#voice acting exercises

[chongoblog]

I think one of my favorite things to do as a voice actor is playing one character, but with the voice of a different character , like if a character's voice is magically changed, and it's a completely different voice, but all of the little mannerisms and the way that they speak, from their dialogue to the way that they dictate their words, is still completely the original character.

Which is why I stand by the fact that body swap episodes where the voice actors also switch are cowardly and shameful.

[floralovebot]

i mean. the trix look good

[millibeau]

Erzabet the Shadow Stitch, of the Black Thistle Coven, duh!

[thesecretdcblog]

The Batkids doing that "Suspect" tiktok trend where they take turns filming each other running and say increasingly personal and deranged shit to make each other laugh.

Spoiler, recording Red Robin: *in a confused voice* Suspect listens to Green Day and Enya, like my guy pick a struggle

Nightwing, recording Red Hood: Suspect died once and made it his entire personality

Red Hood, recording Robin: Suspect has a superiority complex that is way too big for someone his size

Robin, recording Nightwing: Suspect has been engaged at least twice and married never

Red Robin, recording Spoiler: Suspect thinks assaulting people with bricks is a legitimate flirting strategy (Spoiler: It worked on you!)

Signal, who came out at night solely for this, recording Red Robin: Suspect can't come up with an original name and keeps stealing everyone else's

Red Hood, recording Nightwing: Suspect is actually a huge asshole but hides it behind that cheerful demeanor so everyone thinks I'm lying about it

Robin, recording Red Hood: I'm going to let the Suspect keep running because he needs the exercise

Signal, recording Red Hood: Suspect acts tough but has read every Jane Austen novel at least six times

[mattsinclairvo]

I do this shit for money

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

How to Start Writing Again When the Spark Fades

Sometimes the well of creativity runs dry, leaving you staring at a blank page with nothing but frustration. But trust that the art of writing is as much about the journey as it is about the destination. Here are some ideas to help you reconnect with your writing practice when you feel like your passion has dimmed.

Redefine Your Environment Consider taking a deliberate step outside your usual writing space. The environment in which you work can drastically affect your mindset and creative flow. Even if it’s setting up in a different corner of your home, finding refuge in a local café, or enjoying the subtle distractions of a park bench, a change in scenery often signals a mental reset. This isn’t about permanent relocation, just a simple shift can break the monotony and stir new ideas that have been hiding in plain sight.

Embrace Imperfection The pressure to produce perfect prose can be paralyzing. Give yourself permission to create something imperfect yet honest. Think of every sentence you write as a rough sketch, a necessary experiment in understanding your own voice. When you allow yourself the space to write without the weight of perfection, you invite experimentation and genuine self-expression. That freedom lies at the heart of rediscovering why you fell in love with writing in the first place.

Set Incremental Goals for Continuous Momentum When the idea of diving into a full chapter feels overwhelming, scale back to manageable, bite-sized projects that feel achievable. Instead of demanding a polished page, challenge yourself to write a paragraph or even a single sentence each day. These micro-goals build a foundation of small successes, gradually restoring confidence and momentum. Over time, these consistent efforts enrich your creative reservoir, proving that every little step is indeed a victory.

Engage Deeply in the Process of Freewriting Allow yourself to spill thoughts onto the page without judgment or expectation. Freewriting is an exercise in vulnerability and self-exploration, offering you a space to unburden tangled ideas and unexpected insights. In these unfiltered moments, you might stumble upon a germ of an idea or a rediscovered passion that rekindles your creative fire. Embracing this unstructured approach can transform an intimidating blank page into an open canvas of potential you haven't tapped back into.

Rekindle Old Inspirations There is power in revisiting the work and moments that first ignited your creative spirit. Even if it’s rereading an old journal entry, rediscovering a favorite piece of literature, or reflecting on the stories that once moved you, reconnecting with your past inspirations can shed new light on your present creative journey. This reflective practice not only reminds you of your original passion but may also reveal new directions for your current writing endeavors.

Create a Consistent, Loving Writing Routine Creating a structured yet gentle routine can help reestablish your relationship with writing. Treat your writing time as a vital appointment, a moment carved out just for you. Even if inspiration seems scarce, the simple act of sitting down, opening your notebook, and letting words flow without self-censorship can be incredibly healing. Over time, this practice transforms writing from an obligation into a ritual of self-discovery and mindfulness.

Connect with a Community That Understands Engaging with fellow writers can remind you that you’re not alone in this struggle. The shared experience of creative highs and lows can be profoundly comforting. Join writing groups, participate in online forums, or simply reach out to someone whose work inspires you. These interactions foster a sense of belonging and accountability, encouraging you to keep writing even when the path isn’t clear. In the gentle exchange of ideas and feedback, there is often a spark that reignites your dedication.

Every writer’s journey is unique, filled with ebbs and flows. If you’re feeling disconnected, know that these moments are integral to growth. Embrace each phase as an opportunity to rediscover writing on its own terms, and allow your passion to guide you back into the words you love. If you need any advice from me, never be afraid to send me an ask.

Until next time, Rin T.

[ds-angel1]

TEACHERS LITTLE PET

cw: SMUT(18+), teacher x student relationship, hitting it from the back(in the classroom), big age gap(ages aren´t specified), reader is a senior, i´m not american and have no idea how the school system works so please just smile and nod

wc: ~ 5.1k

a/n: tell me what you think of this dynamic and if you want more cause i have some ideas!! also this is the longest fic i´ve ever written, not my best work but atleast i managed to write something?? keep in mind i had a fever when i wrote this

Rafe had no idea how he ended up here.

Well, if he was being honest, he did. He just hated admitting it.

He hated kids. Teenagers weren’t much better. If they weren’t whining about something trivial, they were loud, obnoxious, and bursting with opinions they thought were groundbreaking. And high schoolers? They were the worst of the lot, caught in that unbearable limbo between childhood and adulthood, convinced they knew everything and that the world had been tailor-made to inconvenience them.

He hated his job, too. But after his father had all but shoved him into college, and he had somehow managed to scrape together an art history degree through a chaotic jumble of barely thought-out course selections, he needed a paycheck. He needed something, anything, to make use of the four years he had spent drowning in essays about the Renaissance and lectures on the symbolism of Baroque architecture.

And there it was, a high school history teacher.

He was fairly certain the school had been desperate. Desperate enough to hire the first applicant who could string a coherent sentence together about the American Revolution. And lucky him, that applicant had been Rafe.

The school itself was unremarkable. Small, under 400 students, just two squat brick buildings separated by a weather-beaten schoolyard that reeked of stale cigarette smoke and teenage apathy. Five hours from the Outer Banks, he could visit home whenever he wanted. Not that he did. There was nothing left for him there, nothing worth the drive, and frankly, there was nothing for him here either.

His days were a loop, a monotonous, uninspired cycle of standing in front of rows of disinterested, hormonal teenagers, rattling off lessons about long-dead historical figures far more interesting than any of his students would ever bother to realize. He graded half-assed essays, endured halfhearted excuses about missing assignments, and spent more time than he cared to admit staring at the clock, willing the hours to pass. Then, when the final bell rang, he trudged back to his apartment, a bare, impersonal space that he never bothered to decorate. No photos, no art, and no signs that anyone lived there. Just a bed, a couch, and a kitchen table that mostly went unused.

And then there were the truly miserable days, the ones where he was roped into subbing for freshman P.E., a biweekly exercise in self-inflicted torture. Half the girls refused to break a sweat, acting as if running a single lap would somehow lead to their untimely demise. The other half of the class consisted of cocky, over-competitive boys who treated dodgeball like a blood sport. He spent most of those periods standing on the sidelines, arms crossed, blowing the whistle when things got too heated, and watching the clock even more desperately than usual.

It was a dull, uninspired existence; monotonous, predictable, and entirely void of passion. He lived his life the way his students listened to the outdated documentaries he played in class: half-awake, uninterested, just going through the motions because it had to be done.

Until you walked into his class.

The first day of school after summer break always carried a certain energy; electric, restless, filled with voices overlapping in an unfiltered rush of stories from the last few weeks. As Rafe pushed open the door to his classroom, that familiar wave of chatter hit him like a sudden gust of wind. Laughter, exclamations, the scrape of chairs against the floor—it was all as chaotic as he had expected.

With a quiet sigh, he made his way to his desk, setting his thermos down on the bleached oak surface before picking it up again almost instinctively, taking a slow sip before returning it to its place. His fingers moved on autopilot, retrieving his school-issued laptop from his bag, pressing the power button, and waiting for the screen to glow to life. His gaze lifted, sweeping across the students, his students. The same faces he’d taught last year, now a little older, a little different, officially juniors.

But one face wasn’t familiar.

You.

Rafe spotted you almost immediately, sitting in the third row, right by the window where the morning sky stretched in endless hues of soft blue. You were listening—well, nodding, at least—to Amanda, whose mouth moved a mile a minute. He didn’t have to hear her know she was spewing an endless stream of conversation; Amanda was known for filling any silence, anytime, anywhere. But his attention wasn’t on her. It was on you.

A dark navy skirt draped over your thighs, the fabric shifting in gentle waves with every slight movement. Your top, a delicate white spaghetti strap with tiny baby blue flowers, hugged your frame, lace tracing the neckline, a small bow nestled right at its center. A beige cardigan hung loosely over your shoulders, two buttons left undone as if they had never been intended for use in the first place. Your hair was pulled back into a ponytail, not rigid, not loose, just… effortless. A few strands framed your face, soft wisps that moved when you turned your head, catching the light in a way that made them seem almost ethereal.

