he says, his voice low and dangerous.

'What…?!’ you moan, your body trembling with desire.

'You heard me,' he says, his voice firm. 'You're not allowed to cum unless I say so.'

'But-' you start to protest, but he cuts you off with a thrust of his hips.

'No,' he growls, his fingers still circling your clit. 'You'll do as you're told.'

You moan, your body trembling with desire as you try to hold back your orgasm. He continues to fuck you rough and raw, his fingers still circling your clit.

'Please,' you moan, your voice desperate. 'Please, I need to cum-“

'Not yet,' he says, his voice firm.

You moan, your body trembling with need as you try to hold back your orgasm. But it's too much, and you can feel it building inside of you.

'Please,' you moan, your voice desperate. 'Please, let me cum.'

He growls, his fingers quickening their pace, tricking you into believing he’d ever let you have your high right now, pulling out completely and giving your ass a heavy smack.

'Good girl,' he says, his voice low and husky.

You blush at the compliment, still angry at the fact he wouldn’t let you finish. But you knew he was in it for the long game, he didn’t need to say it but you knew he was promising to make you finish at least 5 times the next time he gets his hands on you.

'Thank you,' you say, your voice breathless.

He chuckles, pulling out of you and helping you to straighten up.

'Anytime,' he says, his voice filled with lust.

'I'll hold you to that,' you say, your voice playful.

'I have no doubt,' he says, his voice low and husky.

whimsic4alwasab1 ™ - do not copy, translate, modify, or claim any of my work as your own.

[sunsburns]

been thinking about dating college!art and you get into a really big fight until he decides to show up at your dorm *cough* make up sex *cough*

i had wayy too much fun with this… SMUT 17+

“i’m still mad at you, you know.” there’s no real bite to your bark, not when your voice is breathless, your cheeks are flushed, and your hands keep running through his hair.

“yeah, i know,” art drawls, his voice softening. he says it because a part of him knows it’s true, but he can’t help the faint smile that grows on his face. he knows you won’t stay mad for long, but he still feels the weight of his guilt pressing down on him. he’d do anything to make it up to you. with every press of his lips, he mutters a quiet “i’m sorry,” against your skin, then grazes his teeth along your ankle before making his way up your leg.

he’d thought of a million different things to say to you, how he would stand his ground or cave to your defences. but all of it was thrown out the window the moment you opened that door. you were wearing his shirt—or maybe it was patrick’s, maybe even tashi’s—and a pair of panties. the sight of your messy desk, covered in textbooks, notebooks, and your open laptop, reminded him you were doing homework, or trying to. but the ache in his chest at the thought of you hating him was overwhelming.

it was killing him knowing you were upset, and he was the cause of it. that’s why art had taken a trip to the nearest farmer’s market the moment he was off the court, and he bought you flowers and your favourite snack and knocked on your door.

now the flowers are forgotten by your desk, the snacks on the floor, and you’re still trying to keep up the act that you’re mad at art. but the truth is, you can’t even remember what you were mad at him about in the first place. 

the way he looks at you, with such earnest remorse and tenderness, makes it hard to hold onto your anger. you sigh, running your fingers through his hair again, feeling the tension between you start to melt away.

“i hate how you do this to me,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. art’s eyes meet yours, and he pauses, his lips hovering just above your knee.

“i know,” he says again, his voice filled with a mix of regret and hope. his hands roam up the sides of your thighs, fingers brushing your ass before they turn into the curve between your legs. “but i’m here now,” he presses a kiss against your hot skin again, making his way up, up, and up. “and i want to make it right.”

as he continues his gentle kisses, moving slowly and tenderly, you feel your defences crumbling. the anger that once felt so strong is now just a distant memory. art’s presence, his touch, his voice, his words, all of him- it’s all you can think about.

he looks up at you, sitting on the bed while he kneels before you. you’re watching him, waiting for his next move when he is still between your legs. 

when you run your nails against his scalp, art doesn't bother hiding the quiet whimper that slips past his lips before he closes his eyes and leans his head towards your arm. 

he lets you hold him while his hands trail up your sides, reaching and groping anything he can before his fingers tug at your panties, and he carefully slips them off you.

when he kisses your clit, you rest your leg over his shoulder, heel pressing against the muscles of his back. his arms wrap around your thighs, pulling you closer while he starts to eat you out. 

art starts slow, calculated strokes of his tongue against you, running it in tight circles against your clit, dipping it lower when he gets a little more confident. when you arch your back and whine, pushing his head closer so you can ride his face, he starts to pick up the pace, hoping to hear that sound come out of you again.

when his tongue pokes at your cunt, it draws a loud moan out of you, blood rushing to your ears. “fuck, art,” you whimper, grinding against his face. “feels so good.”

art seems to like it more than you, eyes closed in bliss, humming and moaning against your cunt, each vibration from his mouth making you spiral. his hips buck up into nothing, but he doesn't seem to mind as his hands hold onto you tighter, as if he is afraid to lose you. 

“you’re so pretty like this,” you barely manage to get out, your heart thumping against your chest.

art moans again at your praise and finally opens his eyes to meet your burning gaze. his low, nearly pathetic whine with his eyes on you was what it took to push you over the edge.

art lets you ride it out, he lets you grind against his face, he lets you use him again and again and again until you’ve had your fill and there is nothing left of him.

and when you cup his cheeks and bring his face to yours and kiss him like you have a one-track mind, he has an inkling feeling that you're not mad at him anymore. you press your forehead against his, hand cupping the back of his neck, and he lets out a sigh and you breathe it in. 

“i’m sorry,” he whispers, one more time, to make sure you know he means it.

you smile, offering him half a shrug and another kiss. “just let me return the favour.”

[sweetreasures]

our little star

pornstar!mingi x pornstar!reader

director!hongjoong, implied seonghwa x reader, casting/filming, tears mention (no dacryphilia), unprotected sex, creampie, petnames (mingi loves calling reader doll, babydoll, etc)

[minors dni, ageless blogs will be blocked]

masterlist \\ read part two (in action, seonghwa x reader)

mingi led hongjoong into the studio by the forearm, rambling excitedly about this new talent he’s discovered who is going to take his art to the next level. hongjoong wasn’t exactly in the market to acquire anyone new, much less someone as inexperienced in the industry as you. no, no, he fought back against mingi’s insistence. it would be too hard to break in a new performer at the moment.

but mingi assured his friend (and boss) that you were different. he’d seen you in action, spotting your profile on a website and scrolling through the videos as if studying a portfolio. your equipment was lacking, and the camera quality needed some work, but what mingi noticed first was how earnest you were. the scenes you performed with your partners—no matter the subject—were filled with passion. conviction. you believed in it, and mingi immediately recognized you as one of them. an artist.

you arrived an half hour earlier, wanting to gain your bearings before being presented with whatever business opportunity awaited you. seonghwa met you at the door.

“of course,” seonghwa replied following your brief self introduction. he seemed kind, reliable, and had already set off at work to make you more comfortable.

“what do you do around here…seonghwa?”

he gestured vaguely at the makeshift office surrounding you two. “behind the scenes stuff.”

you expected this answer the least. seonghwa was probably the most beautiful man you have ever seen in your life, and you were baffled as to how khj studios bagged someone like him when he could very easily be a mainstream celebrity. and then he tells you he’s only there to do paperwork?!

“i’ve known hongjoong forever. he said i was the only person he trusted with his money,” seonghwa leaned back in his chair and laughed softly. lying in his lap was a manila file folder, a couple sheets of paper notably sticking out from the sides. you could barely make out its text but you figured it must have something to do with you.

this was an audition, after all. and you couldn’t believe your luck.

mingi contacted you first. or rather, daddylongdick99. your eyes rolled when the message first arrived inside the inbox. it wasn’t abnormal to receive an influx of emails after you posted a new video—usually invitations for collaborations, desperate pleas for you to cream on them, or otherwise incoherent strings of words typed by a man who undoubtedly had one hand wrapped around his dick.

in actuality, daddylongdick99’s message hadn’t piqued your attention enough to open it. days passed without any response from your end. mingi was growing impatient—what was taking you so long? the letter was beautifully written and quite provocative. mingi knew you were at least somewhat aware of him, your circles running close in this industry niche. what more did you want from him, proof that he was the real deal?

the next day, he sent you another message. it was the first to show up when you checked your inbox for the day, and you were unexpectedly pleased to see the familiar username. the body of this message was empty except for two images. neither of his face—mingi hadn’t thought that far ahead. image one was a mirror shot: a figure sat on the bed, thick and rideable legs spread. his cock rested lazily against his chiseled abdomen. it was gorgeous, well groomed and reaching just above his belly button despite only being somewhat aroused. the flash from his phone obscured his upper body in the mirror.

in image two, the figure was lying down. the mirror replaced with his large hands choking his cock. his fingers were adorned in black and white silver rings. the camera flash reflected vividly off of the slick surface of his member, which now stood fully erect. shaft perfectly straight and longer than average, you noticed the vein pattern on the underside seemed tailor made to provide the perfect texture along anyone’s inside walls. the motion of the photo showed he was mid stroke, aided with a substance that looked equally of lube and semen.

daddylongdick69 was far from an exaggeration.

mingi’s plan technically worked—you still had zero idea who he was (and he’d be the first to acknowledge the apparent hubris of believing you would just from the sight of his penis). but you remembered the first message you brushed off the other day, quickly searching through your inbox to locate it.

upon spotting nothing more than a block of text, you were disappointed to say the least. but a name at the very end stood out to you. the fine hairs on your neck perked at their roots.

“song mingi. signed under khj studios.”

your breath hitched. kim hongjoong was an established indie pornographer, lovingly nicknamed “erotica’s darling”. his operation was relatively small, but he dominated when it came to producing depictions of sexuality akin to a choreographed dance. where the characters were as integral to its enticing style as the stars who portray them. you adopted a similar philosophy when you began filming, and had spent quite some time honing your skill for framing intimacy and intercourse in a way that told stories.

you knew of song mingi—one of khj’s principle actors. unfortunately, not enough to recognize the sight of his magnificent cock. but due to hongjoong’s secretive entry process for new talents, his roster was pretty small. it was rumored that hongjoong had to handpick you himself—his current team consisting potentially of people he met in bars or through random hookups. in any case, you were in awe at how in synch everyone was in delivering hongjoong’s art into the world.

the truth was far simpler. hongjoong wasn’t the most trusting person in the world, but he wasn’t in the cia either. to become a khj studio performer you kinda just had to be in the right place at the right time.

and there you were.

seonghwa briefly glanced at the clock on the wall—3:21 PM—before turning his attention back to you. he thought for a second, pushing himself up to his feet and walking to a corner of the office. there was a stationary camera set up on a tripod. removing the camera, seonghwa instructed you to sit on the couch in front of him.

“oh classic! the casting couch.” you quipped playfully. seonghwa laughed again. you were growing to like his laugh.

“i’m just getting your profile together with a few pictures. mind removing your clothes?” he uncapped the cover from the lens.

you raised an eyebrow quizzically, a bit alarmed by his urgency. you hadn’t even talked to hongjoong yet. you didn’t even know whether he was willing to give you the time of day.

sensing your uncertainty, seonghwa rested a comforting hand on your thigh. “you have something special. he’s going to love you.“ you both exchanged affirmative nods before you arose to strip.

it wasn’t exactly embarrassing to stand before seonghwa naked. your videos regularly garnered thousands of views—you sort of assumed most people in your niche have already seen you in a much more intimate state. but the way seonghwa looked at your body as he moved around you with his camera was deliberate and careful. he instructed you into various positions, each pose focused on different silhouettes and angles. seonghwa maintained a distance from you, as if photographing a one of a kind painting, too scared that any sudden movement would tear a hole in the precious canvas.

but you remained nervous nonetheless—as the afternoon progressed, you slowly realized how important this meeting was. if you wanted to build your credibility in the industry, this was it. and yet the exclusivity shrouding hongjoong in mystery left you with a thousand questions. you had yet to hear from anyone what you were meant to do today.

after a couple of shots, seonghwa had you sit down normally, knees together and facing him. he instructed you to look natural, explaining that he wanted to take the profile portrait. you followed his directions perfectly, though you had no idea what to do with your face, opting for a neutral but approachable expression.

to your surprise, seonghwa reached out to caress your cheek. he ran his thumb over your plump bottom lip, gazing down at you with a warmth you couldn’t quite place.

“still nervous?”

“no…”

“then where’s that smile, sweetheart?”

the door opened and in walked two new individuals, both of whom you knew without introduction, and both of whom looked down at the two of you with puzzled expressions.

“i don’t pay you to fuck the talent, hwa.” hongjoong remarked, annoyed. seonghwa capped his camera, rolling his eyes in your direction at his boss’s temperament.

mingi extended a hand to shake yours, “that would be my job, actually! nice to meet you.” you half expected someone with the username daddylongdick99 to carry himself with insufferable audacity. but mingi was very sweet and incredibly talkative, filling up most of your downtime while hongjoong and seonghwa deliberated over your pictures.

he knew a lot about your work. “i really loved the way you used gold to symbolize innocence. no matter what your character went through, her soul was never tarnished.”

“exactly…like pure gold.”

mingi nods enthusiastically.

you realized it right then—that these people understood your art just as much as they did hongjoong’s. you agreed to perform a scene with him, infinitely more comfortable now that you felt seen. mingi quickly stripped off his own clothes to match your state of undress. the two of you continued your discussion like old friends who casually arranged to meet for lunch.

“we’re sort of short on time right now. how ready are you?” hongjoong pointed at you, once again commanding everyone’s attention in the room.

“ready? i mean…very?” you shot a confused glance at mingi.

“he wants to know how wet you are, doll.”

“ahh.”

you didn’t even need to touch yourself to know you were soaked down to the cushion, but you inserted your hand between your thighs anyway, fingers glistening as they reemerged. hongjoong, seemingly satisfied with the state of your arousal, suggested knocking out two tasks at the same time—he would interview you and get a sense of your strengths as a performer while mingi worked to acclimate you to the size of his cock.

you perched yourself over him, positioning his tip to your entrance. it was on the larger end of cocks that have been inside you, though it wasn’t insanely intimidating. just as you steadied yourself to lower down, hongjoong began his interview.

name. hometown. years of experience. typical background information. you answered as clearly as possible, your mind alternating between hongjoong’s questions and the increasing fullness in your core. mingi’s eyes were fixed on yours, gauging your pain levels while rubbing comforting circles into your clit.

mingi was almost deceptively large, but you managed well. hongjoong asked whether you thought cum had any merit as an artistic medium on its own. sure. you lowered yourself a couple more inches.

“gah-fuck. yellow.” you inhaled sharply, stilling yourself. mingi took a hold of your waist, preparing to pull out though you hadn’t indicated that you wanted to stop completely.

“sorry…i…” the telltale signs of a blush bloomed from your cheeks. “you felt so good on my clit, i almost squirted.” you admitted, sheepishly.

the boys let out a collective sigh of relief. mingi couldn’t have felt prouder of himself, even after hongjoong smacked him on the side with a piece of mail within arm’s reach. after giving them the okay, you relaxed your pelvis before taking in the final few inches of mingi’s cock.

mingi sat upright to hold you against his chest as he bottomed out, instinctively whispering words of praise in your ear as he felt your walls adjust to his size.

“my babydoll did so good for me. so good.”

you moaned in gratitude.

“i knew you would. your sweet little cunt was made just for me, hm?”

as he spoke, seonghwa retrieved the tripod from its corner. he set it up right in front of you two—standing alongside hongjoong behind the camera.

hongjoong fiddled around with some video settings, “think of this like a screen test.”

mingi carefully reversed your positions on the couch with you now lying beneath him, his cock still resting pretty between your soaked folds.

“i want to see how well you two look together, and i want to see how quickly you can adapt to a scene.”

you and mingi nod eagerly.

“sometimes my vision isn’t exact. i need all of my performers to know when to improvise and keep the scene realistic.”

“in other words,” seonghwa shoots you a knowing wink, “he wants you to make up for his indecisiveness.”

hongjoong opted to ignore seonghwa’s snide comments, instead placing you and mingi in a scene within his work in progress production. you were a grieving woman who had lost your boyfriend years ago. as you fall into a depression, his friend remains by your side to support you during your journey to acceptance. once devoid of libido, you rediscover your sexuality with his help and decide in the end that loving him won’t replace your relationship with your boyfriend.

the most important part was portraying the intercourse in this scene as an outpouring of emotion. hongjoong motioned for mingi to set out on his pace before hitting record.

it didn’t take long for you to sink into character. you grasped at mingi’s hair, bringing him down into a deep kiss.

