#And even harder to keep imprisoned

[is-not-a-bell]

Danny's mind was racing as he approached the hidden lab. He was so close and yet he found it hard to keep moving. When his legs were too rigid to walk he forced himself forward by floating. He- he was right outside the man's lab. His father The growing cold was freezing by now, it felt pure relief.

Danny let his feet touch the ground again and for his invisibility to wash away. He made sure his foot steps were loud enough to be heard. Mr. Freeze was already staring at him when he entered, freeze ray in hand. "Who are you? Why are you here." He demanded. Danny raised his hands in surrender. "My name is Danny Fenton, four... four years ago I was diagnosed with Huntingtons disease."

That gave the man pause, and a mount to inspect the boy. He seemed completely unaffected by the cold. Pale skin completely not flushed, no sign of frosted breath and he wasn't shaking from the cold at all. What was this boy, a meta?

The back of his mind screamed about a boy, still just a baby. When Victor's work and Nora's illness became too much and he sent Daniel to live with relatives as temporary guardians. It was better for him to live people who could care for him, as much as it pained Victor and Nora. Then things went downhill and temporary turned to permanent. Victor was in Arkham when he learned that Daniel was put into the foster system and he didn't hear anything else since.

Victor was brought back to the present when Danny spoke up. "I dug up old files about me being taken by cps. From relatives of your's who were my temporary guardians." He was shifting nervously, looking to the ground. "I- I was hoping you'd let me join you."

"I've been doing my own research and my friend's grandmother promised to help funding but she's not a billionaire." Victor started walking to Danny. "I'm pretty good with engineering too, I can help you make equipment you need." He trailed off his rambling as the man stopped in front of him. Victor pulled him into a hug. "I'm so sorry" He said and Danny's heart clenched at those words. With tears threatening to spill, Danny hugged him back. "You couldn't have known."

Danny is the son of Mr Freeze

So! Danny was adopted as a Kid.

It was never really that big of a thing to him, just a small footnote in his life. He never really cared about finding his Bio Family, or even looking into it at all. His new Family was enough for him, no need to complicate it all that much.

But then, the Accident happened.

After he got shocked by the Portal and passed out, his parents had rushed him to the hospital. Apparently his Heart had been pulsing irregularly, so they had decided to not take any chances.

While at the Hospital, the Doctors noticed a particularly strange result in his blood tests. So, a few months after he had been discharged (it took a while for the blood work to come back), they asked him to come back in for further testing.

At first, Danny was scared that they had found out about his Powers. But when he walked into the Room, they had other news.

He had been diagnosed with Huntingtons Disease, a rare neurological condition that apparently had no known cure. The only possible way to contract the Disease was to have inherited it from one of his parents.

They said it was in its early stages at the moment, but as time passed he would become weaker and weaker, and he would become more sickly. They diagnosed that he had just over 5 years left before he died, and there were no treatments or cures that could save him.

Danny got a second opinion with Frostbite, since he knew more about Ghost Biology and might know if it was truly a fatal Disease for a Halfa.

And yeah, it was. No matter how much of him is Ghostly, he is still half Human, and the Human Disease in his body can and will kill him. And there's no guarantee that he will become a full Ghost upon death. For all he knows it will just End him.

So, Danny had a time limit to find a way to cure himself. He didn't have much time to study, what with the constant Ghost Attacks, his School Work, and keeping his parents from attacking innocent Ghosts, but he managed where he could.

Speaking of his parents, they had been looking into the disease as well. But they seemed convinced that they could find a way to save him by simply dissecting a Ghost to study its biology. (It was as if this was just a convenient excuse to dive deeper into their obsession)

After a while, he mamaged to resolve the Ghost Attack stuff and got his grades under control, but he was still making little progress on finding a Cure.

So, he looked into other people who might be studying the same Disease, to see if he could look I to their research. But that search came up empty.

There was nobody who wanted to fund research into such a rare disease, so nobody was studying it. There was one man who was studying it, but he was a convicted Supervillain. Danny decided that he would be his backup plan, since he wasn't sure how Jazz would react if he teamed up with a known Villain.

He just kept on studying his condition.

...

It had been about 4 years since his initial diagnosis, and Danny was 18. And he needed help.

He had made no progress in developing a Cure, and his condition had worsened. He could barely walk without a limp anymore, and his limbs felt weaker by the day.

He did manage to get some luck when he found out that lowering his Body Temperature would slow the progress of the Disease. He was never more thankful for his Ice Powers than on the day he figured that out.

But he had hit a roadblock. He needed help, and unfortunately there was only one place he could go to get it. The Supervillain he had read about all that time ago, Mr Freeze.

Now he was headed to Gotham City to seek his help, even if it meant becoming a Villlain himself.

[kashverse]

inspired by @freakycore's post here!!

sukuna was convinced you were trying to seal him away.

the moment the package arrived, he narrowed his eyes at it, his arms crossed over his chest as you ripped the box open with excitement. when the pink and black plush was finally freed from its plastic prison, you squealed, hugging it to your chest like it was the most precious thing in the world. sukuna, on the other hand, looked like he was about to commit homicide. "what the fuck is that?" he demanded, stepping closer to snatch the plushie out of your hands.

"it's you!" you beamed, completely oblivious to the way he was scrutinizing the poor thing as if it was some cursed object about to explode. "you made a doll of me?" he growled, shaking the plush slightly. "what kind of half-assed sealing method is this? you trying to imprison me in this ugly thing?"

"first of all, rude," you huffed, grabbing it back. "second, no, it's just a cute plushie. i spent so much money on this, you have no idea."

"stupid," sukuna muttered under his breath, but he didn't let it go. instead, he grabbed the plush back and began an extensive examination.

he poked at its belly. he pulled at its little stubby arms. he flipped it upside down, shook it, and even sniffed it.

"did you just smell the plushie?" you asked, horrified. "shut the hell up," he snapped, grabbing the plush by the head and staring directly into its beady little eyes. nothing happened.

he scowled.

"stop looking at it like you're waiting for it to start talking," you sighed, reaching for it again. sukuna yanked it out of reach, clicking his tongue. "if it does talk, i’m tearing it apart."

"you’re going to make me cry."

with great reluctance, he finally let you keep your ridiculous purchase

but later, while you were at work…

sukuna stood in front of the mirror, holding the plush up to his face. "tsk. ugly," he muttered, rotating the plush so it was nose to nose with him.

he stared into its beady little eyes. it stared back.

he squinted. it squinted back—no, wait, that was just his reflection.

frowning, he propped it up on the bathroom sink and crossed his arms. "go on. say something," he ordered.

silence.

his eye twitched.

he grabbed the plush again, shaking it slightly. "i know you're in there, bastard!"

silence.

sukuna scowled harder, throwing it onto the bed before storming away. but twenty minutes later, he was back, sitting at the edge of the bed, arms crossed, glaring at the plush like it had personally insulted him.

this wasn’t over.

[neigepomme]

˙ ✩°˖ ✈️ mine / caleb x reader

synopsis; your beloved caleb is a deeply, deeply secretive (and dense) man, who somehow refuses to call you his. when you bring it up out of frustration, he ends up giving you more than what you asked for. but who would say no to that?

🍎 pomme's notes - the apple demons took over or something. i love my stupid self deprecating emo king

⋆ 2.1k words / angst-ish (kinda) into suggestive..? caleb is stupid / fem reader / 2nd person

you quickly realize that caleb never refers to you as his.

well, not quite. he'll say "my girlfriend", or "my partner" or maybe even "my pipsqueak". but that's the extent of it. he won't ever say "mine".

after you notice that, you decide to up the ante on your side. if he won't say it unprovoked, surely he'll say it to reciprocate you, right?

and so, you get started on your masterful plan.

leaving lipstick marks on his shirts and going "mine" when he sees them in his bathroom's mirror. tracing a finger down his chest and saying "all mine" with a flirty tone after he's done working out.

hell, you'll even up the PDA when you're out with him and tell a girl that's hitting on him off, simply by grabbing his face and going "mine".

but why the hell won't he call you his?

on the other hand, caleb is going insane from all of the times you called him yours.

the angels blessed him or something, he thinks. his beautiful, stunning, showstopping, gorgeous girlfriend calling him hers. if he wasn't happy about it, he'd be the stupidest man in existence. but thankfully, when it comes to loving you, caleb is the first in the class.

when you get jealous over girls hitting on him and you shoo them off, just by staring them down and calling him yours, he feels like he could melt into the ground and become a big puddle of pipsqueak lovin' caleb.

it makes him think that maybe, just maybe, he could call you his in return. but he quickly chased that thought out of his mind; his love wasn't as pure as yours. you called him yours innocently, with no real strings attached. you didn't entertain thoughts of keeping him away from everyone and everything. of making yourself his entire universe. not like he did.

and so, he refused to call you his, out of fear that he would imprison you in a cage he forged with his own hands. when life clipped his wings, he swore to himself that he'd do anything to make you keep yours forever. his evol would be used to make you float freely, never to chain you to the ground.

well, that was until you confronted him about it.

freshly out of the shower, you walked over to him when he was reviewing some files as he laid in your bed. he smiles when he sees you and sets down the files that previously occupied his attention.

"need me to dry your hair, pips?"

"why won't you call me yours, caleb?"

he chokes at how out of left field that question was and starts coughing. fuck, so you did notice, he thinks.

"am i.. am i not enough? i'll try harder, i promise, but i just. i don't know what i'm missing. it's like you love me, but there's always something missing, and i've been trying to figure it out, but i'm at my wits' end caleb. it's been driving me crazy and i tried so hard to get you to call me yours but it's ju-"

"baby, slow down. you're not missing anything, i can tell you that for sure."

you huff in frustration, dissatisfied with his answer. this is so unfair — you're wearing your damn heart on your sleeve, and yet caleb is not letting you see a sliver of his. you know he loves you, obviously, he's not the kind to fake it all.

but why can't he devote his love entirely to you? why's he so closed off? why does he draw boundaries for you, when all he could do was act on them? you were an adult, you could handle it.

sensing your frustration, he runs a hand through his hair and grabs your wrist, making you sit on the bed next to him. he inhales before explaining himself.

"look, i do love you. you know that, right? i love you more than anything on this damn earth. if you asked me to bring you the moon, i'd get the stars while i'm at it, just to make you happy."

"then why won't you ever call me yours? am i not worthy of being by your side?"

he shakes his head furiously, as if you've offended him by even asking this question.

"pips, you just don't understan-"

"help me understand, caleb! stop shutting me out! i'm capable of hearing it, and i want this — i want us to work! i call you mine, my boyfriend, my love, my best friend, for god's sake, caleb, you're my everything! and i'm just pipsqueak to you? is this some sick joke?"

caleb freezes. what if he comes clean, and you see him in a different light? what if you decide to shut him out, because he's too much? he wouldn't be able to handle it, especially not after he experienced domestic bliss with you.

what is he supposed to say now? bring back how he wishes that he could keep you away from the life you knew, especially when you fought with him to express how you loved living in this world intent on hurting you? how, despite every hurdle life threw at you, you loved living and giving back to those around you? he couldn't do that. not at the risk of driving you away again.

and so he resorts to giving you vague expressions and feelings, in hopes that you'll be satisfied with his usual mystical answers.

"no, no it's not baby. please. i just don't think i can let you know everything yet — you're just so earnest with how you love and my love's nowhere near as kind or pure as yours."

now it's your turn to stare in disbelief. you scoff, taken aback by whatever bullshit your boyfriend just spouted. your love is too pure? what the hell does he think you are, mother theresa? he might just be dumber than what you expected. you inhale sharply, getting ready to unload all the frustration you've been keeping at bay on him. you've loved the guy for your entire life, and somehow, he still thinks that the extent of your love is a PG13 romance movie: cuddling together, and maybe, just maybe, some kissing here and there.

him not taking you seriously and underestimating your love for him somehow angers you more than if you were actually missing something he wanted in a relationship.

"too pure? for fuck's sake caleb, i have needs too! we're not in middle school anymore, are we? i want to have sex with you! i want us to take the next damn step in this relationship! do you not want me like that?"

when he tries to defend himself, you shut him down immediately.

"no, let me finish! i get jealous when you get hit on by other girls! sometimes, i wish i could make it so that i'm the only person you know and talk to, i wish that i could keep you away from others!"

you breathe hard. there are so many thoughts spinning in your head and you just see his purple eyes staring deep at you, as if he's trying to scan how you feel — and that makes you even angrier.

how is it that he didn't take your words at face value right now? why's he trying to read into "the deeper meaning of them" by looking into your eyes, as if they were being more honest than you were being?

caleb, who was the smartest in his class at the DAA, the boy who tutored you through the harder math problems in high school, seemed so damn dense right now.

his mouth opened and closed, as if trying to figure out what to even respond with, but you didn't allow him to do that just yet.

"i love how you're always sweet. i love how you care about me more than you care about yourself. you're so perfect. but i'm so sick of pretending like we're 6th graders in love. do you even know how long i've loved you for? you've been the only one on my mind since we knew each other, caleb. god, even when i thought about dating a guy, i'd always end up looking at those who looked like you. i looked for you in every guy i thought about hitting up."

his jaw tensed at the information. you looked for him in other guys? when this whole time, he was right there, building up the courage to ask you to be more than whatever you were at the time?

he felt like his brain was going to overheat from just how many facts were thrown at him. you wanted to keep him away from the world? fuck, you wanted to have sex with him? he'd dreamt of it, of course he had. when he was back at the DAA and the guys would share their stupid porn recommendations, and he'd never be able to watch anything unless the actress looked a bit like you. even then, he'd felt so guilty.

and you wanted him like that?

and then here you were, sat in front of him. letting all of your frustrations and concerns and feelings out in the open. and caleb felt so guilty — so stupid, really. you were trying so hard to get through to him, dropping hints left and right, and he couldn't even reciprocate that.

so he decided that for once, he'd let go. he'd indulge himself in you, allow himself to take a bite of the apple he forbade himself from ever touching. if you were a trial sent to him by a higher being, then man, was he failing, but if the cost of failure was a taste of you, then he would happily take the loss. again and again and again and again.

you were eurydice and he was orpheus. always looking back, always falling deeper into hell's embrace if it meant one more moment with you.

and if caleb denied himself this — then he'd both be a heartless, cruel man, and an idiot. and he wasn't going to be either of those, not anymore.

so, he did what he does best.

he acted upon it.

"i just feel like i'm not being heard ou- mmph!"

you were on the verge of tears, salty drops lining your lash line when you felt his lips on yours. caleb pounced on you, pinning you down.

devoted, passionate, and a secret third thing.

desperate? who knows. who cares, really. not when he's got you sprawled out under him, reciprocating his kiss. for once, he kissed you like he was hungry for more. like you were his lifeline — not like the soft kisses you were used to.

he groans into your mouth, feeling you grow hotter as you grasp at anything you could hold onto. the sheets, his arms, his neck — and when you settle on clawing at his back during this tempest of a kiss, he thinks he sees the gates of heaven.

breathless, he pulls back and looks at you with a look that could only be defined as hungry.

"i don't love you enough? i'd destroy this damn world in a heartbeat if you asked me to. i'd keep you away from anything that could be dangerous, i'd make you rely on me only — always."

he dives back in, sucking harshly on the side of your neck. littering bites and hickeys on there, caleb could devour you whole. you can't help the sounds that escape you, not when you hear him mutter "mine, all mine. my only one, mine, mine, mine" like a prayer in between kisses.

you gasp, dragging your nails down his back in an attempt to ground yourself as he moves down to your collarbone area. caleb takes a second to breathe, and you hear him speak lowly.

"you are, so, so silly. me, not want you enough? if i were to reveal what i wanted to do to you, you'd be crawling away from this room at all costs. do you know just how much i've held back?"

he kisses your lips again, softer this time, but just as passionate. you're out of breath, mind hazy at the sudden show of possessiveness. caleb is finally, finally fulfilling your wish. who care about work tomorrow and having to hide hickeys? you've only got one thing on your mind, and it's the man latching onto the soft skin of your neck again. he all but growls this time.

"mine. all mine, mine and mine only. is that what you wanted to hear? i'll show you, yeah? neither of us is leaving this room until i make you understand that i want you just as much as you want me — hell, if i don't want you even more, pretty girl."

you nod frantically, feeling like you're on cloud 9.

turns out you were his all along.

he just needed a strongly worded pep talk to understand that.

🍎 pomme's final notes - can i be honest this is so self-indulgent. i want to reach into the screen and beat him up because of how stupid he sounds sometimes like i get it but also you're so sexy and how can you be so dumb like omfg get a GRIP!! STAND UPPPPPPP im pulling my hair out

also maybe one day i'll write smut. i feel like i go insane thinking about caleb and then i cant write for him beyond suggestive stuff so instead i just rock back and forth like a crazy person

[skiiyoomin]

Can you make Kenma,Oikawa, Hinata, Sugawara, Nishinoya, Akaashi with a sub! Girlfriend that has a personality that remembers a Golden Retriever?? (Can it be NSFW?)

ღHq boys with a sub!golden retriever gf

ʚft: Kenma, Oikawa, Hinata, Suga, Nishinoya, Akaashi

ʚCont: SMUT CONTENT, fem!reader, fingering, slight corruption kink, mirror sex, use of good girl, riding, oral sex

⤑Back to navigation

a/n i think i outdid myself with this one 😁

Kenma

There is a clear difference between your personalities. He´s passive and calm whereas you´re always a bundle of energy. Many joke you have all the energy Kenma doesn't. And that fact proves right in moments like these.

He was slumped on the couch when you skipped into the living room. Your eyes darted to his hands holding the controller. His long fingers were moving across the buttons with a speed only a chronic video game player had. A flash of thoughts that were anything but holy crossed your mind. They were pushed back almost immediately.

They were hard to ignore now that those same fingers were pumping up into your dripping cunt. Your hips moved on their own, rolling instinctively to find the same spot that had your head throwing back with whiny moans. The clutch your fisted hands had on his shirt tightened when you bounced on his fingers, riding them like you would with his cock. "ken mmgh fuck m´ tired" He wasn´t sure if his actions were out of sympathy or torture, but his free hand gripped your hip to stop their movement. His other hand, drenched in your juices, moved upwards at a fast pace, curling inwards to hit the plushness of your g-spot. "tired? already? well, I suppose I´ll help" Though he didn´t seem to mind with how hard he was in that moment, his erection begging to be freed from its restraints. The fast pace of his fingers brought your orgasm closer than you thought. Your mind blanked, body shaking as your walls clamped down on his fingers, imprisoning them inside your warmth.

His lips on your face landed you back from cloud 9. "such a good girl, wanna keep doing a good job for me and make me feel good?" He murmurs against your skin, to which you nod without hesitation.

Oikawa

Oikawa absolutely adoresss you. You´re his little puppy, his sweet innocent baby girl. He dies and revives every single time your doe eyes stare up at him with those bright irises. They shoot straight to his heart, tightening in his chest to the point where his breath is lost in the air. He doesn´t know what he´d do without his pretty girl. He could spend countless hours naming all the things he loves about you. But he was certain that what he loves most, is your willingness to please him. Like a puppy does with its owner.

Deep down, it isn´t just for the simple innocent reasons one may imagine. Your willingness to please applies to the bedroom too. And there was nothing that turns him on more than to have you on all fours, ramming his cock into your abused hole for hours on end.

Tears were falling down your pretty eyes, your back setting into a mean arch the longer you stayed in that position. Even then, your breathy shaky voice asked "m´ i making you feel good?" Call it a possible corruption kink, but seeing your head lifting to meet his gaze from the back with those teary doe eyes, your lips pouty as you concern yourself more over his pleasure than your own, god that just makes his dick harder than ever.

If anything, it keeps his cock pounding into you relentlessly, forcing orgasm after orgasm from you, all just to see you with that same look in your eyes. Yeah, he definitely has a corruption kink.

