#and is being forced to keep going and keep moving

[seleneprince]

IF WALLS COULD TALK

Pairing: Tim Drake x Bruce Wayne's daughter

Warnings/tags: stepcest, suggestive content, damian being a dramatic king.

Synopsis: Tim and his stepsister hate each other. That's a fact, a reality since she was forcibly moved to the room next to his and he was, in return, forced to play babysitter for her. They argue and fight to the point the family prefers to clear away from them. Damian thinks they bring the worst out of each other....until he accidentally comes across the darker, more dangerous truth. A secret that could destabilisize the family as a whole.

He sees it embarrassingly late.

Damian Wayne prides himself on his superior skills above the average people. His fighting, his intelligence, his lineage. He means it when he claims to be the best of all his brothers. The Demon's heir. The son of the Bat.

And yet, he missed something so painfully obvious. Something that was there, right in front of him all this time. Barely concealed. Something he should've seen from the beginning.

It doesn't make him feel better knowing he's not the only one. That everyone else missed it as well. In fact, it only deepens his shame and rage because of how stupid they've all been. Them, a supposed family of world-class detectives and strategists, even the oh-so-called world's greatest detective, somehow failed to notice this. A major, concerning affair going on under their roof.

The worst part? The embarrassment lasted little, for it was quickly replaced with anger and a really strong need for revenge. But not for himself. No. For the person who had been so unfairly wronged by this.

His half sister. His only blood sibling.

They've never been on the best terms, and granted, a great part of it has been his fault. He's not ashamed to admit it. Not anymore. They've been taking turtle steps to fix the gap between them. He's had to prove himself, and while their relationship isn't as close as he wishes, they've advanced a lot since then. They bicker, hang out sometimes and she doesn't look at him with hatred in her eyes anymore. They're good now. And he's come to feel responsible for her, because they're the only ones who understand the weight of the legacy they carry in their veins. Plus, as her brother, it's his duty to look after her, even if she's older.

So, how could he miss this? How could he let this happen? How the hell did a whole family of great detectives fail so spectacularly?

It started slow, after his sister's freaky accident that landed her on an hospital fighting for her life. It was a waking call for all of them, he guesses. As soon as she came back home, Father determined the four of them were to move to the east wing of the manor, where Damian and the others had always lived. His stepmother was to sleep in the same room as her husband for the first time, and her eldest daughter was moved to the room next to Drake's. Father claimed it was to "strenghten familial bonds" and keep Ukhti* close to them as she recovered.

But Damian and the others knew the underlining reasons. It was surveillance. A strategic move, assigning each of them a "handler". Who better to watch Mrs Wayne than her own husband? Who better to handle those unsufferable twins than Damian himself? And of course, Father trusted Drake to keep an eye on his daughter.

Tim Drake. The dutiful, loyal, genius, perfect Tim Drake. The oh-so-obedient Robin, who never fails, never falters, and always knows what's best. Father's trusted soldier.

That fucking Tim Drake.

Damian should've murdered him long ago.

Everything was normal at first. Well, besides that his stepmother and the girls made it very clear they didn't want to be there, sharing space with the rest of the family, and showed their discontent by sabotaging their daily routines to the point of near madness, disrupting the order completely. His stepmother purposedly displaced stuff in Father's office and their bedroom, while Ukthi went out of her way to annoy Drake, which more often led to loud fights. All in foolish hopes that everyone would get so sick of them that they would be sent back to their former rooms.

Naturally, it didn't work, because Father doesn't bend, and so when they realised Father wouldn't relent, their antics gradually stopped.

But what didn’t stop… was them. Tim and his Ukthi.

When they weren't arguing for the whole hallway to hear, they were annoying each other by stealing clothes, changing the locks of their bedroom's doors, even getting physically violent sometimes. She played her obnoxious music and pressed the speaker against the wall they shared while he was working, and he locked her in the bathroom while she was showering after turning the lights off.

"She's a pain in the ass, a damn brat who can't stand not getting her way." Tim said. "Someone has to put her in her place."

"He's unsufferable." She snapped. "I hope he trips down the stairs and breaks his neck."

It became routine. The status quo. The sky is blue. Gotham is corrupted. Tim and his sister hate each other.

Looking back to it, Damian only feels dumber for not having picked on the clues.

The tense silences between arguments. The stolen clothes. The bathroom lock-ins. The music blaring through shared walls. The outright shoving. The bruises that everyone chalked to their wrestling.

How many of those had nothing to do with wrestling at all?

He should've known. From the moment Drake got too involved in her life, beyond what Father even asked him to do. Tracking her movements, standing too close to her when they argued about how she shouldn't go out so late or hang out with certain people. Grabbing her by the arm, fingers digging in just a little too tightly. Looking at her with an intensity that didn’t match the conversation. When both one of their bedroom's doors was slammed closed and they didn't come out until dinner.

They should've all known.

Like when they got a call from a kidnapping incident she had been involved. She’d been missing for hours, and when they finally found her, Drake practically shoved Thomas aside while he was helping her, as if his presence was a nuisance. He cradled her face in both hands, checking for injuries, whispering something only she could hear. And he didn’t stop until she said, more than once, that she was fine. He glared at whoever tried to intervene, as if he only he was allowed to handle her.

"Geez, he's taking his bodyguard job too seriously. He knows Bruce won't kill him if she has some scratches, right?"

Like when she wears his shirts sometimes and Drake doesn't so much complain. Just stares. His gaze lingering a bit too long. Sometimes, his lips would twitch in a way that looked suspiciously close to a smile.

Like when they're alone in the kitchen or the hallway, and there's no arguing. More like bickering. But they're standing too close to each other, and they speak in hushed voices. Breathing a little too heavy.

Staring too long, too directly. The air around them impregnated with something he can't name.

It always feels like they're on the edge of doing something.

But Damian didn't find out by these painfully clear signs. He didn't pick up on the hints they barely hid and put them back together eventually, as a detective would. Oh no. He found out because it was thrown at his face.

It wasn't his fault. The door should've been fully closed. His ukthi had gotten injured during practice and had to stay at home, resting by doctor's orders. And as expected, Drake was assigned to stay behind and make sure she actually followed the orders, as her unofficial babysitter.

He remembers Alfred commenting in passing that Drake was going to stay with her anyway, that he told Father about it before he was even asked. Insisted, even. Damian had thought it weird, but didn't question it.

Damian wasn't even supposed to return to the manor yet. He forgot something and had to retrieve it. It would be just a quick trip. Come, take it and leave again. But on the way, he decided to also check on his sister too, see how she was doing.

Except her room was empty. And Drake's door was half-open. Voices came from his room.

And so, in his curiosity, and an instinct that something was off, he approached just enough to overheard.

He heard her voice first. Saying something he couldn't discern.

Then Drake’s.

"Can't I be worried? You could barely walk when I picked you up, and you'll have a scar from it."

He sounded annoyed, as usual when he spoke to her. But something in his tone was off. It sounded vastly different than Damian ever heard. Almost soft. More personal.

"You're just mad that someone else left a mark on me".

...what?

He then heard Tim scoff, muttering.

"The only marks you should have are mine."

What the hell?

He then took a step forward, quietly to not be heard, to get a glimpse of them in the room. See what was going, a sense of mysterious dread creeping up to him. Already sensing something was wrong. Very wrong.

She was laying across Drake's bed, legs stretched out, with the injured one resting on his lap. His fingers ghosting over the bandage, gaze dark and a frown in his lips, as if the sight offended him.

Meanwhile, she was looking at him with a smile. Not a fake or guarded one. It was almost...soft. Fond, even.

She sighed and nudged his side, making him snap out of it to look back at her. His stance inmediately changed when their eyes met, visibly relaxing.

She tilted her head at him.

"Are you mad at me?"

He blinked at her, then exhaled slowly and shook his head, leaning in closer until their faces were inches away. An innapropiate distance.

"I'm always mad at you," he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "It's like you live just to make my life difficult."

She chuckled, quiet and natural. Her eyes still fixed on his own with a mischievous glint.

"You wouldn't want me any other way."

He huffed, but his lips quirked up in the softest smile Damian ever saw from him.

A soft, gentle smile. From Tim Drake. Directed at her.

What was happening??

"I'll neither deny nor confirm that statement."

And then, he committed the most outrageous act of treason. The biggest offense to their family Damian ever witnessed. An insult, a spit to the concept of honour and loyalty.

He kissed her.

Right there. On his bed. With his arms caging her against him. Without a drop of doubt or hesitation. As if it was normal.

As if it wasn't the first time.

And she didn't try to fight back or push him away. No. She let him do it. Even worse, she wrapped her arms around his neck and cut the distance between their bodies. Her fingers grasping his hair and his neck simultaneously, letting out a content sigh as the bastard's hands grabbed her healthy leg and put it around his hips.

Damian forced himself to turn away from that horrendous scene before he could see anything worse. What he saw already would definitely haunt him for the rest of his life.

His mind was running at hundred, no, a thousand per hour. Trying desesperately to process and understand what he just saw. What had just been going right behind everyone's backs. Behind his back.

As the shock passed once the realisation settled in, it came the anger. The righteous, murderous rage. He saw red, visualising all kind of creative ways he would spill Drake's blood all over the same bed he defiled his sister in under their noses.

Because Damian knew, just by seeing them, hearing them, that it hadn't been their first time. That they already had done worse than kissing. At that moment, all the hints that he foolishly brushed aside for months came at him like bullets, painfully hitting him over and over as the picture of the cold truth formed in his head. Forcing him to acknowledge what he missed right in front of him all this time. Suddenly, it all made horrible sense.

How dare he?, he thought. How dare this bastard, this unworthy worm, touch his Ukthi like that? Like he had any rights? Like someone like him was worthy of her?

Damian's blood sister, a legitimate member of the Wayne lineage, an heiress, for god's sake. If anything, Damian believed nobody was worthy of her. She carried the Wayne blood in her veins. She deserved someone who matched her standing. Preferably, someone he, Stepmother and Father approved of first.

He was filled with thoughts of storming into that room and kill Drake right there, but he composed himself. Took time to think. Ukthi would most likely be upset if he did that, and such thing would ruin the progress they've made. Besides, the blood would ruin her clothes and the sheets Alfred took so much care in cleaning.

Drake wouldn't die. Not yet. Instead, Damian ran to his own room to reflect. Come to terms with the secret he just uncovered.

He's sharpening his sword, an activity that usually helps his mind relax, but now it's not enough to curve the storm in his head and heart. He keeps thinking on what he should do now. Tell Father and his wife, Ukthi's mother? This affair with Drake has clearly been going on for a while, probably shortly after the arrangement with the bedrooms. It's an insult such thing has been hidden from the family, but if he exposes it now, it would mean not just punishment for Drake, but also shame for Ukthi. Despite everything, Damian can't be mad at her. Of course not. It must've been all Drake's fault, who corrupted her and took advantage of Father's trust to manipulate her into giving herself to him. That must be it. Therefore, it's not fair she goes throught the public embarrasment because of that bastard's undeserving greediness.

That means it falls upon Damian to not only keep this secret, but handle the situation accordingly. He won't bother Father with it. He has far much more pressing matters at the moment, and this affair will definitely shake him enough to distract him from his already demanding duty. Telling Stepmother is not an option either, less she takes matters into her own hands and murders Drake herself. Not like Damian would stop her, but regardless, the worm can't die. Yet.

No, this is his duty. As the blood son, he shall be the one who avenges his sister's honour and saves her from the malicious snake.

He just has to wait. Sooner or later, one of them are bound to make a mistake. Drake might be a prodigy, but he's not perfect. He's made mistakes before. He'll make them again. And Damian will be there to enact his revenge. Make him pay for his crime.

For now, he'll wait and observe. Watch their interactions in a new, much darker light. Biting his tongue with their "accidental" touches. Holding himself back when Drake's face leans in too close. Rolling his eyes at the family's foolish blindless to all of it.

Sooner or later, Drake will learn the consequences of taking what's out of his reach.

Ukthi: "Sister" a/n: I know next to nothing of Arabic, so I searched up how people refer to their sisters and this one seems to be the most common. If it's wrong, pls let me know. this would be part of the Tales of Bats and Wolves universe, but it fits my au for any of my Bruce Wayne's daughter aus in general, unless said otherwise. remember, if you don't like, don't read or comment. nobody is forced to interact with this

@cybergoth1 (here's your sneak peak 💖 hope you enjoy! btw i blame you for my motivation to write more morally questionable pairings, so expect more in the future)

[serinic]

Inkfluence (02) | JJK

pairing: politician jungkook x journalist reader

warnings: yandere jungkook, mention of deaths, sensitive topics, dub-con, oral sex (male and female receiving)

word count: 2.5k+

As vile as it sounds, politics has decayed into a ruthless game—where truth is treason, and those who pursue it are silenced, buried beneath the crushing weight of power. You entered the game with eyes wide open, fully aware there may be no escape. But it turned far more sinister when its master took a strange interest in a mere pawn—you.

“Give me your phone,”

Jungkook said coldly, his tone laced with warning. Your eyes widened as you stared at him intently. The bathroom was anything but small—spacious even—but his presence made it feel suffocating. For a moment, you forgot how to breathe. Clutching your chest, you forced yourself to inhale and exhale. You didn’t move, only stared at him, and that was enough to make Jungkook lose his temper. He stepped closer, and you instinctively backed away. Without warning, Jungkook grabbed you and snatched the phone from your hand. You immediately kneed him in the groin. He dropped the phone and loosened his grip on your waist, crouching over in pain.

Seizing the chance, you grabbed your phone and bolted for the door. You managed to escape and found yourself back at the table you had left half an hour ago. Jiwoo looked at you with wide eyes, bombarding you with questions when she saw your panicked expression and how quickly you were grabbing your things. “We need to leave. Now,” you whispered urgently, grabbing her hand. Jiwoo eyed you with confusion. She had a lot of questions, but didn’t ask—not yet. She suspected you’d discovered something. You and Jiwoo were just about to walk away from the table when stage lights up again, and Jungkook stands there, holding a mic. His eyes instantly lock with yours. You're not sure if you're imagining things, but… did he just smirk at you? “Hello, everyone! Before this day ends, I just want to congratulate someone for her outstanding work. I've been a fan of hers for a long time. She embodies what it means to be a true journalist—deeply devoted to her profession, to the country, and to its people. Her choice of words? It's raw. No flowery language or sugar-coating—just the way I like it. Maybe one day, I’ll be the one featured in her work.”

Suddenly, the spotlight was on you. People turned their heads in your direction, eyeing you with confused expressions. “Please, come to the stage, Ms. Y/N L/N. You truly deserve to be recognized.” People might think Jungkook was simply being kind—giving someone like you the appreciation you deserved—but you knew better. His words and actions had a different intention buried beneath the persona he was displaying. He knew you were planning to leave, and this was just one of his ways to stop you. The crowd began to cheer, encouraging you to step onto the stage. Jiwoo looked at you and pursed her lips. “Just go up there—we shouldn’t make it too obvious,” she whispered. You wanted to leave so badly, but the pressure from the crowd and Jiwoo’s words finally pushed you to move. You walked toward the stage, avoiding Jungkook’s gaze.

Once you stood beside him, you made sure to keep a noticeable distance between you. Instead of looking at him, you focused on the crowd. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Jungkook watching you, his teeth sinking into his lower lip. He handed you the mic, and you took it hesitantly. “I…” You couldn’t find the right words. You were too overwhelmed—unaccustomed to this kind of attention. Ever since you were a kid, you’d always preferred being alone. But, like any other human, you needed interaction. No man is an island, after all. You longed for friendships—for people who saw you, truly saw you.

But you were never the apple of anyone’s eye. No one ever noticed you unless they needed help with something academic. To them, you were just a pawn—useful, but never valued. And now, here you were—standing under a spotlight with not less than five hundred pairs of eyes staring at you. Staring not just at you, but through you, straight into your soul. You were frozen, your mind unable to fully grasp what was happening. Minutes passed before you managed to gather yourself. You reminded yourself to stay professional. As much as you wanted to slap Jungkook and storm off the stage, you didn’t. Instead, you forced a polite smile and thanked him for his “wonderful” words about you. Quickly, you handed the mic back to him and turned to leave. But just as you took your first step, music began to play from the speakers.

