#got a little lazy with expressions and everything else too

[tophats-tea]

drawing fanart everyday for Danganronpa: A New Generation until the Firdt Episode comes out

Day 65: Uno (again) (w/nishimura)

Check out the fangan!

[eufezco]

DINNER WITH FRIENDS𓂃 𓈒 ❀

thunderbolts*!bucky x fem!pregnant!reader

synopsis – when bucky returns home he's not alone and a quiet evening turns into a full house. seven months pregnant and unprepared, you're caught off guard but family is family.

a/n – this is just a little scenario that crossed my mind when i got out of the cinema after watching thunderbolt* for the fourth time. pleasee send me bucky requests i want to write for him but i have like 0 ideas. writing this i realized that i've oficially fallen for the john walker propaganda 😞

fluff

it was later than usual and bucky stil hadn't come home.

rebecca was in her room, playing quietly as she waited for her dad. you were in the kitchen. dinner was already done so with nothing else to do, you found yourself rearranging things on the counter, trying to distract your mind from the worry. you rubbed your seven-month pregnant belly as if it were a magic lamp and you were wishing for him to return. and then you heard the front door creak open.

—bucky? —you moved quickly out of the kitchen but you stopped on your track when you saw he wasn't alone.

—yeah, it's me.

—oh my god, —you breathed before he could finish talking, your hand flying to your chest. you weren't expecting five people with him. their faces familiar yet you'd never met them in person.

bucky stood in the middle of the group, his lips pressed together in a guilt line. he knew full well you weren't expecting this and that he should've warned you beforehand, but he hadn't known they'd all need a place to drop by on the same night after the same mission.

he'd hesitated, worried about adding more stress when you were already seven months pregnant. but then he thought of home and you and rebecca and how it might be the one thing that could soften the edges of everything they'd been through that day. and god help bucky, you'd told him a million times you'd love to meet them.

so here they were. on your doorstep. in your hallway.

—hi, —you said to them. you blinked, caught between surprise and disbelief.

bob waved his hand. yelena, ava and john pressed their lips together.

—oh, hi john —you knew john. he and bucky had caused each other a lot of headaches in the past, but you were glad that at least now they tolerated each other. john showed you a little smile.

alexei made his way through the group and approached you with open arms. you raised your eyebrows and just let the big man cover you in a hug. he smelled like vodka and leather but surprisingly, he was really careful with your belly as he hugged you.

—mrs. barnes, the wife of the soldier, oh, it's so nice finally meeting you, —he said with a rough russian accent. —behind every great man is a great woman, they say. a greater woman, may i add.

as he held you, you caught all the other faces around the room, all rolling their eyes. you giggled when he finally released you, alexei was just as dramatic as bucky described him. —thank you, alexei.

—you know my name, she knows my name! —he turned to tell the others. they gave him plain nods and lazy smiles.

—of course, everyone knows your names now. plus, bucky talks about you five all the time.

bucky closed his eyes and ava grinned and nudged him with her elbow.

—yelena, right?

you approached the blonde girl standing next to bucky. she had the same stormy look in her eyes as him, she could definitely be his little sister. she looked at bucky a little unsure when you called her name, almost as if for reassurance. she hadn't wanted to come at first, she didn't want to cross that line, didn't want to step into something as private and sacred as his home.

yelena nodded to your question. you softened your expression and offered a warm smile. bucky caught her hesitation and he gently pressed his hand to her back, giving her an encouraging push. you opened your arms and puller her into a hug before she could think too hard about it. she tensed for a moment but then her arms came high around you, as if she was afraid of even brushing your belly.

you hugged ava, careful not to press against her delicate suit. you'd heard enough from bucky to know how sensitive the tech could be and how guarded ava was underneath it.

bob was so ready when you hugged him and welcomed him to your house. he'd seen bucky's photos of you, the lock screen on his phone. he knew how after every operation, buck's first texts were always to you, checking in, making sure you were safe and letting you know that he made it out alive. if bob had the power of one million exploding suns, he was certain it still wouldn't match how fiercely bucky loved you. and that gave him hope.

you smiled before you hugged john. he wasn't sure if you'd want him in your house, after all, he'd been a pain in bucky's ass but hey, in his defense, bucky had been just as much of a pain in his. still, you welcomed him.

and the best for last. as the rest inspected your living room, looking at the photos and tripping over rebecca's toys, bucky stood with the most exhausted expression on his face. he stepped closer and let his head fall against your shoulder. one of your hands went to the back of his head, fingers slipping into his hair.

—long day?

bucky just hummed.

—how was yours?

—good. the baby barely kicked after last night, —in that moment you felt bucky's hands come to rest on both sides of your belly, his thumbs rubbed slow circles, up and down, protective, telling the baby he was finally home, taking care of his mom. —and rebecca drew alpine. with eight legs and no ears. she's very proud.

he breathed a laugh, —sounds about right.

bucky's friends were busy, the five of them around a photo frame on the wall. the only photo you had of bucky from 1940s, stiff and young in his uniform soldier, eyes still full of something bright that hydra hadn't yet extinguished.

he lifted his head from your shoulder and you cupped his cheek, your thumbs brushing over his rough beard. you pressed your lips softly against his, as if you were trying to transfer all the calm and love he'd missed during the day. as you pulled back, you noticed his shoulders dropped, releasing the tension, but the worried expression remained.

you reached up again, brushing your thumb over the line of his cheek as bucky's arms wrapped around your body, resting on the small of your back and pulling you closer to him, carefully, until he could feel your belly pressed against him, a connection between the three of you.

—talk to me, —you whispered.

he sighed, —didn't want to bring the day home, but they needed a place... and i couldn't leave them on the street. i didn't want to add more into it, not in your state.

you smiled. so it was that.

—you did the right thing, buck. they're family. if they needed somewhere to go, then they're welcome here. they'll always be.

bucky pressed his lips together. his two families. the one he fought beside and the one he came home to.

he'd never called them that before, not even in his head. they cared about each other in the quiet, protected one another during missions and watched each other's back in battle. they stood between each other and the line of fire and carried each other when the mission left someone too hurt to stand.

it doesn't matter if bucky never said the word, they were his family.

he slowly nodded at your words, —it was supposed to be just bob... didn't expect all of them to show up at once.

—well, neither did the couch, —you teased, getting a soft laugh from him.

ava caught both your eyes as she turned from the wall where she'd been quietly observing young bucky's photo.

—you were so clean-shaven, it's almost like seeing you naked.

you burst out laughing just as bucky groaned beside you, head dropping on your shoulder again like the comment physically wounded him.

—look at that jawline, it could cut glass, —bob said, squinting his eyes at the photo, hands on his hips.

—sharp enough to be a war crime, —you kissed the top of bucky's head. he lifted it slightly, oh so you were joining them now?

—were there toothpaste ads back then? because you sure look like one. fight fascism and fight plaque.

—that's the image of a man! of the soldier! a hero! —alexei boomed, gesturing toward the photo like it belonged in a museum.

—yeah, a man that gave speeches on liberty bonds or punch hitler.

—i did punch hitler, —bucky said flatly, barely looking up.

—how many times are you gonna bring that up?

—as many as it takes, john.

—you should put that on a t-shirt, —john continued, —i punched hitler and all i got was this brooding personality.

you noticed yelena's attention was on the rest of the photos. the teasing in the room faded to a hum behind her.

her eyes moved from frame to frame, pausing on each one. a photo from your summer in wakanda, bucky with his hair tied back, sunlight turning the metal of his arm into gold as rebecca sat on his shoulders, his hands steady at her ankles. next to that was a shot of the hospital room, bucky still in scrubs, circles under his eyes, holding his daughter for the first time. all memories you'd been building through the years. not all of them were easy, not all of them looked like picture frames. it was what yelena had been looking for all her life.

—bucky, —yelena called him, getting everyone's attention. the teasing died down completely when everyone looked to the stairs.

rebecca stood halfway down, clutching her uncle sam captain america's plushie, her socked feet fidgeted against the step like she wasn't sure if she wanted to go back up or keep coming down. her thumb hovered near her mouth the way it only did when she was unsure of something.

—damn, she definitely is your daughter, —yelena said to bucky.

the little girl was a small version of bucky. blue deep eyes, brown hair that curled at the ends in soft waves, the way she looked at everyone without saying a word, just like bucky always did. she had that look on her face just like his, the one where even though she wasn't talking, it showed that her mind was moving fast, watching everything and everyone.

mostly, she looked overwhelmed. strangers filled her living room, standing loud, tall, unfamiliar in the space she knew as home. until she saw bucky. her bucky. she didn't hesitate. she ran down the stairs, her little feet pounding against the steps. without hesitation, she threw herself into her dad's arms, wrapping her small arms tightly around his neck. bucky lifted her effortlessly, smiling big as he held her close.

—oh, you definitely ate all of your veggies today, bug, you got stronger, almost knocked me off my feet.

rebecca's giggles filled the room. the others stood nearby, watching the scene, unsure how to react to seeing bucky all soft. even alexei, who rarely blinked at anything, went unusually still. you rubbed your daughter's back as she tucked her face in bucky's neck, her little fingers twisted into the fabric of his shirt, when she realized all eyes were on her.

—she's a little shy at first, but when she gains a little confidence, you'll be begging her to stop talking, —you explained to the group, half apologetic, half proud. they all nodded and smiled, understanding. —'becca, these are dad's friends. they're here just for tonight. you okay if they stay a little while?

she gave the smallest nod, still hiding her face in bucky's neck. he turned, holding her against his body, toward the rest of the group.

—boss says you can stay, —bucky announced.

yelena let out a yay, bob mumbled a sweet thank you.

rebecca peeked a little from the crook of bucky's neck, her eyes finding john first. he offered her a small, friendly wave. she hesitated but she ended up lifting her hand a mimicking the motion.

—out of all of them, —bucky murmured, more for john to hear than to her, —you had to wave to walker first?

john of course heard it and rolled his eyes.

in that moment your feet started to hurt more than you realized. too much standing for a seven months pregnant. you shifted your wight, trying to ease it, but even the small movement sent a bolt of discomfort up your spine. one of your hands instinctively moved to the curve of your belly and the baby fluttered under your palm, not a kick, just a little roll.

bucky noticed, but not just him, everyone in the room did.

—you okay? —ava asked.

—you should sit, —yelena added.

alexei immediately grabbed the nearest chair to him as bucky carefully lowered rebecca. —okay, bug, let's help mama, —he approached you, wrapping his metal arm around your body and helping you sit carefully.

rebecca stood, clutching with her captain america plushie tightly as her eyes flicked between john, bob, yelena and ava. none of them knew how to respond to her watchful presence, except for john, who caught her gaze again and with the little experience he had with kids, knelt down to her level, making himself less intimidating.

—why don't you guide me to the kitchen and we'll get your mom a glass of water?

she blinked, thinking about it for a second, then slowly nodded. john stood, not expecting her to wrapped her small fingers into his hand as she lead the way. to say that bucky was freaking out would be an understatement.

in the kitchen, rebecca pointed at the cupboard where the glass where kept. john took one of them and filled it with water from the tap. then, she gave him her captain america plushie so she could grab the glass, was this kind of bad joke? john followed her, still holding the plushie like he wasn't sure if it was meant to curse him or recruit him.

yelena and ava huffed a laugh when they saw him carrying the plushie.

rebecca carefully approached you, then gently handed over the glass. bucky gave john a grateful nod. you smiled warmly, taking a sip, —thank you, sweetie.

—my sister makes mama sick sometimes, —rebecca explained to everyone. the room was still, hearing her voice for the first time like it was something sacred.

—but you take good care of her, —bob said, his voice gentle.

—yeah, you sure are doing a great job, kid. i couldn't have brought that glass of water better myself, —john added.

rebecca showed a little smile, proud. with extreme care, she placed her tiny hand on your belly, her fingers splaying and she waited, hoping for the smallest kick from her baby sister. bucky kissed the top of your head.

—i made dinner, but i only expected bucky...

a chorus of don't worry, not hungry, i'm okay, i ate earlier, happened before you could finish talking. you looked around them all, tired, boots dusty from whatever roads they'd taken today, and hungry. no matter what they said.

—so we could order something, —you finally suggested.

bucky thought it was a great idea because there was no way he was going to let them go to bed with empty stomachs. while he made the call to the pizzeria, rebecca marched to the kitchen, ava and walker behind her like shadows as she pointed out the drawer with the cutlery.

back in the living room, you stood up from the chair. yelena, alexei and bob didn't let you out of their sight for a second. bucky, still on the phone, caught your movement and gave yelena a sharp nod, a silent command to keep you from doing anything else and to get you to the couch. you assured that you were fine, but it was no use.

at least alexei was no bore, he talked nonstop, about everything that came to his mind, most of the times embarrassing memories of little yelena. and rebecca had abandoned ava and walker to their luck in the kitchen and sat down next to bob with her notebook. you heard her mumble a wanna see my drawings? and the boy, as the sweetheart he was, couldn't deny. she explained every detail to him, not even letting bob get a word or ask a question.

ava helped bucky spread the tablecloth and john placed carefully the plates and glasses on the table.

—so, —ava said, looking at bucky with a teasing smirk, —another girl? you're the ultimate girl dad.

—yeah, three girls plus you and yelena. keeping me on my toes.

ava didn't say anything but she felt a little warmer at the way he'd included her and yelena in that count, like they were a bigger part of his life. he hadn't said it with any special emphasis, hadn't even looked at her when he said it but still, it stuck with her.

and the dinner was nice. so nice. bucky sat close by your side, his fingers gently holding your free hand over the table. rebecca was between yelena and ava but she was laughing at something walker had said to her, something funny enough to light up her whole face. bob had a soft blush on his cheeks. people laughing, sharing stories, the clink of plates and glasses, it almost felt unreal to him.

bucky leaned to kiss your cheek. you absolutely had no idea where all these people were going to sleep. the couch, the floor, a few air mattresses if the closet still held them, but definitely not enough beds. but looking at all together, sitting around the same table, full and happy, it didn't seem to matter at all.

[aneertawrites]

jealous!Sylus x fem!Reader

a/n : saw this edit on tiktok and got the urge to write... ++ the green eyes are a metaphor for jealousy! sorry for the confusion <3

tags : light choking, thigh smacking, jealous sylus, porn w no plot, oral sex (reader receiving), raw sex, rough sex, yeah....

The room was stifling — not from heat, but from tension. Laughter rang out, glasses clinked, and a hundred dignitaries buzzed with small talk beneath golden chandeliers. You stood near the bar, dress hugging your frame just right, heels biting into the polished floor. You’d worn this to be taken seriously.

But the man beside you had other ideas.

A diplomat. Polished smile. Lazy eyes that kept dropping to your chest like it was a conversational cue. He was leaning closer now, voice a little lower, fingers brushing your arm as if it were casual.

It wasn’t.

You didn’t recoil. That would draw attention. Instead, you gave a tight smile and angled your body just enough to distance yourself — not enough to cause a scene, but enough that he would notice.

And he did.

Across the room, you could feel Sylus’s gaze like a hot wire threading through your spine.

He stood near the edge of the crowd, drink untouched in his hand, suit tailored so sharply it cut. His expression was unreadable — not angry, not even annoyed. Just… focused. Like a predator watching someone else circle his territory.

You turned back to the diplomat and forced a laugh at some forgettable joke. But your attention was split — half on this conversation, the other locked onto the man across the room whose patience was starting to burn.

When the diplomat finally excused himself, you exhaled. And then Sylus was there.

Not a second later. Not two.

“I thought you were working,” he murmured, voice low and calm, but loaded.

“I was.” You tilted your head, studying him. “Didn’t realize conversation counted as betrayal now.”

“He was flirting.”

“Barely.”

“He wanted to fuck you.”

Your breath hitched — not at the words, but at the cold certainty behind them. Sylus’s voice didn’t rise. He didn’t look flustered or possessive in the way other men might. No, he was composed. Still. Like someone who already knew he owned the battlefield.

And the way he was looking at you now?

Like he owned you, too.

“You’re imagining things,” you said — a challenge, not a denial.

His lips curled. Not a smile. A warning.

“Come with me.”

You didn’t ask where.

Didn’t need to.

He led you down one of the quieter halls — away from the glittering noise, past locked doors and diplomatic signage. The second he found a private room — lights low, a lounge clearly reserved for someone far above your paygrade — he keyed it open and pulled you inside.

The door hissed shut behind you.

Silence.

You turned to face him, but he was already on you.

One hand gripped your jaw, tilting your face up, and the other flattened over your lower back, pulling you flush against him.

“You want to let men like that flirt with you?” he murmured, voice quiet but sharp as broken glass. “Then look at me when they do it.”

You gasped as his mouth crashed into yours — hard, punishing, furious. The kiss tasted like jealousy and unspoken obsession. Like everything he’d been holding back since the moment the diplomat touched you.

His hand slid from your jaw to your throat — not choking, not quite — but firm enough to own. You whimpered into his mouth, and he swallowed the sound greedily.

“You think I’ll just stand there while someone else imagines how you sound when you come?” he rasped, voice like smoke. “Not a fucking chance.”

You didn’t get a chance to answer.

He spun you, pressing your back to the wall, grinding his hips into yours so you felt just how hard he was. Every line of his body screamed restraint — but it was unraveling fast.

“Sylus—”

“You’re mine,” he growled, mouth against your ear, one hand trailing down your side, over the swell of your ass. “Say it.”

You swallowed, breathing fast. “I’m yours.”

His teeth grazed your shoulder, not gently.

And then he was everywhere, hands pushing up your dress, lips trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck as he shoved your panties aside. His fingers brushed through your folds, and he hissed.

“Dripping for me,” he muttered, smirking against your throat. “You like it when I get like this.”

You gasped as he slid two fingers inside you — thick, deep, curling just right. You bucked into his hand, shameless already, grinding against him.

“That’s it,” he murmured. “Be greedy for it. I want to feel how bad you need me.”

You moaned, breath stuttering as his thumb found your clit and started tight, perfect circles. The pressure built fast, too fast, your thighs shaking, your voice caught in your throat.

But then he stopped.

You whined, frustrated — hips jerking forward, chasing friction.

He chuckled darkly, lips brushing your ear. “Not yet. You don’t get to come until you mean it.”

“Mean what?” you panted, eyes wild.

“That you’re mine.” He reached around and unzipped his pants, dragging his cock against your slick heat teasingly. “All the way. Not just when it feels good.”

You looked back at him — flushed, half-dazed, aching. “I’m yours, Sylus.”

His eyes blazed.

And then he was inside you.

One hard thrust — deep, brutal — and your mouth fell open in a silent scream. He didn’t give you time to adjust. Just pulled out and slammed in again, setting a pace that was fast, relentless, perfect.

You braced against the wall, moaning, gasping, crying out his name as he pounded into you — thick and heavy and everywhere.

“That’s it,” he growled, voice low and vicious. “Let them hear you. Let them all fucking hear how good I fuck what’s mine.”

You shattered.

No warning, no buildup — just white heat and pleasure so sharp it tore a scream from your throat. You clenched around him, whole body convulsing, and Sylus groaned, slamming in harder, deeper, his rhythm breaking.

“Gonna fill you up,” he rasped. “Gonna mark you from the inside out.”

You moaned his name, and he followed — hips grinding deep as he came, hot and thick inside you, holding you so tight you thought he might bruise your hips.

You were still gasping when he pulled out of you, slow, deliberate — and the heat of him spilled down your thigh, warm and obscene.

You tried to catch your breath, head falling back against the wall, but Sylus didn’t move away. Didn’t even give you space to think.

He leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours, breath ragged. His voice was quieter now, rough around the edges. “I should stop.”