“fuck me, mingi. i want to feel you.” you gasped. he slowed down just a bit, allowing his length to take in the softness of your pussy and the way you clenched so perfectly around him. tears of pleasure threatened to spill over as your mouth dropped open, choking out a long moan.

“how is it now, doll? can you feel me?”

every fucking inch.

in an instant, he saw that spark in your eye—you were fully immersed. the details you worked into the scene left him in awe; your movements became more hesitant and unsure, in your grief you couldn’t possibly give yourself over completely to the pleasure. especially not with someone who meant so much to your deceased boyfriend. suddenly, your ears reddened. the lewd sounds of sex, the sweaty skin on skin, mingi’s moans as you fucked up against him and the involuntary force guiding your hips to chase your high—all of it was so embarrassing to your character.

hongjoong took notice, as well. he was no longer viewing the scene from the monitor hooked up to their camera. at some point, he had begun watching you intently. mingi was right, you were perfect at this. out of the corner of his eye, he spotted his partner. seonghwa’s hands cupped his jeans, undoubtedly attempting to hide the growing outline of his aroused cock from witnessing the scene before him.

mingi, overcome with a growing desire to protect and care for you, quickened his pace. every thrust a promise that he will always love you just as much as your boyfriend had. you trusted him enough to pin you down to the bed you shared with your boyfriend and fuck you senseless, but not enough to give him your heart? the thought made mingi tear up, and soon the both of you were bucking into each other desperately, whimpering through sobs, releases imminent.

“gonna cum…shit…gonna cum for you, doll. you feel so good around me. so ready for me.” mingi leaned in to suck on your jaw, searching for anything to ground him. he knew the most natural ending of this scene would be to cum inside of you. but he felt himself slipping—mingi never got pussydrunk on the job. cumming inside of you would cause something in his brain to snap.

your walls pulsated around him as your release came over you, soft “thank you”s pouring from your lips as you rode out your orgasm on his cock. mingi thanked his lucky stars that you came first, and was just about to end the scene before you leaned down next to his ear.

“please. please cum in me. make me yours.” you begged as you continued fucking yourself on his cock. he clenched his abdomen, but it was all too futile. for once, mingi couldn’t focus on the scene nor your acting. he was about to make you his.

“i love you,” was all he could manage before you felt him shoot load after load into your cunt. his semen mixed with your juices as it pooled onto mingi’s lap. as the two of you stilled, you took a second to rest your head on mingi’s chest, the faint vibration of his heartbeat tickling at your ear.

seonghwa was the first to break the silence. “well?” he prodded at hongjoong. “how was it?”

“i don’t know, ask yourself. this dork nearly came before either of you.” hongjoong retorted.

mingi carefully lifted you up from his lap, the sudden emptiness sending a chill down your spine. seonghwa removed a robe from a coat rack nearby before kneeling down in front of you. that same warmth on his face brought you down from your orgasm with ease. he took you by the hands and smiled.

“you were just amazing, our little star. now let’s get you cleaned up.” helping you up onto your shaking legs, he wrapped the robe around you and led you to a shower room across the hall.

hongjoong tossed a similar robe at mingi, not caring to be as delicate with his employee as seonghwa.

“where the fuck has talent like that been hiding?” he exclaimed exasperatedly once the two of you were out of earshot. mingi rubbed at the sweat on his chest with the robe before slipping it around his shoulders.

“dude, i told you she was good.”

“and you!” hongjoong continued, his volume growing louder at the opportunity take a dig at mingi. “i love you. i love you.”

mingi’s head fell in his hands at the mocking reminder of his brief moment of vulnerability.

“fuck off.”

part two

[A/N: if you made it this far, thanks for reading! this blog will be under construction over the next few days as i move things around to make a proper navigational page. i’m also getting a taglist together! if you are interested, please fill out this form!]

[cherryl4na]

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ `"your pleasure, his gain"

abstract || you and lando enjoying some quality time in his apartment but there's just one little detail. you're wearing his shirt.

fem!reader || fluff. smut. cute moments. wearing his shirt. 1.5k words.

The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, casting a warm orange glow over Monaco's picturesque coastline as you lay comfortably, intertwined on the plush bed in his Monaco apartment, the soft hum of the city below creating a serene background to your quiet evening together. Lando's arm was draped around your waist, pulling you closer as you leaned against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. His fingers absentmindedly traced small circles on your soft, plush skin, a comforting gesture that sent gentle shivers down your spine.

"You know," Lando murmured softly, his breath warm against your ear, his accent thicker around this time of day with a hint of raspiness, "this is my favorite way to spend an evening. You tilted your head up to meet his piercing gaze, the tenderness in his eyes making your heart skip a beat. "Mine too," you admitted with a contented smile.

He brushed a lock of hair away from your face, his touch feather-light. "I'm glad you're here," he confessed, his voice tinged with sincerity. "There’s nowhere else I’d rather be," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

Lando's lips curved into a smile, his thumb tracing along your jawline before leaning in to capture your lips in a tender kiss. It was soft and slow, filled with unspoken emotions and a deep affection that had grown between you over time.

As the kiss deepened, you melted into each other, the world outside their apartment fading away until there was only the two of you. His fingers threaded through your hair, holding you close as if he never wanted to let you go.

When you finally pulled back, your foreheads resting against each other, you could feel Lando's warm breath mingling with yours. His eyes searched for yours, a silent question lingering between you. You answered it with a smile, reaching up to brush your lips against his once more, savoring the taste of him. This time, the kiss was filled with a promise of more to come, a silent vow of the connection you shared.

As your lips lingered against Lando's, you could feel his smile growing against your mouth. His hands gently caressed your back, tracing patterns along your spine with a tenderness that made your heart flutter. Breaking the kiss, he rested his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your cheek.

"You know," he murmured, his voice low and filled with affection, "you look absolutely stunning in my shirt."

You chuckled softly, the warmth of his compliment spreading through you. "Your shirts are definitely more comfortable than mine," you teased lightly, fingers tracing the collar of the shirt you had slipped into earlier.

Lando's gaze softened as he cupped your face in his hands, his thumb brushing against your soft bottom lip. "I mean it," he insisted, his voice earnest. "There's something about seeing you like this, relaxed and wearing something of mine..."

You felt a blush creeping onto your cheeks at his admiring gaze, realizing how much he cherished these intimate moments. "I like being close to you," you confessed quietly, leaning into his touch.

His smile widened, eyes sparkling with tenderness. "I like it too," he admitted, leaning in to press a soft kiss against your forehead. "More than words can say."

You gazed up at him, feeling the weight of his words mingling with the warmth of his touch. The air between you was thick with unspoken desires and a longing that only deepened with each passing moment.

Lando's fingers trailed down from your lips to your collarbone, skimming lightly over the fabric of his shirt. His touch sent a shiver of anticipation through you, igniting a fire that burned hotter with every heartbeat. With a gentle yet firm touch, Lando guided you to lie back on the bed, his eyes never leaving yours. You willingly surrendered to the sensation of being wanted, desired by him in a way that was both overwhelming and exhilarating.

He hovered over you, his body aligning perfectly with yours as he supported himself on his forearms. The weight of his presence above you was both comforting and electrifying, grounding you in the intensity of the moment.

"Lando," you whispered his name, the plea for more escaping your lips without conscious thought.

His response was a deep, passionate kiss that stole your breath away. It was a kiss filled with longing and hunger, a silent declaration of his desire for you. His hands cradled your face gently, thumbs brushing along your jawline as if memorizing every contour.

Lost in the sensation of his lips against yours, you tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer. The kiss deepened, becoming a dance of tongues and a shared rhythm that spoke volumes of the connection between you.

Time seemed to stand still as you melted into each other, the world outside their apartment fading away until there was only the two of you. Lando's touch ignited a fire within you, a blaze of passion that burned brighter with each caress, each whispered endearment.

When you finally broke apart, breathless and flushed with desire, Lando rested his forehead against yours, his chest rising and falling with each deep breath. His eyes held an intensity that mirrored your own, a silent promise of more to come, of a love that knew no bounds.

"I love you," he murmured against your lips, his voice raw with emotion.

"I love you too," you whispered back, your heart overflowing with a love that felt infinite.  Lando's eyes shimmered with tenderness as he leaned in, pressing his lips gently against yours once more. But then, his touch began to wander, trailing soft kisses along your jawline, down your neck, sending shivers down your spine. Each kiss was filled with passion, each touch deliberate yet tender, igniting a fire within you that burned hotter with each passing moment.

His hands, strong yet gentle, traced patterns over your skin, his fingertips leaving a trail of warmth wherever they touched. You could feel his heartbeat, steady and reassuring against your own, as he held you close, savoring every moment of intimacy.

"Lando," you gasped softly, overwhelmed by the intensity of his affection. He whispered your name against your skin, his breath warm against your ear, sending a thrill through your entire being. His lips found yours again, his kiss deepening as if to express all the emotions he couldn't put into words before pushing you back down against the bed.

The room is quiet, aside from the two of you panting, trying to catch your breath. A smirk slowly rises onto his perfect, handsome face. Slowly, he moves his body down, positioning himself between your plush thighs like it’s where he belongs, looking hot in his boxers, specifically the one with the Monster logo he showed off once at a race.

His big, warm, veiny hands are holding your waist softly as his lips press feather-like kisses against your thighs. Your chest rises and falls as his lips get closer and closer, exactly where you want him, where you crave him. Where you need him. Lando looks up at you and lets out a deep hum, another smirk forming on his perfect lips. Finally, his lips land right where you need him, and you gasp, fingernails gripping the bed sheets tightly. His mouth works its magic for a bit, softly, sensually. But as time goes on, seconds go by then minutes, and emotions are heightened, he begins getting passionate; hungrier for your tastes. 

Lando's tongue finally gets involved, and you can't help but let out a whimper at the feeling, losing yourself in this moment. He begins getting messy, slurping up every single drop of your ecstasy, humming at the taste. Never have you felt something so heavenly like you do now. It feels as if you're floating above the clouds, free from any stress life has to offer. Lando then begins eating you out aggressively, like a mad man; a man who had been starved his entire life and this will be his only meal for years to come. Your chest rises and falls faster as you get closer and closer to your release.

Lando looks up and hums against you, not stopping but getting faster; messier. It only takes a bit more before you finally release all over his tongue and mouth, pants and moans, leaving your soft but plump lips. He doesn't stop his ministrations even after you've come down from your high. Wiggling your hips, feeling overstimulated, you try moving away only for his grip on your hips to get tighter and prevent you from moving. 

Lando growls before speaking against you, "Where do you think you're going, darling? I'm not done with you. I'm still hungry, and I'm not stopping till I'm done." He then goes back, flattening his tongue against you as one of his hands moves up, under the big shirt you're wearing to grip and play with your chest. It was in that moment that you knew he would not stop until he had his fill of you. Your pleasure always has and always will be his gain.

©2024 cherryl4na. - please do not copy, repost or translate any of my works on other platforms without my permission.

an || how's everyone feeling after this one? me personally, i was sweating while writing. anyways, hope you enjoyed. till the next one!

[ghostgirl101]

Oliver Quick Being Obsessed With You Would Include...

A/N: Watched this recently and got too many ideas because it's what I do 😀 if you've got any requests for the Saltburn crew then drop them in my inbox and I'll get round to them. Have fun reading- just know that there are obviously spoilers for the Saltburn movie here, so if you haven't watched it, zip to the cinema and come back 😎 or don't.

☓• It's hard to know where to start with Oliver... all I can say is that once you're in his sights, you're never getting out of them. Big never. Even if he has to wait years to get what he wants, he'll wait, and he will get it. And of course, the it we're talking about here is lucky you. So lucky you 🙃

☓• Say goodbye to your close friends and possibly your family if they're taking up too much of your time or happen to see through his harmless, quiet, normal act to something a lot darker and obsessive tainting his pure blue eyes every time they latch onto you. No one's managed to get in his way yet, and it stays that way.

☓• The first unknowing encounter with Oliver must have been somewhere around Oxford Uni, where you all go to and study. Maybe in the library, outside talking to friends - doing practically anything and making it look amazing and beautiful and something to be wanted above anything. He watches you a lot, a lot a lot, before you bump into each other, because the meeting has to be perfectly natural and it's his only chance to start things off on the right foot.

☓• Coincidences happen a lot and no one can be called out on them, because nothing seems to be wrong yet. You'll end up spending the majority of your time with him, maybe even without realising, whilst he finds out ways to know more about you and get closer to you. Oliver's not so good when it comes to talking about himself, telling you with one of his awkward but earnest half-smiles that he's not half as interesting, and so the conversation ends up steering back to you. From family life to friends, growing up, hobbies, favourite colour, tell him anything and everything. Because he won't forget a single thing.

☓• He's easy with where you want to go to hang out too, so long as he's there. You could just be talking with your friends in the nearby pub or at a party where the invite was extended to him as he's with you, or studying together at the library. Ignore the weird looks from Michael.

☓• But what Oliver prefers above all that is just being together and alone, maybe in your dorm room, or just out somewhere at a park or at the bridge, sitting and talking, opening yourself up more and more to him. This boy is an incredible listener. If your voice trails off when you become self-conscious of how much you're rambling, all you'll get in response is Oliver blinking out of his trance and giving you a calm smile and a shrug. "No, it's fine, I don't mind. Carry on."

☓• Number one supporter, naturally. Oliver tries to be the best friend and more, so hard, with you. He'll be anything you want and need him to be without you even having to mention it. Whatever club or team you're on, he'll give you a little wave and small grin from the sidelines... take a few pictures when you're not looking. For safekeeping.

☓• It can get more than a little frustrating for him when you're distracted by your other 'friends' at Oxford, even if it's something as small as looking over essay answers and revision notes with Farleigh. There's always a back-and-forth thing happening between those two, and so when Farleigh starts becoming friendly with you and outrightly mocking with Oliver, to you, all that will happen is Oliver giving him an unblinking, blank look that looks a touch too cold and repressive, before he ignores him. And that's all you'll ever know about it.

☓• If you happen to stick up for Oliver when someone brings up how different and odd he is, a bit awkward to talk to and a cheapskate or whatever, he'll never get over it. You stuck up for him. That just proves that he was right about you, from the second his dark gaze latched onto your unknowing self just a few weeks ago. He was right. You're... perfect.

☓• There's so much good about Oliver, that if you ever hear anything different, it's hard to actually believe it. It's just Farleigh causing trouble, or gossip that has gotten out of hand again, not actual hints of something deeper bubbling beneath the surface. Oliver would never watch you outside your dorm room at night, what are they on about? And when Oliver hears of them too, or gets the worries out of you when he instantly notices that something's up, he'll act as effortlessly, convincingly confused as you are. If there's the slightest bit of proof in the accusation, he'll cover it up with a flawless explanation that swerves away from him and onto someone else within a second, while still seeming without grudges towards anyone. "You shouldn't listen to them, they're just trying to get in your head. Or maybe they want you for themself or something. I mean, I can understand that. Completely."

☓• You will eventually notice just how clingy Oliver can get when he seems to be everywhere around you, and you might be looking for a moment to yourself. If you gently bring it up, he'll reluctantly go on the promise that you'll text him back, which gives him time to change tactics. He will go as far as saying someone in his family died, or as small as admitting that the isolation from everyone who is so different to him in this place makes him feel a bit broken up. Maybe he should leave? And you, being you, encourage him to stay on and hang out with you and your friends, and boom, his back in.

☓• It's so easy for Oliver to subtly manipulate his surroundings and its people. Everyone, except for you. With you, the manipulation comes in seemingly natural events, nothing too forward. Because what he likes the most is you coming to him with whatever, problems, thoughts, feelings. Then he's done his job, and everything else that will build up a beautiful, beautiful relationship, will slip into place for him.

☓• Again, everything has to be perfect, and it will be. Maybe your first kiss with him is on your birthday, or out somewhere nice as a treat with some other rich friends. Or it's just you two having a movie marathon or pulling an all-nighter. Every time, he'll inch closer with little sweet, honest lines spoken in a calm, low tone, his eyes locked with yours and scarcely blinking. "Do you know how loveable you are?" "I think that your smile is something to live for." "I never want to be without you."

☓• Oliver will edge closer and closer, holding hands, brushing your hair back from your face when you're reading with a tender touch, meeting your eye and not letting go until you smile in bashful amusement and look away. He'll meet you outside all your classes and bring you your favourite drinks and study notes that he got from his work, so that you never fail an exam. Oliver's a lifesaver, one of your closest friends, someone who's always there for you to be whatever you need whenever you need. A great comforter, supporter, study buddy, moral support, you name it. He created and adapted himself to be boyfriend material especially for you, and so it happens, and he's won, like he knew he did the second he saw you. Now he can be as clingy and overly affectionate and outwardly obsessive as he wants, all day, all night, tirelessly. And don't think he won't.

