#just something to try and get out of this creativity rut...

[eyeless-smiles]

((Heyyyo I'm still alive, just stuck in that perpetual state of thinking of writing, opening the tumblr app, then closing it again 🧍‍♂️

[hiratelier]

Many thoughts running through my head as I prepare to upload my last UTAU cover of the year because I'll barely touch the silly singing robot program next year when I have more exciting things to work on...but even then it feels like you're saying goodbye to a close friend you've been with for almost 9 years

[only-by-the-stars]

.

[skzophreniic]

Favorite Places to Have Sex

MDNI, 18+ content.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 when they wanna venture outside your bed

notes: this ended up longer than originally planned ngl. i find myself falling deeper and deeper into the void that is kim seungmin. pray for me ✊😔

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ CHAN

you already know what it is. chris practically lives at the studio, so why not fuck where he's most comfortable?

it always starts innocent enough. he's working late, you've invited yourself to the couch in the back, just scrolling through your phone. he calls you over to show you something he's working on and there just happens to only be one chair--the one he's currently settled on.

of course, he's not just going to let you stand, he's too much of a gentleman for that! he's kind enough to lend you his lap.

except now he can't focus. he's just trying to mix a track, but the way you shift on his lap whenever you point something out on the screen...yeah.

his fingers start tracing lazy circles on your thighs, voice dropping lower as he murmurs, "You’re distracting me, baby."

before you know it, his hands are gripping your hips, and you’re bouncing on his cock in the dim glow of his monitors, his low groans mixing with the bass from his unfinished song. The door is locked, but someone could still knock at any second—maybe a member, maybe a staff member and it's such a fucking vice, because on one hand, he doesn't give a shit. he wants them to hear, to know how good he makes you feel. it's the biggest thing that feeds his ego.

on the other hand, those sounds you make, the whimpers, the mewls, the lewd squelch your cunt makes when he's already made you cum twice but still can't stop rutting into you...yeah those are only for his ears.

he's pretty open to using his own moans though. have you listened closely to the backtrack of railway?

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ LEE KNOW

minho is obsessed with eye contact, so it’s no surprise that his favorite place is in front of a mirror. he wants you to see everything—the way your body moves, the way your face twists in pleasure, the way he controls every reaction you have.

you're insecure about your body? the sounds you make? yeah, no. every fucking thing about you is his biggest turn on, and he's just not okay with you not knowing that.

he’ll start slow, teasing you with featherlight touches, whispering in your ear, "look at yourself, baby. look how pretty you are for me." his hands will guide your movements, forcing you to watch the way he ruins you. and just when you think he’s going to let you close your eyes, he grips your jaw, turning your head toward the reflection. "I said, watch."

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ CHANGBIN

gym. yeah i said it, i don't care how basic it is.

he will sweetly ask you to come work out with him, super super early in the morning or super late at night, when nobody's around. he'll tell you it's because he gets too shy to take off his shirt when other people are around but gets too hot and uncomfortable with it on.

you fall for it every time. sweet thing.

binnie loves seeing you all sweaty and out of breath. there’s something about watching you work out that drives changbin crazy—maybe it’s the way your body moves, the little whimpers when you push yourself too hard, the way you stretch in all the right ways.

one second, he’s spotting for you, the next, he’s pinning you against the weight bench, gripping your thighs, telling you to let him do all the work now. "you wanna stretch a little more, baby?"

next thing you know, he’s pinning you against the mirror, your fingers leaving smudged prints on the glass as he fucks into you from behind, his hands gripping your hips bruisingly tight. he groans against your ear, voice thick with need,

"you've worked so hard today, baby," he'll grunt into your ear. "let me take care of you now."

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ HYUNJIN

hyunjin’s art studio is his sanctuary, the place where he’s most creative, where he loses himself in his work for hours at a time.

it always starts innocently enough. it's your birthday, and he wants to paint a portrait of you in that cute little sun dress he gifted you. that short, skimpy little sun dress he gifted you. and he needs you on his lap. for the creative process. spefically with your dress up, panties pushed aside, and his cock nestled deeply inside of you.

also for the creative process.

"you gotta sit still for me, pretty." he murmurs, leaned back against the couch, his gaze focused on his canvas. "or else this will take longer."

it's horrendously delicious, the way he makes you warm his cock while he works, refusing to let you move. he doesn't even fucking react, a hundred precent focused on making you the best portrait.

when he's done though, and only if you've been good and didn't move, he'll set his supplies aside to dry and let you fuck yourself on him. let you use him any way you want it.

and if you haven't been good, the only thing you're getting off on is his thigh. if you're lucky. tough luck.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ HAN

jisung has no patience. if he wants you, he wants you. which is why you end up fucking in the car so often—no waiting, no hesitations, just pure, impulsive desire.

it usually happens after late-night drives. the city lights blur past as he grips the wheel, one hand occasionally straying to your thigh, drumming against your skin. it's so fucking soft against his fingers, he's already hard. and you just had to wear that little skirt that gives him easy access.

"you're driving me crazy," he mutters, trying to keep his eyes on the road, shifting in his seat. he's only just got his fucking license, he could hardly drive with the music on yet, much less with you sitting there like that.

he’s aching for you.

so when he pulls into some dark, empty parking lot, hands clenched around the steering wheel like he’s trying to keep himself in check, you decide to put him out of his misery.

you lean over, fingers already working at his belt.

he whimpers. actually fucking whimpers.

his cock is already hard, leaking, twitching against the cool air, and when you wrap your fingers around him, he bucks into your hand with a choked gasp.

"f-fuck, baby, please—"

yeah...you're not going home any time soon.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ FELIX

felix is dangerously charming, and he knows exactly how to turn an innocent moment into something sinful. it usually starts with something as simple as baking together, fingers covered in flour, soft laughter filling the space.

but then, his hands start lingering—a light touch on your lower back, a casual squeeze of your thigh, his voice dropping an octave as he murmurs, "You're making a mess, baby."

the moment he sees you licking something off your finger, tilting your head like you’re teasing him? yep, you're fucked. not quite literally yet tho.

before you know it, he’s lifting you onto the counter, lips trailing down your neck as he spreads your thighs, the cool surface a sharp contrast to the heat building between you both. the half-mixed batter is forgotten, the kitchen filled with breathless moans instead, his hands spreading your thighs apart, eating you out like a man starved.

which he is. he's always fucking starved for you.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ SEUNGMIN

the library is the last place you’d expect seungmin to be this filthy.

It always starts so subtly. he's supposed to be helping you study for your finals, flipping through textbooks in the quietest corner of the library. but then his hand finds your thigh under the table, fingers tracing slow, deliberate circles.

"focus," he says, when he look at him sharply, voice perfectly neutral.

like he isn’t the one distracting you.

you try. poor thing, you really do. but his touch is persistent, featherlight strokes just beneath the hem of your skirt, moving higher, higher—so painfully slow that it’s infuriating.

"seungmin," you whisper, an urgent warning.

He doesn’t even glance up from his book. "what?"

you shoot him a glare, shifting in your seat to escape his touch, but his grip tightens just slightly—a silent command. Stay still.

"you should really be paying attention," he murmurs. "or do you need some extra motivation?"

oh he'll tell you that if you make it through the chapter like this that he'll reward you, give you what you really want. he'll keep you on the edge, till you're finally right there, so close--

he pulls away completely, returning to his textbook like nothing happened.

"you should finish your work first," he says, flipping a page. "i’ll think about rewarding you later."

the audacity.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ JEONGIN

his childhood bedroom.

you heard me.

the posters on the walls, the old books cluttering his desk, the twin-sized bed that barely fits both of you—it’s all so him. It should be innocent, just a short visit to his parents’ house, just a normal night.

or so you thought.

it starts with you lying next to him under the covers, whispering and giggling, trying not to wake anyone. he’s got one arm lazily draped over your waist, thumb rubbing slow circles against your hip. but then his hand slips lower—too low for something so casual—and suddenly, that mischievous smirk is on his lips.

"you’re being quiet," he teases, voice barely above a whisper. "something wrong?"

um yeah, something’s wrong. his parents are asleep down the hall. the walls are thin.

that’s the thrill—how you stiffen when he presses against you, how you grip his wrist when his fingers dip beneath the waistband of your shorts.

"aw, baby, that's just too bad" he coos, smirking against your skin. "You’re gonna have to be quiet for me."

the bed creaks when he shifts, pressing his weight against you, and he pauses—just for a second—listening for any signs of movement outside the door. when all remains quiet, he grins, his hand slipping beneath your pajama shorts, and you bite down on your lip to keep from moaning.

"shh," he breathes, pressing a finger to your lips. "if you wake them up, you’ll have to explain how their sweet, innocent jeongin has you like this."

[ittybittyfanblog]

Only You, Darling (Only You, Babe)

Summary: There were orders for your abduction. You were made to be the bait by a rival gang to get to the elusive head of Onychinus. Sylus doesn’t take it too well. Word Count: 4.8k Tags: mc x sylus, fem!reader x sylus (use of she/her pronouns), depictions of violence (it gets a little graphic), reader gets abducted and injured, strong language, protective!sylus, he’s a little unhinged here, self-indulgent! A/N: I can’t believe this game pulled me out of a three-year creative rut LMAO. I’ve been doing fanarts, now I’m writing again?? The power these pixelated men hold over me, man.  Anyway, enjoy!  This version of Sylus is probably a little OOC idk idk ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

It's close to midnight, and you're being followed.

On your six, a stocky man in an unassuming dark suit has been tailing you since you left the dingy bodega, a little over a mile away from your apartment, for about, three? five minutes—no, maybe even longer.

Shit, you mouth silently. Sloppy. You should’ve noticed him sooner, and the two other lackeys now closing in from up ahead. They’re armed too, if the hands hidden inside their jackets are any indication.

As if things aren't looking bad enough, you’ve decided tonight would be the perfect night to go weaponless, deciding against bringing your handgun with you since it was supposed to just be a quick run to the store for supplies. Namely, the late-night cravings sort of supply.

You clutch the wrinkled paper bag containing your coveted jalapeño Cheetos tightly.

This is what greed does to you, a mocking voice echoes in your head. Since when did your inner voice of reason sound masculine and oh-so-familiar? 

Exhaling quietly, you try to calm the rising beat of your heart and appear to be clueless of your surroundings. Walk at a normal pace. Look unaware of the men with the intention to… What even is this? An ambush? Good, old, regular robbery? No, it doesn’t seem like they're in it for something that insignificant. They wouldn’t even bother to be this cautious if it were. 

But then, what are they here for? The dangers you're more familiar with are of the monstrous kind in the literal sense of the word; entities that you face on a daily basis as a Deepspace hunter. Not the regular threats posed by mankind – which in this particular situation, suddenly feels more foreboding.

While racking your brain for ideas on how to slip away from their sight without escalating the situation, you fail to notice a fourth person hidden behind the dumpster inside the narrow alleyway on your left until you feel the cold, hard edge of a pistol gun hit your temple.  

With a shout, your hand shoots up in an attempt to yank the gun away from the hand holding it but the sudden burst of pain from the impact has left you feeling dizzy and off-kilter. The moment you throw your fists up to block your face, heavy fists strike you directly in a flurry of hits, colliding with your forearm and your unguarded ribs.

You let out a pained grunt as you stagger backwards, trying your hardest to keep yourself from falling back on your ass and ward off the next incoming attack. 

A sinister laugh alerts you of the others, now surrounding you in a circle. Shit!

You hastily shift your legs into a crouching position, bracing yourself as you attempt to sidestep the one in front of you before making a run for it. You spring into action, but before you can even take another step, an arm shoots out and coils tightly around your neck like a noose. A cloth that reeks of something distinct is slapped over your mouth and nose, rendering you unable to do anything but struggle. 

“Now, now— the boss wants her in one piece, John,” The stocky man, who’s apparently larger and more jacked up-close, pipes up. John tightens the limb circling your throat, preventing you from breathing, before slightly loosening his grip. 

 “I’d advise you from struggling too much, sweetheart. But if you insist on making this harder for yourself,” the man talking suddenly grins, revealing rows of crooked, silver teeth. “He ain’t said nothin’ about a couple of bruises.” 

You give him your dirtiest glare, trying to pull away from the death grip the burly man called John had on you, but you feel your muscles slowly becoming heavier and your vision starting to blur. 

Ch-chloroform?

You make a muffled shout, a scurry that earns you a heavy hit on the stomach, one last futile move to free yourself, but the inevitable effect of the potent substance starts to overpower you. 

“After all, we need to make sure that the big bad boss of Onychinus actually comes for his bitch, don’t we?”

Rendered completely useless, the men start to make quick work to restrain your arms and legs in a hogtie before carrying you down the street, to a shaded corner where a large, gray van is parked.

The barn doors open, and you’re tossed in carelessly to the back, landing painfully on the cold, hard floor. An involuntary whimper escapes your lips, feeling like one big bruise; splotches of red and blue start to form like a violent watercolor on your skin. 

The engine revs. Before completely losing consciousness, you think you hear a faint caw.

The car drives off the beaten path, into the night, leaving not a trace of evidence of what transpired mere minutes ago aside from a discarded brown paper bag and a deflated bag of chips. 

-

-

-

From a distance, flying towards the hazy skyline, a mechanical bird crows a bad omen. 

_____

In the dead of the night, the head of Onychinus sits as a spectator; a towering presence at the head of a table inside a private room, obscured in plain sight, in an unremarkable establishment far east of Linkon City. 

Unassuming as it may be, the room’s occupants are men of great renown, both in influence and notoriety. The CEO of a chain business in Azure Square, a regional manager of a well-known bank in Linkon, the head of a weapons trade representing a faction in the N109 zone… All hold significant power, all hold ulterior motives.

A meeting of minds; the type held only in the secrecy of the night, gone in the break of dawn. 

Sylus has half the mind to listen in on the droning exchange of fake pleasantries and plastic smiles as the men deal trades in nature that of weapons and favors. A number of hungry, beady eyes cast him furtive glances, fearful yet devout. Some cautious in the hope of earning his approval. 

“–the package will be en route to the agreed-upon address by the end of the week,” a stout man in spectacles finishes off, clearing his throat. Beads of sweat start to form at the back of his neck as red eyes bore into his, assessing. Deliberating. “O-or if Richard’s able to give me the go-ahead in advance, I’ll make sure it arrives by Friday,” a gulp—then, “sir.” 

All in reverence. 

He hums, his switchblade dancing idly in his hand, deliberately stretching the tension that hangs heavy in the air. He delights in this power to unsettle, savoring the authority that his mere presence commands—a demand for absolute deference. 

“Make it half that time, will you, Raymond?” Sylus responds amicably, not as a question. The man, Raymond, sputters. 

“That won’t be pos–” Sylus tilts his head, eyes shifting into something more dangerous. “Please, I’ll try to cut the time shorter but there won’t be any assurances.” 

The pale-haired man sighs in acquiescence. “I suppose that will have to do.” Raymond lets out an exhale of relief, but catches his breath as Sylus continues, “Any later than Wednesday, and I’ll come to claim it personally.” 

Raymond, more nerves than man, starts to blabber something in response—but stops when something black suddenly appears in a blaze of dark energy, near the shoulder of the intimidating man he’s trying to appeal to. 

Sylus raises a hand, and a large crow lands on his pointer finger. 

He caws, once. Twice. And shows a projection. 

The inhospitably cold room suddenly went glacial. 

All conversation halts to a stop as an overwhelmingly suffocating aura starts to emanate from the man—no, the being at the head of the table, making all that are in the vicinity freeze in fear. 

The devil posing as the leader of Onychinus abruptly stands up, and Raymond thinks, Oh I’m going to die here.

Without a word, the man disappears in a Stygian haze.

_

Five minutes later, only after they felt like death was no longer looming over their heads, did anyone dare to move a muscle.

_____

Your head hurts, and your mouth tastes of rust. 

Having been awake for longer than your captors are aware of – two (?) of which bickering near a barred slate of metal that you assume is the door after taking a quick peek from beneath the mess of hair concealing your face – you try to get your bearings together without arousing the suspicion of your present audience. 

“–bet it’s gonna take a while ‘fore that guy arrives. You think she’s enough to get him to show his face?” 

“Damned if I know. In any case, we got a pretty, li’l plaything on our hands,” a snort. “Make her worth the effort.” 

Where were you? From what it looks like, you’ve been transported into a nondescript underground bunker of sorts, dank with a hint of mildew and rot in the air; a rumbling air vent on your left masking any noise that escaped your mouth when you woke up. The area is poorly lit, save for the flickering bulb hanging precariously above your head as your main source of light – good for casting shadows to hide your bruised face, bad for the pounding headache you’re pretty sure is a concussion. And with your back seemingly close to a wall, you arrive at the conclusion that there are no other entryways, no way to leave, but the guarded door in front of you. 

In short, you have no idea where you are. 

Fuck—this is bad, you swear to yourself internally, trying to control the rising panic swelling up your chest. You never thought your nightcap would lead to this mess. Nobody knows about your current predicament, and it’ll take more than a day before your absence raises any alarms, so right now, you’re on your own. 

Think, think! What can you do?

What can you do? You have nothing on you, nothing you can use as a makeshift weapon to defend yourself with, and your hands are tightly bound behind your back by a thick, heavily twined rope with no give. The situation is slowly turning bleaker by the second, and it isn’t even your fault that you’re here in the first place! You were made a pawn, a mere bait in this messed-up dick-measuring contest between a crazy, sadistic, self-proclaimed head honcho and Onychinus’s own crazy, sadistic—

Wait a minute. Sylus. 

