#there are other patterns i plan to do in the future as well!

[1rabbitdaily]

🐇 Mar 13 2023

Pattern info below

Pattern is Briar the Pygmy Rabbit! I haven't done amigurumi in quite a while and this was a nice break from the larger project I've been working on (a dress). I added some dried beans with the stuffing so its got some nice weight to it. The right eye turned out a little wonky so this is its good side lol. Joining was also kinda tough but worked out in the end.

Yarn was some brown alpaca gifted from my mom yearsss ago that I hadn't found a use for yet. It was nice to work with and I like the tan specks, but the thickness varied quite a lot and it was in like four broken sections instead of being continuous.

[atozfic]

splish splash.

pairing. san x seonghwa x wooyoung x yunho x fem!reader synopsis. they’re out to prove who’s the best at the breast-stroke- gets dragged off stage as the people boo over such a terrible pun. warnings. no use of y/n, swim team au, lifeguard!reader, pro-swimmers!sanhwawooho, they’re all wearing speedos :), smut ( porn with unnecesary plot, degradation, m+f oral sex, piv sex, anal sex, double penetration, triple penetration bc u got 3 holes for a reason sweetcheeks, mxm interactions, dom/sub dynamics, spanking, hair pulling, way more warnings that there’s honestly no point listing, just know this is pure filth that covers most bases of stereotypical fanfiction smut, mother in christ what have i written? ) no verbal consent is given throughout this but all parties are willing participants !! word count. 20k+ ( of literal porn. i need to leave this physical terrain bc i am not worthy of existing after writing this i fear. ) hyde’s input. hey girlie pops, long time no see.

it’s crazy, what some people will do for money.

take, for example, your roommate. she’s a smart girl. a beautiful one, too. with a promising future in criminal law, once she gets herself that pesky little degree. and, yet, she’s funding her tuition with money she earns distributing high-end drugs on campus. rather counter-productive, most would agree. or, in a far less extreme version, there’s that overly-hyper frat boy, who can always be found doing the dumbest dares at a party, all for a few bucks and a keg of beer.

and then there is you.

you would have arrived home twenty minutes ago at this point, had things gone to plan, a backlog of neglected assignments and a baby bonsai tree in need of watering desperately awaiting your return. yet here you are, stuck in your ugly flip-flops and uncomfortably stale shorts, whistle around your neck and a look of exhaustion on your face.

the swimming pool had closed, technically, an hour and a half ago. the sports centre seems to believe, however, that certain members of the college swim team reserve the right to use the pool for however long they require and desire, even if it is at your expense. if you were being paid overtime, perhaps you’d have a more positive outlook on things and less of a frown creasing on your forehead.

if the swimmers weren’t so irritating, maybe you’d enjoy the view.

“all that height, and for what?” the sophomore boy’s voice- jung wooyoung? you aren’t overly familiar with him, seeing him only in sporadic flashes when you pass each other on campus or at some uncivilised frat party- echos through the large room, his hair a wet mess. if you were gaining anything from being here, you’d perhaps muster up the energy to remind the boy of how a swim cap is necessary at all times in the water. “can’t even out-swim me with those long legs!”

“wanna know what my long legs are for?” jeong yunho, a junior with the face of an angel and the body proportions of a sinner, pipes up from across the olympic length pool. unlike the other boy, a crimson cap keeps his own locks out of sight. “climbing up the stairs to go fuck your mom!”

it’s impossible to stifle your laughter, no matter how hard you try to just play it off as a tickle at the back of your throat, a cough forcing its way out. when your eyes meet those of the glaring senior, however, you’re wishing you hadn’t made a sound.

“even the lifeguard can’t take you seriously, yunho,” park seonghwa speaks, eyes not leaving yours as his muscled arms work to pull himself out of the water, before letting his well-rounded behind sit down on the edge. a breath hitches in your throat as his gloriously muscled thighs come into view, drops of water cascading down them in a pattern set to hypnotise you, keep you staring a little longer than is good for your health. “bet she’s heard all about you and the boner incident of 2019.”

truthfully, you have no clue what the dark haired male is on about. that doesn’t stop you from laughing again though, this time a little out of malice and a lot because it’s quite endearing to see a loudmouth like jeong yunho be silenced so easily, head bowed and ears a little rosier with embarrassment.

this small moment of peace is soon shattered by the reality that these boys can’t spend more than ten minutes in a room- particularly one that includes a pool- without arguing. while one boasts about his speed, the other begins to jab at his lack of endurance, and the remaining of the three reminds them all of the fact he holds the most medals amongst them.

“are they always like this?” you jump, surprised by the cold drop of water that lands on your exposed thigh, all courtesy of the boy who’s invited himself to sit down next to you on the bench.

“not always,” you bite at the inside of your cheek, willing yourself to not look at san in all his wet glory. you’re afraid that, once you start looking at him, you won’t be able to stop. it wouldn’t be the first time you’ve fallen victim to the crime that is his enchanting smile. “guess they’re feeling a little feistier than usual, with the district championship just around the corner. rumour has it one of you guys is risking his scholarship if he’s not in the top three.”

are you and san close?

that’s a good question. see, by social standards, you’re not strangers. you share several classes, you attend the same parties, you’ve even texted a few times- mostly on the days one of you miss class (read as: san misses class thanks to his swim-meets) and you need a copy of any notes taken that lesson.

but, you aren’t exactly friends either. you don’t go out of your ways to spend time together, you don’t know more than the surface level about one another, you don’t check-in with each other.

so, is acquaintances the best word to describe you two?

that depends on how common it is for an acquaintance to suck another acquaintance’s cock. granted, there had been a lot of alcohol in the mix, on both ends, with you drinking to forget a botched assignment and san drinking to forget how badly his voice had apparently cracked in front of his crush.

a few weeks have passed since the incident and things haven’t exactly been the same. you’ve missed class twice and ended up contacting heather- a sweet girl who sits down by the front and seems to live with her hand raised in the air- for any notes. likewise, san has found himself declining party invitations, the knowledge that you would be there all too prevalent in the front of his mind.

the irony is that neither of you quite know the reason why you’re avoiding each other, you just are.

or, were, until san had walked in with his swim team buddies- if they could even be considered that- and spotted you in your lifeguard attire. he hadn’t been as slick as he thought he was, sneaking glances at you between laps and even gaining an undeniable smile each time he watched you blow that stupid whistle at some misbehaving kids.

he was slicker with the fact he didn’t need to be here, at this hour. but, he figured staying gave him the chance to stare at you a little longer and, maybe, think up an excuse to talk to you.

“i should-”

“i missed-”

you both speak at the same time, minutes after watching the three musketeers disappear into the locker rooms, with the smallest of them continuing to dig at them for not being able to out-swim him despite their ample amount of height. san’s quick to signal you to go first, a dimple making itself known on his face and reminding you of the deadliest part of him: the false innocence that drips off him like warm candy.

sweet, sticky, making a mess all over the place.

“i should probably start cleaning up.” it turns out san also isn’t discreet when it comes to hiding the disappointment in his face, because no sooner than those words leave your mouth, the dimple is gone and he’s sat a little straighter, a little more ridged, like when the professor points him out in the middle of the class and the golden boy can’t stomach all the attention being on him. “but, what were you gonna say?”

“oh,” and it’s like he’s just remembered that yes, there is something he wants to say. “i missed you in class yesterday.”

it catches you off guard, leaving you to almost drop the whistle you’ve been fiddling between your fingers for the past few minutes. something about sitting so close to him while both of you are dressed so scantily has you feeling unnerved, like you need to run away as fast as possible, yet also wanting to plant yourself right in his lap.

“i didn’t think,” you’re cut off by your own throat, dry and desperate for a drink under his intense gaze. san is a walking contradiction, you think, with his sharp cheekbones and soft heart, his intense eyes and his easy-going smile. his presence gives you never-ending whiplash, never sure if he’s more angel than devil. “i didn’t think you noticed.”

“how could i not? there was no one to laugh with me at professor nam and his weird toe-shoes!” his laugh is infectious, willing your own to make an appearance. 

the sound of distant muffled yelling fills the air of the swimming pool and it isn’t hard to recognise wooyoung’s high-pitched laughter amongst it. clearly, their childish arguing has carried on into the changing rooms. it surprises you in no way, already more than used to their antics.

their rivalry is one for the ages, all of them constantly bumping heads for the spot of the top swimmer on campus, their sports scholarships becoming their pride and joy.

you suppose it doesn’t help that all four boys run in different circles, only really crossing paths when faced with swim-meets and days of practice. the senior, park seonghwa, runs with the richer kids of the college, all sharing their trust-funds and god complexes as a common interest. you’re not overly familiar with them, though you’re certain he and a particular blue-haired boy are rarely seen apart. jeong yunho, the tallest, is in with the jocks, which is mostly just because his taller friend is the captain of the basketball team. and jung wooyoung tends to surround himself with the stoners from the school, something you’d learned from kang yeosang, a dealer you shared a couple classes with back in your first semester.

san, ever the golden boy, drifts between a couple different groups but he can usually be found alone and enjoying his own company, if not being followed by a flock of his own little fan-club, men and women alike begging for just an ounce of his time.

your name echos around the room. your head snaps to the side and you find that san is now closer, staring at you in a way that’s making your insides knot up. you’ve seen that look only once before, and it done nothing but leave your knees and your ego bruised. “were you listening to me?”

“what? uh, yeah, i was,” you’re quick to lie, knowing it’s about to backfire when he breaks out in a challenging grin.

“really? what did i say?” he only allows you to stumble over words for a minute before cutting off your incomprehensible speaking when he grabs at your chin and tilts your head up, staring straight into your eyes. “that’s what i thought. you were too busy getting lost in that pretty little head of yours to pay attention to me.”

you stutter over a noise and settle for that as your response, though entirely incomprehensible and nonsensical. the way he continues to stare at you feels cruel, demons dancing around in those pretty eyes of his. demons that are telling him to tease, torture, torment the fragile eyes staring back at him, the same ones he’d delighted in watching fill up with tears a few weeks back, the pressure of his crown slamming against the back of your tight throat entirely overwhelming you to the point of crying, tears dripping down your cheeks and mixing with your own drool pooling over the swell of his balls.

“need me to repeat myself?” you’re slow to catch up to the fact he’s speaking again, and even slower to notice the hand resting on your knee. at first, you think you’re imagining things, the feather light tracing of nails over your soft skin a mere figment of your imagination. but, no, your eyes flash down to glimpse and his hand is there, fingers dancing over your naked skin like it’s their own personal stage and he’s intending to put on the show of a lifetime. he speaks your name. “questions are meant to be answered.”

“i-” san picks the perfect time to apply pressure on you, hand gripping the flesh on the lower end of your thigh. goosebumps spring to life at the feeling of his cold ring on your damp skin. it takes a shaky breath to try compose yourself but you do eventually manage to get a reply out. “sorry... please say it again.”

“huh,” he pauses to contemplate, slowly leaning his face closer to your own, giving you all the time to pull back if you want to. you stay still and his minty breath infects your senses while the hand on your leg replaces your thigh with your face, the grip he has on it forcing blunt nails to nip at your skin. normally, you’d worry about the marks it’s going to leave behind. right now, you want him to grip tighter, dig deeper into your flesh till he’s drawing blood and licking it off your cheeks. “how the fuck do you still sound so cute begging?”

“is that,” his other hand curls around the back of you, finding a resting place on your hip. the window of opportunity you once had to pull back or run away is slammed shut the moment he tugs you a little closer, the side of your body crashing into his naked chest. “what you said earlier?”

“oh, no.” san almost sounds like he’s cooing, a mocking tone in his voice that has your thighs clenching in a way you’re sure he notices. his eye flickering down to glance at them confirms your suspicions, the smirk taking over his features the metaphorical cherry on top. “i was just talking about how i’ve still not returned the favour.”

mind blanking out on you, you stare back at him in what you can only imagine to be a dumb-founded look, mouth slightly agape and teasing your answer.

what follows, however, is a resounding silence on your end.

“c’mon, princess, don’t tell me you’ve forgotten what happened the last time i got you alone.”

forget? it’s all you’ve been able to think of every time you’ve seen him since, whether he was a figure in the corner of your eye during class or making his way down the campus car-park in search of his beaten up mustang.

each time, like an old record player, your mind plays on loop the way he looked staring down at you, long legs spread enough to fit you between them, closing in on you to trap you in place each time you swallowed him a little deeper; replaying the symphony of whiny moans and airy breaths you’d pulled from him, lips swollen and red from trying too hard to hold back his cries of pleasure; reviving the memory of his vice grip on your hair, tugging at the roots to tilt you back into the perfect angle for his hips to piston into your warm mouth, meeting his own crescendo in one final pathetic whimper of your name.

a whimper that’s pushed you over the edge several times since, fingers soaked in your own sins and mouth biting down on your pillow to keep your poor sleeping roommate oblivious to your actions.

“no,” an answer escapes you alongside a shaky breath, something about the way he’s slowly trailing his fingers down your neck and the intensity he’s staring at you with hypnotising you into forgetting all about the boisterous boys and their changing-rooms chanting. “haven’t forgot.”

it’s his turn to stay quiet and you begin to wonder if he’s recalling it too, if he’s reminding himself of how easily your bodies melted together, like candle-wax meeting a flame. the question of if he’s thought about the exact scene, hands stuffed down his pants while a dull ache builds in his wrist, burns the tip of your tongue.

but his eyes burn you more.

they’re usually wide, bright, full of that bubbly nature san is known all over for. but, if what people say is true and the eyes are the mirror to one’s soul, then san’s soul must be a dark pit made up of lustful glares and hooded eyelids, resting so low his eyes almost appear shut.

“then, don’t you agree that it’s my turn to have a taste?”

it’s the question to end all questions, no time to even think of forming an answer when his fingertips are dancing over your skin so rhythmically, like a practiced choreography when they curl and wrap themselves around your neck. they rest there for a heartbeat, and then another, before you feel it begin.

the pressure is dull, at first, and you think you’re imagining it. but it grows, like a seed under the sun, blossoms into thorns squeezing around your airways, a deformed rose made from the red marks his fingers will be sure to leave behind.

you try to breath in, only for it to get caught somewhere between your lips and his tightening hold.

“you’re too fucking pretty, you know?” the hand on your hip has found a new home on your cheek, palm warm and thumb rough as he swipes it over your bottom lip. “all i can ever think about around you, even when you were drooling all over my balls.”

you want to answer, you really do. but between the hand around your throat and the heat shooting straight for your core, burning up in a puddle of arousal, you can’t. all you can do is watch the man before you, raven hair a beautiful mess just begging for some fingers to be ran through it and stare promising to ruin you in the best way possible.

the silence pleases him.

“y’know, it’s so hard to get you alone. always got someone wanting to talk to you, stealing your attention. do you even know how many stupid parties i had to attend to finally get the chance to talk to you?” san pauses, like he’s waiting for you to relay an answer, guess a number. he loosens up the grip on your neck, teasing your skin with a few soothing strokes of his slender fingers, lulling you into a state bordering insanity. “no answer, angel? or are you lost in that pretty little head again?”

“i’m,” your voice is but a whisper, raspy with your new found thirst. “trying to figure out what you want from me.”

if it’s the wrong or right thing to say, you’re soon to find out, the sharp faced boy releasing a dangerously low chuckle as he takes a hold of your chin. like a pretty doll, you move any time and any way his fingers command you to, finding yourself staring right up into his eyes, a swirl of melting caramel that reminds you of how sweet yet sultry every inch of him is. lips near touching, he refuses to break eye contact as he speaks up once more, sealing both your fates when his breath hits your face.

“then let me show you what i want.”

his mouth comes down on yours like it’s the answers to all your prayers and, yet, all your nightmares.

it excites you how easily he works his lips over your own, captivating every inch of you when he tilts his head to the right and deepens the kiss. the rhythm to his kiss is a mismatch of beats, where one moment your lips are moving in a sensual waltz, grazing tongues and dipping heads to get rid of that inch of a space remaining between your bodies, and the next moment your tongues are tangled in a tango, the kind where his teeth send blood rushing to your lips with every bite he drags over them and his hand drags shivers down your spine as it makes its way down your body.

yet it terrifies you how willingly you succumb to san’s touch, intoxicated by whatever witchcraft he currently holds over you. there’s a deadliness to the way his lips part from your own only to begin a seamless descent down your jaw and the expanse of your neck, a poisonous element to the way his hand once again finds itself clutching the meat of your thigh.

the moment his fingertips meet the bottom of your shorts, you’re wishing you’d never slipped them on in the first place, every fibre of your being growing angsty under the weight of his suddenly halted hand. it stays still for an immeasurable amount of time, grazing over the bottom of your shorts occasionally while he continues to mouth at your neck.

like mosses and the great sea, san parts your legs with little to no effort, creating a pathway for his fingers to travel further up your thigh. blunt fingernails drag up your skin, a trail of goosebumps being left behind, a visible marking of where he’s touching you.

his movements halt too soon for your liking, too much distance between his lithe fingers and your body’s very core.

“have you figured out what i want yet, pretty?” his voice is a stark difference to the usual light-hearted, almost squeak-like tone you’ve grown used to hearing from the smiley boy. right now, there’s no trace of humour in the thick rasp and there’s no time for smiling while he’s glaring down at you through hooded eyes.

something compels you to nod your head, even though you’re a little too lost in the thoughts concerning what you want, rather than what the devil incarnate by your side wants.

“you have?” the words come out in a layer of amazement, and you have to wonder if it’s because of the lie you’ve just told or the way your legs have closed in around his hand, trapping it between them. “i want to know what you want, though.”

you want his thumb to stop stroking over the flesh of your inner thigh.

you want his eyes to stop gazing down at you like you’re the perfect prey.

you want him to stop teetering your impending pleasure on a string.

you want-

“you.” is all you manage to breath out.

it seems to do the trick, however, your point getting very much across to him. a softness flickers over his features, brows unfurling and smirk curling up into a full smile for what feels like an eternity, but is actually no more than a couple of seconds before his devilish aura is back.

lips meet lips again, the desperation and force behind each stroke of his tongue against yours the same as before. san, much to your delight, seems to grow just as impatient as you’ve been since the moment he welcomed himself into the empty space next to you on the bench.

one hand still resting between your thighs, his other seizes the opportunity to drag your body closer, so close that you have no choice but to swing one leg over him and slot yourself in his lap.

there was one time, in the middle of what you’ve deemed to be the most boring lecture ever, that you had thought about what it would feel like to sit in choi san’s lap. unintentionally, of course, for how could anyone look over at him in those grey sweatpants, legs manspreading like it was nobody’s business and pen tapping away at the table in front of him, and not daydream about being perched in his lap, head resting somewhere between his shoulder and his soft hair?

you’d imagined him to be the embodiment of soft and comfortable, warm and reassuring the way he’d lazily lay an arm over your hip to make sure there’s no risk of you slipping out of your new seat. you never, for the life of you, imagined you’d feel the outline of his dick resting against your ass the first time you finally claimed your throne.

choosing to not dwell on the heavy feeling of him pressed against you, you choose instead to focus on the way his lips trail away from yours and make their descent towards the top of your chest.

his hand abandons post between your thighs and rises to the surface, where long fingers begin to pull at the straps of your red swimsuit, successfully manoeuvring the nylon material till it’s bunched around your midriff and your breasts are exposed to the damp air of the swimming hall. 

with no want left to play around, he dives right in to dragging his lips down the upper swell of your left breast. you imagine he can feel the beating of your racing heart beneath the goosebump littered skin. it doesn’t take long for his tongue to enter the scene, skilfully flicking over your hardened nipple a couple times before enveloping his mouth around the bud.

one, two, three sucks and he’s moving on to your right breast. there’s no lead up, this time, simply his mouth finding delight in toying with your body while he busies his hand with your left side, thumb and pointer finger rolling and tugging and spreading the remnants of his saliva over your heated skin.

the straw that breaks the camel’s back, and has you arching your own, is the faintest pressure of his teeth biting down on you. it dances on a thin line between pleasurable and painful, exhilarating enough to make you throw your head back as a moan slips past your lips. it echoes in the empty room, replaying your own sound for both of you to hear again and again before the chain is broken by a giggle.

his giggle.

“why are,” he picks the right time to trail his fingers down your body, dragging your swimsuit with them till it sits uncomfortably tight around the top of your hipbones, skintight fabric digging into the damp skin. “you laughing?”

“has anyone ever told you how pretty your tits are?” it’s crude and heartwarming all at once, quite like the man who says it and the little smile he shoots up in your direction as he rolls his tongue over your nipple once again.

“no, i can’t say they have.” the hands that have been resting on his shoulder, grasping them in a vice grip in fear of slipping off of him and and directly onto the concrete floor, gain enough confidence for you let one slide around to the back of his neck and thread your fingertips in the back of his locks, hair as soft as you’ve always imagined it to be. “you’re the first.”

“i’ll wear that title with honour,” he seems to delight in the way you’re carding through his hair, eyes closing while he tilts his head back further into your touch. a delighted sigh follows. “has anyone ever asked you to sit on their face?”

“again, no.”

“another honourable title for me, i guess.” san’s giving you whiplash, with all this switching between being his usual goofy self and the man that minutes before was speaking profanities on how you’d looked choking on his dick. he peaks his eyes open again, slowly, adjusting to the bright lights he stares up at each time he’s doing the backstroke. when he has the nerves to smile at you, all dreamy eyed and relaxed sitting beneath your body on the bench. “now, can you please stand up and get naked so you can fuck yourself on my tongue?”

this time, it’s your laugh that echoes in the air.

“stop, i’m being serious!” he seems to whine his way through his words, bottom lip jutting out ever so slightly in a way you’re certain is going to drive you insane. “i can’t go another second like this, you literally sitting on my dick, without blowing my load. and i really don’t feel like having to explain to coach kwon why my team speedos are stained in cum.”

“you’re so-” you give up on trying to find a single word to describe him, knowing there’s no word that can quite capture choi san’s essence. “okay, okay, fine, but you kind of need to let go of me for me to, y’know, stand up.”

“oh, sorry bout that.” san’s sheepish smile shouldn’t be this cute, not when it’s followed by him removing his hands from your half-naked body.

reluctant, your feet meet the ground and you stand up from his lap. he seems to move quicker than you, no hesitation to be seen as he twists his body around and lays along the bench on his back, eyes all the while watching you expectantly.

your fingers are far from as nimble as his, and there’s a shake to them, meaning you’re a lot less slick with how you pull the swimsuit off yourself. you opt for killing two birds with one stone, dragging your shorts down alongside the red suit, till both are pooled around your feet and you’re begging with every cell in your body that you look more graceful than you feel, stepping out of the leg holes.

in all honesty, you’re more embarrassed with the fact he’d watched you remove your clothes than with how you’re now stood naked, legs a little shaky and the wetness gathering between your folds you’re suddenly so much more aware of, the cool air fighting against your pulsating heat.

“well?” san speaks with expectation, legs bent at the knee while the balls of his feet rest on the edge of the bench. “are you gonna just stand there or you gonna sit on my face?”

“are you... sure you want me to?” even you feel the idiocy behind asking such a thing, when he’s laying right there with eyes full of glee and a raging boner pressed against his hip, nothing but the familiar colours of your college to stop you from seeing him all his naked glory. still, you can’t help elaborating. “i mean, the bench isn’t exactly sturdy and, i mean, what if i slip off of you?”

“y/n, are you joking? you have to be joking!” his offence is playful enough to ease a little of the hesitation inside of you. “do you see these puppies, baby? these are my mad gains from flailing my silly little arms around in a pool six days a week!”

you think this can’t be real as you watch the golden boy of the school put on a show, flexing his arms in an effort to display his muscles and voicing the most ridiculous words that not even he seems to be taking seriously, a bubble of laughter popping in every sentence.

“i’m not gonna let you slip, now hurry up!” again with the whining.

“god, you’re so desperate!”

“for you? always.”

the following minute is made up of wobbled steps and a poor attempt at amping yourself up, repeating mantra after mantra in your head that you are the sex goddess and no man is going to make you feel nervous. not even if that man has a jaw one could slice diamonds with.

he’s got a firm grasp of your thighs before you’ve even got the chance to get comfortable, legs a little shaky as you hover over his naked chest and will your knees to find grip on the bench beneath them.

“come closer, my tongue’s not that long!” san’s pulling you up, closer, all the way to where his wanton mouth awaits you. as if to give you a preview of what awaits you, the kisses from before reduced to nothing, his tongue pops out to run over the smooth of his bottom lip. you repeat the process of trying to find balance, a position in which you don’t need to worry about toppling overboard. though, with the way his finger squeeze into your thigh, you doubt you’ll have to worry about that truly happening. “comfortable?”

“as i’ll ever be.”

“all the people that would die to be in your position, and you say that?” he tsks, tongue hitting off the roof of his mouth before a blow of air hits against your folds and, though it’s faint from the distance still between his mouth and where he wants it to be, it sends a jolt of excitement up your spine. “i’ll just have to make sure i over-perform, make you more eager for next time.”

neither of you choose to dwell on the words next time.

him, too occupied with getting his first taste, tongue licking a strip up your core and coming to a stop as the tip of it bumps against your clit.

you, too busy having the air knocked out of your lungs, hand unconsciously finding safety in gripping his hair as you lurch forward momentarily, mouth falling open in a quiet gasp that echoes around and around.

“hmm, make sure you hold on tight.” you know he’s teasing you, with his words, and with his eyes, and with his mouth that seems to find enjoyment in trailing itself over your clitoral hood and up your pubic bone. “you smell mouthwatering, you know? enough to make a man go feral.”

the chance to reply never comes, not when san makes his way back down to your clit and greets it with the stroke of his flattened tongue. every tiny nerve sparks to life under his touch and you feel yourself grow wetter, a wave of warm arousal leaking out of your hole. his tongue dives down to welcome it, not allowing more than a single drop- landing on his chin- to go to waste.

you don’t even notice the lack of his grip around your left leg until you feel it: the first few seconds of his fingertips probing around your soaked cunt, coating themselves in your liquid pleasure until it’s dripping down the back of his hand.

the first finger to enter your hole is gentle, tentative to the way your body receives him, his pointer and ring finger keeping your folds spread and allowing him the full view of the middle one slowly disappearing from sight, burying itself in the warmth of your pussy. distracted, his mouth pulls back and his head meets the bench again while his eyes soak in the sight above him, flickering up to catch your reaction when another finger enters you, this time with a lot less care as it forces you open around it.