☓• Straight-up, he's a starer. And I mean starer when you think you're alone in your room, starer when you were with a fling or someone you might have been interested in before... before Oliver worked his magic behind the scenes. Now it's a lot easier to, when you're in a relationship, because he can pass off his staring as something romantic, which it kind of is, without the dangerous obsessiveness lacing it. You'll look up from your phone or wake up in the night to see Oliver's eyes on you in wonder and something else you can't quite place, before you smile and ask him what it is. It's always the same answer with the same soft, adoring smirk that manages to make your cheeks flush with colour and smile back. It's not 'nothing.' It's always, just, "You."

☓• Once he's got things how he wanted them, if anything tries to ruin it, they will have literal hell to pay. He did not come this far for nothing. It's an agonising process of waiting and being patient so he wouldn't scare you off, getting gradually and naturally closer to this point. So whether it's Farleigh telling his tales or playing off his tricks, or someone else pointing out the unobvious obvious, good luck to them, because one of his special coincidences will fall right onto their heads.

☓• And if, by a twisted turn of events, you walk into one of Oliver's schemes, and see flecks of his true, darker self and violent, delusional side unearthed from his usually calm and easy way, he'll beg you with racking tears and heaving breaths and literal vomit to stay. He'll do anything, just as he has been doing anything, for you. What he's saying and doing is suddenly terrifying, and whether or not you want to accept him as freely is your choice, but if not, Oliver won't go away. He'll wait some more if you manage to escape his grasp this time. See you in a few years as an adult, maybe. When you're vulnerable in different ways and water's gone under the bridge. He'll slip right back into your life like he was always meant to be there, with his earnest, devoting praise and comfort and support, and that's Oliver Quick's life come back together yet again, with you lost at its centre. Trapped.

[ikaroux]

How are they with their pregnant partner? Neuvillette

Synopsis: Pregnant, your husband/companion is ecstatic. But how will he take care of you during pregnancy?

Style: Cute, fluffy, female reader, NSFW.

Bonus NSFW (18+) I remind minors to avoid reading this kind of content.

Warning: May contain story spoilers for some characters.

Characters: Neuvillette.

Note: This chapter contains Fontaine story spoilers. I advise you to finish Archon's quest before starting to read.

Ps: Sorry for my long absence, I've had a lot of health problems since the start of the 2023 school year...

Part 1 Diluc, Zhongli, Kaeya, Xiao, Venti, Albedo, Kazuha, Childe.

Part 2 Scaramouche, Dainsleif, Thomas.

Part 3 Dottore, Pantalone, Alhaitham.

Part 4 Cyno, Ayato.

Part 5 Tighnari.

Part 6 Capitano, Kaveh + Bonus

Part 7 Itto, Heizou, Lyney.

1. The moon was lighting up the night sky when you reached the door of Neuvillette's office. Silently, you gazed at him from the doorway, waiting patiently for him to take his eyes off his work and meet yours. Knowing that he had already noted your presence, his dragon senses being far more acute than those of mortals, you found a particular charm in watching him devote himself in earnest to the last files of the day.

"It's getting late, my love. "

At these words, Neuvillette raised his reptilian-glinted eyes to you, a tender, affectionate smile lighting up his face.

"You should have waited for me at home. I get worried when you walk alone at this hour."

Dropping his pen, he stood up and walked over to join you. Arriving at your height, he leaned over to place a soft kiss on your lips.

"I know, but... there was something very important I had to tell you. And as lately you've tended to neglect your wife for your work..."

Your words floated through the air, laden with gentle rebuke and nervous anticipation. As you spoke, Neuvillette, with obvious tenderness, gently pushed a lock of your hair back behind your ear, his gesture emphasizing the closeness and deep affection he felt for you. His attention was entirely focused on you, as if he were trying to read in your eyes the importance of what you had to reveal to him.

With a gentle gesture, you took Neuvillette's hand, guiding his palm until it lay flat on your stomach. A silence fell, heavy with anticipation, as Neuvillette watched your gesture, a gleam of curiosity in his eyes. Then, slowly, a flash of understanding lit up his gaze. He sensed, through the touch of his hand, the subtle but undeniable aura of a new life beginning to form within you, the existence of a little being yet to be born. A dragon.

Your husband's heart raced as he finally realized what was growing inside you. Neuvillette, usually in control, was overcome by a wave of emotions: surprise, happiness, a touch of anxiety in the face of the unknown, but above all, a deep and unconditional love for you and for this new life you were carrying.

Without a word, his other hand joined the first, as if gently but firmly enveloping the precious treasure you now shared. His gaze, filled with infinite tenderness, lifted to yours.

In this moment of shared intimacy, words seemed superfluous, replaced by tender caresses and kisses, heralding the start of a new chapter in your lives together.

2. Neuvillette's draconic nature permeated every fiber of his being, making him extremely protective and territorial, especially where you were concerned. His perception of mortals had certainly evolved after the fall of the hydro archon, but his role as supreme judge of the Fontaine court left him little room for easy trust, especially when it came to unpredictable and often cruel human nature.

Your pregnancy only exacerbated this aspect of his personality. The prospect of becoming a father, of protecting and looking after an even more vulnerable being, amplified his protective instincts. Even when you remarked to him, perhaps hoping to mitigate this tendency or channel it in a way that seemed more appropriate...

But you soon realized that it was difficult to change the profound nature of a dragon over a thousand years old...

3. The evolution of your pregnancy revealed hitherto unknown and deeply endearing aspects of Neuvillette. This new facet manifests itself in a surprising way: a soft, soothing, purring-like sound emanates from him when he looks at you or caresses you gently. This sound, unexpected from a dragon, proved to you that he was happy and at peace in your presence…

4. Neuvillette's trust in the protection of you and your child during his extended absences was a privilege he bestowed on very few people. Clorinde and Wriothesley stood out as the pillars of this trust, each with their own role and ability to look after you. Wriothesley, despite his responsibilities anchoring him to the Meropide fortress, was a devoted protector whose friendship with Neuvillette and you never wavered.

The Melusines also held a special place in Neuvillette's esteem. Their joy and zeal in protecting you and your unborn child was not only a testament to their loyalty to Neuvillette, but also a recognition of the importance of your role by his side.

5. The relationship you forged with Furina was marked by an affection and trust that transcended the past of the former archon of Fontaine. Her daily visits became special moments, when the joy of sharing sweets and laughter brightened your day. Discussions about the baby's name, possible traits, or who he or she might most resemble, were moments of pure complicity.

The arrival of Neuvillette, which often marked the end of these afternoons of sweetness and laughter, added another dimension to the family picture. His reaction to the mess left by Furina, oscillating between severity and underlying affection, reflected his deep concern for your well-being. His ability to scold Furina without raising his voice, while reminding her of the importance of your rest, demonstrated a delicate balance between authority and tenderness. To you, this was undeniable proof that Neuvillette would be an exceptional father to your child.

6. During your pregnancy, you showed worrying symptoms of depression. With Neuvillette often absent during the day and sometimes even all night, he only became aware of your condition belatedly, when he found you in tears in the kitchen. Crouched against the cupboards, overwhelmed by deep sadness, you didn't immediately notice his return.

The sight of your distress deeply affected Neuvillette, who at first thought you'd been the victim of an assault by a local seeking revenge after being tried for his crimes by the Supreme Judge. However, he soon realized that your emotional state was largely influenced by pregnancy hormones, exacerbated by the fact that you were carrying a half-human, half-dragon child.

With a heavy heart in the face of your grief, Neuvillette has vowed to stay by your side as much as possible, adjusting his schedule to be more present by your side. He has taken steps to ensure that he can spend weekends with you, actively engaging in preparations to welcome the baby into your life. "Don't cry anymore mon amour. From now on, I'll stay by your side."

7. As night fell, it became customary for you and Neuvillette to embrace tenderly on the living-room sofa. Positioned comfortably across his legs, with one of his arms warmly embracing you, Neuvillette would take pleasure in reading aloud to you one of those sentimental novels you so cherished. Neuvillette's soft, melodious voice enveloped you in a feeling of well-being, as you gently brushed your rounded belly, lulled by the sound of his reading.

Each time you dozed off against him, he cherished these moments deeply, placing kisses on your face as he whispered sweet nothings to you. Releasing his hand from the weight of the book she was holding, he gently slid it over you until it rested gently on your rounded belly. His tender, loving gestures, as he touched your skin, seemed to awaken a response in his child, who pressed himself against your belly, as if to draw closer to the warmth of his father...

8. The last few weeks of your pregnancy proved to be particularly trying, forcing you to spend most of your time in bed, suffering from intense back pain that made any movement painful. Aware of your condition, Neuvillette chose to take a few days off work to stay by your side, ensuring your well-being and safety.

The approach of childbirth was causing him growing anxiety. The idea of a human giving birth to the child of a sovereign dragon was unprecedented, and the absence of any references or testimonials to such a situation fueled his fears about the potential risks to you and the baby. This fear, which became almost palpable as the days passed, plunged him into a state of nervousness he had never experienced before.

Neuvillette had considered going to Natlan, hoping to find information or help to assist you during the birth. However, the idea of leaving you alone for several weeks was unbearable.

9. Neuvillette, faced with the unknown of this extraordinary situation, was overwhelmed by a multitude of emotions. Deep inside him, a tenacious hope persisted, that fate would preserve you and the child from any misfortune. The very idea of losing you, of seeing you torn from him too soon, was unbearable. With each passing day, he watched over you with redoubled attention, doing everything in his power to ensure your comfort and safety, while trying to conceal his own fears so as not to add to your stress.

As you waited, every shared moment took on priceless value, every smile, every tender gesture turned into a treasure trove of memories to cherish.

10. Your delivery turned out to be an ordeal of an intensity and complexity you'd never imagined, your cries and tears breaking your husband's heart. The pain and loss of blood plunged you into a state of vulnerability you'd never experienced before, causing you to lose consciousness on several occasions.

"It's going to be okay , mon amour, you're strong and brave. You'll make it. Just a little more effort and our child will soon be here with us."

Despite the fear and anxiety, Neuvillette's presence by your side was an unwavering pillar of support. His hand clasping yours, he enveloped you in his love and encouragement, his voice soft and reassuring.

The intervention of Baizhu, Liyue's doctor recommended by the traveler, was crucial. Thanks to his expertise and professionalism, he managed the complications with remarkable efficiency. Neuvillette, using his hydro authority, played an equally vital role, treating life-threatening wounds and using his powers to stabilize your condition. The synergy of their efforts was the determining factor in your survival in this bitter struggle.

The birth of your child, despite the circumstances, marked a moment of pure happiness and relief. When you heard his first cries, a sense of peace and fulfillment came over you, allowing you to finally surrender to rest, your exhausted mind and body taking refuge in sleep.

11. Neuvillette had delicately placed your child beside you, gently brushing your sweat-dampened hair, while his free hand gently enveloped his baby in a peaceful sleep. His gaze was lost in the infinite tenderness he felt for you, a wave of happiness and pride emanating from his whole being. How could he ever make the whole universe understand the beauty he saw in you? The fullness he felt watching you and his child, so serenely asleep under his protection? How could he articulate the immense joy of this deeply human experience of being part of a family? He, the sovereign hydro dragon, was discovering a new and profound humanity, all thanks to... Thanks to your presence in his life.

Somewhere in your dreams, you could hear the gentle sound of a purr...

12. Neuvillette will embody the figure of a father with an exceptionally gentle approach to education. Firm only when necessary, his child will be just like him. With a calm, collected and sometimes distant temperament, the child will learn the essential lessons of dragon heritage from his father. This transmission will be carried out with subtlety and wisdom, enabling the child to understand not only the value, but also the responsibility of his ancestry.

NSFW bonus:

The moment Neuvillette crossed the threshold of the house, returning from a grueling day at court, he found you fast asleep on the sofa, a soft light illuminating the room and a book resting carelessly on your belly, which was getting rounder by the day. He immediately realized that you'd been up most of the night waiting for him to return. Heaving a weary sigh, he shed his coat, gloves and scarf, then carefully placed your book on the table before lifting you gently into his arms. However, the mere touch of your husband, his warmth, his breath, his presence, was enough to awaken your senses. Blinking against his chest, a sigh of contentment escaped your lips as your gaze met his, imbued with a gentleness and warmth that contrasted so sharply with the man he was when you first met him.

"Ah, there you are at last, my dragon..." A tender smile lit up his face, as he adjusted your position so you could throw your arms around his neck, your lips seeking his in a burst of love.

"I asked you not to wait up for me. You need to rest... Why are humans so stubborn?" Your laughter, light and joyful, invited him to silence as you placed another kiss on his lips, which he received happily.

This one was deeper, more languorous. You needed him. Now... The absence of your dragon weighed so heavily on you that it aroused extravagant thoughts. Neuvillette could feel it... Your growing excitement knotting your belly and moistening that secret place between your thighs...

A rumble vibrated Neuvillette's chest as he deposited you on your bed, lips still linked, tongues struggling against each other for dominance. Your husband's instincts were stronger than anything, and since his companion wanted him so much, then he'd give her anything she wanted...

Who'd have thought it? Beneath this cool, aloof facade lay a passionate lover, expert in the art of thrilling the senses. Neuvillette loved to prepare you for him, burying his face tenderly between your thighs, his tongue fervently caressing your most intimate parts, while your fingers lost themselves with delight in his hair, leading you to heights of voluptuousness.

Dragons, creatures whose mating rituals were rare and dictated solely by the heat cycles of their females, contrasted sharply with humans when it came to sexuality. This discrepancy had initially confused Neuvillette, who couldn't understand why his physical reaction was so spontaneous at the sight of you. Besides, the fact that you were already pregnant should, in theory, have tempered his ardor during this period, shouldn't it? Why, then, did his desire for you intensify at the sight of your round belly? Your condition triggered a deep instinctive response in him...

To demand you. To make you his, even if you were already carrying his offspring...

His ardent thoughts set him ablaze, making him more passionate. He wanted nothing more than to melt into you, claiming your body as his own. His tongue worked you ardently as his fingers explored your innermost recesses, seeking to make you shiver with pleasure. Your moans were a song to his ears, the sound of his name, his true name, slipping between your exquisite lips.

Her eager mouth seized your quivering clitoris, savoring it with exquisite sensuality, while her deft fingers guided you to ecstasy. Your pregnancy amplified your sensitivity, allowing your beloved to lead you with infinite tenderness to the gates of rapture. His phalanges guided you to the end of your orgasm, his mouth tenderly kissing the bulge of your belly. When he brushed his lips against your skin, it was with a gentleness and affection that contrasted with the real urges driving him.

"Darling, I need you... Please..."

Neuvillette, his heart pounding, took a deep breath to calm the ardors that consumed him, eager not to harm you or your child, even if this one was an unborn dragon.

With infinite gentleness, his hand lovingly caressed your body, his lips tracing a tender path from your belly to your breasts, which he covered with kisses and delicate sucks before moving up to your neck and finally your lips. His kiss, at first filled with tenderness, gradually became hot with passion. His teeth nibbled delicately at your bottom lip, begging for more, and when your mouth opened to offer him what he desired, his tongue tasted you with fervor, as if you were the most delicious food in this world.

When he finally unites with you, he takes great pleasure in contemplating you in your entirety. Although your state of pregnancy forces him to deviate from the postures he loves, he knows how to find ways of satisfying his devouring thirst for you. Often, with his back arched in a throbbing motion, he will watch with rapt attention the undulations of your body as his hips fall delicately against yours, eagerly taking in the soft moans that enchant his sensitive hearing. His silver hair cascaded gracefully over you, sublimating the beauty of your beloved dragon. They allowed you to tenderly draw him to you, once again uniting your lips in a passionate kiss.

Neuvillette, moved by a passionate ardor, didn't stay attached to your lips for long, the rhythm of his hips intensifying as your orgasm approached. It was so easy to read you, he thought, as your expressive features and burning moans betrayed the intoxication that overwhelmed you. With a movement tinged with lust, Neuvillette grabbed your thighs and wrapped them greedily around his hips, before rising with a confident gesture, his palms ardently kneading your plump buttocks to give your bodies a more sustained rhythm. His member, coiled deep inside you, caressed that special place that made you lose all composure... He was right: your pregnant state made you undeniably more receptive to his ardors, and certainly more inclined to claim his.