And sure, you looked beautiful, undeniably so. But it wasn’t just that.

It was the way your eyes flickered around the room, quietly observing, absorbing. The way your lips parted slightly every so often, murmuring the occasional “Uh-huh” or “Yeah” in response to Amanda’s nonstop chatter, even as your mind seemed elsewhere. There was something in your expression, an almost hesitant curiosity, a quiet awareness, that made Rafe’s fingers pause over the laptop’s keyboard.

He had seen many faces in this classroom. Some familiar, some forgettable.

But yours?

Yours was impossible to ignore.

"Uh— okay, let’s get started. Settle down," Rafe called out to the students, his voice steady despite the chaos. The room buzzed with post-summer chatter, desks scraping against the floor as students found their seats. He rolled his shoulders, forcing himself to exhale. The first day back was always like this, full of energy, distractions, and the struggle to rein everyone in. But today, there was another battle brewing beneath the surface, one he wasn’t prepared for.

He hoped that once the lesson began, he could shift his focus, and force himself to look anywhere but at you. He clung to that hope like a lifeline, but the moment he commanded their attention, he had yours.

And when your eyes locked onto him, he was trapped. Hypnotized. His breath hitched, pulse stuttering in a way it had no right to. For what felt like an eternity, he couldn’t tear his gaze away, couldn’t shake the invisible thread tightening between you. His fingers curled into his palm, nails pressing against his skin.

Shit.

Swallowing hard, he forced himself to snap out of it, dragging his attention back to the board. He took a measured breath, gripping the chalk like it might anchor him. "Alright, I know you’re all still in vacation mode, but we need to get talking about history."

The usual grumbling came, but it was muted, fading as students settled into their seats. Good. The routine was safe. The routine was predictable. The routine wouldn’t let his mind wander to places it shouldn’t.

"Before we dive in, we have a new student joining us this year from the senior class," he announced, keeping his tone even, impersonal. His gaze flickered back to you, just for a second, just long enough to acknowledge you without giving himself away. "Would you introduce yourself?"

A brief silence. You hesitated, shifting under the weight of so many eyes before murmuring your name.

"Great," Rafe said, far too quickly. He cleared his throat, turning back to the board. "So, what do we know about American history from the Industrial Revolution to the modern age?"

The next forty-five minutes passed in a blur of discussion, textbook readings, and writing exercises. Normally, this was when he’d catch up on grading or chip away at whatever administrative work he had. But today? No. Today, his focus splintered, frayed at the edges every time he felt your presence in the room.

His eyes kept drifting.

To you.

It was reckless. Stupid. He knew it was wrong, knew exactly how it would look if anyone noticed. He wasn’t blind, he’d found students attractive before, but it had always been a fleeting thing, a passing thought dismissed before it could take root. A moment, nothing more.

But this?

This was different.

This wasn’t just acknowledging that you were pretty, though you were. Incredibly so. This wasn’t just an absent-minded recognition of beauty. No, this was something deeper. Something that twisted in his gut and settled in his bones, something that made his breath catch when he wasn’t prepared for it.

Something dangerous.

His fingers raked through his hair as he stared down at his keyboard, typing nothing. He could tell himself it was just a dry spell, that he’d been avoiding distractions for too long, that it was simply physical. But that would be a lie.

Because it wasn’t just about desire.

It was about you.

And that was a problem.

The shrill chime of the bell split the air, and the classroom erupted into motion. Notebooks snapped shut, chairs scraped against the tile, and a low hum of voices swelled as students shoved books into backpacks, eager to escape into the chaotic freedom of lunch. You swung your bag over your shoulder, weaving through the shifting maze of desks, your focus locked on the door. The cafeteria was called, an oasis of noise and anonymity where you could blend in, and where no one was analyzing your every move.

But just as you stepped forward, a voice cut through the chatter behind you.

"Hey."

It wasn’t loud, but it had weight, like an anchor dropping into the sea of departing students. Something in the tone made your stomach twist. You turned, pulse hitching slightly, to find Mr. Cameron watching you from behind his desk. His expression was unreadable, calm but not necessarily kind.

"Yes, Mr. Cameron?" you asked, hesitating.

"Can I speak to you for a moment?"

It was phrased like a question, but you both knew it wasn’t. He gave a small nod toward the door as the last few stragglers trickled out, a silent instruction.

With a quiet sigh, you nudged the door shut behind them, the click of the latch sealing you in. The classroom, so full of life just seconds ago, now felt cavernous, the quiet pressing in around you. You hesitated before making your way back to his desk, each step feeling heavier than the last.

Mr. Cameron leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the surface of his desk, fingers steepled together. "So… I wanted to talk to you about last year." His voice was measured, and neutral, but something about it put you on edge. "You were in Ms. Wallace’s class, right?" His eyes flicked to a sheet of paper in front of him, though you were certain he already knew the answer.

You shifted uncomfortably. "Mhm." A simple answer for something far more complicated. Your history with Ms. Wallace wasn’t just a class; it was a long, exhausting battle, a relentless tug-of-war between frustration, unmet expectations, and a sinking feeling of inevitability.

Mr. Cameron studied you for a moment before speaking again. "Can you tell me what didn’t work? Was it her? The material? Her teaching style? Or was it something on your end?" His head tilted slightly, voice smooth, probing.

You hesitated, suddenly hyper-aware of the way your fingers clenched the strap of your bag. "I guess I was just… kind of unfocused last year," you admitted, your voice barely above a murmur.

"Mm." He hummed, eyebrows lifting just slightly. "Just last year?"

Your stomach tightened.

"Because judging by today’s lesson, it seems like you're still a little… distracted. More interested in doodles than in history, huh?"

Heat crept up your neck, shame pooling in your chest. Your gaze dropped to the floor as if looking anywhere else might soften the weight of his words.

"You’d think," he continued, his tone carrying the faintest edge, "that after the school let you pass the year and only required you to retake this class, you'd put in a little more effort."

His words landed like a slap, sharp, deliberate. He knew exactly how unfair that was. Knew how it would make you feel. And yet, for whatever reason, he didn’t stop himself.

The silence that followed was suffocating.

“You want to pass, yes?”

His voice was low, almost teasing, each word curling around you like smoke. He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his desk, dark eyes locked onto yours with something unreadable, something that made your stomach twist.

You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry, and gave a quick, eager nod.

Rafe watched you for a lingering second, dragging it out just long enough to make you shift where you stood. Then, with an exhale that was almost too casual, he pushed himself up from his chair. He didn’t simply stand, he moved. Slow. Deliberate. A quiet display of control as he braced one hand against the edge of his desk, his weight settling into a lean. The aged wood creaked under him, but he didn’t seem to notice, or maybe he just didn’t care.

His focus remained entirely on you.

“And what do you think I could do to help you achieve that?”

Smooth. Measured. But there was something else beneath his tone, something just sharp enough to catch. Playfulness, maybe. Amusement. Or something more dangerous.

His gaze flickered, sweeping over you in a way that felt too quick at first, like a reflex he hadn’t meant to act on. But then, you saw it. The hesitation. The way his throat bobbed, how his fingers flexed at his sides before he rubbed the back of his neck as if trying to shake off whatever had just slipped through the cracks. But it was too late.

You had seen.

And by the way, his jaw clenched a second later, the way his lips pressed together, you knew he realized it too.

Your heart hammered. You didn’t answer him. Couldn’t. Instead, your fingers fidgeted with each other, twisting and untwisting, your bottom lip caught between your teeth. The silence between you stretched, thick and electric, heavy with something unspoken, something neither of you dared name but both of you felt.

Rafe inhaled deeply, the sound filling the quiet space between you. The air itself seemed different now, charged, like something unseen was pressing in, urging one of you to break.

He let the breath out slowly, his chest rising and falling in a rhythm that somehow felt… controlled. Intentional. And then, his eyes moved again.

This time, there was no rush. No flicker of hesitation.

Now, he studied you.

It was slow, almost methodical, th

6e kind of look that made heat crawl up the back of your neck, the kind that lingered just long enough in places that made you second-guess every inch of yourself. When his gaze reached your thighs, a nervous jolt ran through you. Almost instinctively, you gripped the hem of your skirt, twisting the fabric in your fists, your knuckles turning white.

A nervous habit.

One he noticed.

One that made his eyes darken, not dramatically, not in some exaggerated, obvious way, but just enough. Just enough for you to catch the shift, to see the amusement flicker across his face like the hint of a smirk he didn’t fully let through.

“Hm?” The questioning hum he let out brought you back to reality, back to his question, and back to the answer that you had yet to give.

“Um… I- I don’t know…” you stammered out.

His eyes flick down again, taking in your upper body, eyes practically circling in on your chest. As if your body has a mind of its own, you straighten your back, puffing out your chest.

Rafe’s eyes flickered up to yours, and for a second, he didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

The air between you had thickened, dense with something unspoken, something dangerous. His tongue flicked out to wet his lips, slow, almost pensive as if he were considering something he shouldn’t be. He exhaled sharply through his nose, a breath that almost sounded like a laugh but carried no humor, just tension.

“Yeah?” His voice was softer now, quieter like he was testing the waters, like he was trying to figure out how far this would go before one of you came to your senses.

Your lips parted, but no words came. Your throat felt tight, your skin burning where his gaze traced. You felt like you were standing on the edge of something vast, something that couldn’t be undone.

His fingers tapped once, twice against the desk, a steady rhythm that contradicted the barely concealed restraint in his posture. His body language told two different stories, one of hesitation, and another of inevitability. He was too close, and yet he wasn’t moving away.

