#and im not going to be the one to write it

[doodlespaulas]

See, my issue personally with people going "asexual people can still have sex" about Jonathan Archivist Sims is that... sure. Asexual people can have sex. However, John is quite explicitly written in a way that practically states that he, as an individual, does Not engage in sex

This is the one instance when we hear about Johns asexuality outside of the qnas, and its explicitly stated that John doesn't have sex. At all.

I understand the wish to see yourself represented in media, particularly as an asexual person myself. And this is not intended as a callout for anyone in particular. However, it does create great frustations within me because it reads as just reinforcing this standard that centers sex in relationships in a wider societal context. A denial of individuals who simply wish to wholeheartedly not engage with it overall

Im not going to try and stop anyone from headcanoning what they want, drawing what they want or writing what they want. However, I do implore you to consider the canon information, the scarcity of ace rep, and how this errasure of his identity may be upsetting. I also invite you to explore asexuality in the cases of other tma characters who are left to much interpretation, like Tim, Martin, Georgie, Melsnie, Basira, Daisy, Sasha- hell, make them all ace in all flavours of ace, have your fun. I just implore you allow John to remain sexless, as he deserves

[writer-freak]

hii! im having suchh kpop demon hunters brainrot rn omg, could you do sfw & nsfw headcanons for baby saja please? he's my saja boys bias lol, ty!!

A/N: Baby's also my bias, and I actually wanted to write these first but I kept going back and forth on how I see him😭. So if these seem a bit messy or all over the place, that's the reason (maybe I will rewrite them in the future). Thank you though and hope you enjoy

Casually flirty in the most annoying way. Like leaning against a doorframe while you're ranting and going, “You look so hot when you're mad at me.” He says it just to fluster you and walk off before you can react.

In general he will purposefully say the most inappropriate things at the worst possible times ,whispers“Wearing that again, huh? You trying to get punished?” right as you're about to leave the house.

Calls you a very inappropriate nickname even in public one day he just called you "my lil earthquake.” You asked him what that even meant and he just smirked and went, “Cause you shake when I—” Hand over his mouth. Immediately.

Back hugs but like he’ll wrap his arms around you real sweet, then suddenly whisper the filthiest shit in your ear just to make you choke on your coffee.

His hand is either in your back pocket or riding way too high on your thigh. Doesn’t care who might see, he likes the attention. "They should know who you belong to."

His favorite thing in the world? Annoying you for fun. He hides your stuff just to watch you lose your mind over it. “You sure you checked everywhere?” he says, absolutely knowing your phone is in his pocket.

Bored easily. If he's stuck somewhere, he’ll start texting you the wildest out-of-pocket things just to pass the time. “Do you think I’d look hot in a maid costume or should I make you wear it?”

Sometimes just pokes your cheek in public until you react, or slides his cold hands under your shirt just to hear you squeal.

Doesn't help right away when you struggle with something (like reaching a high shelf or carrying a box) because he likes watching you struggle. “Oh I know you got it” he teases from the doorway. Only helps after you call him a jerk (and even then he's grinning while doing it).

He acts innocent in front of others a bit more polite, wearing a smile, quiet. But the second you're alone, his expression changes just enough for you to realize: You're in danger. The fun kind.

Cocky. So cocky. Constantly smug about how much you love him. “You’re obsessed with me, y’know that?” If you deny it, he’ll raise a brow. “Mhm. Keep lying. See what happens later.”

Lowkey possessive. If you’re giving someone else too much attention? He’ll silently pull you onto his lap and whisper, “You’re being real loud for someone who wants to walk tomorrow.” All while sipping his drink like nothing happened.

Instead of “I love you,” he says “You’d be lost without me.” But if you say it first? He’ll blink slow and go, “Yeah. I love you too” Like it was obvious.

Surprisingly affectionate. He’ll play with your hair when you’re sitting together, doodle your name on the sides of his lyric pages, send you blurry animal memes captioned “us.”

He won’t say much, but he knows when your mood drops. Doesn’t make a big deal of it, just puts on your comfort show and hands you your favorite drink without a word.

Secretly protective. He’ll tease you mercilessly, but the moment someone else even thinks about doing the same, he switches up completely. “That’s cute, but they didn’t ask for your opinion.” Cold eyes. Tight jaw. Suddenly very serious.

He can change his tone so fast. Can go from deadpan and chill to teasing in 0.2 seconds. “You really thought you were gonna win that argument?”

NSFW

Talks. So. Much. Shit. Half of it makes you want to slap him, the other half has your legs shaking. “You get like this just from my fingers? You sure you’re ready for my cock?”

Whispers the filthiest things while he’s holding you like you’re fragile. Face buried in his chest, blanket pulled up to your chin, and he’s like, “You looked so pretty choking on my cock earlier. Gonna dream about it tonight.”

Power trips like crazy when you’re a mess for him. Will literally say things like, “Look at you can’t even think straight. I did that. That’s all me.”

WANTS you to squirm. The more flustered and needy you get, the calmer and cockier he becomes. “Aww, look at you. You can’t even talk. What happened to all that attitude, hm?”

His tone of voice drops so low when he's serious. No more playful teasing, just a sharp, commanding, almost cruel tone that makes your knees go weak. “You think I’m gonna be gentle with you after the way you acted today?”

Big on control. Likes manhandling you, pinning your wrists above your head with one hand while the other is between your legs

Doesn’t let you win unless he wants you to. If you try to tease him, he’ll raise a brow like, “Cute.” And then absolutely rail you until your legs give out.

Definitely a neck-grabber. Not hard enough to hurt, just enough to make you squirm. Especially when you talk back. “Watch your mouth. Or I’ll find better ways to keep it busy.”

Obsessed with your thighs. Bites them. Slaps them. Sleeps with his head between them like they’re his personal comfort zone. “Best pillow I’ve ever had.”

Favorite thing? When you ride him. Claims he’s letting you take control but ends up grabbing your hips and slamming you down harder, just to watch your reaction

Calls you things like “pretty thing” and “baby” in the most degrading way possible.

Possessive in the hottest way. Leaves bite marks just below where clothes cover. Grips your jaw and makes you look at him when you’re close. “Eyes on me, babe.”

Loves to drag things out. Kisses up your thighs and just stops before touching where you need him. Smirks while you beg. “Patience, sweetheart. You’ll thank me later.”

Loves hearing you beg. The more whiny and desperate, the better. He’ll edge you for hours just to hear you plead. “Say please real sweet for me and maybe I’ll let you cum.”

Gets off on making you cry from pleasure. Not sad tears the broken, shaking, can’t-take-it-anymore kind. He’ll wipe them with his thumb and chuckle. “Tears already? We just started.”

He’ll intentionally overstimulate himself just to keep up with you. Like if you're still needy after he finishes, he'll mutter, “So fuckin' greedy,” and keep going anyway, groaning while you squirm. He lives for it.

He’s mean in the moment, but afterward? You’re immediately getting cuddled, praised, fed snacks, and hes putting you into one of his shirts. “You did so good for me. C’mere, lemme hold you.”

But if you ever use your safeword? His demeanor changes instantly. “Okay, okay. You good? Talk to me, baby.” Holds your hand, kisses your forehead. Doing anything that you ask of him

Divider by: @cafekitsune

[arviyya]

I'm going to echo this. Everyone always says "write for yourself, write for yourself" and yeah, at the core of it you should write because you enjoy it (that's how I internalize the meaning of that). But you can't sit there and tell me you aren't writing only for yourself and then posting it. We write and post to share a piece of ourselves with the world. We write and share to build community and engage with people when we both write and read fic. The amount of conversations I've had with people who have been wondering why they even post anymore is astounding. Its hard when you dont get any comments because you want to chat with people and share and exchange ideas etc. so when the comment section feels like a dead zone, its like sitting in the corner of a party where you dont know a single person and no one seems interested in talking to you. So at that point, why not just leave the party?

The amount of times I've thought of leaving the party is wild, and everytime i post a fic im just a bit closer. Just the other day I almost removed all my fics. Sometimes it just sounds better to have a party of one.

Comment on fics you like. Every chapter. Comment on wips. Chat with writers and readers. Engage with them. Cultivate community. Its dying.

idk how to word this properly but wrt the fanfic thing you reblogged earlier. Why do fanfic writers have such different expectations than any other content hosting platform?

Like lets take youtube as a point of comparison, Engagement like comments and likes largely exists to boost the works place in algorithm, thats why youtubers put in calls to action and other engament bait. Few with decent reach even read the comments and the audience shouldnt try to develop any weird parasocial relationship with the youtuber. Fanfic authors ask for likes (kudos, because the websites gotta use nonstandard language for some reason) and comments despite them not having any impact on an algorithm, and seem to want the audience to try and develop a relationship with the author based on tumblr posts like that one.

Why the radical difference in behaviour away from the norm? And honestly with all the (usually) metaphorical blood spilled online about parasociality why are authors really surprised that the audience tries to keep their distance as is best practice with any other content producer?

okay I am going to answer this as kindly and as calmly as I can and try to assume that you are asking this in good faith. because my friend, the fact that you feel the need to ask is, to me, The Problem.

[this is, for the record, in response to this post]

fanfiction writers are not *posting content.* (I also have reservations about engaging with the term "content producer" or "content creator" but let's put that aside for now, I'll circle back to it.) you say "they seem to want the audience to try and develop a relationship with the author" as though it is strange, off-putting, and incomprehensible to you, when in fact that is the point of writing fanfiction. it is a way of participating in fandom. it is a way of building community and exchanging ideas and becoming closer with people.

if authors wanted to solely ~generate content~ that would get them attention (?? to what end, the dynamic you have described seems to equate algorithmic supremacy as winning for winning's sake, as though all anyone wants to do is BUILD an audience without ENGAGING with them, which I cannot fathom but let's pretend for a moment that is, in fact, true) then like. if that were the case why on earth would they choose a medium in which they categorically cannot succeed and profit, because it isn't their IP?

you are equating two things that are not at all the same thing. to the degree that parasocial relationships are to be avoided, and "that person is not trying to be your friend they are trying to entertain you, please respect their boundaries" is a real dynamic -- which it is!! -- like. you have to understand that the reason that is true for the people of whom it is true is because it is their JOB. they are storytellers by profession, and they are either through direct payment, or sponsorship, or advertising, or through some other means, profiting off of your attention. i don't say this to be dismissive, many wonderful artists and actors and comedians and any number of a thousand things that i enjoy very much go this route but they do so as a *career choice.* and so when you violate the public/private boundary with them, you are presuming to know a Person rather than their Worksona. the people who work at Dropout or who stream their actual play tabletop games or who broadcast on TikTok or YouTube are inviting me to feel like i know them to the degree to which that helps them succeed in their medium and at their craft, but there MUST be a mutual understanding that that's a feeling, not a fact.

however.

a fanfiction writer is not an influencer, not a professional, and is not looking to garner "success." there is no share of audience we are trying to gain for gain's sake, because we are not competition with one another, because there is nothing to win other than the pleasure of each other's company. we are doing this for no other reason than the love of the game; because we have things we want desperately to say about these worlds, these characters, these dynamics, and because we *want more than anything to know we are not alone in our thoughts and feelings.* fanfiction is a bid for interaction, engagement, attention, and consideration. it is not meant to be consumed and then moved on from because we are NOT paid for our work, nor do we want to be. the reward we seek is "attention," but attention as in CONVERSATION, not attention as in clicks. we are not IN this for profit, or for number-go-up. there is no such thing: legally there cannot be. we are in this because we want to be seen and known.

like. please understand. i am now married to someone i met because of mutual comments on fanfiction. our close friend and roommate, with whom i have cohabitated for over a decade now, is someone I met because of mutual comments on fanfiction and livejournal posts. that is my household. beyond my household, the vast majority of my closest personal friends are people with whom I built relationships in this way.

you ask why fanfiction writers want THIS and not "the norm," but the idea of everything being built to cater to an algorithm to continue to build clout, as though the only method of reaching people is Distant Overlord Creator and Passive Receptive Audience being "the norm" is EXTREMELY NEW. this is not how it has always been!! please think of the writers of zines in a pre-internet fandom, using paper and glue and xerox to try and meet like-minded people in a world that was designed for you to only ever meet people in person, by happenstance, in your own hometown. imagine the writers of the early internet, building webrings from scratch to CREATE a community to find each other, despite distance. imagine livejournal groups, forums, and -- yes, indeed, of course -- comment threads IN STORIES -- as places where people go to *converse.* in the past, we had an entire Type Of Guy that everyone knew about, the BNF ("Big Name Fan") whose existence had to be described via meme because it was SO DIFFERENT THAN THE NORM. treating fellow fans like celebrities or people too cool for the regular kids to know was an OUTLIER, and one commonly understood to lead to toxicity.

in the past, I have likened writing fanfiction to echolocation. i am not screaming because I like hearing the sound of my own voice, though i can and do find my voice beautiful. i am screaming so that the vibrations can bounce back to me and show me the world. the purpose is in the feedback. otherwise it is just noise.

does this make any sense? can you see, when i describe it that way, why an ask like yours makes me feel despair, because it makes us all sound so horribly separate from one another?

