#the first two is me drawing and naming them from memory

[soular-lunii]

mo4 invaded my brain again. they’re so stupid

[hyunjinsmuze]

A/N it’s not letting me reply to my requests but this is a request!!! so if you have any send them to my inbox 💞

You Can Join

warnings: cock warming, oral (fem receiving) a little m x m, use of ‘good girl’

contains: ⛔️smut, threesome, a little fluff

summary: you were only supposed to be seeing your childhood bestfriend and now your involved in a secret you can’t forget

pairing: leeknow x han jisung x reader

words: 3.8k

You used to think summers lasted forever. Long days, scraped knees, and the sound of Changbin’s laugh ringing through the sticky heat like a bell. Back then, he wasn’t a famous rapper with millions of fans chanting his name. He was just Changbin from two streets over, the loud, scrappy kid who could never win at Mario Kart but insisted on rematches until the sun went down.

You didn’t grow up inseparable. It wasn’t like the dramas made it out to be. There were years when you barely talked, middle school drama, new friends, life. But the bond never really broke. You always came back to each other in the end, like bookmarks in a story neither of you had finished reading.

High school was when things started to shift. He got serious about music. You got serious about... well, trying to survive exams and not lose your mind. You cheered him on from the sidelines, sent him stupid memes at 3 a.m., sometimes didn’t talk for weeks but always picked back up like no time had passed.

Then came his debut.

You were proud — like, beyond proud. But it also meant distance. Not emotional, not really. Just time zones, tour schedules, and a version of him you could only see through screens and stage lights. Still, when he did reach out, it was always genuine.

Which brings you to now.

The friendship isn’t deep in the way some childhood friendships are, but it’s solid. It’s honest. He’s one of the few people who’s seen you ugly cry after failing a test and laugh until you snorted cola out your nose. That counts for something.

And the rest of Stray Kids? You’ve met them. Not in a fangirl way, you made that clear from day one. You weren’t there to drool over their visuals. They were Changbin’s people, and slowly, over a handful of get-togethers, they started to become yours, too.

Lee Know was cool, in that slightly intimidating “I’ll-read-you-in-two-seconds” kind of way. He didn’t talk much to you at first, but when he did, it was sharp, not unkind, just observant.

Jisung? He was chaos personified. Hyper, a little awkward, full of jokes. You liked him. He made you feel like you belonged even when you were just sitting quietly on the edge of a group.

You’d hung out with them a few times, movie nights, random meals when Changbin dragged you along, that one beach trip where you fell asleep with sand in your hair and woke up to Jisung drawing something obscene near your ankle with sunscreen.

Still, you were careful. You never overstayed. You knew their world was hectic, private. You never wanted to be that person , the childhood friend trying to milk clout or cling to old memories.

But when Changbin messaged out of the blue, “Hey, I miss your dumb face. Come hang out this weekend?” you said yes without thinking.

Because some bonds don’t need daily maintenance. They just exist. And sometimes, all it takes is a text to remind you that yeah, he still thinks of you as one of his people.

And you? Well. You missed being around people who knew you before.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

It’s quiet when you arrive — too quiet, considering the chaos that usually defines anything involving Stray Kids. You press the buzzer and wait, your reflection staring back at you in the gloss of the dorm’s front entrance glass. The door clicks open and you step inside, greeted by the soft hum of electronics and the faint smell of ramen and cleaning supplies, someone must’ve just cleaned.

You slip your shoes off and glance around. No one's in the hallway. No laughter. No shouting. You frown a little but shrug it off. Changbin did say they might be out. Still, it’s kind of eerie being in their dorm alone, even though it’s not your first time.

Text from Changbin [4:38 PM]:

"Running late — got caught in traffic. Be there in 45ish. You can chill, everyone else is probably out too 🫠 Don’t eat all the snacks."

You snort. Typical.

You wander in further, your steps light on the polished floor. The living room is the same as you remember, slightly messy, with throw blankets half-folded and a weirdly large collection of remotes that no one ever knows how to use. There’s a hoodie draped over the arm of the couch. You recognize it, it’s Jisung’s. You pick it up, giving it a small shake before tossing it neatly onto the back of the chair.

There’s something a little too domestic about it all.

You flop down on the couch and stare up at the ceiling, letting the silence fill your ears. It’s weird. Not uncomfortable exactly, but unfamiliar. Like you’re sitting inside someone else’s life. You scroll your phone for a bit, switch to some random playlist, and then let your eyes close.

For a moment, you think about Changbin again. It’s always a little bittersweet, seeing him now. You’re proud of him, always, but it’s hard not to notice how different his world is from yours. You’re still you — still figuring things out, still living in the spaces between job applications and late-night cravings. Meanwhile, he’s out here living the kind of life people only dream of.

And yet... he still invites you back.

Maybe that means something.

You sit up, stretching your arms over your head. “Okay,” you mumble to no one. “What now?”

Your eyes wander toward the hallway. A faint sound catches your ear, not music, not talking exactly, but something. A soft thud. Maybe a laugh? You tilt your head. Could be someone’s home after all. You hesitate. You’re not the type to snoop, but boredom’s a dangerous thing.

And maybe… maybe you’re curious.

You make your way down the hall quietly, your bare feet making barely a whisper against the floor. The noise comes from upstairs, the door to the second floor is slightly ajar. That’s when you hear it again.

Voices. Low. Male. A laugh — breathy, almost choked. Then something like…

A kiss?

Your stomach twists strangely, and for a second, you think maybe you misheard. You’re halfway up the stairs before your mind really catches up with your body. You're not trying to spy. You just—

Okay. You kind of are.

Curiosity gets the best of you.

You step carefully up onto the second floor, trying not to breathe too loudly. You follow the sound to one of the bedrooms. The door is cracked open, just enough. You peer through the gap.

And freeze.

There’s Lee Know, sitting back against the headboard. Jisung is half in his lap, straddling his thighs, his hands tangled in Lee Know’s shirt. Their mouths are moving together, slow, deep, like they’ve done this a hundred times before. It’s intimate in a way that feels like a secret and a confession all at once.

You suck in a quiet breath, stepping back. The door creaks just a little under your weight.

Jisung jolts first, wide eyes snapping toward the door. You can see the panic rise in his expression, the way his body goes tense and stiff like someone flipped a switch.

Lee Know’s gaze follows a second later, but his reaction is the complete opposite.

Calm. Composed. Maybe even amused.

“Shit,” Jisung breathes, scrambling a little, pulling at the edge of his shirt.

You’re already raising your hands. “I-I didn’t see anything. I swear. I just heard someone and thought— I’m sorry—”

Lee Know’s voice cuts in. Smooth. Unbothered.

“Don’t go.”

You blink.

He shifts slightly, and Jisung stares at him like he’s grown a second head. “Hyung—?”

“If you don’t tell anyone…” Lee Know’s gaze slides back to you. “You can join us.”

Your brain short-circuits for a second. “W-What?”

His head tilts, dark eyes sharp but unreadable. “I’ve seen how you look at us,” he says casually, like he’s stating the weather. “Especially Jisung.”

Jisung turns red, still trying to process the situation.

You stammer something, probably the beginning of a very weak excuse, but then Lee Know adds, “Come here.”

It’s not a question.

Something about his tone sends a small, electric thrill down your spine. It’s commanding. Teasing. Like he already knows what you’ll choose.

And then he looks to Jisung. “Tell her.”

Jisung licks his lips, eyes flickering nervously between you and Lee Know. “I… We’ve both— kind of— We’ve thought about you. A lot.”

There’s silence. Charged. Breathless.

Your heart is thudding way too fast.

You don’t say anything. Not yet. But you don’t move either.

You’re not leaving.

Not yet.

You should leave.

You should turn around, go downstairs, and pretend you never saw anything.

But you don’t.

You stand there, fingers clenched against your palms, heart racing so fast it drowns out the sound of your own thoughts. Jisung is still flushed, hands halfway tangled in the hem of his shirt, looking between you and Minho like he’s waiting for someone to wake him up.

Minho is steady. Always steady. His gaze stays locked on yours.

“Come here,” he says again, voice lower now, smooth like honey with a dangerous edge.

You step into the room.

Because you’re not pretending you didn’t hear him. You’re not pretending you haven’t thought about it, too — maybe late at night, alone, your thoughts wandering a little too far into dangerous territory. You’ve seen the way Jisung looks at you when he thinks you’re not paying attention. You’ve caught Minho smirking, watching you with those unreadable eyes.

You just never thought they talked about it.

“You’re really not going to tell anyone?” Jisung asks, his voice soft, uncertain.

You shake your head. “I won’t.”

Minho smirks slightly, satisfied. He pats the edge of the bed. “Then sit.”

You do.

Close enough that your knees brush Jisung’s thigh.

He swallows hard.

Minho shifts beside him, draping one arm behind Jisung casually, fingers ghosting over his shoulder. “We’ve thought about you,” he says, the words slow, deliberate. “A lot.”

You exhale slowly, trying to calm your pulse. “Like… thought about…?”

Minho’s eyes flick down your body, then back up, sharp and warm. “Like how you’d sound,” he says, “if we took turns kissing you.”

Jisung lets out a quiet breath, staring at his lap. Minho’s hand moves to his neck, thumb stroking over his pulse.

“Thought about how you’d look,” he continues, “with your head thrown back, mouth open, begging for more.”

Your thighs press together instinctively. He notices. His smirk widens.

“You’ve got no idea how pretty we think you are,” Minho adds, leaning a little closer. “Or how much we talk about you when we’re alone. Isn’t that right, Ji?”

Jisung groans softly, hiding his face for a second. “Hyung…”

“Tell her.”

You glance between them, your skin prickling with heat.

Jisung shifts, eyes flicking up to meet yours. “I—I think about you all the time,” he admits, his voice tight. “Like, fuck, it’s bad. The things I’ve imagined doing to you…”

You shiver.

He looks wrecked just saying it, pink-faced, pupils blown wide, lip caught between his teeth. “I’ve— I’ve jerked off thinking about you,” he blurts out, then immediately covers his face again. “Fuck.”

Minho laughs under his breath. “You’re so shy now, but you’re the one who whines when she texts you at night and you can’t touch yourself.”

You blink. “Wait, what?”

Jisung squeaks. “Hyung!”

“He gets so desperate,” Minho murmurs, leaning in toward your ear. His breath is hot against your skin. “He’ll send me voice notes begging for permission to touch himself. Just because you posted a photo looking too good.”

You don’t know where to look, everything is heat and tension and the sense that a line has already been crossed, and now there’s no going back.

“What about you?” Minho asks, eyes gleaming. “Have you thought about us?”

You nod slowly. “Yeah.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Both of us?”

You glance at Jisung, then back at him. “Yeah. Both.”

There’s a long pause.

Then Minho leans forward and kisses you.

It’s not soft. Not testing. He kisses you like he’s claiming something, like he’s known you’d taste good and now he’s proving it. His hand comes up to cradle your jaw, angling your face exactly the way he wants, tongue sliding against yours, hot and sure.

You whimper into his mouth before you even realize you’re doing it.

When he pulls back, Jisung is staring — eyes blown wide, chest heaving.

Minho tilts his head. “You want to kiss her too?”

Jisung nods, almost desperately.

You don’t even have to move — he leans in and captures your lips in a kiss that’s messier, needier, full of shaky breath and whispered sounds. His hands tremble as they cup your waist, thumbs sliding under your shirt just barely.

When you part, you’re breathless, your mouth kiss-swollen, your head spinning.

Minho’s hand slides down your back, warm and confident. “You want to join us, don’t you?”

You nod.

He smirks, pleased. “Good girl.”

Those two words set something off in you, a shudder deep in your gut. You gasp softly, and Minho clearly notices.

“Oh? You like being called that?”

You bite your lip.

Jisung’s hand moves to yours, fingers lacing together. “Can I touch you more?”

Minho hums. “Only if she says yes.”

You nod again. “Yes.”

Jisung shifts forward and places a kiss just below your jaw, sweet and a little clumsy. His hand slides up under your shirt, not rushing, just exploring — fingers brushing your ribs, then higher.

“You’re so soft,” he whispers. “So perfect.”

Minho watches you like a predator. “I want you to take your shirt off.”

You hesitate only a second before pulling it over your head.

Both boys groan at once.

“Fuck,” Jisung breathes, hands now on your waist. “You’re actually— you’re so hot, I don’t even know what to do—”

“Relax,” Minho says, voice low. “We’ll show her everything. She’ll beg for us by the time we’re done.”

He moves behind you, kissing down the curve of your shoulder, slow and sensual, while Jisung presses soft kisses to your stomach. Your skin is hypersensitive now, every brush of breath or fingertips makes you twitch.

“You still sure about this?” Minho murmurs near your ear.

You nod again, breath hitching. “Yes.”

“Say it,” he says, licking the shell of your ear. “Tell us you want us.”

“I want you,” you whisper. “Both of you.”

Minho smiles against your skin. “Good girl.”

He moves to unhook your bra, and the moment it falls, Jisung lets out a shaky groan.

Minho slides his hand over your chest, slow and possessive. “Next part,” he whispers, fingers grazing over one of your nipples, “we make you ours.”

Minho doesn’t give you time to overthink.

He nudges Jisung back with a quiet, firm “lie down,” and the younger boy obeys instantly, scooting back against the pillows with wide, glassy eyes.

Then Minho turns to you.

“Strip,” he says simply, voice cool, controlled.

You obey, slowly, nervously, but already burning up. You feel their eyes on you as you slide your pants down, then your underwear. By the time you’re bare, Jisung is chewing his lip and Minho is watching you like he already owns you.

“Fuck, she’s gorgeous,” Jisung whispers.

Minho doesn’t smile — not exactly. He’s too focused. But there’s satisfaction in the way he looks at you, like he’s seeing a fantasy finally come to life.

“C’mere,” he says, and you climb onto the bed.

He positions you right between them, Jisung beneath you, hard and panting, and Minho behind, still half-clothed but completely in control.

“You’re going to take us both tonight,” Minho murmurs in your ear. “You want that, baby?”

“Yes,” you whisper.

“Louder.”

“Yes.”

Minho hums his approval and kisses down your neck, his hands sliding around your waist to grope your chest again, firmer this time, possessive. “You’re already shaking,” he whispers. “And we haven’t even touched you properly.”

Jisung’s hands find your hips, pulling you down over him so you’re straddling his lap. His clothed cock presses against you, desperate and twitching. “C-Can I take mine off?”

But Minho presses his hand flat against your stomach. “Not yet.”

He glances down at Jisung, who’s panting, already bare, his cock twitching in his pants. “You want her mouth first, Ji?”

Jisung’s eyes are huge, pupils blown. “Y-Yes— wait, I mean—”

Minho smirks. “I meant your mouth on her, baby.”

Jisung’s brain visibly short-circuits.

“Oh—fuck, yes. Yes please.”

Minho grips the back of Jisung’s neck and nudges him downward with calm authority. “On your stomach. Face between her legs.”

You lie back, breath caught in your throat, and Jisung slides down the bed like he’s being summoned by gravity, kissing your thighs, trembling with anticipation.

Minho moves behind him, still fully dressed, and leans over to trail kisses down the curve of Jisung’s spine.

“She’s so wet for us already,” he murmurs, and Jisung groans in agreement as he drags his tongue through your folds, slow and reverent.

Your hips jerk.

“Oh my god—” you gasp, fisting the sheets.

Jisung moans against you, messy and needy — tongue swirling over your clit, then dipping inside you with growing urgency. He clutches your thighs, holding you open, face buried in your heat like he can’t get close enough.

Minho watches over his shoulder, one hand gripping Jisung’s hip, the other stroking down his back.

“Good boy,” he says, and leans in to press a soft, open-mouthed kiss between Jisung’s shoulder blades. “Just like that. She loves it, doesn’t she?”

You whimper a moaned “yes,” toes curling.

Jisung licks you faster, lips wrapping around your clit now, sucking gently — making obscene little sounds between desperate breaths. Minho kisses along his spine again, trailing down to the small of his back.

“Such a slut for her,” he murmurs, voice dark with heat. “Bet you’ve dreamed of this. Her thighs around your head. My hands on you. All of us like this.”

Jisung groans into you, the vibration making you gasp, your legs shaking.

“You’re gonna make her come, aren’t you?” Minho growls. “Make her gush all over that pretty mouth.”

You’re already close.

Your hips buck against Jisung’s tongue, and Minho strokes the inside of your thigh, watching your face intently.

“Let go, baby,” he whispers. “Come for us.”

You cry out, hips jerking, back arching, one hand tangling in Jisung’s hair as the orgasm crashes over you. He groans into it, licking you through every wave, hands gripping your thighs tight.

When you finally slump back, panting and trembling, Jisung pulls back, lips shiny, chin soaked.

He looks completely wrecked.

Minho leans down and kisses the back of his neck. “That’s my boy.”

Then he turns to you, eyes dark and hungry. “you wanna ride him now baby?” you nod eagerly

“Wanna let him fuck you while I play with you from behind?”

Your brain short-circuits for a second.

“Yes,” you gasp. “Yes—please.”

He pulls off jisungs pants kissing his tights as the boy underneath him squirms and whimpers.

Jisung lays flat on his back as minho moved me to straddle jisung.

He grabs a condom and tosses it to Jisung. “Be quick. Don’t get sloppy.”

Jisung fumbles a little but gets it on, and Minho pulls you back just slightly, slipping a hand between your legs.

“Oh, fuck—” you gasp, jerking as his fingers slide through your folds.

“So wet,” he mutters. “She’s dripping for you, Ji. You feel that?”

Jisung nods helplessly, eyes glued to where Minho’s fingers are working you open. “I—fuck, I wanna be inside—”

“Then do it.”

Minho helps guide you down — slowly, inch by inch, and both of you moan when he finally fills you. You’re tight, soaked, your walls fluttering around him as you sink fully onto his cock.

“Shit,” Jisung groans, grabbing your hips like he’ll lose control otherwise.

You brace your hands on his chest, panting.

Then Minho wraps one arm around you, pressing his chest to your back. “You don’t move unless I say so.”

You nod.

His free hand travels down, teasing your clit slowly while Jisung twitches inside you, already close from the buildup.

“Look how pretty you are,” Minho whispers. “Both of you. Fucking beautiful.”

You whimper, trying not to buck your hips. Jisung is moaning, every muscle in his body tense.

“Please,” Jisung gasps. “Please let her move—hyung, I can’t—”

Minho’s fingers pinch your clit lightly, making you jolt. “What do you say?”

“Please,” Jisung groans again. “She feels so good, I’ll go crazy if she doesn’t—fuck—please—”

Minho chuckles. “Alright. Move.”

You rock your hips, slowly at first, rolling them just right so that both of you moan again. Jisung bucks up to meet you, nearly sobbing your name under his breath.

Minho bites your shoulder. “That’s it, baby. Ride him. Make him lose it.”

You do, building rhythm, faster, needier, until you’re both falling apart. Jisung grips your ass, thrusting up to meet you, whimpering with every motion.

“Fuck, fuck, I’m gonna—” he warns, and Minho grabs your hips, slowing you down.

“Let go,” he says. “She can take it.”

Jisung moans your name as he finishes, trembling beneath you.

You’re still panting when Minho slides away from behind you.

“My turn,” he says, pulling his shirt over his head and shoving his pants down.

You stare.

He’s big.

And he knows it, too, the smug look he gives you as he rolls the condom on is enough to make your stomach flip.

He gently moves you off of Jisung and onto your back. “Open for me.”

You spread your legs and Minho moves between them, stroking himself once, twice, before pushing in, slow, deliberate, making you feel every inch.

You both groan.

“Fucking tight,” he mutters, gripping your thighs. “God, you feel like heaven.”

He starts slow, measured, deep strokes that make your toes curl. His hand slips under your leg, pushing your thigh up to get deeper.

“You’re doing so good,” he says. “Taking me so well. You were made for this, weren’t you?”

“Yes,” you gasp. “Please—faster—”

He obliges, snapping his hips harder, your whole body rocking with the force of it.

Jisung moves beside you, kissing your neck, your collarbone, whispering praise.

“You’re so pretty,” he breathes. “So fucking good, so perfect—”

Minho grabs your jaw and turns your face to his. “Eyes on me.”

You moan louder when he starts pounding into you harder, the bed creaking, skin slapping against skin, sweat dripping down his chest. “You love this, don’t you?” he growls. “Being fucked dumb by both of us?”

“Y-Yes—”

He reaches down, fingers circling your clit again, fast and unforgiving. “Then come for me. Come while I fuck this perfect pussy.”

You break.

The orgasm rips through you, sudden and overwhelming, your vision goes white, your body trembling under the force of it.

“Good girl,” Minho groans, thrusting once, twice, then spilling into the condom with a low growl.

You barely register him pulling out, collapsing next to you on the bed.

There’s a long silence.

Just panting.

Sticky skin and tangled limbs.

Then Minho brushes a strand of hair from your face and leans in, kissing your cheek. “You okay?”

You nod weakly, breathless. “Yeah… more than okay.”

Jisung cuddles up against your other side, nuzzling your neck. “That was the best day of my life.”

You laugh, dazed.

Minho smirks. “Guess Changbin’s gonna be real confused when he gets home.”

You all burst into giggles, tangled and happy and sated.

@hwangjoanna @penguins-in-space @sammhisphere

comment if you wanna be added to the tag list

[ahmedsal-1qa]

⛔ please help my family don't skip 🛑

Hello, My name is Ahmad Mohammed Hassan Salah, a 33-year-old man from Gaza, Palestine. Under the sky of Gaza, amidst the war and shelling, begins my story. I lived my life in the northern part of Gaza with my wife and three children, dreaming of a secure future for my small family. Nada, my seven-year-old eldest daughter, loves to draw, though her colors have disappeared amid the rubble 🎨💔. Mohamed, my five-year-old son, still dreams of playing in a garden untouched by bombs 🛝💔. As for Huda, my two-year-old, she has started uttering her first words amid the sounds of explosions 🍼💔.

