#i don't want to have to be the one to say it...

[keeperofthebees]

not sure if i ever posted my psychoanalysis of Lilo on here but here we go.

Lilo is neurodivergent. She might have autism, she might have OCD, she ABSOLUTELY has PTSD. These all have very many overlapping symptoms, so it's easy to get them mixed up.

Lilo rarely brings up her parents after they die, only to protect stitch. "Dad said ohana means family." She tells stitch about what happened to her parents before he leaves. She doesn't talk about her mom until she's brought up, and compares herself to her.

Lilo feeds Pudge, and that Used to be for fun. When she forgot to feed Pudge, her parents died. She decided therefore that Pudge controls the weather, and creates intricate rituals to make sure she does it Correctly. The harder the ritual, the more effort she has to put into it. If the weather gets bad again, it's easy for her to say she must have messed up the ritual with the wrong bread or the wrong filling. Maybe Pudge doesn't like peanut butter anymore. She's taking control of the only thing she can.

She's also EXTREMELY morbid for a girl her age. I know everyone says she's just like them for real, but there's a difference between playing pretend that you're dying and telling your sister to leave you alone to die. Some kids play dead because it's a concept they can't understand and they use that to figure it out. Lilo KNOWS what death is. She experienced the death of the two most important people in her young life. She's well aware of death. She mentions Picasso's blue period, his time of severe suicidal depression. She says that that's what her painting is. This is worrisome. She knows Picasso's blue period, words like abomination, asks Bubbles if he ever killed anyone and tells Nani to leave her to die. I know some of you think that's relatively normal for a little girl, but it is not, not the way she behaves.

She makes a doll, and claims that she's sad because she only has a few more [enter time period] before she dies. Why would she make this doll have such a tragic story? Well, that's what she knows. People die. It happens. Of course she's sad, but if it's everywhere, she can be less sad about it. Her doll is going to die.

She's also well aware of pain, which is why she's so violent. She doesn't understand that people don't have to forgive you when you're mean and violent, because her sister ALWAYS forgives her, and is sometimes mean in return. This is family. It's not her parents, but this is how it is now. She's mean to Nani, and Nani is mean back, and then they eat dinner. She's mean to her friends, and they're mean to her, but they don't let her play dolls so they need to be punished. Stitch is mean to her, and she desperately tries to prove that he isn't that bad. She knows that she shouldn't be so violent, so mean, but she doesn't know how not to, and she knows that her behavior is part of the reason she might get taken away.

Lilo projects heavily onto Stitch. She likes him because he's a weird little freak, but he's also HER. he's alone. He has one person who wants him, who cares. One person who gives him chance after chance and tries to get him to be good. If she can prove that Stitch can be good, then she can be good. She can get better, and not be such a burden to Nani. If Lilo can keep Stitch, then Nani can keep Lilo.

Lilo wants to stay with Nani, but she can't stop being the way she is. She can't stop screaming, and being violent, and running away and nor doing what she's told. She has very little emotional regulation due to the trauma she's endured, and she sees that in Stitch. She can teach him to control himself. She can be good. She can stay here with her one and only sister, all she has left. She begs Nani to like her more than she would a rabbit. I'm gonna cry

[catboybiologist]

Two random vent lists

Cis ally shit that annoys some trans people but doesn't annoy me as much

Some misgendering, if you're receptive to being corrected. Much prefer being misgendered and lightly correcting than being degendered or having someone be afraid of addressing me at all. Also there are so many other problems I have related to transphobia that pronouns are not anywhere near my top concern.

Asking the "annoying" or intrusive questions (I WILL counter with explicit detail, though)

"This affects cis women too" in response to anti trans legislation- the root of transphobia is misogyny, this helps attack the root. It also builds solidarity

I have a complicated relationship to my old name, I don't call it my deadname and I'm fine with hearing it sometimes. It does get old though

Cis "ally" shit that annoys me but is too petty for me to talk about in day to day life

Dismissing sexism that trans women face as trivial and/or affirming ("welcome to being a woman" "hey it's just cuz you got hot [in response to being catcalled]") when they would never do the same to cis women

"Identify" as a verb (eg "you identify as a woman" bitch I just am a woman, I also identify as one but why are you avoiding saying I am one)

Talking over my relationship to dynamic/changing gender (eg, I say "when I was a guy" "silly, you were always a girl!" Like sure if that's how you want to see it but my experience in the world is radically different then v now. Also that's not how I see it, it's a much deeper conversation, I don't think "always" being a woman makes my womanhood any more or less real now. It's about who I am now, not the past, and I'm fine treating pre-transition me as a man.)

Centering "validity" as the only issue in trans rights and not thinking about it any deeper (eg, passport stuff being treated as "omg you're valid no matter what the government says!!!" As opposed to "hey the government is legally codifying sexes and what rights they have and those definitions are now used in explicitly discriminatory legislation")

"Third gendering" or "degendering" (eg, they/theming when I use she/her, avoiding using any gendered terms for me and making conversations more awkward, being paralytically afraid of giving me either binary gender. Treating me as non binary is still misgendering.)

Pushing transmasc bathroom stuff as a counterargument to trans bathroom use, eg, "do you want this big hairy masculine trans man in your bathroom" (it was never about the men's room. It's not about sex at birth. It's about policing women's spaces. Also why are you using someone with masculine features in a woman's room as a scare tactic)

Overuse of AGAB to reinvent the binary (eg, "AFAB only" events now in "progressive" spaces)

[kaiserin-erzsebet]

Do you have any tips on doing accurate research for people without access to formal education

Sure! This can't be one size fits all for every field, but I can give some starting points for history.

If you're reading a book, here's what to consider:

1. Are there footnotes or endnotes? In academia this is our way of being transparent with each other about where you got information. If a book doesn't have them, they're more interested in telling a good story than being accountable to their peers. That's a red flag.

2. Don't trust claims that seem very specific but don't have a source. Broad claims can be the author's analysis. But specific things "so and so said this" "there was a rumor that (x)" should be coming from somewhere and it is the author's job to tell you where.

3. Look out for choppy quoting. Even if someone has a source, they may not be using it well. If someone is paraphrasing a lot and only uses bits and pieces of the text while also using a lot of ellipses, you will want to try to find the whole text to make sure it's being quoted fairly.

4. Look at the publication date. Knowledge changes with time and old books tend to be outdated. You don't have to stick to the academic rule of thumb of "25 years is the threshold for new scholarship" but do be aware that if something is over 50 years old, many many people have likely revisited and revised what it's saying. Not that new books can't also be bad and incorrect, but they tend to be working with better tools generally.

5. Look up the author. I cannot stress this one enough. The author's background and political convictions can matter a lot to how they interpret things. For example, one of the biographies people tend to pick up about my dissertation topic is from the late 1920s by a man who later applied to join the NSDAP. That fact really can't be separated from his interpretations no matter how hard people try.

6. Stop reading if someone is making a lot of moral or personal judgements on a historical figure. I'm talking about the "Elizabeth I was a frigid hag and men found her ugly"-esque takes, not things like calling historical atrocities morally bad. Does it feel like bitchy gossip? That sort of thing is unprofessional, uninformative, and means someone has an axe to grind. Spite can be motivation for research, but axe grinding shouldn't show up clearly in published work.

These are things to keep in mind to make sure you're getting better information. Others are free to add on for their field or if there's something I forgot.

One very important thing to add: professors and academics like people emailing them about their research. You can do that! You can ask for copies of pay walled articles. You just have to go through the mortifying ordeal of expressing interest in an email.

[spacexfucker]

i've seen so many people (usually women) say about the stitch remake "let nani be happy" in regards to giving up lilo and going to the USA for school

which just like goes to show that people are right you know? white people cannot engage with media that is not about them and watch it to gain new perspective. you see white people do this with ghibli all the time.

in this instance, white people watched the original stitch, absorbed absolutely nothing about the message on colonialism or that nani desperately actually wants to keep lilo, and instead just superimposed themselves onto nani. of course they think she should "just be happy" and leave her sister with the state. of course they think that "she's with a family friend and can portal any time".

there's not even a shallow understanding of the original movie and its themes. there's absolutely no knowledge of Hawai'i and its history and how Hawai'ians feel.

By and large, white people as a group are hyper individualists. it's like a cornerstone of white supremacy. "my wants/desires/needs above all others" and "my comfort above all others". They think Nani deserves their version of happiness. One that's how they navigate real life: sacrificing everything but personal gain under the guise of self care. Acting like abandoning your family and community is only brave and freeing. Painting it like a feminist retelling of the original.

So many proving they are not immune to propaganda. That disney can just wrap up this colonialist retelling of a once profound story and package it to you with smiley stickers and sanitized storylines of the Progressive Woman Who Girlbosses To Happiness and you lap it up because feminist stories are just about Doing What's Best For Me Only apparently. It pivots away from Nani's agency in the first movie. Her desire to do all she can to keep Lilo. And people celebrate it because feminism is when women do What I Think They Should to be Happy.

I don't think enough people listen to people who have been in the system. Or understand how dangerous it is to have it painted as heartwarming and safe. It doesn't matter who Lilo is with at the end of the movie. If you think the state won't disappear children you need to look up some statistics and ask yourself why Nani was so desperate to keep her in the original film.

[whenthelightisrunninglow]

really really big fan of @saturnaous' subway boss elesa design!