Hinata

You´re both bundles of sunshine. Your relationship is as radiant as the sun, a constant source of joy in each others lives. You´re both the same golden retriever energy and anyone can see that from a 20 mile radius. In terms of dominance, well, it´s hard to say. Or at least, that´s how it is for anyone outside the relationship. However between you two? It´s pretty clear.

The sight in front of you is sinful really. No porno you had ever watched was as erotic as this. Hinata is sitting on the edge of the bed with you sitting snuggly on his lap, your back pressed against his toned chest. You´re convinced you´d have bruises on your hips the next morning from how tight he was gripping them. Though your focus in that moment is on the dirty view from the mirror of your tight hole getting stretched open by his thick cock. While Hinata is setting the pace and keeping you balanced, you´re tasked to hold your legs wide open with your hands under your knees, giving you the perfect view of his cock connecting with your cunt.

As much as you wanted to throw your head back on his shoulder from the painful pleasure, you couldn´t look away from the sight. The way your puffy lips parted in an accomodating motion for his dick to pound up into you relentlessly is an addicting sight you can´t get enough of. The fast pace is dizzying along with the view of his fluids mixing with yours and coating his cock like a second skin. His pace sped up even more, though you hadn´t thought that was possible, when your impending orgasm resulted in the clenching of your gummy walls. "hold on f´me sweet girl, can you do that?" He asks sweetly into your ear despite the vicious pace of his tip kissing your cervix. "mhmm" Is all you can manage to say. "good girl"

Sugawara

Suga is often seen as the sweet calm boyfriend whereas you´re the energetic girlfriend whose always bouncing around with energy. It´s a balance that makes the relationship work very well. But what nobody expects is the 180 Suga does in bed.

A foot is balanced on his shoulder, his hands wrapped around the plushness of the back of your thighs. Suga loves this more than anything else. When your body goes limp from the pleasure, reducing all that energetic behaviour that you had before to nothing. You never resist him, no, instead you encourage him to keep going. To keep stretching your body into positions you didn´t think were possible. To keep your walls continuously stroking his cock, pulling countless orgasms out of you until you had nothing left to give. And even then, you keep your legs spread wide open like the good little thing that you are.

He groans into your ear "fuck. You like that? like how good my cock is making you feel?" He growls into your ear. One hand moves to rub your swollen clit, intensifying the pleasure. The result of your moans urged his ruthless pace to quicken. He chuckles breathlessly. "can´t even speak. am I fucking my baby dumb? Is that it?" The mocking tone of his voice was far more arousing than you thought and he knew it. How could he not when your walls were clenching so tightly around his aching member?

"wanna loosen up for me baby girl? I can´t make you cum if you´re squeezin so tight" He smirks "Yeaah that´s it, good fucking girl" He says in that low raspy voice you love so much. You´re in for a looong night.

Nishinoya

You´re both equally energetic. His energy rubs off on you and yours rubs off on him. You two together is utter chaos in the best way possible. Though when it comes to dominance, Noya is always sure to prove he´s the dominant one. Not like you mind anyway.

It´s movie night and of course, one thing leads to another. Now you´re on Noyas lap with his cock fucking up into you. If this isn´t heaven, Noya wasn´t sure what is. You´re always so eager to take him, to be fucked into submission. He groans lowly when you squeeze particularly hard. His eyes trail from your pussy to the swell of your breasts that bounce every time he thrusts up into you, his grip on your hips controlling the pace. The sight is so enticing, so breath taking that he can´t resist getting a taste. His mouth latches onto oneperky nipple while his fingers play with the other, giving them equal attention.

"aaah ngh noya" You moan, the sounds like music to his ears. His mouth latches off your breasts with a pop. "hmm? is my baby girl feeling good?" You whine, trying to speed up the pace. His gaze darkens with a primal lust. His feet plant on the floor and with a sudden boost of energy, he fucks your hole with a roughness he had never used before. He has no time to worry if he´s being too rough, becuase you´re instantly arching your back into a mean curve and throwing your head back. It´s overwhelming, the intense pleasure, the throbbing of your cunt the more he keeps his cock inside you.

A loud smack resonantes across the room, a gasp following it afterwards. The sting from his slap on your ass strangely adds to the pleasure, making your cunt throb more. He seems to sense this as well because he does it again and again. By the end of that night, the skin of your ass was a painful tomato red. Though you can´t stay mad at him when he fucks you so good.

Akaashi

Akaashi seems to attract the most energetic people ever. First it was Bokuto, now it´s you. He doesn´t complain one bit though. He adores you so much and makes you feel so loved too. He especially loves showing his love for you through intimate acts. It´s too tempting for him after all. When you´re always so greedy to please him and make him happy. Or especially when you´re so submissive for him. You trust him blindly and know he takes good care of you and nothing can ever make him more turned on than that.

Like now, he´s laying on his stomach on the bed. The thickness of your thighs are wrapped around his head, pulling him closer to your aching core. This was the thing he loves most. Worshipping your body over and over like you´re a goddess and he´s your most faithful worshipper. A shiver crawls down your spine when his warm breath tickles your bare skin, coming in contact with your heat. You gasp when his warm tongue slips out and licks along your slit until it hooks on your clit. Akaashi is a patient man, but even his own patience wears thin under the temptation of ravishing you whole.

He wastes no time in wrapping his lips around your clit, sucking the bundle gently while slipping a finger inside. One finger turns into two, then three. Soon enough his fingers are thrusting into you while he continues to busy his mouth with your clit. It´s not long before your body shakes from the force of a mind blowing orgasm.

He doesn´t wait a single second. Your legs are forced to spread open, giving him space to slip his tongue into your sensitive hole. You whine and squirm from the overstimulation. "aaah kashi" Said man lifts his head up, your juices smeared all over his chin and lips. They press wet kisses to your inner thighs while looking up at your flushed face. "you know the safe word, don´t you darling?" You nod meekly under his intense gaze. He smirks "good" Is all he says before going back to fucking your throbbing hole like a starved man having his last meal on earth.

[brittle-doughie]

Thinking about the acient Y/N cookie

Imagine a Y/N cookie who was part of the first 5 cookies who were baked But this Y/N was the only one who didn't get corrupted by their powers.

Final Days (The Five Beasts)

Granted power by your Creator and tasked to bring your corrupted friends back here wasn’t the hard part…

The hard part was watching them get imprisoned, hearing their pained protests and anguish. It was hard bringing them all to one place and even harder to not fall to each of their temptations..

Mystic Flour didn’t understand why you felt the need to protect such fragile cookies, cookies that can disintegrate into nothing with just a motion of her hand. Why bother spending a fraction of your power for these helpless little things…

Silent Salt couldn’t bring themself to raise their sword towards you, someone they called a friend even after having fallen to darkness. They just didn’t get it, why you cared for these weak pieces of dough….

Eternal Sugar was the most in denial above the rest. She didn’t understand why this was happening, you had to be under someone’s control to do this to her! She thought you loved her! She’ll cry out to you as the chains enveloped her prison, to please look at her, she needs to see your face, your eyes! She weakly cries as you leave her prison, at least tell her that…you…you….

You stood up for those little cookies against him?! Red Spice is trying to rack his brain for any kind of rationalization to your choice and can’t seem to find any! He never thought the day to raise his weapon against you would be now of all times, didn’t do him any good if he’s now stuck here!

The staredown before you and Shadow Milk as his prison traps him in, his hands struggling to keep the bars apart. This was the route you chose?! Why?! It could’ve been you and him, playing the weak cookies beneath you like fiddles, having them dance to your tune! You put those frail pieces of dough before HIM?!

And yet….none of them could bring themselves to hate you for this.

They couldn’t….

———————————————————————

You…don’t really hold onto your power nowadays..less you might end up becoming just like them. It pains you to be dishonest about your capabilities, but..you try to chalk it up as being for the best. Especially in current day.

“Y/N Cookie! There you are! I’ve been looking all over for you, the time of the expedition is today! Are you ready to join us?”

You chuckle to him as you finish up prepping your gear, stating that you’ll be with him and the others in a minute!

You wished you never had to go back to Beast Yeast again, but…if it meant possibly finding..her…then so be it!

[aetherraeys]

hideaway

for this request x

sirius black x reader ⊹ 6.8k

cw ⟢ swearing, very toxic household, angsty, reader has a bad homelife, descriptions of panic attacks, hurt/comfort

summary: in your mind, home was home no matter what, and as much as leaving crossed you mind, it was never a real option, never something you could commit to. you'd learnt to be brave in a different way, through sacrifice and endurance. and it wasn't until one slip-up, one glimpse through a crack that sirius found out about your well kept secret.

a/n:...i just twisted the knife in myself WHY?? this is prolly my most angsty fic yet, cried three times. not proofread x

Everyone found their way. Moved on, living their lives comfortably—peacefully.

Everyone except you.

It’s like you missed the train. Standing on the platform in a terminated station—frozen, trapped—living the same days on loop over and over.

You had small moments of peace; fleeting, few and far between—but it was something. something to take you out of the relentless dark cloud that loomed over your home.

If you could even call it that.

It even burned you to admit how it truly made you feel—imprisoned, burdened. Part of you wished you could feel different about it, and some days you did.

And though they were rare, they were truly amazing, each room overflowing with joy and light—as if there had never been a second of despair between the walls.

Sometimes, it was hard to explain what made it so suffocating.

It wasn’t the shouting—not always. It wasn’t even the silence that came after, stretched so thin it felt like it might snap and slice your skin open. It was the way it changed—constantly, rapidly—until you couldn’t tell what was real anymore.

It was cruel, in a way. The house knew how to pretend. How to charm you into staying, to blur the sharp edges with just enough warmth to convince you it wasn’t always bad. That maybe you were the one making it worse, and the one keeping it together, all at the same time.

There were moments where everything felt fine. Better than fine, even. There’d be laughter echoing off the kitchen tiles, the faint smell of something sweet baking in the oven, sunlight pooling across the floor like warmth had always lived there. Someone would tousle your hair, call you darling, say how proud they were of you for something small and stupid—doing the washing up, remembering to take the bins out—just being around even.

In those moments, the house felt almost normal.

But peace never stayed long. It never stayed.

A single misplaced word could ruin everything. A look. A sigh. A silence that lingered just a second too long.

Suddenly, the temperature would shift. Like someone had sucked all the oxygen out of the room. The same mouths that had just praised you would twist into sneers. The eyes that once sparkled with love would turn sharp, empty, or worse—disappointed.

And it was always your fault. Somehow. Some way.

You should’ve said something. Or not said it. You should’ve known. Should’ve tried harder. Should’ve been better.

And once the mood turned, it didn't end in hours—it lingered for days. Weeks. Sometimes it felt like the bad would never end, caught in an endless storm that just kept circling, even when the sky looked clear.

Before going home, you learned to prepare. It became a ritual.

Standing outside the door, hand frozen over the knob. Breath caught in your throat. Shoulders tense, jaw clenched. You’d stare at the grain in the wood or rusted metal of the bell, counting backwards from ten like it would change anything, like it would miraculously make it more bareable.

The russian roulette of what version you were going to get.

Maybe it would be the loving one. The one who called you precious and kissed your forehead and begged you to believe they were trying. The one who cried in your arms after yelling too much, whispering “I don’t mean to hurt you, I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I’m just...tired.”

Or maybe it would be the other one. The version that needed someone to blame—someone to tear down so they didn’t have to feel so small. And you were always within reach.

It was like being whiplashed by affection.

One moment, you were too much. The next, you were everything.

And you knew, in your heart, that they loved you.

But they also burned. And when the fire started, you were always the one left singed.

They hated themselves for it—told you that often. Said you were the only one who understood, the only one who stayed. And you held them. Every time. Because that was the part that hurt the most: you wanted to help them. Even as they broke you. Even when your chest felt hollow and your hands shook.

You learned to read the room like a map of landmines. Learned which words to avoid, which tones to use, when to keep your head down and when to nod, to agree, to thank them for their cruelty as if it were a gift. Because sometimes it came with a kiss on the head or a rare, fragile I love you.

You couldn’t leave.

Not because you weren’t desperate to.

But because the entire house felt built on your presence. Like the walls would collapse without you, someone needed to carry it all—and you did. Every single day. Without asking for help. Without complaining.

Because how could you justify saving yourself when they were still drowning?

Passing moments of peace kept you head somewhat above water, it was easier to pretend when you were with them—your friends—dulling the neverending whoosing ring of your heartbeat in your ears and the weighty pressure of your own thoughts.

Just slightly.

You’d laugh along, smile widely when expected. Hug back and sway along with each easy, warm embrace.

And sometimes, in those short-lived, temporary moments of solace—you’d indulge yourself, allow yourself to believe it.

When James would throw you over his shoulder with loud barking laughter, when you and Lily would spend hours lounging on the sofa, nonsense conversation filling the room, or when Remus would drap his arm over your shoulders—you could feel weightless. Safe.

But those moments always ended.

And when they did, you’d find yourself drifting. Zoning out in the middle of a conversation. Watching James and Remus banter across the room, listening to Regulus hum absently to himself while reading, or Sirius—loud, beautiful Sirius—throwing his head back in a laugh so real it cracked something open in your ribs.

And the ache would start.

That slow, creeping anxiety that curled its way up your spine like frost. A sadness so soft and sharp you couldn’t explain it. The kind that whispered: This will end. This peace isn’t yours to keep.

You almost envied them—quietly, desperately.

Not just because they were happy—they’re happiness was your only escape, only taste of normality in your wharped, upturned daily combat. But because they’d all chosen to be. Sirius and Regulus had walked out of the same kind of fire you were stuck in, years and years before the idea even crossed your mind, and they didn’t look back

They had each other.

Sometimes, you wanted to Sirius. Tell any of them. But the words never came, getting caught on the lump that forms in your throat at the mere thought at opening up. And you trusted them—with your life—but they’d already escaped. They’d clawed their way into the light. You couldn’t drag them back into the dark for your sake-you couldn’t taint what they’d built with your shadows. So you kept it to yourself.

You bore it in silence. Let it hollow you out.

The first time Sirius really noticed, it wasn’t because of something you said.

It was more because you weren’t saying anything.

Sirius noticed it the first time when you were sitting at the edge of the couch, surrounded by warmth and noise and comfort, yet entirely apart from it. Your shoulders were stiff, posture too still to be at ease, your eyes fixed on nothing in particular—swimming with a dejected sort of melancholy that seemed to drag your whole presence down like an anchor.

All sprawled across the living room with mugs in hand, a record spinning lazily in the background. Conversation hummed around you, warm and full, but you barely blinked. You sat curled in on herself, tucked into the far corner of the couch like you were trying to disappear into it. Eyes dull, distant. Fingers pressed so tightly into the palm of your hand that Sirius could see the tremor across your knuckles, and the skin by your thumb was raw, scratched and pinched like a nervous tic left to fester. It was a small glimpse—accidental, unmasked—of something Sirius couldn’t name but knew wasn’t right.

It was like looking at someone underwater.

He watched you from the seat opposite, brow slightly furrowed, worry pressing lines into his face. And then Lily came around, all bright eyes and warmth, with a cup of tea held out toward you and a gentle hand on your shoulder. You blinked, startled, your body jerking almost imperceptibly before you looked up at her, and in the span of a heartbeat, the wall slammed back up.

You smiled—too quick, too practiced—and took the tea with a murmured thanks. Sirius could see the way you tried to shake it off, tucking your hands beneath the throw pillow in your lap, casting your gaze downward with a practiced tilt of your lips. But he saw it, always saw you.

He didn’t miss the performance.

The second time, it was during a seemingly harmless spat between James and Marlene. Something inconsequential—voices raised, tones sharp and clipped but still laced with the air of playfulness. No one else batted an eye.

Except you.

You’d gone still again, your fingers twitching faintly like you were reaching for something—some invisible thread to tug the tension down. Your eyes darted back and forth between them, wide and alert, chest rising too quickly for what the situation called for. And then, without a word, you slipped away into the kitchen.

Sirius waited a beat, ignoring the puzzled look on Remus’ face, trailing after your absences, heart tightening.

You were hunched over the sink when he found you, your hands gripping the ceramic edge so tightly your knuckles were white. Forcing the lump in your throat down with a laboured swallow—ears filled with a dreadful high pitched ringing that made your head spin.

Trying desperately to at least be discrete—avoid detection, because now really wasn’t the time for this. You were trying to breathe—he could tell—but it was shallow, uneven, a tremor threading through every exhale. Your shoulders trembled, your head bowed, and he could hear the faintest sound of numbers being whispered under your breath.

“Y/N,” he called softly.

You didn’t react.

He stepped closer, cautious, watching you closely. He could hear the shuddering breaths now, the way your voice cracked on the number seven, like your lungs were collapsing inward. “Y/N,” he tried again, a little louder.

Still nothing.

Coming around your side, ducking his head down to catch a glimpse of your face, eyes screwed shut tightly, brows pinched high on your forehead. He reached out, hand tentative as it landed on your shoulder. You jumped—nearly recoiled, entire frame jerking as you tried to flinch away from his touch. Sirius immediately withdrew, holding his hands up between you like a surrender.

“It’s just me,” he said, gently. His voice was quiet but firm, grounding. “Just me.”

Your eyes were wide, glassy, rimmed red. Panic painted across your face in strokes Sirius had never seen on you before, and it made something in him crack.

He slowly took your hands, still trembling at your sides, coaxing them away from the tight curl of your fists. “Look at me,” he murmured. “Just me, alright?”

He guided your hand to his chest, letting you feel the steady beat of his heart. “Breathe with me, yeah?”

It took a moment—didn’t speak, didn’t nod, but your breathing started to shift—still shallow, but not so frantic, breathing just barely evening out, He walked you backwards gently, step by step, until the kitchen door opened behind you, the air brushing cool against your skin, subdueing the flush that burned under your skin ever so slightly.

“Come on. Let’s get some fresh air,” he suggested softly, guiding you to the bench in the garden.

You still hadn’t said a word—curled up, knees to your chest, arms wrapped around yourself. Fingers picked absently at the skin of your thumb, scratching with a quiet urgency that made Sirius reach out again, covering your hand with his.

And though your face was no longer twisted and scrunched in panic, its replacing expression had Sirius feeling no more comforted; the vacany in your eyes, the way you were scrunched into the corner, taking up as little space as physically possible. Scooting closer to you cautiously, his warmth washing over you in slow swathe, silence stretching between you.

“Are you okay?” his voice was quiet, careful.

It was too fast—too easy, the wa you nodded, not able to look at him. Gaze focused on an unimportant slab of concrete.

“You know you can talk to me, right?” he said, his thumb brushing slow circles over the back of your hand.

Another nod, a shorter silence gracing you.

Before you stood up abruptly, muttering something about needing to go, moving faster than Sirius could process. Words only computing when he heard your short excuse and rushed goodbyes to the others.

He followed you in, quiet in his pursuit, waiting until the living room door closed before he rush his endless flow of questions—why you were leaving, if you were alright. You waved them off, pulling your shoes on with hurried hands, pulling on your coat—swift to escape.

“Just need to go,” you said.

And Sirius stopped you at the door, stepping out onto the road with you, voices and laughter from inside barely audible through the cracked front door, now a distant hum.

“Are we not going to talk about what just happened?”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” completely dismissive, voice pinched.

Sirius scoffed, disbelief cracking through his voice, frustration creeping in. “There’s plenty to talk about. And don’t lie to me—I know when you’re lying.”

“I’m fine,” you insisted, voice sharper now, almost defensive. “Go back inside.” inching further down the path, putting a small distance between you.

“I’m just worried, alright? I’ve never seen you like that, you were shaking—.”

You huffed, turning your back to him, cutting him off. “—Sirius, I’m fine. Just drop it.”