“so pretty,” he mutters the words, more to himself than to you, delighting as he witnesses you struggling to bite back a pathetic moan when his digits curl within you. he repeats the action a couple times, flicking his wrist back and forth, fingers brushing over your tight walls each time and culminating in a curl that has him pressing against the spongy-like flesh inside. “so, so pretty.”

your hips begin to rut against his hand, meeting every one of his thrusts with perfect timing that has him reaching deeper, further, better places inside of you. all the while he’s just watching and admiring the furrow in your brow and the way the swells of your breast bounce in sync with you.

your pussy clenches tighter and his fingers fight to reach deeper before spreading themselves wider in an attempt to scissor you open. he’s giving it his all, a third finger slipping in despite the dull ache setting in his wrist while he coaxes you closer and closer to the tipping point.

san takes just as easy as he gives, and it’s that fact alone that drives him to pull his hand back, fingers withdrawing from you and the pleasure you’re pursuing.

“why’d you-” you heave through heavy breaths, brain fuzzy from the unvoiced orgasm you were so close to having, every nerve ready to tingle, every muscle ready to tremble, every toe ready to curl. “stop?”

“because,” the wet smack of his fingers hitting against your clit is louder than the whimper that drops from your mouth. san hears both, however, and grins, quickly landing another smack against your engorged clit. “the goal is to make you cum on my face, not my fingers. consider them the appetiser, something to awaken your senses.”

his tongue licks in an upward motion, starting from the tip of your taint and ending at your clit, and you get deja-vu to just minutes before, when you’d first felt his tongue on your melting skin, the saliva it leaves in a trail behind it serving to cool you down. a shiver runs up your spine as he blows air onto your cunt, the pressure of it doing wonders to stimulate your clit.

“would you stop?”

“look who’s whining now.” san, despite what he says, does as you ask and puts an end what feels like unending teasing- really, it’s hardly been a minute but the pulsing of your heat and the loss of a climax leave you no room to think about something as abstract as time.

his lips make a victorious return, wrapping themselves around your clit and sucking against the pulsing nub. every so often, he delivers a couple kitten licks- ups and downs, sides to sides, figure eights- before swiftly returning to kissing your most intimate parts.

in an attempt to make your toes curl, he dips lower and teases the tips of his tongue over your entrance, wet muscle moving over wet skin and tastebuds covering themselves in your essence, till the moans echoing off the walls are indistinguishable between san’s and your own.

“you can move,” he grunts into you after a few minutes of repeated alternating between kissing your clit and tonguing at your hole. it’s muffled with the way he’s holding you down against his face and you feel his lips brush against your lower ones as he speaks. “need you to move. wanna see you use me, pretty.”

and, who are you to deny the man?

you’re hesitant at first, just like you were all those weeks ago as you sank to your knees for him. you test the waters and give a single roll of your hips. it feels good, great, especially when paired with his own efforts at dragging his tongue over you.

it takes a few more attempts, and san’s patience wearing thin to the point he resorts to grabbing a firm hold of your arse cheeks and planting you flat on his mouth, tongue flat and eyes staring up at you in a demand to move, goddamn it. 

move you most certainly do, grinding down on his tongue like you’ve done many a time with different men’s cocks. it’s messy, sloppy in the way that his spit mingles with your wetness, a cocktail of fluids sliding down his throat, and painting his lips, and dribbling down his chin as he eats you like a man starved that’s alas getting a taste of the sweetest fruit.

the rhythm of your hips is thrown off when the man beneath you switches from having you grinding down onto his flattened tongue to slipping the muscle inside of your hole, thrusting it as far as up as the length of it allows him to. with every time your body comes crashing down on his mouth, the tip of his nose bumps against your clit, forcing you to angle yourself upwards to gain more of the friction.

hands find hair, lips part in unabashed moans, thighs shake with the oncoming of an orgasmic state of mind.

the moment builds too quickly, too unexpectedly, like the ghost of your stolen climax is back with a vengeance and set on ensuring there will be no denying it this time.

“s-shit,” your eyes squeeze shut, too scared to look down at his ecstasy filled eyes in fear of it being what finally tips you over the edge. “i’m gonna- ah- gonna cum.”

san pays no mind to your warning. if anything, he takes it as a challenge, an invisible timer beginning in his head and forcing him to see how quickly he can get you to unravel all over his face. he’s getting everything he asked for, your naked body a mess above him as you fuck yourself on his tongue and your hands, with minds of their own, sliding up to grab and squeeze at your tits.

he watches how the pastel blue nail polish clashes with the darkened colour of your abused nipples, fingers working to pinch, and twist, and pull at them as you lose yourself in the moment.

when you cum, it’s with rolled-back eyes and shaky thighs, his hands gripping at you tighter to steady you as you sway above him, his tongue working at coaxing you through your high.

he licks up every drop of cum he can manage, until you’re cringing in overstimulation and reaching down to push him away. he let’s you move him, mouth moving to trail a couple kisses over your inner thigh, something akin to lipstick stains- yet so much dirtier in nature- being left behind on your soft flesh.

“told you i wouldn’t let you fall,” he’s the first to speak, partly because he correctly thinks you’re incapable of forming anything coherent in the afterglow of your orgasm, but mostly because he wants- no, needs to hear you praise him.

needs to hear you praise him like he’d done for you that night, eyes still hooded and chest visibly heaving as he finished processing watching you swallow every spurt of hot cum he’d shot down your throat. the praise never comes.

well, at least not from you.

at first he thinks he’s imagining the sound of clapping. it’s slow, and booming, and tinted with the slightest hint of sarcasm. it grows louder though, far too loud for it to just be in his imagination. the stilling of your body, going rigid as you fall back onto his chest, the sticky remnants of your orgasm cold against his heated skin, confirms that you hear the clapping too.

“bravo, choi. always thought your reputation with the ladies was a little overhyped, but i stand corrected.”

never has he hated the sight of park seonghwa so much, not even in the times they’ve been head-to-head in the final lap and the older male’s offensively bright swim-cap is all san can see every time he twists his head to catch a breath of air.

the three swimmers stand on the opposite end of the swimming pool, all in various stages of undress.

there’s wooyoung, who looks like he’s not so much as dried himself with a towel, still dressed in his team swimwear. and yunho, who’s got a towel wrapped around his waist messily, hair damp against his forehead and likely smelling of the cheap shampoo provided in the locker-room showers. lastly, seonghwa, who’s seemingly fully dressed spar for one of those irritating long coats san always sees him trailing around campus in.

one look into your panicked eyes is enough for san to spring into action, fumbling to sit himself up and pull your body flush against his, facing your naked back in the direction of his rivals.

he bites back a groan as you shift in his lap, unknowingly- or maybe you do know- pressing your soaked centre against his erection, which already strains inside the confines of the nylon material, leaving very little to the imagination.

“do you mind?” he’s glad the words come out clearly, booming across the pool at them and their unwavering staring.

“not at all.”

san holds you tighter against him, eyeing at your discarded swimsuit on the floor as he listens to a shuffle of footsteps. assuming the three men have made their way back into the locker-room, he’s speechless when he looks up to find them approaching the bench, seonghwa leading the trio with a secure grip on the back of wooyoung’s neck, whose eyes can’t seem to leave the floor, while yunho trails a little behind them, one hand grasping onto the towel around him.

“get your hands off her!” he leans back, pulling you with him, in an attempt to stray out of seonghwa’s reach as he extends his hand out. he fails, however, and the tips of seonghwa’s elongated fingers brush over your shoulder.

a shiver runs down you, one that san feels, the unexpected touch tickling your nerves.

“she’s a grown up,” the eldest of the men muses as he builds a rhythm out of how his fingers soother over your sweat slicked skin. “who i’m sure can speak for herself if she wants my hands off her.”

out of all the men, seonghwa has always been the one san despised most. between the constant boasting of wealth- money he acquired through labor, though not the working kind- and the disrespect he’s never had a problem showing towards others, he never fails to strike a nerve, awakening a dark part of san’s brain that activates his fight or flight response. by far, however, his arrogance is the worst, that sense of entitlement that drives him to think everything and everyone is a piece of clay for him to mold and manipulate till they fit his ideal shape.

the rich boy’s hand smoothes over your naked shoulder and san can’t resist glaring up at him.

“c’mon san, now’s hardly the time to be modest,” behind the oldest swimmer, yunho and wooyoung seem to be battling an inner conflict, yunho fighting to keep his towel in place and wooyoung fighting to keep the shame off his face while his dick visibly strains against the confines of his chlorine-covered swimwear. “not after the show you two just put on.”

“we didn’t,” it’s the first time you manage to speak since covering san’s tongue in your cum, breathing at last steady and face hidden from everyone’s view, much to san’s despair. “know you were watching.”

“and, if you had known, would you have stopped?” yunho is the one asking the question and, suddenly, san’s so much more aware of what exactly he’s hiding underneath his towel.

you give no answer.

“of course she wouldn’t,” seonghwa answers for you, hand moving to grasp the back of your neck. with no warning, he grips a little too tight for comfort and and yanks you backwards, till you’re staring right into san’s eyes and the only thing keeping you perched in his lap is seonghwa’s body pressed flat against yours. “there’s nothing a whore loves more than an audience, right?”

if put on trial in a court of law and sworn to tell the truth, and nothing but the truth, over whether or not you’d just clenched around nothing at park seonghwa’s degrading name, you’d plead that you never did such a thing.

you’d be found guilty.

“poor woo nearly came untouched just watching you two. isn’t that right?” the eldest turns to stare back at where you imagine wooyoung to be. “pretty boy nearly whined just at the thought of being in san’s position, a mouth full of cunt and someone using him like the fuck-toy he is.”

the air grows thick, between you, and san, and every other living being in the room. it feels like the walls are closing in on themselves with every second that passes, the sweat dripping down your back and coming to a rest between your arse cheeks evidence that the space is heating up. or maybe it’s just your body, hardly processing the high it’s just come down from and there’s already another source for a new-found arousal, a source in the shape of three muscular men stood behind you and one beneath you, eyes wary as he gazes into your own, like he wants to ask if you’re okay but all the blood is too busy circulating in his crotch for his brain to be productive.

“now, i hardly think it’s very nice of you to get our wooyoung all riled up and not even offer to help him out.” you decide you’re being lulled into a false sense of safety the second you feel the pressure of seonghwa’s hand leave your skin. behind you, there’s a shuffling of footsteps that call you to crane your neck and catch a glimpse of what exactly is going on but san’s eyes beg you to keep staring into his, to count the galaxies that dance within them while he grips at your waist. “so the chance to offer is off the table and you’re simply going to do as told. doesn’t that sound easier, hmm? no having to make pesky decisions, just spread those legs and follow orders.”

at last, you get your first glimpse at jung wooyoung.

he sits down on the bench, no more than a breath of space between where you and san are perched. he’s a vision in himself, shoulders hunched and embarrassed face the same shade of red as the tip of his cock, an angry looking bulbous head poking out the top of far-too-tight speedos.

san’s grip tightens the longer you stare at the other boy, gaze dancing over the shape of his body and mouth-watering as, for the first time, you see the appeal of jung wooyoung. never before have you understood why eyes follow him in the hallways, like he’s more than just another pretty boy on campus- something that’s in abundance. but you see it now, understand the appeal of his stand-out nose; and the veins that run down his arms; and floppy style to his hair, that seems to be calling out to have your fingers running through it. 

with no prior warning, the grip on your hips tightens even more, till san is digging crescents into the soft skin and he’s lifting you, off of his lap and right into wooyoung’s.

the usually boisterous boy’s eyes meet yours, no longer filled with that spark of defiance and, instead, glazed over in tears, a quiet pleading being exchanged between you.

only, you’re unsure what he’s begging of you.

“are you going to just sit there,” seonghwa speaks up, boredom in his tone that has you picturing him rolling his eyes and picking at his manicured nails. “or are you going to help the poor pup cum?”

“what?!” that certainly helps you find your voice, and the guts to turn around and look at the man.

you find him stood closer than you imagined, with tailored trousers hugging his thighs and a perfectly ironed shirt tucked into them, the last few messy buttons the only indication he’d rushed to dress himself. eyes looking past him, you find more of a friendly aura in yunho, who, despite fighting a battle against the towel wrapped around his figure, manages to shoot a smile at you.

and then there’s san, who stands with muscled arms crossed over his chest and a painfully obvious boner resting in the confines of his swimwear, though he’s done a better job at keeping himself concealed than the boy beneath you. his face appears indifferent, yet the twitch in his eye speaks of a tamed anger, a frustration he’s yet to unleash on the men who’d interrupted him amidst his feast.

“are you now deaf along with being dumb or something?” the eldest pulls your attention back to him with little effort, a smirk meeting the glare you shoot his way. “you made that brat hard, now do your job and fix the mess you’ve made.”

words of protest get lost in a surprised gasp as the boy in question takes your hand in his, veiny hand guiding you down to a veiny shaft. wooyoung wraps both of your fingers over his leaking cock, his holding yours in place around him while he ruts his hips up once, twice into your hold, the action sending his swimwear even further down the his length and exposing nearly the full sight of it to the swimming hall.

you don’t mean to compare, yet you’re incapable of ignoring the fact that while wooyoung may be on the slightly shorter side compared to san, he’s certainly leading in the thickness department, with a mushroomed head and the prettiest trail of trimmed hairs leading down his pelvis.

he guides you over his shaft a number of times, a little less shy now as he outwardly whines when your thumb runs over his tip, wiping away the fat bead of precum resting upon it. at some point, he moves his hand away, needing both of his free to lean back on the bench, yet yours keeps moving at it’s own volition, stroking him in a pattern of threes, interrupting every trio with a swipe over his tip or a fondle of his still-concealed balls.

“please,” the whine in his voice is so unlike the jung wooyoung you’ve watched week after week, hurling abuse and echoing boasts of his own talents while keeping himself afloat in the swimming pool.

“he asked nicely.” you’d just about forgotten about everyone else in the room, until seonghwa’s irritatingly unbothered voice serves to remind you of his presence. “rule number one: good behaviour is rewarded.”

“what do i,” you interrupt your own question to glance over wooyoung once more. “do?” you pinch your thigh, skin stinging as nails bite it, and confirm with yourself that this is not a dream but, in fact, very much real.

jung wooyoung is hard and begging you to do something.

“i don’t care how you do it, just put one of your holes to good use for once and make him cum.”

there’s still an echo of seonghwa’s voice by the time you successfully manage to rid wooyoung of his swimwear, the damp fabric clinging to the warm skin and the taut muscles of his thighs. the boy isn’t much help either, seemingly reduced to nothing but a writhing, panting mess instead of someone competent enough to raise himself off the bench just enough for you to undress him.

the sight is mesmerising, one you’re certain will remain ingrained in your memory till the day you die: wooyoung, disheveled and untouched, with his achingly hard cock pressed flat against his lower stomach, his swimmer-thighs spread with a set of balls between them that you find yourself near salivating over as a trickle of his own precum runs down them.

“your cock’s...” you begin to speak, yet trail off as your digits wrap themselves around his shaft, just to delight in the way his breath jumps when you drag your hand upwards and give a soft squeeze as you reach the head. “so pretty, woo.”

“youngie.” seonghwa cuts in from behind you. “he prefers to be called youngie when he’s getting his cock teased.”

“yeah, youngie?” you try it out.

instantly, he nods and something akin to a whimper flies out of him.

fascinated by his shaky breaths and his pretty chest, where warm, tanned skin appears to be near glowing under the swimming halls bright lights as his cheeks flush a palette full of reds and pinks, your eyes are completely fixed on him. there’s something vulnerable and breakable about the way he’s looking at your with the widest of eyes, his eyebrows furrowed and bottom lip receiving countless abuse from his teeth.

never have you been so desperate to push someone past their own limits.

officially running on nothing but pure instincts, you close your mind off to thoughts, like how the boy you’d spent weeks avoiding and missing is stood only metres away, witnessing the way the tip of your finger teases over the slit of his sport rival’s cock. or like how park seonghwa, perhaps the campus’ most infamous trust-fund baby, seems to have complete control of the situation at hand, yourself and jung wooyoung nothing but idolised dolls he’s moving into whatever obscene position he wants you in.

instead, you focus on how wooyoung’s eyes roll back and he lets out a gasp when you gather up fluids from within your salivating mouth and part your own lips, watching how your own spit drips onto his lower stomach, and your hand, and his painfully hard cock.

the saliva serves not only as a visual pleasure, something that’s awakening inside of you at the sight of it leaving you with whole new kind of excitement bubbling along your body, but as a physical pleasure for wooyoung, who seems to have no protest to how much easier it is to slide your hand up his length with the added lubrication of your own spit. 

“fuck...” he curses under his breath and his hands find purchase on your body, one gripping your hip while the other grabs at your forehand, like he’s scared you’ll release the grip you have on him and strip away the sweet release of friction. “don’t just focus on the tip- shit, ah- play with my balls too.”

“wooyoung!” ready to oblige, ready to give the pretty faced boy anything he demanded of you, you’ve no time to think of a reply before the ringmaster of this circus reminds you of his overlooking presence behind your back. “stop speaking like an ungrateful brat and take what you’re given. or else... well, i’m sure you don’t need reminding of what happens to pups that misbehave.”

the way jung wooyoung’s whole body grows rigid beneath you, paired with the countless times park seonghwa has butted in to speak on the boy’s sexual preferences, leaves you with the sense that the two are not only acquainted with how each other’s bodies move underwater..

“s-sorry,” this is not the voice of boastful jung wooyoung, who near bounces down the college halls and airdrops nudes in class because he’s bored. this is a voice that’s soft and meek. like a beady-eyed puppy, so quick to submit to it’s owner. “just feels too good. i’m sorry”

“yeah, you will be sorry.” seonghwa’s hand is cold against your back and it lulls a shiver out of you as fingers trickle down your spine like water off a duck’s wings. part of you hates him for stealing wooyoung’s attention off of you just as you were beginning to revel in it, a larger part of you wants to know why the sternness in his voice is enough to have your clit aching to be touched. “spitfire, be a good cocksleave and sit on his dick.”

“ok, stop!” a sense of shame comes over you when it takes hearing san’s outburst to remember the fact he’s watching the scene unfold. “don’t you think you’re taking this too far now, park seonghwa? i know you and wooyoung have your... agreement on how you treat each other, but don’t drag someone else into it. not when she never even asked for this.”

“you had your tongue tasting the eighth wonder of the world on that bench twenty minutes ago, both of you knowing there was a chance you’d be caught, and you want to tell me no one was asking for this?”

“that was private! you guys are the ones who-”

“there’s no such thing as privacy in a public area. besides, it’s hardly like she’s not enjoying this. if anything, i think spitfire doesn’t like the way you’re getting in the way of her teaching youngie a lesson in obedience.” you’re naive to think no one would notice the way you’ve began to grind down on wooyoung’s cock, stealing whimpers out of him as the soaked lips of your pussy rubbed up against him and holding back your own moans each time his tip meets the bundle of nerves that make up your clit. “choi, if you’re that much of a pissy pants that can’t enjoy himself even just this once in life, then feel free to leave. i’m sure the four of us will be too occupied to notice your absence.”

you’re not paying close enough attention to figure out if san’s newfound silence is due to his departure, or if he’s simply too stunned to speak, your eyes focused on nothing and no one but the boy at your mercy.

the initial burn of wooyoung breaching your entry reminds you of how long it’s been since you’d been stretched open by something other than someone’s cold fingers or wagging tongue. it’s been more or less three long months of juggling test after test, assignments piling up on your desktop and a relationship with your now ex-boyfriend being tossed completely into the gutter.

not once had you thought your return to the world of sexual bliss would be in front of an audience, much less at the very place you work.

doubting that it’s been as long for him as it has for you, wooyoung still spares nothing when it comes to reacting to your touch. with eyes squeezing shut, head rolling back, abdomen muscles flexing along side every shaken intake of breath, the boy puts on a show so pornographic it puts the professionals to shame. a whine exits his lips, lips that carry marks of his own teeth and look like they’re in need of a healthy dose of chapstick, and look so disgustingly kissable that your own tingle at the thought.

all those rumours of jung wooyoung being a camboy rush to the forefront of your mind, feeling truer than ever when your eyes take in the bob of his adam’s apple, and the perfectly timed run of his tongue over his lower lip, and the pretty way in which the prominent veins in his hands looks as he clamps his grip down on your hips.

he’s a sight worth paying for. 

“are you okay?” not the first thing you’d imagined saying after sinking all the way down on his cock, the need to check up on him taking over before you’d even noticed it’s existence.

“yeah...” he sighs his way through the word, eyes still closed and grip still very much tight on your skin, blunt fingertips likely leaving crescent moons you’ll find yourself staring at for days to come, memories of this moment replaying in a rose-tinted haze. “just need a second, you- you feel good, fuck me.”

“i’m kinda already doing that, youngie.” you giggle, like a lovesick adolescent speaking to their crush of the week, but the boy’s instant smile upon hearing it puts out the fire of shame building in the pit of your stomach.

“hmm,” he hums back, acknowledging your words without giving you the satisfaction of hearing him tell you how you’re correct. “are you okay?”

wooyoung flips the question on you and it parallels with the way he pulls the rains in physically, lithe hips thrusting upwards in search of feeling more, reaching deeper inside of you. in the back of your mind you already picture a look of displeasure on park seonghwa’s face, scowling lips loading up to berate you and demand you take repossession of jung wooyoung’s sanity.

“yeah, i’m-” with the eldest man in mind, you stop and compose yourself, as well as you can while wooyoung’s mouthing at your neck, your collarbones, the tops of your breasts. “i’m wondering who told you you were allowed to touch me?”

control is easily regained, all it takes is your hand squeezing around jung wooyoung’s throat and your soaked walls clenching around his aching cock and he’s melting like ice cream on a warm summer’s day, leaving behind a sticky mess.

satisfaction and pleasure come crashing in tandem, wave after wave moving in motion with each lethargic roll of your body against the swimmer’s, who seems to be a quicker learner than you’d believed him to be, hands flying off your body like it was made up of hot stones and, instead, now holding a firm and grounding grip of the bench beneath you both.

“harder.” you feel a hint of emotion within park seonghwa’s voice this time he speaks. it’s fleeting, and hard to make out quite what feeling it is he’s experiencing, but it’s there and it’s certainly a step up from the usual shameless, egotistical, megalomaniac tone he takes on. “squeeze his throat tighter.”

under the possession of his commanding tone, you find yourself caving into his command, fingers pressing a little harder into wooyoung’s warm skin. the boy gulps down whatever pride he has and delivers a pleasured whine. you grind down harder and an evil, twisted part of you you’ve never met before longs to laugh at the way he so desperately is struggling to keep his composure, fighting back the urge to meet your hips with his own upward thrusts.

so, you do. 

“hear that, youngie?” seonghwa’s voice becomes less grating each time you hear it, once an unwelcome and intrusive thought but now a second voice and a valued player in a game of wreck the wooyoung. “you’re being laughed at. isn’t that just pathetic?”

“y-yes, fuck-” he falls victim to your walls clenching around him, gripping his cock in a vice grip. the image of confidence withers away so easily to reveal a teary-eyed, pretty-faced, cum-desperate man. “i’m pathetic.”

“yeah, you are.” seonghwa circles his way around the rocking bench, no longer out of view hidden behind your back but, instead, staring you down with piercing eyes that cut through you like a knife to hot butter. “he’s getting close. never lasts long, really, even seen him cum untouched just from giving me head. but that’s okay, isn’t it youngie? you’re a slut for having your sack drained, huh?”

the swimmer beneath you has never looked redder than he does right now, secrets of his sexual nature getting exposed to the people he likely considers his biggest athletic competition. though you probably should, you don’t push him away when his face finds safety in the crook of your neck, parted lips covering your burning skin in sticky drool.

“don’t let him fool you guys, he’s into the degrading nature of it all. trust me.” you wonder if it should concern you the way seonghwa speaks about jung wooyoung as though he’s nothing but a pet, a possession of which he just so happens to have complete control over. you’re more concerned with the fact it excites you. “call him a good boy, i dare you.”

the words haven’t even formed in your throat and the boy between your thighs is gripping onto your waist a little tighter, lips near pouting and eyes screwed shut in uncontrollable pleasure, burning down his spine and threatening to push him over the edge of sexual bliss.

you consider having mercy, the inexperienced side of you thinking the boy looks like he’s full of shame and embarrassment. the throbbing of his rock hard cock repeatedly stuffing your aching cunt reminds you he’s getting off on the humiliation.

“is he a good boy, though?” you stare up at park seonghwa, not even sparing a whimpering wooyoung any attention as he begins a rambled protest to defend his good behaviour. “i mean, i don’t remember telling him he could touch me. do you, hwa?”

the hands that grip you tightly let go quick, like your skin were an unexpectedly warm stove, scorching his skin right off him.

“i don’t remember either,” the eldest’s agreement has you reeling in a way you never expected, filling you with a new found sense of control.

a control that is ripped away far too quickly, like park seonghwa sensed you growing falsely confident over the situation at hand.

like a shark circling it’s prey, the tall man makes his way back around the bench, each fall of his shoe-covered feet echoing in the quiet swim hall. click, click, click, and he’s right at your back, not a word uttered as the soft of his palm lands on the nape of your neck. achingly slow does it travel down the expanse of your back, not a single noise filling the space other than the rise and fall of your body on top of wooyoung’s and the same boy’s poorly contained moans and mewls of pleasure.

the silence is interrupted by your own shocked gasp, mouth falling agape in shock as your movements come to a complete halt. his hands, no longer soft and delicate, grip you in an iron-tight hold, fingers greedy as they dig into your meaty flesh with no mercy or regard for the pain it may inflict on you.

“no, get up,” like a switch was flipped in as little as a minute, park seonghwa’s voice has lost all sense of the excitement it had whilst he spoke on jung wooyoung’s dirty endeavours and has returned back to the cold, callous, commanding tone it had originally.

he sounds angry, feels angry in the way the fingers of his free hand tangle themselves in the hair at the back of your head and give a harsh tug, forcing your head back till you’re met with his scowling face and perfectly groomed hair, even in it’s dampened state it seems to frame his face perfectly.

“what?” you babble out, dumbstruck, much like the desperate boy beneath you who’s began to mutter apology after apology between pleadings of please no don’t do this and i promise i’ll behave, i’ll keep my hands to myself.

none of it works.

“you heard me. get. up.” the fingers on your waist tug, pull, drag you away from the quivering mess that has become of jung wooyoung, who near sobs as the cool air hits his now painfully hard cock, tip redder than the bottom of your favourite heels and a vein more prominent under his sensitive skin than the ones on his muscular arms. you’re not given much of a chance to process what’s happening before seonghwa speaks again. “wooyoung, up, now. you’re not getting to cum, so get off the bench and make room for someone else.”

the boy makes no further attempt to protest, cheeks painted pink in shame and chest shining with sweat as he shakily rises to his feet, head hung low when you watch him walk out of your line of sight.

then, your knees meet the floor.

park seonghwa chuckles as you go down, hands finding grip in your hair and forcing you to sit up right. heart beating faster, your mind begins to race with questions of what comes next, who comes next.

what dirty desires are about to be unveiled within you, forced into the unforgiving fluorescent lights of the swimming hall?