[evilvillain123456789]

I was driving home from school and my bored AF ADHD'er son managed to slip from his restraints and pop the sunroof before I could subdue him, and due to the speed I was going (Casual 230MPH down the highway 410) even just pushing the button a little bit caused my toyota yaris to depressurize like an airplane, squeezing my sons relatively pliable head thru the inch thick crack, and fully inverting both eardrums out of mine. Luckily for me, the spew of gore left over from the delta P that flew behind me had splattered all over the police in pursuit's windshields, causing them to swerve, roll, crash, and let the K-9s loose, who instead of chasing me on foot via long distance tracking of blood, presumably went right for the windshield, and officers, and began licking it up quite hungrilly. Finally able to safely slow down and approaching my driveway, I quickly shifted the car to neutral, then neutral, then another neutral to park it, and dug through my purse to put some chapstick on. I then found a q-tip, pushed my eardrums back in, and went inside. After making dinner for my husband I had a wonderful nights rest. The next day I woke up at 3:40 PM and realized I'd be late to pick my son up from school, so I hauled ass back over to the elementary. After waiting in line for HOURRRRS I had remembered- I dont have a son... I have a baby! Babies don't go to school! Looking lovingly in the rearview mirror to smile at what would- should have been my precious darling, I instead saw a ghastly sight. Like, it still shakes me to this day. I dont know who- or what was there in the seat, but it wasn't my little baby. My baby isn't gray and green. And my baby smells good, not bad. I grabbed them, shook them, demanding to know who they are and what they want with my family, but they just rolled their head around to mock me. Running out the car screaming, I called 911, inconsolable, there's been a kidnapping, I have a suspect here with no identification and theyre not speaking. Yes. Yes. Uh, about a foot tall. Pale complexion. HURRY UP. The operator says the citys last 2 cops were killed in a standard procedure freak accident last evening so no ones coming to help then hung up the phone. Dejected, I leaned against the hood of my car, and sobbed. Utterly hopeless... Until, on the horizon, I saw it. Two tan dots running down a distant hill... THE POLICE DOGS! Turns out, they HAVE been tracking my cars blood trail! Things are finally going my way! After about half an hour they get here, and I welcome them, but they just ignore me in favor of sniffing the ground a lot. Eventually they started nosing at the door handle so I pulled it, and both dogs instantly leapt in, tearing the intruder to shreds. The ruckus rolled my car forwards a bit, and by the time I realized what was happening, it was too late. Since I have 5 neutral gears installed it just didnt stop, and I watched everything come to a head as it shot full speed downhill, out of sight within seconds. I dialed 911 again to tell them their police dogs had jacked my car and that I'd be suing the city for $6,000 to cover it, but before the operator could get a word in, the loudest sound in the fucking world played through my phone speaker, something so loud that I could have swore I heard it from outside the call as well. I said I'd be suing for damages to my hearing as well, but they didn't respond. I think I scared them off. Serves them right.

[monstersholygrail]

Rushing Rapids

Merman x fem!reader— teasing, wild sex, creampie, aftercare, and a little teasing of cumplay

You could count on one hand the number of times your Merman Boss has let you see his Merman form. Far too busy running a highly successful company, the man doesn't often have time for a dip in the water to let his true self out to shine.

In fact, it was your job as his bodyguard to make sure he didn't come into contact with any source of water. Even the slightest drop ends up triggering his tail and he's left stuck like that for hours. And while your boss has gone through countless bodyguards to fulfill this task, you've been by far the best.

And you've lasted the longest too. You often hear his workers whispering to each other, secretly teasing him about how he must be in love with you to keep you around so long. While you didn't want to believe it, you couldn't ignore the way your heart flutters whenever it greets your ears.

But after today you're sure any feelings he has toward you are long gone. You half expect him to fire you on spot.

Today had been an important day for him as he had a lunch scheduled with an important client. All was going well until the waiter tripped, sending an entire pitcher of water to crash over him. You had been too slow, hadn't noticed the waiter fumbling nor the trajectory of the pitcher.

For a moment the world went still until your Merman Boss looked up at you with wide horrified eyes. While you were sure the horror was aimed at you, your boss was too busy wondering where he was possibly going to go. Luckily it just so happened that your place was nearby.

Now here you are, sitting on your toilet as your Boss' ginormous frame squishes into your tiny bathtub, his tail even falling off the edge and onto your floor. An adorable little pout marks his lips as he flicks at the water like he's this close to personally trying to fight it.

A part of you fears he's not only angry at the water but at you as well. Sure, you haven't been perfect at your job. You've made small mess ups here and there. But nothing like this.

"You seem upset."

Your Boss snaps his head over toward you, his pout growing impossibly bigger. If you didn't already know the question was ridiculous, his following scoff and the look on his face was plenty enough for you to get the message.

"Of course I'm upset. I just had a very important meeting fall through because a clumsy waiter forgot what even a merperson can do. Walk. And most don't even have legs."

His response stops you in your tracks, jaw dropping a little. He wasn't blaming you at all. The more you look at him the more you realize he isn't mad at you about it at all. Relief blooms in your chest, making you sit a little taller. You internally thank your boss, he should feel some of this relief too.

Without responding to his sarcastic reply you look around the bathroom in search of something that will help uplift the mood for him. As your eyes catch onto a bin in the corner your eyes light up.

Your boss is jolted from his thoughts as you suddenly dump a whole bin full of rubber duckies into the tub. All in attempts of making this feel more like a fun bath and less like a trap. But by the flat look on his face your boss is less than amused. Which you probably should've been expecting.

"Really? Rubber ducks?"

His voice shows his clear disdain for the toy but he hesitantly reaches out a hand and begins pushing it around. Almost... playing with it. Although he'd never admit that to you.

"Well, what else is there to do besides wait it out? There's not any other way to turn you back sooner?"

Your question settles between you two before something sparks in the depths of Merman Boss' eyes. His finger stills on the yellow duck toy but it drifts away in the water and it's impossible to know where it'll end up next. Something unsettling churns in your belly and you get the feeling you're not about to like this.

"Ok, so there may be something... But I can't say it out loud. Come in closer."

A lick of suspicion curls around you and your eyes narrow, appraising your boss. Though with one impatient look from him you know you won't be putting up an argument with him about it. He always ends up getting his way anyway so why not skip the foreplay?

"W-what is it? What can't you say out loud?"

The toilet rattles beneath you as you shift closer. It's the only real sound in the quiet bathroom aside from the swishing of water. Your breath hitches once you reach a certain closeness to your Merman Boss. This being officially the closest you've ever dared to be with him.

"Closer—“

"I'll do anything just tell me what you need," you interrupt, both not wanting to lose your job and giving any excuse you can to be near your boss.

Suddenly his hands are splashing out of the water and gripping onto your soft round hips. A shriek tears through you as one minute you're dry and the next you're soaking wet. And not in the good way either. You smack against a hard chest, your legs straddling the thick width of a tail, and it takes you a second to fully realize that your boss had just pulled you in.

Before you can lift your head to yell at him, his fingers pinch your chin and force you to meet his gaze. What you see in his eyes immediately silences you. The hunger burning in them leaves you gasping, sparking arousal deep in your core.

He leans in, stopping just short of your lips as they brush against each other. Your breath mingling and making you squirm on his slick tail. While you watch him stare down at your lips, waves of arousal continue to build within you.

"A human's kiss can turn me back much faster than simply waiting," he whispers softly like he doesn't want to break the tension between you.

Your body tingles with need as every fantasy you've ever dared to have about your boss dares to come to life. Every inch of you is overcome with impatience as you wriggle on his lap some more, gasping when something hard pops out from a slit on his tail.

"So why don't you kiss me?"

If possible, your Boss' eyes grow darker, the hunger inside them roaring to life as if trying to consume even him. His hold on your chin tightens like he's the one who needs to keep you still while he's shaking from his own restraint.

"Because once I start I won't be able to stop at just a kiss."

You go to ask what he means he bucks up his hips, intently brushing his rock hard cock along your clothed slit. And you immediately moan, totally unprofessional by the way, eyelashes fluttering briefly till you manage to look at your boss again.

You consider his words and what they could mean for you after this. But you want this, you've always wanted this since you first started working for the mysterious man. And it seems like he wants you just so much. So there's no need to fight it.

"Then don't stop," you reply.

Merman Boss surges forward before the words finish falling from your lips, his mouth clashing against yours. Mirroring moans vibrate between you like you're the sweetest damn thing he's ever tasted.

He presses into you as if trying to devour you, kissing you hard. Tongues fight for dominance and teeth knock together in your sheer desperation to make up for all the time you spent together not doing this.

His hand moves from your chin, caressing the skin of your cheek, and threading itself inside your hair. Ensuring you're real and that this is actually happening. Using his hold on you he molds your plump frame against his and starts rocking your core against his hard length.

"Get these off," he pants heavily, only breaking away from the kiss long enough to say that and then he's right back on you.

With a shocking amount of skill, the two of you manage to peel off your wet clothes in record time.

Both of you release strong powerful moans as your dripping cunt first makes contact with his thick girth. Every nerve in your body pulses as he takes hold of his cock and drags it through your folds, coating his length with your essence.

"You have no idea how long l've wanted this. Wanted you,” he breathes, his eyes shining with a longing that reflects your own.

"I have some idea."

Then you both moan as you sink down on his long pulsing cock, your hips buckling down on his length, taking him in hard and fast. Something ignites in your boss’ eyes and you shiver as his hands curl over your plush waist to help guide your movements.

But he has no idea how long you’ve been needing this, and it’s clear by the way his eyes widen as you start to ride him like your life depended on it. Your fingers dig into the scales on his shoulders to ground you and he hisses, his cock twitching and sliding against that special spot inside you.

With a fierce cry you start riding him even harder, every hard wet slap of your bodies meeting is aimed right for that spot, making you see stars. The water sloshes around in the tub like it’s in the midst of a raging storm when in reality it’s just you and your boss fucking each other’s brains out.

“Look at you, so perfect f’me. More than I ever realized,” your boss purrs, sounding as if he’s found the oceans most greatest treasure.

You moan loudly, your head rolling back as waves of pleasure rock through your body with every hard pump of his cock, his words only turning you on even more. Your body begins to buzz, on the precipice of something huge.

It only takes a few more pointed thrusts before you’re coming all over his cock with a ragged gasp, your body tensing before you sag against him, letting him take what he needs. And feeling your slick gummy walls clamping so deliciously on his length drives him nearly feral, his fangs flashing and his claws digging into your skin.

