#this is utterly perfect and devastating

[calamityandwoe]

The absolute CHOKEHOLD this video has on me

[lanternlightss]

hello my beautiful mutual ur bard rambles(of the bloodstained variety) keep reminding me of the song tounges and teeth by crane wifes and I think U might enjoy the lyrics in corrupted bard context ok that is all <2

hello my wonderful beautiful mutual !!

oh my goodness ,,,,

[pipszhou]

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐫 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐛'𝐬 𝐩𝐞𝐭

✧ — synopsis: Top of the class? Not for long. All it took was one lecture, one remote-controlled vibrator, and Professor Caleb’s merciless control to turn you into a shaking, dripping mess. And when he calls you up to the chalkboard, you learn the real curriculum: obedience, humiliation, and being bred full by your favorite professor.

✧ — pairing: caleb x mc

✧ — wc: ~2.5k

✧ — tags: professor caleb, semi-public sex, vibrators, humiliation, degradation, subspace, sexual overstimulation, creampie, breeding, power imbalance, dom/sub, rough sex, size kink, dirty talk, cock warming, spanking, hair-pulling, biting, marking, possessive behavior, multiple orgasms, orgasm control, begging, soft aftercare, classroom sex, pet names

✧ — notes: hello hello again i'm really horny so i wrote this within a day. not beta read, i hope you enjoy my horny endeavors! i just need more power imbalance lmao

You’re in a predicament.

The top student of the entire university—the pride of the campus—yet here you are, sitting at the back of the lecture hall with your thighs pressed tightly together, your nails digging into the edges of your seat. Your brows furrow, delicate lines forming between your temples as you bite down hard on your bottom lip, desperately trying to smother the whimpers threatening to spill out.

Because nestled deep inside you, hidden from the world, is a merciless vibrator—thick, hot, and unforgiving—pounding into your dripping cunt with devastating precision. Each thrust stretches you open wide, the fat head grinding against every desperate, soaked spot inside you. The toy doesn't just vibrate; it fucks into you, grinding in deep, twisting and pulsing like a real cock seeking to wreck you completely. Your walls flutter helplessly around it, clenching and spasming in pathetic pleasure.

As if that wasn’t enough, a suction toy clamps tightly onto your swollen clit, tugging and slurping with obscene, wet noises, like it's trying to suck your soul straight out through your trembling folds. Every pull sends white-hot sparks through your body, every pulse making you jolt and tremble.

All because of him.

Professor Caleb. Your childhood friend. Your Gege. Now the most sought-after artificial intelligence lecturer on campus—the heartthrob every girl wanted. And the man who had no mercy for you.

This was his game. His twisted, cruel judgment: could you endure, maintain your perfect, untouchable image... while the toy he prepared tore you apart from the inside out?

Or would you crack, humiliate yourself by running to the bathroom to finger yourself raw like a desperate little thing?

You refused to lose.

Your pride was too fierce.

Your stubbornness, too stupid.

So you stayed in your seat, trembling, thighs sticky and slick, grinding ever so slightly against the chair in a desperate bid for relief. Hands clamped over your mouth, you prayed no one would hear the faint, wicked buzzing between your legs. You clenched, you gasped, you endured.

Until the voice you dreaded most called out, slicing through your fragile composure like a blade.

"Class number 13," Caleb said smoothly, his voice sending shivers down your spine. "Please come up and solve the problem. What is the predicted value output of this activation layer in the full network?"

Oh gods.

Oh fuck.

Your heart plummeted. Your body spasmed around the merciless toy, gushing helplessly. Your mind—blank, so utterly blank, filled only with the overwhelming feeling of being stuffed full and sucked dry.

You hadn’t heard a single word of the lecture.

But you had a reputation to keep. The golden girl. The untouchable ace.

You forced yourself to rise, your nails digging into the table so hard they threatened to break. You took slow, shaky breaths, fighting to control the feverish pulse hammering through you. Your legs trembled as you stepped out into the aisle, every eye in the room burning into your skin, every step feeling like a mile-long walk of shame.

You reached the front—and there he was. Professor Caleb. Eyes dark with amusement. Smirk hidden behind the respectable façade.

He handed you the chalk. His fingers brushed yours—and in that exact moment, you caught it: the glint of the remote tucked in his palm.

A flick of his thumb.

The vibrator inside you roared to life, surging to its highest setting, brutal and relentless. It slammed into you, the fat shaft pistoning deep, hammering your g-spot, dragging moans up your throat you barely swallowed down. The toy twisted with each brutal thrust, the head grinding against your sweetest spots, almost lovingly cruel in how it refused to let you breathe.

The suction on your clit tightened too, a filthy, slurping rhythm pulling at you in time with each thrust inside—as if the toy was fucking and drinking you at once, milking you dry.