perhaps I will try another metaphor:

a professional chef who runs a restaurant will not have her feelings hurt if you never fight your way into the kitchen to personally tell her how much you enjoyed the meal. that would, indeed, violate a boundary. professional kitchens are a place of work, and you have already showed her you enjoyed the meal by paying for it, or by perhaps spreading your enjoyment by word of mouth to your friends so they, too, can have good meals. you show your appreciation by continuing to come back. if a bunch of people sitting around randomly happen to have a conversation about how much they love the food, it wouldn't hurt that chef's feelings to not be included in the conversation. however: EVEN IN THIS INSTANCE, it is ADVISABLE AND APPROPRIATE to leave a good review! you might post about how much you like this restaurant on Yelp, and it would probably make the chef feel great to see those positive comments. but the chef doesn't NEED them, because the chef is, again, *also being paid to cook.* that's why she started the restaurant, to be paid to cook!

i am not being paid to cook.

i am at home in my own kitchen, making things for a community potluck where i hope everyone will bring something we can all enjoy together. some people at the potluck are better bakers, some better cooks; some can't cook at all but are great at logistics and make sure there's enough napkins for everyone; some people come just to enjoy the food, because that's what the party is for. and if I, as this enthusiast chef who made something from my heart for this reason alone, learned after the fact that a bunch of people got together in the parking lot to rave about my dish but no one of them had ever bothered to tell me while I sat alone at my table all night, occasionally seeing people come by to pick up a plate but never saying anything to me -- of course that would bother me, because I am not otherwise profiting off the labor I put in. this is not a bid to be paid, because if someone WERE to say "hey, great cake!! here's five bucks for a slice" i would say no, friend, that is not the point and give them the money back. i'm not trying to Get Mine. I am in it to see the look on your face. I'm in it so you can tell me what about it moved you, so that I can say back what moved me to make it in the first place. so we can TALK about it.

because what happened in the first place is this: one time I had a cake whose sweetness, richness, flavor, intensity, and composition moved me so much that I *taught myself to bake.* so I could see how much vanilla and sugar was too much, so I could learn how to make things rise instead of fall flat, so I could even better appreciate the original cake by seeing for myself the effort and talent and inspiration that goes into making one even half as good.

learning to do so is a satisfying accomplishment in and of itself, yes.

but I also did it because at the end of the day we should EAT the cake. and it's a lonely thing, to eat alone when a meal was always designed and intended to be shared.

so, to answer your last question: i'm not surprised, i'm just sad. because somehow two things that were never meant to be seen as the same have been labeled "content," and thus identical. and it diminishes both the things that ARE intended to be paid for AND the things that are not, because it removes any sense of intimacy or meaning from the work.

i hope you know i'm not mad at you for asking. but i'm frustrated we've come to live in a world where the question needs to be asked, because the answers are no longer intuitively obvious because we're so siloed.

[arkofangels]

Beach Episode Imagine

Pairing: Hank(s) x reader

Summary: The Hanks want a beach day. You want to survive it. There’s sunscreen, a sandcastle war, and one heartfelt group moment just before sunset. Mostly, there’s love.

a/n: something quick and simple for today, also I feel that im kind of legally required to write at least one fanfic before bed. also suggest more characters I should write for. (surprisingly I have one for Doug in my drafts)

It starts like most of your adventures do—with one of the Hanks bursting into the room wearing something absolutely uncalled for.

“TA-DA!” Hank 3 announces, twirling in a banana-print swim trunks, matching shades, and a sunhat that says "LIFE'S A BEACH."

You blink. “Why.”

“Because,” he says, beaming, “we’re going to the beach.”

You’re not sure how the Hanks managed to schedule, plan, and pack for a beach trip without telling you—but when you stumble into the living room, there are already seven Red Bowls full of snacks, three umbrellas, two inflatable flamingos, and one extremely detailed binder labeled “Sun Safety & Group Sand Strategy – Hank 2 Edition.”

“Did you guys… borrow my car?”

“We upgraded it with a speaker system,” Hank 1 says, sliding on driving gloves like this is Fast & Furious: Hanger Drift. “Don’t ask how.”

The second your feet hit the sand, things immediately unravel.

Hank 5 tries to befriend a seagull. Hank 4 gets in a passive-aggressive towel turf war with a six-year-old. Hank 2 sets up a shade tent that somehow collapses into a modern art installation. Hank 3 challenges you to a “sunscreen fight” and ends up smearing SPF 50 on your nose like a very flirty lifeguard. Hank 1 disappears with a boogie board and a thousand-yard stare.

And yet… you’re laughing through it.

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

You team up with Hank 2 and 5 to build a sandcastle “so emotionally stable it should be in therapy.” Hank 1, 3, and 4 immediately declare war on it. There’s yelling. There’s betrayal. There’s a dramatic “storm surge” via cooler water. You and Hank 5 pretend to mourn your castle like fallen royalty. It ends with everyone soaked and sandy and holding hands in a peace circle while Hank 2 gives a speech about erosion.

“Nothing lasts,” he says, dramatic as ever. “But this moment? This weird, beautiful, sunscreen-slick moment? It’s ours.”

As the sky melts into orange and gold, the chaos simmers down. You all sit on towels, wrapped in oversized hoodies and still picking sand out of your shoes.

Hank 3 lays his head in your lap. Hank 2 rests against your side. Hank 4 is drawing a tiny heart in the sand with his finger. Hank 5 is feeding bits of sandwich to a hermit crab. Hank 1 just watches the horizon like he’s memorizing it.

“I’m glad we did this,” you say, voice soft from sun and joy.

“We needed it,” Hank 1 nods.

“Next time,” Hank 2 mutters, “we should bring four shade tents.”

“Next time,” Hank 3 grins, “we should rent a yacht.”

“Next time,” Hank 5 whispers, eyes wide, “we should adopt the crab.”

"We are not adopting another sentient thing ," Hank 2 groans.

The crab blinks.

Hank 3 leans toward it. "Are you... emotionally available?"

You facepalm. The hermit crab retreats into its shell.

And just like that, you're back to laughing again.

[lxstxr]

all in | e. prentiss

summary: An innocent girls night ends with you and Emily stuck in a game of strip poker.

word count: 2.0k

tags: 18+ nsfw, dom!emily, fem!reader, oral (r receiving), please lmk if i forgot anything!

a/n: this is my first time writing actual smut and im incredibly nervous to post this (what, who said that??)

Emily’s living room glows under soft lamps and the flicker of a half-burnt candle on the coffee table. Penelope flops onto the couch with dramatic flair, draping herself over JJ. “Okay,” Penelope declares, cheeks flushed and hair wild from the three classes of Cabernet Sauvignon she’d already had. “One more round. 'Never Have I Ever.' Let’s go. I want confessions.”

JJ groans, already holding up three fingers. “I swear, if this turns into another ‘Penelope has done everything’ game.”

“You’re just mad I’ve lived more lives than you, blondie.”

You chuckle and glance over at Emily, who’s lounging in an armchair with her glass balanced perfectly in one hand, legs folded underneath her. 

JJ’s eyes gleam. “Never have I ever... hooked up with someone from the Bureau.”

Penelope rolls her eyes and drops a finger. You and Emily glance at each other, and then both stay still. Suspiciously still.

JJ catches it instantly. “You both paused.”

“I was thinking,” Emily says smoothly.

“I was lying,” you admit, just to watch Emily’s expression twitch into a smirk.

“Ha!” Penelope shrieks, pointing between you two. “I knew there was weird tension!”

“There’s no tension,” Emily says too quickly.

“None at all,” you echo, matching her tone with mock innocence.

JJ just snorts into her wine. “If I have to watch you two flirt anymore, I’m going to gouge my own eyes out.”

Emily raises a brow at you. “Do you call this flirting?”

“I call it beating you at every game so far,” you say sweetly.

“Ouch.” Emily grins. “Don’t get cocky. You haven’t played me at poker yet.”

“Oh my God,” Penelope groans, gathering her purse. “I’m tapping out. I can’t watch this slow-burn enemies-to-lovers crap happen in real time.”

JJ stands, stretching. “Henry’s got soccer in the morning. I’m out too.”

You glance between them. “Wait, really? You’re leaving us?”

Penelope shrugs on her jacket and smirks. “You’ll manage. Or you won’t.”

JJ, already halfway out the door, throws a wink over her shoulder. “Try not to kill each other with your sexual tension.”

You and Emily look at each other. And then away. And then back again.

The door clicks shut. The room is quiet.

Emily swirls the wine in her glass, not looking at you. “So…”

You raise an eyebrow. “Poker?”

She smirks. “Only if you’re not afraid to lose.”

The apartment is quieter now. The mellow jazz from Emily’s endless vinyl collection has softened into the background, and the candle on the table burns low, casting shadows across the walls. You’re perched on the couch, one knee tucked under you, wine glass cradled in your hands. Emily refills hers, then yours, without asking. You watch her move deliberately and unhurried, like she has nowhere else to be. Her sleeves are rolled up to her elbows, and her dark hair’s fallen a little looser than it was earlier. She’s flushed from the wine. Or maybe it’s the company.

“Do I need to worry about getting hustled?” you say, swirling your glass. 

She raises an eyebrow. “Please. If I were trying to hustle you, I would have already done it.”

You smile over the rim of your glass. “Okay, Prentiss.”

Emily walks over with a deck of cards and a dangerous glint in her eye. “Strip poker?”

You arch a brow. “You’d like that too much.”

She shrugs. “We could play for pretzels.”

You glance at the half-empty snack bowl, then at her, matching her smirk. “Fine. Strip poker. But I should warn you, I play dirty.”

Emily sits across from you, cross-legged on the carpet, and starts to shuffle the deck with practiced ease. “So do I.”

The cards slap crisply as she deals. “Basic five-card draw?”

“Works for me,” you say, stretching out, deliberately casual. “House rules?”

Emily looks up through her lashes. “One item per loss. Nothing too scandalous at first.”

Your laugh is low and warm. “Trying to ease me in?”

“Trying to give you a fighting chance,” she deadpans.

You shoot her a mock glare and glance down at your hand. Not terrible. Not great. But the point isn’t winning, and you’re pretty sure Emily knows that too.

First round, she loses. Off comes her bracelet.

Second round, you lose. Your hoodie joins the growing pile beside you.

By the third round, things are heating up. Your smiles are slower, and the pauses between glances feel more loaded.

“You’re stalling,” she says, watching you frown at your cards.

“I’m considering my options,” you reply. “Some of us don’t have tell-free poker faces.”

She smirks. “Oh, I wasn’t talking about your face.”

You shoot her a look, but your pulse skips anyway. She wins again. Off comes your sock. You toss it at her, and she catches it with a grin. “This is the most undignified strip poker I’ve ever played,” you mutter.

“Oh?” Emily leans back on her hands, all long legs and quiet confidence. “How many games have you played?” You take a sip of wine and don’t answer. Her smile deepens.

The game goes on. Layer by layer, piece by piece. The room feels warmer. The silence between jokes starts to stretch. She’s watching you now, really watching. You’re both down to your last couple of layers. Emily’s in a tank top and black lace underwear. You’re not far behind. Your knees have migrated closer during the last hand, somewhere in the middle of a story she told about her days at Yale.

You lean in, elbows on your knees. “You’re stalling now,” you say.

“I’m considering my options.” She mimics you and raises her eyebrows. You smile. She matches your smile, slow and unreadable. She deals another hand, but her gaze flicks up too often to be casual. The cards barely hit the floor before she’s watching you again over the edge of her wine glass.

You’re both tipsy. Not drunk. Just buzzed enough that your inhibitions are softer at the edges. Just enough that neither of you feels like pretending this is still just about cards.

“Your poker face is slipping,” she says as she plays her hand.

You scoff. “So is your shirt.”

She glances down at the thin tank top clinging to her, then back at you with a half-smile. “I’m not the one losing.”

You lay your cards down slowly. Full house.

Her eyebrows lift in genuine surprise. “Okay, that’s annoying.”

“Off with the top, Prentiss.”

Emily eyes you like she’s debating whether to obey or find some loophole. Then, with a long exhale and an exaggerated roll of her eyes, she pulls the tank top over her head and tosses it aside, leaving her in nothing but black lace you’re definitely not supposed to be staring at. “Happy?” she asks.

You take a deliberate sip of wine. “Ecstatic.”

She smiles, slow and knowing. “You’re blushing.”

You roll your eyes. “Please. It’s just the wine. Deal.” She does. Neither of you looks away.

You lose the next hand. Of course you do. You half suspect she threw the game before just to lull you into a false sense of security. You pull your shirt off, matching her now in nothing but underwear. You sit back on your heels, hair messy, skin flushed, and try to look unaffected. Emily doesn’t bother pretending. Her eyes drag over you like she’s savoring every inch, and when she speaks again, her voice is quieter.

“You want to call it?” she asks.

You tilt your head. “Giving up?”

She smiles. “Just checking if you’re ready to lose.”

You reach forward, grabbing the deck from her hands. “Let’s raise the stakes.”

Her brows lift, but she lets you take it. “Oh?”

You lean in, close enough that your knees are touching. “Last hand. Winner decides what the loser takes off.”

Emily stares at you. You stare back. The air feels thick. Charged. “Okay, deal,” she says, voice low.

The cards are almost secondary now. Neither of you is really watching them. You both lay your hands down at the same time. Emily wins. You don’t flinch. You don’t even blink. Instead, you meet her gaze and murmur, “Well? What’s it gonna be?”

Her mouth curves. “Your panties,” she says softly.

You don’t break eye contact. You don’t joke. You don’t stall. You rise slowly onto your knees, hands slipping to your waistband, and with deliberate grace, you slide them down and off.

Emily watches, stone still. And when you sit back down in front of her, completely bare and more emboldened than you thought you’d be, you ask in a whisper, “Now what?”

Emily sets her glass down with a soft clink. And then she leans in, lips brushing yours, and says against your mouth. “Your turn to win.”