You send a strong prayer to anyone above that’s listening, and an angry telepathic shout for good measure to the one who’s unaware of his involvement – but nonetheless the source of your ruined night – in this attempt at kidnapping a perfectly law-abiding citizen of Linkon.

Sylus, as much as I hate your unfortunate tendency to stalk me through means that, honestly? Eludes the hell out of me, I really, REALLY hope that you’ve been keeping tabs toni–

“Hey, boss! I think this one’s awake!”

Fuck. No use pretending anymore. 

You hear heavy footsteps from outside the room before the corroded metal door swings open to reveal a large man, easily standing above six feet, sporting a neatly trimmed beard and an unsettling smile. His arms are covered in tattoos– overlapping, almost undecipherable. A gnarly scar runs from the side of his mouth to just above his brow bone; his right eye a cloudy gray, most likely a morbid souvenir from the sustained injury.

His functional eye zeroes in on your pitiful form, and his smile widens into a hostile grin. 

“Well, well. It seems like our esteemed guest is finally ready to join in the fun,” His voice sounds like gravel, with a mocking intonation. “I hope my men weren't too rough with you on the way here.” 

You let out a breath through your teeth, blinking a few times to try and rid the blurring in your vision. You have to bide your time– “Why am I here? What do you want from me?” 

The man cocks his head to the side, smile still in place. “I assume you already know. But I’ll indulge you your little questions, why not?”

He crosses the space separating the two of you with just a few, languid steps before he’s in front of you. He leans forward, brushing the messy locks of hair – dried with blood – away from your face in a deceptively calm manner. “The devil needs to pay his dues, but it’s been rather difficult to get a hold of him, you see,” he sighs in exaggerated disappointment. ”I intend to collect, so I waited patiently for the right moment, for an opening. For an opportunity. 

And here, the opportunity presents herself.” 

You sneer, moving your head back to let your hair fall from his creepy hold. “I’ve no clue what you’re talking about, mister, but I’m pretty sure you’ve got the wrong idea.”

He barks out a laugh before gripping your chin tightly between his fingers. “You’ve got a smart mouth on you. Maybe we can find a better use for it.” 

You feel it before you hear it. 

“Perhaps not.” 

Something vicious saturates the air, something intense and terrifying and wrong. The hairs on the back of your neck stand up, and some sort of primordial response deep within your brain is telling you to get away from it.

But then, the paralyzing fear melts away to something akin to hope when you realize the source of this new disturbance.

Relief washes over you when familiar ink-and-red tendrils materialize behind the man in front of you. The dark wisps dissipate like smoke as soon as it comes and in place, your savior – sporting an expression that could only be described as downright murderous – stands before you, all six feet of unadulterated rage.

Several things happened so fast, it was almost simultaneous.

A cacophony of shouts came loudest from the two men who had been on guard duty but screams also echoed from outside the room. You saw flashes of red, twin laughter, and blood spurting from the necks of the now headless guards, and then a symphony of bullets and a lot of things breaking rang across the room. 

Suddenly— 

Deafening silence. As if something has put an abrupt stop to the noise. 

Amidst all the chaos, the scarred man in front of you had no time to make a move before savage whips of crackling energy engulfed him, leaving only his head free from the smothering darkness. 

His expression betrays something wild and manic as he tries twisting around to look at the figure behind him. “You—”

Sylus pays no mind to the breathing, dead fool—lower than dirt on his feet, with the nerve to harm what is most precious to him—as he keeps his gaze solely on you; his eyes darting up and down as if taking inventory of all the bruises and scrapes you sustained from the abduction. 

You meet his eyes. “You came.” 

An indecipherable look passes his face, gone as quickly as it came. “A little too late. I apologize.” 

You weakly huff out a chuckle, wanting to shake your head but decide against it lest it aggravates your concussion. A prickling sensation, then the rope around your wrists falls off with a quiet thud. 

“Luke. Kieran.” 

“Everything’s all accounted for, boss,” Kieran announces, suddenly appearing beside your right, along with Luke who’s on your left. Both look no worse for wear.

 The latter gives you a sympathetic look. “Oh, man. They got you good, little crow.” 

“Caught me off-guard, s’all,” you insist half-heartedly. 

A sigh. “Transport her directly back to base. Attend to her critical injuries once you arrive, and keep her awake. I’ll handle the rest once I get back,” Sylus instructs the twins in a tone that brooks no argument.

They nod in sync and start making a move to carry you out, but you protest.

“Wait, you’re staying behind?” For some reason, the thought of being separated from him, even for a short amount of time, makes you feel ill. Well, worse than your current state, at least. 

Sanguine eyes soften when he hears the tremble in your voice. The offending man in front of you, reduced into something less threatening than a cowering dog in comparison to your rescuer, is forcibly pushed aside to make room for Sylus as he steps closer. 

He crouches low so that you’re looking down on him instead of up. One large hand covers both of yours, mindfully avoiding the fresh rope burns on your wrists, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on the unmarred part of your skin. 

“This will be quick, sweetie. I’ll be back by your side before you know it,” he exhales, closing his eyes for a moment. “I swear to you.”

You swallow, but nodded reluctantly. “Come home soon.” 

“I will.”

With that, you let yourself be carried out of the claustrophobic space you were confined to, into a larger room littered with unmoving bodies that you're frankly too tired to care about at the moment, up three (rickety) flights of stairs where you exit into what looks like the inside of an empty shipping container, before finally, finally getting out. 

A gust of salty wind hits you and you ask, “Are we near the docks?” 

“Yeah,” Kieran answers, carefully putting you down on the backseat of Sylus’ car. “Mephisto trailed after the van they stuffed you in before reporting back to the boss. We followed soon after.” 

Luke frowns as he inserts the key in the ignition. “We weren’t aware that they had eyes on you for a while now. An oversight on our part, won’t happen again,” he assures you. “Gotta give them props for that, at least.” 

Kieran, now getting in the passenger side of the vehicle, shoots him a look. 

“Anyway, we’re glad we got to you before they did anything… worse,” Kieran continues, then winces in a show of mock sympathy. “Can’t say the same to that fucker back inside. Haven’t felt Sylus’ bloodlust this strong in a long while.” 

You try to focus on their words, but you feel yourself nodding off as the remaining adrenaline slowly leaves your body. You know you should feel more worried about what the two were insinuating, but your mouth still tastes like you swallowed a bunch of coins and you just want a soft bed to sleep in for an entire day. Or three. 

“Oi, no sleeping. Doctor’s orders,” A snapping finger in front of your face forces you awake. 

You blink your tired eyes open in an attempt to stay lucid, the pulsing pain in your head becoming more prominent as soon as the threat of danger has passed. 

“This is gonna be a long night,” you sigh, wishing that Sylus will keep his word and be quick about… whatever he’s planning to do with your abductor. 

–––––

There hasn’t been much left of the man who proclaims to be the new head of an arms syndicate Sylus had dealt with in the past. He recalls the history of his relationship with the cartel being less than cordial, but nothing that would warrant his ire. Except for tonight.

He usually doesn’t leave a trace when doling out punishments; no, not anymore. Not in recent years. He prefers to be efficient about his killings, dissipating any evidence in thin air after reducing them into fine paste, rather than make a big show out of it. Quick and precise.

Except today… Someone had the arrogance, the absolute audacity to steal directly from the dragon’s nest.

The contents of which have always been kept in strict confidentiality. What is known, only chosen individuals bound to secrecy are privy to, and a lot of people would kill for. 

But unbeknownst to anyone else but its owner, only one thing in this hoard of secrets truly matters to the dragon. One solitary treasure alone he would burn planets for—and someone has tried to steal it.

Harm. the treasure. To get to him. 

It seems as if the new bloods needed a reminder of who, exactly, they’re stealing from. 

One who dwells deep within the underbelly of the cities both monster and men inhabit, that even the most heinous of sinners seeking solace in the dark, are afraid of. 

And what retribution tastes like to those who are foolish enough to bite more than what they can chew.

The poor soul unfortunate enough to be the first one to discover the carnage will witness that what was left of the man that had wronged the Onychinus kingpin is now stuck on the walls, the floor, and the ceiling of a basement where the treasure was held captive. They will find that the man’s innards are deliberately hung in a haphazard fashion, in all corners of the room like bloody, sinewy tinsel. 

And the centerpiece of this bloodbath is none other than the man’s decapitated head, forcibly attached to the hanging light in the middle of the room. A bulb crudely drilled past his cranium, while blood dripped down the floor in slow, ominous rivulets. 

They will understand in dawning horror that the one responsible for this... gross butchery, has left the head swinging. That the man’s mouth will forever remain agape in an eternal scream to immortalize the exact moment he realizes the gravity of his sin.   

Yes, Sylus is more than glad to remind them. 

_____

You arrive a quarter past four AM. 

Barely taking a step past the foyer, the twins immediately whisk you inside to perform an ‘emergency patch-up.’ Luke’s words, not yours.

“We’re your personal CNA while waiting for the head nurse to take over,” he explains cheerfully, wrapping another layer of gauze around your wrist. You hiss when Kieran dabs a cotton ball on the gash on your temple, peroxide fizzing as it comes in contact with the dried-up blood. Muttering out a “sorry!” Kieran does quick work in cleaning the injury and covering the affected area.

In no time at all, all visible wounds are bandaged and disinfected. The worst of your head wound had to be stitched up, but other than that, nothing seems to require immediate medical attention. There’s nothing left for you to do but to bear the aches that came along with the bruises – especially on your tender midriff – and to pop a tylenol for your throbbing headache.

You offer them a sincere, “Thanks. No, really.” before they leave you in Sylus’ room, after multiple reminders to “not sleep before the attending nurse arrives for the final diagnosis.” 

(You think they might have enjoyed playing caretaker a little too much.) 

With a lot more effort than you care to admit, you painstakingly remove your bloodstained clothes until you're down to your underwear, before draping yourself in a large, red, silk robe. A hot shower sounds heavenly to your sore muscles, but the soft mattress is calling to you more so you head straight to bed. 

With nothing else to occupy yourself with, you prop your head on a mountain of pillows – to keep yourself relatively upright – and let out a sigh. 

Tonight had been a shitshow. All you wanted was something to snack on while you binge through the last season of the show you were watching back at your apartment; you never thought a late-night run to the store just a few blocks away would result in… this. If not for Sylus’ intervention, you’re sure you'd be leaving with a lot more than a couple of scrapes. If not worse.

You're lost in your own thoughts when short, successive raps on the door catch your attention. It swings open before you have the chance to pipe out a, “come in!”

Speak of the devil.

Sylus enters the room, not a hair out of place. You notice that he’s changed into a casual, brown sweater and a pair of dark-washed jeans. His eyes meet yours, tightly-controlled expression relaxing as he crosses the room towards the side of your bed, wasting no time. 

“How are you feeling?”

“Still pretty sore, but Luke and Kieran already handled the worst of my injuries,” you answer, making a move to sit up. Sylus tuts disapprovingly, gentle as he puts a hand on your chest to prevent you from moving any further. He sits gingerly on the edge of the mattress, careful not to jostle you. Once fully settled, he let out a deep sigh.

“You had me worried for a moment there, kitten.” He admits, a slightly rough edge to his voice as emotion seeps into it. He regards you intently, like he’s trying to convince himself that you’re here, safe. 

Your hand reaches out towards his face. Without missing a beat, he leans in to nuzzle your palm, eyes closing shut. He reminds you of a big wolf, unbridled fire simmering beneath the surface, yet tame in the presence of his handler. 

“I’m fine now, thanks to you,” you assure him with a lopsided smile. “Give my thanks to Mephisto, as well. Tell him he gets a pass on the stalking this time.” 

Sylus opens his eyes, a hint of amusement and something else you can’t identify flickering through. “Oh, sweetie. You’ll be lucky if that bird gives you the privacy to bathe alone after tonight,” he jokes. 

He’s joking. Right?

You eye him for a moment before deciding to let it go. You're too tired to argue.

Instead, you cautiously ask a question you aren’t sure you even want the answer to. “What happened after we left?” 

Sylus expression doesn’t change except for the upward tick on the corner of his mouth; the same peculiar glint in his eyes coming across a little stronger. “They won’t be bothering you anymore. You don’t need to worry about anyone coming for you.”

“That’s not what I asked.” 

He hums. “Do you really want to know?”

You stare at him, and he stares back at you placidly. 

You purse your lips and look away. “Maybe not.” 

Sylus breathes out a laugh. He gently grasps your chin between his forefinger and thumb, guiding your head to meet his gaze once more. A softer look on his face, inching closer to yours.

Your heartbeat slightly picks up. In your vulnerable state, you feel a welling desire to bare your feelings to the man in front of you. You want to tell him how relieved you felt when you saw him in that cursed basement, how he was able to quell your fears with just his presence alone the moment he appeared in a familiar haze of black and red. Like your own, personal, vindictive guardian. 

Instead, you close the distance between the two of you, your lips meeting his. 

Sylus groans quietly, a hand cupping your face as he leans closer to deepen the kiss. Your eyes flutter shut, savoring the feeling of contentment from being this close to him. You feel, more than you see, how his taut body loses the remaining tension from the events that transpired just mere hours ago, how he finally relaxes as he loses himself in you.

Very carefully, he eases you further down, cradling your head with one hand until it rests on a pillow. His lips drift to the corner of your mouth, trailing soft kisses up to the apples of your cheeks, your forehead, then to your nose. 

He pulls back slightly, chuckling when you make a sound of discontent. When you open your eyes, you see him looking at you—half-lidded and tender. 

In a low voice, he instructs, “Rest. You need it.”

The feeling of exhaustion pulls you in, but before you surrender to it, you remind Sylus, “I’m not that fragile, you know. You don’t have to worry too much.” You poke his cheek and he catches the offending digit to bite it affectionately. “I’ll be up and running in no time.”

He doesn't speak for a minute, considering your words. His mouth sets into a thin line before letting out a sigh.

“And if you get hurt again? What then?" He whispers so quietly, seeming as if he's talking to himself.

"I'll get hurt again, that's for sure," You tell him, matter-of-factly. "But really, that’s just an occupational hazard. I’m sure you realize."

“Love — what a terrible, little thing,” he muses, half-forlornly, half in jest. "I’d rip this cold heart out and throw it in flames if I could.”

While speaking, his hand finds its way into the tangles of your hair, gently running his fingers through the strands in a lulling manner. His lips landing on the crown of your head softly. Reverently.

You hum sleepily.

“Of course you would, Sy.”

_____

“You’ll be glad to know that the artifact you had your eye on back at the auction will be arriving this Wednesday.” 

“Huh? But I thought it was already sold to someone else?”

Sylus shrugs. “I made a counteroffer.” 

“You didn’t have to. I told you it was fine.” 

“I know. But I also recall a certain someone telling me how much they wished they had placed a bid on it on our way back,” he pinches your cheek fondly. “Don’t worry about it, kitten. It’s yours.”

“Oh. Well– thank you,” you yawn in response, leaning your head to rest against his palm.

His thumb strokes your cheek. “Anything for you.”

[velvetvisionsaurora]

Alpha ATEEZ x Assistant Omega Reader

Warnings: omega reader, alpha ateez, scenting, heats, ruts, slow burn, eventual smut, forced command, more to come!

When Y/n accepts a position as assistant to alpha K-pop group ATEEZ, she's prepared with professional skills and scent blockers to hide her omega status. What she's not prepared for is the immediate, inexplicable connection she feels with all eight members—a resonance that defies her careful boundaries.

As Y/n becomes eerily attuned to their needs, her suppressed omega nature begins to emerge: purring for the first time in years, responding to alpha growls, feeling safe in ways she never has before. When a protective incident reveals the depth of the members' attachment to her, Y/n must confront the possibility that what binds them together is something ancient and profound.

<<Previous Next>>

Masterlist Ko-Fi☕️

Chapter 5: Unspoken Connections

Three weeks into your new position as ATEEZ's assistant, you had settled into a rhythm that felt surprisingly natural. What had initially seemed like a daunting task—managing eight alpha idols' complex schedules—had evolved into something that felt almost instinctive. You'd quickly learned each member's habits, preferences, and needs, sometimes anticipating them before they even voiced them.

"Coffee," you said, placing a steaming mug beside Hongjoong as he hunched over his laptop in the studio, deep in composition mode. He'd been there since before dawn, working on tracks for their upcoming album.

He looked up, momentarily disoriented as he surfaced from his creative focus, before his eyes softened with appreciation. "How did you know I was about to look for some?"

You shrugged, a small smile playing on your lips. "You get this specific crease between your eyebrows when you're caffeine-deprived and trying to work through a melody."

Hongjoong's eyebrows rose slightly, an impressed smile spreading across his face. "That's... remarkably observant."

"It's my job to notice things," you replied, though you both knew it went beyond professional responsibility. There was something about the eight of them that made you unusually attuned to their needs—a connection you couldn't fully explain but had stopped questioning.

"Well, thank you," Hongjoong said, his fingers briefly brushing yours as he took the mug. The fleeting contact sent a familiar warmth through your hand that you studiously ignored. "What would we do without you?"

