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cheftsunoda · 2 days ago

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norbi’s intuition — po5

pregnancy blurbs

pato o’ward x !wife reader

(a/n) : ok so no one requested this or asked for it but i had a dream and i just know pato would be the best dad and yes so hush and enjoy

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norbi knows!

You’d barely been awake ten minutes when the nausea hit. No warning, no reason, just a wave of dizziness followed by the unmistakable sprint to the bathroom.

It’s been like this for a few days now—waking up sluggish, struggling to eat, your body aching in odd ways. At first, you chalked it up to post travel fatigue, maybe even just the come down from the high of the honeymoon. You and Pato had spent two uninterrupted weeks in bliss, hopping between quiet beaches and noisy street markets, finally alone after months of wedding chaos. But now he was back to work, and you were… well, not quite yourself.

You don’t tell him how off you’ve been feeling. He’s been glowing with happiness lately—eyes crinkled at the corners every time he looks at you, that ridiculous newlywed grin still firmly planted on his face. You didn’t want to burden him. Maybe it was just something hormonal, or you needed more sleep. You didn’t know.

But Elba knows. Or at least, she senses something.

She shows up at your door on a warm Wednesday morning with a box of pastries, her usual sunshine energy, and Norbi trotting behind her like he owns the place. You’d always gotten along with her, even before you and Pato were married, but now that she was officially your sister, things felt… deeper. Like she was yours just as much as he was.

“Let me take care of you today, hermana,” she says, already kicking her shoes off and heading to the kitchen. “You look pale.”

You open your mouth to protest but Norbi barrels into your legs with the force of a small, fluffy linebacker. “Norbi!” Elba scolds, laughing, but the corgi is relentless.

He keeps following you around the living room, nudging at your side, headbutting your stomach every time you try to sit down. It’s cute the first time. The second time, you laugh and scratch behind his ears. By the fourth time, you’re frowning.

“Elba,” you murmur, half laughing. “What is he doing?”

She glances over from where she’s chopping strawberries. “Hmm?”

“Norbi keeps… headbutting me. Like—my stomach.”

Elba straightens, a knowing look beginning to form in her eyes. “Dogs are weird like that. Super intuitive.”

You blink. Your hand falls absentmindedly to your stomach. Norbi nudges again, tail wagging, gaze fixed on you like he knows something you don’t.

The pieces slide into place so slowly you can almost hear the click. Your heart thuds, then quickens, a little spark of fear and wonder blooming all at once.

“Elba…”

She’s already smiling.

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taking the test!

“Elba…” you whisper again, but it’s swallowed by the strange quiet that settles between the two of you. Norbi sits down at your feet, eyes still fixed on you.

Your sister-in-law walks over, wiping her hands on a tea towel. She doesn’t say anything at first—just cups your face in her hands gently, the way she’s always done when she knows you’re overwhelmed. There’s no teasing in her voice when she says, “Do you want me to go grab a test?”

You nod before your brain can catch up. Your mouth is dry. Your hands are trembling. The idea has cracked open a door in your mind and now it won’t close. Suddenly it’s not just Norbi’s weird behavior or your nausea. It’s the way you cried during a jewelry ad two nights ago. The headaches. The smell of coffee making you gag. The timing.

“Elba—wait—what if it’s nothing?”

“Then it’s nothing,” she says easily. “But if it’s something… I’m not letting you go through this alone, okay?”

And just like that, she grabs her keys, clips Norbi’s leash back on, and presses a kiss to the top of your head before heading out the door. You stand there frozen, a hand on your stomach.

She’s gone for less than an hour.

When she returns, it’s with a pharmacy bag and a bottle of electrolyte water and a croissant because, in her words, “if you’re about to pee on a stick, you need something comforting to hold after.” She also casually mentions she called and made a doctor’s appointment for tomorrow morning—“just in case, hermana.”

You stare at her, caught somewhere between love and panic.

“I’m your sister now, not your child,” you mumble, teasing.

“I can multitask,” she grins.

The test is on the bathroom counter.

You sit on the closed toilet lid, knees bouncing, the house silent except for Norbi’s little tap-dancing paws against the tile. Elba waits outside, giving you space but close enough to be there if you need her.

And then…

Two lines.

Clear as day.

Your breath catches. Your vision goes a little blurry. For a full minute, you can’t move—can’t think. The test shakes slightly in your hands as you open the door.

“Elba?” you whisper, voice tight and uneven.

She turns around instantly, and the look on your face must be all she needs to see. She gasps before you even speak.

“Oh my God.”

You nod, eyes wide, hand over your mouth.

She doesn’t scream—but she does rush forward and wrap her arms around you so tight you can barely breathe. “You’re gonna be a mom,” she whispers, voice cracking. “Hermana… oh my God. Pato’s gonna—he’s gonna lose his mind.”

You start to laugh, somewhere between a sob and a gasp of relief. And Norbi, sweet and small, just curls around your legs with a satisfied little huff like finally, someone listened to him.

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doctors visits & plans to tell pato!

You don’t sleep much that night.

Elba insists on staying over—even brings you one of Pato’s oversized hoodies from the laundry basket when she notices how tightly you’re clinging to his pillow. She pulls the blanket over the two of you on the couch, Norbi snoring softly at your feet, and holds your hand until your brain finally lets you rest.

The next morning, it’s raining lightly. Not enough to be gloomy—just that soft, silvery drizzle that makes the world feel hushed and intimate. Elba drives while you sit in the passenger seat, hands folded over your stomach like some part of you already knows. You don’t talk much during the drive—just exchange small smiles, nervous glances, and quiet little affirmations.

“You’re okay.”

“You’re not dreaming.”

“I’ve got you.”

The clinic is quiet and warm, and the nurse who checks you in gives you the softest smile when she sees your last name.

“Mrs. O’Ward?” she says, and you blink like you forgot it was yours now. Elba squeezes your arm gently.

The tests confirm it.

You’re pregnant.

Everything feels louder and softer all at once—your heartbeat, your breathing, the doctor’s voice as she goes over timelines and healthy habits and appointments. Elba’s hand is on your knee the entire time, grounding you. She doesn’t cry until you both get back to the car, and even then it’s the quiet kind of tears—the ones that slip out when your heart’s just too full.

You rest your forehead against hers for a second, giggling tearfully. “I’m pregnant.”

“I know, hermana. You’re gonna be the best mama. And Pato—Pato’s gonna cry like a baby. We need a plan.”

You go back to the house in full planning mode, barefoot in the kitchen while Elba paces with Norbi trailing behind her like a fuzzy assistant. She’s throwing out wild ideas—balloons, skywriting, a mariachi band—while you make tea and try to calm your heartbeat.

“No, but imagine if we had a tiny racing suit made with ‘Baby O’Ward’ embroidered on the back?” she gasps.

“Elba,” you laugh, “he’s going to sob.”

“Exactly. We’re not aiming for calm. We’re aiming for emotional devastation.”

She gets deadly serious and pulls out her phone, muttering something about Etsy rush orders and baby helmets. But in the end, the two of you settle on something simple and perfect.

A small box. Inside, a tiny pair of racing gloves—the same orange and black as Pato’s—and a onesie that reads Future Pit Crew.

You tuck the positive test beneath the onesie.

And on top? A tiny note in your handwriting that simply says—

Coming March 2026. I hope they have your smile.

Elba helps you wrap it, tucks it under her arm, and grins at you like she’s bursting with your secret.

“Tonight?” she asks.

You nod.

“Tonight,” you whisper.

—

He gets home just after ten, smelling like the garage—oil and sunshine and that earthy scent that always clings to him after a day at the track. His hair’s a little messy, his smile tired but real the second he sees you curled up on the couch.

“Mi amor,” he breathes, already walking toward you. “You didn’t have to wait up—”

“I wanted to,” you interrupt, heart thudding. “Also… someone left you a gift.”

Pato stops mid-step, eyebrows furrowed, and only then notices the small, neatly wrapped box on the coffee table. “What’s this?”

Elba appears in the hallway, trying and failing to act casual, Norbi in her arms like an accessory. “Oh, I’m just here for emotional support. Proceed.”

You roll your eyes fondly and pat the spot beside you. “Open it.”

Pato raises an eyebrow at you but obeys, kneeling in front of the couch instead of sitting—always dramatic, your husband. His fingers are careful as he peels the paper back, and your stomach flips when he lifts the lid.

First, the gloves. He blinks, confused. Then, the onesie.

You watch the moment it hits him—how he freezes, breath catching in his throat. He lifts the fabric like it’s sacred, hands suddenly trembling. And then he sees the test beneath it.

He doesn’t say anything.

Not at first.

You swear the world slows down as he picks up the test, reading and rereading the lines like they might vanish if he looks away. Then his gaze falls to the little note you left on top of the onesie.

Coming March 2026. I hope they have your smile.

His lips part.

His eyes flood.

And then Pato looks at you like he’s never seen anything more beautiful in his life.

“Are you serious?” His voice is barely a whisper. “You—you’re—?”

You nod, eyes stinging. “We went to the doctor this morning. Elba came with me.”

At that, Elba finally loses it. She makes an unholy squeaking sound from the hallway and wipes at her face with her sleeve. “I told you he’d cry!”

Pato turns back to you, and you don’t even have time to say another word before he’s pulling you into his arms. He buries his face in your shoulder and holds you like he’s scared you’ll disappear, whispering over and over again.

“A baby… we’re gonna have a baby…”

When he finally pulls back, tears streak his cheeks, but his smile is blinding. He presses his forehead to yours, hands still on your waist, eyes locked to yours.

“I love you,” he breathes. “I love you so much. You’re gonna be the best mamá.”

Norbi barks then, scrambling into both of your laps, and Pato lets out a laugh. “Even Norbi knew before I did? Wow.”

You giggle, wiping his tears. “He was trying to tell me. You just weren’t home yet.”

Pato cups your stomach gently, like it’s made of glass. “I’m home now,” he whispers. “And I’m never leaving.”

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telling everyone the big news!

You decide to tell his parents first.

The next morning, you and Pato drive over with a pastry box and your secret wrapped tight in your chest. You’re both buzzing with nerves, hands clasped across the center console. Pato keeps glancing at you like he’s holding in a thousand emotions. Elba offered to come too, but you both agreed this moment needed to be yours.

His mamá opens the door, and before she can even greet you properly, she’s pulling you both inside, muttering about breakfast and your terrible timing.

“You two need to eat more. Marriage doesn’t mean skipping meals—”

“Mamá,” Pato cuts in, and you can hear the wobble in his voice already.

She stops mid-sentence and stares at him, eyes narrowing. “What?”

Pato smiles and looks at you. You nod once, the tiniest signal.

He pulls the same little box out of his jacket—the one you gave him just the night before. She takes it, eyes flicking between you both in confusion, but she opens it without question.

You don’t know what you expected—shock, maybe. A soft gasp. But instead, her hand flies to her mouth, and her eyes go wide with disbelief, tears springing instantly to the surface.

“No… no.”

She looks up, and Pato just nods.

“You’re going to be abuelos,” you whisper.

Pato’s dad, standing behind her, grabs the box to see for himself, and then they’re both exclaiming and hugging and crying and Pato is crying and you’re laughing and somewhere in the chaos, his mamá puts her hands on your belly and whispers a blessing, tears on her cheeks.

“Elba knew, didn’t she?” she mutters.

“She practically knew before I did,” you laugh.

They insist you stay for breakfast, and Pato doesn’t stop smiling once—not even when he nearly burns the toast trying to make you decaf coffee. His dad immediately starts suggesting names. You’ve never felt more loved.

—

The next day, you’re at the garage.

It’s supposed to be a casual visit—team lunch, a few sponsor meetings. Nolan and Christian are already poking fun at Pato the second he walks in with his dopey grin.

“You look like you haven’t stopped smiling in twenty-four hours,” Nolan snickers. “What happened, she let you win an argument for once?”

“Is he glowing?” Christian mutters. “Why is he glowing?”

You roll your eyes, but Pato’s too giddy to be offended. “Actually,” he says, slipping an arm around your waist, “we do have something to tell you guys.”

That gets their attention.

You pull a small envelope out of your tote bag and hand it to them.

Nolan rips it open dramatically, like it’s a game. Inside is a photo from the ultrasound the doctor gave you, with the words Baby O’Ward. March 2026. written underneath.

He freezes.

Christian gasps.

And then—absolute chaos.

“SHUT UP.” Nolan shrieks, nearly dropping the photo. “ARE YOU—YOU’RE—YOU’RE HAVING A BABY?!”

Pato nods proudly, already getting hugged and jostled. Christian just stands there in stunned silence, eyes a little glassy, before he comes over and hugs you so gently like you might break.

“Congrats,” he murmurs. “You’re going to be such good parents.”

Meanwhile Nolan is on the floor fake-crying. “I knew something was up! You were acting all pale and mysterious! My instincts were right!”

“You thought she was hungover from the beach,” Christian deadpans.

“Whatever! I still called it!”

You and Pato laugh, and Nolan jumps to his feet and grabs both your hands.

“Can I be the cool uncle? Like—‘get them their first go-kart’ kind of uncle? Please. I need this.”

Pato looks at you. You grin. “Only if you don’t try to teach our child to drift in a golf cart.”

“No promises,” Nolan says, eyes gleaming.

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morning sickness!

The morning sickness doesn’t always wait for morning.

Sometimes it’s 3 a.m., and you’re halfway through what should be a peaceful sleep when your body decides to revolt again. Other times, like today, it starts before your feet even touch the ground.

You try to sneak out of bed quietly, hoping not to wake him, but the second the bathroom light flicks on, you hear movement behind you.

“Mi amor…?” Pato’s voice is groggy, thick with sleep, but concerned.

“I’m okay,” you call out weakly, though you’re definitely not. You barely make it to the toilet before the wave of nausea hits again.

Pato appears in the doorway moments later, hair mussed, eyes still adjusting to the light, shirt hanging off his shoulder. He doesn’t ask questions—just kneels beside you and rubs soft circles into your back with one hand while holding your hair back with the other.

“You’ve got to stop treating me like a sick puppy,” you mumble between breaths, trying to laugh, trying not to cry.

“You’re not a sick puppy,” he whispers. “You’re a warrior. But even warriors need someone to hold their hair sometimes.”

You groan, leaning into him. “I look disgusting.”

He kisses your temple. “You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen dry heaving into a toilet.”

“Wow. So romantic.”

You feel his smile against your skin.

When the worst of it passes, he helps you up slowly, his hands gentle under your arms, like you might collapse. He brushes your hair away from your face and grabs a cool washcloth, pressing it to your forehead.

“Come back to bed,” he murmurs. “I’ll get you a ginger candy and that tea you like.”

“Did you just offer me ginger candy?” you ask dramatically. “Who even are you?”

“I Googled stuff,” he shrugs, leading you back to bed. “It said peppermint gum, ginger, and small meals. Also, apparently, if I rub your feet it helps.”

You blink at him, already curled back under the blanket. “You read pregnancy forums?”

“I read so many pregnancy forums,” he says, already pulling on a hoodie and shuffling toward the kitchen. “I’m basically a midwife at this point.”

You laugh softly and burrow deeper into the pillows.

Fifteen minutes later, he returns with a steaming mug of your favorite tea, two saltine crackers, and the ginger candy you always pretend to hate but secretly tolerate.

He climbs in beside you, wrapping you in his arms like he’s trying to become your entire blanket. “You okay?” he murmurs against your shoulder.

You nod.

“Even if this sucks,” you whisper, “I’m still really happy.”

He places his hand low on your stomach, thumb brushing there like a quiet promise. “Me too.”

And when you drift back to sleep, nestled against his chest, you swear—just for a moment—that you can already feel the tiniest flutter of something growing inside you.

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seeing the baby for the first time!

You hadn’t thought you’d be nervous.

You’d already confirmed everything—blood tests, little symptoms piling up one by one. Morning sickness had made it hard to forget, and Pato’s been doting on you like a man possessed: cooking, reading articles, rubbing your back when you fall asleep during the middle of a movie.

But today is different.

Today, you’re going to see the baby.

The waiting room is quiet, cool, the kind of sterile comfort that makes your palms sweat. Pato’s knee bounces a little beside you, his fingers laced with yours. He hasn’t stopped smiling all morning, but now his grin is softer, a little quieter. The air between you is thick with anticipation.

“You okay?” you whisper, looking up at him.

He nods, swallowing. “Yeah. I just… I didn’t think I’d be this nervous.”

You squeeze his hand. “Same.”

When your name is called, he jumps up like it’s a race start. You laugh and follow him in.

The room is dim, the monitor flickering to life beside you. The gel is cold on your stomach, and Pato winces in sympathy even though you barely flinch. His chair is pulled as close as possible to the table, one hand still holding yours, the other resting protectively on your leg.

And then—

There it is.

Your baby.

Small, shadowy, perfect.

You blink, stunned, as the shape comes into view. The little curve of a back, the outline of a head, tiny flutters that the technician labels as movement.

You don’t even realize you’re crying until Pato reaches up and brushes your cheek with his thumb.

“Oh my God,” he whispers. “That’s our baby. That’s ours.”

And then—

Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump.

The sound crackles through the speakers, strong and rhythmic. The heartbeat.

Pato gasps.

He covers his mouth with one hand, completely still, as though the sound knocked the air out of him. His eyes are wide and wet and locked on the screen like he never wants to look away.

“That’s their heart?” he whispers.

You nod, swallowing past the lump in your throat. “Yeah.”

And then—quietly, reverently—he leans down and kisses your stomach.

“Hola, mi corazoncito,” he murmurs. “I hear you.”

You can’t hold back the tears then. Neither can he.

The tech finishes up, handing you a black-and-white photo—grainy and blurry and absolutely perfect. Pato takes it with both hands like it’s made of gold.

The second you’re back in the car, he holds it up to the light.

“They have a head,” he says, completely awestruck. “Like, a real baby head.”

You laugh through your tears. “Yeah. They’re real.”

He looks at you then, his eyes soft, overwhelmed with a love too big for words.

“So are you.”

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pato’s new obsession!

You’re laying on the couch, legs stretched out and a cozy blanket thrown over you, the evening sun pouring in through the windows. The house smells faintly of roasted garlic—Pato insisted on making dinner tonight, which means there’s a bit of a mess in the kitchen and approximately four types of pasta on the stove for “options.”

Your belly, now unmistakably round, is resting gently under your hands. You’ve gotten used to the weight of it—the way your body has shifted, softened, made room for something more. It still stuns you sometimes, how real it all feels now.

And Pato?

He hasn’t stopped staring at you for fifteen minutes.

“You know,” you mumble, not looking up from your phone, “you’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?” he asks, eyes wide and completely fake with innocence.

“Staring like I’m some kind of miracle.”

“You are some kind of miracle.”

You roll your eyes, cheeks heating. “You saw me throw up into a grocery bag last week.”

“And you still looked hot.”

You laugh, but it dissolves into a sigh when he kneels beside the couch and gently pulls back the blanket to reveal your bump. He leans in like he’s greeting royalty, one hand cradling your stomach as if it might float away if he’s not careful.

“Hola, mi vida,” he murmurs softly, voice low and reverent. “You’re getting so big. You’re making mamá so tired.”

You run your fingers through his hair, heart aching in the best way.

Pato presses a kiss just above your belly button, then another. And another.

“You know they kick when you talk,” you whisper.

He lights up. “Yeah?”

“Mhm. They know your voice.”

As if on cue, a tiny thump presses outward against his palm.

Pato gasps, eyes wide. “Did you feel that?! Did you feel that?!”

You nod, laughing. “They’ve been doing it all day.”

He presses his cheek against your stomach like he never wants to move. “You’re already fast. I knew you were gonna be a driver,” he whispers, then looks up at you. “What if they have your laugh?”

“What if they have your chaos?” you counter.

His whole face softens. “Then we’re in trouble.”

You giggle and brush his hair back, and he just rests there, curled around your bump like it’s his whole world. Which, honestly, it kind of is.

Later that night, you wake up to find him asleep beside you, arm draped protectively over your stomach, his hand resting exactly where the baby last kicked. You reach down, gently tracing the curve of his fingers over your belly.

“Hey,” you whisper softly to the baby, smiling in the dark. “He loves you so much already.”

And you swear you feel them kick in response—like they know.

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gender reveal!

The sun is just starting to dip below the horizon when you arrive.

Elba had insisted on planning the gender reveal herself — “You two deserve magic, not stress,” she’d said, waving off every offer to help. She told you only two things: dress comfortably, and don’t be late.

So now, hand-in-hand with Pato, you step into her backyard, expecting maybe a few balloons, something Pinterest-worthy but casual.

Instead, you’re greeted by something entirely Elba — soft fairy lights strung between trees, woven lanterns glowing amber in the branches, and a simple white sheet hung up at the edge of the garden like a projection screen. There’s a blanket laid out for the three of you, cushions and fuzzy throws and a thermos of hot cocoa already waiting.

Norbi runs out to greet you first, naturally, tail wagging furiously.

Then Elba appears, radiant and grinning, a little remote in her hand.

“Okay,” she says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and bouncing on her toes. “You two sit. Don’t talk. Don’t peek. Just trust me.”

You and Pato glance at each other, already teary, already holding hands too tight.

You settle onto the blanket, and he wraps his arm around your shoulders. Your other hand rests instinctively on your bump, where the baby is doing a slow roll inside you, almost like they know.

Elba dims the lights, and a soft instrumental track starts playing through the little speaker beside you — something calm and sweet, piano and strings. Then, the projection begins.

It’s a short video. Elba must’ve stitched it together herself.

It opens with a clip of your wedding—your first dance, slow and swaying. Then a photo of the ultrasound. Pato holding your bump while you both laugh in the kitchen. A clip of Norbi barking at your stomach like a tiny guard dog. And then…

The screen fades to white.

Words appear in soft script:

“We can’t wait to meet you…”

And then, with a gentle burst of color blooming across the screen—

pink.

Soft and slow, like a sunset washing over the world.

“It’s a girl.”

You don’t even realize you’re crying until Pato’s wiping your cheeks with his thumbs. He’s crying too, eyes wide and full of light and awe.

“We’re having a daughter,” he whispers, stunned. “You’re having our little girl.”

You throw your arms around him, laughing and crying at the same time, and he holds you like he’s never letting go. His hand finds your bump again, protective and tender, and he whispers something in Spanish so quietly it’s just between the three of you.

Elba tiptoes over with tissues, already crying, too.

“I didn’t want it to be too loud or big,” she says softly, kneeling beside you. “I just wanted her to feel loved before she even gets here.”

You reach out and pull her into the hug. “She does. She already does.”

The three of you sit there until the stars come out—Pato talking to your bump in whispers, Elba stroking your hair, and Norbi curled protectively at your feet, guarding the little girl none of you can wait to meet.

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picking names!

The house is quiet.

The kind of stillness that only comes late at night, when the world feels like it’s holding its breath. You’re curled up in bed, legs tangled with Pato’s under the blanket, your head resting on his chest while his fingers trace lazy circles on your back.

It’s been a few hours since the gender reveal, but neither of you can sleep.

Every few minutes, Pato whispers something—“She’s really in there,” or “I still can’t believe it,”—and each time, you smile against his skin.

“You’re really stuck with three O’Ward girls now,” you mumble, half-laughing.

“I’m the luckiest man alive,” he says without missing a beat, kissing your forehead. “My whole heart is in this bed.”

You’re quiet for a long time after that. Just breathing together.

And then—

“Have you… thought of names?” you ask softly, eyes still closed.

He exhales slowly, thoughtful. “A few. But I wanted to wait. I wanted to see her. Know her.”

“Me too,” you whisper. “But… we could make a list. Just see what sticks.”

Pato shifts a little so he can look down at you, his hand now resting over your bump like it always does when he’s thinking. “Okay. Go first.”

You hum, tapping your fingers gently against his chest. “What about something Spanish? Something that feels like home?”

He smiles. “Sí. I love that. What about… Camila?”

You tilt your head. “Camila,” you repeat, trying it on. “That’s beautiful.”

“She could be Cami. Or Mila.”

You grin. “Mila O’Ward. That’s dangerously cute.”

He chuckles. “Too powerful. We’d be in trouble.”

You close your eyes and let your fingers trail down the curve of your belly. “What if we gave her a name that feels soft? Something gentle, like… Luna.”

Pato lights up. “Luna,” he repeats, in that warm, reverent tone he always uses when he talks to your bump. “That’s perfect. She already feels like the moon to me. Always with us, even when we can’t see her.”

Your eyes sting, and you press your face into his shoulder. “That might be the most beautiful thing you’ve ever said.”

He laughs softly, kissing the top of your head. “So… Camila? Luna? What else?”

You talk like that for over an hour—sifting through names, laughing at the dramatic ones, swooning over the sweet ones, saying each out loud like you’re introducing her to the world.

And in the end, it’s the simplest one that stays with you.

A name that came up casually, half-whispered by Pato as your eyes drifted closed.

“Sofía.”

You hum. “Sofía,” you repeat, sleepy, smiling. “That’s it, isn’t it?”

He just presses his lips to your forehead and pulls you closer.

“Hola, mi Sofía,” he murmurs to your bump. “We can’t wait to meet you.”

And for the first time that night, she kicks. Soft. Sure. Like she agrees.

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race day chaos!

The sun is already high over the paddock by the time you arrive, hand in hand with Pato, bump soft and round under the flowy white dress Elba insisted you wear.

It’s been months since the world found out you were expecting — and yet, nothing could’ve prepared you for the kind of celebrity your bump would become.

The second you step foot near the Arrow McLaren garage, it begins.

“She’s here!” Nolan shouts from across the way like you’re royalty. He jogs over, sunglasses crooked on his face, carrying what is very clearly a pink sippy cup. “I got this for Sofía. Or for you. I couldn’t decide.”

“Please don’t tell me that has Gatorade in it,” you say, smiling.

He shrugs. “Okay, I won’t.”

Christian is right behind him, holding out a portable fan and a little folding stool. “In case you get tired, sit. You want water? Snacks? I stocked the fridge. Elba texted me a list.”

Pato is grinning the entire time like he’s so proud this is your life now. His hand never leaves the small of your back, always guiding, always protective. Every few steps, he drops a kiss to your temple or your shoulder, as if reminding himself that you’re here, you’re safe, and you’re his.

Even the engineers are in on it now — one of them hands you a headset already labeled “Mamí O’Ward,” and another has a garage chair reserved with a pillow and a printed-out sign that says Baby On Board — Do Not Touch Unless Offering Snacks.

You sit for a while in the garage, headphones on, watching Pato in the car during FP1. He keeps glancing back over toward you during pit stops, giving you little thumbs-ups, and you know he’s only half-listening to the engineers because the other half of him is focused on whether you need water or shade.

At one point, the commentator team comes by to do a feature. You’re asked a few questions, and you can’t help but smile the entire time.

“Yes, she kicks when she hears Pato’s engine,” you say proudly. “She’s already got good taste.”

And when Pato finishes the session, he doesn’t go to debrief first.

He comes straight to you.

Helmet off, suit peeled halfway down, sweat damp on his brow — and still, all he wants is to press his forehead to yours and whisper, “She okay? You okay?”

“We’re perfect,” you whisper back.

Then he drops to one knee, presses both palms to your bump, and murmurs loud enough for only you to hear, “Papa did good out there today, didn’t he, princesa?”

She kicks.

He gasps.

And Nolan, of course, ruins the moment by running up behind him and yelling, “She kicked! I saw it! That counts as approval!”

Later that evening, you and Pato sit quietly on the edge of pit lane, the track glowing under the golden hour sun. He rests his head on your shoulder, hand on your bump, and just listens as Sofía shifts gently beneath his palm.

“She’s gonna be so loved,” he says softly.

“She already is.”

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

baby shower brought to you by nolan and elba!

You should’ve known Elba wouldn’t do anything halfway.

From the moment she declared, “I’m planning the baby shower and you’re not allowed to lift a finger,” you had a feeling it was going to be something special — but nothing could’ve prepared you for this.

The second you step into the garden of her home, hand in Pato’s, you freeze.

There are flowers everywhere — soft blush, creams, golds, and sunset pinks spilling out of vases, floating in arrangements from the trees, and tucked into delicate garlands wrapped around chairs and lights. White linen tents flutter in the breeze, and golden fairy lights twinkle like magic even though the sun is still out.

In the center of it all, a sign written in elegant calligraphy reads—

“Welcome, Baby Sofía — You Are So Loved.”

You barely make it five steps before Elba rushes over, dressed in soft pink with gold jewelry sparkling at her wrists, grinning like the proudest tía-to-be in the world.

“Surprise!” she squeals, throwing her arms around you carefully, then stepping back to look at you — and the bump. “You look like a glowing angel.”

“I’m going to cry,” you murmur, completely overwhelmed.

“That’s the point,” she smirks. “Now come on, we have everything — mocktails, sweet tea, a whole dessert table that looks like a Pinterest dream, and Pato’s favorite empanadas. Also, Nolan’s in charge of games, so… I apologize in advance.”

That earns a groan from Pato.

The afternoon unfolds like something out of a dream.

There are sweet treats labeled “baby’s first cravings” — your favorite snacks, personalized. The drinks are themed “Mama’s Mocktail Bar”, and Elba even set up a corner with a photo wall made entirely of roses and Pampas grass.

Christian shows up in a pink button-up and immediately declares he’s starting a betting pool on whether Sofía will be a future racer, engineer, or CEO. Nolan, naturally, is wearing a shirt that says “Funkle” (Fun Uncle) in glitter letters.

One game involves everyone decorating baby onesies. Pato gets way too into it, carefully painting racing stripes and the McLaren logo on his. Yours is simple — just a tiny crown and the words “Papá’s Pit Crew” — and he kisses you the second you finish it.