Trailing away from him, walking down the driveway to the main road in hurried steps, and he was moving after you before he realised, instinctively reaching out, stopping you with with the soft pull of his hand around your wrist, his desperation seeping out, words adopting a pleading tone.

“At least let me drop you home—”

“No.”

The response was immediate, not even a second after his voice had uttered the words, home. So sharp, too much like a command, tone foreign to both your ears, voice cracked at the edges, panicked—raw.

He stopped, hands slipping from where they’d held you, palms raised. Your was breathing fast again, shoulders twitching with effort to stay composed, whole body ridged as though you were bracing yourself.

“Y/N…” he said your name like it hurt. And it did. Seeing you like this, curled in on yourself—it hurt in a way he hadn’t expected. And he stepped tentatively towards you, his approach so painfully careful—as if he was closing in on an injured animal, like he was fearful of scaring you away. You still wouldn’t look at him, but he could see it—that same dread swimming in your eyes and it made his stomach lurch.

“I’m sorry. I just want to make sure you’re okay. That you get home safe.”

With a shake of your head, you voice was quiet, hollow—“Don’t be sorry. I’m fine—I promise. Goodnight, Siri,”

And then you was walking away before he could stop you, the night swallowing your figure whole, shadow stretching before it vanished under the dull streetlights. His throat was painfully dry, the way you said his name, it lacked all aspects of you. Void of all warmth and wary, your empty words—promise—sounding too much like a lie for his liking.

Sirius stood there for a long time, the front door cracked open behind him—frozen on the pavement. A quiet ache twisted in his gut, cold and heavy as he pushed down the urge to chase after you. Brows furrowing further—tightly on his forehead as a small reality dawned on him.

He wouldn’t even know where to start.

He’d never been to your house, in all the years of knowing you, loving you, being your friend, he’d not once even seen the road you lived on, what your area looked like, what you went home to.

Stepping back inside the house where everything buzzed and thrived in his absence, settling solemnly into his seat—leg bouncing while he droned out the chatter around him—endlessly racking through his brain, almost spiralling.

Sighing as he tried to pinpoint just one time you’d spoken about your family, your home, something soild—real. But he couldn’t, not one detail. Not one word—throat tightening under the weight of his discovery, under the shame he felt.

It could be nothing, could be something—could be what he hoped and prayed it wasn’t. And now, he couldn’t stop replaying every second of what just happened, feeling sick to his stomach almost, scolding himself over and over. For not asking. For not realising. For not knowing for sure that you were okay.

The walk home was long, so long your feet burned in your shoes, hands tucked firmly into you coat pocket, fiddling with a loose string—the night’s biting wind had your ears burning. But you needed it—the time, the solitude. Watching the half-moon with a lonely eye, your only company until you reached your driveway.

Hesitating before you twisted the key, counting down slowly, fingers trembling and palms sweaty. Its been bad recently, the worst its been in a while; lasting especially long. And it had you on edge all the time, hands twitching around the door handle—and it was eerily silent.

You swallowed thickly, slipping off your shoes as silently as physically possible—treading up the stairs, recoiling under each whine and creak of the steps.

It felt like a short forever before you reached the top of the stairs and pausing, chest tight, fingers still wrapped in that string from your coat pocket. You didn't let go. You couldn't. That fraying thread was the only thing tethering you in the moment—something to anchor you before you crossed the threshold into your room.

The door clicked shut behind you with the softest sound, but it still made you wince. You stood in place for a second, maybe two—waiting. Listening. Hoping you hadn’t drawn attention, it was better this way—waiting for the storm to pass silently, with as little interaction as possible.

Looking down at your hands—red and raw from where you’d scratched them earlier, the skin near your thumb scabbed over. You picked at it without thinking. It was a habit you hadn’t even realised had gotten worse until Sirius noticed. You didn’t want him to notice. You didn’t want anyone to see the parts of you that were unravelling.

You curled up under the thin blanket on your bed, still in your clothes, pulling your knees to your chest. The silence wasn’t comforting anymore. It was just waiting for the next blow, the next explosion over the miniscule. And you lay awake like that for hours, flinching at every floorboard creak downstairs, eyes wide open in the dark, unable to find peace even in sleep—your pulse disruptive and invasive in your ears.

It was cruel, the way you felt trapped in your own space, in your own skin, folding in on yourself.

The look on Siriur’s face flashing behind your eyes—pleading, concerned. But you couldn’t drag him into this. He had escaped his own hell. He didn’t deserve to be tethered to someone else’s.

You turned over, burying your face in your pillow, holding your breath until your ribs ached. Truly forsaken—not even granted the small mercy of peace when with your friends—tainted with subsequent aftermath, the risidual burn from the scorching fire of your house.

Dinner was meant to be a break.

A breath of fresh air after two long, suffocating weeks. You had told yourself that over and over again while getting ready—while dabbing concealer beneath eyes sunken from too many nights spent awake. You’d smiled at your reflection in the mirror like you were rehearsing for a play. Even your voice, when it left your mouth, felt unfamiliar. Bright. Effervescent. Someone else's.

But the truth was your bones ached with exhaustion.

Two weeks passed. You hadn’t slept properly in days.

Maybe it was the walking-on-eggshells routine, the volatile rhythms of home. Maybe it was the internal noise that never seemed to stop—gnawing at the walls of your brain, keeping your body tired and your mind too wired to rest. You weren’t really sure anymore.

Your appetite had long since vanished. Food sat like lead in your stomach now—you hadn’t eaten all day, but the idea of it made your stomach lurch. The energy it took to just sit there—smiling, nodding, pretending—was all-consuming. The world felt too loud. Every clink of a glass. Every laugh. Every shifting of silverware scraped against the edges of your nerves.

Sitting at the restaurant table, smile wide, voice artifically light. You even laughed once or twice, chiming into the conversations with a manufactured sort of brightness. But it never reached your eyes.

But your posture was a little too perfect. Your hands too still in your lap—firmly pressed to your thighs so you wouldn’t give yourself away. Because the minute you let them move, they’d be scratching. Picking. Clawing. The skin at the base of your thumb already bore the quiet story of weeks spent fending off invisible monsters.

Sirius was watching you—he hadn’t looked away once in the past twenty minutes.

You could feel his eyes, a constant presence weighing on your shoulders. It was suffocating. He saw everything—every fake smile, every too-long blink, every glance downward as you recalibrated your mask.

And he wasn’t the only one watching anymore.

Regulus had clocked it too. His eyes didn’t leave you for long. The weight of their observation heavy on your shoulders—brothers with matching glares of concern—watching you across the table. Quiet. Calculating. Waiting.

It made your chest constrict.

So you excused yourself. Bathroom. You even smiled when you said it, tossing out a breathy little laugh to sell the illusion, leaving your phone on the table without thinking.

First mistake.

The bathroom was cool, mercifully quiet. You weren’t even gone for five minutes—fingers gripping the edge of the sink, letting your head fall forward. Gone just long enough to take just one breath. One single breath that didn’t feel like you were underwater.

When you returned to the table, something in the air had shifted.

Sirius had your phone. He wasn’t looking at it—not really. But he was holding it like it had burned him. The screen still lit up with missed calls. Texts. All from the same contact. Dozens of them. You felt the blood drain from your face.

Sirius didn’t look at you. Not directly. But you felt the flicker of his gaze as your expression fell—just a millimeter, just enough to crack the mask you’d so carefully painted on.

You forced another smile. Another hollow laugh. “I’ll just—step outside for a second,” you said, tone light, like your hands weren’t trembling at your sides.

He watched you slip out the back exit of the restaurant, disappearing into the alley. And the moment the door clicked shut behind you, you thumbed through your notifications and hit the call button.

It didn’t even ring once.

The voice on the other end was sharp. Cold. Punishment. Words hurled at you with precision and force, too fast for you to defend yourself. You tried anyway—murmuring apologies, soft placating words. Recoiling instinctively, holding the phone a few centimeters away from your ear as the berating began.

It wasn’t a conversation. It never was. Just a torrent of demands, accusations, complaints. Ech time you tried to get a word in, it only escalated the volume. Pacing the small space, like that might somehow drain the pressure building in your chest. Head bowed in shame—lump settling familiarly in your throat—one arm wrapped tightly around your torso, the other fiddling compulsively with the raw patch of skin by your thumb, picking until it bled.

Sirius cracked the back door open quietly. He’d lasted three minutes before excusing himself under the pretence of a smoke.

You didn’t even see him.

Didn’t hear him call your name quietly as he stepped into the alley.

But he heard everything.

The voice on the other end of the phone was loud even from a distance. Not the words, just the tone—loud and sharp enough that it cut through the quiet evening air. He watched the way you winced, head ducking as though the volume alone could bruise you—the way you flinched—physically leaned away from the device pressed to your ear. How your body shrank into itself as though trying to disappear. His stomach turned.

When you finally saw him, you froze.

He looked furious—hurt. And you backed up, instinctively shielding him from the sound, from your shame, from the bile being spilled into your ear, from the chaos bleeding through the tiny speaker.

The call ended after another five minutes, your voice small and desperate: “Yes, I understand. I’ll be home soon. I’m sorry—I’ll fix it.”

Silence followed. The kind that rang louder than shouting.

“Were you ever going to tell me?”

A few long moments passed before your lips parted to say something, anything, but he cut you off, sharper than he meant to be; “Don’t—lie to me.”

It made the air in your throat catch, a grimancing frown pulled at the corners of your mouth as your eyes slipped shut, forcing a breath through your nose. His tone stung, the simmering anger in his voice almost too much—take a second to push down the urge to breakdown right then and there. Already on edge.

Sirius’s face immediately softened. He took a deep breath, correcting his tone before he spoke again, “I didn’t mean to—I’m sorry. Please…just talk to me.” Lips curving into a frown when he stepped closer to you, and in return you back away slightly.

Your voice came out flat, strained, as you shook your head. “Can we not do this right now?”

And he runs a hand roughly through his hair, feet twitching in the ground, desperate to reduce the distance between you, he tried to keep the soft tone of his voice, regulate his emotions not just for your sake, exhaling hard. “If not now, then when? You’ve been holding this in for God knows how long. It’s not fair—just let me help you.”

“I don’t want your help,” you said quickly, too quickly. “I can handle it.”

His eyes widened. “Handle it?” he repeated, voice laced with disbelief. “You’re not handling anything—this isn’t handling it. This is barely surviving.”

“I don’t need you to rescue me, Sirius,” tone rising. “Not everyone gets to run away,” you snapped, the words out before you could stop them.

Your voice cracked, sharp and cutting, and his mouth fell open, recoiling like you’d hit him.

“Do you even hear yourself?” he asked bitterly, stepping closer. “You think this is normal? That panic attack you had at James and Lily’s?” He didn’t even notice the climbing volume of his voice, the abrasive tone his words took as he stepped further into your space—stopping just out of arms reach.

“That twenty-minute verbal assault on the phone?! That’s not normal?! That’s not love!”

His words ricochetted off the brick walls that surrounded you, loud and booming. It had you staggering a step back until your back hit the cold wall, like you were trying to disappear into it. Breathing turned jagged—short breaths that never made it out again. Eyes screwed tightly shut.

Hands came up instinctively in surrender, shoulders tensing, chest heaving.

Sirius’ heart cracked, all air punching out of his lungs—eyes glossy as he watched you shake.

You flinched away from him.

Sirius reeled, instantly stepping back. “I’m sorry—I’m so sorry,” he breathed, hands held out in front of him like he was warding off a wild animal. “I didn’t mean—fuck, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

But you couldn’t hear him. Not properly. The ringing in your ears was deafening, pressing your trembling hand to your mouth, trying to breathe, but your chest was tightening like a vice—vision blurring. The only sound filling the backroads were his slow, cautious footsteps closer, eacch pitched shallow fight for breath accompanying.

And your hand came out infront of you, as if to keep him away, trembling and outstretched like a shield between you and him—an unspoken plea for space.

But your breathing was no longer steady. It had unraveled completely, fractured into desperate, choking gasps, each one more strained than the last. Your chest rose and fell in stutters, panic carving hollows into your ribs, lungs too tight to hold even the shallowest breath.

Sirius froze, his heart in his throat at the sight of you unraveling in front of him. But then—slowly, carefully—he edged forward, hands open, voice impossibly gentle as he murmured your name over and over again like a prayer. Like the sound of it alone might bring you back to yourself.

“Hey, hey—breathe with me,” he whispered, voice steady even as panic swelled in his chest. “Just breathe. In. And out. Come on, love, with me.”

And something about his tone—low and sure, threaded with a kind of fragile desperation—broke through the haze. Hands latched onto him like you were drowning. He cradled your head to his chest, murmuring affirmations, stroking your hair. “You’re okay. I’ve got you. You’re alright. Just breathe.”

You did your best to listen. To match the rhythm of his breathing, to follow the rise and fall of his chest, to drown out the echo of everything else.

And eventually, your gasps turned into shaky, stuttered breaths. Still uneven. Still fragile. But breaths, nonetheless.

Sirius held you for a moment longer, just breathing with you, hands never leaving your skin—afraid that if he let go, you might disappear altogether.

“Do you want to go back inside?” he whispered, voice barely audible.

You shook your head. “I have to go.”

His brows drew together. “You’re not serious—you're not going back there.”

“They need me,” you said quietly, still not looking at him.

“Y/N, they’re hurting you.”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. You just stepped away—untangling yourself from his arms, slipping from his grasp with quiet finality.

And all he could do was watch—stood there, helpless, in that dark alley as you walked away.

The ghost of you still in his arms, the ghost of you pressed into his chest lingered, carved into his memory like a wound. His lungs ached. His eyes burned. His heart—he wasn’t sure he still had one. It had followed you down the street, scattered in broken pieces behind you.

The back door swung shut behind him. Inside, laughter echoed. Warmth spilled from the lights and the soft hum of conversation. But Sirius felt none of it. Just the sting of cold night air and the bitter ache of the knowledge that you were suffering.

The following days were unbearable for Sirius. He tried to keep himself distracted—he really did—but every time he sat down, his eyes would flick to his phone. And when there wasn’t a notification lighting up the screen, he’d pick it up anyway, tapping to refresh the messages you hadn’t answered.

He called you more than he’d admit—morning, midday, evening. Sometimes just to leave voicemails: “Hey, just checking in… again. Let me know you're okay, alright? Please.”

But you rarely answered. When you did, it was always the same. Vague assurances, soft and distant: I'm fine. Don’t worry.

But Sirius did worry. Constantly. He couldn't help it.

He found himself wandering the halls of Grimmauld Place like a ghost, distracted and irritable. The silence echoed louder than anything else, and it left him pacing the creaking floorboards of Grimmauld Place, heart thudding with unease. He hovered by the fireplace more than once, fingers twitching with the urge to call Kreacher to search for you—just to know you were somewhere, breathing, safe. But he didn’t. He didn’t want to breach your trust, even if it cost him his peace of mind.

Then came the silence.

By the third day, his calls stopped going through altogether. Messages went unread.

Not even a "seen." Just nothing.

Not even the hollow comfort of your voice. And that silence drove him mad. Rain lashed against the windows that evening, dark clouds crawling across the sky like bruises spreading. A storm had rolled in and so had the panic in his chest. Something was wrong. He knew it. Felt it deep in his bones.

You were just making dinner when it happened.

Standing quietly at the stove, stirring, trying to stay invisible. But they came in, heavy-footed and already brimming with rage. The moment the door swung shut behind them, it all snapped. And you barely had time to brace yourself before their voice exploded through the kitchen.

“Useless. Just fucking useless. Can’t even stand the sight of you anymore—GET OUT. OUT!”

You didn’t move right away. You stood still, spoon hanging limply from your hand, staring at the bubbling pot like it might anchor you in place. But then you set it down gently. Shoes. Jacket. Phone. That’s all you took.

And then you walked. No direction. Just away.

The sky wept with you as you wandered aimlessly, soaked to the bone, your skin ice-cold and trembling. Hours seemed to pass—or maybe it was minutes. The line blurred in your exhaustion. Your eyes were bloodshot, swollen, throat raw from holding in sobs that still found their way out. And then, as if your legs had decided for you, you found yourself standing at the foot of Grimmauld Place. It loomed tall and dark, but it wasn’t scary.

It was familiar.

Safe.

Your hands were trembling so violently it was hard to hold the phone, your fingers fumbling until Sirius’ name was highlighted in green. The rain relentless, soaking through every layer of clothing, your skin burned from the cold.

Staring up at the steps for a long moment before lifting your phone with shaking hands, battery hanging on its last breath.

The call connected on the first ring. “Y/N?” His voice cracked with urgency. “Y/N?! Where are you—?”

But you couldn’t speak.

The only thing he heard was the storm. The rain pouring and your soft, broken sobs tangled in its rhythm. He was already moving, phone clutched tight to his ear.

Sirius didn’t hesitate. He was out the door in seconds, shoelaces untied, jacket forgotten, his voice cracked, “I’m coming, I’m coming—just hang on, alright?” as he threw open the door, leaving it wide open as he raced outside into the storm.

But there you were. Just at the bottom of the steps, a ghost in the rain. He froze for a moment, heart seized in his chest at the sight of you—drenched, shaking, hollow-eyed and utterly broken. He didn’t hesitate after that.

Rushing down, wrapping his arms around you, whispering your name like it was the only thing he knew how to say. You didn’t resist. You didn’t speak. You just leaned into him, letting your head fall to his shoulder as he half-dragged, half-carried you inside.

The warmth of the house hit you like a wave, but it didn’t reach you. Sirius took your coat off with trembling hands, calling Kreacher in a voice tight with urgency. The elf vanished to prepare a bath as Sirius led you to his room, cradling your shivering body with care.

You stood motionless, silent tears accompanying the drips from your clothing on the rug—barely there. He fetched a towel, wrapped you in it, pulling you gently into his arms again as you finally hiccuped out, “Didn’t know where else to go.”

He cradled your head gently, resting his chin there, whispering.

“It’s okay. You’re safe. You’re with me now. You’re home, yeah? You’re home.”

You didn’t nod, just let him hold you, your body trembling in his embrace. When the bath was ready, he guided you there slowly, his hand on your back like a tether, steady and warm. You let him undress you like a doll, mechanical and unresponsive, let him wash your hair with careful fingers, his touch delicate, reverent—like if he was too rough, you might shatter completely.

Afterwards, he dressed you in his clothes, gently guiding your arms through sleeves, pulling the jumper down over your head. You sat where he put you, legs curled under you on the sofa, barely blinking.

He brought food—warm, nourishing—but the moment the smell hit you, your stomach turned. Your hand shot up to your mouth, eyes watering with a lurch of nausea. Sirius reacted instantly, waving the food away, concern etched deep in the lines of his face.

He brought you back to his bed, wrapping you up in the thick duvet, curling himself around you like a barrier against the world.

You barely registered when the door knocked gently and Regulus stepped inside, a mug of tea in hand. He said nothing, just handed it over with a soft look, his concern etched in the way he lingered before retreating.

Sirius coaxed you to sit up, holding the cup near your lips, voice tender. “Just try, yeah? Please.” Palm warm against your spine, making small soothing circles of encouragement, eyes pleading before he continue

“You haven’t eaten or drank anything since you got here. Just a sip. For me.”

A long pause. And then, finally, you nodded. The smallest motion. He let out a quiet sigh of relief and helped you sip slowly, one hand around yours to keep the mug steady.

When you finished, he set the cup aside and pulled you back into his chest, wrapping the duvet around the two of you like a cocoon. You were shivering again, even under the warmth, so he rubbed soft circles into your back.

“You’re so brave, you know that?” lips brushing your temple as he spoke softly. “You’ve been so strong for so long. But it’s okay now. You don’t have to go back. Not ever. You’re staying here. With me.”

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, he thought you’d slipped into sleep—until the first shake.