"Probably forget half your schedules and subsist entirely on ramyeon," you teased, earning a chuckle from the alpha leader.

"Sad but true," he admitted, taking a sip of the perfectly prepared coffee—just the right amount of sugar and a splash of cream, exactly how he preferred it.

---

The mid-morning sun streamed through the windows of the main house as you moved through the living room, tablet in hand, finalizing the week's schedule. The past three weeks had transformed your relationship with the space—what had once felt like an intimidating mansion now felt almost like home. You knew which floorboard creaked near Seonghwa's room, which chair in the dining area was Jongho's favorite, and which cabinet held San's secret stash of chocolate.

"There you are!" Wooyoung's voice rang out as he bounded into the room with characteristic energy. "I've been looking for you everywhere!"

"I've been right here for the past hour," you replied, glancing up from your work with an amused smile.

"Well, I didn't think to look in the obvious places," he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Anyway, you're a miracle worker—how did you manage to reschedule that conflicting interview? The production team said it was impossible."

"Nothing's impossible with the right combination of polite persistence and creative solutions," you replied, trying to downplay your achievement. In truth, it had taken several hours of negotiations and a promise of exclusive behind-the-scenes content to convince the production company to adjust their filming schedule to accommodate ATEEZ's sudden comeback preparation timeline.

Wooyoung's eyes widened dramatically. "That's it. I have to marry you. I can never manage my life alone now that I know what efficiency actually looks like."

You felt heat rise to your cheeks despite knowing this was just Wooyoung's typical exaggerated banter. Over the past weeks, you'd grown accustomed to his playful flirtations, which he dispensed as freely as his bright smiles.

"I'm pretty sure your future spouse would have something to say about that arrangement," you replied, playfully swatting his arm with your tablet case.

"Details, details," Wooyoung dismissed with a grin before dropping down onto the couch beside you, close enough that his shoulder brushed yours. "Seriously though, thank you. That schedule conflict was stressing me out."

"That's what I'm here for," you reminded him, though you were touched by his genuine gratitude beneath the dramatic declaration.

Wooyoung's expression turned suddenly serious, unusual for him. "You know you've become indispensable to us, right? And not just for the schedule management."

Something in his tone made your heart beat a little faster, and you found yourself struggling to maintain eye contact with the alpha. There was an intensity in his gaze that belied his typically carefree demeanor—a glimpse of the alpha nature that his playful personality often concealed.

"I just do my job," you replied, aiming for lightness but hearing the slight tremor in your own voice.

"No," Wooyoung said, shaking his head. "It's more than that. You... fit with us. In a way that's hard to explain."

The moment hung between you, charged with something neither of you was willing to name. You were saved from having to respond by Yeosang's timely entrance into the living room.

"There you both are," he said, his observant eyes taking in your proximity on the couch and the slight flush on your cheeks. "Y/n, the stylist called about the concept photos. They need final approval on the selections."

"Right," you said, perhaps too quickly, rising from the couch. "I'll call them back now."

As you moved toward the office, you felt Wooyoung's eyes following you, the weight of his unfinished sentiment lingering in the air.

---

You've developed a unique relationship with each member over the past three weeks. Seonghwa had become a steadying presence, often joining you for quiet morning coffee before the chaos of the day began. Your conversations ranged from books you both enjoyed to thoughtful discussions about the industry, his alpha presence calm and nurturing in a way that contrasted with the others.

Yunho had appointed himself your unofficial gaming partner, insisting that you needed breaks from work and dragging you to the entertainment room at least twice a week for what he called "necessary stress relief." His competitive nature was matched only by his genuine joy when you managed to beat him, making it impossible not to laugh along with his enthusiastic reactions.

Yeosang had slowly opened up to you through shared quiet moments—passing you books he thought you might enjoy, occasionally commenting on your work with insightful observations. Just yesterday, he'd left a small potted succulent on your desk with a note that simply read, "It reminded me of you. Resilient." The gesture had touched you more deeply than you cared to admit.

Jongho, despite being the youngest, often took on a protective role, making sure you didn't overwork yourself and occasionally bringing you healthy snacks with mumbled comments about "maintaining energy levels." His strength and seriousness were belied by moments of unexpected gentleness that always caught you by surprise.

San had become something of a confidant, his perceptive nature making him quick to notice when you were stressed or overtired. He had a talent for appearing with exactly what you needed—a quiet moment, a silly joke, or sometimes just silent company as you worked through a challenging task.

As for Hongjoong, your relationship with the leader was perhaps the most complex. His alpha presence was authoritative but never domineering, and you'd fallen into a comfortable working relationship that was punctuated by moments of connection that sometimes left you breathless—a shared glance of understanding across a crowded room, the brush of fingers when exchanging documents, late nights working side by side in comfortable silence.

But it was Mingi who had perhaps surprised you the most.

---

"Who's that?" Mingi's deep voice came from just behind you, making you jump slightly. You'd been waiting in the lobby of KQ Entertainment for the members to finish their recording session when an unfamiliar alpha producer had approached, asking about ATEEZ's schedule.

"Lee Taejun, a producer from another entertainment company," you explained quietly as the man retreated to check his phone after you'd informed him the members would be at least another thirty minutes. "He wants to discuss a potential collaboration."

Mingi hummed thoughtfully, his tall frame moving subtly closer to you in a way that had become familiar over the past weeks. Whenever unfamiliar alphas were around, particularly male ones, Mingi seemed to gravitate to your side, his protective instincts evident in the way he positioned himself—never imposing, but clearly present.

"Did Hongjoong-hyung approve this meeting?" he asked, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

"Yes, it's on the schedule," you assured him, trying to ignore the pleasant warmth that radiated from his proximity. Despite wearing your scent blocker faithfully, you found yourself increasingly sensitive to Mingi's presence—like your omega could sense something you couldn’t.

He nodded, satisfied with your answer but making no move to create more distance between you. "Just checking. Some of these producers can be... persistent."

You bit back a smile at his protective tone. "I can handle persistent producers, Mingi. It's part of my job."

"I know you can," he replied, his voice softening. "You can handle pretty much anything. Doesn't mean you should have to do it alone."

The simple statement caught you off guard. Over the past three weeks, you'd noticed Mingi's protective tendencies, but this explicit acknowledgment of them was new. You glanced up at him, finding his expression uncharacteristically serious, his dark eyes intent on yours.

"Thank you," you said quietly, meaning it. "But I'm okay, really."

Mingi's serious expression melted into a warm smile that made your heart stutter embarrassingly. "I know. You're probably more capable than all of us combined. Still doesn't mean I can't look out for you, though."

Before you could formulate a response, the elevator doors opened, and the rest of ATEEZ emerged, bringing with them a burst of alpha energy and animated conversation. Mingi's attention shifted, but he remained close to your side as the group approached.

"Recording's done!" San announced triumphantly. "And Jongho absolutely killed the high note in the bridge."

Jongho ducked his head modestly at the praise, though a pleased smile played on his lips.

"That's fantastic," you said, genuinely happy for them. The past week had been intense with comeback preparations, and this recording session had been particularly important. "Right on schedule too, which means you actually have time for lunch before the meeting with the choreographer."

"See? This is why we need you," Wooyoung declared, slinging an arm around your shoulders. "Always thinking about our stomachs."

"I’m glad I have redeeming qualities," you replied with a laugh, acutely aware of how Mingi's eyes tracked Wooyoung's casual touch.

"There's a new place nearby that supposedly has amazing jjigae," Yunho suggested, already pulling out his phone to check the location.

As the group discussed lunch options, you felt a subtle shift in the air beside you. You glanced over to find Mingi still watching you, a contemplative expression on his face. When your eyes met, he didn't look away as he might have in your first days working together. Instead, he held your gaze with a quiet intensity that made your skin tingle.

There was something in that look—something you'd been noticing more frequently from all of them—a question, perhaps, or a recognition that neither of you was quite ready to acknowledge.

---

The development of your bond with Mingi had been one of the more unexpected aspects of your first three weeks. Initially, he had seemed the most reserved around you, despite his normally outgoing nature with the others. You'd attributed it to shyness after the awkward first-morning encounter when you'd seen him shirtless, but gradually, you'd come to realize it was something else entirely.

Mingi's initial distance had given way to a subtle but unmistakable protectiveness that manifested in countless small ways. He was often the first to notice when you were overworking, insisting you take breaks with a gentle persistence that was difficult to refuse. He had a habit of appearing with water or tea when you'd been talking for too long during meetings. And most notably, he seemed to have an almost preternatural awareness of your presence, his eyes finding you across rooms, his body gravitating toward yours in crowded spaces.

It had evolved into something beyond professional courtesy, beyond even friendship, though neither of you had put words to the change. There was an unspoken understanding between you—a connection that seemed to require no explanation.

---

That evening found you in the main house's kitchen, preparing tea while reviewing the next day's schedule on your tablet. The members were scattered throughout the house, enjoying a rare evening with no official schedules. Seonghwa and Hongjoong were discussing production details in the living room, their voices a low, constant murmur. Wooyoung and San had disappeared to the game room with Yunho, while Jongho was in the home gym. Yeosang had retreated to his room with a new book after dinner.

Mingi's deep voice suddenly broke into your concentration. "You're still working?"

You looked up to find him leaning against the kitchen doorway, his tall frame silhouetted by the hallway light. He'd changed into comfortable clothes—loose sweatpants and a simple white t-shirt that did little to conceal his broad shoulders and defined arms.

"Just finalizing tomorrow's schedule," you explained, trying not to let your eyes linger on how the soft fabric clung to his chest. "There's a last-minute addition to the photoshoot concept that I'm trying to accommodate."

Mingi pushed off from the doorway and moved into the kitchen, the space suddenly feeling much smaller with his presence. "It's almost 10 PM. The schedule can wait until morning."

"Says the man who composes until 3 AM," you countered with a raised eyebrow.

A smile tugged at his lips. "That's different. That's creative work—it comes when it comes. You're doing admin work that your brain needs to be rested for."

You couldn't help but laugh softly at his logic. "Is that your professional opinion on administrative efficiency?"

"Absolutely," he replied with mock seriousness. "I'm an expert in all things schedule-related, as evidenced by how often I oversleep and miss breakfast."

The teakettle whistled, and you turned to pour the hot water into your waiting mug. You felt rather than saw Mingi move closer, his warmth at your back sending a shiver down your spine despite the steam rising from the kettle.

"Chamomile?" he asked, his voice closer to your ear than you'd expected.

You nodded, trying to ignore how your pulse quickened at his proximity. "It helps me sleep."

"Good choice," he murmured, reaching past you to open a cabinet above your head. The movement brought his chest briefly against your back, his arm extending alongside yours. For that fleeting moment, you were effectively surrounded by him, his alpha presence enveloping you in a way that made your omega instincts stir despite the blocker.

He retrieved another mug and placed it beside yours. "Make one for me too?"

You nodded, grateful for the simple task to focus on rather than the lingering warmth where his body had pressed against yours. As you prepared a second cup of tea, Mingi leaned against the counter beside you, close enough that his arm occasionally brushed yours.

"You know," he began, his tone conversational but with an underlying seriousness, "you've changed things around here. In a good way."

You glanced up at him, curious. "What do you mean?"

Mingi seemed to consider his words carefully. "It's hard to explain. Everything just feels more... balanced, I guess. Since you arrived. The house feels more like a home."

Something about his phrasing—the house feels more like a home—sent a warm flutter through your chest. "I'm glad," you said softly. "I've only been trying to do my job well."

"It's more than the job," Mingi said, echoing Wooyoung's words from earlier that day. His eyes held yours with an intensity that made it difficult to look away. "You must know that by now."

The implication hung in the air between you, heavy with meaning neither of you was quite ready to articulate. What exactly was the "more" that both Wooyoung and Mingi had alluded to? And why did it feel so significant, so charged with potential?

You handed him his tea, your fingers briefly touching his around the warm ceramic. The simple contact sent a jolt of awareness through you that had nothing to do with temperature and everything to do with the alpha standing before you.

"Mingi," you began, not entirely sure what you wanted to say but feeling the need to address the tension that had been building between you—between you and all of them, really—over these past weeks.

"You don't have to say anything," he interrupted gently, his deep voice soft in the quiet kitchen. "I just wanted you to know that we—I—appreciate you. Not just for what you do, but for who you are."

The simple sincerity in his words touched something deep within you, making your chest ache with an emotion you weren't ready to name. "Thank you," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

For a moment, neither of you moved, caught in a silent exchange that seemed to communicate more than words could. Mingi's eyes dropped briefly to your lips before returning to meet your gaze, the question in them clear despite remaining unspoken.

The sound of approaching voices broke the moment, and you both stepped back slightly, creating a more appropriate distance as Hongjoong and Seonghwa entered the kitchen.

"There you are," Hongjoong said, his eyes moving between you and Mingi with a flicker of something unreadable in their depths. "We were just discussing the schedule for next week's variety show filming."

"I've got the preliminary timeline here," you said, grateful for the professional topic as you reached for your tablet, trying to ignore the lingering warmth of Mingi's presence still beside you.

As the four of you discussed the upcoming schedule, you couldn't help but notice the subtle glances exchanged between Hongjoong and Seonghwa, the way their eyes occasionally drifted to where Mingi stood perhaps a bit closer to you than strictly necessary. There was an awareness in those glances, an understanding that spoke of conversations you hadn't been privy to.

Later, as you made your way back to the guesthouse in the cool night air, you found yourself reflecting on the strange tension that had been building over these three weeks. It wasn't merely attraction, though that was certainly part of it. There was something deeper at play—a connection that defied explanation, a pull toward these eight alphas that went beyond rational understanding.

You reached up to touch the scent blocker behind your ear, a habit that had become almost unconscious. For the first time, you found yourself wondering what might happen if they knew—if the barrier between your omega nature and their alpha senses were removed. The thought sent a shiver through you that wasn't entirely from fear.

As you entered the guesthouse, your phone buzzed with a message. Opening it, you found a text from Mingi:

Sleep well. Don't stay up working on that schedule. It can wait until morning.

The simple message, caring but not overstepping, made you smile despite the confusion swirling in your mind. Whatever was happening between you and the members of ATEEZ—whatever this unspoken connection was building toward—it couldn't be rushed or forced. For now, it was enough to know that in just three short weeks, you had found a place where you belonged, even if the full nature of that belonging remained undefined.

You sent a quick reply:

Already in bed. Tea worked its magic. Goodnight, Mingi.

Setting your phone aside, you settled into bed, knowing that tomorrow would bring more of the same delicate dance—professional boundaries maintained while something deeper and more complex continued to grow beneath the surface, unacknowledged but impossible to ignore.

---

The next morning, it took less than five minutes in the main house to realize that something was different. The normal morning chaos was present—Wooyoung complaining loudly about being woken up, Yunho raiding the refrigerator, Seonghwa preparing breakfast with practiced efficiency—but there was an undercurrent of energy that hadn't been there before.

"Good morning," Hongjoong greeted you as you entered the kitchen, his eyes lingering on yours a moment longer than usual. "Sleep well?"

"Yes, thank you," you replied, accepting the coffee mug he offered. "Is everything okay? Everyone seems a bit... tense this morning."

Hongjoong hesitated, exchanging a quick glance with Seonghwa before responding. "We received some news late last night after you left. The company wants to move up the comeback date by two weeks."

You blinked in surprise, immediately calculating the implications. "Two weeks? That's going to compress the entire production schedule."

"Exactly," Seonghwa confirmed, flipping a pancake with perhaps a bit more force than necessary. "Which means we're all going to be under pressure for the next month."

"I'll rework the schedule today," you promised, your mind already racing through the adjustments that would be needed. "We'll need to prioritize the final recording sessions and choreography refinement."

"See?" Wooyoung said, appearing in the doorway with his hair still rumpled from sleep. "This is why we need you. Anyone else would be panicking right now."

You smiled despite the challenge ahead. "Oh, I'm panicking internally. I just hide it well."

"No, you're not," San countered, coming up behind Wooyoung. "You're already solving the problem in your head. I can practically see the schedule rearranging behind your eyes."

You couldn't deny it—your mind was indeed already mapping out solutions, contingencies, ways to make the compressed timeline work without burning out the members. It was what you did best: creating order from chaos.

"Well, whatever happens, we'll handle it together," you said with more confidence than you felt. "That's what teams do, right?"

"Right," Hongjoong agreed, though something in his expression suggested he was thinking of a word other than "team."

As you took a seat at the kitchen island, accepting a plate of pancakes from Seonghwa with a grateful smile, you couldn't help but notice how the members seemed to orbit around you this morning—Mingi taking the seat beside you, his leg occasionally brushing against yours; Jongho appearing with fresh fruit he silently added to your plate; Yeosang placing your tablet within easy reach after charging it overnight.

Small gestures, casual touches, attentive glances—all conveying something that went beyond professional courtesy or even friendship. There was a possessiveness in these actions, subtle but unmistakable, as if each of them was staking a small claim on your attention, your presence.

And despite your best efforts to maintain professional boundaries, you couldn't deny the warmth that spread through you at their collective attention, the rightness you felt surrounded by these eight alphas who had somehow, in just three weeks, become essential to your life in ways you were only beginning to understand.

Whatever challenges the accelerated comeback schedule would bring, whatever complications might arise from the unspoken tension building between you and the members, one thing was certain: you belonged here, with them, in this strange new life you'd created. The how and why of that belonging might remain mysterious, but the fact of it was becoming more undeniable with each passing day.