Later, everyone gathers in a circle for well wishes.

You sit beside Pato, his hand wrapped around yours, his other protectively over your belly. And one by one, your closest friends and family speak.

Elba starts.

“I’ve known this baby before she even had a heartbeat,” she says, her voice thick with emotion. “I knew the moment my brother fell in love with you that someday, you’d create something magical. And you have. Sofía is going to grow up knowing fierce love, gentle care, and joy that bubbles up from the kitchen table all the way to the track.”

You’re crying before she even finishes.

Pato wipes your tears with the softest touch, then leans in to whisper, “You know I love you, right? More every single day.”

When the speeches are over, and the cake is cut (three tiers, with delicate flowers and a tiny race car topper), you steal a quiet moment alone with him under the fairy lights. Your bump rests between you as you sit together on the swing at the edge of the garden.

“She’s so lucky,” you whisper.

“She’s ours,” he whispers back, brushing his lips over your temple. “And that makes me the luckiest man on the planet.”

You go home with your heart overflowing, cheeks sore from smiling, and arms full of tiny pink onesies, handmade letters, and soft little blankets stitched with love.

And when you crawl into bed that night, wrapped in Pato’s arms, bump nestled between you, you swear you can already feel your daughter dreaming right along with you.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

finishing up the nursery!

It’s late afternoon, and the whole house glows with that warm, honey-colored light that seems to exist only in moments you’ll never forget.

The baby monitor is charging on the dresser. A tiny pink cardigan hangs neatly on the corner of the crib. There are soft little clouds painted across one wall, and the mobile above the crib sways gently in the air conditioning — tiny stars and moons dangling over where your daughter will sleep.

You’re sitting cross-legged on the plush rug in the center of the room, folding baby blankets into the bottom drawer of the changing table, while Pato stands by the wall, concentrating far too hard on sticking the last gold letter onto the name sign.

He steps back proudly, hands on his hips, and gestures dramatically. “Sofía O’Ward. Look at that. Centered. Balanced. Gorgeous.”

You glance up and tilt your head. “Mmm. Slightly crooked.”

Pato gasps. “Lies. That’s art.”

You laugh and rest a hand on your belly. “She’s going to come out and instantly judge our symmetry.”

“She gets that from you,” he says, grinning, and then crosses the room to crouch beside you.

You’re surrounded by tiny socks, folded burp cloths, a pile of baby books, and a white stuffed bunny Pato couldn’t resist buying during a grocery run.

He picks it up now and brushes it against your bump. “Your mamá picked out everything in this room. The wallpaper, the color of the crib, the little cloud shelves. And I just nailed things to the wall and tried not to mess it up too bad.”

“You built this whole dresser.”

“You helped.”

“I watched and fed you strawberries every time you cursed.”

“Exactly. Dream team,” he says, beaming.

You smile softly, leaning your head on his shoulder as he wraps an arm around you. “Can you believe she’ll be here soon?”

He exhales slowly, his hand finding your belly. “Every time I walk in here, it hits me all over again.”

You both go quiet for a moment, just breathing, surrounded by soft colors and hope and the rhythm of tiny kicks under his palm.

Then Pato whispers, “This room’s never gonna be this clean again.”

You laugh, head thrown back. “She’s gonna destroy it.”

“She’s gonna live in it,” he says, eyes full of wonder. “First laugh, first steps, sleepless nights and storybooks and lullabies.”

“And diaper explosions,” you add.

He grins. “Worth it.”

You sit there for a while longer, legs tangled together, the room golden and quiet around you. Eventually, Pato presses a kiss to your temple, then to your bump, then lies back on the rug beside you and just… stays.

Later that night, when the room is darker and quieter, you stand in the doorway for a moment — just looking. The name sign. The crib. The soft pink light on the monitor. Pato’s sweater draped over the rocking chair.

And something in your chest swells so big it feels like you might float away.

She’s almost here.

And everything is ready.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

labor and delivery!

It starts just after 2 a.m.

At first, it’s subtle — a tightness low in your belly, like the quiet gathering of a wave before it breaks. You shift under the blanket, trying to get comfortable, but the pressure returns stronger. And then again.

You lie there in the silence for a moment, hand resting on your bump, heart beginning to race.

She’s coming.

You know it. In your bones.

You turn toward Pato.

He’s fast asleep beside you, one arm flung over your waist, face tucked against the pillow in that boyish way he sleeps when he’s completely at peace. You almost hate to wake him.

But this is it.

You press your hand to his shoulder, gentle. “Pato.”

He stirs but doesn’t fully wake. “Mmm?”

“Pato,” you whisper again, softer now, but firmer. Your voice shakes. “It’s time.”

His eyes blink open instantly.

You see the words register in real time — the sleep fading, the realization blooming. He sits up in one motion, wide-eyed and breathless. “Wait—now? Like now now?”

You nod. “I think so. I’ve been timing them… they’re five minutes apart. Getting stronger.”

He’s already out of bed.

He stumbles once pulling on sweatpants, muttering “okay okay okay” like a mantra as he grabs the hospital bag. He checks his phone, the charger, the car keys, then spins around and sees you still sitting at the edge of the bed, breathing slowly.

And suddenly, he slows.

He drops to his knees in front of you, hands on your thighs, eyes wide but soft. “Are you okay? Are you scared?”

You nod, swallowing hard. “A little.”

“I’ve got you,” he says, voice breaking just slightly. “We’ve got this. We’re gonna meet her.”

Your next contraction hits hard and fast — you grip his hands tightly, eyes squeezing shut, a quiet whimper escaping your lips.

Pato presses his forehead to yours and breathes with you. “In, out. I’ve got you. One breath at a time, amor. Just like we practiced.”

When it passes, you let out a shaky laugh. “She’s gonna be here soon.”

He kisses your forehead. “We’re about to meet the love of our lives.”

You both stand slowly, and he wraps his arms around you from behind, one hand over your belly as if he can cradle all three of your hearts at once.

Twenty minutes later, you’re in the car, seat reclined, windows down to let in the cool air. Pato drives with one hand, the other holding yours across the console. His knee bounces with nerves, but his thumb rubs soft circles into your palm with steady focus.

At a red light, he glances over at you and whispers, “You’re doing so good, mamá. I’m so proud of you.”

You bite your lip, holding back another tear, and whisper, “She’s going to have your eyes. I just know it.”

He grins, eyes bright. “And your bravery.”

—

The hospital room is quiet but charged with something electric — anticipation, love, the steady rhythm of your breathing.

Pato sits beside you, his hand never leaving yours. His eyes are wide and bright, soaked with emotion he’s trying so hard to hold together. Every now and then, he brushes a damp strand of hair from your forehead or presses a gentle kiss there.

Elba is right there too — calm, steady, and fierce. She holds your other hand, whispering encouragements in Spanish and English, reminding you of your strength. “Eres una guerrera, amor. You’re doing so amazing.”

The contractions come hard and fast now. You grit your teeth, gripping both of their hands like lifelines. Pato leans close, voice soft but urgent, “Almost there, mi amor. You’re so strong.”

You close your eyes, breathing in sync with Elba’s quiet counting, the steady beat of Pato’s thumb rubbing circles on your palm.

Then—

The moment arrives.

The room fills with sounds—the doctor’s calm commands, the midwife’s reassuring words, the tiny, perfect cry that splits your heart open.

They place her on your chest immediately. Skin to skin.

You open your eyes just in time to see Pato’s face — tears streaming down, wide grin breaking through the exhaustion. “She’s here,” he whispers, voice cracking. “Our Sofía.”

Elba leans in, brushing a tear from your cheek. “Look at her. Look at what you made.”

The baby’s tiny fingers curl around your thumb. You marvel at the softness, the smallness — a whole universe contained in such fragile beauty.

Pato presses his lips gently to your forehead, then to the top of your daughter’s head. “Hola, princesa. Welcome to the world.”

You laugh through tears, voice raw but full of wonder. “We love you so much.”

Elba wraps an arm around both of you. “Family,” she says simply. “We’re all here.”

And in that quiet hospital room, surrounded by love so big it feels like it could lift you right off the ground, you know — your life has just begun.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

#pato o’ward fic #pato o’ward imagine #pato o’ward x reader #pato o’ward #pato o'ward #cheftsunoda #indycar imagine #indycar fic #po5 fluff #po5 fanfic #po5 fic #po5 x reader #po5 imagine #po5

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sapphicstrawcore · 2 days ago

Text

—Hot Line (firefighter sevika x reader)

previous - chapter three - next

synopsis: You’re fast asleep in your comfy little apartment, when the building fire alarm rips you from slumber like a personal attack. Groggy, annoyed, and barefoot, you stumble outside with the rest of your neighbors, expecting a false alarm and nothing more

What you don’t expect? A real fire. And an even realer firefighter—tall, broad-shouldered, absolutely gorgeous, and of course it’s her you choose to ask if you can go back to your home safe.

words: 3.1k (masterlist)

cw: more of sevika’s pov for this one, she’s a bit sex drunk in the morning, fluff, shameless flirting, sevika’s kinda down bad and she doesn’t know what to do about it, she’s awkward about it all, you’re not helping her are you ?

! if you didn’t in the first chapters, comment to be tagged for the next if you want !

Sevika hadn’t planned to sleep with you.

She swears—it was not in her plans.

She’s had her share of fun. First dates, second dates, no dates at all. Hookups that felt good in the moment and meant nothing a few hours later. This? This was just supposed to be a little detour from a long shift. A spark. A smile. Maybe a kiss at her car if things went really well.

But this?

This was something else.

Because she didn’t just fuck you. She slept with you.

Not metaphorically, not poetically…

Literally. slept.

Like a dumbass.

In your bed.

Sevika wakes up to soft sunlight bleeding through a half-closed curtain and warmth pressed against her bare side. Her brain feels like it’s catching up to the rest of her body—slow, a bit sore, and very much aware of the way her back muscles are still twitching from the night before. And fuck, was that good. Really good.

It takes her a few seconds to fully open her eyes, and when she does, the first thing she sees is you.

You’re still asleep. Breathing slow. The blanket has slid low enough to reveal just the top of your back, the dip of your spine, the mess of your hair splayed against the pillow she definitely stole during the night. You’re naked. She’s naked. And she has no fucking idea what time it is.

Fuck.

Her eyes dart to your bedside table. No phone. Her jacket? Not there. Her pants? Somewhere between here and the hallway, probably still inside-out.

Sevika groans, low and gravelly, dragging a hand down her face before she starts reaching quietly around the mattress like she’s defusing a bomb. You don’t move. Of course you don’t—you sleep like someone who hasn’t had three alarms going off in their head since 6AM.

Sevika finds the corner of her phone sticking out from under your pillow and slips it out with two fingers, squinting at the screen. The brightness nearly blinds her.

And then she sees the time.

“…Fuck me.”

She was supposed to be at the station.

Ten minutes ago.

Wandering around naked in someone else’s apartment isn’t the worst feeling Sevika’s ever had. But it sure as hell isn’t the best either.

Her boots are by the front door. One sock’s on. The other? Gone. Vanished. Eaten by the floor or your tiny laundry bin or—gods forbid—still somewhere tangled up in the bedroom. Her bra is hanging half off a kitchen chair. Her shirt’s half inside-out. And her hair tie? No idea. Her hair’s a mess now, heavy and loose, already curling at the ends from sleep and sweat and… yeah.

She checks her phone again. No new messages, but she knows they’ll come. She’s late. Really late.

She exhales through her nose and runs a hand over her face, then glances back down the hallway.

You’re still asleep.

Of course you are. One arm tucked under the pillow, the other loosely draped where she used to be. Mouth slightly open. Still warm-looking, like you haven’t noticed the bed is colder now. Peaceful. Pretty.

Sevika swears under her breath and crouches to grab her pants, managing to get one leg in before realizing the other is twisted. She swears again—quieter this time—and pauses.

What the fuck is she supposed to do?

Usually she just… goes. No drama. No note. No explanation. She leaves before it gets weird. Before they start asking things. Before she even gets the chance to pretend it meant anything.

But now?

She didn’t plan this. She planned the sandwich. Planned the bench. But not the duck talk. The way you laughed so hard your whole body tilted. The strawberry mug story. The goddamn candy. The kiss at the door. The sex.

She swears she didn’t plan the sex.

And now she’s standing in your kitchen, shirt halfway on, trying to decide if she should sneak out like a coward or wake you up just to say—what?

“Bye?” “Thanks for the date and the sex?” “Sorry, I’m late for work?”

She rubs her face again and sighs.

Yeah. Fuck.

She has to go. But gods, it feels weird to just… leave.

She search for her phone in the kitchen— then remembers.

On the bed. Of course.

She curses under her breath and takes one bootless step into the room.

And stops dead.

You’re awake.

Sitting up in the mess of your sheets, stretching with your arms high over your head, a quiet little yawn escaping your lips. Your hair’s a pillow-tousled mess hiding your naked breast -it would almost be disappointing if Sevika was not so late-, your collarbone peeking out from where the blanket’s slipped, and you blink at her through squinted, sleep-heavy eyes—then grin.

That stupid, sleepy grin.

And Sevika? She just stands there, holding one boot like a damn fool, her shirt half-tucked into her pants, the other sock still MIA, thinking shit.

You’re fucking beautiful.

And she’s—what? A homeless rat ? A sockless idiot about to bolt out the door and pretend this wasn’t the softest damn morning she’s had in years?

“I, uh…” She clears her throat. Why is she hesitating? She’s never hesitating. Stay put together, damnit. “Didn’t wanna wake you.”

You blink at her, still smiling. It softens something sharp in her chest.

“Not that I was—y’know. Gonna leave like a thief,” she adds, glancing at your pillow like it might rescue her. “I just— late. For work.”

You nod once. Totally unfazed.

“Okay.”

Just like that.

No panic. No wait, stay. No ‘what does this mean?’ You just smile like you know exactly where her head is—like you expected her to run but never once thought she actually would.

“Okay?” Sevika repeats, eyes narrowing a little, suspicious.

You hum. “Mhm. You want coffee or you really that late?”

She doesn’t answer right away. Just stands there, boot dangling from her fingers, staring at you in the soft morning light. And yeah, maybe her hair’s a mess and she’s pretty sure one of her earrings is in your bathroom sink and she probably smells like sex and cheap laundry detergent.

But you—Gods, you look at her like none of that matters.

Like it was fine she stayed the morning. Like it’d be fine if she did it again.

She swallows.

“…Yeah. I’m really that late.”

You nod again. “Alright. Go, then.” Your voice is still soft with sleep, your grin lingering like it belongs there.

And maybe Sevika is running late. But damn, she’s not moving yet.

She never feels stupid. But right now?

Right now, standing in someone else’s bedroom with one sock missing and the imprint of your mouth still tingling on hers from last night—yeah. She feels a little fucking stupid.

The kind of stupid that comes with not knowing what the hell this is.

The kind of stupid that shows up when you don’t leave right after sex like you usually do. When you don’t sleep in your own bed. When you wake up naked beside someone who stretches like a cat and smiles like morning was made for her.

Sevika leans into the doorway as she pulls on her second boot—finally—but there’s no sock, and she gave up on it ten minutes ago. It’s probably under your bed or clinging to a curtain or wherever socks go to die. She doesn’t even care anymore. She just wants to get the hell out of here before her brain catches up to how soft this feels.

You’re tugging on an oversized shirt of yours god knows from where—and bending to grab it from the floor and Sevika tries not to look. She really does. But her eyes have a mind of their own and they land right on the slope of your back and your thighs and—

Fuck.

She clears her throat, loud enough to sound casual, but not enough to actually make a difference.

“…Okay,” she mutters, standing up straight again, boots finally on, trying to force a smirk back onto her face like that’ll make her feel normal. “See you later.”

You don’t say anything at first.

Just walk over.

Soft, quiet steps on the wooden floor. You reach up, fingers warm and easy around her jaw, and you tilt her face down before pressing your lips against hers—smack, short and sure, like it’s just something you do.

Then you pull back, already turning, and say, “See you later,” like you mean it, and disappear into the bathroom, door clicking shut behind you.

Sevika stands there for a second, staring at the door.

Then at the floor.

Then at your bed.

Then at the empty hallway like it personally insulted her.

She exhales. Rubs her face with both hands. Feels her mouth twitch up in something that’s definitely not a smirk this time.

“Fuck, this girl.” she mutters, heading for the front door.

She’s late. She’s missing a sock. She’s definitely not thinking straight. Well, she’s not. But not thinking straight either.

And she’s absolutely going to see you later.

She meant to text you.

She did. She actually wanted to. Why is she thinking about you ?

But turns out—two dumbasses who spent the night together and talked about cats and ducks and kissed against walls and laughed their way out of their clothes didn’t actually think about exchanging numbers.

It hits her two days later, somewhere between her second overnight shift and an emergency call where she almost busted her ankle.

That you’re not in her phone.

That she doesn’t even know your last name.

That “see you later” doesn’t work if the universe doesn’t feel like playing along.

She doesn’t panic about it. Sevika doesn’t panic about anything. But she definitely grits her teeth when she finds herself walking past the café on her way back from the station one morning, helmet in hand and hair messy in a low tie, and sees that it’s quiet. Empty. No long line.

Just one woman behind the counter.

She hesitates—just a second—then steps inside.

Cool air, faint smell of sugar and chocolate and cinnamon.

The woman behind the counter is tall, braided hair, kind eyes. Not you.

Not you.

But when she sees Sevika, something clicks. Her eyes narrow. Her mouth twitches like it’s holding back a laugh.

Sevika steps up, clears her throat, and does her best not to look like a creep. She shoves her hand into her jacket pocket and hooks a thumb in her belt.

“‘Scuse me. I’m not here to buy anything,” she starts, and she already hates how awkward that sounds. “I just—I don’t mean to be weird. I’m looking for someone. Works here.”

The woman doesn’t blink. “Let me guess.”

Sevika arches a brow. “Go on.”

“Talks a lot. Smile stupid. Blue skirt the last time you saw her.”

Sevika blinks, lips twitching into a smirk despite herself. “That obvious?”

“I work with her,” the woman says dryly, but she’s clearly enjoying this. “Name’s Sana.”

Sevika nods, rubs the back of her neck, still a little stiff. “Right. Yeah. I just—look, I didn’t get her number. We both forgot, I guess. I’m not trying to be a weirdo, I just—wanted to know when she’s working next.”

Sana looks at her for a moment. Like she’s trying to figure something out. Then nods, grabs a post-it, and scribbles a few hours down.

“She’s not in today. But she will be tomorrow. Opens the place at 9AM, closes at 7PM. If you’re planning to hang around like a sad dog, pretend you just want a coffee.”

Sevika raises an eyebrow. “…Sad dog?”

Sana smirks. “She said you looked like a Rottweiler.”

Sevika snorts, rolls her eyes, and grabs the note. “She talks too much.”

“She really does,” Sana grins. “You gonna come back, then?”

Sevika taps the note against her palm. “Yeah,” she says, turning toward the door. ��I’ll be back.”

And this time—she’s getting her number.

It’s been more than a week.

You haven’t seen her since that morning. The one where she left half-dressed with her boot half-on and your lips still warm from hers. The one where she promised—no, said—see you later.

And honestly? You believed her.

You still do. Even if it’s been over a week. Even if you’ve caught yourself smiling at empty corners of your apartment, replaying the kiss in the hallway, the way she laughed—snorted, really—when you told her she looked like a young Rottweiler.

You meant it. Still do.

But life went on. You went to work. Wore your apple-shaped a few times. Talked Sana’s ear off. Tried not to look at the café door every time it opened.

Now, you’re alone, the shop finally closed. You’ve turned the big glass door’s lock and flipped the sign. The main lights are off, leaving the room washed in the warm, low glow of the counter lamp. The air smells like milk foam and sugar, like old coffee and comfort. You hum something aimless, hips swaying lightly as you clean a table, lost in your own quiet peace.

You don’t expect the knock.

It’s soft—but distinct. Against the glass.

You blink and turn, half-annoyed at the idea of a stubborn client who can’t read the “closed” sign.

But it’s not a client.

It’s her.

Sevika.

She doesn’t wave. Doesn’t smirk. Just stands there on the other side of the glass like she’s not entirely sure you’ll come open. Her hands in her jacket pockets, boots planted firmly on the sidewalk, eyes steady on yours.

Except—they’re not the same. Not sharp like the first time, even if her eyes were never really sharp to you, somehow.

Now, they’re…something else.

Quiet.

Like she doesn’t want to ask too much.

You smile—big, wide, all teeth, the one you can’t help when it’s her—and walk toward the door without hesitation.

You open it, and the bell above jingles, small and late. She steps in, slow. You don’t say anything. Neither does she.

You close the door behind her.

And she’s here.

After days, a week. And she came back.

“Hey,” you say, soft and sweet.

Too sweet, maybe. But real. It comes out like a sigh you didn’t mean to let go.

Sevika’s eyes flick toward the sound of your voice, the edges of her mouth twitching like maybe—maybe—she wants to smile but forgot how. She stands a little stiff, still near the threshold, the door gently clicking shut behind her.

“I wanted to go see you at the station,” you add, stepping around the counter just a bit, a cloth still in your hand. You’re not fidgeting. Not really. “But… it’s kind of intimidating. Your coworkers don’t really help with that.”

She huffs through her nose. “You wouldn’t have seen me anyway.”

That deep voice wraps around your ribs. You feel it settle there, warm and familiar.

“I’ve been… busy,” she adds, shrugging like it’s nothing but not looking at you when she says it. “Overnights. Shit schedules. You know.”

You nod, eyes on her. You do know. She told you herself that night at the park. Told you about how sometimes she works all night and doesn’t sleep till the next afternoon, about how calls can come at any second. You’re not mad. Not worried. Not even hurt.

You’re just—here.

“Yeah,” you say simply. “I won’t say I knew you’d come back, but I was… confident?”

That makes her look at you.

And for a second, all the tension in her frame goes slack.

Her jaw shifts slightly. Her eyes do that thing they did that night when you were eating cheap sandwiches by the river and laughing too loud—like she can’t decide if she should tease you or kiss you.

“…Confident, huh?” she mutters, almost more to herself than to you.

You smile again. “You did say ‘see you later,’ remember?”

She rubs the back of her neck. “I did.”

You step a little closer. “Lucky for you,” you say,

“I’m still here.”

You see it—

She smiles.

Not a smirk. Not one of those crooked, guarded things she does when she’s got the upper hand.

No—this one’s soft. Unpolished. Almost surprised, like it slipped out without her permission.

She doesn’t even look at you when she does it, not directly—her eyes shift beside you, like she’s trying not to admit something to herself.

Damn this girl, you can almost hear it.

Then she glances back at you, and says it quiet:

“Yeah, you are.”

Your stomach flips. You don’t show it.

You just turn toward the nearest table, hips swaying lightly as you walk. You don’t tell her to follow. You don’t have to.

You sit down.

And for the first time since this whole ridiculous story started, it’s Sevika who follows you.

She sinks into the seat across from you like she’s still not sure if she’s allowed to stay, arms resting on the table, eyes sweeping the room once, maybe out of habit.

You let the silence settle. Not awkward, not tense—just… waiting.

You know she came here for something.

But she’s not saying it.

You tilt your head a little, grin curling at the corner of your mouth.

Then, casually—like you’re asking about the weather—you lean in just slightly and say,

“Does it start with ‘phone’… and end with ‘number’?”

Her head drops instantly with a groan that comes straight from her chest. Loud, long, and pure Sevika.

“Fuck,” she mutters, dragging a hand down her face, ears red. “I hate you.”

You beam. “No I think you don’t.”

She doesn’t answer.

But she pulls her phone out of her pocket anyway.

Sevika doesn’t say anything.

Just unlocks her phone, slides it across the table.

You take it like it’s the most normal thing in the world, thumbs already tapping.

Her contact app opens under your fingers, and you don’t even ask—you type your name in quick and confident:

Your name, and right beside an orange and white cat emoji.

Then you open her messages, shoot a single text to your own number.

Just one emoji: an apple.

You hand the phone back like it didn’t just feel like a full-on declaration.

Sevika watches you, says nothing. But something warm settles in her chest, low and careful and real.

Of course it’s the apple. Of course it’s the cat.

You smile like you know exactly what you’re doing. Because you do.

Then you open your own phone, find her new message.

You don’t even pause.

Her contact becomes ‘Sevika’ but with a candy and a dog emoji.

You hold it up so she can see, proud grin stretching across your face.

Sevika snorts, shakes her head.

“…for the Rottweiler ?” She guess.

You nod. “Young Rottweiler.”

Her mouth twitches, like she’s about to say something sarcastic—but then she sees the candy next to it. And whatever she was about to say dies in her throat.

Something in her chest does a slow, weird roll.

Not painful. Just… new.

And she doesn’t say anything else.

But her phone buzzes again—one more message from you.

Just two words:

“Don’t be a stranger.”

And Sevika, with that dumb candy and dog emoji glowing on her screen?

She wants to swear to herself she won’t be.

next chapter is the last one! Don’t be scared, no angst 🫶🏻 for a first multi chapter fic I’m quite proud, I didn’t even hurt them just a bit, not even with a firefighter accident, uh, I restrained myself. It’s not a crazy fic but I resonate a lot with it so I feel like it’s the most important thing isn’t it ?

Thank you again for the support, the taglist is so long it’s crazy! Next and last chapter tomorrow !

dividers: @/cursed-carmine

taglist: @blessupblessup @sevikasswifee @swordfemm4 @possessedmagpie @teresa06sa @room-722 @ggutpunch @dinaxia @sevikasrighttit @lovelykittywitty @thesevi0lentdelights @htinha157 @sevikaswinkinghole @amri0ram @arteemm @ferxanda @w31rd-0n3 @sevikas-whore @losernb @izzy-sevika @nomoredying @sevikaspet @strawberrylipglossx @pinkking222 @veoomvroom @vkumi @amberrrrgerr @mistershotz @lipglosskxsses @undercoverdesire @thalchmy @cosmichymns @sageama @andyslovingwife @svggpy @lonerslug @violetsforroses98

#sevika #sevika x reader #sevika x you #sevika arcane #lesbian #wlw #sevika x y/n #arcane sevika

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maskedbyghost · 1 day ago

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In Sickness, In Health, In Surveillance (9)

Synopsis: To spy on a dangerous neighbor, you and Simon have to pretend you’re married, even though you’re constantly at each other’s throats. The longer you fake it, the harder it gets to keep your distance.

Tags/CW: slow burn, fake marriage, undercover mission, forced proximity, invasion of privacy, mild violence, explicit sexual content

Masterlist

The first thing you felt was the cold concrete pressed against your cheek. The second was the pain, a deep, pounding throb inside your skull that made your stomach turn.

You groaned, tried to move, but your arms wouldn’t budge because the ropes were digging into your wrists, holding you against something. That’s when the panic crept in, flooding your chest, speeding up your breaths until it felt like you couldn’t get enough air.

Your eyes fluttered open, vision swimming in and out of focus. The room was dim, lit by a single flickering light overhead, and it smelled like damp concrete and rust.

You shifted your legs and realized those were tied too, your ankles bound tight, back pressed against a cold pipe behind you.

You tried to steady your breathing, tried to think, but your brain was still sluggish, spinning too fast for anything to stick until your eyes landed on him.

Simon.

He was across from you, maybe ten feet away, slumped against the opposite wall. His head was tilted forward, chin nearly touching his chest, and his arms were pulled behind a thick metal post. He wasn’t moving.

“Simon?” Your voice cracked from dryness and fear, barely louder than a whisper.

He didn’t react.

You shifted, ignored the sting in your wrists and tried again, louder this time. “Simon—hey, come on, wake up.”

Still nothing.

That’s when you saw it. His shirt was torn near the top, and there was blood soaked through the fabric around his shoulder. A bandage had been slapped over the wound, messy and clearly rushed, not meant to heal but just to stop him from bleeding out.

Someone had patched him up just enough to keep him alive.

Your stomach dropped.

You twisted against the ropes, heartbeat thundering, and looked around for anything you could use, anything that gave you a hint about where the hell you were. But it was just concrete, shadows, and walls. No windows. No sounds except for the soft hum of that flickering light.

“Please,” you said, barely more than a whisper now, your voice cracking again. “Simon, wake up. Please.”

But he didn’t stir.

Your mind was screaming, thoughts spiraling, tangled between fear and guilt, and the gut-twisting realization that you had no control anymore. You’d followed Mark. You’d kept digging when Simon told you not to. And now you were both here, tied up in a basement, and he was bleeding because of it.

You didn’t even hear the door open, but you heard the footsteps.

You went completely still, head snapping toward the noise as the shadows shifted.

Someone else was here, and they were coming closer.

You didn’t breathe as the door opened fully. The light from outside the room spilled in and silhouetted a figure in the doorway. You blinked against it, eyes still struggling to focus, until the shape stepped inside and the door clicked shut behind her.

Your stomach dropped again, but this time from recognition.

“Michelle?”

“Oh good,” she said, her tone flat but slightly amused, “you’re awake.”

“What the fuck is going on?” Your voice came out louder than you expected, raspier too, your throat aching from dehydration and panic. “Where the hell are we? What did you do to Simon?!”

Michelle gave a small shrug, walked a little closer, and stopped in the middle of the room. “He’s alive, obviously. I’m not a monster.”

“Yeah?” You hissed, yanking against the ropes again. “You shot him!”

“He’ll live,” she said casually, glancing over at him slumped against the wall. “Probably hurts like a bitch though.”

Your jaw clenched. “Let me go. Right now.”

She laughed, not loudly, just enough to let you know how little she cared about your threats. “You’re not in a position to be making demands, sweetheart.”

You wanted to spit at her. Instead, you forced the words through gritted teeth. “Why are you doing this?”