That was when you broke—really broke. Not violently. Not loudly. Just a soft, unraveling cry that soaked into his shirt, your fingers weakly clutching the fabric, your breath hitching in little sobs you couldn’t control. He held you through it all, his own eyes stinging.

“So tired, Sirius.”

His throat closed. A sharp, painful tug in his chest.

“I know, love.” he murmured, kissing your temple with trembling lips. “It’s okay. I’ve got you now. Just close your eyes. You’re safe here. You can rest.”

The rain still whispered outside, but within Grimmauld Place, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself fall into sleep.

And Sirius stayed awake long after you’d gone quiet, holding you like you were the only thing tethering him to this earth—because maybe you were.

He pressed one last kiss to your temple, letting his eyes slip shut.

[draconic-desire]

♠️ To the Grave ♠️

Yandere Aventurine x Reader

Yet another escape attempt thwarted. How will Aventurine react, and what will your fate be?

Warnings: Yandere behavior, implied kidnapping, forced imprisonment and affection

The room is cold, and not just because you’re half naked and shivering, clutching at your thin pajamas. No, it’s because the man across from you is radiating an aura more bone-chilling than Jarilo-VI.

Aventurine dismisses the IPC grunts who dragged you in with a wave of his hand. You get a sick sort of satisfaction that it took four of them, plus a senior staff member in a mech suit, to finally restrain you this time.

Your escape this round was spontaneous, but you couldn’t turn your nose at the opportunity when you noticed the guards had failed to lock your door that evening. You’d sprinted out wearing nothing but the ridiculous, skimpy nightwear that Aventurine liked to return to you wearing. You’d made it as far as the outskirts of the manor before you were grabbed and tackled by the pursuing goons.

Hence how you found yourself here, presented to the very man who held you captive against your will.

The room is dead silent. His back is to you, so you can’t gauge his expression, but you notice he’s playing with a single chip, tossing it back and forth between his hands—a tick that you’ve learned means he’s thinking, calculating.

“Did you really think your little stunt would work?” His voice is calm, barely over a whisper, but it still sends a shiver down your spine. Your nails dig into your palms ever so slightly harder, leaving crescent moons in their wake.

“The odds haven’t stopped me before,” you throw back, mocking his own betting lingo.

Aventurine lets out a dry, breathy laugh. “And that’s what makes a gambler. That desperate desire to cling to the hope that the next time will be the jackpot.”

“I’m willing to take those odds if it means a lifetime without you.”

He does not have one of his normal, clever comebacks for that, apparently. He merely flicks the chip one more time and snatches it midair in his left hand, which then moves to settle behind his back.

“Do you have any idea the lengths I go to in order to keep you safe?”

At first, you think you imagine it—the edge of hurt, the crack in his voice. But then you notice his posture, the hand held behind his back, the fist shaking ever so slightly. It’s the same as when he’s making a risky bet, when he’s scared of the next play.

Some of your bitterness morphs to confusion. “Aventurine—”

This time he turns, and his mesmerizing, beautiful, terrifying Avgin eyes meet your own. “You know what to call me.”

“Kakavasha,” you breathe out after a pause. At the sound of his true name, you see him release a breath, some of the ice melting around his eyes. “This isn’t safety, this is a prison. You can’t expect me to…”

Your voice trails off as he wraps his arms around you, one hand caressing your hair while the other attaches to your hip. He buries his nose into your neck, right at the base of your jaw, and you suck in a breath. You still feel the ghost of pain from each previous bite and bruise he’s left on your neck, the marks he uses to stake his claim on you.

He releases a choked laugh, making your knees weak with fear. You brace yourself for pain, for the sting of his fangs as he sinks his teeth into your flesh—

Except you realize he’s not laughing, he’s crying.

“I was so frightened, (Y/n). I thought—I thought you were gone—” Each attempt is cut off with another hitched breath, his grip on you like a vice. “You’re all I have left, the only thing that I can protect. I can’t lose you, too. I’ll give you anything. So please, just…stay.”

Your initial shock starts to bleed into uncertainty. Strings of doubt, of guilt, wrap around your heart. How can you pull away from him, knowing his past? How fate has stolen every loved one from him, leaving him a broken shell that he himself was forced to piece back together? Can you truly blame him for his possessiveness, his need to keep you?

Of course you can, logic tells you. But the lost man—no, the frightened Avgin boy, the last of his kind—who is clutching you with such unbridled affection and sadness doesn’t need your reasoning, he needs your understanding, your compassion.

You sigh, placing your hand on his head and running your fingers through his golden tresses, in the manner you know he loves so dearly from you. “I’m sorry. I—I’m not going anywhere.”

“No,” he agrees, his voice suddenly clear, “you aren’t.”

Something rattles and wraps around your neck with a click.

“Wha-what—!” You scratch at your nape, at the metal fixture that you don’t even need a mirror to identify. No. He couldn’t have. He wouldn’t, not after everything he himself has been through, he wouldn’t subject you to the same humiliation and torture—

Aventurine gives the chain attached to the shackle around your neck a light tug. When your eyes lock with his, you see they are void of tears, brimming only with smug victory. The basted fucking faked it.

How easily you had fallen for the mask of Kakavasha, only to be met by the reality of Aventurine, his heart as hard as stone.

You immediately thrash, baring your teeth at him. “Bastard! Liar! Heartless wretch!” You growl when you hear him laugh at that last one. “I will never stop fighting you, not until you are alone, dead, and buried as you deserve!”

“That may be so,” he drawls, “but your willing compliance certainly isn’t something I’m willing to bet on.” He pulls you close by your chain, licking your fallen tear of frustration. “So how about I bring you to the grave with me, hm?”

[nackrosor]

~Your Wish~

(Part 3/3)

Part 1 - Part 2

Brahms Heelshire x nanny!Reader

warnings/tags: nsfw, smut, dub-con (with very dubious p in v), power dynamics, mommy issues, Brahms is a perv through and through

word count: 2,9k.

author's notes: this is the filthiest thing I've ever written, I swear. I tried to imbue this with all my naughtiness lmao I hope it was enough! Also, here's some art I made 'cause I'm that generoussss. I hope you enjoy the food! Bon appétit! 🤤🌹

"Did I scare you, Y/N? I didn't mean to..." 

He grimaced at the way his child voice came out broken and less convincing than usual, but in his state, even simply speaking was a feat.

You had been sluggishly fighting against his persistent grip on you, yet once you heard him speak, a loud gasp of shock escaped you, and your body stiffened under his. The way you tensed up made your back arch and your ass stick out even more. His focus shifted to your half-clad bottom, which was hovering only inches from his face. The drenched fabric of your panties had somehow stuck to the side, teasing him - torturing him - with that mouthwavering sight of you. 

Oh, what a struggle it was for him to refrain from seeking your heat again and then shoving himself inside you, once and for all. He was shivering with restraint while proceeding to keep you pinned to the mattress. He wasn't sure how much longer he could hold himself back, though.

He wanted you to know who he was before he finally and thoroughly claimed you as his. His pride somehow exceeded his yearning.

"B-Brahms...?" You hesitantly whispered his name, hoping to catch a glimpse of him behind your shoulder. You could only make out a dark silhouette in your peripheral vision, for both the darkness of the room and his tight clasp prevented you from seeing anything else. "How-? W-what?"

Your voice was a little louder this time, and you sounded sharper. He also noticed with satisfaction that you were now remaining still under his hold. That was good. It would make things easier. He'd prefer not to fight you, not to force you... But if you were to refuse him... He would not hold back... He couldn't...

"You don't have to be alone anymore in this big, scary house." 

He made sure to stress out the last words, the same ones you used when you had confided your wish to the doll. He wanted you to understand… That wicked side of him wanted you to realise that he had always been there, watching you, listening in on you... That you have never truly been alone.

"Aren't you happy?"

He couldn't hide the impatience in his voice. His palm pressed harder onto your spine, imperceptibly rubbing up and down, seeking your touch. He found himself edging closer to you, his mask nearly touching your asscheek, his other hand ready to commit another despicable sin, the worst one yet.

“Let me see you? Please?"

He stopped in his tracks, momentarily stunned by your words.

You had asked so sweetly, your voice such a gentle caress to his ears, how could he have declined your request? After all, he had longed to have those gorgeous eyes of yours fall on him, finally seeing him, since the first day. And what would have been better than having you looking at him as he ravished you? Watching lust twist your features, the pleasure - he was igniting in you - flooding your lovely eyes. A shuddering breath escaped his lips as the vivid image arose in his mind, aggravating the torture.

Brahms loosened his grip, allowing you to turn around and lie on your back. As soon as your eyes met his, you let out another loud gasp. His gut flipped at the way your wide eyes flitted across his mask, chest, thighs, taking him all in.

You saw him. You were looking at him. Ah, what a dream... What a dream come true...

He wondered what was going through your pretty little head. How did it make you feel to know that the kid's voice you've occasionally heard reverberating through the mansion over the past few weeks hadn't come from a possessed doll or an imprisoned spirit... But from him. Your Brahms, in flesh and blood.

“B-Brahms…”

The way you tentatively called his name while looking up at him like a deer in the headlights was pure bliss.

He nodded enthusiastically in response and drew closer to you. His gaze flickered from your face to your hand, which he noticed slowly reaching up in his direction. He jerked back instantly out of reflex, frightened like a beaten dog meeting a loving hand for the first time, but as soon as he realized there was no threat in your intentions, he leaned back in and allowed you to touch his mask. Oh, how he yearned to feel your soft palm caressing his wounded cheek... to feel your gentle touch skin on skin… But that would have to be enough for the moment.

Now that he had your full attention. Now that you knew who he was and that no harm would come from him… with your eyes staring up at him with such awe and wonder… 

He couldn't wait any longer. 

His hand eagerly slipped between your thighs, fingers greedily seeking your heat. He caught with utmost satisfaction the way your eyes widened again, your lips parting to let out a shocked cry; you looked so adorable… so desirable… so vulnerable…

He kept his ever-attentive gaze fixed on you, desperate to catch your every reaction, as he stroked your wet folds and teased your entrance.

“W-what are you… Ah!~”

A tremor pierced him as he felt your body tremble so sharply when he easily entered you, triggering a loud whine from you as he drove his fingers deep into your walls.

His breathing was extremely shallow, and he could see your chest raise and fall as you began panting as well; the sight only served to add fuel to his burning desire, leaving him eager to make you cry and shiver just like that over and over again. 

His movement against you was firm but frantic, fueled by his long-repressed need, which was causing him to shudder and whimper as he fingered you. He had no idea what he was doing, but your moans and squeals were guiding and urging him to keep hitting that spongy spot deep inside you which seemed to make you scream the loudest.

“N-no… W-w-wait…”

Your hands shakily reached down to seize his and halt his actions, but he quickly grasped your wrists and pinned them both on your belly, holding them down with one palm while continuining on driving his fingers back and forth, unrelentingly, into you. He could tell you liked it, the lewd sounds you were making told him as much. He knew his actions were pleasing you. Your cunt was so wet, and your walls welcomed his long fingers with such hunger, swallowing them fully with each push.

How would it feel to sink inside you? To have your tight, spongy walls suck and squeeze his cock dry? Would his cum leak back out? It always did when he used his doll, the one he had turned to look just like you… He constantly had to push his fluids back inside the hole…

“Brahms... S-stop… Ah!”

Your broken whimpers sounded so cute. You were so cute. What were you asking of him? Certainly not to stop. Not that he would or could. The feeling of making you squirm under his touch was intoxicating, a feeling he had just discovered and yet couldn't get enough of. He had already grown addicted. The sight of you laying there completely vulnerable, completely his, was filling him with such a rush of euphoria. 

He released your wrists, disregarding the way you immediately but weakly started tugging at his hand again in protest. Instead, he reached down to his trousers, letting out a deep guttural grunt when he felt the dampness of the material, soaked with his seed. Leaked precum? Or did he burst into his pants without even realising? It didn't matter. His cock was hard and throbbing when he grabbed it, ready to slip out of the restraining cloth and finally sink inside you… He couldn’t wait, oh no, he couldn’t wait anymore-

“I said stop!” 

His entire body shuddered violently, and his senses suddenly sharpened as if he had just awoken from a trance. Both his hands abruptly came to a halt.

He wasn't sure if he was shaking more from the thrill your imposing tone caused in him or the excruciating hunger that was gnawing at him, demanding to be satiated. Possibly both combined given the intensity of the tension that had taken hold of his body.

Brahms stared at you with bated breath and childish fear, like a misbhehaving boy caught in the act of some deplorable deeds by his strict mother. He didn't dare to make a sound nor move an inch as he waited to be scolded.

A strange glint passed your eyes, one that he could barely catch, let alone decipher. However, your entire demeanour seemed to alter abruptly in response to his reaction.

"What do you think you're doing?"

He gasped. A flood of dread shook his entire being and made his stomach churn upon hearing your stern tone. Did he upset you? Were you angry at him? He couldn't bear it. Oh no… He only wished to please you... Only ever wished to please you...

"What were you doing, mh?" 

Brahms vehemently shook his head, his panicked gaze glued on your hard look. 

“Brahms.”

Your commanding tone made him shudder again. He cowered, crouching down and dropping his head on your lap. He didn't dare admit what he was about to do, what he had been doing long before you woke up.

"Brahms!"

He felt your hands pull on his arms, but he only pressed his head further against you, burying his face in your womb, his whimpers muffled by your skin. His hands reached to your sides, holding you vehemently but not threateningly. He wanted to show you how good he was. How good he could be for you. He was sorry. Yes. He was terribly sorry. He would never upset you again.  

"Please…" He pleaded in his childish voice, nuzzling his forehead into your belly.

"Please, what?"

He tightened his grip on your sides and cried again, "Pleaseee… I need you…" 

His meekness only increased as you delayed to answer. His hands cradled your body, fingers clutching desperately at your nightgown and creasing the material. His head anxiously swayed back and forth as he rubbed his mask against you.

"Use your real voice."

Another tremor shook his body and he quickly obeyed your command. 

"I need you."

His voice came out low and hoarse, such a stark contrast to his childish tone. It caused a vibration in your tummy. He could feel how your body shivered in reaction. 

Raising his head to meet your gaze, he noticed that your eyes had widened significantly. Was it because of his voice? The way he begged? Did you like it? He could beg you again and again in his real voice, if it pleased you so. If that meant you’d let him have you.

"I need you, please…" 

His fingers travelled slowly along your sides, gingerly getting closer to your panties again, quivering with impatience and constraint. He kept his imploring look on you as he stroked his fingertips on the damp fabric before slipping them inside to rub against your folds once more. 

He saw your eyelids flutter and your chest rise harshly as you took a deep breath.

He whimpered as he felt your fingers weave into his curls and then capture them abruptly in a tight clasp.

"Lay down, Brahms." 

He merely lingered for a moment to process what you had requested of him. Then he did it. He lay down on the mattress without question. Eager to please you. Desperate to be in your good graces. He would do anything for you. 

His entire body was trembling with anticipation, a deep-seated urge to be touched threatening to overtake him as you climbed on top of him, claiming his former position. His body craved your touch so badly, yet he had to wait until you decided to put him out of his misery.

“You’re such a naughty boy. You know that?”

When he felt your weight on him and your groin sitting directly on his bulge, he felt his breath catch in his throat and his hips buck up instinctively. Only his unbuttoned pants separated his arousal from your heat.

He was losing his mind…

"Nobody ever taught you that's not how good boys are supposed to behave, mh?"

More whimpers flowed from his parted lips as you began to grind against him, painfully slowly but with force. He struggled to keep his eyes open and locked in yours; his quivering hands went up to hold your hips, seeking to control your movements, but you intercepted them and forced them down on the pillow on either side of his face. He let you keep them still.

"Please…"

"I will teach you… Yes, yes... I will teach you. Bad boys never get their way, no matter how much or how long they beg."

Brahms had always obtained whatever he wanted since he was a little boy. If he couldn't have it, he'd take it himself. But he wasn't going to admit it to you. He merely groaned and twitched in response, every inch of his body ignited by your leisurely and frustrating movement against him.

He craved being inside you... To spill his load deep within your core... but he was so worked up… he had been holding back for so long, too long… and the way you moved was so rousing, provoking him just enough to…

His body abruptly convulsed underneath you, a deep sigh of relief escaping from his lips as a dark and large wet stain appeared on the material of his trousers. All of the desire coursing through him reached a fever pitch that consumed every inch of his body.

He had never experienced such an intense and violent orgasm before. He had jerked off numerous times, but cumming never felt so good... 

Brahms was still trembling and panting when his eyes opened again to meet yours. You had stopped moving when he started spasming. Even in the dark, he could see the blush on your cheeks, the way your eyes were wide and glazed as they stared down at him, your own breath coming in short. 

"F-Fuck-"

His eyes were fixed on you, watching you as you gulped and shivered, clearly shaken by what had just happened. Your gaze kept darting back and forth between his pants and mask. When he felt your hands release his wrists, he pulled yours back, drawing you forward and causing you to fall on top of him with a yelp.

Brahms buried his face into the crook of your neck. Your scent was stronger than before, his nostrils filled with your natural aroma. His fingers trailed over your skin, feeling how clammy it was and relishing the way you shivered at the touch. He moved on along the curve of your neck until he reached the edge of your nightgown and peeled it down without hesitation, this time dragging it low enough to prevent it from rolling back up. The sight of your breasts made his stomach flip, just like it had done the first time. His body started to become stiffer once more. 

“Again…” he whispered breathlessly as he lifted your torso so you could sit on his lap just like before, straddling his groin. He could feel himself getting harder all over again. He could not possibly resist you.

"B-Brahms?"

His hands greedily mapped your body, groping every curve and dip they found. His touch soon became frantic and urgent.

"Again, again, again!"

He hastily freed his growing erection from his pants and without giving you time to register what was happening, he seized your waist and pulled you down onto him. 

At last, you had become one. 

The quiet room filled with both his and your moans of pleasure, which only grew louder as Brahms started guiding your hips up and down, each time with greater force, allowing him to fully sink into you. You were so warm, and the way your tight walls clenched around his cock was more intoxicating than he could have anticipated. It was maddening. The sound of your cunt slapping against his groin was the the best sound he had ever heard. He mentally added it to the list of pleasures he had so quickly become addicted to and sought to experience again and again and again...

He was a mess of sweat and whimpers and tremors, and so were you. 

Ah, to finally have you! To finally take you as his! This was everything he had ever dreamed and yearned for. You would never be alone or feel lonely again, and neither would he! 

Please you night and day, whenever and wherever! That's what he intended to do.

Oh, yes. 

He will be such a good boy for you.

MORE STORIES 🥀

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[Should I make a nsfw version of my fanart? 🤔 I'd like to try my hand at nsfw art. Let me know if you'd be interested in seeing it.]

-

✨ Tag list:

@mellsfern @420-hun @murder-hobo @somethingthatsaysbubbles @b4ptiz3d @clownfishstix @blackqueengold @baileebear @oudhbsyyb @dij-ology

[st4rg8te]

A Captured Dragon (BL)

Yandere! Half-brother X Crown Prince! Reader

[tw: graphic depiction(s) of violence, obsessive behaviour, betrayal, imprisonment, gaslighting, non-con kissing, incest!!!, teeny tiny bit of feminization]

✦✧✦✧

“You have done nothing to deserve that title. You were only lucky enough to be born the King’s son.”

A lot of things in life were beyond your control. 

But fate had been kind to you, gifting you a life that most could only dream of. Born into the royal family as their beloved Crown Prince, the world bent to your will from the very moment you drew your first breath. 

Spoiled, indulged, and never once tested by struggle—perhaps you were destined to fall from the start.

✦✧✦✧

✦✧✦✧

It’s getting harder to tell the days apart.

The world around you blurs into a cycle of sleepless nights. Your mind is a fog, heavy with the weight of guilt and fear. Each hour blends into the next, until time itself feels like a punishment.