“Ms. Y/N, it looks like Mr. Mayor would like to share a dance with you,” the host announced, his voice echoing across the hall. You froze mid-step. You turned your head slowly toward Jungkook. He was already facing you, hand extended, that same infuriatingly charming—and menacing—smile tugging at his lips.

The crowd went wild. After all, why would the Mayor—soon to be the next governor—choose to dance with someone like you? Whispers spread like wildfire. People began to suspect Jungkook had taken a special interest in you. But their expressions didn’t show admiration or joy—only pity. To them, you were just another toy he’d picked up, another pawn in whatever game he was playing. And they knew one thing for sure: his father would never approve. You might just become one of the many who would eventually face Jeon Jae-won’s wrath—all because of his son.

“May I?” Jungkook asked, voice laced with mockery. You glanced at the crowd. They were all watching, waiting for your next move—even Jiwoo. You turned back to Jungkook, ready to refuse. But before you could speak, he swiftly grabbed your waist and began to move with you in a slow, practiced rhythm. You tried to push him away, but his grip tightened. His breath was hot against your ear. “Try something, and you’ll see,” he whispered. A shiver ran down your spine. “Mr. Jeon,” you hissed, glaring at him, “let go of me—or you’ll see.”

Jungkook let out a soft laugh. From the outside, you looked like a couple enjoying a romantic moment on the dance floor. But that couldn’t be further from the truth. He ignored your resistance and spun you gently, as if he hadn’t just threatened you. “Makes me wonder… why journalism?” His tone had shifted again, casual—too casual. Like he hadn’t just gripped you against your will. You stayed silent, glaring at him. “Are there other reasons you chose this profession, beyond your so-called desire to help the nation?” he pressed, eyes narrowing. “Tell me, Y/N.” You still refused to answer. But you could feel his patience thinning—his clenched jaw gave him away. Then he said something that caught you off guard. “The fire in your eyes… your determination to build a better future for this country—it reminds me of someone.” His next words made your body tense. Your eyes widened, lips parted in shock.

“It reminds me of Mr. Shin.” Mr. Shin? Was he talking about Shin Sunwoo—the former mayor of your city… and your grandfather? You gasped as Jungkook’s hand squeezed your waist, snapping you back to the moment. “Why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?” he asked with a smirk, clearly amused. “Did you remember something... memorable?” Every word he spoke dripped with veiled intent, each syllable laced with hidden meaning.

Shin Sunwoo.

Your grandfather. Once beloved mayor of the city—twelve years ago. You grew up under his roof, raised by him and your grandmother after your mother left you in their care. She’d been unable to handle the heartbreak of being abandoned by your father, who ran off with his mistress. But you didn’t grow up bitter. Your grandparents filled every void with love. Your grandfather was more than a guardian—he was your hero. When he ran for mayor, you watched him serve not just with authority, but with heart. He didn’t just win the position—he won the people. You were proud—so proud. Then… everything changed.

He was planning to run for a second term when tragedy struck. A mall in the heart of the city was bombed. Nearly a hundred lives lost, many more injured—including your grandfather’s rival in the upcoming election. And then, just days later, an article surfaced—It accused your grandfather of orchestrating the mall bombing. The writer? None other than Lee Seoha—a respected and widely trusted investigative journalist. Her words were like fire that managed to burn your entire world. People did not bother to verify whether the accusations were true; after all, the source was a credible reporter. The city’s once-favorite mayor was now labeled a devil, a murderer, and worse. You and your grandmother knew the truth—your grandfather’s intentions were pure and clear. He would never do such a thing. He knew he was being framed by his opponent.He tried to defend himself, but people twisted his words. Overwhelmed by shame, he took his own life.

Your grandmother couldn’t handle his death. Every day her heart ached, longing for her late husband, and due to unbearable pain, she passed away. The people moved on after what happened, some whispering that they deserved it—they took many lives. You were left alone. Your loved ones died carrying guilt and pain they didn’t deserve. They paid for hundreds of lives they didn’t take.

Your mother came back into your life, hugging you at your grandmother’s funeral as if she had never abandoned you. Your hatred toward her only grew stronger. You hated her, you hated everyone—and most of all, you hated Lee Seoha. She had been your inspiration to pursue journalism—but in the worst way. You couldn’t bear to see another family broken due to lies. You promised yourself that you would never be like her. You snapped back to reality as Jungkook stopped moving—and so did the music. Tears welled up in the corners of your eyes, stirred by the painful memories. Jungkook gently touched your cheek and wiped away the falling tears. He pulled you into a hug and whispered, “Don’t cry, sweetheart.” Then, he looked out at the crowd and smiled. At last, he had you in his arms.

You and Jiwoo were drinking alcohol in the apartment. This day had taken a lot out of you. You didn’t bother to find and confront your mother about why she was in this city and why the hell she was supporting the Jeons. Maybe you would do that when you found her again. For now, you just wanted to forget everything that had happened today and urged Jiwoo to drink with you. A notification popped up on Jiwoo’s phone, and she immediately grabbed it. You could see the frustration in her eyes and how she bit her lower lip. She looked at you and said she had to go somewhere. You were confused—it's literally midnight. Where would she be going at this hour? You just nodded since she seemed rushed. You placed your head on the table; the alcohol was slowly taking effect. You heard the door close. What’s with Jiwoo today? Everyone’s acting weird, you thought. Thirty minutes passed when you heard someone enter. You assumed it was Jiwoo, so you didn’t pay much mind. Suddenly, you felt someone breathing on your left ear. You quickly straightened your body and turned your head. You froze when you saw Jeon Jungkook.

He wore a black polo and white trouser. He looked good, you shook your head to drive away such thoughts. “What are you doing here?” You stood up, and before you could get away from him, he placed his hands on the table—trapping you. He did not answer, but instead, he kissed you on the lips. You tried to push his chest, but he did not budge, he grabbed both your hands and pinned you on the table.

You were tipsy, your surroundings were slightly spinning. Just a minute ago, you were pushing him, but now, you're letting him kiss you. Maybe this was all the alcohol’s fault. Jungkook bit your lower lip to make you open your mouth and you did. You let his tongue explore your mouth, yours and his are fighting for dominance. Jungkook loosens the grip he has on your hands, and places those into your clothed breasts—you are not wearing a bra. He quickly lifted your shirt and touched your now naked boobs. You moaned into his mouth as he pinched your right nipple. He stopped kissing you and gazed at your eyes—it seemed like waiting for confirmation. The moment you nodded, Jungkook moved his face in your chest and sucked your left nipple while pinching the other one. You moaned loudly when a warm feeling enveloped your nipple.

Jungkook kissed the valley of your breast down to your stomach. He hurriedly removed your short, and threw it somewhere. His dick hardened more at the sight of you wearing a lace underwear. He rubs your clothed clit in a circular motion, making you gasp at the new sensation. You looked so good and as much as he wanted to see you wearing such a piece of clothing—he would prefer that you wear none. He took it off and put it in his pocket. "Your pussy is so pretty, just like you," he said. It was inviting Jungkook, and he did not hesitate to dive in. Jungkook took a long lick from your clitoris down to your perineum, earning him another loud moan from you.

He keeps on sucking your pussy until he cannot hold it longer. Once you were wet enough, he inserted one finger into your hole. “Shit, shit” You muttered as you felt like you’re being ripped down there—well, you are. You never once touched yourself down there, you never had sex because, in the first place, you never really thought about it. You thought you were asexual. Jungkook smiled when he saw blood dripping from your cunt—you were a virgin. Jungkook puts another finger and fastened his pace. You were a moaning mess. The painful sensation that you felt when he inserted his finger subsided, and you began to feel pleasure. Jungkook pressed your clitoris, adding more pleasure. “Fuck, Jungkoo-k!” Your breathing became unstable, you felt something in your stomach. You're about to come and Jungkook knows it. He removed his fingers in your cunt, you whimpered with the sudden emptiness you'd felt. You quickly glance at him, “What the hell?” You softly shout at him, controlling your breath.

“Get on your knees.”

You immediately did what he said, and helped him unbuckle his belt. Your mind is hazy, you are aware of what is happening, and at the same time, you don't. Your lips parted when you saw how hard he was; his cock bulged from his brief. It looked like it wanted to be set free and you did, and as soon as you took off his underwear, his cock sprung free—your face came into contact with it. “Fuck” You muttered; it was huge, fat, and veiny. ‘Perfect’ is the perfect word to describe it. You grabbed his cock and licked its tip. Jungkook threw his head back and moaned. You started to suck the head, and eventually took his full length into your mouth.

Jungkook grabbed your hair and began to thrust in and out of your mouth. Tears formed in your eyes; you're gagging on his cock. Your throat burned as Jungkook fastened his pace; you held his thigh to make him stop, but he did not. He was engrossed in the sensation to even care about your condition. “Shit! I am close, baby.” Jungkook mumbled in between his moans; he hissed when you dug your nails on his thighs. You felt a warm liquid filling your mouth; he slowly removed his cock, careful not to spill any of his sperm. Jungkook crouched down at your level and grabbed your jaw.

“Swallow it.”

01 | 02 | 03

Taglist: @kokoandkookie @delulutofr @somehowukook

[qqueenofhades]

Okay, had some thoughts, slept on it, had more thoughts. Woke up this morning and there are some (understandably) very worried folks in my notes/DMs, asking if this is the End end. As ever, I am but an old gay academic on the internet. My opinion is not more special or more insightful than anyone else's. But if you want my thoughts, here they are.

First: the U.S. isn't in the "imminent" or "approaching" stages of fascism. At least as far as the president and the ruling junta are concerned, and in regard to what they're trying to do, this is full-out, blood-and-soil, grab-people-off-the-streets-to-send-to-concentration-camps-without-trial fascism. The reason they have not been able to do everything they planned is due to a) considerable and vigorous resistance from multiple levels of American society, and b) federal judges. Everyone say Thank You, Federal Judges. They are the only thing keeping the Turd Reich in check right now, because the GOP-controlled Congress is waving handkerchiefs and cheering all the way. If Trump and the withered skinsuit of white supremacist evil known as Stephen Miller were able to do what they wanted with genuinely no interference from the courts, this would be unspeakably bad. And y'know. It's already bad.

I am not here to tell anyone to Pollyanna it out or just think happy thoughts or whatever else. This is very bad. We have to acknowledge the badness of it and to understand that this is what happens when you voluntarily give power back to a miserable reactionary fascist regime that repeatedly announced its intentions to do exactly this. Except too many Americans went "lol that's funny he's such a joker" and voted for him anyway. I'm very curious how the Both Parties Are The Same crowd would like to explain the fact that literally none of this was happening at the same time last year, when Democrats still held the White House and Senate, but that's another post and I'm tired of arguing with their anti-reality doomster Horseshoe Theory vortex of stupidity. So. Moving along. It's done now, it happened. What next?

Here's the important thing which you have to understand: this hysterical overreaction -- National Guard, trampling on state sovereignty, Marines in the streets, declaring open war on LA and wherever else the ICE Gestapo is being sent -- is not a sign of strength. It is a sign of a weak, failing, and flailing psychopathic old dementia patient who has realized that destroying American democracy on behalf of his Kremlin paymasters and alt-right tech bros (though too bad, so sad, #Trumpsk ended in Pride Month!) is going to be a hell of a lot harder than he thought. Trump just spent the week getting mocked, ridiculed, emasculated, and made to look weak and stupid. Musk turned on him and blew up the Big Beautiful Bill, which was already having a hard time in the Senate. Judges are almost automatically ruling against him at this point. He was even forced to bring Kilmar Abrego Garcia back to the US from the Salvadoran gulag and get Fascist Barbie Bondi to concoct some other BS charges to try him on. The point is, TACO. Trump Always Chickens Out. He is weak, he's failing, people keep fighting him and winning, he just got major-league embarrassed by his Ex Bestie, and his stupid budget bill just got a lot harder to pass. So what do you do, if you're Donald Trump? You lash out at your favorite target, That Dadgum Gay Liberal Commie Immigrant Refuge, California.

This is what fascists do when cornered, thwarted, and made to look stupid: they try to do the only thing they can do, which is an overwhelming show of brute force. Please remember that this is also happening because said withered skinsuit of white supremacist evil, Stephen Miller, is upset that they haven't managed to "cleanse" the country of every single immigrant yet. It is also openly admitted by Orange Hitler's Favorite Special Little Boy that a big part of their plan is to cause enough terror to force immigrants to self-deport, or just voluntarily pack up and leave because they think this well-oiled terror machine will come for them next. Now. Listen. I have zero, ZERO right to tell any non-citizen living in the US right now what to do or how to feel. If you just want to get out before you do have to risk going through that, it is completely and utterly valid.

However.

This is your home too. You belong here. If you decide that if they want you out, they'll have to fight you the whole way, then you could and should do that. Those of us who are U.S. citizens have a right to stand up with you, not least since the Turd Reich is already musing about finding ways to do the same things to us. Nobody is safe. This is way past the "first they came for" lines of the poem; they want to get everyone if they can, for the tiniest and most minute infractions against Donald of House Putin, First Of His Name. See above: we're in the full-blown fascism stage. I am not minimizing or ignoring that.

But still.

If you do the usual Doomer Leftist Edgelord Internet Thing and go "lol well guess Trump is a dictator for life now and there will be no more elections and we live in Gilead forever," often with barely-disguised glee that at least those stupid liberals are getting punished, you're, well, also a fascist. You're accepting and glorifying fascist narratives, you're exalting fascist power, you are once more making the fascists look cool and inevitable and like there's no point at all in fighting. Nota Bene: This does not refer to the people who are genuinely terrified and despairing and thinking that this is in fact the end and there's no more point in fighting. You're scared. I'm scared too. I see that and I feel it and I know, I know, I know. But you can still control what you say and how you react and the messages that you spread in response. If you're just reblogging a lot of unsourced screenshots and panic-mongering posts: maybe don't do that. Think about what you're putting out there and how you're reacting. If you don't feel like you can do that, get off the internet, stop looking at the news (which also has a vested interest in making everything look apocalyptic) and take a breath. It will still be there tomorrow.

At times like these, all we can do is hold onto each other and take some comfort in the fact that time still creeps in a petty pace from day to day. The Terrible Future still will not happen all at once and in a giant blob of awful and with no chance to change it. Nothing is predetermined and nothing is inevitable. Everything will still happen one day at a time, and that means we have to use the time as best we can. If you feel like this is in fact the End for you and you need to get out, well, go ahead and make those preparations if you can. But also recognize that everyone is in fight-or-flight mode right now, that is a screaming panic response, and while you shouldn't downplay the danger, you also shouldn't up and run because your scared animal brain thinks that is the only thing left to do. We are still here. You are still here. I am still here. We can still do something as we choose.

I hate the fact that we have to quote Gandalf like, all the goddamn time right now, but it's still true. All you have to do is choose what to do with the time that is given to you, etc. You still have a life. You still have a choice. You still have time. It is not done, it is not the end, and goodness knows the world isn't over now because Donald Trump got mad again and threw a hissy fit because he had a really sucky week and got publicly dumped by Elon Fucking Musk (again, lololololol). Things are very bad, but the point of my original post above was that even when you're living through an awful historical event (yet again, I hate this timeline), ordinary life still goes on. You have to focus on what you control and do what you can with it. It's not about hope so much as confounded stubbornness. If those idiot weaksauce fascist losers want to get you, make it as hard as fucking possible for them, and part of that IS just refusing to accept that they have that power, or any power. You can think whatever you want, but if you just say out loud, "Fuck you. This is stupid. You are going to fail because you're failures and you can't make me afraid," weirdly, it really does help.

Hugs.

"We're living through the ongoing fascist collapse of the United States but I still gotta clean the kitchen and go to work tomorrow" sure is the mood right now, huh.