You blinked, dazed. “Then why haven’t you?”

He smirked.

Because you both knew the answer.

He gripped your jaw, angling your face toward his. “You let him touch your arm,” he murmured, like he was still tasting that fact on his tongue. “Let him lean in. You smiled for him.”

Your chest rose and fell — fast, desperate. “It didn’t mean anything.”

“Then you won’t mind if I fuck you until it does.”

That growl in his voice made your pussy clench all over again.

Without warning, he dropped to his knees in front of you, hands dragging your thighs apart, fingers digging into your skin hard enough to leave marks. He looked up once, green eyes stormy with hunger.

Then he devoured you.

Not gentle. Not teasing. His mouth was wet heat and filthy precision, tongue flicking and circling your clit with sharp, relentless purpose. You cried out, hips jerking, trying to squirm away from the overstimulation, but his grip on your thighs tightened, holding you in place like a man possessed.

“You don’t get to run,” he muttered between licks, voice vibrating straight through your cunt. “Not from this. Not from me.”

You were already so raw, every nerve electric, and now he was dragging you back up the edge — fast, merciless. You were moaning like a damn prayer, head thrown back, hands in his hair, thighs shaking around his head.

He sucked your clit hard, once, twice — and you came again with a sob, pleasure so sharp it bordered on pain. Your knees nearly buckled, but he caught you, hands firm under your thighs as he kept eating you through it.

“Fuck—Sylus—sensitive, I can’t—”

“Yes,” he growled, standing again, towering over you now, voice harsh and hungry. “You can. You will.”

He shoved his pants lower again, cock already hard, again, and this time, he didn’t even bother positioning you.

He manhandled you onto the nearest velvet lounge, pulled your legs open wide, and slid back inside with one brutal thrust that made you scream.

No warm-up. No restraint.

Just raw, unforgiving heat.

He fucked you like he needed to ruin you, like nothing short of breaking you open would be enough to satisfy the jealousy still burning under his skin. His grip bruised your hips, his pace punishing, deep, his pelvis grinding against your overstimulated clit with every stroke.

“You’re mine,” he snarled, eyes locked on yours, sweat slick on his brow. “Say it again. Scream it.”

“I’m yours,” you gasped, head falling back.

“Louder.”

You cried out, voice cracking. “I’m yours, Sylus—fuck, I’m yours!”

He slapped your thigh — not hard, just enough to make you jolt. “Don’t you forget it.”

You were close again, ridiculously fast — his cock hitting every perfect spot, his hand reaching down to rub your clit again despite the tears pricking at your eyes from the intensity.

“Come on my cock,” he demanded, voice a low snarl. “One more. I want to feel you break.”

You shattered.

Your whole body bowed off the lounge, legs locking around him as your orgasm slammed through you — harder than the last, deep and full and wrecking. Your vision blurred. You sobbed his name.

He groaned like a man unhinged and slammed into you once, twice, deep — then came with a guttural sound, hips grinding into you, his seed spilling inside you for the second time. Hot. Heavy. Claiming.

But he didn’t move.

Didn’t pull out.

Just stayed inside you, panting hard against your neck, arms around you like he needed to anchor himself.

You were both trembling, breathless.

“I need you to know something,” he whispered against your skin, voice quieter now, but still sharp. “That I will not share. Not even your attention. Not your smile. Not a fucking glance.”

You turned your face toward his, blinking through the heat and fog. “Then keep reminding me like this.”

His lips brushed yours.

“I will.”

masterlist

taglist : @etsuniiru @kyokoyya @i-messed-up-big-time @firefly1103 @gracekerzzz @mcdepressed290 @sylusgirlie7 @plzdonutpercieveme @m00nchildwrites

[heavenlybodies333]

I’ll be a Good Girl in Hell - M.R. & T.N

part 1 here

good things come in threes—especially you

The shower was supposed to help.

Steam curled around you, hot water cascading down your spine, but it did nothing to erase the evidence Mattheo had left behind—dark bruises painting your throat, your collarbones, the swell of your breasts. You cursed under your breath, fingers pressing into the sore marks in a feeble attempt to rub them away. Needed to cover this shit up before Theo saw. You hadn’t meant to drop that truth on Mattheo like that.

The smugness in his face when he thought he was your first, the cocky little smirk like he’d won something, only for you to completely shatter his ego. His face had shifted in real-time, it had been fucking priceless. You wished you had a Pensieve to relive it over and over.

You pulled your towel tighter around yourself and leaned closer to the mirror, dabbing concealer over the worst of it. It wasn’t enough. Fuck. You were already late to breakfast as it was, Enzo was probably just now rolling out of bed, but at least he didn’t have to worry about being hunted for sport first thing in the morning.

Meanwhile, in the Great Hall, Mattheo was in the middle of a different kind of hell.

Mattheo sat stiffly, forcing himself to focus on his food while across from him, Theo and Draco were locked in some intense Quidditch strategy debate. Blaise was muttering something about fucking Chasers, and Enzo was running late—probably just waking up now, the lazy bastard.

But Mattheo barely heard any of it. His mind was elsewhere.

More specifically?

He was thinking about you.

Your legs wrapped around his waist. Your nails digging into his skin. The sounds you made, the way you came apart for him—

And that fucking bombshell you dropped after.

"Did you really think I’d lose my virginity to you?"

His jaw ticked. Because the answer was yes. He had thought that. You sold it perfectly—the hesitation, the wide eyes, the fucking tightness—but you hadn’t. You’d already lost it to Theo.

And Mattheo had to sit across from him right now and act normal.

Fuck.

"Oi, you get laid last night?"

Mattheo’s fork froze mid-air.

Theo’s voice was casual, teasing, like it was just another morning, just another question. His sharp gaze flicked down to Mattheo’s collar—where, fuck, maybe a little bruise was peeking out—and then he smirked down at his plate, laughing as he loaded on more food.

Mattheo forced himself to relax, to breathe, to fucking play it cool.

He rolled his shoulders back, feigning nonchalance. "Some Slytherin legacy," he lied smoothly. "Sixth year. I forgot her name."

Theo snorted, "Merlin, must’ve been some girl if she’s got your neck looking like that."

Mattheo needed to redirect. He needed to know.

"So," he started, voice casual. "She’s really a virgin?"

Theo arched a brow, chewing thoughtfully. Then, after swallowing, he shook his head, a smirk playing at his lips.

"Nah," he said, tone smug. "Her and I were each other’s firsts."

And just like that, Mattheo felt his stomach drop.

Fuck. He had known the answer. You had told him. But hearing it from Theo’s mouth? That was something else.

And Theo knew it.

Satisfaction gleamed in his sharp eyes as he leaned back, clearly relishing the moment, clearly enjoying the way Mattheo’s jaw ticked.

"She was so wet," Theo continued, voice dipping into something almost reminiscent, smug and taunting. "When I ate her out, she does this thing—" he exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "She’ll try to push you away as soon as she’s about to cum. So fucking hot."

Mattheo gripped his fork tighter.

Blaise let out a low chuckle. "mate, you’re gonna make Riddle choke on his food."

Draco snorted and Theo just smirked.

"Nah, he’s good," he said, eyes still on Mattheo, reading everything in his expression.

But Mattheo forced his face into neutrality, kept his lips curled into a mocking smirk, as if he wasn’t internally seething.

"She can cum more than once, too," Theo continued, taking a bite. "First time we fucked—"

Mattheo froze.

First time?

So it wasn’t just a one-time thing?

Oh, fuck that.

Theo was still talking, oblivious to the way Mattheo’s eye twitched. "Didn’t last long—first time and all—but mate, the time after that? And after that?" Theo let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "She can last all night."

Mattheo clenched his jaw, forcing himself to smirk, forcing himself to nod, to act like he wasn’t visualizing slamming Theo’s face into the fucking table.

That comment. That fucking comment.

Because last night, you had looked him dead in the eye and laughed, mean and pretty, and said—Next time, try lasting longer. And now? Now he knew.

It had been Theo.

And not just once.

Fucking multiple times.

Mattheo forced himself to exhale, to calm the fuck down. He was not going to let Theo see that this was getting to him. He was not going to let his ego take that hit.

But fuck.

Fuck.

He couldn’t stop picturing it now—the visual of you under Theo, back arching, thighs trembling, mouth parted around desperate moans—

His nails dug into his palm.

Theo grinned, clearly enjoying himself. "What about you, mate?"

Mattheo blinked, snapping himself out of it. "What?"

Theo gestured at his collar. "Your sixth-year legacy. She good?"

Mattheo smirked laughing,"Wouldn’t you like to know?"

Theo laughed. "Not really. I doubt she can take it like our girl can."

Our girl.

Mattheo’s grip tightened.

And then, as if the universe really fucking hated him—you walked in.

Late, as always, hair still damp from your shower, your lips slightly swollen from where you’d been chewing on them, collar high but not high enough.

Theo’s gaze flickered up, locking onto you immediately.

Mattheo could feel the moment his friend’s eyes landed on the faint bruises still peeking out from your throat.

His smirk froze as his eyes narrowed.

And then—like the smug bastard he was—he leaned back in his chair, lips curling into something wicked.

“Well, well,” Theo mused, dragging his tongue over his teeth. “Looks like somebody had a long night.”

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to move as casually as possible toward your usual seat next to Theo. If you acted normal, maybe—just maybe—you could brush past this.

"Sorry, overslept," you lied smoothly, grabbing a piece of toast.

"Mm," Theo hummed, swirling his spoon in his coffee. "Overslept? Or overworked?"

Your stomach dropped.

Blaise, catching onto the tension, looked between you and Theo, then at Mattheo, who was still suspiciously quiet. Draco, as always, seemed unfazed, focused on some Quidditch play he was detailing, but even he seemed to sense that something was brewing.

You forced a laugh, shoving a bite of toast into your mouth as if that would somehow defuse the situation. "What are you on about?"

Theo leaned forward, his voice dropping just enough for only you and Mattheo to hear. "Y’know, you’re usually good at covering them," he mused, reaching out to flick the collar of your robe. "Usually.”

Shit.

Mattheo's entire body went rigid beside you. You didn’t dare look at him.

Theo, oblivious to the storm he was about to unleash, grinned before taking a sip of his coffee. “So, who was it?”

You blinked. “What?”

“Who left those pretty little marks on you?” Theo asked, tilting his head, voice edged with something dangerously close to amusement. “Because it wasn’t me.”

Silence.

Mattheo finally spoke, his voice low, smooth—but laced with something sharp beneath it.

“You sure about that, mate?”

Theo’s grin faltered.

You sucked in a breath, stomach twisting.

Oh, fuck.

For the first time, Theo actually looked at Mattheo—really looked at him. He took in the barely-hidden tension in his jaw, the way his fingers tapped against the table with practiced patience, his brown eyes darker than usual.

Then, realization hit.

Theo’s smirk dropped completely.

His head snapped back to you, eyes narrowing, searching, flickering between your bruised throat and Mattheo’s lazy posture. His gaze dragged down to Mattheo’s shirt collar—barely unbuttoned but just enough to catch the faintest hint of red scratches near his neck.

He laughed.

A dry, disbelieving laugh as he ran a hand through his hair. “You didn’t.”

You stayed silent.

Mattheo, on the other hand, simply leaned back in his seat, smirking now—full of smug arrogance. "Guess we have more in common than I thought."

Theo’s jaw clenched.

"You're joking," Theo muttered, shaking his head, the disbelief quickly being replaced by something else—something closer to irritation.

Mattheo tilted his head, fake innocence dripping from his voice. “Why would I joke about that?”

Blaise muttered something under his breath, looking like he definitely did not want to be here right now. Draco, finally cluing into the situation, raised a single brow but wisely stayed silent.

You could feel the tension crackling between the two boys.

Theo scoffed. "Since when do you fuck leftovers, Riddle?"

Blaise choked on his pumpkin juice.

Mattheo barely reacted, only tapping his fingers against the table once before exhaling a soft chuckle. "Leftovers?" he repeated. "That’s funny. She didn’t seem too full last night."

Theo’s eyes flashed.

Your heart dropped.

"Oh, really?" Theo drawled, his smirk back, but this one was meaner—sharper. “Let me guess, she did that thing where she pretends she can’t take any more but really wants you to keep going?” He clicked his tongue. "Cute, isn't it?"

Mattheo's smirk faltered as Theo grinned.

Checkmate.

You, meanwhile, were trying very, very hard to pretend like the ground might just swallow you whole.

Blaise sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “Can the two of you not have a dick-measuring contest at breakfast?”

“Not my fault,” Theo said, leaning back, arms crossed. “I just think it’s hilarious that he thought she was a virgin.”

Mattheo’s smirk disappeared entirely.

“Oh, he did?” Blaise mused, suddenly interested.

Theo nodded, clearly enjoying himself now. “Oh, yeah. He thought he was the first to break her in.” He turned back to Mattheo, feigning concern. “Was she good for you, mate? Or did she already know exactly how to take it?”

A muscle in Mattheo’s jaw twitched.

Theo grinned wider, leaning in closer, voice taunting. "Guess I did teach her well."

Mattheo moved so fast, you barely registered it.

One second, he was seated. The next, he had grabbed Theo’s collar, yanking him forward until their faces were inches apart.

"Say that again," Mattheo spat, voice eerily calm.

Theo didn’t even flinch. Instead, he laughed, low and cocky, eyes flickering toward you before settling back on Mattheo.

“What’s the matter?” Theo was smug. “Can’t handle the fact that she was already mine before you even touched her?”

Mattheo’s grip tightened.

Your stomach twisted.

Draco sighed. “For fuck’s sake.”

"Alright, alright, break it up,” Blaise muttered, reaching out to push Mattheo back slightly. “You two are gonna start swinging, and I swear, I am not in the mood to watch you get detention over this.”

Mattheo finally let go, shoving Theo back roughly before exhaling through his nose, nostrils flaring.

Theo smoothed his collar, clearly pleased with himself.

You, however, were done.

Slamming your fork down, you stood abruptly, grabbing your bag. "Both of you," you snapped, voice low but sharp. "Get your fucking egos in check." leaving the great hall more pissed than ever.

You slammed the door to your dorm behind you, heart still hammering in your chest.

Fucking idiots.

You couldn’t believe them—Theo, with his smug little taunts, practically poking Mattheo just to piss him off, and Mattheo, falling for it like an arrogant, possessive prick.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of your robe, tugging it off with more force than necessary. You weren’t even fully undressed before the door swung open behind you.

“Seriously?”Mattheo’s voice was dark, low—dangerous.

You didn’t turn around, just rolled your eyes, tossing your robe onto your bed. “If you came here to throw a tantrum, Mattheo, I’m not in the mood.”

He scoffed. “Oh, you’re not in the mood?”

You arched a brow. “What was that?”

Mattheo took a step forward, and you instinctively took one back. “Theo just sits there, talking about you like you’re some trophy he won, and you don’t even flinch?”

“You do the same shit,” you shot back. “Don’t pretend like your ego wasn’t bruised the second you found out you weren’t the first to fuck me.”

His jaw clenched. “Does he know you came for me last night? Does he know how wet you were for me?”

Before you could open your mouth, another voice cut through the tension.

“D’you two always argue like this after fucking?”

Your head snapped toward the door.

Theo leaned against the frame, arms crossed, an easy smirk tugging at his lips. Unlike Mattheo, he still looked completely composed—like he had walked in expecting this exact moment.

Mattheo didn’t move, just exhaled through his nose. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

Theo shrugged. “Call it curiosity. I wanted to see what had you so riled up after breakfast.” His gaze flickered to you, slow and deliberate, eyes dragging over your half-undone uniform. “Looks like I found my answer.”

He walked towards the both of you with an eased slowness that made your pulse spike.

"You’re gonna fix it."

Your breath hitched.

"Fix it?" you echoed, voice dangerously light.

Theo leaned in, mouth brushing your ear.

"You’re gonna let us both fuck you."

The room shrank. Your heart slammed against your ribs, a wild staccato of disbelief and arousal. Theo’s presence behind you was suffocating, his fingertips ghosting over the nape of your neck. You could feel the heat radiating off him, the tension simmering between the three of you so thick it left you lightheaded.

“You wanna fix it, don’t you?” Theo’s voice was honeyed sin, coaxing. “You wanna make it up to us.”

Theo pressed closer from behind, his body solid against yours, a quiet hum of approval slipping from his throat. “Come on, princess. Be a good girl and say it.”

Your breath hitched, heart hammering against your ribs. You should say no. You should push them away, leave them standing there with their smug smirks and dangerous eyes.

But you wouldn’t. Because you wanted this.

You swallowed. “You two can’t go five minutes without trying to kill each other,” you said, but your voice lacked conviction.

Theo hummed. “That’s part of the fun.”

Then, Mattheo finally spoke. “You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?”

Your breath hitched. “Thinking about what?”

He stepped closer, backing you against the wall, his voice dropping to a whisper. “How it would feel.”

You could lie. You could push them away. But the way they were looking at you—Mattheo’s gaze dark and commanding, Theo’s filled with knowing amusement—you knew they wouldn’t believe you.

Your lips parted. No sound came out.

Theo chuckled. "That’s what I thought."

Mattheo's grip slid from your chin down to your throat, squeezing just enough to make your breath hitch. "Use your words, sweetheart," he murmured, voice low and rough.

Your thighs clenched.

Fuck.

"Both," you finally admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

Theo’s fingers gripped your waist, yanking you flush against him. His hard cock pressed into the curve of your ass through his trousers, and he knew you could feel it. “You have no fucking idea what you just agreed to, princess,” he murmured against your ear, voice dark and dripping with promise.

Mattheo’s fingers curled under your chin, forcing you to look at him. His mouth crashed against yours, devouring you, his hands already working on the buttons of your blouse. Theo’s hands fisted in your hair, tugging your head back so he could watch. “So fucking needy,” he muttered.

Your blouse hit the floor.

Theo turned you in his grip, claiming your lips this time, his tongue sliding against yours in a filthy, desperate kiss. Mattheo’s hands were rough as they gripped your waist, sliding down to your skirt, yanking the fabric up over your hips.

“Fuck,” Mattheo growled. “She’s soaked.”

Your breath hitched as he dragged his fingers over the damp lace of your panties, pressing down just enough to make you whimper.

Mattheo groaned, fingers curling under the waistband of your panties, ripping them down your legs.

You gasped. “Mattheo—”

“Shut the fuck up,” he growled, shoving you back against Theo. “Get on the bed.”

Theo grabbed your waist, manhandling you onto the mattress, flipping you onto your stomach. His hands gripped your hips, dragging you up onto your knees.

Theo’s belt hit the floor with a heavy thud, his sharp gaze locked on you as he shoved his trousers down just enough to free himself. His cock stood thick and flushed, a bead of precum glistening at the tip as he stroked himself lazily.

“Open your mouth, princess.”

Your breath hitched, but you obeyed, your lips parting as he guided himself forward. His fingers tangled in your hair, holding you steady as he slid between your lips, hissing at the warmth of your mouth around him.

“That’s it,” Theo murmured, his voice low, rough. “Just like that.”

Behind you, Mattheo’s hands gripped your hips, his body flush against yours as he guided his cock through your soaked folds, teasing you with shallow, taunting thrusts.

“Fuck,” he groaned. “You’re still so tight, baby. Thought Theo would’ve stretched you out by now.”

You whimpered around Theo’s cock, the sound making him curse, his fingers tightening in your hair.

Theo groaned. “She’s always tight.”

Mattheo exhaled a laugh, then thrust into you all at once.

A whimper tore from your throat, muffled around Theo’s cock as Mattheo filled you to the hilt, stretching you open with one deep stroke. Your nails dug into Theo’s thighs, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as you struggled to adjust to the overwhelming fullness.