Emily’s lips brush yours once more, soft, almost tentative, but the heat of it coils low in your belly. You chase her mouth before she can pull back, hand sliding into her hair to anchor her as you kiss her like it’s something you’ve been holding back for too long. You have.

She tastes like wine and something dangerous. She kisses like she means to unravel you. Her hands are on your waist, firm and sure, fingers splayed across your bare skin as she pulls you into her lap. You straddle her thighs without hesitation, gasping as your bare skin makes contact with her.

“Fuck,” she murmurs against your neck. “You’re gorgeous.”

You smile, breathless. “Took you long enough to notice.”

She nips at your collarbone in response, then soothes it with her tongue. “Oh, I noticed. I just have excellent self-control.”

“Not anymore.”

Emily hums, low in her throat, and slides her hands up your back, pulling you closer. You rock your hips without meaning to, the pressure sweet and maddening as you grind down on the lace between you. Her breath catches. Her head falls back slightly.

You kiss your way down her throat, tasting the salt of her skin, the edge of her control. She lets you explore for a moment, but then her grip tightens, and suddenly you’re on your back on the carpet, blinking up at her as she hovers over you, hair wild and eyes dark.

“You like being in control?” she asks, voice rough.

“Sometimes.”

She leans down, brushing her lips along your jaw. “Not tonight.”

You shiver as her mouth trails down your body, over your chest, between your breasts, and lower until she’s settled between your thighs, spreading them with her hands like she owns you. Her eyes flick up once, checking.

You nod. “Yes. Please.”

That’s all she needs.

She kisses the inside of your thigh first, slow and maddening, then the other. She doesn’t rush. Emily Prentiss doesn’t do anything halfway. When her mouth finally finds you, you gasp, sharp and loud, hands flying to her hair as she licks into you like she’s starving.

She moans softly when you tug at her, and the sound vibrates through you like electricity.

Your hips roll into her mouth without permission. She holds you down, one arm across your hips, the other hand spreading you open so she can keep working you apart with her tongue. Every flick is precise. Every stroke is calculated.

You’re babbling her name before long, thighs trembling, nails digging into the carpet. She murmurs praise between licks until it’s too much. “That’s it, so good for me,” she hums, “Come for me, sweetheart.” 

You break. Hard. The orgasm crashes over you like a wave, sharp and blinding. You cry out, back arching and thighs clenching around her as she rides it out with you, unrelenting until you’re gasping her name and pulling her up into your arms.

She kisses you again, deeper this time, letting you taste yourself on her tongue. You’re still trembling. Still dazed. “Holy shit,” you whisper.

Emily laughs softly against your mouth. “Told you, I play to win.”

You bury your face in her neck, catching your breath. “I want a rematch.”

[justaz]

percy sitting down and writing the pjo books and remembering all these little details so clearly because he recently had his memory stolen and when he got them back he had to relive everything in quick succession so everything is crystal clear in his mind

[blueberrisdove-sideblog]

[🤍] helloo!! I saw that your request is open and I was wondering if you can write phainon x M!reader the reader is someone who has poker face most of the time and aren't really interested in anything sexual but are somewhat a REALLY good kisser, so imagine their first time when phainon initiate the act they just when "oh you want sex? Oh sure" feeling confident not knowing how sensitve and good they feel they'll be crying the moment phainon put it in

Im being delusional but I can't get it off my head 😔

OH, YOU WANT S☆X

★ tws : nsfw / smut, male!reader, first time, slight oversimulation, size kink ( mild & implied ), sub!male!reader, praise, dirty talk, aftercare, light marking ( hickeys) and missinoary position.

★ sum : Phainon finally gets you in bed after dancing around the tension for ages. You’re calm, cool, and unbothered—until he actually puts it in and suddenly you’re shaking, crying, and realizing you’ve made a huge mistake underestimating how good it would feel. And Phainon? He lives for watching your mask fall apart. minors do not interact : 18+ only.

★ note : not proofread, sorry or not. (ෆ˙ᵕ˙ෆ)

It started with a kiss.

Not your usual practiced ones—the calm, controlled touches that drove Phainon insane because you always pulled away with the same blank look, like nothing ever touched you. No. This kiss was different.

Your mouth opened wider. Slower. Hungrier. Like something in you was cracking open.

Phainon tasted that weakness. He tasted your inexperience under the arrogance. And he devoured it.

“Still sure you’re ready?” he murmured as he pressed you into the mattress, golden eyes narrowed, voice dipped low with amusement.

You nodded once, calm. “Yeah. You want sex, right? Let’s get it over with.”

Phainon blinked slowly. Then he grinned.

“Oh, sweetheart. That’s adorable.”

His hands slid down your bare thighs—slow, reverent—and spread them open. He’d already prepped you, made sure you were wet and relaxed, even though you claimed you didn’t need it. “Doesn’t matter,” he’d said, pressing a slick finger in while watching you pretend not to react. “I want to be gentle the first time I ruin you.”

And now—

He lined himself up, guiding his cock to your entrance. Thick, flushed, veined—he was long and hard and hot, and you hadn’t even looked at it until now.

“Wait—”

He caught it—your first break in tone.

“What?” he asked softly, lips brushing your jaw.

You inhaled through your nose, trying to keep still. “Nothing. Just… surprised.”

Phainon kissed your cheek. “I’ll go slow. Don’t worry, darling.”

And then he pushed in.

The first inch had you gasping.

By the second, your hands had curled into the sheets.

By the time he bottomed out—deep and thick inside you, his hips flush against yours—you weren’t breathing.

You blinked once. Then twice.

“…F-fuck—”

Phainon looked down, mouth slightly open at the sight of you: sprawled out beneath him, chest rising and falling too fast, your eyes flickering with something between shock and disbelief.

“You okay?” he whispered, voice velvet-smooth.

You gave a slow nod—but your throat worked as you swallowed hard.

“…I didn’t know it would feel this…” You trailed off, breathless. “…This intense.”

Phainon laughed, soft and dangerous. “You really thought you’d be unaffected? After all that smug little talk?”

You didn’t answer. Your poker face was slipping, fast. And when he moved—just a tiny roll of his hips—you let out a strangled noise that made his cock twitch deep inside you.

“Ohhh, gods—” you choked, eyes fluttering shut.

Your body clenched around him tight, so tight he had to grit his teeth just to stop from finishing right there. You were so warm, so fucking soft inside, and the little trembles in your thighs were enough to drive him mad.

“You’re crying,” he said softly, brushing his thumb under your eye.

“I’m not,” you whispered, voice cracking as a tear slipped down your temple.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Phainon cooed, rocking into you again, slower this time—deeper. “You are. You’re crying on my cock.”

You made a broken sound, high and raw in your throat, and clung to him.

“Please—please, I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he said, kissing the corner of your mouth. “You can take all of it. You’re doing so good. So perfect for me.”

He fucked you in long, steady strokes, pushing deep with each thrust, making sure you felt every inch. The drag of him inside you was slow torture, your cock already leaking onto your stomach from the sheer pressure. You were panting now—head tipped back, neck exposed, mouth open and wrecked.

And Phainon watched you fall apart.

Every second of it.

“You’re beautiful like this,” he murmured, voice dark with desire. “All those emotions you hide—you look fucking gorgeous when you fall apart.”

You whimpered.

“You want to come?” he asked.

You nodded desperately, trying to speak but failing. All that calm was gone. All that chill, that control—it melted into raw desperation, your body trembling as you clawed at his back.

He leaned down, kissed your throat, sucked hard enough to leave a mark.

“Come for me, sweetheart,” he whispered, fucking into you just right, hitting that spot with precision. “I want to feel you lose it.”

You cried out.

Your body tightened, eyes squeezing shut as you came—hot and messy between your bodies, untouched. You moaned so loud it echoed, and Phainon felt it. Felt your walls clench around him like a vice, dragging him toward his own orgasm.

He cursed, buried himself deep, and came inside you—hot, thick spurts that made your whole body shudder.

You were shaking.

Still crying a little. Not from pain. Just the sheer overwhelmingness of it all.

Phainon kissed you slowly, again and again, murmuring sweet nonsense as he wiped your face and stroked your hair.

“…Don’t tell anyone,” you croaked, voice wrecked and hoarse. “That I cried.”

He smiled against your cheek. “No one’ll hear it from me.”

A pause.

“…Unless they ask,” he added, smug.

You groaned into his chest.

He held you tighter. “You’re mine now.”

Your legs were shaking.

Your stomach, sticky with cum, rose and fell too fast. You were still clenching around him. Still fluttering, twitching, helpless—while Phainon stayed deep inside you, not moving, just watching.

Your eyes were glassy. Your cheeks flushed. There were faint hickeys blooming across your collarbone—his teeth had left them, somewhere between your first sob and your second orgasm.

You looked wrecked.

Beautifully so.

“…You’re still hard,” you said hoarsely, voice barely above a whisper.

Phainon leaned down, kissed your lips, slow and wet. “So are you.”

You shivered under him. “I can’t…”

“You can.” He smiled against your jaw. “I’m not done with you yet, pretty boy.”

You tried to sit up, but he grabbed your thighs and pushed them higher, folding you in half.

“Wait—!”

Too late.

He pulled out only to thrust back in with a deep, filthy squelch, and you screamed—a raw, high-pitched sound that echoed in the room.

“Sensitive,” he purred, hips grinding into yours. “You’re still clenching like you don’t want me to leave.”

You covered your face with your arm, too flustered to look at him. “F-fuck you.”

“Oh, baby,” Phainon said, dragging his cock out so slowly that you felt every inch stretch and press against your sensitive walls. “That’s exactly what I’m doing.”

He started to move again, deeper this time. More intense.

His pace wasn’t brutal—but it was calculated. Every thrust angled perfectly to hit your prostate, to make you squirm, to make your poker-face collapse again and again with every wet slap of skin against skin.

You gasped with every stroke, your moans growing louder, messier, needier.

Your legs were trembling in his grip. Your cock twitched between your bodies again—already hardening from the overstimulation.

“See that?” Phainon whispered, licking a stripe along your jaw. “Didn’t even need to touch you. You’re dripping. You love being ruined.”

You whimpered, biting your lip.

He leaned closer, his golden eyes burning into yours. “Say it.”

“…Ngh—”

“Say it. Tell me you love this. Tell me you love how I make you cry.”

You tried to speak, but the moment he fucked into you harder, you broke.

“I—I l-love it,” you gasped, fingers digging into his back. “Feels s-so good—I can’t—I can’t take it—”

“Yes, you can,” he groaned, ramming into you harder now, chasing your next orgasm. “Take it like you were made for this.”

You were delirious—cockdrunk—panting, sweating, your mouth hanging open as tears streamed down your flushed cheeks. Phainon’s name fell from your lips like prayer and curse, over and over between cries and moans.

You came again—violently, your entire body spasming as thick ropes of cum spilled untouched from your twitching cock, staining both your stomach and his chest.

You were sobbing now, face buried in his neck, gasping for air. Your hole pulsed wildly around him, squeezing him so tight he had to bite his lip to keep from losing it instantly.

But he didn’t stop.

He slowed down—yes.

But he didn’t stop.

“I want it all,” he whispered, stroking your hair with one hand while the other stayed firm on your waist, fucking you through your aftershocks. “I want every moan. Every cry. You’ll remember this every time you sit down tomorrow.”

You let out a broken whine. “Y-you’re insane…”

He smirked, kissing your temple. “And you’re beautiful when you’re ruined.”

It wasn’t long before he came again, burying himself as deep as he could, groaning low and animalistic against your throat. You felt the hot gush of it inside—another load, thick and warm, filling you until you swore you’d overflow.

You were panting. Your thighs trembled. Your eyes refused to stay open. Phainon pulled out gently, stroking your thighs and kissing your hips as he went. You winced at the emptiness, your body twitching at the loss.

He cooed softly, “Shh, I’ve got you.”

He cleaned you up with gentle hands—warm cloth, slow swipes, featherlight kisses between each. You barely registered it, still dazed, sniffling softly from the tears you swore weren’t there.

He pulled you into his chest afterward, laying on his side, one hand running up and down your back in slow, soothing circles.

“…You okay?” he murmured into your hair.

You nodded. Then paused. “I think you broke my soul.”

He laughed. Loud, unfiltered. “You’re dramatic.” You glared weakly at him. “You made me cry.”

“You said you didn’t cry,” he teased, kissing your nose. “Turns out, I’m the exception.”

You buried your face in his chest. “Don’t tell anyone.”

“Never.” A pause. “Unless they ask.”

“…I hate you.”

“No you don’t.”

You didn’t.

And with Phainon’s arms wrapped around you and your body still trembling from bliss, you closed your eyes—finally letting yourself feel it all.

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

[kannady]

ever, ever after

pairing: sylus x non-mc reader

summary: sylus didn't love you. how could he when she was around? but would he come look for you if you willingly step into EVER's boundaries?

word count: 6.6k

a/n: first ending is hereeeee! was thinking of writing this in two chapters, but itd end up being two relatively shorter chapters. i hope ull like it. im super tired rn, so please ignore any errors, i didnt proof-read this. also if you cant tell, this ending was heavly ispired by squid game s3. lemme know your thoughts!

read rest of the chapters here!

IV (Ending 1)

The apartment felt like a cage.

Silence pressed in from all sides, thick and suffocating, broken only by the seemingly loud ticking of the clock on the wall. Each second dragged on, the sound drilling into your skull until you wanted to scream just to drown it out. 