“jeong, you’re up,” seonghwa’s knee digs into your back and his fingers tug until your scalp begins to sting a little. you don’t want to like it but, in life, you don’t always get what you want.

there’s a series of shuffles behind you, followed by heavy footsteps. there’s no rush, yet no hesitation, just calm and collected footsteps of someone making their way over to do god knows what with you.

when jeong yunho, with his towel that’s looking a lot tighter around his crotch still around his waist, steps into frame, an inexplicable sense of comfort washes over you.

maybe it’s the way he smiles down at you, or the fact his hands brush seonghwa’s off of you, or the way his fingers take a hold of your chin once he’s seated in front of you.

maybe it’s just the fact he’s jeong yunho, campus himbo with a reputation for walking girls home at night just to make sure they’re safe and for singing britney spears with no shame each time the karaoke mic gets passed around.

whatever it is, it’s turning you on.

your knees are burning with fresh pain as park seonghwa shoves you closer to the mammoth of a man and you can’t help but swallow down the ball of anxiety growing in your throat.

everything about jeong yunho’s demeanour has always seemed large, with powerful arms that drag his body through the weight of water and large hands that effortlessly carry countless textbooks through the university halls; a tall frame that helps him stand out in any crowd and a personality loud enough to set off alarms; his thighs a muscular stairway leading up to a well rounded, remarkably defined posterior. it’s safe to say he’s carried a reputation for some time, one that consists of whispers between girls on campus who recount just how well endowed he really is. 7 inches, 9 inches, 12 inches, you’ve heard it all, each girl claiming it to be bigger than the last.

unfortunately, there’s no ruler at your disposal to uncover the truth of the rumours, but you confirm he’s certainly large as you watch him undo the towel. larger than you’ve ever seen before, with a thickness to match, and two heavy looking balls decorating the base.

he wraps a hand around it and you watch how he gives a light squeeze at the head, slowly sliding down the length of it till he reaches the tuft of groomed hairs on his pelvic bone. one of his hands alone holds half of his cock, leaving you almost certain you’d need to use both hands on him.

“d’you want it, sweetheart?” his words are teasing but his voice is soft, a complete one-eighty to the verbal berating you’ve been receiving- and enjoying- from park seonghwa.

you’re sure he notices the way you clench your thighs as he slaps his cock once, then twice against his stomach, the precum leaking out on to his tanned skinned.

there’s an itch inside your throat, one you imagine only he can scratch.

“you wanna taste it?” he’s still speaking to you through the arousal that fogs over your brain, commanding your tongue to swipe over your bottom lip as you burn your gaze at the glistening liquid on his warm skin, tastebuds aching to have him paint them in white.

you nod your head.

his own throws itself back, a chuckle rupturing out of his chest as he continues to tease himself with his hand.

“fuck, yeah, bet you can’t wait to taste my cock, feel it stab the back of your tight throat.” a smile should never look so sweet while it’s part of the same mouth spewing out such filth. somehow, jeong yunho makes it work. “gonna get it nice and wet for me, yeah? make it sloppy, i love it when a pretty thing like you gets all messy over my cock.”

the knee that’s suddenly digging it’s way into your back has no mercy. you wince, pull in a sharp breath and inch just that little bit closer to the bench. like a glove fits a hand, you slip right in between the muscled tree trunks that make up jeong yunho’s thighs. 

you wonder, if only momentarily, what sweet a death it would be to be crushed between them, taut muscles constricting the flow of air to your lungs like a boa with its prey.

but there’s a far more preferable way to be choked by the man before you, body carved out in such definition you fear michael angelo himself stands in admiration of it.

his hand snakes its way around your body, warm and heavy and imposing with the grip it settles for at the base of your neck. in spite of the sharp stab coming from behind- where you have no doubt one park seonghwa stands with disgruntled impatience written all over his irritatingly perfect face- there is no doubt in your mind that the man in front of you holds the reigns. with eyes of honey and lips of velvet, he peers down at you with a tendered expression, saying nothing yet everything with the gentle, repeated sooth of his thumb over your skin.

you need no verbal instructions this time around.

a hand grips the base of him as the other squeezes the flesh of your own thigh, piercing your skin with just enough pressure to assure you this is the reality you find yourself in, rather than some twisted, substance influenced dream.

the first taste is the sweetest, tongue a missionary sent into the foreign land of his body to discover the way he reacts as you drag it over the tip. he gives nothing but a squeeze to the back of your neck; and that crumbles you under his control.

with a few more kitten licks- for good luck, if anything,- the show begins with the parting of your lips, the widening of your mouth, the burning of your skin as you struggle with your ability to swallow him whole. you make it no further than a third of his length before he’s tugging gently on your roots and bringing you back to the surface of existence.

“breathe, okay,” his voice is gentle, calming your nerves yet sending your heart into a fit of patternless beats. “inhale, exhale, got it? through the nose, that’s gonna help you relax.”

doing as he says, you swallow three whole breaths. shaky, ragged, each feeling hollow in your chest in comparison to the weight of his cock on your tongue.

“pretty girl,” he practically coos, hand cupping your chin as his thumb smoothes over the swell of your bottom lip. it’s tender, sweet, and almost enough to make you forget the sight of his engorged cock that sits angrily between his tree-trunk shaped thighs, crying out for the return of your mouth’s affection. “someone’s gotta teach you to not be greedy, hmm? small little mouth of yours is no fit for me, don’t go choking on it.”

heat flashes between your thighs, your heartbeat dropping right down to your clit and leaving you with a burning ache, the kind only a gentleman like this could soothe. your fingers may have to do, however, if the stubborn arsehole behind you would be so kind as to let you enjoy yourself.

the way park seonghwa curls his hand round the front of your neck and flexes his nimble fingers- that goddamn family heirloom ring a punishing cold to your warm skin, near brandishing you as touched by some nepotism child- when you do so little as clench your thighs together to relieve the pressure, or lack-there-of, between your thighs tells you he’ll grant you no such fun.

“you’d need to have something big enough for her to choke on,” san, precious san. still here, still somewhere beneath this god-forsaken tin-can roof swimming pool, watching you bruise your knees and your ego for another man, another one of his team-mates. what must he think of you? has he lost whatever respect he may have had? does he think he’d been just another body to exchange fluids with, that night at the party? if you could just see his face, you’d not need to wonder all these things. his eyes, they always give him away, too earnest and pure for his own good.

“shut it, choi,” yunho’s bark isn’t half as loud as seonghwa’s booming commands have been, and are nowhere near as malignant. if anything, the gentle giant is humoured by his team-mate’s words, as if he knows they’re a preposterous thing to say about him. then again, you can’t imagine any man remaining humble about themselves if they were so well-endowed. “or do you wanna crack out the measuring tape again and remind yourself of just how much of me there is to choke on?”

silence.

it takes a few moments for the spotlight to return to you, a gradual shift from playful to lust driven energy encapsulating the broad frame of the man before. he cups your cheek, feather-light touch smoothing over your skin while his eyes burrow daggers into your soul.

why must his shoulders be so wide? it almost angers you as much as it sends a wave of heat between your legs.

almost, but not quite.

“‘s cute,” he half mumbles, distracted by the sight you paint below him on your knees, bruises already forming and thighs clenching for some relief of pressure. “your little pussy’s all wet just from having my cock in your mouth.”

“i think you’re forgetting she was bouncing on woo’s dick a few minutes ago, yunho,” the devil on your shoulder won’t let you rest, hand snaking through the threads of your hair and tugging on your roots. not enough to hurt, just enough to sting. “have some modesty.”

“sure, let’s act like i’m not the one who had her cumming all over my face a while ago.” san mumbles a string of words you wish you could unhear, face heating up as the shame burns through your bloodstream.

how had you gotten here?

you’re allowed no such freedom to ponder over previous actions as jeong yunho’s all encompassing frame works to remind you of where you find yourself: on your knees dressed in nothing but your own shame- shame which seems to slip off of you, piece by piece, baring you shamelessly to this pack of wolf-eyed boys’ for their eyes to feast upon.

strong, veiny hands reach out and drag you forwards, just an inch yet it’s all you need to feel the weight of park seonghwa’s domineering figure float off of you, rendering you under the control of this much larger, far smilier looking man. “eyes on me, okay? don’t wanna miss the way i’m about to make them roll back.”

there begins a game of push and pull, where jeong yunho pushes you closer and closer to his evident arousal, all the while teasing you as he pulls his hips back, keeping your waiting mouth open and empty, and oh-so frustrated at the feeling of being so close yet so far away from his dripping tip.

the first real taste you get of him does, in fact, nearly have your eyes rolling back. a kitten lick, barely there yet fully felt, running over the underside of his cock, a taste of salted skin, and musky sweat, and stale chlorine mixing in with the warmth of him flooding your senses. his reaction is no more composed than yours, blatantly parting his lips in a gasp and bucking his hips up, forwards, any direction they need follow to chase after your mouth.

happy to comply, you take pride in tasting him a second time, this time right over the growing drop of pre-cum pebbling on his tip. white flashes behind your closing eyes as his grip in your hair tightens, a pulse of heat firing straight down your spine as your mind floods with images of what it must be like to watch this man, this gentleman, this figure that so wholly encompasses what it means to be a himbo in this day and age lose his cool and revolt into his most carnal, basal instincts to take whatever pleasure he needs from you with a reckless abandon, burrow his throbbing cock down your throat till the beat of his heart takes over your own.

instead, you settle for wrapping your lips around him, at last, and letting him guide you just that little bit down his length. the weight of him feels nice, a strange sense of comfort birthing in your bones as you grow used to feel of him taking up your palate. his breaths seem to run in tandem with the inches he sinks deep between your parted lips.

a deep breath, he lowers you further, till your left cheek begins to bulge out.

tongue pinned to the floor of your mouth, you make use of it as best you can, rolling it over the bottom of his shaft and earning yourself a plethora of gratifying sounds, each deep and desperate and crooning straight out of jeong yunho’s broad chest. 

another deep breath, another inch.

for all the false dominance you wield over the situation, with the heat of your mouth and spill of your own saliva slickening his cock, his real and visceral dominance doubles it by tenfold, with a hand on the back of your neck, guiding your every move, and a knowing, gentle look cast downwards at you from where he sits propped on the bench, thighs a heavy mass to case your body between. a silly little voice in your head whispers a seductive tale of how easily this man could get you in a headlock and suffocate your fragile windpipes. a wave of heat, this one going right down to your core and forcing you to pay attention to it, shifting awkwardly and clenching the muscles in your own legs in hopes of getting some pitiful amount of pressure.

all breathing stops as he hits the back of your throat.

hands pulling tight, a biting pain ripping through your hair and a tired gag creeping out of your constricting throat, yunho holds you still and strong, as unmoving as the mountains that fill the horizon from your bedroom window.

he’s not even fully in, an arguably obscene amount of him still awaiting some form of attention beyond the spill of the spit filling up your mouth. but there’s nowhere for it to go, not within your mouth at least, and so you manoeuvre your hand up and grip the neglected inches, the tip of your pinkie teasingly brushing over the swell of his balls.

he lurches forward, gasping in a breath of air at last. “fucking christ- shit,” he grits his teeth. “her mouth’s warm.”

“well, obviously. this your first time getting a blowjob or something, jeong?” god, the reminder of seonghwa being here, somewhere behind you, fox eyes judging your every move and keeping his cool, no matter how hard you’d seen his cock straining in those ridiculous pant-suit trousers he sports. it’s sickening.

“yeah, yunho, watch out before you have a repeat of 2019.”

if the taller jeong wants to snap at the other, you never find out, instead dedicating yourself to the glory of worshipping him between your parted lips and tight throat, jaw ready to lock itself in place so long as it keeps him inside.

you treat him differently than you’d treated san that night. you’d been tipsy then, buzzing off the colourful shots of who-knows-what you’d been conned into downing a half hours before, mind hazy as you kneeled between him and teased your tongue over every crevice of him it could reach, dripping him in drool and working an ache into your overused tongue by the time you got watched him spill over the edge of ecstasy. that wasn’t even about san’s pleasure, no real care put into getting him off, your own selfish need to indulge in the pleasure of feeling, tasting, worshipping him taking precedence.

but, right now, you’re overwhelmingly sober, mind hazed only by a cloud of inexplicable lust that rolled in the moment san shot you his stupid smile, and you care about making jeong yunho cum. in fact, it’s the only thing on your mind as you bob your head up and down, letting his own hand guide your pace.  

“shh, shh,” he’s hushing your own struggles for breath and carding his fingers through the tresses of your hair, his legs clamping down on either side of you, pinning you in your rightful place. “taking it so good, baby. so fucking good.”

good’s not good enough.

you want to leave him mind-blown, exhausted, unhinged. you want him clenching his jaw, and baring his teeth, and stuttering over any praise he tries to give you. in fact, you need it, need that thrill-driven lust of collapsing the sanity of a man as broad and strong and capable as him.

so you pick up the pace, fight against the steady up-and-down of his grip and try to take just that little bit more of him in your mouth and down your throat, till you’ve no doubt there’s a visible bulge of where he sits down your windpipe. you think back on what he said- i love it when a pretty thing like you gets all messy over my cock- and work towards doing just that, mouth a fountain of over-flowing spit that paints lines down your chin and over his heavy balls. the hand at his base lightly drags the tips of its nails over his burning skin and you physically feel the way his cock jumps in your mouth, head twitching as his hips involuntarily jolt forwards.

eyes as wide as a deer in headlights, you glance up to stare into his own, only to find they’re rolling back in his head, too caught up in the headiness of having your mouth on him to visually focus. it’s erotic, tracing your eyes over the protruding vein in his neck and the unrhythmic heaving of his chest- like every breath he pulls is a rare gift and a miracle- and the straining of his muscled thighs that hold back his urge to buck freely into your mouth, use you as nothing but a hole to get himself off with.

your free hand stakes claim over your own sexual frustration, nimble fingers rubbing tight, slow circles over your clit in an attempt to just ease that heat burning you from the inside out.

“she’s touching herself, jeong,” not even the irritating, grating voice of park seonghwa’s unwanted commentary can take away the kick you’re getting out of working this man into a frenzy. “are you just going to let her, without your permiss-”

“shut up, park,” yunho is wrecked, voice divulging so far from that loud, boyish charm into a dark, broken sort of gruffed out thing, echoing straight out of his chest. but, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t listen to the other man, doesn’t force his eyes open to glance down in a hazed daze to witness your pathetic attempts to work your fingers over yourself.

only, he doesn’t tell you to stop.

he just... watches. and then smiles, squeezes out what can only be described as a broken whine, and tilts his head back once more, relinquishing all control of his body over to you. the scene divulging into a chorus of mumbled words, fuck and please and yes becoming the only word yunho knows, the only three you hear. 

only as he cums does jeong yunho regain that bit of self-control he’s lost, ripping your mouth off him- a stuttered mumble of i wanna paint that pretty face- and erupting in a mess of grunted moans, cock twitching in his palm as rope after rope of white, hot fluid shoots out of it. it’s messy, and disgusting, and sticky, marking the skin on your cheeks, nestling in your hair, dripping over your shut eyelashes.

the last drops land in your parted mouth as his grasp shakes and you regain the right to wrap your lips around his mushroomed tip.

lips stained in pearly white, cheeks and neck matching too. the throb of your neglected cunt, clenching itself around nothing but the mere thought of having jeong yunho stuff you full, break you in two and leave you spent.

the man in question is in a no better state, head thrown back and chest a heaving mess glistening with the shine of his own sweat. his mouth hangs open, near heaving in breaths of air and his hands, adopting a mind of their own, grip harder in your hair and hold you firmly in place, tongue laving over his sensitive tip, pushing him closer and closer to the ledge of overstimulation.

“fuck- uh, fucking look at you,” sweet voice, foul words. two fingers drag over your cheek, coating themselves in the sticky substance he’s painted you in. “drooling all over me.”

he’s right, you are drooling. down your chin, an uncomfortable damp coat covers your overheating skin as you continue to stretch your lips around his length, ready to rip another thigh-shuddering orgasm out of the man.

yunho grants you no such pleasure.

instead, a grip tugs back on your hair and, before you can feebly attempt to catch your fleeing breath, he’s pulling you up into his lap, straddling you across the well-defined muscles of his thigh. those big, capable hands he pushes himself through pools, and rivers, and all other bodies of water manipulate your limbs however he likes, a rag-doll free for him to toy with for as long as he sees fit.

“yun-” you don’t even manage to say his name properly, not when he grinds you down into his lap, smothering his tanned skin in your juices. the friction runs straight for your pulsing clit and you’re rendered to sinking into his welcoming arms, head collapsing into the crook of his neck, parted lips panting up a storm against his sweated skin.

“that nice for you, angel?” the soft words, the rough hands, the perfect roll of your hips. you feel like you could sob, break apart completely. yunho tracing a hand up the curve of your spine and soothing his long fingers over a knot in you back doesn’t help your case. “bet it is. little bit of release to all that tension you’ve been feeling, yeah?”

you think you nod.

it’s hard to tell.

sparks fly within your loins, heating you from the inside out. yunho, at some point, has wound his fist into the tresses of your hair, nails scrapping along your scalp. it’s pleasurable, all over, soothing you into a state of utter relaxation, a being with no purpose other than to take whatever this mass of warmth and muscles and width offers you.

his hand makes a fist and gently tugs, forcing a whine out of you as you’re faced with the bright lights once more. traces of his own cum stain the very place your face had lay. it’s erotic to see, drying up your tongue with a need to lick it clean.

“no, no, focus, right here,” a single finger taps at your cheek, followed by the tilting of your chin that forces you to stare back at the hungry eyes of jeong yunho. “eyes on me. want a front row seat to watching your eyes roll back.”

god, he’s filthy, and delicate, and that just makes him all that more filthy.

swiping his digits through the remnants of his sticky cum, he makes sure you’re staring right back at him as those same fingers snake their way down between your grinding bodies and burrow themselves deep in your soaked heat. shallow pumps of his hand fuck his cum-coated fingers deeper, long and lithe enough he barely needs to move to have you feeling him all over, everywhere.

by the time he curls them, pressing against that spongy wall, you’re just about ready to cry.

“think she’s gonna cum,” oh god, no, why must he remind you of your audience? why does it no longer frighten you to have eyes watching you be defiled but, rather, have you clenching around him tighter, chasing that fever-like ecstasy the man means to deliver? “she’s gripping my fingers so tight- shit, almost makes me wanna bust my load just thinking how warm her pussy would feel round my cock.”

“don’t let her cum,” you vow, some day, to wring the neck of park seonghwa. “just cause she’s gone all cockdrunk doesn’t mean she’s earnt-”

“shut up, hwa,” the boy’s thumb pokes up and you can’t help the way you grind down into it, smothering your clit in whatever pressure you can get. “pretty baby’s more than earned it. stop being bitter that i’m the one who’s gonna give her it.”

give you it, he does.

three fingers deep, the cocktail of your wetness mixing with his cum-cated digits aiding the ebb and flow of his rhythm, jeong yunho has your toes curling, eyes rolling, thighs shaking. you blackout, for only a moment, lost in the wilderness of pleasure.

the aftershocks are barely kicking in when you’re suddenly ripped away from yunho’s hold. the sounds of your beating heart and heaving chest muffle the disgruntled exchange of words between the swim-team, inhibiting your ability to stay clued-in on the events that surround you. all you know is that when your body meets the bench once more, on all wobbly fours, jeong yunho no longer sits tall and proud.

a sharp sting hits your rear- a smack, that echoes in the empty space of the swimming hall. the only appropriate response is the shriek you let out, twisted in your own conflicting emotions of pain, and pleasure, and painful pleasure. a second smack meets the other cheek. this time, there’s no doubt a wanton whine escapes you.

“since the rest of them can’t take orders,” you’d already known it was seonghwa whose hands were suddenly all over you, pinning you in a position of submission. the sound of his grandiose voice sends a shiver of anticipation down your spine, top to tail. “i’ll have to do it myself.”

with no word of warning, he smooths his hands down the globes of your ass, teases the crease of skin where your inner thigh meets your dripping heat, and fucks two whole fingers into your sensitive core. knuckles deep, they sit still upon initial intrusion, basking in the warmth of you and coating themselves in the essence from an orgasm you’ve yet to even fully recover from and the cum yunho’d scooped off your own face.

then, at last, when your nails dig marks into the wood below, he curls them a come-hither motion.

with shame painted on your skin, you toss your head back and release an inhumane cry, eyes hazily gazing up at the horrendous white lights above. “oh god!”

“not quite. i do appreciate the flattery though,” there’s no need to glance over your shoulder to know that pompous, trust-fund baby is wearing the most earth-shattering smirk, some stupid strand of his perfectly groomed hair dangling over one of his eyes, like some 90s heartthrob boy-band member. you do it anyway.

park seonghwa is an unfairly attractive man, sporting a beauty so ethereal it almost makes you angry.

that anger seems to dampen the wetter he gets you.

his touch is slow, but by no means is it gentle. calculated and malevolent, he plays with your insides like they’re nothing but the strings to your puppet. a curl of his fingers and one of your hands shoots forward. the torturously slow pace that he pumps his digits in and out, and your jaw falls slack. his thumb bumps and grinds against your throbbing clit, and your elbows give out, sending you crashing face-first down onto the bench.

his free hand presses down on your lower back, bending you deeper, hiking your ass up higher in the air. and, at first, you think you’re imagining it, that trickle of warmth against your other entrance, believing it nothing but a trick of your melting brain.

you’re who-knows how many hours deep in a whirlwind of pleasure and penetrative stares, people have been driven to the brink of insanity over far less in the past.

but then seonghwa’s fingers leave your cunt, warm and wet trails following their journey over your skin. there’s no imaginative mind great enough in this universe to conjure up that initial shock to feeling how he prods and pokes at your puckered hole, lubricating it with the dirty mixture of both you and yunho’s cum and his very own spit.

the tip of his pointer finger ventures onward first, breaking through the surface of your tight muscles in a shallow intrusion.

the feeling has you frozen, frightened, intrigued. eyes widening, moans dying, pussy pulsating in an empty need.

“don’t go getting shy on us now, spitfire,” the collective language he uses brings back the weight of all the boys’ eyes on you. hesitantly, you angle your face off the bench, and regret it the instant you meet the brown comfort of his eyes. “fun’s just starting. ain’t that right, san?”

a tense energy takes over the large room, with san’s shoulders tensing, and yunho’s feet fidgeting, and wooyoung’s cheeks blushing. seonghwa seems impervious to the shift, whether voluntarily or not, and instead invites himself to further exploring the limits of your body.

he’s kind enough to spare a bit of care into the way his finger sinks deeper into your unexplored hole. another dribble of his hot saliva lands messily onto you, aiding the slip and slide of his hand. two, or three, or four strokes of his finger and you’re submitting to the intrusion, hips rutting higher and presenting yourself more to the man.

“come here,” the command calls over your body and, at first, you think its aimed at you. so you try scooting further back, only to be halted by seonghwa speaking once again. “yeah you, choi. come get under her.”

for the first time since this all began, you’re on the precipice of saying no.

they’d listen, all of them. wouldn’t push you, pressure you or force you to keep going, not if you truly voiced your negation. even park seonghwa, as big an arsehole as he may be, would have no qualms ending his fun and agreeing to never speak of this again.

and it’s not that you don’t want choi san under you. far from it, as you’ve already made pretty clear earlier, thighs his personal ear-warmers while his tongue delved deep for your honey-suckle glory. you’re hardly uncomfortable at the thought of him under you, chest rising repeatedly in frantic breaths and legs bent at the knee to give him just the right leverage to fuck up into your messy cunt-

it’s not till he’s three feet away from you, hands fidgeting by his side, eyes looking anywhere but you and your compromising position, and the world’s most obnoxiously boner-strained tent in his swimming gear that realisation washes over you. you’re hesitating because of him, because of his possible discomfort.

what if he wants to say no? what if he doesn’t want to get under you? what if his eyes will never look into your own again, too shocked and disgusted by all the things you’ve let be done to you? by his own team-mates/rivals, too?

hell, you’ve shocked yourself even, never in a million years had you pictured a day you’d be at the mercy of some rich prick, overdressed for every occasion and looking like a vogue-cover-model reject. but when he’s edging another finger into the already-tight squeeze of your ass, and pushing your buttons just enough to nudge you towards an edge that never seems to arrive, how could you ever dream of being anywhere else?

a hand touches your cheek.

soft. tender. it takes the extra time to soothe the pads of its fingers against your burning cheek.

“you feeling okay?” san’s quiet tone, meant only for you, is enough to move you to near-tears. you crave his hug. the position you find yourself in only allows you to reach out and grasp at where his knee bends as he crouches down to your level. it’s all the same, san knows. san understands. his own hand lands on top of yours, messily threading digits.

“she’s literally stuffed with another man’s cum and you’re worried about her? well aren’t you just the sweetest.” a cheap remark from seonghwa.

san purposefully ignores it, and everything about the man, instead choosing to keep his focus on what matters.

you.

“think you could make some room for me down there?” your nose wrinkles at his choice of words.

his giggle echoes.

“no, no, not... like that,” he guides you as he talks, grip moving to your shoulders and coaxing you up into a seating position. somewhere along the way, seonghwa’s hands leave you. he doesn’t stray too far, however, and your back soon collides against his chest. “here, pretty. want you to make space for me down here.”

within seconds, choi san’s back in his rightful place: splayed out beneath you, body fit snug between your parted legs and hair an unruly, sweated mess against his forehead.

no clothing sits between you both, blessing you with the mouthwatering drag of his cock through your folds. hard, and red, and leaking at the tip, a slight curve to the right, dribbling precum against his well-toned stomach. you’re biting your lip before you fully register your own thoughts, body a mind of its own as you grind down onto him.

control is limited and fleeting, that of which seonghwa reminds you without uttering so much as a word. instead, he clamps a harsh grip down on either side of your hips, rucks you up to where he needs you and guides you down onto san’s cock.

it’s thick, imposing and something that seonghwa blesses you no time to ease into things. instead, you’re slammed down, san buried to the hilt inside of you.