Your breath hitched as he shifted, his body angling just slightly towards yours. It was a minuscule movement, one that could’ve been mistaken for a simple change in weight, but you knew better. It was deliberate. Calculated.

“You want to pass this class?”

The question was a mere whisper, his voice dipped in something that made your stomach twist. Your throat bobbed as you swallowed, nodding, too fast, too eager.

His lips twitched, almost smirking like he knew exactly what he was doing to you. He leaned in just enough that you caught the faint scent of his cologne, something dark and musky, something entirely him.

“Then you’re gonna have to focus.”

The way he said it—low, deliberate—sent a shiver down your spine. His words weren’t inappropriate, but the way he looked at you, the way his voice wrapped around each syllable, made them feel like something else entirely.

Your knees felt weak, your heart pounding against your ribcage as your grip tightened around the strap of your bag. The classroom, once suffocating in its quiet, now felt electric, charged with a current that neither of you dared acknowledge aloud.

Rafe exhaled again, this time slower, measured. His hand moved, not towards you, not touching, but close enough that you felt the shift in air between you.

“You’re nervous.”

It wasn’t a question.

Your breath shuddered. “I—”

His head tilted slightly, watching, waiting. His pupils were blown wide, his expression unreadable but entirely focused on you.

His jaw ticked, his fingers twitching at his side like he was fighting something. A beat of silence stretched between you.

And then, Rafe moved.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t forceful. It was a slow descent, a moment stretched into eternity. His lips hovered just above yours, close enough that you felt the ghost of his breath against your skin, close enough that your lips parted in anticipation before your mind could catch up.

He paused—just for a fraction of a second, just enough to give you the chance to pull away. Just enough to make it clear that if this happened, it was your choice, too.

But you didn’t move away.

Neither did he.

And before you could let a single other breath out, his lips met yours.

Soft at first. Testing. A barely-there brush that sent a sharp current through your veins, igniting something dangerous and uncontainable in your chest.

He exhaled against your mouth, and in that moment it seemed like something in him snapped.

His hand found your waist, fingers splaying against the fabric of your cardigan as he pulled you just slightly closer. His other hand lifted, skimming along your jaw before his fingers tangled in your hair, tilting your head just so.

The kiss deepened, slow but demanding, every movement deliberate, every touch igniting another spark beneath your skin. He wasn’t rushing—no, he was savoring, taking his time like he wanted to memorize the exact way you fit against him. He knew this was a mistake but couldn’t bring himself to care.

Your hands found his chest, pressing lightly against the fabric of his dress shirt, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath beneath your palms. His fingers tightened slightly in your hair at the contact, his grip on your waist firm but careful, as if he was anchoring himself as much as he was anchoring you.

The sharp sound of footsteps in the hallway shattered the fragile haze that had settled between you two, yanking you both back into reality.

Rafe was the first to react, pulling away, but only just. His forehead remained pressed against yours, his breath still ragged, chest rising and falling in sync with yours. His fingers, warm and possessive, lingered at your waist a second too long before he finally, finally, let go, stepping back just enough to put a sliver of space between you. But not enough to erase what had just happened.

His eyes searched yours, dark blue depths swirling with something unreadable, something dangerous. His exhale was sharp, tension coiling through his jaw as he dragged a hand through his hair, his fingers gripping at the strands like he was trying to ground himself.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, voice rough and uneven. Then, with more force, “Fuck. Fuck.”

His eyes shut tight, his head shaking in frustration as if the motion itself could erase the last few minutes. When they opened again, they were filled with something even more intense. In two strides, he was in front of you again, his hands gripping your upper arms, fingertips pressing just a little too hard, just enough to make you feel trapped between the heat of his body and the reality of the situation.

“This didn’t happen, okay?” His voice was firm, but there was a slight tremor to it like he wasn’t sure if he believed the words himself. His grip tightened before loosening again, as if he was at war with himself as if he didn’t trust his restraint.

You didn’t answer. You just stared at him, your pulse thrumming wildly, your breath uneven. His eyes flickered down to your parted lips, then back to your eyes, and something in him cracked. His hands slid down your arms in a slow, deliberate motion, his touch leaving a trail of heat in its wake. When his fingertips finally settled at your hipbones, pressing in lightly, his resolve wavered even more.

“This…” he exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I don’t know.”

His voice was different now, lower, more raw. His fingers traced absent patterns along the fabric of your skirt as his mind spiraled, thoughts tumbling into a chaotic storm. Why was he doing this? This wasn’t like him. He had met you, his student, his goddamn student, less than an hour ago, and he had already crossed every possible line. And yet, even knowing that he wasn’t pulling away. He was moving closer.

His hands ghosted up your sides, the touch sending shivers across your skin. His lips brushed against your ear as he whispered, “Don’t tell anyone. Can you do that for me?”

If someone had asked you that morning how you thought your first day of senior year would go, never in a million years would you have said this? Sure, you’d heard the whispers in the halls, and seen the way every girl’s eyes lingered when he walked past. Mr. Cameron was the forbidden fantasy, the subject of countless rumors and stolen glances. But he was also your teacher. And he had just kissed you.

You knew it was wrong. You should run, tell someone, do the right thing. And yet, as your mind battled between logic and desire, only one thought rose above the rest: he had kissed you.

Mr. Cameron, the man every girl in school lusted after, had kissed you. Had he done this before? Had he chosen others before you? Or was this different?

Even as doubt twisted itself into a tight knot in your stomach, you found yourself nodding, unable to speak, afraid your voice would betray you with the high-pitched, breathy sound of a girl who had just been touched by fire and didn’t want to step away.

“Good.”

His voice was barely a whisper, almost more breath than sound. The tension in the room grew, thick and suffocating, but you didn’t want to breathe anything else in. His fingers glided upward again, teasing over your waist, grazing over your ribs, leaving a trail of heat that made your entire body burn with anticipation.

Then, gently, with a tenderness that contradicted the fevered hunger in his eyes, he cupped your face. For one impossible moment, you thought he was going to kiss you again, that he was going to throw every bit of logic and control out the window and claim your lips as he had minutes ago. But instead, he tilted your head slightly, his breath warm against your throat.

Then his lips were on your neck, barely touching, soft and slow.

A sound, something between a gasp and a whimper, escaped you, and his hands tightened ever so slightly, grounding you, making you feel small under his grasp. His mouth moved lower, pressing another kiss, and then another, each one more deliberate, more intoxicating than the last.

You barely registered the moment he turned you around, your back now facing him. Your hands trembled as they found purchase against the smooth surface of his desk, the dark wood cool beneath your fingertips.

Then, with the kind of confidence that sent a shiver racing down your spine, he placed his hands on your thighs, massaging them slowly, possessively.

His voice, low and dripping with something dark and dangerous, ghosted over your ear.

“Stay quiet for me.”

You sucked in a deep, long breath, letting your head fall and your eyes close.

The feel of the Rafe´s fingers slid under the skirt and the pads of his fingers started tracing along your panties, each tiny motion making your body stutter and tremble.

“You´re… you´re real special, you know that?” He spoke from behind you but you couldn’t respond, still holding your breath as if letting out the air would make the situation you found yourself in truly real.

When he had had enough of feeling the warm, twisted feeling in his stomach as he let his fingers glide over your clothed cunt, he pushed your underwear aside with his thumb, letting the tip of his index finger dip into your already quivering hole. The action intensified the feeling and buried it even deeper in his gut.

As if a shock of lightning had hit you, you bolted away from his hand a few inches, clenching your thighs tightly as you finally relieved your lungs of the air they were keeping trapped.

“M- Mr. Cameron…” You started to sputter out but stopped when you felt long, gruff fingers curl around the sides of your panties before pulling the black lace material down tantalizingly slow.

A cold rush of air hit your most intimate body part, making you gasp and pant. When you heard rustling and what you could only assume was the clink of your teacher´s belt, you shut your mouth and froze as you waited for the man´s next move.

“Listen,” he whispered your name like it was a sin he committed and you were a pastor, “You understand that this stays between us, yes?” His large hands massaged your ass and thighs, cursing under his breath when he saw how soaked you were.

“Mhm,” you hummed in agreement. You weren´t sure why. He was your teacher and by the looks of it and the feel of his hands on you, apparently a pedophile. But god did you want this; you wanted it, him, so bad.

Before you could so much as even let another thought pass through your head, he thrust forward, burying his cock inside you as deep as he could with multiple rapid movements of his hips. You moaned and practically screamed, the sounds of pleasure from you making Rafe reach around and cover practically half of your entire face.

“Fuck, you´re so tight,” he muttered sharply next to your ear as he started moving inside of you again, dragging his hips back only to snap them back forward less than a moment later.

“You like that, huh? Like being fucked by your teacher. Little teachers pet.”

He knew this was wrong, you were his student, and you probably didn´t even actually want this but for some fucked up reason that made it even better for Rafe, and as the thought crossed his mind it only made him thrust into you faster. At that point, you were damn near choking and sobbing into his hand, his palm making it hard for you to get a deep breath of fresh air in.

With a sense of panic taking over you, you tried to move your hands off of the desk to claw him off of your face but your attempts proved futile when Rafe pushed you flat onto the desk, forcing you to take his cock even deeper.

His free hand which wasn´t taking away your ability to breathe, found its way between your legs, his index, and middle fingers drawing squiggly circles on your clit. At the shock of pleasure that ran through you as he teased your extremely sensitive bundle of nerves, you clenched around his pipe and arched your back. You felt that familiar coil spring up in the depths of your stomach, your body rocking slightly backward against Rafe´s to help you relive the press soon.