He moves your pussy up and down his cock, spurred on by every whine and whimper that falls from your mouth. Piercing growls slip from his own as your cunt drives him absolutely insane, he’s never felt anything better.

And he proves just that as he drives in as far as his cock can go and releases buckets of cum right into your depths, having never cum so hard in his life.

You both fall back to rest against the back of the tub, the only sound in the room being your harsh panting breaths. His hands smooth the tremors from your body, brushing up along your spine and holding you close. It’s nice and peaceful. Or is it the calm before the storm?

Because the longer he does it the action goes from soothing to arousing. And you know he can feel it too, just how much it’s affecting you. Your pulsing walls already trying to milk more from his spent shaft. And sea gods help him but it’s working.

“You know… it’ll still be some time before my tail fades. Why not make the most of it?” Your boss asks, hands sliding down to grab handfuls of your fat ass, and flexing his stomach as he rolls his hardening cock into your cum-filled cunt.

[bluukive]

!MDNI: JJK Men x birthdays

content - brief allusions of dad bods, explicit, what the jjk men receive on their birthday + what they give on yours, restraining, foodplay, teasing, submissive men yum, worship, exhibitionism, double penetration, roleplay, spanking, slight cuck!Nanami, somnophilia(?), it's all consensual I promise

an - for @chosos-lesbo ^^ had no idea how to incorporate dad bods into this properly so they're briefly mentioned here and there <3

Not proofread ALSO DON'T PUT FOOD NEAR YOUR PRIVATE AREAS THANKS

ᡣ𐭩 G. Satoru

recieves

LAP DANCE LAP DANCE LAP DANCE (+ strip tease hehe). You’re moving so, so sensually, flashing the skimpy lace that just happens to be the same colour as your man's eyes. Satoru’s got one hand palming his fattening length (like a real perv), a lazy but appreciative look in his eyes as you’re planting. It’s not long before he’s sprawled out so nicely for you, your hands on his heavyset thighs (which you swear have recently grown thicker). Satoru can feel you kissing down his chest, and your fingers gently raking through his happy trail (which you begged him not to remove), until you’re finally engulfing his cock into your mouth.

Alternatively, you’re bent over in bed. You can feel your face burning as he takes in the sight of your ass covered in frosting and sprinkles, and a candle nestled in your puckered hole (the thought makes me wince but I’m referencing a specific video with this and just had to include it)

gives

HE’S the one covered in whipped cream, strawberries, sprinkles. There’s a big FAT arrow drawn on his pubic bone, leading down to his cock. He contemplated sticking a candle in his pp hole I don’t think Satoru’s into sounding. There's also a cute pink bow tied around his dick, straining because of how fat his length is. It's stained with precum, the fabric dark and tempting you to unwrap him.

Satoru also makes you sit on his length when it's time to open gifts. I don't know why but it's so him. It starts off with you cockwarming him, your pussy occasionally clenching as you eye the various trinkets. In Satoru's eyes, the actual gift is the way his softening hips are rolling up into you the more presents you unwrap.

ᡣ𐭩 G. Suguru

receives

You're oiling him up. Full body massage with scented oils and your increasingly nude body on top of his. The feeling of your smaller hands gliding so lewdly all over his glistening body has him sporting an erection. He's noticed an increase in your sex drive due to the fact there's an added weight to his body. It's delicious when Suguru can both manhandle you the way he wants but also grows red with effort due to the fact that he's no longer as lithe as he used to be. But you wouldn't have it any other way.

gives

Dare I say both a collar and a leash. Suguru's always known how much you crave being on top. His idea of the perfect gift (outside of the various pieces of expensive jewellery and clothing) is giving up his control and offering his entire self for you to use on your special day. Suguru could easily push you away, even if the muscles in his body are softening the more time that passes. But he doesn't. He insists you pull at the rope attached to his collar and tug as you ride his face/cock.

I'd also pair this with a shrine/bed setup (?) that he made all by himself. It's a pretty thing, low lighting and candles, flowers and portraits of you set up in an organised manner around your shared bed. You're the centrepiece, the star of the show as he worships your entire body.

ᡣ𐭩 S. Ryomen

receives

Unlike Suguru who offers himself to you, you're the one offering yourself to your king. Sukuna's incredibly greedy, which has become incredibly obvious after the years of indulging in you. He's still massive, believe me. But those hulking muscles have both melted and increased in size. For your husband's birthday, you've given him a feast off of your own body. There's sticky honey drizzled all over your tits, which he greedily laps up. There's the finest wine bottled up beside you, which Sukuna happily pours all over your cunt before eating you out like a starved beast of a man.

gives

He fucks you on his throne. You're the only one allowed on there (apart from him, of course). If you want privacy, Sukuna will adhere to your request. If you want an audience, he's even happier to spread you out before them. You're locked in full nelson as the 'pests' below you keep their head down, taking in the sounds of your husbands twin cocks plapping away all snug and deep.

Double penetration was another request you had for your birthday. It meant your husband would spend more time prepping you, eating you out and burying his thick fingers knuckle-deep inside of you (in both holes) before stuffing you full.

ᡣ𐭩 N. Kento

recieves

Some good old roleplay, where you pretend to be his perverted assistant. You suck him off under the table in the privacy of his home office, slick noises and garbled mewls leaving your lips which were stretched around his length. You swear it's grown fatter since he became so preoccupied with work and your growing family. You slide onto his thigh also, lips inseparable as you feverishly try getting yourself off on his thigh. It's Nanami's birthday, not yours, so he's quick to correct your selfish behaviour with a belt wrapped around his heavy fist.

gives

An identical toy, completely resembling his cock. Nanami doesn't like it when you feel lonely whilst he's away. You've got complete freedom on your birthday to give your husband a show and play with the dildo. Yeah, it's not as good as the real thing, but this is how Nanami satiates the slight fantasy he has of seeing you pleasure yourself on something that wasn't him. It gives him a sense of superiority knowing that you could only truly feel good with only him.

ᡣ𐭩 T. Fushiguro

receives

A raunchy video. You've compiled all of your recorded encounters with Toji and sprinkled in some sessions where you're alone and needy without him. It'd be a waste not to watch it with him, so you do just that with both of you mutually touching each other. He's got one burly hand sliding not-so-discreetly into your underwear, whilst one of yours palms him through his boxers. Naturally, Toji suggests you recreate it. He's the birthday boy, after all, and you'd be a fool to deny the man who's been drunk off baby fever the chance to be called daddy.

gives

Wakes you up with his mouth. You said once that you wouldn't mind being woken up with a tongue flicking against your clit. Toji hadn't been able to rid himself of the thought and your birthday was the perfect opportunity to give his birthday girl exactly what she wanted. With two strong arms holding your thighs open, Toji's lapping feverishly and sucking your aching clit into his mouth. When you eventually awake and lift the blanket, you're met by the sight of your husband's cheeks hollowed, eyes so blatantly lidded as he grows more pussydrunk by the second.

[nephynes]

enhypen as the seven deadly sins please please please! i love your writing so much PLEASE!!!! (aggression!!)

hyung line + jungwon as 5 of the 7 deadly sins

nfsw warnings: toxic behavior, power imbalances, sub/dom dynamics, panty stealing, dubcon, stalkerish behavior, mentions of mental health issues, humiliation kink, praise kink, degradation kink, obsession, jealousy, just lots of filthy smut.

MDNI

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ׂ╰┈➤ Sunghoon as Greed

You first met him at the firm, technically your boss's son, but rarely introduced that way. Everyone knew who he was. You didn't need a surname to understand what kind of power moved through him—the kind that didn't beg or apologize.

You were new, hired as a junior assistant with more nerves than confidence, still learning how to walk in heels without looking uncertain. He didn't speak to you at first. Just glanced in your direction when he passed through in tailored suits, cologne subtle and expensive, always with that sharp indifference. He was like the view from a penthouse; cold, impressive, and very far away.

It wasn't until one late Friday evening, after everyone else had gone home, that you heard the click of his shoes behind you.

"Still here?" His voice was smooth, clinical.

You turned, startled, clutching a folder to your chest. "Just finishing up."

He walked closer, no real urgency in his steps. "Come with me."

You blinked. "Excuse me?"

"For dinner," he said, pausing just long enough to smirk. "Unless the instant ramen you’re gonna have tonight is more to your liking."

You should've said no. You should've remembered the warning your supervisor gave you, the rumors whispered over coffee. That Sunghoon liked things pretty, obedient, and quiet.

But you followed him out of the building anyway.

That first dinner turned into two, then three. He was smart, sharper than anyone you'd ever met. Intense in a way that made it hard to breathe around him. He never asked questions. He made statements, and you either agreed or you didn't and when you didn't, he'd tip your chin up with a finger and say things like, "You look better when you don't try to talk over me."

He never said he liked you. He just started sending cars to pick you up. Ordering for you. Undressing you without ever being asked. One night, he took you to a penthouse suite you didn't know he owned, and that was the first time he laid you out on silk sheets, pushed your panties to the side and fucked you like you were his to ruin. You learn quickly that Sunghoon doesn't ask. He just claims. He takes you to five-star restaurants, seats you on his lap in the backseat of his car, whispers filth in your ear while his driver pretends not to hear.

He makes you sign an NDA. He buys you clothes you didn't ask for. You hate that you keep them. You hate that you want him.

One night after he's done fucking you senseless, and he's tucked himself beside you, fingers trailing your thigh.

"Give them to me," he said, voice low.

"What?"

"Your panties."

You laughed, but he wasn't joking. And when you slid them off and handed the sheer, pink and still damp panties to him—he folded them, slipped them into his coat pocket, and kissed you slow.

It became a pattern.

You started catching him doing it without asking. After he fucked you against the mirror in his office. After you rode him in the backseat of his car. You'd blink and realize he'd pocketed another pair. He didn't care if they matched. Didn't care if you noticed. He wanted them because they were yours.

And because, in some twisted way, he wanted to own every piece of you.