As conversations about the day's schedule flowed around you, punctuated by Wooyoung's dramatic complaints and San's teasing laughter, you found yourself studying each member's face, wondering if they felt it too—this sense of inevitability, as if all of you were being drawn together by forces beyond your control or understanding.

Catching Mingi's eye across the table, you saw in his gaze a reflection of your own thoughts—questions, certainly, but also a quiet acceptance of whatever might be unfolding between you all. He offered a small, private smile that sent a flutter through your chest, and for that moment at least, questions didn't seem to matter quite as much as the simple truth of your connection.

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[evie-sturns]

stubborn - Matt Sturniolo

summary: you and matt get into an argument, which he just keeps dragging despite your best efforts to stop the fight. you find a creative way to get him to apologise..

contains: a petty argument, bratty!matt, sub!matt, teasing, dry humping.

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

9:34pm

you and matt had been going at eachother for the past 10 minutes, it all started when you accidentally bumped into him while he was unpacking the dishwasher, causing him to hit his leg on the small dishwasher door.

"matt- literally why do you not fucking understand that accidents happen, its not like i body rocked you or some shit." i scoff, matt was just finding any excuse to argue with me.

"but it hurt! and it wouldn't of even happened if you were the one unpacking the dishes, makes me think 'bout how i do everything around this house." matt barks back, his voice raising in volume,

i take a step back, rubbing my face,

"we know thats not true, so dont claim some stupid shit like that." i mumble

"it is! all you do is lay on your ass and do nothing." matt says, his voice still loud.

"stop yelling, youre being ridiculous." i start, "im about to make dinner, and then clean our room, so i think that says something." i say.

"for once." he says with a snarky tone.

i feel my face heating up with pure frustration, "you know your being flat-out unfair, so stop it."

"im just saying the truth, and it hurts cause you know im right!" matt yells in my face,

"can you just go for a walk or to your room or something? im done with this and i want to make dinner."

"im not even hungry." matt mutters,

"okay? i need to make dinner anyway? so just go to your room please." i speak back, shaking my head slightly with disbelief about how stupid this argument was.

"youre such a bitch, always telling me what to do like youre my mom or somethin'." matt groans, running his long fingers over his flushed face.

"what the hell is your problem matt? seriously calm down!" i take a step back.

"my problem? my problem is that i cant even have a fight with my girlfriend without instantly being told what to do." matt says, getting more and more frustrated as he spoke.

"you're not even trying to stop this though? you want to keep arguing." i say softly, trying to deescalate the situation.

matt looks at me, his arms crossed over his chest, "maybe i want to argue,"

"i'm not fighting with you anymore, so you can try but its not gonna happen." i speak

matt groans in frustration, he was starting to deflate. "oh so you're done now? just finished?" he questioned.

oh my god, this kid just wouldn't let it go.

i grab matts wrist, tugging him down the hall.

"what are you doing this time." matt scoffs, resisting against my grip.

i pull him into our bedroom, slamming the door behind me as i shove matt backwards.

he stumbles backwards onto the bed, his eyes widening slightly as he stares up at me.

i crawl onto the mattress, my weight making the mattress dip slightly. i move closer to him, sitting right ontop of his lap.

"what- what are you doing?" he repeats, his voice slightly softer as he looks up at me through half lidded eyes.

"you don't want this?" i whisper, putting my weight fully down on his lap.

his cheeks flush a dark red, his adams apple bobbing up and down as he looks everywhere but my eyes.

"no- i- yes- i just mean that- i want this- yeah.." he rambles, his slender fingers.

"yeah, thought so." i speak softly, rutting my hips against his clothed crotch.

his eyes dart around the room,

"look at me," i say, grabbing his chin which is grazed with stubble.

his eyes meet mine, he looks so pathetic.

i gently press myself against him, dragging my fingers across his face gently.

by the second he's getting redder and redder,

"y/n.." matt mutters, his jaw clenching slightly.

"shhh.." i shush him, still straddling his lap.

"get off." he groans,

"why? because you don't want me to feel how hard you are right now? we both know its too late for that." i whisper

matts eyes widen,

"this isn't fair-" he starts,

"its not fair that you've been mean to me all day." i snap back,

"mmm- but you're being mean to me now!" he whines,

"tell me what you want then." i speak,

matt's cock throbs against the thick fabric of his jeans, increasingly becoming more uncomfortable.

"want you to touch me." he whispers, his hands reaching up and toying with the fabric of my shirt.

"say sorry first,"

matt groans, "but-"

"say you're sorry."

"sorry." matt whispers.

"look at me, and tell me you're sorry for being a dick." i tell him,

he rolls his eyes slightly before anwsering, "i'm sorry for being a dick.." he says, clearly humiliated as a small, damp, dark spot appears on his jeans.

"and say that youre the most annoying person to ever grace the earth!" i giggle,

"okay- pushing it now." he mutters,

---

wow i finished this thanks for the patience HAHAHA

taglist 1: @jayz4dayz4 4 @sassysturniolo2008 @nyktoxs-lover r @nathando-64 esgf @starsturns234 @chrissturnsss s @joemamaaa42069 9 9 @sturnthepot t t @zayyluvz z z @realuvrrr r r r @livialifesblog @sturnioloblogs s @riowritesitall l l @raysmayhem-72 @sturnsdoll @obvisturns @stupid4sturniolo @meerkatzthings @witchofthehour r @rosalierenee43 @gabrielle-brun1 @ilovemymannnnnnn n @sturnioloxlver r @buckys-goodgirl @sturniol0s @ilovemymannnnnnnn @chr1sgirl4life @luanetaluenta @sturnsssbow @mattfangirl @luvr4miya a @luvtay111 @lolasturniolo @freshloveforthefit @ruedowney y y @lovingchrissposts @333michelle e @h3arts4harry y @jamiesturniolo o @chrisstopherfilmed @itzdarling @ @daddyslilchickenfingers2 @ev3rgreenxtrees enxtrees @certifiednatelover r r @solarsturniolo @mattsenthusiast t t t t @yomamaslays4lyfe e @peachmelbaesunpostre @alinaa131 @pepsiluvr0209 9 @creamoncreamoncream2 @szobofc c c @mattscoquette @blahbell668 @sturniolo04 @bitchydragonparadise e @sturni0l0tripletzz z 0 @ratatioulle  @sturnsforlife @mattsonly @justalittle47 7 @sunsetsturniolos s @downbad4reid  

[vinnyvamppp]

I haven’t read the Invincible comics yet, but ever since I saw that part of Mohawk Mark on his throne, it did something to my brain 😵‍💫🔥🔥👀 with that, can I request Mohawk Mark x sub!male reader, fucking on his throne?🤭

Stay Seated

Note: I enjoyed writing this way more than I should have. I genuinely started tweaking when I ran out of ideas.

Synopsis: Mohawk Mark Grayson has conquered entire timelines — and from each one, he’s stolen a version of you. But only one of you holds his full, terrifying attention. In a throne room soaked with power, sweat, and jealousy, Mark breaks you open with his cock and his obsession, proving that in every universe, you are his favorite meal.

Warnings: Smut, Variants of Reader, Cockwarming, Overstimulation, Dom!Mohawk mark, Sub!Male Reader, Dirty Talk, Degradation, Praise, Posessiveness, Cumplay, Voyeurism, Orgy Teasing, Mild Humiliation, Power Imbalance, Breathplay, Brief Violence (NOT TOWARDS YOU BOOKIE), Creative Liberities Taken, Emotionally Obsessive Behaviors (he's lowkey in love with that cookie).

Invincible!Mohawk Mark x Male!Reader

WC: 2k

There’s twenty-five of you, technically. Twenty-five variants of you, scattered across the multiverse — same face, same voice, different trauma responses. Some cry when Mark chokes them. Others beg. One of them calls him “Master” without being told to, and he hates that one the most.

But you?

You don't crawl, you grin at him from your knees. You talk back. You bite when he tells you to open. That’s why you're the only one allowed to sit on his throne when he's not using it, the only one he pulls into his lap mid-meeting, while his generals pretend not to notice the slow grind of his hips behind your back.

Right now, he’s lounging, one leg thrown over the armrest, fingers dragging lazily along the seam of his costume's bottoms, watching the lesser versions of you try to charm him like desperate strays. His Mohawk’s still dripping from battle. There’s blood dried in the crease of his jaw. He hasn’t looked at you once, but you know he’s waiting for you to snap.

And when you do, when you push the others aside and strut barefoot across the obsidian floor like you own it, Mark’s mouth curls slow and cruel. “Finally. Took you long enough.” His voice rings out, skin practically taut with excitement. The throne room smells like ozone, iron, and sweat. The others are still lingering, some pressed to the obsidian pillars like sad little ornaments, others whispering to each other, desperate to be noticed. Mark ignores them, but you don’t.

Your smirk is slow and venomous, eyes flicking their way like you know he’s only seconds from snapping. That’s part of why you lean just a bit too far into his space, arms draped over the back of his throne, your breath ghosting along the edge of his jaw. He doesn't look at you. He looks at them. "Get out."

His voice isn't loud. It doesn't need to be. It rips through the air like a blade nonetheless. "But—" one of them starts, a variant with a softer voice and stars in his eyes. "I said—out. You know how I get when I’m eating. And this one's my fucking favorite." His very delivery and gaze sends him gasping. They vanish, one by one. Out of fear. Out of jealousy. Out of shame. But you're still there, smiling.

"Someone’s cranky," you say. Mark finally turns to you — eyes widening, teeth bared. "Someone’s starving." He grabs you by the back of your neck, rough but reverent, and drags you into his lap like you weigh nothing. Suddenly… you’re flipped.

Not to ride him. No. He bends you forward over the high armrest of the throne—back arched obscenely, chest pinned to the cold metal, legs dangling in the air—and holds you there with one hand braced at the base of your spine. "Look at that," he mutters, yanking your pants down just enough. "Hole’s already twitching. Like it knows who owns it."

You moan—breathless and undignified. Mark chuckles, rutting against your ass once, twice. He teases the head of his cock against you, just enough to make you clench and whine.

“Pathetic,” he hums, but there’s pride in it. “So much better than the rest of you. They beg. You behave.”

He thrusts, without much give as it pops through the ring of muscle.

You scream, half folded over, toes barely touching the floor. The throne groans under the impact, but Mark doesn’t stop. He fucks you like he’s marking his territory, grip locked around your waist like a vice, breath ragged and hot against your back. The stretch is obscene—your hole tight and quivering as Mark pushes in, inch by inch, until your breath catches in your throat and your thighs go numb. You feel every vein on his cock like it’s carved to fuck you specifically, pressure building in your gut like a coil snapping with every cruel grind. There’s no mercy in the way he sets the rhythm —brutal and addictive— each thrust punching the air from your lungs. Slick drips down your thighs, pooling beneath you as your body goes lax, surrendering to the drag and fill, the perfect press of him inside you, again and again and again.

"You feel that?" he growls. "That stretch? That’s your god breaking you open. Gonna keep you like this, pretty and wrecked, where you belong." He adjusts — lifts one leg, props your knee over the throne arm, spreading you wider, deeper. The new angle has you sobbing, stars bursting behind your eyes. You can’t stop the sounds falling from your mouth, open-mouthed moans slurred into nonsense, gasps that turn into high, keening whines every time he hits that devastating spot. You’re flushed all the way down your chest, trembling, vision swimming. Every muscle clenches helplessly, like your body’s trying to milk him dry. Your cock bounces untouched against your stomach, leaking in thick, messy strings, each drop smearing between you as your hips grind back instinctively, chasing more, always more.

Somewhere behind you, you hear a quiet gasp.

One of the variants, a version of you, still watching. You open your mouth to warn Mark—too late. Without even pausing his thrusts, he snaps his fingers. A brutal shockwave slams the man against the far wall.

“Didn’t I say I was eating?” Mark hisses. “If you’re gonna stay, you watch in silence. Or I make you hold his ankles and see how long you last.” You moan at that—and shamelessly so.

“Oh? You like the idea?” Mark laughs. “Of course you do. Fucking whore.” He flips you again—this time upside down across his lap, head dangling over one knee, legs still spread. Gravity makes you drip.

He shoves back in. You choke on a moan, eyes rolling, teeth bared against your wrist. And Mark? He just groans, low but reverent. “Goddamn. You take me so fucking good it should be illegal.”

He doesn’t stop. Even after he spills the first time—hips jerking, buried to the base with your name rasped like a warning—Mark keeps going, fucking you through it, chasing the ruin he lives for. You’re bent half off the throne’s edge now, face wet with drool, eyes glossy, hole fluttering like it’s starved.

His cock drags through you in deep, mean strokes, one hand tangled in your hair, the other smeared across your ass, fingertips spreading slick.

"Fuck," he groans. "Listen to yourself. Sloppy little hole won't even let me go. You gonna keep me locked in all night, baby?"

You try to answer—to say yes or please or anything, but all that comes out is a whimper.

"Yeah, that’s what I thought." He bites your shoulder hard enough to make your legs shake. “You like this. Being opened up like a prayer book. Every goddamn page soaked in me.”

Then he pulls out—slow, just to watch it stretch and leak.

But he doesn’t give you a break. Oh no. Mark shifts—scoots forward on the throne seat, spreading his legs wide, cock still glistening, pulls you back into his lap with your wrists pinned behind you, and starts bucking up into you with brutal precision.

You're straddling him now, fully seated, thighs shaking, his hands holding your wrists behind your back so your chest is thrust forward — vulnerable, trembling, owned.

"That's it," he hisses, mouth at your throat. "Ride it. C'mon. Show me how you make my cock disappear. Bounce on it like you need it."

You do. Desperately. The pace turns filthy, wet slaps, sharp thrusts, your breath broken into high, gasping moans as you move in sync, riding him like you were made for it. He pants praises into your neck, fisting his hand in your hair to keep your face tilted toward his.

“Look at you. So fucking perfect. My favorite hole in the multiverse. Every other version of you’s a pale, whining imitation—but you?” He sucks a mark onto your neck. “You were built to worship this cock.” You don’t even know where you end and he begins anymore—not with how deep he is, not with how your body’s locked onto his like gravity. His cum is still hot inside you, mixing with your own slick, your thighs shaking, hole spasming around the overstimulation and begging for more. Every time you try to lift your hips, he pulls you back down, impaling you with a snarl like he’s mad at you for even trying to let him go. You’re not riding him anymore—you’re being kept there, used, adored, ruined like a holy vessel meant only to be filled by him. When you come to, you’re in his lap, knuckles pale as you grip the thrones headrest. He licks sweat from your collarbone, hips stuttering against yours, and laughs into your neck when you sob. “You feel it? That stretch? That’s me rearranging your insides. Gonna pump you so full you drip for hours. Let the whole fucking empire see who this hole belongs to.”

You can feel him twitching inside you again, rhythm getting erratic—and you know he’s close, know it’s about to happen again. But you don’t notice the air shift. You don't hear the footsteps behind you, or the way the temperature dips, or the soft, unsteady breaths returning to the room. You only notice when hands begin to touch you.

One ghosting across your spine. Another dragging lazy circles along your sternum. Fingers thread through your hair from behind. Lips brush your temple, your shoulder, your mouth. Whispered moans and praises—your own voice, different, warmer, sadder, hungrier—fill your ears.

“Can’t stay away from him either, huh?” one voice says, breath hot against your cheek.

Mark stiffens, his eyes narrowing, yet he doesn’t stop you. He doesn’t stop them. He lets it happen and that’s how you know you own him too.

Even when hands are sliding down his chest, nails raking lightly across his thighs, tongues lapping at the sweat on his jaw, even when he’s being worshipped like a king by half a dozen other versions of you, his gaze never leaves yours.

"You feel that?" he whispers, voice raw, eyes locked on your face. "They want me. But I only come for you." And he does. Again.

With a groan so guttural it sounds like a mangled cry, he drags you down, burying himself to the root, and spills inside you with a loud, shaking, and claiming groan that seems to echo, almost pornographic, almost submissive itself.