“Fuck,” Theo gritted, his head tipping back. “You feel that, Riddle? Feel how she’s squeezing you?”

Mattheo groaned, fingers bruising your hips as he pulled back and slammed into you again. “Tight as fuck.”

They set a rhythm that had you unraveling too fast, Theo’s slow thrusts in your mouth syncing with Mattheo’s brutal pace behind you. Your body rocked between them, pleasure blinding, each snap of Mattheo’s hips sending you forward onto Theo’s cock.

Tears streaked down your cheeks as Theo wiped a thumb across your cheekbone, his smirk sharp as he forced you to take him deeper.

“Look at you,” Theo murmured. “So desperate for it.”

Mattheo’s hand cracked against your ass, making you yelp around Theo, your walls clenching hard around Mattheo’s cock.

“Oh, she likes that,” Mattheo taunted, slamming into you harder, deeper. Theo laughed, guiding your head up and down his length, groaning as your throat tightened around him. “Gonna cum for us, princess?”

You moaned in response, your body tightening, teetering dangerously close to the edge. Mattheo could feel it, too, his grip becoming bruising as he fucked you harder, his rhythm growing erratic.

“That’s it,” Mattheo groaned. “Cum for us.”

The orgasm slammed into you, a choked cry leaving your lips as your body shook, pleasure crashing over you in thick, hot waves.

“Fuck, that’s it,” Theo growled, his own restraint snapping as he buried himself deep, his cock pulsing as he came, his grip on your hair tightening as he held you still, spilling down your throat.

Mattheo was seconds behind, slamming into you one last time before he groaned your name, his fingers digging into your hips as he emptied himself inside you, warmth spilling deep.

Theo was the first to move, slipping from your mouth with a satisfied hum, swiping his thumb across your lips to gather the last remnants of himself before pushing it back into your mouth.

“Good girl,” he praised.

Mattheo pulled out with a groan, his hands shaky as he slid his fingers over your hips, pulling you back against him for a slow kiss on your neck. Theo’s chest heaved, his gaze fixed on you as he caught his breath, still trying to get control of his own erratic pulse.

Mattheo and Theo had collapsed beside you, catching their breath, fucked-out and satisfied. You looked up at them both, your body tingling from the aftershocks, eyes half-lidded, cheeks flushed.

You licked your lips, letting the silence settle for a moment before humming softly, tilting your head.

“That’s all you got?”

Theo barked out a laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Are you serious?”

Mattheo lifted his head, eyes dark, jaw clenching. “You’re pushing it, princess.”

Your lips curled. “yeah well it was cute.”

Mattheo narrowed his eyes. “Cute?” he repeated, voice laced with something dangerous.

You stretched out, making a show of it, skin still burning from where they had touched you. “Yeah. Real cute. You boys put in a good effort.”

Theo snorted, shaking his head. Mattheo, though? He leaned in, gripping your chin between his fingers, “Princess,” he murmured, voice all gravel and threat. “You’re gonna wanna shut the fuck up.”

Your grin was wicked.

“Oh?” you purred. “Or what? You’ll fuck me properly next time?”

Theo let out a low whistle, dragging a hand down his face. “Fuck, you’re insane.”

Well this had been fun, but now you were done. Sitting up, massaging your neck slowly, voice flat, uninterested.

"Alright. Time’s up. Get the fuck out."

Mattheo’s grin twitched. Theo barely reacted, just tilting his head like he was waiting for you to crack a smile.

"You’re serious?" Theo muttered, sitting up.

You gave him the most unimpressed look known to man.

"You thought I was gonna fall asleep in your arms or some shit?"

Mattheo’s jaw clenched, running a hand through his messy curls. "You’re actually throwing us out."

You barely spared him a glance.

"Clothes are over there. Door’s right there. Don’t make me say it again."

Theo let out a sharp laugh, shaking his head as he stood, stretching like this was all some big joke. “Unbelievable,” he muttered, grabbing his shirt off the floor.

Mattheo, though? He wasn’t laughing. He stayed put, gaze burning into you like he was trying to decipher some hidden meaning in your words.

You met his stare, arching a brow. “What?” feigning innocence as trailed your finger down his sweat slicked chest.

Mattheo scoffed, shoving your hand away before grabbing his shirt off the floor. “You’re a fucking nightmare.”

Theo, already at the door, sighed. “Alright, lover boy, let’s go before she bruises your ego any more.”

Mattheo lingered for a second longer, eyes raking over you, searching for something—anything—that suggested you might be playing at indifference. But you just stared back, cool, unreadable.

With a low curse, he turned on his heel, yanking the door open. “You know where to find us,” he tossed over his shoulder.

You didn’t reply. Didn’t watch them leave. Satisfied with yourself, already reaching for a cigarette on the nightstand.

Boys. So fucking easy.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

a/n: i regret nothing

ᴅɪᴠɪᴅᴇʀ ���ʀᴇᴅ: @ꜱᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀɢʀᴀᴘʜɪᴄꜱ

MASTERLIST

[nekonaps0]

TWST boys drunk around their girlfriend pt3

✦part1 part2

✦characters: second years +Cater Diamond, Trey Clover, Rook Hunt, Lilia Vanrouge 

Ruggie Bucchi

Drunk Ruggie is a flirty menace and total cuddlebug. Normally a bit guarded, liquor makes him extra affectionate and slightly mischievous.

“Awww, c’mere, babe. You’re soft. Softer than those stupid NRC bedsheets… you smell like home.”

He’ll drape himself around you like a lazy housecat, pepper you with lazy kisses and try to convince you to run away with him—tonight. Between soft nips at your neck and sleepy giggles, he might mumble:

“Dunno how I got you, but I ain’t lettin’ go.”

Bonus: He tries to pickpocket people just for fun, then gives you everything he stole like they're gifts.

Jade Leech

Drunk Jade is weirdly poetic, creepily calm, and very touchy. He doesn’t look drunk, but the things that come out of his mouth? Wild.

“You… are a delicate specimen. Beautiful. Fascinating. I would bottle the scent of your skin if I could.”

He gently brushes your cheek, tucks hair behind your ear, and smiles a little too serenely. He might start talk about how he’d follow you to the ends of the ocean—and you won’t be sure if he’s joking.

“If I disappear beneath the waves, would you follow me? Or let me drown with your name on my lips?”

The drunker he gets, the more romantic (and vaguely ominous) he becomes.

Floyd Leech

Drunk Floyd is LOUD, clingy, and mood-swingy. One second he's giggling into your neck, the next he’s threatening to fight a lamp.

“Shrimpyyyyy~! You’re soooo cuuuute, I could just squeeze you until you pop!”

He’ll carry you around bridal style just for fun, try to get you to dance with him, and won't stop kissing (more like biting) your cheeks. If someone even looks at you wrong, his smile vanishes.

“Wanna see what happens when someone touches what’s mine~?”

He can be both terrifying and incredibly sweet, especially when he quiets down and mumbles:

“You make me feel soft. Weird, huh?”

Jamil Viper

Drunk Jamil is dangerously smooth and surprisingly unguarded. He keeps it together at first, calm voice, measured expressions, but then the walls start crumbling.

“You're always looking at everyone else… but never notice how I look at you.”

He gets intensely romantic when he’s tipsy. Pulling you closer, trailing fingers along your arm, voice low and warm. There’s a fire in his eyes he usually hides.

“It’s exhausting pretending I don’t want more. But maybe tonight, I’ll stop pretending.”

You’ll hear truths he’d never say sober. He’ll flirt like a pro, but you’ll feel the emotion under it, deep and dangerous.

Trey Clover

Drunk Trey is a flirty gentleman with a chaotic edge. His nice guy persona remains intact… but now he’s openly flirting, way too smooth for his own good.

“You always smell like something sweet. It’s kinda unfair, really. Makes me want a bite.”

He gets close, murmurs compliments in your ear, and keeps offering you drinks just to watch you get giggly. But if you get too tipsy, he switches into responsible caretaker mode in an instant, firm but gentle.

“Alright, sweetheart. Time for water. And no, don’t pout. You can pout at me after I carry you home.”

Cater Diamond

Drunk Cater is EXTRA. He wants couple selfies, matching filters, and to tell everyone how obsessed he is with you.

“#DrunkInLoveWithMyGF — you’re going viral, bae!”

He clings to you, dances with you, tries to kiss you in public, and gets jealous of literally everyone… including the bartender.

“Why are they lookin’ at you like that?! You’re my sweet thing. Mine mine mine~!”

Somewhere between a lovesick teenager and a dramatic influencer. He’ll cry if you kiss his forehead.

Rook Hunt

Drunk Rook is poetic chaos incarnate. He’ll cry over how “transcendent” your laughter is.

“Mon amour, you glimmer brighter than the full moon’s reflection on the dark sea…”

He’ll stroke your face like you're a renaissance painting, quote poetry, and randomly yell “VIVE L’AMOUR!!” from the rooftops. Drunk Rook is a whirlwind of beauty, drama, and obsession.

“I would let your love pierce my heart like an arrow. Happily.”

Silver

Drunk Silver is sleepy, affectionate, and gentle as ever. He doesn’t handle alcohol well. Within ten minutes he’s curled up against you like a warm, snoring blanket.

“Mmh… You’re warm… Like a dream… hope I don’t wake up.”

He’ll hold your hand, mumble soft praises, and fall asleep mid sentence. He sleep talks adorably. Sometimes confessing deep feelings he’d be too shy to say awake.

“Love you… Even if you forget me…”

You might cry. He’s just so deam soft and sweet.

Lilia Vanrouge

Drunk Lilia is chaotic, teasing, and weirdly seductive. He drinks like a champ (he’s centuries old, after all), and when he’s tipsy, he gets more playful than ever.

“Careful, darling. I’m not responsible for what happens if you keep looking at me like that~”

He’ll dance with you, flirt outrageously, and maybe even kiss you dramatically while dipping you like a scene from an old romance movie. But under all that mischief is sincere affection.

“You’re my greatest joy in this long life… Let me have this night, just you and me.”

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

Writing with Rook is HARD i swear! but i love my little blond boy <3

[k-aemi]

nagi seishiro ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ its not that deep

no warning me thinks, little angst(?), fluff

boyfriend!nagi wouldnt even notice that hes hurting you unintentionally, he wouldnt know how to be a boyfriend, its his first relationship.

youre lying in bed—wrapped in his arms as he plays his games. youre quiet, just scrolling through your photos, at you and nagi. its funny because whenever you took the photos you took ten of them, but when you asked nagi, hed only take one, some of them were even blurry.

"you ever look at these?" holding up the phone so he can see.

"mm... no. i dont like photos of myself." nagi squints, taking a short glance at the photos before returning his attention on his game.

"oh," you say, your lips pressing into a thin line before continuing to scroll. "well, i like to. makes me feel like im part of your life. even when you dont... do much." your chest tightens.

nagi only lets out a hum, its not a yes, not a no. he taps his screen again and you frown. its like he didnt even acknowledge you. you turn his phone face down.

"nagi," you call out his name softly. "when was the last time you said you loved me?" your hands fall on is chest.

he blinks, dumbfounded by your question. his pauses mid-game, before thinking. "i dunno. i thought you already knew."

"thats not the point."

he looks at you—lazy eyes narrowing. "then what is the point?"

you sat up, face serious and eyes lowering. "you never try," your voice raises. "you dont plan dates, you dont say sweet things to me, and you dont notice when im upset unless i say it. i feel like im just here because its easy for you."

nagi slowly sits up too, with a confused expression planted on his face. "that isnt true, youre the only person i let stay like this with me. that means something doesnt it?" he asks genuinely.

"thats not love, just convenience." your chest heavy as you stared at him.

nagis still confused, not understanding the weight of the situation here. "i dont get it, were together. why does it have to be so complicated?" his tone still flat as ever, and it only makes you snap.

"because im not something you can just lie on top of me like a couch and call that love."

silence fills the room with just that, he opens his mouth to say something but nothing ever came. he doesnt know what to do, he was always good with games and goals, not people.

"i didnt mean to make you feel that way."

after that day you didnt want to text him, you wouldnt try if he didnt want to. you waited until he text.

nagi doesnt think nothing of it when you dont bother to text him, he just thinks youre asleep or busy. so hes back to his game.

the next day he still got nothing. you havent posted on your story, or send at least one meme to him. which was weird.

he taps on their last conversation, you left him on read. no message from you. he rereads what he said.

nagi 6:34pm "cool. cya then"

he doesnt see anything wrong, it was a normal response.

nagi on the fourth really thinks about it now. okay maybe you are potentially mad. but about what?

its a hassel to think this hard. did he forget something, say something off? hes scrolling through the old messages and everything looks normal.

your daily "i miss you"s, his lazy response of "same"s. you sending a selfie of yourself, hoping for a "you look pretty" but just a heart reaction and nothing else. hes confused, he always done that, so what changed?

after a week he caves in.

nagi 7:23am "hey"

but there was no reply form you.

two days later with no reply, he texts again.

nagi 1:43am "u good?" "did i do smth?" "tell me."

he just stares at the screen that lit the dark room, delivered. not read.

he doesnt know what to do, youre not responding to him. its quiet in his room. too quiet. and for the first time in a long time, he really cant focus. not on his games, on his phone, anything.

every time he entered in a match hed lose the motivation to just continue, or hed have a losing streak which would make him a bit frustrated.

another couple days later, hes spamming. flat, sort messages, to see if you were still there.

nagi 9:12am "yo" "helloo" "seriously?" "this is annoying." "y arent u saying anything?"

no message, he doesnt send one. he just lies on his bed, pone clutced to his chest, scrolling through old photos of you and him. you smiling, silly faces, and ones of you half asleep.

he misses your voice. he misses you saying things hed never respond to, but always heard. he can only sigh before he closes his eyes.

"if you dont text back soon, i think ill actually go crazy."

its a hassle.

no texts, no calls, no nothing. he doesnt like it, his chest tightens. he just thought of you as moody. but now its like youre gone. he doesnt know what to do, so of course he searches what to do.

"what to do if ur gf ignores u"

top results said: buy her favorite things: "show her youre thinking of her, bring flowers, candy, cute keychains and apologize. communicate with her."

nagi just reads, advice after advice.

"...lame." he sighs, shutting his phone off before putting on his shoes to head out.

hes at your place now. at least carrying five different kinds of snacks you like, your favorite drink, and a cheap bouquet from the grocery store flowers because apparently boyfriends do that.

he looks ridiculous carrying that much stuff in his arms, he doesnt even know how long he stands in front of your door before knocking. he almost walked away twice.

and there you were, hair messy and expression unreadable. you were wearing his hoodie that he had left at your place, way too big on you.

you blink, seeing nagi holding a bunch of...things.

he has to tilt his head to look at you.

"ah. you havent talked to me in weeks. so i brought this." you just stare. the silence is heavy and hes having second thoughts about this.

"... you like these, right?" he mumbles. its still silent.

youre just shocked right now, you didnt even know nagi would take the effort to actually do all this stuff, but considering it took him about two weeks still made you upset.

"i do sei." you give a light smile, face buried in his hoodie.

his eyes widen slightly but wrapping his arms around her slow and firm.

"can you tell me next time?"

"yeah."

"okay," he says. "then ill fix it."

even after that day, he still doesnt understand feelings, but he does understand reactions.

its when youre hanging out with him in his room, laying besides him while he plays games again. you got yourself a new dress and did your makeup the other day and wanted to show him.

"sei look." you showed him the photo of the self-photo selfie you took. "what do you think?!" you say excitedly, you thought you looked really good in this one, like your features were more enhanced with the dress.

he barely glances at it. "looks the same as your other ones." he goes back to his game. he didnt mean it like in a cruel way, he just said it like its a fact.

the second those words leaves his mouth, he can see the way your smile faltered.

"oh. yeah i guess so." you pull your phone back slowly, flipping to the other side. your back facing him now.

he didnt think anything of it at first, he just went back to his game. its been a while since he hasnt heard your voice, usually youre just talking to him about random things you see on the internet or a random story you remembered.

its not until his head perked up from the silent cries and sniffles coming from you. he turns his head to your figure.

"...are you crying?" you only shake your head.

"wait—what did i do..?" he asked with his voice soft, he still didnt even realize what he had done. his chest tightens, the silence was loud. he pauses the game, sitting up with his hand placing on your shoulder, shaking you a bit.

"did i say something wrong?" you wipe your eyes with your sleeves.

"forget it." nagi just stares, its suffocating to see you like this. he thinks hard. was it the photo you were mad about? he didnt know what he had said to make you sad.

he shifts closer to you awkwardly.

"wanna play a game with me?" holding his phone up to your face, only for you to swat his hand away with no response.

"ill let you pick." still nothing. his voice only gets quieter.

"you can have the good controller." still nothing from you. he doesnt know what to do. hes offering games to you, and asking what he did wrong, but youre just not responding.

he limps back on his bed, the bed bounces you and him as he stares at the ceiling. he looks to his side, your back still faces him and he sighs.

he takes his phone out, inches away from his face, completely clueless. he types into the search bar:

"how to be a boyfriend."

he thinks about it before rewording it.

"how to make ur gf not mad anymore"

deleting it once again, finally settling on:

"things boyfriends do in relationships"

and the results are very... overwhelming. dates, compliments, talking. so much talking.

"ask about her day"

"hold her hand"

"hug her out of nowhere"

"tell her shes pretty even if she looks tired."

"...weird." he whispers to himself with a squint.

he scrolls down, reading a few threads, which some of them sound exhausting. he always seemed to notice a common pattern upon them. every single answer had one thing—effort, something the lazy boy very much hated.

without a word he slides an arm around your waist. so casually as if he had always done this. pulling you in close to him while he still reads what to do on his phone with his other hand.

he can feel the way you tensed, but he doesnt say anything.

youre quite confused, hes never done that on his own unless you did it first, so it was surprising for you.

"what...are you doing..?" you tilt your head, but not enough to be met with his eyes.

"hm? nothin'," he says so calmly, as if he didnt just decide to change up his act and finally act like a boyfriend for the first time.

your eyebrows furrowed a bit. "did you want something..?" you face the wall again, theres no way hed do this unless hed want something you thought.

"no." he says bluntly.

"you looked pretty in that photo." he said with barely any emotion, but his voice soft. he settled his phone down to pat your head.

"but i liked the smile you had more when you showed me." he buried his face into your neck, inhaling your scent. your eyes widen, finally turning to him, you felt...like you had butterflies in your stomach for the first time in a while.

when he finally sees your face he gave a light kiss to your cheek.

"next time just say 'that hurt', okay? so i dont have to guess." his face blank again. youre pretty sure that was the first he had ever kissed you without you telling or initiating first.

you just nod slowly, too shy to face him.

nagi is so cute, hope nothing bad happens to him ^///^ I WILL WORK ON REQUESTS NOW SO SORRY

tags ✎: @rinrinniebaby @kaiserpussy

[luvst4rc0r3]

“YOU’RE my wife, Sev”

Sevika x F!Reader

WC:1021

NOTE: establish marriage. I’m just lonely y’all.😰😭

It was late. The kind of late where even the hum of Zaun’s streets had dulled into a low murmur. You were sitting at the table in your shared apartment, carefully arranging a small bow on the gift you’d picked out for Sevika.

She’d been working long hours at Silco’s beck and call, barely home except for the nights she stumbled in after a few too many drinks. Tonight, though, you were prepared. You’d wanted to surprise her—a little reminder that she was loved, even when she didn’t think she deserved it.

The sound of the front door creaking open pulled your attention. Heavy footsteps followed, uneven and slow. You sighed, setting the gift down on the table. Sevika had finally made it back.

