#and both times the answer is 'kind of. but it's not enough. not yet'

[dark-night-hero]

Imagine being Xavier's non-MC significant other. Part 3

Imagine the way the silence lingered the night. Not sharp anymore, not stiff. Just... final.

Imagine the way Xavier stood there, frozen with the weight of too many unspoken truths pressing against his chest. You had looked at him with such quiet resolve, like someone who had already grieved, someone who had already let go. Just waiting for him to catch up.

Imagine the way he remembered wanting to speak, to say anything, but words had never been his gift. And now, in the moment that begged for them most, he had none.

Imagine you had always read him better than anyone. And so, maybe you knew he was sorry. Maybe you felt it in the way his shoulders slumped or the way his gaze lingered on you like he was memorizing your shape for the last time. Maybe that was the only apology he knew how to give.

Imagine there was no fight. No raised voices. No tears. Just two people standing in a space that used to feel like home and now felt like a memory. You didn't ask about MC, didn't demand an explanation. You didn't need one. That's what made it worse.

Imagine the way he sat on the edge of the bed while you moved through the room, gathering your things slowly, gently. Like you were leaving something sacred behind. And maybe you were. Maybe both of you were.

"Was I not enough?" You asked suddenly, your voice breaking the fragile stillness. You weren't looking at him. You couldn't. His answer came too late, and too quiet. "You were." And that was the truth.

Imagine, you were enough. More than enough. But he had been careless with your love, with the trust you gave so freely, with the silence you shared like a language. He had let his attention drift, not in betrayal, but in neglect. In distraction. And he hadn't noticed you fading until the light in your eyes turned dim. Until your warmth turned to restraint.

"I got used to your quiet." You said, your back still to him. "I thought it meant something solid. Safe. But lately... It's like I'm shouting in a room where no one's listening." He closed his eyes, swallowing the lump in his throat.

Imagine that was the moment he finally admitted it to himself, he had hurt you. Not with cruelty. But with silence. With absence. With the kind of forgetting that doesn't mean you stop loving someone, just that you stopped showing them how.

and Imagine, the worst part was... He still loved you. So he stood up and walked toward you, reaching out but stopping short of touching. "I never stopped choosing you."

Imagine you turned to face him . And he could see it. The love still there, fragile and flickering. But also the exhaustion. The kind that doesn't come from one moment of pain, but from hundreds of small heartbreaks stacked on top of each other.

"I know." You whispered. "But love isn't enough when it’s only said in silence."

The goodbye wasn't loud. It didn’t need to be. You stepped forward and he held you, maybe for the last time. His arms wrapped around your shoulders the way they always had. Protective. Familiar. But something had shifted. Something had ended. And yet something remained.

"I hope." You murmured against his chest. "That one day, when we meet again, we're both a little braver." His hand tightened slightly. "I hope I deserve that chance."

Imagine you pulled away first gently. No drama. Just quiet acceptance. Maybe this wasn't forever. Maybe it wasn't the end. But it was goodbye. For now.

"I'll still think of you." You said not as a plea, not as a punishment. Just truth. "Every time I feel safe in silence. That'll always be you."

Imagine Xavier didn't cry. He rarely did. But there was a tremble in his jaw, a shine in his eyes, like he was watching something beautiful slip away and knew he had no one to blame but himself.

"When I get it right next time." He said softly, his voice nearly breaking. "I want it to be with you." And it was your turn to pause, your turn to ache. Because you still loved him. But you were done making a home in someone else's shadows. "Maybe." You said. "If we find each other again and we both know how to speak."

Imagine you stepped past him, your shoulder grazing his. One last warmth, one last connection. And then you opened the door.

Imagine neither of you said goodbye. Because sometimes love doesn't end in endings. It just pauses, quietly, waiting for a version of you both that might know how to stay.

so Imagine as Xavier stood in the doorway, watching you disappear into the hall, he felt something ache deep in his chest. Not just for what he lost. But for what he never said.

[ⓒdark-night-hero] 2025°

[pure-kirarin]

Shanks, Ben Beckmann & Smoker x S/O that doesn't speak their language

Hi dear Anon, despite my requests being closed, I really liked your idea and wanted to write it. So here are some cute & fluffy headcanons. As someone who uses their second or third language on the daily I have been in such situations and it inspired me to write these hcs. Hope you like them!

Shanks

Honestly? He doesn’t care. Language barrier? What barrier? Shanks barely talks his own language and has been communicating with drunk pirates all his life. 

You think not sharing a common language is going to stop him from flirting? Please, there is another kind of tongue you both share!

He grins wide, then slaps a hand on his chest. “Me—Shanks.” He says it slowly, like he’s discovered the magic of human speech. “Shanks.” He points at himself again, just in case. Then points at you, eyes twinkling. “You?” You blink. Then cautiously mimic his gesture, your hand on your chest. “...Y/N.”

He gasps like you just revealed you were royalty. “WOW.” He turns immediately to his crewmate Ben Beckmann, who's calmly smoking in the corner like he is used to his captain’s reactions.

“Ben, did you hear that? She gets me.”

Ben doesn’t even look up. “Congratulations tarzan” But Shanks is glowing. He turns back to you and clinks his drink against yours with reverence. “We’re basically fluent now.”

Whenever you are with Shanks, you never feel the need to speak, it’s full instinct, it’s about the looks in the eyes, about the way he catches on when your breath hitches because he is too close.

He loves the way you look into his eyes like you're searching for words inside them, like you're hoping his gaze can speak for you.

And somehow, it does. You don’t have to explain. He gets you without talking. His fingers gently lift your chin, slow and deliberate, tilting it just enough so your eyes meet his without escape. His thumb brushes your chin, his breath warm against your lips :

"You want a kiss, don’t you?" he murmurs, voice low and teasing, an invitation.

He already knows the answer. It’s written all over your face, in the way you lean in just a little too close, in how your eyes flicker down to his lips before you can stop yourself. And yet, he waits for you to close the distance. 

Ben Beckmann

Whereas it’s flowing and energy bursts with Shanks– with Ben, it’s a different story! Ben doesn’t talk a lot anyway, so a language barrier just fits into his rhythm. He’s a master of reading the room, and he picks up your cues fast. A raised eyebrow, a pause before your sentence—he’s already adjusted to you.

Ben is very patient with you, he doesn’t rush to finish your sentences, he doesn’t feel the need to. He just lets you express yourself and tries to understand your meanings through your tone. 

Since Ben is very smart and observant, he starts to understand patterns in your speech, and starts secretly learning your language, which makes it way easier for you to communicate. He also sometimes uses what he has learned to teach you a few useful words. 

Misunderstandings happen often, since you barely speak his language. You sometimes mispronounce words in ways that make the other crew members laugh — like that time you said ‘bitch’ instead of ‘beach’. Ben doesn’t mind, though. He just smiles and gently corrects your pronunciation.

He encourages you to practice and talk slowly and he is very patient with you. He occasionally points at things and names then so you remember what they are called. He finds your pronunciation very charming and cute. 

You two are sitting side by side, the soft clink of glasses between you, the night wrapping around like a quiet blanket. He leans back lazily, pointing his finger upward: “This is the sky.”

“The sky…” You repeat after him, and he feels like a proud teacher. You point out at his cigarette, as if you’re asking him for its name. He raises an eyebrow and points to it as well: 

“This…It’s a cigarette.” You repeat the word clumsily, making him scoff— a soft, amused sound that’s full of affection.

It’s moments like these he treasures, when the language barrier isn’t a wall, but a way to bond. 

Smoker

Smoker gets easily frustrated, but not at you, he is aware that you are still learning and finds pride in you speaking more than one language. Whenever someone dares to mock your accent or your mistakes, he snaps at them like a flame catching fuel

“—If I hear any of you making fun of her, I’ll crush you to pieces! Aren’t you fucking ashamed? How many of you even speak more than one language?!”

He tries so hard to hide it — the way his heart melts every time you mispronounce a word or mix up a term. It's so damn adorable, it almost makes him turn into a puddle. But he’d never let you see that.

So instead, his ears turn a soft rose-pink, and he takes a long drag from his cigarette, exhaling more smoke than usual, like he's trying to hide behind it. His expression stays neutral, but that little flush, the way his eyes soften for a second too long, gives him away every time and makes you giggle.

He listens closely, not to mock but to remember. Every little mistake you make, he tucks it away in his mind, not with irritation but quiet fondness. Later, when things are calm, he’ll bring it up like it’s nothing: “— By the way, it’s pronounced ‘six,’ not ‘sex.’ Just so you know.” As if he hadn’t been thinking about it all day. As if he hadn’t found it cute as hell.

Whenever he feels overwhelmed by emotions, he silently thanks the language barrier — it lets him say everything he feels without shame. He tells you how much he loves you, how beautiful he finds you.

You may not understand every single word, but you feel all of it. His gaze doesn’t waver, and in that moment, the language barrier becomes something else entirely, not a wall, but a shelter. A secret place where he can be completely vulnerable, and still feel safe, but not for too long, since you’re catching up fast. 

please leave a comment if you enjoyed these hcs ! kisses.

[idyllwave]

aeon & bird & arrow 5

yandere!aeon!phainon x fem!reader x yandere!mydei

taglist

@reapersan @lollipipz

Phainon couldn’t stop staring at you. He memorized the way you smiled, noted the way that your eyes would crinkle when he said something funny. And your laugh… he could listen to it for ages. And he loved the way you talked, he could pick out the way your voice falls over each syllable as you told him about your village, it’s people, and about yourself.

“How about you?”

“Me?”

“Yeah, silly. Who exactly is Phainon besides a knight in shining armor?”

He couldn’t remember the last time someone cared to ask about himself. He didn’t even know anyone who would even bother to ask, but here you were proving him wrong.

Phainon, of course, wasn’t his true name, but he felt like it was a name that he wanted you to call him by. But he did tell you other things. His home birthplace, how he traveled from one city to another, and how he currently has a small home in Castrum Kremnos … while leaving out the part that he was actually the aeon looking over the place and helping them win the war that was going on right now.

Though, you didn’t seem to mind how secretive he was about some parts of his life. That, or you didn’t notice. What he also didn’t expect was all your questions you would ask about the various places he’s been to which he would happily answer to in kind.

Then there was the pie you made. He couldn’t remember the last time someone cooked for him. And it was so good too. Granted, you could have given him anything and he would still think it tasted amazing.

He honestly wanted to talk with you forever, but … he could already sense someone approaching.

“Y- you!”

Laios. What an interesting fellow. Phainon honestly didn’t think he would come back. Maybe he should have killed him after all. And before he could stand to confront the man, you had beat him to it and stood in front of him instead. Your hands resting on your hips as you flared at Laios.

“Move out of my way.”

“No, you’ve bothered both me and Phainon enough.”

Laios sneered, “how am I not surprised? The moment a man shows you even a bit of kindness you’re already opening your-“

He froze, you both did when that familiar feeling clawed at you both.

“Finish that sentence,” Phainon said as he stood up and ushered you into his arms, one of his hands pressing gently against your head to make you lean against him.

“Well?”

You couldn’t move as your cheek pressed against his chest. Your hands uselessly reaching to grab ahold of his coat as your heart stuttered loud with each beat against your rib cage. What was this feeling? It was even worse than in your shop. Was it coming from Phainon? It had to be-

Laios stumbled back and fell to the ground, “what- what even are you?!”

“Leave and pray you never find out.”

Laios looked at Phainon, then at you before struggling to get up and running away. It was probably the fastest you have ever seen him leave. And as soon as he was out of eyesight, that pressure disappeared and it felt like you could breathe again. And, of course, you had even more questions, not that you could ask as Phainon was still holding you close. His arm was locked tight around your waist as his other hand was running through your hair.

“P- Phainon?”

He hummed.

You hesitated. Were you even allowed to ask? Would he answer? Would you even like the answer he would give you?

“It’s probably best you don’t ask.”

“And even better if you let her go.”

Yet another nuisance Phainon mused.

“Aren’t you supposed to be fighting a war?”

“There was a break. A temporary ceasefire.”

“How convenient.”

Phainon let you go so you could turn, your eyes widening as your smile returned, “Mydei!”