Michelle tilted her head, expression twisting like the answer was obvious. “Because I saw you. Following Mark. Stalking him like a little spy.”

Your heart stuttered.

Then she continued, walking closer, slowly. “Then I saw Simon leave the house not long after. That’s when it clicked. You’re poking your noses where they don’t belong.”

You shook your head, pulling at the ropes again until they burned. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, please,” she said, voice turning sharp. “Save it. I know exactly what you’re doing, and you’ve both made a very stupid mistake.”

She crouched slightly, now eye level with you.

“You really thought we’d just let you sniff around and get away with it?” she asked. “You thought Mark wouldn’t notice you tailing him like some amateur?”

Your throat tightened. “Why are you involved? What the hell do you have to do with any of this?”

Michelle gave you a tight smile. “Mark’s my husband. Do you think he just magically pulls all this shit off on his own? We’ve been doing this together for a long time. He handles the... logistics. I handle the people.”

You stared at her, disbelief warring with rage. “You’re insane.”

“No, I’m loyal,” she said simply. “You wouldn’t understand.”

You glanced at Simon again. He still wasn’t moving. “He needs a hospital.”

“He’s fine,” Michelle snapped. “We patched him up enough to keep him useful. That’s more than I wanted to do.”

You glared at her. “What now? You going to kill us?”

She straightened back up and crossed her arms. “That’s not up to me. Mark’s on his way. Once he gets here, we’ll figure out exactly what to do with the two of you. But you can bet it won’t be pleasant.”

You tried to stay still, but the panic clawed up your spine. “You won’t get away with this.”

Michelle just smiled again. “Oh, sweetheart. We already have.”

Then she was gone.

The door slammed shut behind her, and the sound of a lock sliding into place echoed through the room. You stared at Simon, heart pounding out of your chest, every inch of you screaming to break free.

You had no idea how long you had before Mark got there.

But you knew one thing...you weren’t going down without a fight.

You were sweating now, more from frustration than fear. The rope dug into your wrists every time you twisted, and the pipe it was tied to wasn’t budging. Your arms ached, your back throbbed, but you couldn’t stop. You had to get free. Every second that passed felt like one more step toward whatever hell Mark had planned.

You gritted your teeth and pulled again, trying to shimmy the knot, trying anything.

“Fuck,” you hissed under your breath, blinking fast to keep the tears from falling.

A low groan cut through the silence.

You froze.

Simon shifted slightly, still slumped against the wall, but his head tilted, a rough sound leaving his throat as he blinked slowly into the dim light.

“Simon?” Your voice cracked, hope and panic tangled together. “Simon, hey. Wake up.”

He groaned again, hand twitching where it was zip-tied. His eyes opened fully now, unfocused but alert enough to dart toward your voice. His mouth parted, and for a second he didn’t say anything, just stared.

“…You okay?” he finally rasped.

You let out a breath. “What do you think?”

He blinked again, like he was still trying to figure out if this was a dream or not. “What the fuck happened…”

“You got shot, Simon,” you snapped, voice sharp but shaking. “You got shot because I followed Mark, and fucking Michelle knocked us out!”

Simon’s head leaned back against the wall, eyes closing for a second. “Shit.”

“Yeah,” you muttered.

“Where are we?”

“I don’t know. Some basement? Maybe a warehouse. She won’t say. She said Mark’s coming to decide what to do with us.”

Simon’s jaw tensed. His arms shifted behind him as if he were testing the ties. “Fuck.”

“Yeah,” you muttered. “Pretty much.”

He looked at you again. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine. You’re the one bleeding from the shoulder,” you said, voice cracking again. “But apparently they patched you up enough to keep you alive.”

“Great,” he muttered.

You looked at the rope again. “I’ve been trying to get out of this for—fuck, I don’t even know how long. I can’t reach the knot.”

Simon was quiet for a moment, probably trying to figure out what to say, but the silence made you anxious.

“I shouldn’t have followed him alone,” you whispered eventually. “I should’ve called you. I was just so… I don’t know. I thought I could handle it.”

He didn’t respond right away. But then his voice came low: “I shouldn’t have left you alone.”

You glanced at him, eyes stinging.

“We’ll get out of this,” he added, more firmly now. “We’ve been in worse.”

You shook your head, breath hitching. “I’m tied to a pipe and you’re bleeding all over the damn floor, Simon.”

He gave a weak smirk. “Still got a pulse.”

You let out a short laugh that sounded more like a sob. “Fuck, you’re annoying.”

You both went quiet again for a beat. Then Simon looked at you, eyes sharper now.

“Alright,” he muttered. “Let’s figure this out.”

Your wrists burned from the friction, the skin raw from how many times you’d tried to twist free. You gave the rope another pull, jaw clenched, your muscles shaking, but still nothing

Simon was working behind his back too, shifting against the wall, gritting his teeth as he tried to move his arms without making his shoulder worse.

“I’m sorry,” you blurted.

He didn’t stop moving, didn’t even look at you.

“I know you’re probably gonna hate me. And you should,” you went on, chest tightening, the words rushing out now. “I fucked everything up. I left without telling you, I followed Mark like some dumbass, and now we’re here and you’re bleeding and tied up and it’s my fault.”

Simon’s jaw was locked tight. He still didn’t say anything.

“I just thought— I don’t know. I saw him sneaking out, and my gut told me something was wrong, and I didn’t think. I didn’t think about what would happen, I didn’t think about what it would do to you, I just went.”

Still nothing.

“And now we’re here and Michelle’s a psycho and Mark’s coming to probably kill us, and you’re going to hate me even more once we’re dead,” you said, voice cracking into a miserable, tired laugh. “So I figured I’d say it now while we’re still breathing.”

Simon stopped shifting and finally looked at you.

“You done?”

Your throat tightened. “Yeah.”

He looked at you for a long second.

“I don’t hate you,” he said quietly. “I’m fucking pissed, but I don’t hate you.”

You blinked fast, staring at him.

“Would’ve been a lot easier if I did,” he muttered, struggling against the zip tie again. “But I don’t.”

Your eyes stung.

“I know you didn’t mean for this to happen,” he added, breathing heavier now from the effort. “I just—wish you’d told me. Trusted me.”

“I do trust you,” you whispered.

He gave a short nod. “Then let’s survive this. So you can make it up to me properly.”

You let out a shaky breath. “Deal.”

Simon twisted again with a grunt. “Fucker tied these tight. Can you move at all?”

“Barely, but I’ve been working on the knot. If I can shift it to the front—”

“Do it. I’ll keep trying mine.”

You nodded, swallowing hard, and kept twisting, every part of you aching, but this time, with a bit of hope sitting under the panic.

The ropes were slick with sweat now, and your wrists burned from how hard you’d been working at them. You’d managed to shift them slightly, enough to get one hand angled differently. You just needed a little more time. A few more minutes.

Simon was breathing hard, the muscle in his jaw twitching as he pulled at the plastic zip tie again. His shoulder had to be screaming. You kept glancing at him, unsure if the blood was from the old wound or something fresh, and your stomach turned with guilt every time.

“Almost,” you muttered, mostly to yourself.

“Keep going,” Simon said lowly, eyes on the door. “We don’t know when—”

A slow creak echoed from somewhere upstairs, making you both freeze.

Then, the unmistakable sound of footsteps came, getting closer.

Simon looked at you sharply. “Don’t say anything unless I do.”

You nodded fast, breath caught in your throat.

The metal door at the top of the basement stairs groaned open. Then, slow footsteps descended one by one. You couldn’t see him yet, but you knew.

And when he finally came into view, a faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, his eyes gleaming as they landed on you and Simon, still bound.

“Well, well,” he said. “Hello, neighbors.”

He stepped in, letting the door slam shut behind him. The sound echoed through the basement.

Simon shifted, body tense, eyes locked on Mark.

But Mark just chuckled and walked further in, slow and easy.

“You two really should’ve minded your own business.”

You felt your stomach twist. Your hand was still working, fingers trembling against the knot behind your back, but slower now, more careful. Mark hadn’t noticed.

Not yet.

He looked between you both again, that smug grin still plastered across his face.

“We’ve got a lot to talk about.”

@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212 @farylfordaryl @rafaelacallinybbay @akkahelenaa @lovelovelovelovelove987654321 @wraith-bravo6 @tessakate @xocandyy @nightfwn @robinfeldt98 @xiisblogs @mad-die45 @readingthingy @actualpoppy @amongthe141 @whore4romance @thatghostlykid @syofrelief @avgdestitute @sheepdogchick3 @echo9821 @imalapdog @foxintheferns @trulovekay @ruleroftides @rose37373 @succulambb @havoc973 @jajouska @fruitymoonbeams-blog @cece2608 @starryylies @silmarilniky @venavanup @lostintransist @m00nl1gh4 @fertilise-me @blush-haze @sigynxlokiwifelover @dollfwn @ravenduskabyss @soltwent @saik-k @skzthinker @strawberrygato @shaldaar @n-ae-vis @karagd13-blog @meowshiki @mangost33nlover @k4rmas-dvmb @piconico17 @batw3nch @danzer8705 @chompwoman @cr0wbrz @imjustheretofightforlove

#simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x female oc #simon riley imagine #simon riley x reader #simon riley #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost x you

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deimosphilic · 2 days ago

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LITHIUM | ROBERT "BOB" REYNOLDS

SUMMARY ⋆ bob decides to do some reading when his therapist suggests mood stabilisers, and you happen to love his voice.

PAIRING ⋆ bob reynolds x fem!reader

WARNINGS ⋆ MDNI! oral (m receiving), brief handjob, mommy kink, bob can't last 10 seconds

A/N ⋆ this article is very much real and very much interesting. nerd!bob #NEEDTHAT. i can't write fluff fml

WORD COUNT ⋆ 1.8k

you finally found him slouched on the common room couch after combing the entire tower for him.

the space was quiet, just the two of you. the rest of the team had been called out unexpectedly in the middle of the night, leaving behind empty halls and fluorescent lighting.

“whatcha doin'?” you asked softly.

he jolted, phone slipping slightly in his hand as he turned toward you, eyes wide before recognition settled in.

“jesus,” he exhaled, shoulders dropping. “scared the shit outta me.”

you smiled sheepishly. “didn’t mean to. my bad.”

without waiting for an invitation, you crossed the room and sank onto the couch beside him, close enough for your thigh to brush his.

"therapist said she thinks a mood stabiliser might help,” he murmured, eyes still on his phone. “so… i’ve been readin' up on them. tryin' to understand what they actually do.”

he glanced at you as he spoke, thumb scrolling absently. when your eyes met, he tilted the screen toward you, showing you the article.

you leaned in slightly, pretending to read it, even though you were more focused on the way his jaw tensed, the softness in his voice, the vulnerable way he said help.

you hummed thoughtfully, your hand coming to rest on his thigh. just a gentle touch at first, casual enough to pass as comforting. but your fingers lingered a little too long, brushed a little too high.

“can you read it to me?” you asked, voice low, head tilting slightly as you turned to face him fully. "please, baby?"

he hesitated, swallowing. the weight of your touch, the proximity, the quiet between words — it all pressed in around him. still, he nodded, eyes flickering from your face to your hand and back again.

“sure,” he nodded, voice a little hoarse.

he cleared his throat and started reading, his voice slow and steady despite the tension crackling just beneath it. you let your hand drift as he spoke, your thumb brushing lazy circles into the muscle of his thigh, inching just barely upward. every time your fingers moved, his breath hitched, but he didn’t stop reading.

one thing about bob is that he was touch-starved and achingly sensitive. so much so that even the lightest brush of your fingers could make him shiver, no matter where you touched him.

"— increase the volume of brain structures involved in emotional regulation..."

his focus wavered with each word. you could hear it. the article was dry, clinical, but his voice trembled slightly as you leaned closer, your lips near his neck now, breath warm against his skin.

you let your lips touch his neck, placing a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss there, and bob stopped speaking mid-sentence.

your lips stayed against his neck, slow and hot, dragging just enough to make him twitch beneath you. he froze, breath catching, the phone still in his hand but tilted slightly, screen dimming in his lap.

you smiled against his skin, the corner of your mouth curling as you felt the way his pulse jumped under your tongue.

“keep goin',” you murmured, your voice soft but commanding, like a dare whispered between breaths. “read.”

bob swallowed hard. you didn’t need to look at him to know his cheeks were flushed and his ears pink. but after a shaky inhale, he obeyed.

“— erm… reduces excitatory but increases inhibitory… neurotransmission,” he managed, voice tight, forced steady.

you rewarded him with another kiss — lower now, closer to his collarbone — then let your teeth scrape lightly over the skin before sucking gently. you felt him stiffen, a choked sound catching in his throat.

your hand moved again, a few inches higher on his thigh, squeezing this time.

“...broad effects are underpinned by c-complex neurotransmitter... systems,” he stuttered out, his words faltering again as your fingers danced higher, brushing over the bulge straining in his sweats.

he whimpered, barely finishing the sentence.

“good boy,” you whispered against his jaw, the praise making him visibly shudder. “keep going.”

bob was shaking now, knuckle white around the phone, but he kept reading. the words spilt out in broken, breathy fragments, clinical phrases, and brain chemistry terms tangled up with the low, involuntary whimpers he couldn’t quite hold back.

you slipped your hand to his waistband, teasing the fabric as your mouth left his neck, attention narrowing now to one goal: getting him out of those pants.

he was already breathless beneath you, chest rising in shallow pulls, hand still tight on the phone like he didn’t trust himself to move. you let your fingers dip just under the waistband, dragging along the edge with infuriating slowness, feeling the heat radiate from him as he twitched beneath your touch.

his hips shifted up instinctively, needy, desperate for more, but you held him in place with a palm flat to his stomach, keeping the pace exactly where you wanted it.

you finally began tugging his sweats down, inch by agonising inch. the fabric clung to the outline of him, strained and soaked at the tip, and your smile deepened at the sight.

when he was finally freed, his cock sprang up against his clothed stomach, flushed and leaking. you exhaled a soft, pleased hum, fingertips ghosting over the length without touching, just letting him feel the air, the anticipation.

bob whined — quiet, choked, already falling apart.

“keep readin',” you murmured, voice rich and low as you settled between his legs. one hand wrapped around him, gentle at first, your thumb swiping over the tip to spread the slick there. his whole body jerked at the contact, thighs trembling as he bit down on his lip to keep quiet.

you stroked him slow, measured, watching every reaction, every twitch, and every sound he tried and failed to suppress. he looked wrecked already, eyes half-lidded, lips parted, chest flushed and heaving.

"—may serve to d-dampen... excessive excitatory neurotransmission." even though he was falling apart by your hand, he continued reading. because he wanted to make you happy, because he was a good boy.

you brought your tongue to his tip, slow and deliberate, licking the slit to gather the precum already there. the reaction was immediate; his whole body jolted beneath you, muscles tensing, a sharp, broken moan spilling from his lips before he could even think to hold it back.

you pulled back just enough to smile up at him, satisfied, watching how his phone had left his hand and was now resting nearby. his head had fallen back against the couch, eyes squeezed shut, breath ragged.

you leaned in again, licking a slow stripe up the underside of his cock— tongue flat, dragging — before taking just the head into your mouth, wrapping your lips around it, and sucking gently. another sound slipped out of him, higher-pitched this time, desperate, unguarded.

his hands found your hair, not gripping or guiding, but resting there with steady calm, using you as his anchor in the moment.

he was already falling apart, thighs trembling beneath your hands, hips trying to lift off the couch in a stuttering rhythm he couldn’t control. you pushed him back down with a firm hand to his stomach, never breaking eye contact as you took him in a little deeper, your mouth working him slow, wet, and steady.

bob was a mess for you. shaky, flushed, hands tight in your hair, fingers twitching. "momma..."

you hollowed your cheeks just slightly, sucked harder, and he whimpered. an actual, breathless whimper that made heat flood between your own thighs.

with every new inch you took, his moans climbed in pitch. thin, needy, utterly unrestrained. and when you finally took all of him, your lips pressed flush to his base, nose brushing the coarse hair there, the sound that tore from his throat was nothing short of angelic. high and broken, full of disbelief and desperation, like he couldn't believe this was real, that you were real.

you paused there, letting him feel it, your throat fluttering around him as you swallowed once, slow and purposeful. his entire body bucked beneath you, a shudder rolling through him from head to toe.

you held him there a beat longer, breathing through your nose, your hands gripping his thighs to keep him grounded. the muscles twitched beneath your palms, his breath coming in ragged gasps now, like he was right on the edge already.

when you finally pulled back, you did it slowly, dragging your tongue along the underside of his cock until only the tip remained between your lips. you sucked — just once, just hard enough — and he let out a sound like he was falling apart.

“f-fuck,” he whimpered, voice cracking. his hands on your hair now, gripping tight enough to hurt, the article he was reading long forgotten.

you moved on him steadily, mouth working his length while your hand stroked what you couldn’t take. it wasn’t hard to tell he was close, the way the muscles in his thighs tensed beneath your grip, the way his eyes screwed shut, and especially that moan he let out. deep, desperate, downright pornographic.

"please — fuck — momma. please, gonna come." he babbled mindlessly, hips thrusting up into your mouth with helpless urgency.

you hummed around him, a soft vibration of approval that pushed him right to the edge.

that was all it took.

with a broken, desperate moan, he came. hips twitching, hands tightening in your hair as his whole body shuddered. the sound of it was raw, helpless, punched from deep in his chest. his head dropped forward, chest heaving, trying and failing to catch his breath.

you eased him through it, hands steady on his thighs, letting him feel every pulse of pleasure as it rolled through him. you swallowed everything you could, cleaning the mess before it showed up.

once the tremors slowed, you gently pried his trembling hands from your hair and pulled off him with a soft pop. you rose off of your knees, bringing your lips to his in a tender kiss.

“did so good for me, baby,” you murmured against his lips, voice like honey, eyes soft with praise.

he looked at you with that sheepish little smile, face flushed, lips parted as he struggled to steady his breathing — still dazed, still entirely yours.

you helped him pull his pants back up, your fingers brushing lightly against his skin as you guided him. once he was settled, you shifted closer, settling yourself beside him on the couch. he immediately leaned into you, his body pressing against your side, seeking comfort and warmth.

you wrapped an arm around him and used your other hand to brush through his damp hair, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest against you. a soft sigh escaped your lips as you closed your eyes, letting the quiet intimacy settle between you. cleaning him properly could wait; right now, this moment was enough. just the two of you, tangled together in the stillness of the room.

his breath was warm against your skin, his presence grounding and familiar. for the first time in a long while, everything outside this small space felt distant, irrelevant. you let yourself simply be here, holding him, feeling him, connected.

#mars writes *:･ﾟ #bob reynolds ⋆#bob reynolds #bob reynolds x reader #bob reynolds smut #robert reynolds #robert reynolds x reader #robert reynolds smut #new avengers #sentry #the void #thunderbolts #mcu #marvel

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spenceloria · 3 days ago

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thinking abt subby!virgin!spence rn…

warnings: smut obvi, virgin spence, fem!reader, hickeys, dry humping/grinding (😛😛😛), blowjob, kinda insecure?spence, more experienced reader

a/n: first post ayee.. ok so this was supposed to be a quick little blurb but turned into way more… i got really distracted once i got to the freaky bits. i love him. sub spencer deserves so much more attention… not just early seasons.. even post prison… oh em gee ideas r coming again jesus..

takes place during early seasons (elle+gideon era)

includes… bad grammar, bad spelling, and cheeky side notes! no use of y/n or any descriptive terms (appearance wise) for reader!

• argagaghh so like you two probably had a total meet cute moment!!! gasps, flushed cheeks, brains short circuiting… of course poor spencie had no idea how to express how he felt.. especially not to a woman like you.

• in his eyes, you were the most beautiful girl in the world. alas, love at first sight quickly fizzled into rushed and awkward goodbyes as spencer literally bolted… running away from you as if you had just insulted his entire bloodline.. :(((

• this left u soooo confused and hurt like u genuinely thought u had just finally met the man of your dreams after years of trial and error… his tall, lanky frame that towered over you, his slightly overgrown, but soft hair, his big doe eyes… interlocking with yours AGGGG u were so down bad and you barely shared a word with him…:

• little did u know abt spencers situation once he arrived at the bureau… being a member of its bau definitely had its perks, but also came with the inability to hide anything from his coworkers..

“woahh slow down there pretty boy! whats with that face? are you blushing? and… is that sweat??”

spencer froze… he knew exactly what type of conversation would follow morgans rather invasive inquires..

“i can’t believe it… you finally got laid!”

“n-no ah its … its nothing like that!!”

his blush deepened as he raised his hands to his defence.. as if he was guilty of a heinous crime.

“come on… its definitely something”

of course elle had to chime in on morgans relentless teasing

spencer sighed in defeat..

“fine… its just.. i met this girl.. earlier this morning.”

“and?”

“a-and she was ethereal… her eyes, her skin, h-her her..”

the start of his rant was cut off by a chuckle from morgan

“so, did you ask this girl out or what?”

spencer froze like a deer in headlights with the realization of what he’d done.

“n-no…. no i… i uh… i ran away from her..”

“youre kidding!”

elle sighed and shook her head.

“this girl is beautiful enough to stun our own boy wonder.. and you just left her?”

spencer looked down at his hands, now playing with his fingers.. oh he fucked up badddd!!! astronomical fumble..

• he would be so distracted for the rest of the day::.. unable to think abt anything but, well, you. he was silent all day, which was unusual for the boy, as he typically literally yapped his coworkers ears off with facts and statistics alike.. but today his mind was somewhere else.

• THE SECOND he left the office he was on his way to where you two had met.. somewhere like a flowershop or cafe, and lo and behold there you were, on your usual route back home after work.

• your eyes met his and, once again, the whole world seemed to nearly stop. anything other than you was purely insignificant..

EEE AND THAT WAS THE START OF SOMETHING NEITHER OF YOU EVER EXPECTED

• yeah, he was relentlessly tormented by the bau (mostly morgan lets be real) over the fact that you asked him out before he had the chance to run off again; but he honestly could not care less. he was completely infatuated with you!!!

ok heres where it gets freaky… heh

• ofcourse your entire relationship was pure romance, stolen kisses, morning cuddles, flowers, dinners:.. despite an insanely cramped schedule with work, spencer always made enough time for you!!

but… a girl still has.. needs..

• you just couldn’t help it… you could barely look at his soft cheeks and chocolate brownish golden eyes without feeling the overwhelming need to jump his bones!!!!

oh u wanted him so bad.. and spencer being well spencer, he brushed off your hints as just you being you.. a little weird, a little touchy..

but you just couldn’t hold back anymore.. you needed him.. you needed to devour him!! (way better writing starts here damn i got so carried away)

it started out so pure, spencer was ranting about some article he had read the previous morning.. but your eyes were locked on his lips. pink, soft, kissable.:.

you held back a groan as devilish thoughts consumed your brain.. you slowly looked down his body.. his chest, his thighs, his hands… fuck.

he noticed your expression.. features perplexed with the innocence of a bunny.

you cut off his concerns with your mouth.

the two of you had made out before but, never like this. never with this amount of heat, desperation, of need. your hands quickly found his hair as your tongue prodded the space inbetween his lips..

he moaned at the contact before allowing you access. you straddled his waist, grinding down on his pelvis, growing boner now painfully obvious from your position above him.

usually you two stopped here, you would give spencer a break to well, compose himself and would cuddle or maybe even kiss again.

but not tonight.

he whimpered (HELL YESSSS) as you ground your hips onto his again.. barely able to voice his concerns… stuttering over his words

“spence.. need you… need to make you feel good so bad..”

you were breathing heavy between kisses.

you paused and leaned back

“will you let me.. take care of you?”

he froze, now completely red, sweating, nervous, unbelievably hard, all by your doing

after a pause he slowly nodded.

“uhuh youre a big boy, you can use your words”

you ran your hands down his chest, fingers sending electric shocks to his skin through the fabric of his patterned dress shirt.

spencers hands were shaking

“y-yes.. yes please.”

he basically squeaked out his answer.. nearly as quiet as a mouse.

you ground your hips onto his again, slowly, more deliberate this time. spencer couldn’t hold back from moaning. breathy, whiny, you were so whipped for him..

“yes please what?”

you couldn’t help but tease him as he grovelled beneath you melting into your hands like puddy, completely at your disposal.

“please.. pleah-ah”

spencers begs were abruptly cut off by another slow roll of your hips.

“hm? what was that?”

your teasing had ripped a high, long, whine out of spencer. one you had never heard before. you hips faltered. you gasped, now fully aware of the heat between your thighs.

“fuck.”

you couldnt hold back any longer. lifting your hips off his, you made quick work of his shirt, nearly ripping off the buttons.

you squeezed your thighs together at the sounds that erupted from the back of spencers throat. your lips making their way up and down his chest, attacking his neck in a flutter of love bites and hickeys that were definitely a bit too high for the collar of his work shirts to cover..

you leaned back to admire you work. spencers brain was completely broken. just like that. you had entirely fried the brain of a prodigy, a genius. he was dazed, his eyes glossed over, pupils completely blown out. if this was the damage of what you had done to him so far… you were going to completely destroy him.

you gave his lips and cheeks a quick peck, before lifting yourself completely off his lap. you slowly pushed him to lean back onto the couch, watching the way his now obvious bulge shifted in his slacks as his knees separated, involuntarily manspreading in front of you. (#needthat)

you maintained eye contact with spencer as you lowered yourself onto your knees, filling the now open space between his thighs.

spencers eyes (if even possible) widened at the realization of what your actions suggested, at what they revealed.

“i… ive never…”

your eyes never left his.

“spencer. if you dont want to-“

“no!”

spencer cut off your words of reassurance, as the gears in his head shifted, finally able to properly process the words he wanted to say.

“i want to… i just, i dont know what to do..”

you smiled softly at his words.

“awe, baby, well thats the thing…”

you swiftly shoved him back into the couch with the simple push of your finger

“you dont have to do anything. let me take care of you.”

if possible, spencers blush deepened.

your hands made their way up his thighs slowly rubbing, impossibly close to where he needed you most.

your sneaky hands now travelled to his fly. effortlessly unbuttoning his slacks… (oh boy..)

you audibly gasped at spencers size… youd heard what they said about nerds and tall guys but. damn.

spencer sucked in an impossible amount of air at the loss of confinements.. suddenly feeling very exposed.

you lifted yourself a bit, pulling down his pants and boxers, helping his legs step out of them as they pooled around his ankles.

looking down, you stiffled a giggle at his adorably colourful and mixmatched socks… you loved them. they were so… him.

you loved him.

you looked up at him through starstuck, half lidded eyes, before making your way to his fiery red tip, bobbing with desperation and oozing pre cum.

“ill be gentle”

your voice was barely above a whisper…

spencer let out a shaky sigh as your eyelashes fluttered.. leaning forward to press a soft kiss onto his tip. your hands finding space on his thighs, already shaking.

you moved your hands to pull back your hair, and leaned forward, finally taking him into your mouth.

spencers unstable hands met yours, shivering as he helped you keep the stray strands from falling into your face.

he didnt pull, and he didnt push you forward either. his hands rested (somewhat) still, just there to help you, for your support.

you beamed up at him, fuck u were sooo whipped for how quick he folded. he was going to be the death of you.

your hands took the length that your mouth couldn’t fill, attempting to bob them in sync with the motions of your mouth. you gagged, a but uncomfortable with his remarkable size, but you were determined to please.

you puffed out your cheeks and dragged your tongue alone a prominent vein that made its way up his length, curving around his girth.

spencers noises were… driving you up the wall.

load moans, quick gaps. long high pitched whines. panting.

you continued your actions.. deliberately speeding up and slowing down to tease him, keep him on edge, you weren’t sure how much he could take.

what you really werent expecting was what followed…

spencer stiffened, his hands abandoning your hair and moving to his own thighs to ground himself, squeezing just a tad.

with a long, stretched out groan-turned-whine, spencer finished… releasing the evidence down your throat.. caught off guard, you pulled your lips off of him, slightly choking on the completely unexpected invasion making its way down your throat.

spencer was MORTIFIEDDD!! stuttering as his hands quickly ran to his face and remained covering his eyes.

“that was…”

honestly, to say you were shocked was an understatement. it had barely been two minutes, a minute thirty MAX!

spencer started stammering apologies, he was so embarrassed to have finished so quickly, he thought u were angry with him.

“that was so fucking hot.”

spencers apologies halted.

“w- what?..”

you smiled as you rose off your knees, leaning into his warmth.

“all this for me? you finished that quickly? all for me? just from what i did?”

spencer short circuited for the umpteenth time that night.

“fuck.”

your hands found their way to spencers cheeks, soft, and unbelievably warm.

“.. ‘m sorry, sorry…”

he mumbled under his breath as you kissed his lips once more; this time soft, light, pure. you looked him straight into his soft doe eyes as you pulled away.

“i love you”

the words had more of an effect on him than you anticipated. they had been said before; meaningfully, quickly, lovingly. but now, they were held in a completely different light. all of spencers insecurities washed away instantly, the deepest parts of his exceptional brain now a clean slate.

out of breath spencer fell into your soft touch

“i love you too.”

you kissed him on his forehead, then his nose, then his cheek, his lips, his chin. short and sweet but not any less effective.

“you were so good for me.”

he sighed into you touch, now feeling suddenly exhausted.

“so, so good. so good.”

you kissed his face again, then again, smiling when he sleepily looked up at you, surprising your lips with a kiss of his own.

you lifted yourself off of him, and took his hand in yours. now, with a clear and more focused mind; suddenly painfully aware of his nakedness in comparison to your body, fully clothed.

you chuckled as redness creeped up his neck once more, thighs and arms instinctively attempting to cover what you had already seen.

you leaned down once more and planted a peck onto the corner of his jaw.