She appeared in the doorway, her tall frame slouched, her jacket hanging off one shoulder. Her usually sharp eyes were glassy, and she had that familiar sway to her step that screamed “too much whiskey.”

“Hey, you,” you said softly, trying not to startle her.

Her gaze locked onto you, and a slow, lazy grin spread across her face. “Hey… you.” Her words slurred together as she stumbled toward the table.

And then she saw it.

The gift.

Her brow furrowed as she leaned forward, squinting at the tag tied to the ribbon. She mouthed the words as she read them aloud: “To my dearest wife.”

She froze.

For a long moment, she just stared at the tag, her drunken mind working overtime to process what she’d just read. Then, like a dam breaking, her face crumpled.

“Wh—what the fuck?” she muttered, her voice shaky as tears started streaming down her face.

“Sevika?” you asked, standing from your chair.

But she didn’t answer. Instead, she sank to the floor, burying her face in her hands as she sobbed.

“Sevika! What’s wrong?” you asked, rushing to her side. You knelt beside her, resting a hand on her arm, but she flinched away, shaking her head.

“I—I didn’t know!” she cried, her voice muffled by her hands. “I didn’t know you had a wife!”

Your heart stopped for a moment, confusion washing over you. “What are you talking about?”

“You didn’t tell me,” she sobbed, looking up at you with wide, tear-streaked eyes. “You’re married! And—and she’s so lucky, you know that? You’re—you’re amazing. And I love you. But I can’t—I can’t even… I can’t even be with you because you’re taken.”

It hit you then.

Oh, she forgot.

“Sevika,” you started, trying to keep your voice calm.

“No, don’t,” she said, shaking her head violently. “Don’t make it worse. I already feel so stupid. I thought… I thought maybe I had a chance. But no, you’re married, and now I’m just—just some idiot in love with someone she can’t have.”

You bit your lip, fighting back a laugh. As heart-wrenching as her drunken meltdown was, the situation was too ridiculous to ignore.

“Sevika,” you said again, gently cupping her face in your hands. Her tear-filled eyes locked onto yours, and you could see the devastation written all over her expression.

“You’re my wife.”

She blinked.

“What?”

“You’re my wife, Sev” you repeated, your voice soft but steady. “The gift is for you.”

Her brows knitted together, her lips parting slightly as if to argue, but no words came out. You could practically see the gears turning in her hazy mind.

“For me?” she whispered after a moment, her voice small.

You nodded. “Yes, for you.”

“But… wait. I’m your wife?”

You nodded again, smiling now. “Yes, Sevika. You’re my wife. We got married six months ago, remember? You wore that fancy black suit you hated but looked amazing in, and we danced until your legs gave out.”

Her mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. Finally, she managed to stammer, “I… I forgot.”

“I know,” you said gently, brushing a tear from her cheek with your thumb.

“I thought… I thought I lost you to someone else,” she admitted, her voice trembling. “I thought I ruined everything.”

“You didn’t ruin anything,” you said, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to her forehead. “You’re mine, Sevika. Always have been, always will be.”

She stared at you, her expression still caught between disbelief and relief. “I’m yours,” she repeated, almost like she was testing the words.

“Yes, you big idiot,” you teased, though your tone was warm. “Now, come on. Get off the floor and open your gift.”

She let you help her to her feet, her movements sluggish but cooperative. You guided her to the table, where the neatly wrapped box sat waiting. She picked it up carefully, her large hands fumbling with the ribbon for a moment before finally tearing it open.

Inside was a new leather glove to replace the worn one she always complained about, along with a small card that read, “To my one and only—thank you for being my everything.”

She stared at the gift for a long moment before looking back at you, fresh tears welling in her eyes.

“Hey, hey,” you said quickly, stepping closer. “What’s wrong now?”

“I just…” Her voice cracked, and she wiped at her face with the back of her hand. “I love you so much, you know that? I don’t deserve you.”

“That’s nonsense,” you said firmly, wrapping your arms around her waist. “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted, Sevika. And I’m lucky to have you.”

She let out a shaky laugh, resting her forehead against yours. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Good thing you’ll never have to find out,” you said softly, leaning up to kiss her.

Her lips were warm against yours, tasting faintly of whiskey and salt from her tears. When you pulled back, she was smiling—a real, genuine smile that made your heart swell.

“Thank you,” she murmured, holding the glove in one hand while wrapping the other around you.

“For what?”

“For loving me,” she said simply.

“Always,” you replied, resting your head against her chest. “Now, let’s get you to bed before you start crying again, okay?”

She laughed, the sound deep and rich, and for the first time that night, she looked like herself again.

“Yeah,” she said, tightening her hold on you. “Bed sounds good. But only if you come with me.”

“Always,” you repeated, smiling against her shoulder as you led her toward the bedroom.

I’d be coming up with the most randomness ideas

I want sleep

[jaggedamethyst]

nsfw frank castle head canons (part 2)

some angst in this one bc frank will never be sunshine, rainbows, and fkn lollipops. (also bc i miss my man rn)

18+ minors dni, not proofread again bc im too lazy and tired

also got a request for matt, coming soon (on me hopefully)

part one

the flowers were undoubtedly frank’s thing…something that became so customary that it healed part of you when he was gone too long. it stayed that way for a while, until you thought about it long enough. as much as you didn’t want to, you started to look at them with disdain—that they’d never be the real thing, that these little bouquets would never be him. he’d notice after a while, that you were slowly pulling away…that him showing up after weeks of no contact was doing more harm than he realized. you tried not to, but it made you bratty and short with him...something that always threw him off. you would open the door without so much as a hug, a simple "hello" escaping you before turning to ignore him. it would be at that exact moment that he'd commit to fucking the attitude away, taking the reins in a way that had you screaming for hours on end. after, frank would nuzzle into you...allowing the familiar feeling of the both of you to wash over each other. above all, he would make sure to apologize and hear you out. he just wanted to keep you safe and that included your beautiful mind.

frank's fingers were undoubtedly of a man who'd been through a lot. they were rough, calloused, and textured and you loved them even more because of it. he hadn't let things escape him and should something not come easy, frank would work at it until he figured it out. he was good with his hands. skilled at everything he's ever touched, and it was the same with you. when you were especially needy he'd let you approach him and slide down on his fingers, revelling in the feeling of the course texture...how the sensation hit you in a way no body else could...how your own fingers couldn't. when you finally wore yourself out, he'd finally start in on you, looking up at you despite your lack of sight on him. he'd smile as you unfolded, slowly rubbing into you...completely in love with the blissed out look on your face.

the day frank saw his first gray in his beard would be a hard one, not because he was getting older, but because he was faced with his mortality. sure, he dabbled with that fact every day...teased himself with the idea of leaving your side with one careless action, but this was different. he wasn't ready to go, not yet. as much as he'd agonized at the idea of losing you...it hurt him even more to think of you alone, wallowing in the loss of him. you'd find him in the mirror examining his face, a stoned expression lingering. frank's eye lit up, mirroring your cheesy expression, the way you fawned over the prospect of an eldering man—one that had been through so much. he wouldn't fuck you that day, rather sharing a declaration of his love to you...a silent promise to do his best to never leave your side. it wasn't unlike him to be this way, soft with you...but you could tell something else troubled him. you didn't pester him, though, rather letting the moment wash over you until he came to you with the darkness in his mind.

[othernightslikethis]

AFTER HOURS

Kim Taeyeon x Male Reader.

A little anguish, age gap, bf x gf, smut

7,1k words

Kim Taeyeon wasn’t just your mother’s best friend. She was part of the fabric of your life, a constant presence that seemed to have existed forever. The aunt who wasn’t related by blood but who scolded you when you talked back. The woman who made three-tiered cakes for birthdays, who remembered the names of your third cousins and always knew what gift you wanted before even you did.

She was the loudest laugh at Sunday barbecues, the lap you ran to when you fell off your bike, the shoulder your mother leaned on when she was sad. She was there when you broke your arm jumping off the school roof, holding your hand in the hospital while your mother was busy filling out emergency forms. She was there at your high school graduation, shouting your name louder than anyone, eyes shining with pride. She was there on that holiday in Jeju, when she showed up in a wine-red bikini that made your father immediately look away, flustered. You were fourteen at the time, and you saved the photo on your phone with a heat in your cheeks you couldn’t name.

She was perfect. Untouchable. She glowed in a way you didn’t know if it was because she was too much of an adult or simply unlike any woman you’d ever seen.

And that was exactly why... she was completely off-limits.

It happened on a stifling summer afternoon, the kind where the heat seeped through the cracks in the windows and the house itself seemed to sigh, slow and lazy. Your mother had gone to visit your sick grandmother in Busan, leaving you home alone for a few days. Taeyeon showed up unannounced, a bottle of soju in hand and a vulnerability in her expression you’d never seen before.

"Another weekend alone..." she said, kicking off her shoes in the corner of the living room. The divorce was still fresh, and even though she smiled, you could see the broken pieces behind her eyes.

You offered to keep her company. Turned on the fan, put on some soft music, poured the drinks. One drink became two, two became three. She laughed more than usual, tossed her hair to the side, and let her arm brush against yours every time she said something funny.

"You understand me in a way no one else does," she murmured, her finger tracing the rim of her glass.

You don’t remember who leaned in first. Only the silence between one breath and the next, the suspended moment before the touch. The taste of her lipstick was berries and alcohol. The scent of her perfume—expensive, subtle, unforgettable—lingered on your skin. Her fingers were cold, but her hands were warm, nervous, determined. The shock in her eyes when she realised what you were doing was real. But she didn’t stop.

"This is wrong..." she whispered between kisses, even as her fingers undid your shirt buttons with a urgency that betrayed any hesitation.

"I know..." was the last coherent thing you managed to say.

That night, everything collapsed and revealed itself at the same time.

After the first time came the guilt. Thick, suffocating, like a blanket too heavy for summer. You avoided mirrors, ignored her messages, tried to convince yourself it was a mistake that wouldn’t happen again.

But then she texted.

"Are you okay?"

And the truth was: you weren’t.

The meetings started again, like an inevitable relapse. First quick coffees, flimsy excuses. A movie here, a lift there. Hands "accidentally" touching. Laughter that lasted longer than it should. Until the meetings lost any pretence of innocence.

You were sleeping together. In roadside motels, in the backseat of her car, once in her architecture office with the lights off and the blinds drawn. She moaned against your shoulder, biting your skin to keep from crying out too loud. And you? You lived for those moments. For that body, that woman, that dangerous, addictive secret.

But it wasn’t just sex. It was the way she knew you. Knew you hated kimchi. Knew you got anxious before interviews. Knew you listened to classical music when you were sad.

It was the care. The tenderness in small gestures. The dinner she cooked for you on days you didn’t want to get out of bed. Her fingers in your hair when you said the world was too hard. The comfortable silence between you.

And then it happened:

You fell in love.

It was a stupid mistake. A careless slip. You left your phone on the kitchen table while you showered. It was unlocked. A message came through.

"I can’t hide it anymore. I love you."

Your mother read it.

The silence that followed was absolute. A chasm. She looked at you as if you were a stranger. As if she’d just discovered her son was someone else entirely.

"How could you?" was all she managed to say, eyes red, hands shaking as she gripped the phone so tightly it looked ready to snap.

She slammed the door on her way out, and the sound echoed like a gunshot.

Taeyeon tried to explain. Called, messaged, showed up at the door. Your mother ignored her as if she were dead. Their mutual friends turned away. Your mother’s brother stormed in, furious, threatening to involve lawyers.

She was painted as the villain. And you as the victim. The manipulated one.

"She took advantage of you," your father said, refusing to meet your eyes.

And for a while, you believed it.

Two years passed.

Nothing was easy. You lost friends. She lost her reputation. Your mother drowned in bitter silence, and your father just avoided you. But time, stubborn, kept moving forward.

The messages between Taeyeon and your mother started getting replies. First with terse punctuation. Then short sentences. An "ok." A "got it." Later, a cold but human "thanks."

Your father still wouldn’t look at her, but he stopped making venomous jokes when you mentioned her. A small victory.

And the two of you? You moved in together. A new flat, in another neighbourhood, far from prying eyes and old memories. A fresh start. Taeyeon began smiling again, lighter, as if she’d learned to carry the pain without letting it weigh her down. You learned to cook for her. She started buying too many books and stacking them on the shelves.

On Sunday mornings, she still danced barefoot in the kitchen, a mug of coffee in hand, hair messy, spinning to the music as sunlight streamed through the window.

She danced as if the whole world had finally allowed her to be happy.

And, watching her, you knew: none of it was a mistake.

---

The atmosphere in the house had shifted—subtly at first, but now it was impossible to ignore. The walls felt colder, the rooms quieter, as if even the air carried a faint discomfort. The home that had once been Taeyeon’s refuge had become a glass prison, where everything was visible, yet nothing was truly spoken.

Her parents *tolerated* her—that was the word. They tolerated her presence, her measured words, her forced smiles. But when they looked at you, there was something different in their gaze. A glimmer of admiration—not for who you were, but for what you represented. Youth. Beauty. Vigour. And the comparison was inevitable.

Every comment, every masked joke, every prolonged silence between sentences carried an implicit message: "You're not enough."

"You're so handsome. So young... What on earth did she do to win you over?"

"She must have some secret, right? Blackmail? Or is it the money?"

"Not that she's ugly... but let's be honest."

Taeyeon heard it all. Every word cut through her chest like ground glass. She smiled, made jokes in return, pretended not to care. But her eyes… her eyes told a different story. And you saw it. Because you recognised that spark. Or rather, you remembered when it was there. Now, all that remained was the reflection of someone trying to resist drowning in emotional wreckage.

Her friends didn’t help. At meet-ups or coffee dates, their compliments dripped with poison:

"He’s a Greek god, Taeyeon. Seriously, how did you manage it? Does he like women who are... older?

"Oh, you’ve always been good at winning hearts, haven’t you? Even with that age gap. I could never."

And she smiled. Pressed her lips together. Changed the subject. But you saw how she withdrew a little more with each remark. As if she were shrinking.

Your own friends, at first, were cruel. Called her a "milf", made crude jokes, laughed at absurd insinuations about her "dominating you in bed" or "manipulating you with experience." You argued, fought, cut some of them off. Eventually, they fell silent. But the damage was already done. And Taeyeon felt it.

---

Her shift was subtle. It began with small gestures.

She still said "good morning", but without looking at you.

Still kissed your forehead, but her lips trembled.

Still smiled, but not with her eyes.

The warmth of her body, once always pressed against yours at night, began to retreat. Little by little, she started sleeping turned away, inching closer to the edge of the bed. You reached out to hold her, but she curled in on herself, as if your touch burned.

Mornings became silent routine. She woke before you and slipped away without a sound. Came home late, smelling of stale coffee and exhaustion. Her makeup faded, her gaze hollow. And when she entered the bedroom, she changed in the dark, lay down without a word, turned the other way—and slept.

You tried to talk. Tried to coax out smiles. But she pulled back. She was there… but she was gone.

And a doubt gnawed at you: Was there someone else?

But you knew Taeyeon. Knew the pain she carried from her ex-husband’s betrayal. Knew how even the smallest lie shattered her.

She wasn’t cheating.

She was crumbling.

---

The night was warm, but the bedroom felt frozen. You came home from work, showered, and lay down. She was already there, motionless. Facing away. The silence was absolute. You tried to touch her, but she only pulled the blanket tighter over her shoulders.

You stayed awake for hours, tossing, trying to understand how things had come to this.

Then you felt the mattress dip slightly. Taeyeon rose with quiet steps, as if begging the universe not to make a sound. The bedroom door creaked faintly, and she vanished into the hallway.

You waited. Something in your chest screamed that you shouldn’t ignore this.

You got up. Went downstairs. And found her.

She was curled on the living room sofa, folded into herself as if trying to disappear. Her face buried in her hands, her shoulders trembling.

Her sobs were muffled, desperate, as if crying in silence was her last attempt not to break completely.

You froze for a moment. The sight of her like that was something you’d never forget.

"Love...?"

She flinched, hastily wiping her face with her pyjama sleeves. Her expression was pure panic, as if she’d been caught doing something wrong.

"W—what are you doing awake?" her voice hoarse, weak, broken.

It was the first time in weeks she’d looked you straight in the eye. But something inside her was shattered.

You moved closer, sat beside her. She recoiled instinctively, like a wounded animal. But you took her hand—and felt it.

The tremor. The fear. The vulnerability.

"Taeyeon... talk to me, please."

She hesitated. Her lips parted, but no words came. Until the weight became too much. The fortress she’d built with such effort collapsed.

"I... I can’t do this anymore..." she whispered between sobs.

And then she broke. Collapsed into your arms as if that embrace were the last anchor between her and the abyss.

She wept with her whole body. Her hands clutched at you, fingers digging into your chest as if trying to fuse with you. Tears soaked your shirt, but you didn’t care. You just held her, pressing her close, rocking her like a wounded child.

"You should end this. I'm trying to push you away, damn it, but why do you keep coming back?"

Her voice trembled, thick as if every word were caught in a throat crushed under the weight of guilt. It was a rough whisper, fragile, yet loaded with a fierce desperation. It sounded as though she were begging to be left behind—yet at the same time, begging for you to stay.

Her fists were clenched so tightly that her knuckles had turned white, as if her entire body were fighting to hold itself back, resisting the natural urge to throw herself into your arms. She kept them rigid at her sides, as though trying to keep her soul from escaping her flesh.

The tears no longer came in sobs, but in silence. They had grown accustomed to flowing—two gleaming rivers down her pale skin, trailing her face like open wounds. The shirt she wore was stained in uneven patches of sorrow, as if grief had left footprints on her chest.

"It’s not fair… I ruined your life…"

Those words were whispered against you, like a confession she hated to voice aloud. She pressed her forehead to your chest, as if the weight of everything was too much to bear standing. You felt the damp heat of her tears seeping through the fabric of your shirt, and the muffled sound of her ragged breathing hitting your body like a plea for forgiveness.

Her shoulders shook—not just from pain, but from shame. From fear. And from a love so immense it hurt.

You reacted instinctively. Your hands rose slowly, trying to wrap around her shoulders, to pull her close. To shield her from the world and, if possible, from herself. But she flinched at the slightest touch, as if your affection were a burning ember rather than a refuge.

"Don’t. Don’t lie to me…"

Her voice was weak, like a breath of wind on the verge of vanishing. "I’m old, and—God… how did I not see it before? My friends were right. You’re only with me out of pity, aren’t you? You’re afraid to leave this old woman!"

That word—old—slipped from her lips like a blade, sharp and cruel. And the worst part was, she seemed to have driven that knife into herself. Her lips quivered. She bit them, hard, as if punishing herself. As if she deserved to suffer for daring to love you, for believing, even for a second, that it was possible.

"Taeyeon. You’re perfect."

Your voice cut through the air, firm, charged with a fierce intensity. You held her carefully, your fingers trembling with emotion, and gently pulled her away from your chest, forcing her to look at you. Not with brutality—but with love. With urgency.

Her face was swollen from crying. Her eyes, red like two weary suns, yet still beautiful. There was a desperate glimmer in them, as if searching for something in you—perhaps a reason to stay, perhaps confirmation that they were wrong.

And you gave it to her.

Because there, right in front of you, Kim Taeyeon was still stunning.

Stunning even with her smudged mascara casting shadows under her eyes. Stunning even with her nose red from crying. Stunning in the depths of pain, in the chaos of insecurity, in the abyss of fear. Stunning because she was her.

"Do you really think I care about age?" Your voice dropped an octave, like thunder rolling in to shield the land. "Do you honestly believe I’d be here if I didn’t want you more than anything?"