The tragedy began one night of the war when I was forced to leave my home under continuous bombardment 💣😔. I carried my children and my anxious wife, running through the debris and darkness in search of a safe haven 🌪️. Our journey was fraught with dangers, as we left everything behind: our home, memories, and even our money and food 🏚️💔. After a long journey, we found ourselves in southern Gaza, where we set up a small tent as a temporary refuge ⛺😞.

The tent, small as it was, became our new world. Without mattresses to shield us from the cold nights or blankets to protect us from the rain 🌧️❄️, life was harsh. The children slept on the ground, and I struggled to provide any food to feed my family 🍞💔. But the war showed us no mercy. After only three months, we were forced to move once again, this time to central Gaza. The Israeli army described it as a "safe zone," but the shelling followed us like an unrelenting shadow 💔💣.

More than a year has passed, and my family and I continue to live under bombardment and destruction 🌋💔. Each day brings with it a new story of suffering. Food is scarce 🍽️, water is contaminated 🚱, and fear never leaves my children's hearts 😔💔. Nada has started asking, "When will this war end?" 😢. Mohamed tries to comfort his mother, who weeps in silence 😭💔. As for Huda, she knows no world other than one filled with terrifying sounds 🥺.

I also suffer from a chronic illness, and I have a medical report confirming my condition 🏥💔. However, the pain of my illness is less than the anguish I see in my children's eyes 💔😔. I try to be strong, but I sometimes break down when I cannot provide food for them 🥺. My wife stands by me, trying to bring hope, but even hope has become a rare commodity 💔.

Amidst the devastation, I want to send a message to the world: "We are human. Our children deserve a better life. We just want safety. All I want is to sleep one night without fearing that my children will wake up to the sound of explosions." 🙏💔

Due to this ongoing suffering, I appeal to the world through Tumblr to raise donations for my family and for other families experiencing similar circumstances 🌍💔. If you are able to provide any assistance, no matter how small, it would mean so much to us 🙏🫂. You can help by donating food, clothing, or even essential medications that we desperately need 💊🛒. I kindly ask you to share our story on Tumblr, because spreading it may reach kind hearts all over the world—hearts that can offer help and save the lives of my children and the children of Gaza from this hell ❤️🕊️.

My story is not just an individual one; it represents thousands of families in Gaza living in conditions that are unimaginable 💔. The question remains: How long will this suffering continue? And will the day come when Nada can draw a sun without it being covered by the smoke of war? 🌞✏️💔

✅️Vetted by @gazavetters, my number verified on the list is ( #280 )✅️

✅️Vetted by @gazavetters

[ekkothroughtime]

adrenaline | ekko x reader

Word Count: 2,500 Notes: 18+, MDNI, AFAB!Reader, no use of y/n. Unprotected sex, creampie, two short mentions of blood, vaguely described near-death situations, porn with vague plot, established relationships, post-sex banter. This is my first time writing for Ekko; please be gentle with me, haha 💙

"Easy, easy, easy," his burning breath tickles the back of your neck, firm hands squeezing your hips so tightly that you can hardly move. But the adrenaline firing through your nerves still has you wriggling in his grasp. Hopelessly so, as he pushes into you. Pussy fluttering around his cock. Not sure if you want to press into him or jump away from the stretch. 

"Ekko," the shape of his name is the only thing you know. Speech and language comprehension evaporating milliseconds before his pelvis meets your ass. 

And with it, you've lost all control over your own body. Already squirming back into him before you're even ready. Shit, but Ekko's still not moving, calloused fingers digging into your skin, so tight that you know it's going to leave bruises that he'll fuss about later. 

His hips swivel. Stars sparkle in your vision, backdropped by his half-muffled groan. His sweaty forehead falls onto your shoulder, breathing hard through his nose. Mutters something. Sounds like your name.

You think it's your name. Maybe it's not. You don't get time to linger on that because all of a sudden, he's drawing back, and you can't think of anything but the overwhelming emptiness that takes over. He stops just before his tip slips out of you. Lingers there for a second before—

"Ah!" You squeal. Jerking forward. His hips flush with your ass again. And he's already moving again, and fuck—

Alive. He's alive, and he's right here, curled around you. Pistoning into you like one of you might disappear if he doesn't. But you're here. Head resting against the concrete floor. Ass high. Clenching helplessly around his cock as it strikes a familiar bundle of nerves. 

You're here. He's here. Not down in the lanes. Not dodging bullets and throwing punches. Here. Heart pounding so heavy in your chest that it's in your ears. Masking the patter of the rain against the glass and the distant sound of your cries echoing through abandoned halls.  

"Ekko." Repeating again. Blindly pawing behind yourself, brushing his chest, then his lower belly, looking for—

He pins your wandering hand next to your head. Clammy fingers laced between yours. "I've got you, baby," his thrusts are so sharp that his own voice wavers with the motion. "I've got you." 

You don't know what you're doing. Pitchy little whimpers fall off your tongue, tilting your head to rest against his forearm. He's so deep, you don't know if you can even breathe, and oh, you don't know what changed, but his balls are smacking against your clit. Little sparks of heat jolt up your lower belly, exploding in the back of your head.

"Fuck, there you go," Ekko's hissing, "keep clenchin' around me like that." 

You couldn't stop even if you wanted to. Your poor little pussy involuntarily spasming around him, legs trying to close despite his body being wedged between them. Can't do anything short of kicking your foot, like that'll somehow ease the pleasure. 

The hand on your hip disappears. Instead, curling around your waist, cinching your bodies closer. He's so warm. Still smells like oil and something distinctly metallic, the scent of the workshop clinging to him like a bad memory, but a familiar warmth remains underneath. Gentle, like the kisses that pepper up the back of your neck and the hips that have begun to slow. 

"Wanna see your face." He must mean it as more of a warning than a request because you don't voluntarily flip over. You don't even move a muscle. That's all him. Spinning you onto your back, the frigid floor biting into your skin as he slips his cock back inside. You can see it this time. The obscene sight of his fat cock disappearing between your parted thighs, pussy lips practically hugging him. 

You reach for him, outstretched arms hanging in the air for mere milliseconds, before Ekko caves and falls into them. The ends of his hair brush against your forehead, just light enough for it to tickle, and it's only when you're this close that you can truly drink in how he lights up when you giggle. 

"'s my hair getting you again?" He whispers; you're so focused on the split in his bottom lip that you nearly miss it.

"Just a little bit," murmuring, letting your arms loop around his shoulders, broad and delicately chiseled. You think the gods were showing off when they sculpted him.

"Lil' bit?" He parrots in a feather-light tone, nuzzling your noses together. A kiss, all of their own. A perfect distraction for the lazy thrust that punches the air from your throat. 

You should have known he would do this. Too hungry for your expression to let you keep your back to him for long. Him and his swollen, bruised left eye and smeared paint, streaks of white decorating his cheeks and upper lip. That might be dried blood clinging to the side of his neck, and the sleeve of his shirt is mangled in such a way that you wonder how much of that fight was actually playing in his favor.

Thunder booms overhead, rattling the crumbling frame of this old building, swaying with the wind in such a way that you can feel your body tilting with it. You'd worry about it if not for the weight of Ekko's body on top of yours, his mouth wandering across the side of your jaw. Leaving little kisses in his wake, just in case he gets lost.

Your nails dip into the muscle of his shoulders. Legs curling around his waist the best that they can manage. Securing him to you in the only way you know how. 

"I'm not going anywhere," he's hiding a secret mind-reading device somewhere in one of those pockets. You know it. 

All of that effort to keep him from moving, and yet he still manages to lift himself a few inches. Breaking through your grasp with mesmerizing ease, his forearms bracing his weight on either side of your head, properly hovering over you now. Noses brush. His hair is bumping your forehead again. 

Electricity rockets up your spine. 

"There," gasping like a fish out of water, your eyes rolling back. "There, Ekko—mmh!"

There's a grin emerging onto his face, the corners of his lips twisting with that devilish glint that only comes about when he's just found a breakthrough. And oh, you shouldn't have told him because now he's repeating it. Maintaining that same torturous angle, the tiny pieces of scrap metal in his pocket clinking together as his fat tip kisses into those little nerves, over and over and over. 

It's so faint that you nearly question if you're making things up in your head.

The semblance of a moan, slipping through Ekko's parted lips like the beginnings of a melody. There and gone in the blink of an eye, the only indication it was ever there in the first place is the way he immediately forces his mouth closed. 

But one of your hands are traveling to his cheek, your thumb gently pressing on his bottom lip, urging it open again. And who has he ever been to deny you something as simple as this? 

Heat races up your lower belly. Twisting, spinning around like one of his damn hoverboards, rocketing through your veins. It's the kind of sensation that has your skin prickling, back arching off the cold ground and up into Ekko's big, warm body, your shivering legs clinging to his frame. The thump of your heartbeat rises into your ears, the strings holding you together winding tighter and tighter, breaking apart one by one until...

"Come on," Ekko hums; he picked up the signs long before you did, "give it to me."

The final string snaps.

Your vision blurs. Toes curling as your orgasm takes you by surprise, cumming around his cock without any further warning. And god, Ekko just keeps working you through it. Maintaining that same overwhelming pace, battering your poor, spasming walls, every brush of his length against your nerves pushing you higher and higher into the clouds above. 

And you must stay up there for a good minute. Drifting amongst bullets of rain and blinding sparks of lightning, completely and utterly weightless. Heaven, if only for a few fleeting moments.

"Keep going," you don't intend to be so quick about urging him on, but you can't help yourself. Not ready for the emptiness that comes with him pulling out.

Foreheads thunk together without the slightest hint of grace, and his biceps shudder with the effort of keeping his body up, gradually working back up to a choppy rhythm. Mouths clash. Not necessarily a kiss, but it's a touch of lips all the same, drinking in his heated panting as if it's the only thing keeping you alive.

You can't help the way your cunt clenches around his cock, walls almost too sensitive for those short, jerky thrusts. And he whines. Eyelashes fluttering, shivering so hard that you can feel it wracking through him. Fuck, and he's whimpering again. Long, low noises that grow pitchy at the ends.

 Close. He's so close.

Your palms curl around his cheeks, staining themselves in the remnants of white paint that clings to his handsome face. The color smears as your hands roam down his neck and across his shoulders. The tips of your nails gently glide against his skin, swirling indistinct shapes, drawing another shiver out of him.

"You gotta, your legs," Ekko sputters, his tongue flimsy in his mouth. "Baby, I can't pull—"

In an hour, you'll have to deal with the cleanup and regret ever saying this. But he's here, and he's alive, and you're alive, and god, life is too short to deny yourself of the simple pleasures. There's no point in stopping that simple, troublesome little phrase from leaving you.

"Cum in me." 

You think you can see the final spark exploding behind those sweet brown eyes of his. The final straw before it all comes crashing down, his face twisting as his orgasm washes over him and his motions screech to a sudden halt. Hopelessly burying his head into the crook of your neck, hot breath threatening to melt you away. 

Faintly, you're aware of the sensation of his cock twitching inside of you. Pumping rope after rope of hot cum into your sensitive pussy, painting you white. A sticky mess that you'll have to feel dripping out of you the whole way back. As if your post-sex waddle and his unusual displays of public affection aren't enough to tell everyone what you've been up to. 

God, he's gonna wait until you're reunited with everyone to lean over and ask if his cum is still in you, isn't he? Always too eager to see you flustered. 

...maybe you should flip the script and bring it up to him, first. Leave him the stuttering mess, for once. 

"I can hear the gears turning in your head," Ekko's lazy chuckle vibrates against your neck and up your spine, makes your head spin something fierce.

"You need to get your ears checked," but the fire in your half-assed reply is lost the moment he lifts himself up again.

Even now, with the embers of pleasure still twinging the corners of his eyes, his gaze still manages to collect a semblance of worry. His big, warm palms trace over your face, looking for something. Anything. A scratch. A bruise. A splash of blood. The slightest hint that you've been hurt. That he let something hurt you. 

And he finds it.

You knew he would. With Ekko, it's not a matter of if but of when. 

It's nothing but a minor cut. One that's your own fault, really. You hadn't seen the shard of glass sticking out until after you reached through the broken window, chasing your weapon before it could get out of your sight. A slice you didn't truly feel until now, so sore that it aches when he presses a kiss into it.

One of these days, he'll engineer a way to heal with kisses alone, just to prove a point. 

"I'm okay," repeatedly tapping him on the cheek, working a fleeting smile out of that stoic face. "I promise."

And then that smile turns upside down. "I still don't like seeing you hurt." 

For someone so strong, it sure is easy to pull him back down to you. All it takes is one little tug on the wrist for him to melt into you like ice on a sweltering day. Kissing him is like feeling the first drop of rain after the heatwave, the pressure of his lips enough to draw the tension from your shoulders and the worries from your head. 

"So how do you propose we get back home, hm? Mister 'I Can Fly Through Zaun With My Eyes Closed.'" Your smile is painfully evident in your voice, maybe a little too eager to bring up the very thing you overheard him muttering last week. 

His eyes roll, head shaking with it. But...

"There's an underground tunnel that will get us halfway there," he says it with such confidence that you don't need to wonder if he's thought this through or not. Knowing him, it's circled around his mind a dozen times now. "It'll at least get us past the chem-barons without being spotted. We should be good once we get past them."

"Should we start heading that way then?" You ask, letting your thumb trace over his cheekbone, stroking away the dirt that has long since smeared there. There's certainly more where that comes from, pooling around his collar and decorating the jacket he's discarded a few feet away, but it's the thought that counts. Right?

Ekko's eyelashes flutter. A thought flashes behind them. 

"Not yet," he starts, "let's just..." 

The sentence never finishes, left hanging like old laundry, but you've got a sneaking suspicion of what those final words were meant to be. There aren't many topics that steal the wind out of his sails quite like this, and almost all of them involve you. 

"Few more minutes?" You find yourself saying, after a moment.

He nods, eyes sparkling with his sudden, newfangled smile. "Just a few more minutes." 

Lie. From the moment he gets his head on your chest, he's a goner. 

He never lasts more than a minute once he's gotten settled, and his cock still being lodged inside of you doesn't really indicate that he's ready to move anytime soon. Still connected, in spite of the occasional oversensitive shocks and the overbearing danger of being caught like this. In the top floor of an abandoned building, with the chem-barons still warring with each other down the street. 

Only one of the hoverboards is working, and its motor has a horrible stutter that only comes about when it's about to die. You're low on options and high on your delusion of safety.

And yet, you're tracing shapes between his shoulder blades, watching as his eyes fall closed for longer and longer expanses of time until they don't open at all. Lulled to sleep by the beat of your heart, still alive and pounding away in your chest, just like his. 

Just a few more minutes. 

[landosjpg]

morning runs | ln

the one where your boyfriend finds you fast asleep in your hotel bed when he returns from his morning run.

lando norrix x fem!reader

word count: ~1.0k

warnings: smut MINORS DNI!!!!, porn without plot, somnophilia, p in v, unprotected sex (as always, take care please), slight praise

note: those pictures of him running around melbourne with his shirt off have sent me into a spiral and they're the only thing i could think about for the past two days. i could not help myself.

no matter how many times you travelled long distances, you still weren't used to it; jet lag always kicked your ass every time you went to a race on the other side of the world with lando, messing up your sleeping schedule to the point it ended up knocking you out for the vast majority of the day.

you were trying your best to adapt to the time change, but it always took you a few days to get it right. this year, lando had decided that morning runs were the way to beat jet lag.

he had asked you to join a few times, promising it would be helpful, but the drowsiness made it impossible for you to climb out of bed that early and be productive. that's why he had left all by himself early in the morning, tucking you in and planting a soft kiss on your forehead before walking out the hotel room.

he came back only a few hours later, cheeks flushed and a thin layer of sweat covering his chest, tank top in hand. when he walked into your shared room, he found you were still in bed, in the same position he had left you earlier, sheets sprawled out barely covering your body now.

he softly smiled at the sight before him, the dim light that entered the room from the blinds tempting him to get back in bed with you. he would. righter after taking a shower, he promised himself.

however, he walked to where you were, smiling at your sleepy expression.

"i love you," he mumbled, leaning down to peck your slightly parted lips. he raised his eyebrows when he heard a small whimper leave your throat and you shifted around a little, his eyes scanning your half-naked body.

you were only weating one of his shirts. not that it was something you never did before, but something about tour drowsy state was drawing him in. he sat right beside you on the mattress, trying not to woke you up and his fingers slowly reached for your legs, stroking your bare sking tenderly with the tip of his fingers.

you sighed softly at his warm touch, stretching your body and your shirt sliding up, letting him have a look at your underwear. he moved his hand up, up, up, until his fingertips brushed against the hem of your panties. as if it was muscle memory, your legs slowly spread open for him.

and fuck, was it tempting.

it wouldn't be the first time you woke up to his fingers buried deep inside you or his head between your legs, but he knew this time you were too tired. and he would have stood up and taken a shower if you hadn't whimpered his name in your sleep the second he withdrew his hand from your core. the sweet sound that fell from your lips made him smile, fingers slowly going back to pull your underwear to the side so he could get a proper look at you.

his smirk grew wider at the sight of how wet you were, and when you stirred the second he softly pressed his thumb against your clit, he knew he couldn't just leave you yet. lazily, he got rid of his own clothes, discarding them on the floor and hovered over your body, pulling your shirt up to your hips gently, still not wanting to disturb your sleep.

"look so pretty like this, baby," he mumbled before leaning down to kiss your cheek as he slid his already hard cock between your folds, slowly pushing inside of you only a few seconds later. a low groan escaped his throat as you easily took all of him; the fact that you were so ready for him, even in your unaware state, making him smile once more.

he stilled his body as he bottomed out for a few seconds, his eyes taking in your sweet expression. he brushed a strand of your hair back as he started rolling his hips slowly, his breath getting heavier as you hummed in your sleep.

the groan he let out right next to your ear as you unconciously clenched around him woke you up, making your body squirm in confussion under him.

"s'me, baby..." he slurred, still fucking you slowly and gently. "it's just me, don't worry."

you softly whimpered when you heard your boyfriend's voice and felt his weight on you, chest pressed against yours.

"lando..." the moan that left your lips was low, and you lazily wrapped your arms around his waist, holding him close. your eyes fluttered open only to find out he was looking right back at you. through half-lidded eyes, you could see the slight flush of his cheeks, a chuckle leaving your lips before you closed them again.

"you're doing so good," he whispered, keeping his thrusts gentle, not wanting to take you out of your sleepy state. "my pretty, pretty baby," he added, bumping his nose on yours to kiss your lips before hiding his face in the crook of your neck and spreading little kisses all over your skin.

the build up was slow, whispered praises and sighs being the only sound filling the room that turned into low whimpers as soon as you felt your toes curling, your pussy tightening around your boyfriend's cock, stealing a string of curses from his lips when you felt him filling you up.

after a few seconds, he slowly rolled the two of you on the mattress, your body now on top of his with him still buried inside of you.

"go back to sleep, baby," he murmured, pressing a small kiss to the corner of your lips and pulling the bedsheets over your bodies again, his arms holding you close to his chest, keeping you warm and comfortable.

[gloomwitchwrites]

morning after one night stand with 141?

Anon! You have me kicking my feet and giggling over here!! I am cackling so hard omg. I've been waiting for a prompt like this, and I know it has been sitting in my inbox for a while. (Really there are a ton sitting in my inbox and I will get to them all I promise). But after feeling like garbage and having some health issues, this prompt just came to me naturally and I didn't need to force anything. I thought it would be best to tackle this first on my dive back into fulfilling these requests after the 1k follower event.

I went spicy with this one. I won't lie. Because, let's be real, a morning after with any of these four will only end up with you still in that bed. I know I'd fold instantly. No question about it.

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: swearing, unprotected piv, creampie, feelings, oral sex, vaginal fingering, dirty talk, aftercare

Word Count: 3.6k

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Bonus Chapter: Alejandro Vargas

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if series masterlist

John Price

The ceiling fan above you spins slowly. It’s not nearly enough air. Your skin is sticky with sweat, and you’ve hardly slept at all.

The sheets you’re tangled in are thin, but what can you expect from a cheap hotel?

All of this was last second. A moment of tipsy-laced passion. Now you’re reaping the consequences. And the air is too damp, too hot, too—

Fuck.

You glance to your right, at the man softly snoring beside you. All the memories from last night appear before your eyes, replaying like a grainy recording. Images of all the positions this man put you in, and how fucking good his dick felt inside you.

Even now, you still feel the slight sting in your scalp from when he tangled his fingers in your hair while you took him into your mouth.

You need to leave. You need to leave with a thread of your dignity in tact before he wakes up. Before John wakes. You know the name well enough. He had you screaming it nearly all night. Insisted on it, and you happily obliged.

Shifting slightly, you shimmy to the very edge of the bed, trying your hardest to sit up without making too much noise or rocking the bed.  Swinging your legs around, you push up, coming to an upright position, feet planting firmly on the floor. Between your legs is a mess. You don’t have to see it to know.

Most of the night, John used condoms. But when the two of you finally curled up together, John had slid his hand between your thighs and parted you just enough to push right on in. You didn’t protest. You had sighed heavily, and then groaned when he rocked his hips, moving inside you.

In the moment you didn’t care. Not one bit. In a way, you still don’t, but what the fuck were you thinking?

You breathe in deep through your nostrils and then exhale slowly through your mouth. Lingering won’t help. You need to collect your clothes from the floor and leave.