[lightsoutmatthews]

Hi Jo! Can’t wait for your next game 7 story 😌 can I request William Nylander gets upset with reader in front of his family and she feels sad/embarrassed about it, and he has to smooth things over and make it up to her? Thank you!

I really enjoyed writing this because it´s not something I thought about writing before 😁

I will make it up to you – William Nylander

The evening had been going fine. You had helped his mom with the salad, laughed a little too hard at one of Alex´s bad jokes, and chatted briefly with his aunt about the weather in Toronto versus Stockholm. It was comfortable, like it always was when you were hanging around his family.

You had even caught William looking at you a few times with that soft, almost private smile he reserved for when he was relaxed. Or so you thought.

His dad leaned back in his chair after dinner was finished, taking a sip from his wine glass before he asked. “So, William, any plans this summer? Besides working up and pretending to ignore your phone when your agent calls?” he joked, making you chuckle quietly.

William gave a tight smile. “Nothing locked in yet.”

His mom immediately jumped in. “You two should go somewhere warm. Get some son, it’s always so quick to get cold again in Toronto. Greece, maybe?”

“I´ve been saying that!” you added. “He keeps talking about planning a trip but hasn’t gotten past the “I´ll think about it” stage.”

You were smiling, it was a lighthearted comment. The mood was easy, until it wasn’t.

William shifted in his chair. “Okay, we don’t need to get into that right now.”

His voice wasn’t loud, but it was sharp. Cutting in a way that silenced the table more effectively than any raised volume could.

You blinked, caught off guard by his sudden bad mood. “I wasn’t- “

He cut you off mid-sentence. “Seriously, just leave it.”

His dad looked down at his plate. His mom cleared her throat and reached for the water pitcher, suddenly very interested in refilling glasses that didn’t need it.

“It was just a joke,” you tried to disarm the situation, trying to keep your voice steady.

William gave a tight shake of his head. “Yeah, well, didn’t feel like one.”

That stung. In front of everyone, that felt like more than a correction, it felt like a rejection. A call-out. Like you had said something offensive instead of playful and lighthearted.

Alex stabbed his potatoes and looked away, pretending not to notice the tension, but the damage was done. You were sitting there, cheeks hot, trying to figure out if it would make things worse to defend yourself or worse to say nothing.

You chose the latter. Quietly, you pushed your chair back.

“I´m going to run to the bathroom,” you said with a smile so tight it almost cracked.

No one stopped you.

Once the door clicked shut behind you, you sat on the edge of the tub and tried not to cry. Your chest ached, not just from the embarrassment, thought that was part of it.

You had known the Nylander´s for years now, ever since the six-month mark of your and William´s relationship and you got along great with everyone but that was not something you ever wanted to experience in front of them.

Being dismissed by someone you loved in front of that many people stung.

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

You didn’t stay in the bathroom long. You weren’t about to give anyone more reason to think you were being dramatic. So, you dabbed under your eyes, forced a natural expression and returned to the table.

Everyone had moved on. At least kind of.

The conversation was lighter now. Alex was telling a story about an awkward autograph encounter making most of the table chuckle.

William glanced at you when you sat down again, unfortunately, you had been together long enough that he probably noticed that you had shed a few tears in the bathroom. but didn’t say anything.

You on the other hand couldn’t even look at him, just focused on your plate that still held some leftovers and stayed quiet.

After dinner, you helped his mom clear the dishes, partly to avoid him, partly because you needed something to do with your hands.

“He didn’t mean anything by it,” Camilla said quietly as the two of you stood at the sink, rinsing glasses. Her voice was gentle, not accusing.

“I know,” you sighed. “I just… I don’t understand what I said that made him react like that.”

She gave you a sad smile. “He gets overwhelmed sometimes. Especially, when he feels like people expect something from him.”

“I wasn’t trying to pressure him,” you mumbled.

She put a comforting hand on your arm and gave you a squeeze. “I know. He´ll probably realize that soon enough.”

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

Back at his apartment, the silence was thicker than the Swedish summer air. You had hoped he would say something first, acknowledge what happened, explain why he reacted that way, literally anything but he just kicked off his shoes and walked into the kitchen like nothing happened.

That’s when you finally broke because you couldn’t bear it anymore. “So, are we just not going to talk about that?”

He turned, confused. “Talk about what?”

You blinked at him. “Dinner? You snapping at me in front of your family? Ring a bell?” you huffed.

“God, you´re still on that?” he sighed making you take a step back at his attitude.

Still on that.

The words landed like a slap.

“I don’t want to fight,” you said, voice trembling. “But that really hurt. I love your family, but they don’t need to see that.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “You brought up something I told you I´m stressed about. I didn’t need that in front of everyone either.”

“I was joking, William. I wasn’t trying to call you out,” you replied, gentler this time.

“It didn’t feel like a joke.”

“Well, I can´t change how you feel about it, but it was and even if it didn’t feel like one to you, you didn’t have to embarrass me like that.”

Silence. Then, with less heat: “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know,” you sighed. “But you did.”

He looked at you for a moment, like he was finally seeing the damage. Like the wight of what had happened was just now registering.

“I´m sorry,” he mumbled. “That was out of line.”

You didn’t respond right away. You weren’t ready to offer him an out that easy.

He stepped closer. “I was on the edge. I shouldn’t have taken out on you, especially not there. That’s on me.”

You nodded slowly. “It made me feel like I didn’t belong.”

His face crumpled, just a little, someone who didn’t know him like you do wouldn’t have even noticed. “No. Don’t think that. You do. You absolutely do,” he scrambled. “My mom loves you. Alex asked me this morning if you were coming and actually smiled when I told him you would. That’s like a big deal for him.”

You smiled weakly, still not quite softened.

“I think I just…” he trailed off, searching for the right words. “I haven’t felt like myself lately. Everyone keeps asking me what´s next and I feel like I´m drowning in expectations. For next season, from the media, the team, my agent with all those new sponsorship opportunities. When you made that comment, even if it was small, it felt like another voice telling me I wasn’t doing enough.”

“I wasn’t,” you said firmly. “I´m not one of those voices.”

He reached for your hand. “I know and I´m sorry I made you feel like you were. That wasn’t fair of me.”

You let him interlink your fingers, but your shoulders were still tense. So, he kept going. “I need to get better at this. I shouldn’t take it out on you when I´m stressed. That’s not who I want to be.”

You nodded, still quiet. “It just sucks. I felt so stupid.”

“You´re not stupid,” he interrupted quietly. “God, no. You´re smart and funny and you make everything feel lighter when I´m stuck in my own head. That’s what that was, you trying to lift the mood and I shot you down like an asshole.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You said it, not me.”

He gave a soft laugh. “Let me make it up to you.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Yeah, but I want to.” He took your hand, kissed the back of it, then leaned in and kissed your forehead.

“Tomorrow, I´m planning something. Just us. No family, no expectations, no stress.”

“Are you finally booking a trip?” you asked, half-joking.

He smiled this time. “Maybe but I think we start with a walk by the water, ice cream, something simple.”

You hesitated, the nodded. “Okay.”

He pulled you into a hug. “I love you.”

“I know,” you said softly. “But show it better next time.”

“I will,” he mumbled into your hair. “Starting now.”

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

The next day, true to his word, William stuck to his promise.

He woke you up gently, coffee in hand and told you to dress comfortably. You walked through Djurgården in the morning sun, hand in hand, the city unusually quiet.

He let you pick the ice cream stand. You both got the same flavor by accident and laughed about it. No pressure, no tension, just you and him resetting.

Later, on a beach by the water, he turned to you.

“I´ve been thinking,” he said. “About how quickly I was to shut you down. I think it comes from this place where I expect the worse. Not from you but from myself.”

You looked at him confused. “What do you mean?”

“I think I´m afraid I won´t live up to what people think I should be. Not just as a player but as a boyfriend. As a guy. And when I feel like I´m failing, I go on defense.”

You nodded slowly, showing that you understood. “That makes sense, but you don’t have to protect yourself from me.”

“I know,” he answered. “That’s the part I need to work on.”

You rested your head on his shoulder. “I don’t expect you to be perfect. I just expect you to treat me with respect. Especially, when other people are watching.”

“Yeah, you´re right.”

After that you sat in silence for a while, the kind that felt less like a pause and more like a breath being taken together.

He reached for your hand again. “Still love me?”

You smiled. “Yeah, but don’t consider yourself completely forgiven just yet.”

He kissed the top of your head. “I can work with that.”

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

Later that evening, you returned to his parents’ house, at his request. He wanted to “clear the air” as he out.

His mom opened the door with a knowing look. You walked in together.

At dinner, he made a point to say – casually, but clearly – “By the way, about yesterday. I was an ass, that joke was funny. I was just stressed.”

His mom gave him a little nod, almost like she was proud.

Alex, without looking up from his plate, muttered, “Took you long enough to realize.”

Everyone laughed.

And just like that, the tension was gone.

That night, curled up in bed, William held you close to his chest after sleeping back-to-back the night prior.

“I hate that I made you feel small,” he mumbled. “That´s the last thing I ever want to do.”

“You didn’t make me feel small,” you answered quietly. “You made me feel alone. For a minute.”

He closed his eyes, exhaled and them almost whined “Even worse.”

You kissed his shoulder. “We´ll get better. Together.”

He nodded. “Yeah. Together.”

And for the first time in days, you both finally slept easy.

[thexsilentxwordsmith]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Virgin!Reader

Fandom: Call of Duty

Character(s): Simon Riley, Reader

Summary: A training mission puts you and the lieutenant Simon Riley in close quarters. That wouldn't be too bad except there might be some desires shared between you, lingering in the background, and after getting pinned beneath him in a pivotal moment, maybe those desires comes flooding to the surface in a big way. Too bad you have a secret that needs to be revealed.

Word Count: 5.4 k

Warnings:

From the ask HERE (forever ago now someone asked about a virgin!reader with Simon and I finally finished it!)

The old, abandoned factory creaks and groans as the amber light of the late afternoon fills the space. Captain Price waits for the last of the straggling members of his task force to make their way over from the transport vehicles and line up before him. The delay makes you impatient and you look around you to see who it is holding everything up, but that is immediately abandoned as the person your eyes end up making contact with are those of the skull-masked lieutenant who is standing only a few feet behind you. 

Suddenly you can hear your heartbeat in your ears. Why is he standing so close? 

Not that you’re trying to read patterns that aren’t there, but you swear that that hulking military officer has been in your bubble more and more lately. Could this just be an intimidation tactic… or possibly something m… No, you aren’t even going to allow yourself to entertain such a ridiculous idea. Sure, there might have been a time where it almost seemed like there was something there between the pair of you, but that time had long since passed after you decided that someone as seasoned as the lieutenant couldn’t possibly want to get involved with someone as inexperienced as you.

Quickly you break eye contact and turn your body back around, but it doesn’t feel fast enough and that fills you with anxiety; you don’t need him thinking your look means something more than it does. His presence is just a surprise, that’s all… at least that’s what you keep trying to convince yourself of, repeating the phrase in your head until your heart rate slows. 

Behind you, Lt. Riley watches you fidget with your hands while you keep your head plastered unnaturally straight ahead. He’s grateful for his choice in attire as his balaclava perfectly hides the smirk that is now on his lips as he silently chuckles to himself. You were quick, but not quick enough that he wasn’t able to catch the heat that had risen in your cheeks as you hurriedly turned away from his sight.  

Those coffee-colored eyes linger on the back of your head as he recalls all the times in the past couple of weeks the same thing has happened, when he’s caught you off-guard by being nearer than you expected. It had started by accident, just being at the right place at the right time, but once he saw the flush in your cheeks as that nervous smile filled out your mouth he found himself interested in making it happen again and again. Now it’s become a game and even though he knows he shouldn’t, he likes how flustered you get just being under his silent gaze. 

Just a bit of innocent fun, that’s all, he thinks to himself, not letting himself even entertain that it might not be so innocent at this point.

You just make it so easy for him to mess with; it’s not like he has to have some ulterior motive behind his actions, right? He had already made his decision to not allow to get involved with a bastard like him, but that doesn’t mean he can’t enjoy making you nervous with barely any effort.  

The loud sound of a throat being cleared brings the lieutenant’s attention back into the present. The last of the members have finally gathered around and the captain moves back to the front of the group ready to speak. Lt. Riley makes one last move and takes a few steps closer towards your back to watch you tense to his presence which causes certain intrusive thoughts to suddenly creep up to the surface of his mind, making it harder to pay attention to what the captain is talking about.

“Rules are simple,” Captain Price says in his usual firm, authoritative voice as he hands a stack of blue velcro patches to the closest member, beckoning him to pass them around. “Each of ya take a patch. You must wear it on your shoulder and it must be visible at all times. Once the word is given, the timer starts. You have ten minutes to prepare your initial hiding point before being let loose.”

The stack of patches gets handed to you and you take yours before passing them back to the lieutenant with a slight tremble in your hand as your gloved fingers brush past one another. You curse yourself at how pathetic you’re being about this; you want to prove yourself with this training and there is only one person that you worry about: the lieutenant. If you can’t pull yourself together, you may be out of this before it even begins.

“After that, a gunshot will signal that the game has begun,” Price continues after a brief pause. “You’ll have till 2100 hours ta gather as many of your fellow team members patches as you can however ya see fit. Don’t make me regret this by injuring each other. Keep it safe, but do what ya must ta get your marks.”

There is heat near the side of your face, but you don’t turn to face it. Instead, you catch yourself holding your breath to stand as still as possible as the lieutenant’s gruff voice is now in your ear. “Good luck, little mouse,” he says before moving back.

You struggle to regain your composure again as Price’s voice cuts back in. “Your ten minutes starts…now.” 

And just like that everyone takes off in different directions, plotting as they move, concocting strategies that they hope will get them a win. You clamber your way to the outside of the building at first, but once you catch sight of a few others that also seem to have had the same idea, you suddenly feel too exposed to stay and cautiously make your way back inside.

The sun sits lower towards the horizon as you make it to the top floor of the building, up a back stairwell. You risk diverting your eye line on your surroundings to check the watch on your wrist; it’s been a good hour and a half since you’ve seen another soul, but you don’t feel safe in the slightest. Just because you don’t have visuals on any movement, doesn’t mean that there’s no one there. Years of experience and training have taught you to stay on constant high alert no matter the circumstances. Even though you are apparently all alone, you try to slow down your movements to reduce any unnecessary noise and yet even with how carefully you advance through the area, even the sound of your heartbeat seems to echo off the walls. 

The thrill of being on high alert makes your limbs tingle, but you can’t afford to slack, not when every person on this team is at the top of their game and if you want to come out on top you’re going to have to push yourself harder.

You come to yet another corner and you pause to listen before slowly peeking around it. There’s nothing but empty space waiting for you in the next room and you take a couple steps out into it, ready to clear the area more thoroughly, when everything comes crashing down as you are grabbed, pulled around the wall, and slammed into it. Your eyes focus on the person pushing into you and your breath catches in your throat as you realize who is staring back at you– it is none other than the masked lieutenant himself.

The decaying wall behind you gives slightly under the pressure as Lt. Riley pins you against it by your shoulders, using his wide forearm to bear down on your sternum to keep you contained while also keeping one of his hands free to use. “Well, well, well, seems I caught a little mouse creepin’ ‘bout,” he mocks and you can hear the cocky, self-satisfaction brewing in his tone. “Gotta be more fuckin’ careful than that, luv. You’re not as quiet nor as stealthy as ya think ya are. Been tailin’ ya for a while, just waitin’ for the perfect moment ta move in.”

You struggle against his arm, but it does little good. There’s too much of him and not enough of you. 

“How did you even hear me?” you ask. “I barely breathed.” 

He chuckles in that deep, bassy voice. “Ya should fuckin’ know nothin’ gets past me.”

Those dark eyes from within his skull mask look down to find the bright blue patch at the top of your arm as you continue to struggle to unsuccessfully wriggle from his grasp. His hand reaches to the patch on your bicep to rip it off and claim his prize, but before he can grab it you react by kicking at his shin with the heel of your boot which makes him stumble back just enough that you are able to wriggle your way from under the pressure of his arm. 