As your orgasm gripped you, your walls fervently embracing his fiery member buried inside you, a guttural growl erupted from Neuvillette's chest. Mating with a dragon could be brutal, and Neuvillette had to do everything in his power not to be overwhelmed. Without your pregnancy, he would have given in to his deepest impulses, sinking his teeth into the delicacy of your neck, his pelvis jerking wildly against yours in search of his climax. But he knew how to curb these impulses, contracting his jaw to better contain his desire, until it poured into you in a guttural roar.

Neuvillette was rarely satisfied with a single turn, and your embraces often dragged on until sleep overtook you. When exhaustion drove you into unconsciousness, Neuvillette would tenderly cleanse you, kissing your bruised flesh while murmuring words of apology to you and the being growing inside your womb. He'd allow himself time to admire you, his fingers grazing the soft nakedness of your body nestled against his. And as his hand caressed the surface of your abdomen, a light tap struck against his palm, tugging a smile from the supreme judge's lips.

"As stubborn as his mother..."

[thecheshireprincess]

Hidden in Plain Sight

Shuntarō Chishiya x F!Reader

Summary: Chishiya takes you on the roof of the hotel; will any of the partying Beach citizens notice?

Content Warning: NSFW (18+); porn WITHOUT plot, smutty smut, just smut fr, breeding kink (bc i can't fucking stop), sex in public, curse words, Chishiya is possessive and a little bit OOC (but who cares bc it's literally porn, anyone can be whatever in porn!)

I won't tell anyone what or what not to do, but please interact responsibly ✨️

AO3 Link Here

A/N: Oops, I slipped and I posted this

This might be a two parter? When you get to the end, let me know if you're thinking what I'm thinking 😜

"Chishiya!" you cry out with a whine, the man's long fingers easily finding your clit as he bends you over the sun warmed concrete ledge in front of you. Your mind is hazy with your desire for the blonde, the obscene sounds of his cock driving in and out of your soaked pussy only serving to spur you on. The man moans in earnest, his left hand moving from pinching one of your peaked nipples to splay itself across your soft belly. He had been thinking things recently, and imagining your belly rounded with his seed right now was going to make him explode.

You both had an excellent view of the players gathered around the pool below you, their laughter and the clinking of beer bottles merging effortlessly with the bass of the upbeat music they were swaying to. Each and every one of them none-the-wiser to you getting railed in plain sight above them. For now.

"I've never felt you drip for me like this, angel. Thought you said you weren't into public sex?" he challenges with an arched brow as he continues rutting into you at a leisurely tempo, his long cock imprinting itself deliciously on your cervix as your ass jiggles from the force.

Breathlessly, you whimper not so convincingly, "I'm n-not. And nearly all of The Beach is down there - what if they s-see us?" The Cheshire man grins wickedly at this, "Then you'd better keep quiet if you don't want them to look up and see you getting fucked dumb."

Chishiya had you pinned against the ledge of the roof, your body humming with the electric current of your arousal. You had to hand it to him, you had been violently opposed to getting fucked where other people could see you when he'd suggested it, but honestly you are enjoying the thrill of potentially being caught underneath the blonde man.

Chishiya forces your nearly bare skin to dig into the concrete, the material biting into your senses as his chest presses against your back. The man runs his warm tongue against the column of your throat, sucking and nipping his mark into the sensitive skin. He works his way down your shoulders and ribcage, heat spreading like wildfire throughout you. A tiny, sweet moan escapes you at the thought of his marks littering your body.

He didn't care if you were caught by the entire Beach, in fact, he welcomed it. At least then all those idiots would know you belong to him. They all would soon, anyway, he hoped. A low moan escapes him at the thought, fucking into you with a particularly rough thrust against the spongey spot inside you, both of your heads quickly growing foggy with lust.

You whimper pathetically, eyes rolling back in your head and legs beginning to shake from the position he had you pressed in. Leaning your weight forward onto the concrete in front of you, you sink your teeth into your forearm to prevent your sounds from alerting the public to your position. That will not do, Chishiya decides, pressing one hand into your lower back, and wrapping your hair around the other to lift your torso towards him. "Let them hear how good I make you feel, baby."

Both of you groan in harmony at the new angle the arch in your back provides, the bulbous head of his cock reaching new depths of your wet heat, making tears spring to the corners of your eyes. Your pussy flutters around him, making him suck in a sharp breath.

Without missing a single stroke, Chishiya lifts your body and flips you over, laying your back flat on the wall with one hand protecting your head. His soft hands trail down to grip your waist, stroking up your ribcage and taking one breast in each hand, thumbs finding your nipples and pinching them as he continues his thrusts. "Shiya . . ." You whine, feeling the familiar coil start to tighten in your belly.

The man growls, digging his nails into your hips and fucking into you with abandon, his pelvis providing friction against your sensitive bud. Your legs wrap tight around Chishiya's waist, hands coming to grasp his surprisingly muscular biceps through his white jacket for support. You allow your head to fall back against the concrete, staring up at the gorgeous man above you, the sun glinting off his blonde hair giving him a halo.

A goddess. Chishiya loves the way he splits you open on his cock, every inch of him stretching your tight little pussy. Your eyes half-lidded and mouth hanging open, you're nearly drooling on yourself. Fuck, you're going to kill him. Beads of sweat begin to form against both of you, dripping down and mixing with your other fluids.

You don't technically belong to Chishiya, but damn if he doesn't want you to. You with your gorgeous eyes, your perfect mouth, and fuck this tight pussy. His perfect idea of heaven would be stuck between your legs for all time.

Under him, you begin to babble and whine. Your pretty little moans go straight to the man's cock, and he knows he is going to cum if he doesn't slow things down.

Chishiya grabs tightly onto your thighs, fingers marking the plush skin as he pulls out of you quickly, dropping to his knees between your legs. You're just about to complain about the loss when he suctions his lips around your swollen clit, stuffing two fingers inside your tight, fluttering core. A surprised squeal escapes your throat and you instantly clap a palm over your mouth in embarrassment. Shit.

"Tastes so good for me, baby. So sweet," he praises, the vibrations from his mouth moving like shockwaves through you. Pathetic whimpers leave you as you watch Chishiya move between your legs through thick eyelashes. When his dexterous fingers curl against your spongey spot, you squeal again involuntarily. The man looks up at you with wide, mischieveous eyes - he wants the players to look up and see you.

What a treat it would be for them to get to see you look like this, a goddess that they'll never get to touch. Not as long as he's around to fill you. Not if he can help it.

Your body wriggles adorably against him, whether you want more friction or less, Chishiya can't tell. Your moans have morphed to weakened pants, your entire body wrought with tension as he laps his tongue erotically against your swollen bud.

"Shiya! P-please," you gasp out, hands gripping hard into his blonde locks. He raises an eyebrow up at you from where he's positioned on his knees for you. "Please what, angel?" he questions, fingers still scissoring in and out of your squelching wet pussy.

"I wanna cum on your cock!" you wail in admission, still desperate to be filled but not by his fingers. With one final obscene slurp of your arousal, the man stands up and in one swift motion has your pussy stretched around his cock once more.

Your legs come to wrap tightly around his waist, the man leaning his weight down onto you as he ruts into you. You can feel the way his abs tighten a little bit, Chishiya is close too. The flames of your impending orgasm lick up your abdomen from your core, extending into your ribcage.

"Shiya! Gonna c-cum!" you wail, clearly having abandoned the concern about being fucked just feet above the rest of The Beach partaking in their pool party. You just want to feel good.

"Fuuck, angel. I'm close too, cum for me baby," he nearly begs, reaching between your bodies to rub tight circles on your soaked clit. The extra stimulation and Chishiya's dirty words do it for you, you see stars with one final thrust and your entire body is flooded euphorically with your high. You know you cry out loudly, but the blood rushing in your hears prevents you from hearing, caring.

The way your entire body shudders underneath him is stunning, your tight pussy clamping down on Chishiya's cock and inspiring his own orgasm. Thick ropes of white coat your womb, the man moaning your name as he fills you with his warmth so well.

His sweaty forehead comes to rest on yours as you both pant desperately for air. Chishiya presses his soft lips against yours, gentle but filled with tenderness. When he pulls away to look at you, body limp, pretty polka dot bikini skewed, and eyes shining up at him as though he gave you the world - holy shit. What is this feeling?

He gently adjusts the top of your bikini first, hands trailing along your sides in his ministrations as goosebumps erupt across your skin. He finally pulls his softening cock out of you, tongue clicking at the gorgeous sight of his cum leaking out of you. The man kneels between your legs again, trailing his fingers up through your puffy folds to push his cum back inside you. Your body shivers at the sensation and the erotic implication of the gesture. He straightens your bikini bottoms too, looking up at you with a darkened look on his face. You swallow thickly as he runs a warm hand over your lower belly, a flicker of something appearing behind his eyes.

"Keep my cum inside you, angel. I'll have to fill you again and keep you in bed for days if you don't," he commands, tone serious. Your eyes widen but lustful heat burns in your belly once more. You wouldn't mind being stuck in bed with Chishiya for days, nor would you mind being filled with his cum over and over.

As you come back down from your high, your body feels like putty. It takes nearly all of your strength to roll over and look out at the party down below. The people of The Beach are still splashing and gyrating below you, not a single one of them looking in your direction. Just as you grin, thinking you might have gotten away with it, you feel a burning gaze lingering on your absolutely wrecked body.

Niragi's lustful gaze stares up at you from his place on a daybed, twirling his rifle between his hands. Chishiya notices too, smirking and giving the man a smug and nonchalant wave.

The absolute audacity.

♤ ♡ ◇ ♧

Everything Tag List: @potato-vagina

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[rootedinrevisions]

Off the Red Carpet

SUMMARY: You accompany Glen to a red carpet event, and you get to watch him be in his element- the chaos of flashing cameras and the glitz of the red carpet- firsthand. As Glen navigates the spotlight, you remain behind the scenes, quietly proud of the star he's become, all while cherishing the connection between you that exists when the cameras aren't on.

A/N: This idea was originally from @hunterthecharmer thank you for the idea and for giving me the okay to try my hand at writing this! Hope you enjoy it!

WARNINGS: None. This one is pretty fluffy.

WORD COUNT: 3.2k

The hotel suite hummed with quiet activity, a mix of soft music playing, and the occasional murmur of conversation from the main room.

The golden hues of sunset filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting warm light across the space. You stood in front of the full-length mirror, smoothing the gown over your hips. The fabric felt luxurious under your fingers, flowing softly into a gentle train. The way it hugged your figure made you feel like you belonged on the arm of someone like Glen, even if the thought of stepping into the spotlight still set your nerves on edge.

You took a deep breath, adjusting one of the delicate straps before reaching behind you to zip up the dress. Your fingers fumbled, unable to grasp the tiny pull. Frustration mixed with your growing nervousness, and you let out a soft sigh, glancing toward the closed door.

As if on cue, there was a knock.

“Babe? You almost ready?” Glen’s voice carried through the door, warm and familiar, a grounding force amidst your swirling thoughts.

“Almost,” you called back, your voice a little breathless. “But…I might need some help.”

The door creaked open, and Glen stepped inside, his eyes immediately finding you. The room seemed to still for a moment as his gaze swept over you, his usual easy smile softening into something more profound.

“Wow,” he said quietly, the word barely more than a breath.

You felt your cheeks warm under his stare. “Think you can help me with this?” you asked, turning slightly to show him the unzipped back of your dress.

He stepped closer, his movements unhurried, and gently brushed your hair to one side. “Of course,” he murmured, his fingers brushing lightly against your skin as he took hold of the zipper.

The soft tug of the fabric and the warmth of his touch sent a shiver down your spine. When he finished, his hands lingered for a moment, resting gently at your waist before he turned you to face him. His eyes roamed over you, and the quiet awe in his expression made your heart skip a beat.

“What do you think?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He took a step back, as if needing to take all of you in, and shook his head slightly, almost in disbelief. “I think,” he said, his voice low and sincere, “you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Your lips parted, but before you could respond, he reached up, his thumb brushing tenderly along your cheek. “Seriously,” he added, his tone soft but earnest. “I don’t know how I got so lucky.”

The emotion in his words made your chest tighten, and when he leaned in to kiss you, it wasn’t just an affectionate peck. It was slow and deliberate, his lips lingering on yours like he wanted to make sure you felt every ounce of what he couldn’t put into words.

“Glen,” his manager called from the other side. “We need to get going.”

Glen pulled back, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. “Guess that’s our cue.” He smiled down at you, taking your hand in his. “You ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” you said, though your voice carried a hint of uncertainty.

The soft click of the hotel room door echoed as you and Glen stepped into the hallway. The plush carpet muffled the sound of your heels, but walking in them while managing the delicate train of your gown was proving to be a challenge. You tried to discreetly gather the fabric in one hand, balancing it while taking careful steps, but the effort was less than graceful.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Glen glance down, his expression shifting to one of quiet amusement. Without a word, he slowed his pace, gently reaching for the trailing fabric of your gown.

“Here,” he said softly, gathering the train in one hand with practiced ease. “Let me take care of that.”

You blinked, surprised by the gesture. “Glen, you don’t have to—”

He cut you off with a small shake of his head, his lips curving into a warm smile. “I know I don’t have to,” he said, his tone light yet sincere. “But I want to. Can’t have you tripping before we even make it to the car.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly at that, the sound easing some of the lingering nerves in your chest. As you resumed walking, you felt the gentle pressure of his other hand resting lightly at the small of your back, guiding you with an ease that felt so natural, so him.

When you reached the elevator, Glen shifted slightly, keeping hold of your gown as he pressed the call button with his free hand. The doors slid open with a quiet chime, and he gestured for you to step inside first, his hand never leaving its spot at your waist as you did.

Inside the elevator, you turned to look at him, your eyes meeting his. The golden lighting highlighted the soft yet focused expression on his face. “Thank you,” you said quietly, your voice filled with genuine gratitude.

He tilted his head slightly, his smile deepening. “You don’t have to thank me,” he said simply. “That’s what I’m here for.”

The sincerity in his words made your heart flutter, and you found yourself leaning into his touch ever so slightly as the elevator began its descent.

Glen caught the movement, his thumb brushing lightly against your back in response. “You okay?” he asked, his voice low and just for you.

You nodded, feeling the corners of your lips tug upward. “Yeah,” you replied softly. “I just…I feel lucky.”

His smile widened, and he leaned down, pressing a quick, reassuring kiss to your temple. “Funny,” he murmured, his voice carrying a hint of playful charm. “Because I was just thinking the same thing.”

The elevator chimed again, signaling your arrival at the lobby. Glen stepped aside to let you exit first, but not before giving your waist one last gentle squeeze.

The lobby was alive with a low hum of activity, hotel staff bustling about and the faint chatter of guests mingling in the background. As you and Glen approached the doors, the distant sound of cameras clicking and voices calling out his name grew louder. Paparazzi were stationed just beyond the entrance, their flashes already bouncing off the glass.

Glen’s security team, always a step ahead, intercepted you both before you reached the main doors. One of them leaned in to speak quietly. “The parking garage is clear. We’ll take you through there to avoid the crowd.”

Glen nodded, his hand still resting lightly at the small of your back as the team led you toward a side corridor. The bright, polished floors of the lobby gave way to the dimmer, utilitarian lighting of the garage. The quiet hum of fluorescent lights above and the occasional echo of footsteps replaced the buzz of the crowd outside.

As you stepped into the cool expanse of the garage, your heels clicked softly against the concrete. You walked side by side with Glen, his presence steady and reassuring, until you came upon a patch of water glistening under the overhead lights. It stretched across the pathway, and your gaze dropped to the delicate hem of your gown, worry flickering across your face.

Before you could even voice your concern or attempt to maneuver around it, Glen reacted instinctively. “Hold on,” he said, his voice calm but firm.

Without hesitation, he bent slightly and swept you up into his arms as though you weighed nothing. A surprised laugh escaped your lips, your hands instinctively gripping his shoulders as he carried you effortlessly around the puddle.

“Glen!” you exclaimed, though your tone was more amused than admonishing. “You really didn’t have to do that.”

He glanced down at you, a soft chuckle rumbling in his chest. “What kind of boyfriend would I be if I let your dress get ruined before you even make it to the event?” he teased, his eyes sparkling with warmth.

Your cheeks flushed, but you couldn’t stop the smile that spread across your face. “Still, I could’ve managed.”

“Maybe,” he said with a smirk as he set you gently back on your feet, his hands lingering at your waist to steady you. “But why make you do it when I’m right here?”

You shook your head, still smiling, as you adjusted your gown. Just then, his security team opened the back door of a black SUV with tinted windows. 