As you open your eyes, and blink, you’re faced with your reflection. The full-length mirror against the wall shows the carnage from the night, but it’s not your appearance that has you pausing.

It’s John.

He’s awake.

And he’s staring right at you.

“You leaving me already?” His voice is husky. Sleep-tinged. The sound of it goes straight to your pussy.

“No,” you reply automatically.

He yawns, muscled chest flexing. “You’re lying, love.”

Your limbs do not cooperate. Move. That’s what you need, but your body isn’t listening. It’s melting instead, wanting to draw back into his arms.

“Am I?”

He nods, and rubs his large hand across his chest. The dark hairs there are tempting. You remember running your hands over those pectorals, and how your fingers dug in as you used him to rock back against his cock.

John pushes up and reaches over, that hand pressing against your back lightly, rubbing soft circles.

Fuck.

“Come here,” he says softly, and yet it isn’t soft at all.

It’s not pleading. It’s not exactly a command. John isn’t demanding anything and yet you are unable to form any will of your own. It’s like John has just taken a shot of whiskey.

Finally, your limbs move, but it is not away from him. Your feet find the bed again, and John is grabbing onto your thighs and waist, drawing you back. The whimper you release when both of his hands grasp the backs of your thighs as he pulls you into his lap is obscene. It’s silly. Downright ridiculous.

But it’s cut off. Cinched.

John’s mouth is on yours and then you’re kissing him. It is open-mouthed. A bit messy. But fuck is it good. His hands slide up your thighs, over the curve of your ass, and meander their way over your back. One arm wraps around your waist while the other comes up to your throat.

He won’t let you leave. He won’t allow you to slip away. John’s hand seems so large against your throat, and yet you don’t care. It’s possessive the way he claims your mouth. When you begin to wiggle, John growls, and you’re flipped onto your back.

John doesn’t cease kissing you, and his hands are everywhere. Your legs effortlessly part from him, and you feel his hard cock pressing against your thigh.

What’s one more? Couldn’t hurt.

You shift your hips, and it’s like John already knows. Drawing your legs up and into a more bent position, there is little effort in the way he buries himself to the hilt. You almost choke on your next breath but that is all you have.

There is nothing lazy or soft about this. John’s hips snap forward and back, skin smacking against skin. He presses his face against the side of your head, lips brushing along the lien of your jaw as he continues to relentlessly fuck you into the bed. Your hands claw at his back, fingers digging for a semblance of steadiness.

“Can’t leave yet,” he huffs against your throat.

Your face shifts toward him and John takes this opportunity to find your lips again, and this kiss is so much different. It is passionate, and speaks to something more desperate than a mere need.

This is only supposed to be a night. A fun, drunken fuck you can latch onto your belt.

But no. That’s not what this is.

Not really.

John "Soap" MacTavish

The air conditioning kicks in, and that is what wakes you. A cool burst of air travels over your skin, making you shiver, pulling you from sleep.

You groan, snuggling against the warmth you’re curled against. It’s a comforting warmth. A bit soft with some hardness too. Not completely comfortable but better than the blast of cold air.

When you sink further against this warmth, it shifts beneath you. Dazedly, you blink, pulling back slightly from this nice heat you don’t wish to leave. Your cheek grazes against something scratchy and then you’re frowning down at chiseled pectorals.

The night before comes rushing forward. It is a battering ram of information, one that sends your already foggy brain into overload.

“Morning, love.” The husky, Scottish voice grounds you, slamming you back to reality.

You twist slightly and are greeted by soft blue eyes and a lazy smile.

“Johnny,” you murmur.

“Remembered my name,” he laughs. He reaches over to grasp the back of your thigh, drawing it over his waist. That large hand of his squeezes gently and you shiver.

“You remember mine?” you ask, teasing back.

He hums softly, and then draws you in, whispering your name against your lips.

This was a one-time thing. A quick hookup. You met Johnny at a pub. He had zeroed in on you instantly, making his way toward you with eagerness like he knew he wanted you out of everyone there that night.

And you had melted. Complied. Fallen for his Scottish accent that only seemed to thicken the more he drank. He cracked jokes, and gave you all of his attention. It was nice to be wanted for once, and when he discreetly asked you if you wanted to go back to his place, you didn’t hesitate.

But the morning is here. It has come calling. And now you’re left with the consequences.

“I need to go,” you murmur, drawing away from him.

Embarrassment is starting to sink in. You have no idea what you might look like at the moment but it can’t be anything other than a mess. Your makeup is likely smeared, hair tangled like a bird’s nest, and you fucking ache everywhere.

Which is fucking understandable because Johnny has stamina. You’ve never been with a man with such quick recovery time. He’d finish, take a couple minutes, and come right back at it like he wasn’t winded at all. He also put you in all sorts of weird positions.

No wonder you’re sore.

Johnny’s face falls slightly, and his arms tighten, keeping you crushed against him. “Don’t want to stay for a bit? Could grab some breakfast.”

He’s offering it to you casually as if your rejection won’t mean anything, but you see the hesitation in his gaze. Johnny wants you to say “yes” and yet you don’t know why. It could just be a show of kindness. An offering of nourishment after the workout he put you through last night. But perhaps it’s something more?

No. That’s silly. Ridiculous.

The two of you met just last night. If anything, the two of you have only known each other for twelve hours. That’s hardly enough to go on.

But breakfast sounds lovely.

When you don’t answer right away, Johnny adjusts his hold on you. His face draws close, gaze lazily scanning your body. Slowly, he moves in, brushing his lips against your shoulder, and then the curve at your neck.

“Or we could stay here for a bit longer.” He presses a kiss to your throat. “Breakfast after?” Johnny’s hand changes position, slipping up to grasp the curve of your ass. His body twists, and you feel his hard cock against the inside of your thigh.

Your pussy immediately clenches, remembering all the things he did to you. You attempt to push the feeling aside but it only grows, flowing outward, zapping your self-control.

“Johnny,” you whimper as his hand ventures further downward, sliding between your legs.

His fingers part your pussy, and the sound of the mess between your legs reaches your ears. The two of you didn’t use condoms last night, but you’re both clean and you went for it. It seems overly loudly in the room, and Johnny’s breathing quickens slightly as he explores.

“Don’t mind me adding to this?” His lips come down on your neck before his teeth lightly sink in.

Your lips part and you cry out as Johnny slips a finger inside your pussy. He takes his time, slowly moving in and out of your pussy. Lazily, his thumb brushes over your clit. He repeats the gesture, and your hips buck against his hold.

“Staying?” he asks, lips brushing over collarbone to descend downward to your breasts.

His actions aren’t fair. This isn’t how things are supposed to go. He’s supposed to kick you out. To tell you to leave either politely or like an asshole. Instead, Johnny is trying everything to get you to stay. And you can’t say you’re all that mad about it because—fuck, this man knows how to use his fingers.

Johnny runs his tongue over your nipple and you nearly come undone right then. Your hips flex forward, pushing your clit against his palm. He inserts a second finger, and Johnny groans against your breasts as your orgasm builds toward its peak.

“Stay,” he says, and you squeeze around those two digits, gasping for air as your fingers dig into his pectorals.

Johnny withdraws and rolls you onto your back. You spread your legs gladly, your orgasm still buzzing under your skin. He boxes you in, the head of his cock pushing in. All that soreness returns but it is fleeting. Once he’s seated entirely inside you, you hardly care.

“I’ll stay,” you gasp as he rocks his hips.

“For breakfast, too?”

“Whatever you want.”

Simon "Ghost" Riley

When you awaken, it’s a jolt. A sharp shake.

You blink, not recognizing your surroundings for a moment. Hazy memories bubble up to the surface. There was a man with blonde hair and scars. There was whiskey. Lots of it. A bottle shared between you and him.

His hand kept straying to your thigh, squeezing with intention. You leaned in, asked if he was interested in going elsewhere.

This is elsewhere. And it’s not a hotel.

Simon.

You remember him now. His gruff voice, his large hands on your body, and the way he stripped you down in seconds before his mouth sought supple skin. Your cheeks heat with the memory, and you absently press your palm there, the warmth radiating into your fingers.

Glancing over, you find the bed empty. Reaching out, you test the sheets, finding them cold. Simon has been gone a while, but this is no hotel room. It’s too personal, which means he’s somewhere. This must be his home.

If you’re careful, maybe you can slip out. You sit up, and listen. Quiet. No running water or feet padding softly against the floor. The bathroom door is ajar and the light is off. Simon might be out in the kitchen or living room—or he might be gone.

That’s happened before. You’ve awoken only for the man to be gone, leaving you alone in his home to put yourself together and make an exit at your convenience.

It’s…fine.

Simon was a good fuck. You can’t complain on that front. He knew exactly how to work your body. He found all your spots—all the things that make you melt—and stuck with it.

Sighing heavily, you crawl out of the comfortable bed. Your limbs scream in protest, soreness making itself known in places you’ve never been sore before. It’s a game finding your discarded clothes on the floor. With only a sliver of sunlight from the window, you’re forced to grab and hold the item up in the air to determine if the clothing item is yours or Simon’s.

“Finally,” you mutter, identifying your shirt. It’s halfway over your head when you hear the front door. “Fuck,” you hiss, only tangling yourself further.

You take a step back only to smack your leg against the bed. It sends you backwards, sprawling onto your back. You manage to sit up and wrestle your shirt on when Simon enters the room.

He stands in the doorway holding a plastic bag, and wearing a black tracksuit. Simon’s hair is a bit of a mess like he quickly ran his fingers through it before leaving.

“Hi,” you say weakly, because you can’t stand awkward silence.

“Leaving?” asks Simon, but he doesn’t sound upset.

You shrug, and swallow down the lump in your throat. “What’s in the bag?” you reply, switching tactics.

Simon is quiet a moment before he reaches in and tosses something to you. You manage to catch it without fumbling it.

Glancing down, you look at the box. At the—oh.

“We ran out last night,” he states simply.

It suddenly grows hot in the room.

“We did,” you agree, clutching the box of condoms like it’s a lifejacket.

He bought more. Which means—

“You’re welcome to leave,” he says, crumbling up the bag and setting it on top of the dresser. Simon reaches into his pocket and deposits his keys along with his phone. Unzipping his jacket, Simon reveals bare chest.

When the jacket is gone, Simon is left in only black joggers. He’s on full display. Broad shoulders, muscled arms and chest, large hands that perfectly wrapped around your throat as he bent you over and fucked you from behind.

“Is that what you want?” you ask, but you already know the answer. If Simon really wanted you gone, he wouldn’t have left to purchase another box of condoms.

“It’s what you want,” he replies. Simon is so calm—so casual. He’s not moving away from the door. He stands there, shirtless, gaze intense.

You sigh loudly and glance down at the box of condoms. “You did go out of your way to buy these.”

By the time you glance up, Simon is right there, grasping your throat, easing your head upwards so that you can look at him. With his other hand, he takes the condoms and tosses them onto the bed.

“You’re staying.” It’s not really a question, more of a confirmation.

You nod once and Simon’s thumb brushes over your bottom lip. That soft touch is enough to part your lips, and Simon makes a noise deep in his throat that sounds like a groan.

“Take me in your mouth,” he rasps. “Like you did last night.”

Your hands find the top of his joggers. Sliding beneath the band, you wiggle them down until the base of his cock appears. You pull a bit more, and then it’s free, already hard with a tiny bead of cum blooming in the slit. Your tongue darts out, swiping it up.

Simon shivers, and his hold on your neck adjusts to grasp the back of your head. He doesn’t haul you against him, or force himself down your throat. He is waiting for you, and that action in and of itself is enough to get you to stay a bit longer.

The head of his cock slides over your tongue and you throat him deep. Simon’s eyelids flutter and his groan is sweet. You bottle it up for later with the intention of recreating that sound—to make him moan like that again.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Sunday mornings are lazy mornings.

Some of the alcohol from last night still lingers in your pores, leaving a tightness behind your eyes and at your temples. But it’s not all that relevant.

Right now, you’re floating. There’s a man between your thighs. Well, his head anyway. And his tongue is doing all sorts of things to you.

Kyle’s tongue lazily flicks back and forth over your clit while he pumps two fingers in and out of your pussy. He is in no rush. No hurry. He’s taking his time, and you’re in blissful motion, hips rocking against his tongue, meeting his fingers with each thrust.

He groans softly against your pussy just before he sucks your clit into his mouth. Your fingers dig into his shoulders, and your back arches off the bed. Kyle’s name is on your lips. A repetition you cannot cease.

Even with your orgasm blossoming, you feel his smile against your skin. Kyle is smug that he’s done this to you.

What a way to start the day.

Kyle’s fingers slip from your body, and then he’s pushing up, reaching for the box of condoms on the bedside table. He snatches one up, tearing it open quickly.

“How do you want me?” you murmur, not trusting your voice. It’s still hoarse from sleep and the smokes you accepted last night.

Kyle rolls on the condom. His skin is glossy with sweat. The two of you have hardly slept. You thought this would be a quick fuck but it’s something else. Kyle takes his time, and that has drawn this one-night stand out into an all-night fucking marathon.

“You’re good as you are, love,” coos Kyle, settling between your legs again. You both groan aloud when he slides home.

It’s the next day. You should be out of this bed. You should be doing your usual walk-of-shame, and yet you’re still in Kyle’s bed, full of his cock, and completely strung out on orgasms.

“Promise I’ll let you rest after this,” he murmurs, testing with a roll of his hips.

You almost laugh. “You said that the last two times,” you moan as he hits somewhere deep.

“Did I?” he asks, absently.

Kyle is sweet, but he knows how to make you yearn. It’s agony. And it’s fucking beautiful. This isn’t how any of this is supposed to go and yet here you are, getting dicked down by a man who is clearly beyond simple hook-ups.

This man is boyfriend material, and even as your mind starts to drift back into a lustful haze, it’s scheming of ways to keep him.

Shifting slightly, Kyle adjusts your legs, setting a pace that makes each stroke divine. Perhaps it’s the fact that you’re exhausted that it feels so goddamn good. And maybe the two of you will actually rest after this.

The birds are chirping, and traffic is already moving. It’s the morning after, and yet the night seems to have been unending.

Kyle leans forward, and then your lips are connecting. Each kiss is deep. Tender. It’s unfair how nice this is. It shouldn’t be like this, and yet it is, and that makes it all the more painful when you do finally leave. This is not your home. It is his.

This is just an agreement made in a smoky pub. Nothing more.

“Kyle,” you moan, drawing his name out as your orgasm crests.

He smiles against your mouth, his pace stuttering out as the rest of him starts to tense.

“Almost there, love. Promise.” That word, promise, is strained. Kyle’s eyelids flutter, and then he too finds his end.

In the muted dark, the two of you exchange breaths. A car honks outside but it’s a muted thing. You’re hardly paying attention.

“Can we rest now?” you ask. It’s almost a laugh, but it’s also cautious. Maybe rest just means rest for him, and you’re about to be kicked to the curb.

“Yeah,” he smiles, rolling onto his back. Kyle reaches down to remove the condom before pushing himself out of bed and into the bathroom. The light flicks on. Water runs. And then Kyle returns with a damp cloth.

“Open those legs for me.”

You do so obediently, and Kyle patiently cleans you up before returning the cloth to the bathroom.

When he returns, the words tumble out of you unexpectantly. “I just need a couple hours and then I’ll go.”

Kyle frowns as he slides back into the bed. “You don’t need to rush out of here.”

You don’t need to rush out of here.

“I don’t want to bother—” Kyle shakes his head and you cease speaking.

“Come here,” he murmurs, offering himself. You slide up next to him, and Kyle wraps his arms around your body, dragging you into his chest.

Your lips begin to form words but Kyle makes a grunt and you promptly close your mouth. Kyle has you locked in his arms, and it’s comfortable. Normal. This is all too personal, and yet Kyle doesn’t seem to mind.

Maybe you could make this into something else.

Maybe this is him offering more.

Whatever it is, the concept fractures, slipping away as the warmth and comfort of him lulls you to sleep.

[saintobio]

blank canvas: the epilogue.

pairings. ryōmen sukuna, fem!reader

genre. past lovers, angst, opposites attract

tags/warnings. mentions of toxic relationships, purple hearts-ish themes, maybe some heartache

notes. 2.4k wc. i said it’ll come in a few days, but i had free time so here it issss!

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

TWO YEARS LATER

Tonight was Yuki and Choso’s going-away party. 

Their decision to migrate to another side of the world was because Yuki had always talked about wanting to live abroad, and so when Choso was offered a once-in-a-lifetime job opportunity in another country, it became the perfect chance for them to make that dream a reality.

So despite your apprehensions, you couldn’t miss the chance to see Yuki one last time and accepted her invitation to the party.

The evening was alive with laughter and chatter as their families and friends gathered to celebrate their bittersweet departure. Among the crowd, you spotted some familiar faces who exchanged greetings with the couple, as well as some strangers you had never seen before.

But one person was conspicuously absent. 

It had been two years since you had seen Sukuna, and the thought of potentially running into him again filled you with a strange mix of anticipation and dread. However, deep down, you knew he wouldn’t be there. There was no chance of him ever showing up because you hadn’t heard from him since that fateful night. The apartment you once shared together now housed a new tenant, and the tattoo shop across the street had transformed into a record store. Neither Yuki, nor Choso (even Yuuji), had mentioned anything about Sukuna since then, possibly avoiding any mentions of him to you out of his request. He had simply disappeared, evaporated from existence, leaving behind nothing but a fading memory.

As you scanned the room with a forlorn smile, your thoughts were interrupted by Yuki’s cheerful voice. “Y/N! So glad you could make it! I thought you weren’t gonna come, too.”

Your first instinct was to hug her tightly. “Of course, not! You know I can’t not see you before you go.”

“Aww.” She embraced you tighter before pulling away with a sad smile. “I’m gonna miss you so much. You’re like a little sister to me.” 

Indeed, and she was the big sister you never had. Things would feel different without her here, but you supported her decisions and would always wish her the best in her future endeavors. So, despite the distance you two would soon have, you gave her a reassuring pat on the back. “We can still keep in touch. And maybe, I’ll pay you a visit there, too.” 

“Honestly, I would love that!” she enthused, “Please do, even if I have to harass Getou and Gojou about it.” 

You chuckled as she mentioned the duo’s name and spent the next few minutes with you chatting for a bit, catching up with your life, talking about your future plans. It was amazing how much can change in two years, and how some things can also stay the same. Like your friendship. And this bond that you would never find with anyone else.

For now, the night was still young, and you knew Yuki still had many more guests to accommodate, so you didn’t want to take all of her time. Eventually she did excuse herself to greet more guests, and you found yourself standing by the kitchen island, absentmindedly stirring your cocktail.

As you stood in the corner of the room, surrounded by the chatter and laughter of the party, you felt a sudden jolt run through your body as loud voices boomed across the room. They were Yuuji and Choso’s exuberant greetings cutting through the air, drawing everyone’s attention, including yours.

“Nii-san!”

“There he goes, Mr. First Lieutenant!” 

Your eyes widened as you saw the figure they were addressing with playful salute—a man in a crisp military uniform, standing tall and confident. It took you a moment to recognize him, but when you did, your heart skipped a beat.

It was Sukuna.

He looked different, transformed almost, his demeanor more composed, his smile softer yet still retaining the undeniable aura of masculinity. He looked a lot more muscular than the last you remembered. His hair, now dyed back to its natural color, was neatly trimmed. You recognized that the uniform he wore was of the Japan Self-Defense Forces, adorned with badges and insignias that spoke of his achievements. The reckless, wild look in his eyes had been replaced by something steadier, more focused.

It wasn’t just the sight of him that made your heart skip a beat—it was how different he looked. 

“That’s so cool!” Yuuji raved about his older brother’s badges, his starry eyes genuinely intrigued at the sight of Sukuna in a uniform. 

Choso, on the other hand, was pulling him in a hug in an emotional jest. “Dammit. You said you couldn’t make it!” 

“Don’t cry now,” Sukuna teased, patting the younger brother’s back. He seemed to be genuinely having fun teasing his brothers. “Had to pull some strings. I was on duty, but do ‘ya think I’d let you go without seeing you?” 

You felt a pang of nostalgia in their interaction, but also recognized the visible difference in the way your ex-boyfriend spoke to others. He was genuinely happy. He was all smiles. He was the healthiest version of himself, both physically and emotionally.

It was clear to you that Sukuna had turned his life around, and it was evident that he was doing well in his field of work. The man you once knew, who had been consumed by his reckless way of life, was now standing tall and respected as an honorable member of the military.

When you said you had never met Sukuna again in your lifetime, that was true. Because the Sukuna you knew was no longer here. It was an entirely different man, changed for the better, just not for you. 

As if sensing your gaze, Sukuna turned and your eyes mirrored each other’s surprise. For a moment, the world around you seemed to fade away, as if you were characters in a movie screen seeing each other for the very first time. It was as though your eyes were the camera, and he was the actor. You could say you were starstruck, your heart thumping so loud that you could hear it vibrate through your ears. 

Two freaking years, and Sukuna still had that effect on you. 

You didn’t know what to do. You found yourself at a loss, the red cup in your hand now shaking from the sudden surge of anxiety. Your mind was a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts, a kaleidoscope of heavy emotions, a tornado of nostalgic bliss, leaving you feeling adrift in a sea of memories. 

You wondered if Sukuna hated having to see you here. And if so, should you leave to spare yourself—or perhaps him—from any potential discomfort?

Caught in this internal struggle, you felt paralyzed, uncertain of what to do next. But then, you saw a flicker of recognition and regret in his eyes. 