You take a quick step to pivot so you can run off and you almost get away, but his recovery is too quick. Striking out his foot he trips you so that you tumble to the ground; now he can keep you better subdued. 

Quickly you try to roll to your side so you can get yourself back up, but he is already on top of you, pushing you back down so that you lay supine as he swings a thick thigh over your lap. You’re pinned under him and with the bulk of that 6’4” military man on top of you there is no chance you’ll get lucky enough to escape again.

It’s over for you.

That dark gaze stares back down with you as he works to regain his composure, his chest heaving up and down laboriously with each strained breath that he intakes to recover from the sudden rush of adrenaline through his veins.

"Not fuckin’ quick enough, little mouse," he pants. “Did ya fuckin' think ya could get away from me?”

Once more his hand reaches for the patch on your arm, this time without any worry that he won’t get it. “Best hold still,” he says, that gravelly tone lower after the noisiness of the tussle as to not draw any unwanted company before he can get himself up and out of the area. 

Lt. Riley still has more hunting to do and being detected already isn’t going to help. 

Even as the velcro starts to pry apart, you still decide to give your last bit of effort and squirm in his gasp, not ready to admit defeat even in the face of the inevitable. “You’re not gettin’ away, luv,” he says as the distinct sound of velcro ripping away from itself echoes across the bare walls that conceal you both.

“If you think I’m gonna give up without a fight, you’re dead fucking wrong, lieutenant,” you say through gritted teeth as you twist your shoulders, but to no avail.

“Feisty thing,” he picks, slapping your patch just below his on his vest. “Lotta good it did ya.”

Secured on his person, he looks back down. “Now, what am I gonna do with ya?” he questions with a chuckle. 

You scowl up at him as you lay there panting through your own rush of adrenaline. Is it all from the struggle, though? As you continue to look up at him from your position on your back, you aren’t so sure anymore. You can feel something changing in the atmosphere between you both, the charging of the atoms around your bodies as you stare back up into the intimidating masked face of your lieutenant as he towers over top of you, his wide thighs resting against the sides of your waist.

Catching his eyes, you notice something wash over his gaze: instead of that determined, steady gaze, he peers down at you with a look that makes your heart skip a beat. 

And for good reason. There is only one thought going through Lt. Riley’s head now: Fuck, you look good on your back. 

You flush hot all over, drawn into the intensity in his eyes. It’s intoxicating to be under that coffee-colored gaze, being the only person who has his full attention. Lost in that revelry it takes you a minute, but that's when you feel it: the outline of something hard poking you through the crotch of his pants. 

Is that what you think it is? Oh fuck, he’s getting hard. You should stop, right? But you don’t want to and for some reason he isn’t stopping you. At least he wasn’t, but now your gloved hand is in his as he brings up off of him and towards his mouth. 

And yet… 

You watch on wide eyed as he pulls up the lip of his mask up and situates it to rest over the bridge of his nose, exposing the lower half of his face. Grabbing the cuff of your glove between his teeth he rips the fabric up to expose the delicate skin of your palm. He spits the fabric from his mouth, tossing it aside before bringing your hand back down and placing it over the bulge growing near the zipper of his pants. 

"Ya feel that, little mouse? How hard I am?" he asks as he presses your hand into the stiff peak. "That's what you fuckin' do ta me." 

Your breath catches in your chest as your heartbeat thuds violently against your ribs. The feel of a distinct pulse now rhythmically thumps against your palm, making the heat in your face rise until your cheeks feel swollen and on fire and your mind goes static.

What do you do? What do you want to do? 

Suddenly, as if piloted by instinct alone, you begin to move your hand up and down over the swell and he can't help the deep groan that escapes through his lips. The bassy sound causes a throbbing between your closed thighs, an ache that suddenly gathers in the pit of your stomach. You continue to slowly rub along the mound, enjoying the way his cock leaps at your touch as it grows even more stiff.

Silence fills the space around you as the lieutenant reciprocates your action by rolling his hips into your hand, grinding against the warm surface of your palm in a motion that fills your head with a need to see him actually take you. Desperately you squirm beneath him to clench your thighs together tighter to relieve the building pressure and he senses your movement. 

"Is it achin'?" he questions quietly, his voice husky with his need. “Do ya need somethin’ ta take the edge off?” 

It takes you a few seconds for your brain to comprehend the question, but when you do you can only nod your head in response as your mouth suddenly feels too dry to create sounds. 

The lieutenant sits still for a moment, head cocked to one side and then the other. It looks as if he is listening for something, but other than the sound of the beat in your ears and his panted breaths there is nothing. You are both all alone, secluded in this remote section of the large building, as the shadows grow ever longer with the incoming night. The last he had seen the rest of the team they were nowhere near this area.

There’s no one to interrupt what is rapidly unfolding between you, but he knows that could change in an instant. He needs to be fast. 

Turning his attention fully back to you, he pauses. This is a terrible fucking idea, but the way you look pinned beneath him, your hand stroking over his hard cock, that doe eyed, begging look that you keep giving him, it's too much to handle. Simon Riley is a man of restraint, but at this moment all the training he has endured to reach this point in his career fails him.

All that suppressed desire comes bubbling to the surface like a tidal wave. Lost in the heat of the moment he cannot deny his attraction anymore than he can deny the air trying desperately to enter his lungs to calm him, but failing. 

“Fuckin’ hell, ya don’t know how bad I need ya,” he says in a groan that nearly stops your heart. 

A haze clouds your mind that you drunkenly watch through as your superior leans down into you, the bulk of his weight compressing your chest as his hungry lips immediately steal your mouth with such deadly force that it feels as if the pair of yours are magnetized and he can’t keep them from being violently drawn together. The feeling is unfamiliar and overwhelmingly intense, knocking the wind from your lungs while filling you full of his contagious desire.

Pinned beneath him into the broken flooring and at his mercy, you are falling apart as your head swirls with an ecstasy you have never felt before. It is true that your lips had caressed others before his, but not like this, never like this, and it awakens something in you… something instinctual.

In that moment, you give yourself over to that feral side of yourself, the one that had always been hiding under the surface, but never allowed to come into the light. Everywhere he touches comes alive and the further he goes up under your clothes, pulling up layers to glide his hands along your curves, the more your body desperately craves.

Your movements are hesitant, but exploratory, greedily digging up under his tactical vest covering his torso to get to the burning, sweat-slick flesh lying beneath. A patch of short, soft hair meets your fingertips as you get up through the bottom of his shirt and make contact with his lower abdomen. His skin feels like it’s on fire under your palms and you moan into his mouth as your hands study the contours of his hips and stomach through touch alone. 

Fuck, he can’t wait; this needs to happen now before someone comes to ruin this.

“Gotta make it quick,” he pants as he hastily reaches between your bodies and rips down the zipper on his pants. “Are ya wet?” 

The sound hits your ears and suddenly it all becomes too real. This is really happening. And though you don’t want him to stop, there is a secret that is burning a hole in your chest that you can’t hide away anymore.

Lt. Riley can feel you suddenly go rigid under him and pauses his movements to prop himself up by his arms so that he can look into your face. He stares into your eyes, panting through his need. “Ya alright?” he asks.

You suck your bottom lip into your mouth to nervously pick at the skin with your teeth as you hesitate to respond. Anxiety has its grip in you at the thought of what you are about to admit, but you know that you are going to have to speak up because you are out of your element now and he is going to know it soon enough.  

“I- I’m…I mean, I- I haven’t ever…done something like this,” you stammer out the confession,  admitting the embarrassing information while you suddenly avoid his gaze. 

His brow furrows under the pulled up mask. “Ya mean where ya can get caught?” he asks to clarify as he doesn’t understand. “We’ll be quick.”

You shake your head. It’s worse than that, you think to yourself. “I…” you take a breath and your stomach drops, “I’m still a virgin.”

The realization of your words washes over the lieutenant like cold water. It never would have occurred to him that you had no experience in that area, but even so he isn’t judging. You probably have your reasons and that is fine, all he cares about is what he does right now. This isn’t the time or place to give you an experience that intense that you’ve never had before. He wants to be able to take his time and make it a memory you won’t ever forget and that isn’t going to happen on the dirty floor of this derelict building.

He begins to move back. “Please…don’t stop…” you beg as you reach out for him, but Lt. Riley is already sitting himself upright and zipping himself back up. 

Those big brown eyes look down at you and he shakes his head. “Not like this,” he says. “This ain’t how your first time’s gonna be.”

Throwing his leg over your body, he moves off from on top of you and kneels besides your legs. Your hands instantly move up to your face and you frustratedly cover your eyes in a vain attempt to calm the storm of hormones raging inside, thinking that all of this buildup is going nowhere all because you couldn’t just keep your mouth shut. 

You keep your face concealed while waiting to hear the fading crunch from the soles of his boots as he leaves, but the sound never comes. From the blackness behind your palms you feel something tugging at the clothing near your belly button and quickly you remove your hands and open your eyes to see your lieutenant leaning over top of you, his tactical vest removed and set on the floor as he hurriedly begins undoing the belt on your pants.. 

“We ain’t got much time left, but I can’t leave ya fuckin’ empty handed,” he grunts with a smirk as he finally frees the buckle from itself. “Won’t take your virginity ‘ere, never said I wouldn’t make ya come. Gotta finish what I started. Ya want that, little mouse?”

You don’t say a word, just stare while he works, but that won’t do. Lt. Riley isn’t going to take anything that isn’t explicitly given to him and unless he can hear you say it out loud that you want him to give you a parting gift, he isn’t going to continue.

“ ‘less ya want me ta stop,” he says as he removes his hands from your waist.

Immediately you sit up just enough to grab at his wrists and secure his hands back onto you right at the fastener on your pants. “Don’t you fucking dare,” you breathe the words in an angered huff. “I want it, please.”

Lt. Riley smirks. “Good fuckin’ girl,” he praises.

Those long fingers draw the waistband of your pants together to unhook the button, quickly ripping down the tab of the zipper before he is sliding the dense clothing off your hips and down the length of your legs. “Need these fuckin’ things outta my way then,” he says as he bunches the pants legs up at the top of your boots. 

Time is of the essence and he has to choose his actions carefully, wasting time taking off everything is too risky; just the essentials will have to do. As soon as he gets your pants low enough, he crosses his arms over his torso and quickly rips up his shirt off his body and throws it on top of his vest.

“Can’t risk gettin’ anything on me, don’t need them fuckin’ nosey bastards gettin’ curious,” he answers the curiosity in your cocked brow from the question that you haven’t asked. “This’ll be our secret, yeah?”

You can’t complain, as soon as that shirt is up over his head you get an eyeful of absolute perfection in the form of bulky muscles that line his thick torso covered in a mouthwatering bit of hair that leads down into the top of his pants. From the way his clothes always hugged his body, you knew that man was big, but fuck seeing it in person is a whole other story. And now you desperately need to feel that girthy torso spreading your thighs wide as the throbbing that was just poking against you fills you full. 

Not wasting another second he slips your legs over his head to wear them draped around his shoulders like a necklace as he slides his body in on his hands and knees so that his face is close to the panties still covering your pussy; one last impediment to his goal. Hooking his fingers into the crotch of the small swath of fabric cloaking your cunt, he pulls it out of his way and his breath hitches at the sight. 

It’s better than he could have imagined. Immediately he meets those soft, pillowy lips with his as he places a few tender kisses to them and already the contact has you squirming over his features. 

Goddamn, you have a pussy he could lose himself in.

Pulling his hand in, he spreads your lips with his fingers to find your clit through them. "Let's see how good ya taste, little mouse," he groans before he locks his lips around you and his tongue slithers its way from between his lips to find its mark. 

The moment the tip of his tongue makes contact with your clit you see stars and your back arches off the ground. Touching yourself was one thing, you know your own body, but having the control given to someone else with the experience to know just how to do it, makes you instantly weak.

With a hand gripped into your hip he takes you like he owns you and you've never felt more desired before. Over and over his tongue laps between the lips of your pussy, rolling over that sensitive nub with skill and precision. This is what he has craved all this time, to make you come undone, and several times his eyes dart up to catch a glimpse of your face as you lose yourself in the sensation of it all.

Your honey fills his mouth and dances along his taste buds as he buries his face into you even further, not caring about the cloth still sitting on his face. If your scent melts into the fibers then it will only serve as a reminder of what happened here. Everything outside of your thighs gets forgotten as his lips lock around that nub and he sucks it into his mouth and you buck wildly over his features, the heels of your boots digging into his back that only makes him moan at the delicious sting. 

Is this what it’s like to be craved by another? Fuck, you could get addicted to this. All that desire being unleashed in the way he devours mixed with the excitement from being taken by the lieutenant and the risk of being so exposed like this has your orgasm rapidly approaching faster than you thought possible.

“Ahh, getting… close,” you murmur out, struggling to keep your voice low. 

"Tha's it," he grunts as he surfaces for a quick inhale of air from between your lips, "come for me. Cum on my fuckin’ tongue, little mouse." 

His large hand spreads out across your pelvis to push it down as he nuzzles the tip of his nose against your clit so that his tongue can strike up inside that dripping hole. Your juices mix with his saliva and dribble down his chin and out from the corners of his mouth to pool on the ground beneath you both, but he doesn't slow. 

He keeps the pace of his movements steady, making sure that nothing breaks his focus so that he can keep up the tempo. You’re gonna come for him, it’s the only thing he wants now; he desperately needs his head to be crushed between these beautiful thighs. 

Suffocate me, sweetheart, he demands silently.

You whimper behind closed lips in an attempt to keep the noise down, but it is getting harder and harder to hold it in. The warmth in your belly is gathering quicker now to match the pulsing down between your legs. Just a little more and the wave of heat will flood your limbs violently. Reaching down, your fingertips dig into the muscles in his shoulders and he groans deliciously into your pussy.

You’re so close. 

Then you feel the tensing and all at once you fall silent as that tightness snaps with an explosion that makes your body go rigid with a severe arch in your spine. You dig the back of your head into the concrete with your eyes shut as your thighs forcefully clamp together and you moan deep in your throat. Waves of hot pleasure course through you until your limbs tingle and yet that agile tongue of your superior continues to stroke you through it all as you squeeze his head like a vice.

Lt. Riley can’t see, he can’t hear, all he has is the throbbing of your cunt to keep him going. And fuck is that enough. 

Time is forgotten as you ride out your pleasure to the very end and just when you think you can’t take anymore of that overwhelming sensation, the feeling begins to die down and you can relax and release your captive.

A coated and messy lieutenant emerges from between your legs with a smile plastered to his mouth that still wears you around it. “Ya did so fuckin’ good for me,” he praises as he uses the back of his hand to wipe away the cum and saliva from around his lips. 

Your legs are carefully moved from his shoulders and lowered to the ground and without a word, those strong hands are pulling them back up. “Lift your hips for me, tha’s it,” he says as he finishes bringing them back and up and rebuckles them even though you hadn’t asked.

Only once you’re situated does he redress himself and then offers you his hand to help you back up to your unsteady feet. “C’mere,” he grunts as he pulls you tight to him and leans down to kiss your lips and you can taste yourself off his.

Still in a daze you rub your hand absentmindedly over your stolen patch stuck to the front of his and the lieutenant laughs into your mouth, thinking you are trying to take back what he got fair and square. “Oh no, I’m still keepin’ this, luv,” he says. “We’ll call it a consolation prize for what I just gave ya.” The lieutenant kisses you one last time. 

“And ya know, the offer stands if ya still want me ta fix that other thing,” he says. “I’ll make sure ta do it right.”

With that he leaves you to finish composing yourself so you can walk back to the meeting point to wait for the rest of the team to finish the exercise. Your mind is still reeling a couple hours later with thoughts as you try to process everything even as the team loads into the transport vehicles to make the way back to base. Your sight continues to dart over to Lt. Riley’s form sitting down at the end opposite you, wondering what you’re going to do.