“You’re already shaking,” he’d murmur. “And I’ve barely touched you.”

And then he did.

Mouth between your legs, tongue greedy and relentless, hands locking you in place when you tried to squirm away.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he’d laugh, breath hot against your thigh. “I’m not done.”

You came once, then twice. He didn’t stop.

Not when you whined. Not when you begged. Not even when your voice cracked from how raw and sensitive you were.

Sunghoon was greed. Not loud or showy, but indulgent. Unapologetic. Always reaching for more. He kept your lip gloss in his drawer. Your old earrings in a small box by his bed. He pressed bruises into your thighs with his hands and teeth and liked seeing them the next day.

He never said he loved you.

But he did call you "mine."

And when you tried to pull away, when things felt too fast, too close, too permanent, he found you at your apartment door one night, soaked in rain, hands in his pockets, his voice almost gentle.

"You can leave," he said. "But I'll still have all your little pieces." You opened the door anyway, he even stayed the night.

And your panties went missing again.

ׂ╰┈➤ Jake as Lust

You met him on accident. In the smoky back room of a speakeasy-style bar, with red velvet curtains and low lighting. You're not supposed to be here. Neither is he.

It's one of those nights when your friends drag you out to "the kind of place you go when you want to do something stupid." You expect not him, a random stranger in the corner booth looking like sin itself, leaning back with his shirt unbuttoned just enough, watching you like he already knows your secrets.

A wrong kind of night. Or maybe the right one, if you believe in things like fate. You were just looking for a quiet place to breathe, heels off, your makeup a bit smudged from dancing with your friends. But when you opened a random door, there he was—shirtless, sprawled on someone else's sheets, drinking straight from a bottle of whiskey like it owed him something. Maybe that's when you realize the room isn't random at all, neither are the seven others across the hallway you presume also have beds in them.

Jake didn't ask why you were there.

He just looked at you with that tilted smile and said, "If you're gonna stare, you might as well come closer."

You almost laughed. Almost rolled your eyes and left. But something in his voice or maybe the heat in your chest, made you stay.

You told yourself nothing would happen. That you'd sit, talk, maybe flirt a little. But he reached for your wrist, pulled you into his lap, and made you forget how to say no.

Jake didn't take things slow. He kissed like it was a habit, tongue already in your mouth before you caught your breath. His hands were under your dress within seconds, fingers parting your thighs like he already knew exactly where to touch.

"You're soaked," he muttered into your neck, his breath hot. "God, you like this. You like being bad, don't you?"

You didn't answer. You couldn't.

He pulled your panties to the side and slid two fingers inside you without warning. Deep. Perfect. You gasped, clutching his shoulders, grinding down on his lap like your body was possessed.

He was rough but careful, hungry but focused. Every movement meant something. When he finally pushed you back on the bed and fucked you raw, your head tilted back and you nearly sobbed his name but you didn't even know it yet. It wasn't romantic. It wasn't soft.

It was lust. Pure, unfiltered and aching. He later told you his name when he spilled his cum over your stomach that night.

Jake saw you after that night. Often. Always in secret.

He liked you in red, even bought you lingerie that matched the marks he left on your neck. Sometimes he'd fuck you in the bathroom at parties you'd both find yourselves at. Other times, he'd call you in the middle of the night and make you come over, only to bend you over the kitchen counter before you could even take off your coat.

"Say my name when you cum," he'd whisper against your ear, cock buried deep inside you. "I want everyone in this building to know who's fucking you."

He was insatiable.

It didn't matter how many times you gave yourself to him, he always wanted more. You'd wake up with bruises on your hips, your thighs sore, your lipstick smeared across his sheets. Jake knew where to touch. Knew how to angle your hips just right. Knew how to whisper filthy things into your ear in between groans, how to press his mouth against your neck and make you cry his name like it was a prayer.

"You take me so well," he groaned, thrusting deep, your legs wrapped around his waist. "You were made for this. For me."

You came harder than you ever had. Twice. He didn't let you rest. Just rolled you onto your stomach and pulled you back onto his cock, panting against the back of your neck.

"Come on," he murmured. "I'm not done."

Even when you begged him to slow down, to let you breathe, and whispered that you were going to pass out if he kept hitting that particular spot with his cock, Jake just smiled, laughed even. Brushed your hair back and said, "Don't beg unless you're begging for more."

You knew what Jake was. He was Lust in every sense.

Not love. Not devotion.

Just raw, dripping need.

With Jake, it was about consuming.

And you'd never be untouched again.

ׂ╰┈➤ Jungwon as Envy

Jungwon wasn't loud about it.

Not his feelings. Not his rage. Not even the way he looked at you across lecture halls like he couldn't decide if he wanted to kiss you or crush your head under his foot.

You were always neck and neck—academically, socially, even in the way people talked about you. They called you brilliant. Beautiful. Precise. And he hated how often your name came up next to his like you were equals.

But you were.

That was the problem.

You'd been friends at a point, even hooked up once or twice. Studied together, shared notes, laughed over shitty cafeteria coffee. Until you started ranking higher. Until your professors started using your name instead of his when they handed back tests and said, "Perfect score."

He told himself it didn't matter. That he didn't care.

But Jungwon never knew how to leave you alone. No matter how many times he told himself he would. He'd tell himself that this was the last time. That next time you smiled at him with that bright, infuriating mouth of yours, he'd ignore you. Let you go. Let you be someone else's problem.

But he always came back.

You didn't make it easier. The way you sat in lectures like you owned the room—half-listening, half-smiling, chatting away with your friends and still managing to top every exam like it was second nature. Like you didn't even try.

It drove him insane.

Especially because he did try. He studied for hours. He lost sleep. He took notes in color, annotated every page, memorized every word. And you still beat him. Again. Effortlessly.

So when he showed up at your dorm one night, hoodie pulled over his head, jaw tight, you already knew something was wrong.

He didn't say even hi. Didn't ask to come in. Just stepped past you and turned, eyes sharp.

"What'd you get on the midterm?"

You blinked. "Hello to you, too."

"Don't play with me. What was your score?"

You tilted your head, sensing something coiled in him, tight and trembling. "Ninety-eight."

He went still.

The silence stretched before he spoke again, "I got a ninety-five."

You shrugged, light on purpose. "That's still good, Jungwon." "The score closest to yours is a seventy-seven." You really did try to reassure him. "It was just a midterm, anyway."

That snapped something in him.

"Just a midterm?" he asked, voice rising, hands clenched. "I studied harder than you. I didn't go out. I didn't sleep. I worked for it."

You crossed your arms, something bitter tasting in your mouth, starting to make you feel like you've had enough of Jungwon's attitude over grades. "You're not upset over a three-point difference, are you?"

Jungwon didn't answer. He stepped in close, grabbing your face with one hand—not gently. His fingers were shaking.

And then, in the jagged quiet of his frustration, a cold truth settled in his chest. It wasn't just that you were better. It wasn't just the scores or the effortless grace you carried through everything or the fact that you didn't even care.

He wanted to be you.

To carry your ease. To live with that natural brilliance and calm that made everything look so damn easy. He hated himself for it—the way his jaw clenched tighter, how the envy burned deeper, how he couldn't stop thinking about how effortless you made it seem.

But he swallowed the thought down. Locked it away where no one could hear it. Because admitting that would be admitting how deep this obsession ran. How much he wasn't just jealous or envious, but broken by it.

You opened your mouth, maybe to push him back, maybe to tell him to leave, but he kissed you before you could. Hard. Brutal. Not romantic but claiming.

He pushed you against the wall, hands under your shirt, yanking it off like he would lose his mind if he didn't. You clawed at his hoodie, dragged it over his head, all teeth and rage and heat. When his mouth left yours, it moved down your neck, biting hard enough to leave bruises.

"You make me fucking insane," he growled, pulling your panties down your legs and tossing them away. "You walk around like you don't know what you do to me."

"Maybe I do," you whispered, goading him. "Maybe I like watching you lose."

He shoved you onto the bed without answering.

When he fucked you, it was angry.

Hands holding your hips down, thrusts deep and fast, unforgiving. No teasing, no slow buildup—just raw, punishing need. His palm covered your mouth when you cried out.

"You wanted this," he panted against your neck. "You asked for it, running your mouth like that." "Getting higher marks when you didn't even fucking study."

You clawed at his shoulders. "Maybe I like seeing you break." He groaned, "I hate you so much, I fucking hate you."

He grabbed your jaw, forced your eyes to his. "You don't see anything. You don't know what it's like to want someone so bad you start hating them for it."

Your thighs shook as he pounded into you, your cries muffled by his hand, your body trembling from overstimulation. He didn't stop. Even when you begged.

"You beat me," he whispered, voice cracked. "And I still fucking want you." "Fuck," he breathes, forehead pressed to yours. "So tight like you need this."

You moan, trying to push at his shoulders, trying to squirm away, but he grabs your hips hard enough to bruise, forcing your knees to meet your shoulders and take every thrust exactly how he gives it—relentless, punishing, like he wants to fuck the difference in your scores right out of you.

"You think you're better than me?" he grits, voice breaking, hips snapping forward. "You think I don't see the way everyone looks at you?"

You can't answer—can barely breathe.

And maybe that's what he wants.

Because he doesn't slow down. Doesn't hold back. You're dripping down onto your sheets, the slap of skin echoing through the room, your body rocking with each deep, brutal thrust.

Jungwon groans low in his throat, like he's hurting too. Like your cunt is a punishment he's taking on, like if he fucks you hard enough maybe he'll stop wanting you, stop needing to be near you just to feel whole.

But he doesn't stop.

Not until you're trembling, walls fluttering around him, legs shaking so hard he grabs one to kiss your ankle, your eyes are wide at the gesture. Such a tender contrast to the brutal way he's thrusting his cock in and out of you.

He finishes with a growl, deep and violent, spilling inside you with his teeth sunk into your shoulder like he wants to brand you from the inside out, holding your wrists down, breathless and trembling.