You clench around him, helpless, ruined, as the other hands caress you both like a sacred offering. Fingers slide down your back—soft, trembling with need. Another pair trace your chest, teasing your nipples until you whimper, twitching in Mark’s lap. A third hand cups your throat with gentle pressure, tilting your head back so lips can press slow kisses along your jaw, your cheek, the corner of your mouth. You barely notice how many touches there are now—hands, mouths, heat and want surrounding you from every side, but none of it breaks the spell between you and Mark. He’s still inside you, buried deep, arms around your waist, gaze locked to yours like he’ll never blink again. “Let them worship,” he murmurs. “But this cock stays yours.”

~~~~ You’re boneless in his lap now, barely breathing right—head lolling against his shoulder, your thighs sticky with slick and sweat, chest rising slow and shallow. Mark’s arms are wrapped around you tight, one hand petting your hair, the other resting possessively across your stomach, thumb brushing idly across the mess he made inside you. He’s not hard anymore—but he’s still deep, cock resting soft and wet inside your twitching hole, refusing to pull out.

“You did so good,” he murmurs into your ear, tone turning sweet in that terrifying way only he can manage. “Took it like you wanted to be ruined in front of them. Like you liked showing off.”

Then, without even looking, he speaks louder, smug and deliberate. “Hope the rest of you had fun. All that moaning, all that tongue, all that desperate fucking effort—” he laughs, slow and mean, “—and guess what?” He tilts your face up, kisses your dazed mouth, and hums.

“Still not you.” He shifts slightly, and you let out a soft, spent whimper—too sensitive to move, too full to care. “This is the part you don’t get,” Mark says, his eyes flicking toward the others sprawled across the floor like discarded toys. “You can touch me. You can even make me come.”

He cups your jaw gently, all too fond of you, and whispers just for you: “But only he makes me stay.” A/N: DID WE EAT? (I was transcended to another reality over this request, thank you, anon.) I’m trying to make my male readers feel more inclusive, TRUST, every man in the universe wants you. 🪄

MasterList ོ༘₊⁺☀︎₊⁺⋆.˚

[literaryvein-reblogs]

A Few More Writing Notes for your Sex Scenes

Whether your long-term relationship is in a rut, or you're looking for a way to connect with a new partner, sex games are a fun way to add some steamy novelty to your sex life.

Sex Games for Couples to Play

To get the most out of these sexy games, both of you should go in with a positive attitude and a willingness to try new sexual activities. Here are some sex games that may spice things up between you and your partner.

“Out of bed” sex checklist: For this game, commit to having sex in a different location either inside or outside your home for an entire month. The one rule is that the location can’t be your bed. Then every time you have sex, alternate who chooses the location. You may be surprised at how a change of scenery sparks your sexual creativity.

Sex dice: For this classic couple’s sex game, all you need is a pair of dice that will give you a sexy action (i.e. “lick,” “suck,” “nibble”) and a number of sexy body parts (i.e. “nipples,” “ear,” “neck”). Just purchase a pair of sex dice, role the dice, and do what they tell you to do.

Kinky truth or dare: For this kinky spin on the classic game Truth or Dare, all you have to do is make every truth and every dare sexual in nature. If selecting a dare for your partner, think of something that pushes them slightly out of their comfort zone like role play or a striptease performance. When asking for a truth, use it as an opportunity to learn about your partner's sexual fantasies. For example, you could ask "What untraditional sex position have you always wanted to try?" or "Tell me something that turns you on that I don't already know about."

Yes/No/Maybe: Making a “Yes/No/Maybe” list with your partner is exactly what it sounds like: a list of sexual activities that you can mark “Yes” (I definitely want to do this), “No” (I definitely do not want to do this), or “Maybe” (I’m not sure if I’d enjoy this, but I’m open to talking more about it and maybe trying it). You should each fill out a “Yes/No/Maybe” list separately and then compare to see where your sexual fantasies overlap. Here's a small sample of items to consider adding to your list: BDSM, mutual masturbation, nipple play, oral sex, anal sex, role-playing, dirty talk, dressing up, spanking, vibrator usage, dildo usage, and threesomes.

Honey hunt: This game is perfect for couples who have a sweet tooth and don't mind getting a little messy. To play, blindfold your partner and pour a small spot of honey anywhere on your body. It's your partner's job to find the honey, but they're only allowed to use their tongue. As they search for the honey, your partner may discover new erogenous zones on your body. This game can get sticky so when you're done playing, clean each other off with some shower sex.

Sex toy surprise: To play “sex toy surprise,” gather all your sex toys in a large bag, blindfold you or your partner, and pick one out of the bag to use during foreplay. Feel free to keep the blindfold on after you make your selection.

Strip games: You can turn any card game or board game into a sex game if you just alter the rules so that the loser has to remove a piece of clothing. Strip poker is the most popular strip game and you only need a classic deck of playing cards to play.

Sex Toy - any object or device made to enhance sexual pleasure or facilitate an orgasm. When safely used, sex toys can bring an entirely new element to a sexual encounter. There are several different types of sex toys, and each is designed for a unique form of pleasure.

Types of Sex Toys

Sex toys come in many shapes and sizes, but they typically fall within 7 categories.

Vibrators: These sex toys use vibration patterns to stimulate different parts of your body. External vibrators include clitoral stimulators like bullet vibrators and wands, which enhance pleasure around the clitoris and labia. Internal vibrators are shaped for comfortable vaginal and anal penetration. They usually include several vibration modes, so you can find the right intensity for you. Combination vibrators like rabbit vibrators include both internal and external functions. Rabbits are hybrid sex toys that allow for penatration while simultaneously simulating your clit.

Anal toys: Some sex toys are specifically designed to stimlute the nerve endings in your anus. Examples of anal toys include butt plugs, prostate massagers, and anal beads. The important thing to look for when choosing an anal toy is a flared base. This wider base ensures that the toy doesn’t accidentally slip inside your anus. Since the anus doesn’t naturally lubricate itself, anal toys require a lot of lubrication. Don’t forget to clean your anal toy after each use, especially if you’re sharing the toy with a partner or plan to use it on another part of your body.

BDSM gear: BDSM toys can enhance sexual pleasure by allowing for dominant and submissive roleplaying. If you are new to bondage, consider buying a pair of handcuffs, a blindfold, or wrist and ankle restraints. These simple items can add an exciting element to your sexual encounters by forcing you to focus on every physical sensation. If you enjoy erotic spanking, consider using a paddles, whips, or ticklers. When using BDSM gear, always be sure to have an agreed-upon safe word that you can use if you are ever feeling uncomfortable. Trust and communication are key for good bondage play.

Dildos: One of the most popular types of sex toys, dildo are often phallic in shape. They are designed to comfortably penetrate a vagina, anus, or mouth. Dildos come in many shapes and sizes, but they are often textured with pleasurable ribs or bumps and made out of silicone, glass, and even steel. If you are having solo sex, consider buying a dildo with a suction cup base that you can attach to a wall for hand-free use.

Cock rings: These toys wrap around the base of your penis to stop blood flow back into the body, which can help maintain and enhance an erection. Some cock rings wrap around the scrotum to apply extra pressure. The safest cock rings are made from a soft material like silicone, but they also come in materials like titanium or stainless steel. Vibrating cock rings can enhance sexual pleasure for the wearer and provide clitoral stimulation for a partner. Only wear a cock ring for brief sessions, and take it off immediately if it causes you any pain.

Harnesses: Harnesses allow you to attach a dildo to your body for strap-on play. Use a strap-on for penetrative sex, either vaginal or anal. Harnesses are often fit like underwear, but some have straps that tie around your thighs. You may also wear a harness for bondage purposes. For optimal mobility during sex, be sure to keep your harness snug and your dildo tightly attached.

Sex furniture: Constructed for intimacy, sex furniture can help you position your body in a way that is otherwise difficult or uncomfortable. A wedge pillow is an easy way to lift your pelvis and hold a good position for penetration. Other examples of sex furniture include sex swings, lounge chairs, and shower grips. If you’ve been struggling with a particular sex position, consider getting a piece of sex furniture to support you.

BDSM - a blanket term for a wide variety of erotic practices and kinks built upon power dynamics between consenting sexual partners.

“BDSM” is a combination of acronyms that stands for three similar but distinct communities that use power imbalance for sexual pleasure:

Bondage and discipline (B/D), domination and submission (D/s), and sadism and masochism (S/M).

In general, BDSM involves one partner acting in the dominant role (or “dom”), while the other embodies the submissive role (or “sub”) as they both act out consensual fantasies.

Both partners receive sexual pleasure and satisfaction from performing their role (whether dominant or submissive) during the sexual encounter.

Other “kinky” communities based on nonconforming sexual interests or fetishism are often included within the BDSM community, including those with rubber or leather fetishes or people who enjoy animal roleplay, where one partner takes on the role of an animal or pet.

Types of BDSM

BDSM is an umbrella term for many sexual preferences within the erotic community, all of which interact and overlap in various ways. The most common subcultures include:

Bondage play: Bondage is a sexual practice in which tools are used to restrain one partner during a sexual encounter. The most common restraints include rope, leather straps, bondage tape, ties, handcuffs, spreader bars, ball gags, blindfolds, and chains. These restraints aim to restrict the subject’s senses or freedom of movement to place control in the other partner’s hands and heighten mutual sexual stimulation.

Discipline: In the discipline community, the dominant partner will set rules that the submissive partner obeys. These rules can be sexual in nature (like requiring oral sex at particular times) or indirectly erotic (like forbidding speaking out of turn). If the submissive partner breaks a rule, the dominant partner will assign punishment, including withholding pleasure, inflicting pain (from spanking to flogging), or assigning additional rules. Both partners experience sexual pleasure in discipline roleplay.

Dominance and submission: Dominance and submission focus on the flow of power and energy between partners. In general, one partner dominates the other physically, mentally, emotionally, or sexually during a particular encounter (often called a “scene” or “session”), exploring the submissive partner’s desires, thoughts, and feelings and guiding the couple toward mutual pleasure. BDSM practitioners who like to switch between dominant and submissive roles in a relationship or even undergo a power exchange during a single encounter are known as “switches.” D/s often incorporates specific outfits or attire to be used during a scene—for instance, leather outfits, maid costumes, collars, leashes, and riding crops.

Sadomasochism: Sadomasochism is a community in which individuals derive sexual pleasure and a rush of endorphins from inflicting or receiving pain (always consensually). Those who enjoy inflicting this pain are known as sadists, while those who enjoy feeling this pain are called masochists. The pain inflicted can be physical (with whips, clamps, paddles, or electric stimulation) or emotional (through humiliation or total submission).

Tips for Practicing BDSM Safely

If you want to experiment with BDSM for the first time but are unsure where to start, here are a few tips to make sure your experiences are safe, consensual, and fun:

Set ground rules with your partner. To engage in healthy BDSM play, you and your partner should both agree on what you’re comfortable with before you begin—nobody should feel pressured into a particular role or feel as if they don’t have a choice. Have an open and honest dialogue with your partner about the roles you’re each drawn toward so that you both feel comfortable and confident experimenting. If you’re too nervous about bringing it up directly and you’re curious about your partner’s interest levels, consider watching light BDSM erotica together to broach the subject.

Select a safe word. Trust and mutual consent between one or more partners are the foundation of BDSM. However, it may be hard to distinguish between playful banter and an honest request to slow down or stop the experience in the middle of a session. Every BDSM practitioner should establish at least one safe word with their partner—something either person can say to signal that a boundary has been crossed and a break is necessary. Additionally, you and your partner can choose two different safe words—one that signals a stop in action and another that signals you’re coming close to a boundary and should ease off or move the session in a different direction.

Brainstorm roleplaying ideas. If you’re unsure how to begin a BDSM relationship with your partner or feeling self-conscious, consider some roleplay scenarios that can help jumpstart the action. Boss and employee, teacher and student, doctor and patient, or two strangers are all roles that you can take on to help distance yourself from the situation, which can be a great way to help you get over stage fright so that you can relax and enjoy yourself.

Start small. If you’re new to BDSM, avoid buying a complicated rope system or a fancy leather outfit. Instead, let yourself ease in to see if this form of sex play suits you and your partner. Try light BDSM activities for starters; many discipline or D/s sessions only require two willing participants and some imagination. If you want to buy equipment, a blindfold and some wrist restraints are useful, inexpensive items that you can continue to use if you determine that hardcore BDSM activities are not for you.

Understand risk. There are two main schools of thought regarding how to treat risk during sessions—the “safe, sane, and consensual” model (SSC) and the “risk-aware consensual kink” model (RACK). Those who follow the SSC model emphasize safety, sticking to activities that you and your partner have designated as “safe” beforehand. Those who follow the RACK model believe that the word “safe” is problematic because most BDSM activities are inherently risky and that emphasizing safety takes away participants’ freedom to evaluate risk on their own or engage in higher-risk BDSM play. For those who follow the RACK model, the responsibility to determine risk and comfort is with each individual—making explicit consent even more crucial.

Aftercare is key. Many sexual activities—and BDSM sessions in particular—can be physically or emotionally intense for both participants, so partners must engage in healthy aftercare following the sexual experience. Discussion, cuddling, and cleaning up together are great ways to help everyone wind down and process the session, fostering a sense of calm, physical wellness, and emotional well-being.

Erotic Spanking - a type of impact play in which a person uses their hands, whip, paddle, crop, or flagger to spank parts of their partner’s body for consensual and mutual sexual pleasure.

Spanking is a light BDSM activity often used as foreplay before sexual intercourse or a kinky warm up during domination play.

Receiving an erotic spanking can increase blood flow in the groin area and releases pleasurable chemicals in the brain, including endorphins and dopamine, to enhance sexual pleasure.

Types of Erotic Spanking

In spanking role-play, each partner performs the part of a character—the spanking recipient will typically take on a submissive role, while the other partner performs a dominant one.

Domestic discipline is a practice between two consenting partners where the dominant partner uses spanking or corporal punishment to call out their submissive partner’s unwanted behaviors (which may have been performed intentionally in order to get spanked).

Self-spanking is when a person spanks their own body for sexual pleasure.

Ways to Practice Erotic Spanking

There are several different ways that couples and individuals can use erotic spanking in their sexual play:

Clothed or unclothed: You can spank or receive a spanking fully clothed, completely naked, or in various states of undress. Some people own special spanking outfits like chaps or a spanking skirt, which have unique cutouts around the buttocks to allow for easier spanking.

Over the knee: The prototypical position for spanking is when the receiving partner lies across the lap or over the spanking partner’s knee, with their buttocks in the air. However, many other positions offer easy access to the buttocks. For example, the receiving partner can lie on their stomach on the bed, or both partners can stand upright. Some people may invest in a spanking bench or spanking horse, a four-legged piece of furniture that the receiving partner lies on during spanking.

With the hand: The hands are the most common spanking tool. Some practitioners prefer to spank using their bare hands because they can also feel the impact on their palms and fingers.

With a spanking tool: Spanking tools can provide more impact or cover a greater surface area. Paddles, whips, riding crops, floggers, hairbrushes, belts, and canes are popular implements to use for spanking.

With bondage: Spanking falls under the umbrella of BDSM, which also includes other activities like bondage and domination. Many people like to combine spanking with these activities to enhance sexual arousal—for instance, tying up the receiving partner for a submissive BDSM spanking experience.

With role-play: Some couples use spanking as a role-playing element, acting out situations where the spanker is the dominant partner and the spankee needs to be punished with a spanking session.

Erotic Spanking Tips

If you want to try an erotic spanking session in the bedroom, here are some useful tips for beginners:

Choose a safe word. Different people respond differently to spanking—while some may find it immensely pleasurable, others may dislike it entirely or enjoy it only briefly before they’re ready to move on. To ensure that you and your partner have an open line of sexual communication, choose a memorable, safe word before you start so that if one of you needs to stop, you can use the word to end the session and take a break.

Start gently. Everyone has different sensitivity levels, and it’s important to listen to your partner to see what feels best for them. When starting with erotic spanking, the spanker should begin with gentle spanks—then, if your partner asks for more or harder impact, you can gradually increase the intensity. Easing into the spanking can help both of you discover your preferences.

Experiment with sensations. If you’re spanking with your hand, you can try different angles and styles to see what feels best. For instance, the palm offers a deeper thud, while the fingers can create more of a stinging sensation. Other spanking tools can provide new sensations—a paddle can cover more surface area with each impact, while a riding crop concentrates on a particular spot. Aftercare is also important—rubbing the spankee’s buttocks after a few spanks can extend the duration of the sensations and further increase the pleasure.

Pay attention to all four zones. The buttocks have four different zones that respond differently to spanking: the tops by your lower back, the sides near your hips, the undersides, and the fleshy center dome. When spanking, give each zone some attention, which will also help provide other zones with relief. As you ramp up the sexual arousal, focus most of the spanking on the underside zone, which will send vibrations up to your partner’s genital area for the most pleasure.

Go solo. You don’t need a partner to enjoy spanking. Add in some erotic spanking during a masturbation session—being on all fours or even standing up are both good positions to give you easy access to your buttocks area. If you’re having a hard time reaching, consider using a paddle or other spanking tool.