“youre… breathtaking spence.. really.”

you chuckled to yourself.

“literally. aha, breath. taking.”

he sighed as he brushed off your sly joke, secretly smiling at your words.

spencer rose off of the couch, a little dizzy and disoriented as you led him into the bathroom.

“gonna get you all cleaned up, yeah?”

the idea of spending another second outside of his bed was killing him, but you had already started the water, preparing a towel and testing the temperature with your fingers.

“come on, look at you! youre all gross and sweaty.”

spencer now took the time to look at himself in the mirror. god you had done a number on him. purple marks now blooming and adorning his body, up the entirety of his neck and slowly travelling down his chest.

“my god.. i… how am i going to hide these? they.. they’ll destroy me!”

you giggled at his worries over his teasing coworkers now making your way into his bedroom, waiting for your boyfriend to finish up in the washroom. you were completely in love with this man.

you were screwed.

#SPENCELORIA #rahhh i love him so much sub reid is the realest of real ever im sick of seeing dom reid everywhere..#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds smut #fem!reader #smut #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid x fem reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #reader insert #criminal minds

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hauntedhowlett-writes · 6 hours ago

Text

TECHNICAL DIFFICULTIES

PAIRING: Clark Kent x Female Reader

RATING: Explicit

WORD COUNT: 2.8K

SUMMARY:

As an IT specialist for The Daily Planet, you’re no stranger to Clark Kent’s struggles with technology.

When he calls you on your personal phone with an after hours emergency, of course you’re willing to help him out. He shows his gratitude in an interesting way.

TAGS/WARNINGS:

superman (2025) clark kent, IT specialist!female reader, no movie spoilers, no use of y/n, not beta’d, explicit sexual content (18+ minors do not interact), kissing, fingering (f receiving), unprotected p in v

The first time your phone buzzes from the coffee table, you ignore it, too wrapped up in the movie you’re watching. It’s late, nearly midnight, and no one you knew ever called you at this hour. It was probably just some spam call, anyway. You’ve been getting a ton of them from Metropolis Insurance Co., advertising their new enhanced accident coverage.

The second time it buzzes, you lean forward to check who could possibly be calling you this late. The name Clark Kent scrolls across the top of your screen and you frown. Why would Clark Kent, The Daily Planet’s gentle giant, be calling you this late on a Thursday night?

You swipe your thumb across the screen and lift the phone to your ear with a mumbled, “Hello?”

“Oh, thank goodness,” he sighs. “I’m so sorry to call you on your personal phone, but I need your help.”

“What’s up?” You ask. There’s a quiet shuffling on the other end of the line, like maybe he was placing the phone between his cheek and shoulder.

“I’ve got a morning deadline for that Metropolis housing crisis article and my laptop screen just went blue.”

“Is there a message on the screen?”

“There’s a sad face,” he says. “Is that bad? That’s bad, isn’t it?”

“Depends, what does it say under the sad face?”

“Driver error,” he reads. “Capital letters. Bold. That sounds bad.”

“It’s not ideal,” you reply. “One of your drivers crashed. Did you have a lot of programs open?”

There’s a pause. “Maybe a few.”

You sigh, standing up from the couch. “Okay, I can be at the office—“

“I’m uh…not at the office,” he interrupts sheepishly. “It got pretty late and I didn’t want to bother Floyd.”

“The security guard?”

“He says he doesn’t mind when there’s people there after hours but I know he just wants to watch his TV shows,” he explains. “I figured I would just finish up at home. Is that okay?”

You bite your lip. “Sure, yeah, I can come to your apartment. Just text me your address.”

“Okay,” he says. “Thank you, again. Really,” he adds, voice soft.

“No problem.”

Clark answers the door in sweatpants and a t-shirt and for a moment, your brain has its own blue screen of death response. Up until this moment, you’ve only ever seen him in suits — jackets that stretch across his broad shoulders, dress shirts that highlight his trim waist, slacks that snugly hug his thick thighs.

Not that you’ve been paying attention to any of that, of course.

But right now, haloed by lamplight in the doorway of his apartment, he looks soft. Comfortable. His curls are still unruly and his glasses slip down the bridge of his nose. His sweatpants sit low on his hips and his Smallville High School football shirt is faded and threadbare. You swallow nervously.

“Hi,” you say, waving your hand awkwardly.

“Hey,” he murmurs, moving aside and holding the door open for you. “Boy, am I glad to see you.”

You try not to let that get to your head, where your thoughts are already struggling to stay professional. Instead, you look around his apartment.

Clark’s place is neat and tidy. There aren’t many knickknacks but there are pictures — on the wall, on the bookshelf, on the side tables by the couch. Most of them feature an older couple and a young boy with familiar dark hair and bright blue eyes.

“Your parents?” You ask. He nods. “You were a cute kid.”

“Thanks,” he says, reaching up to rub his neck. The motion lifts his shirt up, revealing a strip of skin above the waistband of his sweats. Your eyes are drawn to it like a magnet.

You clear your throat and shake your head. “Where’s your laptop?”

He leads you to his bedroom, to a dark wood desk that sits in front of a floor to ceiling window. His bedroom is clean, the space taken up by a large bed covered in a navy blue quilt, the fabric a little faded, like he’s had it for a long time. You wonder if his mom made it.

“No curtains?” You ask, taking a seat in the office chair. It sits so low that you’re practically eye level with the laptop screen, the edge of the desk at your collarbone.

“I like lots of sunlight,” he says with a little tilt of his lips, like he’s sharing an inside joke.

You turn your attention to the computer, your fingers flying across the keyboard. “Alright, let’s see what we’re working with here. Can you give me some details about what you were doing before it crashed?”

“I was downloading an email attachment.”

“Please tell me it was from a trusted source,” you say, glancing at him from the corner of your eye.

“I mean—I think so?”

You sigh. “You can’t click every link, Clark. This is why you end up in those phishing training seminars.”

“The last one said I owed money for a parking ticket,” he exclaims, lifting his hands. “I couldn’t just not pay it!”

“You don’t have a car,” you deadpan. His brows pinch together.

“Oh.” He puts his hands on his hips. “You’re right. Okay, that one was my bad.”

You focus on your task, pulling up the software center and keying in a recovery code, hitting enter. The screen goes black and a loading bar appears, progress inching forward.

“Think I’ve got it,” you murmur. Clark leans in over your shoulder, hand on the desk, effectively caging you in. He smells like the first snowfall in winter, something crisp and clean. You inhale sharply.

The screen lights up and the programs start to pop open, including the one he’d been writing his article on. You turn your head slightly to look at him and he does the same, smiling brightly.

“You’re a genius,” he murmurs. “I’m so happy I could kiss you.”

Your breath catches in your throat. Your gaze drops to his lips then back to his eyes. He’s watching you with an intensity that makes you shiver.

“You could?” You ask.

“If that’s okay with you,” he whispers.

Your nod is all it takes for him to lean in and close what little distance was left between you, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that’s slow, a tentative exploration. He pulls back and gives you a sweet smile, the high points of his cheeks a little pink.

“Was that—was that okay?” He asks.

Rather than respond with words, you reach out and curl your fingers into his t-shirt, pulling him in for another kiss, one that’s deeper. Hungrier. More tongue and teeth and a deep groan from Clark that feel down to your toes.

He wraps an arm around your back and pulls you up, lifting you off the chair. You let out a noise of surprise that makes him laugh.

“You’re strong,” you tell him, running your hands over his chest. “Do you work out a lot or something?”

He shrugs. “Or something.”

Clark carries you to the bed and lays you down gently, hovering above you. He presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth, trailing his lips along the curve of your jaw, down to your neck, right over your pounding pulse, sucking at the sensitive skin making you gasp. He lifts his head, a mischievous glint in his pretty blue eyes.

“Someone’s sensitive,” he teases, doing it again, this time harder. He leans his weight onto one elbow, his other hand finding the hem of your shirt, fingers teasing the skin just above your pants. “I wonder if you’re sensitive all over.”

“Why don’t you find out?” You challenge. He grins.

“Don’t mind if I do.”

He lifts himself away from you and grabs ahold of your shirt, beginning to lift it up. You sit up slightly so that he can pull it off completely and toss it to the floor, eyes laser focused on your newly exposed skin.

“Gosh, you’re pretty,” he murmurs, almost like he’s saying it to himself. It’s such a Clark thing to say that you can’t help but giggle.

Your giggle transforms into a choked off moan when he pulls the cups of your bra down and circles your nipples with his thumbs before leaning down to pull one into his mouth. His tongue flicks the taut bud and you arch your back, lifting a hand to the back of his head and twisting your fingers into the soft curls.

He does the same to the other breast, large hand roughly kneading the first as he does, and then he moves lower. He kisses your sternum, down your stomach, stopping at the waist of your pants and looking up at you with dark eyes.

“Can I—?”

You nod your head quickly and he pops the button, drags the zipper down, and slowly works the fabric over your thighs until he can pull them off completely. You’re left in nothing but your underwear, feeling like you’re about ready to combust under his heady gaze.

Clark settles between your spread legs, sitting back on his heels and running his palms up your thighs. His gaze roams your body, like he’s trying to commit you to memory.

“You’re a little overdressed,” you tell him, poking him with your foot. He catches your leg and lifts it, kissing the inside of your ankle. “Take your shirt off, Kent.”

“Yes, m’am,” he says, dropping your foot back to the mattress and reaching down the hem of his shirt. He takes it off in one swift motion that leaves his glasses tilted at an angle on his face and his hair disheveled even further.

You’re having a hard time thinking of comeback to being called bossy because now you’re seeing what Clark Kent hides beneath all those unassuming suits — thick pectorals covered with a dusting of dark hair and trails down over the deep valleys of his abs, disappearing beneath his sweatpants.

“Jesus Christ,” you mumble. “What planet are you from?”

His eyes go wide. “Uh—“

“Come here,” you tell him, not giving him a chance to respond. He goes to you willingly, looking almost relieved.

You drag him into a kiss, one that’s messy and a little desperate. Your lick across his plush bottom lip and swirl your tongue against his, savoring the taste of mint and chocolate and Clark. His weight settles over you — not all of it, you’re pretty sure he’d crush you beneath all that dense muscle, but enough that it makes your head spin.

Your legs are around his waist, his hips pressed to yours, and you whimper when you feel the first drag of his cock against you. Even through the fabric separating your bodies you can tell he’s big, just like the rest of him, and the thought has you damn near drooling.

“Clark,” you murmur, looking up at him.

“Yeah?” He asks, a little breathless. You cup his cheek, running your thumb across his bottom lip. His eyes flutter at the contact, dark lashes kissing the tops of his cheeks.

“Touch me.”

He doesn’t have to be told twice. His hand fumbles with your underwear, tugging it down your thighs with jerky motions. You lift your hips to help him and together you manage to remove the article of clothing that seems to have offended him with its mere existence.

He drags his fingers through your folds and buries his face against your neck to muffle the rough groan that claws its way out of his chest. Your hips flex against his gentle touch.

“You—you’re so—,” he mumbles against your skin, the sentence trailing off as he circles your clit. You grab his bicep, nails digging into his muscle. “Does that feel good?”

“Uh huh.” You drop your head back against the mattress, squeezing your eyes shut. “Really good, Clark.”

He moans, mouth open over your pulse, hot breath fanning over your sensitive skin. His fingers slide lower, one thick digit pressing into you slowly, slowly, slowly. You let out a shaky breath when he begins to move, his thumb circling your clit in time with the thrusts of his hand.

He presses another finger in beside the first and the stretch of just his fingers makes you whimper. He lifts his head to look at you, glasses a little foggy and resting precariously low on his nose.

“I know,” he says. He kisses you, deep and filthy. “But I gotta get you ready, I don’t wanna hurt you, honey.”

You nod and he kisses you again, stealing your breath and clouding your senses with his touch, his smell, the heat of his skin. You rock your hips in time with his fingers, chasing your release. It builds in your lower belly, an ache that feels like you’re balancing on the edge of a cliff, ready to soar.

His lips are pressed to yours, less of a kiss and more of a shared breath. One whisper of your name with a quiet reverence that reminds you of a prayer and you’re free falling, shattering into a million pieces and being put back together by Clark’s talented fingers.

His hand slows and he withdraws his fingers, the sudden emptiness making you whine. You reach for him with hands that shake, trying in vain to shove his sweatpants down.

“Are you sure?” He asks.

“I am so sure,” you tell him. “One million percent sure.”

He chuckles and the accompanying smile makes the dimple in his cheek pop. You press your thumb to it, smiling at him in return.

Clark moves, getting up from the bed to remove his sweatpants and boxers. Your eyes are drawn immediately to his cock as it springs free, thick and heavy, flushed red and glistening at the tip. Your mouth waters and your pussy clenches at the sight.

He crawls back over you, back between your legs and up close like this his size is even more intimidating than you imagined. You swallow nervously.

“I’m not sure that’s going to fit,” you tell him, nodding toward him. He looks down, then back to you.

“You can take it,” he says earnestly, encouragingly, like you’re talking about something else, something that isn’t the mechanics of his dick fitting inside of you.

Your jaw goes slack as he takes himself in his hand and runs the dip through the slick mess he’s made of your pussy. The tip bumps against your clit, making you moan. He does it again and again, keeps at it until you’re writhing beneath him, begging him to be inside of you.

Finally, he presses into you, slow and steady. The stretch is unlike anything you’ve ever felt, the sharp sting giving way to an ache that makes you gasp. He holds himself still, lets you adjust, and then keeps going.

When his hips meet yours, you let out a deep breath. Your legs tremble around his hips and he runs his palms over your thighs.

“You’re doing so well,” he tells you, his voice shaky, like he’s holding himself together with a single fraying thread. “You look so good like this.”

“Like what?”

“Full of me,” he says. You squeeze around him at the praise and he lets out a choked out noise that sounds like it was punched out of him by Superman himself. “Don’t—don’t do that—I’m trying not to—to move before you’re ready.”

“I’m ready,” you assure him. He mutters something that sounds a lot like thank god before drawing his hips back.

His thrusts start slow and shallow before picking up speed and stealing the air from your lungs. You can feel his cock drag against a spot inside of you that makes your muscles tense and stars form at the edges of your vision. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, holding on so you don’t float away on the euphoria that builds and builds with each slap of his hips against yours.

Your orgasm washes over you in a sudden rush of heat that you feel from the top of your head to your toes, every nerve ending lighting up with it. You moan his name and tighten around him, his pace growing sloppy as he chases his own high through yours.

Clark goes still when he comes, buried deep and filling you with a rush of warmth that makes you gasp. When his cock starts to soften, he collapses beside you with an arm around your waist.

He kisses you once, twice, sweet little pecks that make you smile. You reach up to push his glasses up a little.

“Think you can stay the night?” He asks.

“Don’t you have an article to finish?”

“Oh…that’s not due for a few days,” he says sheepishly.

Your mouth drops open. “Clark Kent, did you fake a computer emergency to make a move on me?”

“No!” He says quickly. “The computer emergency was real! It’s just—maybe I fibbed a little bit about my deadline.”

“You’re unbelievable!”

“You’re not mad, are you?” He asks.

You turn on your side to face him. “No, definitely not mad.”

“Good. Otherwise, those phishing seminars were about to get real awkward.”

Thank you for reading!

LINKS

main blog | masterlists | AO3

#superman #superman (2025)#clark kent #clark kent x reader #clark kent x you #clark kent x female reader #clark kent (2025)#superman fanfiction #superman david corenswet #clark kent smut #clark kent fanfiction #clark kent fic #superman x reader #superman x you #superman fic #superman smut #x reader

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andy-15-07 · 2 days ago

Note

IMAGINE BITING JOAQUIN’S BICEPS. That green top did things to me he looks so good in THAT scene!!

Bite Me, Torres

PAIRING: Joaquin Torres x Reader 💋

WORD COUNT: 1025 ✍️

REQUESTS: Open! 💌 (send yours my way — I love writing them all!)

🌟 Danny Ramirez Masterlist 🌟

The last place you expected to lose your mind today was the base gym. But there he was.

Joaquin Torres, in that sinfully tight green top, sleeves rolled just enough to show off those arms,the kind of arms that looked sculpted to ruin lives.

He was halfway through a set of pull-ups, his back flexing, shirt damp with sweat, when your brain short-circuited.

“Earth to Y/N.”

You blinked and found him grinning down at you from the pull-up bar, his voice teasing.

“Enjoying the view?”

You rolled your eyes so hard they nearly fell out of your head. “Please. I’ve seen better.”

He dropped down lightly, wiping his forehead with his towel and flexing,probably on purpose.

“Oh yeah? Where?”

“Somewhere that isn’t showing off like an action figure on steroids.”

He laughed, loud and easy, the kind of laugh that echoed through the empty gym. “You’re terrible for my ego.”

“And yet, you keep coming back for more.”

Joaquin cocked his head, wiping his hands on his towel. “Maybe I like the abuse.”

You smirked, stepping into his space. “Careful, Torres. Some of us bite.”

He raised an eyebrow, amused. “Do you now?”

And just like that, the air shifted. A spark you both had been ignoring for months crackled between you.

Challenge accepted.

Without overthinking it, you grabbed his bicep,warm, solid, flexed from his workout,and leaned in.

And bit him.

Not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make a point.

Joaquin froze, letting out an absolutely shocked laugh.

“Did you just,what the hell?”

You pulled back with a grin, wiping your mouth like it was no big deal. “Told you I bite.”

He blinked, mouth open, then burst out laughing, the sound filling the gym like sunshine.

“You’re insane.”

“Takes one to know one.”

But then he took a step closer. Close enough that you had to tilt your head to look up at him, close enough to feel the heat radiating off his body.

“You realize I’m gonna get you back for that, right?”

You crossed your arms, pretending not to be affected by how good he smelled. “Oh, I’m counting on it.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Just breathing the same air, caught in the tension you’d both been avoiding.

Joaquin bit his lip, eyes flicking down to your mouth.

“Wanna spar?” he asked, voice lower now.

You smirked. “Are we still talking about the gym, Torres?”

He tilted his head, that stupidly cute grin spreading across his face. “Depends how competitive you’re feeling.”

“Always competitive.”

He tossed his towel on the bench and took a step back, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Alright. First one to pin the other wins.”

“Wins what?”

He gave a slow smile. “Winner gets to make the loser do whatever they want.”

Oh, that was dangerous.

“Deal.”

The sparring match lasted maybe three minutes. You almost had him flipped at one point,almost,but he countered with a move you didn’t see coming, sweeping your legs and sending you flat on your back, him hovering above you, hands braced on either side of your head.

Breathless. Laughing. Wanting him way too much.

He grinned down at you, slightly flushed from exertion.

“Guess I win.”

You arched an eyebrow. “So what do you want, champ?”

For a second, he hesitated,then his smile softened.

“Dinner. With you. Tomorrow.”

Your chest squeezed.

“Wow. You used your one win for that?”

“Yeah,” he said, eyes warm and sure. “Worth it.”

You smiled, brushing a strand of sweaty hair from his forehead.

“Okay, Torres. You’ve got yourself a date.”

“Good.”

But he still didn’t move, and neither did you.

“So,” he said, smirk returning. “Wanna bite me again or…?”

You laughed, pulling him down by the collar of his green top and kissing him right there on the gym floor.

He kissed you back like he’d been waiting forever.

And maybe he had.

---

He pulled back after a moment, forehead resting against yours, both of you catching your breath. Then, low and teasing:

“Locker room’s empty. Just saying.”

You bit your lip, feeling your pulse race. “Oh, is that so?”

He grinned, scooping you up bridal style with infuriating ease. “Best part of my workout.”

You laughed, swatting his chest. “Put me down!”

“Nope,” he said, carrying you toward the locker room. “You bite me, I get to bite back.”

The second the door closed behind you, he pinned you gently against the cool lockers, mouth crashing into yours with a hunger you hadn’t felt from him before.

“That bite?” he murmured between kisses. “Drove me crazy.”

“Good,” you gasped, tugging his shirt up and over his head.

You ran your hands over his chest, down his abs, admiring him openly now.

“Show-off,” you teased.

“Your fault,” he grinned before dipping his head to your neck. His teeth grazed your skin and you shivered, arching into him.

Clothes came off in rushed movements, gym gear hitting the floor, heat building between stolen breaths and teasing touches.

“Tell me if I need to stop,” he whispered, searching your eyes.

“Don’t you dare.”

And then his hands were everywhere,your hips, your thighs, your back,lifting you effortlessly onto the bench. He knelt in front of you, mouth trailing kisses down your stomach, lips soft but his grip firm.

You tugged his hair playfully, pulling him back up.

“Later. Kiss me first.”

He groaned, kissing you deep and slow, hips rolling against yours until you were both a mess of sighs and whispered names.

“Gonna make you regret biting me,” he muttered against your lips.

“Try me, Torres.”

And then all teasing stopped, replaced by heat and tension and the kind of passion that had been simmering between you since day one.

The rest of the world,the gym, the mission reports, the early training alarms,faded away, leaving only the two of you tangled in the haze of heat and adrenaline.

And when it was over, you lay beside him on the locker room bench, breathless and grinning.

“Best sparring match ever,” you whispered.

Joaquin laughed, brushing your hair from your face.

“Rematch tomorrow?”

“Only if you wear the green top again.”

“Deal.”

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shimjake · 2 days ago

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𓇼 STRONG BOYFRIEND. sim jaeyun

jake x gn! reader 815 words fluff warnings — slight horror, kissing check out my masterlist for more

synopsis ୨୧ jake is a scaredy cat, but you still love him.

your boyfriend is a liar.

not in the way that seeps into his very nature, spinning around his words to the point where you can't even discern reality and fantasy. not in the way that it shakes up the very foundation of your relationship and forces you to reevaluate all the green flags that made you attracted to him in the first place.

more so in the way that he said he'd be protecting you through this haunted maze, but instead, he hides behind your shoulder out of cowardice. you feel his nimble fingers tighten ever so often as they grip your shirt, and as you lead him away from the vampire that had just jumpscared him to death, you really start reconsidering his credibility.

"jake, what happened to being the strong and brave boyfriend of my dreams?" you tease, feeling his head tucked into the curve of your collarbone.

"i don't want to talk about it," he mumbles, muffled by the cloth separating your skin from his. the leaves crunch between you two as you drag him along, and he whines as if he already knows the demons awaiting him further along the trail. "not my fault they didn't write about this in the reviews."

you laugh abruptly, a sharp contrast against the silent breeze surrounding the atmosphere. "it's a haunted maze, jake, what else were you expecting?"

"i don't know, something a little more... family friendly, i guess."

you roll your eyes, noticing the shed that appears in your line of sight. it's placed right in the middle of the path, and the door creaks against the wind, half open as if it's inviting you inside.

"there's definitely going to be something hiding in there, okay? prepare yourself."

you hold back your amusement as he makes a show of taking deep breaths and puffing out his chest.

"i got this," he whispers confidently, and you would almost believe him if it wasn't for the fact that he's repeated this routine at least thrice since you've entered the maze. "i promise i will not be scared by whatever's about to attack us".

you interlace your fingers with his, noting his trembling frame as you walk through the door. there's barely any light inside, only a sliver of the moonlight peeking in from the window at the top, and you can feel the hay underneath your feet as you trudge forward.

you're not even halfway to the exit before jake shrieks, enclosing you in his grasp as you feel him heave in your arms.

"what happened?" you ask, cupping his face concerningly. the sliver of moonlight breaks across his face, and you can see his scared eyes staring back at you, dejected like a kicked puppy. "there wasn't even anything there!"

"i just heard a noise..." he trails off, shame flooding his senses as he avoids your gaze.

"noise?" you ask, racking your brain for the possible cause before realization dawns upon you. "you mean the owl that's been hooting for the past thirty minutes?"

he cringes as you speak, seeming to realize how pathetic the admission is coming out of your mouth. you sigh, running your fingers through his hair, watching him nuzzle into your touch as if he wasn't avoiding it mere seconds ago.

"what am i going to do with you?" you exhale, and he hums against the warmth of your palm. "you're lucky i love you."

he grins, so radiantly against the light streaming in that you think he even shines brighter. you don't register he's leaning in until you feel the warmth of his lips dancing against yours, pressing into you in an effort to close any sort of gap between you. kissing jake feels like a breath of fresh air, the energy he carries vibrating against you as he tilts your chin and pushes closer. the exchange ends just as quickly as it started, probably because you are in the middle of a haunted shed and not in the comfort of your own home, but he's filled with this infectious sort of vibrance now that feels just a little bit addicting.

your eyes mirror that same sparkle that is always found in his, but it quickly fades away when you hear a buzzing noise near the entrance door. your gaze shifts to see a masked character, the chainsaw in his hands buzzing to life as he inches closer, one step at a time.

"jake," you whisper, tugging his arm. "don't freak out, but i think we need to go."

"what? why?" he asks, peering behind his shoulder to make direct eye contact with the character as his eyes widen. you're not even surprised when he screams, pulling you towards the exit with a strength so ferocious that you nearly trip over yourself. "fuck being a strong boyfriend!"

"yeah, i think now would be a good time to run."

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awsugar · 2 days ago

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a handful more of the images have been id'ed thanks to you guys! i'm gonna put this under a cut again. some images do still need identification. as i said before, i'm happy for anyone to help id them and also to give your own interpretation as to how it plays into the story here! i'm giving the context i can find and some of my own ideas about what they could mean but it's not like i actually have a line to gerard's brain so please! add on if you have anything :)

FUCK has been id'ed as The Villa Loredan, Paese - early 1780s by Francesco Guardi, id'ed by @minihood13 & @turnstileskyline

the painting depicts the home of john strange, the official 'british resident' of venice. i don't know what that means. the one thing i do find intriguing or that could be read into about this is that in the foreground the figure wearing red is an artist at work, and this is presumed to be a self portrait of sorts by guardi. i just think its interesting when a self portrait is done in a small and non-focal point of any work. i'm sure this could be theorized upon.

OF has been id'ed by @minihood13 as Plate 1: Julius Caesar looking to the right, from 'The Twelve Caesars' - artist unknown, first half of the 15th century

i'm not really finding any more info on this artwork itself but putting caeser in there is rreeeeeaaaallllly interesting. notably he led the roman armies (see: miliaristic style of the black parade uniforms. the origin of the marching band as a concept and thing that Exists In The World is from the armed forces and that's where the design of the uniform comes from.

after being a military leader, caesar went full dictator. he was stabbed to death. i don't think i NEED TO SAY THIS but i'm gonna say it. dictator. stabbed. dagger. if you zoom in, the wreath/crown on his head is full of people with daggers or whateverthe 15th century equivalent would be. my friend manda who helped me with the initial finding of these images has this theory that the stage show is going to slightly progress each date, finally ending with them assassinating the dictator. i mean, this definitely lends itself to that. along with the lyrics of what i am now calling mama part 2. 'a dagger, a dagger, please fetch me a dagger, for all of our TREASONOUS deeds, a delicate matter, yes trust me a dagger is just what this PLAN of ours needs' idk idk. im just saying if they made a musical about caesar's assassination, that song would really not need to be tweaked.

GUN has been id'ed as Dog Jumping At Man by Juan Pedro Chabalgoity by @lipglossgerard & @recallthename

i can't find any important info on this one as far as any context but the dog is clearly a relevant motif and has been since the last tour. 'sit. stay. beg.', the doberman in all of the teasers, "good boy", at wwwy 2024 night 1 gerard asked to hear our 'dog impressions'. just saying. i have so many questions about how the dog plays into the story bc i don't think it starts and ends as a seeing eye dog.

YOU still needs to be identified, but @catloverkid00 has suggested that this is a photo of an ICBM (intercontinental ballistic missile) from the space race era. it does look like that but a specific image has not been found yet!

WOULD and CRY were id'ed by @plasmapumpkin

the first is this image:

this is the caption on the website bc i'll be so real i don't know how to paraphrase it on my own. like at all.