After, he doesn't even move. Just stays on top of you, chest rising and falling like he'd just lost a war.

You thought he'd leave?

He didn't.

He stayed the night, curled around you like you were the one thing anchoring him.

And in the morning, when you woke up sore and bruised, he was already watching you. Still wanting and still hating himself for it.

ׂ╰┈➤ Jay as Pride

Jay is the reason the entire west wing always smells like turpentine and cigarette smoke. He doesn't even smoke indoors, but his scent lingers in the stairwell after midnight, when he slips out between classes to clear his head and sketch between drags. Professors give him too much slack. Students give him too much space. Everyone calls him a prodigy, a savant, the kind of talent that only passes through once in a generation.

You've seen his work. It's infuriatingly good.

Technically flawless. Emotionally devastating. There's one piece in particular, tucked in the corner of the senior gallery—a stark, enormous canvas layered in violent reds and pale, impossible light, you almost stopped breathing the first time you saw it. You'd never tell him that, if you ever spoke to him.

You're not better than him. You've never pretended to be. But you're good enough to matter. Good enough that when you get your own studio assignment, Jay shows up uninvited.

He leans in your doorway, sketchbook under one arm, a thin pencil between his fingers. He watches you like a critic would, sharp eyes skimming over your work in progress, half-finished oils drying on canvas, the shape of a face you're still unsure of.

"You should've left the jaw unfinished," he says casually. "It had more tension before." You stiffen. "You don't think I know what I'm doing?"

He shrugs. "I think you want it to be perfect. That's what's fucking it up." You turn to glare at him, only to find his mouth curling into a smirk. He loves that. That you bristle. That you care.

Jay walks in without asking, flips your sketchbook open like it belongs to him, and then—after a long pause—closes it gently, setting it down. "You're good," he says, and it sounds almost like a confession. "Better than most of the leeches in this place."

You cross your arms, small smile tugging at your lips as you think of the many ways you want to mess with him. "But not better than you?"

He grins. "No one is." He says as he turns on his heels to walk straight out, leaving a trail of his perfume in his wake.

The studio was meant to be yours—it is on paper.

Two months of solitary light, your name on the roster, your pieces hung at the next juried review. You're already weeks ahead on your concept. You've bled for it. Earned this. No one's supposed to be here.

But by the second day, Jay starts showing up.

He doesn't ask. Doesn't smile. Just drops his bag near the door, nods at your half-finished work, and sketches in the corner like the space was his first.

By day three, he starts speaking. Minimal and blunt.

"You're losing proportion." "The underpainting's too warm." "That's not tension, it's laziness."

You hate that he's never wrong.

Day four, he moves closer. Silent steps around your easel, watching. Eyes flitting over your work, your wrists, your breath.

You say nothing. You don't need to. He's the best in this academy. Everyone knows it. But that doesn't mean he belongs here.

By the fifth day, he crosses a line.

You're bent over the canvas, trying to finish a live study, your model long gone, the moment already slipping through your fingers, that's when he walks up behind you, picks up your brush, and drags it straight down the curve of a spine you've been perfecting for an hour.

"That's not where the weight lives," he says. Cool and dismissive. "She's collapsing here, not lifting."

Something in you goes taut. You turn, furious. "Are you fucking serious?"

He doesn't blink. "It was wrong."

"Are you out of your fucking mind?"

Jay's expression doesn't shift. "You needed correction."

You shove him hard in the chest. He stumbles. His back hits the bench behind him, and he catches himself just in time, but you're already advancing, eyes dark.

"That was my piece."

He recovers quickly, tries to stand taller, to level the balance again, but before he can speak, you shove him again. Harder this time.

He actually falls. Hits the floor on his back, breath punched out of him. The brush clatters beside him.

And you step forward. You don't crouch to check if he's okay. You don't help him up. Instead, you plant your bare foot right on his chest, the heel of it pressing against his sternum.

He stares up at you, frozen, his breath shallow.

You tilt your head.

"Apologize."

His jaw clenches. "You shoved me—"

"Apologize," you say again, firmer this time. "For touching my work."

He tries to rise, a flicker of defiance still in him, but you press your foot down harder—enough to stop him cold. His hands clutch at the floor beneath him, caught between his need to assert himself and the ache rising visibly between his legs.

Because from this angle, he can see a lot of you. Your skirt has ridden up from the movement, your lacy panties now perfectly visible above the curve of your thighs. Sheer, delicate, soaked with heat.

Jay swallows.

He tries not to stare, but he does. And when your foot slowly drags from his chest down to the bulge straining in his pants—he gasps.

You press your foot lightly into him, right there, and his hips twitch. He lets out the softest sound—humiliated, aroused, and ruined.

"I bet you've never let anyone do this," you continue, voice like silk over skin. "I bet you're used to people fawning over your work, begging for your attention. But that's not what you want right now, is it?"

You press again, a little firmer.

Jay moans under his breath. His hands are clenched so tightly his knuckles are white.

"Big," you hum, foot pressing just enough to make his hips rise involuntarily. "Of course you are. Pretty boy with a big cock. But that ego's even bigger, huh?"

He grits his teeth. But he doesn't stop you.

"Apologize," you say again, just above a whisper.

He chokes on a breath. "I—"

But still, no apology. Pride like armor, even now.

So you stop.

You left you foot and reach for your brush.

"If you can't say it," you murmur, dipping it in red, "maybe I'll paint it instead. Park Jongseong, crawling at my feet."

He makes a sound like he's breaking, before gathering himself and walking out, trying to pretend that you not looking at him after that doesn't affect him.

He doesn't come the day after. Or the one after that.

But then on the third day after, just when you think you've broken him too far, he walks in.

Same time as the last, 3:02 p.m. Same soundless tread of shoes on wood, same scent of clean linen and paint, same boy with storm in his eyes.

But this time he doesn't say anything.

You glance up from your sketchpad, narrowed eyes tracking his movements. "Here to correct my work again?" you murmur, dry.

Jay doesn't answer. He just walks over and sits beside you—closer than usual, silent. He doesn't take out his sketchbook. Doesn't touch a pencil. Doesn't even glance at the canvas on the easel. He just... watches.

His stillness and the quiet, it unnerves you. You try to work but feel the heat of his stare like a brand, tension creeping up your spine. After ten minutes, you can't take it anymore. You set your brush down, turn to him—and he kisses you.

So suddenly, so forcefully, your breath punches out of your lungs. His hand is at the nape of your neck, lips feverish, open-mouthed. You stumble a little on the stool, catching yourself on the table behind you. He follows, crowding into your space.

You shove at his shoulder, panting. "What the fuck are you doing—"

"Don't push me away," he says, voice wrecked. "Don't—just—kiss me back." His pride is trembling at the edges. You see it. He doesn't want to be here like this, doesn't want to need this, need you, but he does. And he hates that he does.

You hesitate for a beat, then lean forward and kiss him again. This time, slow, more controlled. His hands fist in your shirt like he's grounding himself. Like he's falling.

You break the kiss first, and your fingers trail down his chest, then lower, to the waistband of his pants. You feel him tense beneath you, breath shallow.

"Take them off," you say softly.

Jay's eyes flicker. "You're serious?"

"Do I sound like I'm joking?"

His throat works as he swallows. You watch his hands move to his belt, slow and trembling slightly. When he's down to just his boxers, you press your palm between his legs. He's already hard—straining. You grin. "God, Jay. Is this what you were thinking about while I painted? Sitting there like a good boy, pretending not to want it?"

You shove him—hard. He stumbles back off the stool, genuinely shocked that you did this again, and when you follow him, your hand is already tugging his waistband down.

"Wha—" His voice cracks as your fingers dip into the band of his boxers.

"Don't move," you murmur, low and even, as you drag them down his thighs. "You wanted to be here. You kept showing up. So now you get to stay."

He's too stunned to protest. Too conflicted to push back. You catch the way his cock twitches as the cool air hits him, already half-hard and pulsing with tension. The humiliation in his eyes is palpable—and you drink it in like victory.

You give him a little shove to the chest, and his back hits the studio floor with a thud. The look on his face is pure disbelief, cut with something darker—need, maybe. Shame.

Jay looks like he wants to throttle you.

He's glaring up at you like you've committed some personal betrayal, like every inch of you genuinely offends him. The cocky curve of your mouth. The control you refuse to surrender. The way you look at him—not in awe, not in reverence, but like a challenge he hasn't yet won.

He swears, one day, he's going to wipe that look off your face. He just doesn't know if he wants to do it with his mouth or his hands.

His body betrays him, though. The sharp inhale he takes when you touch him. The way his back arches, sharp and desperate, when your hand strokes over his flushed cock again. His wrists strain under your grip when you pin them above his head, and the look he throws you is venomous. If he could kill with a glance, you'd already be a corpse.

"You know," you murmur, lips brushing the shell of his ear, "you can just admit you like being dommed."

Jay jerks under you, flushed and fuming. "Go to hell."

You laugh, smooth and low. "Everyone likes pleasure, Jay. Even you."

He hates that you're right. Hates that his body is already shaking, already giving in. His breath stutters. You don't stop. You move with slow, infuriating precision, stroking him with the kind of focus that says you have all the time in the world. You can feel him trembling beneath you. Tension coils in his thighs. His breath hitsched every time your hand glides over his tip, smearing his precum all over him.

The humiliation bleeds into every inch of him, his chest heaving, his face flushed and burning, eyes darting everywhere but your face. And the worst part? He's so close. On the edge. Teetering. His pride is in shambles.

"You gonna cum?" you ask sweetly, tilting your head.

He pants out a desperate, broken sound. "Y—you fucking wish."

Your smile is all teeth as you lean down and wrap your mouth around him, slow and steady. He gasps, all sharp and wrecked, and you feel him twitch on your tongue. His fingers curl helplessly into fists, wrists still pinned, every inch of him going taut beneath you.