The nightmares don’t help either.

Every time you close your eyes, they come—haunting, vivid dreams where blood stains the corridors and screams pierce the air. The sounds of blades slicing through flesh, of bodies collapsing onto blood-soaked floors, echo endlessly in your ears. It is relentless. 

You see the palace engulfed in flames, your servants and people—those you’ve known your entire life—crying out in terror as they are cut down by the cold steel of soldiers.

In every dream, you stand helpless, watching as they beg for mercy. Your people reach for you in desperation, their faces twisted in agony, but you can’t move. 

In every dream, at the center of it all, is him.

Daewon.

Your half-brother.

While you grew up in the limelight, basking in the affections and adoration of others, your half-brother was cast into the shadows. Born from a lowly maid, his very existence was a blemish on the royal family's image. He was the son who would never be acknowledged by his father—neither loved nor remembered.

Despite that, you had treated him kindly.

When did everything go so wrong?

After the slaughter, you were taken away and imprisoned. The room you were kept in was dark and empty—there was no light, or any warmth. It was a far cry from the luxury you were used to.

Occasionally, food and water would be brought to you—a guard would come every few days, sliding bowls of stale rice and cloudy water across the floor without a word, without so much as a glance in your direction. You felt like an animal.

But worse than the silence of your captors were the visits from Daewon.

You hated those days the most.

“Brother.” His deep voice sends a shiver down your spine. You can’t make out his face within the shadows.

So you bury your head further into the damp pillows, hiding from the monster in the room.

It isn’t long before you feel the bed dip under his weight, the chain on your ankle rustles against the sheets. He kneels beside you, leaning close enough for you to smell the faint traces of blood still lingering on his robe.

“You haven’t been eating,” Daewon’s voice was soft, almost tender, but you could hear the dark amusement laced beneath it. “Is the food not to your liking?”

You keep your eyes shut tight, fists clenched under the thin blankets.

It'll all be okay. Soon enough, he would leave you alone.

Cold fingers brush against your cheek, and you flinch. He chuckles at that, a low, mocking sound that makes your skin crawl.

“Did you know that these meals are what I had to eat as a child?” He whispers, his breath hot against your ears.

You briefly open your eyes, glancing at the food scattered across the floor, remnants of your earlier fit of rage—destroyed, just like everything else in your life. 

“There were many days when the servants never even came. My mother often gave me her share, just so I wouldn't starve." 

You grit your teeth—

"Why don't you just kill me already?"

The words hang in the air, and a suffocating silence stretches between you.

But then, Daewon's firm hand suddenly grips your chin, forcing you to meet his dark gaze.

“Kill you?” A cruel, guttural laugh escapes him, sending a shiver down your spine. “But death would be far too easy.” 

“No... you have to live. You’ll live and endure. Just like I did.”

He had lived a life of invisibility, where no one cared to look beyond the stain of his tainted blood—no one, except you.

And the thought of it drives him mad.

His hand falls from your chin, trailing down until it rests against your chest. With that simple touch, your spirit breaks just a little more.

You hate him—hate him more than you’ve ever hated anyone. 

Without any warning, you feel the press of his soft lips against your own. His body heat seeps into yours as he forcefully pulls you closer and presses you flush against him.

You are too tired, too hungry to resist.

"No, stop—" You protest breathlessly, the words barely escaping your lips as your mind reels, still foggy from the kiss. A dizzying mix of shock, confusion, and disgust floods your senses.

"This is wrong, we can't—"

"They will never fully accept a half-blooded bastard like me as their king."

“What?” You swallow hard, blinking up at the man.

"But surely, they'll accept a 'bride' from the royal family.”

The realization hits you like a punch to the gut. 

Before you can react, his lips crash against yours again, harder this time, more possessive. The taste of him—bitterness and control—invades your senses completely.

A twisted smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, and you finally understand.

This is a debt of suffering, a price he intends to collect over and over—until you were broken.

"Don’t worry. For everything you’ve done for me, I'll repay your kindness tenfold."

✦✧✦✧

[A/N]

This was not proofread, sorry for any mistakes!

[tackykachowch]

Oh yeah I forgot that there's this opinion that Silco "was blindsided by power and wealth" and "lost his way" and "he only did what he did to benefit himself all along" etc etc. Uh. Where- where did you get that from? I'm not even being sarcastic or something, I'm genuinely curious how you can come to this conclusion.

He operates from a crappy office in The Last Drop and the only attributes of wealth he has are cigars and whiskey(?). My man had one pair of pants for 10+ years and only got a fancy coat to look more intimidating. Besides, when chembarons proposed to give back the gemstone to Piltover so their sales don't drop even harder Silco refused. Also he was ready to give up his power when Jayce made imprisoning Jinx a requirement for Zaun to gain independence. Sure, he IS motivated to keep his daughter safe, but it would also mean that his goal will finally be achieved, so there's nothing left for him to do. Both wealth and power are only means to achieve a goal to him. He also doesn't really display that he gets the kick out of it, unlike councilors in Piltover.

"Well yes he wants Zaun to be independent, but only as he personally sees it" when did he EVER say that??😭😭😭😭 Every time he speaks on the topic he only mentions how he wants Zaunites to have opportunities, respect, "more than (Piltover's) runoff". Like- that's literally everything he ever said about this. All that matters to him is independence, he couldn't care less about everything else.

As to "losing his way"...idk I think this can only be attributed to pre-drowning Silco. Because after it he pretty much decided to stick to what he now believed in forever, and at no point except the finale he went south from his beliefs.

Silco isn't "misguided" or "corrupt" or any other similar definition. He's a character who chose to become a monster to bring change to his people. And as s2 didn't do anything about resolving this conflict, he was never really proven wrong.

[radiance1]

Tim, officially, does not have a new caretaker.

Tim, unofficially, does have a new caretaker.

A large, large man with long flaming purple hair that was capable of touching the floor if it didn't move like fire with sharp glowing green eyes and a neutral, if a bit of a resting bitch face, expression on his face.

Comparatively, he was not dressed oddly. Nothing but a white compression shirt, grey sweatpants and a pair of black sandals. The only thing odd about it was the sword constantly strapped to his waist, though Tim ignored it when he saw the man using it to chop ingredients.

Fright, he called himself, and Tim never asked if it was his actual name or not. He was just glad someone came over as constantly as he does.

He doesn't know where the man goes at night, after making sure he's tucked into bed and asleep, but he never pried. Mostly because he wasn't supposed to know that, and he doesn't want Fright to catch onto the fact that he was constantly sneaking out at night either.

So they'll both keep their secrets.

===

Fright Knight was at a loss with himself.

His master, Pariah Dark, had been once again released from the Sarcophagus of Forever Sleep and he wasted no time to return to his side. Even with his previous betrayl.

The events that followed were unexpected.

His master did not continue his eons long war with life. Though it had long since turned silent with his imprisonment, it was still brewing under the current of 'peace' that the Ghost Zone fell into.

Fright Knight knew that well.

So, what exactly was he supposed to do when his master returned to his time as naught but a humble farmer and started to rebuild the bridge he had long burnt with the Master of Time?

He felt... conflicted.

Of course, reconnecting with the Ghost of Time was a good thing, and he has been subject to witness just how much passion they had for each other during days long past.

But his master picking up a life that was not one honed through blood was always an odd thing for him to experience. Two peas in a pod, as some would say they were.

War and Fear.

Where War went, Fear followed. Rivers of flowing blood with storms of fear promised was something too tempting for him to resist.

Fear was a sword, and he was War's blade.

So it was not something easy for him to adjust to when War settled down into peace and sought prosperity instead of his namesake. Of course, he, as always, adjusted regardless of the situation and followed his master in his newest endeavor.

It was much harder to preserve a life, than it was to end it. They both came to realize. On his master's part, farming was something he pondered over and donned for a brief time eons ago, the new methods of today clashing wildly with what little he knew of the activity before War sung to him again. For Fright Knight, he had not a single nail's worth of experience in the act, never having had an interest like War did and as such, never learned.

It felt rather odd to use his blade to cut gifts from the land, but if he replaced them with images of enemies long since snuffed, it wasn't exactly hard.

He could not stay there for long; however, it was just too... different, from what he was used to. The Ghost King knew this and told him he was free to be left to his own devices so long as it did not affect the rules the Master of Time had set for them.

Or rather, War. But as Fear was in his service, he was not exactly exempt from said constraints, either.

So he wandered, keeping to his 'human' persona he was told to set for himself here. He was thankful that these beings called Meta's existed as no one gave him more than a second glance.

Though if that was more something to do with his height he did not know.

He came upon a city, one of shadows and filled with curses in numbers that even made him pause in slight bafflement. Lady Gotham, the city's spirit, brushed against him as soon as he stepped foot within her haunt, and it did not take long for them to reach and accord.

Fear was allowed to stay, so long as he did not do anything she did not permit. He was fine with said rules, after all, what was another constraint compared to those set by Time itself?

He had a favorable view of this city, just the ambient fear alone made it worth stepping inside. It was better than War's attempt at peace, though it was nothing due to the being itself he was just... used to being surrounded by fear.

Then he met a human child by the name of Timothy Drake. A meeting by chance and nothing else, but he did need something to do by Lady Gotham's suggestion.

So he became the boy's 'caretaker' though if he were a good one was something he could not comment on.

He did not need sleep, his new ward did, so when night fell, he always stepped out of the city to go back to his master and reappeared the next morning.

The thing about his new master's attempt at peace, was that he was quite willing to give away the gifts he received from the land. Which was helpful, considering he had no idea how to acquire money in this new age.

[cloversnstrawberries]

this may sound very weird and everything but could you do a platonic yandere ada wong and leon kennedy parent duo sorta thing. like ada and leon are readers parents

platonic!yandere!parents!ada w. + leon k & gn!teen!reader [headcanons] ! !

masterlist !

additional notes; hello!! this isn't weird at all :]] thank you so much for requesting this,, i've been wanting to do parent duo sort of requests for a while, but got nervous because. i have... experienced things, being in fandom for a while... oh god the shipping wars. but i feel much better knowing that someone would actually read/want something like this :D i hope i did it justice ^^ i'm also sick, so my brain is cooking in my skull. i apologize if this is worse quality that usual </3

warnings; overprotectiveness, (slight) possessive behavior, soft yandere, mentions of Leon & Ada's jobs/what comes along with it, temporary imprisonment, manipulation, gaslighting, love-bombing, distrust, and if there's anything else i missed, please let me know!! I forget stuff the second i write it down :(((

w/c; 1.7k

Whether not you're biologically their kid, adopted as a baby, or adopted later; they'd treat you all the same. The difference comes with the way you react/how quickly you accept and adapt to their behaviors.

With their jobs, they're usually away for long periods of time. When you were younger (like, younger than 13), they would try their best to alternate their gigs-- sometimes it wasn't possible for one of them to stay with you, and when that happened, you'd stay with either Claire or Jill for a while.

It was just how it was, and you were fine with it-- you thought they'd give that up when you got older, that they'd trust you to take care of yourself.

That was never the concern with it, though-- it wasn't that you couldn't take care of yourself,

They were afraid that being their kid would put a target on your back. The older you got, the more missions they went on-- the more scum-of-the-earth they met, the more careful they got with you.

Leon is extremely protective, and while Ada seems to be more lenient; I'd actually argue she's the worse one to have worried. She absolutely pulls in favors to 'keep an eye on you', and does her best to keep tabs on where and what you're doing whenever possible.

Ada is extremely charismatic, and definitely uses that to her advantage. Meanwhile, Leon is so painfully and genuinely kind, that people can't help but trust him more often than not.

Because of that, it'd be hard for you to convince anyone, maybe even yourself, that they're absolutely insane when it comes to you. At some point, it goes beyond just wanting to keep their kid safe for their own good.

Neither are particularly selfish in general, especially not Leon. Ada has her own goals, but she has a moral code and has been known to go out of her way to help others from time to time.

However, when you get involved, that changes entirely. For Leon, he wants to keep you safe because he doesn't want to lose you; he's already lost too many people he cared for, and he'd be devastated if you were added to that list.

On the other hand, Ada's motivations are a bit harder to place. She cares for you a lot, something she isn't used to letting herself do because of her line of work; she's far more used to isolating herself rather than throwing herself full force into any type of relationship.

You were that one exception-- even with Leon, she tried that routine of keeping herself detached to try and minimize the chance of 'gaining a new weakness'.

Eventually she gave in and stopped doing that, and while that doesn't happen with everyone, it's happened before as well. Ever since she became a spy/mercenary, she hasn't allowed herself to attach to someone as quickly as she did with you.

It's on principle that she doesn't want you hurt because of it. You're the once exception, the one person to have ever gotten her to let her guard down immediately. There's no way she's letting you go because of it, and she'd rather let herself get into tight situations if it meant keeping you safe.

Both Ada and Leon share one thing in common with their attitude towards you, though. And to you, it's probably the most annoying thing about your parents, and nothing could top it.

If they feel the need to, they'll literally just go against your wishes. They won't listen if they get even an inkling that something could go wrong-- and when you were younger, they could easily convince you that it was all for your own good.

Neither Leon or Ada actually enjoy manipulating you, far from it-- Ada is more accepting of it, but Leon had a lot of hang-ups about it at first. Ada was eventually able to convince him that it was okay,

In that way, Leon is worse than Ada in this regard. Ada will only manipulate you as a last resort (though, her definition of 'last resort' can be pretty loose in of itself),

But Leon? You better bet he's pulling it out every opportunity-- because he feels like there's nothing wrong with it. Ada is at least able to recognize that it's not the best thing to do, gaslighting your kid into missing out on friends birthday parties just because of a 'feeling'--

Leon however, is extremely deluded. Partly Ada's fault, and partly not. Yes, Ada nudged him towards believing that it was okay, but it was ultimately Leon who took the leap. It was his reasoning with himself that actually convinced him that it was a good idea.

Don't get me wrong, it's not like they isolate you completely! Ada actually encourages you to go out to events, and make new friends.

Though, maybe that has something to do with the fact that when she encourages you, there's always a feeling someone is watching you that accompanies you throughout the entire event.

When you get older, you start considering sneaking out. Your parents actually didn't expect this-- you'd been doing well with how they've been treating you, and they assume you won't rebel.

You've always seemed accepting of it, but maybe it's on them-- that they don't realize the slight distrust that starts showing up in your eyes. They don't feel a need to look into it any further, if they do notice it.

Maybe you were able to sneak out a couple times before you were caught, or maybe you were never able to successfully pull it off. You don't know about your mom's actual job-- they'd worked hard together to keep that a well-hidden secret from you--, so you don't have any advantage over them.

If anything, you have a massive disadvantage. Considering your parents are a government agent and a spy/mercenary, you probably never even stood a chance.

After you get caught, either dragged back home from wherever you snuck off to-- or hauled out of the open window you'd been halfway through hopping over-- you don't get a scolding like you think you will.

Instead, you get dragged down to the 'guest bedroom' in the basement and locked in there for a little bit. You knew of it's existence, but it never made any sense to you. The house you live in is large, and while your parents don't get a lot of guests, it's happened before.

But with a whopping 4 above-ground guest bedrooms, there was no reason to build a 5th one down in the basement. The fourth above-ground one never got used anyways, it just never made sense to you.

But now, it really, really does. It was never a guest bedroom as much as it was a holding cell. You should've known, considering they put it together when you were around 12/13. A preemptive measure, you realize now.

They didn't think they'd actually use it, but they were glad they'd done it regardless. You've never been in it, but you remember when they were getting the furniture and items to put in it, and when you were barred from entering the basement for a little while the contractors were down there--

You'd seen it from the outside, too. It looked normal enough-- if you ignored the deadlock on the outside, which you absolutely did not notice. It was weird, the addition to the house-- but it wasn't weird enough to look any further than a glance every once in a while, when you were down in the basement doing your laundry and whatnot.

Surprisingly, they don't keep you down there for very long. It's not a permanent thing right now, is what they told you.

That, however, left the very terrifying idea that it could become a permanent thing if you weren't careful. Ada called it 'just punishment', and Leon, ever the dork, called it 'time out on steroids'.

He'd been trying to cheer you up when he said that, and you just barely kept yourself from cracking a smile at it-- you were supposed to be mad, after all.

For the punishment to have worked, you'd have to have been on some kind of break. So, let's say it was spring break they decided to put you in the 'guest bedroom' (holding cell, is what you were internally regarding it as)--

They let you out the night before school started up again, and your first dinner back in the actual house was tense-- to you, it was. But to your parents, they were treating it like every other day.

It pissed you off, to say the least. And for a few days after, you avoided your parents the best you could; but it was a hard thing to do on multiple fronts, even if you were genuinely angry at them.

A part of you wanted to tell people about it, about how they'd trapped you in the basement-- but that was a surefire way of getting the cops involved,

And you weren't really afraid of being taken away or anything,

Instead, you were deathly afraid of how your parents would react to the possibility of you being taken away from them-- Best case scenario, they'd succeed in weaseling their way out of it via Ada's silver tongue or Leon's influence--

...Worst case scenario, your parents would be on the CIAs most wanted list and flea to some remote part of Europe; and you'd probably never see the light of day again, without both of their full attention and supervision. Or not at all, maybe.

Safe to say, you're keeping quiet about your time in the '5th guestroom' down in the basement. That doesn't mean you forget about it, or ever fully forgive your parents for it. You aren't sure if they realize it or not, that you're still mad at them for it.

It's not like you forget about it-- you don't necessarily move on either. You just... focus on other things, is what you tell yourself. You try your hardest to hold onto the anger, but eventually it fizzles away; sometimes it flares up, but only for a few seconds before being cast aside. And only when you're already mad about something else.

It's hard to stay mad at your parents, especially when they try to hard to make up for it. That was their plan-- spoil you with attention and gifts so you stop zoning in on the 'time out on steroids'.

[the-darklings]

Oh god please write the timebomb fic!!! (or several lol)

ೀ pairing: ekko/jinx

ೀ wc: 5k

ೀ summary: "Always a dance with you, huh?" Or: two years after the battle versus Noxus, Ekko receives an unexpected visitor.

ೀ author notes: ask and you shall receive!!! I wrote this in one sitting in some weird ass haze and barely edited it, but this is the most fun I had in a long while so I hope you enjoy!!!

ೀ read it on ao3 | listen to the playlist

The first few days after the battle, Ekko doesn’t rest. He barely sleeps or eats, or allows himself time to think. 

He can’t. 

There’s too much to do. The dead are in their dozens. His Firelights took a major hit, and he knows that for the next few months his fingers will be numb from painting their pictures on the mural day in and out. So many who could have lived but didn’t. So many could have had better futures. But if he just runs, if he keeps pushing on, he can outrun these regrets and his grief, too. This way, he doesn’t remember Vi’s heartbroken expression when she pulled him into a bone-crushing hug after the fight, blood and sweat still clinging to her, her words choked when she told him—

Four seconds. 

He could have saved her. He would have hauled her snarky ass out of that tunnel, ripped that bomb from her hands. He would have—

He runs from those thoughts, too. They suffocate him, and Ekko has too much to fix to be suffocated by his grief right now. 

He sure as hell didn’t fight for Piltover. He fought for Zaun, for Firelights. Because he knew Ambessa Medarda would never settle for anything other than complete subjugation. She would have destroyed Ekko’s home. She was already busy murdering and imprisoning their people, and nothing but complete eradication would have followed in her wake. 

Ekko did it for… her. The blue-haired symbol of defiance, of uprising. A loud declaration that they won’t live under Piltover’s oppression forever, that they’ll reach greater things one day and won’t be silenced. They won’t wait for permission to breathe again. It’s what she would have wanted, he convinces himself, even though part of him knows Jinx would have enjoyed the chaos of the fight more. Or maybe not. Not since that little girl. Not since he had to save her from herself over and over again, only to lose her anyway. 