[voxofthevoid]

Yo, tis time for Nanaita Chikan Wednesday #1—this might have another entry, depending on how long I take to finish it. I started it just yesterday, and the fic is currently a modest 2.5k. It's part of the oneshot marathon and intended to be, well, a oneshot.

As the (nick)name suggests, the fic involves nanaita and train groping. I'm going for a no-Shibuya setting in this one. Yuuji's in his third year at J. Tech. You'll see why.

Now, people who want to see Nanami groped in public, come closer 🫴

The train resumes moving with another jolt, but this time, Itadori is as steady as bedrock, keeping both of them rooted to the spot.

“You…can let go now,” Kento hears himself say.

There’s a sharp exhale. Itadori’s arm loosens, shifts—a slow, leisurely drag that somehow culminates in a broad palm splayed wide over Kento’s stomach.

He stares down at it, blinking as if that will force the sight to make more sense.

“Nanamin,” Itadori asks slowly, “did you shrink?”

Sheer incredulity seals Kento’s voice for a moment.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he snaps the moment he recovers.

“I know, but…” The hand on Kento’s stomach flexes, pressing down more firmly. “Feels like you’ve shrunk.”

Kento tries to ignore his sudden, searing awareness of the skin under Itadori’s palm. “I’m the same size I’ve been since long before you met me. You’re the one who grew.”

“Huh,” Itadori says like it’s a revelation. “Yeah. Guess you’re right.”

It’s ridiculous. All of this is ridiculous.

But the most ridiculous part might be Itadori’s apparent unawareness of his own damn size. He wasn’t a small boy even at fifteen, but in the two years since, he’s grown taller and broader to a frankly concerning degree, given that he now stands a good head above even Gojou, with the breadth to match. He made Tōdō look small the last time Kento saw the two of them stand together.

The bulk is one thing. A natural enough change, at the end of the day. Kento is well aware of the difference between his lanky fifteen-year-old body and his current frame. Even Gojou filled out between sixteen and twenty, not growing much taller but putting on more and more muscle with every year. But there’s something unnatural about Itadori’s flesh—something that goes beyond skin and bone to writhe with the fifteen fingers Itadori has consumed and digested and made manifest.

Kento remembers, with a hollow swoop of his stomach, the time Gojou wondered out loud whether even the size is yet another gift Sukuna has inadvertently bestowed on Itadori.

His tone was more discomfiting than the theory could ever hope to be.

He expects Itadori to let him go now that he’s received the ridiculous answer to his ridiculous query, but when the hand on his stomach twitches into motion, it’s only to slip a few centimeters down, curving over his hip.

The bone there twinges despite being protected from Itadori’s palm by a thick pair of pants and matching jacket.

“Itadori-kun—”

“I like it,” Itadori announces.

“Excuse me?”

“This.” Itadori squeezes Kento’s hips like he’s demonstrating what this is. “I like that you’re small.”

“I am not small,” Kento retorts, even as a part of him wonders why that’s what he’s focusing on.

“True,” Itadori concedes. His voice is light and cheerful, practically chirpy. “But you’re smaller than me now. I like it! How’d I miss it all this time?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Kento says stiffly. “It’s quite obvious.”

“It really is, huh? I mean, you’re smaller than Satoru too.”

Kento gives up on categorizing his emotions, closing his eyes in vain hopes that the darkness will restore sense to the world.

It does not.

“Now that you’re done reacquainting yourself with reality,” he tells Itadori, “unhand me, please.”

“Do I have to?” Itadori asks, a whining note in his voice.

Kento almost chokes on thin air. “What kind of a question is that?”

Itadori’s response is a bodily thing. He crowds closer, his free arm bracing it against the glass door above Kento’s head, and there’s not much room between their bodies for Itadori to violate, but it feels like he does anyway, shrinking space in some perverse imitation of his teacher’s technique to crush their  bodies together, and it doesn’t shove Kento even an inch closer to the glass doors, but it still feels like they’ve also grown closer, trapping him in a pocket of heat-filled space.

And his hand does uncurl from Kento’s hip, only to slide back up to his stomach—and then up and up and up, the buttons of his jacket somehow being undone by the motion. Itadori’s palm presses like a brand to the shirt underneath, his tanned skin standing out against its subdued blue.

Itadori’s chin comes to rest on Kento’s shoulder. In the glass, his eyes are heavy from lids to pupils.

“Nanamin,” he says, his voice low and unfortunately husky, “I like this.”

The last of Kento’s willful ignorance dies a whimpering death.

“Itadori-kun, no.”

“C’mon,” Itadori wheedles, a tone not befitting his size or his age or the character buried significantly further north of where Itadori’s brain currently seems to be. “No one’s going to care.”

“That’s not the point!” Kento snaps. “And of course they’ll care—we’re in public.”

Itadori laughs. It’s genuine. Bright, bubbly, warm.

A chill seeps through Kento’s bones.

“The public won’t do anything,” Itadori says, the laughter still threaded through his voice. “Even if they see, they’ll just pretend they didn’t. Well, some of them will watch. But they’re the worst pretenders.”

Kento is not, despite how the last few minutes have unraveled, a fool. He knows that these words mean. He knows the tone of a man speaking from intimate experience.

Haltingly, he asks, “Itadori-kun, has anyone…touched you like this?”

“Sure, that’s—oh. Ohh. Oh, no, Nanamin, not like that.” Itadori sounds charmed, even as the words and tone make an earnest attempt to reassure Kento, who does not feel particularly reassured. “No one’s done anything to me that I don’t want. And Satoru likes being the one touched anyway, you know that.”

Kento most certainly does not—

It hits, then, the full implications of what Itadori just said.

Kento freezes all over, an easy victim for the hand that grasps his jaw and the mouth that follows.

Itadori kisses him, sweet and searing.

Kento opens his mouth to voice a denial, a curse, and Itadori’s tongue plunges in, flooding his mouth with the peculiar taste of wet, warm flesh.

Heat suffuses his face, dripping down to his throat, his chest, his gut. Itadori’s hand presses more firmly against him as if in response, and the muscles underneath convulse in answer, a violent shudder that Kento can’t suppress but is smothered anyway by the body that crowds up even closer, it’s obscene bulk swallowing him up, and Itadori groans into his mouth, tilting Kento’s face up even more to slot their jaws better together and kisses him deeper, wetter, and Kento doesn’t kiss back, doesn’t do anything other than stand there stunned as his entire body stirs awake, but that doesn’t spare him the blistering knowledge of Itadori’s heat, his taste.

That bold, clever tongue flicks teasingly at his own as if to coax it out to play, and Kento’s guts make a spirited attempt at escaping through his navel.

Itadori isn’t deterred by the lack of response, his tongue taking to mapping out the insides of Kento’s mouth with leisurely strokes. There’s a noise there, trembling in the air and their flesh—a deep, humming noise, like a purr grown dark.

Itadori’s hand starts to wander, rubbing a firm, filthy circle over the clenched flat of Kento’s stomach and then sliding upward, scorching his skin through the single layer of fabric left over it. It comes to a greedy stop over one side of his chest, splaying over it, and at first, it’s just more heat, bypassing cloth to brand skin.

Then Itadori squeezes, his fingers closing tight around Kento’s pectoral like it’s a woman’s flesh.

Kento breaks the kiss in a surge of sense, snapping his head to the other side.

Itadori makes a lost little noise against his ear. “Nanamin?”

“Don’t you dare,” Kento rasps, his mouth still hot and ripe with a taste that will haunt him until the day he dies. “Have you lost your mind?”

“What’s wrong?” Itadori asks as if he genuinely doesn’t understand the million bloody things wrong with this situation. “You want to, right?”

Despite his better judgement, Kento can’t stop himself from asking, “What in the world gave you that idea?”

As expected, he regrets the answer: Itadori’s other arm leaving the glass to cup Kento’s groin.

Kento grabs his wrist a fraction of a second too late, and that oversized paw presses against the bulge between his legs—a bulge that’s fatter and hotter than it has any right to be.

Itadori squeezes the half-hard cock, and Kento’s toes curl violently inside his shoes.

“Stop—”

“See?” Itadori asks breathlessly. “You want it.”

Kento spares a moment he can’t afford to ponder who shaped Itadori’s idea of consent and how he can kill Gojou for it.

He’s squeezed even tighter for his trouble, tearing out a gasp that only makes Itadori touch him more boldly, the squeezing turning into merry massaging motions. The flesh there yields to nature, filling with heat and blood.

Kento tightens his grip, pulling Itadori’s wrist away, and he’s more surprised than anything when it works, but that’s short-lived. Itadori’s hand twists out of his grip, and Kento shields his groin on instinct, careful not to actually touch the tented crotch of his pants, but Itadori’s hand only slots gently over his own, covering it from wrist to fingertips.

It presses down, forcing Kento’s own palm flush with his groin.

His cock pulses with filth.

He makes the mistake of looking at Itadori’s reflection—a dark-eyed thing that wears its hunger proudly.

“Itadori-kun,” Kento breathes, “don’t.”

[makingfanfictionstosleep]

the dragon's bride

smut || sylus x reader || alternate au || sylus and his dragon form during the medieval times || could be triggering for others so read at your own risk || story masterlist : love and deepspace

previous next

CHAPTER 4 : THE FIRST TASTE

Sylus led you to another room, a dining hall as grand as the chambers you had already witnessed. As you entered, you noticed humans waiting, their heads bowed in deference.

Sylus introduced them as attendants, revealing they were descendants of dragons who had intermarried with humans, creating a lineage of individuals with dragon instincts and strength, though without the ability to transform. The attendants bowed even deeper, humble voices expressing their long wait for their master and their gratitude that he had finally found his mate.

You wondered how they reached this deep, subterranean place. As if reading your thoughts, Sylus murmured, "There is another entrance, accessible only to our kind. No human would ever reach it, not unless they desire their demise."

He led you to an elegant seat, pulling the chair out for you before gently pushing it forward as you sat. He then moved to the head of the table, directly beside you, and took his place. Attendants began serving hot meals, the rich aromas making your mouth water.

"We should eat, kitten," Sylus said, then instructed the attendants to prepare a bath for him and his bride.

A faint blush touched your cheeks at his possessive endearment, but you continued to eat slowly. Sylus began his meal, his gaze never leaving you, a mix of curiosity and possessiveness in his crimson eyes.

He asked about your childhood, your preferences, and you answered, describing your upbringing as a destined sacrifice, confined to your family home, never truly venturing out. Sylus listened intently, humming occasionally, his deep interest in you palpable. Then, your own curiosity piqued, you asked about his kind, his race.

"I am the last of my kind," Sylus revealed softly. "The others have found their mates and settled in quiet corners of the world, or have long since turned to dust. I alone remained, mateless, for far too long." He then added, his voice gentle, "There is no need to rush, kitten. We will have all the time in the world to know each other." You nodded, taking your last bite.

A comfortable silence settled between you. Sylus took your hand in his, a gentle tug, and led you to another hallway where his attendants awaited. They guided you both towards the bath.

You lost count of how many times you had gasped in wonder in his domain, but this bath was truly ethereal.

It was at the very edge of his lair, framed by floor-to-ceiling glass windows that offered a breathtaking view of the sky and, far below, the glittering lights of the kingdom.

The bath pools themselves were adorned with gold and set against marbled floors. Fountains on either side trickled water into the pristine pools, accessed by a series of short steps. The lighting was dim, yet bright enough to illuminate the entire room, making it both beautiful and profoundly intimate.

The attendants discreetly left, leaving fresh clothing and towels, ensuring your privacy. Sylus took your hand, leading you deeper into the room, observing your honest reactions.

He understood the awe in your eyes – confined for so long, this world was a revelation. A powerful, protective feeling swelled in Sylus’s chest.

Fate had gifted him an untouched, untainted, innocent creature. A dark, primal possessiveness rose within him. He would be the one to show you everything, to make you experience every sensation.

He would be your first in all things.

You stopped at a plush bench where towels and robes were neatly folded. It suddenly dawned on you. You weren’t just here for sightseeing.

You were here to bathe – Together.