"Fuck, fuck, I— I'm gonna—"

"Mhm." You pull back just enough to murmur against him. "Go on. Let go, Jay. I'm not done with you yet."

His pride doesn't stand a chance.

He cums hard, body arching off the studio floor, mouth dropping open in a groan that barely sounds like him. The sound echoes through the empty studio. It's loud, raw, and humiliating. His cum spills hot and heavy over your hand, and you ride out every twitch, every curse that falls from his lips like a plea.

When it's over, he's limp beneath you. Chest heaving. Skin flushed. His jaw clenched in frustration even now.

You swing a leg over his waist, straddling him again just to watch the way he shivers.

"Pathetic," you murmur, wiping your hand clean on his shirt. "And you still haven't apologized." He doesn't speak. He just stares, eyes wide and glassy, face red with everything he refuses to admit. But you see it. You see all of it.

And tomorrow? He'll be back.

ׂ╰┈➤ Heeseung as Wrath

You meet Heeseung in group therapy. Your therapist calls it a "community-centered support circle," but you know what it really is. Folding chairs, stale coffee and eye contact you don't want. You're only there cause your anxiety and panic attacks have gotten so frequent they’ve started giving your fingers tremors, but he's something else entirely. Something worse.

Heeseung's there for anger management.

He doesn't say much the first few meetings. Just sits at the edge of the room with his fists clenched and his jaw locked like his whole body is trying not to detonate. You don't know what's more unsettling—the fury rolling off of him in waves or the silence that contains it.

It was the one session where he spoke that changed everything. "I don't want to talk about what I did," he says evenly, eyes pinned to the floor. "But I remember everything. Every second. And I don't regret the reason."

No one says a word, but you look at him, and that's all it takes. After that, he's everywhere. He walks you to your car after group, hands shoved in his hoodie, voice quiet, never directly beside you.

"You don't check your surroundings. You should. That's dangerous."

He calls that night to make sure you got home okay. You never gave him your number, but it doesn't occur to you to ask how he got it. He starts coming to your apartment, always unannounced. Just shows up, leaning against your doorway like he lives there. Like he belongs. And maybe he does, because you start needing him—his calm, his rough-edged presence. His quiet protection.

Heeseung doesn't do love. He even tells you he doesn't date.

One night you laugh too hard at something a guy who works at the bookstore says. Heeseung watches it all from across the street, leaning against his car. Later, you find out that guy quit his job. No explanation. Just stopped showing up.

"What did you do?" you ask him one night, voice quiet.

Heeseung shrugs. "Told him to watch how he speaks to you. That's all."

"Heeseung, that’s… cruel."

"Maybe." He leans closer, voice dropping. "But I've never seen your hands shake when you're with me."

You're not dating, not officially. But it doesn't matter. Because no one else would dare touch you. And Heeseung doesn't ask permission when he kisses you, or when he finally fucks you.

That night is a blur of heat and confusion. He shows up at your door past midnight, fists clenched, in a compression shirt tight on his body. He doesn't ask if he can come in, just does, shuts the door behind him.

"You let someone else walk you to your car," he says, tone dead cold. You blink. "It was just—"

"Don't you fucking lie to me."

And then his mouth is on yours, brutal, consuming, the kiss of a man who wants to crawl inside your skin and never leave. He lifts you with ease, backs you into the wall, hips pressing in.

Heeseung doesn't fuck to relieve tension. He fucks to mark. To brand. Clothes scatter. His hands never stop touching you, even when you whimper under his touch, even when you try to slow him down.

"Heeseung—w-wait—"

"Don't run from me," he growls, thumb pressing between your legs. "You want it. You've always wanted it."

And God you have. You do.

He drops to his knees and rips your panties clean off. Doesn't ask or pause. Just buries his face between your thighs like a man starved, moaning softly like your body is the first good thing he's ever tasted. You tangle your fingers in his hair, and he lets you pull, lets you ride against his tongue until you're gasping, shaking. He sucks your clit into his mouth so harshly it has you breathless, he doesn’t stop for a minute, not even to breathe, he’s relentless in the way he drags his tongue through your folds—from your clit to your clenching hole.

He kisses up your stomach, breath ragged. His voice near a growl. "You let anyone else see you like this?"

"N-no—"

"That's fucking right."

Heeseung fucks you like he's furious about it. Furious that you let him in. Furious that no one else gets to. Every thrust is sharp, fast, almost punishing, his hand around your throat, his mouth at your ear.

"So fucking sweet for me. Innocent little thing," he murmurs, his voice trembling with restraint. "You drive me insane."

"D-Don’t stop!" you gasp.

He slams into you, hard. "Baby, I couldn’t stop if I tried." He groans

He's sweating, jaw clenched, body taut like a bow ready to snap. He fucks you into the mattress, the wall, the floor. You lose track. The only thing you know is Heeseung—the scent of him, the heat, the way his hands grip your waist like he'll break you if he's not careful, and the way his cock doesn’t soften even after he’s cum inside you twice already.

"Gonna cum," you whimper.

"Then cum," he snarls. "Make a mess, baby."

You do—body arching, shaking, falling apart beneath him. He finishes inside you, barely holding back a growl, collapsing beside you with breathless rage.

You lie there in the quiet for a while, your chest still rising and falling in shaky waves, limbs boneless from what he just did to you. There's sweat on your skin, and the ache between your legs is deep, curling. But it's not the bruises or the overstimulation that catch you off guard.

It's him.

Heeseung.

The same man who slammed you into the mattress like he wanted to own you is now staring up at the ceiling like he's seconds from unraveling. He's on his back, one hand over his eyes. The other's still linked with yours, fingers twisted tight like if he lets go, you'll vanish.

"You okay?" you whisper.

He takes a while before he speaks. "No," he says, voice wrecked. "Not even close."

You don't know what to say. You've never heard him sound like this before, like the anger is gone and all that's left is the wreckage it built.

He turns to you, finally, and his eyes are glassy. Not tears. not quite, but something scarily close. The look you get from someone who's spent years building walls just to be seen through in one night.

"I didn't mean to be like this with you," he mutters.

"Like what?"

"Crazy. Obsessed. Possessive."

He closes his eyes like it hurts to admit.

"You're the only thing that makes me want to be soft again. And I don't know how."

You shift toward him, press your palm to his bare chest over the rapid thump of his heartbeat. It's thunderous and wild.

"Heeseung," you say gently. "I never asked you to be soft."

His lashes flutter. He looks at you like you just cracked the sky open.

"I just asked you to be honest."

And for a second all the rage in him quiets. He leans forward, presses his forehead to yours, breathing hard.

"I think I’m in love with you," he whispers.

You don't answer.

You just kiss him, slow and deep and this time, it's not about control or heat or needing to brand each other.

It's about staying.

Heeseung's wrath was always loud. But this? This is the part where he finally learns how to burn silently and only for you.

════════════════════════════

• a/n: when i say i got so carried away with this😭 that’s why some are longer than others, i was genuinely losing control as i was writing, i thought i was going insane! i hope you enjoyyy, i’d love to get feedback (it’s my first time ever writing anything like this)

[plethorawrites]

Imagine if Jason Todd, who 6'2, easily over 240+ pounds, always equipped with enough weapons to scare anyone away, and is practically afraid of nothing, mentions something along the lines of his girlfriend being intimidating.

His brothers are asking if he wants to stay for a bit to catch up and he thanks them but leaves, saying something like: "I would, but I made my girl a promise and she's scary when she's mad."

Of course, he's not genuinely scared in any serious way. But he does clearly mean it whenever he tells them he has to go because he doesn't want to make you upset. You sometimes really did match his temper...and his pettiness.

You had once locked him out of the apartment and pushed so much stuff in front of the door (because of course he tried to pick the lock) that he couldn't get in until he called you from the hallway and apologized for breaking a promise.

His brothers know what it takes for someone like Jason to actually be worried about the consequences of his actions. They're pretty sure the last woman they remember him really being intimidated by was Artemis. For a very good reason.

But that begged the question, if it took someone like her—6'0, Amazonian woman, with a sword and no qualms about violence, to get to Jason...what did you look like?

They'd take bets, obviously. Maybe you had a history of violence too, maybe you were an expert with knives or something, maybe you were freakishly tall or had super strength to crush Jason when he upset you.

But no. No one ended up winning the bet because none of them had ever considered you being...normal?

Not just normal, but rather petite. And sweet. What a weird combination for someone Jason was dating.

They were sure you must have a fire breathing mutation or something that makes you scary. But your grip wasn't very strong when you shook their hand, you barely came up to their brother's ribcage standing next to him, you had a cute laugh and apparently no criminal record.

That was another shock. Who in Gotham hasn't been arrested? Rightfully or not. The only real violation they found was a parking ticket and it shouldn't have surprised them when you said you were four minutes past the allowed time to be in the space.

"So... you're just...normal, then?" Dick asked, skeptically.

You nodded just as confused. "I guess?" You answered, glancing at Jason.

"No secret past as an assassin or multiple personalities that might be violent?" Tim questioned. "What about super strength? Or talent with guns?"

"That's more Jason's thing," you responded. "I don't really like guns. I make him keep them locked up."

They stared at you, blinking in confusion.

"Do you Martial arts?" Damian asked. "Or like fire to an excessive amount that makes you fantasize about starting them or perhaps hurting others with hot tools like a cattle prod?"

You pursed your lips, huddling a bit closer to Jason, gazing back at them all with growing apprehension. "I don't really know how to respond to that," you admitted, eyes wide in a bit of disturbance. "ANY of that... actually."

[damselneedssaving]

I wish you were mine.

JASON TODD X F!READER

★ SYNOPSIS: You're Dick's girlfriend. But when you patch Jason up, when it's just you and him, he likes to pretend you're his instead.

★ TAGS: forbidden love, angst, hurt/little comfort, yearning, so much yearning, background!dick grayson x reader, mentions of violence, very slightly suggestive themes, no cheating though dw, just longing, unrequited love, jason fell and he fell hard

line divider by @cafekitsune

There's not a lot of things Jason gets to have in life.