Rafe pushed into you harder than he had any of the other time before then, hitting your sweet spot with a force that would have made you cry out, had you had your mouth free. His fingers applied pressure to the shapes they were making on your clit. The mix of heightened attention and force made your pussy squeeze around him and pushed you over the edge, coming with tears in your eyes.

After a few more brutal thrusts into your soppy cunt, he came as well, unloading into you, his thoughts barely registering anything at that point except for you and your body bent over his desk, his cum dripping out of your used up hole and onto your thighs.

Slowly he took away his hand from your face, a trail of spit following. As soon as you got a few much-needed breaths, you collapsed onto the desk, your body falling limp. Rafe pulled out of you, not wasting any time before he pulled his pants back on and redid his leather belt around his hips. He leaned over you, his body covering all of your sweaty skin as he dressed you in your underwear again.

“You did so good, darling. So, so good."

[shortfictionweeklychallenge]

Short Fiction Weekly Challenge

Time for a new prompt from the Short Fiction Weekly Challenge, tumblr edition.  Let it spark your imagination.  Any character, any fandom, any original world.   Reblogs welcome!

Post your story to your blog and send the link to Short Fiction Weekly Challenge!  We’ll send the link out to all our followers to enjoy.

This week’s SFWC prompt:

Week of February 16, 2024

Random Acts of Kindness: No reason, no rhyme, no ulterior motive, no expectation of gratitude or even acknowledgement, no connection to the recipient. Completely random. Whether it’s small, barely a thought, or takes considerably more time and effort, have your character do some random kindness this week. 

Feel free to continue submitting stories for any prompt.  A masterpiece missed the deadline?  Don’t let it gather electronic dust.  Submit it anyway and Short Fiction Weekly Challenge will publish it.  

This week’s featured previous prompts are: 

Language(s) and Voice: Unless the tale takes place in a single village--and maybe not even then--a world and galaxy will have more than one language. Just because the canon material doesn’t specify languages and dialects doesn't mean they don't exist. They might be mutually intelligible via some sort of universal translator, but there’s still room for mistranslation, misinterpretation, and not knowing when to quit translating. Character voice is the more personal version of language, and canon sources rarely give guides to use of slang, dialects, and accents. Then there’s code-switching, where a character makes deliberate language or voice choices depending on their audience, and how they want to be perceived as well as understood. The language your characters use and how they use it is at least as important as your own as a writer. Give it some thought and bring depth to your world and your fic.

Forgiveness: Harder than it sounds. It’s easy to focus on whether someone deserves forgiveness, or whether the person tried to make amends. But forgiveness happens in the heart of the person wronged, nowhere else. When has your character forgiven another, and for what? When were they the one who begged forgiveness? Did they receive it? Did they offer it? Why? Or do they hold a grudge for all time?

Got an idea for a prompt?  Submit it here.

[seumyo]

imagine how heavy bakugou’s gauntlets are to you.

You weren’t entirely sure what you had done to deserve this.

Maybe you had done something awful in your past life, and it’s finally come to bite you back in the ass.

Sure, you were a UA student. Sure, you had signed up for the hero course, fully aware that it would involve combat training. But this? Holding onto one of Bakugou’s gauntlets—the same gauntlets that had nearly blown Midoriya through a building during the first battle exercise?

You could already see your funeral.

Your relatives all coming together under one roof to mourn you.

Your fingers curled stiffly around the massive piece of equipment, your right arm straining slightly under its sheer weight. You had always known they were heavy—Bakugou’s combat style revolved around explosive power, and he wasn’t the type to wield anything flimsy—but this?

This felt like holding a compact boulder.

A boulder filled with nitroglycerin-laced sweat.

That part was arguably worse.

It’s like lifting a weight that never really lightens over time.

Your mind raced with the implications.

His gauntlets stored his sweat to maximize explosive output. Which meant the one you were holding was loaded. Which meant if you even thought about holding it wrong, you’d be gone. Reduced to nothing but a crisp outline on the ground.

Holding an explosive hazard had never been part of your bucket list.

You could not channel your inner Meredith Grey and take one for the team to hold a bomb.

“I—” you started, your voice thin and weak. “I don’t think I should be holding this.”

Bakugou, standing in front of you with his arms crossed, narrowed his eyes. “And why the hell not?”

Because it was a bomb, for starters.

Because it was his bomb, specifically made for him, and you had just been handed it like it was some casual training exercise and not a potential death sentence.

Instead of voicing any of this, you swallowed hard and said, “I—I just don’t think I’m qualified? Don’t I need to have a seminar for this? Maybe a safety waiver?”

Bakugou scoffed. “That’s bullshit.”

Your grip tightened reflexively.

Oh god, was that too tight?

Was it going to go off?

Bakugou’s eyes flicked down to your hands, then back to your face. “Your Quirk makes shit weightless and indestructible, right?”

You nodded hesitantly.

“Then you’re the best person to hold it,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“But—”

“No buts,” he interrupted. “You wanna play defense all the time? Fine. But in the real world, you need to learn how to hit back. Can’t stand your damsel-in-distress act every situation, shithead.”

You bit your lip.

He wasn’t wrong, but… you had seen firsthand how much destruction his Quirk could cause. He had gone all out against Midoriya back then, using these very same gauntlets to unleash a massive blast that almost ruptured an entire building. You hadn’t even been in the fight, but you had felt the heat from a distance and had heard the deafening roar of the explosions echoing across the control room.

And now you were the one holding it.

“…It’s not gonna explode on me, right?” you asked.

Bakugou rolled his eyes so hard you were surprised they didn’t get stuck.

“Not unless you’re stupid.”

That wasn’t reassuring.

Not at all.

You swallowed again, forcing yourself to focus. You weren’t completely helpless. Your Quirk made whatever you held weightless and invincible. If you activated it now, you wouldn’t have to worry about the gauntlet’s weight—or about dropping it by accident and, in turn, detonating it.

Taking a deep breath, you firmly held the gauntlet with both hands.

The effect was immediate.

The heaviness vanished entirely, replaced by a strange, almost floating sensation. Your fingers adjusted around the gauntlet’s surface with ease, no longer struggling against its weight. A faint, translucent glow coated the edges, a telltale sign that your Quirk had fully activated.

You exhaled, relieved.

“Okay. I think I got it.”

Bakugou smirked. “Took you long enough.” He stepped in close without warning, his hands reaching for your wrists.

You barely had time to react before his grip closed around them, adjusting your stance.

Your brain blanked.

Bakugou was close. Too close.

You could feel the heat radiating off him, his fingers strong and sure as they repositioned your hold. He smelled like sweat and burnt caramel—like fire and something sharper underneath, something distinctly him.

(You tried not to think about it too much.)

If you hadn’t already been panicking about the gauntlet, you definitely were now.

(You were falling—ahem, failing at not thinking too much about it.)

“Loosen up,” he said, his breath ghosting over your ear. “You’re gripping it like it’s a fucking live grenade.”

“Isn’t it, though?” you blurted out before you could stop yourself.

He grinned.

Oh no.

That was a bad sign.

“Not yet,” he said, sounding far too entertained. “But it will be.”

You let out a strangled noise.

Bakugou ignored it, stepping behind you so that you were completely boxed in by his presence. His hands remained firm on yours, his chest nearly pressing against your back as he guided your aim.

Your brain was screaming.

It wasn’t like you were new to close contact—UA training often involved being thrown around by classmates—but this was different. This was Bakugou Katsuki, infamous for his temper and even more explosive Quirk, pressed up against you like it was nothing. Like you weren’t about to spontaneously combust just from the sheer proximity.

Maybe you were thinking too much into it.

“Alright,” he murmured, tilting your wrists slightly. “On my mark, let go.”

You nodded weakly, hoping he couldn’t feel how fast your pulse was racing.

“Three…”

You swallowed.

“Two…”

Oh god.

“One.”

You released, letting your left hand fall, Quirk disabling instantly as the barrier lightened.

The explosion erupted in an instant, the force slamming through the air like a shockwave. The ground trembled beneath them, a scorching heatwave blasting outward as the impact roared across the training field.

You barely had time to process any of it before you felt yourself lurching backward, the recoil throwing you off balance—

Strong arms wrapped around your waist, anchoring you firmly in place.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Bakugou had caught you.

His grip was solid, his chest firm against your back, keeping you steady against the sheer force of the explosion. His hand pressed against your stomach, holding you still as the last remnants of the blast dissipated into the air.

For a second, neither of you moved.

...

It was bad enough that you had just fired one of his gauntlets, but now you were in his arms? With his hand on your waist?

Man, maybe you should’ve been the gauntlet’s target instead.

Bakugou didn’t say anything at first, just exhaled through his nose before slowly releasing you, letting you find your footing again.

You stumbled slightly.

He steadied you with a single hand on your shoulder. “You good?”

You turned to look at him, still in too much shock to form a proper response. “Y—eah?” you replied after a moment.

Bakugou raised a brow. Then, to your absolute horror, his lips curled into an infuriating smirk. “Tch. Dumbass,” he says. “Not too bad, eh?”

“I could’ve died.”

“Nah.”

“I’m scared that you’re carrying heavy weight—bombs around like it doesn’t weigh a ton.”

A shrug. “Training.”

Your hands were still clammy.

Probably not from fear anymore.

“You wanna try using the other one?” he offered, surprising you and himself, really.

...

“Yeah. Fuck yeah, let’s do it.”