Undercity mourns her. Her visage is everywhere. Jinx the Saviour. She would have hated it, he thinks wryly. She never got to see just how loved she was. 

Maybe he should have grabbed her and ran away. Maybe he should have let the world go to hell and saved her instead. The thought, born of fatigue, lingers only for a few fleeting seconds, a rare moment of selfishness amidst a day spent fixing the world around him. 

Maybe, maybe, maybe. If only he had tried harder when they were kids and saved her from Silco. If only he didn’t give up on her. 

She’s always been his biggest maybe. And now they’ll never be more. Not this version of them. Never him and her as they were. 

Aw, are you gonna mope now, boy saviour?

“You’re not here.”

It punches clean through his chest. The realisation of it. The sheer, horrible weight. He’ll never see her again. 

Constants and variables, Benzo told him once. Constants and variables, young Ekko.

A week after the battle versus Noxus, Ekko sinks to his knees inside his room, exhausted and heartbroken, and sobs. 

.

Things begin to settle. Slowly, at first, the city might have been gutted after the battle but not destroyed, the morale low but hopeful. Hexgates are gone, and Ekko is glad when he finds out. He doesn’t want to see or hear anything about the arcane for a while. No magic in the world could fix the pain festering in his chest. 

Sevika, Silco’s old second-in-command and once his sworn enemy, comes to him two weeks after the attack. 

“They’re making me a council member,” she says, grunting when she falls into the tiny wooden chair inside his room. 

She’s always been a threatening figure, power rippling from every shift of her body, but Ekko isn’t sure he wants to fight anyone right now. Nor does she seem interested in strangling him. She lights a cigarette, her scarred features set in a fearsome scowl. 

“And?” he asks for anything better to say. “How is that any of my business?”

Sevika exhales through her nose, reminding him of an angry bull, all smoke and steely resolve. “I’m the only one presenting Zaun or her interests.” 

Ekko almost rolls his eyes. Of course she is. The Council is simply falling over themselves to fix the situation. After months of harassment and oppression, false arrestments and beatings, they asked them to bleed for Piltover and its interests with nothing but the bare minimum courtesy extended towards them afterwards.

“I could use you, kid,” Sevika continues, and Ekko forces his anger away, loosening his fists. “Exactly for that reaction. You’re smart as hell, and been a pain in my ass for years. Pilties will try to walk all over us again in a few months’ time. You and I both know it. We gotta beat them in their own game. Not let them silence us again. I could use someone like you. Be my adviser. You’ll have a direct line to the Council. We’ll make an actual change. It’s better than whatever this is.”

Ekko’s expression sours at her words while Sevika’s gaze flicks around his room in contemplation. He works all day to a point of exhaustion, then passes out. It’s the only way he’s been able to continue, day in and day out. Being in a leadership position means you can’t take time off to grieve. Too many people are relying on him. It’s bad enough that he accidentally abandoned his people for months without meaning to. The guilt he still feels over everything has been nearly suffocating. 

It’s a good gig, hero! You should do it and be a thorn in her side.

Ekko blinks the flash of blue from his vision, rubbing his brow just as Sevika adds: “It’s what she would have wanted, you know.”

A jolt of electricity runs through him. Everyone, even Vi, has been avoiding mentioning Jinx in front of him.  

His jaw clenches. “You don’t know that.”

“Kid, I know what not letting go looks like,” she says, and it almost sounds compassionate, or as close to it as someone like her can get. “We had our differences in the past, I know as much—”

“You killed my people,” Ekko snaps. “Do you know how many lives you destroyed with Shimmer?”

“Sure do,” she replies listlessly, smoke billowing past her lips. “I won’t try to justify my actions to you. But y’know, when you were gone, Jinx united Zaun in a way I haven’t seen since Vander. Beats me how she did it, but people believed in her. Even your Firelights.”

It mirrors everything he’s seen and heard for weeks. Jinx freeing their people, Jinx the Saviour, the beacon for their new future. The one who set and lived by extreme examples, who made Piltover back off and take the Undercity seriously. Because they all finally realised that there can never be peace without a fight. She should be here to fight this battle with him. Ekko should be busy arguing with her that blowing up another building will not make things right. He shouldn’t be walking around with her ghost a step behind him, tormenting him with ideas of what could and should have been. 

“And now she’s dead!”

His ears ring, his chest heaves, and he clutches his thudding heart, willing it back in its cage. He didn’t mean to come undone so easily. 

“Yeah. Yeah, she is,” Sevika says, and there’s a grimness to her when she says it, an unexpected pain buried somewhere deep in her gruff voice that makes Ekko see her differently. “I get it.”

“No,” he whispers, pained. “You don’t.”

.

Seven months pass before Ekko finally picks up a brush for her. 

He sleeps better at night but not without nightmares. Not without remembering Powder from the alternative universe and how they danced. How sweet her kiss felt. Not without that memory smearing to finding Jinx with a grenade in her hand, again, ready to disappear, go somewhere he could never reach her. 

Ekko still hears the detonation in his ears, over and over, on a sickening loop. His mind likes to torture him with ideas he failed to save her. That no matter what he does, or how he mends time, she’s forever out of reach. His blue beacon, his lighthouse he can never find in the depthless ocean of reality. 

Many have drawn her, but he still thinks that no one knows the exact hue of her hair or the wicked shine in her eyes better than him. He’s spent an entire lifetime examining them, looking for them in a sea of thousands. 

Their city is rebuilding. He agreed to Sevika’s request after a few days of contemplation. Caitlyn Kiramman’s expression when he ambled into the Council room was worth the additional burden now on his shoulder. But she’s changed too, matured, and now fills her position as the Council’s leader well. 

Ekko won’t forget how she allowed his friends to be imprisoned, tortured, and, in some cases, killed, but her regret made her side with him and Sevika more often than not during voting, and maybe he could at least one day forgive her. Another maybe. For Vi, if nothing else, who clearly loves the blue-haired woman fiercely. 

The barren wall stares at him. He’s painted Powder before, but this is different. One day, his friend, his dearest friend, was simply gone. Without a goodbye, in a wake of tragedy. The life Ekko once had disintegrated beneath his feet overnight. Benzo killed. Vander dead. Mylo and Claggor too. Vi died as well. Or so he believed for years. Powder was missing until a different knife was delivered to him weeks later, when the word on the street spread about Silco being seen with a little girl with blue hair. 

Ekko sighs, hanging his head. The city is healing, but he isn’t, or at least not as quickly. 

He runs his hand over the white wall, picturing Jinx as he saw her last, those precious hours between talking her down from the abyss and their joint attack on Noxian forces. It felt so good to rely on her again, to stand with her, side by side. As natural as breathing. 

You’re the order to my chaos, hero. 

“Leave me alone,” he says quietly, head hung low. “It’s been months.”

A figment of Jinx chortles, arms crossed over her chest as she leans back against the wall. You would get bored to death without me. Ha! Get it? 

Shooting a glare at her, Ekko picks up a brush, his fingers quivering. Tears burn in his eyes when he dips the brush into the paints he painstakingly mixed. He works, and works, until his eyes are dry and his wrist hurts. Ekko doesn’t stop until he loses light and when he steps back, he is looking at Jinx. Equal parts chaos and something ethereal. 

He wipes angrily across his mouth when he tastes saltiness pooling there and goes home. 

There’s no sleep that night. 

.

Time is a strange thing. It weaves and flows. Without his Z-Drive, he has no control over it. Time simply goes on, and he’s the passenger in a vehicle he doesn’t want to move. 

He’s important these days. He’s one of the few bright minds still left, and he’s endlessly busy with something. City of Progress needs every mind that can be spared. Wounds heal, and time dulls the memory, but not everything is so easily forgotten. Piltover moves quicker, but the Undercity erects a statue for Jinx beside Vander’s. He sees Vi at the ceremony, and they exchange strained smiles. They speak sometimes, but it’s not as often as it used to be. They’re both dealing with their grief the best they can.

At least Vi has Cait. Ekko has nothing but a cold bed and purpose. 

He and Sevika make a good team. It almost makes him wonder what could have been in a universe where they were on the same side from the start. His Zaun, cracked but not broken, is resembling the bright version of the Zaun and Piltover he saw in the alternative verse. There're years of work still left, but there’s something like hope in him, fragile and misplaced as it might be. 

A year passes. Then two. He visits the graves; he lights candles for those lost. Some days Ekko sees her, other days he doesn’t. He hopes for a glimpse, even when he knows he shouldn’t. It should be easier to let go of what you never had, right? 

His mural for Jinx grows. Other faces join her, people who died believing in her, surrounding the one they placed their trust in. And, at the centre of it all, her, her, her. 

Still her. 

Always her. 

. 

He’s not sure what arouses him. He hasn’t slept well in years, perpetual exhaustion clinging to him like a shawl. Some would call it the weight of living, no doubt. 

There’s a shift in the air, a disturbance that’s not enough to make Ekko jolt awake and reach for a weapon, but enough to make his eyes flutter open. He breathes the cool air, pushing his grogginess away. 

There’s a shape at the foot of his bed. Small and round. It takes several seconds for his vision to adjust, for him to realise that a hooded figure sits perched on his bed, knees pulled to their chest.

Ekko hasn’t had to rely on his battle instincts in two years, but there’s enough left in him to attack without hesitation. His fingers tangle in the cloak, shoving the figure down, his knee pressing harshly into their abdominal, hands seeking the intruder’s throat—

“Wow, little man, you sure know how to roll out the welcoming mat,” the all too familiar voice drawls before his fingers tighten instinctively around the slender, warm throat. 

A haggard breath forces from Ekko’s parted mouth. In the wild struggle, the stranger’s hood has slipped down, revealing a familiar face with a startling crop of blue hair. His heart squeezes painfully, forcing him away from Jinx’s apparition. 

“Leave me alone,” he croaks, rubbing his eyes till his vision swims. “Just leave me alone! I don’t want to see you anymore!”

“Huh, fine. I thought after two years, the welcome would be a tad warmer. Brrr.”

Ekko pushes himself to his feet, stumbling away, watching warily as the young woman sits back up, picking at her messy hair. She looks different. A little older than Jinx from his visions or memories. Her hair is longer, though nowhere near the same length she once had braided into two twin braids. She swings her leg back and forth, another pulled up to her chest while she watches him. And… her eyes. Ekko was the last person to see her with blue eyes before their battle on the bridge. The last time he saw Jinx alive, they were a dangerous, burning violet. 

Now, even with the shade of the night, they’re a muddy mix between the blue he once knew, and the piercing violet that made her so deadly. As if that restless edge in her has calmed down and settled. 

Ekko’s chest heaves as he stumbles back a step. 

“Soooo—” she begins.

“You’re alive.”

Jinx shrugs her shoulders. “Yup. Clearly. In the flesh even,” she crows, but it’s more muted when compared to the wildness he once faced off against. 

His hand flies to his stomach, and Ekko distantly wonders if he’s about to throw up in front of a girl he’s spent his entire life loving. 

Mercifully, his stomach settles, but his heart beats so loudly he can hear the blood rushing in his skull. 

“You’re alive,” he repeats, harder this time. “It’s been two years.”

“Yeah.”

She doesn’t offer more than that, but there’s a shadow over her narrow face. She’s healthier. There’s more weight on her bones, her skin has lost some of the pallidness. As if someone took Powder and Jinx, split them clean down the middle, and fused them into one body. Stronger, more self-reassured, less teetering on the brink. 

“Would have written but mail is crappy where I was,” she jokes, her voice a familiar, drawling litany. “Besides, this is so much more mysterious—”

He closes the distance between them in two steps. His room isn’t big but he would have walked, ran, sprinted if needed to close the distance between them. His arms wrap around her and Ekko squeezes her so tightly he hears a small breath escape Jinx. She’s solid and warm. Smells faintly of sea and something metallic. Ekko buries his face in the soft crook of Jinx’s neck, gasping for breath. 

“Woah, hero, you’re gonna break my ribs,” she whispers, but her arms wind around him, more careful, unsure. “I thought you hated me?”

Even when he releases her, Ekko’s hands linger on her, go to her face, examining her through the crack of light illuminating his room. 

“I saw you,” he breathes, devastated. “I saw you everywhere. I hoped to see you everywhere.”

Something flickers over her face, an unknown thing, secretive and distant as she’s always felt to him. 

“Geez, seeing things? And they call me crazy.”

“You’re not crazy.”

There’s such vehemence in his voice it startles them both. Jinx nibbles on her inner cheek, searching his face cautiously. “I thought you’d be mad.”

Ekko laughs, a low huff of amusement. “Do you think I care for you so little, huh?”

Too late he realises he’s without a shirt, and is, in fact, mostly bare before the girl he’s harboured a crush on for years. Near boyish shyness forces Ekko back, making him clear his throat. His hands tremble when he reaches for a discarded t-shirt, hoping it doesn’t smell bad when he pulls it over his head. When he glances at her over his shoulder, Jinx is still there, still watching him, though there’s a thoughtful air around her. 

When she notices him looking, she offers him a sarcastic grin.

“No need to get shy, stud.”

“Shut up,” he grumbles.

He plops down on his unmade bed, watching her watch him. Her face is half hidden by her arms propped on her bent knee, but the silence between them isn’t awkward. They’re taking each other in, taking in the changes that have touched them both in the last two years.

“Why come back now?” he asks, eventually. 

Jinx blinks, near feline-like, dropping her head back to stare at his ceiling as if it may offer an answer. “I’m a crappy friend, but not that crappy. Happy birthday, wonder boy.”

There’s a creak in his heart, a lightness in his ribcage, a balloon of affection despite their troubled history that inflates just for her. “You remember my birthday?”

She makes a sound at the back of her throat. Glances at him from the corner of her eye. “Well, we picked it together, silly, so sure I do.” Shadows fall over her features when she angles her head away. “I… I never thought I would come back—that it was better this way.”

“I’m glad you did.”

Something close to a smile ghosts over her face at his response. Ekko can’t rip his gaze away from her. He fears that if he does, he’ll wake up and she’ll be gone again, and he’ll have to relive the agony of losing her again. 

“Does Vi—”

“No. No. And it’s better this way.”

“But—”

“Drop it, Ekko. Please.”

He does. Because this is too good to be true, and he doesn’t want this to end. Emotions mix inside him, battling for dominance, so he sits there, letting them all wash over him. 

“You’ve been busy,” she says abruptly, nodding her head in the general direction of the outside world. “Their new wonder boy. I’m not surprised. You’ve always been good at creating things. Good things.”

“And you’ve always been good at fixing them,” he says. 

Ekko thinks back on the countless times she helped him to fix up old rubbish others have discarded and sell them in Benzo’s shop as small treasures. It feels, now, like a lifetime ago. In a sense, it has been. 

She snorts; it’s an ugly, hateful sound. “Not always.”

There’s weight to how she says it. Pain lingers in each syllable, more so a whispered confession. She’s thinking of others, those lost through accidents or her own direct involvement. 

“I’m sorry about Isha,” Ekko says carefully, thumb pressing into the hollow of his bare knee. He itches to take her hand, to smooth his thumb over her knuckles instead, but he doesn’t. She’s never been his to touch. “Vi told me about her.”

Jinx shrinks, turning away and he mentally curses. A sore spot even years later. Understandably so. 

“I… shit. Sorry.”

“What’s with the long face?” she exclaims suddenly, jumping to her feet and twirling. Her hands drop to her hips and she grins at him, all mischief. “C’mon, we gotta get out of here.”

Ekko squints. “Uh, what?”

“It’s your birthday, silly,” she says, like it should be obvious. “We’re going to spend the day together.”

.

Jinx keeps her hood up, her gait steady. Any sign of blue tucked away. She’s changed her attire to draw less attention, and as they walk in the hazy dawn light towards the bridge separating the sister cities, it feels almost normal. Casual. Not at all like the last time they spoke, they were about to fight side by side in a battle for their lives. Not at all like he spent two years thinking she’s dead. That still stings, but knowing how she felt back then, the state she was in before he talked her down from the edge, the pain she’s been through, Ekko can’t bring himself to feel resentful. He only wants to hold her and tell her it’ll be okay because she’s not alone. 

“You’re not saying, are you?” he asks, hands in his pockets. 

“Nope,” she replies, popping the p. “Can’t.”

Words rush to his tongue. Insistence that she can and should stay—that there’s space here for her, not just in his life, but in the new Zaun he’s helping to shape. He almost admits it to her then. That he’s built this for her and the ones they lost along the way. 

Ekko continues walking, staring at the ground, noticing too late she’s fallen behind. He peers over his shoulder and freezes when he notices what’s caught her attention. The mural. Welcoming anyone coming into Zaun. Her face, slightly younger but now immortalised, peers back at them. 

“You drew this.”

He loosens a breath. “Yeah, I did. I, uh, just…”

Jinx reaches for her own face, fingertips ghosting over the painted wall. There’s tension on her face when she turns to look at him, something piercing and hard and thoughtful. Same pinch to her eyebrows he saw earlier in his bedroom. 

“I won’t let them take you,” he says softly. “If they came for you. I would fight for you.”

She doesn’t break their eye contact. “I know. You shouldn’t, but I know you would.”

“Then stay.”

She saunters forward, stopping only when they’re almost chest to chest. “I’m not her, y’know? The other me. The one you love.”

He smiles, huffing a small breath, refocusing on her and her small pout. Ekko reaches forward, tucking a few stray strands back under Jinx’s hood, lingering for a beat. “I wasn’t her Ekko, either. That’s why I came back. I like this version of you just fine. But just so we’re clear, every version of you is a pain in my ass.” He tugs on a small braid, grinning when she shoots him an annoyed glare and slaps his hand away. “But I won’t have it any other way. Wait, no. It sure as hell would be simpler if you didn’t try to kill me anymore, but I guess I’ll deal with that, too.”

Jinx snorts, absently reaching for the spot he touched, her gaze softer than before. “Ha! You hit like a girl, by the way. I never got to tell you.”

“You tried to blow us up.”

“Eh,” she whines. “That was one time. You gotta let that go.”

Ekko exhales a small laugh and realises he hasn’t smiled or laughed this much in years. Joy was leeched from him with her absence, and while he did his duties, there was no security of Jinx’s usual push and pull to keep him balanced and focused. Even when they were enemies, hunted each other down and attacked each other, they existed on opposite sides of a perfectly balanced sphere. 

Her nearness, the relief of having her there, overshadows the darker recollection of that afternoon when she tried to blow them up more than once. Memories so painful Ekko wishes to scrub them from his mind forever, yet they remain seared into his psyche. 

She grabs his elbow, dragging him forward, breaking the surrounding gloom. “Come on then,. Things to do, things to see.”

And Ekko does what he’s done since they were young. He follows her. Because they might not have tomorrow.

.

The day goes by too fast. Almost a blur. A series of snapshots Ekko will lock away in his mind forever. He never expected he’d get to do this again. This is something his younger self could have only dreamt about once. When they dreamt of simpler things; flashy toys and delicious sweets, things only a young boy could fantasise about, aside from a loving home, because at least that much he had. 

They walked and talked and joked around, eating street vendor food all day. Ekko knows they’re pushing their luck, but he can’t help himself. Jinx grew up here. This is her home too, and he wants to show her the progress they’ve made. There’s something comfortable about her snarky commentary and ill-timed jibes at the Council members. She asks about Vi only once, in relation to Cait, and Ekko tells her the truth. 

They’re happy. They’re together. She nods, satisfied, and moves on.

“We should go see Jericho next.” It’s an offhand suggestion while they walk the newly paved river path. Now people from the Undercity can enjoy the same luxury of having a peaceful sidewalk to take their kids down. It’s amazing how it’s the small things that bring people happiness. 