She tried to look away, as if afraid to find the truth in your eyes, but you wouldn’t let her. With a gentle touch, your thumb brushed her cheek, wiping away a stubborn tear that refused to stop falling. You leaned in even closer, closing the space between you like someone refusing any distance.

"I don’t want anyone but you, Taeyeon. Not someone younger. Not someone older. Not anyone. Just you."

Those words seemed to dismantle the defences she had built with such effort.

"One day, you’ll meet a girl your age and leave me. I know it."

Her voice came out like a lost child trying to shield herself from inevitable pain. But there was also a sliver of hope, barely perceptible—as if, deep down, she wanted you to prove her wrong.

You laughed. Low. Warm. A laugh that carried affection, but also disbelief.

"And you’ll meet someone your age and leave me."

Her eyes widened.

"What?! Of course I wouldn’t!"

You smiled. That smile she always claimed to hate because it "made you too smug," but secretly adored.

"See? That argument doesn’t make sense. Baby. I’m with you now. And you’re the one I want. Don’t let anyone—not even yourself—try to change that."

She looked at you. Really looked. Her eyes brimming with tears, but this time, with something new behind them: hope. Vulnerability. Love. A raw love, stripped of glamour, born in the mud of pain and watered with real promises.

And then she whispered:

"Then promise me. Give me a… big, big kiss."

Her voice faltered at the end, almost a nervous laugh between tears. It was so genuine, so absurdly adorable that you couldn’t resist.

Adorable. That’s what you thought.

And then you leaned in and pressed your lips to hers—not like someone kissing an insecure woman, but like someone sealing a sacred vow. A kiss without hurry, full of truth, saying everything words never could.

When your lips parted, you already knew exactly what you wanted.

Your kisses trailed down, slow and deliberate, from her mouth to her jaw, then to her neck, where you left a discreet mark—just enough to make her shudder. She writhed beneath your touch, her hands gripping the sheets tightly, as if clinging to something solid to keep from losing herself completely. Until now, you had never taken control like this—she had always preferred to be on top, dictating the pace, and only now did you understand why: she was afraid of seeming vulnerable.

It was adorable.

Your fingers unbuttoned her pyjama shirt, one by one, exposing her soft skin to the cold air of the bedroom. She arched her back involuntarily, a shiver running through her as the fabric slid off her shoulders. You didn’t let her adjust to the temperature—your lips were already wrapped around one of her breasts, your tongue tracing slow circles before sucking firmly.

She screamed.

"I-if you keep this up, I swear you’ll be sleeping on the sofa for—"

You didn’t let her finish. Your fingers found the other nipple, twisting it lightly, and her protest dissolved into a loud, trembling moan. Her eyes fluttered shut, her breath quickened, and you smirked against her skin.

This was your woman.

And you would make sure she remembered she deserved to be treated like a queen.

"What’s the matter, mummy? Not enjoying yourself?"

She turned her face away, her cheeks burning with shame. At first, she had hated that name, but you’d noticed long ago how her muscles tensed less each time you called her that. How her moans grew louder. How her hips pressed against your hand whenever the word slipped from your lips.

Your kisses trailed lower, leaving a damp trail down her flawless abdomen. You could spend hours there—nipping, licking, worshipping every inch of that smooth skin. But you had other plans.

When your hands gripped the waistband of her pyjama bottoms, she hesitated, her fingers tangling in your hair in a mix of protest and plea.

"I-I can’t let you—"

You didn’t give her a choice. With one firm motion, you tore the fabric apart, relishing the satisfying sound of the elastic giving way.

"HEY, THAT WAS MY FAVOURITE!"

You ignored her. It was a lie. She had a wardrobe full of identical pyjamas. Besides, this was about something far more important.

In all your years together, she had never let you go down on her. There was a deep-rooted guilt in her, an old-fashioned belief that a decent wife shouldn’t allow something so indecent. You suspected that was why she’d rarely climaxed with her ex-husband.

But you weren’t him.

Your finger slid along her entrance, finding her absolutely soaked, and she arched her back with a ragged moan. You didn’t make her wait—your tongue found her clit in one firm stroke, and her scream echoed through the room.

"NO—YOU CAN’T— AAAAHWN~!"

She tried to close her legs, but you held her hips firmly, keeping her spread open. Within seconds, she was already trembling, her fluids dripping down your chin as she writhed, unable to form words.

She couldn’t hold back.

Her body was already at its limit, her thighs shaking uncontrollably as your tongue worked in a relentless rhythm. You knew exactly how she liked it—steady pressure, then quick, flickering strokes, just enough to drive her to the edge of desperation.

"S-stop… I’m gonna… NO, WAIT—"

But it was too late.

A hot gush spilled from her, coating your chin, your lips, dripping down the fingers still holding her open. She screamed, a raw, broken sound, her entire body convulsing in violent spasms. You didn’t stop—byou sucked, drank every drop, and she sobbed, her fingers buried in your hair, tugging wildly.

"I CAN’T… I CAN’T TAKE ANYMORE… PLEASE—"

But you kept going, pushing her straight into another peak, even more intense than the first. This time, she couldn’t even form words—just high-pitched whimpers, her legs shaking, the wet sound of your tongue against her filling the room.

When you finally pulled away, she was gasping, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her eyes glazed over. You sat up, licking your lips slowly, and she covered her face with her hands, embarrassed.

"You… you’re insufferable."

You smirked, pulling her into a deep kiss, letting her taste herself on your lips.

"So you squirt? Fuck, can you stop getting sexier, Kim Taeyeon? At this rate, I’ll have to knock you up."

She visibly shuddered at the idea, and then you grinned. Ah. So that was what she wanted? To carry your child?

Your fingers found her entrance again, this time two fingers plunging deep inside her heat while your mouth recaptured her swollen clit. She screamed, her body caught between the mattress and your dominance—completely at your mercy now.

"See how wet you get for me?" You murmured against her skin, feeling her walls clench around your fingers. "All this mess just for me… my greedy little wife."

She tried to muffle her moans with her hands, but you pinned her wrists above her head, holding them with one hand while the other continued its relentless work. Precise curls, deep thrust, the obscene sound of her slickness filling the air. You felt the moment her muscles started trembling again—she was so close…

"Come." You ordered, nipping at her thigh. "Squirt again. Now."

Your command shattered something in her. With a muffled scream, another gush burst from her, even more intense than before, spilling over your hand, dripping onto the sheets beneath. Her body jerked as if electrocuted, her eyes rolling back as waves of pleasure completely overwhelmed her.

You didn’t give her time to recover. In one fluid motion, you lifted her hips and buried your tongue deep inside her, drinking every drop as she thrashed.

"STOP! I… I CAN’T TAKE ANY MORE…!" She sobbed, her legs trembling violently.

You lifted your face, your chin glistening with her. "Liar." You smirked, lining your throbbing length with her dripping entrance. "You can take so much more."

And with one sharp thrust, you sheathed yourself to the hilt, her eyes widening as one last weak spurt escaped between your joined bodies.

"That’s… that’s too…!" She couldn’t form sentences, her nails digging into your back.

You started moving, each thrust calculated to grind against that perfect spot inside her. "Say it. Say what you are."

She shook her head, resisting, but her body betrayed her—growing wetter, tighter around you.

You slowed your pace, nearly pulling out completely before slamming back in. "Say it."

"Y-YOUR… YOUR WHORE…!" She screamed, and you felt her walls begin to clench again.

That was all you needed to hear.

Gripping her hips, you fucked her mercilessly now, the sound of skin against skin, her cries, your own growls—all blending together as you drove her to the edge once more.

Until you stopped. You flipped her onto her stomach, your hands firm on her hips as you pulled her up, leaving her on all fours on the sofa. She tried to protest, but you were already sliding into her from behind, a rough groan escaping your throat as you filled her completely.

"N-no… like this it’s… too—"

Deep. That’s what she meant to say, but the words were lost as you started moving, each thrust aimed at that spot that made her see stars. Her hands clawed at the sheets, her knuckles white from the strain, as you controlled the pace—slow and cruel at first, then faster, until the wet slap of skin dominated the room.

She tried to brace herself on her arms, but you pulled her back, her spine pressed against your chest, one hand wrapped around her throat while the other slid down to rub her clit in quick circles.

"You’re not running now, princess."

She screamed, her entire body shaking, and you felt her walls pulsing around you, clenching as if trying to milk every inch. You didn’t stop—you couldn’t stop—pumping into her as she remained oversensitive, each movement wrenching another moan from her.

When you finally dropped her back onto the sofa, she was completely boneless, her breath ragged, her eyes unfocused. But you weren’t done.

You lifted her, wrapping your arms around her as you pressed her against the wall, her legs locking around your waist.

"Hold on."

She obeyed, her arms looping around your neck, and you sank into her again, **even deeper this time**, the angle perfect for wringing another scream from her.

"O-oh God… like this I… I’m gonna—"

And she did.

Another gush, even more intense than the first, spilling down your thighs as you kept moving, relentless. She buried her face in your shoulder, her teeth sinking into your skin to muffle her cries, but you wanted to hear her.

"No one else will ever make you feel like this."

She shook her head, her eyes brimming with tears—happy ones this time.

"You only cry like this for me, understand, you slut?"

"U-uhuh! Oh yes, fuck, I’m gonna break, baby I’m gonna..."

You laid her on her back at the edge of the sofa, her legs bent against her chest, exposing her completely as you stood, gripping her ankles. She tried to cover herself, but you pinned her wrists above her head, quickly binding them with her own pyjama top.

"Y-You’re not going to—"

But you were already inside.

The penetration was brutally deep at this angle—every stroke grinding directly against her G-spot, the tip of you hitting a place that made her eyes roll back. She tried to speak, but only a choked "Nhgn—!" escaped, her fingers twisting in the makeshift restraints.

You gripped her hips and lifted her into the air, using her thighs as leverage to slam her back onto you with each thrust—blike a medieval catapult breaking through castle walls.

"S-STOP! I’M GONNA— CUMM—"

She didn’t finish.

Her body arched violently, a transparent gush spraying uncontrollably as you kept pounding, using her slickness to slide even faster. The sight was obscene—her stomach trembling with each impact, her breasts bouncing wildly, her expression completely lost in pleasure.

Then you changed positions, untying her hands, lifting her as if she weighed nothing, your hands gripping her thighs as you pressed her against the wall. She had no support. Her feet didn’t touch the ground, her arms clung desperately to your neck, and you felt her racing heartbeat against your chest.

"Y-You’re going to drop me…"—her voice was a breathless whisper, her eyes wide with a mix of fear and pure arousal.

You answered by thrusting deeper.

She shrieked as you buried yourself in one stroke, the angle brutally perfect. Every movement now controlled not just her pleasure, but her very breath—when you lifted her higher, she writhed; when you let her slip down slightly, her legs tightened around you, begging for more.

"I-I can’t… think…"

That was the point.

You used her as you pleased—lifting and lowering her body in your rhythm, feeling her grow tighter, more desperate. When your fingers found her clit, she lost control—another hot gush spilled between you, and she buried her face in your shoulder, crying from sheer ecstasy.

You didn’t stop. Not until she trembled endlessly, her legs too weak to hold on, her entire body ruled by your movement.

When you finally couldn’t hold back any longer, you buried yourself deep and emptied weeks of pent-up seed into her womb, and Taeyeon could do little more than whimper and twitch helplessly through another mini-orgasm—this one not quite as loud.

When you laid her back on the sofa, exhausted, you realised she had simply passed out from all that overstimulation.

---

Six months ago, your life had been turned upside down—in the best way possible. Taeyeon, your Taeyeon, was finally back in your arms. After so much time apart, you had both decided to face your insecurities together, diving headfirst into therapy. And to your surprise, she was taking it seriously—more seriously than you ever thought possible. She read books about relationships, jotted down reflections in a journal, and sometimes even initiated deep conversations in the middle of the night when anxiety struck.

But nothing—absolutely nothing—could have prepared you for the whirlwind that was her pregnancy.

When those two little lines appeared on the test, your heart nearly burst with happiness. A little girl. Your little girl. You had even already chosen a name—Ha-eun—and agreed to get married when she turned three, giving yourselves time to adjust your lives, careers, and, most importantly, for Taeyeon to feel secure again.

But the pregnancy brought with it a Taeyeon who could switch between angel and devil in a matter of seconds.

She would laugh at a silly meme on her phone, and the next second, she’d be crying because you "breathed too loudly" and it "deeply bothered her." Once, she flew into a rage because you "chewed a biscuit too aggressively," and ten minutes later, she was clinging to you, apologising while licking the salty tears off your face.

If she used to love your scent, now, all it took was you approaching her after work for her to wrinkle her nose and say in disgust, "You reek of man." And worse—if she was having a bad day, just seeing you made her nauseous. Once, you walked into the bedroom, and she literally sprinted to the bathroom, laughing and vomiting at the same time. "Sorry, it’s the baby that hates you!" she yelled between gags.

Ah, but nothing topped the jealousy. Nothing.

If you so much as glanced at the barista for half a second, Taeyeon would go icy. If you replied to a message in the work group chat—which, by chance, included a female colleague—she would scowl, her eyes narrowing like a cat about to pounce.

And the peak? When the neighbour from the flat upstairs—a 60-year-old woman —said good morning to you in the lift, and Taeyeon hit the emergency button just so you could get out faster. "She fancies you, I saw the way she smiled," she growled, while you tried to process the fact that your pregnant fiancée was jealous of a grandmother.

It was an ordinary Saturday—or at least, it should have been. You and Taeyeon had gone out for a romantic dinner—something increasingly rare, as the pregnancy left her exhausted and irritable most nights. But today was different. She woke up in a good mood, even suggested getting dressed up to go out, and you, of course, didn’t question the miracle.

The restaurant was cosy, dimly lit, with wine glasses (grape juice for her) and a menu she had chosen after three days of indecision. You were laughing, talking about baby names again—she insisted Ha-eun sounded too formal and now wanted something "cute but not tacky"—when it happened.

The waitress came to clear the plates. A young woman, smiling, nothing out of the ordinary. You, being polite, thanked her with a "Cheers, that was lovely" and a brief nod. That was it.

But as the waitress turned to leave, Taeyeon froze. Her eyes widened, her breath caught, and her hands—clutching the napkin—tightened until her knuckles turned white.

You realised too late.

"Taeyeon? You alright?" you asked, still oblivious to the danger.

She didn’t answer. Just stared at you with an expression that mixed betrayal, fury, and pure existential dread.

"You… you looked." Her voice came out in a trembling whisper, as if she were holding back a tsunami of emotions.

"Looked at what?" you frowned, genuinely confused.

"AT HER ARSE. YOU LOOKED. I SAW IT.'

You swallowed hard. No. You hadn’t looked. Swore you hadn’t. But Taeyeon was already boiling.

"Taeyeon, love, I just thanked her—"

"NO. You did that little glance. That ‘oh, what a cute little thing’ look. I KNOW THAT LOOK."

"But she doesn’t even have… an ‘ar—’"

"STOP. TALKING. ABOUT. HER. ARSE."

She threw the napkin on the table, grabbed her bag, and stood up with the trembling dignity of a betrayed queen.

"I’m leaving."

"Taeyeon, wait—"

"NO. STAY HERE. CHAT MORE WITH HER. SINCE YOU’RE SO CLOSE."

You tried to hold her arm, but she shook you off as if your touch burned.

"I don’t even know the waitress’s name!" you argued, desperate.

"OH, SO YOU WANT TO KNOW, DO YOU? GONNA ASK FOR HER INSTA NEXT?"

The surrounding tables began to whisper. An elderly couple looked on with pity. The waiter pretended he wasn’t listening, but he clearly was.

With great difficulty, you convinced her to go home. Though she didn’t look at you the entire way.

"Kim Taeyeon, What the Bloody Hell Was That?"

You muttered, irritated enough to roll up the sleeves of your dress shirt, ready for a proper row. Until you noticed her frozen, eyes locked onto your flexed bicep, biting her lips so hard they nearly bled.

And then you understood.

"Ah… So that’s how it is?" Your voice dropped to a rough whisper, deliberately slow, as a wicked grin spread across your lips. "Naughty little girls…" You undid your belt with a dramatic click, watching her shudder. "...deserve punishment. Especially the ones who make a scene in public…" A step forward, and she stumbled back against the wall. "Isn’t that right, mummy?"

Taeyeon’s eyes widened, a moan escaping her throat—loud, desperate, as if she couldn’t believe what that word did to her.

"You—!" She tried to protest, but you were already there, one arm braced against the wall beside her head, the other tilting her chin up.

"You started this." Your hot breath against her ear. "Humiliated me in front of everyone. Treated me like rubbish. And now you’re looking at me like this?" Your hand slid down her waist, firm, possessive. "So easy…"

Taeyeon tried to turn away, but you tightened your grip on her chin, forcing her to face you.

"Say it."

She trembled, lips parted, eyes already glazed over.

"…I hate you."

You laughed, darkly, and captured her mouth in a filthy, dominant kiss, your hand tangling in her hair to pull harder. She moaned again, fingers clutching your shirt like it was the only thing keeping her upright.

And Christ—if that woman wasn’t the most perfect thing when she surrendered like this…

You broke the kiss abruptly, leaving her gasping, and whispered:

"I’ll go easy on you only because of our little girl in there, understand?"

You massaged her six-month bump and smirked, finally sliding your trousers off.

"Open your mouth, you filthy whore."

"You call me a whore?"

Her voice trembled, eyes brimming with unshed tears—stubborn, just like her. A chill ran down your spine, but you didn’t back down.

"I do." Your hand moved from her belly to her chin, squeezing firmly. "My slag. Only mine."

Taeyeon’s breath hitched, lips parting. You saw the conflict in her eyes—anger, desire, submission, pride—all tangled in the pregnancy hormones that made her so sensitive.

"You... you can’t—"

"I can." You cut her off, dragging your thumb across her lips. "And you love it. Love it when I put you in your place. When I remind you that no matter how much you scream and throw a fit, in the end... you’re mine."

She shuddered, a moan trapped in her throat.

"Open."

For a second, she hesitated—stubborn to the last—but then, slowly, her mouth opened.

You grinned.

"Good girl."

"Choke on it properly, you disgusting bitch."

You shoved your cock down her tight throat, feeling the muscles spasm in panic around your throbbing head. Taeyeon gagged violently, nails digging into your thighs as spit and tears streaked her mascara-smudged face.

"That’s it, take every inch like the knocked-up slut you are," you growled, yanking her hair as you bottomed out. "Gonna cry? Gonna make a scene now, you filthy whore?"

She tried to pull back, but you held her firm, fucking her throat ruthlessly. Every gag was music, every tear a confession—she was yours, a wet, sobbing toy made to take your anger and lust.

"Feel that? Feel how your throat was made for this? For choking on my cock like the desperate slag you are?"

Taeyeon whimpered, body shaking with need as you used her mercilessly. When you finally pulled out, she coughed and spat, lipstick ruined, eyes glazed with submission.

"P-please..." she rasped, voice wrecked from gagging on you.

You laughed darkly and gripped her chin.

"'Please' what, whore? Say it."

She swallowed hard, tears and desire swimming in her eyes.

"...Please fuck me until I forget my name."

So far, you’d done nothing but foreplay—just that. She was afraid of hurting the baby, but if the urge struck, you’d made a reasonable agreement—while she carried your daughter, no vaginal penetration. Only anal, and carefully. After all, Taeyeon had always been the prim, almost naively innocent woman—the one who’d watched you grow up, who blushed at innuendos, who covered her eyes during sex scenes in films.

Or so you thought.