Before you could even contemplate your next move, Sukuna was already excusing himself from his brothers. Their knowing looks exchanged in silence spoke volumes, indicating they were aware of where he was headed. The realization then hit you like a wave. Sukuna, your ex-boyfriend of two years, was coming toward you, and you were suddenly faced with a decision between confronting the past or making a quick escape.

“Y/N,” he greeted with a boyish grin, his voice deeper, more controlled. The bad boy persona he used to carry was completely gone. 

“Sukuna,” you replied, struggling to keep your voice steady, a complete opposite from his confidence.

There was a moment of awkward silence before he spoke again. “You look great.”

“Thanks,” you meekly replied, clearing your throat and gesturing to his uniform, “You, too. Military suits you. I never saw that coming.”

He smiled in agreement, seemingly happy about his current appearance. You had never seen this kind of bliss from him before, like he was filled with content and a sense of self-worth. He was proud, and truth be told, you were, too. 

“It’s been a good change. It gave me structure, purpose,” he paused, taking a red cup from the kitchen island nearby, “I finally got something ‘better’ to do with my life, huh?”

You smiled softly, not missing the implication of his last statement. “I’m happy for you. Really.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course.” 

“Mhmm.” 

The minutes that followed were some of the most agonizing of your life, not because of Sukuna, but because of the overwhelming awkwardness that enveloped the two of you. It felt as though you had nothing else to discuss, knowing full well that delving into your shared past was a territory you could never comfortably navigate. However, Sukuna, always the more vocal one in your relationship, had finally broken the silence.

“Do you…” he began, leaving you on edge, anticipating his question, “Do you wanna get some fresh air outside?” 

Right. And with a smile, you nodded. “Sure.” 

— —

You were grateful for the opportunity to escape the stifling atmosphere of the party and find some solace in the cool night air. Both of you were at the front porch, sitting over the pavement talking about anything but your past. 

Sukuna excitedly talked about his time in the military, where you learned that he had enlisted two years ago and joined the army. After enlisting, he quickly excelled in the rigorous training required for the Special Operations Group (SOG). It didn’t surprise you that his physical prowess, sharp intellect, and determination made him a standout candidate.

“I actually completed advanced courses in counter-terrorism, reconnaissance, and combat survival,” he shared, his gaze set on the clear starry night above you. “Oh, and last month, I was deployed on a high-stake mission overseas. We extracted hostages from a conflict zone. Remember the action movies we used to watch? It was exactly like that. It was fun, thrilling.” 

You listened intently, an elbow propped on your leg as you absorbed the enthusiasm in his stories. Pride and joy swelled in your heart as you heard him talk about something he was passionate about, because it was a stark contrast to the old Sukuna who wouldn’t have shown interest in these things. And this time around, you felt like you were infatuated again, but with the new him. 

“I’m really proud of you.” Longingness dripping from your voice. “Very proud. And you’re First Lieutenant, too? Wow.” 

The compliment seemingly made him blush, a sight so rare to see that you haven’t seen it throughout your relationship. “I wanted to become a better man.” 

You felt a squeeze in your heart. You recalled the words he said that night at the parking lot, of him telling you that he had his own insecurities, too. That he knew all along that your uncertainties about him were rooting from his way of life. That he was aware that he couldn’t give you the life you deserved. 

“Y/N.” Your name rolled off his tongue in an affectionate manner. He soon rose from his seat, prompting you to follow suit, before turning to face you. “I forgot to mention.”

You swallowed hard. “Yeah?”

His smile was sweet and genuine. “I’m engaged now.”

Oh.

Of course. 

What did you expect?

His words settled in your heart like a suffocating shroud. Despite the ache in your chest, you managed a polite nod, concealing the storm of emotions swirling inside you. But you couldn’t contain it—the damn tears that pooled in your eyes. Please, not now. You turned away, hoping to shield your reaction from him.

But it was all too late. 

He was already pulling you into an embrace, the familiarity in his warmth only making you weaker inside. “You are and will always be my greatest love,” he whispered into your ear, pressing his lips against your temple, “And also my biggest regret.”

Damn it. You covered your face with your hands, feeling ashamed of the tears streaming down your cheeks. What an absurd twist of fate. You could have gone about your day without encountering him again, yet here you were, shedding tears over the same man who had broken your heart two years ago.

“When I say regret,” he continued, cupping your cheeks and smiling at you lovingly. He ran his thumb across your cheeks, wiping your tears away. “I meant regret of not being that man for you. I didn’t treat you the way you deserved, or respected your boundaries like I thought I did.” Sukuna’s charm had you holding your breath still, too enamored by his beauty under the moonlight. He used to be a man of a few words, and now he didn’t shy away from pouring out his raw emotions. “I’m sorry I was two years too late. I’m sorry I had to let you go and be with someone else. But you and I know that it’s for the best.”

You weren’t crying because you wanted to get back together with him. You weren’t crying because he had promised marriage to someone else. You were crying because it felt like he was the one who slipped through your fingers, the one that got away, the one who could have been your forever if circumstances had aligned differently. It was the regret of a lost possibility, the ache of knowing that in another universe, you and him could have shared a lifetime together, untouched by the mistakes of the past.

He had dreams of making you his wife, dreams of having your children, dreams of growing old with you.

But the old Sukuna was dead, replaced by the new Sukuna who was happy and free from love’s toxicity. You realized it was time to let go. Time to bury the past and instead celebrate the future. 

“Congratulations on the engagement,” you offered your well wishes, pulling away slightly to meet his gaze with your tear-filled eyes. “I hope she doesn’t find you a handful.”

He let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “No, no. I have to behave or else I’m a dead man,” he joked. “She's in the army, too.”

“Well, I’m glad you met her, Sukuna. You deserve it,” you said, your voice filled with genuine warmth as you wiped your lachrymose eyes. 

Gratitude and comfort shone in his gaze. “And I’m glad you found your peace, Y/N. You always deserved better.”

You smiled in appreciation of his words as he helped you dust off your pants. Just then, your phone buzzed in your pocket, briefly taking your attention away from the current scene. “Uh, I think I need to go,” you hesitated, glancing back at the house. “But I think Yuki’s pretty busy.”

“It’s fine,” he assured. “Do you want me to call you a cab or?”

“No, it’s okay,” you replied, shooting him a grateful expression. “Satoru’s on his way to pick me up.”

He nodded, smiling. “Cool.” You were surprised when he offered his hand, a gesture to finally close whatever remained between you two. “It was nice seeing you, Y/N.”

You shook his hand and gave him a playful salute. “Likewise, First Lieutenant Ryomen Sukuna.”

As he returned to the party, immediately attacked by his friends, there was no hint of yearning or longing in him, as if the poignant exchange with his ex-girlfriend had never occurred. He was back in the scene in a fluid motion, laughing, catching up with his loved ones, telling stories about his life. No heartbreaks, no painful memories.

While as you stood there, knowing you had shared respect and love for each other, you were happy that there was a sense of closure in seeing Sukuna as the man he had become. You had both grown, both changed, and in that moment, you knew that your story, though painful, had led you two to where you needed to be. 

That your love’s canvas, once blank, now held colors to complete the portrait.

[pomefioredove]

Omg hiii! I saw that your requests were open again! Please take your time and prioritize your rest, and as always your writing is such a delight to read! I always look forward to your posts! 💖💖💖

That being said, can you please write for a Yuu/reader that has a love for painting (but is shy about showcasing their skill) , and was absolutely taken by Vil's beauty even before they met him? Of course they didn't know that he was a famous actor at first. What if Vil one day finds their sketches and paintings of him after months of knowing him? (hmm preferably after the events of book 6..? 👀)

SO CUTE!!! kicking my legs back and forth at this anonnn

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ the picture of vil schoenheit

type of post: short fic characters: vil additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu

How were you supposed to know?

It's not like Crowley had given you a guide on Night Raven College or its students (though, wouldn't that have been nice?)

I mean, you had to reminded of Trey's last name not two weeks ago. How were you supposed to know who Vil Schoenheit is?

You'd only seem him at a distance. Passed him by in the halls while he scolded some poor first year. He even looked beautiful when he was angry.

He was just made to be painted.

You didn't show your friends the art. You didn't need to give Ace another reason to tease you, and being a stalker would've really been the cherry on top of your weirdness sundae.

Besides, it was just drawing. Practice! Sketches from a distance, doodles done in the margins of your notes, watercolors and paintings from memory...

It felt familiar. This man, this stranger, someone you hadn't even spoken to, made you feel a little closer to home.

.

"Really, you should have some sort of organizational system,"

Vil leafs through pages of alchemy reports and history of magic homework. "Might I suggest a recycling bin?"

You smile. It's not often that your friend- Vil Schoenheit, that is- has a day off. But today is Saturday, and your room is in desperate need of his touch.

"This is... chaotic," he says, brushing a clump of Grim fur off his shoulder. "And you live like this?"

You shrug. "I try,"

"Well, try no more. We'll have this done before dinner,"

His commitment is touching. Millions of screeching fangirls would give anything just to spend five minutes with Vil, and here he is, tidying your room for you.

It's almost cute. He's humming to himself, hair tied back in a ponytail, in one of your shirts (his are too nice to get dirty), sweeping Grim fur out from under your bed.

"Rook and Epel couldn't make it?" you ask, pretending not to care that it's just the two of you.

"I told them not to bother,"

"Oh?"

Vil tsks. "They would get in the way. We're much more efficient on our own- we work well together, after all,"

That's something he'd said before. You'd always wondered what it meant.

"Right,"

You switch places, going to strip your bed of its sheets for washing while Vil tidies your desk.

Off go the pillow cases, the comforter, the blankets. You're wrestling with your mattress when you notice that he hasn't moved in a while.

He's looking through some of the papers from within the bowels of your desk, smiling to himself, a finger held to his perfect lips.

"What?"

"Hm?" he hums, but he doesn't look at you. "Oh, just... admiring your work. You have quite an eye for detail, have I ever told you that?"

He's being weird. You let go of your bundle of bedding and look at what he's holding, but it's just your sketchbook.

Oh. Oh, no. It's your sketchbook.

"OH! Um, wait-" you say, rushing to his side. "Don't- don't look!"

Vil smirks, and he holds the art over your head. "How unfair. The muse should always be the first to see, you know,"

Damn his height and perfect, slender arms!!! Your eyes widen. "It's not what it looks like! I didn't know you when I did those!"

"Yes, I saw the dates. You could make a career out of admiring me, you know~" he chuckles. "I'd pay for these. I'm sure Rook would like a few, as well."

You're practically melting with embarrassment. "Come on- give it back!"

Seeing your pathetic, embarrassed whining, Vil relents, handing you the sketchbook with an eye-roll.

"What are you ashamed of? They're fine pieces,"

"It's not that," you clutch the book to your chest. "It's just- uh- weird, isn't it?"

Vil scoffs. "I'm weird?"

"NO! I meant- I didn't even know you, and I drew you almost every day- that isn't... strange?"

He takes a moment to study you, your body language, the embarrassed look on your face. From head to toe. And then he smiles, warmly.

"I am in a dorm with Rook. There are very, very few things that I find strange now. You admire me- I'm flattered,"

He gingerly takes sketchbook out of your arms and opens it again. "Not to mention, you have an artistic eye that any director would kill for."

You stand there, a little dumbfounded, but mostly very, very grateful that he's your friend, and that you can laugh about this together.

"I'm... well... thank you," you finally say.

Vil smirks, and pinches your cheek. "You're precious. Now, back to work. I want this room over with. These paintings won't frame themselves, will they?"

[zaahvi]

slowly starting to work on my own evanuris designs, first up are dirthamen and falon'din! (i did the busts a month ago now and hadn't decided on the outfits yet so that's why the colours don't match lmao)

some more design notes under the cut :)

next designs -> june & sylaise • andruil & ghilan'nain • falon'din ii • geldauran

in my headcanon, dirthamen was their original spirit (of guidance) and split while making his body because his soul was conflicted about whether he wanted to, or remain as a spirit. when he split, "dirthamen" was content with his new form, while the other half - falon'din - was not, and was twisted into despair. specifically, i imagine it as the sort of despair where you try to cling onto anything to try to make yourself happy, but to no avail.

i thought it'd be neat for them to have a mark symbolising their spirit shattering, like a birthmark. then making it look like their (eventual) vallaslin design made a lot of sense.

i had an idea for dirthamen to have one eye a long time ago, because he has a LOT of similarities to our odinn - god of knowledge and wisdom, often depicted as a hooded figure, and has two ravens (interestingly, while fear and deceit sound like demon names, huginn ("thought") and muninn (anything from: memory, will, remembrance, intention) sound like spirit names). and while elgar'nan holds odinn's title of all-father, he's more like tyr imo.

dirthy's outfit was loosely based off the robed evanuris in the black codex concept art where they're doing the ritual at the blight box lol. i saw that person and was like yeah that's my special god with his dark robes and his little dagger. ofc i had to give him more style though, and dropped in some colour (as falon'din has canonically claimed the colour black) i decided on green because of his eye colour, and turquoise because sometimes when light hits ravens' feathers they kinda look blue. his mosaic has him covering his mouth, so i covered his mouth here too. also, i know his symbol has a little mohawk thing going on in the ingame statues, i couldn't draw it at that angle guys i'm sorry, shapes are hard.

since falon'din mirrors dirthamen in appearance, he got the single eye too. his colours are also more muted because of the whole despair thing. i also found it really interesting that his symbol is the sun, i 100% thought that was sylaise, but it makes sense as sometimes the setting sun is seen as a symbol of death. also the crook he has on his mosaic was really interesting to me and i included it after i read an 18 page paper on them while researching. it's a shepherd's tool - but can also be seen as a symbol of power/status, and there's quite a few of our irl gods depicted holding one. it's honestly really fascinating. that little magic spark doesn't mean anything though it's just for flair :)

i put fally in an ancient elven armour with minimal design changes as he doesn't strike me as sentimental and is rather more like someone who wants to show off and be the cuntiest person in the room at all times. although black is his colour, again i muted it a little, same with the gold. i may edit his design a little in the future to include his owls but for now i'm just kinda trying to figure out how they'd fit in

[lostintransist]

Broken Beyond Bearing | Part 3

-.-. …. .. .-.. -.. .-. . -. / -.— —- ..- -. —. / .- … / - . -.

Part 1 found here | AO3

CW: A/B/O sexism I guess is what we should call this? Trauma reactions to doctors, awful in world politics.

Keeping his eyes on you Kyle’s concern rises with each shallow breath you suck between your teeth.

The nurse had been watching and held the door open as he directed Kyle to the first room on the right. Settling your body flat on the table he steps back, trying to give the nurse room to move. With two chairs, a small counter and a sink, and a ‘calming’ green on the walls the room looks exactly like he expects it to.

“How long ago was the exposure?” The nurse is taking your vitals and you stiffen as if your body hit rigor. “Ma’am if you don’t relax this is going to take longer.”

“Less than thirty minutes,” Kyle answers coolly.

The whine, primal and terrified, that comes from your throat as the blood pressure cuff is tightening has Kyle moving to where your head lays. Running the back of his knuckles down your cheeks he whispers to you. The scent of your fear, clear and uncontaminated with whatever afflicted you normally, flooded the room.

“Hey, hey. I’m here. You’re not alone. Everything will be okay.”

The nurse, an alpha by scent, makes a noise that pulls Kyle to look at him. The nurse, Johnson by the glance to his name tag, keeps his eyes on the monitor taking your blood pressure and pulse. Kyle focuses back on you. Your body regains mobility as the cuff is removed, eyes rolling like a horse looking for a place to run.

“Her vitals are all looking normal, the doctor will be in shortly,” Johnson shuts the door behind him. He must not be far enough away from the door when he starts talking to someone else. “Beta bitch in room one has track marks up both arms. I knew betas died from drugs more than any other gender but it’s wild to see that out here.”

Kyle would have stormed out the door to rip into the man if your hands hadn’t slapped into his, holding them tight. Pulling yourself upright from the reclined position you tuck your knees to your chest and rest your chin atop them. Letting go of his hands you curl them around your legs.

Sitting on a chair positioned next to the bed Kyle looks up at you, trying to catch your eyes.

Even when he could see the streaks of color through your irises no recognition lit your features. Concerned, Kyle stays sitting on the bed with you watching each breath and twitch. Nothing changes until the door opens with a faint knock.

“My name is Doctor Chen. Can you tell me what happened today?”

Like an automaton, you uncurl from your crunched position. Legs folded you straighten your back and rest your forearms on your knees palms aimed at the ceiling. Kyle had seen poses similar in meditation videos he would watch sometimes to give his mind a moment to relax. There is no peace in your pose. The width of your open eyes and the shallowness of your breath all remind him of victims he has saved from torture.

Memories that left their marks on his bones should not be reflected in your posture, he faced evil abroad and in the mirror to keep people like you safe.

He glanced at the man, dark hair, light blue scrubs, thick-rimmed glasses, and a white overcoat Kyle mostly associated with lab work. A quick draw of breath and Kyle marked him as an alpha. Dr. Chen did not look at you once, eyes staying firmly on him.

“We had an exposure to an allergen.”

Dr. Chen nodded once and sat on the small, wheeled stool that Kyle only ever saw in doctor’s offices. He wondered if they had to special order them or if they appeared in the building like fairies to offers of milk and bread. The man logged into his computer with a swipe of his name tag to an RFID reader and tapped a few buttons before turning to look at Kyle again.

“Do you know what the allergy was in reaction to?” He adjusts his glasses further up his nose.

“We don’t and would like to get some testing. Does this clinic do testing?” Kyle asked; all of his medical care happened on base.

Dr. Chen’s eyes glanced at you for the first time with a flare of his nose as he took in the fear salting the room with your uniquely beta scent. Kyle knew deeper than his marrow that you could turn off his brain and any explosive rage that he dealt with being an alpha. You didn’t use that now, but by the gods, he wished you would. The flash of disgust that whipped across Dr. Chen’s face ignited the soul-deep rage that existed with being an alpha.

“Dr. Chen,” the darkness, power, in Kyle’s voice brought the doctor’s face to him. “You will treat my wife with respect or I will ensure you don’t live to regret it.”

The cloying, nose-coating scent of Dr. Chen’s alpha rising to meet the challenge filled Kyle’s nose. He let the monster rise in his eyes, keeping his scent muted. Military training had to be good for something beyond the battlefield.

Kyle stands, placing his body between the doctor and the bed where you sit. Arms crossed and shoulders spread wide he used the mass of his bulk to show the barrier he could be. He didn’t know you, but Kate had seen something that prompted her to give them the care over you. You would not feel any harm if he could prevent it. You started to rock softly, eyes still unseeing. Then you begin to hum Edelweiss, effectively breaking the tension. Chen lost the staring match when he glanced at you.

“Do your job doctor, so I don’t have to.”

“That is out of line Mr—”

“Sergeant, special forces.”

Dr. Chen’s eyes narrowed but accepted the correction.

“Sergeant, your wife is doing fine by her visual inspection and her vitals agree. This clinic does not offer allergy testing but there are a few private practices here that you can call.” He turned back to his computer, typing in what Kyle assumed to be a summary of the visit today. “Most of what we do here for allergies is to stop the reaction and watch for any adverse effects.”

“I will need a copy of that report for our records,” Kyle stated it like a command he would give a private or a trainee. A firm ‘this is the course of action you will be taking’ that did not leave any room for questions or disobedience.

If Dr. Chen thought of arguing with Kyle, he kept it to himself. He left shortly after with a comment that Johnson would be in soon with the paperwork he requested. That is how Johnny found them, Kyle’s arms crossed and holding back his rage and you the juxtaposition of a peaceful body and an absent mind.

“You are more than you appear, wife,” Johnny took your hand, curling fingers around palms.

They wait in the cadence of your voice for nearly five minutes before Johnson appears, papers in hand. Kyle snaps a vice grip around the man’s wrist, pulling him close.

“Johnson. If I hear you telling tales about betas, and more specifically about my wife I will paint the walls of your room with colors not even crime techs will unsee.”

The man under his eyes paled quite impressively. Plucking the papers from his hand Kyle dropped Johnson’s hand and turned to his pack mate and partner in crime. Johnny’s thumb traced a track along the back of your hand as he watched the interaction play out before him.

“Can you carry her to the truck?”

Johnny’s eyes flicked as he watched the nurse flee from the room.

“Yeah. Up you pop bonnie,” he settled one arm over his shoulder and then the other before lifting you under the thighs to settle around his waist.

Still, you hummed, no life in your form. Kyle had a glare and a harsh, nose-blistering scent of rage for anyone who looked too long. Johnny settled in the back seat with you, buckling you into the middle so he could keep a hand on you and Kyle could check on you in the review mirror.

The drive home is tense, filled only with Kyle’s quiet mutterings about inexperienced winter drivers. When he turns onto the path home Johnny asks a question.

“What the hell happened in the clinic when I was on the phone with John?”

The steering wheel creaks under the pressure of Kyle’s hands.

“Nurse and doctor had some awful things to say about our wife, called her a drug addict, and couldn’t keep professional.”

“The hell? Why did they do that?” Johnny’s face in the rearview is tight with angry concern.

“It’s due to the beta laws that went into place ten…eleven? Yeah maybe eleven years ago.” Your voice is an unexpected addition to the conversation.

Kyle slows to a stop in the snow, throwing the truck in park and turning to look at you.

“What beta laws?”

He knows his gaze is harsh when you flinch back. Johnny wraps an arm around you and you settle a bit.

“There were laws on the books for a long time that weren’t really enforced,” you swallow and look from man to man before staring at your knees and continuing. “About how betas weren’t allowed the same personhood rights as alphas and omegas due to the lack of either consistent rut or heat. Apparently, the ability to do both is scary to the government. Several years back a group successfully passed a new law that said basically that betas should be treated like children, unable to sign paperwork without an approving authority, have bank accounts alone, apply for a credit card, or passport, you name it without the approval of an alpha or omega. In some places it went beyond that, stripping beta’s of all rights.”