Sources: 1 2 3 4 ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[spearofheaven]

⋆˚࿔ OBJECTS IN THE MIRROR — artist! geto suguru

SUM. Going from being your lover last week to not knowing your name this week.

CONTENTS. 18+ contents, MDNI. 7k words. x fem! reader. non canon compliant/au. smut. angst. amnesia. lovers to strangers. inappropriate use of paint. 69. cunnilingus. face fucking. spanking. unprotected p in v. fingering. missionary. doggy. cum eating. creampie. switching. use of pet names.

A/N. twas truly on a geto run last year. positive comments and reblogs are appreciated <3

Almost every artist's dream is to create a piece that resembles one that stands proudly in museums, the one bewitching masterpiece that garners the attention of everyone around it. That attracts attention the way a light beckons a moth.

Or at least, that's what Suguru had been trying to achieve through the countless doodles and paintings that he'd made throughout college. Using cheap colors that he'd bought at a bargained price after working too many hours at a job that paid too little.

A number of sketchbooks stuffed into a drawer, each of them offering a glimpse into what lingered behind his subconscious. The gorgeous aspects of life that he could only hope he was able to encapsulate through his work and the more.. nasty aspects.

And now that Suguru had all the art supplies that he could dream of (and more), he couldn't bring himself to actually draw something. The cabinets in his office were filled up to the brim with different pigments, oils and watercolors, blank canvases. All just simply begging to be used as the days passed by. "I'll do it tomorrow," he assured himself every time throughout the week after when after that he passed the closed office door.

After many many tomorrows, Suguru finally decided to step into the room. His movements were slow and deliberate as he prepped his workspace, adjusting all the brushes to be lined up against each other uniformly. As if the slightest displacement of his brushes would be enough to get him to mess up the work he'd been planning to do. After rearranging for what seemed to be the hundredth time, Suguru decided to pick up one of the brushes.

Just to firmly grasp it in his hand, the plastic digging into his palm. Standing completely and utterly still.

Suguru could feel himself slowly start his descent into madness the longer that he stood in front of the empty canvas with a paintbrush in hand, his paints starting to dry out with every minute that he was still. He'd been stuck in a creative rut for the past couple weeks, wanting to put one of the many ideas that roamed freely in his head onto the canvas without actually being able to. It was like his mind went black the second he was ready.

The once bright sunlight that'd been peering in through the windows had now started to dim down, leaving behind a shadow that covered a majority of the room. A shadow that would surely ruin Suguru's work if he were to get started now. Surely. That's what he told himself when he decided to call it quits for the day, untying his apron and hanging up on the coat rack at the back of the room.

Even so, he couldn't help himself from walking back over to the canvas. Hoping that some surge of inspiration would come to him—the same inspiration that he'd sacrificed nights of sleep long ago just to be able to create a piece to his liking. The type of inspiration that deeply embedded itself into his brain, begging to be put onto the canvas. Begging to be executed. Begging to be seen.

You stood by the door, quietly making your way into the room to where he stood. "What're you up to?" You whispered, your lips hovering above his ear while your arms were wrapped around his lower stomach from behind. Suguru melted into your touch automatically, his eyes fluttering shut. You'd distracted him—that much was certain. But that seemed to be exactly what he needed right now. Allowing himself to get out of his head.

"Staring at an empty canvas and hoping it magically turns into a masterpiece. You, pretty girl?" Suguru turned to face you, his hands instinctively resting on your hips. "Staring at an artist hoping he magically makes a masterpiece."

"With you in the room, it'd be a hard task not to create a masterpiece."

"That's what I was going for. Been told I'm an excellent muse."

"My excellent muse." Your lips connected with Suguru's in a span of seconds, your eyes fluttering shut as the taste of him completely invaded your seconds. One of your hands reached back to the mess that he'd raked his fingers through countless times, holding a fistful of his hair to pull him closer to you. The exchange was something like two puzzle pieces fitting together perfectly.

And in the midst of kissing you, a lightbulb went off in Suguru's head. The first bit of inspiration that he's gotten since entering the room nearly three hours ago. "There's something in that big brain of yours?" Your question drew out a laugh from him, the small huff of air hitting the side of your neck. "Something like that, yeah. I need your help with it, pretty girl."

Suguru taped piece after piece of white paper together—completely covering the pristine brown floors of his studio. He knew damn well he wouldn't hear the end of it from you if he ended messing up the floors with the little experiment that he had in mind. You could only stare from the doorway with your arms folded, trying to decipher what he was hoping to achieve.

"Come here, please," Suguru gestured for you to join him once the pieces were secured onto each other. You joined him once the floor, watching as he slipped off his shirt with ease. Your clothes ended up on the floor in record time, watching as Suguru grabbed some acrylic paint bottles from one of the overflowing cabinets. "Normally acrylic's a pain in the ass to work with since it dries so fast but it should be fine."

"Should be fine for what, exactly?" Your head cocked to the side, watching as he took off the plastic wrap around the cap. Suguru looked over at you with a sheepish expression, hesitating before answering your question. "Just hear me out," Suguru's hands ran down your bare thighs in some half-assed attempt to soften the blow, "I was thinking we could put some paint on us and y'know.. have sex on the canvas."

Oh.

"That's it?" You retorted, having to stifle a laugh.

Suguru's hands stilled on your thighs, looking over at you with a half glare on his face, "I nearly had a heart attack trying to ask you that and you're laughing?"

"Well, yeah. I was expecting something worse, to be honest," Before the laugh you were holding it in escaped your lips, a spurt of paint landed on your stomach. A small gasp left your lips, grabbing the nearest paint bottle and aiming straight at Suguru. "Not the h-"

"Yeah, yeah, not the hair," you finished for him, covering a majority of his chest and neck in green paint. You weren't sure who even ended up winning the fight between the two of you, the two of you nearly covered from head to toe in several layers of drying paint. "Ready to admit defeat?" You prodded with a teasing smile on your face, hovering just above him.

A teasing smile that was wiped from your face within a span of what seemed to be two seconds. "I thought you were the one about to admit defeat."

Suguru rested above you, his hair tickling the sensitive skin of your neck when he lowered himself down to press sloppy kisses in whatever spots he could reach. In whatever spots he could leave a hickey only for his eyes to see. His teeth nibbled at your collarbone, his lips enclosing around the skin and sucking. Treating you like his very own canvas, painting your skin in a mix of small bites and his teeth marks.

"Get on top of me, pretty girl," Suguru's hair splayed out against the canvas, the golden hue of the sunset hitting him perfectly from the window when he laid down. You were about to sit down on his lap when he cleared his throat, "Not like that. Turn around for me."

"Su-Suguru," your breath hitched when you felt his teeth bite down onto your inner thigh just as you barely adjusted, his lips wrapping around the supple skin to leave a mark on you with something other than paint. Suguru kissed his way up to your clit, giving it a chaste kiss before moving back to your inner thigh. Repeating the process until a soft groan left your lips, your hips wiggling back against his mouth.

"Doesn't this defeat the purpose of the paint all over us?" Your words came out in a breathy whisper, suddenly becoming hyperaware of the drying paint on your skin. Suguru squirted some of the paint onto his hand, bringing his hand to your ass cheek. Squeezing the flesh in between his fingers, a sharp SMACK following. Leaving a yellow handprint behind.

"Are you complaining, princess?" Suguru asked in a taunt, the tip of his tongue tracing against your folds, "Plus, we're mixing the colors together. Variety and all."

Couldn't really argue with that logic. Not that you'd even begin wanting to argue—the tip of his sharp tongue rolling against your throbbing clit.

Suguru's lips enclosed around one of your slick folds, his eyes shut in bliss as he gave it the sloppiest French kiss that you'd seen in your life. "So good, wanna stay like this forever," Just one taste of you had the man intoxicated. Suguru spat up into your cunt, his tongue mixing it in with your slick.

"Wanna fucking drown in your pussy, lemme do that. Please, please," incoherent babbles spilled from his lips, begging for.. you weren't even sure what. "Sugu, don't stop," your moans only encouraged him, your nails digging into his thighs when he pushed a thick digit inside of you. Slowly pushing it in and out of you, his tongue swirling around your clit just as slow. "F-Faster, baby. Please."

The baby was almost enough to get the last bit of his remaining composure to crumble—another one of those sweet whines escaping his lips. Even so, he was determined to tease you, "You sure you can take it?"

"Y-Yes, yes, fuck yes, faster," you felt like a bobblehead with the way you were nodding. Suguru's finger curled inside of you, hitting your g-spot when he pulled it out of you. "Since you were nice about it," Suguru's lips wrapped around your cunt, his tongue swirling against the nerves while another finger pushed inside of you. He moved the two in a scissoring motion, working your walls open slowly.

Your thumb and pointer wrapped around the tip of his cock, your other paint stained hand wrapping around the base. Just the slightest bit of contact and Suguru was already bucking his hips into your hand, a groan leaving his glistening lips. "Please, need you," he babbled, pulling away from your sensitive cunt. You simply traced one of the veins on the side with your fingertip, your touch featherlight.

"What do you mean? You have me, with my hand wrapped around your cock. Be more specific," you executed the clueless act almost perfectly, a borderline whine leaving Suguru's lips. From desperation. From need. From how much he was starting to like when you teased him like this. "Need your mouth on me, pretty. Your teasing's too much."

"Your fault for making it so easy," you drawled out, your tongue darting out. Tasting the precum that leaked out his reddening tip. Your thumb swiped against his cockhead, smearing the mixture of his pre and your spit around it like makeshift lube.

"F-Fuck, just like that," Suguru let out a groan into your cunt, the vibrations shooting up all the way up your spine. You slowly began bobbing your head, your cheeks hollowing out as you tried to take more of his thick cock in your mouth. Drool leaked from the corners of your lips, some of the paint that managed to get onto your chin dripping onto the paper underneath. "Lemme fuck your face, princess. Please, please."

"Just. Like. That," his words were punctuated with his hips snapping up into your mouth, the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat. You were left a gagging mess, your eyes starting to water from the sting. If Suguru could see you, you were certain he'd make some stupid comment about how good you look.

And almost as if he'd read your thoughts, "B-Bet you look so pretty gagging. So so pretty taking my cock."

"And I bet you'd look better with your mouth on my pussy instead of teasing," you clicked your tongue, your lips wrapping around the sides of his cock. Slowly rubbing them against his shaft, your hand going down to his balls.

Suguru had been putty in your hands long ago—but the feeling of your hand on his balls only reaffirmed that fact. Your fingers gently rolled against his sac, each of your movements completely in tandem with your mouth. Almost like a synchronized dance. "S-shit, pretty," Suguru's moans were muffled, his nose deep inside of your cunt.

Suguru's balls started to grow heavy underneath your fingertips, strained gasps coming out of him. "S-Stop," you pulled away when you heard Suguru's words, your brows pulling together.

"You okay? We can stop if you want," you assured him, moving to get off him. His grip on your hips tightened, keeping you still against him. Suguru didn't move from his spot, his head laying back against the paper in some attempt to catch his breath.

"No, no, nothing like that," Suguru let out a shaky laugh, his words making relief crash over your body like a wave. "Just- You almost made me cum."

"Is that a bad thing?" While your words were innocent, you looked anything but. Looking at you was akin to looking at a succubus incarnate. A succubus that Suguru wouldn't necessarily mind submitting to if it came down to it.

"No. Just wanna do it inside of you instead."

"A true poet. You should consider that as a career," a short laugh left your lips. The sound turning into a moan when Suguru smacked your ass again—this time with red paint. The previous yellow on his hand mixed in, leaving an orangey red tint behind. "And you should consider being a comedian."

Suguru shifted the two of you, having you underneath him yet again. His hand wrapped around his cock, pressing it against your cunt and swiping his shaft up and down your folds. He looked over at you—seeing the way you bit down on your lip to keep yourself quiet. Not that it'd mattered, your pussy couldn't exactly lie the same way that you could.

Your walls clenched around pure air—your dripping pussy coating his shaft with each and every swipe. One of his hands moved to cradle your cheek, tenderly. He moved his thumb to where leftover tears remained, wiping them away with one shift motion. The action was meant to be sweet, loving—and yet it was completely betrayed by the shit-eating grin on his face.

Suguru was completely shameless in sticking his thumb in his mouth, his tongue swirling around it while he licked away your salty tears. All the while he maintained eye contact with you.

"O-Oh fuck!" Suguru reveled in the sharp gasp that left your lips when he pushed the tip of his cock inside of you, your mouth left agape. He leaned down, pressing his lips against your own. Unlike the other kisses, this one was more desperate. More needy. His teeth clashed against your own, your tongue moving against his own messily. Just needing to have him close to you.

"There we go, that's it," Suguru purred in your ear, studying each one of your reactions. Watching as you squirmed the further that he pushed his cock inside you. He stilled his movements, your walls tightly clenched around his cock. Even if he wanted to move, he couldn't.

"Take it so well, you were meant for me. All of you," Suguru's lips moved down to your breast, his paint-covered hands staining the skin even further. His tongue swirled around your nipple, the tip prodding against the hardening buds. "Could never get enough of you. Never want to get enough of you," his babbles served to distract you from the slight sting between your thighs, your hand intertwining in his hair. Getting paint on it despite your previous promise.

"You can move," you assured him, his hips snapping into you almost immediately. Suguru's head hung low, already getting lost in your cunt one thrust in. "So good, so perfect," He panted, his thrusts starting off slow and shallow. Getting you more and more comfortable with each one. One of his hands reached out to grab your own, calloused fingers intertwining with your own. He brought your hand to his mouth, gently pressing a kiss.

Suguru's thrusts began to grow faster—meaner. "S-So deep, Sugu," you breathed out, your nails digging into the back of his hand. "Yeah? You can take it, though. Can't you?" He repeated the same words from earlier back to you, watching your eyes glaze over with lust. Rolling back with each punishing thrust. The sound of skin against skin resounded throughout the room, paint splashing against each other.

"Take it so well, knew you could," Suguru disentangled his fingers from your own, moving his hand towards your clit. He slowly began rubbing circles against the bud, your legs starting to quiver from the overwhelming stimulation. It felt like too much, it didn't feel like it was enough. You didn't know what to ask for. "Please," you managed to get out, your hips bucking up to meet his thrusts.

"I know, I know. I got you," and even though the ask didn't seem that coherent to you, Suguru seemed to have gotten it immediately. His fingertips sped their pace up on your clit, your walls clenching around him. Your toes curled against the paper, that all too familiar coil building up in your lower tummy. "Close, close," you chanted like a mantra. Suguru's fingers continued, pushing you towards your orgasm.

Your walls clenched around his shaft, your orgasm hitting you like a wave when you unclenched. Your release covered his shaft, your folds, and some of it managed to drip down to the canvas. Messing up the messy artwork even further. Suguru pulled his fingers away from your clit, bringing them up to his lips with your slick glistening against his digits.

And just like he'd done with your tears, Suguru completely licked his fingers clean. "Fuckkk, you're so good to me," he groaned out, the taste of you immediately infiltrating his taste buds. The only thing left when Suguru pulled his fingers out was his own spit.

"Come on, get the canvas all nice and covered," Suguru helped you get on your stomach, your back arched and your ass up in the air. Your pussy still wet from your previous orgasm. You rested your elbows onto the paper below you, supporting your weight while Suguru smacked your ass with the tip of his dick. "Got so lucky with you," He mused out loud, sounding completely entranced.

Suguru pushed his cock inside of you, filling you up inch after inch. "That's my little Picasso," he teased, watching you put some more paint onto your hands. His hands gripped your hips, his cock pushing deeper inside of you from this angle. The ridges on his shaft brushing up against your g-spot, brushing up against every right spot. All you could feel was him, him, him.

Your fingers laid across the paper, tainting the white paper below you in a mixture of colors. Drip. Drip. Drip. You weren't sure if that was the paint or your pussy at this point. Probably both. "F-Fuck Suguru, don't stop," you moan out, your cheek resting against the paper underneath. Suguru's grip on your hips tightened, his thrusts growing sloppier and sloppier by the second.

"N-Not gonna stop until my cum's dripping out of you," Suguru practically whined, completely and utterly pussy-drunk. Your walls clenched involuntarily, something Suguru couldn't have missed even if he wanted to. "Tightened up so fucking much. That's exactly what you want, my cum filling you up?"

"Mhm, please. Fill me up," your whines sounded like a melody in his ears, a melody that he'd never grow tired of. Your tight cunt was milking his cock for everything it had, gripping around him tightly like a vice. Suguru's balls twacked against your cunt with each mean thrust, each thrust sloppier than the last. Like he just needed to be inside you—no matter how.

Ropes and ropes of cum painted your cunt white as he came, his breathing ragged. You felt so full. It was so much cum—the sticky substance dripping down your thighs. Suguru's mouth instantly went to your pussy, licking away his cum that dribbled down your folds. Pushing the remainder in with his fingers before allowing himself to lay down next to you.

The two of you laid still on the canvas with dry paint coating the two of you from your cheeks to your other set of cheeks. You'd ended up splattering more paint on each other than on the paper below you. The sun outside had set, leaving only the sound of cicadas outside and moonlight filtering in through the window. A comfortable silence settled between the two of you albeit for the sound of your quick breaths.

Suguru had been to copious amounts of art showings and galleries throughout the course of his career—seen all different kinds of things. Sculptures, oil paintings, photographs, etc. Some of them taking him a second glance to try to see the meaning while some were effortless in the way that they presented their beauty. But somehow all those paintings seemed to dim in comparison to you in this moment.

You in all your post orgasm glory—with beads of sweat dribbling down your forehead, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath, your inner thighs shaking from the after shocks and covered with his semen. A view that he couldn't begin to replicate even with the world's most expensive paintbrushes, the most expensive canvas.