"Tech/Supply men left to right: S/Sgt. Michael H. Moran, McKeesport, Pa., Cpl. Howard M. Meddlyhas, Salt Lake City, Utah, Cpl. Larry Feldman, Brooklyn, N.Y., and S/Sgt. Robert G. Keich of Tomaque, Pa., are busy unpacking British made fibre auxiliary fuel tanks. Each P-51 Mustang on the 8th AAF to recieve an allotment for long range missions deep into Hitlerised Europe as well as the new East Wesr shuttle bombing run to American bases in USSR."

so ww2 obviously. and fits in with the themes of the show that are shown on screen and what we do know so far.

the second is:

Model of a P.L.M. Locomotive (circa 1855) by French artist Dominique Roman

PLM stands for Paris-Lyon-Méditerranée

french train. really all i have to say at this point!!!

anyway that's all i have right now! there are still a few that have no been found. huge thanks to those that helped find these that i could not!

and one last note that i forgot to add in the last post. what i find really intriguing is that gerard doesn't just raise his hand during this bit of the song. at some point during this sequence it seems like he actually points toward the screen which is inviting us to really look at it and consume it. anyway. please let me know if you have anything else to add!

ok so last night with the help of @anothersuperstition i really dove into all of the images projected on the screen with the lyrics during mama during the infamous line 'but there's shit that i've done with this fuck of a gun, you would cry out your eyes all along' and i have sucessfully found 11 of the 20 images and their sources, as well as background info on most of them.

this is gonna be long! so it's going under the cut. but i want to put out that this is an opportunity for collaboration. i did not find all of the images and i would LOVE some help on finding the remaining 9 so if you feel like you're a good sleuth or you happen to recognize one of the ones that we didn't get, PLEASE feel free to add on!

alright so first of all, the post that i used to keep track of all of the images is this one so thank you to OP for compiling! this research would have been much harder if i hadn't seen that post.

also before i get into it i just want to put a couple notes on connections and references that i think are relevant. one very obvious reference that they keep coming back to is france/paris. one of the first things i noticed before they even came on stage was the pre-show music while they were setting up and when they started projecting images on the screens, like the rules and the WANTED posters a la danger days, etc. the first song immediately stood out to me because it was major tom (coming home) by peter schilling but after a minute i realized it wasn't in english. at the time i thought they re-recorded the song in keposhka ;_; lmfao. but no. after that song, it's funny that the friend who was next to me on barricade is literally born and raised in paris. she was like 'all of these songs are in french'. at the time i didn't think much of it. but looking back, absolutely intentional. i also now know that the version of major tom i heard is by plastic bertrand. which fun fact! plastic bertrand's song 'ca plane pour moi' is on mcr's psych up mix playlist from dd era. the music they would play to get hyped up before going on stage. also during one of the first songs, gerard said 'bonjour' to the crowd, and at the end of disenchanted he said 'paris looks so beautiful at night'. so connections to anything french is not a stretch but imo very intentional.

also, this post is centering around mama but also like all of this somehow ties in to the overall story. but in the new mama verse he says 'you can't see berlin with the sun in your eyes'. so i've kept an eye out for anything that is also german and also made some connections, (even if they are reaches!) to things tying back to ww2 and the cold war as well.

also to say that not all of the stuff has a solid explanation and i may be wrong about the reason for some of their inclusions BUT i don't think anything that this band does is unintentional and i think that all of this stuff has a meaning in some way or another. considering that a lot of the stuff from last tour that we thought was unrelated has actually ended up tying in.

ok so all of the ones that i haven't found yet i'm using the images from the post i linked above, all credit on that goes to them! i thought about leaving those blank but i wanted to include them here for continuity and an easy place for anyone who may want to help to be able to identify which of them still needs identifying.

1.) BUT

Study of a Nude Man - Gustave Courbet, France, early 1840s

this one i didn't find a lot of background info on as it's more of an exercise in human anatomy than anything deeply symbolic but it is french and it's funny that they used a butt for 'but'

2.) THERE'S

3.) SHIT

The Veteran in a New Field - Winslow Homer, 1865 America

this painting depicts a farmer harvesting a field of wheat with a scythe. i believe its during teenagers, theres a video that plays n the screen of two people dancing? one has a head made of a bushel of wheat, the other is holding a scythe. wheat is also a large theme in the concept. the merch tags say that the clothing are made of 100% wheat, they lay wheat on the stage in front of the drum before the black parade comes out, they are selling patches with wheat on them (i think i saw that?), the draag national anthem mentions wheat. gerard has also mentioned wheat in the past to the point of showing us that all of his electronic device backgrounds are fields of wheat because he finds them to be calming lol. but theres more! the man in the field is a soldier post-civil war and from what i read on this painting he is identified as a union soldier due to his jacket and canteen that are on the ground. gerard was drinking from a canteen on stage during the black parade set. what i read about the interpretation of the painting is that the scythe used to cut down the wheat obviously conjures images of the grim reaper (death) but symbolizes his past of death in connection to the war, and parallels the loss of life. wheat has also historically been connected with death bc it was traditionall placed on coffins. i also read one sentence in particular i think on wikipedia that said that it shows that his time at war has prepared him for his new life in the fields. i just think thats interesting, and maybe will be relevant when we find out more about the history of draag.

4.) THAT

(i do have a better image of this without watermark but its too big for tumblr)

Drawings Showing Combat on Foot (Champ Clos) - unknown artist, 16th century german

i could find almost nothing on this but it does remind me of 'Rule 4: Fight only when fought upon. Non-combat is discouraged in all areas.' This one has been perplexing to me because it's clearly contradictory.

5.) I'VE

this is the original image. the best source i've found for this is the Better Homes & Gardens New Cook Book (1965) which i only found here for sale on ebay. obviously in the image used for the show the eyes have black bars over them. i kind of interpret this to be the dictatorship stripping people of their identities. it doesn't seem that families like this exist anymore in this current society, in the concrete age.

6.) DONE

Portrait of a Carthusian - Petrus Christus, 1446 Netherlands

this one i find really interesting. there is a connection to french here, in the history of the carthusian monks, their first hermitage was in the valley of the french prealps. but aside from that, the carthusian monks are very interesting because they live in complete solitude, not only from the world but mostly from each other as well, in their own cells where there is not much of a community aspect to their hermitage. if you look into it theres more about how this particular monk in the painting has a number of details about him that are nonstandard, including the fact that the is not portrayed in prayer like was custom during this time especially for a monk.

but also, the fly that is painted on the painted frame, i read that it represents 'death and decay' and is a reminder of the 'transience of life'. i don't think i have to tell you where in the mychem mythology we've heard of death, decay, and flies before....

7.) WITH

the same painting is used for this word, but this time just a close up of the monk's right eye. i think it's definitely worth noting that this is THE ONLY TIME that they do this and use the same image twice. there's a million eyes out there at their finger tips. i can't even pretend to have any idea WHY but i know that there is an intent behind it.

8.) THIS

armor garniture likely of king henry viii, 1527

this is literally a photo of real armor. again there are better photos online that are too large for me to put in a tumblr post. henry viii is interesting though.

9.) FUCK

10.) OF

11.) A

[Family Portrait] - W. L. Germon & W. Penny, America circa 1855

i couldn't find much on this one outside of the title and artists. but for the sake of tinhatting and a little bit of reaching, i started thinking about the concept of family, the song that they're presented during is mama, the term nuclear family came to mind? i actually didn't know what it meant before but it is apparently just a term for the traditional family unit with two parents and at least one child. but the missile screens and launch that we're shown, mama, 'mother doesn't love you anymore' being on the paper that gerard threw into the audience...idk i think there could be some connection there.

12.) GUN

13.) YOU

14.) WOULD

15.) CRY

16.) OUT

this is literally a stock image of a bear, one article that we found using it credited it to pixabay (stock image website). bears are commonly used in the circus, and when you combine the clown on stage, the final image in the series is of a circus clown, and the new circus music added to the backing track in blood, idk. i think there could be something there. could also be a commentary of some kind on the juxtaposition of the wild bear and the very manmade trash can. i'm literally just throwing out ideas here so we can start a conversation on this stuff, i have no idea lol.

17.) YOUR

18.) EYES

this is the Vienna Boys Choir. the photo used is most likely them singing at the american embassy in paris. during ww2, circa 1948. they seem to have sung for a lot of government officials, notably including hitler and jfk.

i also wanna point out that their outfits are very similar to donald duck on the drum that tucker uses on stage, i talked about that drum in a post here yesterday with what i found. it is also (likely) connected to ww2.

19.) ALL

20.) ALONG

Lem A. Ward putting on circus makeup. between 1935-1939. this clown was employed as part of FDR's WPA federal theater project. this was created as part of the new deal to try and create work for american's who were left unemployed due to the great depression. BUT what i find kind of also very interesting about this is that this program was ended pretty abruptly because some of the entertainers employed were suspected to hold communist ideologies. so 5 years after it started, the federal theater project was disbanded.

and that's everything i found! please if you have any insight on the ones that i've already identified or if you think you know one of the other one's that i haven't or if you have literally anything to add please do!! i won't be satisfied until we figure all of them out.

i do have links and sources for all of the stuff i found too btw if you want it! i've heard in the past that tumblr limits the view of posts with a bunch of outside links in the search so i wanted to try and avoid that but happy to provide any of it!

#mcr #mcr tour #my chemical romance #gerard way #the black parade #long live the black parade #lltbp

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brownlyfe · 12 hours ago

Text

Jealousy With Four Horns

THREE: Wanted and Needed

masterlist

cw: none

wc: 1.7k

summary: smoke may have left annie 7 years ago, but somewhere along the way she stopped being lonely. or the story where annie has a man who moved to the town nearly fours years ago and they’ve grown extremely close. and back in chicago smoke got caught up in a “debt” with a woman and now she’s here to collect.

notes: I really had a ball writing this and the next chapter. especially the next one 🤭. annie and beau kinda got me just from these two chapters idk about yall 🤷🏾‍♀️.

The knock came like thunder itself; hard, fast, and relentless.

Annie jolted upright in bed, heart racing. Rain slammed against the windows, wind howling through the trees. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stumbled to the front door, pulling her robe tight over her nightgown.

The knocking came again only louder.

She yanked the door open, ready to snap on whoever it was, until she saw Beau standing there soaked.

“Brandy’s in labor,” he said, breathless. “She’s panicked and the baby coming fast.”

Annie blinked, trying to shake the sleep from her brain. “What? Now?”

“Right now,” he nodded, water dripping from his hair, shirt plastered to his chest. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

“Okay– okay,” she said, turning back inside. “Let me grab my boots.”

She slipped them on quickly, heart already pounding, then rushed back to the porch.

The rain was coming down in heavy sheets. So, without a word, Beau shrugged off his jacket, held it above her head, and guided her toward the truck.

“Come on,” he said, voice low. “Stay close.”

They ran through the storm, boots splashing through mud, lightning splitting the sky overhead. He kept the jacket stretched wide above her, shielding her as best he could. By the time they reached the truck, they were both half-soaked, breathless, and covered in flecks of dirt.

They reached his barn twenty minutes later, tires sliding into the gravel with a hard stop.

Beau jumped out first, jacket clutched in one hand, then rushed around to Annie’s side. He opened the door, offered her the cover again, and together they bolted for the barn through a wall of rain.

Inside, the air was thick with heat, hay, and tension.

Brandy stood trembling in her stall, eyes wide, nostrils flaring.

“She’s scared,” Beau said, out of breath.

Annie didn’t answer. She was already moving.

“Hey there, girl,” she whispered, slipping into the stall without hesitation, her hand brushing gently over the mare’s side. “You’re okay. I’m here.”

Brandy shifted, muscles tight with strain, but at Annie’s touch, her breathing started to slow.

And Beau just stood there watching, jacket forgotten in his hands, wondering how something so wild could ever calm under someone else’s hands.

The storm had passed, but its weight lingered in the walls, in their skin, in the air between them.

Brandy’s foal was healthy. It should’ve been a relief.

And yet, as Annie stood barefoot in Beau’s guest room, drying her hair with one of his old shirts on her back, her thoughts were anywhere but calm.

She glanced down at the pile of clothes on the dresser, his clothes. Jeans, a faded undershirt, the belt still looped through the denim.

A voice echoed from down the hallway.

“Annie?” Beau called, low and steady. “Can you bring me my pants?”

Her pulse ticked up a notch at the request.

She gathered the clothes in her arms and moved through the hall. The door to the bathroom was cracked just enough to let out a spill of warm steam, the scent of soap and cedarwood thick in the air.

She pushed it open gently.

Beau was in the tub, turned away from her, water lapping at his waist. His skin gleamed under the soft lamplight; broad shoulders slick with droplets, the muscles in his back shifting as he wiped a washcloth slowly over his arm.

Annie stood there, transfixed, breath hitched.

For a split second, her thoughts spiraled: What would his hands feel like? His mouth? His body on mine, in mine–

“Just set ‘em on the chair,” he said quietly, voice cutting through her haze.

She did as he asked quickly, like her fingers were burning just from touching the denim, and turned to leave. But before she could get too far, his fingers closed around her wrist. And her whole body stilled.

“Annie,” he said again, softer now. “Don’t go just yet.”

She looked over her shoulder, heart pounding.

He hadn’t turned fully towards her, but he was watching her. His eyes dark and unreadable, jaw tense like he was holding something back.

“I just want you to sit with me,” he said. “That’s all.”

His thumb brushed her skin, barely, but it was enough to make her breath catch.

Annie didn’t answer right away. The silence swelled between them, thick with something unnamed. Not lust. Not quite longing either. But something.

Finally, she nodded. And he let go.

She pulled the wooden stool closer to the tub and sat without a word, hands in her lap, refusing to look directly at his reflection in the rippling water.

But even without speaking, even with the air still heavy from rain and sweat and nerves, they were both very aware they weren’t alone anymore.

Lilith Dupree sat at her vanity, wrapped in a silk robe that clung to damp skin, nothing beneath it. One leg crossed over the other, she stared at her bare and undone reflection.

A cigarette burned between two fingers. Smoke curled upward in lazy spirals as she tapped the ash into the tray. Her makeup had worn off hours ago, but her eyes were still lined with fury.

She had been up for days. Searching. Thinking. Cursing herself.

And now, she just sat there, listening to her own breath and the occasional creak of the apartment settling.

She’d gone through everything; every drawer, every coat pocket, every step of every night she’d spent with Smoke. But he’d been clean.

No addresses, no hints, no slips of the tongue. He never told her where he was really from. Never said anything more than, "down South."

Now it all felt like a game she’d lost before it ever began.

She closed her eyes for a second and there they were. All the signs were replaying like film reels behind her eyelids.

The way he pulled away too quickly after touching her. The way he kissed her like it was the last time. The way he wouldn’t look at her when it counted.

She opened her eyes, jaw locked, and stubbed out the cigarette with a sharp, angry twist.

“Son of a bitch.”

She leaned forward, eyes fixed on her reflection.

“You stupid, stupid girl. I shoulda known.”

But knowing didn’t change the fact that she had nothing. No money and no answers. Just a silver bracelet and a note that mocked her.

She couldn’t stay in Chicago long in her condition, so there was only one place she could go.

Her jaw tightened as she thought about it. Memphis.

The word tasted bitter in her mouth.

She’d told herself she would never go back there. Not for family, or business, and definitely not for the kind of favors that used to buy her train tickets and pretty shoes.

But this wasn’t about survival anymore. This was personal. He took from her, so he owed her.

He left her with nothing, but her name. And the people never forgot who she was.

The decision landed heavy in her chest. She needed to figure out how the hell to get to Memphis.

She leaned back, fingers drumming against the vanity as she went over her options:

Option one. Going to the Italians or the Irish. She could walk into either circle, bat her lashes, sell some half-story about needing a quick payday. They liked her enough, but they wouldn’t give her a cent without questions. And right now, the last thing she had were answers.

Option two. Her girls. She could call in favors from old friends, fellow hustlers, sweethearts who still thought she had heart left. But it would be a loan that she wasn’t sure when, or if, she could pay it back.

Option three. Rock. Her stomach twisted just thinking about it. Calling Rock meant calling in everything she tried to leave behind. He’d give her the money, sure. He might even wire it tonight. But he wouldn’t do it for free. Not for her. That meant putting on a dress she swore she’d never wear again, standing on a corner she’d walked away from, letting him put his hands on her like she was still his.

She took another cigarette from the case, lit it with a trembling hand.

“No,” she whispered. “Not Rock. Not unless I have to.”

But deep down, she knew if the other two didn’t work she’d make the call. And if she did?

Smoke better pray.

Beau’s body stretched out in the tub, steam rising around him. His skin glistened beneath the amber glow of the lamp, all broad shoulders and sinew, water trickling slowly over him in glistening paths.

Annie sat on the old wooden stool beside the tub, legs crossed, trying very hard to keep her eyes above his shoulders.

She didn’t know what she was looking at more, him, or the thought of him. With his skin glistening and water dripping down the slope of his chest. Every line of muscle carved and calm.

They were just talking. That’s what she told herself.

“So what’re you gonna name the baby?” she asked, trying to focus on anything but the soft light glinting off the side of his neck.

Beau smiled faintly. “Brandy’s named after my sister. So I think I’ll name the little one after my niece.”

Annie’s brows lifted. “You never told me her name.”

“Josie,” he said softly. “Short for Josephine.”

Annie smiled. “That’s pretty.”

“She was,” he murmured. “Didn’t take no mess either. Brandy was her favorite too she used to braid that mare’s mane every Sunday. Had them little hands, always so careful. Girl was only five, but she moved like she’d been takin’ care of horses her whole life.”

They both sat in that for a moment, the soft ache of memory settled between them like steam.

Then Annie cleared her throat. “I gotta open the shop tomorrow. The storm knocked a few things loose in the front window. Gonna have to fix all that before I can light the altar.”

Beau tilted his head. “You want help?”

She blinked. “I mean, sure, if you want.”

“I like watchin’ you work,” he said. “You look at peace when you’re in there.”

Something fluttered in her chest.

“Thanks,” she said softly.

They went quiet again. Until Annie, fiddling with the hem of her borrowed flannel shirt, glanced over at him. “You still never told me how you got the nickname Beau.”

He chuckled. “Only my family and folks from back home call me that. Everyone else calls me Noah.”

She nodded, eyes narrowing playfully. “So what, you earn it?”

He laughed again. “Kinda. When I was little, my sister used to say the girls were always hangin’ around me ‘cause I was cute. Called me Beau ‘cause she said I was gonna be somebody’s heartache one day.”

Annie snorted. “You’re jokin’.”

“Dead serious.”

“Somebody’s heartache,” she repeated, shaking her head. “Lord have mercy.”

He grinned at her, easy and wide. “I was a looker.”

“Oh, I believe it,” she said, then quickly added, “I mean, I’m just sayin’– I can see how they might’ve thought that.”

His grin turned sly. “Uh-huh.”

She flushed. “Don’t start.”

They were laughing now, the kind that curled in their bellies and softened the air between them. Annie leaned back a little, her voice lighter.

“How many girls you been with?”

Beau raised an eyebrow. “That a serious question or one of those traps?”

“Serious.”

He took a breath. “I had a few lovers. Almost got married once.”

Annie blinked. “Really?”

He nodded. “Yeah. She left me. Said I was too nice.”

Her face twisted in confusion. “Too nice? What the hell does that even mean?”

He looked at her then, really looked. The edge of a smile pulled at his mouth.

“I wasn’t always,” he said, voice quiet. “Nice, I mean.”

He shrugged a shoulder under the water, eyes glinting. “Even when I was just with someone I treated her with respect.”

“I ain’t one of them men who lies to get between a woman’s legs,” he added. “But I don’t play soft either. Some of ‘em said I was too much.”

Annie swallowed. “Too much?”

He tilted his head. “Too big. Too deep. Too in control.”

The words lingered in the air like heat on her skin.

She went completely quiet. Too quiet.

And Beau noticed immediately.

He sat up a little straighter, brow furrowing.

“Hey,” he said, voice gentle. “I’m sorry. Did I say too much?”

“No,” she said quickly, but her voice cracked a little.

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he rushed on, hand lifting slightly out of the water, eyes full of concern. “I–hell, sometimes I run my mouth and–”

“Beau,” she said again, firmer. “You didn’t.”

He blinked, caught off guard.

Their eyes locked and the air between them shifted. Something thick and unnamed crackling beneath the quiet.

Then Annie stood abruptly, clearing her throat. “I’m gonna go wait for you in the living room.”

She picked up his pants from the back of the chair and gently set them down. But just as she turned to walk away his hand caught her wrist. And she froze.

“Annie,” Beau said, voice low, almost cautious. “Look at me.”

She did, slowly.

And when her eyes met his he wasn’t smiling anymore. And neither was she.

He looked up at her with an expression so open, so calm and sure, it made her stomach twist.

“I’m glad I met you,” he said.

Her breath caught.

The words, the way he looked at her like she was the only thing in the room that mattered. They made her knees feel like they couldn’t hold her weight right.

She didn’t say anything. She couldn’t. Her throat had gone tight.

Beau kept his hand on her wrist. His eyes softened, but his voice didn’t lose its weight.

“You hear me?” he asked, quieter this time.

Annie nodded, flustered, her lips parted like she was trying to find the right words and came up empty.

That slow-burning tension that had been living between them for weeks, months, maybe even years, suddenly pressed in around them. It made her toes curl. Made her forget the room was still damp with steam.

His thumb brushed lightly along the inside of her wrist just once, and then he gave a slow, deliberate tug.

It was an invitation.

Her breath hitched, but she stepped toward him.

And he tugged again.

She followed.

He didn’t stop until she was standing right at the edge of the tub, chest rising and falling just a little too fast. She looked down at him, his eyes searching hers, holding her gaze like it was something sacred.

Without a word, he guided her down until she was bent just enough to bring them face to face.

Their breath mingled, warm and shallow.

“I want to show you how thankful I am for you,” he murmured, voice low and reverent. “If you’ll let me.”

Her lips parted, but she didn’t speak. She just nodded slowly.

“I need to hear you say it, Annie.”

And she whispered, barely audible, “Yes.”

That was all it took. His hand slid up to her shoulder, the other bracing lightly at her waist, and he leaned in, catching her mouth in a kiss so soft, so unhurried, it made something inside her come undone.

They’d kissed once before, years ago. Back when Beau first came to town. They drunk, drowning in their grief and leaning on one another. But this was not that.

His mouth moved over hers gently, like he was tasting something he’d waited too long for. Like he meant it.

And Annie she kissed him back. Hesitantly at first, then deeper.

Her fingers curled around the edge of the tub, her eyes fluttered shut, and her pulse beat in her throat.

The kiss stirred something in her chest, something she hadn’t felt in seven long years. It was like a flame relit in the ashes, heat spreading through her limbs, curling low in her belly, hot and insistent.

She was breathless by the time they parted.

He didn’t say a word. He just looked at her like she was the only truth left in a world full of lies.

And for a moment, she didn’t feel broken. Just wanted.

Annie’s chest rose and fell in shallow, heavy pulls. Her eyes were wide, dazed, mouth slightly parted like the kiss had cracked something deep and she was still reeling from it.

Beau just stared at her.

Stilled by what had just passed between them. By the heat still humming in his hands and the look on her face.

He opened his mouth, ready to say something, maybe even apologize, but before a single word could form, Annie surged forward and kissed him again. Harder this time. Needier.

His breath caught in surprise, but only for a heartbeat. Then he kissed her back.

Their mouths moved fast now, urgent and wild, lips parting and tongues meeting with a hunger that had been waiting too long. It wasn’t careful anymore, it was deep, open, a little messy. Even a little nasty.

Annie moaned into his mouth, her hand clutching the edge of the tub, her body shaking with every exhale. He slid his hands down from her shoulders to her waist, pulling her in tighter, pressing her against the rim of the tub.

She arched into him without thinking.

He pulled back just a little, trying to catch his breath, but she was already chasing his mouth, eyes heavy, lips wet, letting out the softest, breathiest whine.

The sound broke something loose in him.

“Come here,” he murmured, voice thick with heat.

He gripped the back of her thigh, fingers sinking into flesh, and tugged her toward him. And she didn’t hesitate to follow.

Annie stepped into the tub, clothes still on, water rising up to her calves, soaking instantly into the hem of her shirt and slip. She sank down into his lap like her body had been waiting for this since the night she first saw him working shirtless under the sun.

The water sloshed around them.

His hands found her waist again, and. Their mouths met again, slower this time. Not careful, but intentional.

She moaned again when he shifted beneath her, the warm slick of his skin against her soaked clothes driving her insane. He kissed her like he had nothing else to say, like this was the only language that made sense anymore.

Seven years of silence. Seven years of grief. Seven years of not being touched, not like this. Not like she mattered. Not like someone saw her and wanted her anyway.

She was here, fully clothed, soaking wet, straddling a man in a tub with his hands on her hips and his tongue in her mouth, and Annie didn’t feel ashamed.

She felt alive.

taglist: @queenofklonnie22 @theegyal @juniooox @lizbehave @jackierose902109 @thefutureemmywinner @shamansha, @rkiiives, @d1gitalb4rbie, @numb1smokeanniestan, @caramelplug

@margepimpson @underated345-blog @tnychellee @loveabledovee @kkbeauty86 @syko-jpg @thegreatlibraryofalex

#sinners fic #smoke x annie #annie sinners #smoke sinners #stack sinners #annie x smoke #elijah smoke moore #smokestack twins #annie x oc #smoke x oc #smoke x black oc

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dakusan · 10 hours ago

Text

📁 ASK DUMP 𓆩🩸𓆪 21 JULY 2025

HELLO, MY LOVES — WE’RE BACK.

Yes, I survived the concert. 10/10 life-changing, would sell my soul to relive it again. But now? We’re back in the pit where I belong—you, me, and way too many feral brainrot scenarios to get through.

Today’s dump is… long. Like, grab a drink, maybe a snack, maybe stretch your neck because holy hell... You absolute menaces fed me so well while I was gone, and now I’m catching up on every last filthy, soft, and downright evil ask you threw at me.

Strap in, angels. The chaos resumes.

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

ANON LOGGED: “BRAIN OFF BARGAIN”

OH, YOU ABSOLUTE RAY OF SUN, DON’T YOU DARE APOLOGISE.

First of all, let me just—shoves entire heart into your hands, no returns accepted—thank you for the kindest words.

Second of all, i'm SO SO SORRY for that, BUT, you'll probably see this when i post this ask dump, so when you do, please please please send me another ask so you can claim your emoji!!!!

NOW! let's get into that scenario:

⸺⟡⸺

BANG CHAN

“Oh, you want your brain off? Good. Don’t think. Don’t talk. You’re done making choices tonight.” He takes—carries you to the bed, undresses you like you’re porcelain, and works you open slowly, carefully, until you’re reduced to a pliant, breathless mess. He murmurs praise between every thrust, “Just feel me, sweetheart. I’ve got you. Let me do it all.” He won’t stop until you’re limp in his arms, satisfied, and so blissed-out you can barely form words.

LEE MINHO

Minho hears that muttered wish and smirks like a cat with cream. “Brain off, huh? Careful what you offer.” He spends hours keeping you right on the edge—hours of his fingers buried in you, mouth on your neck, every orgasm stolen at the last second. He watches you unravel, voice cracking, tears threatening, until you beg. Only then does he let you fall apart, and it’s devastating—your mind really does go blank when he finally allows it.

SEO CHANGBIN

Bin takes it literally: brain off means you don’t get to think because you’ll be too far gone to try. He’s relentless but so soft about it—lifting you, whispering encouragement, kissing your tear-streaked cheeks while his hands and hips keep pushing you through orgasm after orgasm. “I know, baby, I know. Just one more, you’re doing so good for me.” By the end, you’re incoherent, clinging to him while he rocks you through the aftershocks.

HWANG HYUNJIN

Hyunjin treats it like a holy mission. He spreads you out on silk sheets, kisses every inch of you until your frustration melts into need, then goes down on you like he’s praying—slow, reverent, utterly devoted. “I’ll give you nothing to think about except me,” he promises, and he does. You’re floating, boneless, head thrown back, and when you come, he keeps going, murmuring, “Let go. I’ll hold you through it.”

HAN JISUNG

“Ohhh, you want your brain off? Done.” Cue Jisung being a tease—making you laugh through kisses, cracking jokes while his fingers are so thorough, then shutting you up with a sharp, filthy tone when you get too squirmy. “What’s that? No thoughts? Then stop talking, baby.” He drags it out—denial mixed with overstimulation—until you’re a wreck, and then he ruins you with a grin. Aftercare is all cuddles and giggles, but during? He’s a menace.

LEE FELIX

Felix is so sweet about it you almost forget how much he’s destroying you. “Let me take care of you, angel.” His hands are everywhere, slow, steady, so focused on reading every reaction. He holds eye contact while he makes you cum again and again, whispering, “Shh, no more stress, baby. Just me. Just this.” By the time he’s done, you’re crying from how good it feels, and he wraps you in his arms like you’re fragile glass.

KIM SEUNGMIN

Seungmin treats it as a challenge. He sets a pace designed to dismantle you piece by piece—controlled thrusts, perfect rhythm, one hand on your throat. “You wanted your brain off, didn’t you? Just let me do this.” He’s merciless but not cruel; every touch is calculated to leave you slack-jawed and empty of thought. When you finally collapse, he smirks, wipes your tears, and says, “That’s better. Good girl.”

YANG JEONGIN

Jeongin starts soft “You’ve been working too hard, baby, let me take care of you.” But the second you melt under his first touch, something snaps. He’s hungry for you, kissing every inch like he’s been starving, murmuring praise between desperate breaths. “That’s it, just for me… pretty thing, don’t think, just feel.” He doesn’t stop—can’t stop—chasing orgasm after orgasm from you until you're trembling, sobbing his name, and barely holding on. When you finally go limp, he clutches you against his chest like you’re his entire world, whispering, “Good girl… my good girl… I’ve got you.”

⸺⟡⸺

THANK YOU FOR THIS ASK, YOU MENACE. You’ve officially branded my brain with this image, and I’m feral for it. I’m waiting for that new emoji drop—don’t leave me hanging. SEND IT. CLAIM YOUR SPOT. I’ll be watching. 👁️

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

sheerfreesia007 LOGGED: “LIPS JUST OUT OF REACH”

You come in here praising me, hyping me up, and then you casually drop THIS??? I should be mad at you for weaponizing my own vampire boys against me, but no—I’m grateful. You’re feeding me dinner, dessert, AND bloodwine with this one

⸺⟡⸺

BANG CHAN

He’s all control and soft menace—one fist tight in your hair, pulling you back until you’re arched, lips trembling just inches from his. His pace is brutal but steady, the kind that has you whining for him, and he smirks every time you try to chase his mouth. “You don’t get to have my lips yet. Be good, and maybe…” He finally kisses you only when you’re practically sobbing—deep, filthy, so intense it feels like oxygen returning to your lungs.

LEE MINHO

Minho pins you down with one hand, the other knotted in your hair, pulling so tight your scalp tingles. He leans close like he’s going to kiss you, lets his breath fan over your lips, then moves to your jaw, your throat, anywhere but your mouth. Every thrust is deliberately angled to wreck you. “Oh, you want this? Say it. Say how much you need me, sweetheart.” And when you finally break, begging, he still waits another few thrusts just to watch you cry for it.