Your knees buckled slightly. You caught yourself against the chalkboard.

You could feel it.

The thick, pulsing length of the toy stuffing you full, stretching your cunt to its limits, buzzing violently against your spasming walls. Your panties were drenched, your thighs glistening. Your dignity, seconds away from shattering.

And yet you had to solve the equation.

In front of the entire class.

Under his watchful, merciless gaze.

The chalk trembled in your hand. He leaned in close, voice a low purr only you could hear. "Go on, top student," Caleb murmured, dark and wicked against your ear.

"Show me how well you can think… while getting fucked dumb.”

Fuck—a moan slipped past your lips before you could catch it. You wanted to curse the existence out of him. You wanted to tear him apart with words, call him the cruelest bastard alive. But all you could do was look at him—eyes burning with dark, venomous vengeance, even as your body betrayed you with heavy, panting breaths and soft, pathetic whimpers.

You tried—you really fucking tried—to walk your mind through every algorithm, every neural network formula you’d memorized so well. You tried to scribble something on the chalkboard, your hand trembling. But it was useless. Your writing was a mess of illegible lines, nonsense formulas no one could make sense of, the chalk crumbling and snapping in your tight, desperate grip.

Then you heard it— the low, rich sound of his chuckle. Amused. Entertained. Savoring your unraveling.

With a lazy flick of his thumb against the remote, he cranked the suction to maximum.

The effect was immediate. Your entire body convulsed, a helpless jolt of pleasure rippling up your spine. The suction on your clit was savage, unrelenting—greedy little pulls that sent wave after wave crashing through your gut, making your vision blur with stars.

Fuck, you were so close. So fucking close.

You slapped a trembling palm against the chalkboard to steady yourself. The chalk clattered to the floor with a hollow thud as your fingers lost their grip. Your knees buckled, barely holding you up as your hips gave a desperate, involuntary twitch.

Inside you, the thick vibrator kept thrusting deep—the textured veins along its shaft dragging against your slick walls with every ruthless stroke, the fat, rounded head grinding mercilessly against your sensitive cervix. It was maddening—perfect—too good. Every thrust knocked the air from your lungs, every pulse made your cunt flutter helplessly, greedy for more.

The suction was obscene, slurping at your clit so loudly you were sure someone, anyone, could hear. Humiliation and raw, brain-melting pleasure tangled inside you, choking you.

Then—his hand.

You felt it. Large, warm, strong fingers gripping your shoulder tightly.

You barely registered him leaning down, his breath hot against the shell of your ear, his voice a low, sinful growl meant for you alone.

"Fuck, baby," Caleb rasped, the words sending a violent shudder through your entire body.

"Why don't you just give up—let go—and I'll fill you up with my babies later, hm? Breed you nice and full right here…"

That was it.

The last straw.

You came—hard. Your body seized violently, every muscle locking tight as the orgasm tore through you, raw and merciless. Slick gushed down your thighs, soaking through your panties, dripping onto the floor. You bit down on your own hand to muffle the loud, broken moan that ripped free from your throat.

You shattered under him, completely undone, just as he wanted.

You heard it—the low, scandalous murmurs rippling across the room. The students whispering, stealing glances at the obscene sight before them. You, gasping for air, your knees buckling under you, while Professor Caleb—the campus heartthrob—stood so close you could taste his cologne, feel the heat of him against your trembling skin.

Then he stood upright, rolling his shoulders lazily like nothing was wrong. Like you weren’t falling apart on the floor.

"Alright, folks. Class dismissed," he said, mock sympathy dripping from his voice. "I'll take care of our top student here. She must be feeling a little... overwhelmed."

He winked—a cruel, knowing thing that made your blood boil.

"Come back next week with the answers to the problem on the board."

Students scurried out, throwing lingering stares your way, none brave enough to question him.

None knowing just how soaked you were—how the vibrator still pounded inside you, thrusting, suctioning, working your overstimulated folds mercilessly. The cum from earlier leaking out, wetting your thighs shamefully.

Once the last student left, Caleb locked the door with a click. He turned, his steps slow and deliberate as he stalked toward you. He grabbed your arm and pulled you up, no patience left in him.

"Stand up, Pip-squeak," he said, his professor mask fully dropped, replaced by something darker, filthier. "I’ll make it fast for you."

You nodded, helpless. Your legs felt like jelly, your cunt still clenching pathetically around the toy buried deep inside. With his steadying hand, you stumbled upright.

He guided you to his seat—the throne at the front of the room—and sat back lazily, spreading his legs in a welcoming posture.

"Strip, baby," he ordered, voice thick with lust. "I wanna see every curve hiding under that tight little shirt and short skirt you wore, thinking you could tease me."

You glared at him, breathing heavy. God, you hated him. You hated how hot he made you. How wet you got just from the sound of his voice.