No matter how many times you told Suguru that a painting he'd done of you was nothing short of extraordinary, he couldn't help but feel as if something was missing. As if he couldn't capture your beauty in all its essence. Whether it be that your nose ended off balance by one half-inch, one of your eyes ended up slightly more crooked than the other. Nothing seemed to really encapsulate what he wanted to portray onto the canvas.

But the work that lay below you almost expressed you in a way that he could only dream of achieving in this lifetime—expressing you in one of the rawest forms possible. In pure bliss and ecstasy. Pure bliss and ecstasy that he'd been responsible for.

Suguru was nothing short of gentle, reverent when he swiped the washcloth across your paint covered skin. Wiping away all the dry pieces that started to flake off. "Nothing short of being the perfect muse," He spoke in a way that made it seem like the words were meant just for your ears. Suguru pressed a kiss on your shoulder, his lips trailing a path down to your back.

"All I did was have sex with you on top of a piece of paper," you responded, turning around to face him. His hands immediately found your waist, pulling you all that much closer to your body until you were chest to chest. "Maybe. But I've never felt this surge of inspiration before. All because of you, beautiful."

Seeing the final piece hanging up on the wall of his studio, you almost couldn't help but think that it was disorganized chaos. That it was just splatters of paint showcasing what the two of you had gotten up to just the night prior. "I know what you're thinking, but y'know how art critics are. Chances are that they'll enjoy this piece more than any of the others I've done," Suguru spoke up, standing next to you as he looked up at the painting.

"Even if they don't, thank you for indulging me. Don't think I could forget about this painting even if I tried," Suguru wrapped his arms around your waist from behind you, resting his head on your shoulder. You leaned back into his touch almost instinctively, staring at the painting for a bit longer. All the nonsensical shapes and splatters on the wall slowly starting to become something beautiful—something made out of love.

And enjoy it they did. Not one day passed by since Suguru submitted the painting to be hung up in several art showings where he didn't get a call with some offer. Each of them going higher and higher, each caller trying to outbid the last. Coming back to him with a bigger and better offer, all for the chance to see the painting the two of you made. Nothing at all like the days of being a starving artist, living off ramen and a dream.

Suguru's career had been built from the generous donations from coffee shops around the Tokyo area that were willing to pay for a couple of his pieces, of maintaining relationships with artists he didn't talk to for more than once in college to gain some kind of connections. It felt bizarre—having people practically want to display his work for the equivalent of a down payment on a house. Not only from the Japan area, but a couple galleries from overseas.

"I'll see you when I get back, okay? I love you," You were barely half awake, barely registering Suguru when he moved to press his lips against your forehead. He'd barely gotten of the shower from what you could tell, wet hair strands tickling your face and the smell of amber cologne filling up your nose.

"Love you too. Fly safe," you mumbled back in response, or at least you'd made the attempt to do so. Hopefully he heard. In a span of mere seconds, you'd pulled the blankets back over your body and went back to sleep.

For the second time that morning, you were woken up from your sleep. Only this time it wasn't the feeling of Suguru's lips against your skin, rather the shrill sound of your phone beside you. A rather rude awakening. You rubbed your eyes, sitting up in bed and clearing your throat in all attempt to make it sound like you didn't wake up two seconds ago. Picking your phone up, you were met with the sight of an unknown number.

You'd grown wary to answering unknown numbers—whether it be from a multitude of spam calls throughout your day or one of Suguru's fans that found your contact information. You couldn't really begin to explain it, but something, something, compelled you to answer the call at the third ring. "Hi, we're calling from Tokyo General Hospital. You were listed as Geto Suguru's emergency contact."

If you weren't awake before, that greeting was enough to wake you up. "That's me. Is everything okay?" You felt goosebumps all over your arms, a bad feeling sinking down into your very bones. The person on the other line kept talking—the words not registering inside of your head just yet. He was supposed to be on a plane, maybe on his layover. Throughout the call, you could only pick up certain words. Accident. Critical condition. Stable for now.

Rushing over to the emergency room in nothing but your pajamas and a pair of bunny slippers. "H-Hi, I got a call," you took a moment to catch your breath, your knuckles gripping the front desk. Forcing yourself to try to calm down somewhat. Trying to inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Despite that every breath only seemed to be wearing you down even further.

"I'm here about Geto Suguru. You just brought him in," you managed to get out, your fingers anxiously tapping against the counter. Every second that the nurse spent typing on the computer felt like a second too long.

"He's currently in emergency surgery. The waiting room's in the fourth floor," the nurse finally spoke up after what seemed to be an eternity. "Thank you," your words came jumbled up in a rush, turning around and speed walking towards the elevator. The stench of antiseptic filled your nostrils as soon as you stepped out into the fourth floor, a grim feeling settled into every crevice of the halls.

The clock on the wall ticked by slowly, marking each second almost painfully. Each second marking someone being brought into the world, someone being taken away from the world. Marking tears of agony, dispair, joy, and relief. Your brain continued to spiral every time a doctor came out of the surgical wing—giving you the briefest glance before going over to talk to someone else.

A wisdom teeth removal without anesthesia would've been a more welcome thought than the unbearable waiting.

Despite his farewell, the next time that you saw Suguru wasn't at the airport after the art show that would make his career skyrocket. With a smile on his face when he looked at you, like you held the universe in the palm of your hand. Like you were the only thing really worth looking at. But instead, you had to settle for seeing him in a hospital bed.

You could practically see the gears turning in Suguru's head in some attempt to recognize just where exactly he knew you from, where he'd seen you before. Almost like one of the statues that were around his studio, you stood completely still. You gave him your name after a nod from the doctor and crossed your fingers in the pocket of your pajama pants, waiting for some kind of sign that he knew you.

That he remembered the hour long conversations between you, the feeling of your skin underneath his own, that he at least knew he loved you. The action was for naught, however. Panic slowly began to settle in Suguru's features, his arms straining against the needles attached. His face was cold, detached, his finger pointing towards the door. "Leave!" even with the breathing tube down his throat, you at least made out the command.

Before Suguru ended up ripping all the different IVs out of his arm, you made your way out of the room. Standing by the door, almost like a puppy who'd just been kicked out to the curb. Looking through the small window, you could see that Suguru was still on high alert. His eyes darted around the room, the two nurses attempting to restrain him starting to visibly struggle.

His shouts bled through the thin walls, "Leave! Leave!" Until the room went completely silent in a span of seconds, his panicked breathing starting to even out on the monitor. "You're free to come at another time," the doctor offered a sheepish smile, handing over a guide. How to deal with a family member with amnesia. The smiles on the front page only served to mock you even further.

You opened up the door to his side of the closet when you got home, the silence of the room almost overwhelming. It was never this quiet. You'd grown used to hearing Suguru's footsteps echo in his office while he paced around—convincing you that it got the ideas flowing (spoiler alert: it rarely did). The scent of his body wash and cologne covered the room like a thick blanket from his shower this morning.

Looking around the vast space, you could see a couple of his shirts with the color faded out with years and years of use, of wash, and of love. And with that, you noticed a couple shirts hanging up with the tags still attached to them. Shirts that he'd probably been intending to wear for future art showings. Would he even dress the same? Smell the same? The uncertainty chipped away at your composure, leaving you gripping one of his old band tees at the back of his closet.

You sprayed his cologne first thing in the morning throughout the following week, something that you could hold onto for the time being. The thought of packing up his clothes was one that persisted the longer you kept staring at the untouched articles, yet you couldn't bring yourself to do it. Every time you set out with a box on the floor—you couldn't muster to even get his shirts off the hangers.

It felt wrong, in a sense. To almost be mourning him despite that he was well in the hospital. Doing better than expected, even. You couldn't help but feel like you've lost him completely, though. That Suguru Geto was completely gone after that accident. You recognized his body, the one who'd held your own during cold nights. But you weren't sure who he was, not like you used to. You didn't know who he was going to become.

You willed yourself to keep the same enthusiasm as the doctors had been trying to instill, deciding to pack a couple of his essentials in a bag before visiting him. If he was anything like the Suguru you knew, he was probably desperate to wash his hair with something other than cheap travel sized shampoo.

After days and days of avoidance, Suguru finally stood in front of the mirror and looked into it. At first, all he could see was just how weak he looked. How sickly pale he looked against the bright fluorescent lights, how sunken his cheekbones were, how tired he looked. Even if he didn't know who he was supposed to be—the sight was anything but welcome.

And then Suguru looked at the mirror. Really looked into it. Desperately seeking for some kind of hint of the person that people were expecting him to be. The one he'd seen various art critics write about in overlooked magazines that were around the hospital lobby. Only to come up completely and totally empty. With not one single recollection of what happened before the car accident.

Staring at himself in the mirror was like staring at a hollow shell of himself—a corpse with his face, his body, his hair, his voice, that held no memory of the person that he was used to be. A body without a brain. Who and what was he supposed to be acting like? As much as Suguru stared at himself in the mirror, he couldn't find the answer that he so desperately craved.

The canvas and paint set that you'd left behind nearly a week ago remained untouched in the hospital bed stand, still in their original package. Suguru reluctantly pulled it out, setting it down on his lap. "Stupid thing," he muttered to himself, prying open the plastic and looking over at the palette of colors. After facing the same four grey walls of the hospital room, he found himself staring at them for more than necessary.

But even while Suguru held the paintbrush in his hand, the thought that he was even doing that wrong lingered in the back of his brain like a plague. Every line that was sprawled onto the canvas felt like a mistake, the smallest divergence in between the two points almost made him throw out the canvas out the damn hospital window and never paint again. Everything that he was supposed to be, he simply was not.

A deep breath left his lips, forcing himself to calm down before he went through another spiral in less than ten minutes. Suguru's grip on the paintbrush was unsteady, unpracticed, each of his strokes either coming out too wet or too dry. Lighter colors were starting to mix with the darker colors, turning into a shade of mud brown. And yet, this was the calmest he's felt in a while. The calmest without any sedatives, anyways.

The painting didn't come out to be anything significant—anything that he deemed worth putting into an art museum. But the process of making his splotch of colors was an escape from trying to force himself to be someone he wasn't sure he could ever return to. The one time he didn't feel like he was disappointing someone since waking up. The short moment of bliss was broken when Suguru heard the door knob jiggle, his eyes darting around the room.

Looking for any place where he could hide the canvas. Anyplace where the poor excuse of his work couldn't be found—where he wouldn't get someone's hopes up. Opening up the drawer next to him, he decided that was a decent enough hiding spot. Suguru turned the canvas to face down, the paint smearing down onto the scratched wood when he placed it down. Completely ruining the worthless piece.

"You can come in," Suguru called out, watching as you came in with the grocery bag in tow. Looking at you was nothing less than looking at another stranger—nothing different than one of the nurses who came in to poke more needles into his arm.

"Hey Suguru," you popped your head in through the door, almost expecting for him to have that sudden moment like they did in telenovelas. That just one look, one kiss, one touch would bring back the man that you loved. Waiting for a moment that didn't come no matter how much or how many times you wished for it. He gave a nod, simply just acknowledging your presence.

Everyday that Suguru didn't recognize you just felt like one more stab to your bleeding heart. You could see the way that he slightly inched away from you whenever you got too close. Conversations didn't flow the way they used to—you'd learn to measure your words so you wouldn't upset him. To only ask about how he was feeling, what he ate for lunch even if the nurse gave you the report earlier.

"Can you tell me some things about me?" Suguru broke the silence after you'd taken a seat, his attention solely on you. How would you even begin to address that can of worms? What even was the best way to begin describing him without sounding like a romance novel?

"As I'm sure you're probably aware by now, you were an artist. You were dedicated, not just in that, but in everything that you did," you started off, your fingers tapping against the side of your leg. "Your perspective on the world was interesting, a bit nihilistic though."

"You keep saying were. You don't have the same hopes as the doctors?" Suguru asked almost immediately after you finished speaking. Leaving you completely and utterly speechless. You refused to look over at him, staring at the floor with a newfound interest. Without saying anything, you essentially confirmed the question that lingered in the air.

"Can I see some of the works, then?" Suguru tried his luck with that question next. The tension disappeared from your body almost immediately, a breath leaving your lips. "You're free to look around at a couple of the pictures on there," you handed your phone over. Most of them were just off-guards you'd captured when he was sleeping or cooking, really. A couple of his works thrown in between.

Suguru scrolled through your phone for a bit, bringing one specific work to your attention. The last work the two of you had made before he landed in a hospital bed. "Looks like a bunch of paint thrown on there. What made me do that?" The same piece that he swore to never forget was the same one he was criticizing now.

"You made that piece with me," you had to will yourself to blink back a couple tears that were threatening to spill, keeping your voice steady. "I guess you can just call it a product of love. We basically just covered ourselves in paint and had sex on the canvas."  The explanation definitely sounded better in your head. Suguru simply looked at you with his mouth slightly agape, probably trying to figure out how.

"Was.. that comfortable?" A tamer question than you'd been expecting.

"As comfortable as the floor can get. It was messy in the end.. but it was pretty fun,"  you willed your voice to remain steady as you spoke, only to have the smallest of cracks at the end. You'd never expected the painting you once thought of as nothing but a splatter of paint would be making you this sentimental. Suguru had more questions, if his expression was anything to go by.

But you didn't get the chance to elaborate more on the painting when the door hinges creaked, the door swinging wide open.

"Oh good, you're here," the doctor you'd seen on your first night here greeted you, a clipboard resting on his arm, "So, we have the latest results from Geto's scan and they show no improvement. While he does seem to be recovering without any problems, chances are that the damage can be permanent." The rest of the doctor's words dimmed down into a ringing noise in the background.

You forced yourself to nod along when you deemed fitting—forced yourself to pretend like your hopes weren't just killed within two minutes. "Well, let me know if you have any questions," the doctor finished up, looking between the two of you. "Nothing here," you responded, glancing over at Suguru. When the doctor received nothing in response, he simply nodded and left the room.

Thick silence weighed in the room—the realization that Suguru would never get back to who he was, to what he enjoyed doing, slowly starting to settle in.

Just a week ago, Suguru was scheduled to go to the biggest art show of his career and now he was looking up at you like you held all the answers in the world. And maybe, in his opinion, you did. The only guide that he had through the unknown. Tears of sheer desperation dribbled down his red stricken eyes, tainting his pale cheeks as he babbled, "I don't know how to be who you want and need me to be. I'm sorry."

[beababoobies]

NAUGHTY BOY! -

a collection of what makes the jjk men so naughty - ft GETO, NANAMI, CHOSO. 𝜗𝜚 a/n : this is dedicated to my dearly beloved @bugbonesandthinskin , my favs for my fav. Enjoy my love! <3

CHOSO KAMO 𝜗𝜚 - poor baby!

Choso is fucking whiney. Choso will paw at you, at your body, whining and trying to discretely hump you. He’s such a desperate little puppy, it would be pathetic if it didn’t make you completely fold for him.

Choso is insanely sensitive - but also insanely filled with stamina. Sure, he’ll be whining and cumming under you in less than two minutes - but that doesn’t mean the fun has stopped, oh no, he’s practically used to the sensation of overstimulation by now. The first time you were intimate with him, he looked surprised when you asked if he wanted to stop after he finished. 

“D-does that mean it’s over? I u-usually do that at like five time w-when I get myself off.” 

He’s perfectly ready to be your mouldable little toy, to be ruined and wrecked by every naughty thing you know how to do that he couldn’t even fathom to have existed. But you have to be careful, ready - because once you’ve started, you’d be brave to try and stop. Because he’ll be behind you, arms wrapped around your waist after you tried to brush him off. Two days is really the most he can go before he feels like he’ll breakdown.

 It’s almost cute how insensitive he is to how taboo sex is actually supposed to be. He’s so confused when you blush or get why when he mentions something about having sex out of nowhere, or mentions something he fantasized about last night. You’ll be sitting on the couch, morning cup of tea in your grasp, gently blowing in it, waiting it for it to be just cold enough for you to drink, when your boyfriend sneaks in between your thighs, and -

“Can I eat you out? Please? Wanna feel you, feel you cum on my tongue…” 

He’s lucky you didn’t almost spill the cup of scolding hot liquid all down his face. 

GETOU SUGURU 𝜗𝜚 - t-that’s gross!

Geto is nasty because he’s just nasty. There’s nothing about his sexual habits that scream vanilla, or soft. He loves seeing you humiliated, embarrased about how your body keeps betraying you under his touch. All with your consent, of course, safe words - but there’s something about you sobbing and trying to squirm away from him that has him fucking throbbing.

The first time he ate you out, he could easily be mistaken for a man who had been crawling the desert for thousands of years coming in contact with his first taste of ice cold water. His entire face shoved in between your juicy folds, tongue pressed deeply against your clit as he used his tongue to scrape and squeeze out every little remnant of your slick from your cunt. Every little speck of your taste from every crevice of your walls, it’s his. 