A wave of self-consciousness washed over you, hotter than any bathwater. No man had ever seen your body, not even truly your face or a strand of your unbound hair. Your family had kept you hidden, pure, untouched for this very day, for this man – your dragon, your destined lover, your fated mate.

Your hands began to sweat, a slight tremor running through them. Sylus, ever perceptive, noticed your nervousness, an amused brow raising, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. He knew just how inexperienced you were.

And you, in turn, had never truly seen a man’s body, let alone a dragon’s in human form.

Sylus cupped your cheek, his touch a silent reassurance, a comfort that spoke of his desire. Then, slowly, his eyes never leaving yours, he began to undress. Each piece of clothing fell away, revealing a body far more intimate, more potent than the chiseled stone you had first touched. He stood there, in all his beautiful, masculine glory, radiating an unapologetic boldness and confidence.

"There is no need for shame before me, little kitten," Sylus murmured, his voice a smooth, low command, yet utterly gentle. "You are my mate, and you are mine, just as I am yours – body, soul, spirit, and eventually, our hearts."

You swallowed nervously, your trembling fingers reaching for the knot of your intricately woven robe. Sylus’s hand, warm and firm, joined yours, gently pushing the garment off your shoulders. It landed with a soft thud, pooling around your feet. Your inner clothing, sheer satin, clung to your curves, hiding nothing beneath.

Sylus’s gaze devoured you, a low growl rumbling from his chest.

You looked away, overwhelmed by shyness, by the fear that he might not be satisfied. But a firm finger lifted your chin, forcing your gaze back to his intense, hungry eyes.

"You shouldn't hide from me, my beautiful bride," he said, his voice laced with conviction. "You are perfect."

His fingers slowly descended, tracing your neck, your collarbones, then the mark he had left earlier, his eyes darkening further at the sight. His touch continued to brush your bare arms, your trembling fingers. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, he pulled the string that held your sheer dress together, finally baring yourself completely before him.

Sylus’s mouth went dry at the sight of your flushed, naked body. His cock twitched, a primal need to be inside you so strong it was almost unbearable. He fought the urge, knowing you were his first, knowing he had to prepare you, first in his human form, before your body could accept him in his true form.

You felt Sylus’s gaze on your body, so intense it felt like a physical touch. An unfamiliar dampness bloomed between your legs, and you instinctively clenched your thighs together.

Sylus could smell your arousal, and it was almost too much for him. His finger traced the swell of your breasts. You gasped as he gave your nipples a gentle, firm pinch, then cupped both in his large hands, a hum of satisfaction escaping him. They were perfect, soft and delicate beneath his touch.

You couldn't move, every sensation new, overwhelming. Your eyes, driven by a raw curiosity, began to wander. You noted the sheer strength of his muscles, every flex, every movement, so enticing it beckoned your hands to touch. As if they had a mind of their own, your fingers reached out, pressing against his hard, sculpted form.

Sylus gasped at the contact, reveling in the unexpected softness of your touch against his hardened body.

He waited, wanting to see how far your curiosity would lead you, noting the wide-eyed wonder on your face as you explored a man's body for the very first time. Your gaze trailed from his powerful chest, down to his well-defined abs... and there, your eyes widened, startled and shocked, at the sheer size of him.

Sylus couldn't help but smirk proudly at the crimson flush that bloomed across your face.

You stuttered, the only intimacy you’d ever learned came from your mother's hushed lessons, "Is… is it supposed to be that big? How... how will it fit?" you asked, a terrified tremor in your voice.

Sylus chuckled, a low, reassuring sound, as he soothed your cheek. "I will be very gentle with you, little kitten," he promised, then pulled you towards the bath pool.

You descended the steps carefully and settled onto a shallow ledge. He pulled you onto his lap, facing him, then claimed your lips in a mind-numbing kiss. He taught you how he liked it, how to move with him, praising your quick learning.

He took your hand and guided it down his chest, over his abs, until he molded your small, dainty fingers around his hard length. A low growl rumbled from him the moment you touched his most intimate part.

He taught you what to do, how to move your hand in the way that pleased him most. You followed his instructions, watching the dance of hunger, desire, and lust across his face, captivated by the beautiful sounds he made.

You wanted to do more.

"Faster, kitten," he ordered, and you obeyed. Soon, a warm release washed over your hand. He told you what it was, catching his breath, praising you for the pleasure you had given him.

He pulled you in for another kiss, this one more urgent, more hungry, more intense. His hands roamed your body, squeezing your rear and thighs, pulling you flush against his hot, muscular form.

With an easy adjustment, Sylus shifted your position so your back rested against his chest, then continued to pepper your neck and shoulders with heated kisses and small, possessive bites. You felt his hand nudge your thighs open, and you flinched, too flustered, too shy at the vulnerability of the position.

But as he whispered against your ear, urging you to trust him, you slowly allowed him.

His hands roamed over your breasts, your stomach, the sensitive insides of your thighs, until his fingers brushed against the most delicate, most intimate part of your body.

Sylus groaned, a sound of profound restraint, of almost pain. You felt him nudge your entrance carefully, and you gasped, clutching his arm tightly as he slowly, smoothly, sank one finger inside.

"So tight, kitten," he murmured, his voice strained. "I have to stretch you, prepare you to take me, properly, so it won't hurt."

But nothing registered in your mind save the foreign, spiraling sensation of pleasure.

As he added another digit, your mind went blank. He found that spot, rubbing it with a deliberate rhythm, and your toes curled. Your breaths grew shorter, his name a desperate prayer on your lips. An unknown tightness coiled in your belly, threatening to snap.

"Sy-Sylus!" you desperately called his name, terrified at the overwhelming sensation.

"Let go, kitten," he whispered, urging you. You didn't understand, but he simply encouraged you to embrace the feeling, to just let go.

And you did. With a cry of his name, your body trembling from a new wave of ecstasy, your hands clinging to his arms, your head trying to bury itself against his chest.

Sylus growled, a deep, satisfied sound, watching you unravel in his embrace, memorizing every expression, every gesture, every movement until you reached your peak.

He withdrew his fingers, then gently licked your remaining essence clean, a satisfied hum rumbling in his chest. "You taste so sweet, so delicious, my kitten."

You remained limp in his arms, your mind blissfully fried, basking in the wonderful aftermath of your first orgasm.

Sylus bathed you carefully after that, and then himself.

He realized then that he wouldn't be able to take you tonight; you were too overwhelmed by your first taste of pleasure with just his fingers.

And he decided he was more than fine with that.

He would savor every single one of your firsts.

[sergeantbarnessdoll]

hi, i was wondering if you could write a lloyd x reader where he meets his female counterpart.

Alike » Lloyd Hansen

Pairings: Lloyd Hansen x Female Reader

Summary: You’re a lot like Lloyd.

Warnings: Fluff, language, flirting, pet names

A/N: @disneyprincessbuffyannesummers thank you for the lovely request🩵

Written on my phone. My apologies for any mistakes.

Header made by @buckyys-babydoll / divider made by me

GIF IS NOT MINE! Gif credit goes to the creator.

Rumors have been going around that there’s a female version of Lloyd with the same job. Lloyd refuses to believe it nor does he care. He’s too focused on his job to care.

You’ve heard a lot about Lloyd, even though you two never met. You’ve heard a description of Lloyd though. What you also know is that you and him have similar jobs. At least, that’s what you’ve been told.

“I don’t care what you have to do. Just get the drive before anyone gets their hands on it.” You say to your intern.

“Anyone meaning Lloyd Hansen?” Your assistant asks.

“Especially him.” You replied. “Keep me updated as you look for the drive.” You say.

“Yes, ma’am.” She says before leaving the room.

———

“Do you guys have eyes on the drive yet?” Lloyd asks.

“Not yet.” Suzanne says.

“Keep searching and keep your eyes on Six. Don’t let that woman get her hands on it before I do.” He says.

“How do you even know if she’s looking for the same drive you’re looking for?” She curiously asks.

“She has the same job as me. Of course she’s looking for the same drive as me.” He says.

———

“I have information that might interest you.” Your assistant says.

“What is it?” You asked.

Your assistant walks over to you and hands a tablet to you. You read the information you’re given, but you’re not understanding what you’re reading.

“What information am I looking at?” You asked your assistant.

“Lloyd Hansen is trying to hunt that guy down.” Your assistant says, pointing at the picture of Six.

“Who is he?” You asked.

“His name is Court Gentry. He goes by Six. He may have a what you’ve been searching for lately. He’s going to be somewhere close to here tonight if you’re interested in that certain drive you’ve been looking for.” She says.

“Excellent. Let’s do this.” You say.

Your assistant nods in agreement.

When it came time to talk to Six, you walked inside of the building with your assistant. You looked around, gathering your surroundings. That’s when your eyes landed on Six.

“You know what to do.” You say to your assistant, keeping your voice low.

Your assistant nodded and blended in with the crowd as you approached Six. You tapped on his shoulder. He turned around to look at you.

“You’re Six, right?” You asked, keeping your voice low.

Six led you out of the large and crowded room and took you down the hall where it was quieter and more private. Little did the both of you know that Lloyd was down the hall from you two. He peaked his around the corner, trying not to make himself known and listening in on your conversation with Six.

“Do you work for Lloyd Hansen?” Six asks.

“No. I’m Y/N Y/L/N. I have my own detective agency.” You say. “I was told that you have information that I’m looking for.” You added.

“That depends on what information you want.” He says.

“Information on the drive.” You say, keeping your voice low.

“I’m going to need something in return for that kind of information.” He says.

You got a pen and your checkbook out of your purse. You wrote down a number that would be good enough for him.

“Is this good enough for you?” You asked, showing him the check.

“Yes.” Six answers.

You gave him the check. Six put the check in his pocket and pulled out a flash drive.

“This has all the information you need about the drive.” Six says, handing it to you.

“Thank you.” You say.

“You’re welcome.” He says.

You put the flash drive in your purse to keep it safe. You two went separate ways. You texted your assistant, informing her that you got the information you need to find the drive. After you sent the text, Lloyd grabs your arm and discreetly pulls you into an empty room.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Lloyd Hansen.” You say.

“Y/N Y/L/N, we finally meet.” Lloyd says.

“Finally, huh?” You said. “Now, if you excuse me, I have work to finish up.” You say.

Lloyd locks the door and stood in front of it, blocking you from trying to leave.

“You’re not going anywhere, sunshine.” Lloyd approaches you. “You have something I want.” He says.

“If that’s me, that’s not happening.” You say.

“That’s not what I’m talking about. You damn well know what I’m talking about.” He says.

You smirked to yourself and got the flash drive out of your purse.

“Is this what you’re talking about?” You asked in a teasing voice.

Lloyd tries to grab it, but you put your hand behind your back.

“Nice try, Hansen.” You put the flash drive back in your purse. “I worked hard to get this and I’m not just going to give it away.” You say.

“How much money do you want?” Lloyd asks.

“No amount of money is going to make me give the information to you.” You say.

That’s when an idea popped into your mind.

“Maybe we can work together and look at the information together without any problems?” You suggested.

Even though, Lloyd does his work alone, if he’s being honest, that’s a great idea.

“Ok, fine. We can work together.” Lloyd gives in. “Maybe you’ll let me take you out for a drink or something during the process?” He says flirtatiously.

“That sounds good to me, but let’s get through this information first, pretty boy.” You say, patting his chest.

“Good idea.” He says.

-Bucky’s Doll

[speedywizardland]

Title: “Beneath the Bruises”

The late autumn wind scraped along the rooftop, rustling leaves from the nearby gingko tree. Su-ho sat on the edge of the school's rooftop, legs dangling over the ledge. The city sprawled beneath him — blurred traffic, the muffled wails of sirens, and the distant hum of people whose lives never touched his.

You stood a few feet away, uncertain.

"You're gonna fall one day if you keep sitting there like that," you said.

Su-ho turned his head slowly, his signature quiet smirk playing at the corner of his lips. “And you’d catch me?”

"Probably not. But I'd tell the nurse where your broken body landed.”

He laughed, low and soft — a sound rarely heard from him. It wasn’t the mocking laugh he gave to his enemies, nor the rare, warm chuckle he spared for friends. This one was different.