“Milady,” Glen said with a playful smile, gesturing for you to step in.

“Thank you,” you replied, matching his tone as you carefully slid into the plush leather seat, mindful of your dress.

Glen followed suit, settling in beside you and closing the door behind him. The faint hum of the engine provided a soothing background noise as the driver pulled out of the garage and onto the city streets.

For a moment, you were quiet, staring out the window at the lights of the bustling city. Glen shifted beside you, his shoulder brushing yours as he leaned closer.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice soft but tinged with concern.

You glanced at him, offering a small nod. “Just…nervous, I guess. It’s a big night for you, and I don’t want to—”

“Be ridiculous,” Glen interrupted gently, flashing his trademark grin. “You’re not going to ruin anything. Trust me.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly.

“There she is,” he said, nudging you playfully. “See? You’re going to be fine. You’re not even walking the red carpet, anyway. You get to stay behind the cameras and sip champagne while I do all the work.”

“I wouldn’t exactly call posing for photos and answering questions work,” you teased, arching a brow.

“Oh, it’s brutal,” he said, feigning seriousness. “All those flashing lights, having to keep this face from looking too shiny…”

You shook your head, smiling, but the fluttering in your stomach didn’t entirely subside. Glen seemed to notice.

His hand found yours, his fingers threading through yours with ease. His thumb began to graze over your knuckles in a soothing rhythm.

“Hey,” he said, his tone softer now, his teasing dropped. “You don’t have to be nervous. I’m really happy you’re here with me tonight. It means a lot.”

You looked at him, his expression earnest and filled with something deeper than you could put into words.

“Thanks,” you said quietly, squeezing his hand. “I’m happy to be here with you, too. I’m proud of you, you know.”

Glen’s lips quirked into a small smile, his thumb continuing its comforting motion. “Well, don’t make me cry before we even get there.”

As the car slowed to a stop outside the venue, the energy in the air shifted, electrified by the flash of cameras and the distant sound of fans calling out names. You could feel the thrum of excitement radiating through the air, reverberating in your chest.

Glen adjusted his bow tie, his jawline sharp under the streetlights. He turned to you, a small, reassuring smile tugging at his lips. “Ready for the madness?”

You nodded, even though your nerves had returned. The line of cars ahead crawled forward, one by one releasing a parade of celebrities who were met with the cheers of the crowd and the blinding strobe of camera flashes.

When it was finally your turn, Glen stepped out first, his polished shoes meeting the pavement. The crowd erupted, calling his name as the flashes intensified. He turned to wave, flashing that Hollywood smile that had charmed audiences all over the world.

Then, as if the chaos around him didn’t exist, Glen turned back to you. He leaned down, extending a hand through the open door. “C’mon,” he said softly, his voice cutting through the noise.

You took his hand, the warmth of his palm grounding you as you stepped out. For a brief moment, the two of you stood together, a quiet connection amidst the frenzy. Glen gave your hand one last squeeze, his thumb brushing your skin in a silent promise before he stepped toward the red carpet.

“See you inside,” he said, and then he was gone, the lights and cameras swallowing him whole.

His manager appeared at your side, her touch gentle as she guided you away from the chaos and toward the media’s edge. Here, you were safely tucked behind the lines of reporters, photographers, and onlookers, shielded from the prying lenses but still close enough to see everything.

From your vantage point, you watched Glen stride onto the red carpet like he owned it. His confidence radiated with every step, and the cameras adored him. He paused in front of the wall of flashing bulbs, effortlessly shifting his stance to give them what they wanted—his signature smile. He turned slightly to the left, then to the right, his jawline sharp under the bright lights. The tailored suit he wore fit him perfectly, exuding the kind of polished charm that only he could pull off.

He looked every bit the Hollywood Leading Man, and for a moment, you found yourself caught between awe and adoration. Glen was always himself with you—gentle, playful, sincere—but here, he embodied the star the world had come to know. And yet, there was a thrill in knowing that beneath the flawless exterior was the man you knew better than anyone.

Your attention lingered as he moved seamlessly into an interview. He leaned in slightly, his posture relaxed but engaged, as the interviewer asked their question. You couldn’t hear the words over the buzz of the crowd, but you could tell by the way his brow lifted and a small smile tugged at his lips that it was something lighthearted. And then it came—the laugh. His shoulders shook just slightly, and his expression softened in a way that made your heart swell.

As he finished his response, Glen straightened and glanced around, his eyes scanning the crowd. When they landed on you, a grin spread across his face. He gave you a quick wink, just enough to send your stomach fluttering before he turned back to shake the interviewer’s hand and move on.

Your smile grew as you watched him continue down the carpet, stopping now and then to interact with fans pressed against the barriers. He greeted each one with genuine warmth, signing photos and posters, crouching down for selfies, and even exchanging a few words with those lucky enough to catch his attention.

One young fan, no more than ten years old, handed Glen a scrapbook of drawings they’d made of him. He thumbed through the pages, his expression shifting to one of quiet amazement. You could see his lips move as he said something to the child, who nodded enthusiastically while clutching a pen Glen had just handed back.

“Thank you so much,” you heard him say clearly to another fan as they gushed about his latest role.

This was a side of him that always took your breath away—the way he gave so much of himself to those who supported him. He didn’t just exist in their world; he connected with it, leaving pieces of himself behind for everyone to cherish.

And then, as if drawn by some invisible thread, his gaze found yours once more. This time, it lingered, a soft yet electric connection that sent a wave of warmth through you. His lips curved into a smile, not the polished one for the cameras or the fans, but one meant just for you.

You raised a hand in a small wave, your heart beating a little faster as he gave you a subtle nod before turning back to the next group of fans.

“Crazy, isn’t it?” his manager said, leaning toward you with a knowing smile.

You nodded, your gaze fixed on Glen as he moved gracefully through the crowd. “It’s surreal. But he… he makes it look easy.”

“That’s Glen for you,” she said with a chuckle. “Always knows how to work a room—or a red carpet.”

You laughed softly, but your attention never strayed far from him. He was magnetic, every movement deliberate yet natural, as if he’d been born for this.

This was his moment. After the whirlwind year he’d had—the long days on set, the relentless press tours, and the skyrocketing success—he deserved every bit of the recognition coming his way.

And while you were more than content to stay in the background, watching from the edges of his world, you couldn’t deny the pride and love that surged through you as you saw him shine.

The buzz of the red carpet faded the moment you stepped into the building. The quieter hum of conversation and the elegant glow of the interior lights replaced the chaos outside, offering a reprieve from the cameras and shouting fans.

Glen’s manager stayed close by, her heels clicking against the polished floor as she led you through the foyer. “He should be coming in right behind us,” she said, glancing back at you with a reassuring smile.

You nodded, your fingers fiddling with the delicate strap of your clutch as your nerves began to settle. But before you could think too much about the evening ahead, you felt it—a warm hand sliding around your waist.

“Miss me already?” he teased, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

Your lips curved into a smile as you looked up at him. “Always.”

There was a brief pause, and then Glen offered you his arm, his tone light. “Shall we?”

You accepted without hesitation, slipping your arm through his as he led you further into the building. The buzz of the outside world felt like a distant memory now, replaced by the quiet elegance of the venue's interior. The soft lighting and low hum of conversation seemed to make everything feel more intimate, even amidst the crowd.

“So, how did I do?” Glen asked with a teasing edge, clearly eager for your opinion.

“You were perfect,” you said honestly, giving his arm a small squeeze. “I’ve never seen you look more confident. Like you belonged there.”

He chuckled, his voice warm as he turned to face you. “Well, it’s a bit easier when I’ve got someone like you cheering me on.”

You couldn’t help the flush that crept up your neck, but you gave him a smile in return, silently grateful for how grounded he made you feel in the midst of the chaos.

“Seriously, though,” he added as you made your way through the foyer. “I’m glad you’re here. I wouldn’t want to do this without you by my side.”

As the two of you continued through the space, the evening ahead felt less intimidating, more like an opportunity to savor the quieter moments together. While the world outside might never fully understand the dynamic between you, it was moments like this—away from the cameras, just the two of you—that made it all worth it.

The night ahead would be full of attention and flash, but the most important thing was that, despite the world around you, you were right where you needed to be—by his side, without needing to make a spectacle of it.

[drewswife]

Heyyy I have a req for drew x actress reader, where they’re together and working on set. Reader gest really sick but doesn’t say anything and Drew is busy with work so he doesn’t notice. When they get to filming a scene together she gets really dizzy and ill etc. And Drew ofc feels so bad that he didn’t notice anything.

Sorry if it’s too specific (English is not my first language)

The bright lights of the movie set always made your head spin a little, but today it felt different. A fuzzy, uncomfortable feeling had been creeping up on you all morning. You tried to ignore it, focusing on your lines and hitting your marks. Drew, your boyfriend and co-star, was across the bustling set, deep in conversation with the director about the next scene. He looked so focused, his brow furrowed in concentration, and you didn't want to bother him. He had a lot on his plate today.

You coughed lightly, hoping it wasn't noticeable. Your throat felt scratchy, and a wave of nausea rolled through you. "Just nerves," you mumbled to yourself, taking a sip from your water bottle.

Hours passed in a blur of takes, costume changes, and hurried instructions. The fuzzy feeling intensified, turning into a dull ache that spread through your body. You felt clammy and a little shaky, but you plastered on a smile whenever someone looked your way. You were a professional, after all.

Finally, they called for the scene you and Drew had together. It was a pivotal moment in the movie, a tense confrontation filled with emotion. You took your place on the set, trying to remember your lines through the growing dizziness.

Drew walked over, his usual easygoing smile in place. "Ready?" he asked, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

"Yeah," you managed, your voice sounding a little weak even to your own ears.

The director called "Action!" and the scene began. You delivered your lines, trying to channel the character's anger and hurt, but the room seemed to sway slightly. Your vision blurred for a moment, and you gripped your hands tightly to stop them from shaking.

As the scene progressed, you were supposed to step closer to Drew, your character confronting his. But as you moved, the dizziness hit you full force. The lights seemed to explode in your vision, and the ground tilted beneath your feet. A wave of icy sweat broke out on your forehead.

Before you knew it, the world went black.

You vaguely registered the sound of your own body hitting the floor and a chorus of worried shouts. Then, nothing.

When you finally blinked your eyes open, the bright set lights were gone, replaced by the softer glow of what looked like a medical bay. A worried face swam into focus above you.

"Hey sweetheart ," Drew said softly, his hand gently stroking your hair. His usual cheerful demeanor was replaced by a look of deep concern.

"Drew?" you mumbled, your throat feeling like sandpaper.

"Yeah, it's me," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "You scared me half to death."

You tried to sit up, but a wave of weakness washed over you. "What happened?"

"You fainted," he explained, his eyes filled with guilt. "Right in the middle of the scene. Everything just… stopped."

A nurse bustled around you, checking your pulse and temperature. "She's coming around now," she said gently to Drew. "Just needs to rest."

Drew kept his gaze fixed on you, his hand still in your hair. "I had no idea you weren't feeling well," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "Why didn't you say anything?"

You looked away, feeling a little foolish. "I didn't want to bother you. You were so busy…"

Drew gently turned your face back to his. "Hey," he said, his eyes earnest. "Nothing is more important than you. If you're not feeling okay, you tell me, okay? Always."

Tears welled up in your eyes, partly from the lingering dizziness and partly from his genuine concern. "I'm sorry," you whispered.

"Don't be sorry," he said, his thumb softly wiping away a tear that escaped your eye. "I should have noticed. I should have been paying more attention."

"You were working," you said weakly.

"And you were hurting," he countered gently. "From now on, we look out for each other, okay? No matter how busy things get."

a/n: thanks for the req don’t worry english is not my first language either! :)

tags, @starrii-sturns @chrepsi @drewsstars @spencerreid66 more

[simplyraeblue]

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first times (shoto todoroki x reader)

ALL CHARACTERS AGED UP femreader x virginshoto you've had a crush on your friend shoto for a long time, and unbeknownst to you he's been crushing as well. not only that, he wants you to be his first time; for everything WARNINGS: swearing, smut, mentions of masturbation, oral (m receiving) •◡ ◠ word count: 3,380 A/N: this will be a 3-4 part story, with each chapter building up in smut levels

part one | part two | part three |

part four | part five

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as the night wound down and the loud laughter and clamor of dares faded into memory, the mess left by the boys was evident throughout your apartment. empty cups, discarded snack wrappers, and other remnants of the evening’s chaos littered the living room. one by one, your friends trickled out, their departure marked by sloppy goodbyes and promises to clean up later.  

Shoto was the last to leave, but instead of heading home, he stayed behind to help you tidy up. the two of you worked in comfortable silence, picking up the trash and putting things back in their places.  

as you were clearing the last of the cups that Kirishima and Kaminari had strewn across the coffee table, Shoto's voice broke the silence. “we didn’t finish our seven minutes,” he said suddenly, causing you to pause and turn to him.  

you gave a small, tired laugh. “technically, we did. we went well over the seven minutes, in fact.” you resumed picking up the cups. silently grateful that Bakugo had been persuaded to drive Kirishima and Kaminari home. 

Shoto, now standing next to you with a thoughtful expression, asked, “truth or dare?” 

you put down the trash bag you were holding and placed your hands on your hips. “truth.” 

“did you enjoy our kiss?” Shoto’s eyes were earnest as he awaited your response. 

“yes,” you replied, feeling a flush rise to your cheeks. “truth or dare?” 

“truth,” Shoto said. 

“did you enjoy our kiss, Shoto?” you asked, returning his earnest gaze. 

“yes,” he answered, his voice barely above a whisper. “truth or dare?” 

“truth,” you said again. 

Shoto almost pouted. “no, pick dare. i have something in mind already, and you picking truth won’t work.” 

you chuckled at his display of frustration. “alright, fine. i’ll switch to dare.” 

“i dare you to let me kiss you again,” Shoto said, his voice filled with a mixture of relief and anticipation. the weight that had settled on his chest since earlier in your room seemed to lift with his confession. throughout the evening, as he chose dare each time on the off chance he could kiss you again, he had participated in various childish dares with this one goal in mind.  

Shoto didn’t give you a chance to respond; instead, he gently cupped your face in his hands and pulled you closer. the sudden proximity made your breath catch in your throat, and your heart raced with a thrilling mix of anticipation and nervousness. as Shoto leaned in and pressed his lips to yours, you felt an overwhelming sense of warmth and longing that made you wish you could dissolve into his embrace. 

with a growing sense of confidence, Shoto guided you backward towards the couch, his lips never leaving yours. he maneuvered you both down onto the cushions, the kiss deepening as he settled beside you. this was a moment he had yearned for over a year, each time you worked together as pro heroes, his feelings only intensifying. he was determined to savor every second of this long-awaited connection. 

for you, the kiss felt like a puzzle finally coming together. it encapsulated everything you had felt from the moment you first recognized your crush on him, to the countless times you had called Mina, gushing about his small gestures and acts of kindness. now, it had culminated in this perfect, intimate kiss. 

the kiss was tender and gentle, embodying everything you had hoped for. Shoto’s touch was delicate, as if he were handling something incredibly precious. his lips moved against yours with a natural grace, fitting together like they were made specifically for this moment. 

after a few blissful seconds, Shoto pulled back slightly, his eyes locking with yours. you slowly opened your eyes to meet his gaze, and he could feel his heart swelling with affection. the warmth in your eyes told him that you saw him as more than just a hero, more than just Endeavor’s son.  

“so,” Shoto said, his voice soft but filled with curiosity, “when you talked about the bases earlier, you left one out.” 

you felt a deep blush spread across your cheeks as you realized what he was hinting at. “home base, right?” you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper. “i left it out because it’s... a significant step. it means going all the way with someone.” 

“making love,” Shoto said, his tone thoughtful. 

“yes, making love,” you confirmed, your heart fluttering at the sincerity in his voice. the way he spoke the words made the whole concept feel even more profound and intimate. it wasn’t fucking, or having sex, it was making love in his eyes.  

“how would that go?” Shoto asked, his question causing a warm flush to spread across your body. the thought of the next step made your heart race. 

“well,” you began, your voice wavering slightly as you fidgeted with your hands in your lap, “it would start with what we’re doing now, this closeness and intimacy. then, it would naturally progress to... more intimate things, like touching each other in more private places.” 

Shoto’s eyes darkened with an intense, sincere gaze as he said, “i would like to touch you elsewhere.” the boldness of his statement made your heart leap into your throat. did he fully understand the implications of what he was suggesting? 

“we can take things slowly, if that’s what you really want,” you offered, trying to steady your voice and manage your racing thoughts. 