SEUMYO © 2025. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[i-am-a-fish]

TODAYS CHALLENGE

The Portfolio Sheet

I challenge you to create a commission sheet, no matter what kind of art you do, digital 2D, traditional, crafting, writing, voice acting, music, video editing, photography, literally anything!

however best suits the art you make, find a way to present it, this is not only a fun exercise, it's also a great way to show off what you've made. really useful for applying to colleges, applying for jobs, but most importantly it's just cool to have for when people ask to see the art you make!

not doing commissions? no problem! you can make the sheet purely for fun. alternatively though, you can show off your art, and in the area where you would display the prices you can write "NOT FOR SALE" or "YOU WILL NEVER BE ABLE TO HAVE THIS ART" or perhaps "YOU COULD NEVER AFFORD MY TALENTS", etc

best of luck :>

[millibeau]

Bix the Gnome. David's cousin (far removed). Don't call her cute.

[froggiequarium]

1.4k words nsfw; thigh riding w colonel caleb bc a friend of mine couldn't get it out of their head n now its in mine this is dedicated to my dear mely <3

-

something about the way you were acting today made caleb's eye twitch repeatedly.

he's not sure why you woke up today in such a mischievous mood, prompting you to tease him and press every one of his buttons all day long.

he was accustomed to this, in a way, but honestly at the end of the day—

he could only take so much.

he gave you a warning, one that held promise should you keep up your mischief.

"behave. don't make me say it again."

in response, you only gave a playful smile, nodding along to his words with clear intention of not following them.

caleb only chuckled to himself, mind already swimming with how he would deal with his disobedient adjutant later.

-

the colonel wasted no time, door just barely clicking shut before dragging you towards the sofa and plopping down on the cushions man-spread, tugging you down with him. your arms instinctively reach out for the first thing— in this case, his broad chest— to steady yourself while landing right on his lap, straddling one of his muscled thighs.

"it seems my adjutant decided to step out of line today. care to explain yourself?"

the tone he's using is the one he uses to command the fleet and speak to fellow crew members, dripping with authority and a show of his status. it makes your whole body hot having it directed solely towards you.

despite the sound of his voice sending arousal straight to your core, shiver running up your spine at the cold gaze he's giving you, a sly grin creeps its way onto your face as you trail your fingers up his torso.

"someone was so busy today, don't you think?"

your voice is as light as your touch. you peek up at him through your lashes, holding his gaze for just a moment before your eyes are back to following your movements.

truly, it was really something else when you got to see him act in his authority, and you wanted to see how much patience he'd learned to exercise after taking such a high-ranking position in the fleet.

a ghost of a smirk curls at the edges of his lips, and it takes everything in caleb to not shiver at your familiar touch, wanting nothing more than to flip you over and discipline his little adjutant right here on his living room sofa.

your faint touch is slow and teasing as you glide your fingertips towards his chest, voice dropping to something a little more sultry if not to highlight your underlying need.

"what are you going to do about it, colonel?"

the way you drag out his title so daringly gets him going, his gaze darkening in an instant at the tone of your voice and the cheeky look in your eyes.

you stretch your hands out fully, sliding them from his slightly-heaving chest and slowly upwards to plant them onto his broad shoulders.

without warning, his large hands are planted onto your hips. you have no time to process his hold on you before letting out an involuntary moan at the way he flexes his thigh, hands dragging your hips forward then quickly back at the same time.

"show some respect to the farspace fleet's colonel."

you shivered, body buzzing with excitement and arousal, feeling your panties getting wetter by the second under the skirt of your adjutant uniform.

you wait for just a moment, wondering if he'll do it again, wondering if he'll help you or go further when he speaks up again.

"what are you waiting for, adjutant?"

letting out a huff at the realization that he was going to watch you use him without helping, you grip his shoulders firmly as you begin rocking your hips back and forth on his strong thigh, chasing the momentary pleasure he'd granted to you just moments ago.

caleb watches as you desperately chase that high, hard-on bulging from his slacks the more you move back and forth, panting and whining for your release.

minutes pass and you can feel it, its so close, you're right on the brink, but you can't get there alone.

"caleb..."

"close already?" he almost sneers at you, tone between teasing and mocking.

"please... hah... wanna cum!"

you feel him grip your hips again, firmer this time, and relief fills your system at receiving his help again—

only to feel yourself stop completely in your place.

you let out a long whine, unable to move and satisfaction escaping your body in seconds as you realize:

he's holding you in place with his evol.

"hah, caleb!"

he was so cruel, you think, trying your best to spare him a glare, but appearing more desperate if anything after having your pleasure ripped completely away from you.

"don't give me that look. you asked for this, didn't you?"

his grip on your hips tightens, sure to leave bruises even through the fabric that covers them.

"do you think you really deserve it after your behavior today?"

he's stopped using his evol, but his hold is enough to keep you in place and do as he pleases with your body.

you moan at the sudden flexing of his thigh, fingers wrinkling the fabric of his uniform shirt from their grip.

"please..."

"you'll cum when i say you can."

his voice holds finality in its authority, leaving no room for argument as he begins dragging you back and forth over his thigh again, manipulating your pleasure and the pace at which you reach it.

but after a couple minutes of this you quickly grow impatient, already needy from chasing your previous high and wanting nothing more than to reach that peak again.

"faster... please, caleb—"

"disobeying again?" he questions curtly, slowing the drag of your hips as he speaks his next words.

"would you like me to stop?"

your eyes widen at the mere suggestion.

"no! no— i'm sorry.."

"sorry, what?"

"i'm sorry.... colonel."

"good girl."

at this, he decides to reward you, your body filling with pleasure at the increased pace caleb begins pushing and pulling your hips over his thigh while repeatedly flexing it.

"caleb.... caleb—!"

you're a panting mess, gaining some control and dragging your clothed heat over the slacks of his crisp uniform in time with his movements, feeling yourself finally begin to reach that high once more.

"close, i'm so close-"

"yeah? you wanna cum?" caleb pants, slowly beginning to losing his composure.

"please!"

he lets out a groan at your begging, watching your face contort into pleasure and desperation, waiting for him to tell you to let go.

a smirk tugs at his lips.

how pliant and obedient you get for him when he has you like this... he doesn't think he can ever get enough.

at yet another sound of your pretty whines filling the room, he concedes.

"cum for your colonel."

at his command, you let go with a drawn-out moan, soaking the pant leg of caleb's uniform, hips repeatedly rocking before slowing their movements as you ride out your high.

the man under you isn't faring any better, the wet patch through his slacks where his hard-on is still bulging clearly evident: the result of how much of an effect you have on him.

you've stopped moving now, seated on his lap while catching your breath, sparing a glance up at him. he really was beautiful like this.

figuring you both are done, you begin sliding your hands from their place on his shoulders when your wrists are suddenly held in place before you, startling you.

"ca-"

in a split second, you're flipped onto your back on the couch, surprised eyes wide and gazing up into caleb's dark-purple ones as he hovers over you, pinning your hands above your head with one of his gloved ones.

"did you think we were done? that you could just take what you want and leave?"

you swallow hard, eyes glued to his, breath hitching at the same tone.

"i'm not done with you yet," his voice is dark, need for you seeping through the cracks of his desire.

you glance down at the obvious bulge in his pants and subconsciously lick your lips at the sight.

he smirks at the action, free hand trailing down your body before pushing your ruined panties aside and, without warning, slipping two gloved fingers into your still-sensitive yet welcoming heat.

"a-ah— hah, caleb!"

"—so stay here and take it like a good girl."

with that, he swallows your moans in a hot, searing kiss to your lips.

it seems you might be in this spot for the whole night.

-

a/n: edited but also i have an eyepatch on (sensitive eye from earlier migraine) so if theres any typos blame that....

-

[sttoru]

hi!! could you write smut of sukuna w/ corruption kink x clingy reader? i need to see more of them 🤭🤭

 𝝑𝑒 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒. true form!sukuna x concubine! female reader. smut, pwp. corruption kink. reader is described as clingy cute / innocent. voyeurism?// exhibitionism. double pénetràtion. cowgirl. cream pies. nicknames ‘slut, brat, woman’. combined 2 requests :3

it’s honestly your own fault. you’ve been sticking around sukuna the entire day, clinging onto him like he won’t let you experience the consequences of your own actions.

“eyes on me, brat,” sukuna scoffs, thumb and index roughly turning your chin back. he needs to see your face as he embarrasses you in front of the guests and other concubines standing around the throne.

you’re supposed to feel regret, yet you’re drowning in a state of pure lust. it’s the thrill that keeps your hips going, the ache in them temporarily ignored as you search for that grande moment of euphoria.

you can’t care less about the humans at the bottom of the stairs. they’re grovelling in fear of the king of curses, knowing their heads can fly off if they dare to look up at you two.

it’s a sign of disrespect—a sign that the king of curses can’t care less about what those lowlifes have come to see him for. sukuna’s doing so on purpose, using your clinginess to his advantage.