And by the end, when you cried and sobbed and tried to pull him away with the cry of worrying you might squirt and practically drown the man, he pulled your thighs so quickly you could swear his faces collision with your slit could have broken his nose. Poor man couldn’t even care about air, broken noses, water down the wrong pipe, when you’re crying and trying to push at his head away while you shoot a stream of cum straight into his wanting mouth.

It’s that - or it’s grabbing you, tasting you, or fucking you in places of your body you wouldn’t ever expect someone to get creative enough to do. There’s in-between your thighs, of course, but that’s a classic - no, this man will rut his cock against your soft tummy and make your beg him to fuck you. He’ll watch his tip bump against your belly button as you whine and complain. 

His favourite? Using all your holes when you never expect it. Eating you out, and letting his tongue slip down to your ass, feeling you try to squirm away with protests. “T-that’s nasty, Sugu!” “S-sugu, that’s gross, you don’t h-have to -“ only to be silenced by your own whines when his tongue gently makes its way inside the tighter puckered hole, pressing up eagerly against your most sensitive spots . Because it’s beautiful to live on your perineum, to him, live in a state of consistently having access to ruining you. 

NANAMI KENTO 𝜗𝜚  - a man, ruined!

Nanami is a simple man. He hates work. He hates his job. He doesn’t like xyz, and he likes zyx. It’s not his fault that when you came into his life, he wanted to tear you apart for making him feel pushed out of his love for normalcy. You made him feel like a feral creature how you lead him to spending nights doing things that would change the worlds reputation of him.

Mating press after mating press, he feels so nasty but he can’t stop. You’re so easy to move, like putty in his hands. The way you’ll bend over, kneel, and cum at his command has him feeling out of control. At work, nearly off the clock, when his mind flashes to the way he held you to his chest by your stomach, other hand on your chin, letting you suck on his fingers as you slowly rode him until you were dumb. The way your pretty lacy lingerie slipped down enough for your breasts to poke out. And suddenly he’s running to the nearest restroom, flushed and bothered.

Because when he’s had other relationships, when he’s dated other women, hookups - none of them entranced him quite like you. It felt good, it was great, sure. But he wishes he could get the noise you make when you feel yourself getting close tattoos on his mind, that excited little whine when you realize you’re about to get what you want, the way your eyes light up, even if you’ve only been at it for a handful of minutes, you are just so ready to make a mess for him, so eager to let yourself get dumber and dumber everytime you cum. It’s filthy how much he wouldn’t mind quitting his job so he can spend all his time breaking you down to less than a human. Having you practically live on his swollen and sensitive cock. 

Nanami is a man ruined. Secretly, sure. He can hide it pretty well. In fact, no one would even know he had a pretty little thing like you to his name. But it was getting harder and harder to remain composed. Steady. Normal. When all his mind could think about the view of your cunt gently lowering itself onto his face. The way you put your whole weight on him, the way he didn’t even have to ask you.

[starlightsuffered]

Needy Boy Tries No Nut November (the end)

Info - challenge, nnn, needy Timothée, thigh riding, thigh job, thigh fuck

“It didn’t count,” he said with his arms crossed.

“What!” I asked in utter disbelief.

“It didn’t count, I didn’t mean to cum, it was a ruined orgasm, like having a wet dream, I couldn’t help it,” he said.

“Timothée Hal Chalamet, you weren’t sleeping, you were actively fucking me. You kept giving yourself little short cuts, just one thrust, then just three, then just trying to feel good.”

“Exactly, just those things, not cumming,” he said with his infuriating logic.

“Okay, say the first one isn’t legit, what about the next three rounds?”

“Ummmmmm, it was all one session technically so it’s under one umbrella,” he tried.

“Timothée,” I stamped.

“What?” He whined.

“I didn’t agree to a month without sex, I get needy too,” I said with my arms crossed.

“I can help you out, I can eat you out, help you with sex toys, you can ride my thigh,” he suggested.

“Arrrggg,” I screamed. “THOSE THINGS MAKE YOU CUM!”

“Well I just won’t this time,” he shrugged.

“Yeah because that worked soooooo well last time,” I said sarcastically. I stamped away.

“Mon amour,” he whined in my ear, circling his arms around me.

“Most people who try No nut November are trying to stop masturbating, not stop making love with their girlfriend,” I said, mad that I felt weepy.

“Baby, sweetie, lovely girl, I just want to try to push myself, you know I like to try new things,” he said, kissing up my neck.

“I’m just worried,” I whispered.

“About what?”

“If you are so adamant to spend a month without sex, then maybe you can do other things like……break up with me,” I mumbled the last bit. He turned me around and grabbed the front of my shirt. He kissed me fiercely.

“Never, never ever,” he gasped into my mouth. “You’re the love of my life.”

“Timmy, I love you so much,” I said, my hands running up his body and into his hair. I massaged his scalp as he kissed me. He moaned into my mouth.

“Let me take care of you, ride my thigh, I’ve got on the jeans you love,” he said temptingly.

“Oh okay, but you can’t cum Timmy, if this is something you really want, I’ll help you, but it’ll be nice to be taken care of, I’ve been horny since we woke up,” I said, hands going under his shirt.

“Saying things like that does NOT help,” he growled. Timothée led me over to the couch, he sat down. I pulled off my pants so I was only in my thong.

“Is that,” Timothée gulped. “Is that a new th-thong?” He asked.

“Oh, yeah, sorry, I wanted to see if it fit,” I said sheepishly.

“It’s fine, I’m fine, it doesn’t bother me,” he said shakily. I began to move, rubbing myself on his thigh.

“Ohhhh, Timmy, fuck, feels so dirty to do this. We’ve never done this before,” I shuddered. It was a bit sexy, him getting creative for me because he wasn’t allowed to cum.

I ran my hands up my body, lost in the feeling of his thigh. My clit being so intensely massaged made me insanely wet. I shut my eyes as I reimagined our best sessions. I grabbed my breasts and massaged them. I felt Timothée jiggle his leg. I didn’t know if he was needy or trying to help me or both.

“I’m gonna come, gonna come on your fucking jeans baby, you’re so sexy,” I cried out. I exploded with bliss. I screamed his name throughout our house. Finally, I opened my eyes.

Timothée looked at me with the darkest look of lust. He was ravenous. He was still for a second and then he dumped me on the couch, leaving me. I was so confused, until he was back, still dangerous looking. He ripped down his pants and poured lube on his cock.

“Stand up,” he said. I did as he said, though he wasn’t usually so demanding. He grabbed my hips roughly. He stuck his slick cock between my thighs. He was rutting like wild.

“Timmy, No nut November,” I reminded him.

“I’m not going to to!” He nearly screamed but he didn’t seem mad at me.

“It isn’t your cunt, so I’m fine,” he lied to himself.

“Baby, common,” I said trying weakly to push him away.

“I want it,” he whined.

“Sweetheart,” I said desperately.

“M’not gonna, not gonna I swear, just need a little pleasure, you’re so sexy,” he whimpered. However, I could tell he was needy from his other actions. He nuzzled his face into my neck. Then he was licking my face and neck all over.

“Shouldn’t you stop baby?”

“I’m okay,” he lied as he sucked on my collar bones. He pulled on my hair, and even his nails raked down my back, but my shirt was saving me from pain.

“I can’t, I don’t want to,” he said, squeezing his eyes shut, nearly praying he wouldn’t cum.

“Timmy, stop, if you don’t want to cum-“ I was stopped by him ripping my thong apart and shoving his cock inside me.

“Timothée,” I gulped.

“Oh I love your cuuuuunt. I swear I’ll die with my cock inside you because you’re so sexy. Baby, never leave me, I couldn’t live without you. My cock will shrivel up and die without your sweet, tender, beautiful pussy to take it over and over,” he wailed.

“You take my breath away!” I cried.

“Get ready, you’re gonna come so hard,” he tried to flip the script and I giggled. That ended up being what made him cum. He screamed as he came intensely. I also fell over the edge again. We panted together, gasping for air as we took in what happened.

“See, your cock needs me,” I purred.

“I, I just wanna be good,” he whined.

“You are good, who cares what your friends think about No nut November, I adore you, and I want you all the time like we usually do,” I said caressing his face.

“You mean it?” He asked.

“Of course, you’re more vocal about it, but my body is just as needy as you. I desperately want you all the time Angel.”

“We’re perfect together,” he sighed.

@pmak2002 @softhecreator @plutoispurplw @sp1deyyf4ngz @seungcheol17daddy @jesschalamet @vvsdreaming @lovelyrocker

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Ride them when they hit

Written for the Get Lucky bonus card of the @steddiebingo

Prompt: Cock Block

Rated: E

Tags: omegaverse; A!Steve; O!Eddie; Established relationship; Mates; Steddie dads; Sexually explicit content; Breeding kink; mpreg (mentioned)

Notes: Set in the same universe as Whatever you want it to be

Eddie stirs awake as Steve climbs back into bed, instinctively scooting closer to seek his warmth. The alarm clock on the bedside table tells him that it's just after two in the morning. 

“Lizzie again?” he mutters, burrowing his nose in the crook of Steve’s neck to inhale his pine-and-moss scent. Steve grunts in reply, pulling the blanket over both of them. 

“I don't get how you can just sleep through her crying. Aren't you supposed to have some sort of omegan instinct that wakes you at the first sign of distress?” 

Eddie jawns heartily. 

“Yeah, except she's not in distress, big boy. She just doesn't have any concept of day and night yet. She can't tell if it's sleep time or playtime.” 

Steve huffs, a warm tickle of air against Eddie’s scalp where his nose has burrowed into his hair. 

“I wonder where she gets that from. Last time I checked, it was close to midnight and you were still in the kitchen with that stupid guitar.”

Eddie squawks in mock-indignation. 

“Well, excuse me for feeling inspired.” He knows that Steve isn't really mad. After all, he was the one who suggested he get back into music, the one who pushed him into taking gigs when Eddie was still hesitant. “I haven't had a creative high like this since before Liz was born, and you gotta ride them when they hit.” 

Steve grumbles something into his hair - something that sounds suspiciously like rather have you ride something else. Eddie snorts and kisses his neck, rolling on top of him. 

“Aw. Is someone jealous?” 

“Someone's goddamn tired,” Steve mumbles into the ensuing kiss - a slow, lazy dance of lips and tongues. His hands travel up to cup Eddie’s ass under the covers. “My mate is riding creative highs all night long, and that little bundle of joy of ours can't stay asleep for more than two hours on end.” 

Eddie laughs against his mouth, soft and fond.

“Tired after one kid already?” he hums, rolling his hips and grinning when he feels Steve’s cock stir through both of their pajama pants. “I thought you wanted at least six?” 

Steve swears under his breath. The sharp, earthy spike in his scent is all the warning Eddie gets before the room flips and he finds himself pinned into the mattress, Steve's tongue licking past his lips, Steve’s hand fumbling for the waistband of his boxers. 

“When's your next heat?” he rumbles, nose searching the scent gland at the crook of Eddie’s neck and shoulder, teeth grazing the mating bite. The feeling is enough to make Eddie keen, high and needy. “You're due for one soon, right?” 

“Yeah,” Eddie breathes, lifting his hips so that Steve can pull the pants over his hips, moaning when his fingers dip into the slick, warm heat between his thighs. He's been getting better and better at telling when his heats are gonna hit, now that the pregnancy hormones are wearing off and he's no longer trying to repress them. “Any day, really.” 

Steve growls against his pulse, cock pressing hard and insistent into the soft flesh of his thighs, scent growing darker, wilder, deeper. His ruts have started coming closer and closer to Eddie’s heats, and it's only a matter of time now until they'll sync. 

“Good,” he rumbles, slipping his fingers deeper and curling them just so, smiling against the mating bite when Eddie gasps. “Gonna fuck you all the way through it. Gonna put my knot in you and keep you there for days. Gonna breed you until you're round and plump with my pups. Gonna-” 

Eddie never finds out what else exactly he's gonna do, because a high-pitched wail picks up from next door, and Steve’s forehead thunks into the pillow next to his head. Eddie suppresses a pitiful little whine as he rolls off him and pulls out his fingers. 

“Looks like your daughter has other plans.” 

Steve huffs. 

“Sure, when it's ass o'clock in the morning, she's my daughter,” he grumbles, but he still flaps the blanket aside and swings his legs over the edge of the mattress. Eddie wraps a hand around his wrist to stop him.

“I can go, if you wanna. You shouldn’t always have to-”

“Nah, I got it.” Steve gently pushes him back into the pillows. “You stay here.” 

He nips at Eddie’s neck as he says it, and Eddie’s content hum turns into a surprised gasp. 

“You're not planning on trying for round two, are you? Not that I wouldn't be very much on board with that, but Lizzie seems to be set on remaining an only child lately, so I don't think our chances are too high.”

“Don’t you worry about that. Robin has been pestering me about wanting to spend more time with her godchild for weeks, so first thing tomorrow, I’m gonna call her and ask her to take her off our hands for a few days,” Steve says. Then, already with one hand on the doorknob, he turns. In the darkness of the bedroom, his eyes glimmer - wild and golden and hungry. “Sleep now while you have the chance. You’ll need the energy once that heat hits, because I meant every word I just said.” 

Eddie lies and stares at the dark ceiling for a long time, listening to his mate coo and laugh at their infant daughter next door and trying to ignore the crippling horniness growing in his belly. 

More Steddie Bingo

[dioslesbianwife]

can i request nsfw headcanons with the pillarmen? if its ok!!

totally, no prob! thank you for requesting, hope u enjoy <33

Kars

Refined Dom. He acts above it all until you’re under him moaning his name- then his composure fractures. Low growls, lips pressed to your throat, smug praise.

Insanely knowledgeable about anatomy. He knows every spot to touch, bite, or overstimulate. Uses his hands a lot. Teasing, spreading, stroking.

Says things like:

“You should feel honored… no mortal has experienced this side of me.”

Doesn’t stop until you beg him to. Wants to see you overwhelmed and trembling under his perfect control.

His stamina is inhuman. He’ll keep you pressed to the bed for hours, experimenting like a scientist until he finds the exact rhythm that makes you cry out his name.

Can shapeshift his limbs, so uh… get ready for creative positions. He’s always curious to try new things “for the sake of knowledge” of course.

Esidisi

Loud. Hot. Messy. He whines, growls, laughs, and talks the entire time. Complete feral golden retriever energy- but also a passionate worshipper.

Obsessed with your body. Like, genuinely obsessed. He compliments you constantly while gripping your hips and thrusting deep.

Always gets way too into it. Melts down when you pull his hair, grab his horn (if it’s out), or praise him.

“Yesss- say that again- gods, you drive me insane!”

Extremely hot-bodied due to his blood. He uses his heat to make you melt under his touch- warm hands, warm breath, and he loves making you sweat.

Prone to rutting into you like a beast when he loses control, pinning you to the wall or floor with burning, desperate thrusts.

Definitely leaves marks. Not because he wants to be mean, but because he’s so enthusiastic he can’t help it.

Wamuu

Honor-driven, gentle at first- absolutely feral once he’s sure you want it.

He tries to control himself at first. “You are delicate… I will be careful.” But the second you grab his arm or whisper something needy, he snaps.

Big size difference kink. He lifts you with one hand. His arms are massive. He can pound you against a surface like you weigh nothing, and it gets to him every time.

Unironically worships your pleasure like a sacred mission. Moans under his breath when you clench around him, and he pants like a beast in heat.

Whispers respectful praise in between harsh thrusts:

“So beautiful… you take me so well… don’t hold back.”

Likes watching you fall apart. He gets off on your pleasure and holds your hips tight, eyes burning with devotion as he ruins you.

You riding him? He nearly blacks out. His fists dig into the sheets. His head tilts back with a ragged growl.

Santana

Silent and deadly… until he starts getting into it. Then he becomes completely unhinged.

No hesitation. Once you tell him he can, he devours you. Tongue, fingers, hips- all moving in sync like instinct took over.

Doesn’t talk much, but makes deep, guttural noises from his throat. His eyes never leave your face- never.

Mimics your sounds and reactions like a mirror. If you moan, he growls louder. If you scratch his back, he slams into you harder.

Gets very experimental. He’ll flip you over mid-thrust just to see your reaction, or hold your wrists with a shocking amount of strength, pinning you down like prey.

Doesn’t understand limits well at first, but if you gasp out a safeword or say “gentler,” he immediately slows down and growls low- protective and ashamed until you reassure him.

Once he knows your body, he memorizes everything that makes you shake. Then he starts testing you- how long you can last, how many times you can come, how loud he can make you.

[cream-and-tea]

this entire book might actually be unprecedented levels of bad but that does not. mean i will. stop. that does not mean it shouldn’t. exist. (<- said hoarsely while bent over like i just finished vomiting)

oh wow oh gosh these chapters are BAD!!!

[witherby]

Something about the a/b/o au for punchline make it stick in my brain SO MUCH like every time you post something relating to it I am SAT

Well pop a squat babey, here's some more abo!punchline thoughts!

⚠️ it's very angsty! Mentions of child abuse, human experimentation, and attempted suicide ⚠️

Punchline doesn't have a problem with anything done to her unless someone tries to take the collar off. Then her eyes get real wide, her pupils shrink to pinpricks, and her smiling mouth flattens into a straight line. Not a frown, but the closest possible thing to it. Anybody touching the collar or actively attempting to remove it gets treated to ear-piercing screams as she bunches into a ball. Her hands shield it and she hunches her shoulders as tight as possible while she does this, and she doesn't stop until you leave the vicinity. The Batfamily quickly understands that any lessons they try to teach fly out the window if any of them make a move towards it.

Because Punchline was forcibly experimented on until she presented Omega way too early in life (done so that Joker didn't have to contend with an Alpha in need of an attitude adjustment), she experiences irregular heats. They can last anywhere from a couple hours to a week. She's practically catatonic as she becomes delirious and lost to fever.

She mistakes Jason for another Alpha at first. His stature is so big and his scent is so bitter that Punchline doesn't pick up on his caste. So when he grouches off-handedly to Tim that she's "probably so fucked up in the dome that she'd be better off dead," she only hesitates for a few seconds before obediently asking, "what method of suicide should this omega use, Alpha?"

Jason, thinking she's just being mouthy, snaps at her to get creative. That turns out to be a Very Bad Move when she finds the giant penny in the cave and decides that getting squished by it is a pretty creative way to go.

Jason is subsequently banned from being near her for a while as everybody else does damage control. The minute he's allowed to help supervise again, the very first thing he does is apologize.

Damian teaches her how to identify certain things through scent. Emotions being pushed through, how to tell when someone is in heat or rut, the most effective way to scent things, etc. Because of this, she learns to trust him just a tad more than the others, especially because they're both Omegas.

The next time Bruce gets mad or frustrated, Punchline then positions herself in front of Damian to take whatever punishment she thought he might get instead. It's both incredibly sweet and heartbreaking.