You sat hunched over the kitchen table, fingers tangled in your hair, staring at the mess of blueprints and hastily scribbled notes spread out before you. The fifth coffee mug sat abandoned near your elbow, long gone cold, its contents untouched after the first bitter sip hours ago.

Your temples throbbed.

Think. Think, damn it.

Plan A: Very straightforward. Sneak in through the maintenance tunnels. But the more you studied the schematics, the more impossible it became. The vents were too claustrophobic, the security cameras too numerous, the motion sensors too sensitive. You'd be caught before you even reached the inner corridors.

Plan B: This one seemed better. Disable the power grid, plunge the facility into darkness. But EVER could never be conquered just like that. Backup generators would kick in within seconds, and security would lock down before you could even get close to the high-security wing.

Plan C: Pose as medical staff. The riskiest plan yet. Your credentials might get you through the first checkpoint, but one wrong move, one hesitant answer, and alarms would blare through the entire complex.

You exhaled sharply through your nose, shoving the papers away with enough force that several fluttered to the floor.

None of it would work. It had ended even before it could start.

You leaned back in the chair, the wood creaking under your weight, and stared up at the ceiling. The answer was right there, hovering just out of reach. Sylus's Evol, Class VIII, potentially IX, wasn't just rare. It was unheard of. EVER's suppression tech was calibrated for lower-level Evols, designed to stabilize, not contain something of that magnitude. 

If you could tweak the settings, make the system overcompensate.

Your breath caught. That was it.

If you rigged the suppressors to fail instead of stabilize, it would overload the entire system. The facility would go dark, the electromagnetic cuffs would short out, and Sylus would be free.

Your hands trembled where they rested on the table.

It was simple. Too simple. And so, so dangerous.

Because even if you pulled it off, even if you got the suppressors to malfunction, you still had to get to him. And that meant walking straight into a high-security lockdown with no backup, no escape route, and no guarantee he'd even be conscious when you reached him.

You swallowed hard, your throat tight.

Why is he even there?

The question gnawed at you, relentless. Sylus didn't get caught. He didn't lose. So why was he sitting in a cell, letting them pump him full of serum after serum?

If he really was here for you, why couldn’t he just walk up to you like a normal human being? If it was EVER he was being cautious of, he could just signal you somehow. Call you, send a note like he always did. Why even go this far?

Your fingers curled into fists, nails biting into your palms.

And then there was her. The woman from the Hunter's Association. The way she'd laughed when you asked if she and Sylus were together. "He always had eyes for someone else."

Your chest ached.

Had you imagined it all? The lingering glances, the way his voice softened when he spoke to her? Or had you been so convinced he could never want you that you'd twisted every interaction in your head?

You didn't know. And that was the worst part.

You dropped your head into your hands, elbows digging into the table, exhaustion pressing down on you like a physical weight. The clock ticked. 2:11 AM.

You were so tired.

Tired of running. Tired of second-guessing. Tired of wondering if any of it, any of him, had ever been real.

You closed your eyes. Just for a second.

RING!

The sudden, shrill sound of your phone shattered the silence like glass.

You jolted so violently that your knee hit the underside of the table, sending a sharp pain radiating up your leg. The half-empty coffee mug wobbled precariously before tipping over, its cold contents spilling across the meticulously arranged blueprints in dark, spreading stains. 

Your hands, already trembling from exhaustion and caffeine, fumbled with the phone like you'd forgotten how to use it, fingers slipping twice on the slick screen before you finally managed to answer.

"Hello?" The word came out hoarse, your throat dry from hours of silent strategizing.

For a terrifying moment there was nothing but static, the kind of cheap, crackling connection that spoke of burner phones and last-minute plans. Then, cutting through the noise like a blade. 

"(Reader)? Is this (Reader)?"

Every muscle in your body locked. That voice, that particular voice, that slight rasp at the end of words, it sent an electric jolt down your spine. Two years. Two damn years since you'd last heard it, and yet your body reacted with the same intensity as if it had been yesterday.

The chair screeched violently against the floor as you shot to your feet, sending the carefully organized stacks of notes and schematics cascading to the ground in a fluttering white waterfall. Your grip on the phone turned punishing, plastic creaking under your fingers.

"WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN, LUKE?" 

The words tore from your throat raw and ragged, louder than you'd intended, bouncing off the walls of your too quiet apartment. All the fear, the frustration, the sheer helpless rage of the past forty-eight hours came pouring out in an unstoppable flood.

"Do you have any idea what's happening right now? I've been calling you for days! Your boss, your goddamn boss, is here at EVER while you two have been completely MIA–"

"Um," the voice interrupted awkwardly, the tone shifting slightly, "it's actually Kieran."

"--and now they're prepping a second round of serum twice as strong as the first, and if we don't do something immediately, he's going to–" Your voice cracked traitorously. The words got stuck in your throat.

"Reader," Kieran tried again, voice strained with something you couldn't quite identify, but you were already gathering steam.

"--die, Luke! Do you understand that? He's going to die strapped to that fucking chair, and you two have been-

-"

There was a muffled thump on the other end, the distinctive sound of a scuffle, then a sharp curse that was unmistakably Luke's. When the voice came back, it was sharper, more urgent, cutting through your speech like a knife.

"LISTEN TO US NOW!"

Luke.

The command hit you like a physical blow, knocking the breath from your lungs. You froze mid-sentence, mouth still hanging open, the anger draining out of you as quickly as it had come, leaving you hollow and shaking.

For the first time, there was silence on the line. Heavy. Expectant.

Luke didn't wait for you to recover. "Look," he said, voice dropping into that low, measured tone that meant business, the one that always preceded missions going sideways, "it was so hard for us to reach you. We've been trying, truly. But our whole plan–" He cut himself off abruptly, and you could practically see the way his eyes would have narrowed, the way his posture would have shifted as some new realization struck.

"...Wait," he said slowly, each word deliberate. "Do you live in the EVER assigned apartments?"

The question landed like a punch to the gut. Your fingers tightened around the phone until your knuckles turned white. The blueprints at your feet, the ones detailing every security measure, every camera blind spot in the EVER facility, suddenly felt like damning evidence.

"Yeah," you admitted, the word tasting like ash in your mouth.

Luke's response was immediate and vehement. "Shit. Shit." The panic in his voice, a tone you'd heard maybe twice in all the years you'd known him, sent a fresh wave of dread crashing through you. "Your line isn't secure. Let's get coffee."

The call died with a final, ominous click before you could respond.

You stood there in the wreckage of your all-night planning session, phone still pressed to your ear, listening to the empty dial tone that seemed to grow louder with each passing second. The blueprints lay scattered at your feet, coffee seeping into the edges of the paper, blurring the carefully marked exit routes and security schedules. The clock on the wall ticked loudly in the silence, each second stretching into eternity.

Slowly, numbingly, you lowered the phone. Stared at the darkened screen.

They'd been trying to reach you after all.

They'd known.

And now you were almost certainly compromised.

You sank back into the chair, the adrenaline crash leaving you hollowed out and shaking. The apartment suddenly felt too small, the walls too close, the air too thick to breathe.

Your gaze dropped to the ruined blueprints, to the coffee stain spreading like blood across the facility schematics, obscuring the path to the high-security holding cells.

Coffee.

They'd said to get coffee.

Coffee. Coffee. Coffee.

The word pounded in your skull with each frantic heartbeat. Not just the drink, the place. The realization struck you like a physical blow, so sudden it made you stumble mid-step.

The old café.

That little hole-in-the-wall with the terrible, burnt coffee you'd pretended to love for months because the owner, a gruff man with kind eyes and a raspy laugh, had reminded you so painfully of your grandfather. The place you'd mentioned exactly once, in passing, during some forgotten late-night briefing years ago.

They remembered.

Your breath caught. For one impossible moment, the ghost of a smile tugged at your lips, until reality came crashing back.

You moved with precision.

The cupboard safe was hidden behind a false panel in your bedroom closet. Your fingers knew the combination by muscle memory. 18-14-32. The numbers clicked smoothly as you turned the dial. The door swung open with a quiet hiss, revealing the sleek black form of your Harrier 700 nestled in its foam casing. 

The weapon was cold against your palms as you lifted it, the weight familiar and comforting. You ejected the magazine automatically, full, fifteen rounds, before slamming it back home with a satisfying click.

Your hands didn't shake as you grabbed the spare mags, tucking them into the inner pockets of your jacket. The flick knife from your kitchen drawer went into your right boot. Your emergency cash stash was duct-taped beneath the bathroom sink. The forged IDs you hadn't needed in nearly a year were hidden inside a hollowed-out book on your shelf.

On your way out,  you paused at the door, one last glance over your shoulder at the life you'd built. The half-finished coffee. The scattered plans. The apartment that had been your sanctuary for two years.

Then you were gone.

The night air smelled like rain. You kept to the shadows as you moved, your boots silent on the wet pavement. Neon signs cast eerie reflections in the puddles, painting the empty streets in rippling blues and reds. Every sense was heightened, the distant wail of a siren, the faint hum of a streetlight, the acrid tang of garbage from a nearby alley.

Ten minutes. That's how long it took to reach the café.

It was closed, of course. The chairs were upturned on tables, the windows dark. Your breath fogged in the cold air as you scanned the area, your pulse a frantic drumbeat in your ears. The Harrier's grip was slick in your palm.

Where the hell are they?

The hiss was so quiet you almost missed it.

Your head snapped toward the sound, the narrow alley beside the café, darker than the rest. Your finger hovered near the trigger as you stepped forward, every muscle coiled tight.

Then you heard footsteps behind you. You reacted before you thought. Your elbow connected with a solid stomach, drawing a pained grunt as you pivoted. The Harrier was up and leveled before your attacker even hit the ground, the muzzle a hairsbreadth from their forehead.

"Fucking hell–"

You froze. That voice.

Even winded, even in pain, you'd know that voice anywhere. The figure groaned, clutching their stomach, and in the dim light you recognized the slope of their shoulders, the way their free hand braced against the pavement.

Luke. Or maybe Kieran.

Your stomach dropped.

"Shit, shit." You holstered the Harrier with shaking hands and reached down. "I didn't– I'm sorry–". His grip was firm as he took your hand, letting you haul him upright.

It was Kieran.

You knew instantly. The way he stood, the particular hitch in his breathing, subtle tells you'd memorized over countless missions. 

For a heartbeat, you just stared.

Two years.

Two years since you'd walked away. Two years since you'd seen any of them. And now here you were, standing in a filthy alley, with no time for reunions or explanations.

Kieran opened his mouth, probably to curse you out, but you beat him to it.

"Okay," you hissed, your voice low and urgent, "now explain." Your finger jabbed into his chest. "What the actual fuck?"

He exhaled sharply through his nose, his breath fogging in the cold air. Then he jerked his chin toward the alley's depths. "Not here. Move."

You followed, your pulse still racing, the Harrier a comforting weight against your ribs. Somewhere in the darkness ahead, Luke waited.

And somewhere beyond that, Sylus was running out of time.

The alleyway opened into a cramped storage space that smelled of motor oil and damp concrete. Kieran nudged the door shut behind you with his boot, the click of the latch echoing in the sudden silence. 

Your eyes adjusted quickly to the dim lighting, taking in the arsenal laid out before you with a practiced glance.

Assault rifles lined one wall, their barrels gleaming dully under the single bare bulb swinging from the ceiling. Ammunition crates were stacked neatly beside them, labels handwritten in Luke's messy scrawl. Grenades, smoke bombs, breaching charges, everything for a full-scale assault. A folding table in the center held blueprints of the EVER facility, marked up with red ink and scribbled notes.

Of course. You weren't surprised. Breaking Sylus out would require nothing less.

You turned slowly, taking in the two men standing before you. Even through their masks, you could feel their tension. The air was thick with it, pressing against your skin like static before a storm.

"Now," you said, crossing your arms. "What shit plan did you have that got Sylus locked in there?"

Luke's head tilted slightly. Kieran went very still.

"Oh," Luke said after a beat, his voice oddly light. "Boss can get out on his own."

You blinked. "Um, no. Not when he's strapped to that bloody chair and connected to those Evol suppressors."

The reaction was instantaneous. Twin shouts of "WHAT?" echoed off the concrete walls, loud enough to make you wince. Kieran took a step forward, his gloved hands curling into fists. Luke's mask turned sharply toward his brother, then back to you.

Great. Just fucking great.

You exhaled sharply through your nose, slapping your hands to your hips before dragging a wooden crate closer and dropping onto it. The wood creaked under your weight.

Kieran was the first to recover. "We thought...Boss went in to get you."

The words landed like a punch to the gut. You froze, the inside of your cheek caught between your teeth as you slowly shook your head.

"So you guys didn't even know what happened?" Your voice was dangerously calm. "Then why the hell did you call me here?"

Luke shifted uncomfortably. "We thought you'd know why Boss went MIA. Because, like..." He gestured vaguely. "Maybe you'd be together or something."

You stared. Then gestured wildly around the storage room, as if to say, Well clearly not, since I'm fucking here.

“But I had a feeling, you know.” Kieran chipped in. “That Boss might be in trouble, but I didn’t take it seriously. Because Boss is… well.. You know, because he’s Boss!”

Suddenly, you got up, speed-walking to them. “And why the hell were you ignoring me?” You pulled out your phone and shoved the call logs into their faces. “I called you both 56 fucking times!”

They defensively back up into the wall. “Look, we weren’t ignoring you. We were just not interacting with you!”

“Well, in my dictionary, they both mean the same fucking thing!”

Before you could accuse them any further, Kieran spills the truth. “We were just following orders! From Boss.” You glared at him, as if your eyes could shoot lasers. “But please. Tell us what happened.”