Johnny muttered under his breath something that sounded like ‘What the fuck’ but Kyle kept his eyes on you.

“What happened to you?” His whisper hardens on your skin like ice.

There is no weak, scared beta woman here, only a beast that would peel him apart if he pushed. He didn’t scare her, but doctors did.

“No.”

Nodding once and accepting the answer Kyle turned back to driving. He would discuss this all with the guys after they had settled into bed. The interactions with the clinic staff were nothing like he had ever experienced before. Though as he thought of it he couldn’t remember the last time he had worked with a beta.

Simon and John step onto the porch as Kyle parks, as if they had been keeping watch for them.

The four men set about their tasks, hauling everything inside. You follow when Johnny reaches into the back seat and helps you out, hand tucked in his as he carries in a few bags. Simon sets about setting up the bed they picked for your room. Johnny settles you at the table, laughing and joking at you as he prepares a plate of food. Kyle and John set to work on creating the dresser. They don’t hear you laugh at any of Johnny’s stories but John points to you once and Kyle catches a glimpse of a smile. The sun slips away into the trees as each of the men finishes their task. Once the bed is made and the mattress settled on the frame John and Kyle lift the dresser into place.

The three men who had built things collapsed onto the couch facing the back wall of windows into the woods. Simon is settled between John and Kyle an arm dropped around each of them. You are standing on the back porch, head tilted back as you look at the ink-dark sky. The coat and boots you wear are those picked up today. Kyle didn’t think to wonder where Johnny had gone until he bounced down the steps with a bright bundle of fabric over one shoulder as he shoved a beanie on his head.

“Where ya going, Johnny?” Simon pitches his voice to carry but not to shout.

“Gonna give our wife a gift,” he winks at his lovers and pops out the back door.

Simon tightens the arm around Kyle.

“He loves you. That won’t change if he chooses to love someone new as well,” John murmured.

Kyle looked over at John who lay his head fully on Simon, nose buried in the scent gland at his neck. John licks the length of the gland causing Simon to let out a short whine.

Glancing back out to the back porch Kyle watches Johnny settle a shawl across your shoulders and sees in your profile confusion, hesitance. When you look down and clutch the shawl tight to your chest Kyle could only call the look on your face concerned acceptance. Johnny grinned at you like the sun had risen.

“To bed Simon, I can feel you grumble. Your rut starts soon. Let Johnny get our wife settled and let Kyle and I get you into bed.” John pushes up from the couch pulling Simon with him.

Kyle stands as well, eyes drifting to you and Johnny one last time. Standing side by side the two stare at the stars. John calls him from his observations and Kyle starts up the stairs after his lovers. His other lover will arrive with time.

Broken Masterlist | Masterlist

@lucienofthelakes @gg-trini @talia-the-gemini @thriving-n-jiving @z-wantstowrite @asialovesyou09 @literallegendicon @canthavetoomuchchaos @reinekoya @jsptmoche @demothers-empty-blog @hbaasaad

[amazingcreek]

rapid fire oathbound thoughts:

holy shit we got queer bree AND transfem zoe. is anyone in this book series straight? no? good.

natasia kane my beloveddddd you are such a bad parent but such a proud mom

Nick and Bree on the roof?!?!? I haven't seen anyone mention this and it's making me crazyyyyyyyy

also one bed, yes ma'am there's only one bed ty mrs. deonn

William having a crush on Lark and Lark having a crush on William and neither of them ~actually~ addressing it is so frustrating I can't even

LARK CALLING WILL SWEETHEART ugh my heart

bring. back. Alice.

sel's "got you" IS FROM THEIR FIRST INTERACTION. BUT ALSO A PREY THING. GODDAMNIT

Zoe was so real for forgiving Bree after learning all this had been less than a year. like yeah ok that's too much in too little to expect normal communication

Mariah and valec's opinions on the whole "powerhouse" and "point of our spear" thing is soooooo good. I love nuance tracy deonn take my money

nick talking about sel constantlyyyyyyy. oh my god these two are gonna kill me. "please tell sel that when we find him" "sel would draw and quarter me" UGH

NICK HOLDING EVERYONE ACCOUNTABLE. truly that moment at his council hearing when he says we must name them when Bree is here AND when she isn't is just. yeah. go him. AND THEN the perspective of William checking himself and going "oh shit I have NOT been doing as much as I thought" was so good. tracy you're a literal wizard and changing the world thank you.

valec calling the merlins cops. fuck yeah they are. tbh doing a whole analysis on merlins abuse of aether users/experimenting on Black bodies would be so good. maybe I'll write a paper who knows

valec and zoe. make them come back

bree knowing she's loved as she meets everyone, not being able to love them back in the same way because of her memories, BUT choosing to love and support them regardless is just like gorgeous. the amount of hugs she just accepts and goes, yeah I need this, even when she can't do the same in return is perfect

the ending. the ending. hooooollyyyyy shit the ending. "a king, a knight, and a prince" AHHHHHHHH. selwyn kane you can do no wrong in my eyes but oh my god. I am so scared someone hold me

ALSO after reading the ending going back through the book and seeing that there are several places where Bree and Nick are talking about sel and HE is the one calling her bloodmark. oh em gee.

this is not comprehensive and I'll probably think of more but yeah. how're we doing gang?

[kokii-omii]

Random fun facts with my Twst ocs

(not drawn cuz i dont have my tablet with me rn)

Pan Nikos

He bit a kid once cuz the kid was badmouthing his brother

Is the Heir to the Hermes branch of Olympos

Was the team captain on his middle school spell drive team

likes to cosplay and crossplay

the magestone he has is located on the right side of his headphones instead of a pen like it normally should be

once sent a message via pigeon because his phone died and he was NOT gonna ghost someone because it was just that important (it really wasn't)

his room is an absolute MESS, wires on the floor, foam, blankets everywhere, plushies scattered on the bed, books everywhere except the shelves

used to be in a club called "Bug Collector's Club" before him and jade saw each other in the mountains doing club activities and just decided to merge clubs

the ignihyde first years are low key scared of him because they pissed him off so bad he actually started yelling at them and threatened to leak everyone's search history if they misbehaved again

he has photographic memory

Pan knows how to play the electric guitar, the flute and the lyre

teched out his shoes so he could fly

flew into a tree when he was testing it out (always wear a helmet kids)

his love language is gift giving

Peyn Algos

Has a grandma that's fae and lives in briar valley

he visits her for winter break and often helps her with the modern technology

he's his family's tech support

his mother is human and his father is fae, his mother works as an archeologist while his father is a librarian

has an older sister that's a model

has a tamagotchi named Peggy that him and Pan take care of (it was a gift from Pan)

is more magically connected than technologically (he was taught by fae after all)

he fully thought he would be put in Diasomnia given his background, but learned and adapted pretty easily to techno-magic science and stuff within the first month

Peyn's an absolute beast at DDR and any rhythm game

beefs with riddle sometimes

memorized all 810 rules of heartslabyul just so he could argue with Riddle about how absurd they are

he is VERY spiteful

is actually two weeks younger than Riddle (his bday is on August 10)

probably the only ignihyde student that likes PE and sports

his love language is quality time

Ezmond Morado

has rook on his hit list (dont ask why)

has been a genius at potion making since he was 7

the feather on his hair is a quill, he sometimes writes with it

he gets mistaken for a beautiful girl almost every day (deuce thought he was a girl at first)

his mother is a doctor while his father is a botanist

he knows how to draw really detailed plants and landscapes (cant draw people tho)

there was one time a potion brewing went wrong and accidentally turned him into a cat

has beef with leona because he's constantly making krohn do things for him (he literally does the same)

Ace is also on the said hit list (i don't think i need to explain why)

he holds grudges and NEVER lets them go

His love language is words of affirmation

Krohn Luteus

He's fully fluent in squirrel, he sometimes has full on conversations with the squirrels at school

Can absolutely boogie down and groove

he has no enemies 😌

seriously nobody beefs with the guy cuz a. he's built like an absolute unit and b. the entirety of savanaclaw would jump them if they tried anything (the pros of being Savanaclaw's chef)

he's REALLY strong

he could lift Jack, Ruggie and, Leona all at once and STILL be able to run full speed

he was a boy scout

he's also probably vargas' favorite student idk

he's dumb, maybe even a little dumber than deuce but he got the spirit

his love language is acts of service

___________________________

Pt.2 with my Yuus

[luvtak]

depollute me, gentle angel -`✮´- ljn

the feeling of falling in love has never been so sweet <3

genre/tw jeno x reader!! fluff so sweet it’ll rot your teeth! baby & honey used as petnames, jeno being shy and wonderful and in love, minor dreamies features, kissing, the honeymoon phase personified, gender neutral reader! mostly unedited.

w/c 1217

a/n well its been a minute since i’ve written for one of my dreamies, but i hope you like this one <3 i wrote it quick in the middle of the night, and i hope you can tell, its just the tone this love needs 🫀 please enjoy and let me know if you liked it!!

Jeno has never been in love.

When he was younger he thought he might be, a distant memory of a smile, a slight graze of cold hands. Butterflies in his belly and pink cheeks… but those feelings were always fleeting, a quick rush before the fluttering went away.

No Jeno has never been in love, but he think he might be. Two months ago, you walked up to him in the park, pretty lips drawing up; your smile so dashing he had to return it. That smile turned to a phone number, a phone number to a shared cup of coffee—He can’t believe a question about directions have led you here…

You look so sweet under the streetlight, skin aglow and eyes alight.

The pavement is isolated, no one else but the two of you breathing. His hand urges to hold yours, but he can’t trust his palms not to be clammy; He can’t trust his fingers not to shake or the blood not to rush to his face. He wonders if this is being in love, if the feeling always causes discomfort… he wonders if you feel this way too, if the pads of your fingers ache with the need to touch him, the way his do.

Earlier in the night you’d met his friends, grinning the whole time and telling jokes like you’d known them forever. So beautiful, he thought, like a picture that wasn’t finished until you were painted in.

Jeno knows he probably looked silly and love struck, so obvious in his affection that Hyuck made annoying whipping sounds, and Mark pinched his red hot face.

He couldn’t help but smile thinking about it, his lips lifting so high his eyes become crescents—a perfect picture of joy, so alluring you can’t help but ask,

“What’s got you so happy, baby?”

“Nothing, just glad you liked them is all.”

And you did, you liked Jaemin and his quiet chaos, Jisung and his hesitant happiness at the older boys mischief. Yes, you like them, and how could you not when you see Jeno in them all.

He’s there in their laughter and their harmless jokes, you can hear him in them, and you love them for it.

“Well, you love them, Jen… so how could I not?” You see the impact this has on him, the shaky breath he releases into the cold air and the way his strong hand clenches with nerves. He hasn’t touched you all night, too shy and too infatuated, so you reach out to him. Your hands coming to grasp at his arms, rubbing gently at his shoulder blades. He wraps himself around you so quickly, almost like he was waiting for you to say it was okay—such a sweet boy he is, waiting for permission even when it’s always a yes.

You met him in a moment quite like this, quiet and intimate… strangers then but not now.

You thought he was handsome and when he asked for your phone number you were convinced it was a joke. How could someone as lovely as him want to know you? but he did, and now he’s here with you: his face in your neck, and you love him you really do.

You feel his lips first, pressing the sweetest kisses behind your ear and smiling into your hair. Every touch a confession, every caress a promise from a devotee to his deity.

You love him, you love him, you love him.

“You make me so shy, honey…” He says, “so so shy, it’s like I could forget my own name.

“You don’t make me shy… you make me feel alive.” You tell him, and you mean it.

Every moment with Jeno is like accelerating on an empty freeway, like you might just fly if you drive fast enough.

He’s silent after you speak, the passing cars being the only sound around for miles. A quiet so deep, you’d be scared if it wasn’t for Jeno’s strong arms around your waist.

He isn’t scared of your confession; his silence is not fear, it's not doubt, but he needs to do this right. He needs you to understand that he’s new to this, that he’s busy and imperfect, but he loves you. He loves your laugh, the way it’s not pretty or sexy, but loud and silly and so wholly you. He loves the little scars on your hands—marks so old you don’t know where they came from. He loves your smile, your eyes, the way you love his friends and they loved you…

When you went to the bathroom at the restaurant, the boys all smiled at him, but it was Jaemin—Jaemin who’d been quiet all evening—who grabbed his hand and said, good job, puppy , you really did it!

He really did it, he thinks, he found you…

When he speaks again, its with an assurance that's unfamiliar under a streetlight at midnight. So strong with his conviction, your body draws impossibly closer to him.

“I’m so grateful you came up to me that day, y’know. I remember the whole thing, your blue coat and your yellow umbrella… I needed you then, I knew it, I can’t believe how badly I needed you.” He keeps shaking his head, and his hand is weaving its way closer to the back of your head… fingers reaching out to clutch the point your spinal cord meets your skull. “I’m so glad the boys liked you, I don’t know what I’d do if they didn’t…”

“Why wouldn’t they like me, baby?” You ask, “I love you too much for them not too.”

His smile is electric, 80 miles per hour down a dirt road… a smile that makes you feel like flying.

Jeno’s eyes close, laughter so happy it hurts you, and then he’s kissing you. Lips in your hair, reaching down to swipe against the slope of your neck. Butterfly kisses on your jaw, kisses so tender it fills your heart with an pain so sweet, so heartbreakingly beautiful.

When his kiss reaches your mouth, hovering against you and breathing in the carbon your body’s releasing, you wish you could paint this moment—trap it in canvas and hang it above your couch.

“I love you so much, honey, so so much.”

And then his lips are on yours. It’s like he wants to bruise, his kiss taking and taking, breathing you in like it’s all he needs to survive. Every cell, every vein, every muscle and every bone in his body needs you. His heart is beating so fast, he doesn’t know if his arteries can keep up, if he has enough strength to keep standing.

Your blood sings with want, a hunger for his affection that is foreign under this pocket of light.

You love him, you think, you love him and he loves you…

How wonderful a concept, to love and be loved, to have and to hold and whatever nonsense people promise to each other.

You love him and he loves you.

He pulls away from you with a resistance you can relate to, a soft smile gracing his handsome face, as pretty as the stars blotted out around you.

He takes your hand as says,

“Let's go home, huh, wanna love you where it’s warm.”

And you can’t think of anything better.

luvtak 2024

[zerocoded]

summary: when caleb appears at your front door on a random thursday night after faking his death for weeks, you can't help but want to kick him straight in the knees. luckyly for you, you do just that.

authors note: this beautiful drawing that i'm using in the banner is from this lovely artist, credits to them! go check their x account ♡ ANYWAYS, the caleb post i've been daydreaming about the last two days is finally here. CALEB GIRLIES I GOT YOU. let's hold each other's hands until the 22nd comes. i hope i succeed in portraying a real mc bc i'm tired of seeing us being just happy when seeing caleb for the first time when BRO DECEIVED US and played with our emotions like that. without further bs, live laugh love caleb.

warnings: SLIGHT yandere!caleb • gaslighting and manipulation • sfw content • bad writing lol, be warned! • depressive thoughts • reader is on her grieving period • work exhaustion • mental illness mentioned • minor injury • manhandling and pining • height & size difference • caleb literally invades our home • fighting bc reader is a badass and tolerates no bitches • mc bites caleb's hands lol • others LI mentioned • one kissy scene hehe • caleb screams at mc once (boo) • ANGST Y'ALL!

word count: 6.1k

you're here┃caleb uses you as hostage at the farspace fleet┃you punch caleb in the face┃caleb teaches you his love language

your apartment was silent, except for the faint hum of the city outside. tossing your jacket onto the back of the couch, you leaned against the wall, exhaling shakily. the weight of the day pressed down on you like a vice, your fingers brushing the edge of the message from linkon city hall still lying unopened on the counter.

confirmation of deceased: caleb. adoptive grandmother, dr. josephine. cause of death: explosion – classified incident.

you hadn’t needed to open it. the words were already carved into your memory, and the weight of them had crushed you all day. it didn’t matter that the explosion was months ago—seeing their names on an official report felt like losing them all over again.

you pushed away from the counter, willing your mind to focus on anything else. the hunter uniform hugged your frame perfectly, as it always had, and your reflection in the glass windows of your living room showed how tired you looked.

did anyone notice how wrecked you felt? you wondered if tara had gossiped to the other hunters about your predicament, and if she had left you alone because she somehow understood the weight of what had happened to you.

the message was awful. being asked to confirm the deaths of your loved ones had thrown you into a depressive spiral you hadn’t felt in days after returning from the N109 zone. your troublesome heart sometimes made you feel like you shouldn’t have even been born. when you trauma-dumped this on rafayel a few days ago, he had almost hit you with his paint brush, the words coming out of your mouth too much for him to process. the painter was pissed that you could think of yourself like that.

but that was how you felt—unworthy of being alive, because the person who raised you had been brutally killed.

why not me? you wondered.

linkon city was adorned with shiny skyscrapers, and your privileged view of the city made you feel even smaller, your grievance nothing more than a joke to the world outside of your apartment. knowing you’d have to show up to work again tomorrow added to the weight pressing down on your shoulders from choosing to be a deepspace hunter.

these last few weeks, you had questioned why you chose this job in the first place. since coming back from onychinus and befriending sylus of all people, you’d been thinking about your life decisions more frequently. sylus made you question every little thing you had once thought was a virtue, which now seemed like selfishness in disguise.

the man was good at disturbing your thoughts and making you feel things that put you on the spot.

you became a deepspace hunter because you were selfish. you wanted to make a difference, like the people you grew up with had made.

you wanted to be smart like zayne and attentive like josephine. you wanted to be helpful like caleb and as notorious as your other anhaunsen classmates. you wanted to do anything to escape the feeling you’d had since birth—uselessness.

as you sank deep into the living room cushions and exhaled heavily into the lonely air of your apartment, your phone buzzed with a text from zayne.

fate was joking with you today.

are you okay?, it read.

his worry made your heart flutter a little before sadness took over your entire form again.

you didn’t have the heart to respond. lying required more strength than you had in that moment, so you tossed your phone onto the center table and ignored him.

i’m sorry, zayne, i wish i was stronger for you.

your stomach rumbled, and your ribs ached. earlier in the evening, you had let a wanderer get too close before killing it, distracted as you were. the mistake had left you with a swollen rib and a deep sense of shame. you’d promised to take care of it when you got home, but right now, all you could do was discard a few of your sharp weapons onto the floor before dozing off on the couch.

you’d probably hate yourself in the morning for sleeping with these tight boots on.

for you, the hardest part wasn’t the silence left behind. it wasn’t the way the world seemed to keep spinning while yours had shattered. the hardest part was feeling like you needed to smile, to nod politely when people said, “stay strong,” as if strength could stitch together the pieces of your broken heart.

the hardest part was the way people looked at you, expecting you to move forward, to let the memories be enough. but how could you, when the smell of smoke still haunted your nightmares, when you could still hear caleb’s laughter drowned by the deafening roar of the explosion? how could you heal when your soul was still bleeding, the wounds too fresh, the pain still pouring out with every breath you tried to take?

you loved him so much it hurt. you wish you’d told him more times. why didn’t you told him more times?

how could you move forward when you still couldn’t clench your fists as strong as you were accustomed to because you were thrown into the air and broke both of them at the incident?

you wondered if it would ever be enough, and if someday you’d find out who was responsible for all of this pain.

the kitchen candles were the only light in the room when you heard the doorbell ring. sharp and sudden, it cut through the haze and fought off your sleepiness in a second, your hunter’s bells ringing warningly.

your heart jumped, and your hand instinctively went to your side where your pistol usually rested, only to find it absent. you’d left it in your locker at the deepspace headquarters, thinking you wouldn’t need it tonight.

the bell rang again, more insistent this time.

“probably xavier,” you muttered, trying to shake off the lingering unease. your neighbor and cute colleague had been away on a special mission as a hunter. his absence had started to feel noticeable in the quiet moments.

you liked spending time with xavier because he seemed to understand you on another level. he never seemed to expect anything from you, which made grieving next to him a little less daunting. you missed his midnight visits and occasional talks about claw machines and stupid wanderers, and you wished he would respond to your texts asking when he was coming back.

you felt like it would be nice to hear his voice right now.

without thinking much, you unlocked the door, combat boots still on and dark circles framing your usually bright eyes.

“took you long enough—”

the words died on your lips.

it wasn’t xavier.

standing in your doorway, dressed in a pristine daa military uniform, was a man—ridiculously intimidating and strange. he looked at you with judgment and arrogance, making you step back a little and guard more of yourself.

thank god you still had your uniform on and wasn’t wearing some flimsy nightgown. the man seemed to be eating you alive in his head.

before you had the chance to question the stranger’s presence at your door on this random thursday night, he tossed you aside and pressed you against the corridor wall of your kitchen, your breath instantly hitched and your ribs ached from the impact.

your hunter’s awareness triggered instantly, instincts flaring and mind still trying to process what the hell was going on. your hands struggled against his grip, desperately searching for an evol to resonate with. if your mind had already been spiraling out of control before, now you felt like you could fight a thousand wanderers at once and focus on surviving with mere instinct.

you couldn’t scream. his right hand clamped over your mouth, his left gripping both your wrists in front of your chest and preventing you from punching him like you planned to. somehow, this was a professional individual who knew your fighting mannerisms and wrestling tendencies by heart.

with great effort, you managed to bite his hand that was closest to your mouth and heard his pained grunt right after. you swore you heard him cussing before his head raised and his eyes finally met yours.

your heart stopped. the world narrowed to the faint outline of his silhouette as you finally were able to look at his face. his hair was concealed beneath a presumptuous cap, the daa symbol shining bright at its center. black, red, and gold adorned the uniform of the unknown man who handled your body as if it were weightless, plastic.

you thrashed and twisted in his grip until he was forced to pin both your hands above your head, hissing when you managed to land a kick on his right knee. the door clicked shut beside you as he silenced your attempted scream with his hand again.

amethystine eyes stared back at you, thick brows furrowed as your gazes locked. chills ran down your spine. your hunter uniform pressed uncomfortably against the wall, your combat boots barely touching the floor. yet, despite your effort, he towered over you.

you wanted to cry.

the hidden freckles were the first clue your mind was playing tricks on you, the shape of his mouth the second, and his skin tone the third. countless times since the explosion, you’d dreamed of caleb’s touch—more nights than you could count. but as the weight of the day bore down on you, your fighting spirit waned, the initial rush of adrenaline fading as you stared into his eyes.

everything felt cruelly unfair.

his gaze was uncharacteristically hard as he watched you, his bruising grip on your mouth and wrists warming for a moment before you snapped out of your daze.

a smirk made way to his lips and his stupidly manly perfume set itself on your senses. another attempt at kicking him made him press himself further into you, ribs screaming from the pressure. if he noticed your pained expression, he didn’t mention it at all.