You walked over and sat beside him, not too close, but close enough to feel the warmth coming off him in the cold wind. You watched the sky start to dim, streaks of violet bleeding into soft amber. The city was still rushing below, but up here it was just the two of you.

"You always come up here alone," you said after a long pause.

Su-ho didn't answer immediately. He never did. You learned early on that with him, silence wasn’t avoidance — it was thought. Careful, deliberate.

"It’s quiet," he finally replied. "Up here, no one wants to fight."

You didn’t say anything to that. You couldn’t. You knew what it was like to be tired of fighting. You might not have had the strength Su-ho had in his fists, but you bore your own weight — the weight of invisibility. Of being the one others overlooked. The weak one. Until you weren’t. Until you chose to stand up. Until people like Su-ho began to notice you.

And now, here you were. Sitting beside a boy who burned like a flame and yet looked like he was always about to be extinguished.

“I noticed your lip,” you said gently, glancing at the corner of his mouth where a scab had formed.

“It's nothing.”

"It’s never nothing."

He didn’t argue, but he didn’t explain either. The silence stretched, not uncomfortable but heavy. Like he wanted to say something, but didn’t know how.

“I had a dream about you,” you said suddenly.

That got his attention. His head turned toward you again, eyes sharp but unreadable. “What kind of dream?”

"Nothing weird," you added quickly, and that drew another soft laugh from him. "Just… we were walking home after school. You were talking about something, I don’t even remember what. But you were smiling. Really smiling. Like everything was okay."

He didn’t say anything. You continued, voice quieter now.

"It felt nice. Peaceful. Like the world had stopped being cruel for just a second."

Su-ho looked at you for a long time.

Then, very slowly, he said, “I don’t smile like that often.”

You gave him a small, honest shrug. “I’d like to see you try.”

He exhaled sharply, as if deflating, then leaned back onto his elbows, eyes drifting up to the sky. “You’re strange,” he murmured.

“I know.”

"But you’re not scared of me."

“No.”

Most people either feared Su-ho or worshipped him like some teenage war god. You just… saw him. Not as a weapon. Not as a savior. Just a boy with bruised knuckles and tired eyes.

You sat in silence for a while after that. Then, without really thinking about it, you shifted closer. Your shoulder brushed his.

He didn’t pull away.

You almost stopped breathing.

It wasn’t much. Just contact. Just warmth.

But it felt like trust.

—

That rooftop became your place.

Sometimes you talked. Sometimes you didn’t. Sometimes Su-ho showed up late, his shirt torn or his knuckles raw. You never asked questions he didn’t want to answer. You just sat with him. Bandaged his hands. Let him rest his head on your shoulder when he thought you were asleep.

The first time he touched you on purpose, it was raining. Not hard, but steady, cool droplets slipping from the edge of the school’s awning.

You had both been caught in the downpour walking back from the store. You were soaked, shivering, trying to laugh it off when Su-ho stopped walking and turned to face you.

“You’ll get sick,” he said.

“No worse than usual.”

He hesitated, then reached out.

You felt his fingers graze your cheek. Slowly. Like he was asking permission with every inch.

Then he tucked your damp hair behind your ear.

Your heart stuttered.

“Thanks?” you said, awkward, unsure.

But Su-ho just gave you that look — unreadable, gentle, far too soft for the world he lived in.

That night, you dreamed again. But this time, it wasn’t about him smiling.

It was about him leaning in, resting his forehead against yours, and breathing like he finally felt safe.

—

Weeks passed. The air grew colder. The days shorter.

You found yourself watching Su-ho more and more — not because of how strong he was, but because of how tired he looked when no one else was watching. How much he tried to carry on his own.

And one day, you told him.

"You don’t have to protect everyone alone."

He didn’t look at you.

"You don’t have to protect me alone," you said more softly.

He blinked slowly, as if the words were foreign.

"I know I’m not the strongest,” you continued, “but I want to be there for you. Even if it’s just to hold your hand after a bad day."

He turned then.

His eyes — usually sharp and guarded — looked… wet. Not quite tears. But something close.

“I don’t want you to get hurt,” he whispered.

“You’re hurting too. Let me share that with you.”

Su-ho stepped forward. You didn’t move.

And then, he reached out — gently, tentatively — and took your hand.

It was cold. Scarred. But it fit perfectly into yours.

He didn’t say anything.

He didn’t have to.

The warmth between your palms said enough.

—

Later that week, you found a folded note in your locker.

No name. Just messy, rushed handwriting:

“You make the world quieter. I think I need that. I think I need you.”

Interested in Part 2?

[vicsstars]

so happy to see u back!!

today i was just thinking....like its offseason currently, and lets just pretend no injuries happened 💜💜and we're spending the summer in france with vic😭😭😭like i think it'd be so cute, just domestic bf wemby in his home country!!!! smut or not i'd be really happy if u could elaborate 😭🙏i literally have noone irl or online to talk about him im in so much pain

❝ you ever think about leaving? ❞

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

summary: staying in a cottage during off season brings out the true beauty in both you and victor, making him wish it could never end.

warnings; none!! just fluff, talking about moving during offseason

an: i’m on a roll now that i’m back so THANK YOU for giving a fluff request, ive been a little freaked out so it’s time for me to chill (jk guys you know the next post will probably be be smut again)

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

he didn’t wake you.

he just let you sleep. window cracked open to let in the sound of the wind through the olive trees. it was early. the kind of early that didn’t feel real. pale light, no clocks ticking, the whole room soft and still like the inside of a shell.

he’d been up for a while, padding barefoot through the old cottage, feeding the cat that kept showing up on the back steps, flipping through a worn paperback he found on the shelf. off-season looked good on him. slower. looser. no press, no flights, no bruises blooming beneath his skin.

just france. just home.
just him, and you, and the quiet between.

victor stood at the edge of the bed, shirt in hand, curls still wet from the shower. he hadn’t shaved yet. you liked that he didn’t. liked the softness at the edges of him, the slow way he moved when he thought you weren’t watching.

his eyes lingered on your back. bare, turned toward him. you’d kicked off the blanket sometime before dawn, too warm, too soft. your arm curled under your cheek, lips slightly parted, breathing even.

he sat down beside you. careful. weight dipping the mattress just enough to pull you toward him.

you stirred.

“hm?” you barely a sound.

his hand brushed your spine, featherlight. “go back to sleep,” he murmured.

you didn’t.

instead, you turned over, blinking slow, reaching for him like instinct. he let you. let your fingers curl into his shirt where it draped over his thigh, anchoring him there.

“where were you going?” you asked, voice gravelly.

he shrugged. “walk.”

you looked up at him, still half asleep. “without me?”

his lips twitched. not a smile, exactly. but close. “you looked peaceful.”

“i always look peaceful.”

he huffed a quiet laugh through his nose. “not always.”

you were both quiet for a second.

then, softer.
“will you wait?”

he nodded. leaned down, kissed your temple. let it linger.

“for you i’d wait a lifetime.”

you walked through the village hand in hand, fingers woven loose, like the space between you was already closed. a few locals waved. a baker sweeping his doorway nodded toward victor like he knew him. maybe he did. maybe everyone knew him here. not as the player, the face on tv, but just the boy who came back when the season ended. the tall one with the quiet voice. the one who didn’t need to be seen to be known.

you stopped at the boulangerie (bakery). he ordered in french. you tried, and stumbled. he didn’t correct you, just smiled and said the words again, slower, until they felt like something you could hold in your mouth without dropping.

you took your pastries to go. sat on the low stone wall near the church, feet dangling over the edge. he passed you a pain au chocolat and wiped powdered sugar from the corner of your mouth with his thumb.

“you always eat slow,” he said.

“you always finish mine,” you replied.

his eyes flicked toward you, heavy lidded, amused. “you want me to stop?”

you didn’t answer. you never did.

back at the cottage, the afternoon slipped into something golden. the air still, cicadas buzzing, laundry lines dancing in the breeze like they had somewhere to be. you laid out on the floor. cool tile under your back, victor beside you, stretched long, his knee brushing yours.

he was tracing something on the inside of your wrist. slow. absentminded.

“what’re you drawing?” you murmured.

“not sure yet.”

you looked over. “is it me?”

he didn’t look up, just gave a light smile like you’d caught him red handed. “always.”

your breath caught. you didn’t say anything.

he finally turned to you, admiring you as if you were a goddess sprawled beneath him.

“i like it here,” he said.

you nodded. “i know.”

“feels like, i could be someone else.”

you watched his face.

“you don’t have to be someone else,” you said. “you just have to be.”

his eyes softened. just barely. he looked down at your hand again.

“still learning how.”

you reached over and laced your fingers with his. squeezed once. “i’ll help.”

and he didn’t say thank you. didn’t say anything, really. just held your hand a little tighter. let the silence stretch between you like something holy.

the tile beneath you was smooth, faintly cool, holding onto the last shadows of morning. the sun hadn’t reached this corner of the room yet, but you could see the way it poured in through the kitchen window, bright and still, like it had nowhere better to be. dust danced in the beams of it, suspended. like even the air knew how to be slow here.

victor hadn’t let go of your hand.

his fingers were long, warm, completely wrapped around yours, thumb brushing rhythmically across the ridge of your knuckle. he was quiet again, but not distant. there was a softness in his stillness this time. like he was thinking of how to say something without saying it.

his body stretched next to yours, broad and long, one arm tucked behind his head. he didn’t shift much, but you could feel the weight of him beside you. not heavy. grounding. like a presence you didn’t have to look at to know it was there.

“you smell like the garden,” you murmured, your voice low, half afraid to break whatever spell was resting in the room.

he turned his head toward you, eyes dark and unreadable, but softened at the edges.

“you’re just saying that because i picked rosemary.”

“hm, no,” you said. “it’s your skin. it holds things.”

he didn’t answer right away. just blinked, slow. you could see the golden flecks in his eyes when the light hit just right. rare, like something you had to earn. his gaze moved across your face, then back to the ceiling.

“you ever think about leaving?” he asked suddenly, voice low. “not permanently. just for a little. no phones. no noise.”

you hesitated. not because you didn’t know, but because you did.

“all the time.”

he nodded once, almost like he expected it.

“sometimes i think, maybe i’ll just stay here after the season,” he said, voice quieter now, like he was afraid the walls might overhear. “no press. no travel. just this. the garden. you.”

the way he said it made your chest pull tight. not romantic, not exactly. something deeper. ache and want and exhaustion, all tangled together and barely spoken aloud. he was yearning for something in his reach, but something that seemed to disappear the moment he touched it.

you turned your head. studied the line of his jaw, the small bump on the bridge of his nose, the soft curve of his mouth. he didn’t look like the version of him the world clung to. didn’t carry that sharpness. that steel.

he looked like someone trying to remember how to be human again.

“what would we do all day?” you asked.

he smiled, faint but real. “make coffee. read. maybe get a dog.”

“what kind of dog?”

“something small,” he said, and you gave him a look. he smirked. “okay, big. ridiculous. taller than you.”

“rude.”

“it’s true.”

you huffed, but your smile was already creeping in. you turned your hand in his, letting your fingers slide up the inside of his wrist, tracing that soft patch of skin where his pulse beat steady and slow.

“i’d stay,” you said, finally.

he didn’t move. didn’t even blink.

“i know.”

there was something fragile in the quiet between you now. not heavy. just full. like it might spill if you let it.

outside, the cicadas started again, humming low like static beneath everything. the light shifted on the wall. you thought maybe it was getting hotter, but you didn’t move. neither of you did.

just the tile, the breath between words, the press of his thumb across your knuckles.
just the idea of a world that was only this room. only this morning. only you and him and the sun not quite reaching your bodies yet.

and maybe, if you stayed still long enough, it might stay like this forever.

[hevvxx2]

Title: Loud Thoughts, Hot Coffee- Part 13 “The Cage She Chose”

Characters: Joaquin Torres x Reader

Warnings: Psychological trauma and emotional distress. Depiction of captivity and restraint. Implied coercion and loss of autonomy. Mental and emotional manipulation. Mentions of physical and psychological torture. Themes of powerlessness and sacrifice (though no explicit torture scenes in this part) Themes of powerlessness and sacrifice

Summary: Secret! My lips are sealed! 🤐

The truck rumbled through the dark.