Orders from Sylus? You weren’t even surprised. That was so Sylus of him somehow. Did he want to surprise you or something? Was this truly not his plan? Kieran was right, you didn’t wanna believe it either. Sylus’s plans could never go wrong, simply because he was Sylus.

Finally, you dragged a hand down your face. "Okay. Sit down. Both of you. This is going to take a while."

And then you told them everything.

The words spilled out of you like water from a broken dam, how you'd walked into Lab 7 two days ago and seen him, strapped down and bleeding. How the serum had made his body convulse, how his screams had echoed through the observation glass. How EVER was planning to administer an even stronger dose tomorrow, one that would kill him if it didn't work.

By the time you finished, your throat was raw. The storage room was silent save for the distant drip of a leaking pipe.

Luke was gripping the edge of the table so hard the wood groaned. Kieran hadn't moved an inch, his mask fixed on you like he was seeing you for the first time.

It was Kieran who spoke first, his voice low and deadly.

"We're getting him out. Tonight."

You glanced at your watch, the digital numbers glowing faintly in the dim light of the storage room. 

2:38 AM. 

A tired laugh escaped you as you pushed off the crate, your muscles protesting from hours of tension.

"Well, morning," you said dryly, rolling your shoulders. "Because it's 2:38 AM... anyway."

The weapons laid out before you gleamed under the flickering bulb. You ran your fingers along the cold metal of a modified MP5, checking the weight before setting it back down. Next to it, a row of flashbangs and smoke grenades were neatly arranged, their pins ready to be pulled.

Luke broke the silence first, his voice tight with frustration. "So how are we gonna get in?"

You exhaled sharply, tapping the blueprints spread across the table. "Originally, I was thinking I'd just walk in like normal, tweak the suppressors from the control room, and then somehow get to Sylus before anyone noticed." You paused, grimacing. "But if my line wasn't secure, that plan's shot. They'll be watching me now."

Kieran and Luke exchanged a glance, one of those wordless conversations they'd perfected over years of working together. Then, in unison, they groaned, sliding down the wall to sit heavily on the concrete floor.

"So what now?" Luke asked, rubbing his temples.

You chewed your lip, studying the blueprints again. The facility's layout was burned into your mind by now, every hallway, every security checkpoint, every blind spot.

"Just a slight change," you muttered, more to yourself than to them. "We get in some other way. I'll still tweak the suppressors, but we'll need a distraction to buy time. Then we somehow get to Sylus, get out before EVER realizes what's happening."

Kieran raised an eyebrow. "Elaborate somehow."

You hesitated, then sighed. "Honestly, I don't know."

The silence stretched with every passing millisecond.

Then, like a spark igniting, the pieces clicked together in your head.

"Wait." You straightened, your fingers tracing a path on the blueprints. "There's a service entrance here, used for waste disposal. Minimal guards, no cameras in the actual tunnel. It leads straight to the lower levels, near the backup generator room."

Luke leaned forward, suddenly alert. "Which is where?"

"Three floors below the high-security holding cells." You tapped the schematic. "If we go in through the tunnels, disable the backup generators first, then hit the main power, the whole facility goes dark. Including the suppressors."

Kieran's eyes narrowed behind his mask. "And Sylus?"

You smirked. "With his Evol unrestrained? He'll do the rest."

Luke whistled low. "That's... actually not terrible."

You rolled your eyes. "Gee, thanks."

Kieran stood abruptly, moving to the weapons cache. "Timing?"

You nodded, already thinking ahead. "Generator room first. Then power. We'll have maybe five minutes before backup systems kick in. That's our window to reach Sylus."

Luke cracked his knuckles. "And if EVER's guards get in the way?"

You picked up the Harrier 700, checking the magazine one last time before slamming it home. "Then we simply take them out."

Kieran tossed you a comms earpiece, his voice grim. "Let's move."

***

The service entrance loomed before you like a gaping mouth of some wild beast, its rusted metal door barely visible behind the overflowing dumpsters that reeked of chemical waste and rotting garbage. 

You pressed your back against the cold concrete wall, feeling your heartbeat thundering in your chest as you counted the guard's footsteps. One. Two. Three. The moment he turned his back, you were moving.

Your hand shot out, clamping over his mouth as your other arm snaked around his throat in a perfect blood choke. 

The guard stiffened, his hands flying up to claw at your forearm, but you tightened your grip mercilessly. Eight seconds. That's all it took before his body went limp in your arms. You didn't let him fall, couldn't risk the noise, instead lowering him carefully to the ground with muscles straining from the effort.

"Clear," you breathed, wiping sweat from your brow as Kieran and Luke materialized from the shadows. The three of you dragged the unconscious guard behind a stack of moldering cardboard boxes, his radio crackling with static as you set it carefully beside him. One wrong move, one burst of static at the wrong moment, and this whole operation would be over before it began.

The tunnel beyond was a claustrophobic nightmare, narrow, damp, and reeking of mildew and something fouler beneath. Every step sent echoes bouncing off the concrete walls, forcing you to move with painstaking slowness. Condensation dripped from the ceiling, the cold water trickling down your neck making you shiver. 

You led the way, your fingers trailing along the slick walls as you counted your steps, left at thirty-seven, right at eighty-two, the blueprints burned into your memory.

Two more guards lounged near the entrance to the lower levels, their rifles propped carelessly against the wall as they shared a cigarette. You signaled to Luke with quick hand motions, take the one on the left, while you palmed a syringe from your belt. The needle glinted faintly in the dim light as you crept forward, your breath coming slow and steady.

The first guard barely had time to widen his eyes before your hand clamped over his mouth and the needle found his jugular. His body jerked once, then went limp against you. You caught his rifle before it could clatter to the ground, your muscles straining with the effort of lowering both man and weapon silently.

A quick glance showed Luke had his target handled, the guard already slumped unconscious in his arms.

Generator Room A hummed with latent energy, the massive machines vibrating beneath your fingertips as you approached the control panel. You didn't need anyone's expertise here, you'd studied these systems for months. Your fingers flew across the keyboard, bypassing security protocols with ease as you initiated the shutdown sequence.

"Three," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the machinery's drone.

"Two," Kieran echoed at your shoulder, his breath warm against your ear.

"One." Your palm came down on the emergency shutdown with finality.

The generators died with a shuddering gasp that traveled up through the floor and into your bones. The lights flickered once, twice, then plunged the entire level into darkness.

Only the dim red glow of emergency exit signs remained, painting the corridor in bloody shadows that danced at the edge of your vision.

You didn't wait for your eyes to adjust. The stairwell to the upper levels yawned before you like a black mouth, the railing cold and slick under your grip as you took the steps two at a time. Somewhere above, alarms began their discordant wail, not the piercing shriek of lockdown sirens but the deeper, more ominous pulse of a critical systems failure. The sound set your teeth on edge.

Emerging onto the next level, you pressed flat against the wall as a squad of guards thundered past, their flashlight beams cutting erratic paths through the dark. One beam swept perilously close to your hiding spot, illuminating the sweat beading on your forehead. You held your breath, counting the seconds until they passed.

The main power station was in chaos when you kicked open the door. Two technicians whirled at your entrance, their faces pale in the glow of their monitors. You didn't give them time to react. A well-placed kick sent the first technician crashing into a bank of servers, while your elbow connected with the second's temple with a sickening crack.

"Clear," you panted, rolling your shoulders as you approached the master switch. Your hand hovered over the lever for just a moment before throwing it with finality.

The darkness that followed was absolute. 

For three heartbeats, there was perfect silence. Then chaos erupted. Glass shattered somewhere above, followed by a man's scream. 

Was it him? Was he okay?

Heavy machinery ground to a halt with a dying-animal screech of metal on metal. The shouts turned panicked, the footsteps frantic and uncoordinated.

You didn't have time to savor the chaos. Already you were moving, your boots silent on the tile as you navigated by memory toward Lab 7. The halls were pandemonium, scientists running blindly, guards shouting conflicting orders. You took down two more guards on the way, your knife finding its mark with deadly precision each time.

But suddenly then the lights came back on.

The sudden brightness was physically painful. You flinched, your pupils contracting violently as the fluorescents buzzed to life overhead with an electrical whine. Just in time to see Dr. Voss rounding the corner.

He skidded to a stop, his polished shoes squeaking against the tile. His normally immaculate lab coat was rumpled, his thinning hair sticking up in wild tufts. His eyes - wide behind his wire-rimmed glasses - locked onto yours with dawning horror.

Why the hell is he still here?

For a split second, no one moved.

Then Voss's mouth fell open. "What the hell are you–"

You were already moving. Your pistol cleared its holster in a smooth motion. But your finger hesitated on the trigger, just for a fraction of a second, and that was all the opening Voss needed.

He spun toward the emergency alarm panel, his fingers outstretched. You saw the move coming, knew exactly what would happen if he reached it, but your body refused to act. Why? Why were you hesitating now?

The shot came from beside you instead. Kieran's gun barked once, the sound deafening in the enclosed space. Voss crumpled, a dark stain blooming across his left shoulder as he hit the ground with a thud.

You stood frozen, staring at the man who'd strapped Sylus to that chair, who'd watched impassively as the serum ripped through him. Your hands should be shaking. Your breath should be coming in ragged gasps. But all you felt was this terrible, icy calm.

"Lab 7," you said, your voice surprisingly steady. "Now."

The hallway to Lab 7 stretched endlessly, your boots pounding against the tile as you sprinted forward, heart hammering against your ribs. The retinal scanner glowed red as you slammed your face against it, the mechanical voice cold and indifferent.

"Dr. (Y/N), authorization denied."

You cursed, slamming your fist against the reinforced door. Of course they’d revoked your access.

A groan from behind you made you whirl around. Dr. Voss was still conscious, clutching his bleeding shoulder, his glasses cracked and askew. Without hesitation, you marched over, grabbed him by the collar, and dragged him toward the door, Luke and Kieran covering your back, weapons trained on the corridors.

You pressed your gun to Voss’s temple, your voice deadly calm.

"Unlock the door. Now."

Voss’s lips curled into a bloody sneer. "You won’t–"

You dug the barrel harder into his skin. "Try me."

For a heartbeat, he hesitated. Then, with a shaky breath, he leaned toward the scanner.

"Dr. Voss, authorization code Orion-89."

The lab door hissed open.

You let Voss slump to the ground, stepping over him without a second glance. The suppressors hummed ominously in the center of the room, their control panel flashing warnings. You didn’t waste time, your fingers flew across the interface, overriding protocols, disabling failsafes, shutting down the system that had been draining Sylus dry.

"Suppressors offline."

The mechanical voice sent a rush of relief through you. But you weren’t done yet.

You turned toward the refrigeration unit, smashing the glass with the help of your gun. Inside, rows of vials glowed faintly, the reversal serum. You grabbed one serum and a syringe, shoving them into your pocket before spinning back toward the door.

"Let’s move!"

Luke and Kieran fell into step behind you as you bolted toward the high-security wing. The moment you rounded the corner, your stomach dropped.

Too many guards.

At least a dozen armed men stood between you and Sylus’s cell, rifles raised, shouting orders. But Luke didn’t hesitate.

"Close your eyes!"

The flashbang hit the ground with a deafening crack, blinding light erupting in the corridor. You ducked behind cover, the force rattling your bones. The moment the ringing in your ears subsided, you were moving.

Gunfire erupted.

Kieran took point, his shots precise and lethal, dropping guards before they could recover. Luke covered your flank, his movements fluid as he reloaded without breaking stride. You fired when you had to, your aim steady despite the adrenaline coursing through you.

The cell door loomed ahead, its keypad blinking red. You didn’t slow down.

Slamming your palm against the controls, you bypassed the lock with an emergency override code you’d memorized. The door slid open with a groan.

And there he was.

Sylus.

Unconscious.

Strapped to the same damn chair, his head lolled forward, silver hair matted with sweat and blood. The electrodes were still embedded in his skin, the serum lines disconnected but the damage already done.

Your breath caught.

For a second, your entire world narrowed down to him.

Then Luke’s voice snapped you back. "We’ve got company!"

Without wasting another moment, you stepped into the cell towards him. Your fingers trembled as they brushed against Sylus's cheek, the warmth of his skin a stark contrast to the cold metal of the chair he was still strapped to. You tapped lightly at first, then harder when he didn't respond, your voice cracking as you whispered his name.

"Sylus. Sylus."

A groan. Then his eyelids fluttered.

Crimson eyes, dulled with pain and exhaustion, slowly focused on you.

The relief that crashed through you was so violent it stole your breath. Tears welled hot and immediate, blurring your vision as a sob tore from your throat. For one suspended moment, the gunfire, the shouting, the chaos, none of it existed. There was only him. Only Sylus.

You threw your arms around him, burying your face in the crook of his neck. His scent, gunpowder and something uniquely him, flooded your senses, and you clung tighter, as if you could fuse yourself to him.

His arms, weak but determined, slid around you, pulling you impossibly closer. His breath was ragged against your ear, his chest rising and falling in uneven bursts as he inhaled deeply, as if he'd been drowning and only now found air.

You didn't know how long you stayed like that. Seconds? Minutes? It didn't matter.

When you finally pulled back, your hands immediately flew to his face, cupping his jaw as you searched his eyes. The words tumbled out before you could stop them.

"Sylus, I'm gonna kill you! What the hell were you thinking?"

His lips, chapped and split, curved into that infuriating smirk. "I was thinking about you, sweetheart."

You choked on a laugh that was half a sob, shaking your head as you reached for the reversal serum in your pocket. The syringe was cold in your grip as you uncapped it with your teeth.