For as long as he can remember, it's just always been that way. From something as small as a waiter not getting his order right in a random, dingy diner, to something bigger like not being blessed enough to have both his parents still be alive—Jason has never been one to have things.

Many would call it sad, and hey, maybe it is, but he's come to terms with it—

—or at least, he thought he had.

But then you came along.

You with your warm touch. You with your kind eyes. You with your perfect, pretty lips he just can't help but want to kiss senseless every second of every day.

And suddenly, Jason Todd was no longer okay with not getting to have things.

You're Dick's. Because of course you are. Perfect golden child that he is—why wouldn't you want to have him over his younger brother?

But fucking shit, would it really be so much for Jason to ask for you to be his? For you to look at him the same way you do his brother? For you to have and hold and love him instead?

Every day he's without you is another day he feels like caving his head in, like clawing at his chest and ripping his heart out to stop the dull ache not being next to the girl who lights his world up like no other spreads throughout his body.

It's why he so cherishes moments like right now, sat on the couch with one leg propped up and the other dangling down, his back towards you as you press a cloth to his wound, no cockblocking older brothers in sight.

'Cockblocking older brothers'? Seriously, Jason? Don't be a dick. She's not yours.

"—Jay? Jason?"

He blinks, head tilting just over his shoulder to meet with your own, that cute little sassy brow raise you do greeting him almost as soon as he does.

"You weren't listening to me, were you?"

He blinks again, lips quirking up at the corner as he stares at you through lidded eyes. "Nah."

Then he winces, face scrunching up as your hand meets his back with a resounding smack that sends tingles down his spine (whether or not they're from pain or something else, he won't say).

"You are unbelievable."

Almost immediately, his wince is wiped clean off his face, and in its place, sits a lazy grin instead. "Believe it, doll."

With that familiar huff you do whenever you're sick of his attitude but too tired to say anything back, you return to focusing on cleaning his wound, and he uses the moment to take you in.

You're sat there, knees tucked under your body and lips parted ever so slightly, looking as though they're just begging for him to meet them with his own, as you concentrate on the task at hand.

Do you even know what you do to him? The way he'll fall to his knees in an instant should you say so? The way he longs to wrap his arms around your waist and plead and beg at your feet for you to leave his brother and be with him instead?

It's wrong—God, it's so wrong. But Jason just can't help it. He wants to be selfish. You make him want to be selfish.

No. Stop it. She's Dick's girl. Not yours.

He curses.

You pull away immediately.

"Sorry," you say, and it's with brows all knitted and tight and worried all over. "Did that hurt?"

The edges of his eyes go soft. "Nah. You're good, princess."

Then, instead of immediately going back to cleaning his wound like he thought you would, you pause—linger—and your lips pull into a frown.

He mimics your expression. "Somethin' on your mind?"

"Just..." you start, lowering the cloth like it's your guard, like you're letting down your defences just for him, and his heart flutters at the thought, "worried I guess."

"Yeah?"

You nod. "Yeah."

Then you go back to tending to his back, slower than before, but still just as gentle, still just as kind, and maybe, if he can allow himself this pretend, still just as loving.

A few beats pass before you pause again, and he sees the way your eyes glaze over in real time.

He parts his lips, ready to call for you, when you interrupt him.

"Jason..?"

He melts. "Yeah?"

"You... you're not getting into any serious trouble, are you?"

When he quirks a brow, you continue, albeit, hesitantly.

"It's just... well, your injuries have been getting worse lately, and I... I just can't help but worry." You furrow your brows, shaking your head violently after a moment passes. "Nevermind, what am I saying? You can handle yourself. I'm just being stupid."

It's then that he chooses to turn his body around, to stop craning his neck in order to look at you despite the way it aches to do so—and as he does, as the couch lifts from his lack of weight before sinking down again not a moment after, he can see the way your eyes, sparkling and pretty as ever, go wide with surprise.

That surprise only heightens when he takes your hands in his own.

"You're not stupid, doll," he says, soft and certain. "You just care."

Your breath hitches, and he thinks his own is caught in his throat too as he registers just how close you are to him now, just how you're a breath away from his lips.

The heat of your body radiates against his own, the feeling like a warm fire in an ice-cold cave, like something he needs in order to survive.

It's pulling, this magnet that draws him closer, that weighs down on his eyes and blocks the very air from leaving his lungs until all he can focus on, all he can breathe in, is you.

Perfect, loving, sweet little you. Who sits so close to him with big eyes, and parted lips, and his brother's name written all over you—

Fuck. Pull away, Jason. Pull away.

He doesn't have to, because you do instead—

—and his heart shatters in his chest.

"I should... I should get you wrapped up." You clear your throat, averting your gaze to the side, and Jason desperately wishes to move with it, if only to stay in your eyes for just a little longer. "You'll bleed out at this rate."

And as he sits there, your body now right behind his own to finish wrapping his wound, he can't help but somehow feel like you're farther away than ever before.

[snail-day]

You and Satoru play Minecraft in separate rooms, by choice, apparently. Mostly so he can spam the Discord server he made just for the two of you. It has three channels: "Just Us 💕", "Important Stuff 😎", and "Cursed Pics 🔥", and twelve custom emojis, including five different versions of his face.

Anyway. That’s not the point.

You're both headed back to your cozy little Minecraft house, your shared base with the ugly-cute mismatched roof and the hearts-and-flowers aesthetic, and you do something evil. Diabolical, even.

You broke one of the beds. His blue bed. And moved it to the other side of the house.

For a moment, the call goes quiet. Too quiet.

Then, footsteps, in real life. Fast and heavy ones. You don't even have time to look up from your screen before your door swings open and Satoru, in all his glory, is standing there with the biggest puppy dog eyes.

“What the fuck, babe?” is all he says, high-pitched and horrified, followed by the thump of him practically throwing himself onto the floor beside you.

“No, no, no, don’t do this to me,” he gasps, dramatic as ever. “Was it the diamonds? I gave you the diamonds! Was it - wait - do you need bones for dogs? Baby, I can get you so many bones. You want a skeleton farm? I’ll build you a skeleton farm!”

You can practically hear him melting down, one whiny plea at a time, as he scoots closer, clutching onto your hand.

“You can’t separate our Minecraft beds. That’s emotional damage. I can't handle that. Baby, you know I can't handle that. That’s - oh my god, do you want a separate house? Are you moving out? Please, just tell me what I did.”

It takes an hour to console him btw.

[honey-on-your-tongue]

Giving your first time to Ghost 🤭 (nsfw)

“Take it easy, take it easy, love,” he says against your ear, grinning that stupid wolfish grin as you mewl.

He has two thick fingers in your cunt, slowly pumping in and out of you, stretching you out gently. But you're impatient, you keep grinding your hips against his hand and begging for more.

“Need your cock,” you whine, pouting, those gorgeous eyes looking up at him.

“Love, I'll hurt you if I don't prep you enough,” he says gently. “This pussy's so tight, I'll break her if I'm not careful.”

“I don' care,” you say desperately. “Please, I just need you in me.”

It takes some convincing but, eventually, he gives in.

Once he's naked, he climbs on top of your body as you lay on the bed, his enormous frame settled between your spread thighs.

“You sure?” he asks again, eyes studying your face for any sign of hesitation.

“Yes, yes, 'm sure.” You nod eagerly.

“You silly girl, don't know what you're getting into,” he says, tsking softly and shaking his head. Still, he rubs his cock against your cunt, gathering your slick before he places the bulbous head to your entrance.

You nod again, holding his gaze, and he takes a breath.

And then he's pushing into you, thick cock filling you up inch by inch. And it feels like heaven for him—your soft, warm, wet, tight pussy as it struggles to fit him. He groans, eyes fluttering shut for a second.

When he's halfway in, he glances down at you to see how you're doing. And you're too far gone: eyes shut tight, mouth open in ecstasy as little sounds leave you. Your chest rises and falls with each heavy breath.

“You good, love?” he asks.

“Yes,” you manage, body trembling underneath his. “Yes.”

“You poor thing, can't even take half my cock, hm?” he asks, kissing your forehead. He continues talking between kisses that he places across your beautiful face. “Gonna have to teach you, gonna make you learn. My girl's gonna take every inch of me one day, yeah? Every inch until this pretty pussy is molded to my cock, you understand, love? Gonna have to practice every day.”

---

If anyone wants me to start a Ghost taglist, lmk ❤️

---

Blog masterlist

[thebibliosphere]

So, two things:

1) Good luck with the new neurologist! Hoping they're a good addition to your medical team!

2) Genuine question, prompted by your recent posts about how a chiropractor messed up your neck: Is "...how dangerous chiropractors are..." a complete across-the-board no-exceptions thing? I ask because I'm in the early phases of looking for a chiropractor to partner with my dentist in treating my TMJ, since (from what I understand of the studies I found on the NIH site) that's a specific condition that chiropractic treatment can benefit.

I do know that the efficacy of chiropractic treatment is limited to specific conditions, is often hugely overstated, and that many chiropractors are quacks (or worse) so lots of research is necessary before seeking treatment with a given chiropractor. But now I feel like I'm missing something more, if that makes sense? And I don't want to do myself more harm than good. (Thank you in advance for any information you're willing and able to provide!)

There will always be some risk attached to chiropractic treatment, just like there will always be some people who swear it changed their life for the better.

Personally, I'd urge physical therapy for TMJ that targets the muscles involved in the joint dysfunction. A good chiropractor would recommend the same, so why not save yourself the chiropractic fee and seek out physical therapy in the first place?

A bad chiropractor will put their hands on your head/face and say, "Oh yeah, I can treat that," and potentially wreck your jaw. Maybe not at first, but it only takes one time to fuck up. I had my neck adjusted numerous times before a very gentle maneuver fucked up my life irrevocably. It wasn't a showy snap, crackle, and pop maneuver; it was just him turning my head too far to the side with a little too much pressure, and then I ended up getting an emergency MRI for a suspected brain bleed. If he'd been as knowledgeable as he claimed, he would have noted the hypermobility in my neck and never laid a finger on me.