“Can’t,” Jinx replies, glancing towards the setting sun. Her smile twists; it’s still a smile, but it’s sad, in a way. “Sorry, hero.”

He takes several seconds to speak. “So, you’re leaving anyway.”

“Yes. I told you I can’t stay.”

“It’s a pity, then.”

She tilts her head. “Why?”

Damn her for even asking. Damn her and all the shitty circumstances for keeping them apart. Damn her for picking him during that game of hide and seek years ago. Damn her for being there for him and not being there at the same time. Damn her for being his entire world for years. Even when Ekko thought he hated her, he wasn’t free of her. He never could be. His girl with blue hair. 

He’s in love with her, in every possible way, but they both know they can’t work like this. There’s too many ghosts for Jinx here, and despite the changes, Ekko can’t promise her she won’t get dragged off to Stillwater the moment authorities find out she’s alive after all. 

Ekko frowns, clenches his fists, and walks away. 

But she’s like an anchor to him. He stops several paces away, tied to her. “You’re gonna break my heart.”

They’ve been everything from friends to enemies and strangers to reluctant allies again. So much of his life has revolved around her. Continues to revolve around her. Past and present. But if Jinx sends him away now, if she walks away, Ekko will let her go. Because he can finally rest easy, knowing she is alive and well, even if they’re apart.

“In any other universe, I might have loved you,” she breathes. 

He pivots towards her, his nostrils flaring. “Love me in this one,” he insists, reaching for her. Ekko cups her cheeks, tilting her head until her hood slips back down, exposing her blue hair to the setting sun. He’s glad there’s no one in sight because he can’t think straight right now. “Choose me now. Ask me to go away with you. Ask me.”

He presses his forehead to hers. Jinx’s empty gaze appears glazed over, her thoughts far away no matter how hard he tries to grip her and hold her close. 

“I don’t deserve you, boy saviour,” she whispers emptily. “You’re good.”

“No one decides for me, Jinx. Not even you.”

She blinks owlishly, searching his wild stare, a pained expression on her face, her fingers knotting against her chest. “What if you don’t want me after a while? I’m… different and if I get bad again... What if—”

“Ask me, damnit.”

Jinx loosens a shaky breath, jumping through a hundred micro-expressions in a few seconds. A painful mix between hope and dread. 

“C…” Her eyes squeeze shut. “Come with me.”

Ekko sags in relief. “Yes.” He holds her, wraps his arms around her despite the unsure way she folds against him. As if she’s unsure where to put her hands. If she should. “Yes, I’ll come with you. I don’t care if you’re different. I want you as you are, okay? No matter where we are.”

A tremulous breath wheezes past Jinx’s lips. But with that, she melts into him, burying her face against him. Her embrace grows desperate and tight, a tremble shuddering through her body. 

“Always a dance with you, huh?” he says after a moment.

She chuckles, the sound warming his collarbone. “And you still got two left feet, boy wonder.”

Constants and variables, young Ekko, Benzo told him once. Everything bad that can happen in this universe might come to pass, but so might everything good.

----

an: ahh I know this isn't really my usual offering but I really hope you guys enjoyed, it's been a while since i've cared enough about canon/canon ship to do this.

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

Can we get a part 2 of "get off the floor" ? It was sooo good

you know what? why the fuck not.

get off the floor, m | jjk >> get on the floor, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: You order Jeon Jungkook to get on the floor. He says, “Make me.” You make him get on his knees. The exact place he wants to be and the perfect place for him.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; bratty (needy) JK; wedding guests reader and JK get a damn room because they are not-safe-for-public, traumatizing some elevator patrons in the process; public teasing; smut (fem dom!reader + sub!JK, begging, biting, marking, spit kink, f and m-receiving oral, slight degrading talk (not really), whipping JK with his own belt, cowgirl, cock-and-ball torture, edging, forced multiple orgasms) ft. a cameo of certain lil meowmeow chastising them for being horny ;)

--

“Mine or yours?”

You watched him run the scenarios in his head. “Mine.”

“Ah,” you mused. “Mine then.”

He ran to catch up with your quick strides, looking just about as done with you as you had with him less than twenty minutes ago when he was laying on the floor being insufferable. Deserved. He grumbled under his breath. “Why ask if you’re just going to ignore me anyway?”

You turned and faced Jeon Jungkook, forcing him to stop dead in his tracks and almost collide with you. His white dress shirt was barely buttoned. At least he had the decency to fasten the black vest back up and haphazardly shrug on his blazer. You looked up at him, pointedly, although it was more to fluster him with the lines of your collarbones and cleavage. Instantly wiped the frown from his expression and replaced it with the struggle to focus on your face.

“Why follow if you’re against it?” you asked, completely blocking his path.

“I…” He fumbled with his words. “I’m not.”

“You’re not?”

You both stood in the hallway, so close to the lobby that you could hear voices. You watched Jungkook bite his lower lip, the awareness that if anyone happened to walk by – hotel staff, wedding guest, random patron – would bear witness to you slowly backing him into the wall, expression unchanging, until your chest was pressed against his chest, the smooth curve of your breasts brushing against his bare skin.

You narrowed your eyes.

“You have another thing coming if you think you can take advantage of me,” you breathed. Slowly and with venom.

He seemed genuinely shocked. “No way.” His youth shone through despise his mature appearance. “I want you to take advantage of me.”

You raised an eyebrow.

Jungkook seemed to realize that he blurted out his secret desires a little too loud. His ears began to singe bright red. He tried to raise a hand to cover his face. You slapped it down. He whimpered, pressing his lips together so that only you could hear it vibrating from his chest to yours. You saw his eyes dart about to check if anyone was around.

You grabbed his chin with three fingers, dragging his face back down.

Dark brown orbs shaking, his pink lips parting as you forcefully brought attention back to you. You leaned in, your lips moving against the side of his open mouth, whispering to his lip piercings.

“Then why your hotel room?” you asked rather calmly.

Hesitation. Then voices seemed to be moving towards you both. Panic. Jungkook attempted to escape your grasp, but you gripped his chin harder and shoved your torso into his, stepping between his legs to imprison him against the wall. He gasped in your ear. Hot and saturated with desire. You began to slide your thigh up between his and Jungkook couldn’t speak fast enough, his hands finding your hips and trying to keep you away from his growing erection lest he lose his common sense and give in to all he wanted.

“I wanted to see you in my clothes after,” he whined, squeezing his eyes shut to avoid your stare. “In only one of my t-shirts… And… M-Maybe we could s-share in a b-bed – please, s-stop… I can’t–”

You backed away.

He had not even registered your body heat left until a second later, bolting upright as a group of women turned the corner. Other wedding guests in fine dresses and holding cute colorful purses, deeply engrossed in conversation and fits of giggles, heading to the restrooms presumably to freshen up. You were already walking the opposite way, towards to lobby and the elevators.

You couldn’t help but smirk as you heard Jungkook bolt into a run to catch up.

Careful of your skirt, you stepped into the metal box with a few other hotel guests that seemed unrelated to the wedding. The doors began to close. A tattooed hand smacked the edge of the metal and the elevator stuttered, opening back up again to a red-faced Jungkook in a three-piece black suit with his white dress shirt half-open suddenly confronted by a scattering of startled faces.

And your enigmatic smile.

He weakly apologized and slunk into the elevator.

Now everyone was trying not to make eye contact with you both.

You tugged on the hem of his blazer and pulled him closer to the corner. He could do nothing but obey. From this angle, the rest of the elevator couldn’t see your expression due to his broad shoulders crowding you. Only Jungkook could. He, however, had a harder time of hiding, due to his height and his slicked-back black hair. The elevator carriage began to rise. You spotted him reaching up to smooth back a few stray strands in attempt to disguise previous dishevelment.

You raised your hand.

Jungkook’s dark eyes shot towards the action, warning you and mouthing, “Don’t.”

You traced the line of his pecs. His jaw clenched. You broke into his personal bubble to murmur, “What floor was the hotel room on again?”

Confusion clouded his features. His hand slid to the back of his head. The doors were opening and a few people stepped out. The rest were subjected to the sexual tension brewing in a corner. You smiled up at him, as innocently as a trickster could. Jungkook raised his other hand, probably to point to you to wordlessly ask what floor your room was on, but you scooted forward, grazing hip to hip, causing his hand to ghost your ass. Scarlet alarm rushed to his cheeks.

Your fingertip snuck closer and closer to his nipple.

His right arm dropped hastily and he mashed the button for the nineteenth floor, trying to push your hand down, inadvertently causing your nail to scratch against his already-erect nipple.

It seemed to take everything in him not to moan.

The doors slid open to the tenth floor and another couple hurried out. You gave Jungkook the devil’s smile. He glared at you. And shifted awkwardly. You glanced down. Then back up. He was trying not to look at you while also staring down your chest. Or maybe at the bulge in his slacks.

You paused as you felt his hand settle on the small of your back.

Now when your eyes rose, his did too. Somewhat uncertain. You didn’t move away. He seemed to be searching for something. You didn’t have anything to hide, so you let him look. You saw his lashes lower. He pulled you slightly closer. Leaned in, still searching, and you let him approach, the edge of your lips faintly rising.

A harsh ping interrupted.

“I would tell you two to get a room,” a dry, raspy male voice cut in from behind you.

The metal doors slid open. Jungkook started, backing off, revealing the unintentional audience. Dark olive-green jacket. Black beanie with black hair sticking out from the back. Black track pants and sandals. The pale man was carrying a plastic bag that seemed to be full of ramen. He glanced from Jungkook to you. Shook his head and walked past you both, smelling like fresh-cut pine.

His cat-like eyes found yours as the elevator began to close.

“But I assume that is what you are about to do.”

The not-so-strange stranger’s smirk disappeared as the doors shut.

The light from the panel of buttons switched only once. The doors opened again, to floor nineteen. Only you and Jungkook were left in the carriage. He grabbed your hand and pulled you out to the hallway, practically flying down the halls as quietly as he could. You were still a bit taken aback by the cat-like man who spoke with faint Daegu intonation, but were broken out of your thoughts as you saw Jungkook drop his room card, scramble to catch it from the air, succeed, and then fail to have the card reader scan it because he was pulling out too fast.

Hm.

You placed your palm in front of the reader.

His hand was shaking. He shot you a lost and frustrated glance, but you simply took the hotel key and inserted it into the slot, letting it turn green before removing it and opening the door. You stepped in, followed close by Jungkook. So close his crotch hit your ass. Subtle. The heavy door slid shut, automatically clicking. And then.

Darkness.

For a breathless second, the world was completely, utterly still.

You heard his breathing quicken, as if he finally realized the implications of everything up until now. It was easy to want, Jungkook learned, but much harder to do once the miracle came true. Perhaps that was too nice of a way to put it.

His idea of paradise was clearly not heaven sent.

You caught his hand in the dark, lacing your fingers in his to draw him away from the light switch.

Your name on the tip of his tongue before you kissed him deeply.

In the dark, he hadn’t noticed your body twist, silent as a snake, slipping the hotel keycard back into one of the font pockets of his slacks, and now you gripped his hand, holding it up and out of the way as your other hand roamed his skin, sliding up his collarbone and fanning over his neck. Devouring. You swallowed his gasp and tilted your head, softly coaxing his cries as you pressed your fingertips into the sides of his neck, relishing in the solidness of his muscles and the fragility of his sanity.

“A-Ah…”

You turned your head and used your hand to pivot him the opposite way. His wispy moan breezed past your cheek. It wasn’t quite as important to be silent anymore, but darkness had the ability to hush all, snatching vision away to amplify touch and sound. Your hand cradled his head and forced him down, your lips feathering over his cheekbone.

To his ear.

You circled your tongue, tasting the curve. Jungkook’s moan pitched. You felt him fighting his blazer as you kissed his ear, whisper light, almost noiseless, licking up his neck to feel his pulse against your tongue. Exhaled. His entire body quivered. He threw the blazer down onto the floor and grabbed your hips, almost lifting you in his pleasure, bringing more of his ear to you.

You bit down.

“Oh, fuuuuck…”

His fingers glossed over the slinky fabric, one hand on your ass the other creeping up your back, stroking your skin to guide delightful shimmers up your spine. He provoked you to bite his neck. You teased him with small kisses. Wet tongue, subtly writing your name onto his neck with your spit. A momentary tattoo only you knew. He was impatient, digging his blunt nails into your flesh.

You couldn’t resist teasing.

“What’s the matter?”

His trembling breath drifted down to your shoulder.

“B… Bite me.”

You stepped forward with one leg, smiling as you felt him press back against you, his hardness slipping into the divot of your thigh and crotch. Too many layers of clothes. Just the right amount of not enough.

“I can’t,” you hummed, running your tongue over the line of his neck muscle. “What if you have someone?”

Jungkook sounded a little bit offended and a lot whiny.

“There’s no one but you.”

Before you could become giddy over that – and, anyway, nothing was stopping him from lying – you bit the side of his neck, just under his ear. And sucked.

Hard.

It was an intimacy high unmatched. Skin between teeth, digging your fingernails into his chest, dragging down, scratching him as you bruised him, feeling his embrace loosen because the bliss of pain seized him. A gasping, weak groan fluttered from his lungs, up to his throat, leaving his lips in a drawn-out, sensual song of your name, lazily thrusting up against your thigh. Sweet friction. You lashed your tongue over the hickey. Left a constellation of bites surrounding it. Jungkook whimpered, stumbling as you caught his ear with your teeth and lightly tugged, subtly repositioning your bodies.

You flicked on the light switch.

The sconces on the walls lit up in a soft, pale white glow.

You looked down and the bruises were red-purple, a lasting mark beginning to deepen in color.

Your eyes shifted and Jungkook was staring back at you, panting. His carefully done hair was getting messier with every minute he spent with you. His vest was somehow on the floor. His dress shirt was barely hanging on his shoulders, the spread collar framing the top of his tattoo sleeve. The only reason he wasn’t completely shirtless yet was because the bottom was stuck in the top of his slacks. His belt was still buckled.

You smiled. He seemed flustered by it.

You placed a hand on his bare shoulder.

“Get on the floor.”

His dark eyes glittered. He couldn’t help himself.

“Make me.”

Your smile became a little more sinister. He balked and then buckled when the toe of your heel hooked into the back of his knee, making him lose his balance. You pressed down, firmly, pushing him to kneeling position. Your heel clicked back onto the tile floor as he caught himself, keeping steady as he realized you were using his body to balance yourself.

Jungkook lifted his head. Eyes wide. Hair over his forehead.

You looked down at him with a devil’s smirk.

“I thought you said… That my suit was too expensive to be on the floor,” he mumbled in meek protest.

He tried to be cheeky with it. His deep voice fluttered like butterfly wings.

Instead of truly replying, you stepped a little closer to his spread knees. You watched him hold his breath, then stiffen as you placed your right foot on his thigh. The slit of your dress parted like liquid violet, the deep color catching the light at the high points of your hip and the top of your thigh. You removed your hand from his shoulder, thoroughly keeping him in place with your high heel, and slipped your fingers at the apex of the slit, hiking it up. The heavy scent of your arousal was inescapable. Heavy and musky sweet. His eyes dropped down at the grand reveal, then widened as you traced the edge of the leg opening of your panties.

You curved your fingers and pulled the thin fabric aside.

Jungkook was now face-to-face with your glistening pussy.

“Hungry?” you teased.

His pleading gaze shot back up to your amused expression. You held it in breathless anticipation. Then you answered yourself.

“I hope so.”

Then you grabbed his head and shoved it in between your legs.

You caught a glimpse of his lips parting, pink tongue extending, and then you felt the warmth envelop you from below. His hand slid up your leg, leaving sparks after his trailing caress. Pleasure like soft petals closing in, and you rocked your hips into his face, feeling his tongue spread your folds apart and dip inwards. His wanton groan made your body vibrate. You gave in, riding his face with your head tipped back, closing your eyes. Rather than hearing the wet sucking sounds, you felt them electrify your nerves. From bud to blossoming bliss, causing you hiss with desire, crowning his head with your spread fingers and holding up your dress with the other. Jungkook tilted his head, closing in around your clit while lifting your leg on his thigh, and now the back of your knee was resting on his shoulder, the adjustment spreading your legs further and giving him the space to press his tongue flat to rub more roughly.

You moaned his name, low and seductive, and felt him shudder under you.

You leaned more of your weight on him and he received it well, holding your legs with his hands, licking, sucking, following the thrust of your hips into his face. You could feel your arousal dripping down, sticking to the inside of your thighs and his cheeks. He moaned in his chest and it radiated through your core, crawling closer and closer to the crescendo, ah, almost, your lashes fluttering, your grip on your dress tightening as orgasmic gravity began to pull you down.

“Fuck, Jungkook, I’m going to cum on your face,” you sighed out, twisting your fingers and pulling on his hair.

His muffled whimper sent you over the edge.

You set your jaw and exhaled heavily, bucking your hips into his mouth and spilling onto his tongue, electric elation clawing up your ass and back. Your body tensed up, completely focused on the surge of pleasure rippling through you, pressing your thigh against his ear. Your hand on his head slid down, holding him in place while your rode it out, smearing your release on his lips. You could, just barely, feel his piercings indenting your skin.

You almost didn’t let him breathe.

Then you let go.

Your head rolled back. Opened your eyes to look down, and Jungkook shuddered, his hot breath warming your heat. He leaned in again. Kiss after kiss, his tongue sliding out and licking up, closing his eyes to savor your taste, sending tingles after the high, before slowly opening those dark orbs to look up at you. You brushed his hair back from his forehead to fully appreciate the view.

He raised an eyebrow at you.

You untangled your leg from his shoulder and stepped back, taking away his pleasure.

His hands slipped from your body. Jungkook was distraught, desperation flaring in his eyes, about to crawl after you, but your swept down, flourishing your right hand and catching his chin in your palm, tilting it up.

His lips shone with your cum.

He froze.

You bowed, disrespectfully, bringing your face to his level, breathing in the perfume of your sex mixed with his cologne. You raised an eyebrow back at him even though he was back to being frozen in awe.

“Tongue-tied?”

You taunted him. Jungkook didn’t have the sense or sanity to have a smartass comeback.

“Take mine,” you offered.

And tilted your head to taste yourself.

In. Out. Your tongue outlined his moaning lips and dove back in, thrusting steadily, turning the kiss messy with your release drying on his cheeks and your saliva smearing down his lower lip. You flicked the tip of your tongue just under the center. His eyes were barely open, pupils blown out, unfocused, letting you claim his lips with no regard to himself except for sucking on your tongue when you allowed it.

You heard him swallow.

His eyes rolled back, and his entire body trembled with a breathless gasp.

You drew back to admire Jeon Jungkook on his knees, his white dress shirt pooling at his wrists and waist. All tan skin, gleaming muscles, and stunning tattoos.

His dress shoes and your heels were tossed into an inelegant pile quite unbecoming of you both.

Lust did that.

“Do you have a condom, by chance?” you asked.

You gave him a little bit of shit for having one buried in his suitcase. His toiletries bag shaped with a pink bunny motif, for fuck’s sake. He tried to hide it from you, as if you would find cute offensive. Had he ever looked in a mirror? But you let him be. His occupied hands gave you a chance to free yourself from your dress. You had paid for it to be tailored to your body, eliminating the need for a bra as it was already built in. Your hotel room key was tucked into the padding of the left breast. Creativity had to happen when there were no pockets. You didn’t have your phone or wallet. The wedding had a strict no-phone policy and the meal was complimentary, so you had left your personal things behind in your room. You were careful to hold onto the cups as you unzipped. The thin straps naturally slipped down your shoulders, no longer supported by the tension. The dark purple fabric slid down your body gradually with some help from a light shake of your ass.

You stepped out of it and lifted the dress up, draping it over one of the chairs in the hotel room.

You turned and Jungkook was staring at you with jaw dropped.

Hm.