“caleb,” you whispered, the name barely audible. your voice cracked, your body frozen in place, your mind unable to reconcile the impossible reality before you.

he didn’t seem to hear you, but his hand left your mouth, his gaze sweeping over your body and his face so close to yours you could count his naturally defined lashes.

the tension between you two shifted as he eyed you closer, curious eyes landing on your pretty figure. he could swear for a moment you wouldn’t recognize him and that thought perturbed his mind for the next few seconds he allowed himself to bask in your beauty.

caleb was familiar with the sight of you in the hunter’s association uniform, but never had he seen you looking this wrecked.

in the weeks leading up to the explosion, he’d promised himself he’d never let you get hurt by ever ever again. now, seeing you like this, he wondered if things looked different from your perspective.

would you hate him?

would you hate him for the decisions he made? for the people he deceived and the families he destroyed? for the secrets he exposed so he could be at advantage and fight for you from a more privileged position?

would you hate him for wanting you all to himself and sharing the same fate as him as a human experiment? for wanting to take you to the ever base and expose you to everyone right before killing them? for being the demise of your life but still wanting to keep you as close as possible?

would you still love him after he told you all of the wrongings he did to make things right for you and him?, he wondered.

the look in your eyes told him no, and because of that, his grip on your pinned hands loosened, the silence between you two remaining charged with tension. he saw the exact moment reality crashed down on you. your gaze faltered, and for a moment, you looked like you were going to cry.

he would hate to see you cry because of him, even though deep down he knew how lovely you looked while pouring your eyes out. he have seen it a thousand times before. caleb wanted to make you cry in other circumstances, not right now.

his lips pressed into a forced smile, and your breath hitched as his eyes shone faintly in the dim light of the kitchen candles. though the light wasn’t very effective, the touch of his gloved hand was enough to confirm the truth: this wasn’t a fucking stranger.

caleb felt when you stopped fighting and caved into his touch, scared to death. he let go of your mouth and stared right at your lips.

“no,” you muttered, shaking your head as if to clear a hallucination. your hands remained bound, your feet still searching for the floor. “this can’t be true.”

he tilted his head slightly, his eyes locking onto yours. “it’s me.” his voice was calm, too familiar, too real. too cruel.

your body trembled with his tone, his breath fanning on your cheeks while your eyes scanned his. it felt wrong to say anything at the moment, fear still there in your eyes.

your body snapped into action, reality slamming into you like a tidal wave. you raised your knee, aiming to knock him off balance, desperate to banish the ghost standing in your kitchen.

but the colonel moved faster.

his hand shot out, catching your leg with unnerving precision. before you could react, he hoisted you over his shoulder effortlessly.

you stumbled, panic surging through your veins. your instincts screamed at you to fight, to move, to do something.

“let me go” you demanded, your voice trembling with equal parts fear and fury, punching his back in a futile attempt to stop him. “who are you? who sent you?”

“i came to see you,” he said simply, his voice steady and unnervingly calm. his eyes darted around the apartment, scanning every corner like a predator assessing its prey. “you didn’t think i’d stay away forever, did you?”

why did he sound so smug and heartless? it pissed you off.

realization set heavy on your shoulders—did he... did he fake his own death?

“you’re a fucking asshole.” you didn’t care that this man was more than six feet tall or that he wore a military uniform of all things, you kicked and screamed as much as you could after he threw you onto the couch—the very place you’d landed earlier that evening.

the moment he released you, you inched toward the center table where your spare weapon was stashed.

caleb’s smile faltered, replaced by something darker. his voice dropped, softer but laced with unsettling intensity. “i hope you cooperate from now on, pipsqueak.”

the words sent a chill down your spine.

“who the fuck do you think you are?” you spat, pistol in hand, ready to aim.

his gaze flicked to your movement, and before you could react, he was there. his hand closed around your wrist, pinning it to the couch with a force that made you gasp.

“you’re not going to hurt me, pipsqueak,” he murmured, his tone almost teasing, though the intensity in his purple eyes told a different story. “i’d never hurt you. you know that.”

you struggled against his grip, your heart pounding as fear twisted into anger. “let me go, caleb.”

“not until you listen,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. he leaned closer, his breath brushing against your ear. “will you stop fighting and thrashing around? i need to see if you are ready”

“ready for what?” you spat, your voice trembling with rage.

“for us,” he said simply, his tone calm, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

your breath hitched as his words sank in, the weight of them pressing down on you like a storm. “what the hell is ‘us’? you died. i watched you fucking die, asshole.”

he leaned closer, his forehead almost brushing yours, his voice a low whisper. “and i came back—for you.”

the weight of his presence, his words, was suffocating. for a moment, you froze, your mind racing for a way out.

it sounded so intimate, so romantically unsettling having him above you and saying things that made your heart clench. you hoped the hurt in your eyes was visible to the man. you hoped he still had sympathy and felt guilt somewhere underneath that uniform.

caleb stepped back, releasing your wrist but still blocking your path, his expression softening slightly as he examined you. “i need you to be quiet until i can tell you everything.”

“who do you think you are? you filthy liar”. 

caleb’s gaze flickered as your words hung between you, unspoken accusations slicing through the air like shards of glass. he shifted his weight, his broad frame now more a shadow than a presence in the dim room. for a moment, it seemed like he might say something—anything—but instead, he exhaled, a quiet sound that carried the weight of a thousand unspoken apologies.

"you look as pretty as always, princess", his whisper reached your ears and you felt a wave of anger wash over you.

"i don't know what you did to caleb, but right now is not the time for games". you spat the words with disgust.

"you think you know anything?" he asked, voice low but steady. his eyes, catching the faint glow of the candlelight, held yours. he looked scary above you. 

"you think that you are right?," you bit back, the ache in your ribs forgotten under the pressure of the moment. "faking a death isn’t something i take lightly in my books”.

his jaw tightened, the faintest tremor in his hand betraying him as he sighed. the silence stretched again, taut and heavy, before he finally spoke. “trust me to take care of you as i always did, pipsqueak, i just need more cooperation from you this time. i needed to do that so I could've gotten rid of josephine”.

the vulnerability in his voice caught you off guard, stealing whatever biting retort was forming on your tongue. you searched his face, the faint scars etched into his skin, the weariness in his eyes. "what the fuck did you just say?" you said softly, your voice trembling with the effort to keep it steady. 

caleb’s expression shifted as he saw the tense tone of your voice, a flicker of something unreadable passing over his face. regret? anger? it was gone too fast to tell. "i said what i said," he replied, his tone measured, almost calm—too calm. "josephine was a threat. she had to go, and i handled it and you should put this in your mind and move on."

"you handled it?" the words came out as a growl. the disbelief, the rage, the grief—it all boiled over. "you’re talking about the woman who raised me, caleb. who raised you. and you expect me to just—what—trust that you had your reasons? that it’s fine because you handled it?"

you got up from the sofa and watched him tower over you once again, not being afraid to fight him out of your house this time. you took a step further and watched the surprise on his face mix with a hint of mischief.

"you must have lost your mind, who the fuck sent you here? answer me." you asked, your voice sharper now, frustration spilling over.

he stepped closer, the shadow he cast stretching long across the dim room. his voice dropped, soft but firm, the kind of tone that brooked no argument. "the sooner you accept the truth, the easier all of this will turn out for you. josephine was a loose thread that could put you at harm and, trust me, i won’t let anything or anyone put you at risk."

"shut up," you snapped, your hands shaking as they clenched into fists. "don’t you dare put this on her. don’t you dare tell me you did this for me." you pushed him with force until he stumbled back a little, eyes on you the entire time. still, he didn’t react. so you pushed yourself past him, pacing to the other side of the room as if distance could lessen the fury building inside you. "you’re out of your fucking mind if you think i’m going anywhere with you. you��i… i mourned you, caleb".

caleb turned, his movements slow and deliberate, his gaze locking onto yours. "you don’t have a choice," he said simply. "if you want a chance of surviving, you’ll accompany me to the farspace fleet so you can prove to me that you are not a threat, this isn’t a quest, Y/N.”

"stop acting like you’re my savior," you shouted, spinning to face him. "you lied to me, faked your death, and now you show up here, in my home, telling me what to do? you’ve lost the right to give me orders, caleb. i don’t have to prove you shit"

his eyes narrowed, and for a moment, something like frustration flashed across his face. "you’re impossible," he muttered, more to himself than to you. “don’t make me take you by force, princess, this is already hard enough for me”.

his presence felt heavier now, more intimidating and more overwhelming. “hear me out on this one, pipsqueak, i can see why you’re upset but here it’s not the right place to talk about this. i promise i’ll explain it later”.

caleb’s gaze didn’t waver, feelings too strong for him to back down.

“you think i trust you wholeheartedly as well? don’t you think i know about what you’re capable to do, what weapon they made you become?”, he questioned, raising more questions about your past to the surface.

you hesitated, your chest heaving as you glared at him, every instinct screaming at you to fight, to run, to do anything but listen.

“you think i don’t know what you’re capable of? you’ve got every right to hate me, but that doesn’t change the fact that you’re in danger and i’m the only one who can keep you alive.”

he stepped closer, his boots echoing softly against the tiled kitchen floor, the flicker of candlelight casting shadows that seemed to stretch and twist with your unease. the space between you vanished with every deliberate step he took, and before you realized it, the cool edge of the counter pressed against your back.

“i came here to get you so i can protect you,” he said, his voice softer now, almost tender, though his eyes burned with something far less kind. “won’t you trust me, pipsqueak?”

you swallowed hard, your ribs aching as the tension tightened around you like a vice. the pain flared again on your right side, but you forced it down, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing your weakness. caleb’s arms came up, caging you between them, his palms braced on the counter on either side of you. his breath was warm against your skin, the faint scent of mossy perfume and something metallic clinging to him.

his amethystine eyes locked onto yours, drawing you in and daring you to look away. “josephine wasn’t innocent,” he murmured, the words deliberate, each one cutting deeper than the last. “she was the only way left they could get to you easily. so i had to get rid of her.”

the shock and fury bubbling in your chest clawed their way to the surface, but before you could lash out, he moved. slowly, deliberately, he raised his hands, his movements calm but weighted with unspoken meaning. his right hand hovered between your bodies as he tugged off his glove, revealing cold, gleaming metal where flesh once was.

your breath hitched, your eyes widening despite yourself. the intricate machinery of his prosthetic glinted dully in the dim light, a jarring contrast to the warmth of his other hand still braced beside you.

“i didn’t get out of there without paying a price,” he continued, his tone dipping lower, the faintest hint of bitterness creeping into his words. “if that makes you feel better.”

the sight of the metal, the weight of his confession, sent your mind reeling. you wanted to stay angry, to hold onto the fury that kept you standing, but the cracks in his armor—the familiar of his voice, the faint tremor in his hand—made it harder to breathe.

“turns out i gave them everything they wanted to have even more control over my body,” he said, his eyes narrowing slightly, studying your reaction like a predator watching prey. “you’re not the only ever victim in this room, princess, don't you see?”

his words hit like a punch to the gut, the nickname twisting something deep inside you. your eyes burned, the sting of unshed tears making your vision blur. compassion clawed its way forward, fighting against the iron grip of your fury.

he leaned closer, his voice softening, wrapping around you like a velvet noose. “don’t you see now? i’m your only way out. only i can make you safe, princess.” his head tilted slightly, his gaze piercing through the layers of anger and fear you’d built around yourself. “why don’t you see it?”

the way he said it—like it was inevitable, like you were foolish for resisting—sent a fresh wave of defiance coursing through you. your fingers twitched at your sides, curling into fists. the tears threatening to spill were not ones of submission but of frustration, of fury that he could twist your pain and vulnerability into leverage.

your hands trembled as you shoved against his chest, trying to create even an inch of space between you. “you’re the danger here, caleb.”

his expression hardened, though the faintest flicker of something else—hurt? regret?—crossed his features. he caught your wrists before you could push him further, his grip firm but not painful, his proximity suffocating.

“i won’t let you go this time,” he said, his voice quieter now, the sharp edge replaced with something closer to desperation. his eyes seemed to ignore every red signal your body emitted. “what are you afraid of, pipsqueak? c'mon, it’s me, caleb”.

the charged silence that followed was unbearable, the tension between you a living, breathing thing. the weight of his words, the intensity in his gaze—it all felt too much, too close, and yet not close enough.

“answer me.”, he demanded, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous rasp that sent a shiver down your spine. “you need me, Y/N.”

you wanted to scream, to shove him back, to wipe that look of control and simmering frustration off his face, but the words stuck in your throat. it wasn’t fear keeping you quiet—it was the truth you didn’t want to admit. the truth you couldn’t admit.

“you don’t get to do this,” you managed, your voice cracking under the weight of your emotions. “you don’t get to leave me, fake your death, and then come back like nothing happened. like i’m supposed to just—just fall in line and listen to you.”

his lips parted as if to respond, but no words came out. instead, he exhaled sharply, his jaw clenching as his grip on your wrists loosened ever so slightly. “i didn’t come back for you to listen,” he said, his tone soft but laced with an edge of frustration. “i came back to make sure you survive. with me.”

“you are crazy” you spat, shaking your head as you finally yanked your hands free from his grasp. “i don't know why you changed so much. you call this survival? being hunted, manipulated, dragged into whatever mess you’ve made? that’s not survival, caleb. that’s hell.”

“didn’t you want answers?!” he snaps, his voice cutting through the charged silence like a whip. his tone is sharp, frustration crackling in the air between you. for a moment, you flinched at his tone. “answers about your past, about granny, about the aether core that lives inside of you?”. he motions for your chest and you lean away from him.

caleb throws his daa hat on the floor and runs his gloved hand over his hair, desperation clinging into his actions. a move you were so used to seeing him doing as a teenager now seemed to paint his figure as someone totally different.

“guess what,” he continues, stepping closer, his boots scraping against the floor as the small space between you shrinks to nothing. “i’m the only one who can give you that.”

your back hits the counter again, the cold surface biting through your shirt as his presence looms over you. his hands grip the edge of the counter on either side of you, boxing you in, and his voice drops lower, quieter, but no less intense. “i know you’ve been looking for the truth. don’t pretend you haven’t. every decision you’ve made, every risk you’ve taken, it’s all been for answers.”

the weight of his words pressed down on you, heavy and suffocating, as if the walls of the apartment were closing in. his voice, low and deliberate, carried the kind of certainty that felt like a blade against your resolve. you hated that he knew so much, hated the way his presence seemed to draw out every buried question, every lingering doubt you’d tried so hard to silence.

the truth of it stung more than you wanted to admit. because it was true—wasn’t it? every decision, every desperate move you’d made since josephine’s death had been about finding the missing pieces. about understanding why your life felt like a jigsaw puzzle with crucial parts deliberately torn away.

you grew up with people like zayne and caleb so you’d become the best version of yourself. still, you felt unworthy of everything you have ever achieved.

you were... at a loss of words.

your ribs screamed in pain against the counter, the cold seeping through your shirt and grounding you in the moment. you wanted to push him away, to snap back with something that would shatter the arrogance in his voice. but instead, you found yourself staring at him—really staring—seeing the desperation etched into every line of his face. it wasn’t just his words that rattled you; it was the way his shoulders seemed to carry the weight of something far greater than just your shared past.

you noticed the tremor in his hand, the way it lingered too long on the counter’s edge, as if he were holding himself back from reaching for you. the way his eyes, though sharp and unrelenting, flickered with something almost... pleading.

caleb seemed to be holding himself back—as he always did. this time, though, you were not sure if you wanted him to break and consume you or to let you go and forget the two of you. this was the first time in your life where you felt close enough to the truth, close enough to calm the storm of questions in your mind. still, your grip on your ego seemed to be as tight as ever.

everything felt unfair because you were oh so tired. since onychinus, sylus and the aether core, your mind has been settled into finding answers of questions that were never asked in the first place. you were running in circles and you dreamed every night about how you missed caleb. how you knew he would guide you into the right path if he was alive at the moment.

now that he was here, something felt uncharacteristically right for the first time in weeks.

you need me, he said.

it was a bold statement, a manipulative one, but the worst part was the whisper of doubt it planted in your mind. what if he’s right? what if caleb, with all his possessive behavior, really did have the answers you’d been chasing? could you afford to ignore him—risk losing whatever truth he claimed to hold—just because you didn’t trust him right now? just because his posture changed and his eyes seemed a little darker?

had you the privilege of saying no to him?

you have always been so weak for him, haven't you?

your gaze dropped to his gloved hand, still gripping the counter, then to the hat he’d thrown carelessly onto the floor. there was something raw about the gesture, something that pulled at a part of you you’d long thought buried. it was the same caleb you remembered, the one who’d run his hands through his hair in frustration when things didn’t go his way, but now there was a hardness to him, an edge that made him almost unrecognizable.

he leaned in slightly, his proximity sending a shiver down your spine. caleb’s hands cradled your face with an unsettling gentleness, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks as if to memorize every inch of your skin. his breath, warm and steady, fanned over your face, and the proximity made your pulse race despite every instinct screaming at you to pull away.

“do as i say, princess,” he murmured, his voice a mix of honeyed persuasion and steel. “you know deep down that i’m right.”

you hated how easily he saw through you, how his words made your chest tighten with the weight of unspoken truths. but there was a flicker of something else now—a sliver of curiosity, of reluctant consideration.

you stayed in silence.

“you’re trembling,” he murmured, his voice dipping lower, softer, as if the words were meant for no one but you. “what are you afraid of, princess? me?”.

his breath fanned over your cheek, the tension between you felt alive, electric, as if the air itself buzzed with anticipation. caleb’s hands cradled your face with a deliberate slowness, his fingers grazing your jawline like he was afraid you’d shatter under his touch. his thumbs traced lazy circles just below your cheekbones, sending faint shivers rippling down your spine.

caleb was very meticulous about the way he touched you. his words—carved in desperation just for you. he brushed away the tears you were shedding, breath in synch with yours as if he wanted for you to share your burden with him.

his thumb brushed against your skin, warm and steady, the faintest hint of mint and wood lingering in the space between you. the closeness made your pulse quicken, the steady rhythm in your chest now erratic and impossible to ignore. his forehead almost touched yours, his lips dangerously close but not quite there, as if he were savoring the moment, drawing it out until the anticipation was unbearable.

you gripped his forearms, confused at the needy feeling clawing its way out of your chest, the longing for closeness and safety that your brain always seemed to tie with the body in front of you. the tenderness he reserved only for you made your heart flutter despite the cruel truths and harsh words that had passed between you.

“what are you afraid of, princess?” he murmured again, his voice impossibly soft, like a velvet thread weaving its way into your thoughts. “it’s just me.”

the way he said it—low and intimate, like he was speaking to the deepest parts of you—made your knees weak.

his metal hand slid down from your face, the cool pads of his fingers brushing over the curve of your neck and coming to rest lightly on your shoulder. the weight was grounding, steadying, but it also sent sparks racing across your skin. the meaning behind his touch was at odds with the coldness of his prosthetic; it felt like both a tether and a promise.

you wondered if he was using his evol against you, manipulating your emotions, or if it was just your stupid, traitorous heart making you feel like you were floating.

your breaths came shallow and uneven as the tension between you thickened, palpable and inescapable. his gaze flickered to your lips, the intensity in his eyes making your stomach twist with anticipation. you hated how much you noticed the way he leaned closer, the way his presence filled every inch of the space around you, until there was nothing left but him.

“you don’t have to be scared of me,” he said softly, his lips brushing the words into the air between you. “i’d never hurt you.”

the warmth of his breath sent a shiver down your spine, and before you could think of a reason to stop him, he closed the distance.

his lips pressed against yours, slow and deliberate, giving you every chance to pull away. but you didn’t. the kiss was soft at first, hesitant, like he was waiting for you to decide, waiting to see if you would break the moment or lean into it. and for a heartbeat, you froze, the shock of it rooting you in place.

but the tenderness of his kiss, the way his hand tightened slightly on your shoulder as if to steady himself, drew you in. your fingers curled into his forearms, no longer in protest but in something closer to surrender, the heat of his closeness chasing away the cold air of the room. you felt something stir deep inside you when you felt the dips of his muscles underneath his uniform.

when did he became so big?

the kiss deepened, his lips moving against yours with a mix of urgency and restraint, as though he were holding back a tidal wave of emotion. you felt the shift in him—the desperation, the longing he’d tried to bury under layers of control. it poured out now, raw and unguarded, and it pulled something equally raw from within you.

when he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm and uneven. his hands stayed where they were, steadying you as much as himself, and for a moment, the silence between you felt heavier than any words could.