“hey there,” delicate fingers skim up the tense muscles in your thigh and find pleasure in delivering a teasing tickle to your sides. “come here often?”

the cheeky grin, the double entendre, the way san looks so goddamn proud of himself for saying it. you can’t help it, you wind up giggling uncontrollably.

wrong choice. bad idea. danger zone.

san contorts in pain, and lust, and something else you’ve never seen behind his eyes before, hissing through his teeth like some feral cat. his eyes match that of a feline too. “you trying to squeeze my dick off or something?”

you compose yourself upon the reminder of that san can feel you tensing around him, pull in a deep breath and find your voice again, at last. “or... something.”

maybe you’re a little out of breath. maybe you’re a little hoarse. it doesn’t seem to matter to the boy below, his only response being to cant his hips up and lick at the fire burning in your insides.

“you two are disgusting,” once again, park seonghwa wins gold in the nobody-asked-for-you-bum-ass-opinion olympics. let’s see if he’ll continue his winning streak and go for gold in the hypocrite-athon too!

the hands on your sides begin you guide you, with seonghwa squeezing his perfectly manicured nails into your plush skin and bouncing you down onto san. up, down, up and down, repeated strokes like the ones their hands deliver each time they breach the surface.

it’s easy, this pleasure. it’s a gift, hand-delivered by two god-like men that sandwich you between them- one a mass that fills you, the other a weight that controls you. liberating in every sense, you can’t help the way your head rolls back to find purchase on one of seonghwa’s shoulders, completely melting into the ways he winds you over san.

“shit, yes, you feel,” san’s no better than you, mouth agape and hands unsteady as they trace every inch of skin they can reach: the dimples of your back, the swell of your breasts, the hood of your clit. his hips are the only steady thing about him, not a falter in the way they grind up to kiss your dripping pussy with his cock. “so good. so warm, tight. love it.”

a hand curls round your front, travels up between your breast and over your sternum. it settled for a grip a round your throat, no pressure applied, it simply exists against your windpipe, a silent threat.

“look what you do to him, hmm,” a squeeze around your neck. seonghwa’s warm breath fans against your ear, taunting you. “look what you’re doing to them.”

through your glossed-over gaze, you trail your way past the sight of san and all his captivating beauty, settling instead on the equally erotic, not-at-all surprising image that stands just past where his head rests at the edge of the wooden bench.

a sweaty wooyoung, bent at the waist and whining up a storm, while a far more composed yunho pounds his hips into the boy’s arse.

your walls clench and san whimpers, a string of curses and pleads leaving him.

“think you’re finally ready for me?” the devil on your shoulder- at your back, more truly,- smirks into your skin, careless enough to not even feign it being anything but a rhetoric question. ready or not, park seonghwa is going to finally get his own fill of the thrill, his own satisfaction, beyond mere observation and controlling.

the spill of your own wetness slips down your thighs as san continues to fuck himself deep. it doesn’t travel far as seonghwa coats himself in you, wetting his fingers before they slip back inside your ass. a few generous, tempting pumps into your ring of muscles, fingers spreading a little further apart each time, till he decides that’s enough, he’s ready, you’re ready.

the unbuckling of a belt.

an unzipping of trousers.

trousers bunched down muscled thighs.

the first cut may be the deepest, but you highly doubt it’s as deep as seonghwa feels feeding his cock into your arse, stretching you apart to make way for him. a part of you feels like it can’t breathe, impaled on both these men who sit so deep inside you, you fear you’ll feel the ghost of their touch for weeks to come.

but what does it matter, really, when seonghwa pulls you back against him and whispers filth against your ear? 

this is all you’re good for. cock-drunk whore. gonna let us cum inside?

and san’s coaxing you down to trail his mouth over your chest, the tongue flicking over your nipple a terrible juxtapose to his crooning words?

taking it so well, baby. so tight, and perfect, and god. ‘s that what baby needs, huh, for me to touch her little clit?

the two men find a rhythm, a synchronised routine to how they pull and push you around. their thrusts ebb and flow, no moment existing where you sit empty. they treat your body like they treat the pool, swimming through your waves of pleasure and effortlessly advancing to the finishing line, the winning stroke. then, san’s hand meets your cheek and your thoughts are dragged underwater, muffling the sounds of everyone else- the shlickt sound that echoes with each inch of cock fucked into you, the high-pitched whimpers of a fucked out wooyoung, the slapping of skin against skin- as he pulls you in for a kiss.

it’s a hungry one, all teeth and tongue and swollen lips. you pull away more breathless than before and fighting back a big dopey grin, toes curling as the swell of one of their cocks hits a nice spot inside you, body too on fire to know just exactly where the new wave of heat is coming from.

“h-how d’you do it, hm?” it’s almost a whisper, something meant only for your ears, yet you hear him loud and clear, voice stuttering off in a mess of whines and moans. “still got that pretty-girl smile, even while getting fucked silly.”

it almost makes you shy, till you remember what you’re doing and who you’re doing it with. you settle for a quick, short answer. mostly because you fear you’re losing the ability to think in full-sentences, much less speak one out loud. “can multitask.”

like your own words are the key to pandora’s box, your eyes widen, and your mouth dries, and your heart reels as a new desire burrows itself somewhere between the parts of you owned by san and the parts owned by seonghwa. the desire makes room for more, for someone more, and, without much chance for second-thoughts or hesitation, you find what little stability you can manage with one hand pressing down onto san’s toned chest and reach forward with your free hand.

fingers, light as a feather, curl around wooyoung’s solid shaft. the man’s hips stutter at the unexpected contact, eyes flying open to glance down in time to watch you reach out your tongue, licking up the droplets of precum that threaten to spill from his mushroomed tip.

“please, god, please!” he’s beyond the point of sense, poor baby, struggling to keep up with yunho’s hips’ repeated slamming into his tight ass. so, you can’t really blame him or shame him for the way he hastily rips his hand through your hair, tugging your mouth as far down his cock as the angle allows.

a few hairs rip from your skull in his grip. you reward him with a pleasant hum, moans muffled with the mouth-full he’s providing you. 

“shit- look at that,” seonghwa pipes up from behind you, the motion of his hips never faulting or failing as he continues to take part in the filthiest three-way tango known to man, hands bouncing you down to meet each raise of san’s hips, plundering the other man’s cock deep, deep, deep, till he’s kissing your cervix and you’re seeing stars before your eyes. “should cup youngie’s- fucking christ- his balls, san, cup ‘em.”

you’re vaguely aware of his compliance, hand lifting off whatever part of you it was touching- your nipple, your hip, your jaw, it’s hard to tell when you feel like san’s everywhere, all over you, part of you- to graze the set of well-groomed spheres that threaten to slap your chin each time wooyoung thrusts forward.

barely two seconds, hardly any pressure against them, and the youngest of the four is nearly in tears, wailing and begging over broken whines that it’s too much, can’t take it, don’t stop.

there’s a ringing in your ear. because everything is becoming too much: wooyoung in your mouth, san rutting up into you and seonghwa’s hands clawing and pulling your body back into each of his overpowered thrusts. the boy in front of you is the first to fall apart, twitching in your mouth and, without a warning, choking you on the cum he shoots down your throat. a hand pulls you back, just enough to paint your face in the final drops released from wooyoung.

one of the other men is next, a string of curses and grunts filling the air. there’s a new stickiness between your legs, gooey white staining your skin. it’s all building up, and up, and up, until you topple over and are sent reeling into wave after wave of blinding pressure, toes cramping up and muscles spasming as you shoot off into another astral field, creaming around san and chocking seonghwa’s cock.

you don’t register the release of your hips nor the crash-down of your body. one moment, you’re pressed back against seonghwa, mouth dropped open in a silent scream for merciless pleasure, and the next you’re cradled in san’s warm embrace, a crooning tone to the way he hushes and calms you, unheard i got yous, and did so good for us, babys, and just let me hold yous falling on deaf ears.

for a moment in your own history, time ceases to exist.

there’s no ticking of the large clock on the wall, reminding you of how long ago your shift had ended. there’s no thoughts of your plant friend drying out in the staleness of your room, desperately awaiting you to revive it with some h2o. there’s no consequences awaiting your actions, no shame to be feared and leaving you unable to look any of the four swimmers in the eye ever again.

instead of being crashed against choi san’s body, a mixture of his, yours, and several other people’s bodily fluids serving as the adhesive that keeps you stuck together in your mess, you’re floating in space, not quite alive but not quite dead, just there. 

nerves tingling, body aching, mind switched off.

four, or five, or ten, maybe even fifteen minutes pass by the time you regain focus on your surroundings.

your name, whispered. it’s his voice that pulls you back, sweet and soft and oh so like the san you’re used to, the one that sends teasing winks your way when your eyes happen to meet his in class, and the one who has the prettiest notes you’ve ever seen, a colour-scheme for his every highlight and the cutest of doodles to go along with the topic on the paper.

the one who’s hand is currently brushing through your hair, fingers careful as they catch on the tangles near the split ends.

“hmm,” you swear you want to say his name, say more than that, but there’s an ache in your jaw that hinders you from even attempting, your voice-box likely having taken a beaten in the throws of your pleasured moans.

“you okay there?” he giggles over the end of the sentence, and you feel your slowing heartbeat stutter at the sound.

he feels you nod into the crook of his neck and lets his free hand find perch against your hip, moments before giving it a light squeeze. 

he’s warm, and pleasant, and soft.

and moving you both into an up-right position, hands splaying flat against your back and keeping you secure against him, your legs wrapping around his slender waist. you drift off again, between time and space, and come to at the first drop of water that lands on your back.

one drop, two drops, and then a downpour of heat crashing onto both of you.

you can tell from the colour of the pinkish tiles along the communal shower floor that you’re in the women’s changing room, and mentally note to thank him, even if he’s not aware, for bringing you somewhere you won’t have to shamefully stumble out of in the nude, your change of clothes safely tucked away within one of the lockers.

“i’m gonna put you down now, okay?” he speaks so gently that it overwhelms you, answering him only with an affirmative nod of your head.

neither of you speak while he lathers shampoo into your hair, nor when he’s dragging his soap covered hands over the cum that stains your skin, wiping it away and leaving nothing but suds where the liquid once was. he doesn’t speak while covering your eyes with his hands, blocking the sting of the shampoo. you don’t speak when you inch closer, head falling forward to rest against his chest.

when he does eventually speak again, both of your fingertips are wrinkled and bodies are clean, the water of the shower serving as nothing but a way to keep warm.

“you’re, uh, not” the echo of his voice in the empty lockers feels so much more intimate than how his cries sounded by the pool. “doing anything on wednesday, right?”

too lazy to move, you angle your face to stare up at him from his chest and take a moment to just stare, look at the way his hair is sticking to his forehead, at the way his eyes are back to being wide, at the way the marks you’d littered along his neck are becoming more prominent.

“how’d you know?” your question confirms his own, and a tenseness you’d not noticed melts off of his shoulders.

“wednesday is race day. you never work race days.”

it’s such an odd detail to have noticed, and it’s making you question everything you thought you knew about your relationship with san. do acquaintances remember each other’s schedules? do acquaintances bring each other soothing teas when they notice the other developing flu symptoms? do acquaintances waste time pulling faces at each other in lectures they should probably be paying attention to.

“i’m not taking part in the race this time, by choice. my grades are good enough, don’t need to worry about winning some championship to keep my education.” san is speaking unpromptly at this point, rambling in a way you’ve only seen him do when he’s nervous, or excited, or both. “it’s okay if you don’t want to, or you have better things to do or places to be! but, i was just thinking, maybe you’d wanna spend some time with me? there’s this medieval market down on main-street, it’s meant to be really cool, and i just think it would be even cooler to go with you? but, again, you don’t have to. forget it, actually, i’m being stupid and assuming you’re not doing something with your friends or your-”

the kiss you interrupt him with is far more innocent than the one you shared earlier, no hands rushing to touch and tongues desperate to taste, just two sets of lips moving as one.

you pull back and he chases after you, lips landing another peck before you’re grasping his cheek in your hold and forcing him back.

“i think you could have asked me to come help clean your apartment for you and i’d still say yes, just to spend my day with you,” you say, and he smiles as if on instinct, unable to stop it even if he tried.

“really?”

“really.”

“good, cause i already bought us two tickets and i really didn’t wanna have to go alone.” there’s drops of water dancing on his eyelashes, and laziness in his every movement, and you’re both still very much naked, but none of that seems to matter when he gives you another peck, like he’s awakened an addiction and your lips are now his favourite vice. “but, now that you mention it, my apartment could do with some cleaning. and i bet you’d look amazing in a maid outfit.”

a slap echoes in the showers.

“hey! don’t worry, i’ll be wearing a matching one!”

[innominaterifter]

The Siberian trial cosplay

I couldn’t resist and did a test photo shoot of Siberian cosplay today. I expected to do a photos in another place, but it turned out to be a closed area. So I had to choose from what was available.

It's funny that I plan to replace literally all the things that are currently in the photo:

1. I like the look of the suit, but it is too small for me, and I will replace it with a larger one since the seams react with a menacing crackle to any careless movement.

And yes, this version of the pattern on the suit is also not the only one I’m considering. I like the look of this one, but I imagine Siberia with other patterns as well. For example, with an asymmetrical pattern or a pattern that does not follow anatomical lines, thus making the image less human.

2. Gloves and socks are purely a test version to see how it all together will look with a suit. This is not noticeable in the photographs, but they were taken very quickly and carelessly: the gloves are medical latex gloves, and the socks are regular white cotton socks painted with acrylic.

I put insoles inside the socks so that it would not be so cold to stand on concrete slabs, but in the future I will think about how best to solve the issue with the appearance of the feet.

I don't like the visible transition and folds between the suit and the socks/gloves. So maybe I'll sew socks and gloves onto the costume, making it one piece.

3. The wig was simply taken from the supplies that I had. This is an unwanted old wig that I dyed some of the strands black. For Siberian, I need a much longer wig (according to the descriptions, she has straight black and white hair down to her tailbone).

4. I didn't do any makeup for this photo shoot, so all the photos are from the back. It was too cold to do makeup outside, and doing it in advance would have been a bad idea since the photoshoot was done at the end of a five-hour walk.

Also, I don’t have a specific makeup concept for this cosplay yet. I'm trying different pattern options, but I have not yet found one that suits me 100%.

5. Lenses.

I didn't wear them for this photo shoot either, but they are really nice. I went through three different options for yellow lenses (not all lenses give the right shade for my eye color), and the one really looks great.

6. I'm debating whether to add small fangs and pointed nails. As far as I remember, Siberian had ordinary human-looking nails, and I don’t remember if she had fangs, most likely ordinary teeth.

[yuurei20]

(This was originally an ask received through Twitter)

"Hello! Can you please elaborate on the time loop theory in book 2 that you mentioned in the tweet where you talked about your favourite theories?"

I am wary about discussing this theory as there are many others who have put much more thought into it than I have, but I can certainly try with what I was able to find :>

(The information in this thread was combined from here, here, here, and here)

The basic theory is that everything we know is repeating in a loop in an attempt to either stop something from happening or to make something happen.

The game’s tagline of “I will show you a true happy ending” (EN: “Let us show you the real happily-ever-after”) could be insinuating that there have already been less than happy endings, and we may have already seen one: while some theorize that the events of the prologue are showing us what is going to happen in the future, others say that it is both that and something that has already happened.

The theory goes that the battle with the chimera (who may or may not be an overblotted Grim) was lost and everyone (or just the prefect) is sent back to try again, thus the opening lines of the game narrated in Crowley’s voice.

(Note: I would have translated this as “I—they—you—only have a little time left. Whatever you do, don’t let go”, but the situation is so vague that anything is possible.)

(Here is a short comic insinuating that this time loop is Crowley’s unique magic (warning: blood, death, a Yuu design))

This theory seems to be largely inspired by Mickey’s comment that he has seen the same dream three times but he also says “your voice gets clearer and clearer every time.”

Since Mickey also shows up in Books 2 and 3 but we were not able to speak with him, it is possible that this is not actually hinting at two earlier loops, just earlier events within the same timeline. This does not dismiss the time loop theory and might mean that this is Mickey’s first time interacting with the loop, but there have been far more than just two or three timelines.

(This account pretends that Book 7 does not exist yet, so that is about as specific as I can get.)

The theory gets kind of wild with references to STYX’s simulation system, supposed inconsistencies with Ace and Epel, Crowley’s potential connection to STYX, etc, but one thing that everyone seems to agree on is: Leona knows.

Leona is extremely powerful and extremely private.

He has had a number of contracts with Azul who is also a powerful mage, and according to Idia he seems like “the kind of guy who always knows he’s dreaming.”

Yana has confirmed that Idia has a part in Book 7 and, with both him and Leona halfway out of their coffins in promotional art, people are wondering if Leona will be stepping up as well.

We know that Riddle’s current personality is a 180 degree change from original plans and that this change was made pretty far into development, after everything had already been approved.

There are also rumors that Leona’s Book 2 was the original Book 6, looking at older promotional information (Book 2 was originally listed between Ignihyde and Diasomnia on the official website).

It is possible that—much like Riddle’s situation—Yana came up with a better idea than what had originally been decided, and it required shoehorning Leona’s drama into an earlier Book in order to make it work.

This would mean that Book 7 used to have significant space for Leona (there is a pattern of the previous Overblotter having a role in the next Book).

That space may have been rewritten for Idia, but it is also possible that Idia’s role was added separately and a role for Leona remains to some extent, which is why they went out of their way to say that Leona knows when he is in a dream.

Theories vary from “Leona is 100% aware of what is going on, broke free from the loop and he is the only one getting older as he tries to save the world” to “Leona knows something isn’t right but not exactly what.”

The proof that people usually point to is his comment where he is unsurprised by Grim “always” eating black stones (which he shouldn’t know anything about), but the phrasing is so vague that he could just be making the connection between the stones and a potential blot-risk.

Another scene that is often referenced in the “Leona knows” conversation is an interaction with Jamil where he accurately predicts Jamil’s attack on Kalim despite how rarely they interact before Book 6.

There are also the three white chess pieces on the chessboard in Leona’s bedroom that seem to correspond to the only three characters in the game with light cosmic magic: a white rook for Rook, a white knight for Silver and a white pawn for Kalim, whom Leona literally refers to as a pawn piece in chess during Tamashima-Mina (these three chess pieces are also displayed prominently in Leona's first Birthday groovy).

Leona also seems suspicious of Crowley, suspects what really happened in Book 5 and is able to literally sniff out magic, which we have seen no other character capable of doing.

Leona is very perceptive in general: he is suspicious of Lilia in Spectral Soiree, calls him an old man when no other character outside of Diasomnia knows his true age, is the first to figure out that Malleus is pretending to be possessed and is able to tell when someone becomes injured and is trying to hide it in both Book 6 and an event.

This is not proof that Leona knows what is happening, but it may be an argument for why it is likely that he knows more than he is willing to let on.

Some versions of the time loop theory say that the same prefect is being sent back over and over again to try and save everyone (which ties into the game’s opening), while other versions say that this is the prefect’s first time being summoned into a loop that has been going on for a long time without them, in an effort by someone (Crowley?) to change the ending of the story.

While not technically part of the game, the Twst novelization supports the first pattern while the manga series supports the second, with new prefects showing up after the previous prefect presumably fails.

Knowing Yana it is possible that the game is actually a third, entirely different pattern with the novel and manga exploring alternatives that were considered for the game but not used.

[pianokantzart]

The Dog Scene from The Super Mario Brothers Movie

Thank you @scribeprotra  for permitting me to unleash this. Followup to this post: X

First of all, this scene is the first time we get to see Mario do actual plumbing, and it establishes that this business isn’t just a pipe dream (ha ha). Mario is actually a really skilled plumber. He sees the problem, knows what to do in an instant, and wraps it all up in less than a minute. So later, when all of Brooklyn is flooded, and Mario laughs that the hired workers “aren’t even looking in the right place”, we can believe he knows what he’s talking about.

Then, comes trouble: Francis The Dog, Mario and Luigi’s first real adversary... a kind of tutorial boss fight. Foreman Spike was antagonistic, but he was all talk. He would bully, threaten, and get aggressive, but he wasn’t going to throw the first punch. Francis, however, is out for blood.

We see an echo of what happened earlier when they confronted Spike. Mario stands between Luigi and danger, pushing him back, ready to defend him. However, unlike Spike, Francis doesn’t walk away, he goes for the throat, and it throws both brothers off kilter. 

Luigi, while anxious and fearful, proves he’s not a man of mindless panic. When Francis comes at him he’s yelling for Mario’s help, but he himself is climbing to higher ground while grabbing the nearest available object (a toilet brush) to defend himself. This pattern continues for the rest of the movie: though he isn’t much of a fighter, his survival instincts are quite good. 

Mario, on the other hand, immediately turns combative when Francis goes after Luigi. He draws the dog’s attention, and they skirmish for a bit before Mario finally seals Francis off inside the shower. Mario is not exactly a warrior yet, but he definitely has good fighting instincts. 

Of course, let’s not forget Luigi holding off the jet of water with the mirror foreshadowing him holding back Bowser’s flames with the manhole cover. That’s been talked about before... I want to talk about THIS shot:

Mario is holding out a wrench like a sword, Luigi is holding up the mirror like a shield. That is them in a nutshell, and why they work so well together: they are sword and shield, offense and defense, impulse and caution, working together to balance each other out.

When Francis leaps at them, they instinctually hold on to each other for dear life, but still manage to duck out of the way at just the right moment as the dog accidentally flings himself out the window behind them. 

Despite the dog being a violent threat, he is also a beloved pet to the homeowners. So what does Mario do? He throws himself out the window after Francis. 

He trusts Luigi won’t let him fall, and he doesn’t. There was no time for a plan to be discussed, they were simply on the same wavelength. 

IN CONCLUSION: The dog scene is what introduces the audience to the very different ways Mario and Luigi react to danger. It also shows us how tight their bond is, and why they work off each other so well, even beyond the emotional support they provide each other. The one downside is that the scene hints at a really cool fighting dynamic that we didn’t have time to properly explore in the film. The next time Mario and Luigi are fighting side by side they’re effortlessly mowing down enemies with the power star, and the sword-shield dynamic is lost. But I’m very excited to see the future of how they work as a team now that we’ve established the setting and set the two up to become heroes. 

[candysims4]

MODULAR SET

A small but adorable set with four items: 1 hair, 1 top, 1 "dress," and a pair of earrings.

THE FULL CREATOR’S NOTES IS BELOW THE CUT.

ALL ITEMS ARE:

TEEN TO ELDER

BASE GAME COMPATIBLE

MADE FOR FEMALE FRAME

DISALLOWED FOR RANDOM

360º GIFs & THUMBNAILS (HOSTED IN IMGUR)

LOLA HAIR

HAT GAME COMPATIBLE

3.730 POLYGONS

119 SWATCH COLORS - 24 plain colors from EA Color Palette - 95 plain colors from my Candy Color Palette

YOU WILL FIND IN LONG HAIR OR/AND STRAIGHT OR/AND UPDO

AMANDA EARRINGS

1.920 POLYGONS

65 SWATCH COLORS - 10 metallic colors - 55 plastic colors

YOU WILL FIND IN ACCESSORIES/EARRINGS

ROSALIA TOP

3.492 POLYGONS

95 SWATCH COLORS - 55 plain colors - 40 patterned

YOU WILL FIND IN TOP/BLOUSE

ROSALIA (DRESS) SKIRT

1.112 POLYGONS

95 SWATCH COLORS - 55 plain colors - 40 patterned

YOU WILL FIND IN BOTTOM/SKIRT

MY SITE (NO AD.FLY): LOLA HAIR | AMANDA EARRINGS (TWO VERSIONS) | ROSALIA TOP & (DRESS) SKIRT Free release on 3rd October 2023

PATREON EARLY ACCESS + MERGED OPTIONS

TERMS OF USE | SEND YOUR FEEDBACK | REPORT AN ISSUE

Thanks to all the cc creators that I used in the pic. And thanks to @maxismatchccworld, @simblrcollective, @s4library​, @wewantmods​, and everybody who reblog this post!

If you’re a cc finds and want to be tagged when I post, please, let me know. You can send me an ask or in DM.

With your help, more people can know about my work! 💖 Love you all, XOXO 💖

CREATOR'S NOTE:

As I was brainstorming ideas for a new outfit, I asked myself a simple question: "Why not create a modular outfit like I did with hair before?" This inspired me to design a dress with a top outfit that can be easily paired with other items, as both pieces can be worn separately. I know this might sound a little unconventional, but I just wanted to mix things up and try something new. I hope you're cool with my different ways of doing things and that you're able to put together some really cool outfits.

The "Rosalia (Dress) Skirt" is in the skirt category, and you know what's great about it? You can mix and match it with other stuff or even with some CC, and it still works like a charm. I personally think it looks cute and works well with sweaters, making it an excellent choice for fall outfits. I plan on creating some sweater looks with this dress in the future.

I've included a few examples to give you an idea of how it can be styled, but feel free to make it your own. Check out the photos on the site.

Rest assured that all the items are categorized correctly, but that doesn't take away from their individual shine.

I was so torn between the plastic and metal swatches/specs for "Amanda Earrings" that I just went for both! They're seriously gorgeous and go with pretty much any outfit.

Last but not least, the "Lola Hair". This cute and romantic low pony with a pretty bang adds the perfect finishing touch to the whole look. It's a versatile hairstyle that can work with different outfits, occasions, and moods.

And as ever, all these items have been made to be worn together or separately - whatever you decide! I hope you like these items and enjoy playing with them. XOXO <33

[casinocarpediem]

▪︎■☆New Years🎊☆■▪︎

☆ 🔞‼️NOT SAFE FOR WORK‼️🔞

☆ trans!bot!Miguel O'Hara / amab!dom!reader

☆ 2k words

☆ late (I faced multiple family issues during the first few weeks of January, so sorry for the delay 😭😭)

☆ words such as cunt, pussy, cock and hole are used to describe Miguel's genitalia

☆ please correct me if I missed anything 😓

°○☆ nsfw under the cut ☆○°

The sound of fireworks. Loud and colorful. One would expect to walk outside and see the display of reds and blues. Even purple or green. Or a wonderful mix of hues patterned together.

Fireworks were symbolic. Fireworks were for to celebrate the new year coming ahead. To celebrate the birth of new months to spend with the people you love the most and to make thanks for the previous year and all of its challenges and shortcomings.

Other people had parties over it. Charcuterie bords plated with soft cheeses and salty cold cuts, added with a side of fruits and oranges. Not to mention the flaky biscuits.

Other people spent time together. Blowing their horns and rambunctiously declaring out their love for all people to hear on the top of their lungs until their throats burned and their ears stung.

You and Miguel decided to spend time together. Of course, a blend of the two given directions to spend the birth of a brand new year.

There was a party held in HQ for the other spiderpeople who were also celebrating new years eve and you and Miguel enjoyed it but had leave sooner on account of celebrating it on your own with him.

"You do realize i could have bought all of that for you" Miguel says with his eyebrows raised. While feeding himself a piece of unflavored biscuit dipped in cream and biting down on the snack. His large hands made it look miniature..