She sat alone, wrists and ankles bound in cold restraints that pulsed every few seconds—gentle reminders of who was in control now. She didn’t struggle. Didn’t speak. Her head rested back against the metal wall, and her eyes stayed closed.

But her mind was screaming.

She could still hear Joaquin’s voice. Could still feel the way his body seized against the current. Sam’s rage. Bucky’s pain.

All of it.

Because of her.

So she’d done the only thing she could do.

She’d gone.

Not because she believed Delmont could be trusted.

But because she knew he could destroy them if she didn’t.

FACILITY – SECTOR 6

They didn’t put her in a cell right away.

That would’ve been too kind.

No, Delmont brought her back to the lab.

Where it all started.

She was strapped upright to the standing rig—same one from before. Same leather cuffs. Same smell of bleach and metal and fear baked into the walls.

Except this time, they didn’t hook her to any machines.

They just made her stand there.

For hours.

The lights overhead never dimmed.

No questions. No pain yet.

Just… waiting.

It was worse than torture.

And she knew it was deliberate.

Delmont’s way of reminding her: You chose this.

You came back.

You belong to me.

MONITOR ROOM – OBSERVATION DECK

Delmont stood with his hands folded behind his back, watching her through the reinforced glass.

“She hasn’t tried to use her abilities.” A tech noted, nervously scribbling. “Not even passively.”

“She won’t.” Delmont said simply. “She’s ashamed. That’s more powerful than any cuff.”

The tech swallowed. “Sir… what if she breaks containment again?”

Delmont didn’t answer for a moment.

Then: “If she does, let her.”

The tech blinked. “Sir?”

Delmont’s gaze never left the glass. “This time, she comes back broken. And stays broken.”

FACILITY – HOLDING ROOM

The door hissed open just past midnight.

She didn’t move when the guards entered.

Didn’t flinch when they unhooked her restraints, roughly dragging her to a bench in the corner of the room. No chains. No walls. Just an empty room and a single camera embedded in the corner.

Still, she didn’t try to escape.

Because she couldn’t.

Not with that machine running.

Not with the memories clawing their way back into her head.

She curled into herself, fingers trembling against her temple.

“Stay strong.” She whispered, just loud enough for the room to hear. “You made this choice. For them. For them. For them.”

She pressed the words into her skin like a prayer. Like armor.

ELSEWHERE – SAFEHOUSE

Joaquin tore the room apart.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t eat. Didn’t sleep.

Sam had to stop him twice—once physically. The bruises on both their knuckles would fade. But the ache in his chest wouldn’t.

“She chose to go.” Bucky finally said, quiet but firm.

“She didn’t choose anything.” Joaquin snapped. “She had to. You saw what they did to her. You saw her face—“

“I saw her save our lives.”

Joaquin froze. His hands clenched around the edge of the table until his knuckles turned white. Until he felt the splinters dig into his hands.

“She’s not going to survive there again.”

Sam stepped into the room, eyes hard. “Then we bring her back.”

The silence that followed was grim. Heavy.

Because they all knew the truth.

This wouldn’t be a rescue.

It would be a war.

FACILITY – LATER

She lay on the cot now. Still no food. No water. No visitors.

Just the constant hum of electricity and the sting of every memory.

But somewhere under it all…

Buried deep beneath the guilt and grief…

A flicker of something else stirred.

Not fear.

Not pain.

Fury.

And a voice—her own, rising from the depths—quiet, clear, and cold.

“You should’ve killed me when you had the chance.”

Like my work? Here’s my Masterlist!

A/N: I’m so sorry I left you guys waiting for part 13! Life got a little busy and I got sidetracked on some other fics I’m working on 😭

Taglist: @mochminnie @je33123 @saintbusan

[fortunetellsrp]

Caleb kissed Ygor liked he needed him to breathe, eager, desperate, clinging with all he had. And he was answered in kind, like a dam had broken, his walls crashing down as he gave the man what he wanted. What, it seemed, they both needed.

Then Ygor's arms are around him. Thick, powerful and strong, manly and fatherly and he breaks, lips running across cheek and chin and neck. Hiding there as he is held so tightly. He groans, broken, needy, hips thrusting into nothing. He's never been a good boy, he's never been held like this. He stares up at the older man and nods anyway, breathing in his musk. "Yes, daddy." He whispers, lips moving down to run over his fingers, tongue peeking out to taste them before he is taken in another kiss.

He nods again, his heart racing in his chest. He's never wanted a cock more, but it feels... he's getting more than a fuck out of it. In a way, it feels like Ygor is already fucking him. Owning him. The man is giving him something more, and it makes it hard to say no to anything. Maybe things would feel clearer once he sits on his cock, it felt so right to do it the first time.

The car was thick with their smell, musky and masculine. Addictive. The scent of Ygor's cock was clear to him, arousal making it heavier. He was hard enough to leak through his pants, reaching for his cock before he even had his orders. Fatherly and in charge, and for once he didn't want to do anything but obey.

He took off his shirt, sliding it off with a quick movement and revealing, through the half light, his hairy chest. Much like Ygor's. He felt proud of it, hairy pecs, even if he was on the softer side instead of hard muscle. And yet, as he reached for him, tracing the hair on Ygor's own chest he thought they could indeed look like dad and son and the thought made him tremble in pleasure. He wanted to feel their chests rubbing together, to caress his skin and moan his name for him. Be his good boy.

They were both sweaty, not aided by the heat building up in the car. The words brought a whimper to his lips, he scrambled to sit on his lap. To place himself against that cock he adored, rubbing it against his bulge, hand guiding Ygor's to his chest making him cup the hairy pecs like they were meant just for him. He leaned in, kissing his neck, licking it as his hands ran over his hairy form again. Again clinging to his daddy.

He nodded, rubbing against the older man like he couldn't help himself. Licking him like he was a treat, drunk on his smell and his taste and his voice. "I like your age." The confession felt nice, perfect, being wanted. Desired, knowing he has wanted to be inside him again. He guided one of Ygor's hands down to his ass. Would let him take him dry if he wanted. "Older than..." he doesn't know how to refer to his father, so he doesn't, but it had felt nice to be under a man older than him, better than him, "You're perfect. Wanted you forever."

Being asked that, as if there was any doubt. He kisses his lips, more turned on than he's ever been. "Always dad. Whenever you want. Whenever you need to be inside your boy." He whispers it on his ear, slides his pants down so that he can rub that cock against his hole. Tease them both with it.

"You smell so good like this, daddy." He confessed, nose running down his neck, drowning in his scent. Muskier than their first time, better. He lifts one of his arms and buries his head in his pit, eyes closing as he sniffs. His moan is loud and shameless, tongue brushing against the hair there, tasting his sweat as he continues to rub his ass against him. Enjoying himself until the time daddy takes charge and starts fucking him.

It was a kiss he could not describe with ease. Their lips joined, but it felt like they needed to merge. There was a desperation on Caleb's side after he let the answer go, after he released it into the tiny space of his car. Ygor could not describe how much it meant to him to hear it. He felt almost foolish at the way his hear jumped in his chest, skipping a beat at the longing eyes staring back at him. And then it was like the door had been opened - destroyed even. There was no going back for neither of them and Ygor was not one to leave a boy like that behind.

He put his hands around Caleb and brought him into a hug. A tight hug. Their bodies were so warm that the windows of the car were already covered with the steam their bodies produced together. He whispered on Caleb's ear. "It's alright, son. Daddy's got you now. I know you didn't mean to. You are my good boy, aren't you?" He released Caleb from his embrace and slid two fingers over the line of his jaw, looking deep into his eyes. "I got your back, huh?" Ygor could have said this to one of his own boys. He would have if they were in a similar situation.

He leaned closer, kissing those lips again. "Do you still want my cock?" He asked already knowing the answer Caleb would give. With one hand, he found the lever to push his seat back. Suddenly he had more space between himself and the wheel. He leaned the seat down and lied on it, his hard cock just a shadow into the darkness of the car. He could also smell himself that way. He had trained that day and did not had time for a shower before going to the police station. The car was filled with his musk, but Caleb's was joining too, mixing it up, creating a delicious scent for the two of them.

"Take your shirt off and get on my lap. I want to play with your chest." He said in a gruffy tone, pulling his own shirt off and revealing his hairy chest. Despite his age, Ygor took great care of his physical aspect. He had muscles all over and despite not being as lean as he once was, it was still clear he trained almost on a daily basis. His chest was slightly hairy and so were his pits. He revealed one once he moved his hand to clear a bit of the sweat appearing on his forehead.

"Come here, boy. Come to daddy." He said again, his eyes on him. There was a small dim light from the road that made their bodies show just enough. He drank that body with his eyes, ready to taste it and lick it and use it too. "Do you remember our first time together?" He asked with a deep voice. "I didn't think you'd be up for it, an old fella like me. But I can't stop wishing I could be inside you again. Will you let me fuck your ass, son?"

[themyscirah]

What runs/stories do you recommend for someone starting WW? Could you please be specific (/nicely)

Yeah ofc!

My Wonder Woman Starter Recs (specific style 😎)

First stops: for an initial introduction to Wonder Woman, I'd generally recommend going to at least one of three places first. These three are:

Wonder Woman: Historia: The Amazons by Kelly Sue DeConnick

Wonder Woman: Year One by Greg Rucka

Wonder Woman: the Hiketeia by Greg Rucka

Of these I generally recommend reading Historia first, as it's a retelling of the origin of the Amazons as a race and how Diana came to be (so it essentially starts from the beginning) and is also the most recent of the them (if that means anything). Something to note about Historia though is that it's a DC Black Label book, so it's events aren't strictly canon in the main DCU and there are some changes and new elements present. I don't think this is something that should discourage anyone from reading it though, it's the best WW origin story out there, and even in strict main canon over the years her origin is one that has had many fluctuations and small (& sometimes big) changes. WW:Historia is three prestige format (longer) issues.

You'll notice the third book there is WW: The Hiketeia. Hiketeia is a great book if you're looking for a view into Diana as a professional and experienced hero. It's a graphic novel so standalone and not too long, and has a great Diana and really interesting plot (Diana vows to protect a young woman and finds herself pressed against the wheels of Greek Tragedy). This is also the first work with Diana done by Greg Rucka, one of her most prolific and loved writers. A sampling of this work (and also Historia) I think gives a good guide to where to go next in terms of runs on her main title.

Wonder Woman: Year One is the second book on the list up there, but I'm mentioning it last here as it's a bit more complicated in terms of format. Unlike other year one books, WW: Year One is actually a series of issues on her main title, showcasing Diana's arrival to man's world in Rebirth (and also current p sure) continuity. The issue numbering for this one is strange (only the even issues 2-14 on WW (2016)) so I recommend looking for this in trade form if possible.

These 3 books I think give a taste of some of the best standalone stuff in the Wonder Woman mythos, and give the reader a good idea of where they may want to go next in terms of longer runs on the title. So I'll break that down here as a Step 2.

STEP 2: WHERE NEXT?

Here I break down some highly recommended runs based on what they have in common with the standalone books from step 1. As a rule, these runs are going to be much longer than the above and generally more connected to the wider DCU and other books. Look for the italics to see the introduction to each new work. Explanation paragraphs follow after each italic/bold rec.

Curious about Greek mythology in WW and the Amazons' origins after reading Historia? Liked the prescence of a supporting cast and Diana learning about Man's World from Year One? Willing to read a longer run? I recommend: Wonder Woman by George Pérez

George Pérez's time on Wonder Woman totally reinvented the character after Crisis on Infinite Earths, and is fundamental in establishing many core concepts of her lore. At 62 issues, 2 annuals, and a 4-issue crossover event at the end (War of the Gods), it's definitely a commitment to read, but it's the most enduring and well-loved run on Wonder Woman for a reason--it's just that damn good. Lots of focus on mythology (although with a lighter tone than Historia) alongside Diana learning her role in relation to Man's World & establishing herself as a hero and ambassador. Pérez's run also has almost-certainly the most expansive and developed supporting cast in WW comics, something that really drives the emotional core of the series, especially in later issues. Obligatory note that this series was written between 1987 and 1992 and contains some very occasional aspects that I thought were in some way dated/uncomfortable etc. while reading (details of Cheetah's origin, depiction of the Bana-Mighdall, Hercules) but despite that I still highly, highly recommend this run. The word fundamental cannot begin to describe it.