Because the moment you slid your fingers between her arse cheeks, feeling how absurdly wet she was just from the idea, you realised something was very wrong—or very right.

"B-Bloody hell, Taeyeon…" you growled, feeling her tight ring give way easily under your fingers. "Have you… done this before?"

She bit her lip, eyes darting away, but her body arched into your touch. "N-No… just… thought about it… a lot…"

"Thought about what?" Your voice came out rougher than intended, fingers pressing deeper, feeling her clench around them.

Then she let out a filthy, desperate moan and confessed:

"You… taking me from behind… like I’m just a hole for you to come in."

Fuck.

You nearly lost it right then.

"Taeyeon…" Your voice was hoarse, veins standing out on your wrists as you pushed your fingers to the last knuckle. "You mean to tell me this innocent little face… was always hiding an anal slut?"

She whimpered, fingers digging into your thighs, face burning with shame—but her body begging for more.

"O-Only… only with you…"

And Christ, if that wasn’t the dirtiest thing she’d ever admitted.

Now you understood why she always flinched when you brushed there during sex. Why she blushed when you complimented her arse.

She wasn’t embarrassed.

She was fantasising.

And now, with the perfect excuse of pregnancy, she could finally give in without guilt.

"So that’s it?" You pulled your fingers out, watching her clench instinctively, trying to keep them inside. "My proper little wife… is actually an anal slut who dreams of being used like this?"

But first, you’d make her clean up her mess.

With a rough motion, you dragged your spit-slick cock over her face, marking her flushed cheeks, swollen lips, even her trembling eyelids. "Lick. Everything. Every last drop."

Taeyeon obeyed like a good girl, her hot tongue frantically lapping from base to tip, swallowing every trace of herself mixed with your precum. She looked addicted, eyes rolling back as she savoured her own taste on your skin.

"Now turn over, you slag." You landed a sharp smack on her round arse, watching the red imprint of your hand bloom on her soft skin. "Want to see that pregnant belly shake while you moan like a bitch in heat."

She got on her hands and knees, her rounded belly hanging sensually between her thighs, her cunt dripping wet. You spat on her pink clit before plunging two fingers inside, making Taeyeon scream.

"See this? Sopping wet over a cock that hasn’t even fucked you yet." You laughed as she moaned louder, fingers pumping in and out. "Gonna come just from this? You filthy, desperate little thing?"

Taeyeon shook her head, but her body betrayed her—her inner walls fluttered, her clit throbbing visibly. You yanked your fingers out.

"No. You only come when I say."

Then you finally lined yourself up at her tight entrance, feeling her tremble in anticipation.

"Now repeat: I’m only yours."

"I-I’m only yours—"

"A knocked-up, obedient slut."

"A k-knocked-up— AH! AAAH!"

You buried yourself to the hilt in one thrust, splitting her open, her virgin arse taking every inch like it was made for you.

"Feel that, Taeyeon? Feel how this tight little arse was made for me?" You snarled in her ear as you pounded into her, each thrust making her pregnant belly sway obscenely. Her hands clawed at the sheets, knuckles white, as strangled moans spilled from her ruined throat.

"Look ahead," you ordered, pulling her hair back. "Look at that belly shake every time I fuck you."

Taeyeon screamed, shame and pleasure overflowing in her teary eyes. "S-stop… please… don’t say those thi— AH! AAAAH!"

You laughed darkly and landed another smack on her reddened arse, feeling her clench violently around you. "Liar. You love it. Love being used like this, knocked-up and marked up, taking cock like there’s no tomorrow."

Your hips slapped against her arse with wet smacks, the brutal sounds of fucking echoing through the room. You could feel her tightening, growing hotter—ready to break.

"Wanna come, you Bitch? Do you?"

Taeyeon nodded frantically, swollen lips trembling. "Y-yes… p-please… let me… let me come!"

"Fine. Come."

Then you pulled her back against your chest, one hand gripping her throat while the other circled her swollen clit. "But not without remembering who you belong to."

Three fingers in her cunt.

A smack on her rosy arse.

Your teeth sinking into her shoulder.

And Taeyeon shattered, her whole body convulsing in a violent orgasm, her arse squeezing your cock like a hot, wet fist. You held her tight, fucking her through it, until your own release boiled over.

"Take it. Take it all, you whore!"

With a final animalistic growl, you buried yourself to the hilt, spilling inside her, each hot pulse marking your claim.

Taeyeon went limp in your arms, panting, her body covered in your marks—from your teeth, your hands, your cock.

You smirked, satisfied, and laid her on her side, your hand resting on her rounded belly.

"We’ll do this again tomorrow."

[wolfiesmoon]

When you suddenly cry in front of them :(

Riddle, Vil, Kalim, Malleus x gn!reader (riddle's and vil's are explicitly post overblot tho it's not super important)

i'm back to entering tartarus every day (school started again) so i thought i might as well distract myself with some hot twst guys :)

i havent been very active i know, i just cant get myself to do anything at all these days 😞i am so so sorry for making a kinda lazy short collection of blurbs but i need to get back into my writing groove somehow

(as a sidenote, i'm worried some of these might be ooc? i sincerely apologise if they are :( )

RIDDLE honestly doesn't know what to do with himself. He never really got the comfort he needed whenever he cried as a child so he had no idea how to comfort you now. He scolds himself internally for not immediately acting and just kind of freezing up beside you so he panics and tries to recall of all the times he saw someone else comforting others in order to end the extremely awkward tension as quickly as possible. He pats your back somewhat rigidly and says "There, there." In an all too awkward manner. You're caught off guard so hard by the sheer akwardness of Riddle's comfort technique that you burst out laughing, troubling Riddle even further. "W...Why are you laughing now?" The dumbfounded expression on his face is the perfect medicine for forgetting your troubles just now. Riddle unintentionally just cheered you up. After the incident, he seemingly becomes less strict with you and starts asking about how you're doing umprompted, which always pleasantly surprises you. Sometimes, Trey even shows up at Ramshackle dorm, holding a tart of your favourite flavour and saying he got orders from Riddle to deliver it to you.

VIL drops his usual strict nature for a bit. Of all people, he would be the one who could tell you were constantly acting strong and unbothered by everything going on around you. He thought of it equal parts admirable as he did foolish. Such intense emotion is not something to keep bottled up inside you and you made him realise that. His expression is surprisingly soft as he places one arm on your back, gently stroking it. He talks you through your feelings with a big sense of maturity and care and you're suprised by just how much he cares for you and your feelings. You don't exactly get that same impression when he's scolding you for not sitting straight or not wearing your uniform properly... regardless, you're very thankful for his words, even the harsher ones about needing to tell someone about things like this. "Tell me, if you must. I will always listen." After the incident, nothing much changes, really. Atleast from the perspective of others. He still gets on your case for not wearing your uniform properly, but he also asks about how you're doing when he gets the chance and does not accept simply "fine" or "okay" for an answer. You simply must elaborate why that is.

KALIM enters big brother mode. He's comforted crying siblings for various reasons before so what makes you any different? He gives you a tight hug, gently rubbing your back and trying to cheer you up with comforting phrases. He'd also try making jokes you to cheer you up and the puns are so bad you might as well start laughing. He didn't even start asking what's wrong but instead waited for you to tell him yourself. He surprised you with how mature (or perhaps just experienced) he is when it comes to crying people. You feel much better even only after a few minutes and you ask Kalim how you can thank him for hearing you out. "Seeing you smile again is reward enough!" He replies and you feel like crying again (but this time not from sadness or stress). After that incident, he always personally invites you to Scarabia parties, hoping they might inject a little joy in your life and keep your mind off things. If you're not a fan of parties, he takes you on carpet rides around the dorm instead.

MALLEUS is shocked into silence. You were smiling at him as sweetly as you always do just a moment ago... He knows how to comfort someone in theory, but now that he has to put it into practice, it feels like he's forgotten everything. He needs to show you that you can rely on him when it comes to your comfort, and that includes crying around him. This might just be one of the most heartbreaking sights he's ever had the displeasure of witnessing. He vows to himself that he never wishes to see you cry again (unless it's at your wedding) and would do anything to prevent it. He wordlessly pulls you into a secure hug, worried that if he does anything else, you might start crying even more. You hug him back and just sob in his arms, thankful for his warm embrace. "It will all be okay, child of man. I'm here, after all." And somehow, you can't help but trust those words with every fiber of your being. After the incident, Malleus ends up confessing what happened to Lilia and Lilia goes into one of those "Oh, how my baby has grown..." rants. But he also does say that Malleus should start inviting you to new places to keep your mind off things and help you let loose. So he does just that, with an added sprinkle of gargoyle-hunting and gargoyle facts. You're now very well educated about gargoyles lol.

[suguruverse]

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ nobody else but you ! or jjk boys as your boyfriend

gojo satoru, geto suguru, nanami kento, fushiguro toji

notes — f!reader, mostly just fluff / not proofread at all lol i was gonna write three for each but i got a lil lazy so here you go !!!

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ gojo satoru

satoru is the type of boyfriend to... have no concept of personal space, constantly having his arms wrapped around your waist, a subtle hand on the small of your back or your hands intertwined as he leads you through a busy crowd, his head resting on your chest while his hand rubs your back soothingly. he just loves to feel your skin on his!! always!!

satoru is the type of boyfriend to... be a little bit of a picky eater but love love loves it when you feed him literally anything . it brings him so much joy to think that you’re willing to give up some of your food for lil ol him. he is willing to ignore foods that are the bane of his existence if it meant you were feeding him. and when you tilt your head asking if it was good, he will painfully choke back his food but still give you that same bright smile he always does. after all he can sacrifice a few trips to the bathroom if it meant he could always see your excited face wanting him to try your new food combinations.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ geto suguru

suguru is the type of boyfriend to... absolutely melt whenever you space out during conversations, only to look up to him with a small "hmm?" followed by a sheepish grin. he lives for the giggle you let out as he pinches your cheek then smoothing over the skin on your cheek with his thumb, cupping your face in his hands, repeating his words for you once more.

suguru is the type of boyfriend to... be able to communicate with you without even saying much at all. he prides himself on being able to read your mind and facial expressions to a tee. even with a small crinkle of your forehead, slightly moving your body closer to him or even if you breathe differently, TRUSTTTT he will always know if he needs to step in and ask you what’s wrong or to let you figure out your own thing.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ kento nanami

kento is the type of boyfriend to... love going on cute little coffee shop dates with you. he especially loves when you find yourselves tucked into a small corner booth during the winter, your smaller frame pressed close to his body stealing his warmth while you share your favourite pastries together.

kento is the type of boyfriend to... talk to you with the most warmth in his voice. he wouldn't dare to raise his voice at you or give you unwarranted attitude. you’re his everything and definitely talks to you like you are. respectful eye contact, nodding every so often to show that he’s listening, a slight smile on his face as he listens to you talk about some drama that you’ve already mentioned twice before but can’t bring himself to stop you because he just loves listening to you talk.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ fushiguro toji

toji is the type of boyfriend to... love holding out his arms for you to jump into. he just loves the rush of warmth that comes over him when your body smashes into his after a long day of not seeing each other. although he may not admit it, there is nothing more he loves than seeing his favourite girl running at him and jumping into a hug with your arms and legs wrapped around him. idk he just loves showing you how strong he is !!!

toji is the type of boyfriend to... notice immediately when your not in his arms when your sleeping together. now he doesn’t exactly consider himself a light sleeper but even when he’s snoring his ass off, he somehow notices the lack of you in his arms and will start patting the bed looking for your body. he quickly gives up though when a light shines in his eye followed by your hushed movements in the bedroom, trying not wake your boyfriend only for him for pull you straight to his chest, croaking out a “ya took too long ma” and falls asleep before you could even respond

[chanelrolls]

Love and Deepspace Men Getting High With You For The First Time

warnings. dead dove themes, slightly nsfw includes shotgunning, mentions of marijuana. please read at your own risk.

notes. a request from @azziesbattybaddie. this prompt isn't typically for everybody, so consider considering before proceeding!

SYLUS

Acts like he’s done this before—calm, unbothered, like this is nothing new. In reality? He’s never done it, but he refuses to admit that. He wants to impress you. “It’s fascinating, isn’t it? The way perception warps under chemical influence. I wonder if reality has always been this fragile.”

Picks up on your reactions instantly. Watches the way your body reacts, how your breathing changes, how your eyes glaze over his body, he wants to keep memorizing it.

Hyper-aware of touch. He doesn’t touch you often, but when he does, it’s maddeningly deliberate. A casual brush of fingers. A slow press of his palm against your thigh, just to see if you react.

His voice gets lower, slower. He already speaks smoothly, but when he’s high? It’s like silk. Every word drags with a lazy, teasing edge. “You’re adorable when you’re incoherent.” If you’re zoning out? “What’s got your pretty head all fogged up?”

Doesn’t flinch when he gets hit with the high. Just leans back and exhales, as if he’s been waiting for this feeling.

Flirts without even trying. It’s not obnoxious, but it’s subtle, laced in the way he looks at you, the way he drags out his words, the way his fingers linger on your skin.

Absolutely shotguns with you, but in the slowest, most intentional way possible. Doesn’t just do it, he studies your reaction as he does.

Has a way of making everything feel heavier than it is. Even something as simple as passing the joint between his fingers, the way his eyes track your lips.

Doesn’t get giggly or weird—just… looser. Less of that sharp control, more of that slow-burning amusement.

At some point, lets out something too honest. "I could get used to this, you and me." And then? Covers it up with a smirk, pretending it didn’t slip.

SCENARIO

The room is dim, the air thick with a haze that curls lazily around the two of you. Sylus is leaned back, fingers tapping idly against his knee, watching you with that same unreadable expression he always wears.

You take another hit, exhaling a little too quickly. He smirks. "Too much for you already, sweetheart?"

You lower your gaze with a slight frown. "I’m fine."

His eyes flicker to the way your fingers tremble slightly around the joint. "Sure." A pause. "Come here."

You blink. "...Why?"

He tilts his head slightly, gaze darkening with something you couldn't quite grasp. "Trust me." There’s something about the way he says it—calm, certain, like he already knows you’ll listen.

You hesitate, but then lean in.

Sylus takes a slow drag, holding it in for a second before parting his lips. He doesn’t exhale immediately—no, he waits, watching you, letting the tension build between you.

Then, slowly, he leans in.

The warmth of his breath seeps into your mouth, the smoke curling between you, and for a moment, you forget everything else. His hand lifts, fingers barely grazing your jaw as he exhales the last of it.

"Good," he murmurs, voice smooth, almost approving. His thumb skims over your chin before he pulls back, smirking. "See? Not so bad, huh?"

You exhale shakily. He watches you with a knowing look, as if he’s fully aware of the way your heart just skipped.

Then he leans back, stretching lazily. "If I’d known this was all it took to make you look at me like that, I would’ve done it sooner."

You glare. "Shut up."

He chuckles, slow and deep. "Whatever you say, sweetheart."

ZAYNE

• Doesn’t initiate it, but doesn’t refuse either. If you offer, he’ll raise a brow, hesitate for exactly two seconds, then say, “Just once.”

• Handles it with practiced precision. He takes measured drags, never coughing, never overdoing it. You almost wonder if he’s done this before.

• Doesn’t change much outwardly, but you can tell. His posture loosens. His usually sharp eyes soften just a bit. The corners of his lips twitch like he wants to smirk but won’t let himself.

• His teasing becomes slower, lazier. No more quick-witted remarks—now, it’s long pauses, lingering glances, low chuckles between sentences. "This is enough."

• Hyper-aware of you. Not in an obvious way, but in how his gaze follows your movements, how his knee stays pressed against yours, how he picks up on your every shift in expression.

• Has a habit of speaking in low tones. And high? That tone gets even deeper, making everything he says sound more suggestive than it probably should.

• Shotguns with you—but doesn’t make it obvious at first. He just leans in, gaze heavy, voice calm: “Come here.”

• There’s a certain intimacy in the way he watches you react. He doesn’t gloat, doesn’t tease—you’re just there, close enough that he can see the way your pupils dilate, the way you hesitate before exhaling.

• Still maintains control. Even when high, Zayne doesn’t slouch, doesn’t get giggly—he just seems more relaxed, more undone.

• Finally lets out something softer than usual. "You drive me high." Maybe it’s the haze, maybe it’s the moment, but he says something he wouldn’t say otherwise. And when you call him out on it? He just hums, unfazed.

SCENARIO

The night is quiet, the two of you sitting in comfortable silence as the smoke curls around you. Zayne is leaned back against the couch, one arm draped lazily over the backrest. His fingers tap against his thigh, slow and rhythmic.

You pass him the joint, and he takes it between his fingers without looking at you. A slow inhale. A long pause. Then a smooth exhale, controlled and effortless, like he’s been doing this his whole life.

"You seem weirdly good at this," you note, raising a brow.

His lips quirk slightly. "Observant as always."

You narrow your eyes. "That’s not a denial."

He hums, gaze flickering toward you. "Would you prefer I pretended to choke on it?"

You scoff, rolling your eyes.

His chuckle is quiet, nearly drowned out by the soft crackle of burning embers. He takes another drag, then—without warning—leans in, exhaling the smoke right against your lips.

Your breath catches.

"You’re not inhaling properly," he murmurs, voice deep, calm. His eyes don’t leave yours. "Let me show you."

Your fingers tighten on your lap. "...You—"

"Close your mouth," he instructs, tilting his head slightly. "Now breathe in slowly."

His breath merges with yours, the warmth of it seeping into your skin. The room feels smaller, the air heavier. For a moment, the only thing you can focus on is the sharpness of his gaze, the way his fingers brush against your wrist ever so slightly.

Then he pulls back, exhaling slowly.

"...Better?"

You exhale shakily. "Yeah. Sure. Whatever."

His smirk is lazy this time, his amusement barely concealed. "Good." A pause. Then, with that same quiet amusement: "You should listen to me more often."

RAFAYEL

• He acts like he’s done this before. The moment you offer, Rafayel flashes a smug grin and takes the joint with zero hesitation, like this is just another one of his many, many talents. Spoiler: It is not.

• Immediate regret. He inhales way too fast, way too deep, and instantly chokes. The coughing fit that follows is violent—painful, even. You try to be supportive, but it’s hard when he’s practically dying beside you.

• Embarrassed but won’t admit it. His eyes are watering, his face is flushed, but he still tries to wave you off with a wheezy, “I’m fine. That was nothing, piece of cake.” It was, in fact, something.

• Tries again, somehow gets worse. This time, he inhales slower—but holds it in for way too long. You can see the struggle on his face before he finally exhales in a sharp, desperate gasp. "I'm going to fire you for this. I endure your existence in my life, and I get this?" (You didn't even force him, did you?)

• The high hits him fast and hard. One second, he’s his usual cocky self. The next, he’s slumped against you, blinking sluggishly, looking like he just discovered the meaning of life and immediately forgot it.

• He’s too aware of his body. “Why do I feel like my fingers are breathing?” He stares at his hand like it personally betrayed him. “Are they always this long?”

• He starts giggling uncontrollably. Not his usual smug chuckle—actual giggling. And once he starts, he can’t stop. You’re just sitting there, watching him lose his mind over absolutely nothing. You're starting to second-guess your choices.

• Tries to flirt but keeps forgetting what he’s saying halfway through. “You know, you’re—uh…” He pauses. Stares at you. Furrows his brows. “Wait. What was I talking about?”

• Fails miserably at shotgunning. He tries to be smooth about it, but when he leans in to exhale, he completely misses your mouth and blows the smoke straight into your eye. “Oh—shit, wait—” cue him panicking while you threaten to kill him.