“hah, what a total slut of a concubine,” sukuna scoffs, leaning his head against one of his hands, elbow propped onto the armrest. this is a punishment for you, though it certainly does not feel like that. even if all attendants in the room can hear you fucking yourself silly on sukuna’s dicks.

you and those sloppy sounds of your two bodies connecting.

you try to hold back your moans, but a rough yank to your hair instantly opens your mouth again. your eyes roll back and your voice spews out. “mhh, my lord—‘s too much,” you whimper, however your body doesn’t stop bouncing on his cocks. sukuna responds by squeezing your middle while he watches his lengths being swallowed by your cunt and ass.

it’s funny how you’ve been reduced to a mess—a toy he can command to do whatever he pleases. your clinginess secretly pleases him, because it reassures him that you’ll do what’s asked of you. sukuna grins lazily, letting you work for it, “too much? tsk. weren’t you the one begging f’ my attention, brat?”

he does have a point. you nod mindlessly whilst his cocks drill into you—leaving no hole empty. your eyes dart to both sides of the throne, where two concubines are situated. you can see them tremble in embarrassment and envy.

sukuna’s showing you off to everyone and they don’t like it; none of the concubines do. they hate the fact that he chose you to show off to everyone else in the room. like you’re the only trophy he’s proud of.

the guests don’t dare to speak either. nor does uraume, who’s politely looking the other way as their master ravages his favorite little concubine. they’re used to his acts of exercising his power.

sukuna keeps a firm grip on your hair, threatening to pull your head back each time you dare look around you. “you have no shame. absolutely zero,” the king of curses says condescendingly. as if the humiliation of being watched isn’t enough, sukuna’s words add to the embarrassment you’re feeling, “cock hungry slut can’t go a minute without being filled, hm?”

your whimpers get louder and your pace grows faster. his fat tips hit your deepest parts over and over again, the stretch threatening to split you in half. you’re too turned on to care. the way sukuna’s staring at you with that menacing glare—his sharp nails digging into your skin so painfully . . . you need it all.

“this ‘s why you’ve been following me ‘round all day long,” sukuna grunts—one hand coming up to free your breasts from the confines of your robes, “y’ just needed to be dicked down.” the flicks against your stiff nipples make you tighten up around his cocks again and again.

you’re nearly screaming because of everything your senses are picking up on. your half lidded eyes catch a glimpse of sukuna’s cocky facial expression and you’re almost pushed over the edge. he’s so smug—knowing he has you in the palm of his hand.

his eyes are luring you in. there’s a hint of something so primal in there - a beast impatiently waiting to be unleashed - one that sukuna is trying his best to suppress.

“aren’t you just cute. . .” sukuna mocks with a dangerous chuckle. his thumb rubs your bottom lip before slipping into your mouth for you to suckle on.

“kehehe, isn’t that what those servants call you? cute.. innocent.. adorable,” he continues, faintly groaning at the feeling of your tongue swirling around his thumb. sukuna cocks his head to the right and your eyes follow. that’s where you spot your maids and lady-in-waiting in a corner.

you feel tears well up in your eyes from both pleasure and humiliation. everyone is seeing and hearing you being claimed by the monster of a curse you’re riding. your maids have always adored your innocence—how you don’t seem to be tainted by sukuna’s advances no matter what. it’s a first to them.

it has been a rumor around the estate for so long; you being the only concubine who can withstand sukuna’s wicked influence. you always seem to stay yourself, your cheery and sweet personality never changing. you’ve been known as the innocent one among all other concubines.

yet here those same maids are, watching your brain being corrupted by sin. you’re so sinfully enjoying how sukuna’s cocks are penetrating you. “n-no, am—fnghh—don’t wanna,” you stammer, speaking to no one in particular. your inner desires clash with your rational mind and your body seems to continue its erotic act.

“don’t you fight it, woman,” sukuna brings your attention back by thrusting his cocks all the way up inside you, balls slapping harshly against your ass. he’s proud with his accomplishments. you’re slowly but surely being tainted by him and it’s so pleasing.

soon enough, that damned innocence of yours is going to disappear. he’s going to turn you into a total slut driven by lust, for him and only him. he’s going to ruin you and your body until all you can think of is the pleasure he can give you.

your nails dig into sukuna’s shoulders. you moan loudly, losing the battle, as expected. the king of curses just knows how to make you give in. he takes great pleasure in seeing you lose yourself, with everyone watching how he strips you from that innocence.

“stupid, nasty fuckin’ thing,” sukuna grunts as the lower pair of his arms hold you by your hips. he halts your movements before starting his own. “y’re mine, ya hear?” he pounds up into you—making you mewl. a chant of his name leaves your lips. you simply cannot stop yourself.

“yes, ‘m yours, my lord!” you moan for everyone to hear. the pink-haired man grins in satisfaction and quickly plunges his cocks in and out of your holes, needing to release himself so he could fully claim you as his in front of the rest.

his dirty cumslut, his tainted and brainless doll.

sukuna wraps all four arms around you, leaving no room for escape. he presses you against him until you’re struggling to breathe. your head is pushed against his shoulder and your insides are being turned into mush. the gooey fluids drip down onto the throne and down the floor.

“fuck. not a drop goes to waste or i’m fuckin’ ya again,” sukuna warns before shooting loads of cum into your womb and up your ass. both your holes are stuffed full of white, sticky semen mixed with your own release. you desperately clench around nothing once sukuna pulls you off his dicks.

you try to reach your hands out towards him as he manoeuvres your body away once he’s finished. the king of curses pins your wrists at your back so he can turn you around on his thighs, forcefully spreading your legs like a trophy he’s showing off on his throne.

one arm wraps around your waist and his chin rests on your right shoulder. sukuna keeps you on his lap and continues to act like he didn’t just completely wreck your insides.

while you’re left in the intense moment, he seems to have moved on already.

“speak,” sukuna orders the humans who’ve witnessed the whole ordeal. their foreheads are stuck on the floor—none of them daring to look up at the sight, like everyone else.

you’re panting and your head is spinning. you’re totally spent. sukuna holds your limp body up on his lap as one hand is busy scooping the excess cum back into your pussy, not wasting a drop like said before.

one of the villagers finally speaks up, stating the reason for their visit to the estate. their voice is muffled due to a loud buzzing in your ear. you’re tired and can’t focus on what’s said either. you just want to sleep. . . in sukuna’s warm embrace, filled and half-naked, for the entire room to see as they continue discussing business as if you’re not even there.

[deepspace-scenarios]

[scenario/drabble] Muscle Pain Relief

LIs react when you experience muscle aches from exercising. They tend to your pain and get just the tiniest bit side-tracked. Genre: fluff; Tw: suggestiveness (a lot of it)

SYLUS

"Really now? A trial class at the gym did this? I thought you'd be more resilient." Sylus smirks as you groan, his fingers pressing into a particularly stubborn knot between your shoulder blades.

You glare over your shoulder. "I am. I just got too ambitious and chose the advanced class,"

"Mhm." He flicks on a sleek massage device, its hum quickly soothing the pain, making you sigh and melt against the pleasant sensation.

The device stops.

He chuckles when you let out a disappointed whine. “Ambition comes at a cost. But I'll gladly help you repay it,”

His free hand massages your shoulder, then he traces the curve of your neck lightly with his finger, trailing near your collarbones.

The moment his finger dips under your collarbone, you hiss, jerking away from his touch- just to collide backwards into his chest.

“Does it hurt, or were you just… sensitive?" He asks, voice low and the slightest bit rougher.

“Hurts,"You grumble.

That workout did a number on your pectorals- you had no idea the chest muscle would be connected all the way to your stupid collarbone.

Sylus, on the other hand, seems to be having the time of his life.

You feel him press a kiss to your shoulder, then you neck-

“I'll take your word for it, Miss Hunter,"he says lightly, but with the way his breath fans across your skin and how his fingers trace feather-light circles at the skin below your collarbones, his free hand gripping your waist just a bit tighter- you know he has more on his mind. And so do you, because the air feels electrified, warm and dark with anticipated promises.

“Excuse you, Mr Physio," you fire back weakly, “This isn't the service I was promised,”

"Patience," he purrs, watching your frustration with amusement. "You will be granted everything you requested for… if you tell me everything that's going on in that pretty little head of yours right now,"

Your face flushes red. What an absolute, infuriating tease.

“I will... if you tell me what's on your mind too,”

“Negotiating now, kitten?” He says with a chuckle. “How about I show you?”

___

XAVIER

You all but collapse onto the bed after your shower, the accumulated fatigue from work and an intense stress-relief gym session feeling like a crate of sandbags on your shoulders.

You lie belly-down and prop your chin on your forearms, then immediately regretting the motion when you feel the muscle ache radiate through your upper back.

“Ow,” you mumble into the blanket under you.

Chirpy music comes to a halt when Xavier pauses his game, tossing his phone to one side.

“What's wrong?” He says, voice laced with concern.

You turn your head to look at him. “Just… the gym. No Wanderers to blame this time.”

"You pushed yourself hard today," Xavier murmurs, his palms warm against your sore shoulders. "It’s admirable… but let me ease the aftermath."

You go limp under his gentle touch, his thumbs circling the tension with just enough pressure. "Mmm… how are you this good at this?"

"Practice," he says innocently- but then his fingers dip under your shirt and inch up your back. "Though this… is purely self-indulgent."

“Xavi-”

“Hmm?” His hands smoothly trace your shoulder blades, following the groove until they're tracing down, all the way down to the small of your back.

Your breath hitches. He smiles, slow and knowing.

"Shh," he whispers, lips grazing your ear as he gently presses on sore muscles. "I will only ease your discomfort tonight. I won't get greedy. But once you’re recovered… I’ll show you other ways to relax after training,”

___

ZAYNE

Over dessert, you mentioned casually that your muscle pain onset was quicker than usual. Zayne nodded, and the night seemed to continue as usual.

That is, until you struggle to change into loungewear at home.

The act of taking your t-shirt off made your muscles protest, and once you wrestled it off, you picked a flannel, because to hell with anything that needed you to raise your arms higher than your shoulder.

Zayne, ever the observant lover, interrogated you for the odd choice of clothing.