“just me,” he whispered again, his voice breaking slightly, as if he needed you to believe it as much as he did.

I JUST POSTED PART TWO OF THIS, go check it out!

author’s note: want to cry more while reading? listen to remember me by d4vd and tell me that this song doesn't describe mc and caleb perfectly. SORRY FOR THE POOR ENDING, i'll make a part two of this post soon, follow me to get updated when i post or just check my masterpost from time to time :) send me a request • my masterpost

[ghostlysoaps]

John MacTavish used to spend parts of his summers in England visiting extended family and this is where he ends up meeting a boy a couple years older than him named Simon. Surprisingly enough, they hit it off. His bombastic, extroverted personality somehow manages to compliment Simon’s rather timid, introverted one. Joined at the hip, the two of them quickly call themselves best friends, and, as children tend to do, develop a bit of an innocent crush on each other – going so far as to promise to marry one another if they haven’t found anyone else by the time they’re both twenty-five.

But then autumn arrives and goodbyes are made and their promises to meet up again never come to fruition.

He doesn’t forget him though. Their friendship remains a fond memory, even a decade later, though much of the details are blurred with time. Perhaps it’s because they’d been each other’s first kiss – if the chaste peck of lips-on-lips can be called as such – or it’s the ring of twined straw, brittle as tinder, he has tucked away in his box of mementos that make that particular summer an unforgettable thing.

That and his steadfast insistence no one else is allowed to use a certain nickname for him.

In any case… those faded months are far from his mind when John Price is showing him around their base of operations, introducing him to people as they go along. The one-four-one consists of near enough two dozen operatives though he’s told it’s not uncommon to be mostly paired off with a select few of his fellow soldiers if they play to each other’s strengths. He nods along and pushes for the use of his callsign when folks wish to be friendly. Until, eventually, he finds himself face-to-face with a man who needs no introduction. A living legend as it were; who’s records Soap had worked hard to beat.

“Well then, last but not least. MacTavish, this is Lieutenant Simon Riley. Also known as–”

“–my future husband,” John finishes for him, based on a name, twelve percent of a full thought and the manc accent he’d spied when hearing him dismiss a batch of recruits.

Youngest to ever make the SAS and about to be the quickest one ousted, he thinks miserably when the eyes assessing him narrow at his declaration.

“Johnny?”

Oh.

“So ye do remember me!” Pivoting from mortification to delight, and heedless to any gawking voyeurs, John slings an arm around Simon’s shoulders to draw him into a loose side-hug. “No’ long now ‘fore we need t’ get hitched, aye?”

“Courthouse is a twenty minute ride,” Simon says drily.

Soap laughs, brighter than he can remember doing for a long time, before he immediately starts teasing Ghost about not proposing properly.

(He does, of course, do so years down the line.)

[thewritingrowlet]

The Tireless Wife, ft. Red Velvet Irene

tags: creampie, deepthroat—you know what, just read the whole thing, hm?

length: 8k+

author's note: I speedran this fic so please forgive me if it's too messy; I just wanted to make use of this free time.

p.s. this fic takes place before and after The Determined Wife.

-

Irene walks in the bedroom as you’re gathering your consciousness after a very good, post-sex sleep. “Ah, good morning, my love.” She high steps towards the bed to join you, taking her rightful place in your arms. “Love, on a scale of 1 to 10, how awake are you?” “Seven, probably.” You rub your eyes to see if maybe you can improve that score. “Okay, maybe eight and a half,” you revise.

Irene thinks that it’s not good enough; she wants you to be 100% in the right mind this morning, which is odd. She sits on your lap and starts kissing you passionately, seemingly in high spirits; she’s likely very satisfied with the fact that you’ve granted her wish to be bred.

“Tell me again.” “Nine and a half,” you tease. Your wife rolls her eyes. “Ugh, please don’t play hard to get.” You chuckle. “Aww, come on, love; I just want more kisses.” She puts on the beautiful smile that’s unique to her and only her. “Ah, fine, you win.”

She comes in for one more deep kiss, going as far as invading the space of your mouth with her tongue—it’s unfortunate that she breaks it soon after, though. “If that didn’t make it 10, I’m going to suck you off,” she says. “Sounds tempting,” you tease, “well, maybe later—let’s get to your point first.”

With a smile, Irene fishes something out of her shorts pocket and hands it to you with a closed palm. It is only when she lets go that you can see what it is: a pregnancy test device with two lines on it. “I’m a mother, love,” Irene starts breaking into tears, “I’m a mother, and there’s no question that you’re the father.”

Tears, endless of them, start flowing freely out of your eyes and onto your cheeks. “Y-you’re pregnant, my love?” Your grip on the little test kit weakens as your hand starts trembling—oh, look: a tear lands on the device, right where the little screen is. “I am,” Irene joins you in crying, “thank you for granting my wish.”

You put the small device to the side because you want to use your hands to hug your wife. “No, no, no,” you say, “thank you for giving me such a huge blessing.” Irene starts crying more freely, and you can’t help but do the same. “We’re going to become parents, love—isn’t that crazy?” “It is,” you agree with her, “thank you for making it possible for us, love.”

Irene pulls away from the hug, placing her hands on your shoulders instead. “You need to get ready for work, don’t you, love—let me start your shower.” You shake your head. “Screw work,” you say, “I want to spend this wonderful day with you and only you.” Your words draw a wide smile on her face. “Sounds great, love.”

She turns around before leaning against your chest, placing your hand right on her stomach that’s now occupied by the little one—your little one (the fetus hasn’t formed yet, yes, but the point still stands). Irene giggles as you rub her belly gently. “You’ll need to come up with some names, love.” “You first,” you say, “do you have ideas?” She taps her chin as she thinks of a candidate. “Jihoon-ie if it’s a boy, and Hyewon-ie if it’s a girl.”

You’re a little startled; Jihoon was the name of your little brother who passed away just before he turned 9 years old (you were 13 at the time) due to cardiac arrest. Your parents, specifically your mom, took his passing heavily, falling into what you learned years later as depression, which explained why they weren’t at home a lot—they were busy seeking help from professionals, both at home and abroad.

Irene knows about this story, obviously; you’ve taken her to his resting place a few times. “His memories can live on with our child, love,” she explains the reason behind the idea. “I’m glad that you have that idea, but personally, I think I’d let him rest,” you say, and Irene dares not argue.

“What about your ideas, love?” You take a few deep breaths as you try to come up with some names. “I don’t have any boy names in my head, but Yeseo if it’s a girl,” you say. Irene likes your idea; she thinks that it’s such a pretty and cute name for a girl. “Well, we’ll need to wait until they can tell if we’re having a son or a daughter.”

-

Mr. Hwang, the cook, has made some fettuccine for breakfast, since Irene said that she’s been craving pasta—a pregnant woman shall have what she wants. So, here you are: sitting at the table in the dining room with Irene, ready to fill your stomach with this tasty-looking dish.

Seeing the tall glass of water reminds you of something important that you want to address with Irene. “My love,” you place a hand over hers, “now that we’re going to become parents, let’s stop drinking alcohol, hm?” She nods enthusiastically. “I was about to suggest that idea to you, hon.” You smile. “I’m glad that we’re on the same page.” “About that, though,” she backtracks, “what about our collection? We have some nice wine and champagne.”

You ring the kitchen bell, and Mr. Hwang appears after a few seconds. “Yes, sir?” “Do you drink, Mr. Hwang?” “I do, sir, occasionally,” he admits. “Nice,” you put on a thumbs-up, “would you like to keep our liquor collection? We want to stop drinking now that we’re expecting.” His eyes widen in surprise. “I would be honored, sir, but as far as I know, they’re expensive.” You smile kindly while placing a hand on the side of his arm. “The only thing I care about, Mr. Hwang, is my wife and my child’s health—I don’t care about those bottles.” “If you say so—oh, and congratulations on the pregnancy, sir.”

After convincing Mr. Hwang to keep your collection of liquor for himself, you return to your wife. “Mr. Hwang will take care of those bottles, love; we won’t have to throw them out,” you inform her. “Erm, actually,” says Irene, “can we give the Masseto to my parents, love?” You agree with her request, thus officially marking the start of the transition to a clear-headed life without alcohol.

-

You invite Irene to join you on the sofa because you think that you have some things to discuss with her. “What do you want to talk about, love?” “Which hospital do you want, and how do you want to deliver the baby?” After thinking about it for a while, Irene says she wants to try delivering without surgery but is open to it as the last option. As for the hospital, she chooses the Sacred Heart Hospital, which is a very good hospital that’s also not too far from your house.

“Next up, our stuff,” you say, making Irene confused. “What do you mean?” “Well, we’re going to need a new car; I don’t think transporting the 3 of us in that 911 or your Genesis is a good idea.” “Do you want to sell the 911?” No, you don’t want to; Irene bought that silver speedster as a birthday present for you. “I was thinking that we should just buy a new one—something that can accommodate us and our child comfortably.” She pulls out her phone to search for options, but you stop her. “That doesn’t have to happen today, love,” you say, “we can think about that later on; I was just trying to get it out there, you know.”

Irene moves to sit on your lap. “I have some things to ask from you, love,” she starts on a new subject, “tell me what you think about them, okay?” You nod to get her to continue. “First, whenever possible, please come home early and don’t spend too much time working.” You say yes without hesitation, which satisfies her. Work will always be there, but your child’s growth and other important moments only happen once—wouldn’t want to miss your child’s first word or first step, would you?

“Second,” she puts up two fingers in front of your eyes, “please have mercy on me when we have sex.” You ask her to elaborate further. “I know that we can get rough sometimes, so let’s turn it down a bit to make sure the child isn’t in danger or anything.” “What about the frequency?” You take your turn to ask. “Just the usual, please; I’ll tell you when I want it, and you can tell me when you want it.” Again, without hesitation, you agree to her terms, which apparently serves as a segue for her next point.

“Can I have you, love?” You grin as you feel your cock getting hard. “You certainly can, love—can I have you as well?” Irene giggles cutely. “That goes hand-in-hand, doesn’t it?” “Just wanted to make sure, baby.”

Because of the time and day, there are other people in the house (i.e. the cook and the cleaning staff), so the only place you can have sex in is the bedroom. On your way to the bedroom with Irene in your arms, she taps your chin to get your attention. “Love, Miss Jo wants to take a leave to visit her parents,” she says. “We’ll go out later and get her some stuff to take home.”

You set Irene gently onto the bed in compliance with her request to take things easier during sex. “Ah, my gentle giant,” she comments. She hasn’t used that nickname in quite some time, now that you think about it. That name was given to you by your fellow student council members (including Irene) back in university when you refused to beat up a toilet peeper and would rather have him formally punished by the university and charged by the victims. “I thought you’ve forgotten that name.” She lets out a giggle. “How can I forget, love?”

You come in for a kiss to indicate that you’ve had enough chatter, and Irene welcomes you warmly as usual. “Please, love,” she gulps, “please start already.” You reach for her pajama top and undo the first button. “Patience, baby; I still need to undress you.” She cooperates by undoing her top starting from the bottom button and meeting you halfway. “There, I helped,” she says, making you laugh a little. She then proceeds to pull down her shorts just as you’re about to ask her.

Your gaze lands on her firm belly where your child is being safely kept. “I hope you won’t hate me when my stomach gets bigger.” You shake your head rapidly. “There’s no way I’d hate you for that—you’re my wife and that’s our child in your belly,” you say, and you see that Irene’s eyes are threatening to burst.

You join her in bed after undressing yourself and after she has taken off her underwear. You then pull her into a hug and peck her head everywhere, making her let out that lovely laugh that’s special to her. Once you stop, she places her hands on each side of your face. “I swear on everything I have that I’m so glad that I ended up with you and not with that Kim Junghwan guy.” “He never deserved you,” you say, demeaning. “That is true,” she agrees with you, “you and only you, love.”

You take the bottom position today, letting Irene have her way with you. “I have a feeling that I’d not be able to ride you as well with a big belly,” she comments as she moves to sit on your lap. You’re starting to get ticked off, but at the same time, she’s coming from a good place, so for now, you simply let out a sigh. “Love, please don’t worry about the sex; we’ll adapt as the pregnancy continues. Just focus on your health and stress levels, please.” Irene places her hands on her chest. “That’s touching, love—thank you.”

With your cock in hand, she aims it at her entrance. “Here I go,” she notifies you, as if you couldn’t see what she’s doing. Irene slowly goes down on your shaft, hugging it with her tight and warm walls. You breathe deeply as she starts moving up and down. “Fuck, that’s good,” you praise her to rile her up. “Yeah, daddy?” There it is: the kink that you love the most—Irene has always been quick to use it.

Irene bends backwards slightly and fixes her grip on your knees. After making sure that she’s steady, she starts moving faster on your cock, and you desperately want to hold those bouncing plump tits of hers. “Daddy, daddy,” she chants, “oh, you’re so deep in me, daddy.” “Keep it up, baby—fuck, you’re doing so well.”

Irene might not be the best at working out, but damn is she good at managing her stamina during sex; it feels like she has this extra battery pack that’s specifically used for sex, and as long as praises and words of affirmation keep flowing out of your lips, that battery will never die.

“Oh, no, daddy,” she slows down a little, “I think I’m about to cum.” “I don’t see the problem with that.” You slap her butt a few times to get her to speed up again. “Go on, baby; be good and cum for me.” Irene nods and picks up the pace again, trying to adhere to your command to “be good.”

Irene’s thighs shake violently when her first orgasm hits while her walls are gripping your shaft very tightly, making it very hard to you to not just bust right here. You pull her towards you and hug her. “Good job, love—very good job.” “You—oh, you always bring the best out of me, daddy,” she replies despite the heavy pants. “I can say the same about you, love,” you whisper back.

Without retreating from her pussy, you roll over until you’re the one on top. “You’re so sweaty, love,” you comment while wiping her forehead, “that must’ve been exhausting for you.” Irene shakes her head feebly. “A-anything to make you happy, daddy.” The way she always puts your pleasure as the top priority is touching. “Alright, let’s take a breather first, okay?”

“Take a breather,” you say, but you’re still slowly moving back and forth in her pussy, making her let out soft moans despite the exhaustion. “Ha-have mercy—please, daddy,” she utters faintly, almost too quiet to reach your ears. “Don’t worry, baby; I’m being gentle.”

As you keep fucking her like this, you can feel your orgasm inching closer, so you pause for now. “Okay, I’m going to stop here—I don’t want to cum without your full attention.” “B-but you have my attention, daddy.” You chuckle. “Your eyes are barely open, love.” When you see her opening her mouth to make an argument, you quickly lean in for a kiss to interrupt her. “Relax, love, we have all day.”

You’ve spent the last few minutes kissing (while still being inside her), and Irene is the first to break it. “When are you going to give me your cum, daddy?” You assess that she has recovered enough for you to finish this, so to answer her, “Right now.” You straighten your back and prepare to start. “Where do you want it, love?” Irene scoffs. “Where else?” “But what about your career?” The callback to the career vs. child argument makes her laugh. “I’m literally pregnant right now, in case you forgot—fill me however much you want, daddy.”

You place her legs together on one side of your shoulder and start fucking her. Irene promptly places her hands on her tits, doing whatever she can to add more stimulation on top of that you’re giving her. “Daddy, you’re close, aren’t you? I can feel it, you know.” You let out a hum to answer her. “Give it to me whenever, daddy.”

You fasten your grip on her legs as you turn up the pace to the maximum of your ability. Your wife has now been reduced to moans and screams; she no longer has the headspace to play with her tits and instead just puts her hands on each side of her head.

“Love, I—” Before you can finish your sentence, semen escapes your shaft and enters her body, making her let out a long, sensual moan because of the warmth. “Oh, daddy,” she gasps, “oh, God, you’ve filled me again.” You let go of her legs and fall limply onto her body. “I love you, baby,” you say right into her ear. “I love you more, daddy.”

-

As you roll closer towards your house, you see your wife patiently waiting for you in the front garden among the flowers. She turns her head and puts on a smile for you, and you swear to God that exhaustion and stress from work has been taken away, and along with it, your breath.

You quickly jump out of your car, stumbling on your own leg in the process. “Welcome home, love,” she greets you with open arms. You take your rightful spot in her arms, and you can feel her belly bump against yours. “Tired, love?” “I was but not anymore,” you say. “It’s like magic, isn’t it—the moment you see your significant other, everything else just disappears.” “Absolutely,” you agree with her.

Irene invites you to sit on the garden bench with her, but you opt to take a knee in front of her instead. You rub her belly gently to greet your little one, and Irene looks at you with a smile of approval. “I want to say that I’m tired, but it doesn’t feel right.” You furrow your eyebrows. “Why not?” “I mean, it’s you who went to work, not me.” “That’s absurd; you might be at home, but I imagine being pregnant is tiring.” You can tell that she wants to make another argument, but the way you’re looking at her right in the eyes makes her bury that intention.

“Have you eaten, by the way?” Irene nods. “I asked Mr. Hwang to make me lentil soup for lunch.” Lentil soup sounds nice and healthy, which is important for a pregnant woman. “It was so delicious, by the way.” You laugh. “He’d be in deep trouble if it wasn’t.”

You think that this is enough catching up for now and that it’s time to get into the house, so you carry her inside safely. Irene says she wants to watch TV because she’s “tired of being in the bedroom,” so you put her down on the sofa and hand her the remote. You then tell her that you’ll join her after taking a quick shower.

When you get back to the living room to join her, you see that Irene is watching this little documentary on Giethoorn, this beautiful hamlet in the Netherlands where rivers run everywhere. She keeps letting out wows as shots of the area are shown on screen, deeply immersed in the show. “Do you think we can move there one day, love?” “Oh, man, I hope so; that looks like a really nice place to live in.” Irene turns your head towards you. “Maybe if we can’t live in the Netherlands, we can live in some quieter place instead—Damyang or Jinhae, perhaps?” You smile at her. “We’ll see what we can do, alright?” Not satisfied with just words, she makes you make a pinky promise that you’ll seriously consider it.

-

You didn’t know that you fell asleep, only waking up because you feel soft pokes on your thigh.

“Hngh?”

“Love, you’re tired, aren’t you?”

“A little.”

“Please, that doesn’t look like a little.”

“A little lot, perhaps,” you change your answer.

“I was going to invite you to sleep, but you haven’t eaten yet.”

“That’s fine, love.”

“No, it’s not fine—do you want to have food delivered here?”

“Eh, sure,” you accept her offer, “order something light for me, please.”

Irene doesn’t say anything, presumably busy scrolling through the food delivery app to find something for you. “Light, light, light—what’s something that’s light?” “A lamp—haha, get it?” Irene slaps your thigh for your joke. “Daddy is really funny, isn’t he, Hyewon-ah?” Hearing your wife say that name startles you a tad. “Hyewon-ah? Really?” “I don’t know,” Irene shrugs, “I just like that name.” “Oh, I thought we’ve found out if we’re having a daughter.”

Irene focuses on ordering food again, and something finally catches her fancy. “What about some toast, love?” “What toast?” She shows you the available options, from peanut butter toast to kimchi and cheese toast. “Get me one peanut butter toast, please.” She says that it’s a better deal to order at least 3 toasts, so she adds some other toast to the order. “It’ll be here in around 45 minutes, love.” You thank her for the help and then invite her to rest her head on your lap.

“Love me, please,” she says in this aegyo-esque voice. You bend down and peck her on the forehead. “Anything specific, love?” Irene opens and closes her mouth a few times, seemingly trying to judge if she should speak her mind. “You’re so tired, though,” she utters, and you can already tell what she’s getting at. “You want me between your legs, don’t you?” Your wife covers her red face. “W-well, if you put it like that…” “We’ll wait until I have some food in my stomach and see how we can proceed—do we have a deal?” “Yes, deal!” The way her voice cracks makes you laugh. “My, my, aren’t you a cutie?”

-

The toasts are here: you’ve grabbed the bag from the delivery man and put it on the living room table.

You pick up the box with the text “PB” written on it. Irene says that she has bought some toast from this place before and hopes that you’ll like it like she does. You nod in satisfaction after taking the first bite. “I think I know what brand of peanut butter this is,” you comment. She scratches her head in cluelessness. “I don’t know, love; they all taste the same to me.”

You notice that Irene has two hands on top of each other on her stomach and keeps licking her lips while watching you eat. “Want to have a bite, lovely?” She nods timidly. “It looks so good,” she admits, “b-but I don’t know if I should eat.” You tilt your head in confusion. “Why not?” “Erm, I think that’s ultra-processed food—that’s one. Two, I don’t want to gain too much weight.” Weight can be quite a sensitive subject, especially considering that your wife has always been paying close attention to it.

You keep chewing as you think of a reasonable answer—well, here it goes: “I’m sure that you have good intentions, but I’m almost certain that one toast won’t hurt you or Hyewon-ie.” You can tell that she’s starting to get swayed, as proven by how she has a box with “CHOCO” written on it in her hands. “Forgive me, Hyewon-ah, but I really want this toast.”

You panic a little when Irene sheds a tear after taking a bite. “Oh my, are you okay, love?” She nods again. “T-this is so good, but I feel so guilty for eating this—oh, I’m so sorry, Hyewon-ah.” You put down your and her toast on the table so that you can hold her hands. “Love, love,” you try to get her to focus on you, “it’s okay, no one is yelling at you for eating one toast—not me, not Doctor Shin, and certainly not Hyewon-ie.” “A-are you sure?��� “Yes,” you say in a resolute tone. “We’ll be just fine, trust me.”