“i’ve received plenty of advice from the guys,” Shoto said, his tone tinged with uncertainty. 

you chuckled softly, shaking your head at the absurdity of it. “okay, maybe don’t take all the advice those guys give you too seriously. they can be a bit... over the top.”  

Shoto’s earnest expression did not waver. “are you being serious about this?” you asked, wanting to be absolutely certain. 

he nodded; his gaze unwavering as he looked at you with deep sincerity. you couldn’t help but smile softly at him. “and you... want your first time, for everything, to be with me? not someone else you might consider more special?” 

“no one is more special to me than you,” Shoto replied earnestly, his heart pounding in his chest. he had discussed all the right questions with Midoriya, seeking advice on how to recognize true feelings and when the time was right. once he had his answers, he knew deep down that there was no one else he wanted to share these moments with. for him, you were everything. 

you drew in a deep breath, your cheeks flushed with the weight of his confession, the seriousness of the moment settling over you. "come with me," you said, your voice steady despite the rush of emotions. gently, you reached out, taking his hand in yours. with a purposeful but tender grip, you guided him away from the couch and towards the bedroom. 

once inside, you led him to sit on the edge of the bed, and he complied, his expression attentive and earnest. you took a moment to gather your thoughts, then spoke, your voice firm but reassuring. "i want to set some ground rules before we go any further. i’m going to ask for your consent before i do anything, and i’ll make sure to tell you exactly what i plan to do. if at any point something makes you feel uncomfortable, you need to let me know immediately. and if you ever want to stop, we stop, no questions asked." 

Shoto nodded, his gaze meeting yours with a look of understanding. "that all sounds fair," he said, his tone serious but calm. "where do we begin?" 

you sat down beside him on the bed, your hands instinctively resting over your chest as you tried to calm the rapid beating of your heart. the excitement was almost palpable, making it hard to focus. "kiss me," you said softly, your eyes locked onto his. "right now, just do what feels right for you." 

to your surprise, Shoto’s lips crashed into yours much more forcefully than last time, like he was needier. and he was; if the dare hadn’t been erupted earlier, he wouldn’t have been able to slow himself down. he was touch-starved, a man hungry for more, and he wanted you.  

as he deepened the kiss, you heard the soft moan he let loose, sending heat washing through your body. with his lips parted, you took the chance to gently caress the roof of his mouth with your tongue. he practically melted at the action, leaning further into you.  

you continuously had to remind yourself that this was Shoto, someone who deserved tenderness and love, not just a way to get yourself off. but the way his hands were now gripping your waist and sending hot and cold sensations through your skin… it was driving you wild.  

for a moment, you pulled away, seeing his eyes still closed with his brows furrowed. “for someone who hasn’t done this often, you are very good at making out, Sho.” you tell him while trying to catch your breath. 

“what’s next?” he asked.  

your eyebrows raised in amusement. “what’s the rush?”  

“i’ve been imagining this for a long time, y/n.” when Shoto’s eyes connected with yours, you saw that his pupils were blown out, filled with a deeper desire than you could’ve imagined inside of him. 

while Shoto didn’t show any nervousness, you felt it growing more and more. you usually weren’t one to be shy, but right now everything felt different.  

“if you want to, we can touch each other while we kiss.” you tell him. “anywhere.”  

Shoto placed his hands further up your torso, looking at you for permission before you nodded. he leaned in to meet your lips again, feeling adrenaline rush through him. the feeling he got from kissing you was enough to drive him insane, an emotion he had never felt before beginning to build.  

your hands drifted from his neck to his chest, feeling his heartbeat under your palms. as you allowed your hands to lazily travel further down, his traveled further up, settling on your ribs and just below your breasts. when his thumb traced the line of your bra, you embarrassingly let out a moan, but to Shoto, it sounded like music to his ears. he took the chance to deepen the kiss, allowing his tongue to enter you and caress yours.  

“Sho.” you murmured, breaking away for a moment to catch your breath.  

“tell me what to do.” his voice came out hoarse and low, and his eyes pierced yours with a fierce determination.  

“you’re making it really hard for me to take this slow for you.” you laughed nervously, your body trembling under his gaze.  

“then don’t take it slow.”  

you blinked a few times, trying to register his words, hoping to kickstart your brain into high gear to figure out what to do. “Sho...” you breathed lowly. 

“i trust you.” Shoto interrupted, placing his hand over the one you had on his chest. “take the lead. please.” 

with his plead, the fire within you burned hotter than ever, and you quickly moved to straddle him on the bed as your lips connected with his once more. this time, he kissed you back feverously, like he felt the same hunger you did.  

“are you sure?” you asked, wanting to double check... maybe even triple check... that he wanted to do this. he nodded into your shoulder, a muffled mph coming from his mouth.  

the time passed by quickly, and the kiss grew until you couldn’t take it anymore. you wanted to show him what it felt like to feel pleasure, even downright damn euphoria. selfishly, you wanted to feel it too. you moved from his lips before starting to litter kisses along his jaw and down his neck, working your way down as your hands fidgeted with the bottom of his t-shirt. when he sensed what you were trying to do, he quickly pulled his shirt over his head, almost making you gasp at the sight. 

his body could’ve been the work of a god.  

before you let yourself get flustered, you continued to pepper kisses in a trail from his neck, down his torso. with each kiss, you could hear his breath stuttering. “tell me something, Sho.” you whispered against his skin. “have you ever... touched yourself?” 

you looked up to find Shoto’s face turned pink, but he nodded in answer.  

“y-yes.” he stammered out. Shoto didn’t want to admit to you that he’d never done such a thing until he’d met you, until he’d realized what his feelings meant. he felt dirty thinking about those nights, when you’d visit him in a dream, and he’d wake up to a feeling in his stomach and an erection he needed to solve.  

“good boy.” you smirked up at him, and he could’ve imploded just from the look. he could only watch with anticipation as you worked to remove his belt, then undo the clasp on his pants. “i’m going to touch you here, like you’ve done yourself. is that okay?”  

again, he could only muster a nod in response. you gently pulled on his pants, dragging them down to his ankles and only leaving his boxers behind. you could see the growing erection under the fabric, and the thought of what was underneath made your mouth water. 

before you removed the fabric, you let you palm lay flat across his erection, sliding up it ever so gently. Shoto barked out a moan, and you felt pleased with yourself.  

“tell me to stop if you need me to.” you told him, but with his breathing already labored from one touch you doubted he would speak up.  

you placed a soft kiss on the top of the fabric, feeling his cock twitch underneath at the contact.  

as if on pure instinct, Shoto’s hand went to your head, working his fingers into your hair. he didn’t know what had driven him to do such a thing, but it felt right.  

with his apparent eagerness, you hooked a finger under the band of his boxers before tugging, sucking in a breath once his cock was released from the fabric. of course, shoto was beautiful, it made sense that his cock would be too.  

you felt a warmth pooling in your stomach, travelling down to wet between your legs. you lightly tapped his thigh, getting his attention and having him look down at you before you gently licked a stripe from the base of him to the top.  

his fingers gripped your hair, not so rough, and he hissed. fuck, his friends never told him it felt this good. every primal instinct inside of Shoto was screaming at him to pull your mouth down onto his cock and stuff your face. it took all his strength to restrain himself from fear of hurting you.  

“that f-feels...” Shoto stopped mid-sentence when you pressed your tongue flat against his tip.  

“talk to me, Sho.” you whispered, kissing his already leaking tip and taking his precum into your mouth.  

“don’t stop.” he whined, his hand fisting in your hair tighter than before.  

having Shoto beg in front of you sent dirty, wicked thoughts straight to your brain. you’d never walked someone through sex before, let alone something you deemed as simple as a blowjob, but seeing him coming undone before you drove you feral. 

you were done with the little kisses and licks you’d been giving him, finally deciding to take him fully. he watched with half lidded eyes as you opened your mouth and eased his tip past your lips, using your tongue to caress circles around it. Shoto’s head dipped back in pleasure, leaving you to take in more of him. 

fuck, you hadn’t realized how big he’d actually be. you struggled to lower your mouth over his cock, before you finally felt it hit the back of your throat. Shoto moaned at the feeling of his tip touching your throat. as gentle as he could, he bucked into your mouth, wanting to feel more. 

“holy shit, y/n.” he breathed, trying to keep his body from spasming out of control. the feeling of you taking him was delicious, and it was making his head swim. if he hadn’t been on the bed already, Shoto swore he might’ve passed out from pleasure. 

you worked your mouth up and down, slowly at first, to get all of him wet with your spit. with each bobbing motion you made, more moans spilled from Shoto’s lips. you could feel him twitching in your mouth every time your tongue stroked his leaking tip.  

to give your jaw a break, you pulled your mouth off him with a satisfying pop before letting your hands replace where you were. it took two hands, but with the saliva you’d left behind and his precum dripping, you stroked him gently, working his cock between your hands.  

“i feel hot all over.” Shoto murmured, one hand still on your hair while the other gripped at the sheet.  

“is this what you feel when you touch yourself?” you asked, looking up at him as he panted with every stroke. 

“y-yes. if you don’t stop, i think i might...” he moaned, breaking up his sentence, when you swiped your thumb over the soft spot between his shaft and tip.  

“cum for me, like you do when it’s your hand and not mine.” you instructed, before taking his tip back into your mouth but letting your hands work up and down his shaft, picking up your pace. 

Shoto began to thrust more wildly, unable to stop himself from almost fucking your face. a coil had formed in his stomach, and it was so close to being released. when he’d done this himself, it was pleasurable, but only a means to an end to solve an erection. now, what you were doing to him felt like heaven, your mouth a soft and warm rapture.  

he felt that heat in his stomach grow hotter and hotter, until it felt like it was burning. Shoto gripped your hair in his hand, lifting his hips to drive his cock until he felt the back of your throat, and only then did he feel that band within him snap. he let loose a load moan as he saw stars, shooting his cum deep into your throat and watching as you took every drop, gazing up at him with beautiful eyes.  

when he started to come down from his release, you pulled your mouth off his cock, licking up the last dribbles of cum before placing a gentle kiss on his tip. “how was that, Sho?” you asked, your face flush as you looked up.  

sweat gleamed on Shoto’s forehead and torso, his breathing heavy but his smile unwavering. that familiar grin, the one that made your heart skip a beat, was fixed on you. 

instead of speaking, he cupped your face in his hands, pulling you gently towards him. his lips met yours in a kiss that was both passionate and tender. between kisses on your lips, cheeks, and neck, Shoto panted out, “that was amazing. you’re amazing.” 

you laughed softly into his mouth, your cheeks flushing at the compliment. “i’m glad you feel that way,” you replied, your voice warm and affectionate. 

as you both caught your breath, Shoto settled you onto his lap and ran his fingers through your hair. his voice was a gentle murmur as he nuzzled into your neck. “as much as i want you to show me more, i’m struggling to keep my eyes open,” he said softly. you chuckled, understanding his exhaustion.  

“let’s get some sleep, okay?” you kissed his forehead, before helping him to stand from the bed.  

as you changed into comfortable pajamas, Shoto merely pulled his boxers back on before climbing into your sheets, snuggling comfortably into one of your pillows. you climbed under the covers next to him before he pulled you close, wrapping an arm around your waist and having your back pressed against his chest.  

“show me more tomorrow.” Shoto whispered, kissing your shoulder before letting his head sink into the pillow. 

you blushed, but gave a lazy mhm in response, settling in comfortably next to him.  

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Link to Bakugo x reader here

(word count: 2,328)

Link to Kirishima x reader here

(word count: 902)

[srslyblvck]

pretty boy, sirius black

pairing: sirius black x fem!reader

synopsis: you called sirius 'pretty boy' and now, he never stops following you.

genre: fluff

warnings: none

word count: 0.6k

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ YOU WERE LYING UNDER a tree by the Black Lake, trying to finish some last-minute homework. The gentle breeze rustled the leaves, providing a soothing background noise as you concentrated on your essay. Suddenly, you felt a presence beside you, and before you could even look up, you heard that familiar voice.

"Hey there, gorgeous," Sirius Black drawled, plopping down beside you with his usual confidence.

You rolled your eyes but couldn't suppress the small smile tugging at your lips. "Sirius, shouldn't you be somewhere causing trouble with James?"

"Ah, but where's the fun in that when I can be here, distracting you?" He winked, his eyes twinkling mischievously.

You tried to focus on your parchment, but Sirius's constant chatter and flirty remarks made it nearly impossible. He leaned in closer, his breath tickling your ear as he whispered, "You know, you're much too beautiful to be wasting your time on schoolwork."

You turned to him, intending to give him a witty retort. Instead, you sighed and looked up at him. "Sirius, don't you ever get tired of flirting?"

"Not when it's with you," he said, grinning. "But why, is it working?"

You shook your head, laughing softly. "You're insufferable."

He leaned back on his elbows, looking up at the sky. "Come on, there must be something you like about me."

You raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Well, you're easy on the eyes."

Sirius's confident smirk faltered for a moment. "Oh? Do go on."

You laughed, trying to brush it off. "Don't let it get to your head."

He moved closer, his tone more earnest. "No, really. What else?"

You hesitated, then muttered, "Maybe you're a bit of a...pretty boy."

Sirius's eyes widened, and he stared at you, momentarily speechless. His usual swagger was replaced with a look of genuine surprise.

You immediately regretted it, your cheeks flushing. "I-I didn't mean—"

"No," he interrupted softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "Say it again."

You blinked, taken aback. "What?"

"Call me that again," he repeated, his eyes still locked onto yours.

You shook your head, embarrassed. "No way, Sirius. Forget I said anything."

He moved closer, his expression serious. "Please."

"No," you said firmly, gathering your things and standing up. "I'm not going to call you that."

Sirius stood up too, a determined look on his face. "Then I'll just have to make you."

True to his word, Sirius became your shadow. He followed you to the library, sat next to you during meals, and even walked you to your classes. His constant presence was both endearing and infuriating. He'd poke your sides, and ruffle your hair, just to get a reaction out of you.

One day, as you were heading to Potions, he was right beside you, humming a tune. You sighed, exasperated. "Sirius, don't you have something better to do?"

"Nope," he said cheerfully. "Being with you is my top priority now."

You rolled your eyes but couldn't help the smile creeping onto your face. "You're impossible."

"And you're beautiful," he shot back without missing a beat.

Despite his antics, you found yourself growing fond of his company. His relentless flirting and playful nature made your days brighter. And every time he looked at you with those big doe eyes, you couldn't help but feel a flutter in your chest.

One afternoon, as you sat by the Black Lake again, Sirius sat down beside you, quieter than usual. He looked at you, his eyes soft. "Why won't you call me that again?"

You sighed, meeting his gaze. "Because it makes you look... different. Not the confident, cocky Sirius everyone knows. It makes you look vulnerable."

He smiled softly. "Maybe I like being vulnerable with you."

Your heart skipped a beat, and you looked away, feeling your cheeks heat up. "Well, I still won't say it."

He laughed, a warm, genuine sound. "Then I guess I'll just have to keep following you around until you do."

And as frustrating as it was, a part of you didn't mind at all.

[sunsburns]

GONE GONE / THANK YOU — variant!mark grayson

⟢ synopsis. you’ve never wanted to fight mark grayson, but the universe has a way of twisting your arm, and now you're forced to reckon with it.

⟢ contains. 18+, mark grayson x reader, evil variant!mark grayson x reader (but not the way you think), serious injury, death, gore, violence, major angst, no happy endings here, oliver locks tf in.

⟢ wc: 5.6k+

⟢ author’s note. do not be fooled, this is a tragedy. there is no romance here.

You remember, vaguely, back when he still worked for Cecil and trained with the Guardians. When you were teammates, rookies with too much adrenaline and not enough experience. Mark Grayson used to ask you to spar like it was a game.

You always turned him down.

It was always him asking, too—never Cecil. Sometimes, Rex would try to coax you into it, just for fun, by placing bets with Bulletproof like it was a pay-per-view event. “Come on, just once,” he’d say, “I got twenty bucks on you getting tossed into a wall.”

It wasn’t like you’d stand much of a chance—or at least, that’s what you told yourself. You weren’t helpless, sure. You could fly, move faster than most. You had telekinesis, strength just barely above the average hero’s. You could throw a car without touching it and take a punch that would hospitalize most people. But you couldn’t split the sky open with a single blow. You couldn’t level a building by accident.

Mark could.

He was much stronger than you. You knew that. But he always swore you were the only one on the team he’d ever have a fair fight with.

You remember him saying it once, voice all boyish and sincere as he watched you hurl a semi-truck into a monster that crawled out of Hell with nothing but a wave of your arm. Or that time you tackled him midair to shield him from a laser blast—one that left you burned and stumbling, but still standing.