Do you take him up on his offer or do you let this be a one time thing?

At the other end, the lieutenant watches you from the corner of his vision as your eyes keep jumping back to him. Your scent is woven into the fibers of his mask even as it still lingers on his lips and the stubble around his chin and every time he breathes his heart races a little more. Will you decide to let him have you again and even go further? He won’t let his need get the better of him yet, but as the short journey ends and everyone begins to file out of the vehicles, he heads back to his room hoping that you’ll take him up on his offer.

The night is getting on fast when out of the silence there it is. Knock, knock, knock. Quick, soft, timid right on the lieutenant’s door. He gets up from his bed, heart beginning to pound as he reaches for the lock. 

More silence follows until the lock clicks and the door opens to reveal you standing there. The lieutenant meets your gaze, but soon your attention is drawn to the pair of old sweats that cling low on his hips and the lack of shirt that leaves his chest bare. He looks you up and down and chuckles as if he’s been expecting this.

“It’s late, little mouse,” he greets you before moving to the side, a gesture clearly meant for you to come in. 

The door quietly shut behind you before being locked. No sense in leaving it undone, you won’t be leaving before the sun rises. 

[atalana]

also im sure some people have noticed already, but since i haven't seen anything on tumblr about it yet, for people who haven't - kris has 20hp in the light world and so far that bar has pretty much always been full

in chapter four though, after kris beats the soul up, that's no longer the case!

their brief smacking it with the hockey stick/guitar in the normal route drops your health to 18. their vicious kicking the shit out of the soul in the snowgrave continuation drops it to 10. (it drops even further by the end of the chapter in a way that might have something to do with how much health you ended the titan battle with, but im gonna do a couple more ch4 playthroughs and see if i can nail down exactly what the deal with that is, and if it means that the titan can reach across worlds and damage kris' soul in a way no other dark world enemy has been able to so far)

either way, the first thing that happens when they try to move after putting the soul back in, is they stumble and fall and it takes a few seconds for them to even try and get back up. (it looks like they're tripping over the object they threw from certain angles in the normal route, but no this happens no matter how clear their path is)

regardless of whether or not it's their original soul, it is now intrinsic to their life force. any amount of damage done to the soul, even when outside their body, will hurt kris in equal amounts, and they've been doing this long enough they have to know that!

in the normal route that speaks to their level of dedication to whatever their end goal is here, that they will hurt themselves quite significantly to keep susie from finding that note on the guitar (though it's in keeping with chara being one of their two undertale parallels)

but in snowgrave pt 2. god. it speaks to how much they hate us. that route in ch4 reveals that the first thing soulless kris did at the end of ch2 wasn't creating the fountain - there was an unseen timeskip. the first thing soulless kris did after snowgrave was to sneak over to noelle's house, remove the thorn ring (that was controlling her and giving her the ability to kill with ice magic), tell her everything was gonna be okay, but that she should never mention any of this to anyone (because if she said it around kris in the future then the soul would hear)

and kris' worst fears came true. she does bring it up, because she doesn't realise kris is also included in "anyone". and to stay on the snowgrave route, like in ch2, you have to do the worst thing possible, which is manually take control of kris back (this is happening while you're the untethered soul, but kris is distracted enough you can rejoin their body without them fighting you off - but you can see their sprite shaking afterwards as they try to resist what you're about to do), confirm for noelle that all of her dream was real, tell her she's going to get stronger, and force the thorn ring back on her (at which point the screen goes black with red lines like shattered glass, and the segment in noelle's house ends there, so we don't know the full consequences of that yet)

i did talk in a previous post about the shadow mantle boss saying that kris enjoyed the snowgrave route, they just didn't want to admit it to themselves and being possessed by the player gave them a convenient excuse. but after playing this route i no longer think that's even a remote possibility.

because kris wasn't trying to hide or prevent anything by beating the soul up this time. this was pure revenge and disgust over what we did to their friend. and even knowing that whatever damage they did was also going to be done to them, they were willing to beat it within an inch of its life. your vision is blurring the entire time, kris loses half their health from this, they only stopped because asgore nearly caught them in the act. and the burning question on my mind is how much further were they willing to go? if no one interrupted, would they have stopped at all?

(and yeah the takeaway here is that going forward, kris is hurt, in more ways than ralsei or susie can heal. and also do not ever underestimate their love for noelle)

[twee-lil-paws]

India's Muslim League is a RARELY discussed aspect of its fight for independence. What most schools skip when covering this part of world history is how Ghandi's method of peaceful resistance went on for decades without literally any change in their society. It was only through the Muslim League signing an agreement with the UK to fight against invading forces in WW2 in exchange for independence that India & Pakistan were able to become free.

I'm so happy to see another person talking about the important shit that matters rn. As someone who's been doing this protest shit since they were a kid: Those are only useful as recruitment tools. Meeting other people pissed off enough to show up. Protesting on its own has never changed a damn thing. Now using protest as a tool to occupy and shut down hot locations (such as the target of an ICE raid) that's useful. But it's the community that'll ensure yall can keep denying ICE.

I'm no expert on either of their modern political & sociological struggles, but thankfully there are examples in my own country that I am more familiar about.

BPP (Black Panther Party) was so god damn successful at instituting government change, bc they were terrified of their community building strategies. They offered so many community services, from free breakfasts, to education & healthcare at times in history when all three were difficult for their community to access bc of segregation. I've volunteered for orgs in the modern day that fulfilled similar societal support, and you would not believe how successful it is.

Meeting people where they're at is the single most powerful community building tool. Talk to local grocery stores & restaurants, enough of them will be willing to negotiate to give you their expiring food at EoD (lots of them already donate these to food banks too) you can wield your community to find more of these too by just asking people who work for these places if they'd be viable.

Establish set locations where you will distribute your food, and make the only requirement for a meal be that they talk to you about what's going on in their community. From there you can establish your information network, learn about what's being targeted currently, and plan how to move your occupying forces to counter raids on your community.

The problem with peaceful protest is that peaceful suppression isn't a thing. There's no way to peacefully destroy neighborhoods, hike prices into homelessness, survey and kidnap and kill children, strip away rights, or erase history. Their first avenue was violence because they do not see us as humans worth peace. Which means your avenue needs to be open to violence too.

[lvrsturniolo]

𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐐𝐮𝐢𝐞𝐭 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐌𝐞— m.s

Dom!Matt x Needy!Reader

warnings; smut. no actual p in v. #bringbackdryhumping.

in which…reader doesn’t even leave the couch before she started to get needy, but sex was too loud. so Matt gave her something she could handle a little more quietly.

based off this ask

——————————

The house was finally quiet.

Nick had gone upstairs with a half-mumbled “Goodnight” and Chris had vanished downstairs to his room with goodnight hug and a yawn. You waited—only barely—until their footsteps faded before climbing right into Matt’s lap like you’d been starved for him.

You had been.

“Matt,” you whispered, your lips brushing the shell of his ear as you straddled his thighs on the living room couch. Your fingers twisted in the fabric of his hoodie. “Please. I need you. Right now.”

He didn’t move at first. Just stared at you, eyes dark and unreadable in the dim TV light still flickering behind you.

“You’re needy tonight, huh?” he asked, voice low and smooth like honey—like he already knew the answer. His hands settled on your hips, holding you in place.

You nodded quickly. Desperately. Grinding your hips against the hardness under his sweats, biting your lip to stifle a moan.

But he caught your chin between his fingers and forced your gaze back to his.

“Not here,” he said. “You’ll be loud. I know you will. Nick is right upstairs, and if you start moaning like you always do—he’ll come down. Or worse, Chris will come up and see you.”

Your cheeks burned. You whimpered, trying to move your hips again, but he held you still.

“But,” he murmured, brushing his lips along your jaw, “you can get off like this. Over my sweats. Bet it’ll keep you a little more quiet. Think you can do that?”

You nodded again, too desperate to speak. He smirked—just a little—because he knew exactly what kind of effect he had on you.

“Go ahead then,” he said, finally letting his hands slide to your ass, giving you just enough leverage to move. “Use me.”

You rocked against him slowly at first, your wet panties that’d soaked through your shorts dragging along the soft, thick fabric of his sweatpants. His clothed cock was hard beneath you, and every pass over it sent sparks up your spine. Your breath hitched—too loud—and his hand came up quick, covering your mouth.

“Shhh,” he warned, smirking against your neck. “Can’t keep you quiet, can I?”

You whined against his palm, grinding harder. The friction was angering. Not enough—but somehow still too much. He kept one hand over your mouth and the other on your waist, helping you move exactly how he wanted.

“Just like that. There you go, baby. You’re soaked, aren’t you? Making a mess all over me and I haven’t even touched you properly.”

You nodded into his hand, tears pricking your eyes from how good it felt. The slow drag of his cock under you, the way he was just watching you fall apart without even being inside you.

Your thighs started to shake. He felt it.

“You’re close, huh?” he murmured. “Gonna cum from dry humping like a desperate little thing?”

His words sent you spiraling, hips stuttering. You clenched your teeth to keep from crying out.

Matt leaned in close, voice hot against your ear. “Cum for me, just like this. Right here in my lap. Be quiet, baby. You can do that, can’t you?”

That did it.

You came with a silent gasp, body trembling in his lap, clinging to his hoodie like it was the only thing grounding you. Your hips slowed, twitching and jerking with the aftershocks, and it was only then you realized he was breathing heavier too.

A low groan slipped from his throat as he held you tight, grinding up against you once, twice—until his own body jerked beneath yours. You felt the warmth soak into the fabric between you. He came too.

He kept you close, kissing your temple while you caught your breath.

“Good girl,” he whispered. “You did so good for me.”

And just like that, you were already aching for more.

—————————————————————

love love loved this request.

tags; @emely9274 @courta13 @sturniolo-szn2 @sophand4n4 @lezleeferguson-120 @slvt4chriss @chrislover696969 @riasturns @ivysturnss @tezzzzzzzz @iloveduckssm @auttysturnz

[hadesoftheladies]

“no hope for women” is genuinely absurd to me. it reveals an androcentric worldview that simply doesn’t belong in feminism. like one one hand, yes, men have been ruthlessly sadistic toward women for millennia. absolutely. but some of you genuinely have little to no acquaintance with women’s history and political work. the nuances to political life for women in different regions and points in history. you are so cut off from women’s history, you have delusions of somehow being the first generation of women to “get it.” there’s so much women have done and are doing around the world. and they keep winning, btw. like the struggle might be eternal, but the progress is also evident. women globally go to school and work now. like in industrial places, that’s the NORM. do you know how fucking huge that is? compared to a lot of pre-industrial history? for fuck’s sake!

also, men would not be scrambling to maintain power so brutally if women have always been easy to subdue. men would not be so desperate to police feminist language if they were not so deeply ashamed of themselves and afraid of those voices. when we say men are human, we mean men are not impassable beings. they are capable of guilt because guilt is a human mechanism. they are so deeply guilty, that they scream and whine when you call them “pedophile” or “rapist.” that to me is one of their greatest defeats. that they must and will be forced to acknowledge the shame they feel for being failed human beings. that the economic threshold has changed for all of us in the advent of technology and even globalism. how human beings think has been evolving for centuries because of the space we occupy at this point in time.

It does not guarantee a utopia. but to be so despondent when women have the means to liberate themselves? when the odds have never been more in our favor? it just shows how isolated so many of you are from the culture. because you think that you’re the only ones awake or struggling and that’s just not true. isolation is how you kill your spirit and most of you would realize how much power you have if you just decided to MOVE with other women or to start moving and pull women along. I am not part of a feminist organization as of yet, but I have been deliberately consciousness-raising and community-building with women who at one point NEVER used to think like me but are now talking about living with their female friends instead of marrying a man, or deliberately opting out of motherhood, or co-parenting with women. radblr is not the last frontier of feminism. it’s the fucking beginning for so many of us. you are far too aware of the violence of men and not the victories of women and that has to change.

bless ✌🏾

[soft4changbin]

It was always you

Ateez San x reader

Summary: You believe San has feelings for someone else, all while hiding your own for him—until he finally confesses that it’s always been you.

Word count; 1,504

It starts the same way every time: San’s smile lights up the room, his arm slung casually around someone else’s shoulder, his laugh just a little too warm. And you pretend not to notice the sharp ache in your chest.

You had tried—really tried—not to fall for Choi San.

You were just supposed to be a friend. Just a frequent visitor at the dorm, someone close to the group but not in it. You’d met through Wooyoung, who introduced you with an easy, “She’s basically family,” and somehow, San had taken that and made you feel like home.

And then ruined you.

Because every look, every soft laugh, every late-night conversation where he listened like he had nowhere else to be—it had all meant something to you.

But not to him. Right?

He was like that with everyone. Warm. Playful. Affectionate in that naturally flirty way that made you question if you were reading too much into it. Every time you thought, Maybe…, he’d be hugging someone else, complimenting them with stars in his eyes.

You’d seen him the other night, laughing with a backup dancer at rehearsal. She was beautiful. She’d touched his arm, and he’d let her. Smiled at her like he meant it.

It stung more than you’d like to admit.

So tonight, you keep your distance.

You’re at the dorm again, a movie playing, the whole group scattered across couches and cushions. San’s sitting close, too close, thigh brushing yours like it’s nothing. Like it doesn’t send your heart into a spiral.

He offers you a handful of popcorn and that stupid soft smile.

“You good?” he asks, voice low.

You nod too quickly. “Yeah. Just tired.”

You can feel his gaze linger, but you don’t meet it. You can’t. Not when everything hurts this much.

Later, when the movie ends and the others retreat to their rooms, you’re left in the quiet hum of the living room. San stretches beside you, arms overhead, hair falling messily across his eyes.

“You okay?” he asks again.

You stare at the paused TV screen. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

He shrugs, eyes soft. “You’ve been quiet. You usually talk through the whole movie.”

You force a laugh. “Didn’t want to annoy anyone.”

“Since when do you care about that?”

There’s a beat of silence.

You should go. You should get up and leave and save what’s left of your pride. But instead, your words betray you.

“You like her, don’t you?”

He blinks. “Who?”

“The dancer. From rehearsal.”

He straightens slightly, brows pulling in. “Why would you think that?”

“I saw the way you looked at her.”

A pause.

Then, gently: “You mean like the way I look at you?”

Your breath catches.

“No,” you whisper. “Not like that.”

He lets out a soft, almost disbelieving laugh. “You really don’t see it, do you?”

“See what?”

San runs a hand through his hair, then leans forward, elbows on his knees, facing you fully now. “I’ve been in love with you for months.”

You blink.

He continues, voice barely above a whisper. “I thought I was being obvious. God, I wanted you to notice. The way I’m always around you. How I wait for your texts. How I can’t go a day without seeing you.”

“But—”

“You thought I liked someone else?” His eyes search yours, almost wounded.

You nod, feeling suddenly exposed.

“I don’t look at anyone the way I look at you,” he says. “I don’t want anyone else.”

Silence stretches between you, heavy with everything unspoken. Your heart thunders in your chest, unsure if it’s from relief or disbelief or both.

“I didn’t think I had a chance,” you admit. “You’re so… warm with everyone. I thought I was just another friend.”

“You’re not just another anything.”

He moves closer, kneeling in front of you now. His hand reaches out, hesitating for a second before brushing your cheek.

“I was scared too,” he admits. “Of ruining things. Of making you uncomfortable. But seeing you pull away? That scared me more.”

You look at him, truly look at him—his dark, honest eyes, the way his mouth trembles like he’s holding back everything.

“I love you,” he says, simple and certain.

Tears prick your eyes. “I love you too.”

His lips part, like he’s not sure he heard you right. And then he’s pulling you into his arms—tight, desperate, like he’s been waiting for this moment longer than he wants to admit.

You bury your face in his shoulder, inhaling his familiar scent, warm and grounding. His hand cradles the back of your head, holding you like he never wants to let go.

“I’m so stupid,” you mumble against his hoodie.

He laughs, the sound vibrating through your chest. “We both are.”