"Well I wanted to treat you, obviously. It isn't fair if you're getting me so much. It's the least i could do. Especially for today." You mention as you sip your wine and smile. Leaning against the circular couch and watching the muffled fireworks from outside pop into colorful combinations with your loving husband.

"I like the Queso de Bola from your universe." Miguel mentions with a huff and a smile then buries his face on your shoulder to lean on it. You snort, then decide to speak, "There isn't a difference between the one from mine and yours... even if it's from the future. It's.. still a cheese ball"

"Yeah. But I can taste the difference. The ones I've got were made by machines. Not cows." You shrug. He has a point. But despite that there isn't much a difference in flavor.

Eventually you two settle on finishing up the charcuterie board and drink the wine you two had. Mundane conversations about life. All the while you had your hands on Miguel's stomach whole you cuddled with him from the back.

He was talking about atomic particles and the more he explained the more wine he drank. Despite his tolerance he became tipsy quicker than you both had planned. Not that anything changed. He just became more clingy and open. And a little sleepy. It was adorable to see honestly. Though, there was no doubt the warmth growing inside of yours and his stomach.

It settles with you both lying down in bed watching some movie that you can't really focus on right now because Miguel's kissing your neck and rubbing his clothed pussy against your thigh. The kisses were alright. You spared some back. But the sudden wetness you felt when his hips moved on your leg had snapped your attention to him.

You finally got your eyes off of the movie and looked at him. Most of his face is buried onto the plush pillows but his eyes had that half lidded look that always made you feel warm. Everywhere. He needed something. He needed you.

You both have done this before. More than once. Of course, he was your husband and he has needs. He has a lot of needs. And you were always receptive of fulfilling them.

Without a word you reached over to him without moving the sheets away and traced your hand down his body. He closes his eyes and sigh softly. Adjusting his own body so that it was now facing the ceiling. Snug right beside you with the blanket covering everything you two were doing.

Your palm brushed against his pecs. So soft. You squeezed on the muscle and he twitches and hums in response. You apologize by kissing his cheek.

You go lower and your hand is on his muscles. Thumb tracing against his torso. He was breathing faster and his squirmed a little. Impatient. You apologized by kissing his nose.

Your hand reaches the spot he had needed you to touch. His warm wet cunt. You wanted to tease him but decided against it. It was new years after all. Why derive your husband of the pleasure he deserved? As a little thank you gift for just being here with you. For existing. Because he loved you and you loved him and nothing will change that. Especially another year to spend with your darling husband.

He groans a little. With the way your fingers rub his cock, and graze against his hole. Overall spreading the wetness. The warmth that is, Miguel. You use your thumb to rub at the slit softly but fast enough for his liking. He pants and turns his head so that it's buried on your neck. His breathing is labored and he does as much as to lick at and bite your neck. His hand rubbing against your clothed throbbing cock to share his own effort.

You groan at the touch. Close your eyes for a second to focus fully on the way you pleasure him and how he pleasures you. You move your fingers down, 3 of them, entering his sopping cunt. Your thumb flicking his clit while moving your fingers back and forth and curling your fingers to press down on a spongey spot that has his seeing stars.

He whines. Growls? Could be both. What mattered was that it felt good his warm pussy felt around your three fingers that moved in a way that had him curling his toes. He gets your fat cock out of your boxers and strokes it properly. Now your distracted. Your fingers move a little erratically inside of his hole. Sucking more in. Greedy little thing.

You continued moving your fingers. In and out. Curling your fingers up at a degree that caressed his gspot in the right ways. Your thumb stimulating his cock. He was shivering. Not from the cold, a blanket ensured that. He shivered with the way your hands moved inside of him. For a moment he stops stroking you because his hands gripped the sheets tightly.

He chokes. And you move your head to kiss him. It's messy. Sloppy. But it's full of love. It's always full of love. Everything you do for this man has always over-poured itself with so much love, he even doubted if he deserved it at some point. Not that you wanted to linger on the thought. Because he deserved so much more.

And when he cums. You're there for him. He whines out when you prolong his orgasm with a few more strokes of your fingers. Thrusting in and out at his usual preferred pace whilst flicking his cock with your thumb. The more he gasps out while his gangs graze your tongue the better. He knows you love him he knows.

You're not even finished with him. Oh no you weren't.

Not when you moved the covers away from his beautiful legs and moved yourself to face in front of him. His eyes were lidded and he had himself waiting for you, legs spread and revealing his vulnerability in its full glory. Only for you. Always for you. You leaned down, kissing his legs. Every scar littered on his skin you appreciate quietly with a soft peck of your lips, maybe a soft bite or two. You can smell his heat approaching the further you go down and it's exciting but you have to remind yourself to be patient.

You leave a kiss on his happy trail and the little bit of soft fat on his abdomen, not giving it what it wants at first. Take it slow. Just the way he likes it. To take your time appreciating him and his body. And when your tongue will part the dark curls coated on his cunt and land your tongue on his hole, hold him down while he squirms and throw his head back.

You'll lap up the slick that's been dripping down his pussy lips since his earlier orgasm and drink it up the more you lick deeper, nose budging his clit. Hold him down, please do. With the way he'll call out your name and arch his back the faster you pressing your tongue deeper in his walls. He'll squeeze you inside whenever you prod and press against that area that has his pussy creaming all over again. When he comes, again, he squirts this time. At this point it's easier to drink up now that you're nearer to him.

He's so sensitive and his clit is throbbing. He's twitching against the bed and his grip on the sheets are evidently strong. Luckily he had made a way to make his bedsheets harder to tear so there was no damage done. He could tear and pull and scratch all he could but nothing would be damaged. Other than perhaps you, some red angry marks here and there on your back.

Like the ones forming now, with your face pressed against his and your own throbbing cock rubbing against his own heat. Wet shy slickness. Rubbing your girth against his clit and he can only whine and make half assed growls, demanding you to go faster. He's cute isn't he? All desperate like that, legs spread trying so hard to get your dick inside him, whilst his ankles pressed against your spine trying to thrust you in himself.

And when you give him what he wants he'll scream again. He'll scream your name. He'll scream because he can feel your cock parting his warm, creamy walls. The soft and humid interior of his pussy. It has you both seeing stars. Just as colorful as the fireworks from earlier. You ram into him and the deeper you go he has his eyes rolling back and his words falling into mumbles. Soft moans and slight growling.

Words you'll hear would be please and thank you. Then it'd turn into curses and demands. Him asking you to hurry up. And if you thrusted into him just right he'd return back to his more polite pleads.

You can feel him squeezing so good around your cock. His hole, slick and just sucking you in. The crown of your cock hitting his cervix and it drove him hazier. He laughs, because the intensity of it all has him in a precious, soft, fuzzy delirious state and you kiss his forehead. To make it all better.

His walls squeeze at you. And it feels so fucking good it's driving you insane and he swears he can feel you deep back in his throat. Because he chokes on his own noises for a good second before his head falls back and he whines again. Rutting against the knowledge of you knowing you'd end up filling him to the brim. Stuffing him full of your cum and your scent will just overwhelm him because you're his and he's yours and anything about you. Your personality, your voice, your scent. He wants every ounce of it and it only multiplies I'm sensation when he knows he's leaking with your love. Your scent and your very DNA in its pure form, as Miguel thinks to himself.

Well, one thing or another, the thought of you filling him up again has him squeezing you and he squeals because it's all so much. Too much. The way you kiss his face and mutter praises into his ears, your hands spreading his legs apart while the head of your cock hits him deep and I'm talking deep. He cums on your cock and arches his back, mouth opened for a silent scream as he growls next and twitches. Claws digging further into your back, he'd apologize for that tomorrow morning.

Right now he was focusing on experiencing the best fucking orgasm he's had for this year. This precious, brand new year. With you and in this bed. When he cums his pussy squeezes you and you couldn't help it either. Coming undone as well with a groan and filling him up full. Miguel's gasps because the sheer warmth of you is making him feel full. Feeling fulfilled. It could be for whatever reason but no matter what it'd be he's so happy to be here with you because he loves you so much and he's so full of your love. Literally.

One things for sure, you were willing to go a little longer. To thank him for being here with you..

(A/N: it's finally here!!! I'm really sorry for the delay afhfhrjjf (҂ ꒦ິヮ꒦ິ) but that's no excuse, so I finally finished this work :) I hope you guys like it. I'll make more soon. Please be patient with me ♡)

[susie-dreemurr]

Translating the “Property of Captain Cellbit” books, aka young Cellbit’s diaries, for English speakers. This was from, I think, 28/10/2023.

Translations of all the books are under the read more.

— Day 34 of exploring!!!

After a week carefully examining the dangerous territory denominated as the “Mystery Lands,” me, Captain Cellbit and my sister, Sargent Bagi, found the perfect place

For our base of operations!

A vegetal species of oak with a similar size to our inicial base (house). We believe that together we can make a headquarters for all the secrets that can be found on this “Land.”

Sargent Bagi says she wants to have a swing in one of the branches of the house. A fantastic idea! If we reach enough strength and high on the swing, we’ll get to see the whole terrain around us!

— Day 45 of exploring!!!

On future days, important achievements will be accomplished, where we will win against all our enemies, but before that, me and Bagi need to practice our defenses.

For this reason today we will start the “Special Training For Explorers!” With mama’s help I was able to build two wooden swords. Mommy didn’t let them be sharp, even through a lot of pleading, but I think this is enough for now!

We’ll practice a lot against each other until we’re ready!

— Day 46 of exploring!!!

Today I want to leave this entry here as a reminder on what to do in case something like this repeats.

On our training yesterday, an accident occurred, and Sargent Bagi was hit

With too much strength by my sword, so at the moment she’s mad at me. To be fair in this situation, she could have dodged better from my attacks, but I admit I may have been a tad too harsh on her. She refuses to look at me

And hasn’t been speaking with me since yesterday.

So today I’ll try to make her forgive me, because exploring The Mystery Lands isn’t the same without her. I tried, it wasn’t fun. I’ll do the biggest surprise for her.

I was able to get together all Bagi’s favorite flowers, all my candy, and I’ll give it all in a big present to apologize. I hope it works, I don’t wanna live with her ignoring me forever.

— Day 167 of exploring!!!

Today, great progress was made in the conquest of the Mystery Lands. Not only was our base completed, but it seems we’re finding out more and more of what surrounds us.

Strange creatures and secrets that seem to slip through our fingers, all around us. It’s like trying to look behind the curtain of a spectacle. I know there’s something bigger behind the show, I just need to look for it better.

I’ll make sure the investigation has a better place to be organized, now that we’re sure another big hole from our base’s floor won’t fall.

— Day 490 of exploring!!!

After observing the workers of the area a lot, I managed to figure out their patterns. They get out of a “tent” each morning, but there are way too many of them to live on a terrain so small.

Tomorrow I’ll investigate this to the best of my abilities.

Unfortunately Sargent Bagi won’t be able to come with me. Yesterday on our training she broke one of the vases mommy made, so she’s grounded until next week.

But this can’t wait. I’ll report everything I find there. She doesn’t know about my plan, I want it to be a surprise for when I come back and are able to show all that I could do without her knowing. It’ll be a great surprise that will cheer her up a lot.

— To Bagi

Bagi, I’m sorry. I can’t come back. I can’t bring you with me or try to warn you. I have to go.

If everything goes well, you’ll be able to find this and know everything. But don’t trust the workers. Don’t trust the cops, don’t trust anyone.

I saw everything inside, they were doing all this beneath our very feet… it’s horrible, Bagi. You don’t deserve this, I don’t want you to have to live with these guys. So meet me on the other side of this ocean Bagi. I’ll be going now, I don’t care if I have to swim until

luck, I’ll swim a few kilometers and stop at some other island and then swim again.

But I won’t come back. Never will I come back to this terrain.

[reddeaddamnation]

Dating dark!Ominis and dark!Sebastian would be like:

Warning ⚠️: Yandere boys, jealousy, manipulation

♡ In the beginning he would be exceptionally meek. He is smitten by your kindness and beauty and will do anything to keep you from leaving him

♡ Does anything you say just to keep you hooked.

♡ While you're getting comfortable with him, he is looking for ways to ensure you always stay with him.

♡ Already planned 3 weddings with you while you were sleeping

♡ You notice he starts hanging around you more and more to the point you don't even have a moment to yourself, let alone talk with your other friends.

♡ You want to sit with Natty this class? Nope. Sebastian already took the seat next to you. Poppy asked you to help her with some nifflers after class? Why shouldn't Sebastian be there?

♡ "I don't understand why I shouldn't accompany you when I'm interested in the same things as you are." He lied. He hasn't touched a niffler in his life.

♡ Star-gazing with Amit? OH HELL NO. Amit is good at astronomy. He can do it himself. Or is that a setup he came up with to get you alone so he can steal you from Sebastian?

♡ Overthinking 24/7 even the smallest thing that happened. Why did that Hufflepuff student had to ask YOU for notes? Why couldn't it be someone else? Why is everyone needing YOUR help all of a sudden?

♡ He is really good at playing victim so even if you confront him, he will act like he was only doing it to protect you, since you have so many enemies and he just wants to make sure you're safe.

♡ Will cry and fall on his knees if you try to tell him something. His act of endearment plays with your mind and he knows it well and is not afraid to use it.

♡ He knows you drop everything you're doing whenever you receive his owl, so whenever you're out and about by yourself or with someone else, he always sends you a letter to bring you back to help him even if its the dumbest thing in the world.

♡ He's not insecure. He is actually very cocky and knows he exceeds in every field, be it looks, intelligence or romance. He is just taking measures to make sure you don't leave him, since he has so many abandonment issues. That's what he says.

♡ If he goes too far and you get mad at him, he goes to great lengths to apologize and returns to his previous meek self for awhile until you cool down. You can see your friends and have a moment to yourself if that's what you want. Don't mind him, suffering and crying alone, punishing himself for a mistake he made.

♡ "Stay with me, Y/N, you know I never meant to cause harm to anyone. You know everything I did was to protect the people I love. You know I love you. More than anything. You know everything."

♡ Would 100% cast an unforgivable if you still leave him.

♤ Just because he's blind, you think he doesn't see the way boys look at you?

♤ If he notices you returning affections, he would do anything to get your attention back to him. Including weaponized incompetence. Yes, he could traverse the halls easily with his wand, but if you aren't with him, he will suddenly feel lost and helpless.

♤ He would go to great lengths to try to get any boy you talk to expelled

♤ If you get into an argument and he lashes out, he would also weaponize his family name, reminding you who he is and that its a privilege to date him.

♤ Of course, he would apologize after that

♤ He actually has no problem with you going out with your girl friends just as long as he knows every detail surrounding your plans and whereabouts. Or he will send something to spy on you

♤ He is an extrasense. Learned all your behaviors and patterns and would know when you're lying

♤ If you do lie, he would pretend that its okay, but mark it for future reference.

♤ Not as obsessive as Sebastian, but if you do decide to leave him, he will make your life hell so you can see he was the one shielding you from trouble with the headmaster.

♤ You will get in trouble for even the things you didn't do. Ominis will rat you out for everything you have ever done and doesn't have a problem if Sebastian gets in trouble too.

♤ Will go out of his way to stalk you and put you up for trouble.

♤ If you do decide to stay with him, he will demand to be in control at all times and expect submission

[imperiuswrecked]

pssst can i please ask you to spoiler the raven baby reveal to me...?

So the summary of X-Men Blue: Origins (2023) Mystique is wandering around New York acting crazy and mumbling about her lost baby, Kurt catches up with her and tries to talk her into calming down.

Kurt gives Raven his sword which breaks the mental barriers and it's revealed that while Raven was married to Baron Wagner, she and Irene were an on again, off again, couple who would hook up with other people whenever it helped their goals.

Raven had hired Irene to be the housemaid so she could stay close while Raven was married to Wagner, using his money/influence as they wanted and having a torrid love affair with Irene in private. Azazel shows up and Irene encouraged Raven to have an affair with him as well, because she had visions of the future.

Basically Irene wanted a love child with Raven, but needed Azazel to believe he was the father because she knew that unless Kurt was set on a path to be his constant foe/destroyer of his plans then Azazel would rise to power.

Irene's visions aren't something she can stop and she lives her life according to how to bring about her visions but she doesn't tell Raven any of this until 5 years after Kurt's birth. So she and Raven have a child, Kurt, and from my understanding of the reading, Mystique can copy the genes down to a molecular level and took the gene patterns from Azazel and Baron Wagner and impregnated Irene. So Kurt doesn't have 2 parents, he has 4, well 5 including Margali Szardos who was his adopted mom. Kurt is now battling for the #1 spot for "most parents and most confusing parental origin in comics" and he's up against the Maximoff twins who have gone through 3 sets of parents.

Back to the story, Raven dumps Azazel who is such a pathetic loser, I love that lol. Raven fakes being pregnant by shapeshifting to look like she is pregnant as the months go by. Baron Wagner discovers his wife's affairs, and being the homophobe he is, is stabbed by Raven who then spends the next few months switching between forms to make people believe that the Baron and his wife are both still around, waiting until Irene gives birth. I'm guessing because Raven intended to use the Baron's money/pretending to be him so she and Irene could live in comfort or until they wanted to move on.

Irene is the one who gives birth to Kurt, and Raven overcome with joy/love for Kurt doesn't want his first sight of her to be human so she reveals herself.

The townspeople are of course in an uproar, want to kill the demon woman and her demon child, Irene tells Raven to get to safety and that she would be ok, but Raven fears for Irene so she leaves Kurt under a tree and rushes back to kill the people who would hurt her wife and discovers Irene is missing, she runs back to find Kurt and he's gone too.

Five years pass and she finds Irene again, this time watching a young Rogue, Irene reveals everything to Raven, the Azazel vision, Irene needed Kurt to be raised as an outcast etc. Raven and Irene both know they are in a toxic relationship, but they love each other too much so they went to the one man who can make everything worse, Charles Xavier. Of course Xavier does what he does best, erases people's memories and implants new ones.

So now Kurt has 2 deadbeat mutant moms, 1 deadbeat demonic mutant father, 1 dead human father, and 1 adopted mother and they all give him the most drama & trauma that you will ever see in comics! Love wins (?)

I am currently taking donations to hire Kurt a therapist (who isn't Professor X), save an elf's sanity and donate /jk

I will say that this origin, though very messy, does at least confirm that Irene is just as messy/toxic as Raven, so I hope they continue to be totally bad for each other and 100% in love, which is very refreshing to see in wlw couples and I really hope they do not try to soften their edges, especially Raven's, I do not want a "good mother Raven", but time will tell. Also finally Kurt is Baron Wagner's son technically due to partially copied genetics so it finally makes sense for why Kurt has the Wagner last name, which is something that always bugged me, because imo if he had zero connection to the Baron then he wouldn't have the Wagner last name. Also this doesn't invalidate the Azazel retcon from before because again technically Azazel believes Kurt is his son, and Kurt does have partially copied genetics from Azazel.

I think it was a really tough balancing act to have to write, I wish it could have been written a bit better or the thoughts of Rogue actually being Irene/Raven's daughter would have worked better. Like imagine if Raven and Irene were both pregnant, Irene had Rogue and Raven had Nightcrawler or Irene had them both as twins, then they wouldn't just be foster/adopted siblings but also bio siblings, and it could have opened up the door for more stories involving them as brother and sister trying to deal with their mothers. Marvel constantly ignores the potential for Rogue and Kurt's sibling dynamic and I wish we got more of it in the comics. I get that the writer was trying to keep to the old canon while creating the new canon and using the original plan for Kurt's parentage, so while I feel it's way too complicated this is also comics where complicated plots and retcons have been a long standing tradition meant to torment us readers.

[suzukiblu]

Day twenty-nine of fic NaNoWriMo, obligatory sugar daddy Tim/sugar baby Kon AU.

Kon disassembles his sand castle back into the original pattern without looking, Tim experiences multiple internal crisises, and someone passes by with a tray of hors d'oeuvres. Tim, in self-defense, grabs a couple of the little crostini things on said tray and offers one to Kon, who looks pleased about it. 

“I dunno, does this count as a party?” Kon asks, glancing around with a little grin before popping his hors d'oeuvre into his mouth. Tim does the same, then remembers this means that now he knows what Kon’s mouth tastes like again. Dammit. 

Kon’s mouth currently tastes like ricotta and roasted grape, which isn’t even necessarily a taste that especially appeals to Tim, aside from the part where it’s how Kon’s mouth currently tastes. Why do people even roast grapes? Why is that even a thing? 

Why does Kon look so attractive in slightly smudged eyeliner he put on for him and clothes he bought him? Like–Kon always looks attractive, it’s an incredibly unfortunate curse on the world, reflexively checking out his ass in spandex literally did get Tim thrown off a roof once, but this attractive? This is several new layers of “attractive” and Kon is wearing all of them like a second skin. A very tight and fitted and well-tailored second skin, to be specific. One with cutouts and short-shorts involved. 

This metaphor may be getting away from him. 

“Technically I think so, though maybe not the usual kind,” Tim says. “I mean, it’s sort of a party, it’s just mostly an event. Maybe they want donations or something, I don’t know. Museums usually do.” 

He assumes that’s what the ticket money went to, or at least a fair chunk of it. They were pretty expensive tickets, considering, but since it’s an adults-only special event that isn't obviously themed in either a rogue-baiting or rogue-planned way he hadn't really questioned it. Getting overcharged by a probably-underfunded art museum isn't exactly enough to trot out his inner Bat or inner future supervillain for. 

Well, as long as nobody on staff annoys or insults Kon, anyway. Because in that case he will be financially destroying this place. Like, obviously. It's a little early to be planning his supervillain calling cards, but “you know what you did” is an increasingly tempting option. 

Anyway, that's just a contingency plan. Totally unnecessary as long as Kon has a good time. 

“What’s over there?” Kon asks, peering towards another station. Tim wonders why he’s asking, since he assumes he can feel it, though in retrospect “feeling” whatever it is doesn’t necessarily explain the purpose or point of whatever it is. 

“No idea,” Tim says. “Why, does it feel interesting?” 

“Um.” Kon . . . hesitates, then glances back to him, looking oddly–embarrassed, almost? Weird, Tim thinks, repressing a frown. “It’s, uh . . . kinda, I guess. I dunno. Wanna check it out?” 

“Sure,” Tim says, peering towards it. It looks like a series of boxes with holes in them all stacked on top of each other, though he can’t see what’s actually inside them–there’s curtains or something built into them. He’s not really sure what the whole setup’s supposed to be, honestly, but if Kon’s interested . . . 

They head over, and it turns out the whole setup is basically the same theory as those haunted houses where they make you stick your hand in a box full of peeled grapes and cooked spaghetti and tell you they’re eyeballs and brains, although Tim is hoping peeled grapes and cooked spaghetti won’t actually be involved. 

“So there’s literally zero surprises here for you, I’m guessing,” Tim says wryly. Kon looks sheepish. 

“We can go do something else,” he says. 

“I mean, I’ll be surprised,” Tim points out. “So up to you if you’re interested or not.” 

“Okay, point, I guess,” Kon says, laughing a little and rubbing his arm self-consciously. “I dunno.” 

“Tell me which one to try?” Tim suggests, smiling at him. Kon laughs again, ducking his head to hide a grin. That continues to not be as effective as he probably wants it to be, given their height difference, but Tim has no intention of pointing that out. He doesn’t want to make Kon more self-conscious, and also it’s fucking adorable. 

Bastard. 

“You sure about that?” Kon says, his grin turning sly as he glances back towards him. “You don’t know what’s in there, babe.” 

“I’m willing to live a little dangerously,” Tim replies with an easy shrug. Kon laughs again. 

“Okay, but don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he teases.

Tim quickly regrets letting Kon pick which boxes he should stick his hands in via trying said boxes, but also Kon just looks so fucking cute laughing at the different faces he makes for every one, so it’s hard to actually get annoyed about it. Also, Kon admittedly did warn him. 

Although he might’ve rather put up with the peeled grapes and cooked spaghetti, honestly.

Seriously. Those are some textures, ugh.

[saintmurd0ck]

kiss and don't tell

masterlist

pairing: elektra natchios x f!reader + matt murdock and frank castle

summary: when frank and matt tap elektra's phone to figure out what she's up to, the last person they'd expect her to call is you

warnings: phone sex, matt and frank arguing like husbands, f!masturbation, elektra making everyone in her vicinity whimper, m!masturbation, exhibitionism

a/n: credits to my lovely @chvoswxtch for inspiration with elektra's phone background and @mikeymurdock for confirming darling matthew's birthday! this is my first time writing for elektra so be kind pls & HAPPY FUCKIN PRIDE !!!

“Thought you said she was always on that thing,” Frank grumbles, tapping on a flat-screen monitor displaying the layout of a phone lockscreen. He stares intently at the red supernova background, scrunitising on the halo of stars ringed around the edges of the phone. 

“She is,” Matt murmurs, furrowing his brows until they almost disappear beneath his glasses.

Frank sighs, leaning back in his chair, interlacing his hands behind his head. “It’s been four hours, Red. Why don’t ‘ya get some shut-eye, and I’ll stay up.” It wasn’t a question.

“Can’t be,” Matt breathes, mussing his hair. “It’s happening”–he pauses, fingers flitting over his watch–”tonight.” 

Disconcertion settles over Frank’s face as he wonders if this really is the way he’s spending his Friday night. His mouth quirks to the side. “First I’m gonna ask you how you know that, and second I wanna know exactly what we’re doing.”

“I know her, Frank. I just… know.”

“The fuck kinda answer’s that?” Frank glares, incredulous. “What, so you can listen to people breathing five blocks away, anticipate a bullet’s exact trajectory and now you can predict the future?”

Matt loosens his tie, looking more offended at the implication of being a fortune teller than at any other of Frank’s digs tonight. ”Of course not! S’just that… all of a sudden, she’s back in my life again. I wanna know what she’s doing, why she’s here, and what she has planned. You don’t know her like I do, Frank. Elektra isn’t good news.”

Frank yawns. “So? Ask her.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Hmm.” 

A muscle feathers in Matt’s jaw, the tension more palpable than ever, especially with the time ticking idly by. He adjusts the earbuds connected to the laptop in front of him, straining for a single sound, or any hint of activity, but he picks up on nothing. 

They’ve got all her communications tapped, thanks to Micro and his–as Foggy so aptly put it–technological wizardry, but this inactivity is well beyond her arrhythmic patterns. Matt glides his fingertips over her activity logs; every record of data painstakingly collated by Micro throughout the last two weeks. If there’s one thing about Elektra, it’s that Matt could count on her being out on a Friday night. 