A few moments later, you sit at the side of the bed while he kneels on the mattress behind you.

Zayne’s examination is brusque with efficiency- fingers prodding, joints tested. "Minor strain. Temporary pain is expected, but nothing crippling."

You pout. "Wow. Such clinical precision."

"I’m a surgeon, not a physio," he deadpans, but moves to retrieve a pain-relief cream anyway.

“May I-?” He asks softly, uncapping the bottle.

You nod, his question innocent and practical, but the implication of being under his watchful gaze as you unbutton your shirt makes your face heat up.

His touch is meticulous, smoothing the gel over your skin with unexpected tenderness.

Your heart skips, fluttering warmth spreading through your chest. It's nice when Zayne takes care of you like this.

And thank heavens you're not going through a cardiac assessment right now, because you'd be mortified at the stats- and Zayne would be equal parts amused and exasperated.

When you sigh, his fingers stutter. "…Does that hurt?"

"No," you murmur, locking eyes with him. "Feels good."

You see a familiar hunger seep into his eyes, and he looks away. "Don’t- don’t say it like that."

“What?” You ask coyly, tracing his jaw and feeling him lean subtly into your touch.

He exhales through his nose, calm, measured. Like he's trying to stop himself from unravelling.

He catches your hand and threads your fingers together. “At least let me take care of you first, before you continue with your mischief,”

Knowing Zayne, that in itself is both a permission and a promise.

___

RAFAYEL

It was a mistake to stretch, the familiar motion- or attempt at raising your arms high above your head.

You're now at the mercy of all the tight knots in your body drilling pain into your soul.

Rafayel, of course, notices immediately and ushers you into his room in a flurry of questions, prodding, and nuzzles (“my cutie deserves a spa treatment for training so hard today!”)

And so, here you are, in Rafayel's ornately decorated ensuite bathroom.

"Magnesium salt! Magic for muscles!" Rafayel says excitedly, dumping a suspicious amount into the steaming bath. "Trust me, Miss Bodyguard. I’m an artist- we invented suffering for our craft!"

Rafayel then drizzles lavender oil into the bath.

"This’ll make you glow like… like a bioluminescent jellyfish," he declares, pushing up the sleeve of his bathrobe and testing the water with his elbow.

Seeming satisfied, he offers you a hand. "Your magical healing bath awaits,"

You eye the water warily. "It won’t turn me purple, right?"

"Pfft. I wish it really did that. I'd even want to create a bath that gives you a beautiful iridescent glow, my cutie. But, until I figure out how to do that, it is only pleasantly scented mineral water,"

He guides you in, "Now relax.”

The moment you sink in, he gasps, "Wait-! I forgot something-”

Before you can turn your head, he’s shrugging off the bathrobe. And then you yelp- he joins you, towel barely clinging to his hips once he lowers himself into the bath behind you. "Raf- why are you in here?!"

"Can't forget me, your favourite fishie," He beams at you and splashes lazily. "…Also, it's easier to give you a massage this way."

His hand finds your shoulders, and as you melt into his gentle massages, you realise- he does have a knack for all things involving self-care and pampering, and he is never frugal about it when it comes to you.

___

CALEB

You know he rushed back from work once he saw you text him a few complaints about your aching muscles, because he’s still wearing the pressed white shirt that he usually layers under the colonel jacket. Normally, he’d change into a tee before heading home.

He’s seated you on the yoga mat, and you’re watching some home renovation show on the TV while Caleb manoeuvres your arms. A semi-permanent grimace is etched on your face from the sore muscle groups being recruited into unwanted movements.

“Focus, pipsqueak. Stop holding your breath,”

Caleb’s hands are firm, guiding you through stretches designed for fleet pilots to enhance post-mission recovery.

"Next part’s gonna hurt," he warns. "But it’ll help. Breathe through it."

You whimper as he presses into your shoulder deeper- and instantly, his grip loosens. "Too much?"

"Nuh-No, just… intense."

His ears redden at your breathy tone. "You- uh- gotta stop making those noises."

You grin at how flustered he looks. "Or what?"

“Or else,” He corrects, his expression morphing into one that foreshadows breathy whispers and heated touches that leave you shaking.

A hand tips your chin up, and his lips graze your earlobe.

“Or else- I won’t be able to hold back, and you won’t be able to handle it, not in your state,”

“Caleb- aha.. Ha, I know. I’m just- just kidding,” you breathe, cheeks bright red.

“Of course you are,” he says, voice low as he continues with the massage. “Now stay still for me.”

[cazshmere]

12th House Sign in the Natal Chart and How you can Heal and Find Closure from Past Wounds 🩵

materialist🔖

DISCLAIMER : healing is a journey, not a destination, and everyone moves at their own pace. these tips are here to give you a nudge, not to create pressure or perfection. if you’re reading this and some things resonate, that’s wonderful :) take what feels right and leave the rest. and remember, there’s no one right way to heal or find closure. it’s okay to stumble, feel lost, or take a break. trust that every small step forward, even the tiniest ones, are part of the process. be kind to yourself along the way; you’re doing the best you can 🩵

🧩 aries in the 12th house

1. you’re bold in action, but sometimes hesitant in introspection. reflect on fears you might avoid and tackle them directly, like you would any challenge.

2. pent-up frustrations weigh on your subconscious. try activities like boxing, painting, or writing letters you’ll never send.

3. give yourself time alone without needing constant action. Silence and stillness help you get in touch with buried emotions.

4. reflect on times you acted quickly and accept that growth often means making mistakes.

5. indulge in something silly, like playing a game or watching cartoons. It helps you reconnect with yourself. watching your comfort movie with your favourite snacks will surely help

HEALING TIP : try journaling with a twist : write letters to yourself from different ages, like your 5-year-old self or your future self, to see your emotions from new perspectives. this could be super cathartic for you and help you move through the hard feelings holding you back also try meditation that is targeted towards inner peace

🧩 taurus in the 12th house

1. learn to release your hold on past pain. Healing for you often means loosening your grip on comfort zones, even in memories.

2. reflect on areas where you’ve felt unappreciated, finding self-worth from within rather than external validation.

3. you resist change, so make small, gradual adjustments to your daily life that invite healing over time.

4. practice acceptance of things you cannot control or predict; even small, symbolic acts like letting go of a token can help.

5. revisit an old hobby that once brought you joy, like gardening, knitting, or cooking. it’ll remind you of your inner peace.

HEALING TIP : try a sensory grounding exercise: touch something soft, listen to calming music, and smell something grounding like lavender to soothe your mind and body. also something that can temporarily help is watching a super scary movie or just eating spicy food, it can help you distract yourself from your thoughts, at least momentarily

🧩 gemini in the 12th house

1. your mind runs fast, but your 12th house challenges you to slow down and acknowledge buried insecurities.

2. release old narratives, whether it’s past gossip, harsh words, or regrets, let go of thoughts that weigh you down. Practice rephrasing past stories with kindness.

3. try creative outlets that let you express emotions without words, like art or dance, to connect with deeper feelings.

4. when you socialize, make time for connections that feel supportive and honest, without intellectual posturing.

5. quieting your inner monologue helps you access the quiet truths below the surface. Breathing exercises can help here.

HEALING TIP : try recording voice memos on your phone when you feel overwhelmed. Sometimes saying things out loud can help you make sense of them faster than writing.

🧩 cancer in the 12th house

1. you tend to tuck away your deepest fears. Make time to reflect on past emotions without judgment or the need to ‘fix’ them.

2. address any unconscious attachment to people or situations that no longer serve you, knowing it’s okay to need change.

3. offer compassion to yourself, revisit times when you felt misunderstood or unsupported, and give your younger self the love they needed.

4. learn to let go without feeling abandoned. Spend time nurturing your sense of self apart from your relationships.

5. forgive old wounds, allow yourself to release grudges or hurts, understanding that they don’t define your future connections.

HEALING TIP : write a letter to someone from your past you’ve never fully moved on from, then release it (you don’t have to send it).

🧩 leo in the 12th house

1. step back from needing validation, explore who you are outside of praise or recognition. spend time with yourself, just being rather than performing.

2. acknowledge areas where you might have felt rejected or unappreciated. practice self-love that doesn’t rely on others’ feedback.

3. try activities where you’re a beginner. learning something new can help you find power in vulnerability.

4. let go of ego-driven fears, focus on what makes you feel genuinely fulfilled, not just admired. reframe your goals around personal joy rather than approval.

5. reclaim your authenticity by exploring what brings you joy outside of an audience, like a private creative hobby that brings you peace.

HEALING TIP : try visualising your inner child, close your eyes and picture yourself as a child full of hope and joy, and send love to that younger version of you.

🧩 virgo in the 12th house

1. acknowledge that some things don’t need fixing. practice letting go without feeling the need to control every detail.

2. practice self-compassion, allow room for mistakes and honor your efforts without focusing solely on flaws. embrace your progress, not perfection.

3. stop overanalyzing (ik it’s hard but your overthinking is what causes majority of your problems, the more you overthink the more power you’re giving to those unwanted thoughts) give your mind permission to take a break. activities like meditative gardening or painting can help soothe the inner critic.

4. connect with your intuition, trust your instincts rather than rationalizing everything. allow yourself to simply “know” without overthinking it.

5. embrace the chaos haha, let things be messy or spontaneous without judgment. Flexibility helps you grow beyond rigid expectations.

HEALING TIP : try writing a list of what you’re grateful for, it's a simple but powerful tool to shift your focus from worries to abundance.