Later, when you’re curled up beside him on the couch, legs tangled, his head resting against yours, you ask, “Why didn’t you just tell me earlier?”

He exhales, a soft sound. “Because I didn’t think you’d want someone like me.”

You pull back to look at him. “You’re literally perfect.”

He gives you a crooked smile. “Not perfect. Just yours.”

You don’t answer with words—just lean in and kiss him, slow and tender. His lips meet yours like he’s been waiting a lifetime, and maybe he has. The kiss is sweet and a little shaky, full of everything you’ve both been too afraid to say.

When you finally pull apart, he rests his forehead against yours.

“You’re not going anywhere, right?” he whispers.

“Not unless you want me to.”

“Never.”

You smile. “Then I’m staying.”

And this time, it’s not a maybe. It’s a promise.

[uvobreakmylegs]

Here's a painful ask. How do you think the troupe would be with a darling who reminds them of Sarasa? You can pick the members.

warnings: death, kidnapping, mind control, isolation, torture, delusional yandere

Sarasa was only a child when she was murdered, and while she's been dead for years by the time the troupe leaves Meteor City, the brutality of her death is more than likely still fresh for all of them. So when one of the founding members of the troupe comes across a darling that is similar to Sarasa, either in looks, personality or a combination of the two, those members will more than likely be very overprotective of them

a majority of the troupe will want to keep darling secure and in a safe place where they can't be hurt - that was what happened to Sarasa, after all. she was on her own in a dangerous area when they lost her. even though darling is an adult, the same could easily happen to them, and that member doesn't want to take the risk of darling's life being cut short in the same way Sarasa's was. and given the criminal activity that the troupe regularly engages, that risk is made even more likely

of those members, Chrollo or Pakunoda will make things at least bearable for darling, though not in a way that darling would want. Chrollo with his long-term manipulation abilities to keep darling happy, and Pakunoda with her Memory Bomb that will allow her to control darling's mind and make up whatever story she needs to keep darling safe from harm without complaint. darling will still be stuck and unable to interact with the world outside, but since both Chrollo and Paku prefer it for this darling to be happy, they'll do just that so they can come back to a darling that smiles at them

a situation with Phinks or Franklin isn't as great, but they do attempt to keep darling happy in whatever ways they can. they don't have any ways to keep darling in place with more sophisticated means, so they have no choice but to resort to force. but seeing darling crying or sad makes them feel guilty, so they try to make things better by offering up gifts to try and make them happy. obviously, that doesn't really work, but both are determined to keep darling safe, regardless of the things they feel when they see darling sobbing themselves to sleep

Uvogin ends up dragging darling along with him on his travels, never leaving their side for long enough for darling to attempt to get help. if darling is too resistant/prone to running away, he intentionally brings them to areas that are dangerous, either due to the environment or the wildlife. it isn't nice, but it guarantees that darling won't go running off since they won't survive without Uvogin by their side

things are pretty bleak with Shalnark or Feitan. both are more concerned with keeping darling safe, and their happiness isn't as high of a priority as keeping them alive is. with both of these men, darling will be taken away to a remote location and be given very few freedoms. living with Shalnark means darling will have their every move monitored no matter what room they're in due to the numerous cameras Shalnark has placed all over the house. darling gets no privacy whatsoever in this instance, and while Shalnark might say that he understands darling's distress, he doesn't feel badly over it

while living with Feitan, darling won't be monitored 24/7, but they can't go anywhere and they're also subject to Feitan barging into their space whenever he feels like it. "to check up," he'll tell them, even though nothing has changed during the thirty minutes since he barged in the last time. darling can cry and beg all they want for Feitan to let them go, but it's all a wasted effort since he'll never say 'yes'

Machi might be the only decent one of the troupe in this case. unlike the others, Machi is unwilling to get involved with darling since that will put them in danger. and after experiencing Sarasa's death - and the way Machi remembers how, as a child, she gathered up the bag that held the body parts - she doesn't want darling to experience darling suffering the same fate, or one that could be even worse than what Sarasa went through. she'll keep an eye on darling from a distance, but she won't approach. it's more important that darling be able to live their life in the way that Sarasa was unable to

Nobunaga has the potential to be the worst of the troupe, depending on his mental state when he comes across darling. if he's doing okay, then the situation with him will likely be similar to what darling experiences living with either Phinks or Franklin

however, if Nobunaga comes across darling after he's reeling from the death of Uvogin, he'll start to convince himself that darling actually is Sarasa

whatever thoughts he may have had of what Sarasa would be like as an adult will be projected onto darling, and he expects them to be just like he imagined Sarasa to be. whatever likes or dislikes he expected she would have, whatever her interests would have been - Nobunaga wants - no, demands that darling match that image in his head down to a tee. if darling messes up his vision, he'll be forgiving.... at first. but if it continues and resembles "rebellion" as opposed to "accidents", Nobunaga's goodwill starts to shrink. if darling pushes him too far and too hard, there will be consequences, likely in the form of isolation and the minimum amount of sustenance required to survive. he doesn't want to kill darling, but he does want to teach them a lesson

things will be a lot easier on darling if they just give in to the delusion

[smilesatdawnmain]

So in previous post we get overprotective wukong caring for pregnant Macaque. Can we have the reverse, overprotective Macaque guarding a pregnant wukong during a stroll

🥰🥰🥰

Wukong took a careful step down the cobblestone path, clutching the edge of his dress with care.

“Careful, Peaches,” his mate murmured quietly, his presence pressed right against Wukong’s side. A hand was offered, which Wukong took with a shaky hand.

“I’m fine, Moon,” Wukong chuckled. As “fine” as he stated, the King was moving at a snail’s speed and had been for a few days now. As the Months drew closer and closer to the due date, his belly swelled and his energy levels dropped to an all-time low.

He was hungry all the time, a little whiney and attention seeking- but otherwise, Wukong felt blissful. It was frustrating not being able to move like he normally could, but there was also a sense of peace with it. He enjoyed being able to lounge around all day, being fed fruits and honeyed buns by his darling, hardly lifting a finger except to point at where another pillow should be nestled. The Sun had never set so warm and easy on the Flower Fruit Mountain.

Today, however, the urgency of a craving had propelled Wukong from his den. That, and Macaque’s gentle insistence that “fresh air would do him some good.” Which, in practice, translated to Macaque hovering at his elbow, ready to catch Wukong at the faintest misstep.

They strolled past tangles of azalea and the mossy skeletons of old trees, the air thick with the damp of spring.

Many of their citizens lifted their heads in their passing, eyes widening and then filling with joy, smiling and waving to their expecting King. It was hard not to when the King himself was rounded, fuzzy- the very definition of a peach during this time.

Macaque was holding back comments, sooo many comments on how cute Wukong was. How precious he was.

He settled for squeezing Wukong’s hand a little tighter, his tail curling possessively around the Sun’s, and for once, the clinginess didn’t provoke a snip or a jab. Wukong simply leaned heavier into his side, taking a greedy inhale of the sopping, dew-wet scent.

“I’m craving it more the closer we get, you know,” Wukong admitted, as they took the next bend, careful not to disturb a bumblebee dozing in a cluster of lilac. “It’s obscene, really. I never even liked sweet buns this much before.”

“I think the baby likes them,” Macaque said.

“Little Sweet Bun,” Wukong mewled, rubbing his stomach. That was a cute name. He was going to nickname the child this. “Where are the boys and Sying today?” he asked, curious where their assortment of older children had scampered off too.

“School,” Macaque reminded him, easing him over an unstable patching of dirt.

“Rumble and Savage don’t go to school yet,” Wukong was certain of this. Granted, the energy drain of the baby had certainly given him “baby Brain” and he forgot things on a dime, but he was at least positive about that. The Twin shadows were only two, afterall.

There was a moment, just a flicker, where Macaque’s hand tensed a fraction. Protective, as Macaque always was over them in particular. However, he had forced that down today to focus on Wukong, “They are with their Uncle Sandy today.”

“Are they going to come back covered in paint, or mud this time?”

“Most definitely both.” Macaque smiled, squeezing his fingers around Wukong’s palm until every muscle in his wrist seemed to hum. “But I told Sandy to keep them out of your quarters until after bath time.”

Wukong’s snort was something grotesque and nasal, but he couldn’t quite breathe and laugh at the same time these days. “You’re afraid they’ll stress me out.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth.” but yes, that was absolutely true.

Wukong grinned, sharp white teeth set between plum lips. “Fine, I’ll read your mind instead.” he teased. Not that he had that ability- it was just easy to tell what his Moon was thinking.

“Please don’t. It’s embarrassing in there.” Macaque side eyed him, smirking.

“Don’t I know it~” They rounded the last stretch of path before the storied Bakery, the one that always smelled of fried oil and maltose syrup. Wukong smiled excitedly, vibrating with glee as the shop got closer, his eyes locked and focused.

He hadn’t quite noticed in his state, but his senses had significantly dulled from the drain. While normally he could pinpoint an out-of-sorts energy from miles away, sometimes he struggled to even notice it right in front of his own nose.

It was one of the many reasons Macaque wouldn’t let his mate out of his sight. Precious, lovely, vulnerable.

He could sense the eyes on them, thinking themselves sneaky by being a fair distance away. Foolish to think Macaque would allow anything to even glimpse his mate in this state.

His eyes turned sharply with Wukong distracted, darting over the space to the side of them.

A single blinked and his shadows were moving, shooting across miles, arcing beneath the canopy in silent pursuit. The spying energy was not malicious—just bold and bored, by the flavor of it. He recognized the signature, even as he kept a soft smile pasted for Wukong’s benefit.

No doubt a spy from the Celestial Court. For which member in particular, it did not matter to him. He knew their game. Whether they would attack or not, he wasn’t amused by any amount of information they had on his family.

With a slight twitch of his finger, his ears picked up the faint- CRACK of bone snapping- of a body falling limp- of his shadow consuming the form whole so not to worry any on the mountain should they stumble upon the corpse.

“I want honey,” Wukong tugged his sleeve a little, sweet and pleading. “And powdered sugar.”

“Of course, Peaches,” Macaque purred, the syrup of adoration thickening his voice. His mind flickered back, double-checking that his shadow had truly finished the work—yes, the Celestial’s energy guttered out completely. He’d have a chat with their employer later, but for now, there were cravings to attend to.

Macaque grasped the handle of the door to swing it wide. The kitchen was crowded, as always; the sweet, doughy warmth inside the open-walled bakery made it the unofficial gathering spot for children and adults alike.

Wukong, overpowered, made a noise somewhere between a gasp and a squeal. Macaque, bemused, nearly missed the way his mate’s ears went rigid, all attention suddenly turned.

They parted, the crowd, like a river around a boulder, at the sight of their King. Not for fear—but rather in an almost sacred awe, a hush of reverence that said: The Sun walks among us.

…The adorably plumpy Sun.

Many children giggled and cooed in delight, so excited to see what little one came from the couple. Two toddlers in the arms of their nursemaid reached out with sticky fingers to touch the hem of Wukong’s robe. Wukong let them, making a show of holding his belly and grinning wide, fat-cheeked, like the dawn itself.

“Peaches,” Macaque mused, wishing he wouldn’t be so open about it- but knowing he couldn’t stop Wukong either. The child would be adored and loved just as all their other children. And truthfully, Wukong could subsist on this sort of attention nearly as well as the sweet buns themselves.

He led Wukong to the counter, which was crowded with plates of golden, puffy buns and jars so full of sugar they might as well have been gemstones. Wukong all but leaned over the glass, nose pressed to the case, pupils dilated dangerously.

The baker, wide-eyed and beaming, hurried to press the freshest selection to the front. The first day Wukong wobbled in had been a day he had fainted. The King had since visited several times a weak- the amount of customers this had procured them was unpresidented!

“We’ll take six,” Macaque told the baker, who looked like he might faint from the honor. “Add another dozen, actually.” Couldn’t go back without some for the kids.

Wukong, engrossed, bounced on the balls of his feet as crumbs rained down behind the counter, each bun selected with the diligence of a jewel appraiser. “Oooh Ooh-” he squeaked, “And a Jar of mulberry jam.”

“Of course,” The baker boxed them quickly, trembling, and smiling, “Special for you, Great King,” the baker said, voice trembling as if presenting an offering to a temperamental deity. Which, in a sense, he was. “And your little gift,” he glanced at Wukong’s stomach.

Wukong cupped the box in both hands, lifted it and sniffed, a shiver of delight running up his arms. “Thank you, thank you!” he said, beaming. He flicked his tail in gratitude, curling it delicately around the baker’s wrist for a moment before releasing it. The room was melting.

Macaque slid a few coins across the counter, overpaid as usual. He always tipped heavily, especially if their mate or children were pleased by the person’s efforts.

Then, he slipped his arm around Wukong’s waist, drawing him close to ease the transfer of all that precious cargo. Balancing the bun box, Wukong burrowed against his mate’s chest so thoroughly that his face was invisible but for the edge of his golden brow, which glinted over the rim. He allowed himself to be shepherded out, the crowd parting again as if rehearsed.

When they were gone, many relaxed, some cooed, and many more children hoped excitedly, eager to see the next little Prince or Princess of their domain.

------

Another cute little mini story for this au~

Wukong is carrying little Xue~

Whether Wukong and Macaque, both are extremely weak during their pregnancy, as all their energy is being absorbed by the Baby.

Wukong can't lift anything heavy, not even his own staff. He can't use almost any of his abilities, his senses are so skewed, and his own mind is a little fuzzy.

He rarely leaves Macaque's sight during this time.

[mischiefmaker615]

Prompt 10. Reader wants to be cheeky and close their legs while Loki is preparing them and Loki doesn’t take kindly to it.

Promp: "Spread your legs wider."

Rating: R (breeding kink(?))

Promp Series: HERE

Teasing is a cruel form of play.

Not the kind where you both are slowly warming each other up to lead towards the main event- no.. the teasing kind where it would send one another into silent chaos and fumes. The kind where you should have quite while you were ahead..  but Loki was just so hot when he got commanding.

Right now he had you laying on your back, sprawled out with your wrists tied above your head. You were no stranger to being bound, but this particular time was because you decided to touch yourself without permission- thus the loss of those limbs. The only source of light for you both was coming from the crack in your curtains that teased the morning sunlight along skin and sheets.

His perfect backline lay on display before you were you strained your neck to keep your head lifted while he continued kissing down your stomach and began paying attention to each hip bone. He loved to run his hands up and down your sides, feeling how sensitive the skin got when you would tense at a particular area that threatened a giggle. He was in no rush, relishing in your soft breaths that cut short every time he would nip or suck a new mark along your flesh.

It was all so wonderful.. you relished every second of it.. but your cheekiness seemed to nag an idea at you where you just couldn’t seem to push it away. Your heart race, knowing this could go deliciously good, or deliciously bad and your teeth caught your bottom lip in the subtle yet losing debate on what to choose. By the time his lips began to decent to where you desperately needed, you went with this playful idea and your legs suddenly snapped shut in front of him.

This had him slightly flinch back in surprise, almost like the moment was snapped back into reality as if he were daydreaming the whole thing and now having woken up. His demeanor took an impressive second to take back control before his eyes narrowed and pierced yours while he raised himself higher to look over your knees.

‘’open.’’

Just that look alone, had you wanting to spread your legs instantly and let him have his way with you. His fingers stayed resting close to your knees, ready to demand but wished for you to obey the order. You really should, but the more he looked at you, the more you wondered how much deliciously worse it could get.

Narrowing your eyes back but with a sly grin, you squeezed your legs shut more just enough for his fingers to tell. The continuation move just now had you regretting it- another reminder to just quite while your ahead because in that moment, Loki’s expression turned to scary calm while he moved away from you off the bed.

Your expression became slight concern, brows furrowed in confusion and stomach twisting with excitement while your eyes followed him form. He stood at the end of the bed, hands clasped behind his back and showing off his glorious naked form shamelessly. His eyes wondered, almost assessing and it made you begin to squirm under his watchful eye.