Liked the experienced Diana of the Hiketeia? Interested to see her attempt to balance the high stakes responsibilities of an ambassador and superhero? Looking for some really badass moments and fights? Haven't read enough terrible tragedy? I suggest: Wonder Woman by Greg Rucka 2003 EDITION.

Some of Diana's coolest moments of all time are collected here. Also one of her most controversial. The 1st Rucka run is very much the story for anyone who liked the Diana of the Hiketeia and the tragedy of that and Historia. 2003 Rucka Diana is a Diana tested, forced to make decisions that are anything but easy, and live with the consequences. She's extraordinarily capable, but her enemies know that and are prepared to that end. This run, along with the Pérez run, rank among my favorite Wondy comics of all time (those and Historia are my top 3). This run is such peak Diana, especially in terms of sheer badassery. Her final confrontation with Medusa is in my opinion perhaps the greatest Wonder Woman fight scene of all time. Her encounter with Athena in the second-to-last issue breaks me every time. Cannot recommend this book more.

*a note abt this run is that it is more context-dependent than the other ones listed here, as it's the run that finishes out the Wonder Woman vol. 2 book and so has some guest appearances from characters introduced in other prior runs (Artemis of Bana-Mighdall, Cassie Sandsmark, and Vanessa Kapatelis, to name a few). I read this run before knowing much (if anything) about any of them, and still enjoyed it a lot, so I wouldn't be worried about this really but just thought I'd mention it.

Rucka's 2003 run is published from Wonder Woman (1987) #195-226. You can also find it in trade and I believe(?) omnibus. Sometimes the Hiketeia is included in collections of this series, as the 03 run is thematically similar in many places, just with a much deeper look at Diana and the world & with higher stakes.

Liked the specific characters and plot threads of Wonder Woman: Year One? Want to see what happens with Diana's exile, or learn more about Barbara Ann? Want a Diana in between the extremes of young and highly experienced? Wonder Woman by Greg Rucka 2016 EDITION may be for you.

...yes I'm putting ANOTHER Rucka book on here. He writes a great Diana, what can I say. This run is the same one that Year One came out of, just the follow ups to that story and versions of the characters. I have this run listed as separate from Year One though, as there's some really big time skips since the events of that first volume. A lot of time has passed since then, and there's more history between the characters, not all of it without drama. This run continues to be weird with the numbering, as well as some artist changes, so I definitely recommend looking into reading this in trade format (physical or digital) if at all possible. My recommended reading order is WW 2016 by Rucka vol. 2 "The Lies" (Wonder Woman: Rebirth Special #1, followed by 2016 main title odd numbered issues 1-11), then Rucka 16 vol. 3 "The Truth" (odds 13-23) then Godwatch (evens 16 through 24) followed by 25? But The Truth and Godwatch combine near the end so that doesn't really work either. This run is so good but recommending it is such a pain because the numbering is so all over the place. On God I never know which order to read this in. Going to revoke my previous statement and say read it as Rebirth Special 1, then only odds 1 through 11, then from 13 through 25 normally. That may lead to some weirdness as you read because the two stories take place at different times and have different art styles, but they come together at the end pretty dramatically so I think it's less confusing to read it this way? Maybe? So strange bc this is one of the go to good starter runs and yet it's set up so unintuitively. If someone has a better way to read this then let me know and ill edit, ik this explanation is super confusing bc neither way to read it is totally ideal imo and I feel I definitely read it in a weird order.

Going to call that a good rundown of some of my greatest recommendations in terms of Wonder Woman comics. If anything wasn't fully clear here or anyone (not just anon) has questions or wants to talk abt WW comics/my choices feel free to send as many asks or dms as you want. Have a good day everybody, & as Diana says, may the glory of Gaea be with you <3

[swanthief]

SWANFIRE OUTLANDER AU YOU SAY????

first of all LOVE that we all understand The Vision and Genious of this au. second of all you guys really are gonna make me do something w this huh 😂

[hearts4hughes]

ೃ࿔:･ making rafe sleep on the couch

it started with something dumb. a harmless comment that hit the wrong nerve. the way he asked if you were really going to wear that top to dinner with his family, or the fact that he left every dish in the sink like you were his maid. nothing huge, just a spark. but it was the kind that lands in dry grass. you bit back, he bit harder, and suddenly you were both yelling over absolutely nothing.

his tone sharpens and yours stiffens. the air gets thick enough to choke. “i just asked a question,” he says, hands lifted like you’ve pulled a knife on him.

“no, you didn’t. you made a comment.” you snap, throwing your book onto the coffee table with a smack. your stomach tightens as you try to focus on the crackle of the red candle across the room.

“jesus christ,” he mutters, dragging a palm down his face. “are we really doing this?” he stares at your eyes. then at your lips. you avoid eye contact like the plague.

finally your eyes cut across the room, staring right through him. “you’re the one who started-”

“and you’re the one blowing it out of proportion.” he raises his voice an inch louder. silence fills the room like an elephant. you can hear the hum of the air conditioner and the distant chattering of the radio.

that’s it. your blood heats up like water on a stove. you scoff and storm down the hallway, steam pouring from your ears. the heels of your feet slam the floor harder than necessary. you throw the bedroom door open and it smashes against the wall.

he’s already close behind you, voice raised. “you’re being ridiculous.” his throat runs dry, hands balling into fists besides him. he bites down on his cheek hard enough to draw the taste of copper.

you don’t say anything. just rip his favorite pillows out from under the white comforter and throw them onto the ground. they plop onto the hard wood. you turn on your heels, arms crossed, and eyes absent of their usual spark.

“what the hell are you doing?” his voice snaps through the doorway, low and biting. he already knows the answer but wants to hear you say it anyway. he’s standing there with his jaw locked, shirt half unbuttoned. his eyes drop to the pillows on the floor, then back to you. “oh my fucking-”

you glare at him, pointing to the pillows. “you’re sleeping on the couch.”

his eyebrows shoot up, borderline laughing, but you’re too pissed to care. “you’re not serious right? there’s no way i’m sleeping on the-”

“no,” you cut in, cold and flat. there’s no room for debate. “i don’t want to sleep next to you. i don’t even want to look at you.” you turn away from him, eyes filling with salty tears.

the silence is thick and ugly. he opens his mouth but only swallows. he looks at the pillows on the ground like they betrayed him.

“fine,” he says eventually, voice low and bitter. “fucking fine.” he trudges across the room and grabs the pillows. he curses under his breath as he leaves. before he crosses the doorway, he looks back one last time. he imagines you running towards him and saying you didn’t mean it, but his eyes are met with your back as you face away from him.

the bedroom door clicks shut behind him.

~

you stare at the ceiling and flip the pillow. you curl tighter under the blanket, breathe in and out, slow, and force your eyes closed. but your body knows what it’s missing. it’s his heat, his weight, the way his hand always finds your waist even when you’re turned away. the soft, unconscious sigh he lets out just before he falls asleep.

every creak in the house feels louder. on the couch, rafe’s not feeling much different. he’s shifted his position, changed couches, and even hugged his pillow, yet nothing could replicate the feeling of comfort you gave him.

you hear him walk to the kitchen and back. he mutters something to himself under his breath. then the door creaks open. you don’t look.

he slips in like a ghost, like maybe if he moves quietly enough you won’t kick him out again. the bed dips under his weight, tentative. his hand grazes your arm. it’s light, careful, and everything the last few hours weren’t.

“i can’t sleep,” he says, voice raw. “not without you.” you still don’t face him. but your breathing stutters. he leans in anyway, presses his forehead to the back of your neck. “i’m sorry,” he murmurs, and this time it sticks. not an afterthought, not a truce…just the truth.

you shift, just barely, and he takes that as a hint. his strong arm scopes your figure and presses you against his warm chest. he wraps both of his arms around you and kisses the nook of your neck. and this time, you both sleep.

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[lizardho]

One of the weird things about growing up me is just the increased lack of social awareness sort of slowly reaching a crescendo in junior high. I remember getting picked on a lot more as I got older and older in elementary school, and the bullying started hitting in a weird way in Jr. High. Like, my knowledge of age-appropriate things had finally capped out and I was just entirely oblivious to the fact I was being picked on. Sometimes people made it easy, like the kid who told me my mom made me wrong, but sometimes it was harder. I do have some interesting memories from that time, though, and a lot of them are centered around a very small group of people who were willing to explain things to me. I remember in 7th grade I met a girl in a math class who was incomprehensibly kind to me. She wanted to be a special ed teacher, her older and younger brothers were both on the autism spectrum, and she was friends with all the emo and goth kids, so she was like the perfect storm of patient kindness and anti-establishment knowledge I needed. I remember one day walking out of math class after a fairly hard quiz, and she said,

“Oh man, that quiz was hard. I could really use a hug.”

An I responded with, “Oh, yeah, a hug would be awesome.” And then we just kinda sat there until I saw the light flick on in her brain, like “Oooh, that’s what her deal is!” and she said “Hey, can I have a hug from you?” and I said, “Yeah!” And gave her a hug, and like, even if I didn’t know what my deal was, she sure as hell did.

In addition to being absurdly kind, she was also EXTREMELY conventionally attractive, good at makeup, funny, and had an insatiable bloodlust for bullies, so she drew a lot of a certain type of people in. I always kinda felt lucky just being her friend because God only knows how I would have lived otherwise. One day we were walking to an assembly and she did a little jog to catch up to me because my confused gay ass always walked SUPER fast, and she got me to slow down so we could talk and that was VERY kind. And because of that, one of the kids in our class who had a HUGE crush on her and didn’t know the next thing about her thought that if he made me look mad enough or dumb enough or something that she’d stop talking to me and start talking to him. So he starts by coming up to me and saying,

“Hey dude, I fucking fingered your sister last night.”

And I am a bonafide grade-a dumbass who Does Not Know What Sex Is so I thought he meant he fingered her for a crime. But my sister was like 5 so I was like “What crime could a 5 year old commit?” so I was like “What do you mean? Like, shoplifting?”

And to his credit, he kinda stopped for a second. Not because he wanted to, but because with all his experience as a bully he had yet to encounter someone quite as earnestly confused as me. After he recovered from what, to him, was a bizarre crazy-person non-sequitur, he said,

“No, dude, I mean I fingered your sister last night.”

And I said, “Dude, she’s like…5, what could you have fingered her for?” And he was doubling down so he goes “Because I fucking wanted to,” with a big cocky smile on his face, which was NOT an answer to my question because I NEEDED to know what crime this dick thought a 5 year old could commit between 6:00 dinner and 8:30 bed time. So I kept asking, “But like, what was the crime? Like what did you finger her for?” and he kept being like “Because I want to” or “Because your sister’s nasty like that,” both of which were wholly insufficient answers. He thought I was ignoring him or stupid, and I thought he was a total moron, and realistically both of us were right.

And the whole time we’re talking about this, she is glaring daggers at him and telling him to Shut The Entire Fuck Up because she knows what he’s saying and she knows I do not and she doesn’t want me to learn like this. And finally, because he thinks she’s doing that thing that girls don’t actually do but that boys THINK they do of feigning being mad to play along and egg me on, he starts looking at her like they’re in cahoots, and she says “Oh my God you sick jerk just leave us ALONE!” and that gets a teacher’s attention. And suddenly he’s red-faced and confused because he thought he was looking like Chad Thundercock the top king stud of all time and realistically he’s looking more like the comedy relief pseudo-bully from an 80s film. And because she yelled at him to leave us alone, a teacher almost immediately comes over to check on what’s going on, and she explains it all in graphic detail and that kid got detention and probably a tension headache from trying to make his brain think good enough to figure out how all this happened. And once it was done she just grabbed my arm by the elbow and said “I’m so sorry about that, come on, let’s just go,” and I said, “Idk why you’re sorry, I don’t even know what’s going on.” And she said, “I know, sweetie, I know. Do me a favor and don’t look it up.” And because I promised her I didn’t end up knowing what fingering was until I was a Sophomore in high school when someone in theater explained it to me and I was retroactively so mad at this kid I almost went blind.