Back then, he was new to this. Sloppy. Hopeful. Moved like he was wearing his dad’s boots and still trying to grow into them.

Maybe back then, you could’ve taken him.

Maybe it would’ve been fair.

You’d always brushed off the sparring sessions he suggested, hiding your nerves behind a smirk. He’d flash that stupid grin, eyes too bright to take seriously, and you’d wave him off like it was nothing. “What, so I can lose in front of you? No thanks.”

You never said what you really meant: I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t even want to know how to.

Looking back, it was kind of embarrassing how quickly you’d grown fond of the new superhero.

“Oh, c’mon,” he’d beg, hovering beside you in the sky, similar to some overeager golden retriever, “it’ll be fun! I’ll go easy on you.”

You remembered the way he’d grin when he said that, like he meant it. You remembered the way he used to chase after you mid-flight on your off days, shouting challenges through the wind when all you wanted was to fly in peace. You’d mentioned craving Caribbean food in the Caribbean once—offhand, totally casual—and next thing you knew, you were midair, scrolling your maps app while Mark kept pace beside you, claiming he just wanted to “smell the sea air or whatever.”

Yeah, right.

You knew better. He just liked being near you. (Or at least that’s what Eve told you later, when you brought it up and she rolled her eyes like you were the last person on Earth to get the hint.) And when it came time to carry the food back, he always helped without you asking.

He was kind like that. Earnest. The kind of guy who matched your pace, who never minded when you stopped flying to rest on a rooftop or circle over a new city just to take it all in. He kept you company. Slowed down for you.

But he also liked to annoy the hell out of you.

He had a talent for pushing your buttons—prodding, teasing, egging you on just enough to make you want to hit him. Not in the playful, shoulder-shove kind of way either. You’re talking a real punch. One that might actually break his nose.

He’d say stuff like, “What if you just threw stuff at me?”

You blinked at him, mid-hover. “Throw stuff at you?”

“Yeah. Like, I don’t know—trucks? Cars? Big, heavy stuff. No combat. Just toss things.”

You’d laughed. “No combat? Why? You think I’d beat you in a real fight?”

He didn’t even hesitate. “Probably, yeah.”

And he meant it.

You were better at combat than Mark. Everyone knew it. He had raw power, sure, but he fought like he was still learning where his limbs ended. He was always a little too reckless, too eager to win fast, to fight them and leave, always charging in when he should’ve taken a second to think or hear out whoever he was fighting this time. He always let his opponent push him onto the back foot. Unfortunate because Mark only knew how to block with his face.

Which sucked, because he had a very pretty face.

“I don’t want to fight you, Mark.” You said it because it was true. Because even if it was just a playful team match, even if the stakes had only ever been bragging rights, you’d seen what he could do. Just a glimpse of it—enough to leave you rattled for days.

You didn’t want to feel helpless under him. You didn’t want to see him like that.

“Train with me,” he corrected you.

You arch a brow. “We already train together.”

“Spar with me, then.” He rolled his eyes, like you’re being deliberately difficult.

It made you laugh, escaped before you could stop it. It almost makes you cave. His voice, the slight pout in his tone, the way he gets when he wants you to meet him in the middle.

“What would I gain from this if we do?”

“You’d know my weaknesses.”

“I already do.”

“Fine. You’d know what to do in a fight with me. A real fight.”

That made you pause.

You glanced at him, really glanced, and saw the honesty in his eyes. It sobered you.

“If I ever try to fight you, Mark,” you murmured, “I must be the craziest person on the planet.”

And maybe that was the problem.

Somewhere, in the quiet corners of your mind, the part of you that didn’t speak often, you understood what he meant. You saw the logic. It wasn’t about wanting to fight. It was about being prepared for the possibility. That one day, something might happen—someone might twist his arm, or his mind, or the world might just break wrong—and you’d be the only one left to stop him.

Just like he was the only one who could stop his dad.

But it was Mark.

You couldn’t picture it. Couldn’t even begin to shape that version of reality in your head. A Viltrumite? Sure. Maybe. But not Mark. Not the one who flew slower just to stay beside you. Not the one who remembered where you liked your food from or made you laugh just to hear the sound.

A Viltrumite, sure. But never Mark.

It always surprised you that Cecil never forced the issue. That he never pulled you aside, never handed you a file full of fail-safes and protocols for some contingency plan. Never demanded you run a one-on-one simulation, just in case. Not even after Anissa.

Maybe he was too busy moulding Mark into a weapon. Focused on teaching him how to dodge the hit instead of what it would mean to land one. Maybe no one really wanted to imagine a world where Mark Grayson needed to be stopped.

But now?

Now you wish you’d said yes.

You wish you’d tested yourself. Learned his rhythms, his tempo, the way his shoulders moved before a strike. You wish you’d paid closer attention. Memorized every tell. Every blink. Every breath. Every violent twitch in his body.

Should’ve known what it’d feel like when one punch hit you for real.

When he hits you for real.

“Why won’t you fucking die?!”

The voice is his, but wrong.

It curdles in your ears: guttural, unhinged, warped by something deeper than rage.

You’re weightless—thrown midair like a ragdoll. For a single, surreal moment, there’s a strange comfort in it. Suspended high above the wreckage, the sun kisses your skin, and a breeze slips across your face.

Up here, the sky is still beautiful. A stretch of blue that hasn’t yet been stained by smoke or scorched by heat. Far enough from the screaming and all the noise. Far enough to forget what’s happening on the ground.

But you can’t breathe.

Your lungs seize, your eyes snap open, pupils blown wide as your body remembers the pain.

You barely register your own gasp before a blur of blue and black cuts through your vision. Fast and close.

Your body shudders violently. Instinct claws at your nerves as the blur sharpens.

He’s coming. Again.

Faster than before.

Faster than you can think.

Gravity slowly claws you back down. You’re dropping.

You don’t even get the chance to scream before two boots slam into your stomach.

Your body folds inwards with a crunch—sick, absolute. Something inside you gives way. Ribs, maybe. Or your will.

The air vanishes from your lungs.

And then you’re falling.

Plunging faster than you can think to pull yourself up again.

The wind whips past your ears, colder now, biting at torn fabric and skin. Your suit peels away in places, edges fused with blood and grime. It soaks through the fabric, your blood. It clings like glue.

You hit the ground like a meteor and concrete craters beneath you.

Your spine strikes first, a bolt of blinding white-hot pain rippling through every inch of you, from the tips of your ears to your toes. And then your body goes limp, twitching in the dust.

You heave; a short, broken breath. Once.

Twice.

Then blood rises up your throat like a tide. It fills your mouth, thick and choking. You cough, gag. Swallow a bit without meaning to. The taste is iron and fire and fear.

Your nose is shattered, and has been since the second time he hit you; it’s not getting any better—just a wet, twisted mess that sends pain knifing through your face with every shallow breath. Blood seeps from the split at the bridge of it, more of it rolls out to coat your lips. You try inhaling through it, and it’s like dragging air through broken glass.

Your vision pulses. Static edges. Fireflies at the corners of your eyes. The sunlight above you flickers like it’s behind dirty windows.

Everything burns.

You’re vaguely, bitterly grateful to discover that you can take a punch or two from a Viltrumite.

Even more grateful to realize he still gets frustrated when a fight drags on longer than he wants.

He’s always had a temper. That little crack in his armour. That flicker of impatience just before he stubbornly decides to end things.

Funny how that trait sticks. Across dimensions. Across versions.

Across Marks.

You try to move.

You know he’s coming again.

You fight to make sense of where you’ve landed—what part of the city this is, how far the damage might’ve spread. The world tilts wildly when you try to sit up. Every muscle screams. Every joint trembles under the weight of your own body.

Your fingers dig into dust and rubble. Arms shaking, elbows buckling when you roll over.

Somewhere past the ringing in your ears, a footstep echoes.

Not his. Too light. You freeze. Your body goes rigid with fear.

Then you see a child.

Shit.

A girl runs past, tripping over debris, breath coming in broken sobs. Your heart lurches.

She stumbles toward a crumbled wall, where a hand reaches out from a narrow crack in the broken concrete. A voice calls softly, a little desperately. She throws herself into someone’s arms, and the space swallows her whole. Hidden. Safe.

You meet someone’s eyes inside the dark. Just a flash. Then a whisper.

“Is she okay?”

“Don’t move. Don’t make a sound.”

However, your blood goes cold because you don’t hear him land. You feel it.

A tremor shocks the ground beneath you. Dust kicks up into your throat. Something inside you screams at you to run. But your legs won’t listen. Your body doesn’t move.

A shadow twists along the edge of the crater, slow and crawling, swallowing the light around it. You watch, frozen, as the figure nears, closer with every heartbeat, every rasping breath that burns your lungs. Your chest is caving in under the weight of fear, the panic a raw, wild thing clawing up your throat and getting stuck. You barely move.

Your instincts take over before your mind catches up—what little you can summon lurches to life, and a thin, violet barrier flares to life around you.

It glows dimly, trembling in the air like it’s afraid too.

Then, the first strike lands.

You flinch as a violent crack echoes through your shield. His fist hits it again, harder this time—shockwaves rippling outward, shaking the ground beneath your knees. You collapse backwards, knees buckling beneath you, your limbs no longer listening.

And now, you see him.

The colours of the suit are the same. Black and blue. Familiar. Too familiar. It’s his jawline, his mouth, the slight crookedness in his lips—only this time, there’s no smile at all. No warmth. Just something brutal and cold in the lines of his face. It’s haunting, how much he looks like your Mark.

His fists don’t hesitate. They don’t tremble. They don’t stop. He slams them again and again into the shield, and you know it’s not to knock you out. He’s trying to kill you.

Your vision blurs, not from the impact, but from the emotion cracking inside your chest. It’s like looking into a mirror, someone shattered and glued back together in all the wrong ways. His jaw clenches, tighter than you’ve ever seen on Mark. And he shouts and screams at you like rage has him by the throat.

His suit is covered in blood. Not just stained. Soaked. You know Mark bleeds more often than not and carries his wounds to prove it. This isn’t that. This isn’t his blood. These are other people’s. It drips from his fists. Smears across his shoulder. There’s a tacky smear along his jaw.

And then you notice the difference: his hair is tucked beneath a tight, blue cowl, pulled back out of reach. It’s smart, almost too smart. You’ve seen people grab Mark by the hair mid-fight, use it to throw him off balance. This version, this thing pretending to be him, has made sure that won’t happen. Even so, a few strands of inky black hair have broken free, fluttering in the wind, familiar enough to steal your breath.

It’s that hint of recognition that almost costs you everything.

His fist crashes into your barrier again, and this time, it shatters and you feel it crack down your spine.

There’s no time to think. You throw yourself upward with a burst of raw energy, launching into the air, limbs screaming in protest. You don’t look at him. You look past him toward the building where the civilians are hiding, where you felt their fear.

Get away from them. Get him away from them. That’s all that matters now.

You’re gasping, your lungs pulling in air like they’re drowning. Your hands are trembling so hard you can barely summon the force again. Your vision is swimming. Blood sticks to your side, to your lashes, to the inside of your mouth.

And you’re scared.

You barely make it a few feet into the air, just high enough to feel the wind stir through your hair, when he grabs you by the throat.

The momentum dies instantly.

His hand clamps around your neck like a vice, fingers cold and unyielding, and you’re yanked backward through the sky with brutal force. Your body jerks in the air, and you choke on a scream as he lifts you like you weigh nothing. A ragdoll. A thing.

You claw at his wrist, nails scraping, scrabbling, legs kicking beneath you, wild and useless, searching for something, anything, to find leverage. But there’s nothing. Your lungs seize, scream for air, and your chest caves in with the effort.

“M-mm…” It slips out, a little pathetic. A strangled, broken moan choked on blood and bile, laced with panic you can’t swallow down.

Tears finally break. They spill hot and fast over the curve of your cheeks, over the cuts already weeping there. You can’t stop crying—it hurts too much to cry, but your body doesn’t care. Everything is on fire. Your ribs ache where they’re cracked. Blood drips down your chin from your split lip. Your shoulder pulses where you hit the ground earlier. It all bleeds together in one screaming pulse of pain.

The variant grins. Wide. Delighted. His teeth are strangely white, and there’s something sickening in the shine of his eyes you can see through his goggles. He brings you closer, so close you can smell the blood caked beneath his collar. So close your lips brush the edge of his ear.

“Sorry, what was that?” he murmurs. His voice is casual, almost amused, like he’s not slowly squeezing the life out of you. Like he’s enjoying this.

You try to speak again. Try to push past the pressure in your throat, the blood in your mouth, the trembling of your jaw.

“Mmar—muh—”

He laughs. Laughs.

“Muh-muh—come on, you can do it. You know my name. Say it.” He’s mocking you, voice all sweetness and cruelty. His grip tightens just slightly, and it sends a new spike of agony ripping down your spine.

Your face crumples.

You’re sobbing now, really sobbing, even though it hurts. Even though every broken breath feels like it’s digging your grave faster. You collapse inward, deeper into his grip, your weight sagging against his hold as your feet dangle uselessly beneath you. Blood smears down your neck, thick and warm, mixing with the salt of your tears. It leaves tracks on your cheeks. You don’t think you’ve ever been this afraid.

He shakes you once, sharp and jarring.

A cry slips out of you, louder this time.

“Say it,” he demands again. “C’mon. At least beg a little.”

Your lips part. It hurts. But you do it.

“Mark—please. Please.”

He hums like he’s enjoying it, cocking his head.

“Yeah. That’s it.”

“Please, Mark. I don’t—I don’t wanna…”

Your voice breaks again. Trails off into something too small to hear. You meant to say die. But it catches in your throat, and you’re not even sure if that’s the truth.

Because you don’t want to die at his hands.

You don’t want to die looking at his face.

You don’t want to die thinking this is the last version of him you’ll ever see.

You squint through the blood stinging your eyes, searching—anything. A broken pipe, a shard of metal, a loose brick. Something you could use before he chooses to tear your head from your body or snap your neck like a twig. But your brain blanks. He could do anything to you. You’ve seen him do worse.

“Hm,” he hums, tilting his head like you’re a puzzle he already solved. He pushes you away, just slightly. “I thought you’d put up more of a fight—”

A jagged chunk of broken concrete comes hurtling through the air behind him. It slams into his back and crumbles instantly, like dirt hitting steel. It doesn’t hurt him, but it makes him falter. Just for a second.

It’s enough.

You land a shaky kick to his stomach. It barely moves him—he grunts, more annoyed than wounded—but it’s enough to loosen his grip on your throat. His hand slips, and you drop like dead weight, gasping as air stabs back into your lungs.

You’re in the air again before you hit the ground, desperate to put distance between him and the civilians hiding in the building nearby. You knew you wouldn’t get far. You just needed space.

But he’s faster.

His hand snatches your ankle mid-flight, yanking you down so hard the air tears from your lungs again. Panic hits like ice in your chest, he could rip your leg clean off. You brace for it. But it doesn’t happen. You’re more durable than you give yourself credit for.

He must realize that too because he pauses. And in that pause, a car slams into him from the side with a scream of twisted metal, sending him skidding across the air. The vehicle shatters around him like glass against a god.

You hover in the air, staggering, breath ragged. Run. You burst away. But it’s like he never left. A blur of movement, and he’s on you again. The wind trembles around you as he grabs the back of your suit, lifts, and throws.

You crash through a concrete wall like a bullet, debris exploding in every direction. The force slams you into the tiled floor of the building behind it, breaking the ground beneath you as you skid across it. Each bounce against the cracked floor sends more shards of pain ripping through your ribs, your spine—until your body then slams into another wall, cratering the surface.

Your ears ring.

You blink rapidly through the haze and spot them. Movement. Figures, crouched in the corner of the room. Wide eyes. Shaking hands. Trying to stay quiet. Shit, you need to get out of here.

Then you feel him.

“—You little shit.” His voice is right there. Hot. Furious. His goggles have broken, and you can see his eyes. You feel sick when he looks at you, and you realize he has the exact same eyes as the Mark you know.

Hands seize you, claws in your skin, and you flinch, scrambling weakly, but there’s no time. Icy fingers dig into your face like meat hooks, one thumb gouging dangerously close to your eye as he yanks your head forward and smashes it back against the wall.

Once.

Twice.

He does it again. And again.

Your skull slams into the concrete until the plaster splits—until the wall peels back like wet paper and your head strikes the raw metal beam embedded beneath it. The sound is sharp. Hollow. Like a bell rung for the dead. The metal dents and bends to the shape of your skull.