• Gets so clingy. Once he stops freaking out, he just flops against you, arms wrapped lazily around your waist, mumbling about how soft you are. If you try to move? He whines like a motherless boy.

SCENARIO:

Rafayel takes the joint from you with a lazy smirk, twirling it between his fingers. “You really think I haven’t done this before?” He scoffs, leaning in to light it. “Cutie, please.”

He inhales. Too fast. Way too fast.

A second later, he’s choking so violently it sounds like he’s about to die. His whole body jolts forward, and he nearly smacks the joint out of his own hand in his desperate attempt to breathe.

You watch, unimpressed. “…Yeah. You definitely look experienced.”

Rafayel wipes his watering eyes, still coughing between words. “Shut up,” he rasps. “I just—h-holy shit—” He blinks blearily at the ceiling. “Why is the room moving?”

You snort, leaning back against the couch. “It’s literally not.”

He scowls at you, then at the joint like it personally betrayed him. Still, his pride is too big to back down, so he tries again—slower this time. The hit is barely better, but he forces himself to hold it in before exhaling shakily.

Then, it really kicks in.

He stares at his hands, flexing his fingers in slow motion. “…Why do my hands feel like they’re floating?”

You raise a brow. “Because you’re high.”

“No, no, but like.” He pauses, blinking. “They’re breathing.”

You stifle a laugh, watching him zone out so hard he looks like he’s questioning his entire existence. His usual sharp wit is gone, replaced by pure, unfiltered confusion.

Eventually, he turns back to you, blinking sluggishly. “Hey. Hey.”

“What?”

“You’re…you’re really pretty,” he murmurs, voice slower, softer. “Like…really.”

Your breath catches, heat creeping up your neck—until he suddenly snorts, completely ruining the moment. “Wait. Did I say that out loud?”

You groan, shoving his shoulder. “Oh my god.”

He just giggles—actually giggles—before collapsing against you, wrapping his arms around your waist with a dramatic sigh. “Mmm. You’re comfy.”

“Rafayel, get off.”

“No.” He nuzzles into your shoulder, sighing again. “…’M gonna stay here forever.”

You roll your eyes. You should probably push him off. But then again, his body is warm, and his weight is oddly comforting.

“…Fine. But if you drool on me, I’m shoving you onto the floor.”

His only response is a sleepy hum, arms tightening just slightly around you as he breathes slow, steady.

Yeah. You’re never letting him live this down.

XAVIER

• Looks like the most innocent one—until he opens his mouth. At first glance, Xavier’s calm demeanor and neutral expression make him seem like the most harmless guy in the room. But then he speaks, and the words that leave his lips are downright sinful. “You should rest. I wouldn’t want you too tired when I finally have my way with you.”

• You choke on air. “Excuse me?”

• He blinks, neutral. “I meant for our plans tomorrow.” A slow pause. “Why? What did you think I meant?”

• His suggestiveness is never obvious—but once you catch on, it’s too late. Unlike the others, he doesn’t make direct comments. He phrases things in an oddly poetic, unsettling way that lingers in your mind long after he’s said them.

• That emotionless face makes it worse. He’ll drop the most obscene, dark, or insinuating remark with zero change in expression—just his usual calm, slightly drowsy voice. And he’ll just watch you process it. You complain, “I hate when people beat around the bush.”

• Xavier, voice calm: “Mm. I prefer going straight in.” You glance at him. His face is completely neutral. You don’t know if he did that on purpose or not.

• Teasing is an art form to him. He doesn’t make fun of you outright—no, he prefers to lead you into traps. Coaxing, patient, as if waiting for you to realize the exact nature of his words. And when you do? That ghost of a smirk is barely there.

• Falls asleep in the most inappropriate settings—but it never feels accidental. One moment, he’s making the air thick with tension. The next, he’s napping like none of it ever happened. It leaves you spiraling.

• Dark humor, but in a way that feels almost too intimate. He never jokes at your expense—but his observations about people, about himself, always have an edge. A sharpness hidden beneath the quiet amusement.

• Knows exactly what he’s doing. He plays the part of the detached, socially unaware man so well—but every so often, he lets something slip. Something too precise, too perfectly timed. A reminder that he’s always watching. “Mmh.” He hums. Then, softly, “Would it be easier if I just messed you up instead?” Your brain short-circuits. But he just blinks at you. Innocent.

• His moments of possessiveness are subtle—but terrifying. He never says he’s jealous. Never demands your attention. But his gaze alone is enough to make people uncomfortable. Cold. Measuring. Like he’s contemplating something unkind.

• You can never tell if he’s joking or serious. His words always toe the line between playful and unnerving. And when you call him out on it? That neutral expression remains. “Does it matter?” he murmurs, eyes half-lidded. “You like it either way, right?”

SCENARIO:

You’re sitting on the couch, legs tucked beneath you, inhaling the smoke as Xavier leans back beside you, eyes half-lidded like he’s about to doze off. The silence is comfortable—until he shifts slightly, voice soft.

“Would you let me ruin you?”

Is he that high?

Your fingers freeze against the joint. You blink, turning to look at him. “…What?”

He doesn’t react. Just keeps gazing ahead, the same neutral calm as always. “If I asked,” he continues, voice steady, “would you let me?”

Your breath catches. A sharp, involuntary thing. “What the hell kind of question is that?”

That’s when he finally looks at you. Directly. His head tilts, just slightly—studying you, like he’s waiting to see exactly how you’ll react. Then slowly, his eyes travel from your legs up until your neck.

You swallow. Something about his tone, the way he says it so matter-of-factly, sends a ripple of unease down your spine.

Then, just as suddenly as he started, he exhales, shifting again—this time slumping against you, head resting lazily on your shoulder. “Mmm. You’re warm.”

You blink, startled by the sudden change in mood. “You—what—”

“Shhh.” His voice is drowsy now, already fading into sleep. “Let me stay here.”

You stare at him. At the way his breathing evens out, the slow rise and fall of his chest. His face is peaceful, almost childlike.

Like he hadn’t just shattered your entire perception of him moments ago.

And yet, as you sit there, heartbeat uneven, one thought lingers.

How much of that was real?

And how much of him is just waiting for the right moment to show itself?

CALEB

• He doesn’t do things like this. Not often. He’s disciplined, focused—he has to be. But for you? He makes an exception.

• At first, he just watches you. Amused. Studying the way you exhale, the way your eyes lose focus.

• When you offer him the joint, he hesitates. Then, without breaking eye contact, he takes it.

• Slow inhale. Controlled. Even now, he’s composed. But when he exhales, there's a flicker of something... relaxation, maybe. Or something deeper.

• "…Huh." He tilts his head, lips curving slightly. "Didn’t expect it to feel like this."

• Leans back, arm draped behind you. He’s close. Too close.

• His voice is softer than usual. Smoother. "You feel like this often?" His fingers graze your wrist. Absentminded, but almost tender.

• "You look different like this." A pause. Then, quieter— "Pretty."

• He laughs at your expression. It’s low, breathy. He’s too relaxed.

• And then, because he’s too relaxed—

"I’d kill anyone who saw you like this."

His gaze lingers. A little too intense.

And just like that, the haze in his mind clears slightly.

• He exhales, shaking his head, chuckling under his breath.

"…Forget I said that." (But you won’t.)

SCENARIO:

The air was thick with the scent of smoke, the soft crackle of the joint between your fingers as you passed it to him. He looked at it for a moment, then raised an eyebrow, amused but unbothered by your nonchalant demeanor.

“You sure about this?” he asked, voice low, teasing. But you knew it was a game, a challenge.

“Of course I am,” you shot back with a grin, “You’re the one who’s always so in control, right? I bet you can’t handle this.”

He chuckled at the dare, a smirk tugging at his lips. “You have no idea what I can handle.” He took the joint from your hand, bringing it to his lips, the action smooth and controlled.

His eyes never left you as he inhaled deeply, holding the smoke in his lungs before leaning in close to you. “Open up,” he murmured.

You stared at him, confused, until his hand cupped the back of your head, gently guiding you forward. Without another word, he pressed his lips to yours, his breath mingling with the smoke as he shotgunned it straight into your mouth.

The warmth of his body pressed against yours, his scent overwhelming, as you felt the smoke fill your lungs. He pulled away slowly, a grin on his face as he watched you. "Well done," he said, low and approving, his voice sending a shiver down your spine.

You blinked, the effects starting to take hold as the world around you softened, your head spinning slightly. "Caleb... what the hell?"

He tilted his head, the playful smirk never leaving his face. "You think I’d let you have all the fun without getting in on it?" His eyes sparkled with something dangerous, possessive. "Not a chance."

You felt his hand on your thigh, his grip firm but not forceful, as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear. “Next time, pip-squeak,” he whispered, his voice dripping with a dangerous promise. “You don’t get to play without me. Understand?”

You nodded, still too dazed to protest, and he chuckled, pulling you into his chest, the smoke lingering around you both as he stroked your hair.

"Good girl," he repeated, his voice a little too pleased. "Now, don’t go getting all shy on me."

His fingers brushed over your wrist in that possessive, almost claiming way, and you realized—maybe this was his idea of fun. Maybe it wasn’t just about the smoke.

Maybe it was about you, with him, in ways you weren’t sure you fully understood yet.

[seumyo]

you asked and i shall deliver!!!. never seen you before but whatever ehe

a bit cliche, but do a vtuber reader x idia. I've been obsessed with this concept for whatever reason but I am way too lazy to write about it!!

if you want to you can do other characters ofc, but I just need a vtuber reader lololol

- 🌼 (idk i just like this emoji)

IDIA SHROUD ✰ FANBOY.EXE

NOTE. I love this prompt now (ﾉ ˃ˋᗜˊ˂ )ﾉ I might make another post with another version—maybe a more in-depth headcanons of fanboy!idia and vtuber!reader; just really wanted Idia to be reader’s VTuber model artist in this one !!

It all started with the artist behind your VTuber model. You didn’t know him. Well, you did—technically. His username was Thanatos, a well-known but highly elusive illustrator and Live2D animator who had a reputation for only taking on projects he found personally interesting.

It had been pure luck that he accepted your request in the first place.

You had sent him a formal commission request with a concept sheet, expecting radio silence or maybe a polite rejection. Instead, you got a response within the same day.

Accepting the commission. No revisions after initial sketch.

It had been brief, almost cold, but that was fine. He was an artist in high demand, and you weren’t about to risk annoying him. True to his word, he worked quickly. Within a week, you had a breathtaking, fully rigged VTuber model that moved like an absolute dream. The expressions, the fluidity of motion—everything was perfect.

You were overjoyed. You followed it with a generous tip immediately and sent a long thank-you message.

Thank you so much!! It’s even better than I imagined! You’re amazing!!

No response. Not that you expected one. Thanatos had already moved on, and you should too.

-

Idia knew about your actual debut a month later.

He had no reason to be watching. None. He had no attachment to this commission—it was just another job. But the moment you went live, his fingers were captivated toward the keyboard before he even realized what he was doing.

You were streaming.

With the model he made.

Using the animations he painstakingly rigged for months.

…It wouldn’t hurt to check, right? Just a little? For quality control.

His screen was already open before he finished that thought.

At first, he convinced himself it was a professional curiosity. He was just making sure his work functioned properly in a real-time setting. But then he heard your voice.

“Hello, hello! How is everyone doing today?”

You had a warm, welcoming voice that filled the empty space of his room like a summer breeze through an open window. You weren’t overly polished or exaggerated—you just seemed genuinely happy to be here.

And the way you moved—

He hadn’t noticed before, when you two were going through some test runs via call, but you had an adorable habit of tilting your head slightly whenever you were thinking and how you bounced subtly in your seat whenever you got excited. These were all movements he had programmed, but seeing them now, paired with your real-time reactions, it felt… like something else.

Something that will haunt him very soon.

His chest felt tight. He didn’t like that feeling.

He minimized the tab.

He closed it entirely.

…Then reopened it in an incognito window.

Not because he cared. Obviously. It was just research.

Right.

At least, that was what he told himself. Until the next stream. And the next. And then, before he knew it, he was a regular viewer.

Not publicly, of course. No, he lurked in the chat like a ghost, watching you without making his presence known. Every laugh, every excited gasp, every soft, murmured “thank you” to your viewers kept him hooked in place. It wasn’t just your voice—it was the way you carried yourself. You were unguarded, genuine.

It’s rare for him to see that nowadays.

He started to recognize the regulars in chat. A user named StarGazer89 who always sent supportive messages. MuffinMan, who donated too much and made you flustered every time. VoidPrince, who constantly made inside jokes that you played along with.

Idia was none of these people.

His username? User492015.

Generic. Disposable. Untraceable.

Not that you’d ever notice him. Which was exactly how he wanted it.

Probably.

But then something happened.

One night, during a casual chatting stream, you leaned forward slightly, resting your chin in your hands as your model mirrored the motion. “Ahh, I really lucked out with my artist,” you mused, your voice warm with gratitude. “Thanatos, if you’re out there—thank you again! I still can't believe someone like you took my commission.”

His breath hitched.

His fingers hovered over his keyboard.

He could say something. Just a simple “you’re welcome”—no one would even know it was him. They’d probably think he was delusional.

Instead, he closed the stream.

His heart was beating too fast. It was stupid. He was being stupid.

This was just a job. Just a commission.

So why did he feel like some kind of phantom, watching from the shadows, unable to reach out? Why did he get attached to you?

-

Idia knew he shouldn’t make it a big deal.

That he’s a big deal or that you’re a big deal to him. He doesn’t understand anymore.

As much as he hated dealing with people, he couldn’t deny it—Thanatos was one of the most sought-after VTuber artists in the industry. Everyone wanted a model from him, from corporate VTubers to indie up-and-comers hoping for a miracle. His commissions filled up within seconds. His rates were high—stupidly high. And yet, people were more than willing to pay.

He was used to clients freaking out when they got a slot. Used to them gushing, spamming thank-you messages, treating him like some kind of god of Live2D.

You, on the other hand? You had been normal about it, though it was evident how excited you were to work with him.

Oh, thank you for accepting! I’m excited to work with you!

No excessive flattery, no begging for a rushed commission, and no asking for discounts despite his prices being borderline robbery. You had sent over your references, paid upfront, and patiently waited.

Professional. Efficient. A dream client.

So why—why—had he ended up like this?

Why was he sitting in his room, watching your stream every single night like some desperate, diehard fan? Why was he buying your merch, collecting keychains, standees, and even the limited-edition tapestry that sold out in minutes?

Why was he spending more money on you than you had on your model?

Idia groaned, slumping over his desk as your latest stream played on his second monitor.

“This is so bad. So bad. I’m supposed to be a professional. I’m literally a big-name artist—people in the industry respectme. And now I’m sitting here like some pathetic fanboy, throwing my money at her like—“

A notification popped up.

Your donation of ¥75000 has been sent successfully!

Idia froze.

He had done it again.

“NOOOOOOOOOOO—“

He slammed his forehead against the desk, as if that would somehow undo his actions.

Why was he like this?!

He had never donated to streamers before. Ever. But with you, it had started with small amounts—¥1000 here, ¥2000 there. And then it escalated. He had no self-control. He had literally spent more on your streams than you had paid him for your model at this point.

And the worst part? You noticed. Always.

“Oh! Another big donation from ‘GhostKing999’! Thank you so much!”

You didn’t even know GhostKing999 was Thanatos.

Since when did go from User492015 to GhostKing999?

Maybe that should’ve been a warning for him.

You sounded so genuinely happy. Idia felt like he was going to die. He probably should.

Not because he wanted you to notice him, specifically. No way. He wasn’t some creepy, obsessive fan trying to force attention. He just… liked supporting you. Liked seeing you excited when you reached a donation goal. Liked the way you always took the time to thank your chat, no matter how big you got.

But god, he was in so deep.

And then, as if the universe wanted to kill him completely, it happened. Again. A common question that would probably get him to be a millionaire whenever other people asked his former clients.

Someone in chat asked, “Who made your model?”

And just like every other time, you answered without hesitation.

“Thanatos! I was super lucky to get a slot in their commissions! And when I got another slot, I had to go all out and even commission my winter, summer, and formal looks.”

Idia screamed into his pillow.

Why—why—did you always say it like that? Like he was some kind of mythical being you had miraculously summoned into existence? Did you have any idea how much he respected you? How much effort had he put into making your model perfect, even going above and beyond what you paid for?

Maybe he liked your vision for your model.

Maybe he just liked you in general before he knew it.

Maybe he like-liked you the more he thought about it—

Ok, stop, Idia Shroud, think about how weird that sounds. He barely even met you in person.

He peeked back at the screen.

You had that little, thoughtful smile on your face. The one you did when you were about to get all sentimental.

“I know they don’t really talk much, but… yeah. I was really lucky,” you said softly. “Thanatos did an amazing job. I still can’t believe I have this model sometimes. If they’re ever watching—thank you. Seriously. And I wish all other aspiring VTubers manifest their slot in Thanatos’ commissions soon!”

Idia short-circuited.

His chair nearly tipped over as he wheezed, trying to process the fact that his client—his former client—his CRUSH was sitting there, thanking him in front of thousands of people, completely unaware that he was watching.

That he was always watching.

That he was your biggest fan now.

“Oh my god, I need to log off. I need to uninstall the internet. I need to throw my entire PC out the window—“

His phone buzzed.

Another donation confirmation.

¥100000

From him.

To you.

Well, most of the earnings he got from commission were certainly going somewhere.

He screamed again.

SEUMYO © 2025. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[noorpersona]

Rivals: Kuroo

Tension crackled in the air like a live wire as you strode through the halls of the Japan Volleyball Association, your heels clicking against the polished floors with sharp precision. Every step carried purpose, controlled and deliberate, but anyone who knew you well enough would recognize the storm brewing beneath the surface.

Clutching the latest stack of paperwork in one hand, you pushed open the glass door to Kuroo Tetsurou’s office with a level of force that was just shy of inappropriate. You were a professional, after all. Barging in wouldn’t do—but making a statement? That was entirely different.

Kuroo was at his desk, leaning back in his chair with an almost bored amusement, as if he had been expecting you. His sleeves were rolled up, exposing the defined lines of his forearms, and his tie was slightly loosened, the very picture of a man who thrived in controlled chaos. He barely even blinked when you entered.

“Ah, Legal finally graces me with their presence,” he mused, setting his pen down atop an open document. “Didn’t expect you so soon. Usually, you let the frustration simmer a little longer before storming in.”

You inhaled sharply through your nose, pressing the papers down onto his desk with more force than necessary. “I am not signing off on this.”

Kuroo barely glanced at the document before flicking his gaze back up to you, an infuriatingly lazy smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Which part?”

You crossed your arms. “The part where you once again try to push through a sponsorship campaign that violates endorsement regulations, misleads consumers, and—oh—could land the association in serious legal trouble.”

He exhaled dramatically, tapping his fingers against the desk as if deeply inconvenienced. “That’s a lot of negativity, don’t you think? Maybe try looking at the bigger picture.”

You scoffed. “The bigger picture? Kuroo, the bigger picture is that I keep having to drag you back from launching ideas that would get us fined, sued, or—if we’re lucky—just scolded by compliance.”

Kuroo chuckled, stretching his arms above his head before fixing you with a look that bordered on scandalous. “You just love dragging me, don’t you?”

Your jaw clenched. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said smoothly, pushing himself up from his chair. The sudden shift in proximity sent a subtle prickle down your spine, but you didn’t move. He reached for the document you’d slammed down, flipping through it leisurely, clearly unbothered. “So what you’re saying is, if I tweak the wording…”

You narrowed your eyes. “If you tweak the wording, I’ll still reject it. It’s not just semantics, Kuroo. It’s about following the rules.”