Feeling decently comforted and assured by your words, Irene asks if she can have her toast again, so you give it back to her. You make sure you don’t forget to wipe that random tear off her cheek while you’re at it. “Thank you,” she utters softly. “You’re welcome, my love,” you say equally softly.

-

After finishing those tasty and quite filling toast, Irene asks if she can have you between her legs, so you stand up from your seat and stretch your body to warm up. “I apologize in advance if I finish too fast; I’m kind of tired.” Your wife shakes her head. “As long as your load is mine, I don’t really see the problem with finishing fast—I’ll probably finish before you, anyway.”

There’s only you and your wife in this house right now, but that doesn’t change the fact that sex should only happen in the bedroom for the next 6 to 7 months; it’s more comfortable for her and safer for your child.

After getting undressed, Irene asks to be helped sit on the stool that she prepared earlier today. “It seems like you have an idea,” you comment. “Yes,” she says, “I want you back there.” “What happened to turning it down?” “This isn’t our first time, is it—just remember to be gentle.”

You open the bedside drawer to find the lube and see that it’s not there. “We don’t have lube?” Irene looks away to hide her red cheeks. “Erm, I might or might not have used it earlier.” You furrow your eyebrows. “You used it? For what?” She shyly admits that she fucked herself in the rear with a dildo this afternoon. “I-I wanted to prepare for you, because I know you like it when I think ahead.”

It’s not strange or new to you that your wife is lustful; you’ve known that for years at this point. That said, you’d think that being pregnant would turn that lustfulness down, but it doesn’t seem like it so far—in fact, it feels like she’s more lustful than ever.

You stand in front of her and hold her chin. “Oh, love, what would you do without me—who could satisfy you if not me?” “I don’t know, daddy; it’s always been you since day one.” You reward her with a kiss for answering correctly. “May I, then?” Irene giggles slightly. “Certainly.”

You walk around and look for your target. “I’m pulling this plug out, alright?” After getting a nod of approval from your wife, you gently tug on the plug. “Ngh!” Irene clenches her fists when she feels her rear being stretched by the wide part of the plug. “Relax, love—it’s almost out.” With a pop, the plug is finally out of her tight ass, and you quickly put your mouth on it for the first time ever in this marriage, making your wife gasp in shock. “Daddy, no, I’m dirty there.”

You ignore her and keep running your tongue on her puckered hole; quite fun, you must admit. Occasionally, you try parting her cheeks apart so that you can put the tip of your tongue in her rear.

Feeling weak, Irene starts tumbling forwards, but you catch her just in time to save her from going face first onto the floor. “God, you’re so crazy, daddy.” “Your new task, baby, is to keep it clean all the time—is that clear?” Irene nods in obedience. “Y-yes, sir; I will try my best.” You squeeze her butt cheek lightly. “Good girl,” you praise her.

You get on your feet and hug the panting woman from behind. “Are you alright?” “Y-yes—fuck, you’re fucking crazy.” You pinch a nipple, more surprising than painful. “That’s not how you speak to me, woman.” “S-sorry, sir, b-but you are indeed crazy.” You kiss her on the back of the head. “I hope you didn’t mind, by the way.” Your wife shakes her head. “Not—oh, not at all.”

“Sir, daddy,” Irene can’t choose between the two, “would you fuck my ass, please?” “Thought you’d never ask, baby.” You stroke your shaft to make sure that it’s properly hard and ready while your wife spreads her butt cheeks to give you access. You place the tip right on the entrance of her forbidden hole. “Are you ready, baby?” “Yes—oh, God, fuck, yes.”

You waste little time and go deep right away into her warmed-up hole. “Fuck, you’re always so tight right here.” “Hngh! Ngh!” Irene can only let out grunts as she’s getting overwhelmed by the stimulation you’re giving her. “No one can touch you like I do, hm?” She shakes her head weakly as a response, still unable to say anything back.

You hook her arms backwards as you get ready to fuck her to make sure she doesn’t fall off the stool. “I’m yours, daddy—fuck me however you want,” she says, as if it was ever a question. “Bet.”

With this steady posture, you start fucking her ass roughly, forcing Irene to scream with each thrust delivered. “My husband is fucking amazing—Hyewon-ah, daddy is fucking amazing,” Irene thinks as the sounds of your hips crashing against her butt enter her ears.

As time goes on, everything starts to get blurry for Irene, and it doesn’t help that from this position, she has no control over how fast you’re fucking her. “P-please stop,” she says weakly, hoping that it’ll still reach your ears amongst the clapping sounds. It doesn’t seem like you heard her, though; you’re still fucking her ass recklessly, which leaves her no other choice but to just yell out loud. “DADDY, STOP—PLEASE!” Hearing her scream makes you stop abruptly with more than half your shaft still lodged in her ass. “Daddy, please, let me breathe,” Irene begs.

Still panting, you gently retreat from her gaped ass. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” you just realize how rough you’ve been. “Oh, God, I’m so sorry, love,” you repeat to show sincerity. You pull her into your arms and take a seat on the edge of the bed, and the sight of your wife crying (from getting fucked in the ass, nonetheless) twists your heart like nothing else. You keep repeating apologies while rubbing her stomach gently, hoping that doing so could also tell Hyewon that you’re regretful of your actions.

Irene feebly reaches for your face. “I-it’s okay; it was good until it became overwhelming, daddy.” You lie her down on her side and inspect the result of your recklessness—it seems like she didn’t get injured by your shaft. “I think you’re fine, baby.” “Great,” she replies, “so what are you waiting for?” You blink rapidly in confusion. “I thought you were in pain?” “I never said that,” she shrugs. Seeing that you’re silent, Irene piles on. “C’mon, look at yourself, daddy: you’re still hard and ready to fuck me—let me finish the job, please.” “Fine,” you give up, “I’m not getting in your ass again, though.”

Irene says that you have a deal and asks you to lie down so that she can take control, which is fine by you; you’ve had enough “fun” being dominant tonight. You keep an eye on your wife as she aims your shaft towards her entrance from the cowgirl position. You grit your teeth when Irene slowly sits down on your cock—you’re in her ass again. “Oh, fuck, welcome back, daddy.” “I thought we had a deal.” “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Irene deflects, “anyway, I hope you enjoy the ride, hihihi.”

Irene rests her subtly bulged belly on your body while her hips are busy bouncing up and down along your length. She keeps chanting “you’re in my ass” as if you can’t tell that you are indeed in her ass. You reach around and slap her butt. “Go faster.” Having planted her hands on your chest, Irene tries to bounce faster on your cock. “Oh, oh, yes—how’s this, daddy?” It’s you who can’t respond this time; just like earlier, the way her muscles are squeezing you prevents you from thinking straight and coming up with words to say.

You rest your head on the pillow while your wife is busy fucking herself on your cock (while moaning so freaking freely), and for some reason, your eyelids feel like they weighed 100 kilograms—what the hell are they so heavy for? “You must be close, daddy,” Irene makes a keen observation. “Uh-huh,” are all that escape your lips. Hearing that you’re close serves as fuel for Irene to keep up the tempo and make you bust with her ass; this tireless woman can be very crazy in bed, pregnant or not.

“Love, I’m about to—oh, fuck, I’m about to bust,” you warn her. “Yeah?” Her voice is barely heard thanks to the endless clapping noises. You grip the pillow your head is resting on as your cock starts twitching wildly in her rear. “Baby, please,” you let your desperation to cum be known to her.

Irene slams herself down onto your body, and you instantly erupt, surprising the both of you at the same time. She throws her head back as your warm semen floods her ass. “Oh, oh, yes, daddy.” It was her who did all the work, but it’s you who’s panting heavily.

“Love, thank you so much.” Irene removes you from her ass and lies down next to you. “Even when tired, you’re still so strong,” she praises while her hand runs along your length. “What’s your secret, daddy?” “You’re my secret; if it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t be like this.” You let out a low moan when your wife manages to squeeze the last bit of semen out of you. “You’re so cute, you know that?” You chuckle. “No, I don’t.”

-

It feels odd to not have Irene welcome you at the driveway, especially since she’s been doing that consistently for the past few weeks, too. Her Genesis is parked neatly in the usual spot, so she must be at home, but where is she?

“I’m home.” You close the door behind you and scan your surroundings—still no sign of your wife, making you wonder if perhaps she’s asleep. You make your way towards the bedroom, and your jaw drops immediately when you see her kneeling on the floor while being almost entirely naked. Irene buckles a little, presumably because she feels a fetus kick. “Even Hyewon-ie doesn’t approve,” you comment.

You rub the side of her face gently. “What on God’s green earth are you trying to do, love?” The ball gag in her mouth prevents her from answering, but she has this little spanker in her hands that she’s trying to hand over to you. “Love, please, what are you doing?” Irene just looks at your feet while her hands are on her thighs. “This isn’t how a woman in her second trimester is supposed to behave, is it?” You close your eyes and take a few deep breaths to get yourself together. “Fine, I’ll play your game.”

Your wife steals some glances as you undress in front of her, and when you’re finished, you take the time to take off her bra, exposing her tits that you swear have grown bigger recently. You then lift her onto her feet to remove her panties, and Irene instantly drops back down onto the floor after you’re done. “Oh, you’re that serious, aren’t you?”

You pick up the slim paddle from the floor and prepare to swing. “Wait, where do I hit her?” You look for places to hit her on, but the more you think about it, the more that you don’t want to do it. That said, you imagine that it’d disappoint her if you chicken out, so you decide to play along until she taps out.

You hit her on the right shoulder once. “Ngh!” Irene lets out a yelp of surprise when the paddle lands. “That’s one.” You move the paddle to your other hand and hit her on the left shoulder. “I’ll count until 29, okay?” Irene nods in response, and that’s when you look for other targets.

You ask her to show you her palms and hit them successively. “Any ideas?” Your wife taps her thighs, indicating that she wants to be hit there, so you hit those two spots, harder than you’d like to admit, making her grunt in pain. “Sorry.” That sounds less sincere than you’d like, but it’s okay, you’ll make it up to her later.

Before you continue, you join her on the floor and unlatch the gag. “This doesn’t look comfortable, so I’m taking it off,” you say. Irene relaxes her mouth now that she’s free. “Thank you, master.” You sigh. “Master? Really?” Irene nods enthusiastically. “Yes, master.”

You stand back up and swing at her tender breasts out of nowhere. “Fucking naughty, aren’t you?” As Irene opens her mouth to say something, you hit her breasts again. “You’re pregnant, and this is how you fucking act? Explain yourself.” You tell her to explain herself, but you don’t give her the chance to do so, interrupting her with a hit on the forearm. “M-master, please.” “Please what?” You subconsciously raise your tone. “Please punish me; I-I’ve been naughty.” You roll your eyes. “Fuck it, we’re going back to zero.”

You hit her on different places in rapid succession, and Irene screams after each one. “How many?” “S-six, master.” “Good,” you praise her emptily, “count to 18, slut.” You initially chose 29, which is the date she was born, but changed it to 18, which is the date you were born. As much as you’re putting on a cold charade for her, you don’t have the heart to hit her 29 fucking times.

You tell her to get on her hands and knees to expose other parts of her body. You smack her on the back a few times before moving on to her butt and hitting it a few more times. “How many?” Irene chokes up momentarily before she manages to get her answer out. “T-twelve, sir.”

To end the show, you give her some hard hits on the back of her thighs. “E-eighteen, master.” “On your knees,” you command, and Irene obeys right away. “Explain yourself, or else.” “I-I was just trying new stuff,” she says. “Is that it?” Irene just nods, and you can’t help but sigh, feeling somewhat frustrated by her simple answer.

“Love, be honest with me: why are you acting like this?” After taking a deep breath, Irene proceeds to explain the whole thing, from how she tore the left rear tire of her car against an elevated curb while trying to pull into a gas station this afternoon, to the fact that she touched herself thrice while thinking about you. “L-like I said, I’ve been very naughty.” You exhale deeply. “Those few things don’t require punishment—especially not of this sort.” Your wife shakes her head. “But I want to be punished,” she insists.

“Have you had enough, or what?” Irene slowly shifts her gaze to meet yours, and you know that she knows that you’re aroused, as shown by your erect cock. “Do whatever you please, master,” she says, hiding her excitement behind the façade of obedience.

Still kneeling in front of you, Irene eases you into her mouth. You place a hand on the back of her head and pull her towards you, forcing your cock deeper. She’s taken you deep plenty of times, so this is neither new nor difficult for her. “Hold it there and count to 10.” After finishing her count, Irene retreats until only your tip is in her mouth. “Very good—now do it 9 more times.”

Irene does as you command, doing each repetition passionately, much to your satisfaction. “That’s very good, love,” you make sure you don’t forget to praise her. You retreat from her wet mouth to let her breathe, and she promptly inhales sharply. “I-I hope I did well, sir.” You smile kindly. “Of course; you always do everything so well.”

You take a seat on the edge of the bed while you wait for Irene to get herself together. “Anything else, master?” A lit bulb appears over your head. “Is it just me, love, or have your breasts gotten bigger?” She takes a quick look at herself. “I-I think they have indeed grown, master.” “They look so soft, don’t you think?” She nods to your question. “Would you like to touch them, sir?” “I have a better idea,” you say, “put them around my cock.”

Irene crawls towards you and places your cock right between her extra plump tits. “Like this, sir?” You moan in a low voice as your shaft grinds against her tits. “You—oh, fuck, you’re so good at every-fucking-thing.” Your wife blushes. “I aim to please, master.” “Oh, trust me, I’m very pleased right now, love.”

Much to your pleasure, Irene presses her chin against her chest and catches your tip with her mouth every time it pokes through her tits. You pet her head gently. “Good fucking job, baby—fuck, I’m about to bust.” “Please, give me your cum, master.” Irene moves her tits faster, eager to have your first load of the day.

You throw your head back and close your eyes as semen spurts out of the tip of your cock, landing all over her face and chest. “Oh my, very thick,” she comments. “I love how you taste, master; your diet works well for me too, you know.” You chuckle. “Good to know, baby.”

You invite Irene to lie down in bed with you. “You haven’t cum yet.” “Yes, I have; I told you I touched myself a lot today.” You get your tie from the messy pile of clothes. “Hands above your head, please.” She puts her hands together above her head, and you tie them together. “Are we ready?” Irene looks at you nervously. “Please have mercy, master; I’ve had a lot of orgasm today.” “That wasn’t my doing, was it?”

Irene gasps in shock when she feels your hand on her little nub. “Sensitive much?” “Please, master.” “Please what, baby?” “I need to cum again, master—make me cum with your hands, please.” “Well, since you asked so nicely.” You use one hand to stimulate her nub and use the other to play with her tits, going fast and fervent right from the gate.

In the moment of high stimulation, Irene accidentally kicks you in the head—how did that even happen? “That’s not nice.” “I-I—fuck, I’m so sorry, master. I didn’t mean it.” “That’s strike one, Miss Bae,” you warn. To punish her behavior, you increase the intensity of stimulation on her pussy, making her jolt around more. It’s fine if she were to kick you again; you have some more ideas in your head to get her back.

Your wife keeps moaning loudly and freely as her fourth orgasm looms ahead. “Master, master,” Irene begs for your attention, “I won’t last too long, master.” “Oh, is that so?” You plunge two fingers into her pussy and finger-fuck her, and Irene can’t help but moan, possibly until her voice disappears.

Your hand starts getting tired, but as timing has it, she’s also very, very close to orgasm. With an ear-piercing scream, Irene explodes: her legs are shaking violently, and her juice is coming out torrentially. “Very, very good, my love—you’re such a big bomb, aren’t you?” You free her hands and move to barrage her sweaty head with pecks. “We’ll wait until you’re relaxed before doing anything else, alright?”

Amid all this, you notice that you’re getting rock hard again. You start stroking your cock with the sight of your naked wife in front of you. Irene, in her exhausted state, looks at you. “Don’t waste your cum,” she says vaguely. “What do you mean?” “Put it somewhere in me, master,” she clarifies. You stop for a moment. “You’re very exhausted, love. I don’t want to burden you with more sex.” Your wife shakes her head. “I can take it, don’t worry.”

You take a position in between her legs, aiming your cock at her pussy in the process. You announce that you’re going in, and Irene moans weakly at the first contact. She tells you that you need to do all the work this, citing her exhaustion. “Never thought I’d hear such words from you; you’ve been tireless recently,” you say, earning a little chuckle from her.

You kiss her while your shaft goes in and out of her, dropping whatever charade you’ve been using these past few hours. “I love you, baby—I love you so fucking much.” “I-I love you more, hon—you’re the best for me.” Her warm words make you smile. “I’ll stay by your side until death do us part, my love.” “You have a deal.” You hug her tightly when your second load of the day enters her body.

“We’ll rest a bit, if that’s okay with you.” “Sure,” Irene says, “I can’t even stand up right now.”

-

You feel rapid taps on your chest, making you wake up crassly in surprise. When your eyes are open enough to provide vision, you see that your wife is seated in bed with Yeseo in her arms. “Yes, love?” Irene doesn’t answer your question and instead, starts breaking down in tears. “C-can you take care of her a little? I-I want to rest.”

You slap yourself as hard as you can for leaving your wife to sleep and, in turn, forcing her to tend to your child alone. “My goodness, I’m so sorry, love.” You open your hands to receive your daughter who is wrapped snug with a little blanket, and Irene immediately falls flat onto the bed—she’s still crying, though. “Go to sleep if you can, love; I’ll keep her safe.” “I’m such a bad mom,” she insults herself unnecessarily, “I can’t even stay up for my daughter.” “No, you’re not a bad mom—trust me, you’re not.” To offer her some peace, you tell her that you’ll be in the living room with Yeseo until morning. “I’ll see you later, okay?” You give her a peck as a parting gift.

“Yeseo-yah,” you whisper softly, “while mommy catches her breath, we’ll hang out in the living room, okay?” Having been born just a few weeks ago, Yeseo can’t respond much aside from a small head movement, which you’ll gladly accept as an answer. “We’re going to get along very well, aren’t we, sweetie?”

You turn on the TV to watch something in an attempt make sure you don’t fall asleep, and that’s when you see the time: 02:09 a.m. “We’re staying up late, sweetie—I hope you won’t make this a habit when you’re grown up,” you comment.

You make sure that the TV is muted so that it doesn’t startle your daughter when this video starts. “Oh my, look at that place, Yeseo-yah.” A shot of beautiful countryside scenery in Jeju steals your attention, and it’s very hard to resist the temptation to move there with your family. “What do you say we move there, sweetie?” Yeseo lets out a small squeal, and you guess that she’s interested in living there. “Aha, great minds think alike, hey?”

You remember your wife asking if the family can move to somewhere quieter to raise Yeseo in, and now that she’s actually here, you’re really contemplating the opportunity. In your head, you try to think about what work would be like if you lived in a place like Jeju, which is even farther from the big capital. Your brain suggests stepping down from your post and earning from dividends, which sounds like a sound idea. Irene had stepped down from her position of director of risk management two months before Yeseo was born, so it’s not the craziest idea to follow suit.

“There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you and mommy, Yeseo-yah.” You want to say that you’re willing to die for them, but Irene’s words enter your mind: why die for family, if you can be healthy and stay by their side instead? You laugh a little as you recall that exchange. “Mommy is an amazing person, sweetie. Sometimes I can’t believe I ended up with her.”

-

Irene wakes up around 6 hours later, feeling somewhat refreshed after a decent night’s sleep. The first thing she does is obviously to check up on her husband and daughter.

“Look at you: sleeping with Yeseo in your hands.” Irene unlocks her phone and takes a picture of you sleeping with your mouth wide open while Yeseo is chilling in your arms. She gets teary eyes looking at this scene in the living room.

She never had the idea of being childfree and has taken a more neutral stance about it, but at the same time, having Yeseo is quite the surprise turn of her life.

Irene quietly joins you on the sofa to not disturb your peace. “Love, love,” she whispers, trying to get you to wake up, “wake up, please; it’s time for work.” “Screw work,” she hears you say, “I’m stepping down.” She knows that you’re referring to your job. “Are you sure?” “Yes,” you reply again, “we’re moving to Jeju.”

Before getting too excited, Irene makes sure you’re awake. “Love, seriously, wake up.” The way you’re suddenly looking at her with eyes wide open makes her jump. “Yes?” “Were you serious about moving to Jeju?” You nod. “I’ve talked with Yeseo about it, and she agreed.” Irene bursts out laughing, shaking her head in amusement. “Sure, she did.” “Just ask her yourself if you don’t believe me.”

She plays along with your joke and asks Yeseo about her opinion on moving out of the big city, to which she replies by crying out loud, taking the two of you by surprise. “What, what, what,” you panic, “is she hungry? She’s probably hungry, right?” Irene unbuttons her pajama to expose a nipple Yeseo can latch on, so you hand your daughter over to her to be breastfed.

“Sorry, love, but these tits aren’t solely yours anymore,” Irene quips. You start laughing out loud, finding it difficult to stop. “What—what are you talking about? Why did you say it like that?” Your wife joins you in laughing. “I don’t know—it just felt right to say it.” You shake your head, highly amused by your wife’s odd statement. “It’s fine; I’m totally content with sharing them with Yeseo,” you clarify.

-

You take one last look at your house that is now empty. “We spent a fortune on this house, didn’t we, love?” You nod in agreement. “It’s crazy how much we bought this place for,” you reply. “I hope you won’t regret moving out,” Irene expresses her concern. You look at her right in the eyes while your hands are on either side of her waist. “We’re doing this for Yeseo—this is bigger than just the two of us, love.”

You walk with her outside towards the driveway, where Yeseo’s stroller is parked. “Isn’t she so cute?” “She is,” you say, “I swear I will do and give everything for you and her.” Irene puts on a big smile.

“We’ll give her a good life and a bright future, love.”

“We absolutely will.”