🧩 libra in the 12th house

1. find comfort in solitude, learn to enjoy your own company, separate from others’ opinions or companionship. practice inner peace.

2. let go of past people-pleasing, allow yourself to address buried feelings of resentment that may stem from overextending for others.

3. balance your inner harmony, focus on inner alignment rather than external harmony. Journaling or meditating on your needs helps you center.

4. heal relationship wounds, reflect on past connections that left an impact. release blame, knowing each taught you something valuable.

5. set boundaries with yourself, give yourself permission to say “no” without guilt. embrace your inner balance, free from others’ demands.

HEALING TIP : you can try a heart-centered meditation to connect with self-love and release neediness for outside validation or try a balance-focused yoga routine, it can be both grounding and soothing, helping you connect with your inner equilibrium.

🧩 scorpio in the 12th house

1. embrace your emotional vulnerability, lean into your feelings without fearing loss or control. Sharing emotions helps relieve hidden weight.

2. release grudges (ik this is something hard for you but letting go is better than holding on to the things that cause you problems - forgive but don’t forget perhaps), practice forgiveness as a way of releasing old hurts that drain you.

3. face your darkest worries with courage, knowing they don’t define you. Write them down and let them go.

4. reclaim personal power, you’re literally THAT bitch don’t forget that queen, focus on how you can empower yourself from within, instead of seeking control externally.

5. trust others with your feelings when it feels right; vulnerability can be deeply healing.

HEALING TIP : you can try shadow journaling by exploring both light and dark thoughts to understand yourself more deeply or if you want something fun instead try listening to a mystery podcast or an immersive story app where you can dive into thrilling narratives. this helps you tap into your emotional depth while being entertained, offering healing through mystery and intrigue.

🧩 sagittarius in the 12th house

1. look inward for meaning, sometimes answers lie within, not in new experiences. find fulfillment in self-reflection rather than escapism.

2. explore spiritual grounding, sagittarius craves meaning, so find practices that connect you to a sense of purpose, like guided meditation.

3. release judgment and let go of self-criticism about past “mistakes.” accept that growth is a journey, not a fixed outcome.

4. embrace introspection by giving your adventurous mind permission to slow down and find contentment in stillness.

5. cultivate patience please (so so important) you may be prone to quick fixes; practice patience with yourself and your journey to healing.

HEALING TIP : start a personal travel vlog (even if it's just to document your local adventures) or use digital journaling apps to record your thoughts, dreams, and philosophical insights. It’ll allow you to process your emotions while in a fun way <3

🧩 capricorn in the 12th house

1. release pressure to always be “on”, let go of needing to achieve every moment. It’s okay to just “be” sometimes, without a goal in sight.

2. forgive your past mistakes, address any old guilt you’re holding onto. you’re allowed to grow beyond your old decisions and learn without punishment.

3. embrace vulnerability (very important) being open about your feelings doesn’t weaken you; it strengthens your ability to understand and trust yourself.

4. trust life’s timing, not everything has to be perfectly planned. lean into moments of uncertainty and find peace in simply experiencing.

5. reflect on your worth beyond productivity, spend time exploring who you are outside of what you “do” or “produce.”

HEALING TIP : try weekly self-check-ins to connect with your needs and desires, away from the hustle of daily demands.

🧩 aquarius in the 12th house

1. embrace your quirks and shadows, you have a unique mind, so allow yourself to be different even in your struggles. reflect on hidden fears and accept them.

2. let go of needing to understand everything, release the need to overanalyze or intellectualize every emotion; trust that some things are just felt, not solved.

3. balance independence with connection, don’t isolate yourself too much. healing also comes through genuine human connections.

4. explore spontaneous introspection, give yourself the freedom to meditate or journal in unconventional ways, like painting or singing.

5. lean into self-compassion, you may be hard on yourself for being “too different” or processing wounds and hurts “differently” but learn to embrace that unique perspective as your strength.

HEALING TIP : try creative expression exercises that bring your thoughts to life, like freeform art, dance, editing, posting stuff online (blogs, reels etch) or sound journaling helps too.

🧩 pisces in the 12th house

1. set healthy boundaries with emotions, your empathy can pull you into others’ feelings. spend time differentiating between your own emotions and theirs.

2. give yourself closure without finality, understand that sometimes closure isn’t perfect or neat, and let go of needing every question answered.

3. create a soothing retreat, build a healing environment, like a cozy corner or blanket fort lmao, where you can escape and connect with your inner peace.

4. release victim mentality, move beyond past hardships by reclaiming your personal power and seeing yourself as a survivor, not a sufferer.

5. TRUST. YOUR. INTUITION. you’re naturally in touch with the unseen. lean into that gift by tuning into your feelings without judgment.

HEALING TIP : create a healing playlist filled with calming music, or even soothing ASMR sounds, to help you unwind and feel safe in your own space.

© cazshmere 2024 [All Rights Reserved]

banner & pic credits to the rightful owners <3

[writeriguess]

Can you write a Katsuki x female reader where you have an enemies with benefits relationship? Smut. Everyone thinks you loathe each other but reality is you fuck in secret, but you don't love each other, at least you're not supposed to. (Pls include hints of secret feelings)

Not Supposed To

The argument starts like all the others.

“God, you’re fucking insufferable.”

You toss your gloves down on the locker room bench and glare at Bakugou, whose smug sneer only sharpens. His eyes follow you like he’s daring you to say more.

He doesn’t have to wait long.

“You almost blew my leg off during the exercise, again.”

“Then maybe don’t stand where the action is, princess,” he growls, leaning against the locker with his arms crossed. “Not my fault your reaction time’s dogshit.”

You take a step toward him. “My timing’s fine. Your ego just can’t handle anyone else on the field.”

He laughs, low and sharp. “Tch. You wish you could keep up.”

The air between you snaps, heavy with something that isn’t just anger. It never is.

The door clicks shut behind the last student leaving. Silence drips like oil.

You don't move. Neither does he.

Then, Bakugou mutters, voice dark and low, “You gonna keep yappin’, or do you want your mouth full of something useful?”

You shove him.

He slams you back against the lockers in one fluid movement, big hands gripping your wrists, his knee slotting between your thighs.

“And there she is,” he mutters, pressing his forehead against yours. “Little miss perfect, acting like she doesn’t beg for it when the doors are closed.”

“Fuck you.”

“You do. Constantly.”

You hate the way your breath catches. The way your core throbs, already clenching from the memory of the last time he bent you over the shower bench and made you sob into the tile. You’re still sore. You always are.

“God, you’re such an arrogant—”

He kisses you before you finish, hot and bruising. Teeth clash. Hands fumble.

Clothes hit the floor.

He drags you into the supply closet, barely big enough to stand in. You don’t care. You’re already undoing his belt, and he’s tugging your shirt up over your head with greedy, calloused fingers.

“You think I don’t see the way you look at me?” he rasps against your neck. “Like you want to tear me apart.”

You moan when he bites just below your jaw, a possessive mark for no one else to see.

“Because I do,” you whisper.

He growls, spinning you and shoving you against the wall. “Then say it.”

You glare over your shoulder. “Say what?”

“Say you need me.”

You almost spit out a curse. Instead, he yanks your hips back, one hand tangling in your hair, the other sliding between your thighs. His fingers slip through your slick folds, slow and taunting.

You gasp.

“That wet already?” His voice is a snarl. “Shit. And you say you hate me.”

“I do.”

“You’re such a fucking liar.”

He shoves into you without warning, one brutal thrust that knocks the breath from your lungs. You gasp again, nails scraping the wall, legs shaking.

“God, you feel—fuck—tight every time.”

His hand wraps around your throat—not squeezing, just holding. Possessive. Like he owns you. Like he always has.

“You want everyone to think you can’t stand me,” he pants, thrusting hard, fast. “But you take my cock like it’s the only thing keeping you sane.”

You bite your lip so hard it bleeds.

“Say it, baby,” he hisses. “Say you need it.”

“…Need you,” you whisper, broken.

“Louder.”

“Need you.”

“That’s my girl.”

You hate that phrase. You hate that it makes your stomach twist. That your heart stutters. That your chest aches with something hot and dangerous and forbidden.

Because this isn’t love.

It’s not.

You’re not supposed to want him like this. Not beyond the sex. Not beyond the anger and the heat and the raw, bruising want.

But he says things like that. In that voice. And your body forgets the rules.

He pulls out and flips you, lifts you onto a stack of gym mats with reckless strength, then thrusts back in deeper, angrier, more desperate. His mouth crashes into yours again—less cruel this time, like he needs to taste you.

“Fuck—Katsuki—”

Your voice cracks. His name breaks between your teeth.

You’ve never called him that during sex before.

His pace falters for half a second. Just one.

You both feel it.

His hands tighten on your waist. “Say it again.”

You try to look away.

“Say it.”

“Katsuki.”

He slams into you with a groan, face buried in your neck now. “Fucking hell. Don’t call me that unless you mean it.”

You do.

But you don’t say that. You can’t.

So you dig your fingers into his back, arching as the climax tears through you, hot and fast and blinding. You fall apart with his name on your lips.

He follows with a curse, grinding in deep, holding you close as if he can’t stand the thought of space between you.

Silence.

You both breathe like you’ve run ten miles. Your heart pounds loud enough to echo.

He doesn’t let go.

You don’t move.

You should.

You should say something sharp. Cold. Dismissive. That’s how it works. That’s the deal.

But his hands are still on you, too gentle now. His head rests on your shoulder, and you can feel how his fingers tremble just a little.

He whispers something against your skin.

You don’t catch it.

Maybe that’s for the best.