The physical therapist I see for TMJ sees so many patients who had their jaws wrenched or even broken by chiropractors who were chasing the "crack" sound instead of actually paying attention to the muscles and the state they were in before applying pressure.

Unfortunately, you won't know what type of chiro you're letting put their hands on you until they've got their hands on you.

A PT who specializes in TMJ is safer. They might still fuck you up becuase that's always a risk with anything, but in my experience it's a whole lot gentler and has longer lasting benefits because it's aiming to correct the muscle dysfunction that's fucking up the joint. If you don't retrain those muscles, no amount of "correcting" the joint is going to do anything. It's just going to keep bringing you back into the office for temporary relief.

[queer-as-used-by-tolkien]

You know who you are; my best friend.

Maybe I have seen this post before and maybe I have written a similar reblog to it, because this post makes me think of you.

You were honest with me that you were choosing me and that you wanted me. You told me I was important to you. You told me I made you feel good and you wanted to hang out with that kind of person. And again and again you showed me that you wantd me.

I remember one day we were hanging out in your room - it might have been your birthday party and I was there early (and I was also going to stay late and sleep over) - and you had a new record, and you said you'd had this one for a while but you always saved them to open for special occasions. And then you began opening it, and for a moment I was baffled; just like that? Just opening it right here? No fanfare of ceremony? No ritual? The birthday party was still a few hours away... and it dawned on me that the only thing special about that occasion, that moment, is that I was there.

And that touched me deeply.

In that moment I admired your willingness to show so powerfully that I was important to you. That my mere presence was considered a special occasion. Because I knew in that moment that if our positions were reversed I would not have had the courage to show that so clearly, no matter how much I felt it.

But going forward? It was a different story. Going forward I knew that you understood what it was to want someone, you understood what it meant that we were friends, and going forward I knew that I could show that as well.

Your bravery and honesty freed me to be open about how much I wanted you, too.

...

There is nothing like a friendship where both people know they are wanted. Where we can both openly make time and space for each other in our lives and openly prioritize each other above lesser things and be honest and say "I care about you more than I care about that. Let's hang out."

There is no awkwardness or embarrassment about it because I see in you the same desire I feel: that friendship is IMPORTANT. It wasn't just some passing acquaintanceship.

What makes this friendship especially special is that we don't have to pretend to be casual about each other. You are my friend, and that means something.

And I was so happy to have found someone else who understands that friendship is deep, it is meaningful, it is powerful. It is something to be treasured, prioritized, and sacrificed for.

And that's how I know that when you are busy, when we cannot spend time together - I know that means what you are doing must truly be very important to you. And I hope you do well at it even if I don't know or understand all the details. And I pray that you achieve what you are reaching for and that your life is better for it. I hope you have the energy and the focus and the capacity to do and to enjoy it. And I am happy you have found something like that in your life, because everyone needs something like that. And I will wait patiently for the day we can hang out again, and hear you tell me all about it.

Because you are my friend, and what means a lot to you means a lot to me.

❤️

to want and be wanted

georges bataille / emily palermo / olivia laing / @chaandajaan / georges bataille / cj hauser / @kvetchkween / @nicholasbraungf / vi khi nao / silas denver melvin

[azrielbrainrot]

Play Fighting with Azriel

Warnings: smut, making out, oral (f receiving), vaginal sex

A/N: I don't know what this is but enjoy.

“Do you yield?”

With your wrist pinned under his hand and his bigger body straddling yours, you couldn't even say anything, only letting out a scoff and glaring up at him.

Of course you had no delusional belief that you'd be able to actually take Azriel but the fact that he had won so easily without even breaking a sweat was frustrating you a bit. You've been practicing with him so often, it almost feels like you wasted all those early mornings.

There was something about the confident smirk on his face as he peered down at you that was making it harder to breathe too. Mother knows Azriel has always been unbelievably handsome but Gods does he look even better with that confident, even slight arrogant, glint in his eyes, biceps straining against his short sleeved shirt, its hem riding up just enough to give you a tease of skin and toned muscle.

An idea pops into your mind then, a delicious, wicked idea. You bite your lip, trying and failing to fight back a smile, taking advantage of the hand he hadn't even concerned himself with restraining and placing it on his chest.

“I guess I should know better than to think I could beat our famed Shadowsinger,” you say, eyes dropping to his lips before moving lower to watch your hand.

“What are you up to, princess?”

“Nothing at all.” You give a shrug, trailing your hand down and down his torso, feeling his breath hitch as you both watch your hand move slowly until you find the sliver of skin right above his pants. You let your fingers wander for a second, a fire igniting in your lower belly as the air changes around you.

Things between you and Azriel have always been interesting to say the least. There was always flirting and pet names, lingering touches and heated stares, it's not even the first time that you found yourself with his body pressed against yours similarly to this moment, but you had never quite crossed the line, not fully.

A soft call of your name brings you back to the present, finding your finger had moved on its own and you were now tracing the waistband of his pants. When your eyes meet you hesitate, momentarily forgetting what you were doing in the face of so much desire, the same that was probably written on your own face. Being caged under his body like this makes it hard for you to think, meaning your body is fighting to take control and unfortunately your body only wants one thing right now.

With a sigh, almost disappointed in yourself, you kick out his legs like he has taught you, releasing his hold on your wrist, and with a push of your hands at his chest and a not so fair grab of his sensitive wings, you manage to throw him off his balance and then lunge at him and flip him over, straddling him just as he had done to you.

A triumphant smile falls over your lips as you take in his bewildered expression, grabbing both of his wrists against the floor and repeating the same words he had thrown at you earlier.

“Do you yield?”

Azriel regains his composure with a couple of blinks, an amused smile gracing his face. “You beat me,” he murmurs with a small sigh.

“I did,” you confirm with a nod, voice fat too breathy for your liking. Letting go of his wrists, you sit up on his torso, his hand coming up to hold onto your thigh immediately. You both knew he could easily flip you back if he wanted to, but he seemed perfectly content with seeing you perched on top of him.

You were acutely aware of your position, every inch of heated skin pressed against yours, the slight tremble in both of your breaths and the all-consuming hunger in his eyes.

If you had already crossed the line, why not take advantage of it? Why had you been holding back for so long anyway? You certainly couldn't think of a good reason as your scents deepen and a heat you can't seem to control rises within you.

“Does the winner get a prize?”

His grip on your thigh tightens for a beat, that same stupidly attractive smirk returning to his lips. It makes you clench around nothing, and you know he feels it too when he lets out a breathless groan, gaze dropping to where you sit down on him before meeting yours again, other hand coming to hold onto your other thigh, grinding you down on him.

“What do you have in mind, princess?”

“You,” you breathe out, “I want you.”

No sooner the words leave your mouth than he sits up and presses his lips against yours, instincts taking control as you forget that line, forget everything but him. All that time spent playing around each other seems to crash down over you with an intense sense of urgency. Devouring each other like you had been starving, teeth clashing and hands roaming, pushing clothes to the side.

You could feel your underwear sticking uncomfortably to your folds, could feel his cock throbbing as you grind into him, his teeth biting down your neck, breathy moans escaping your lips unattended.

“Az,” you whine at a particularly harsh bite, “please I need you now.”

He groans against your neck and comes up to kiss you again. The kiss is entirely too short for your liking and you were about to tell him as much when he sits up and carries you up with him, moving to drop you over the sofa unceremoniously and taking off your pants and underwear at once.

Before you have the chance to grab onto his clothes and do the same, he dives down and licks a stripe over your cunt, making both of you let out obscenely loud moans. Azriel wastes no time in diving back in, your hands tangling in his hair as he devours you, making out with your cunt.

It feels like you had been close ever since his lips fell on yours, desire running over your veins like molten lava, so it's not surprise that you find yourself right in the edge as soon as he fucks two fingers into you. You go to tell him as much when he stops suddenly, a whimper escaping you, hands trying to grip onto his hair harder and keep him in place.

“Why…?”

“Gonna fuck you properly.” His voice is breathy and rough with desire, eyes transfixed on your leaking cunt as he unbuckles his pants and frees his erection at last, pumping it once, twice before looking up at you. “Isn't that what you wanted?”

“Please.”

At any other time you might have been embarrassed with how much you were begging but as he guides his throbbing cock to your hole, you couldn't even feel a sliver of embarrassment, or anything else aside from hungry desire.

You grab onto his neck as he works his cock into you, bringing him in for another kiss, finding his lips had been away from yours for far too long and you needed more of his intoxicating taste. He fucks his full length into you as slowly as both of your nonexistent patiences allow, but as soon as he sits fully inside you, making you struggle to take a breath at just how full you felt, his hips start snapping into yours at a punishing pace.

The world disappears around you, sounds of skin slapping on skin and unabashed moans the only thing that could be heard around the room, and likely the rest of the house. If you had been able to pay attention you might have noticed Cassian flying Nesta out of the House between giggles, giving you both the privacy you so clearly needed.

You have no idea how much time passed before you feel like you can't hold back anymore, the promise of a destructive orgasm rising inside you, getting closer and closer with every snap of his hips.

“Az, I'm-”

“I know,” he manages between breaths, “Me too.”

He trails a hand down to your clit, toying with it until you can't breathe and pleasure washes over you, cunt clenching around him wildly, sending him over the edge right along with you. Azriel buries his face in the crook of your neck and grinds into you, fucking you through your orgasms and only stopping when you come down, breaths normalizing as sensitivity becomes too much to bear.

You hold each other like that for a while, keeping your bodies as close as possible even when he comes up to kiss you again, slower, and pulls away to look into your eyes, words that haven't been said clear as day in the hazel. You cup his cheek and smile up at him, cursing yourself for waiting this long to have him, taking in the infatuated smile on his own face.

“Feels like I won too.”