SEO CHANGBIN

Bin looks guilty at first for being this mean, but it turns him on too much to stop. He pulls your hair back, kisses everywhere else—your neck, your temple, your shoulder—while thrusting into you with devotion. You’re gasping, pleading, and he whispers, “I know, baby, I know you want it… but you look so perfect like this, all desperate for me.” When he finally kisses you, it’s messy, consuming, and he holds you like he can’t get close enough.

HWANG HYUNJIN

Hyunjin makes it art. He pulls your hair so your throat’s bared like an offering, kisses your pulse just to feel it race under his lips, and whispers in that low voice of his, “You’re trembling for my kiss? God, you’re beautiful like this.” He denies you for ages, watching your eyes go glassy, until he finally kisses you slow and deep, groaning into your mouth like it’s as much a relief for him as it is for you.

HAN JISUNG

Jisung is infuriating. He pulls your hair, keeps you just out of reach, and laughs every time you try to chase him. “Aww, you want a kiss? Too bad, baby, you’re too cute like this.” His thrusts are messy, needy, and when you finally snap—yelling or begging—he kisses you so hard it’s almost punishing, like he’s been holding himself back the whole time too.

LEE FELIX

Felix tries to hold back, pulling your hair gently, murmuring, “Just focus on feeling me, angel.” But the longer you whine and squirm, the more desperate he gets. His restraint crumbles fast—he kisses your cheeks, your neck, everywhere but your lips, whispering apologies as he keeps you waiting. The second he finally kisses you, it’s everything—needy, soft, like he’s falling in love with you all over again.

KIM SEUNGMIN

Seungmin is clinical about it—he knows exactly what he’s doing. He pulls your hair just enough to control you, keeps his mouth a fraction away, and maintains a perfectly destructive pace. “Oh, you want it that bad? Cute.” He waits until you’re wrecked, shaking, begging, before kissing you, slow, passionate.

YANG JEONGIN

Jeongin doesn’t mean to be cruel—he’s just so overwhelmed by you he can’t stop himself. He pulls your hair to watch your pretty face, groaning, “You’re killing me.” He keeps kissing your cheek, your throat, whispering soft praises, but your lips? Off-limits until you’re crying his name. The second he finally kisses you, it’s sloppy, desperate, like he’s been holding back for himself as much as for you.

⸺⟡⸺

🩸 THANK YOU FOR THIS GLORIOUSLY FILTHY BRAINROT. You really sat there and thought, “what if they couldn’t kiss them?” and now my entire head is just feral vampires dangling kisses like a drug.

You feed me so well every time you drop in here—never stop 💋🦇

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

🎀 ANON LOGGED: “CHEATING AT ARM WRESTLING”

WELL FUCK, I haven’t seen this trend, but oh my god, do I love you for bringing it to me. Who even needs TikTok when I have feral anons dropping scenarios like this straight into my bloodstream? You win. I’m obsessed.

Because listen: vamp!SKZ + competitive games + sexual bribery? It’s over.

⸺⟡⸺

BANG CHAN

The zipper goes down, his eyes go wide, and he immediately starts laughing, shaking his head. “You little brat.” He absolutely lets you win, grinning the entire time, because he loves seeing you smug about it. But the second it’s over, he yanks you onto his lap, murmuring in your ear, “You think you get to just tease me like that? Cute. Now let me show you what losing really feels like.”

LEE MINHO

Minho doesn’t even blink when you unzip—he just smirks and tightens his grip on your hand. “Oh, you think that’ll work? Sweetheart, you’ll still lose.” …Except you don’t, because halfway through, he slows just to watch you squirm under his gaze, and you slam his hand down while he’s distracted. He lets you celebrate for exactly three seconds before dragging you onto the table, whispering, “Enjoy your win while you can, baby. You won’t be walking after this.”

SEO CHANGBIN

Bin’s strength? Gone. Completely gone. He catches one glimpse of lace and flushes so red he forgets to even push back. “W-Wait, that’s cheating!” he stammers, but you’ve already slammed his hand to the table. He groans, burying his face in his hands, but the second you lean over to gloat, he growls, “Fine. You won. Now take responsibility for what you started.”

HWANG HYUNJIN

Hyunjin gasps like you’ve scandalized him, “Oh, you’re shameless,” but his eyes are glued to you, pupils blown wide. He puts up a fight just long enough to make you sweat, then lets you win with a sly smile. “Congratulations, my muse. Now let me collect my prize.” Cue him flipping you onto your back immediately, muttering, “You really thought you were the only one playing dirty?”

HAN JISUNG

Jisung doesn’t even pretend to try. The second you unzip, his jaw drops, his ears go red, and he just… lets you push his hand down like he’s forgotten what arm wrestling is. “You win, you win, you win,” he blurts, practically bouncing in place. Then he lunges at you, whining, “Please, please let me have my prize right now, you can’t just tease me like that!”

LEE FELIX

Felix bites his lip, trying so hard not to stare, but the blush creeps all the way to his ears. “That’s not fair, angel…” His arm goes weak almost instantly, and you win with no effort. He hugs you immediately afterward, voice low and deep, “You really wanna play games like that? Okay, sweetheart. But you’d better be ready for me.”

KIM SEUNGMIN

Seungmin doesn’t react at first—he’s so smug, eyes locked on yours instead of your chest. “Really? That’s your strategy?” he teases, holding strong for a full minute just to make you sweat. But the second you lean forward a little more, his composure cracks, his arm falters, and you slam him down. He just smirks, leaning in close, “You’re lucky I let you win. Now come here and thank me properly.”

YANG JEONGIN

Jeongin goes beet red instantly. “Babe—what—!?” His arm literally gives out, and you win before he even tries to push back. He sits there stunned, mouth open, before blurting, “You can’t just—just do that and expect me to focus!” And then, of course, he tackles you to the floor two seconds later, growling, “You’re evil. So evil. I love it.”

⸺⟡⸺

🎀 THANK YOU FOR THIS. You are dangerous, and I adore you for it 💋🦇

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

☠️ ANON LOGGED: “YOU’RE NOT LEAVING THEM, FINE, I’LL BUY THEM”

welcome to the crypt, darling. You are now officially ☠️ anon, no take-backs.

And oh HELL YES we are answering this, because you’ve just poked the exact soft, feral nerve of vamp!SKZ. You think you can tell them, “I love you but I’m not leaving my family” and they’re just gonna… let you?

No. Absolutely not. These men are immortal, feral, rich as sin, and obsessed with you. They’re not just taking you—they’re taking your family, your debts, your sick relatives, your entire world and folding it neatly into their own.

⸺⟡⸺

BANG CHAN

Chan just smiles that terrifyingly soft smile and pulls you into his chest. “Baby… you think I’d ever make you choose? No. Tell me what they need, and I’ll make it happen.” Next thing you know, your family’s house is renovated, medical bills gone, and Chan’s already arranging private care for your sick relative. When you protest, he just kisses your hair, “You’re mine. That means they’re mine too.”

LEE MINHO

Minho looks at you like you’ve lost your mind. “You’re not abandoning them, sweetheart. I’ll just buy them everything they need.” He says it casually, like ordering takeout. And he does—hires private nurses, upgrades their home, even starts visiting them himself. He acts like it’s no big deal, but every time he catches you tearing up, he murmurs, “You’re allowed to love them. But you’re mine, and I take care of what’s mine.”

SEO CHANGBIN

Bin’s wrecked the moment you try to push him away for your family’s sake. He cups your face, voice breaking, “You don’t have to choose, baby. Please let me help.” He throws himself into it—paying off debts, making sure your family has everything. When you finally thank him, he blushes, kissing your forehead, “Anything for you. You’re all I care about.”

HWANG HYUNJIN

Hyunjin is dramatic about it—he drops to his knees, holding your hands like he’s praying. “Don’t do this. Don’t you dare think you have to leave me.” When you explain, his entire expression changes. Within a week, your family’s financial struggles vanish, and he’s sitting at your dinner table, charming your mother. “You belong with me, angel. And now, they’re safe enough for you to stay.”

HAN JISUNG

Jisung panics when you tell him. “Wait, wait, you can’t leave me—no, baby, I’ll fix it, I promise.” He’s the kind to cry while signing checks, literally begging you to stay. “I’ll pay for everything, I’ll do anything, just don’t leave me, okay? Please?” When your family’s cared for, he won’t stop clinging to you, whispering, “You’re stuck with me now. Forever.”

LEE FELIX

Felix’s soft heart can’t take it. He kisses your hands, eyes wide, “Angel, I’d never take you away from them. Tell me what they need—I’ll do it.” And he does, personally, with his sweetest smile. He visits, fixes everything, and treats them like they’re his family. You cry, and he just hugs you tight, whispering, “You’re mine, and they’re part of you. So they’re mine too.”

KIM SEUNGMIN

Seungmin scoffs when you explain. “You think I’d let you stay away over money? Over bills?” Within hours, your family’s debt is erased. He’s efficient, terrifyingly calm, and when you gape at him, he just smirks. “Problem solved. Now stop trying to run from me.”

YANG JEONGIN

Jeongin’s almost pleading. “Baby, please don’t leave me. Let me help—I can, I promise.” He throws himself into fixing everything, so proud every time you smile at him. When it’s all done, he wraps you in his arms, murmuring, “See? They’re safe now. You can stay with me forever, right?”

⸺⟡⸺

☠️ THANK YOU YOU GENIUS. may both sides of your pillow be cold and comfy 🦇💋

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

🥋 ANON LOGGED: “PETS & HYPERFIXATIONS — THE TRUE TRIAL OF LOVE”

Firstly: THANK YOU for trusting me with the taekwondo one and my feral lil heart is jumping knowing you loved it. Secondly: these two prompts? CHEF’S KISS and I’m writing both.

⸺⟡⸺

"THE PET DOESN’T LIKE ME? THEN I’LL WIN THEM OVER."

You have no idea how funny it is to watch vampires—literal predators—panic because your cat hisses at them.

Bang Chan (Dog) — Your retriever growls at him the first time, and Chan looks offended. Then he gets so serious about winning it over—buying premium treats, taking it for walks, learning its favourite toys. “I’ll make him love me, baby. Just watch.” Weeks later, you find them napping together on the couch, Chan smug as hell.

Lee Minho (Cat) — Your cat straight-up hates him, which drives him insane. He sits on the floor for hours, quietly bribing it with treats and whispering, “You’re not the boss of me, furball.” Eventually, the cat accepts him, and Minho smirks at you like he’s won a war.

Seo Changbin (Bunny) — Your rabbit bolts whenever Bin’s in the room, and it devastates him. He tries everything—quiet voice, hand-feeding veggies, building it a whole new hutch. When it finally hops onto his lap, he nearly cries, hugging you after, “I told you he’d love me!”

Hwang Hyunjin (Bird) — Your parrot keeps screeching at him, and Hyunjin is mortally offended. He starts bribing it with fruit, complimenting it, even mimicking its calls until it perches on his arm. He beams like he just won a crown.

Han Jisung (Hamster) — Your hamster bites him once and Jisung acts like he’s been stabbed. But he tries again, whispering to it every night, gently feeding seeds. When it finally curls up in his palm, he whispers, “Look, baby, he loves me now!”

Lee Felix (Ferret) — Your ferret steals from him constantly, and he lets it, laughing. He starts giving it shiny things on purpose, “If he wants to rob me, I’ll give him treasure.” It starts curling up on his chest eventually, and Felix is delighted.

Kim Seungmin (Cat) — Your cat swats him every time he gets close. Seungmin just stares it down, muttering, “You’ll love me eventually. You don’t get a choice.” And sure enough, a week later, the cat is asleep in his lap.

Yang Jeongin (Dog) — Your small dog barks nonstop at him, and he looks crushed. He spends every visit playing fetch, bribing with snacks, letting it jump all over him until finally it wags its tail at him. He beams like a proud kid, “Babe, he likes me now!”

"YOUR HYPERFIXATIONS ARE NOW THEIRS"

You info-dump about your latest obsession for three hours straight? They eat it up.

Chan — Encourages you endlessly. Buys books, equipment, whatever you need, and sits beside you, “Tell me more, baby. I love hearing you talk about what you love.”

Minho — Pretends to be bored, but secretly memorizes everything. Later, he casually references it and smirks when you stare, “What? I listen when you talk.”

Changbin — So excited for you, cheering you on, trying to join in even if he doesn’t fully get it. “Teach me, baby, I wanna be part of this with you.”

Hyunjin — Asks endless questions, loves watching you light up. Will paint or sketch things related to your fixation just to surprise you.

Jisung — Tries to dive all in with you—researching late at night, sending you random facts, texting, “LOOK I FOUND SOMETHING COOL ABOUT IT!”

Felix — Gentle, supportive, will literally build you things or set up cute little themed surprises based on your fixation.

Seungmin — Teases you, calls you a nerd, but always listens and secretly buys you related stuff. “Don’t get used to it.” (You absolutely do.)

Jeongin — Sits wide-eyed, fascinated, asking a million questions. Brags to others about how smart or passionate you are, like he’s your #1 fan.

⸺⟡⸺

Thank you 🥋 for this prompt. Vampires + pets? Vampires + hyperfixations?? This is peak softness, thank you for both prompts. Come again pls 💋🦇

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🌻 ANON LOGGED: “FERAL FANGS & HOLY WATER”

how dare you apologise???? NEVER APOLOGISE. NOT ALLOWED. Your Jisung brainrot? ALWAYS welcome. I want every unfiltered, feral thought you have. gimmie gimmie

also... holy hell, you just unlocked something in me.

⸺⟡⸺

Bang Chan — The chain around his neck swings with every thrust, sweat running down his abs as he slams into you hard enough to rattle the bed. His fangs are fully out, eyes glowing, fixed on where you take him, watching you stretch around him like it’s the only thing that matters. A low growl rumbles from his chest, and when you whimper his name, he leans in close, teeth grazing your throat. “You feel that, baby? That’s all mine. You’re all mine.”

Lee Minho — Minho’s got you folded, legs over his shoulders, pounding into you with precision. His fangs catch the light every time he snarls, eyes locked on the way your pussy's gripping him. When your back arches, he leans down, licking a stripe up your throat, then sinks his teeth in with a groan, fucking you through it while your pulse hammers against his tongue.

Seo Changbin — He’s relentless, slamming into you like he’s desperate to claim every part of you, but his soft heart is still there—his fangs brush your skin before sinking in, and he moans your name like a prayer. He watches you fall apart beneath him, voice hoarse, “Good girl, that’s it… let me have you.”

Hwang Hyunjin — Hyunjin’s feral but gorgeous about it—his hair sticking to his face, fangs glinting as he licks his lips between thrusts. He bites your shoulder, hard enough to bruise, then pulls back to watch the blood bead before groaning, “So perfect… all for me.”

Han Jisung — Oh, Jisung? A complete mess. He’s fucking you fast, hips slamming into yours, panting into your neck, fangs scraping as he fights not to bite too early. His pupils are blown wide, voice wrecked, “God, you’re driving me insane—just let me, please—” before finally sinking his fangs in and moaning like he’s been starved.

Lee Felix — Felix starts soft but quickly loses control, hips snapping harder, his fangs out fully now as he watches himself disappear into you. He murmurs through clenched teeth, “You’re taking me so well, angel, so good for me,” before finally giving in, biting into your throat with a needy groan that vibrates against your skin.

Kim Seungmin — Seungmin slams into you with perfect rhythm, keeping you pinned under him with one hand on your throat. His fangs scrape teasingly along your skin until you’re begging, and then he finally sinks them in, muffling a groan against your pulse, “Always taste this good, only for me.”

Yang Jeongin — Jeongin’s trying so hard to stay in control, but his hips are snapping into you too fast, too desperate. His fangs nick your skin as he growls your name, and when you gasp, he finally breaks, biting down fully with a muffled moan, “You’re mine, all mine.”

⸺⟡⸺

🌻 SEND ME EVERY SINGLE JISUNG BRAINROT YOU HAVE. THIS IS AN OFFICIAL THREAT.

thank you for this ask tho, love you 🦇💋

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🥀 ANON LOGGED: “THE LUXE HEALTH GALA INCIDENT”

THANK YOU for reading First Frenzy and for loving my feral mess of a Han.

As for your prompt? You just handed me such a hot and juicy scenario. Tight dress at a public Luxe Health event?? Everyone watching him try to keep control?? Seungmin sighing because “of course this is happening again”??

Oh babe. This one writes itself.

⚠️ WARNINGS: 18+ / NSFW — MINORS DNI, Public event tension → semi-public hallway sex (risk of being caught), Feral / needy dom Jisung (whiny but rough, impatient, desperate), Manhandling, Overstimulation, Possessive dirty talk, Light biting / vampire fangs (neck bite, mild bloodplay, pleasure-driven), Marking / bruising, Breeding undertones (implied), Slight degradation & praise mix, Crying / tearing up from overstim

⸺⟡⸺

The second you walk into the gala, Jisung’s jaw drops. That dress clings to you like it was painted on, hugging every curve, and you know exactly what you’re doing when you sashay across the room to greet Chan first.

Jisung is at your side in seconds, fangs biting into his lip to keep them hidden, voice low and strained. “Baby… what are you doing to me?”

You just smile sweetly, leaning in close enough for your perfume to hit him, whispering, “Nothing. Just being polite.”

He growls under his breath, one hand gripping your waist, his claws itching to dig in. People keep coming up to talk to him—donors, staff, investors—but his dark eyes never leave you. Every time you so much as shift your hips, he twitches, trying not to stare.

Across the room, Seungmin watches, pinching the bridge of his nose. “He’s not gonna last the night. I give him thirty minutes before he drags her out.”

Felix laughs, whispering back, “Fifteen.”

They’re both wrong. Jisung lasts ten.

You know the exact moment his patience snaps—his hand flexes against your waist, his jaw tight as his dark eyes lock onto you like you’re the only person in the room. One more polite laugh at someone’s boring donor story, one more sway of your hips in that tight, painted-on dress, and he’s done.

“We’re leaving.” His voice is strained, almost a growl, but there’s a desperate edge to it, like he’s seconds from breaking.

“Jisung, we can’t just—”

“We can. We are.”

He doesn’t wait for you to argue. His hand closes around your wrist, gentle enough not to bruise, but firm enough that you know there’s no arguing, and he’s dragging you out through the side hallway before anyone can notice you’re gone.

Behind you, Felix smirks knowingly, murmuring to Seungmin, “Told you.”

Seungmin just sighs. “At least he made it ten minutes.”

The moment the heavy door shuts behind you, Jisung loses it.

He slams you against the nearest wall, his body caging yours in, and the polite, charming façade from the gala is gone. His fangs are out, his pupils blown wide, and he’s breathing hard like he just ran a marathon.

“Baby, do you have any idea what you did to me in there?” His voice cracks on baby, half growl, half whine, as his hands slide down your sides, gripping your hips tight enough to bruise.

You open your mouth to tease him, but he cuts you off with a groan, burying his face against your neck for a second, almost like he’s trying to get himself under control.

“You wore that dress knowing exactly what it’d do to me. Sat there acting all polite and sweet while I was imagining bending you over that goddamn table.”

He pulls back, gaze dragging over your body, hungry, feral, desperate. His voice drops to a near-whisper, hoarse and trembling: “I need you. Right now. I can’t—fuck, baby, I can’t wait.”

Jisung doesn’t even bother trying to be careful. One sharp tug and the slit of your dress tears higher. His hands are everywhere at once—gripping, kneading, claiming—like he hasn’t touched you in months instead of mere hours. When he finally gets the dress bunched around your waist, he groans like it’s a relief, like he’s been physically in pain staring at it all night.

“God, I wanted to rip this off you in front of everyone.”

“Jisung—”

“No, don’t talk. Please. Just—fuck, I need you to let me have this.”

The second he frees his cock from his slacks, he slams into you with no warning, no slow easing in—just raw desperation. The first thrust makes you gasp, your back hitting the wall as he pins you there. “Fuck, you feel so good,” he groans, voice cracking. His forehead presses to yours, his expression wrecked as he thrusts into you harder, deeper, like he’s trying to bury himself so far inside you he’ll never leave.

“I’ve been sitting there all night, watching you smile at other people, pretending I wasn’t hard as a fucking rock under the damn table. You have no idea how bad I wanted to grab you right there.”

You moan his name, and that’s all it takes to make him lose what little control he had left.

“Yeah? You like this, baby? Hah—god, I’m not even going to last, you feel too good—” He cuts himself off with a strangled moan, his pace brutal, relentless, needy. His hands grip your thighs, hiking them higher around his waist, manhandling you into a better angle as he slams his cock into you harder.

“You think you can wear that dress and tease me like that and not get fucked stupid after? You’re mine. Say it.”

“I’m yours,” you gasp, barely holding on as your nails dig into his shoulders.

“Louder.” His voice cracks, whiny, needy, as if he physically needs to hear it.

“I’m yours, Jisung!”

His head falls back, a feral groan tearing from his throat as his pace somehow gets rougher, the sound of your bodies meeting echoing in the hallway.

You’re already close, your body trembling, and he feels it. His dark eyes snap down to where you’re clenching around him, pupils blown wide with pure, animalistic focus.

“Fuck, you’re squeezing me so tight—baby, cum for me, yeah? Cum on my cock, let me feel it, please, I need it—”

The please is whiny, desperate, and it’s what pushes you over. You shatter around him, your cry muffled as he bites down on your neck, his fangs sinking in just enough to pull a rush of heat through your body. The overstimulation is immediate, his hips still pounding into you even as you tremble, tears pricking the corners of your eyes.

“That’s it, baby, give it to me. I’m not done—fuck—I’m not stopping until I’ve had every drop of you.”

Your whole body shakes as he drives you through the orgasm, his hips snapping with a rhythm that’s almost punishing, and still—he doesn’t slow down.

“Jisung—too much, please—” you gasp, trying to squirm away from the relentless pace, but his grip on your thighs only tightens, dragging you back down onto him.

“No. You started this, baby. You take it,” he growls, but there’s that desperate whine threaded through his voice, his forehead pressed to your shoulder as his breath comes out in harsh, ragged pants. Your overstimulated nerves spark with every thrust, tears sliding down your cheeks as you whimper, and he groans loud at the sight of it.

“Fuck, look at you, shaking for me… God, you’re perfect—” His fangs drag against the bite mark on your neck, tongue flicking over it lazily before he sinks them in again, pulling another soft cry from your throat.

“I can’t—baby, I can’t hold it—” His pace turns erratic, slamming into you with every ounce of pent-up frustration from the gala, his chain swinging wildly between you. His voice cracks, needy and wrecked: “Gonna fill you up, yeah? Gonna give you every drop, fuck, you’re gonna take it, take all of me—”

Your name falls from his lips in a guttural groan as he buries himself deep, hips grinding against you as he spills inside, shuddering hard against you. His fangs stay buried in your neck, muffling his broken moans as he rides out every pulse, every last wave, until finally—finally—his movements slow.

When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, sweat-damp hair sticking to his temples, his breath coming out in heavy gasps. His eyes—still dark, still a little wild—search yours like he’s checking if you’re okay, even though he’s still pressed so deep inside you.

“You okay, baby?” His voice is hoarse now, softer, the feral edge dimming into something almost shy.

You nod weakly, your body still trembling against him, and a soft, guilty little smile tugs at his lips as he brushes his nose against yours.

“I’m sorry… kinda lost it, huh?” he murmurs, kissing the bite on your neck apologetically before pulling out slowly, carefully lowering you back to your feet.

Your legs almost give out immediately, and he catches you with a breathless laugh, cradling you against his chest like you’re made of glass.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Let me take you home, clean you up. Then—” his grin turns wicked, fangs glinting as he kisses your jaw, “—I’ll apologize properly. In bed. Slowly this time.”

⸺⟡⸺

🥀 THANK YOU FOR THIS MEAL. This man was made to lose his mind over you in public, and now it’s canon in my head forever.

Keep feeding me thoughts like this, please 🦇💋

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🧁 ANON LOGGED: “HAN JISUNG ON LOVE ISLAND — LORD HAVE MERCY”

welcome officially, Taylor! You are now 🧁 anon. Thank you for coming out of lurk status to bless me with this absolute gift of a brainrot.

And i must say.... Jisung on a Love Island type show? Shirtless? Tattoos out? Episode one fucking?? Baby, you’ve just given me a new religion. and you most definitely should BIAS HIM. LET HIM WIN.

⸺⟡⸺

The producers didn’t expect him to be the first one to cause chaos.

Han Jisung arrived on the island looking nothing like the others—no perfectly styled hair, no flashy outfits. Just a loose white tank top hanging off his shoulders, messy brown hair, and those tattoos inked across golden skin that caught in the sunlight.

The cameras loved him immediately. So did everyone else.

“He’s… not what I expected,” one girl said in her interview, fanning herself. “I thought he’d be shy, but he’s got this… thing. Like, you can’t stop looking at him.”

And they weren’t wrong.

Because Jisung—slouching on the poolside couch, laughing at something dumb, barely trying—had every single contestant sneaking glances at him. But you? You were the one who caught his attention.

He found you in the outdoor kitchen after dinner, leaning against the counter with a drink in hand. His lazy grin widened as he sauntered over, that finals-week college boy energy radiating off him.

“So,” he said, voice low enough the mic barely caught it, “you’ve been staring all night. Wanna just get it out of your system now, or should I make you wait another day?”

You nearly choked on your drink. “Excuse me?”

He leaned closer, grin turning feral. “Don’t play innocent. You want me. Everyone here does. But I’m only interested in you.”

...

The audio is muffled, but the scene is clear enough—Jisung pressed against you in the dark corner of the villa’s patio, his hands gripping your hips, tank top pushed up to reveal that big tattoo spanning across his entire side while he ruts into you like he doesn’t care the cameras might catch.

“Fuck, baby,” his voice cracks, whiny and wrecked, forehead pressed to yours. “Couldn’t wait, I told you—had to have you now. You’re mine, yeah? Say it for me.”

Your head falls back, a soft moan slipping out as you whisper it, and Jisung groans so loudly it has to be muted for broadcast.

When the episode ends, the teaser for the next one flashes across the screen: “IS THIS THE SPICIEST FIRST-NIGHT COUPLE EVER?”

And Jisung, in his confessional, just smirks at the camera and shrugs, tank top hanging off his shoulder.

“What? She’s hot. You expect me to wait a week?”

⸺⟡⸺

🧁 THANK YOU FOR THIS DELICIOUS PROMPT, TAYLOR. You cracked open my brain with “Love Island Jisung” and now I can’t stop picturing him all lazy, and absolutely feral. And uh—oopsie, cocky Han came out for a sec there😏. Couldn’t help it. Enjoy the menace, babe, you brought this out of me—and him 💋🦇

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🍪 ANON LOGGED: “THUNDERSTORM COMFORT, MINHO EDITION”

my sweet cookie, welcome back. Listen to me very carefully: there is no such thing as too much Minho prompts. You are legally required to keep feeding me these because every single one infects me with the same virus.

And THIS ONE? Perfect.

⸺⟡⸺

The rain lashes against the windows, and every crack of thunder makes you flinch deeper into the blankets. You hate storms—always have—and of course tonight’s is the worst one yet, lightning splitting the sky every few seconds.

You try to stay quiet, but the next loud crack pulls a shaky gasp from your throat.

“…You’re trembling.”

The voice comes from the armchair in the corner, smooth and calm, almost amused. Minho sets down his book, eyes catching the flicker of lightning as he studies you. His expression is unreadable, but there’s a softness there he never shows anyone else.

“Come here,” he says simply, patting his lap.

You hesitate for half a second—long enough for his eyebrow to lift in that infuriatingly smug way. “I wasn’t asking.”

The second you climb onto his lap, he pulls you in tight, tucking you against his chest like you weigh nothing. His scent—rich, clean, that faint metallic edge of vampire—wraps around you as his cool hand strokes slowly down your back.

“Scared of a little thunder, sweetheart?” His tone is teasing, but quiet, his lips brushing the top of your head.

“It’s not little,” you mumble, hiding your face in his shirt as another crack shakes the room.

Minho hums, the tips of his fingers dragging lightly over your spine in a way to calm you and send a calm shiver through you. “Good thing you’ve got me, then. Nothing’s getting to you while I’m here.” You feel the faintest brush of his fangs against your temple, and then his voice softens, almost a whisper: “Sleep, darling. I'm not letting go of you, I'll tear the storm apart before it even tries to touch you.”

The next thunderclap barely makes you flinch—his arms tighten around you instantly, and you fall asleep with his hand idly tracing patterns on your back, his heart (slow but steady) thrumming against your cheek.

⸺⟡⸺

🍪 THANK YOU FOR THIS, COOKIE. if you ever think you’re requesting too much Minho? Shut up and keep doing it, please 💋🦇

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🧋 ANON LOGGED: “FAVOURITE POSITIONS”

my cute boba anon! you KNOW exactly how to send me spiralling, and bless you for it. This is about to be so filthy I’m practically vibrating!!!!!!!

⸺⟡⸺

BANG CHAN

Favourite Position: Modified Missionary (legs pinned to your chest) — so he can keep his eyes locked on you and hit deep. His hand stays on your throat or your hips to keep you exactly where he wants you.

Quickies? Yes, but purposeful. Chan can make you cum in under five minutes if he has to—one hand, two fingers, precise grinding of his hips.

Preferred Style: Long sessions, overstimulation. He loves drawing orgasm after orgasm from you until you’re crying, his voice low and steady: “That’s it, baby. Give me another. You can do it.”

LEE MINHO

Favourite Position: Doggy style (face-down, ass-up) — he likes you pinned, unable to squirm away, so he can grind as deep and slow (or rough) as he pleases.

Quickies? Absolutely not. He’ll tease you relentlessly instead of rushing. “Patience, sweetheart. You’re not getting off that easy.”