I actually have a LOT of stories about this kind of stuff so if y’all like this I will post more.

[pearlywritings]

Intimacy records

synopsis: what kinds of horny stuff they have in their phones and which is the favorite?

pairing and characters: Aventurine, Blade, Boothill, Dr Ratio, Gallagher, Gepard, Jing Yuan, Luocha, Sampo, Sunday (separately) x fem!reader

tw: SMUT, established relationship (marriage/dating), consensual recording of lovemaking, nudes, oral, lingerie, fingering, masturbation, public sex, breast play, shibari/blindfold, sex machine, creampie

word count: 4.3k+ words

Aventurine

Undoubtedly this man has a whole separate folder for intimate stuff. Of course, he demands you send him something on a daily basis - doesn’t matter if it’s a quick snap of your choice of lingerie in the morning, or recordings of touching yourself - but never enough to cum, it’s his job. Naturally he loves having reminders of you being at his mercy - thus there are also videos of you both (with primarily established consent). All that to say - he has quite the collection, so it’s really hard to pick a favorite, the most desire-arising one.

Maybe it’s a category actually - self-made media created out of bet. Who’ll cum first? Can you keep going without tearing up from pleasure for longer than 10 minutes? Is he patient enough not to touch your sexy self, while you masturbate in front of him? Who is going to be louder this time? These kinds.

”I hope you are ready to lose,” your lover smirks, making himself comfortable between your legs. Camera floats a little, as you chuckle behind it. With a momentary adjustment, the focus is on his face again and he winks, before turning to trail a little path of kisses across your thigh. The image jumps, when he sucks on the skin, and slightly trembles as you let out a sigh. Then it’s firm, as Aventurine wraps his arms around your thighs, his nose teasingly rubbing against your clit. Suddenly there is a lick, then your breath hitches…. And then he buries his mouth into your pussy. It doesn’t take much time for the image to begin shaking wildly, almost matching your debauched noises. There is squelching, there are award-winning male moans, muffled by your heat, soon there is a hand, your hand, reaching down and grabbing his hair. Phone strangely angles, hardly supported by just one hand, until it falls camera down onto the sheets. After that, there are just delicious screams of yours, chanting the name of your lover and begging him to stop, while he doesn’t listen, taking his reward for yet another win.

Yeah, he proved you can’t keep the camera focused while he is eating you out in that one. It’s truly a pity, that more than a half of what was going on, didn’t get recorded in image. Maybe next time you'll do better - oh... That's actually not a bad idea at all… Looks like you are in for another bet.

Blade

His situation is… quite peculiar. First of all, he has so little care for his own phone outside using it to get info for the mission, to the point ANYONE from the Stellaron Hunters can just take it and do whatever with it (Silver Wolf and Kafka practice it a lot). Even your relationship doesn’t change it much, he messages you rarely and quite shortly, preferring to save the conversation for personal interaction. 

However recently, Kafka has been putting a plan into action - the first step of which was banning everyone from getting into his phone (herself excluded). Then she’d start sending her colleague an occasional picture of a set of lingerie she’s oh so sure would look wonderful on you. Blade never answers, but he doesn’t tell her off either, and by the snooping she knows that the pictures get bookmarked, the links for the shops she attaches are visited, and sums of money are being spent.

Oh, and by checking the chat… She knows you get them delivered. Does she text you to shower you with compliments? She does. At first it was a little embarrassing and you asked Blade if he could, maybe, pay better attention to his phone??? But soon, when your lover started showing the telltale signs of jealousy... It became pretty hot (plus praise from THE Kafka? Ego-boosting).

Blade doesn’t voice it, but more than seeing you all pretty for him, he loves seeing you ruined for him, and doesn’t complain when you ask him to take a picture with your phone of whatever part of you, focusing on the marks, or the torn crotch of your panties, or something alike… There are times when he would text you with a simple ‘send me pictures with torn stockings’ or ‘yesterday. open nipples bra. now’ , because he knows you have them, and you deliver, because you know he loves them. 

Has his favorites:

Depicts your thighs, bitten and opened wide, while the black panties are pushed aside to let two thick, scar-covered fingers dive into your pussy.

Your body after one of the sessions - bra roughly pushed down under the mark-covered breasts, panties missing, one stocking still on the leg, but with multiple holes in it, and the other tying your wrists above your head.

A small video you insisted on recording of the man tugging onto your garter belt whenever he wanted your hips to push towards his thrust, threatening for the thin elastic material to snap.

Even though he doesn’t save them, he knows how to get an easy access to them, so for Blade it works quite fine (and Kafka’s plan does too, making Blade look less intimacy-repulsed and spicing up your relationship).

Boothill

A cyborg, whose only human part of the body is the head, and sex life… How can this be possible? 

Oh, trust me, it can. Sure, his bodily reaction differs, but he still is excited to get nudes from you, finally able to express through the text what he really thinks with that foul mouth of his. A voice recording of you dirty talking to him? Awesome. A video? You can bet his engine is overheating and vents are whirring.

But in all honesty, the ones he truly loves and returns to are the recordings of him doing stuff to you. Call him self-conscious, it’s not like he can bite back with a swear, but the reminder that he can bring you pleasure even now is sometimes necessary.

The lights are intimately dimmed, not enough to bring the room into utter darkness. Two bodies are lying almost intertwined with your back turned to the camera. The metal arm of your lover has sneaked under your side and around your waist, fingers digging into the plush glob of your ass, tugging on it, to further the spread which is created by your leg thrown over his hip. Your pussy is perfectly presented to the camera, puffy and slick, with two gray plated fingers massaging it. Digits slide up and down your labia, occasionally staying on the clit, to rub tight circles on it and elicit some sweet moans out of you, only to return to their previous ministrations, dipping the tips juuust a little bit into the quivering hole. Your back arches and body deliciously shivers from the contrast of his cool and your heat, and you softly whine, when he releases your ass cheek to give it a spank and then grab it again, unwilling to let the sight of your cunt escape his phone’s camera. You whimper something, muffled by his chest, but he remembers by heart what you were begging for. ‘Please, put your mouth on me.’ He will, in a minute, but right now he pushes both fingers to the second knuckle in, making you jolt in his hold, but not letting you go anywhere.

It’s captivating, how his inhuman digits disappear and reappear with every thrust he makes; slick-covered they look shiny, as if you polished them, and the cyborg shudders, imagining your tongue running around them. That’s one dangerous video, he may just give in to his want to see you and abandon the mission he was assigned to…

Dr Veritas Ratio

Unsurprisingly, Veritas’ phone doesn’t contain that much stuff in general. Maybe some downloaded articles, notes to put down later, if he doesn’t have a piece of paper at the moment, and very few pictures, mainly of his writings on the chalkboard. Don’t be discouraged though, of course he has pictures of you. Some selfies you took after “borrowing” his phone and ones he doesn’t have a heart to delete (but he will scoff at you, should you decide to tease him), and some very well-thought images he took on his own accord - he needs reference for when he decides to let his mind rest from research and focus on sculpting.

And one might think that such a reserved and cold man will not entertain storing anything explicit on his phone. Well, he indeed does not have any pictures and videos saved - if he wants, he can either find what you sent him via your chat or just demand your assistance. However… There is something that strangely became his way of concentrating when doing his research…

”Oh! Mh- *thrust* Veri- ohmygod! *thrust*”

“Wait- Aaah! I can’t! I’m sore! MmmmMMM!” “No, you can and you will. Now hold still, I can’t eat you out if you keep thrashing around.” “Oh Aeons!”

*Slick sounds of you going down on him, gurgling and choking on his girth, occasionally gasping to catch your breath, only to have his cock buried in your throat again*

“Baaaby… I miss you so much… Can I come to your office? I promise to be good… Just need to cockwarm you - nothing else I swear. Let me keep you company pleeease. Imagine how nicely it'd be to have your cock buried in my pussy, while you are working… Need to help you with stress-relief, it's gonna feel so-so good.”

“Oh fuck, o-oh, love, I'm cumming, I'm cumming, I’mcumMIN-” “Ngh, s-so…tight…” “Aaaaaaah~!”

“Veritas Ratio, if you come home in ten minutes, I will give you a nice massage and then ride you damn cock, till the only thing you can think about is not your work, but me. If you fail to do so though… I wonder if my threat to use some toys instead will work. Just know that your wife is very mad. And horny.”

It doesn't matter if the audio was taken while you were intimate or it was something you sent to him and he saved - he thoroughly enjoys everything your voice has to offer to him. And if instead of concentrated it accidentally makes him horny - he'll just play the next one, while undoing his pants.

Gallagher

Oh, this man is a menace. And a huge ass-lover. His gallery is full of pictures of your booty: clothed, just panty-clad or bare. There are shots with your body clearly being bent, ass up and back covered in his load. Videos of him fucking you from behind, with cock sliding in and out of your pussy? Obviously. Recordings of it jiggling as he spanks you? Would’ve been strange if they weren’t there.

However, in that vast collection of his, there is a video that’s most peculiar - one might say scandalous. It was one of those nights when he took over the bar for Siobhan and you came over at some point, all enticing and so sexy in that little dress of yours… He could not resist taking you right there once the establishment was closed. And it got on security camera...

Moans so loud, that they are reaching the recording device, are still of the delicious kind. Your back is arched over the bar counter, arms lifted and wrists tied by none other but Gallagher’s wine-red tie, and held by his own hand for good measure. The front of your dress is pushed down, revealing your pretty breasts, jiggling with every thrust of the man’s hips, and the hem of it has ridden up, baring your stomach and mark-covered thighs. Your lover is barely unclothed, pants and boxers pushed down just enough to free his cock and the tie, obviously, missing. The hand that is not holding your wrists, is grabbing onto your leg, under the knee, lifting it for a better angle, and showing off a lewd detail - your black lace panties hanging on your shin. You are looking positively debauched, and he is no better, groaning and cursing, with an occasional exceptionally rough trust that makes you scream and whine. There are teeth-gritted ‘slut’s and huskily chuckled ‘bad girl’s with your pleading ‘sir’s and ‘Gal’s, all of that deliciously seasoned with the clapping of the wet skin colliding. But nothing beats the moment of you cumming, depicted by no less than three cameras from all of the hottest angles…

Of course this footage was ‘confiscated’ by him with some dumb excuse for Siobhan (he doubts she believed it, given the knowing look and shit-eating grin she gave him), with all traces destroyed except just one copy thoroughly hidden on his phone. He thinks you two should repeat that - this time, however, he’d love to bend you over the counter with your back facing him…

Gepard Landau

Gepard would die if someone took his phone and got into his gallery. Poor man has to change the password weekly to throw Serval off his case (she was only teasing, but that made her brother paranoid). There is a reason for such behavior - while he is way too sweet and gentlemanly to suggest making sexy pics or, Supreme Guardian forgive, videos, he can't help but to be too whipped for you. 

This man dutifully saves every single photo and video of yours - nudes included.

You don't send them very often - you don't want to kill your darling husband. But sometimes the yearning is unbearable, and there is a suffocating need to show Gepard what he is missing while away on duty (you always leave a warning message though, so he could check it while alone and undisturbed).

No matter how red and embarrassed he gets, the man timidly admits that he enjoys this kind of attention. He is not beyond the earthly pleasures - he too has a favorite theme, that recently became more present in what you send him…

At first you looked so absolutely cute and domestic with his huge sweater on, the one you personally knitted for him - the beginning of the video didn’t look all that different from the photos you sent him just minutes before. But soon it becomes clear why you asked if he was alone, because once you position the phone and climb onto the bed, your full attire gets revealed. White stockings are replacing your usual home pants, and as your fingers grab the hem of the sweater and tug it up, the white panties from a matching set start peaking. The view is both pure and alluring, with the way your legs are spreading wide, and the sweater being pushed further up, baring your braless breasts. The hem gets secured between your teeth and both hands teasingly run down your sides, index fingers drawing circles around the tits, before squeezing them; as one remains right there, the other slowly slides down your stomach, disappearing under the hem of those flimsy panties. Imagination paints wild images - every next is hotter than the previous, and only your muffled moans of his name and rapidly rising chest are indicators of how good you feel with fingers pushing in and out of your pussy. And that damn sweater… You are not taking it off.