Matt’s aware of Frank’s narrowing eyes, in similar concentration on the monitor ahead. “You think she’s really gonna leave us hangin’?”

“No, no, it’s just– she’s smart, okay? She’s smart, but I don’t think she knows. She’d make it obvious otherwise.”

“I dunno Red,” Frank shrugs, “Baitin’ your ex like this? That’s ballsy. Even for you.”

Matt’s head whips to the side at the mention of that word, ears pricking at the sudden dilation of Frank’s pupils, and the acceleration of his heartbeat. He’s readying himself for a fight. “I’m not giving you the satisfaction of a response, Frank.”

Frank tsks. “Ah, but ‘ya just did.”

Click.

It’s the unmistakable noise of Elektra’s phone being unlocked.

2-1-1-0-8-7

Matt straightens up in his chair, pushing his earbuds further in. “Frank!” he hisses. “Screen!” 

“Ain’t that your birthday? October 21?” Frank smirks.

Reddening, Matt pushes the grating thought aside. He’d discuss her passcode later, when time wasn’t of the essence. “Keep an eye on that screen–”

“She’s calling someone,” Frank interjects. He squints at the display. “Who’s… ‘Darling’?”

“Darling?” Matt stumbles over his words as the dial tone rings a little too loudly in his ears. “I-I don’t know.” 

There’s a hint of amusement in Frank’s voice. “She ever call you that?” 

But Matt’s response comes out quick. Too quick. “No!”

Frank’s mouth curves into a smile. “S’what I thought.”

Matt goes to retort, but the purpose of this mission embeds itself in his mind. “We have full access to her calls, her internet history, all her devices…If she’s planning anything, it’s gonna be tonight.”

“Can’t believe I’m sayin’ this, but I trust ‘ya,” Frank nods. “We got her.”

“Alright. I’m taking these out.” Unceremoniously, Matt yanks the earbuds out of his ears, wincing as the dial tone plays over the loudspeakers wired to the entire setup. 

Frank cocks his ear towards the speaker in the corner, glancing at the call logs laid out on his lap. He counts softly to himself. “I’m seein’ this Darling a lot. At least twice a day.”

Before they can deliberate further, Elektra’s ambient voice fills the tiny space. “Hello, Darling.” She pauses, hinting a smile. “Ready for me?”

Frank arches an eyebrow. “The fuck?”

“What took you so long?”

Matt stands up so abruptly that his chair falls to the ground, dizzy with the clang of metal on concrete. “That’s–”

Out of all the people they’d unassumingly characterised as the mysterious Darling, they would never, not in a million years, expect to hear you. 

“Did you look at the package I had delivered to you?” Elektra purrs, honeyed in a way that prickles the hairs on the back of Matt’s neck. “I would’ve sent it myself, but duty calls.”

“Shit, Red,” Frank chuckles. “You’re in deep shit.”

“It’s beautiful,” you say, “and it fits perfectly. You know me so well, Ellie.”

“Ellie?!” Matt mouths. “What?”

“I knew it’d fit, Darling. Now be a good girl and spread those legs for me.”

In complete disregard of Matt choking on his own spit, Frank’s eyes fly open. “This part of your mission?”

“N-no. Definitely not. But–” Matt hesitates, swallowing dryly. “We need to keep listening. For all we know, our friend here could be a contact.”

“Fuckin’ perv.”

Feeling his temper rise, Matt takes a deep breath, willing his urge to fight dissipate. “S’there a way to turn the volume down?”

“Beats me,” Frank replies, nonchalant. “But small world, huh? Our friend–”Frank emphasises–“and your ex. A girl you’re into and a girl you used to be into.”

“I’m not into her.”

Frank snorts. “Yeah, you are.”

“Hmm,” Matt says, nodding, “so explain why your heart beats faster around her.”

There’s more than a hint of annoyance in Frank’s reply. “What?”

“I know you heard me correctly, Castle. You can’t hide shit from me.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Frank growls, kicking his chair away, sending the call logs scattering to the floor. 

“I’m so wet for you,” you gasp, unknowingly diffusing yet another fight, your breathy moans barely audible over the speakers. 

Frank stiffens, his fists unfurling from his sides. “Wait, wait, wait. Did I just–”

The tips of Matt’s ears go pink. 

“Mm,” Elektra muses. “I can still taste you, you know.”

“And how do I taste, Ellie?”

Elektra laughs, the sound crystalline. “Delicious.”

All of a sudden, it feels as if the labyrinthine, constricting nature of Micro’s lab seals off from the outside world, trapping both men and their paramours inside. 

“Please,” you whimper, every stuttered breath punctuating the words that come to mind. 

“Use your words, Darling. Please what?”

“Tell me how to touch myself.”

Frank shifts uncomfortably in his chair, wringing his hands as his eyes search for a distraction. “Feels like we’ve crossed a line, Red.”

“Since when have you ever cared about crossing lines?” Matt asks, scowling. “It’s pertinent. To…the mission.”

“Cut the shit. We’re not in Catholic school. You can just admit you’re horny.”

“Jesus, Frank! I’m not…”

“Of course,” Elektra hums, but the inflection in her voice indicates the kind of coyness that tells Matt she’s in complete control, physically present or not. 

Strained nostalgia sends him into overdrive, even more so as he contemplates just how she knows you. 

You, of all people, he knows, would be better off without someone like Elektra. 

Yet here you are. 

“Use one finger, Darling,” she continues, “and touch your clit for me. Up and down, just the way you like it.”

“Fuck,” you murmur, squirming as Elektra conducts your pleasure. “I want more.”

“Greedy, aren’t you? You’re lucky I feel generous tonight. Do you think you could handle two fingers?”

Matt exhales softly, licking his lips as he falters back to his seat. “Maybe you’re right.

“Yes,” you whisper. “Anything you ask for, Ellie. I can handle it.”

“Good girl. Let me hear how wet you are.”

Tipping his chin towards the ceiling, Matt reaches forward, fumbling for the cable connecting the speakers to their set up. “We’ll try again tomorr–”

“No,” Frank murmurs, holding his hand out reflexively.  He hesitates swatting Matt’s hand away from the wire, but he still follows through, however unconvincing the gesture seems to be. It’s true; his stance was different just moments ago, but he thinks about it carefully now. Maybe Matt’s right, and the outcome of the call will be more useful than not, but maybe, buried deep down amongst the feelings he harbours for you…

“Why?”

Saying nothing further, Frank turns his attention back to you, still conflicted about whether or not he should listen in.

Positioning the phone between your legs, you lean down to rub your clit, alternating between featherlight strokes and deep-pressure circles. As you begin to splinter with the thought of your impending orgasm, you dip two fingers into your pussy, hoping the mic picks up on the slickness pooling between your legs. 

Slowly, you stretch yourself out, picturing her there, watching you. Savouring you. “God, Ellie, it feels so–”

“Mm,” Elektra moans, pausing to praise you as she ruffles around her nightstand. “Can you guess what I’m doing?”

You slide a pillow under your hips, groaning as you rock against your fingers. “I’m picturing you and your legs spread, your red silk robe draped over the side of the bed, and you’re– fuck! Fuck, Ellie–”

“Cum for me, pretty girl.”

Crying out, you arch your back into your own touch, riding your hand until your body recovers just enough to go again. “I know you’re… you’re grabbing your favourite dildo, so you can fuck yourself while you fuck me.”

“Hm, has anyone told you how clever you are?” 

“You’re picturing it, aren’t you?” Matt asks, his face indiscernible. “The two of ‘em, together.”

Frank nods, pressing his lips together. “Yeah.”

“I guess we finally agree about something,” Matt says, chuckling.

“Yeah? And what’s that, exactly?”

“Do I really need to spell it out for you, Castle?”

Elektra huffs into the receiver, a faint buzzing emitting from her end of the call. “Put the phone down, Darling.”

“But–”

She continues, humoured and unfazed. “I can still hear you, don’t worry. I want you to use one finger on your clit, and hm… Three fingers in your pussy.” She poses her next words as a question. “Although, I know from the way you moaned my name that you added a third without asking?”

“Mm, Ellie–”

“I’ll let you off, just once.”

With every noise he picks up, Matt feels himself growing flustered. With all his tells laying out in the open–the flush in his cheeks, to his staggered breathing–he’s a dead giveaway. He pulls his tie over his head, unable to form a single coherent thought, the pretense of the mission long gone. Clearing his throat, Matt sits upright, draping his arm across his lap in an effort to conceal his growing erection. He opens his mouth to say something, anything, but one of Elektra’s moans punctuates his focus, catching him off guard. 

Warmth singes Matt’s spine as he notices Frank’s gaze sliding to his lap.

“Shit, Red,” Frank murmurs, shaking his head, “I’m just… gonna leave you be. Okay? Call out when you’re… done.” He stands up promptly, stalking to the bedrolls in the other room.

“Wait–” Matt calls out, wanting to communicate that being left alone to act on his impulses is the last thing he needs…

But Frank makes a good point. Especially when he’s off to do the same thing.

“You know I can hear you jerking off, right?!” Matt yells. 

Frank’s retort bounces off the walls. “Mind your own damn business, Red!” 

“Whatever,” Matt mutters. Grateful for the privacy, he takes a moment to unbuckle his belt, tuning out the clinking of the metal in favour of the conversation overhead.

“Will you do me a favour, Ellie?” you gasp, pumping your fingers in and out of you with increasing speed.

“That depends on what you want.”

Desperation limns your voice, but you’re past the point of caring. “I want to hear you fuck yourself. Let me hear you cum.”

There’s a shuffle of fabric on the other end of the phone as Elektra makes a small noise of approval. 

Matt doesn’t need to be told that she’s moved in favour of a better position. 

Cowgirl was always her favourite.

He groans, still fully clothed, bucking into his hand as he concentrates on Elektra’s rhythmic breathing and hisses of pleasure. He palms himself, knowing she’s riding her dildo the same way she’d ride him, knowing just from the way she sounds that she’s getting close.

But she’s not the object of his attention tonight.

Not when you’re right there, unbelievably tangible yet barely within his grasp.

He wants you, affirming the thought as he pushes his underwear down; just enough to wrap his fist around his cock. He doesn’t have time to take it slow, so this will have to do.

In the other room, the noises you make echo in Frank’s mind, playing and replaying until he’s forced to hold onto the concrete wall to maintain any semblance of sanity. He squeezes his eyes shut as he fucks his hand, picturing you all stretched out, taking him until he has no more left to give.  

As if they both hadn’t just spilled into their hands, unable to shake the relief that gave way into yearning, they remember that there is still the matter of the mission at hand.

“I… I think they’re finishing up,” Matt rasps, rolling his chair up to the laptop on the main desk. 

Frank replies with a curt nod, taking his place on Matt’s left. 

“Better?” Elektra exhales, satisfaction now evident in her tone. 

“Always.”

“Same time tomorrow, Darling?” she asks, cheerful. 

“Why don’t I come over to yours, Ellie? We can leave the curtains open again, give New York a little show.”

Elektra clicks her tongue. “Ah, like the one we put on tonight?” 

Frank shoots a sideways glance at Matt. 

She continues, more resolute than before. “I think an in-person show might be better. Don’t you think so, boys?” 

“No goddamn way,” he mouths.

Elektra pouts. “You both came awfully fast, didn’t you?”

Frank was right; they’d listened far too long. To something far too personal. 

Matt swears, searching for a way to end the call. 

“You really think I wouldn’t find out? Amateurs.”

Frank sighs as the dial tone rings in their ears, clapping Matt on the back. “Well, I think our cover’s blown.”

“Yeah, no shit.”

“Nice knowin’ you, Red. Nice knowin’ you.”

tags {x} for everyone who interacted with the original post/people who might like this 💗 @v4leoftears @devils-dares @chvoswxtch @itwasthereaminuteago @castlesnchurches @reborn-rekall @qu1etwolf @marvelswh0re @munsonownsmyass @murdock-and-the-sea @fxlsealarm @hailey-murdock

[kinzis-writing]

Better Than Revenge | M.R [1]

Y/N Nettleby thought that her relationship was going perfect. They were planning their future together and making arrangements for their lives to fall in line. So when Theodore ruined the image by breaking up with her, Y/N was heartbroken. There was only one thing on her mind, revenge.

Pairing: Mattheo Riddle x Y/N Nettleby, Ex! Theodore Nott x Y/N Nettleby.

{This is the first time I have written something like this so I apologize if it is bad. My friend got me hooked on the idea of Riddle character and I wanted to try to write for him. Also, you may notice a pattern with the chapter names, it was my cousins suggestion that I use taylor swift lyrics so if you do not like her, I apologize. Also, I imagine the characters older, so the ages in the harry potter movies will NOT correspond to my writings.}

Warning(s): slight cussing, cheating, heartbreak.

i. "There is nothing I do better than Revenge"

Prologue: Introduction

*Not edited*

Y/N Nettleby looked at her work with a satisfied grin, it had taken her hours to set up for the special date with her boyfriend, Theodore. They had officially been dating for a year and the girl had decided that she was ready to take the next step with her boyfriend, and she was hoping tonight would be the night. She had her friend, Hermione, stay with their mutual friend Ginny tonight and the other roommates had already had plans for a party in Ravenclaw.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Hermione asked as she grabbed her pajamas to get ready and head to Ginny's room. "It's not my business but boys like him..." she trailed grabbing a few books as well.

"It's what I want, Mione." Y/N promised giving her best friend a small smile. Hermione gave the girl a small smile before heading out and heading to the youngest Weasley's room.

The girl sat on her bed and patiently waited for her boyfriend to come up to the dormitory, he happened to know Gryffindor's password and he knew his way to Y/N's room. They had agreed on having a quiet night in and he would come over around 7 o'clock. It had now hit seven and she was patiently waiting for his arrival.

A knock on the door sounded at 7:13, causing Y/n to fix herself quickly and rush to open the door. The girl had a bright smile on her face when opening the door, but the smile was quickly dropped once she seen the state of her boyfriend.

Theodore's hair was slightly disheveled, he seemed nervous and anxious, and he looked ready to run. "We need to talk." were the words that left his mouth when he locked eyes with his girlfriend.

"Well, happy anniversary to you too." Y/N spoke sarcastically as she moved out of the way to let him come into the dorm. It was not their exact anniversary date, but it was only a couple days past. School had kept Y/N busy to where they did not get to spend time on the actual day together. "What's going on?" She asked noticing how he was acting. It was unlike Theo to act like this unless he was out in the hallways. He was not a very affectionate person outside of the dorms, simply because he believed in keeping up his reputation. He is very intelligent, and quiet, but will always obey his parents and keep their legacy alive.

"It's over." He simply stated with a shrug, unsure of how else to go about this. He knew she would take it hard either way, but he had to get it out in the open so he could leave. "I'm breaking up with you."

Y/N felt as if she had gone into shock, her emotions fluctuated. She felt numb a bit at first, until she felt the tears start to well up in her eyes. "What? Why?"

Theo sighed and ran a hand through his hair, "you want the truth?" he asked softly. He knew that she would hate the truth, but she deserved it regardless. "I slept with someone else." He spoke truthfully. The pain in the girl's heart only stinging more. "I tried to wait; I really did. It's who I am, and I am sorry." without another word he had gotten up and left the room.

As soon as the door closed behind the Slytherin boy, Y/N sunk down to the floor and let the sadness overtake her. The tears freely came out and she wasn't trying to stop them. She had the dorm to herself tonight and she made the exception to wallow in self-pity for the night. She would pick herself back up tomorrow and act like nothing had ever happened.

🪄

The next day, it was harder for the girl to get out of bed. She had slept through breakfast and was almost late to her first class of the day. It was not like her to be late and to skip breakfast, but she was hoping to avoid any conversation until after classes.

Y/N honestly thought that she could contain her anger, that was until she seen her brother at the end of the hall talking with his girlfriend and Mattheo. The Nettleby siblings did not really have much to do with each other, they were close until they were sorted into separate houses. After that, Y/N became the disappointment of the Nettleby family as she was in Gryffindor when the family was a group of pureblood Slytherins.

Storming up to her brother and his two other guests before letting her mind think rationally, "You're a shit brother, you know that?" Y/N snapped when she got in front of her older twin brother. They were fraternal, so they did not look anything alike. "I know that we don't talk much, but you could have at least given me a warning about your little blood brother." she spat with a harsh glare.

"Excuse you?" Sean muttered not knowing what his sister was going on about.

"You could've warned me about Theodore cheating on me." She spoke clearly for her brother to understand. "I get that you pieces of shit are all "big and bad" but that is pretty bad for you to do your own sister like that." She finished before turning away and storming off to get to her next class on time.

'I'll get my revenge, Theo, you just wait." She mumbled to herself before walking into class.

Part 2

Happy Thanksgiving!! I'm in the US so some terms may not be correct and I apologize. I love harry potter and I wanted to try to write for Mattheo, this series will probably only have about 8 parts to it. No more than 10 for sure. I'll see how far my plot will go (I have a whole rough draft I have been changing). This is just the introduction and will involve more content in the coming chapters!

[kasagia]

I'll be back for you pt. 2 (end)

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova/General Kirigan/The Darkling x reader, Kaz Brekker x reader Summary: The battle is still going on. Not only the one between Alina and the Darkling but also the one inside you. Which side will you choose to be on? Who will you support? The choice is only yours. Warning(s): Darkling, angst, quarrels, fighting, bl00d, the reader is having a hard time and doesn't know what to do and who to choose, but we all love these two guys Word count: It depends, but 13k+ in total Taglist: @woowwwee @aemondsb1tch @queenofspades6 @unofficial-jaytodd-wife @kentucky-criedfricken

"Moya soverennyia?" Fedyor's voice snapped you out of your thoughts. You turned to Heartrender, giving him a gentle smile and telling him to continue.

Over the course of this month, you've already gotten used to your new role, announced by the Darkling to his Oprichniks and Grishas.

His partner. His heart. His moon. The new Soverennyia.

So far, Aleksander has kept his promise to make you his equal. But you've been waiting patiently for the day when keeping you on an equal footing with himself will not be in line with his plans.

And you didn't know whether to be glad or disappointed that he was serious about keeping that promise.

"Y/N? Shall we go?" you looked up at the man, remembering what he had come for. Kirigan asked for you.

"Yes. Thank you, Fedyor." you nodded as you walked out with him by your side. You smiled as soon as the man started babbling about the latest gossip from the camp. You appreciated that he was trying to make your trip pleasant by at least trying to strike up a normal, casual conversation with you.

Another thing you had to get used to. If there wasn't an unsettling Darkling figure hovering by your side, it would be either Ivan or Fedyor. Kirigan insisted that their presence around you was necessary to keep you safe.

Like you weren't a powerful moon summoner.

The Darkling's "care" didn't blind you. He was afraid that you would run away again, that despite everything—all those tender words and promises whispered into his skin under the cover of the night—you were not fully devoted to him. That even though you were with him in body and mind, you left your heart with a group of your "crows".

And he was right.

But you weren't willing to give him any evidence.

"Sankta Y/N!" the guard at Aleksander's tent of council announced your arrival, interrupting all conversations between the general and his chief commanders.

"Come here, moonlight." the Darkling has summoned you without even lifting a glance from the papers. You took the only empty seat right next to him and glanced at the maps spread out in front of him. "Ivan and his men have been on the trail of the firebird for weeks and finally found something interesting… I thought you'd like to know more about your future amplifire." he whispered in your ear as the conversation around you resumed.

You nodded your head, turning your gaze to the man closest to him. You smiled as you saw Fedyor (trying to) fawn over him imperceptibly. Maybe you and Ivan didn't get along very well, and your relationship with Fedyor deteriorated after your "betrayal", but you'd have to be blind and insensitive not to notice and appreciate the bond between them. You couldn't help your stupid heart long for something they had.

"Something wrong, zyoma maya olya (moon of my life)?"

"Last week was a bit tiring, that's all. Your mother can be a pain in the ass." you mumbled, taking his hand. You unknowingly began to draw patterns on the skin of his hand with your finger, making him feel better. Something that didn't go unnoticed among the Grishas present in the tent.

It turned out you weren't the only one left behind. Aleksander caught Baghra.

From the old woman's story, it seemed as if all he cared about was keeping the two of you captive. Thanks to the saints, no other crow caught his special attention. Except Kaz...

"I'll repay you for taking care of her, milaya. In a month, no one and nothing will get on your nerves, moya tsaritsa."

"Hold on to the titles. Ravka is not at your feet yet."

"It will be. As soon as we enlarge the fold, the whole world will be at OUR feet. And then we'll make sure that no Grishas are afraid or ashamed of who they are ever again."

You wanted to believe him. Really. That he cares only for the good of people like you, but you already knew him too well to allow yourself to be that naive.

"I dream of nothing more, Aleksander." you whispered, making sure only he could hear his real name. He smiled, cupping your cheek with his hand and placing a tender kiss on your forehead.

"What will we do with the rebels, moi soverennyi?" one of his Grishas caught your attention. Your heart beat slightly faster at the mention of your friends. Another trick you had to pick up pretty quickly with so many heartrenders by your side. You silently thanked Nina every time you used her trick to calm your heartbeat. Only thanks to her, no one has yet received any clues or evidence that you can play the role of a double agent. "Or deserters? They should not have the honour of seeing Ravka get greater after years of oppression."

"The courts will judge them. We will not deal with such unimportant things; as soon as we secure our country from hostile neighbours, we will deal with internal changes. We'll make sure the Grisha are safe on their own land. There will be time for everything else later."

The courts... when Aleksander's plans come true, he will become a tsar. Establisher of new laws. Guardian of peace and justice. He will judge his enemies. You couldn't let any of your friends stand in front of him then. Or better, to prevent Aleksander IV/The Darkling from reigning at all.

"The sooner we get there, the better. What do you think, moonlight?"

"The people are tired, and our horses are too. I don't think a day's delay will do us any harm. Everyone will have enough time to gain strength and prepare for the firebird hunt or other tasks."

"With all due respect, moi soverenyi, Lady Y/N is right. The mood in the camp is not good; people could use a little respite."

"Then it will be as my moon said. Tell our people to get ready for tomorrow. You can get some rest yourselves. You all are free." Aleksander released them, shocking both his men and you with how easily he changed his mind.

He put his hand on your thigh, stopping you from leaving the tent with his soldiers. It wasn't until the last Grisha was out of your sight that he turned completely towards you.

"Are you sure everything's okay? You've been acting weird lately." he asked, examining your face carefully. You really wish Genya was here… she'd be better at concealing your dark circles than face powder.

"Weird? No I... I just trying to fit into a new role. I have to admit that it's very hard to be you." he chuckled, moving your chair closer to him so you could lean against his side. He ran one hand through your hair and wrapped the other around your waist to feel you against him.

"I don't know what you do or how you charm everyone around you, but you don't have to try very hard to earn their respect. They already value your decisions and adore you. They even call you a Sankta. It's so much more than I'll ever be."

"Should I call you Sankt Aleksander, then?" you asked, raising an eyebrow with a teasing smirk on your face, to which he just snorted in amusement. If you were a heartrender, you would know how his heart beat faster as soon as he saw that smile on your face.

"As long as I have my own star shining for me, I can stay known as The Saint With No Stars." he said, kissing your cheek and resting his forehead against the side of your head. You sat like that for a while, enjoying the hug and each other's presence.

It wasn't just your people who were tired. You two, too, have felt the burden of the past few weeks acutely. The search for amplifiers, the fights between Aleksander and Alina, your secret help to the crows, performing in front of an audience, recruiting new Grishas—Aleksander's entire war campaign took its toll on him as well as on you.

And while you wanted to curse yourself for seeking solace in the arms of the man who made you go through all of this, you just couldn't (and didn't want to) deprive yourself of his comforting presence. Ironic, right? To find peace and safety in the arms of someone you should hate with all your heart.

"You're not alone, my little saint. You can tell me everything that bothers you. You don't have to deal with your thoughts by yourself." he whispered into your hair, holding you tighter.

He wasn't Kaz. If he had heard even a speck of your doubts, he would have increased his guard around you and watched you more than before. He couldn't know what was in your head, what tormented you day and night, or the moral struggle within you. That you felt something for both of them at the same time. And that even if you tried so hard for the last few weeks, you couldn't sort out your feelings.

"It goes both ways, Aleksander." you mumbled, pulling away from him so you could cup his cheek with your hand.

You ran your finger across one of his black scars. He narrowed his eyes as soon as he felt your soft skin on his scar. You knew he hated them. That he despised any reminder of what had happened in the fold. About how his volcra played with him. For a moment, you thought he would drop the idea of extending the fold after this. However, in some strange way, his encounter with the volcras only strengthened that desire.

You planted a small, tender kiss on one of the particularly large scars—the one running down the centre of his face. Aleksander sighed tremblingly.

"Using merzost and summoning nichevo'ya only makes them worse. You do not have to do that. You don't have to destroy yourself from within to fight this war."

"I'm not weak. I know my limits, Y/N."

"I never doubted it, Aleksander." you ran your hand through his hair, calming his anger. You've probably both been surprised at how easily you can change his mood every time you do it. "You are hundreds of years old, more experienced in your power than any Grisha on this earth. That doesn't mean that you'll listen to your limits or that you won't push yourself beyond your safe border. You know what I'm worrying about all the time? You. Whenever you use this."

"Don't bother yourself with it. I'll always be back for you. No matter how many nichevo'ya I summon or how much merzost I use. Nothing can keep me away from you."

You didn't answer anything. Instead, you moved to his lap and caught his lips in a tender kiss.

It was your safe answer to each of his gentle declarations of love. He would never refuse your kiss; the feeling of your soft, warm lips on his was like nothing else he had known or felt in hundreds of years. Unfortunately for you, he wasn't the only one whose heart beat faster the moment your lips met.

And even though neither of you trusted each other, you enjoyed that little sweet moment between you two. After all, everyone needs someone close to them.

Even an enemy company was still better than none. But could you still call Aleksander your enemy?

~•♤♤♤•~

You had to admit that even though you were "on Darkling's team," not much had really changed in your life. For example, for balance, instead of dreaming about Aleksander, you dreamed about Kaz… and you didn't know which of those dreams were worse.

On nights like this, when you lay by Kirigan's side (which was rare considering how much of a workaholic he was), you weren't afraid that he'd accidentally hear you whisper Brekker's name. Even the shadow lord had to rest sometime, and when he did, he usually slept soundly.

That's why you fell asleep peacefully, wondering if your mind would give you at least a moment of peace and let you enjoy a blissful, unconscious sleep.

You groaned as an unimaginable amount of light hit your eyes. You rubbed your eyes and turned on your other side to hide your face on the shoulder of the man next to you. A very familiar and rare giggle made you open your eyes immediately.

"Kaz?"