He had managed to pull his shirt out of his pants. It lay on the floor, its white crispness rumpled with impatience. You pointedly glanced from the shirt to his naked chest. He held the line of condoms with one hand, the foil packaging shining in the light. Your eyes went to his face. He seemed taken aback. Suddenly nervous. You said nothing. With a tick of your head, you bent over and slid your thumbs under the sides of your bunched-up panties and glided them down your legs. Caught them in the air as you stepped out of them.

And placed them on the hotel dresser, right on top of Jungkook’s cell phone that happened to be there.

Your fingertips strayed on the edge as you face him again.

“Oh, fuck me,” he whispered under shallow breath.

You smiled with the innocence you stole from him and advanced.

You wondered if he meant to say it out loud. Didn’t mind his little slip-ups though. His ears reddened as you stopped in front of him. You stared into Jungkook’s eyes. He held his breath. You reached low and unbuckled his belt, gently teasing it apart and pulling from the buckle. It snaked around his waist, freed from the pant loops. The last of it fell into your other palm.

With a swift flick, you drew the buckle and end together, snapping the leather loop sharply in front of Jungkook’s chest.

“A-Ah!”

He came back to life, freezing immediately when you touched the loop to his pecs. It was a smooth grain leather. Very high quality. You grazed it over his skin. Turned it slightly as you neared his nipple, brushing the hard edge over the hard nub. He moaned in your face, biting his lip once he realized his impoliteness. You did it again. His eyelids fluttered, lowering to half-moons, clutching the condoms.

From your periphery, you witnessed his other hand sneak down to palm himself.

You turned the belt in your hands. You held the buckle with your left.

The look in his eyes was divine, craving punishment.

“You like pain,” you whispered. “Don’t you?”

Jungkook gave you the faintest of nods, sinking his teeth into the side of his lower lip, revealing the tiny mole underneath.

You smacked the smooth leather of the end of the belt into his chest.

“Answer me.”

He hissed, clenching his jaw while rubbing the highest point of the bulge in his slacks. You let him enjoy it. You were too busy enjoying the glassiness of his dark eyes.

“A-Ah, y-yes… Please…”

You slapped the leather against his other nipple. He gasped at the sharpness, ducking his head and seeing the slight red mark before you closed the distance, circling your tongue around it and making eye contact. You let your saliva drip. His breathing quickened, watching your every move. You drew patterns on his tense abs with the end of his own belt as you delicately bit down. Switched begin a light tap and a hard spank, all the while kissing his chest. You folded back the belt in your hand so it was easier to use the one end, alternating hits over wet skin and dry skin. His heartbeat raced under your lips. He let out a soft mewl, and then immediately tried to cover up such embarrassing noises, only to be reduced to puppy whimpers as you repeatedly smacked his nipple before roughly sucking on it.

At this point, Jungkook was practically humping his hand.

“Take it off.”

You warmed his shivering torso with your harsh command.

“Stroke your cock while I abuse you.”

Jungkook whined, incomprehensible. He was already doing his best to undo the button. You heard the zipper go down as you straightened. You whipped the belt over his bunched pecs. He gasped, almost a scream, shoving his slacks and boxer briefs down together. You had about a half second to appreciate how hard and how red he was before he wrapped his hand around his girth, his eyes nearly rolling back into his head, and he began to fuck his hand.

His pants didn’t even have time to fall down his thighs.

You did exactly what he wanted.

Licked up his chest. Spanked across the red trail, leaving a reddened mark. You did not give in to the adrenaline, keeping each hit within measured force, switching between hard and soft, not allowing him to become desensitized. The pain was unpredictable. The contrast made each loud slap seem worse than it was. His skin turned red. His eyes glazed over. His head tilted back slightly, the volume of his moans rising, his body rigid. You wondered if he knew that would help disperse the pain, but didn’t ask. The desperate lust was making him drunker than the alcohol he had consumed earlier.

The muscles of his neck tightened.

“Don’t cum,” you warned.

“P-P-Please…” He seemed on the brink of losing it. “Don’t… d-do this…”

You waited until the last second.

Then you shifted the belt in your hands, holding onto both ends, and tucked the loop under his balls, forcefully tugging upwards.

“Drop it.”

He obeyed instantly despite the tears on the edge of his eyes. The heavy weight of his hard cock struck the belt, dipping it down. You lifted the leather to fully cup his shaft and, while holding his terrified, eager gaze, slowly crossed your hands over, trapping his cock in a makeshift leather ring with his belt.

His cock throbbed so strongly that you felt it almost dislodge your work of art.

You raised an eyebrow.

Jungkook panted, waiting for your next order.

You glanced at the dark red-purple tip. It was shiny with pre-cum. Your gaze raised. His eyes were begging yes. His mouth kept up the act.

“N-No, don’t… please…”

“Touch it,” you murmured with the sweetness of a succubus.

His fingertips ghosted the sensitive skin and he almost buckled, shaking his head. You kept your grip on the belt, preventing him from lowering too much. If he wanted to escape you, all he would have to do was back up. But Jeon Jungkook did not want to escape you. He wanted to stare into your eyes and tease the leaking head of hic cock, shuddering and melting under the heat of your gaze, his body surrendering, subservient to your sublime, stinging conquest.

His hips were slowly thrusting.

His palm was against the tip, using the dripping pre-cum to stimulate himself as his fingertips rubbed along the underside. His lashes fluttered, doing his very best to not look away from you while also almost hitting the high of rolled-back eyes. The strong scent of his pre-cum and your arousal mixed together, saturating the air with pure sex. You took in every detail of his face, witnessing his fall to orgasm.

Almost.

You relaxed your hold on the belt.

“Fuck!”

Jungkook bit back his tongue and shot you his most helpless, longing expression. Probably two beats away from pleading you to whip his dick if only for the mere chance of release. It almost worked. Those big eyes truly were your downfall. You forced yourself to step away with a slow exhale, dropping the belt with a clunk and pointing to the bed.

“Lay on your back.”

You barely got the words out of your mouth. Jungkook nearly ripped the clothes off his body. You might have heard a seam pop. You pointed to the row of condoms in his hand and didn’t have the chance to ask before he separated one and ripped it open. On one hand, you wanted to reprimand him. On the other hand, the situation between your legs was getting rather dire.

You, too, were losing patience.

You stood on the edge of the bed, carefully observing Jungkook.

Those eyes trusted you a little too much after you whipped his chest red.

You decided to trust him too.

Slid onto the bed, crawling forward with immoral intention. In between his legs. He hesitated just before putting the condom on. You breathed out over his twitching cock. He whimpered. You loved it. Your tongue extended. With each throb, the head hit the flat of your tongue, transferring strings of spit down his length. His eyelids fluttered. You closed your lips around his hot, thick cock, unable to resist a taste, pressing him to the back of your throat, already addicted to the way he filled your mouth. You thought about edging him again but your pussy was pulsating with need.

You lifted your head, whispering darkly against his wet, shuddering cock.

“Fuck me.”

It was almost a growl.

The condom rolled down and you straddled him for the second time that night, using two fingers to hold him steady before sinking down, arching your back at the slick, full feeling of his cock entering you. It was a long-awaited reward, almost making you dizzy from the finality of it. Both of you moaned in unison. His hands found your thighs, kneading them, and you could feel him watching you, drinking in every detail with his eyes as you sank down, locking your hips to his.

Your gazes connected.

You couldn’t resist.

“Say please.”

His brows knitted together. You clenched around him. The defiance was instantly erased, replaced by submission.

“A-Ah…! Please…” The way your name dripped from his panting mouth was intoxicating. “Please…”

You rolled your hips into his with a firm smack.

The pleasure was glorious, direct, shooting through you from below. You drew up and thrust him back into you, again, and again, your breathing laboring as you rode him, drawing him and you to the abyss of lust. His gaze lingered on your bouncing breasts and he reached up, unsteadily, intoxicated on this feeling and refusing to sober up, sinking his fingers into the soft curves. You exhaled hard, blood tingling, moaning softly as his thumbs ran over your hard nipples, rubbing them in time of your rhythm. His fingertips were rough in the most arousing way, adding to the sensations amplifying each other, and so you let him touch you all over, feeling the edge of your lips tick upwards as your orgasm neared.

“I told you to fuck me, Jungkook.”

With half-moon eyes and a drawn-out moan, his hands slipped down your sides. Grabbed your hips and thrust up, making you both gasp. Hard. Slow. You pushed back down and both of you built to a brutal pace, your hands on his abs, digging your nails into hard muscle, and Jungkook was losing his mind, throwing his head back into the pillow, dripping sweat making his hair stick to his forehead. Your core burned, chasing the high, your back arching as well, matching each loud obscene smack with a satisfied cry, closer and harder and skipping breaths to withhold the faintest bit of oxygen.

Searing tension overcame your thighs.

You moaned to the ceiling and came all over his jerking cock, his groan pitching to a whine as he was suffocated by the spasms. You felt your pussy pulsate, dragging you into wave after wave of blistering bliss. The exertion had rendered you airless, gasping, squeezing Jungkook’s hips with your legs while you felt his grip on your ass tighten, sinking his spread fingers into the softness.

You froze, suspended.

Dying that little death.

You were still for a good thirty seconds. His cock throbbed inside you. You lowered your head, drifting down, down, meeting a fucked-out expression and unfocused gaze.

You smiled.

There was something so dangerous about it that it broke Jungkook from his reverie.

You lifted yourself off him, causing his length to slip out with a wet slap to his lower abdomen.

“W-What…?”

You made sure he saw you do it. Your hand extended, rolling up and he begged, “O-Oh, d-don’t… Please, you’re c-crazy…” and paying his words no mind as you dropped the used condom onto his stomach. You wrapped your hand around his slippery, sensitive cock covered in lube and cum.

Held him in panicked anticipation.

“Say it,” you demanded sternly. “You know what you want.”

The reality of his fantasy devoured him, and Jungkook desperately moaned.

“Please jack me off. Hard. Fast. Don’t stop.”

You gripped tightly and let the adrenaline flow. Power surged through your veins as he flinched, groaning into the pillow, his fingers digging into the sheets. His shaft felt hot, slick, stiff. You kept up an intense, harsh pace, and Jungkook cried out, almost thrashing, loudly whining as he came again. Cum pooled at the purple-red head, foaming as you continued, rising to press your knee to his lower ribs, holding him down. He was losing his mind, too oversensitive, whining, “Please, one more, o-oh fuck, f-fuck, please,” and you reached between his legs, tactfully pinching his scrotum and pulling on his balls with just the right amount of measured force.

Jungkook howled and slammed his head back into the pillow, thrusting up into your hand and orgasming so hard his own scream was cut off.

You ceased all movement.

His throbbing cock shivered and spat out a dribble of white that pooled around your fingers. You relieved his chest from the pressure of your knee. He coughed, sucking in greedy inhales, grabbing your calf as you dismounted. You turned your head. He was incredibly sweaty. His chest was tight. He looked like he had run a hundred kilometers.

Or like you just run him through.

You raised an eyebrow at him.

“I-Is it c-crazy…” Jungkook panted, staring into your eyes. “That I… Want you to d-do that again?”

There he goes again with his antics.

“You really are a pain slut.”

His lips curved into a daredevil, open-mouthed smirk.

“I like that about you.”

His ears flustered red at your compliment. You held his stare there for another uncomfortable second – on his part – and then looked down at the messy, drenched sheets before finally returning to his face.

“You’re sleeping on this side,” you declared, sliding off the edge of the bed to wash your hands.

You spotted his open suitcase on your way to the dark bathroom. It was crammed with clothes. You bent down to pick up one of his t-shirts, a white Calvin Klein, slipping it on over your naked body. Flicked on the light and turned your head to glance over your shoulder.

Jungkook was staring at you from the bed. Big eyes wide. Jaw slack. Black hair messy and all over his sweaty forehead. Naked and oh-so-very hot and perfectly enthralled by you while also being head-to-toe trouble for you, specifically.

Yes, you thought, I’ll keep him.

You smiled with a different kind of genuine pleasure and stepped into the bathroom, hearing the hotel bed fly into disarray as he chased after you.

--

drabbles masterpost | masterpost

[pursuitseternal]

“Come Again…”

Cambion Raphael x f!Reader | E | 1K

Summary: Knotted and stuffed, you need something as your Devil sleeps… you need to come again.

CW: Knotting, somnophilia, cockwarming, fem masturbation, keep quiet, soft Raphael, aftercare

For @marimosalad

Ao3 link | Raphael Masterlist

Infernally hot and sweaty. But you’re always sweaty here in the hells. Not even your tiefling biochemistry accounts for hot blazing the devil’s body is, his seed is, even after he’s taken his pleasure and fucked nearly every hole.

In his mighty cherry-fleshed form, he’s so long and so heavy. Even just the weight of his arm around your side as he spoons you close makes breathing a chore.

Never mind the way his infernally hot cock is locked inside your own grooved channel, ridges scored too deep into your flesh as you warm him.

“Such a… soft little mouse,” he puffs in your ear, voice already thick and husky close to sleep. He shifts a bit, sliding his leg between yours, making those ridges of his cock tug in your walls… not unpleasurable, but enough to remind you that you have nowhere to go…

Not that you would wish to…

You rest the weight of your horned head into the silk cushion of his pillow, the scent fills your every breath… cherries and musk and sex… It’s arousing and comforting all at once, especially as your heart still thumps against your ribs, your tail still entwined loosely with his own.

It’s these moments that the great Archdevil who claimed in you in his bed eases. And despite the weight of a crown on his head, he now rests that head beside yours, breathing in your hair and lips whispering at the back of your neck.

Soft things.

Sweet things.

Thoughts his perfectly measured speech and carefully crafted syntax would never allow during his waking.

“Sweet mouse… all mine, my good little girl… my perfect fuck…”

You have to close your eyes to concentrate on his deep voice, barely distinguishing it from the almost snoring rasp in his chest.

Each hummed epitaph in praise of you only makes you that much hotter… more aroused… you can feel your slick wetting again, even with him still knotted inside you, those ridged locked deep into the grooves of your cunt. A perfect fit. The key to your lock, imprisoned as you are and impaled on his length. Even as he fades into sleep.

He rumbles again, dancing in and out of quasi-consciousness

“Mine… mine… my….”

You can’t help it, the way your back arches to feel his searing breath in your pointed ear, his heavy arm pinning you with heat to the silk that’s damp beneath you.

Silk that will only dampen more as your hips roll ever… so… slightly. You pause as his breathing hitches. You’ve only ever known him to be a heavy sleeper, once he reached that point after fucking you raw and often senseless.

Do you... dare seek more pleasure as he lays inside you, ridge buried in your cunt wall, stuffing you full of his seed? Do you dare to come again?

You let out a little moan, slightly stifled… but enough to make you pause as he shifts.

More discretion, perhaps, you decide, freeing your arm from under his to snake your fingers between your legs. A shudder races up your spine the second you find your clit… the second you finger tip brushes his still-hard length inside you where it disappears in your cunt. Hells… the thought, the feeling alone is enough to make your breathing accelerate and your belly coil with need again.

Just one more little orgrasm. He had teased you so much before… bringing you to the brink and pulling away again and again.

And again.

One orgasm had cooled you, but not quenched. So you circle your clit, sneaky and holding your breath. You try to keep it quiet under the blanket, turning your head into the pillow.

But the scent of him in his sheets and the feeling of your walls clenching and fluttering harder already in anticipation… a moan slips from your lips into the scarlet silk you’ve buried your face in.

That scent, his scent… his breath in your ear, his knotted cock locked in your spasming channel…

“Fuck…” you whisper into the bedding again before you come up for air. For a moment, you panic, your tail tensing as you realize it’s been rubbing in the sheet with your pleasure.

He shifts. Raphael lets out a small rumble, pulling you closer, and you fear too much to turn your head to look and meet a pair of black and yellow eyes…

So you, impaled coward that you are, you wait and listen to his breathing.

And yet, even as you listen to his breathing grow slow and steady again, your fingers circle and press and stroke and tease yourself.

Hot… hotter… you bite your lip as your wave of needy blissful heat builds in your belly. Your hips start to roll now, your fingers thrusting their friction over your clit, pulling at its hood, and teasing towards your entrance that’s stuffed with him.

You can almost hear his heart beating faster, the slightest roll and drag of his cock inside you, but you’re so close, orgasm so near you can taste it on your tongue and feel your walls clenching and releasing in anticipation.

“Yes… yes…” you barely whisper…. Just a few more thrusts of your fingers, and you spill around his cock inside you.

A strangled moan, a bucking body, you are nothing more than the plaything he’s used finally… finally taking the pleasure you need.

And then, his tail wraps its blunted end around your slowing wrist. A sinister chuckle in your ear, you hear him whisper, his body inching to enclose more around you.

“Again, mouse…” he commands you, biting his pointed teeth into the supple flesh of your ear. “Come again around me…”

[metamorphesque]

Formula 1, Sportswashing and Greenwashing a Genocide ... in other words, just an ordinary day in baku

As the final Formula 1 Grand Prix is set to take place tomorrow in baku, azerbaijan, I find it impossible to remain silent. The world is gearing up for what’s supposed to be an exciting event but behind the gleaming lights of the racetrack, there’s a much darker story that demands attention: the ethnic cleansing of Artsakh and azerbaijan’s ongoing brutal actions against Armenians.

azerbaijan’s history of oppression toward the Armenian people is not a secret. The forced displacement of Armenians from their ancestral lands, the violent campaign of ethnic cleansing in Artsakh, and the inhumane imprisonment and torture of Armenian captives in baku are undeniable facts. The world has remained shockingly quiet as over 200 Armenians languish in azerbaijani prisons, subjected to treatment that violates every principle of human rights.

One of the most glaring symbols of azerbaijan’s hatred toward Armenians is the Genocide Theme Park in baku, a chilling place that mocks the pain and suffering of an entire people. This is not just an internal issue; it’s an attack on humanity. But instead of confronting azerbaijan’s actions, the world is endorsing them.

These atrocities are certainly not limited to the government and the officials; the indescribable hatred has extended over to the people as well - take a glimpse into the azeri society

Now, let's imagine that you were fortunate enough to watch the F1 Grand Prix live in baku. How would you feel knowing that the azerbaijani person sitting next to you might be one of the many who were selling beheaded bodies of Armenian children on Facebook? Or perhaps they took their children to the Genocide Park and photographed them pretending to choke the statues of Armenian soldiers?

azerbaijan is not only hosting the Formula 1 Grand Prix but is also set to host COP29, a global climate summit. These events are being used to greenwash and sportwash the regime’s crimes.

How can we watch Formula 1 without acknowledging that the very ground this race is held on is soaked in the suffering of Armenians? How can we cheer for a spectacle when the cries of the oppressed go unheard?

This is not a political issue; it’s a matter of basic human decency. While the world enjoys the race, we must not forget the injustices happening in the shadows. Formula 1 should be about fairness and excellence. But in azerbaijan, it’s about something far more sinister—using sport to hide atrocities.

So, as you watch the Grand Prix in baku, remember the Armenian lives shattered by violence, hatred and silence. Let’s refuse to let sports and international events become tools for erasing history and ignoring the suffering of innocent people.

BREAK THE CHAIN OF IGNORANCE: Share Information: use social media platforms like Tumblr, Instagram, X, Facebook and others to share articles, videos, and testimonies about the atrocities being committed by azerbaijan. The more people know, the harder it becomes to ignore. Engage in Dialogue: talk to friends, family, and colleagues about the situation in azerbaijan and encourage others to take action too. Support Armenian Communities: donate to/support organizations helping displaced Armenians and those impacted by the conflict in Artsakh. Even small contributions can go a long way in providing humanitarian aid. Artsakh Relocation Project All For Armenia

TAKE ACTION by adding your name to THE LIST of supporters.

Remember that this is not a political issue; it’s a matter of basic human decency.