"This is gonna hurt," you warned, pressing the needle to the inside of his elbow.

He didn't flinch as the serum entered his bloodstream. But the moment it took effect, his entire body seized. His back arched violently, his teeth gritted so hard you heard them grind. A guttural groan tore from his throat, his fingers clawing at the armrests until the metal bent under his grip.

Your hand flew to his forearm, your thumb rubbing soothing circles over his skin. "Look at me. Look at me."

His eyes, wide and pained, locked onto yours.

Then, without warning, his hand shot up to cradle the back of your neck, dragging you forward until his lips crashed against yours. The kiss was desperate. Hungry. A collision of teeth and tongue and two years of unsaid words. You melted into him, your fingers tangling in his hair as he poured everything into that single touch, every apology, every confession, every I missed you, I need you, I love you he'd never voiced.

When you finally broke apart, gasping, you rested your forehead against his, your breaths mingling in the scant space between you. His hands trembled where they gripped you, his thumbs brushing your cheeks as if memorizing the feel of you.

For that single, suspended moment everything was alright.

But then a gunshot rang out.

The impact hit you like a sledgehammer to the ribs, the force throwing you forward into Sylus's chest. A choked gasp escaped you, your hands clutching at his shirt as pain radiated through your torso.

All you could see was Sylus.

All you could feel was Sylus.

His arms tightened around you, his expression morphing from shock to terror in the span of a heartbeat.

His head snapped up, his eyes burning like molten lava as they locked onto the shooter. Streaks of crimson spilled from hands, pressure building until it was hard to breathe. The guard didn't even have time to scream before his body crushed inward, bones snapping like twigs under the force.

But when Sylus looked back down at you, the fury dissolved into something else. It shattered.

Blood spilled from your lips, hot and metallic, dripping onto his hands as they frantically pressed against the wound in your side. His fingers came away crimson, his breath coming in ragged, panicked bursts.

"No. No."

His hands glowed faintly, his Evol flaring to life as he tried to heal you, to stitch you back together through sheer will. But nothing happened. The wound remained. The blood kept flowing.

"Why isn't it working?" His voice was raw, broken.

You wanted to answer. Wanted to tell him it was okay. But the words wouldn't come.

Tears streaked down his cheeks, dripping onto your face as he cradled you closer, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs. His lips moved soundlessly, forming words you couldn't hear over the ringing in your ears.

Was this his plan? Had it gone wrong?

Did he love you?

Why had he never said it?

There was a myriad of questions you wanted to ask him. Answers you were dying to know. But you’d never get ask them and that was fine with you. Because you were in his arms, in his warm embrace.

The irony wasn't lost on you. Two years spent running from him. Two years spent pretending you didn't care. And now you'd die in his arms without ever knowing the answers.

Your vision blurred at the edges, darkness creeping in. But you refused to let it take you. Not yet.

With the last of your strength, you lifted a shaking hand to his cheek, smearing blood across his skin. His breath hitched as your thumb brushed away his tears.

"Please," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "Don't look away."

And you could swear in that moment, with his face hovering above yours, his tears mixing with your blood, it didn't even hurt.

***

The first night was the worst.

He sat in the silence of his penthouse, the one he’d bought because he knew you’d love the view and stared at the glass of bourbon in his hand. It was the same brand he always drank. The same one you’d teased him about, calling it “overpriced gasoline.”

He drank it anyway.

The burn didn’t help.

Nothing did.

***

The fifth night he broke into EVER’s ruins.

It was reckless. Stupid. But he needed to see where it happened. Needed to prove to himself that it was real.

The cell was empty now, the blood long since scrubbed away. But he found it anyway, the bullet hole in the wall where the shot that killed you had lodged after passing through your body.

His fingers traced the edges.

Then he burned the entire building to the ground.

***

The twelfth night Luke found him on the roof of the N109 Zone’s tallest skyscraper, a bottle of that cheap, shitty wine you used to love dangling from his fingers.

“Boss, respectfully, you’re an idiot,” Luke said, yanking off his mask. 

Sylus didn’t answer. Just took another sip.

Luke snatched the bottle and hurled it off the roof. “She died for you. The least you can do is live.”

Sylus’s laugh was hollow. “Who said I’m not?”

Luke punched him.

They didn’t speak for a month after that.

***

The thirty-third night he dreamt of you.

Not the way you were at the end, bloody and still, but the way you’d been before. 

Rolling your eyes at him. 

Stealing his coffee just to piss him off. 

That stupid, ridiculous smile you’d only ever let him see.

He woke up with your name on his lips and his hand outstretched, grasping at empty air.

***

The one-hundredth night Kieran cornered him in the training room.

“Enough,” he snaped, blocking Sylus’s punch with a forearm. “You’re not the only one who lost her.”

Sylus froze.

Kieran’s hands were shaking. “She was ours too.”

The fight drained out of him.

They didn’t hug. Didn’t cry. Just stood there, breathing heavily, until Kieran muttered something about whiskey and stalked off.

Sylus followed.

***

The three-hundredth night he visited your grave.

There was no stone. No name. Just the oak tree and the solitude.

He didn’t bring flowers. Didn’t speak. Just sat there, his back against the trunk, and closed his eyes.

The wind smelled like rain.

For the first time in a long time, he almost felt at peace.

***

Years later, on the anniversary, he found himself back in that cell.

It was rubble now, overgrown with weeds. But he still saw it, the ghost of you, stepping in front of him. The shock on your face. The way you’d looked at him, right before.

“Why?” he whispers.

The wind didn’t answer.

But for a second, he swore he heard your laugh.

***

He never stopped wearing black. Never stopped waking up reaching for you. And when he finally, inevitably, met his end, years later, the last thing he saw wasn’t the enemy. It was you, smiling, your hand outstretched. Waiting.

Lemme know if you wanna be added to the taglist!

tags: @nm4565natty, @dysphxriaii, @animegamerfox, @floofycookie, @food4me-always, @dummiebunny, @starllight613, @natashahbarry, @hao-ming-8, @eve-rockin-blog, @sylusgirlie7, @babygirl-panda19, @chaoticfivesworld, @wakeupr41, @poptrim, @brailsthesmolgurl, @seung185, @mimiu3usoft, @theplaid-wearingmoose, @moonchildjae00, @pinksaiyans, @vintag3u, @peachystea, @69-gojos-wife-69, @harusansthings, @dyeinsomniadontwake, @perqbeth, @dramaticalsachan, @dana-nite, @blusterry-bomb, @miffysoo, @his-ocean-emissary, @totallytaurus4, @sleepykittyenergy, @terriblesoup, @mcdepressed290, @ikesimpleton, @meyline, @decaf-nosebleed, @ili6a, @moonlight-inthe-sea, @adeptustemptations, @sylussweetkitten, @roschea-arts, @blipblopblopblip, @eolivy, @coeurdeveea, @sylussplushie, @thestarsaboveme, @cordidy, @bxtchopolis, @sabage101, @stxrrielle, @lighting-and-shadow, @peachhiz, @z3vl, @inara-lumina, @thirstblogforaparchedgirl, @bubbleteakittyy, @sillyfreakfanparty, @inzanekillian, @54fangirl, @lluvia1415, @obeythebutler, @beaconsxd, @raethewargeneral, @vyntheria, @claireeredfield, @velvtcherie, @it-is-tea-time, @babylavinawr, @jaebumspetitegf, @xsammijoanneex, @sikrettt, @lostpsycho13, @junlight, @aboobie, @jaams-backpack, @sh4do3, @nnasv, @lov3vivian, @rosiesareblu, @lemon-seeds81, @sakuraneko-sakupanda-chan, @moth-quasar

[rikisbaddezire]

riding niki?

RIRIS THINKING SPACE .ᐟ

 you know whats crazy? i dont really think riki would be into cowgirl or anything like that. i think he likes when he has more control or more dominance over the situation.

i think riki would at least be trying to have some kind of control over you, like having his hands on your hips to guide you to how he wants it.

im ALWAYS seeing riki being into like getting teased during sex but i think he would be the teasing one during sex, because like when it comes to him with jake, jay, sunoo and the rest of the members, he’s almost always teasing them at least once in every en o’clock episode, or during weverse lives, or just in general.

so like while you’re riding him i think he’d edge you a lot, like he’d guide you to go fast and then as soon as you feel yourself reaching that sweet release, he’s either making you do it yourself or he’s making you go super slow.

if im gonna be honest when it comes to him making noises during sex i feel like he would feel shy to make noises so most of the time his noises would sound held back or just plain grunting. idk why guys in general do that thoooo like yes please whimper into my ear 😞

riki has that kind of look to him where he’d talk more during it than he’ll ever make noise, so while you’re riding him i feel like he’d be so lost in the pleasure that he wouldn’t even realize he’s speaking and cursing in japanese. he would definitely swear a lot tho, he seems like that kind of guy.

like for example he’d be like, “oh fuck, baby you just got so fucking tight there”

“shit, m’ so fucking close”

“just like that, just like fucking that”

“yeah? fuck, you wanna come on me? then go fucking do it yourself, show me how much you want this fucking dick inside your fucking wet pussy.”

“mhm yeah, fuck yeah, riding me fucking so good. gonna make me fucking come already.”

“holy shit, baby fuck, you feel that? fucking feel my dick inside you? fuck, you take it so well.”

im lwk thinking what im writing is corny so im gonna stop with the examples, but i think you get what im saying. he likes saying fuck and he’s somewhat teasing but also praising you at the same time.

but this is just my opinion guys, like this note if you want a story for riding him so he quite literally breaks and he’s whimpering and whining for you

— 🙄 a few words from riri !

i love ygs, i didn’t think the people of tumblr would be such freaks omg. i thought i was a freaky engene but hf you guys might be even freakier than i am with these requests.

SPEAKING OF REQUESTS…! i would rlly appreciate if you guys gave me some requests like this one because i love yapping about enhypen (even tho i mainly only write for riki)

i also have a little 5 part series coming up and i need more requests like this while i suffer with some absolute grotesque writers block even though i’ve literally only written the first part, and guys if im gonna be honest… that whole story is based off of a c.ai chat i had with a fuckass bot when i was like in grade 6 so the story might be a little childish because im basically putting the whole bot programming into my own words and what i said back then so ermmm 😭😭😭

i will be making some links and stuff for my work like a masterlist i think its called?? idk guys im not rlly good at this tumblr stuff.

i will be also making those little posts about the stuff i will not be writing about because im very picky about that stuff but yeah bye my freakazoids, i hope ygs have a great day/night/afternoonnnnn 😝😝😝

[infamous-if]

YAYYYY so excited to read it! What are you going to do now that it's out?!

clean my apartment lol I tend to neglect it when im near the finish line (I get really abnormally obsessive with getting a chapter done that I can't focus on anything else including forgetting to eat lolol)

death stranding 2 came out so im going to replay the first game which is one of my fav games and treat myself to getting the second

catch up on IFs of course ive been playing a few as I write and I had to stop because I couldn't focus and fully enjoy it

CATCH UP ON LOVE ISLADN I missed last night's episode and apparently its wild im losing my mind staying off twitter so my tl doesn't spoil it

most importantly: take a tiny break :,) ive worked on this chapter for like 10 hours a day 5 days a week for like nine months and my body is starting to feel it so im going to be nice to myself and give myself a few days to just not touch my keyboard and relax for once (aside from error fixing cuz I can't help it) ahaha

[writing-munchies]

NSFW HC'S— Dorian, Doug & Dunk x GN!Reader (MDNI)

A/N: Sometimes horniness from a tiktok edit over a dateable door makes you write so much smut that your fingers are aching. Sorry for any mistakes as English isn't my first language:-]

EDIT: a huge chunk of Dunk's part was missing that i didn't paste from the goodle doc i wrote this in... this is so embarrassing🥀

I've also decided to take requests, im working on finishing the game and im quite there! i dont mind writing just about anything so, go ahead! Mailbox is open!

WC: 2.3K

⋆.𐙚˚ ⋆.𐙚˚⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⋆.𐙚˚ ⋆.𐙚˚ ⋆.𐙚˚⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹⋆.𐙚˚

Dorian

He’s most likely going to be the initiator, especially after you’re both in a relationship. He is still hesitant with his boundaries not really being respected in his previous relationships, but when he’s all in on you when the relationship starts, he will willingly give himself to you, fully trusting of you. No questions asked, he knows you’ll respect his decisions, and that means more than the world to him. Which, in turn, makes him more inclined to initiate sexual or romantic encounters.

Every time you brush up against Dorian when walking around the house, throwing him a wink when you do so… to say he’s turned on would be an understatement. He’s relatively easy to rile up when he feels secure in your relationship.

Once he realizes how much you squirm when he talks real close to your ear, it’s over. He won’t stop doing it, he’ll be hips flush against each other kinda deep inside of you, not moving, just teasing you by talking breathlessly into your ear, “You like that feeling, love? Want more?” when you whine out his name, too sensitive to speak properly, he just chuckles and that makes you shiver; much to his delight. Though, every time you do shiver, moan or whine you can feel his cock throb inside you, his breathing gets jagged, and his self-control gets that much closer to cracking. 

Durable. Actually loves cock-warming but gets impatient when you won’t stop squirming on his lap so, he holds you by the waist and fucks into you with almost all the strength he can muster, you’re a delicate thing compared to him after all; whatever your size may be. He can hold off on an orgasm just fine, just so you can cum before him, it feeds his ego like you wouldn’t believe. Making you cum before him is a must, you’ll cum at least 2 times before he even thinks of letting that tight knot snap and fill you up in every way possible. He’s a patient man, he’ll wait for hours if it means you’ll be a crying mess under him.