His lips curled at the edges, sharp and teasing. “I think we both know I prefer to toe the line.”

You let out a sharp exhale, trying to ignore the way your heart beat just a little faster. This was the problem with him. He made everything a game, a cat-and-mouse dance where he got off on pushing boundaries just to see you react.

“I’ll tell you what,” he continued, placing the proposal down and leaning against the desk, arms crossed over his chest. “I’ll revise the proposal—to your unbearably strict standards—”

“How generous.”

“—if you grab drinks with me after work.”

Your grip tightened around your arms, heat creeping up your neck. “I’d rather spend my evening rewriting Japan’s entire corporate compliance manual.”

Kuroo let out a low chuckle, his eyes flickering with uncontained amusement, but there was something else there too—something deliberately slow, measured, almost sultry. He tilted his head slightly, letting his voice drop just a fraction as he said, "That’s a shame. I think you’d find our conversations much more stimulating outside the office."

The deliberate weight behind his words sent a traitorous warmth crawling up your neck, but you forced yourself to keep your expression cool, even as your fingers curled against your arms.

You met his gaze head-on, refusing to let him see even a flicker of hesitation. “I think you’d find your ideas much more successful if they didn’t regularly violate corporate policy.”

Kuroo grinned, pushing back from the desk, his gaze never leaving yours. “Ah, but where’s the fun in that?”

Before you could fire back, the intercom crackled to life, and Kuroo’s secretary’s voice came through, smooth and professional. "Kuroo-san, your next meeting is waiting."

You shot him a sharp glare, your frustration still simmering just beneath the surface. "Fix it," you said, voice clipped, before turning on your heel and making your way toward the door.

Kuroo, however, didn’t move. Instead, he leaned back slightly, watching you leave with a slow, unapologetically amused expression. His gaze lingered—maybe a little too long—lowering slightly as you walked away, the sway of your hips pulling his attention before you disappeared into the hallway.

He exhaled through his nose, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Oh, I’m definitely fixing something."

You straightend your posture, pushing away the lingering heat of irritation (and something else) that settled over you. This wasn’t new. This wasn’t surprising. This was just Kuroo being Kuroo.

And yet, damn him. Damn that insufferable, arrogant smirk and the way your pulse skipped just a little too fast every time he directed that sharp, knowing gaze at you.

This was a game neither of you were willing to lose.

And unfortunately for you, Kuroo Tetsurou played to win. __

You stormed—as professionally as possible—back into your office, dropping the file onto your desk with a little too much force. The sharp slap of paper against wood echoed in the otherwise quiet space, but it wasn’t nearly enough to drown out the infuriating replay of your conversation with Kuroo looping in your head.

Your fingers hovered over your keyboard, but the words on your screen blurred together. Instead of drafting reports or reviewing contracts, your mind was stuck on the smugness in his voice, the arrogance in his smirk, the way he looked at you like he was perpetually three steps ahead. Every damn interaction with him was exhausting—a battle of wills where he seemed to enjoy watching you get riled up a little too much.

God, he was insufferable.

You inhaled sharply through your nose, willing the irritation out of your body as you sat back in your chair. Focus. You had other things to worry about. Work that didn’t involve him.

You had barely started scrolling through your inbox when the door to your office slammed open.

"What’s this I hear about you rejecting the campaign?"

Your boss’s voice boomed across the room before you even had a chance to react. You immediately straightened, hands folding neatly in front of you, as you turned to meet his hard gaze.

"Kuroo-san’s proposal does not pass policy guidelines, sir," you said smoothly, keeping your tone measured and professional.

Your boss scowled, pacing in front of your desk like you had just personally cost the company millions. His tie was slightly loosened, and his sleeves were rolled up—a sign that he had been fielding other problems all day, and now, you were one of them.

"So make it pass!" he snapped. "What did we hire you for?"

You barely resisted the urge to grit your teeth. "Sir, with all due respect, the proposal in its current state violates multiple advertisement clauses. If we move forward with it as is, we risk legal repercussions."

He waved a dismissive hand, clearly uninterested in the specifics. "That’s your job to fix. I want it approved by the end of the day."

"You can't possibly be asking me to rewrite the campaign?" you asked, your voice carefully controlled despite the frustration simmering beneath the surface.

Your boss scoffed, rubbing his temples as if this conversation was an unnecessary burden. "Don't even get me started on that bastard," he muttered, clearly referring to Kuroo. "I'm going to yell at him too. You both will be staying as long as it takes to finish this. No excuses."

Before you could argue, he leaned forward, bracing his hands on your desk. "And I don’t care if you two can’t stand each other. If this campaign doesn’t get approved, it’s both your heads on the line. Figure it out." He straightened, smoothing his tie as he exhaled sharply. "I expect progress by the next meeting. No more of this back and forth." Then, without waiting for your response, he turned on his heel and strode out, leaving the door wide open behind him.

You sat there for a moment, fingers clenched around the edge of your desk, trying to process the sheer absurdity of what had just happened.

This wasn't even remotely close to being your fault. If anything, you had been doing your job correctly, stopping Kuroo from pushing through yet another one of his reckless, barely compliant proposals. And now, somehow, you were being punished for it. You had been following protocol, making sure the company didn’t find itself in a legal nightmare, and yet—you were the one getting scolded? Forced to stay late?

Because of him?

Your jaw tightened. Of course, he wouldn’t face the consequences alone. No, you had to be dragged into this mess alongside him, forced to sit in a room with that smirking, insufferable bastard and work together until this campaign was approved.

The mere thought made your blood pressure spike.

You could already picture the look on Kuroo’s face when he found out. That lazy, knowing grin. The cocky tilt of his head. The way he’d draw out every syllable of your name just to see you twitch. He would probably love this—getting to push your buttons for hours, knowing you had no choice but to endure it.

And the worst part? You knew exactly how he’d spin it.

“Oh? Stuck working overtime with me? You really just can’t get enough, huh?”

You let out a long exhale, trying to push away the irritation clawing at your nerves. The last thing you needed was to let Kuroo live rent-free in your mind. But the thought of having to sit across from him, in a room, alone, for hours, was already grating on you.

This night was going to be hell.

Your nails tapped impatiently against the desk as your mind raced. There was no way you were going to let Kuroo think he’d won just because you were forced into this situation. You would get this campaign approved, on your terms, and you would do it without giving him the satisfaction of seeing you crack.

Because if this ended with him smugly leaning back in his chair, arms crossed, with that knowing smirk on his lips while he said, “Told ya we make a great team,” you were going to commit a corporate crime.

You straightened, rolling up your sleeves, your determination settling like steel in your spine.

If you had to suffer through this, so did he.

And if Kuroo wanted a fight, he was about to get one.

[isolvlt]

Hard to get - choi subong (Thanos)

Summary: basically subong has tried everything to get your attention, and tonight he finally shows you what in store

Warnings: NSFW mdni, he calls reader a bitch, slapping, fingering, idk I read it and I don't think there's anything else :p probably some typos

Notes: I HAD TO WRITE FOR MI MANNNN 😩 I was too lazy to actually add a sex scene so :p

Thanos had his eye on Y/N since the moment the games began. She wasn’t like the others—didn’t fawn over him, didn’t laugh at his jokes, didn’t even flinch when he threw around his usual over-the-top antics. It was infuriating.

He’d tried everything. The smooth-talking, the freestyle raps, the obnoxious charm he knew worked on most girls. But Y/N? She barely spared him a glance. It made his blood boil. Thanos wasn’t used to being ignored, and he sure as hell wasn’t about to start now.

So, naturally, patience was never an option.

That night, when the lights dimmed and most of the players had slipped into uneasy sleep, he made his move. He weaved through the scattered bunks, quiet but purposeful, until he reached her bed. And then— slap. Not hard enough to leave a mark, but just enough to jolt her awake.

“The fuck?” Y/N’s voice was groggy, laced with annoyance, eyes adjusting to the darkness.

Thanos crouched beside her, a lazy smirk stretched across his face. "Finally. Thought you were gonna sleep through the whole damn thing." His voice dripped with amusement, that same arrogant lilt he always carried.

She sat up, rubbing her cheek, glaring at him. "Are you insane?"

He chuckled, tilting his head. "You tell me, baby girl. ‘Cause you got me feelin’ crazy over here."

Y/N scoffed, unimpressed, and moved to turn away, but Thanos wasn’t having it. He caught her wrist, his grip firm but not forceful, his gaze burning into hers. "Nah, don’t start actin’ brand new now. I know you see me. I know you feel me watchin’." His voice dipped lower, teasing. "You just like playin’ hard to get."

She yanked her arm away, unimpressed. "Or maybe I just don’t like you."

That made him laugh—a short, breathy sound like he couldn’t believe what he just heard. He ran a hand through his disheveled hair, shaking his head. "Damn. That’s cold, Y/N. Real cold." His expression shifted—something darker flashing behind his eyes. He leaned in just a little closer, voice a whisper now. "But see… the thing about me? I don’t take L’s. Sooner or later, you’re gonna see things my way."

Before she could say anything, he pushed himself against her, his mouth finding hers in a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was a claiming, a declaration of dominance—his tongue pushing past her teeth as if he owned the very air she breathed. Y/N’s eyes went wide with surprise, but she was quick to react. She planted her palms firmly on his chest and pushed, her strength fueled by the fire of indignation.

Thanos stumbled backward, his smirk slipping into a scowl. “The fuck, bitch?” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes narrowing to slits in the dim light.

Y/N took the opportunity to stand, her heart racing but her voice steady. “I’m not here for your games, Choi Subong. I’m here to survive. And if that means staying as far away from you as possible, I will.” She balled her fists at her sides, her body tense and ready to fight if he took another step closer.

But Thanos wasn’t done yet. He stepped towards her again, his movements deliberately slow, his eyes never leaving hers. "You see, that's where you're wrong, sweetheart. This whole place is a game. And I'm the fucking king. And if you wanna live to see tomorrow, you're gonna start playing by my rules."

Y/N's eyes narrowed, and she took a step backward, her voice like a whip crack. "You're not the king of shit. Not here, not anywhere. You think because you're famous outside of these walls that you own me in here? That's not how this works."

"Oh but it does" Thanos retorted, his eyes gleaming with a mix of challenge and lust. He took a step closer, closing the space between them until she could feel the heat of his breath on her face. "You think you're special because you don't fall for my shit? You think that makes you better than the rest?"

He reached up, grabbing her face with both hands, his thumbs tracing the line of her jaw before digging in, holding her in place. His voice dropped to a rough whisper, "You're gonna be my slut tonight, whether you like it or not."

Y/N's heart hammered in her chest, but she wasn't about to let him see the effect he had on her. She pushed against his chest, trying to keep her voice steady. "Fuck off, Thanos."

Thanos chuckled, his grip tightening. He leaned in closer, his breath warm and minty against her cheek. "Is that how you talk to the king?"

Before she could respond, he pushed her roughly onto the bed, his hands pinning her wrists to the mattress. Y/N’s eyes flashed with anger and fear, but she didn’t scream—she knew better than to draw attention in this place. Instead, she bucked her hips, trying to throw him off.

Thanos was unfazed. He straddled her, his weight pressing down, and kissed her again—a bruising, possessive kiss that left no room for doubt. And, to her own horror, she felt a spark of something inside her. It was primal, unwelcome, but undeniable. Her body was responding to his, despite her mind’s protests.

Her eyes fluttered shut, and she found herself kissing him back—not because she wanted to, but because she had to. It was as if she was drowning in a sea of his making, and the only way to survive was to swim with the tide. His hands roamed her body, not with the gentle exploration of a lover, but with the ownership of a conqueror. He was everywhere—touching, claiming, as if he could somehow absorb her very essence.

Thanos could feel her resistance fading, her body succumbing to his touch. He broke the kiss with a smug smile, his eyes gleaming in the darkness. "See, baby? You're not so tough after all." He whispered against her ear, his breath sending shivers down her spine.

Y/N glared up at him, her cheeks flushed with a mix of anger and arousal she despised herself for feeling. "Get off," she hissed, trying to sound as defiant as she felt. But the words came out choked, betraying the desire pooling between her legs.

Thanos chuckled, his grip on her wrists tightening. "I don't think so," he murmured, leaning down to nip at her earlobe. His teeth scraped lightly against the skin, sending a jolt of pleasure through her that she couldn't suppress.

Y/N’s body was a traitor, arching into his touch despite her mind’s protests. She felt a sneer form on her lips, hating herself for the betrayal, but it only seemed to spur him on. Thanos’ hand slid down her body, pausing at the waistband of her panties. His thumb brushed over her clit through the fabric, and she couldn’t stop the gasp that escaped her.

With a triumphant smirk, he yanked the fabric aside, his fingers delving into her slick folds. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she bit her bottom lip to keep from moaning. He was so fucking good at this, it was infuriating. Her body responded to him as if it had been programmed to, and she hated that she couldn’t control it.

Thanos’ mouth traveled down her neck, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. He knew exactly how to touch her to make her squirm—how to manipulate her body into doing what he wanted. His teeth grazed the soft skin above her collarbone, and she couldn’t help but whimper. It was as if he was tearing away every last thread of dignity she had left.

But as he worked his way down, something changed. Y/N’s eyes snapped open, and she saw a flicker of something in his gaze—something that wasn’t quite the cold, detached hunger she’d expected. It was almost like...desperation. Like he needed this as much as he needed his next breath. And that was when she realized she had power here—not over the games, not over the guards, but over him.

Thanos whispered against her skin, his voice a dark, seductive rumble. "You're so fucking wet, baby," his fingers moving faster, pressing deeper. And she was. Wetter than she’d ever been. It was infuriating and exhilarating all at once. She hated how much she liked it, how much she craved it, even as she hated him for making her feel this way.

His touch grew more urgent, his thumb circling her clit with a precision that left her breathless. Y/N’s body responded of its own accord, her hips bucking up to meet his hand. She bit her lip so hard she tasted blood, trying to keep the sounds of pleasure from escaping. But it was no use. Her body was his to command, and she couldn’t stop the low moan that slipped out.

Thanos’ eyes darkened at the sound, his own breath coming in harsh pants. He leaned in closer, whispering in her ear, “You like it when I talk dirty, don’t you?” His words were a hot brand against her skin, setting her alight.

Y/N’s teeth dug into her bottom lip, her eyes squeezed shut. She couldn’t believe the effect he had on her—how his crude, hateful whispers could turn her body to liquid fire. But she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing it. She turned her head away, trying to ignore the way his breath tickled her neck, the way his thumb was now rubbing furiously against her clit.

Thanos took her silence as a challenge. "Look at me," he demanded, his voice a dark whisper that sent shivers down her spine. When she didn't comply, he grabbed her chin, forcing her gaze to meet his. His eyes were like black holes, sucking her in, consuming her. "Look at me when I make you come."

Her eyes snapped to his, a silent rebellion. But she couldn't deny the effect he had on her. His fingers danced over her clit, the pressure increasing with every passing second. She felt like she was on the edge of a cliff, the wind howling around her, ready to push her over at any moment. And she hated it—hated that he had this power over her.

But just as she felt the first tremors of an orgasm, he pulled his hand away, leaving her gasping. "Why so mean to me, baby?" He taunted with a laugh, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "You're the one beggin' for it, but I think maybe I'll save it for later."

Y/N's eyes shot open, anger and embarrassment warring within her. "You sadistic fuck," she spat out, trying to shove him away. But he was too strong, too heavy.

Thanos' chuckle rumbled in his chest, his eyes gleaming with the thrill of power. He leaned in, his nose brushing against hers. "Oh, you're gonna be so much fun," he murmured, his voice low and dark. He kissed her again, this time with a smirk, as if to say 'see how easy it is for me to make you want this?'

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

And It’s Like the Sky is New

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader (pre-relationship)

Warnings: None

Summary: “All at once, everything looks different.”

A/N: Just needed to get something out. I feel like I’m falling behind and letting people down. Dedicated to @shadowcitrine who always lets me know when I’m doing too much. 🩵

gif by @daryl-dixon-daydreams

“Doin’ too much.”

You looked over your shoulder to find Daryl in the doorway, fingers busy fiddling with the tip of a bolt. You were so tired that you hadn’t even heard him come inside. “No. No, I’m not doing enough.” You disputed quietly, blowing your hair out of your face before turning back to your project, pulling the thread taut and pushing the needle through again. The prison community had grown tenfold and the kids outgrew clothes so fast. Hand-me-downs were necessary. The least you could do is hand them down with less holes.

“Not what I mean.” You heard him push himself off the frame and then his boots as he approached. His knees protested the descent to the concrete floor, but if it bothered him, he never said. “Not all this.”

You narrowed your eyes at the hand that gestured toward the projects you had scattered about: sewing, medical journals, dirty laundry for washing, and the list went on. “If you’ve got a point, Daryl, make it.” You didn’t snap at him. You were too weary for the energy that would require.

His expression remained neutral. “Doin’ plenty out here.” When he leaned in, you nearly reeled, but found you neither had the energy nor the true desire. His hand raised, his index finger tapping the middle of your forehead. “Doin’ too much in here.”

Your eyes followed his hand as he retracted it, letting it drop onto his thigh. He was right, of course. You had been thinking of everyone else for so long that you had forgotten what it even felt like to think of yourself. “Oh? What do you suggest?” You finally replied, placing the sewing on top of the pile.

One side of Daryl’s mouth lifted. “C’mon with me.”

The weather was cool, summer shifting into fall with all of its quiet and colors. The night air felt refreshing on your skin, having been cooped up for days with your projects. Your mind needed to be constantly occupied, lest you fall into the what ifs that consistently hung in the air. You’d be consumed by them, forgetting that you could be more than alive but actually still live.

The night sky was clear, stars twinkling. An entire universe was beyond the hell on earth and you couldn’t help but wonder if somewhere out there, there were other people; another planet where lives were happily moving forward. It was odd to feel jealousy toward something that may not even exist.

“Hey.”

“Hmm?” You answered a little too quickly, rolling your head toward the sound of Daryl’s voice. His gaze remained on the sky.

He inhaled deeply, folding his arms behind his head. “Where’d ya go?”

“Nowhere bad.” The stars acted as sparkling magnets and pulled your eyes back toward the sky. “Mostly.” A hum resonated beside you, so deep that you could almost feel it in your own chest. “Do you ever wonder what else is out there?” Your hand came up in a lazy gesture toward the incomplete darkness with its pinpricks of celestial light.

“Nah.” He answered immediately. It was almost insulting how little care he gave the reply. “Ain’t no need when there’s still so much—good right here.”

You laughed at this, turning your head to meet his indignant glare. “What’s so good about here? There’s the threat of—of death around every corner.” Daryl’s expression never wavered, his eyes searching your face. “What’s so good, Daryl?”

His eyes narrowed before he blinked and looked upward. “Them stars. They’re good.” You choked down another laugh. “Nights like this’un. They’re good.” He continued. “Family. That’s good.” Then there was silence. It wasn’t exactly uncomfortable; simply unexpected.

“I guess you’re—”

“You.” His head lolled back toward you. “You’re a good thing.” You only managed the first chuckle of a laugh before realizing there was not even a single hint of humor in the way he gazed at you. The expression may have appeared stoic to anyone else but you—you could see the fondness just below the surface, the sincerity, the truth. Your heart leapt into a somersault when you felt his finger graze the side of your hand.

“You, uh—” You swallowed hard, bearing witness to the moonlight catching in his eyes, making them almost silver under its influence. “You’re a good thing too.” Daryl stared at you a little longer before returning his attention to the sky, simultaneously lacing his fingers through yours. You, however, couldn’t seem to look away.

You’re not a good thing, Daryl. You’re the best thing.