"Chop chop," he said, tapping his jaw with his fingers smugly. "Or do you want me to rip it off you instead? I won't be gentle, Pips."

You cursed under your breath but obeyed—gripping the hem of your tank top, peeling it over your head slowly, exposing trembling skin. Your skirt pooled down your legs with a soft whisper, leaving you utterly bare, nothing left to hide.

"What now, Caleb?" you asked, your voice small, shivering slightly.

"Good girl," he murmured, unzipping his fancy linen pants with one smooth motion. His thick, heavy cock sprung free—long, veined, angry red at the tip, leaking pre-cum like he couldn't wait to ruin you again.

The same cock that had broken you a hundred times before.

The same cock you dreamed about, drooled over, worshiped like it was your personal god.

"Sit on me," he said. "You know the drill."

You let out a shaky breath, heart pounding in your ears. No matter how much you wanted to slap him for being an asshole—you wanted him more.

You were his cocksleeve, after all. His needy little thing.

You climbed onto his lap, one trembling hand gripping his collarbone for balance. The other reached down between your legs, pulling the soaked, buzzing vibrator out of your stretched hole and tossing it somewhere carelessly.

Lining him up, you sank down. It was like the first time all over again.

His cock was thicker than anything, harder, hotter—stretching your walls until they clamped around him desperately. Every vein of him dragged along your sensitive insides perfectly, the fat head of his cock pushing into your cervix with sinful precision. He filled you up like he was made for you—like he owned every inch of your tight, ruined cunt.

He was your naughty professor.

Your filthy god.

Your damnation and your salvation wrapped in one devastating man.

You started moving—bouncing weakly, trying to ride him the way he liked, but your legs were too shaky, too spent from the relentless overstimulation. You whimpered, grinding pathetically against him, barely able to lift yourself.

"Oh, baby," he cooed mockingly, hands resting heavy on your ass. "Is that all you got? After coming so pretty in front of the whole class?"

He slapped your ass hard enough to make you squeal, then soothed it with a rough grope, making you rock harder against him.

You tried to look away, humiliated, but his dark gaze pinned you in place—all-consuming. Inescapable.

"Shut up, Caleb," you snarled weakly. "Shut the fuck up—I—"

He gripped your hair tight, yanking your head back roughly. A broken cry escaped you, your back arching, pressing your tits flush against his chest.

"You don't get to order me around, baby," he growled, voice pure sin against your ear. He bit down on your neck, hard enough to bruise, suckling dark purple marks into your skin like a man possessed.

"You're mine, Pip-squeak. My perfect little whore."

Your mind spun. Your body shook. You fell deeper into subspace—weightless, aching, desperate for him. He toyed with you, slapping your ass, groping your tits, biting your throat, until you were a trembling mess in his lap.

"Need help, my lovely top student?" he whispered against your ear, voice thick with cruel affection. You nodded frantically, tears clinging to your lashes, your body begging.

He chuckled low and deep—"could’ve said so sooner, Pips."

Then he took control. His hands grabbed your waist, slamming you down onto his cock with brutal, merciless thrusts. Each movement drove him impossibly deep, splitting you open, pounding against your g-spot so viciously that your cries turned into strangled, high-pitched sobs.

You dug your nails into his back, leaving angry red trails down his spine. You wanted to brand him. You wanted him to remember how you fell apart on his cock.

The lecture hall echoed with the wet, filthy slap of skin on skin—your cries, his low groans, the obscene, squelching sound of your cunt sucking him in greedily. "Keep it down, baby," he mocked, voice a rumble in your chest. "Others might hear you begging to be bred."

Fuck him.

Fuck him so much.

But you were too far gone. Your second orgasm built fast, violent, white-hot, ripping through you with every devastating thrust. You couldn’t hold back—your body convulsed, your cunt squeezing him desperately, trying to milk every drop from him.

And he was close too. You could hear it in his ragged breaths, feel it in the way his thrusts became rougher, erratic.

"Baby," he moaned brokenly, forehead pressed against yours, "I’m gonna come—open up, please—"

You did—your walls clamping down, your legs shaking, your mind blank as you came undone together. He spilled inside you with a low, desperate groan—thick, endless spurts of cum flooding your sore, twitching cunt. You could feel every hot, filthy drop filling you, leaking out, dripping down your thighs in thick, sticky trails.

You collapsed against him, shaking, gasping, his cock still buried deep inside your pulsing heat. His arms wrapped around you tight, possessive, like he was afraid you might slip away.

"Mine," he murmured against your hair, voice rough and spent. "Always mine, Pip-squeak."

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

You stayed there—your body convulsing in little aftershocks, your pussy throbbing around him like it was the end of the world. He held you close, a suffocating, trembling embrace, like he needed to feel you breathing against him just to stay sane.