This man loves getting his dick sucked. Whichever Dorian. Though front door Dorian seems to be exceptionally sensitive compared to others. You’ve never seen him so flushed as he is when his dick is in your mouth. You looking up at him with those pretty eyes has his dick harder than he ever thought possible. It’s sort of this rush of power too, like you’re his owner, practically his boss, and here you are, his dick in your mouth and moaning for him to cum down your throat- it makes him cum embarrassingly fast.

Whenever you’re naked in the shower or your room, he has to do everything to hide his very obvious boner from the other objects around. Especially if you, unknowingly so, accidentally brush up on him just as you’re out of the shower? God, he’d never think about neglecting his duty, but you’re wearing his patience thin.

A lover at heart. Loves foreplay, but he’s just been so deprived of you all this time that he’s yearning heart and body just can’t help but pounce on you with every opportunity you present him with. Be open with him, even if your shyness kills you, tell him to fuck you ‘till you’re crying, tell him to fill you up so fucking full that it gushes out of you with every thrust— directness turns him on so much.

Loves seeing you all tied up and pathetically helpless— completely at his mercy. He’s been the one protecting you all this time without faltering for a second, so you willing to be the most vulnerable you can be consciously with him, he can’t help but feast on every breath, every shiver and every moan you let out.

The biggest freak is trap door Dorian though, without a doubt. He’s never seen you half naked, let alone fully naked. When you show yourself to him for the first time, all the blood rushed to his dick, and he has to keep his composure. Though, his flushed face and breathless tone of voice really don’t help to hide it. Worships your body like it’s an art piece, loves playing with your nipples the most, though. Just the way you squirm and your hold on his hair tightens makes him groan with that husky voice of his.

I think the en suite Dorian (bedroom bathroom Dorian), loves a handjob more than anything else. Loves watching the way your fingers play with and tease his dick to hardness, the same fingers that touch him every day without thought working to make him cum? Ultimate fantasy of his, actually.

The one that wants to fuck you ‘till you forget your own name is bedroom door Dorian. He has seen you in your most vulnerable states, every whimper that you let out when you’re masturbating just gets his whole body so hot he has to stop himself from replacing your fingers with his own or his mouth. When given the green light, he won’t let you go until you’re a crying, full-with-cum mess. His thrusts are deep, cock head brushing against your sweet spot non-stop, making your vision dance with stars as he grunts and nibbles on your ear. His hands will massage your ass and thighs as he’s fucking into you, too, a grounding touch helping you to not zone out and feel everything that he’s doing to you.

Aftercare? He will do his best, and he is amazing at it! He will hold you in his arms, his scent developing your senses as he peppers kisses along your back and nape, his hands massaging your hips and ass non-stop as he asks you if you want water or if you want him to clean you up right away. Very considerate of your needs, 10/10. 

Doug

Do not be fooled by the way he talks and how he speaks, this man is all in on for being dominated. Though he prefers to say, “making him your bitch”, it’s the same thing anyway.

Horny for you 24/7, literally always ready if you are. When he sees that look in your eyes and how your tone changes when you speak to him, he already popped a boner.

Insatiable freak, loves going at it for round after round, for hours and hours. Tie him up and milk his cock with your mouth, hand or hole, make him a mess, and he’ll thank you for it, call him a good boy, and he’ll cum on the spot.

Tie him up and shove his cock down your throat, slap his thigh when he can’t help but thrust his hips up into the tight heat of your mouth- the way your tongue drags over that one vein on his dick makes him moan out your name and his thighs stiff up with self-control as he tries to just not fuck your face ‘till he paints your mouth white.

Loves picking you up and cornering you by pressing your back to the wall you keep looking at when you want to meet him, he just wants to fuck your brains out in the place you first met! Isn’t that romantic?

When you two first have sex, he’ll try to have this nonchalant attitude, but it crumbles easily when you moan his name so lovingly as he’s fingering you open to take his cock. Despite how he comes across at first he really is careful with you, he knows he is way stronger than you, so he tries to relax the hold he has on your hips as you’re riding him with that lovesick look on your face that has his cock throb and leak pre inside you.

His biggest fantasy is you being on your phone as he’s fucking you, maybe playing your favorite game, trying to win a match or trying to progress as every thrust just shakes or makes you shiver. He’d tell you to go on, you can’t cum if you don’t achieve your objective, he’ll fill you however times he wants, you can cry and beg however long you want, you aren’t cumming ‘till you complete that objective.

Loves taking you by the chin after he just came in your mouth, tells you to open up and feels his cock get full on hard again just at the sight of you with your tongue—covered in his cum— out, tugs you closer and bends down to kiss you, sucking on your tongue and tasting himself as he groans into your mouth. Your little shivers just spur him on more.

Ride him and tell him he isn’t allowed to cum ‘till you tell him to. When he inevitably fails to do so, he just can’t help it, the way you squeeze down on his dick like you’re trying to milk him out of every last drop is hard to resist for a being like him, overstimulate him and don’t get off of his dick ‘till he’s crying and begging you to stop and keep going at the same time.

He does jerk off, a lot. Especially to the photos of you, hell even when you’re just moving around the house, and he catches a glimpse of your armpits, inner thighs or your nipples? He’s stroking his dick and will take a video for you to show t to you later, he is shameless about anything to do with sex.

Aftercare? Well he doesn’t like to clean himself up right away, especially if it’s after a particularly long session, he’ll take a photo of his dick now covered in cum, he’ll take a photo of your sex and your whole body to jerk off to later and admire, then you’ll get to aftercare. He tries when he’s with you, but you’re going to be the one that ultimately takes acre of him, if you’re genuinely so tired out he will do his best, although stiff, he is trying his best.

Dunk

For the love of all things holy, be straightforward as you can with this man. He is great at sex, but he is bad at picking up innuendos and hints.

Will worship your body no matter how you look like or how you weigh, he is in love with you, in awe of you, he’ll kiss along your back, down your chest and your inner thighs all the while murmuring about how perfect you feel against him, how his skin on yours makes everything feel electric.

He feels the same rush he has when he’s trying out a new sport as he’s having sex with you, that makes you an addiction he’ll never want to put down.

The way you slam your hips against his when he’s being a little too gentle, and you just want him to fuck your brains out. Oh, he can do that, very well. His favorite position to turn you into a blabbering mess is full nelson, the way he can just fuck into you and feel your every moan and groan on his chest as his dick hits that sweet spot over and over again while you’re crying out his name is nothing short of an addicting adrenaline rush.

He also loves the mating press, just any position where he can use his weight and stamina to fuck into you, feel everything your body has to offer as you sing his praises with loud moans and cries of his name, fuck he can’t get enough. Maybe ask him about why he loves it when you use that fitness ball. It can’t be possibly because he can just feel every second of your crotch, ass, and thighs rubbing against him, sometimes even with your full weight? Of course not(!)

Loves giving oral pleasure the most, actually; take a fist full of his hair—what you presume that is, anyway—and thrust into his mouth/grind your sex down on his mouth. He loves being used for your pleasure, the fact that he is so durable that hours of sex won’t wear him down makes him the perfect toy to fuck yourself with.

He cums a lot, and I mean, a lot. He has to thrust at least six more times as he’s cumming inside you just to ride it out, even as it’s gushing out of you and making a mess. Will be licking your sex clean off of any cum, yes he will ask to make out, yes he wants you to suck on his tongue and taste both of you.

Loves a strip tease, too. Whether he does it or you, loves to watch you more actually, especially if you’re visibly aroused, his mouth always starts watering when your underwears finally off.

Dry humper. Loves to grind down on you, feel you squirm and beg for him to just touch you, loves to feel how your thighs tense as you cum just from humping him;

If you’re AMAB, he will purposefully grind down his hard-on on yours, just to feel it twitch and throb against his own. Will tease you if he sees the evidence of pre-cum already leaking, as if his dick isn’t wet already from his.

If you’re AFAB, he loves to just grind down ‘til he can feel the wetness through the fabric, rubbing against you just so that his boner presses down anywhere close to your clit to watch you shiver.

1000/10 aftercare, you will never catch this man lacking in that department. Big, secure, warm cuddles as he wraps all of his limbs around you, if you complain about the fluids he’ll tell you to give him 5 minutes, he just wants to bask in the afterglow. Definitely snuck some water into the room to give you some after or during sex, peppers kisses all over your face and affirms his love for you with words and gentle touches.

[aventoru]

Hello 👋 im new to your blog and saw that one post, i really liked it XD, if not a bother, could i request like a simp reader of dan heng/phainon/aventurine/loucha ? Like the reader is such a big simp with them to the point of forfeiting all their mortal possession even if they're broke

Preferably the reader is married to them, this is also my first time requesting, and feel free to ignore no worries! That's all and wish you great luck and day! 🤩💞✨

when you go broke for them

ft. dan heng, phainon, aventurine, luocha

tags : unresponsible financial decisions, reader goes broke, excessive spending (help)

a/n : this was kind of fun to write considering i went a bit out of control in 2018 to collect bts merch...reader and i can be broke tgt LOL anyways enjoy reading!!

DAN HENG

he’s very concerned at your lack of financial responsibility

is always speechless when you pay for everything and buys anything he briefly glances at, after all he’s not used to being spoiled like this

“you deserve all the love in the world!!” you say as you give him a stack of treats your bought from the xianzhou luofu. he can only stare in shock.

will definitely reprimand you for your crazy spending habits and even pull out some info from the archive for you to read

at the end of the day, he makes sure to reassure you drill into your head that he doesn’t need all this material stuff and he still loves you even if you don’t spend money on him

“you don’t have to do all this for me” “i know, but i want to”

once you actually go broke broke, he decides to step in and put the reigns on your money

tells you he’s gonna handle all the finances from now on and you gladly hand it all over to him (he doesn’t know whether to be relieved or frightened at your compliance)

eventually you tone down the gifts and he even spoils you sometimes, although you still go overboard for special events and anniversaries<3

PHAINON

he’s broke, so to have someone spend money and dote on him makes him feel special and super grateful

you love seeing the blush on his face every time you give him a cute keychain or small trinkets you’ve bought

also, you’re the first ever person to buy him FLOWERS (yes, FLOWERS) and he lowkey tears up omg

anyways, what he doesn’t know is that you’re slowly going broke due to your excessive spending on him, and you don’t tell him either because you know he’s going to be unhappy

he finds out eventually once you’re unable to afford present for him anymore

does reprimand you for spending so much on him while reassuring you that it’s okay to cut down on the gifts, just your love and company is enough for him anyway

you two spend time with each other, finding things to do that express your love without having to spend so much money

once you’re financially stable again, you do give him presents but only once in a while, and he’s learned to do the same for you

AVENTURINE

you two spoil each other; it’s a back and forth in your relationship, and you both love gift giving

you buy him jewelry, matching fits, amazing food and he buys you luxury goods and takes you on vacations

the only difference is that he’s got infinite money and you don’t…

so, you go broke eventually (💔) and now you feel bad because you don’t have anything left to give him

he’s slightly concerned by your spending habits but let’s be fair, his habits are probably worse since he has more money than he knows what to do with

his solution? he tells you to use his black card to buy him gifts 😭

you comply, because it was never about flexing or showing off money, it was always about seeing his face light up after receiving your surprise gifts

of course, you make sure to pay him back properly after your salary starts coming in again

and to avoid such a situation from repeating, he teaches you how to manage your finances (although, you don’t need to worry that much since he has SO MUCH money)

LUOCHA

i feel like he’s definitely the type to use luxury items, like you can feel the designer on him

he’s very subtle about his wealth, but you quickly find out once you date (and then marry) him

you’ve always had this unresistable urge to spoil him, so what better way than to shower him with designer goods?

he doesn’t say it out loud or express it very well but you can tell he’s happy (at first…)

eventually things get overwhelming since you keep giving him new gifts before he even touches the old ones

he does NOT want to know where you get the money to buy him such things

and he definitely becomes concerned because he knows how expensive these items are

when he asks interrogates you about it, you crack and admit that you’ve fully gone broke due to your uncontrollable love for him

he sighs and reprimands you firmly, making sure you understand how to be financially responsible

“if you keep doing this, i won’t accept your gifts and return them instead” “i understand…”

seeing how serious he was, you definitely tone it down from now on, and he buys you designer instead (so it’s a WIN-WIN!!)

general masterlist

[sturniqlo]

ADORE YOU— M.S

pairing: bsf!matt x bsf!reader

summary: matt can't hold in his feelings for his best friend any longer

cw: first time kisses, love confessions, fluff

fine line writing marathon

it was a typical friday night. you were over matt's place as usual. you two weren't doing anything special, just in each others company. matt was at his desk gaming, while you sat on his bed re-pairing his sock drawer. matt had a habit of pairing each sock with its wrong pair and it irked you, so you always fixed it whenever you had a chance too.