You were half expecting him to have flipped you over, or force your legs open, or use some sort of magic to have his way with you for your refusal. What he did instead had your eyes widening and neediness washing over you while your eyes traveling to his hand.

‘’what am I going to do with you darling..’’ he sighed.

Just one hand began to stroke himself, slowly but thorough while his eyes looked over your bound form. Small hums began to leave his lips while his chin tilted up ever so slightly with the threat of his eyes fluttering closed. This bastard was gonna get off by just looking at you- what about you?? How the Hel was this fair?

‘’aren’t I in this position for touching myself?” you noted sharply, the brat in you still alive while you squirmed to get your arms free and your eyes glanced from his, to his cock.

‘’I was about to give you what you wished darling, but clearly you didn’t want it. What am I suppose to do then?” he sighed almost dramatically, acting like he had no choice before his breath hitched while he swiped his thumb now and again across the tip.

‘’Lokiii that’s not-‘’

‘’fair? I gave you an order my love, you selected to ignore it.’’ He smirked, his expression clearly finding it hard to concentrate on you while his hand began to move faster.

‘’fine fine- I’ll be good.. here-‘’ you held back a huff while your voice elected to whine instead and you slowly opened your legs for him.

His eyes instantly dropped to your soaking cunt, obviously you had been getting aroused by the mere sight of him doing such an act- despite the strange jealousy you felt with it. With a smirk, his eyes flicked to yours briefly and his hand began to go faster.

‘’more.’’

You hesitated, lips looking for the right question while you thought about your next movement. Was this a tease? An illusion where he was almost about to get his before he’d punish you by shoving it all in at once and begin to pound you? The possible promise had you wiling to take that chance and you spread your legs more.

His breath hitched, his eyes squeezing shut briefly before they returned on your form, his head falling back to his shoulders while he watched you through half lidded eyes. ‘’come on love..’’ he growled out, his voice raspy with lust while you bit your bottom lip seductively, as if to seduce him to come back to you. ‘’spread your legs wider..’’

Taking a deep breath, you spread your legs until you felt like you couldn’t anymore, arching your back a little while your arms stretched out to even hold onto the ties that stretched from the bedposts. ‘’Loki.. I’m-‘’

Your words were cut off by a yelp, more startled if anything when you felt warm liquid land onto your pelvis, breasts and cunt. the sight before you held mild betrayal if it wasn’t so beautiful.. his eyes were squeezed closed, brows furrowed and head tilted back. His hand gave lazy strokes to ride himself out and his breathing came out with pleasurable shudders.

You knew. By keeping your legs shut, he had decided to tease you as well. Didn’t feel good to you, it didn’t feel good for him. the lesson. Though he was the only one that got pleasure in the end while you pouted, shivering while the warm liquid ran amongst your skin and trickled against your folds.

Hot mess.

‘’Loki.. I’m sorry.. -for denying you with a tease..’’ you whimpered, looking up at him with puppy eyes while he drew in a breath before his eyes found yours with love.

‘’darling, I’m far from mad at you.’’ He chuckled and rested a knee onto the mattress before his body lowered and began to crawl towards you. ‘’I merely wish to show you that if you wish to bestow mischief upon the god of mischief, it’s a game you will not win.’’ He purred before he lowered himself onto his stomach and his arms hooked around to bring your legs to rest against his shoulders.

‘’but-‘’ you began, squirming with need for his mouth by his cock was what was expected, and he knows it.

Chuckling, he cuts you off by blowing gently against your cunt, the different temperature having you tense and bite your bottom lip with a moan. ‘’punishment is to still be given darling. you will need to earn my cock, but I shall not leave you necessarily with want.’’

And with that, he dipped his head down and began to run his tongue along your cunt- his arousal having mixed now with yours into the perfect concoction for pleasure. He even ran a finger along your stomach, having gathered up some of his seed before he began gently and slowly push it into your ready entrance.

You let out a moan, feeling how his digit filled you up and ran against all your sweet spots while his skillful tongue began to flick and tease against your clit. Your hips rose instinctually, back arching while his other hand moved to gently lay across your body to keep you down and still. The wet sounds that came from your cunt and his mouth were damn near pornographic and your moans came out shamelessly along with his.

He had barely got started and you already felt that familiar coil begin to tighten inside of you. Then again, you had a damn good visual tease and just the memory of it had you buck your hips a little, his arm adding a bit more pressure while he took that as a signal that you were almost there.

The sound of fabric stretching appeared above your head but you didn’t care. You knew you were pulling against them, the need to tangle your fingers in his hair making you clench your fists around the binds. You almost felt bad for your thighs instinctually beginning to squeeze around his head but as he’s reassured numerous times before, he can take it.

It wasn’t long before your pleasure was at its peak, that glorious cliff where you needed just a couple more seconds before you would gain your orgasm. By the grace of mercy, Loki gave you no more torment or teasing and indicated how he would allow you to cum when he plunged his tongue into your entrance with the tip of his nose pressing against your clit. His head bobbed up and down, rubbing your clit simultaneously while he tongue fucked your weeping cunt.

That did it and with a few more deep plunges, your orgasm washed over you hard. A cry left your mouth, making your body almost converse while you arched off the bed. Loki held fast, determined to not ease up until he’d have you a twitching and panting hotter mess and that’s exactly what you ended up being. You hadn’t even realized when he released your wrists when you felt the familiar soft locks run against your fingertips and you instinctually curled them into a grip.

‘’fuck..’’ you breathed out, trying to catch your breath that kept hitching every time Loki’s nose would brush against your bud before you finally felt his tongue leave your entrance, followed by the rest of his face.

‘’good girl..’’ he praised with a whisper, his grip of you loosening while he turned to press gentle kisses against the inside of your thigh, your own arousal being felt brushing against your skin from his face until your legs weakly left his shoulders to fall limp on the mattress.

‘’I don’t necessarily regret anything..’’ you whispered with a grin, your arms immediately reaching out when he came into view to lay beside you.

Loki chuckled while he gathered you up in his arms, feeling your cheek press against his chest while he lay back with a content sigh.

‘’I’ll be sure to tie your legs up next time then.’’

Tag List: @foxherder13 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @fire-in-her-veinz @nervouseden @kathren1sky-blog @eleniblue @lokiswife-dark-fox-queen @queenofstarsign85 @slytherinqueen4life @soulpiercing @westwindrhapsody @lulubelle814 @angelofthorr

[blasphemyandbackshots]

GOD I LOVE YOUR WRITING ABOUT SHINSOU 😭😭😭😭 Could you maybe write something about him being over protective and treating the reader like glass but still rearranging the guts 😣

You portray all the characters so well

aw fuck, thank you 💜

ღ hitoshi x you —loving you softly, taking you roughly

You weren’t even wearing anything wild. A tank top and a short skirt. It was hot outside and it wasn’t like you were walking around alone. Shinsou’s arm was around your waist, pulling you close as you both made your way through the busy street festival. Still, you felt the shift in his body before you even saw what caused it.

He slowed down, his grip tightened on your hip. “Toshi?”

His violet eyes narrowed, locking onto someone across the street. Some guy whose eyes lingered too long. He was smirking, licking his lips before he made an obscene gesture, like he had the right.

“Don’t look,” Shinsou muttered tightly, his hand sliding down to rest just above the curve of your ass. Not to grope, just to claim. “He’s not worth your attention.”

You tried to laugh it off, but you knew that tone. “Hey,” you whispered, brushing your fingers over the back of his hand. “It’s fine.”

“No,” he said flatly. “It’s not.”

The guy didn’t even say anything, but he didn’t have to. That leer had Shinsou’s jaw clenched, his other hand in a loose fist at his side. You could tell he was seconds away from snapping. Not yelling, not even starting a fight, but walking across the street and doing something that would end with someone on the pavement.

“Please,” you murmured softly. “For me.”

He exhaled slow through his nose. Then he kissed your forehead as if that settled the matter. “Let’s go. We’re not staying here.”

He guided you away, keeping you tucked into his side like you were something delicate. And the truth was… to him, you were. You were his soft spot. His everything. And even though you could handle yourself, he didn’t want you to have to. He wanted to be your shelter in the storm.

At the next vendor stall, a guy reached a little too close to you for the free samples. Shinsou stepped between you and the table, shielding you with his body like a fucking wall.

“Watch it,” he said coldly.

The guy looked up, blinked, and backed off like Shinsou had just threatened to put him in a coma with a thought. Which he could, actually.

You couldn’t help the little smile tugging at your lips as you leaned into his arm. “Possessive much?”

“I let you wear that skirt,” he muttered. “Be grateful I haven’t dragged you home and made you change yet.”

“I thought you liked this skirt.”

He looked down at you, dark lashes low over half-lidded eyes. “I do. That’s the problem.”

His voice dropped to a near-growl, just for you. “It barely covers what’s mine.”

Your whole body shivered and just like that, you knew how the night would end. Because out here, he handled you like glass. He kept you tucked safe against his chest, moved people out of your way with just a look.

But later? Later, he’d break you in half and make you thank him for it.

It was like you predicted. You barely got the front door shut before he had you up against it.

“Toshi—” you gasped, but his mouth was already on yours, hands gripping your hips like he owned them. Which he did.

The second your lips parted, he groaned into you like he’d been holding back all day. All that quiet control, all that gentle restraint while he played the perfect boyfriend in public? Gone. Now he was starving.

“You wore that little skirt just to rile me up, didn’t you?” he rasped against your neck, biting the words into your skin. “Let me walk around like some docile boyfriend while every asshole with a pulse stared at you.”

“I—I didn’t—”

“Don’t lie.” He gripped your chin between his fingers and forced your eyes up to his. “You wanted my hands shaking. Wanted me biting the inside of my cheek to stay calm. You know what you do to me when you dress like that?”

You whimpered. That was all it took. That sound broke the last of his self-control.

“On the couch,” he ordered. “Now.”

You didn’t even make it halfway before he hooked an arm around your waist and threw you down like a ragdoll. With wide eyes and a surprised squeak you landed on the cushions.

He stood over you, one hand tugging his shirt over his head. The shadows caught the cut of his abs, the tension in his chest, the way his pants hung just low enough to drive you crazy.

“You think I’m gentle?” he said like gravel and sex, crawling over you. “You think I handle you like glass because I can’t ruin you?”

Your panties were soaked. You could feel it. He probably could too, because when he knelt between your thighs and dragged them off, he paused and grinned.

“So wet,” he murmured, low and satisfied. “Such a good girl. Always so fucking ready for me.”

You reached for him, but he caught both your wrists in one hand and pinned them above your head.

“No touching,” he warned. “Princess doesn’t get to be greedy tonight.”

His fingers dipped between your thighs, teasing and slow. Then his lips brushed your ear, and his voice dipped into something dark and mean. “Not until I’ve claimed you.”

You whimpered and arched into his hand. But he didn’t speed up. Because this wasn’t about you taking, it was about you remembering who owned you. All the patience he showed in public—all the soft protectiveness—was gone now, turned inside out. He was tearing you apart with his mouth, his hands, his voice. He flipped you over like it was nothing, yanked your hips up, and buried himself in you with a groan that sounded like a man finally home.

“Fuck,” he growled, grabbing a fistful of your hair. “This is mine.”

Every thrust was filthy and deep. You were whining, drooling, shaking, but you didn’t want him to stop. You never did. No one knew and no one would ever know your body like he did. And despite every thrust that seemed to bruise your insides, you felt… safe.

“Toshi—please—!”

He pulled you up by your hair so your back was against his chest, voice a low rumble in your ear. “You’re mine to protect in the daylight,” he growled, one hand wrapped around your throat, the other holding your thigh wide open. “And mine to destroy when the sun goes down.”

You came so hard you nearly blacked out. He held you through the aftershocks, the trembling, the incoherent gasps of his name.

Because no matter how rough he got… he always put you back together.

[osball]

Ren (14DWY) x Reader

Cold hands

Ren doesn't want you to be cold, even when it means he'll be the freezing one.

~834 words Fluff

Your eyes slowly fluttered open, the sleeping face of Ren being the first thing you notice. With blurry eyes, you glance out the window, noting the snowflakes fluttering around outside, then the time displayed on your phone. 9:47.

"Morning Angel" Ren mumbled, his voice deep from sleep.

You looked at him, a small smile plastered on his face at the sight of you. His arms snaked around your waist as he pulled you close to him, tucking his face into your neck.

"We can't stay in bed all day, Ren..." You chuckled, the feeling of his warm breath on your skin making you flustered.

Ren groaned at your words, pulling you even more flush against him.

"Please Angel? I'm so warm... five more minutes"

"Nuh uh, it's snowing and I wanna go enjoy it" you slowly wiggled yourself out of Ren's tired grip, despite his (weak) effort to keep you cuddled up next to him.

You ruffled his hair before sliding fully out from under the sheets, slightly shivering from the feeling of the cold floor.

"Hold on Angel, ill come with" Ren said, sliding out of bed and trying to wake himself up as fast as possible.

You let out a giggle at the sight of your sleepy boyfriend, his shirt slightly slipping off his shoulder and his hair a mess as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.

You waited at the door for Ren, a cheery grin on his face as he walked over to head out the door with you.

"You sure you don't need another jacket? I don't want my beautiful angel to freeze" Ren cooed, wrapping his arms around your shoulders from behind.

"I'll be fine, you know I like the cold" you laughed, nudging him off you and running out into the snow.

The two of you walked down the street for a while, Ren watching with a soft smile as you admired the scene of snow on the beach. As you continued to wander, though, the wind suddenly picked up, sending a sharp shiver through your whole body as the cold finally got to you. Before you could even turn back to Ren, you felt another jacket being slipped over you.

"Ren, no, I'm fine, you're the one who's going to be freezing now!" you scolded him but as always he just deflected your arguments, insisting he was fine and that it mattered more how you felt.

You and Ren kept walking for a bit, but you slowly got more and more worried about Ren, noticing how he was moving a bit slower.

"Come on" You said, grabbing his hand and quickly yanking him into a coffee shop you were passing by.

"I told you Angel, I'm fine-"

"Shush, you're shivering" you lifted his hand to your face, slightly jumping at how cold his hand actually was.

You glared at him, and he gave you a halfhearted smile, "I promise I'm not that cold, I didn't even notice it"

You ordered two hot drinks, one for yourself and one for Ren, before taking off the much larger jacket he had slipped onto you and handing it back to him. He tried to give it back, but you wouldn't take it, forcing him to finally give in and wear the jacket.

"Order 134!" The barista shouted, setting both the drinks on the counter.

Ren grabbed both, handing you yours as you both made your way out of the shop, wanting to hurry back to Ren's apartment and cuddle up in bed again.

You let out a content sigh as the door shut behind you, setting your mostly empty cup on the counter before taking off the winter clothes you had on.

"We should watch a movie" you suggested, immediately earning a nod from Ren as he went to grab blankets and pillows while you got situated on the couch.

Ren threw a few blankets over you before he made himself comfortable next to you, but you weren't having that, pulling him closer and sitting yourself right in his lap.

"A-angel... I'm cold, though I don't want you to be cold too..." He whined, his actions contradicting his words, as he nuzzled into the crook of your neck.

"That's the point, I need to warm you up, don't I?" you replied, playing with his hair.

He hummed, and you relaxed into him, only to tense up again as his freezing hands made their way under your shirt.

"Ren!" you shouted, trying to move away from him, only to be held in place.

"I thought this was the point, you said it your self~" he teased as he continued to move his hands all over your skin, sending shivers through your entire body.

"Where'd this confident side come from, you've been pouty all day?" you giggled as he continued to pull you closer, warming himself up.

He didn't reply, only continuing to hold you close as you watched the movie together, the snow falling outside making everything feel calm.

A/N!! I honestly dont like this one much and im notttt sure why but i decided to post it anyway ;-; please excuse any bad grammar im tired

Please make sure to like and comment so I have motivation to write more for our silly lil Ren!