Preferred Style: Edging & Denial. He’ll keep you on the brink for hours, pulling orgasm after orgasm when he finally lets you go, whispering smugly: “There it is. Knew you’d break for me.”

SEO CHANGBIN

Favourite Position: Lotus (sitting in his lap, wrapped around him) — because he loves the closeness, feeling every tremor as you cum.

Quickies? Not his favourite, but he’ll do them if you ask,.

Preferred Style: Loving destruction. Changbin won’t stop until you’re sobbing and clinging to him, whispering praise the whole time: “So good for me, baby. Just one more, yeah? You can give me one more.”

HWANG HYUNJIN

Favourite Position: Cowgirl (him lying back, letting you ride) — because he loves watching you, hands gripping your thighs, whispering soft praises. But when he gets feral? He flips you into doggy, pulling your hair as his control snaps.

Quickies? Rare. Hyunjin prefers to worship you for hours.

Preferred Style: Slow burn to feral overstimulation. He starts soft, begging you to let him make you feel good, but ends up pounding into you, voice breaking: “I can’t stop, sweetheart. You feel too good.”

HAN JISUNG

Favourite Position: Doggy or Standing Against a Wall — because he gets feral seeing your ass bounce as he slams into you.

Quickies? Oh YES. Jisung is a quickie menace—he loves seeing how fast he can make you cum, whiny and breathless the whole time: “Baby, please, I need you now, fuck, you’re so wet for me already—”

Preferred Style: Filthy overstimulation, whiny praise. He’ll try to make you cum as many times as he can, getting more desperate every time: “One more, baby, please, give me one more, you’re so perfect.”

LEE FELIX

Favourite Position: Spooning — he loves holding you close, whispering sweet things in your ear while grinding deep. But when he’s needy, reverse cowgirl so he can watch you fall apart.

Quickies? Only if you initiate.

Preferred Style: Gentle but devastating overstimulation. Felix is so sweet while completely ruining you, his voice soft: “Shh, angel, I’ve got you. Let me make you feel good.”

KIM SEUNGMIN

Favourite Position: Flat on your back, legs over his shoulders — for maximum control and maximum teasing.

Quickies? Yes, but only to tease you. He’ll make you cum fast just to leave you needy for more later.

Preferred Style: Calculated overstimulation. Seungmin is cruel in how precise he is—“Stop squirming, baby. You’re not done yet.”—but soft aftercare afterward.

YANG JEONGIN

Favourite Position: Against the Wall or Prone Bone — he likes pinning you, keeping you trapped under his weight or caged against the wall, where you can’t move and have to take everything he gives you

Quickies? Hell yes, but they’re intense. The kind where he has one hand locked around your throat or gripping your jaw, whispering, “You started this baby. Take it.”

Preferred Style: Possessive, feral overstimulation. Jeongin loses his sweet-boy act the second he’s inside you—his pace rough, his voice low and dangerous. “You’re mine. Say it. Louder.” He won’t stop until you’re shaking, and when you sob his name, he just groans against your neck, “So perfect for me. Not letting you go until I’ve ruined you.”

⸺⟡⸺

🧋 THANK YOU, BOBA ANON, YOU ABSOLUTE MENACE OF PLEASURE. This ask was juicy, hot and filthy. Bless your delicious brain. Come back anytime with more 💋🦇

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🦭 ANON LOGGED: “HAN'S FIRST FRENZY”

EHEHEHEHEH giggling, kicking my feet like an idiot — I told you I’d use that idea and I DID AAAAAH!!! The fact that you snuck-read it at work?? ICONIC BEHAVIOUR. I’m so, so happy you loved it because your prompt was chef’s kiss perfection. Childhood friends to lovers + vamp!Han = my kryptonite, and YOU made it happen.

I’m holding your face in my hands through the screen, whispering: thank you for feeding me this brainrot, you absolute treasure

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🌧️ ANON LOGGED: “STARRY ROOFTOP CONFESSIONS”

HI HI HI!!! Thank you so much, sweetheart... i have to say, the concert? LIFE CHANGING. SOUL ASCENDING. HEAVEN INCARNATE. TAKE ME BACCCCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKK.

i'm fine.

ignore me

let's get into the prompt!

⸺⟡⸺

BANG CHAN

You’re tucked under his arm, the blanket draped over both of you. Chan presses soft, lingering kisses to your hairline, his thumb tracing lazy circles on your shoulder. “I’ve liked you for… a long time, you know,” he says quietly, almost like he’s afraid to break the moment. His forehead rests against yours, his lips brushing yours every time he exhales. When you kiss him—slow, sweet, soft—he melts, smiling into it like he’s finally allowed to breathe.

LEE MINHO

Minho’s lying flat on his back, one arm pillowing his head, the other lazily curled around your waist. His kiss is unhurried but deep, his fingers gripping your hip under the blanket when you shift closer. “You’re dangerous, you know that?” he murmurs against your mouth, smirking even as his ears flush pink. “Because now I can’t stop thinking about you. Not that I want to.” When you kiss him again, he smiles against your lips, pulling you closer.

SEO CHANGBIN

Changbin keeps glancing at you between kisses, his chest heaving like he’s working up courage. When he finally pulls back, his hand cups your cheek so tenderly it makes your chest ache. “I’m serious about you,” he says, voice low but firm. “More serious than I’ve ever been about anything.” You kiss him back, slower, softer, and he exhales shakily against your lips, smiling like you just gave him the world.

HWANG HYUNJIN

Hyunjin kisses you like he’s memorizing you—soft, languid, his fingers threading through your hair as the stars reflect in his eyes. He pulls back just far enough to breathe, his voice barely audible. “You’re so beautiful under the stars. Like you belong up there.” When you blush, he chuckles softly, kissing you again, slower, deeper, as if to prove he meant every word.

HAN JISUNG

Jisung is giggly at first, pressing quick, soft pecks to your lips, forehead, and nose, until he catches your mouth in a long, lazy kiss. His cheeks are warm, his hands clumsy where they rest at your waist. “You make me feel… different,” he admits against your lips, his voice cracking slightly. “Like I wanna be better just so I can keep kissing you like this.” When you kiss him back harder, he groans softly, laughing into it, “God, I’m so gone for you.”

LEE FELIX

Felix cups your face in both hands, kissing you like you’re fragile—slow, tender, full of adoration. When he pulls back, his freckles catch the faint starlight, his smile soft but so bright it hurts to look at him. “I love this,” he whispers. “You. Us. I don’t ever wanna stop.” You kiss him again, and he hums happily, resting his forehead against yours, his thumb stroking your cheek as if to commit every second to memory.

KIM SEUNGMIN

Seungmin’s kisses are controlled at first, soft and careful, but his hand trembles slightly where it rests against your jaw. When he pulls back, he looks away briefly, his voice quieter than usual. “You’re… more important to me than I planned for you to be.” When you pull him back in for another kiss, deeper this time, he exhales against your mouth, finally relaxing into it, his thumb brushing over your cheek with aching gentleness.

YANG JEONGIN

Jeongin can’t stop smiling, even between kisses—soft, lingering, featherlight. When he finally pulls back, his eyes dart to yours, full of something unspoken until he blurts it out. “I think I like you too much. Like… can’t-think-straight too much.” You laugh softly against his lips, kissing him again, and he groans happily, tightening his arm around you under the blanket like he never wants to let you go.

⸺⟡⸺

🌧️ YOU GENIUS, YOU ABSOLUTE GEM. This prompt was like… cinematic poetry, and I ate it up like it was the last meal on earth. You’re officially responsible for me kicking my feet and sighing like a lovesick idiot while writing this—hope you’re happy 💋🦇

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breatheforchan LOGGED: “CHAN = OXYGEN (REAL)”

OMG YOU SWEETIEEEEEE!!! 😭😭😭 screaming, spinning, launching myself through a wall—you haven’t even read anything yet and you’re already being this NICE?? I love you. I LOVE YOU.

And your username???? Be so fucking for real right now—you’re correct. Chan is oxygen. Man opens his mouth once and we all forget how to breathe, so honestly? Valid username. 10/10

I hope your day is as amazing as you just made mine, and when you do dive into the chaos… oh babe, you’re not leaving. Welcome to the pit, I’ve got snacks and feral brainrot ready for you 😏💀

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🍯 ANON LOGGED: “THE DEATH OF PEACE OF MIND = VAMP!SKZ ANTHEM”

cough cough... WELCOME TO THIS HORNY INFESTED BLOG MY HONEY-SWEET MENACE.

OH. MY. GOD. YES. YES. YES. The second I read The Death of Peace of Mind my brain exploded because you’re SO RIGHT. That song is literally vamp!SKZ coded to hell and back.

You just know, Chan is pacing like a caged animal, Minho is sharpening knives out of pure frustration, Jisung is whining into a pillow, Felix is staring at your last text like it’s scripture...

Also—THANK YOU FOR JOINING THE PATREON, HONEY, I COULD KISS YOU (forehead kisses with consent always) 🥹💛 . You’re feeding me so well, and I love you for it. And YES, I have to confirm that I did in fact scream VERY LOUD.

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🐝 ANON LOGGED: “NERVOUS BEE JOINS THE HIVE WITH LOVE & BLEEDS FOR THE ALTAR”

🐝 CLAIMED — HI MY PRETTY BEE!!!

First of all—STOP BEING NERVOUS, COME HERE, LET ME HUG YOU. You’re already in the hive, no take-backs. I love you for this, I love you for showing up and saying such sweet things, and I love that you’re willing to “bleed dry at the altar”

Also, FUN FACT: I really, really love bees. They literally recognize human faces—like, bees can look at you and go “oh hey, that’s my favourite person.” Absolutely unnecessary fun fact, but now you have it, you're welcome.

Also, please take your time, get comfy, and whenever you send that first ask? I’ll be here, buzzing happily, waiting for you. Welcome to the chaos, pretty bee 🐝💛 you're safe here 💋🦇

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ANON LOGGED: “VAMP FERTILITY & BABY CHAOS 101”

OH THIS WAS SUCH A GOOD QUESTION—thank you for asking, sweetheart, and don’t you DARE be nervous. You are safe here 🦇💋

But yes, you’re exactly right: vampires are basically infertile until they find their soulmate. Like, their bodies are locked until the bond kicks in—biology literally refuses to work because vampire reproduction isn’t casual, it’s cosmic-level destiny.

I have covered most of it here 👉🏻 Can Vampires Have Babies? // The Soulmate Bond // Vampire DNA

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ANON LOGGED: “THE PRINCE OF TEETH MELTS UNDER SOFT HANDS”

hi baby! yes, you are now 🩷 anon forever, and I LOVE YOU for feeding me prompts like this. Never, ever think you’re too weird or personal—this is literally the GOOD STUFF.

Mini side note: our vamp boys were born vampires (except Jisung, he's a whole different breed LOL, check out: Vampire!Skz Lore: Origin + Character Files), but the idea of Minho growing up feared, avoided, and treated like he was nothing but a weapon? Oh, that’s canon now.

⸺⟡⸺

Minho doesn’t do softness. Not for anyone.

The world has never given him a reason to. Even as a child, people stepped away when he entered a room, mothers yanked their children back, whispers followed him like a shadow. Abnormal. Dangerous. Too sharp to love.

And fine, maybe he became exactly what they thought he was. Cold. Distant. A weapon for the Luxe Health empire. A man who smiled only when he was hunting.

So when he growls out, “You should leave me before I hurt you,” it’s not a threat. It’s a warning. A promise he fully believes he’ll have to keep.

But you don’t leave.

You sit beside him on the couch, ignoring the way his eyes track you warily, like a wild animal waiting for the trap to spring. Your voice is soft, warmer than anything he’s ever deserved.

“Minho… do you really think I’m scared of you?”

He scoffs, looking away, jaw tight. “You should be.”

“I’m not.”

You move closer, close enough to feel the way his body tenses under the blanket you’ve thrown over both of you. Your fingers slide gently into his hair, combing through the dark strands, and that’s when it happens. The breath he didn’t realize he was holding escapes in a shaky exhale. His shoulders drop. His sharp edges soften just slightly under your hands.

“You’re allowed to let me do this, you know,” you whisper, still carding your fingers through his hair. “You’re allowed to be cared for.”

Minho doesn’t answer, but his head slowly tips against your shoulder, his pride warring with the aching, desperate little boy who never got this kind of touch. When your arms slide around him, pulling him fully into your chest, he melts.

And suddenly, it's quiet. Neither of you speak, and the only sound is the quiet hum of your heartbeat under his ear. But, Minho is the first to break the silence, his voice quiet, muffled against your neck.

“If anyone else touched me like this… I’d tear them apart.”

You smile, pressing a kiss to his hair. “Good thing I’m not anyone else, then.”

Minho doesn’t smile often. But he does now—just barely, small and soft, the kind of smile reserved only for you. The only person he allows to see his softer side.

⸺⟡⸺

🩷 THANK YOU, MY SWEET PINK HEART. Minho being all sharp edges and cold walls until you just… touch his hair and all his armour cracks? DELICIOUS. come back again 💋🦇

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ANON LOGGED: “SKZ HARD LIMITS — SEXUAL & NON-SEXUAL”

OH THIS IS SUCH A JUICY ASK—thank you, sweetheart, for trusting me with it.

Also, thank you for the kind words, you absolute angel—I’m gonna do this properly because their limits (sexual and emotional) are so tied to who they are as people.

⸺⟡⸺

BANG CHAN

Sexual Hard Limits: Extreme degradation (he’ll dirty talk, but outright humiliation? No.), blood play (vamp AU aside, he’s too careful with your body), anything involving risk of actual injury.

Non-Sexual Hard Limits: Silent treatment (his anxiety would spiral instantly), manipulation (he’s obsessive about consent and honesty), and you putting yourself in danger without telling him.

LEE MINHO

Sexual Hard Limits: Anything that feels performative or fake—he hates being treated like a “fantasy.” No sharing, ever. Breath play only if you’re fully grounded.

Non-Sexual Hard Limits: Breaking promises. He’s cold on the outside, but loyalty is everything to him; betrayal or lying would destroy him.

SEO CHANGBIN

Sexual Hard Limits: Anything that feels too mean—he can spank, overstim, edge you, but he won’t degrade you past what’s playful. Knife play is an absolute no.

Non-Sexual Hard Limits: You self-neglecting—he cannot stand watching you skip meals or run yourself into the ground. Also, shouting matches; he’d rather talk than raise his voice at you.

HWANG HYUNJIN

Sexual Hard Limits: Anything that removes intimacy—he can do rough, he can do impact play, but soulless sex or ignoring aftercare is a hard no.

Non-Sexual Hard Limits: Dismissiveness. If you belittle his art or feelings, even jokingly, it’ll cut deeper than anything else.

HAN JISUNG

Sexual Hard Limits: Humiliation kinks—no chance. He’s already insecure enough; sex is his safe space. Also, anything involving sharing—you’re his, period.

Non-Sexual Hard Limits: Mocking his sensitivity. Even if he laughs it off, it’ll sit in his chest for days. And leaving without explaining why? Instant panic spiral.

LEE FELIX

Sexual Hard Limits: Anything rooted in cruelty or humiliation. He refuses to degrade you, slap your face, or push you past your mental/emotional limits.

Non-Sexual Hard Limits: Emotional withdrawal. He thrives on constant affection; long silences, coldness, or shutting him out would break him.

KIM SEUNGMIN

Sexual Hard Limits: Non-consensual pain—he likes control, but he’ll never push you past a safe word. Anything involving fear play is an instant no.

Non-Sexual Hard Limits: Dishonesty. He has a low tolerance for bullshit—lie to him once, and it’ll take ages to rebuild trust.

YANG JEONGIN

Sexual Hard Limits: True harm or non-consensual fear. He’ll push you to your breaking point—tears, bruises, overstim shaking—but he won’t actually injure you or cross a boundary you haven’t explicitly given him.

Non-Sexual Hard Limits: Actual betrayal or lying to him. For someone so control-obsessed, trust is everything—break it, and you’ll never get back into his inner circle.

⸺⟡⸺

THANK YOU, SWEET ANON, FOR THIS PERFECT PROMPT. I tried to be as accurate as possible. Keep feeding me these, come again, you're welcome any time 💋🦇

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ANON LOGGED: “CHILDHOOD FRIENDS TO LOVERS JEONGIN”

This is SO SWEET my heart actually did a little flip reading it. Childhood friends Jeongin? Doing couple things without realizing they’re basically already dating?? Until he finally confesses?? ADORABLE.

Consider it officially added to my Sunday Softdrops list—I promise to make it as cute and romantic as you dreamed. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for dropping such a lovely idea 🥹💙. Stay tuned, baby, i aim to make this tooth rotting 💋🦇

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🎧 ANON LOGGED: “CONCERT FIT REVEAL”

i want to welcome you officially, my music-coded menace to this BLOODSOAKED LIL CORNER OF TUMBLR. EMOJI CLAIMED BABY.

also, THANK YOU for rereading the tattoo series and the concert rant three times?? (THREE TIMES??) You’re feeding my ego in ways it doesn’t deserve. I love you 🩷

SECOND—you asked for outfits, so HERE YOU GO, BASIC AS HELL BUT FUNCTIONAL OKAY??

Friday Fit: White flowy shirt (mostly off by mid-concert lmao), black cropped tank, sparkly jeans, platform converse, WOLFCHAN EVERYWHERE

Saturday Fit: Same black tank (because yes, I’m lazy), different jeans, vans (bcz my feet died in the converse), still wore the white shirt but it lasted 0.3 seconds before I got sweaty and ditched it

They're not.... wow nor vamp!SKZ-coded. B U T ... do they pass the "writing and worldbuilding" vibe check? 😭 it's okay if they don't, DON'T LIE TO ME 🫣

outfit is probs why I gave Han a little crush... LET ME BE DELULU, I'M ALLOWED

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🍀 ANON LOGGED: “WEED + BLOOD = SHARED HIGH & NEEDY VAMP SEX”

MY BELOVED DERANGED CLOVER, YOU GENIUS. YES. YES. YES. I’m already losing my mind.

Vamp!SKZ can absolutely get contact-high through blood—if you’re high, they taste it. And Abnormals? Their bodies amplify everything, so they’d feel it even harder than you.

Reader = needy, touch-starved, high as hell.

Vamp = drinking you slow, groaning into your skin as the high hits them too.

The idea of Chan or Minho growling “fuck, you’re making me feel it too, angel—so warm, so soft” while they’re rutting into you?? AND THEY’RE BOTH LAUGHING AND GROANING CUZ IT FEELS TOO GOOD?? DEAD.

FUCK ME, READ BELOW , I AM GOING INSANE

⸺⟡⸺

You weren’t planning on this.

It started as a lazy evening, curled up on the couch, warm smoke curling in the air. Your brain was already fuzzy, your body sinking deeper into the cushions, when you mumbled, voice soft and slow: “God, I feel so warm. Like… melting.”

And that’s when he looked at you. Your vampire. His sharp eyes lingered on the soft flush of your cheeks, the lazy smile tugging at your lips, the way your heartbeat stuttered and purred under your skin.

“What did you just say?” His voice was low, curious, dangerous.

You blinked up at him. “I just… feel good. You should try it.”

That’s all it took.

Bang Chan

Chan kneels between your legs, his lips brushing your throat. “You want me to taste it, baby? Want me to feel what you’re feeling?” When his fangs sink in, he groans against your skin immediately, his hips rutting into yours like he can’t stop himself. “Oh, fuck—god, you’re so warm—too warm—shit, it’s in my head already.” You’re giggling, tugging at his hair, and he’s whining into your neck, “You’re gonna ruin me like this. Can’t think straight. Need to feel you everywhere.”

Lee Minho

Minho tries to stay composed—tries—but the second your blood hits his tongue, his head tips back with a quiet, feral moan. “Fuck, you taste high, darling—sweet, slow, dizzying…” His hand clamps on your jaw, forcing you to look at him as his pupils blow wide. He takes you apart with surgical precision, but there’s a shake to his hands, his calm cracking as he presses his forehead to yours. “You feel this? You’re inside me too now. You’ve infected me.” His thrusts get rougher, desperate. “You’re mine. Even like this.”

Seo Changbin

Changbin bites you and instantly bursts out laughing—deep, shocked, breathless laughter. “Holy shit—oh, fuck—this is insane—” And then he’s gone. Feral. His thrusts are hard, relentless, his teeth dragging over your throat again. “You taste so fucking good like this, baby, so sweet, I can’t stop—god, you’re shaking, I love you like this—” He buries his face in your neck, groaning with every snap of his hips. “You’re better than any high. You’re mine, all mine.”

Hwang Hyunjin

Hyunjin sinks his fangs into you slow, almost gentle, soft. His pupils are blown wide, his expression dazed. “You taste like colours,” he whispers, kissing the bite mark. “Like… honey, like heat. Fuck, you’re painting me from the inside.” He makes love to you like he’s worshiping, but his body trembles, his moans soft and desperate. “I can feel you in my veins. You’re everywhere. Don’t ever take this away from me.”

Han Jisung

Jisung laughs against your skin when he bites you, his fangs dragging teasingly. “Holy shit—you’re buzzing, baby. Your blood is humming in me. Oh my god, I’m high off you.” He gets whiny fast, rutting into you messily, kissing you between gasps. “You’re so soft, fuck, I can’t stop—please don’t make me stop.” When you moan his name, he groans like you just made him cum, mumbling into your neck, “I’m addicted. You’re worse than any drug.”

Lee Felix

Felix’s first groan is low, soft, filthy—his forehead pressing to your shoulder as he moans your name. “Oh, angel, you taste… holy fuck, you’re intoxicating. It’s like sunshine and sin.” He ruins you slowly, whispering praise between soft growls, “That’s it, baby, cum for me. You’re so good, taking me so well. One more for me, yeah? Please, I need it, you feel too good like this.” And when you finally break, he kisses you through it, breathless, “You’re my favourite drug, angel. My only one.”

Kim Seungmin

Seungmin starts slow, biting you with precise control. But the second the high kicks in? His grip on your hips tightens, his rhythm sharpens. “Oh, you didn’t tell me it’d feel this good,” he murmurs, voice dark. “You’re messing me up, sweetheart.” When you whimper his name, he smirks, tilting your chin to make you look at him. “Say it louder. I want to hear you. You got me drunk on you, now you’re going to take everything I give you.”

Yang Jeongin

Jeongin takes one slow sip, then smirks like the devil himself. “Oh, baby, you taste delicious like this. Sweet. Slow. Shaky. Perfect.” He pins you down, calm and terrifyingly controlled despite the haze in his own eyes. “Look at you—already ruined and I’ve barely started. You’re high, I’m high, and I’m still going to make you beg for it.” When you sob his name, his smile sharpens, his hand gripping your jaw. “Good girl. Now let me see how many times I can make you cum before this wears off.”

⸺⟡⸺

honestly, 🍀 anon, the second I read your ask, my brain just short-circuited—high, needy reader + shared blood intoxication?? fuck yeah. it needed to be written, and honestly i might have to actually write this whole thing out properly.... 👀. Keep rotting with me forever, okay? 💋🦇

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💌 ANON LOGGED: “VAMP!SKZ x ANXIOUS SOULMATE — PANIC ATTACK CARE”

Hi baby!! 🩷 THANK YOU for the sweetest words—you have no idea how much it means to me that these stories are bringing you comfort, that’s exactly why I write them.

And no need to apologize at all! You can find your full answer here 👉🏻 📁 ASK DUMP 𓆩🩸𓆪 18 JUNE 2025 , it’s the 8th ask in that post.

💌 Thank YOU for asking this, sweetheart. Sending you the biggest hug 💋🦇

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🪽 ANON LOGGED: “BINGING BLOOD LORE & FALLING FOR THE SQUID GAMES AU”

WELCOME, MY SWEET ANGEL!!

i must say, i'm impressed, cuz.... WDYM YOU BINGED THE WHOLE MASTERLIST IN A NIGHT?? I’m kissing your forehead through the screen right now. You absolute legend!

Thank you for letting me feed you—I promise to keep serving feral brainrot until we all combust into glitter

And YESSS, you saw right—the SKZ Squid Game AU is 100% sitting in my evil little notebook 😈, no spoilers tho 💋

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👾 ANON LOGGED: “PROFESSIONAL MANAGER!READER MAKES CHAN LOSE HIS MIND”

honestly... i'm staring at the title i just put for your ask and it sounds like a damn porno title...

MOVING ON

WELCOME, LITTLE ALIEN, emoji claimed on the anon roster, forever, no take backs! Your prompt? DELICIOUS, let's get into it!!!

⸺⟡⸺

You were always professional. Too professional.

“Bang Chan-ssi, your water.” “Bang Chan-ssi, five minutes until soundcheck.” “Bang Chan-ssi, please don’t strain your voice today.”

Sweet, careful, respectful—it made Chan’s teeth itch.

You weren’t cold, not really. You smiled at the members, fussed over them, laughed when Jisung cracked a joke. But with him? Always distant. Always proper.

And then tonight, you slipped.

The show was winding down when you suddenly—without thinking—grabbed a staff mic and did a mini Wolfchan dance near the side stage. Just a tiny thing, just a playful nod to the fans who caught it.

The members laughed, the crowd went wild.

Chan didn’t laugh.

No, Chan froze mid-step on stage, eyes locking onto you like you’d just slapped him. And when you flushed and quickly went back to your clipboard, pretending it hadn’t happened?

Yeah, that’s when he snapped.

You didn’t even make it to the green room before he grabbed your wrist, pulling you into a storage hall, slamming the door shut behind you.

“Bang Chan-ssi—” you started, but his voice cut you off, low and rough.

“Don’t. Don’t you dare act like nothing happened out there.”

Your heart stuttered. “I—I was just trying to hype the fans, I didn’t—”

“Didn’t what? Didn’t know what you were doing to me?”

His hand braced against the wall beside your head, his chest rising and falling fast. He leaned in, so close you could feel the heat rolling off him, his eyes dark, hungry.

“You’ve been driving me insane for months—so professional, so perfect. But then you do that? All cute, all mine for a second, and then you just… walk away? Like I wouldn’t notice?”

Your breath caught, and his expression shifted—something sharp, frustrated, and soft flickering through it.

“Do you know how hard it is, watching you smile for everyone else, and I don’t get to touch you? Don’t get to have you look at me like that?”

You swallowed, voice quiet. “Chan…”

That broke him.

One hand slid to your waist, tugging you against him, his forehead resting against yours. “Tell me to stop, and I will. But if you don’t…” His lips hovered over yours, barely a breath apart. “I’m done pretending I don’t want you.”

⸺⟡⸺

thank you for this prompt my sweet 👾 anon. it was chef's kiss. And listen… if you want a full-on fic... uh—idk… send me hugs, cookies, or just threaten me lovingly. LMAO, your choice 💋🦇

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CONGRATS ON MAKING IT TO THE END, DAMN!!! If you powered through all that, you’re officially stronger than me because my brain melted at least three times writing this.

While you’re here—stream END on Apple Music, Spotify, and YouTube Music if you wanna make me smile, pretty please.

And hey—don’t judge my concert fits too hard, okay?

Also still delulu over Han Jisung... and my iCloud is STILL syncing all the pics and videos, so yes, I’m spiralling and reliving every second like a clown.

Until next time, stay feral, stay hydrated, and never stop feeding me your brainrot. I love you 💋🦇

89 notes · View notes

ghostlywhiskey · 6 hours ago

Note

Imagining lumberjack!price accidentally overhearing you while you’re touching yourself in the shower (bc let’s be honest he’s a walking sex god how could you not be horny spending days locked in a cabin with him)

And he’s tryna be all polite after, and you’re panicking bc you maybe-sorta moaned a little too loud and you could have sworn you heard his muffled curse on the other side of the door.

(Price is texts simon later to find out what replacement part will take the longest to arrive.)

lumberjack!price sits on my brain all fucking day i swear to god.

you definitely moaned too loud, and with the the walls in the cabin barely concealing any type of sound from room to room - you never stood a chance. on a good day you were lucky if you didn't hear the coffee maker brewing coffee in the morning.

so the second your brain registered the fact you had let the moan slip, your free hand quickly coming to smack against your mouth as you came on your fingers. eyes shutting as you let your climax die out, imagining how price would react when he would make you come. that same moment is when you thought for a split second you heard his voice, but to soothe your nerves you tell yourself it was just your imagination.

and that next morning, when you emerge from your room, price is in the kitchen making breakfast. coffee already made because you heard the machine going off five minutes prior, so you walk over to where your mug was on the counter.

"thank you. do we still have some-" your voice still groggy from sleep, but your question is cut off as price is behind you, reaching his arm to place the coffee creamer on the counter for you.

"use the rest, gotta buy some more later anyway," he says, his voice softer than usual. and you swear if you turned your head even the slightest you would have been inches from his lips as he spoke into your ear. and before you can thank him again, he's moved back over to the stove to resume making breakfast.

"need anything else while i'm out later?" the ask not an abnormal one from when he would go shopping, but it was the lack of eye contact that started to make you wonder if maybe it wasn't your imagination last night.

"um, not sure," you can barely form a thought, the wires in your brain redirecting everything to focus on whether or not he heard you last night.

"should come with me then," he says, and that's when he glances up from the stove to make eye contact with you. "bit of a ride over to the grocery store and wanna make sure you don't forget anything. simon said it might take another three weeks with the car," and his attention is back to the pan as he plates your breakfast.

"three weeks?" your throat tightening at the thought of another three weeks in the cabin. with price. and not in a bad way, more of a you weren't sure how much longer you could last just using your fingers for relief.