"why is my sock here?" you ask, holding up a pink sock with strawberries on it. matt turns around and nods casually. "you forgot that pair like... a couple of weeks ago." he turns back around to continue playing. funnily enough, that sock was paired with a navy blue sock, whose missing pair you already had.

once you were done with all of the socks, you put the drawer back and stood next to matt who was still gaming. "i finished." you told him, putting a hand on his shoulder. "already?" he said, shocked by how fast you finished this time. "mhm, i'm a pro already." you ruffle his hair and walk back to his bed.

matt disconnects from the game and turns his computer off before getting up and following you to the bed. matt sees that you've already made yourself comfy and he decides to lay on top of you. "yeah, just go ahead and suffocate me." you wheeze out jokingly. "very funny, i'd never suffocate you." he tucks his face in your neck.

whenever he did this, and got very close to you, you'd always feel the same butterflies in your tummy and get that flushed feeling, and your face blushing didn't help at all. you had always felt something for matt, but you never decided to tell him because you didn't want to ruin your friendship with him in case he didn't feel the same way.

when you came back to reality, you realized that your hand was running through his hair and gently scratching at his scalp. you immediately pulled back, but matt whined. "no, don't stop." he mumbled against your neck. you didn't say anything back and instead put your hand back in his hair.

he was always warm, it was the first thing you always noticed about him. matt wasn't particularly heavy on top of you, but it felt grounding in the most comforting way. you could definitely stay like this forever. you bit your lip and turned your head slightly, just enough to peek at the side of his face that wasn't tucked in your neck. you admired the sharpness of his jaw, and the way his lashes fluttered against his cheek. why did men always get the longer lashes?

matt looked so peaceful, so content. it was nice to know that you were the only one to see this version of him. you loved this version of him a little too much. "i think im in love with you." matt's words broke your thoughts, and your fingers in his hair froze. his words were quiet, yet you caught them. your heart began to thud so loud, you swore he could hear it. maybe you imagine him saying that. maybe he was starting to fall asleep and his words were just a sleepy mumble, a half joke maybe, like the dozens you'd both had made before, when you both would tiptoe along the line you guys didn't want to cross for years.

you swallowed before you responded. "what did you say?" matt didn't move for a second, and you wondered if he had fallen asleep in such a short amount of time and talked in his sleep, but then he pulled back slightly and propped himself on his elbows to hover over you. "i said," he started, his voice a bit more serious now. "i think— no, i am in love with you." you stared up at him, now that his words were serious and you didn't just imagine it.

"matt—" you said softly. "i know," he cut you off, his eyes searching yours. "i know it was so sudden and probably weird for you. but it's not like it just happened. i've been feeling like this for a while... forever. it's just that—" he took a deep breath. "you're my best friend. and i didn't want to mess our friendship up, but at the same time, i can't keep pretending like im okay with just being your best friend.

your chest rose and fell with a shaky breath.

matt kept on going, and sat up, you following shortly. he kept on going because he was afraid that if stopped, he wouldn't be able to say the rest. "it's the little things... like you coming over and fixing my sock drawer. or how you always steal the blanket even though you deny it. or how you wipe off the ketchup off of my burger when they mess up my order. i started falling in love with you so long ago, i just didn't want to admit it." he looked down and started to fiddle with his hands.

your throat tightened. you wanted to say something, anything, but all of your thoughts were getting tangled. thai wasn't how you imagined it would happen, if it ever did. you always imagined some big, dramatic moment. but this? this felt so much more real. it was so matt.

"i didn't say anything," he added softly once he realized you weren't saying anything back. his eyes flickered down to your lips. "because i was scared you wouldn't feel the same way. but i just blurted it out. i can't keep pretending i don't want to kiss you, or hold your hand, or— or call you mine. it's been driving me insane." a silence settled between you two, heavy but not suffocating. his eyes flickered back up to yours. you could see the fear and the worry in his eyes.

"you don't have to say you love me back, you don't have to say nothing. we— we can forget that this ever happened if that's what you—" you cut him and by putting a hand on his cheek. "i'm in love with you too, matt." you admitted to him, your voice barley a whisper. "i just... i didn't want to lose you." something in his expression cracked, and a small breath of relief escaped him, soft and shaky. "you mean it?"

you nodded at him, your thumb brushing at his cheek. "of course i mean it." and that was all he needed. he leaned down slowly, giving you the chance to pull away, but you met him halfway, lips brushing once, so softly. then again, but more firm. matt could taste your signature strawberry lipstick on your lips. it wasn't like the fireworks and chaos type of kiss, it was slow and warm.

when he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours. his eyes were closed and was smiling softly in the water that was only reserved for you. "can i call you mine now?" he said with a small giggle. you laughed, your cheeks were warm. "i think you already have." matt pulled you down with him and laid you on top of him, just like he was moments before. his hand rested on your waist. "so..." you started. "does this mean you'll stop mixing up your socks?" he groaned and laughed. "we literally just admitted our feelings and my socks are your priority?" you giggled and planted a peck on his lips, it all felt so natural.

"just asking." you said against his lips. he held you a bit tighter. "okay, for you i'll try."

𐔌 . ⋮ jess' note .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

this is literally one of my favorite songs from fine line and coincidentally this is also one of my favorite fic i've written

[kuiofficial]

Might I request abby and Jinu x male reader smut plz im obsessed with them 🩵🖤🩵🖤

Omg of course!! I wrote this with bottom male reader, if this isn't what you want feel free to request for top male reader!

Your idol

Top Abby x bottom male reader x Top Jinu

Smut MINORS DNI

⚠️ Warnings: name calling (slut, whore, cock sucker.) Mention of public sex / nudity.

A/n: this is my first time writing smut </3

You didn't know how you ended up like this, one moment you were fighting with Abby and Jinu. The next moment you were squished in between them forced to take them all in.

"H-hey! A-ahh~ let go of me!" You screamed, squirming as much as you could. Jinu however wouldn't budge, neither would Abby. They were determined to make you submit to them, after all they were pretty strong and those abs weren't just for show.

Your legs were forced up and around Jinus hips, forced to take him in deeper. Your hole was sore, taking them in both at once. "Hah.. You're such a slut taking me and Jinu both in.. such a whore..." Abby said groaning, Jinu was having the time of his life infront of you.

Jerking your poor limp dick off, Jinu played with your swollen nipples as well. Your h/c hair was a mess, and you were crying and whining. That wouldn't make them stop though. Abby quickly moved you into another position, you were on all fours your head towards Abby and your back towards Jinu.

You knew what to do, you opened your mouth not resisting anymore. You closed your eyes prepared for what would happen, when Abby thrusted his cock deep inside your mouth. You gagged a little as it hit the back of your throat.

Poor Jinu was getting even harder at the sight, and he couldn't take it anymore. He shoved himself in you as deep as he could, causing you to let out a choked moan and squirt all over the clean bed sheets! "Y-you're going to clean that.. ugh.." Jinu groaned, you were just so overstimulated that you couldn't hear him!

Focusing on making Abby feel good, you didn't notice Jinu taking on his demon form. Suddenly you felt his dick growing in you, causing you to let out a yelp and look back. "P-pull out!!" You screamed. Jinu smirked, and Abby turned your head back towards his cock. Forcing you to take both of their cocks from both ends.. They wanted to show off just how fucked up you were to the world, but you were only for their eyes..

Deciding to take them by surprise, you moved your hips back against Jinu's pelvis causing him to let out a high pitched moan. "Y-you slut! You want my cock that bad huh~!" Jinu said, trying so hard to not cum right away. Jinu slammed into you as hard as he could, causing you to accidently bite down on Abbys cock. Abby squealed and grabbed your jaw with his hand. "Don't bite or I will fuck your brains out, cocksucker." He said, little did they know you were into the names.

You stuck your tongue out as a way to make him angry, your hole was desperate for more cock. So Abby forced you into another position, where both of their cocks were balls deep in you. Safe to say you couldn't walk by the end of the night, and neither could you talk..

Who knows.. maybe you should do this more often..

I hope this is what you wanted!!

[mamamiaitssia]

THANK YOU FOR THE TAG i love you vro w 💗💗

currently reading : purple hibiscus i lobe this book so goated

lasts song : wzit let me go check ly airbuds - all the way down by swell foop

last film : honestly i cant even remember inthink it wzs uhhhhhhhhhh the conjuring

last series : ginny and goeorgie but i dtill hzvrnt finnished it 🥀

sweet / savoury / salty : yes

tea or coffee : yes again

working on : wow i need ti lock in why did it take me a while to figure out what im working on only to realise im not working on anything but writing fanfics 💔 wait one thing : being more extroverted because i need to make friends at school before its actually too late

NPT !! : @lizbix @reverd-ck + anyoen t’dr i mean anyone else

TAG NINE PEOPLE YOU WANT TO GET TO KNOW MORE

tried to reblog the original post but it was gone so here we are i guess. thanks for tagging me leigh!!!!! @poemeater <3 i love you to pluto and back come kiss me now

currently reading: nothing actually. walk of shame

last song: man in the mirror — michael jackson

last film: captain america brave new world

last series: new girl season 3, mha season 2 (rewatch), wbk s2

sweet/savory/salty?: savory + salty!!! but i would give up both kidneys for some cinnamon sugar pretzels rn

tea or coffee: tea always

working on: packing to move states in july, weeding through some rough friendships that no longer serve me, picking up guitar again, and. well. kinktober ‘25

no pressure tags 🤍 @carminechrollo @admiringlove @madaqueue @cheralith @bouqette @mochiqa @mosskissed @storiesoflilies @toadba @tokeposts @hiraethwrote sorry if you’ve been tagged i tried to choose people i haven’t tagged in awhile/at all hehe

[sharkbitten-sailor]

can we have some platonic forsaken and teen reader with ptsd headcanons plsss? (i need some comfort in my life god-) - TED talk anon -

[forsaken] forsaken survivors & teen!reader who has ptsd headcanons .ᐟ

a/n; welcome TED Talk anon! i’m really sorry for what you’ve been through , you deserve every ounce of comfort and support. just know , i’m here whenever you need someone to talk to. you are never alone , alr?

noob - they don’t get everything you’re going through , but they get enough to sit quietly by your side and just... listen. sometimes quiet company hits different. - they’ll slide you a boxy cola when they notice you’re overwhelmed. no words needed. - “y-you’re holding up better than i-i would… seriously. you’re kinda... my hero.”

elliot - highkey panics at first. you’re a kid , a survivor , and already carrying this much? it breaks his heart. - adopts you as his lil sibling figure , no questions asked. treats you like you’re made of glass but the kind worth protecting , not pitying. - saves you the last slice of pizza , always. and gently teaches you how to speak your mind , only when you’re ready. - “deep breaths , alright? in… and out. you don’t have to face everything at once. we’ll take it slow , together.”

shedletsky - freezes. not built for deep talks , so his support comes through actions. - offers to teach you sword stuff (if you’re cool with it) or just shares his chicken. - clumsily avoids any mention of possible triggers. you see him fumble , but it’s endearing. he cares. - “hey kid… i’m not great with words , but… i got your back. always.”

007n7 - gets protective real fast. like , instant dad mode. - asks if you're okay when you're alone , never in front of others. (reason is obv.,..) - sure , he asks all the time: how you’re doing , if you’re okay. but it’s always genuinely. - lets you fidget with his clones to calm down. they remind him of his son , and somehow , that softens something in him too. - “you’re not weak. feeling it doesn’t make you any less strong.”

guest 1337 - you’re the only one he lets in like this. shared pain , shared understanding. - shadows you in every round. no killer gets near. not on his watch. - unless they wanna see a locked in guest. rip - if violence erupts , he’ll lure the chaos away. not because he’s scared , but because he doesn’t want you to see it. - “you made it this far… and that’s no small thing. you’re stronger than anyone gives you credit for. including yourself.”

two time - i’m sorry, but they straight up don’t get it. don’t try to either. - might throw you a glance , maybe even pity. but connection?... don’t expect warmth here. - and if they do show a little warmth , trust me. it’s bait. just a way to drag you into their cult.

chance - disaster with emotions. absolute mess. - might accidentally say the wrong thing , realizes it , and hands you his lucky coin as apology. - invites you to endless rounds of monopoly n poker. terrible at comforting , but his goofy jokes will crack the tension , even if just a little. - “shoot… sorry. that was dumb. here- good luck token. it always works for me.”

dusekkar - treats you like fragile glass , always on the edge. - offers to teach you some healing magic. soft , strange stuff that somehow works. both physically & mentally(?) - you’re the only one he lets mess with his deer horns. he says it’s annoying , but never stops you. - “storm passed. still you breathe. still you stand. still you’re here.” (can you tell im this bad at writing rymth stuff ,,,)

taph - same boat as elliot , panic when he saw you at first. why is a minor here , at this hell of all places?? - he’s completely mute , so he starts drawing little comics to talk to you. ends up teaching you sign language too. - offers to teach you tripwire tricks for self-defense. - he’s proud of you no matter what !! no self-loathing allowed !! - constantly reminds you how amazing you are. - 💪🌟🫵 ~ “you’re goated. no arguing.”

builderman - holds real hatred for the entity aka the spectre. it’s really heartless , isn’t it. - protective , but urges you to stay close to other sentinels unless it’s just the two of you. he trusts them more in a fight. - can tell right away when you’re overwhelmed. doesn’t always say much , but he knows. - starts rambling about random stuff like blueprints , upgrades , the best kind of bricks , just to ground you. - sometimes lets you wear his hard hat. says it’s too big , but it’s really endearing to him.

jane doe (added her here cuz i feel like it-) - absolute shock,. mother-insect mode activated. you can’t convince me otherwise/hj - instantly becomes your main caretaker. basically adopts you as her kid. she always wanted one , after all. - shares the best of what she has , from rations to rare supplies. you get first pick. - drops whatever she’s doing if you want to talk. no hesitation. no delay. - “speak. whatever it is , i’m listening.” - “they were cruel to send you here. i won’t be.”

a/n; here ya go !! my first time writing all the forsaken survivors ,,, turns out it’s way easier than handling the lil ones with long hcs ,,,, he ,,

WAIT THE TAGS- SAVE ME-