The Captain of the Silvermane Guards has one guilty pleasure - you, wearing his clothes. Domesticity, longing, finding comfort in something of his touches his heart and heightens his love and desire for you, almost making him consider taking a regular day off.

Jing Yuan

This man literally worships the ground his wife is walking on, so OF COURSE he wants to have as many pictures and videos of you as possible. It gets so boring and lonely when he is at work, after all. But don’t be fooled by his sweet and innocent smile, there are not only cute shots of you both or just you, he has sexy stuff too.

Man is obsessed with your chest. It’s his favorite pillow (thus so many pictures of him snuggling his face right between your breasts), his best stress-relief (photos and short videos of his big veiny hands cupping and squeezing your girls, with an occasional swipe of the thumbs over the erect nipples), his favorite place to leave marks on (no one can see them under the clothes, but just one tug of his finger on your collar and he is met with a delicious sight. Plus the photos he asks to send occasionally).

Loves, loves, loves, purchasing lingerie for you and when you demonstrate your bra-clad tits. He immediately wants them in his face, but there is the phone screen keeping him away.

But oh does he love recordings of playing with them.

Your body is steadily bouncing on your husband’s lap, creating a beautiful melody of skin slapping against skin. There is an occasional peak of his thick cock, covered in your juices, that immediately disappears again, undoubtedly swallowed by your pussy. One strong arm is wrapped around your waist, supporting you, while the other hand is palming at your left breast. The right one has fallen victim to his eager mouth, lips wrapped around the nipple, sucking on it tenderly, tongue toying with the overstimulated nub. His eyes are half-lidded when he looks up at you, moaning around your breast, when you tug on his luscious locks, trying to push him away, to give you a small rest. He is drawing back indeed, planting a soft kiss to the valley between the jiggling globes, and you sigh in relief, deceived by his affectionate action. Only for you back to arch and mouth hang in a loud moan, when Jing Yuan brings your other breast to his awaiting tongue, dropping both hands to your hips to aid you in speeding up your riding, sensing your nearing orgasm.

Maybe next time you should try recording him making you cum by playing with your chest only… Ah, just the thought makes his cock swell.

Luocha

As much as Luocha enjoys your company and more often than not allows you to accompany him in his journeys, there are times when he can’t take you with him. Which means he leaves for weeks, or sometimes a couple of months, going through the days without a single touch from you. Before getting into a relationship with you, he could survive without intimacy just fine, but now, since he knows the taste of affection and being spoiled by you, it’s getting hard.

That’s when recordings on his phone come in handy, especially when there is no opportunity of a video call to indulge. And there is one he most frequently returns to…

Your chest is rising and falling, pretty breasts with perky nipples brought together by a wrap of a rope. Red and purple marks bloom on your skin akin flowers, some fresh, some from days before. Sweat shines on your hot skin, indicating just for how long the blonde has been torturing you with pleasure and denial. There is a small shake of the video, as your lover is establishing his phone, having just started the recording, and softly making you aware of how good you look - you wouldn’t know with that blindfold covering your eyes. Once the angle is perfect - capturing your arms, tied above the head, the arch of your back and thighs pushed together for stimulation, the man is joining you on the bed. It is cock-hardening, how you lift your head to find his lips, when you sense him leaning down, needily allowing him to indulge in a kiss before the game of orgasm denial continues. His hand meanwhile is creeping down your body, starting with caressing your cheek, fingers sliding down your neck, over the swell of your breast, thumb pushing against the nipple, eliciting a moan out of you right into his mouth, and then palm splaying on your stomach, traveling even lower, before it disappears between your thighs.

Luocha is a man of foreplay. There is nothing more satisfying to him, than indulging into your body before sinking his cock into your warmth. He loves making you squirm, completely at his mercy, drawing you right to the edge, and then denying you the sweet release, just to make you yearn, just to stretch the process out.

Sampo Koski

Sampo is nasty and that is not a secret. I am sure, if you were up for it, he’d suggest filming porn just for the giggles (and extra cash, come on, you both are fucking hot). There are teasing nudes and intimate videos, and it’s not a rare occasion of either of you texting the other with some found porn with a caption ‘let’s try it?’ and you do, frequently recording the process to compare later, and claiming that your performance is better.

However, sometimes it tends to not go according to the script (not like you usually have one). Sampo is chaotic and it’s not hard to lose focus with a lover like him, and these exact moments are Koski’s favorite. Despite being a Masked Fool, during these times he himself looks so sincere, it’s as unnerving, as it is exciting. Rewatching such videos and seeing how you mirror the look in his eyes, giggle with him, even crack a joke, all without ruining the mood - makes him believe he’s found his soulmate (and if you did film porn with him, he’d never share this level of intimacy with your viewers, it solely belongs to you two).

You are giggling, shaking your head with a wide smile, all the while lying on your stomach between his toned mark-covered thighs and leisurely fisting his hard, leaking cock with an angrily red tip. 

‘Sampo, please, be a little serious, we are trying to be sexy here.’

‘We are sexy! What’s not hot in shaping my and your pubic hairs into the lips?? They could kiss, when we fuck!’

‘You are unbelievable,’ you snort, trying to save the last bits of your composure, and leaning forward to mouth at his tight balls. This makes your lover pornographically (how ironic) moan, throwing his head back.

‘Mmm, yes, right there~ Oooh… If am soooo unbelievable, it must mean I am dreamy? How about I bring you to a Penacony, to a Dreamscape? I bet in your dream I’d be as good in bed as I am in reality.’

Your resolve snaps and you burst out laughing, letting go of his sack and pressing your face to his thigh, shaking, dropping the hand from around his cock. Sampo whines.

‘Come ooooon, I was so close!’

‘Shu-ah-ha-t-ah-uh-p,’ you manage through your laughter. The man pouts, but the gaze of mint green is summer-warm as he is looking down at your trembling form. Your voice is pretty, your cackles are pretty, and oh damn he is laughing too.

And these are just the first few minutes of the last video, the thing has a duration of half an hour, so, obviously, you didn’t stop there. That’s what Sampo Koski loves - no matter how cringe you become, it’s never a reason to stop the whole process. If anything it’s something to spark an even longer and intimacy-filled one.

Sunday

Keeping personal stuff on his phone is quite dangerous, given Sunday’s position. That’s why he owns two phones - his work one, and one to mainly contact you, his sister, and a small circle of the most trusted people. He is extremely good at handling the owning of two separate devices, never mistaking one for another, that people are often convinced he has only one.

But it’s his personal cellphone that interests us. Oh, does he have a whole collection of photos and videos of you, one folder in particular hidden just for good measure. Sunday is a collected and regal man, yet it doesn’t mean he has a hard time enjoying your teasing. Quite contrary, sometimes he welcomes it, loving the photos you send him from an outing, shopping for clothes, or better yet, lingerie, sending him multiple shots of different sets and asking him which he loves most, and which he’d like to see on you tonight. 

There are videos too, especially when he’s been extremely busy, and you are oh so needy, sending him short recordings of touching yourself, sighing out his name, begging him to come and help you. However, there is one he particularly likes…

Big silicone cock is being pushed in and out by the machine he purchased for you to quell your need when your husband can’t be there for you. You are on your stomach, with hips slightly raised and pushed backwards, chasing the toy, and he can see the perfect outline of your pussy, outer lips swollen and puffy, covered in a sticky substance, opening and constricting in attempts to accommodate the girth. Your moans are sweet, so-so sweet, hitting a high pitch, when the dildo falls out and a thick glob of cum substitute escapes your pussy. And then another, and another, messing your thighs even more, ruining the towel underneath you. Yet you don’t stop, reaching behind, and pushing the tip back into your tight warmth, making the toy pick its pace again. It’s squelching, it’s so dirty, but it’s so hard to look away. You give yourself creampie, after creampie, sometimes stopping to collect the substance and push it inside with your digits, fingering, moaning and whining for your husband, wishing it’s his cum sploshing between your walls, breeding you.

Yes, it’s his favorite, almost 4-minute video. Ever the neat freak, he can’t deny you look heavenly when ruined, on an equally ruined bed, begging for his attention and semen. You have to forget about the machine for some time, however, because since then Sunday has been truly devoted to breeding you.

[yes-no-maybe-soo]

Okay so listing the shit Sylus has gone through from memory...

He is heavily implied to have been rejected or outright abandoned by his parents as a very young dragon

He was always an outcast. Not human enough. Not dragon enough.

He cut off his scales and his horns because he hated them so much. But they grew back no matter what he did (again as a child)

The only kin he had got slaughtered right in front of him. Leaving him as the last dragon alive.

The same humans who slaughtered his kin but spared him because of his appearance turn on him the moment they see he is not in fact human and try to kill him. Again, this all happens when he is young.

He is then persecuted by humans until at some point, he ends up sealed in the Abyss, a greatsword lodged in his chest, preventing him from moving freely even down there. He stays like that for 1,600 years, surviving on Wanderer Protocores

He meets MC, who frees him. They fall in love, split half their souls with each other, and are happy. But due to the dragon's curse, Sylus is destined to kill her one day because she is his beloved... or she him, because she is his destined archnemesis.

MC is taken from him. Sylus goes berserk and loses his mind, his dragon instincts taking over fully.

He sacrifices himself for MC last second before he can kill her. Breaking their curse. Giving her a chance at a life free from being used and abused, and himself eternal rest

Only, MC has other plans and curses him to eternal life, essentially. Only she can kill him.

At some point in time, Sylus is reincarnated together with MC in the nebula. There they are both locked up in a gladiatorial cage as mere children, forced to kill for public entertainment. Think Hunger Games.

They successfully escape together, but at a later point in time they are separated by the Deepspace Tunnel or as Sylus says "You were quietly moved to another garden in a foreign land".

Sylus ends up in space-time prison. We don't know how long he spent there or what was done to him, but I doubt it was in any way pleasant or easy.

He escapes and space pirates through the cosmos for MC, who he can probably sense is still out there. He eventually pinpoints her location, but is unable to properly reunite with her... because she has regressed to a young child. He frees her, but walks off... effectively losing her a third time. He also learns of the horrific torture that Gaia put her through. He watches over her from a distance, but never approaches her, valuing her autonomy too much to insert himself. But he waits for her. Hopes – no, knows – that she will find her way to him, if only to seek answers about her past.

The next 12 years – as most of his existence – are spent almost entirely alone, with no one except Mephie for companionship. He has no friends. No family. No close associates. Things do improve with Luke and Kieran's arrival.

14 years after he left her, he meets MC again. But she doesn't remember him, and worse, actively hates him and blames him for the death of her family, of which he had no part.

He is told straight to his face that MC – his soulmate and prime reason for living – rejects him, fears him, and is disgusted by him. Which very visibly hurts him.

Sees the Deepspace Tunnel again and with it, memories of losing MC. Again, the pain on his face is very visible.

In Death and Rebirth, he gets a hurtful reminder that he still doesn't have MC's full trust. And – yet again – the distress is apparent. Because their trust in each other is everything to him.

So... in summary: Sylus has been used, abused, isolated, and locked away for most of his life. He is so unused to kindness and to being treated like a human being that he doesn't know how to react when people wish him happy birthday.

Any care he was shown for the first millennia of his life came exclusively from MC, the one person to actually see him as something other than a Monster. Said soulmate is taken from him twice, tortured and repeatedly killed, her memories of him erased. When they meet again in current timeline, she hates him, and it takes a long time for Sylus to undo the damage of their first meeting.

The man has not had it easy, nor has he gotten to feel much joy.

So it'd be understandable to become bitter. Cruel. Cold.

But he doesn't

Hell, he never even crashes out (as far as we know).

Instead he's compassionate, an animal and nature lover, attends and donates at charity events, takes in the two orphans that tried to kill him, is the King of Consent, very emotionally mature etc.

Sylus is so strong, man... he never lost himself. He never lost his innate kindness despite a life (or lives ig) where nearly none was ever shown him.