“Fight back,” he snarls, saliva spraying across your cheek. His grip tightens. “Fight back, coward.”

The building groans around you. Cracks crawl like veins across the walls. Dust sifts down from the ceiling like ash from a burning sky.

Still, you don’t move.

Because your hands, shaking and soaked in your own blood, remain limp next to you. Fingers splayed, twitching, and glowing with desperate violet light. Your force field is fragile now—no longer the confident, humming barrier you’ve conjured in countless fights. This one sputters. Fractures along the edges. It buzzes with instability, as if your own heartbeat is the only thing keeping it alive.

Through it, the civilians cower in the corner. A young girl sobs into her mother’s chest. An older man clutches his chest, gasping. Blood trickles down someone’s temple. One of them meets your eyes—just for a second.

They’re depending on you.

You’re the wall between them and a god gone mad.

Even as blood pours freely from your nose, leaks from your ears, and chokes your throat, you hold the shield.

And he sees it.

His gaze flicks from your face to the trembling light shielding the survivors. Then he turns. Slowly. The glow reflects in his eyes like a glint off polished glass.

He sees them. The people you’re breaking yourself to protect. The reason you’re not fighting him back.

“Oh,” he breathes, realization flooding his face like bile. “That’s what you’re doing.”

There’s no humour in it. No mockery. He stands up. Steps back just enough to leer down at you. Then he nudges your leg with his foot, light, almost lazy.

“Am I not worth your full attention?” he spits, voice low and venomous.

You manage to lift your head just slightly, breath rattling in your chest.

That’s when you see it—the sudden flick of movement. His leg tensing, rising, snapping downward.

The stomp hits your knee. Hard.

A flash of pain rips up your thigh. Your force field flickers. Cracks splinter across its surface.

He sees that too.

And then he lifts off the ground. Just slightly. Hovering. Charging his weight.

“No—” you croak.

But it’s already too late.

He comes down full force, heel slamming directly into the joint of your knee. You hear the wet pop before your body processes it.

“Wait—”

Crunch.

The sound is sickening—like splintering wood wrapped in muscle. Your femur caves, bone shearing beneath his strength.

You scream. It rips from your throat with raw, animalistic agony. A sound born from every nerve in your body, catching fire.

But he doesn’t stop.

He stomps again.

Your leg gives entirely. Another crunch—louder this time. Bone bursts through skin, blood pooling fast and dark across the tile. Flesh torn. Tendons snapped.

You try to crawl away, sobbing, your fingers scraping uselessly against rubble, but he pins you with a single hand, heavy and uncaring. Whimpers slip past your lips. Your body trembles. Tears return—hot, relentless.

Still… you hold the shield.

Or try to.

Your hands flutter now, weak and slow. The violet glow dims, sputters, and flickers. You feel it dying.

You let out a choked sob. “No— please—don’t—”

He doesn’t even look at you.

Just kicks your side and shoves you down to the floor with a dull, wet thud. The impact knocks the breath from your lungs. You taste blood again. You bite your tongue to keep from blacking out. Your world is sideways.

He steps over your body, shadow stretching across the floor.

“You wanna play hero?” he says, voice thick with disdain. “Then try and stop me.”

The force field fails.

The whine that comes with it is soft. Pathetic. Like a dying heartbeat. The light vanishes.

And then he moves forward.

You hear it first. The civilians scream. A cacophony of fear and hopelessness, and panic. Feet scramble across the floor, slapping and slipping in the dust. Bodies scatter like bugs when a rock is lifted, rushing to corners that won’t save them.

You try to look away. But you can’t.

Tears stream down your bloodied face, your vision blurring, every nerve screaming.

“No—please—stop—”

You watch as he grabs one by the throat, fingers sinking into flesh with a sickening wet crunch, and slams them into the ground hard enough to collapse the tile and crater the concrete beneath.

Bone shatters. The body twitches once. Then doesn’t move again.

Another screams before she’s hurled across the room and hits a concrete column so hard her spine snaps with a sound like cracking ice. Blood sprays in a wide arc, painting the pillar in a bright red fan. What’s left of her folds in on itself like meat dropped from a rooftop.

A third runs. Tries, anyway.

They don’t make it two steps before the variant is on him, driving his fist into the back of their skull like a sledgehammer. The head doesn’t just break. It bursts. A wet, explosive noise followed by silence.

You cry again. All you can do is cry, helpless and shaking. Because you can’t do anything. Can’t crawl. Can’t protect them. Can’t stop it.

All you can do is lie there, twitching, crying, blood in your mouth and dust in your eyes, your own leg bent backwards beneath you like a snapped twig, ribs stabbing sharp into your lungs every time you breathe.

The room shakes. Then goes still.

The screams stop. The begging stops. Everything stops. Except you. You’re still breathing. Barely.

And he sees that.

The Mark who isn’t yours. Who wears his face but none of his soul.

He turns, eyes raking over the ruined bodies, the cracked walls, the crimson streaks painted across your cheeks and neck and chest.

Then he walks away.

He doesn’t even kill you.

He doesn’t even care enough to anymore.

He just leaves you here. A pile of meat and power and broken promises. Like you aren’t even worth finishing off.

The world sways. Tilts. Cracks. You’re not sure if it’s the building or your skull. Everything blurs at the edges, the colours too red, too dark. The air is too hot.

Your ears ring—sharp, high-pitched, like a scream still echoing inside your skull. You can’t tell if it’s someone else’s or your own.

The walls are split open like ruptured flesh. The ground is thick with dust and blood and the sickly stench of offal. Light flickers from a shattered fixture above—rapid, dizzying pulses that make your stomach lurch.

What’s left of your forcefield gutters across the floor like dying embers. Violet flickers catch the blood, the bone, the ruin. Cast soft light on glassy eyes staring up from broken faces.

Some of them look like they were trying to run. Some tried to hide. One looks like they were shielding another.

None of them made it.

You should move. Should crawl to the window. Should drag yourself somewhere someone might see you. Maybe he’ll see you. The real Mark. If he’s out there.

You don’t move. You can’t.

Your leg’s twisted beneath you, a grotesque knot of blood and shattered bone. One arm lies limp across your stomach, fingers twitching without purpose. You think something’s wrong with your ribs—sharp edges press against your insides every time you try to draw in a full breath. So you don’t.

The sun begins to sneak through the crumbled wall, golden light stretching over the carnage like a lie. It touches the broken bodies. The cooling blood. Your face.

And you lie there. Unmoving. Unseeing.

Because what’s the point?

Your hands are burned from your own force field. Still faintly glowing. Still trying.

You’re alone in the ruins of hope.

The concrete groans once more, something shifting far above. A soft cascade of dust falls like snow.

But otherwise—nothing.

No rescue. No sound. No light.

Just the stench of blood. The sting of smoke. And you, barely holding onto the thought of staying awake. Not because you want to. But because something in you still refuses to close your eyes.

Even now.

Even when there’s nothing left to save.

And help arrives too late; a sound, distant, frantic, pierces the silence.

Footsteps. Heavy. Rushed. A younger voice screaming, raw with something deeper than rage: “Die! Die! Die!”

Your heart clenches. That voice. You know it. That high, stubborn pitch. That little face, purple and wide-eyed and brave in a way only a child could be.

Oliver.

But then… silence again.

That silence terrifies you more than anything. He was here. You heard him. And now you don’t.

You start to cry again. Weak little sobs, more breath than sound. It hurts too much to make noise. Maybe you imagined it. Maybe your brain, desperate and failing, conjured him to spare you from dying alone.

Then at first, it’s just a crunch. Soft. Careful. The sound of wind shifting through broken glass. Your ears twitch—what’s left of your hearing, catching the shift in air, the gentle thud of shoes landing on broken tile.

Your ears twitch, catching it through the sharp ringing that’s made a home in your skull. Another crunch. The delicate movement against the air.

Approaching.

Your vision swims in red and static. But you see it—a blur of violet streaking in from the jagged hole in the wall. It flies crooked, clumsy, like it’s too fast for its own balance. It shouts your name.

Not your hero name.

Your real name.

The sound cracks through your chest. A sob tears up your throat.

He lands too hard. Hits the ground with a gust that kicks up glass and bloodstained dust. Then he’s on his knees beside you.

“Oliver?” you whisper, the name catching on something wet in your lungs. The word barely makes it out. A cough wracks through you, sharp and tearing. But it’s something.

Your eyes flicker toward him. He’s breathing hard. Shaking. His fists are covered in blood—not just his, you think dimly—and there’s a long scratch across his cheek that’s already scabbing over. His eyes go wide when he sees you. So wide they look like they might spill over.

“You… you shouldn’t be here,” you croak.

Oliver stares at you like you’ve lost your mind. His mouth opens. Closes. Then opens again, trembling.

“I should’ve been here sooner,” he says.

You try to breathe, but it’s shallow. The weight in your chest doesn’t budge.

He reaches out, but doesn’t touch you. Doesn’t know where he can.

“I saw him,” Oliver whispers, “I saw what he did. I thought you were holding him off—I thought—then I couldn’t see you anymore, and I—I stopped him. I got rid of him—”

His voice cuts off. He blinks too fast.

You try to move. Your fingers twitch, scraping weakly against the rubble. You don’t know if you’re reaching for him… or for the people you couldn’t save.

Oliver sees it. And he starts to cry.

“It’s okay,” he says quickly, urgently, scooting closer. “It’s okay. I’ve got you now. Just—just stay awake, alright? Stay with me. Please.”

He’s a child. Still a child. And he shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t see this.

“You have to go,” you rasp, barely audible. “Mark... he’ll be looking for you.”

Oliver shakes his head. “Mark’s fine. You’re not. I’m getting you out of here. I’ll take you to Mom. You’ll be safe with her. She’ll know what to do.”

He says it like it’s a promise. Like it’s fact. But you know better. You feel it in your bones—what’s left of them. You’re not going to make it that far.

You close your eyes for a moment. Just a blink. Just to rest them.

You let the words settle into you like warmth in a cold room.

Maybe that’s enough.

[gpcwsl]

Lia Wälti x Reader

- Is This Okay? -

MasterList

WC: 525

Warnings: really short, kissing, making out?

It had only been two weeks since you and Lia officially started dating, but every moment with her felt like something out of a dream. From the soft, lingering touches to the way her eyes sparkled when she looked at you, it all felt like you were standing on the edge of something thrilling and uncharted.

Today, you found yourself in her cozy apartment. The scent of her favorite candles lingered in the air, and soft music played in the background. You were both curled up on her couch, her arm draped casually around your shoulders while your head rested on her chest. The steady rhythm of her heartbeat was comforting, grounding you in this perfect moment.

Lia absentmindedly ran her fingers through your hair, her other hand tracing light circles on your arm. You tilted your head slightly to look at her, catching her soft smile as she glanced down at you.

“You’re so beautiful,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

Heat bloomed in your cheeks, and you couldn’t help but laugh softly. “You’re just saying that.”

Her fingers paused, gently tilting your chin so your eyes met hers. “I mean it,” she said, her tone earnest. The way she looked at you made your stomach flip—like you were the only person in the world who mattered to her at that moment.

Before you could say anything else, Lia leaned in. Her lips brushed yours, soft and tentative at first, as though she was testing the waters. You froze for a heartbeat, your breath hitching at the contact, but then you melted into her, kissing her back just as gently.

What started as a sweet kiss quickly deepened. Lia’s hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer as her lips moved against yours with growing intensity. Your hands found her waist, fingers curling into the fabric of her sweater as you tilted your head, letting her take the lead.

She kissed you like she had been holding herself back for weeks, the restrained passion spilling over now. Her lips were soft but insistent, and every brush of her mouth against yours sent sparks skittering down your spine.

You felt her tongue gently graze your bottom lip, seeking permission. A soft gasp escaped you as you parted your lips, letting her in. The kiss deepened, becoming hungrier, more consuming. Her fingers tightened their hold on you, as if afraid to let go.

But then, as if remembering herself, Lia suddenly pulled back, her breath coming in shallow pants. Her hand lingered at your cheek, her thumb stroking your skin as she searched your eyes.

“Is this… okay?” she asked softly, her voice tinged with both hesitation and desire. Her lips were swollen from the kiss, her gaze intense as she studied your expression for any sign of discomfort.

You nodded, your voice barely above a whisper. “More than okay.”

Relief washed over her face, and a small smile tugged at the corners of her lips. Without another word, she leaned in again, capturing your lips in another searing kiss, the two of you losing yourselves in each other entirely.

[v6quewrlds]

Please. I need some good Joey B smut. Please! Maybe Joe and reader take a weekend trip together and leave the kids with his parents after a hectic week that happens to fall on a bye week. They just need some good reconnecting!

You sighed, your eyes still glued to the TV, watching the latest reality show drama unfold. You looked over at Joe, who was engrossed in his iPad at the edge of the bed. “You know, if you studied me as much as you do this damn playbook, you might score every night,” you teased, your voice laden with sarcasm.

Joe looked up, laughing softly as he set aside the iPad. “Oh?” He smirked, his blue eyes twinkling as you watched the wheels turn in his head. Suddenly, he stood and yanked you by your ankles down the bed. “If you needed me that bad, you could've just said so.”

You squealed, giggling as he sank to his knees in front of you. “But, you've been so busy,” you admitted quietly, the tiniest gasp escaping your lips as Joe parted your thighs, his breath hot against your skin.

Joe looked up, his gaze locking with yours. “Always got time for you,” he murmured, his voice low and earnest. He kissed your thigh gently, sending a shiver through your body.

He kissed his way up, his lips trailing a hot path to the juncture of your legs. Your heart rate picked up, and you felt your face grow warm. You leaned back into the bedsheets, biting your bottom lip to keep from making too much noise.

He lifted your oversized shirt over your head, taking his time to appreciate every inch of your brown skin revealed to him. You felt a thrill run down your spine as his fingers traced patterns on your stomach, the anticipation building.

“Joe,” you whispered, your voice weak with desire. “please.”

He smirked again, a hint of mischief playing on his lips. “What’s the rush?” He said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated against your skin as he placed open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone. You felt the tension in your body coil tighter. You wanted to laugh, you wanted to yell at him to hurry up, but instead, you just leaned in closer, your breath catching in your throat.

Joe took his time, savoring each moment as he slid your shorts down your legs. His hands were gentle, yet firm, as they explored your body. Your eyes fluttered shut, the sensation of his touch overwhelming you. It was like floating on a cloud of desire, and you didn’t want it to end.

“Look at me,” Joe murmured against your skin, his breath sending chills down your spine. You nodded slightly, a silent agreement to let him lead. His hands worked to pull your panties aside, dipping his head to taste you. Your eyes widened, watching him with a mix of surprise and excitement. His tongue danced along your folds, indulging in your taste as if it were a treat made just for him.

Your breath hitched as Joe’s hands moved to your hips, holding you in place as he picked up the pace. The sound of your moans filled the quiet room, echoing off the walls as Joe’s mouth worked its magic. Your grip tightened on the bedsheets, your hips attempting to buck upward to meet his mouth.

“You’re so fucking good at that,” you managed to say, your voice strained as Joe’s mouth continued to work wonders. He just chuckled, the vibration of his laughter adding to the pleasure. His thumbs gently caressed the tops of your thighs, his eyes carefully taking in every twitch of your expression.

The tension grew, coiling tighter and tighter until you felt like you were going to explode. Your breath came in ragged gasps, your body arching off the bed as Joe’s tongue flicked and teased, bringing your closer and closer to the edge.

“Joe, I’m gonna—” you panted, your voice barely above a whisper. He just hummed in response, the vibration of his mouth sending you hurtling over the edge. Your orgasm shot through you like a rocket, your body convulsing with the intensity of it. You threw your head back, eyes squeezed shut, as waves of pleasure rolled over you.

“There you go, baby, there's my girl,” Joe murmured, his voice a gentle rumble as your body slowly came down from the high. He kissed your inner thigh before standing up and stripping out of his own clothes. You watched him work with half-lidded eyes, admiring the muscular form that was revealed as the fabric fell away.

He climbed back onto the bed, his body pressing against yours, his length making its eager presence known. You laughed, feeling the warmth of his skin against your own. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, your fingers tracing the lines of his shoulders and biceps. Joe took you in, his gaze roaming your pretty face, the softness of your plush lips, and the way your eyes sparkled with satisfaction.

“Tell me how you want it,” Joe whispered, his voice thick with desire as he positioned himself at your entrance, eyes fluttering shut as he attached his lips to your jaw.

Your eyes widened for a brief second, a smoldering heat igniting in them. “Just like that,” you murmured, your voice a sweet surrender to the moment.