"mhm, what he said," he walked over, setting your plate on the counter by you. his hand reaching to gently squeeze your waist. "don't look so upset," he chuckled softly as he past by to head to his room. "eat and then we'll head over."

and what really solidified any suspicion of whether or not he heard you? he made sure that he hummed as loud as possible in the shower that morning while you are breakfast. your leg nervously bouncing as you sat at the counter, sipping your coffee with your eyes fixated on the bathroom door. he definitely heard you. loud and clear.

#john price #captain john price #john price smut #captain john price x reader #john price cod #captain price x reader #john price x reader #lumberack!price #captain john price smut

77 notes · View notes

darlingdaisyfarm · 10 hours ago

Note

IDEA: STAN/FORD MEETING THE READERS PARENTS THAT LIVE OUT OF STATE AND DIDNT EXPECT THEM TO BE OLD🙏🏾

PLS POOKIE I NEEE THIS!!!

-🥮 anon

OH MY GOD THIS IS SUCH A GOOD IDEA I LOVE ITTTTT!!!! bless ur brain 🥮 anon <33 i also relate to this so hard so some phrases here will be ones my mom always tells me ahhahshd

STANLEY

you send them message “hey i’m coming home for a visit ! and bringing my partner :)” and they’re all excited. Stan is also nervous, he just won’t say it straight. you’ll catch him fidgeting with his ring, wiping his palms on his pants before walking up the driveway and, as always, he makes some dumb joke.

Stan knows parents are gonna be weird about the age gap, he’s not an idiot. they’ve been probably picturing some guy your age. maybe someone you went to college with? or met at work / or off an app. what if they even pictured someone slightly younger, god help you. some guy with a baby face, whatever. just someone age-appropriate

but yes instead its STANLEY PINES. and your parents just go silent

your mom pulls you aside immediately and hits you with the classics “hun are you gonna chew his food for him next? he’s old enough to be your uncle’s roommate from the army!”

poor Stan, he tries, he really does. he even wears his best shirt and brings a bottle of cheap wine and some weird local honey he insists is good for the joints, because ALL old men say this phrase. he's trying to be POLITE TOO, he doesn’t swear which is very valuable because Stan can't live a day without swearing. he only stops himself for something truly important. for Mabel and Dipper, or in this case, your parents

Stan, meanwhile, is in the living room where he finds your dad’s tool box and suddenly they’re talking about gasket heads and brake pads like they’ve known each other since high school. he makes himself useful, fixes the wobbly chair without being asked. shows your little cousins / siblings how to do a coin trick AWW.

your mom is still suspicious and at some point she leans in, and says quietly “be honest this about the pension?”

and it’s so stupid because you know she’s half-joking but not really. you know she’s trying to make sense of it all, desperately trying to file this under quirky youthful mistake or weird phase, and meanwhile Stan is trying to talk about how proud he is of you, how smart and kind and beautiful you are, how you deserve the world and how lucky he is that you gave him the time of day, and you just wanna scream like SEE? SEE? this is what i mean. hes my person mom

but that's the irony cuz when Stan doesn’t try so hard to impress them with his good manners and starts talking about how he rebuilt the shack from the ground up, how he ran it for years, how he taught himself to fix plumbing, do taxes, he also shares with your dad a special recipe for grilling meat and how to make a great steak so your dad starts to warm up a little, there’s a glint of respect. they start bonding over car repairs or some dumb film they both watched in the 80s, and your mom still looks at you like you’ve lost your mind but at least she laughed at Stan's dad jokes.

“so yeah i may not have gone to college but i took care of two kids for a whole summer and they turned out alright” Stanley says it with such gruff fondness that makes even your mom pause a second.

and because he is good at reading people, he’ll look her in the eye and say,i “i know i’m not the person you pictured your kid bringing home. hell, i wouldn’t have pictured me either. but uhh, i love them, and i’m gonna treat them right, and they make me wanna be better. that count for anything?”

your mom will blink a few times and then mutter “you better” and later Stan asks if he can take leftovers home and your mom is so shocked she says yes LMAO

he ends up helping your dad clean the garage and they spend two hours in there talking about boats, cars, football, tax evasion

...

while you’re driving to your parents house you literally have to hold Ford's hand and go “okay. please. PLEASE do not start talking about interdimensional travel. i know it’s important to you sweetheart. but please don’t say anything about portals or non-linear time. please. not even once.”

“yes. of course. i understand.”

so when FORD finally meets your parents OF COURSE he will try to behave as politely as possible. “it’s a pleasure to finally meet you!” he says only to receive “why is the professor from back to the future holding my kid's hand.”

you know your mom is gonna hit you with it the second she corners you in the kitchen. “does he even hear well? what if you want children? you want to be changing his diapers while you’re pushing a stroller?” while you're trying to prove to her that, BUT, mom, he can't look THAT old, enough!

but yeah then like twenty minutes later your dad asks “so how old are you, mr. . . uh, mr Pines?” he is still wondering whether he should call him “doc”

and Ford just says, clear as day

“sixty, chronologically. though that doesn’t account for the three decades i spent traveling through alternate dimensions.” and that awkward smile.

and you just. want to die because your mom stares at you with grimace of pure panic. and you know her, she probably thinks you’ve been brainwashed into dating a dusty cult prophet. she pulls you aside, wide eyed “what does that mean? does he think he’s an alien? do i need to call someone? tell me right now this isn’t like that show where the girl marries a mummy!!”

Ford meanwhile is just casually describing how his lab collapsed into a rift in space-time and how he once got possessed by a dream demon. my boy doesn’t mean to be weird, trust, he’s just never learned the art of small talk :( he’s also in his stiff nervous mode where he can’t stop adjusting his tie. yes, you made him wear smth very decent for your first meeting. and also take a shower

BUT. once the shock about his age wears off, your parents start to realize that Ford is actually. . . kind of elegant? i mean, he compliments the books on their shelf and your mom's earrings. he’s polite, he says “thank you” and “please” and “may i?” + he clears the dishes. and this is probably the dream of every parent. + he remembers things they mention in conversation and brings them up later.

and ofc Ford says the most devastatingly romantic things about you without even trying. “theyre the most brilliant mind ive encountered in this dimension, and i don’t say that lightly.”

your mom will scoff, sure, but then it turns out Ford knows how to cook. and he’s like, very specific about it. he asks your mom about the spices she used and offers to help slice onions and does it correctly, perfectly even. offers her an actual trick for keeping tears at bay while doing it. she’s still suspicious, but when he compliments her dish, yeah. . . she corners you later again and says, “he’s strange and old, too old for you. but not stupid.“

aaand as a nice bonus Ford accidentally helps your little cousin / sibling with a science project by drawing a whole labeled diagram of a magnetic field so your cousin gets an A+!!

#🥮 anon #answered asks #gravity falls #gravity falls x reader #stan pines x reader #ford pines x reader

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starconstruction · 23 hours ago

Text

Club for the Broken.

Yandere Jinsoul + Haseul x Reader

welcome back to another "shit I just wanna write something random quickly" hope you enjoy.

You've always put yourself last.

Keep the door open for the crowd and hope the weight doesn't shut you out.

It's how you've ended up here, alone in the dark.

Ironically the people you saved has left you in disrepair.

An eye for an eye.

One rotten, one cleansed.

The doom scrolling felt heavier this time, watching all your friends now in the light. You were happy for them, just wishing for reciprocity. New partners, new cars, new jobs, new life.

Where did it all go wrong for you.

Whatever, this train-wreck thinking is just going to drag you into a mental hole.

You shot your friend a message, see what he's up to.

Read.

Ignored.

A bit harsh, but whatever.

Another message.

Read.

Ignored.

That's enough for now.

The water tasted bitter now, the night was still young. Maybe you could go out and enjoy life for a moment no matter if it had to be done alone.

Yeah, that was the call.

The club throbbed with life, heavy and palpable. Clusters of people populating every inch of the floor, this was not your scene in retrospect.

But you've already paid for this drink, might as well finish it.

You sat down in the corner, in some sedate dark wood booth, surprisingly clean given the atmosphere of drunkards. Glass sat on the table, your head resting faintly against the backboard.

The music was awful, truly generic stuff, overpowering anything and everything that dared to provide its own audio to the bustling atmosphere.

Your inner reflection was cut short suddenly by two girls sliding into the booth directly opposite you, eyes now looking directly into yours. The one on the left had long black hair, black jacket, not exactly normal club attire. The girl next to her fit more into the element, wearing a short pink dress. What caught your eye was more was the angel wings attached to their back, alongside why they sat here of all places.

Too many seconds passed, you broke your silence to avoid anymore awkwardness. "Can I help you two?" you spoke firmly.

"Can we help you?" The girl on the right responded, her voice was serene, pleasant on the ears. But her words didn't answer the question, disorientating you further.

"You two came up to me, not the other way around."

The girl on the left furrowed her brows, "Don't need to snap, we mean well."

"Right, yes, sorry. It has been a stressful few weeks." You sighed, taking a sip of the overly expensive drink in your hand.

"We can tell, it's painted on your face yknow?"

"That obvious huh?" Now you regret coming out here even more so.

"A little bit... But that is okay, we like to talk to those types. I'm Haseul, she's Jinsoul and we'll be your company for the night." Their force came as a bit of a shock, but who else would you be talking to?

"Nice to meet you, forgive me if it's a bit abrasive but whats with the wings?" You asked, Jinsoul gave a small giggle.

"We just like them, you can try them on if you want."

You stuttered, nearly dropping your drink at the simplest joke. "No–no I'm fine."

"So nervous, how cute." Haseul said, the heat ran to your cheeks.

"So, Y/N." Wait you didn't tell them that. "What's bothering you? You can vent all those frustrations to us if you want. We'll listen." Jinsoul offered, all voices were hard to hear under this noise but that didn't mean you were willing to confide to strangers.

You kindly shook your head "I, its okay. I'll be alright."

"Wouldn't it feel good though? Let those worries be heard? We won't judge, if that's the problem." Jinsoul's fingers crept onto your palm, tracing slowly. You rescinded.

"I– no, I need to go the bathroom."

"Go, don't worry we'll look after your stuff." Haseul's hand embraced your phone gently, sliding into her grasp. Smiling brightly at you.

Fuck.

There goes that plan, you dismissed yourself away from them. You were going to have to think of another way, your brain was telling you that just trying to leave was going to have resistance.

The sounds of the club died away temporarily when the bathroom door slammed, giving respite in the chaos. You stared at the reflection in the mirror, running the automated tap as cool water rushed down into your awaiting palms.

You splashed it.

The cool water fell down your face, the impact making your breath hitch.

That calmed you down slightly, you could do this. And then you'd never come to a club again.

Breathe.

It was best not to wait, they were expecting you.

You took your seat again, your drink was refilled and now they had one each. "Welcome back, we thought you'd need another one." Haseul pushed it closer, alongside your phone.

"Thanks, but I need to drive back– probably shouldn't be drinking more than the one." You lied, Haseul raised an eyebrow in suspicion.

"But we saw you walk here? Are you trying to get rid of us? That's not polite Y/N."

"How do you two know my name?! I didn't tell you it!" Your voice raised.

"Shh shh shh, it's okay. We've just been– well, watching. You've been struggling recently, that's fine. We just want to help you feel better."

The alarm bells were ringing, loud.

Beautiful danger was staring you in the face.

This was past the point of subtly, you needed to leave now.

"I am just going to leave, can't deal with this." A leg snaked its way around yours, binding you.

"Why are you so dismissive? It's hurtful, if you want to leave the bar we can come with?" Jinsoul offered, no way in hell were you going to give them your address. Your heart was pumping against your chest, fear creeping in.

"No, I just want to go home and sleep. Now let me go." Whoever held you relented.

Sigh. "Fine, we tried. What more can we do, its a shame. We thought you'd be more receptive."

You didn't even reply, getting your shit and leaving before it was too late.

The walk home was deeply unsettling, making sharp looks back every few seconds just in case. But there was nobody, thankfully. The anxiety that they would follow you made every emotion run far more potently than before you ever pondered going to that fucking club.

You didn't even have the energy to get upstairs, those 14 steps looked like a task for Sisyphus. Opting to just fall into your sofa face first, numbing your nerves with the sweet sound of the television that was broadcasting whatever it felt like.

You drifted asleep slowly.

"so cute.... asleep ...you think?" Hazy words filled the room.

"the fox... murdered..." Eugh.

"Yeah... stress.. it's fine." You started to wake up properly.

"the... silver rabbit."

"Shame that we were rejected. It's okay." There's a hand in your hair. Stroking it.

That feels nice.

"Shot dead." That's the TV.

Wait, you live alone.

Your eyes shot open, she was there. Jinsoul. An arm was on your chest, "Evening."

"What the fuck..." Your voice was slow, dragging on, still coming back to life. Their wings were on the floor.

"Sleeping on the sofa is going to hurt your back yknow?" You tried to get up, Haseul's grasp tightened.

"Don't move, unless you want to go to your bed? More room." Haseul whispered into your ear, making you shiver.

You were sobered up now.

"What the fuck are you doing in my house?" You kept struggling, to no avail. Jinsoul inched closer, straddling you like she was your girlfriend.

"Well, when we let you go. We realised that no, you need our help. Our guidance."

"Get off of me, get out of my house." You reiterated, you could see her smirk.

"Not a chance, we need you to listen. Haseul will make you be quiet if we have to but baby, we really don't want to." You let her continue, your nerves were into high alert.

"You see, we were planning to just lull you in. But you are like so awkward, it was quite endearing. Sadly you ran from us trying to save you, so we had to follow."

You didn't talk, your eyes scanning around the dark room for any sign of escape.

Haseul begun to whisper again. "You helped your friends, now let us help you."

"How the fuck do you know about that?! Who are you people!" You snapped.

But they didn't falter.

They were calm, so calm.

"I'm not going to reveal who, that's irrelevant. You are never talking to any of them again. But they told us of your actions. Imagine how sad I was when they ignored you, a savior forgotten..."

Haseul got out from behind you, crouching on the floor, both of them now visible. You could probably move with just the right amount of force.

You waited.

"I don't need to be saved!"

"You do, we've been watching. You haven't noticed the unlocked windows, you haven't noticed anything. Y/N, look around. These rooms used to be so clean, trash lies everywhere. Dishes are stacking up, you are barely surviving anymore. Too ignorant to see it, too desperate for autonomy in your own life." Jinsoul stated. Like it was so simple.

"I– its fine, I will be fine." You were slipping, they could see that. The surroundings weren't avoidable anymore, the mold was visible. The decay on the walls, no longer muted, it was real. Green blooming like a rotten flower.

The food boxes on the floor you avoided taking care of, it threatened to consume the floor. You were just used to stepping over it.

Was it always this bad?

"Y/N, open your eyes." No, you can reclaim your life. They will take the opportunity from you.

You threw Jinsoul into the trash, their wings now rested on dirt.

"No! No! I'm fine, I'm FINE!" You sobbed angrily, standing up quickly.

"Relax now, we fell hard for you. That level of nobility, sweetness, you've talked to us before. It's a shame you could forget such a moment. Let us save you, don't make us force you to come to us."

You ran.

Her arms caught you.

"There we go, there we go, shh shh." You thrashed, she held.

"Let me go! I can save myself, I. I can!"

"I can't, you are destroying yourself. They neglected you, let you drown. But we won't."

Their definition of saving wasn't making you better, it was just stopping you from harming yourself more.

They were soft, sweet but didn't let you do anything. From making food to even sleeping alone, everything was done for you.

You felt empty, not safe. You started to break down more than you ever did on your own.

And the worst part?

You couldn't do anything to stop it.

A dirty cage to a clean one.

#kpop x reader #kpop fanfic #kpop x male reader #kpop fanfiction #kpop fic #yandere kpop #kpop yandere #female yandere #yandere artms #yandere loona

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schemmentisbaby · 1 day ago

Text

The Way She Watches: A Study In Restraint (Part 2)

Part 1

Summary:

You wore her favorite dress just to test her. Melissa doesn’t break easily… but when she does, she doesn’t go quietly

Rating: M

Pairing: Melissa Schemmenti x fem!Reader

WC: ~2.9k

CW: sexual content, intense foreplay, D/s dynamic, use of safewords (color system), possessive behavior.

You make it exactly ten steps before Melissa’s hand closes around your wrist.

“Here.”

There is no softness in her voice now, and no room for arguments.

She drags you with her; pulling you around the side of the building, away from the warm glow and chatter of the bar. The alley where she parked is dark and narrow, reducing the hum of the street to a muffled pulse. The concrete beneath your feet is uneven, and the air is tinged with a hint of smoke, tension, and something electric between you.

And then, your back hits the side of her car, and the gasp you let out is swallowed by Melissa’s mouth.

Her mouth crashes into yours with a hunger you haven’t seen from her since the first time she claimed you. Her hands bracket your head as her thigh wedges between yours, and the kiss is rough, relentless, frantic. Full of tongue, teeth, and desperation, like she’s trying to punish you with her mouth for every second you made her wait.

You moan, writhing under her grip, hands scrambling for her waist, her collar, fuck- anything. But she’s not giving you control. Not this time.

Her thigh presses tighter between your legs, and your hips jerk instinctively, seeking friction, chasing anything. You’re soaked and panting as you squirm under her mouth like a live wire.

You whimper into her mouth as one hand slides deliberately down your body to fist the hem of your dress to shove it up slightly. Her knuckles drag against your skin as her fingers slip between your thighs and stop.

They’re not moving, she just holds them there as she groans into your mouth.

She pulls back enough to speak, lips still dangerously close to yours, her voice raw and deathly low.

“You’re dripping.”

You nod breathlessly, a strangled sound escaping your throat. “Mel-”

Her hand tightens its grip on your hip, and it’s just enough to sting.

“Shut up.”

You swallow your words as her fingers press harder against your soaked underwear, and your whole body jolts forward, hips grinding down on her before you can stop them.

And then she laughs, just once, but it’s cruel- low and sharp.

“Oh, now you want it?”

You squirm again, harder this time, but her hand doesn’t move.

“You think you get to be a brat all night? Make me watch you prance around in that fucking dress while you grind on Ava- and then what?” Her lips brush your ear, but her voice is a growl now. “You think you deserve to come the second I get my hands on you?”

“I’m s-” you breathe out, but it’s a mess, half-whimper, half-apology.

She slides her hand down further, just enough to let her fingertips find the edge of your panties, but it’s not enough to give you anything.

“Uh-uh.”

Another noise tears from your throat, desperate and broken, as you arch into her hand, trying to get any friction.

And then she pulls back. Her hand leaves you completely, and you almost sob as she backs away.

Her voice is dark as she looks at you.

“You made me wait, angel,” she snarls, “so now it’s your fucking turn.”

You’re shaking, legs barely holding you up, dress bunched around your hips, lips swollen and already soaked through, but she hasn’t even really touched you.

She steps back enough to open the car door, without looking at you, and growls out, “Get in.”

You definitely don’t move fast enough and she turns her head, finally meeting your eyes, and devastating you with just one word.

“Now.”

Your legs obey before your brain has even processed the command, and you climb into the car. Your thighs are trembling and you’re desperately trying to smooth the hem of your dress back down, but there’s no point. You’re a wreck, and it’s all her fault.

The door slams behind you, and Melissa takes the long way around the car. Slow, measured, calculated movements, all because she wants you squirming and ruined before she touches you again.

And fuck… it’s working.

You grin in the dark of the car, because you brought this on yourself…and you’re gonna enjoy every second of it.

Melissa slides into the driver’s seat without looking at you. She doesn’t say a word, but you can see the slight tremor as she exhales and the tension in her hands as she grips the steering wheel like she’s trying to snap it in half.

Her jaw is tight, her knuckles white, and can practically hear her counting to ten in the way her chest rises and falls. Then, the engine hums to life beneath you both, headlights casting a halo of light onto the narrow alleyway before she pulls out into the street.

You don’t mean to, but you’re squirming before she even hits second gear. You’re soaked, throbbing, and ruined already despite the fact that she still hasn’t really touched you.

You can feel the tension in every breath and every quiet second in crackling silence.

You take a deep breath as you reach for the hem of your dress, trying to adjust it, but your hand freezes as Melissa’s voice cuts through the car.

“Don’t.”

Your entire body is frozen, not from fear, but from need.

She glances over at you, and when your eyes meet, you can see the restraint behind those blown black pupils. The control that cages the feral edge in a softness reserved only for you.

Her voice is low again, but calm and solid as she speaks.

“I need you to listen to me.”

You nod, breath shaky as you stare at her, despite her eyes having returned to the road.

“I’m not angry with you.”

Her words are simple, but they slam into you with warmth, managing to cut through the fog which surrounds you.

“I mean it baby, I’m not mad. You didn’t cross a line.” Her hand flexes on the gear shift. “You played. And fuck me- I fucking loved it.”

She laughs, and it’s rough, and dripping with adrenaline. “You drove me insane in that dress. The dancing. The teasing. The fucking giggling. Baby… every single thing you did tonight? Was done knowing exactly what it would do to me.”

You bite your lip and nod, as the tiniest whimper escapes before you can stop it.

“But I need you to understand something.”

Her voice is serious now, steady and unmistakably careful.

“I’m not going to be soft tonight.”

Your breath catches as her words sink in.

“I’m going to be rough. I’m going to take. And not gently. You’ve turned me into something I don’t think I can just walk off, angel. I’m… burning. I’ve been smoldering since you leaned in and whispered what you wanted at the mirror.”

She pauses at a red light, and finally looks at you.

“I need to claim you. I want you marked. I want you shaking and wrecked until there’s not a single doubt in your head about who you belong to.”

You whimper again, thighs pressing together, but she’s not done.

“But I will never hurt you. Not without your consent. And definitely not for real. So, I need to know now, before we get started. Are you with me?”

You nod instantly, still breathless.

“I need you to use your words.”

“Yes,” you whisper. “I’m with you. I want this. I want you.”

“Give me a color, baby.”

“Green, Mel. So fucking green.”

Her answering smile is just a bit unhinged, but it’s all for you. “Good girl.”

You’re squirming again, shifting in your seat as you attempt to relieve some of the growing tension between your thighs.

The drive is silent after that, and you know she’s not being cruel, she’s focused. Her fingers twitching occasionally on the wheel like they’re imagining where they’ll be inside you when she gets you home. She keeps her eyes on the road, but every so often she lets out a soft hum, as if she’s cataloguing every desperate noise you’re making beside her.

The engine growls low as she pulls into your driveway, tires crunching over the gravel. She shifts the car into park, but still, she hesitates. Doesn’t move, despite her voice returning, low and level.

“Did you touch yourself at all during that ride?”

She knows the answer, hell, she wouldn’t even let you adjust the hem of your dress, but still you shake your head and respond quietly.

“No.”

Melissa finally turns to you again, eyes raking over you like a slow burn.

“That’s my girl.”

Then she leans, across the console, and lets her breath skim your cheek as she whispers:

“Get inside. Now- and don’t say a word or touch a thing, just get your pretty little ass in our house before I lose what’s left of my restraint.”

You fumble the door open with shaking hands, legs still unsteady as you climb out of the car. Melissa’s steps behind you are slow and deliberate, more of a stalk than a walk. The keys feel foreign in your grip, there are too many teeth, and not enough control, and it takes you three tries to slide the correct one into the lock.

Your breath stutters and your hands shake as she presses in close to you, the heat of her body flowing into you despite not touching. Her voice curls around your ear like velvet and wire.

“You struggling there, angel?”

Finally, the door clicks open, swinging wide, and that’s all the invitation she needs.

Melissa is on you before the door even shuts, kicking it closed with a sharp thud before she presses you against the wood, knocking the air from your lungs as her mouth crashes onto yours. There’s nothing sweet in her kiss, all teeth and tongue and a groan that is ripped from the back of her throat as if she’s been waiting to claim you all night.

Her hands find your thighs, and lift.

You gasp as your arms wrap around her neck, and she pushes you further against the door, one of your legs wrapping around her waist.

She kisses you harder now, until your hips are rocking helplessly against her own. And then her hands slide lower and she lets you drop back to your feet, so she can hook her fingers in the hem of your dress.

“Wait, Mel-”

You cry out as the fabric rips, shocked, but too desperate to care. She tears it straight up the side, fingers curling in the soft green fabric until it gives under her grip with a sharp sound that splits the air. You can feel it loosen as the threads tear apart like they’re nothing. Like you’re nothing but hers to ruin.

She lets the dress drop to the floor as she steps back before freezing. The moan she lets loose is low and guttural, going straight to your clit. All because you’re standing there in an emerald lace set. It’s the one she’s only ever seen for ten seconds at a time, because she damn near tears it off every time you wear it. This time? It’s paired with flushed skin, kiss tousled hair, and thighs that tremble from nothing more than the sound of her breath.

“Fuck,” she whispers, voice gone raw. “You were wearing this the whole night?”

You nod slowly.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ.”

Her hands twitch at her sides, like she’s deciding whether she should sink to her knees, or drag you to the floor, and her jaw flexes just once before she steps back into your space.

“You don’t know what you just did,” she murmurs, although it’s more of a growl than words.

Then her hands are on you again, grabbing your waist and dragging you into her. One slips down to your ass, squeezing it hard, the lace no barrier to her grip. The other slides up across your ribs, grazing your breast until her thumb catches on the strap of your bra, pulling it down your shoulder in one smooth motion.

You shudder, tipping your head back, eyes fluttering shut, as you whisper, “I think I do.”

Melissa’s breath hits your throat as she presses in, mouth grazing the undersize of your jaw.

“I told you, angel,” she murmurs, her voice all grit and heat. “I’m not mad… but I am going to ruin you for that stunt.”

And then you’re whimpering as she trails her hand back down your body, hooking her fingers in the waistband of your panties, and tugging them down your thighs.

“I’m gonna make you beg,” she whispers, licking into the curve of your neck. “And once you do? You’ll mean it.”

Then she bites down, and it’s hard. It makes your knees buckle, and she presses you back against the door, sliding her thigh between yours to catch your weight, holding you there, open and shaking.

You breathe her name like a confession, and she hums like she knows you’re about to sin for her.

She doesn’t let you move even an inch.

You’re pinned against the door, her thigh holding you open while her mouth is on your neck like it’s a map she’s memorized, and is now determined to redraw in bruises and heat.

Her lips drag across your throat, biting gently under your ear before she soothes the sting with her tongue. You cry out softly, muffing the sound with your hand as you arch against her, and she chuckles darkly against your skin.

“You already can’t stay quiet?” she murmurs, trailing wet kisses along your jaw. “I haven’t even started.”

And then she sinks to her knees. Her movements are slow and unhurried, full of that deliberate intent she’s used all night. But when she looks up at you from between your thighs, surrounded by the dress in tatters, and your panties barely clinging on? You nearly come undone on the spot.

“I want to taste you,” she says, pressing a sweet kiss to your hipbone. “But you haven’t earned it yet.”

Her hands slide up and around your thighs, guiding them apart just slightly enough to give her access before she begins. Her mouth is hot- and everywhere except where you want it most.

She kisses the inside of your thighs, slow and soft, before she drags her teeth along your skin. It’s sharp, and playful as you gasp, hands scrambling for purchase on the wall, but her hands slide up to grip your hips and pin them still.

“Don’t move,” she growls, biting down again, just above the edge of the lace. “You don’t get to run.”

Her mouth moves further up, past your hip and stomach, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. She presses wet, open-mouthed across your belly, slow and greedy, despite her hands moving over your waist like she’s claiming territory.

When she reaches your chest, her mouth begins to slow, despite the whimpers that flow freely from your lips. Your chest is heaving, bra askew from her earlier manipulation, but she doesn’t remove it.

She simply pulls the other strap down, and nips along the edge of the cups. One hand slides behind your back, unhooking the bra with practiced ease, and when the lace falls forward, exposing your breasts, Melissa goes still.

“You wore this knowing I’d destroy it.”

She looks up at you as you nod weakly, and then her mouth closes around one nipple without another word and you sob.

She’s not gentle. Sucking, and licking, using her teeth in the way that sends jolts through your whole body. Her other hand has devoted itself to rolling your other nipple between her fingers, and you can’t help the way your head hits the door as she switches sides.

You’re babbling incoherently now, probably some form of please, but she doesn’t care. A sharp bite is your answer, and you whimper again.

“You teased me all night,” she murmurs against your skin. “Now, it’s your turn to be patient.”

You’re anything but patient, because it hurts, and her mouth is everywhere, except where you need it.

She moves down your stomach now, placing slow and devastating kisses. One is placed just above your navel, another just below. She runs her tongue across the bite on your hipbone, soothing it before the bites like flesh of your inner thigh like she’s leaving a brand.

And then just when you think she might have some mercy on you, she pulls back, and sits on her heels.

She’s looking up at you as she speaks.

“You’re shaking,” her words are not without softness, but she is anything but merciful with her next move.

She drags her hands up your thighs, hooking her thumbs into the waistband of your panties, and finally pulls them down.

The lace peels away from your skin, sticky and slow, and she hums when it catches, nearly wet enough to resist.

She lets them fall, breathing in your scent as they fall, tangling around your ankles.

Her body stills, breath rushing out of her as she sees what’s between your legs, and the pause is sharp enough to cut.

“Fuck me,” she whispers softly, groaning as she spreads you open with two fingers, “Look at you.”

And then she moans again, full-bodied and low, as if she’s tasting you despite not using her mouth yet.

“You’re dripping, angel,” she murmurs. “And I haven’t even touched you.”

You whimper softly, but Melissa doesn’t even blink.

“You want my mouth?”

“Yes.”

“Say it.”

“Please,” you breathe. “Please, I need-”

She doesn’t let you finish, instead she presses another kiss to your trembling thighs before she stands up, eyes black, and mouth red.

“Bedroom,” she says, voice wrecked. “Now.”

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#abbott elementary #melissa schemmenti x you #melissa schemmenti fanfiction #melissa schemmenti x reader

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