"Finally. I thought I wouldn't wake you up until noon. And believe me, I've tried many things. Even the trumpets." he was surprisingly in good spirits, and the mere fact that he didn't flinch from embracing you while you were lying on the same bed under the same duvet told you it was just a dream again.

A real Kaz would never do something like that.

No matter how much you want it.

"You obviously didn't try hard enough." you finally choked out, glad to see that familiar amused-annoyed look on his face.

"Well, our little crow couldn't wake you up either."

"Little crow?" you asked, confused, but the man ignored your question. He ripped the covers off you, to your surprised squeal, and tossed them on one of the armchairs.

"I'll take care of her today. You and Jes are on a scouting mission at one of the mansions of those "rich snobs," as you like to call them. And for the saints' sake, Y/N, it's just a scouting mission. Our daughter doesn't have the best role models anyway; it doesn't help that her mother fights all over the place with literally everyone just because she's a powerful moon summoner and thinks she can do anything." he said as he was going through the closet. He threw some clothes at you, laughing when instead of you catching them, you let them hit your face.

You were so shocked that you couldn't make a move.

"Daughter?" your question remains unanswered again.

"Get dressed and go downstairs. Nina is making breakfast. I think you wouldn't want to miss it, Moonstone."

He left the room, leaving you dazed on the bed. What the fuck was going on here? You had a daughter. With Kaz. It really was a twisted dream.

You got dressed anyway and looked around the room. No extraordinary things. Just a bedroom with things that would probably belong to Kaz and you. You sighed as you opened the door. Your room was normal, practically identical to Kaz's, but the hallway looked... homely. Too homely, judging by the toys scattered around and the drawings of crows, Kaz, you, and some little kid. Your child.

Having no idea what might be waiting for you downstairs (apart from Nina making waffles and Kaz), you hesitantly descended the stairs as if they would take you to the heart of a great battle.

And you could partly say you were right.

You made your way to the living room, where everything else looked pretty normal. A few drawings, crayons, and pencils were strewn across the floor (some of the child's masterpieces were intertwined with Kaz's plans), but other than the usual mess, there was nothing out of the ordinary here.

The problem started behind the door leading to the dining room with an open kitchen, from where came children's shouts and laughter.

"Mom!" something small attacked you as you walked into the room, hugging your legs with all its strength so that you almost fell to the floor. "Aunt Inej helped me climb a huge tree! And Uncle Jes, Wylan, and Mat promised me and Lily that they would make us a playhouse on it. And you know what?! Dad taught me a new trick; can I show you?"

The pleading reflection in the eyes, so similar to yours and attached to a little face that was the perfect combination of you and Kaz, left you speechless. You were looking at your daughter. Child of the Moon Summoner and a Bastard from the Barrel.

"After breakfast, little spitfire. Let your mother wake up. Our moon girl doesn't take mornings very well." Jes answered for you as she dragged you to the table where the rest of the crows were sitting. Between him and Wylan sat their own princess, probably the same age as your daughter.

It might be unrealistic for the crows to be sitting in your kitchen eating breakfast before going on their missions, but you had to admit that as strange as it was, the dream was very... enjoyable. Especially when you saw your daughter climb into her father's lap and order him to cut the waffle into smaller pieces.

Even though you could barely make sense of the situation, everything seemed... normal.

As if Inej should always be showing the children tricks with her knives at the table, and Wylan and Jes should be bantering at your table with themselves and their adopted daughter like a good old couple.

As if Nina was always meant to be your cook, laughing at that "Mr. Amazing Hat" should have paid her double for feeding you all while she forced Matthias to help her.

As if Kaz was doomed to watch them all with a little smirk, occasionally giving you a fond look while he entertained your daughter on his lap.

And for a moment, you felt as if you belonged to this world of your invention, as if you had always belonged there.

The crows dispersed (too fast for you), leaving you alone with Kaz and your daughter, who ran upstairs to get ready to spend the day with Uncle Wylan, Lily, and Dad.

And when Kaz took your hand, pulled your chair closer to his, and caught your lips in a soft, sweet "good luck" kiss, you prayed to all the saints you knew to never wake up from this dream.

"Be even a minute late and I'll send half the Dregs after you." you shivered as his ungloved hand caressed your cheek gently.

"Kaz Brekker worried about someone? I can't believe I lived to see that day." he adjusted the ring on your finger—the exact same one he gave you to defend against the Darkling—and planted a kiss on your ring finger.

"I take care of what's mine." you knew from the mischievous twinkle in his eyes that the bastard had something planned… you never thought he'd want to leave you a hickey on the most sensitive spot on your neck. You held your breath, not thinking, as you threaded your hand through his hair, pulling him closer. "Y/N Brekker has not given any feisty answer? I can't believe I lived to see that day."

And just as his hands finally touched the skin of your hot waist, your treacherous mind decided to end this beautiful, unrealistic dream... making you long for this moment and life you'll never have.

~•♤♤♤•~

You hate waking up like this.

When you had to return to this role. To fight emotions that did not make it any easier for you to make an already difficult decision.

Despite your pure, selfish desire to live as a simple crow, partner in crime (and not only) to Kaz Brekker, you've had to face the fact that you ARE a Sankta. Grisha. The world has given you a role you never wanted. But now that Aleksander had acquainted you with all otkazat'sas crimes against your people, you could not stand aside.

You had to finally take a side.

And you had to do it faster than you'd like.

You sighed as you looked around the empty bedroom. You saw a patch of light behind the curtain separating the Darkling's office from your bedroom. Without thinking, you pulled off the warm duvet and walked barefoot all the way to his office.

You stopped at the entrance to his office, watching as he busily worked on some sketches. His shadows hovered obediently around the distracted man, who hadn't even noticed your silent presence.

"You'll work yourself to death someday, making it too easy for your enemies." you accosted him, sending a streak of very bright light onto the papers he was holding.

You slowly walked towards him; the shadows parted on your way to the dark-haired man, who had been staring only at you since you turned his desk into a bedside lamp.

"Only if I'm not blinded by my moonlight first." with a flick of your wrist, your light disappeared, making the glow of the candle flames the only light in the general's "dark office".

"You're slowly turning into a mole, you know that, right?" he chuckled, extending his arm towards you. You walked over to him and leaned against him as he pulled you closer to him with one hand. "What is this?" you asked curiously, taking one of the sketches on his desk.

The man next to you tensed, trying to snatch the paper from your hands. You sat on top of him, reaching your arms high up to prevent him from doing so.

"Milaya..." he grunted a warning, placing his hands on your waist so you wouldn't accidentally fall off his lap.

Once you had a good look at the drawing, you turned in his arms and slid down so that your back was resting against his chest. You turned your head to look at his face. He stared at the drawing, avoiding your questioning gaze.

"Is it a house plan? Why are you drawing something like this?" he gave you a puzzled look, which made you snort in annoyance. "Don't look at me like that. I'll recognise your line anywhere. What is it for?"

He sighed, gently taking the paper from your hands and tossing it on the desk. He stared at her for a moment, unsure of what to say. But as soon as his gaze met yours, he opened up.

"After our conversation today, I thought that being Ravka's queen isn't something you needfully want… that's why I have this alternative."

"And what exactly are you thinking about?"

"Well… we'd have to take the reins of the new country for a while, but later, when things settle down? Someone else may be dealing with the weight of power."

"Wait… you… are you telling me you don't want to be a tsar?" you were shocked. You didn't know if he was playing with you or if he was being completely honest for the first time you'd met him. His words couldn't be trusted, but his eyes... when they looked at you so vulnerable... It was impossible to even think that there were evil intentions behind those eyes.

"As long as I have you? I don't want a throne, a crown, or having to go to those extravagant balls for highborn nobles who are too self-absorbed to take care of their people. And the last thing I want is to see you miserable because of the life you didn't want to."

"Hundreds of years on earth, and all your dreams are limited to living in a little hut with some moon summoner?"

"Lapushka, these are just preliminary plans. I'm not going to build you a little hut. It will be a palace."

And what could you say when a powerful Black Heretic volunteered to leave his established position just to fulfil some of your stupid dreams of a simple, normal life? What could you say when those captivating dark eyes, eyes that have seen more than one battle and cruel death, stared at you with such affection and devotion?

You did what you always did when you didn't know what to say to him.

You gently grabbed his neck and pulled him into a kiss. If he understood that you only did it when he left you speechless, he didn't show it at all. He enjoyed every ounce of your affection.

"Let's go back to bed, Sasha… tomorrow is also a day." you whispered into his mouth as you pulled away.

"Go. I'll be joining you soon."

You nodded, stepping slowly off his lap and forming a small ball of light in your hand, and headed back towards your bedroom.

"Thank you, Y/N." it completely froze you in place. You stood halfway to the "doorway" to your bedroom, completely unsure of what or why he was thanking you for. Someone who should rather curse you instead of being grateful for anything.

"Whatever for?" you asked, turning to face him, glad you managed to keep your voice from shaking.

"For believing in me. That you are one of the few who still stay by me. I wasn't completely honest, zyoma maya olya. Not with you. Not with anyone for many centuries. Despite my half-truths, you still chose to forgive me. To trust me. To be by my side. To help me." he said, walking over to you with his eyes fixed on yours in such a way that you realised those irises would be your undoing. In one way or another. "I just… I've been fighting this war alone for so long…" a red light went on in your head as soon as his hand cupped your cheek.

He was playing with you. He tried again to manipulate and deceive you. Your mind screamed for you to move away from his touch and do anything to break this spell between you. But your foolish heart was deaf to anything other than Aleksander's voice.

And those fucking puppy eyes he was giving you…

"You're not alone, Aleksander. Not anymore."

No matter how much you wanted to deceive yourself and your mind.

No matter how much you fought against his charm.

It was true. You will be with him till the end...

Either stabbing him in the back or being his queen. You weren't sure how it was going to end yet.

And your confused emotions and gullible heart only made it harder to hate the man who kissed you, like nothing in this world but you mattered to him.

~•♤♤♤•~

This time, you weren't plagued by any strange dreams about the future you might have had.

You woke up alone as usual to a tiny ray of sunlight that somehow made its way through the general's black tent. You involuntarily thought about Alina. Baghra told you she was supposed to take control of your little rebel group. You couldn't help but worry about the fate of the sun summoner. She didn't want to be a saint either. But she seemed to accept it better than you did.

"Moya soverennyia?" you sighed as someone's voice pierced through the tent. You really weren't up to it today.

"Yes?" you ask while still basking in the warmth of a bed.

"The general ordered me to tell you that we're leaving in two hours."

"Thank you."

Fortunately, the messenger merely set your breakfast tray down and did not disturb you any more. Reluctantly, you dragged yourself out of bed, changed clothes, and began flipping through the new letters to both you and the general.

Nothing could have prepared you for a letter from Colonel Rietveld.

With trembling hands, you broke the seal and opened the letter, making sure the envelope was burned in the fireplace as soon as possible. You didn't know how much time you had before Ivan or Fedyor burst in. You had to be quick.

Moya soverenyia,

I hate that name for you so much that it hurts me just to write it down.

Don't worry, I'm not a fool who writes such things at the very beginning of the letter without making sure that only your hands can open it. Despite your firm belief that I have remained that stupid, rash boy, I must say that I am not.

(And you know how much I "hate" proving you wrong.)

I don't know how much time you have to yourself (although I hope HE leaves you much longer compared to the time he is with you. I also believe you realise he doesn't deserve an ounce of your light.) so instead of properly scolding you for saving us and playing hero (lecture you won't miss), I'll get to the point.

We are close. Closer than he realises. That's why you don't have to play martyr, spy, hero, or whatever you're pretending to be now.

We need you with us to end the fold and HIM once and for all.

I need you.

So if you can… come to us. You know where to find me us. Crows always find their way to their nest.

I We are waiting for you, moon girl.

K.B.R.

P.S. I dare you to come back and take what's yours.

I will have you, Kaz Brekker. But only when it's safe for both of us.

"The crows always find their way to the nest… stupidest hint you could have given me, Kazzle."

"Y/N?! Are you ready to go?"

Fedyor's voice snapped you out of your thoughts about Brekker. You threw the letter into the fire, making sure that there was nothing left of it but ashes. Then you took your black-silver kefta and went outside with the heartrender for your first meeting with colonels.

Alina and the crows needed you. Kaz needed you.

If you were to run away, you'd have to do it at night, when Aleksander's guard dogs weren't watching your every step and he himself was sound asleep beside you. You just didn't know if you should do it. Running away would be your ultimate betrayal to Aleksander... betrayal to the other Grisha. Were you ready to fight the people you've become close to over the last few weeks?

All the people inside and outside the tent believed in their Sankta Y/N. That you will widen the fold together with Aleksander. That you will give them peace after years of fear, humiliation, and ridicule. That they would get their own safe piece of land to call home. But is it possible to build a house on the blood, tears, and bones of others?

The meeting dragged on unmercifully, and the mere fact that Aleksander was missing made you suspicious. He did not miss such meetings. Never. Something very important must have happened.

You finished the meeting earlier than planned. Fortunately, no one complained and they obediently left the tent. Fedyor walked you back and left you alone after you lied that you needed to finish packing and that you'd rather do it yourself without anyone's help.

You managed to sneak out of the tent without anyone by your side and go to the tent where Baghra was being held. You had a feeling that Aleksander might have gone there secretly from you. And you were right.

You slipped inside unnoticed and hid behind the tent's multiple layers of curtains, making sure none of them saw you. The shadows circling around the tent only made your task easier.

"Where is your sobachka? She never leaves your side, not if it isn't necessary." you rolled your eyes at the woman's snarky comment. She was lucky you preferred to eavesdrop on them.

"It's nice to see that you're starting to warm up to your future daughter-in-law and are worried about her. Y/N is resting before we left. I guess you understood that this is your last chance to tell me everything you know about a firebird."

"You want to marry her? Does she know about your plans?" she asked, as shocked by his idea as you were.

"No, but thanks, Baghra. At least you're interested in my opinion." you shuddered at the thought of having a woman as your mother-in-law. One of you would definitely not survive this.

"She'll find out at the right time."

"Like about everything else, darling." you thought bitterly. Maybe they were all right. Maybe Aleksander really was a lost cause, not worthy of your time...

"You don't want to learn from your mistakes, do you, boy?" at least you weren't the only one who thought so too. As you could see, Aleksander, however, did not care much about her words, or at least he did not show it.

"What do you mean?" he asked and took a step towards her, getting dangerously close to your hiding place.

"I don't recall Miss Y/L/N appreciating your half-truths lately. Despite what happened, you still repeat your actions. What a pity. But it's good for her. Maybe this time she will be smart enough to see that all you care about is your power and nothing more."

Baghra was right. You three knew it. A pre-Ravka Y/N; a girl before becoming a moon summoner; a thief before being kidnapped from Ketterdam would have fled to the other continent before the Darkling long ago. But you've changed... not exactly for the better.

"Y/N is by my side. She is all that matters now to me. She is the future. She will stay with me till the end. She is the one…"

By my side. I've always seen you by my side.

"Yes, I know she is." she cut him off with her trademark mocking smile. "But WHERE does her loyalty lie, boy?"

It was a very good question. A question you and Aleksander didn't have a sure answer to. You could say that he doubted your loyalty too, judging by the way he tensed slightly under his mother's gaze. But you knew him too well for a moment to have the illusion that he would let Baghra win their duel of words.

"Be careful. You don't really matter anymore. I can find the answer to my question without you. Y/N will help me."

I can only do this with you by my side. As my equal. As a person who thinks like me and can keep up with my plans. As my partner. As the only one I can trust.

"You put so much hope in this girl. What a naive child you became. She doesn't love you and never will love again. Once broken, trust cannot be rebuilt, Aleksander. Whatever beautiful lies she feeds you, they are just empty words. She will leave you. She'll run back straight into her boyfriend's arms right after she stabs you in that black, cold heart."

The silence after her words was painful. For both you and the man. Yes. It could all end like this. It would probably even be best for you - to get away from it all, from him, even before all hell breaks loose with the fold, Grishas and Otkazat'syas in the lead roles.

You could live peacefully. No saints, Grishas, power-hungry people, or your possibly dying just because of what you've become. Only you, Kaz and the crows.

I dare you to come back and take what's yours.

But could you just abandon the Grishas? To leave it all behind, like an unpleasant memory, and cut off from Ravka and her problems forever? Get away from HIM?

I will be back for you, my Y/N. Wherever you are hiding from me.

No. If Baghra was right about anything, it was that Aleksander would not stop chasing you as long as you lived. You were stuck with him. The light of his darkness... unless you eclipse him so much that there will never be any more shadows accompanying the moonlight.

I may not believe in saints, but I believe in you, Y/N. I will always believe in you.

You could have done it. You knew you were capable of this and even greater things. You could kill them both right now if you wanted to. Thanks to the little amplifier Aleksander had already given you, you were much more powerful than any of the shadow summoners.

But could you live without YOUR darkness?

"Tell me where to find the firebird." Aleksander's demand snapped you out of your thoughts. Only now have you noticed that Baghra has somehow gotten out of her shackles, summoning her shadows against her own son.

"It's too late for the firebird, boy."

"Please don't threaten me. It will be the worst for you." he didn't want to fight her. You saw it very clearly in his eyes. And you'd be lying if you said you weren't pleasantly surprised.

"You know that I loved you, Aleksander. I swear I did. But I guess it wasn't enough."

You don't agree with her. She could love him more—enough to wisely outsmart him and set him on the right path. But if she couldn't do it—his own mother— then how big were your chances?

"No, please no! No! Please! No! No!" dread. Something you've never heard in a Darkling's voice or thought he could feel. The sheer fear he showed immediately sparked your action.

You came out of hiding, running inside just in time to get between nichevo'ya and Baghra. A bright white light shot from your hand, blinding everyone in the tent except you. The nichevo'ya moved away from the woman and Aleksander, fleeing from you into a corner.

You glanced at Baghra, making sure she was okay, and ran over to Aleksander, who was kneeling on the floor.

"Y/N?" his low, scared tone of voice made your heart clench with grief. You knelt next to him, wrapping your arms around him tightly and rocking him back and forth.

"It's okay, Sasha. Nothing happened, everyone is fine."

"I… I didn't mean it. I swear. I…" he stuttered through his tears as the effects of summoning nichevo'ya took their toll on him.

"Shh, I know. Everything's all right, just give me a second, Sasha." Aleksander hugged you tighter, to Baghra's snort, which you shot a stern look at. Surprisingly, the woman looked away from you, wincing slightly. You were shocked that she left this tender, almost defenceless gesture of her son without comment. You glanced at her reddened neck from the grip of the shadows. Nichevo'ya must have hurt her badly to show signs of pain. Someone had to take her away and heal her. But you couldn't just leave him like that. "It's okay. I'll stay with you, Aleksander. I am not going anywhere." you whispered, placing a soft, tender kiss on his temple, back to making him sure he's safe. "Ivan!"

You've never been so grateful for the presence of a man hovering over you all the time. From your one glance, Ivan knew what to do next without hesitating for a moment: enter the tent full of shadows and lead Baghra out.

Now all you had to do was deal with the trembling Darkling in your arms, who seemed to cling to you like a child to a teddy bear after a nightmare.

"It's okay. They can't hurt anyone. I made sure they did not come any closer. You're safe, Sasha." you continued to whisper, stroking his back.

After a few minutes of listening to your comforting voice and heartbeat, it calmed him down enough for him to stop clinging desperately to you. He had you on his lap, running his hands over your body - making sure his shadows didn't hurt you.

You knelt like that for a while, looking into each other's eyes in silence. And for a moment, very brief and fleeting, you felt blissful, utter peace, completely forgetting about the cares waiting for you behind the tent curtain.

About people waiting for further commands from their soverenyias.

About the fact that holding you man was a terrible liar.

Love is for madmen, Y/N.

"How much of that have you heard?"

"Enough to know that you can't control them. None of them."

"I can… but only for a while." he murmured, still looking into your eyes and cupping your cheek. It took you a moment to realise what his words meant.

Your light was gone. And the Nichevo'ya themselves returned to him. Which should be impossible, considering you attacked them moments earlier. They should want to kill you. Just like Baghra.

And then the truth hit you.

Aleksander wasn't lying when he told you that you were his anchor. Only with you near him could he fully control his new power.

You didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

"Aleksander..." you chose to whisper his name tenderly and pull him into a kiss to calm both his maddening heart and your tangled thoughts.

You may have just saved Baghra, but will you be able to repeat your feat for someone else? Will Aleksander's shadows listen to him again and refrain from attacking you?

If Darkling had no control over them, why was he so desperate to enlarge the fold - to inflict even more pain on himself? Did he want to get rid of them this way - by exploiting most of his power? Or maybe he knew that his end was near anyway, and enlarging the fold was meant to be the culmination of his whole life? Maybe that's why he was so willing to give up a future for you. A future that he wouldn't have anyway?

You had so many questions, but the only person who knew the answers to them didn't seem willing enough to reveal their secrets. And yet... maybe it was enough just to talk to him? Before Kaz, the crows, Alina and Mal put their plan into action and got rid of him forever.

I dare you to come back and take what's yours.

Were you brave enough to confront the Black Heretic about the truth he was hiding? Did you even want to be privy to his plans?

I will have you, Kaz Brekker. But only when it's safe for both of us.

One thing was certain.

You had to choose a side.

Before it's too late to rescue your true love.

*Yes, there are two endings*

~•♤♤♤•~It's okay to love them both. I did - Katerina Petrova~•♤♤♤•~

You didn't know if you were doing the right thing.

You didn't know if removing the fold would actually solve the problem, or if it could have been solved peacefully by convincing the Otkazat'syas to create equal rights for the Grisha.

You didn't know if, after destroying the fold with Alina and giving Ravka's power to Nikolai, the situation would stabilise at all.

You didn't know if you could defeat the Darkling.

But you knew where and to whom to run as soon as the first stars appeared in the sky.

You weren't thinking at all. You just grabbed a few essentials and left everything behind as you ran straight ahead, exactly where your instincts told you to go. It's as if the moon and stars themselves led you to HIM.

Kaz was right. Crows know how to find their way to the nest.

You don't know who was more surprised. You or Inej patrolling their hideout. But you both agreed to throw yourselves into each other's arms as soon as your eyes met.

"It's good to see you." she murmured as the two of you parted. "Alina was worried that you'd changed your mind, that the Darkling had manipulated you again. Even Jes was panicking, and I have strong reason to believe Kaz is planning a way to get you out of HIS camp right now. Nina can't stand how his heart pounds every time the outside door opens."

"Then let's go inside before they storm against a hundred armed Grishas."

Inej put her arm around you and you both entered through a hidden passage to their "nest". You walked down the hall and were about to run inside when Inej grabbed your wrist and put her finger to her lips to silence you.

"For God's sake, Kaz, it's just Inej! Can you calm down before you have a heart attack because you get excited every time someone opens that damn door?!" Nina's annoyance amused you. You giggled, feeling genuine and carefree for the first time in months.

A sudden silence filled the living room. Inej dragged you with her to the entrance, confirming the crows' suspicions. You were home.

"What? No welcome hug for your moongirl? Ouch."

Jes was the first to lunge at you, nearly knocking you to the floor, and if it weren't for Alina, who was on your other side, hugging you with all her strength, you would have probably landed on the floor.

"About the damn time, Y/L/N."

You laughed a second time, hugging the rest of the crows who had joined you. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Nikolai and Mal watching the scene with a smile. However, the group was effectively blocking your view of the one person you desperately wanted to see.

The tap of the staff made the crows and Alina move away from you. You were standing in front of Kaz, composed as usual, whose face showed no emotions. But the eyes… you were probably one of the few who could read those eyes.

"Missed me, Kazzle?" you asked, grinning mischievously as his nickname left your lips.

However, he didn't respond to your provocation. He stared at you for a moment, then took one slow step towards you. Then the second. Third. Fourth. His cane tapped on the old wooden floor until he stood in front of you. You were centimetres apart.

And just as you were about to make some funny, sarcastic comment, something astonishing happened. Kaz Brekker, Bastard of the Barrel, Dirtyhands HUGGED you.

You already hugged him. You were so happy and blessed by the saints that you knew the feeling of those arms around you. But he'd never done it so... calmly. As if his waters would never rise. As if Jordie couldn't appear in front of his eyes at any moment. And the soft sigh that only you could hear as he buried his face in your hair hinted at relief. Not fear. Not anxiety. Not disgusted by the touch. Just relief. And comfort.

"Welcome home, moonlight."

You didn't know how long your hug lasted or when the others left the room, leaving you alone. All you knew was that at that moment, your world was limited to the man in front of you. Your friend. A partner in crime. Your one true love.

Suddenly (much to your silent protest), he pulled away from you. You watched in surprise as he began to take off his glove. The ring stone gleamed in the candlelight, as did your white light, which unconsciously began to emanate from you the moment he hugged you.

"It belongs to you." he caught your eye, and without taking his eyes off yours, he took your left hand gently and put the ring on your finger. You shivered as his warm fingers touched your icy skin. You watched mesmerised as he leaned over your hand and placed a quick kiss on your ring finger.

"Who are you and what have you done with Kaz Brekker?" you whispered in a trembling voice, unable to believe what was happening.

"No snide remark about how unromantic I am proposing to you? Who are you and what have you done with Y/N Y/L/N?"

"You know damn well you need a bigger ring to propose to me."

"Duly noted." you giggled, which made him smile softly. You stared at each other, taking in the sight of each other and watching the changes in your appearance. You were both tired. You could tell by the dark circles under your eyes, but nothing could take away the sparkle of happiness. "I thought you'd stay. WITH HIM."

"I guess I just can't stay away from you for long. Even if there is someone who needs my help more than you."

"We need you. I… I need you." with his still-gloved hand, he cupped your cheek, never relaxing his grip on your hand as he moved closer to you. "I want you, Y/N Y/L/N. And I'm not gonna wait ages for you, just because it's never going to be safe for us. That's how we both live. Still in danger, fighting our enemies as well as we can. We can bear and deal with as many problems as no one else. If you hadn't come back for me, I would have come for you. And if I couldn't walk, I'd crawl to you, and no matter how broken we were, we'd fight our way out together—knives drawn, pistols blazing. Because that's what we do. We never stop fighting. I… I will never stop fighting to be back with you. And those months without you… I told Pekka that the trick is not to love anything. Never, in all the years that you were gone and that I had you by my side in my worst and my best moments, have I ever realised that I was fooling myself. I loved this whole time, I still love and I'll always love."

"Kruge?" you saw him fight both his irritation and a smirk that threatened to break his bitter façade.

"I'm trying to be romantic for you here."

"And I'm trying not to cry and look even more like a mess. So forgive me for intruding on your speech with my comments you didn't anticipate, Brekker." he smiled, which made you mentally congratulate yourself on this small victory.