[pankowcrumbs]

Of course I manipulated you X Mattheo riddle

MasterList

Harry Potter Universe Masterlist

The first time I truly saw Mattheo Riddle not just the face in the corridor or the name that hung like a curse around Slytherin’s neck he was cursing a seventh-year under his breath for borrowing a book and not returning it.

Not exactly dark magic, but it told me something. He didn’t like being crossed. He didn’t like being ignored. And he had a hell of a temper.

Perfect.

Because I had been sent to break him.

“You’re the only one clever enough to get close that he might trust.” Potter had said, his brow furrowed with worry that he tried to hide. “We need to know what he knows. What his weaknesses are. Who he’s loyal to. And more importantly what he’s willing to betray.”

“And what if he’s like his father?” I asked.

“Let’s pray he's not.”

I was a Ravenclaw, after all. Cool, collected. A girl of logic and careful observation. I could do this. I could fake friendship. Charm someone. Make them believe in a lie long enough for me to slip under their skin.

It wouldn’t be the first time. But it would be the most dangerous.

Mattheo Riddle was guarded. He moved like someone always listening for footsteps behind him. His eyes tracked every movement in a room, his wand always within reach. The son of the Dark Lord hidden in plain sight.

So I started small.

Late comments in class. Forced pairing in Potions. Sitting just a little closer in the library. Watching his walls inch back, one suspicious glance at a time.

He was wary at first. Of course he was. But I was patient.

I laughed at his sarcasm. Brushed off his biting remarks. Matched his intellect in debates and challenged his theories when no one else dared.

“You’re insufferable,” he muttered once after I corrected his Latin translation in front of Slughorn.

“You’re welcome,” I replied sweetly.

But I caught the way his lip twitched.

He was amused.

He was cracking.

He started walking with me after class. Only halfway down the corridor, never too close. But it was something. I reported everything back to the Order, straight into the charmed parchment that would vanish once read.

He watches his left flank like he expects someone to attack him from it. He sleeps with his wand under his pillow. Keeps a silver ring on a chain around his neck. Don’t know what it means yet.

“Get him to trust you,” Lupin said one evening. “We don’t need a miracle, just enough to see what side he’ll take when the time comes.”

“And if I start to feel sorry for him?”

“You won’t. He’s his father’s son.”

I wish that had been true.

Because somewhere between the calculated conversations and the silent walks by the Black Lake… I stopped feeling like I was pretending.

It was in the way he asked, quietly, what my childhood was like. How he stared at me too long when he thought I wouldn’t notice. How his shoulders relaxed when I laughed, like it startled him every time.

And that night in the library, when he sat across from me and said, “You make it hard to hate you, you know that?”

Something inside me pulled. Tight and uninvited.

But I smiled coolly and said, “Good. That’s sort of the point.”

He smiled back. Not his usual smirk. A real smile.

I didn’t sleep that night.

The Order was thrilled.

He’s pulling away from the others, I wrote. Doesn’t attend the secret meetings anymore. I think he’s doubting them.

I never told them about the sketch he gave me. Just slipped it into my bag one day, a soft charcoal drawing of me in the courtyard, hair messy from the wind, lips curled like I’d just told a secret.

“You’re terrifying when you focus,” he said when I confronted him about it, cheeks faintly pink.

“I thought you didn’t like sentiment.”

“I don’t. But you make it… tolerable.”

My heart flipped.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

By spring, he started telling me things.

About his mother. About the way people stared at him, always expecting him to go dark, to explode. About the nightmares.

“I hate my name,” he confessed once, voice barely audible. “Riddle. It’s not even mine. Just a legacy of something I never asked for.”

And I said nothing. Just reached out and took his hand, letting the silence hold the weight for him.

I told myself I was doing my job.

I didn’t realise I’d started protecting him.

The last report I wrote was a lie.

Nothing new to note. His behaviour is consistent. No major developments.

But that same night, Mattheo kissed me.

We were in an empty corridor, moonlight spilling through the high windows. He’d just finished ranting about Slughorn’s blatant favouritism when I’d laughed too hard, bumped into him, and something in the air shifted.

He looked at me like he wasn’t sure if he should.

So I kissed him first.

And when he kissed me back, slow and reverent like he’d waited years, I knew I was in trouble.

Not the mission.

Me.

We didn’t speak of what we were. Not out loud. But everything in the way he looked at me said it for him.

He touched my hand like it was breakable. Waited for me outside Ravenclaw Tower like a secret he didn’t want to lose. He let me see him not just the hardened shell, but the boy inside it.

The one with questions. Regret. Hope.

I had no right to want him.

But I did.

And that was the beginning of the end.

The thing about lies is they get heavier the longer you carry them.

At first, it was easy. Just glimpses, whispers. A shared joke in class, a touch of his hand when no one was looking. I convinced myself I was only doing what the Order needed. That whatever I felt for Mattheo Riddle was irrelevant. Manageable.

But then he started trusting me.

Really trusting me.

And I couldn’t pretend it didn’t matter.

We were sitting beneath the astronomy tower one night, the sky ink-black above us, stars glittering in a way that made the world feel smaller. He leaned back on his elbows, gaze somewhere far beyond the castle walls.

“I used to have this dream,” he said, voice quieter than usual. “When I was a kid. That someone would take it all away. The name. The expectations. Everything. Just let me be… someone else.”

I didn’t say anything. Just let the silence stretch, waiting.

He turned to look at me.

“You don’t flinch when you say my name,” he said. “Most people do.”

“I don’t see your father when I look at you.”

“You should.”

Something cracked in his voice.

That’s when he told me.

“The plan is already in motion,” he said a week later, eyes dark and haunted. We were tucked away in the Restricted Section, our books long forgotten. “They’re going to kill Potter. Before the end of the term.”

My heart dropped.

The words seemed to freeze between us, dense and poisonous.

“What?” I whispered.

He nodded once, jaw tight. “They think it’ll send a message. Break the spirit of the ‘good side.’ That’s what he calls it. My father.”

“And what do you think?”

Mattheo’s eyes met mine. They weren’t cold. They were scared.

“I think… I don’t know. I think I hate him. But I can’t stop what’s coming. I’m not strong enough.”

“You are.”

“You don’t know what he’s capable of”

“I do,” I said, sharper than I meant to. “More than you think.”

His gaze narrowed. “Then why are you still here?”

I swallowed the lump in my throat.

“Because I care about you.”

And I did.

God help me, I really did.

But the moment he said Harry’s name, I knew.

I had to report it.

The Order had been waiting for this kind of intel for months. Plans were vague, guesses and half-truths. This was real. Concrete. And I had to be the one to hand it over.

Even if it meant handing Mattheo over with it.

Especially if it meant that.

I wrote it down with shaking hands, the ink smudged by a tear I didn’t realise had fallen.

Mattheo told me tonight Voldemort plans to kill Harry before the term ends. He says the plan is already underway.

He begged me not to tell anyone.

I folded the parchment, charmed it to vanish, and sat there staring at the empty space where it had been.

He trusted me.

He trusted me.

Mattheo met me the next night in the courtyard. No one was around. He looked different tense, searching.

“I had a nightmare,” he admitted. “You were gone. Just… vanished. And I didn’t know if it was real or not.”

“It wasn’t,” I whispered. “I’m still here.”

He came closer, his hands brushing mine.

“If I asked you to run away with me, would you?”

I blinked. “What?”

“Leave all this. Him. The war. Everything. We could go. Disappear.”

My chest ached.

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do. And don’t lie to me, Y/N I know something’s changed. You’ve been quiet. Distant.”

“I’ve just been thinking.”

“About betraying me?”

His voice cracked.

I looked up.

His eyes burning, wet, terrified were already begging for an answer.

And I didn’t give one.

I found him in the library three nights later. He was waiting.

He’d already found out.

He stood when I entered, a folded letter in his hand parchment, my handwriting, one of the earlier reports I’d written but failed to destroy completely.

He must’ve gone looking.

“Tell me it’s not true,” he said, his voice low and shaking.

I said nothing.

He held the letter like it was poison. “Tell me you didn’t lie to me.”

I forced myself to stand still. “Mattheo”

“Tell me you weren’t just some clever Ravenclaw mission girl sent to spy on me.”

I looked away.

That was enough.

He laughed bitterly, dropping the paper to the floor.

“Of course,” he said. “Of course I was stupid enough to believe someone like you could care.”

And then I did it.

I delivered the final blow.

My voice went cold, detached.

“Of course I was manipulating you.”

His breath caught. His eyes went glassy.

I wanted to scream. To take it back. To tell him that somewhere along the way, everything had become real and I didn’t know when the pretending stopped.

But I couldn’t.

I was the hero. The spy. The loyal Order girl.

I had to protect everyone else.

Even if it meant shattering the boy who never asked to be his father’s son.

Mattheo took a step back, his voice suddenly quiet.

“Don’t do that. Don’t… pretend you didn’t mean any of it.”

I swallowed hard. “It doesn’t matter what I meant.”

He stared at me for a long time, like he was trying to find the girl who used to laugh with him by the lake. The one who kissed him like she wanted forever.

But she was gone.

And he turned without another word.

Leaving me alone in a war I’d helped win… but lost him in the process.

The battlefield was chaos.

Smoke curled around shattered stones. Spells split through the air like lightning. Screams rang out some in pain, others in fury. Somewhere behind me, someone yelled my name, but I didn’t look back. I couldn’t.

Because he was there.

Mattheo.

Across the courtyard. Standing with the other side. His wand drawn. His face sharp with fire and fury. But when he saw me really saw me he froze.

I did too.

It had been months since the night I shattered him with the words I didn't mean. Months since I’d watched him walk away with the pieces of what we almost had.

And now we were standing on opposite ends of a war neither of us wanted to fight.

I didn’t move.

He didn’t either.

Then everything happened at once.

A blur of movement to my left. One of our own a Gryffindor, I think, driven by rage more than reason raised their wand, spell on their lips.

Aimed right at him.

“Avada...”

“NO!”

I lunged in front of Mattheo before I even realised I was moving, throwing up a shield so fast it cracked with the force of the curse.

The spell slammed into it, sparking green before fizzling out. My knees nearly gave from the impact.

There was a gasp behind me.

The caster faltered. “Y/N, what?”

But I didn’t answer.

I turned around to face Mattheo.

He was still standing where he had been, eyes wide, stunned. The shock was clear on his face. I’d protected him. Me.

The girl who betrayed him.

The girl who lied.

And yet, I was the one who just risked her life for him.

We stared at each other, unmoving, while the world burned around us.

In that moment, it was like there was nothing else.

Just us.

Then like he could hear the pounding of my heart from across the stone he gave a single, silent nod.

I understood immediately.

We slipped away from the fight, dodging spells and smoke and people who wouldn’t understand. We didn’t run we couldn’t draw attention but somehow, we found each other through it all.

There was a broken corridor on the edge of the battleground, half-collapsed, hidden from the chaos. He ducked through it first. I followed, lungs tight, blood roaring in my ears.

The moment we were safe from view, he turned to me, breathing hard.

“You protected me.”

“Yes.”

“After everything?”

I didn’t know what to say. My throat felt thick.

He stepped closer, eyes searching mine.

“I don’t understand.”

I swallowed. “Neither do I.”

Silence.

Then, quieter: “Why did you do it?”

“I don’t know. I just when I saw him aim at you, I didn’t think. I just… moved.”

His jaw clenched. “And now?”

“I’d do it again.”

He blinked. “Even if I still hate you?”

“Even if you kill me.”

“Don’t say that.”

His voice broke.

I looked away.

He reached out but stopped just short of touching me.

“I hated you,” he said. “I tried to hate you.”

“I tried too,” I whispered.

He laughed bitterly. “You did a better job.”

“No, Mattheo. I just did what I was told.”

“And you regret it?”

“I regret hurting you.”

The words hung between us like ash in the air.

His expression twisted. Torn.

“Do you still believe in your side?”

I hesitated. “Yes.”

“Then what are we doing here?”

“I don’t know,” I whispered. “But I needed to see you again. Just once. In case…”

“In case I die?”

“In case I do.”

A long pause.

Then, carefully, he reached forward, his hand brushing against mine.

His fingers were warm. Familiar.

And trembling.

“Do you still love me?” he asked.

I blinked.

“I don’t know if I ever stopped.”

He inhaled sharply, like the words hit him physically. His grip tightened on my hand.

“I hate that I still love you,” he admitted.

“I know.”

Another silence. One that didn’t feel like the end.

Finally, I asked, “What happens now?”

He looked toward the battlefield beyond the crumbled wall.

Then back at me.

“I don’t know. But I don’t want to fight you.”

“Then don’t.”

“Then come with me.”

My breath caught.

“Where?”

“Anywhere that isn’t here.”

For one insane, beautiful second, I considered it. Running away. Starting over. Escaping the war that had twisted us into weapons.

But I couldn’t.

“You know I can’t.”

His jaw tightened.

“I have to go back,” I said. “They need me.”

“They’re using you.”

“And your side isn’t using you?”

He didn’t answer that.

Instead, he stepped closer, leaned his forehead against mine.

“You’ll be the death of me,” he murmured.

“Same.”

Then, without a word, he kissed me.

Not like it was goodbye.

But like it was the last time he’d ever be brave enough to love me.

And when we pulled apart, he was already walking away.

Back into the war.

Back into the fire.

And I stood there, hand still tingling from his touch, knowing that even if we survived this battle…

The war between us was far from over.

The Dark Lord was dead.

I don’t know how long I stood there, frozen amidst the rubble and ruin, watching as the last curse green and blazing collided with his own. The sound was deafening. Like the very earth had split in two.

And then silence.

Just… silence.

No more screams. No more flashes of light. No more cries of grief or fury or revenge. The war was over.

The war was over.

Bodies were scattered across the grounds of Hogwarts. Smoke still curled lazily from the stones. I couldn’t feel my hands, even though they were clutching my wand so tightly it trembled.

But none of that mattered.

Because across the field, through the clearing dust and glowing dawn light, I saw him.

Mattheo.

Still alive.

Standing.

Looking around like he didn’t know what to do, where to go, what this all meant.

His eyes found mine.

And suddenly I was running.

I didn’t think I didn’t care if someone saw. If someone tried to stop me. My legs moved before my mind did, tearing through the grass and dirt, stumbling over cracked stone and fallen spells.

I ran until my lungs burned.

And then he was running too.

Toward me.

And the moment we crashed into each other, it was like the whole world aligned again. His arms wrapped around me so tightly I could barely breathe. My fingers clutched the back of his robe like he might vanish if I let go.

We said nothing at first.

Just held on.

Clinging to something real in the ruins of what had been.

When we finally pulled back, his eyes were shining. Not with tears. Not with fear. But with hope.

"Is it true?" he asked. "Is he really gone?"

I nodded, breathless. "Gone. It's over."

He exhaled like he'd been holding it for years. "I didn't think I'd live to see it."

"Neither did I."

"I thought I'd lost you."

"You didn’t."

He cupped my face, eyes roaming over every inch of me like he was memorising it. "They’re not going to come for me, are they? For who my father was?"

I shook my head. “You weren’t him. You never were. I won't let them.”

His lip quirked. “He would’ve hated that.”

“Good.”

He let out a laugh, hoarse and cracked, and leaned in so our foreheads touched.

"Do we get to have something now?" he whispered. "A life. Without sides. Without secrets."

"Yes."

"And you're sure?"

"Only about you."

That was all it took.

He kissed me again gentle at first, like he still couldn’t believe this was allowed. That this was real. Then deeper. Fiercer. Like the promise of a new beginning lived in my mouth.

I felt the war fall away.

The lies. The betrayal. The pain.

It was all gone.

He pulled back, his voice low. "You saved me.”

"You saved me."

"I don’t know what comes next."

I smiled. "We’ll figure it out."

"Together?"

"Always."

And in the quiet that followed the storm, Mattheo Riddle took my hand not as a weapon of war, not as a soldier, not as the son of the Dark Lord

But as a boy who had chosen love.

And I walked beside him, not as a spy, not as a Ravenclaw, not as a girl who once betrayed him

But as the one who would never leave his side again.

Not now.

Not ever.