"I want you, Y/N Y/L/N. All of you." he suddenly let go of your hand and cupped your other cheek, moving so close that your noses were almost touching. The feel of his skin on yours was unearthly. It felt like a dream. And you'd curse any saint if it all turned out to be just another one of your dreams. "No matter what I have to do."

He was fighting with his haphephobia. For you. Because of you. And the sudden, impossible thought at that moment that you could live like in your dream crossed your mind.

You would take anything he could give you. It doesn't matter how much it would be, if it were just quick kisses on the forehead, hand, cheek, or a hug once a month. You don't care, as long as you have him.

"You've never had a problem getting what you wanted. What's stopping you now?"

And if Nina was annoyed by Brekker's rapid heart rate before, now she was furious when your heart had a fucking fit when Kaz kissed you.

You gasped in shock, freezing in place as you felt his soft lips on yours. Only after a moment, when Kaz wanted to move away from you in embarrassment, you grabbed him by the hair and pulled him to you, returning the kiss with all your longing and burning heart for him.

He must have breathed in relief as you took control and guided his inexperienced lips (although you had to be honest, he made the heat spread over you - which the sudden flash of white light illuminating the room only proved). You had to work on this sudden release of your light in his presence. Something that Brekker won't fail to joke about at the earliest opportunity.

You moved away from each other. You watched him closely, making sure he was okay. Kaz pushed your hair behind your ear and leaned in for another kiss. You were about to stop him, fearing it would be too much for him all at once, but luckily someone else interrupted you.

"Finally! The tension between you could be cut with a knife. Zenik! Give me my money! I was right—he'd pounce on her as soon as he saw her. That's my boy! Look, Wylan, how fast they grow. Only yesterday, he was our little boy who hadn't had his first kiss yet."

"Jesper." Kaz growled, glaring at him sternly. You were amazed at how quickly he went from sweet Rietveld to menacing Brekker.

"Yes, brother?"

"Run."

Jesper didn't need to be told twice. He grabbed Wylan's hand and dragged him deeper into the hideout, laughing. From the loud slam of the door, you guessed he had locked himself in their room with him.

"Saints, Kaz, you can actually look happy!" Nina decided to take over the role of the absent Jes.

"Don't be ridiculous." he snarled, taking your hand and pushing his way through the people in the hallway, probably following in Jes' footsteps and locking the two of you into his own room.

But Nina was right. There was no mistaking it for anything else. Kaz Brekker was smiling like an idiot in love. And you probably had a similar smirk on your flushed face.

~•♤♤♤•~

You made it. You and Alina destroyed the fold. With fascination, all of you watched as it slowly disappeared from the world.

But it wasn't over yet. You glanced briefly at Kaz and the crows and nodded to Alina. The final stage of your plan. Defeating the Darkling.

You and Alina separated, walking through the remnants of the fold with your own lights at the ready.

You knew you'd be the one to find him. He wouldn't mind adding even more drama to the situation.

After you left him, he tried to contact you by infiltrating your dreams, but with the two amplifires in your body, you were now too powerful for that trick to work any longer.

You walked among the worst of the remaining shadows, knowing full well that he must be among them. You could feel it through your bond.

"Aleksander." you said without turning to face him. You knew that he was there, watching you, as always.

"Y/N. Are you going to kill me?" the mockery in his question fueled your anger. You turned around, drawing your sword in front of you. You were right. He stood surrounded by the remnants of the fold that defended itself against the destructive power of you and Alina.

"You left me no other choice." you snapped back, tensing as he took a step towards you, not caring at all about the weapon in your hands.

"Your hands are shaking. It doesn't make you look like a formidable opponent, my Y/N."

"I don't want to kill you, Aleksander. I never wanted to." you decided to change your tactics. You lowered your sword and walked over to him, facing the man as you both stared at each other.

"We could have changed the world. You and me. Together."

"Yes. We could." his gaze flicked to your lips for a moment, then he looked at your eyes again, searching for any feelings in them. This time, you'll lure him into your trap. You will be his end, just like you promised him. Even though you really didn't want to. "But I was never yours, Aleksander. I was meant to be a crow. Not a saint. Not a moon summoner. Not your equal. Maybe we could have had it all, but not in this life."

"We shall meet again, Y/N. This is not the end of our story."

"Possibly…" you took a step closer, resting your forehead against his. "But it will continue only in hell." before he could summon the shadows, you blinded him with your light, and in one swift movement, you plunged your sword through his heart.

"Without me… now they will come for you." he tried to scare you by reminding you of his shadows.

"Then let them come." you took the sword out of him, flinching as black liquid began to drip from the blade to the ground. Aleksander fell to his knees. You dropped your weapon and grabbed him as you helped him lay on the ground as he took his last breaths.

"And yet I die in your arms." he paused, coughing up black blood. Your guilt increased as grief overcame you. He didn't deserve such an ending, but you knew there was no other way but his death. "Make sure there is nothing left from me. Please, Y/N. Please."

"You have my word... I'm sorry, Aleksander." he cupped your cheek with his hand, staring intently at you as death slowly took him away.

"Don't be… my sweet, little saint." his hand dropped, and his head tilted back towards the moon shining next to the sun. Aleksandr Morozova died.

You screamed, suddenly feeling the light in your chest trying to split you apart. You don't know how long you screamed air from your lungs until the pain went away. With tears still streaming from your eyes, you stood up on shaky legs.

"Y/N?!" Alina ran over to you, immediately helping you stay on your feet. "What happened? We only saw your light and heard your scream."

"I… I don't know… I… I don't feel my power, Alina." the sun summoner had no time to reply. Kaz was on the other side immediately, carefully examining your face and body for any wounds. "I'm fine, Kazzle. Will you help me? I… I promised him something."

Brekker glanced at the Darkling's lifeless body. He nodded to you, handing you his cane.

"Take it. And tell us what to do." you took it from him with trembling hands and stood leaning against it. It actually helped. It was easier for you to stand on your own two feet.

"We have to… we have to burn him."

The funeral, if you could call it that, was modest. Alina and Kaz (and later you, when you convinced Brekker that you could pick twigs with his cane) made a funeral pyre, and Alina lit it with her light.

Your power has not returned. You had your suspicions.

You stood at the burning pyre. Alina and you stared blankly at Aleksander, both in their own ways "mourning" his passing. You felt Kaz's burning, worried gaze on you as you stood holding the metal crow's head tightly in your hands.

"Are you sure that…"

"Yes, Kaz. I am okay. You don't have to worry, I'll give your cane back in a minute." he opened his mouth, ready to argue with you, but luckily, you were interrupted.

"What happened there?"Jesper asked you when the crows finally got to the three of you. They stared at the burning pyre in shock.

"I killed him… the Darkling... Aleksander. And I think I accidentally lost my powers because of it. He was an amplifier. Apparently you can only have a few before it takes your powers."

"Should we be concerned that you don't care too much?"

"No. I never wanted to be a saint. I guess it was always my destiny to be a crow." Kaz gave you a worried look. You sighed, nodding your head slightly. He knew you better than anyone else. He knew how the Darkling's death affected you. Even if you led him to it. He walked over to you and grabbed your hand, drawing letters on your skin.

I am with you. Through everything.

I know. Thank you, Kazzle.

"So this is the end?" Jesper's question pulled you both out of your silent conversation.

"Of this journey. There will be another. And another one. And another. And so many others until we all hadn't had our own palaces and tonnes of kruge." you said with a smirk, taking the hat from Kaz and putting it on your head, to the crows laughing and your boyfriend snorting.

"Sounds good to me, moongirl. Wait… we'll have to come up with a new nickname for you. But that's later. So? What's next, boss?"

Kaz glanced at Alina. She nodded at him, giving you a small, tired smile.

"Follow us." Kaz grabbed your hand and led you arm-in-arm. You both held on to his cane.

You smirked, out of the corner of your eye noticing Inej disappearing into the shadows and the rest of the crows following you. You turned your gaze to Kaz. You looked at each other, exchanging knowing smiles.

Ketterdam, your bastards are coming home.

~•♤♤♤•~It's okay to love them both. I did - Katerina Petrova~•♤♤♤•~

"What are you doing, lapushka?"

Even though he came from behind you, you didn't stop packing. You're used to him sneaking up on you when you least expect it. This time, you even felt his presence before he spoke.

"I'm packing my things."

"I can see that. My question is: WHY are you packing into your backpack instead of OUR chest?"

Several hours had passed since "the Baghra incident". The whole camp was packing up. Including you. You weren't going to stay here any longer and pretend everything was fine. Since Aleksander was going to pursue you anyway, you might as well break his heart before you leave. Just like he did with yours...

"You're a very, very clever man. I guess you can figure it out on your own. Like everything else." you replied coolly, never pausing to fold your clothes to give him even the slightest glance.

"Milaya… it was a really crappy few days. If you want to punish me, then…"

"I'm not your mother, Aleksander." you interrupted him coldly, not taking your attention for a moment from the things you were packing. "My job is not to raise, punish, admonish, or pay attention to you. But I don't think that you actually care when Baghra tries to give you some sense, so that would be pointless action from my side anyway."

"Then what is this? Manifestation of your anger and irritation? Should I get on my knees before you and apologise?"

"Well it would be nice, but as honest as saying that Ivan is our army's sunshine, so you can keep this, I believe, very considered apology for yourself."

"Then what do you want from me?"

"Nothing." your indifferent attitude annoyed him enough that he walked across the half of the tent to you in two steps and dumped the entire contents of your backpack onto the bed. "By acting like that, you're just proving me right." you replied, this time not folding anymore but immediately packing the clothes into the bag. Your mood lifted as you saw the annoyed, angry crease on his forehead.

"Right about what?! Leaving me just because…"

"THIS IS THE PROBLEM, ALEKSANDER!" you finally graced him with your gaze, turning towards the speechless man. You rarely screamed. Especially in anger. And almost never on him. "It isn't just a slight, unimportant thing that couples are fighting for. You broke my trust again! You hid the whole truth from me again! You put me in a position where I have no other choice but to leave you, so don't act like a surprised fool! It was you who broke us apart. It's always you. You want to make me the villain in our love story? Fine. Do it. But the truth is that YOU are the one who can't trust me. And yet it is you from our two who can't be trusted." during your furious monologue, you didn't even notice that you were walking up to him the whole time, until you pinned him against the wall of the tent.

You stared at him with resentful eyes, and just as you were about to pull away from him, you felt his hands on your wrist and neck. He changed your positions, moving much closer to you so that your chests were touching with each heavy breath you took in tandem.

"Careful, moonlight. You may know me, maybe even better than I do, but don't forget that I have that power over you too. If you wanted to go away, you would be now on your way to your pathetic friends' group. But you're here, talking to me. You don't want to leave. Why?"

"You know why." you whispered, refusing to admit what you both feel. You won't say the "L" word to him. Aleksander gently rubbed his nose against yours. The moment he was about to catch your lips in a kiss, you broke free from his grip and stood a few feet away from him. "But it doesn't matter what I want. I changed, Aleksander. I'm not going to stay. Not when you clearly don't want me to be your equal partner."

"I DO! Everything I do is for US!" he shouted, closing the distance between you.

"Then let me in! Completely. Not only to what's convenient for you to say to me. Or you will have no one to celebrate your great victory with. Surely not me." you growled, heading towards the exit of the tent, intending to leave him and it all behind you.

"Wait." you were not an obedient dog. He couldn't order you. "Please." the vulnerability in his voice shocked you enough to stop. A few steps from the exit. From ending everything you had ever had in common. "I was going to tell you about… about them… I just wanted to give you a little break before I put you again into my problems." you snorted in amusement, shaking your head in disbelief, when you heard the same fairy tale again. They were all right. He will never change. Not for you. "I was also scared!"

"Scared? Scared of what?" you groaned, turning to face him with folded arms.

"That I'll lose you the moment you realise I'm not as powerful as all of you think." you sighed, rubbing your forehead tiredly. You loved him. You really loved him. Despite everything he's done. But you've had enough of all of it by now.

"It isn't all about power, Aleksander. It never was. What a pity that you haven't realised it yet, after hundreds of years on this earth."

"And what choice did I have? With all those people who have always only wanted me dead? Who wanted other Grishas' deaths? Without power, you cannot do anything. You can't protect anyone by being weaker than your enemies, Y/N." he walked over to you and grabbed your hands, trying desperately to convince you to stay.

"You know what the real power is, Sasha? Family, love, friendship, loyalty—that's power. You can gain their respect, even make them fear you, and have them follow your every order without blinking, but this kingdom you want to create will not last the first century. Not if you continue to think like that. No one will follow the commands of a cruel Tsar who is afraid of losing control over everything and everyone."

"Watch your words. You're forgetting who you're talking to." he returned to this malevolent form of the Darkling. But you weren't a teenage Y/N from Ketterdam anymore. You were Grisha. Saint. Nobody and nothing could stop you.

"No. No, I don't. I'm talking with Aleksander. The man who taught me how to summon my light so I didn't have to train each day with his crazy mother. My Sasha, who stole for me chocolate for the kitchen and read to me Ravkan's fairy tales when my nightmares caught me at night. Not Kirigan or the Black Heretic. And you? Do you know who I'm talking to?" you asked, joining your hands again and forcing him to look into your eyes.

The sudden silence that filled the room after your words overwhelmed you more than your screams.

"Send for me when you know. I'm going to Kribirsk with Fedyor. You can join us when you have finally decided who you are."

You let go of his hands and gave him a disappointed look as you left the tent. You exhaled, shuddering as the chill night air hit your face, which was heated with emotion. Tears of helplessness began to come to your eyes. You couldn't change him. And even though you loved the shadow summoner in a strange way, you knew that being with him was destructive to both you and him. He couldn't be yours, and you didn't want to be his if that meant always being second to his Machiavellian plans.

Even though you and Aleksander had a fight about hiding the truth, you did it too. You weren't going anywhere with Fedyor. You went back to the crows. With a heavy heart, crying and dying inside because of the man you still loved. Feeling guilty that you left him alone and that this conversation will probably be your last until you all meet in the fold. Once he finds out you betrayed him, there's no going back. You will lose him forever.

You just hoped this whole war wouldn't end up as gruesome as in your nightmares.

And that he will be back for you.

~•♤♤♤•~

"You look like death."

Alina said as you made your way through the fold. You snorted, making room for her next to you, not taking your eyes off the shadows circling around you. If all goes your way, in two hours there won't be a trace of the fold... and neither will HE be.

"Thank you, Ali, you look as terrible in this war as I do."

"You know that's not what I mean. You miss him." you stood frozen, causing her to stop as well.

"No, I don't."

"Yes, you do. I don't blame you for that. It's only logical that you feel that way about him. You have history and chemistry. I remembered how all the Little Palace was too scared to get on your nerves or train with you too hard in case Aleksander would get angry at them for "hurting his Y/N".

"This is the past, Alina. We're no longer in the Little Palace." you growled at her, trying to maintain your mask of indifference. You must not care about him.

"I just want to say… that I understand if..."

"There will be no ifs, Alina. It ends here." you cut her off before she could add anything else. You had one job as a moon summoner: to destroy the fold. You had to do it. Even at the cost of burying your own heart in the process.

Alina opened her mouth, probably wanting to continue arguing with you, when suddenly even more shadows surrounded you. Alexander must have been close. Which means that nichevo'ya and volcra too.

"Let's split up. One of us will distract him."

"Why do I feel like it's supposed to be me?! Alina!" you failed to stop the sun summoner. You cursed, summoning your light and scaring away the shadows circling around you.

The more you kept them away from you, the more they attacked you. You knew you had to leave the fold as soon as possible before you lost the last of your strength. You could have had two amplifiers, but you still couldn't match the power of the fold.

You started running in the direction you came from, hoping to run out of here and find Alina.

You didn't get far before one of the volcra grabbed your cloak, knocking you to the ground. You lost your concentration for a moment, and all the light around you went out. Panicked, you only managed to summon a small orb of light, which momentarily blinded the shadow creature.

You tried to get up, but the pain in your left leg wouldn't let you. You cursed as you saw a pool of blood gathering under your leg. You impaled yourself on some roots. A glorious death awaited you.

You closed your eyes, trying to summon as much light as possible to keep the volcras away from you.

Suddenly, instead of the warmth of your power, you felt more and more cold around you. One single tear spilled from your eye as you slowly began to accept your death and imprisonment by the shadows of the fold.

However, for a long time, nothing happened. You opened your eyes uncertainly and watched in a daze as the nichevo'ya chased the volcras away from you, attacking the more aggressive ones.

"It's okay. I've got you, milaya." his soft whisper against your ear gave you more comfort than any shadow or light. And you were ashamed of how much power he had over you.

You felt him gently take you in his arms, cutting off the roots you had impaled yourself with earlier. He secured your wound and wrapped his cloak around your legs. The Nichevo'ya continued to fight the volcra around you, scaring them away from you.

"Why? Why you did it?" you asked with a trembling voice. He had no interest in saving you. Your death would only help carry out his plans. And yet he entered the fold FOR YOU. And saved you from his volcras.

"You know why, zyoma maya olya (moon of my life)."

You didn't ask him anything else. You let yourself sink into his embrace and bury your head in the crook of his neck, inhaling that comforting scent. You almost fell asleep as you rocked gently in his arms with every step he took.

Suddenly, he stopped. You looked around. You were close to the exit. You turned your gaze to him, finding his eyes already staring at you.

"Alina is waiting for you on the other side. I believe some of the crows are there too." he was about to pull you to your feet, but you stopped him by gripping his arm tightly.

"Wait." your mouth said before your brain could process what you wanted to say. He stared at you expectantly, waiting for your next move. "Please, Aleksander. Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Please don't make me choose I... I love you. I've loved you since you taught me about the constellation, since the first night you helped me with my Ketterdam's nightmares, since the first time I saw you, using the cut to save me and Alina I... I don't know how, but... I... I can't lose you. Please, Aleksander." you fell apart. Entirely. You released all your suppressed emotions, crying into his kefta, little knowing that he was fighting back his own tears.

"And what do you want me to do, milaya? I've spent ages getting to this point."

"And will you be truly happy? Is it all really worth it, Aleksander? Will you be jubilant when you enlarge the fold?" he sighed, resting his forehead against yours. You closed your eyes, listening to your rapid breathing.

"You can't just come to me, make a puppy-kicked face, say for the first time you love me, and expect me to change my hundred-year-old plans." you nudged his nose with yours, making him open his eyes to face your tearful ones, red from crying.

"Aleksander... please." you saw it. The battle that was going on inside him and the same willingness to give in to his desires and your desires to be together. And you prayed to all the saints to change his mind.

"If I do it, I'm never going to hear the end of it from my mother. You know that?"

"If it's any consolation, I promise I'll be there for you when she mocks us."

"You better do it, my little saint." he murmured, kissing your forehead as he resumed his march towards the exit of the fold.

You couldn't believe your luck. Aleksander chose you. Over his plans. You became the first and most important thing in his life.

If it was just a dream, you never wanted to wake up from it.

Despite the gravity of the situation—getting out of the fold in Aleksander's arms—you couldn't help but snort quietly into his kefta when you saw the shocked and terrified faces of your friends. The Darkling carried the moon summoner out of the fold. The most unlikely thing to see on a Monday morning.

Aleksander approached them slowly. He took his cloak off your legs and spread it on the ground, laying you on the black material. He stood next to you, making sure you were comfortable beforehand, and cleared his throat awkwardly.

You had to see the positives in this situation. At least no one had gone after him with a gun yet.

"Miss Zenik, could you look at her leg, please?" his question snapped the woman out of her stupor. She walked uncertainly over to the two of you and began to heal your wound, giving you an incredulous look.

Aleksander stood next to you, not caring more than usual about the surprised and terrified looks the others were throwing at him. Of course, Baghra spoke first.

"You're more stupid than I thought."

"Which one?" you asked for Aleksander, whom she looked at confusedly. You don't think either of them expected him to just stand by your side like that.

"You for falling so easily for him and him for letting himself be wrapped around your finger."

"Well, it's a very beautiful and powerful finger, mother." the crows' jaws dropped in surprise at this new revelation, and you rolled your eyes at the obvious malice from the now very amused Aleksander.

"I'm guessing you're not going to fight us? Will you help us or are you going to betray us, and is this another of your plans?" Alina stood in front of the group, eyeing him warily.

"I'm here for some reason. Definitely not betraying, Alina."

"Which is?" Kaz stood beside Alina, shooting the shadow summoner a hostile, distrustful look.

"My moonlight, Mr. Brekker." Aleksander reciprocated, giving him one of his darker looks. Yes, you forgot that these two can fight each other. Something will have to be done about this in the future...

"Okay, I'm done! We can move on to our plan before some jealous Western or something like this starts here." luckily, you had Nina to help you stop "the cockfight" for now.

Aleksander and Kaz rushed over to help you up. You grabbed each of them by the hand, and thanks to these two, you got to your feet. The men gave themselves furtive, hostile glances.

"Then let's go. It looks like the three of us are going to change the world together after all, Aleksander." Alina tried to defuse the tension and led you all towards the fold.

Aleksander didn't shy away from kissing you in front of Kaz before grabbing your hand and catching up with Alina, questioning her about the details of your plan.

Yes, you will definitely have to deal with these two later. But for now, the three of you were going to change the world...

"I love you too, my precious moonlight. More than you could ever know." he whispered in your ear moments before you destroyed the fold.

You didn't know what the future held for you, but you were sure of one thing.

Aleksander was supposed to keep you close to him through it all. And he will always be back for you.

[bunniekittiee]

Could I request some mk1 kenshi content? I love him so much it’s insane, gn or fem reader preferred plz! Maybe a crush or s/o reader whatever you’d like!

Of course! I’ve never written for Kenshi before, so I’m basing this off of stuff I’ve read of MK1 and kind of what I think he would act like. I’ll just write for Fem. Reader since that’s what I’ve been doing lately, if you don’t mind! I kept it SFW btw.

Kenshi x Fem. Reader

Kenshi is not one to fall in love so easily, but he did with her.

How could he not? She was everything he wanted. Everything he needed.

Kenshi will not tell her everything on the very first date. His past runs deep, as well as its scars.

He does not want to scare her away, so he plays it cool.

He is a sweetie, he will bring her beautiful flowers and watch her face light up.

It makes him chuckle and feel warm.

Since attempting his searches for Sento, he put his love life on hold.

So he is a little out of touch with that side of him.

He will go to Johnny for advice on keeping her interested, as well as to make her happier.

Seeing her happy makes Kenshi happy.

Kenshi does not make an effort to cover his tattoos. Yes, they are a part of his past but they are engraved on his skin.

There’s nothing he can do about it. He’s not insecure about it.

Is he proud? No. But insecure? No, not at all.

Sometimes she will trace the patterns with her gentle finger tips as he sighs contently.

She makes him feel at peace despite all of his mistakes.

When Kenshi loses his sight, she is inconsolable. She hates to see her lover in so much pain.

Kenshi had to adjust very quickly, and Sento was a huge help.

When he isn’t using Sento, like if he’s relaxing or lounging around, he will rely on his other senses to help him get around.

Since losing his sight, his other senses heightened.

At first, his s/o did need to help him with a few things such as getting into the shower without falling or getting around, but Kenshi was quick to adjust and get around on his own.

He may be blind but that doesn’t mean he is completely disabled.

Sometimes Kenshi will take off his blindfold and at first he was skeptical as he did not want to scare his s/o, but she insisted on it.

She thinks Kenshi is just as handsome as the day she met him, with empty eye sockets and all.

Kenshi is not insecure about his eye sockets, he is just concerned for his s/o getting scared or grossed out.

But she is neither, she loves that Kenshi is comfortable enough to do that with her. It makes her feel special.

After establishing the beginning of their relationship, Kenshi sits down with his s/o and tells her about his Yakuza past.

He understands if she does not want anything to do with him. It’s a scary life and he would hate for her to be in any danger.

So he gives her the option to leave and never come back.

But she doesn’t.

She grabs Kenshi’s hands and tells him that she will stick by him no matter what his past entails. She fell in love with every part of him, his past did not concern her.

What mattered to her was their future together.

This was relieving to Kenshi. He felt accepted and his love for her ran much deeper after this conversation.

She is everything to him, he would do anything and everything to protect her.

With his senses being heightened, he can feel when she is staring at him.

At first he was a little nervous as to why she was staring at him so much until he asked her, and she explained that she thought he was so handsome that she could not help but stare.

This flustered Kenshi and he was stuttering just a little bit, but he had a smile on his lips with a small blush dusting his cheeks.

She never failed to make him smile.

Kenshi did not plan to fall in love, but boy did he fall hard.

[zerodaze]

The way Alex lacks emotional attachment to everything and only kissed Eric as a last hurrah + experimental thing is going to kill me. Because if he cared about Eric the way Eric cared about him, he wouldnt have gunned him down mid sentence. He wouldnt have dragged his friend into this.

Alex being a truly evil person is so fascinating to me because when you watch Zero Day, you get so much introspection to Andre and Cal's emotional capacity. Alex's emotional capacity is exempt from this film because he doesn't have any at all. He has flat affect up until he smiles when telling Eric his laid out plan for their destruction.

I see people complain about Alex not having enough substance as a character, but Gus Van Sant did such a wonderful job at showing us who exactly Alex is with SO little framing. Alex is privileged, we see this in his home, his freedom, his lax parents, his ability to afford weapons- You're told this through his piano, and the cost that comes with his piano lessons. You get all of this information in very little time and not a lot of it is explained to you, Alex's character simply doesn't require monologuing.

Despite Alex's privilege, he is still troubled at school. I do think Alex is pure evil because of how he killed Eric, but there are other things i think about when diving into Alex's character. Eric's death aside, I'd like to note that I read Alex as autistic. He's visibly easily targeted, naive, his speech patterns are not like any of the "normal" characters, he gets very upset when things dont go his way (Piano scene). He has that scene in the lunch room where he seems very overstimulated, and as i mentioned before, he has flat affect. Not only that, but Alex holds a childish naivety to him- He believes that the only way to move on from his highschool torment is to kill his peers. He does not realize that things will get better, he doesnt know that there is life beyond Highschool- We have already established that he is very well off and set up for the future. I dont think autism makes his behavior okay at all, but it explains so much and this is very applicable to real life shooters as well.

Alex doesn't care, he does things for himself. I dont think he's a narcissist, but I do think he is delusional or something similar. The only time he mentions unsettlement is when he quotes "So foul and fair a day I have not seen," but I dont think it counts- He most likely only quoted this as a jab at Macbeth being a required class text + found it ironically funny that he was causing carnage and yet it was a victory for him.

Anyway, if you got this far, thanks for reading. Alex's character is painfully human and his behaviors are so interesting to read into.