Even after the humiliation he put you through—after the teasing, the breaking, the claiming—you still loved him just the same. Your Gege. Your professor. Your ruin. Your home.

"Meet me after your classes end," he rasped, his temple resting against your bare shoulder, his cock still buried deep inside you. "Five p.m. sharp. As usual."

You nodded weakly, knowing full well—

You weren’t going to make it home in one piece.

[chilumi-shipper]

Soulbound

Zhongli x GN!Reader (Soulmate!AU)

Summary: Zhongli hated the mark on his neck, and he hated whoever the mark bounded him to. But fate plays a cruel joke, matching him with you, as he swore he would love no one else but Guizhong.

Tags: Angst/No Comfort, Short Story, Rejection, Hurtful Words, Hatred to Love

Soulmark - A mark that binds two individuals as soulmates.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Morax had always been frustrated by the mark on his neck.

A glowing, permanent part of his body that marks him tied to a soulmate. He thinks its stupid, for the love of his life was already in front of him, a gray-haired inventor that no carving in his body could ever stop him from adoring.

He finds it unbelievable that his neck is claimed by a soulmark yet Guizhong's remain blank, and he curses Celestia above for such a foul joke.

How could he be for anyone else but her?

When her dust settled in the field of glaze lilies he thought were incomparable to her beauty, he was utterly devasted, his clawed hands held onto his neck, wanting to rip the soulmark that had been taunting him for centuries.

How could he be marked for someone else while the love of his life laid lifeless?

He loathed his mark, everything about it, and he will till his last breath.

...

Zhongli deeply dislikes you.

You are a messy, silly, babbling buffoon.

An adventurer from Mondstadt that embodies the nation's will of freedom. Bubbly, carefree, and loud, much like a fellow god he didn't particularly like.

Despite of his disdain of you, your affection towards him never wavered. You filled his somber days with excitement as you joyfully tell him stories about your adventures, share some new recipes you've learned, even ushering him to talk about obscure Liyue historical facts that you've always found interesting.

He was much too proper to shoo you away, and his cold looks and short responses didn't discourage you to try to make friends with the man that peeked your curiosity.

Ever so slowly, you had pried open his caged heart, planting a small seed that was so distinctly you.

He would have accepted you, he would have seen you as a friend... and yet...

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a faint, familiar mark on your neck, revealed when you put your hair up into a ponytail.

Zhongli knew he truly disliked you.

...

"I don't believe in the marks either, Mr. Zhongli..." You reasoned with him, but his gaze still stung you with daggers.

He caged himself back up, ensuring that you could not care for the little seed you planted, no light would be able to reach it again.

His heart would not open...

No matter how many times he catches himself smiling at your antics.

No matter if he displays every gift and trinket you give him from your travels.

No matter how much he preferred your cooking over anyone else's.

No matter how beautiful you look staring up at him with your doe eyes as you confess your affection.

No matter how frustrated he felt at himself when he made you cry as he rejects your feelings.

Because, for him, how could there be anyone else but her?

...

"Do you see why it could never be you?"

You both stood in front of a monument, surrounded by various plants and objects you assume to be from friends of this ancient goddess.

"I bet she was amazing."

"She was perfect. Perhaps that's why I was not worthy to share a mark with her."

At this point, you were used to his words, how they praise her, how they degrade you.

"You're pretty great too, Zhongli..."

Faith places identical marks on the necks of two soulmates, and the rest is a romantic story of the passion that builds up as people pursue their marks of love.

Fate is cruel to you and him.

"That mark is not for you, Y/N." The Geo Archon says to you, tearing you apart silently, as you stand and take his words.

His heart quivers despite the harsh words coming from his own mouth. Even after millennia of having the mark engraved on his neck, after concluding that maybe he would allow your little seed to prosper even just for a bit, he still chooses to cling onto his hopeless past.

Tears fall down from your eyes, but you remain quiet, only nodding in agreement.

You loathed the mark on your neck.

...

Zhongli opens the cage of his heart a little, allowing him to peak at the small sprout from the seed you planted.

So distinctly you, it was the only thing he has of you.

After letting you leave him at Guizhong's monument with tears still staining your face, he couldn't help but miss you.

He couldn't help but let you finally take your place in his heart, after so long of hating his soulmark, hating whoever the mark tied him to, he fears he has finally accepted faith.

...

"Where is it?" He grips your arm harshly, his hold not faltering as you try to shake him off. His gaze was cold, yet you could still catch the hint of alarm in his eyes. "What have you done?"

After weeks... you return to him... missing something.

You winced at the stress of his words, feeling frightened under his tense hold. "I..." His bruising grip didn't falter, urging you to explain yourself. "S-Surprise...?"

"You..." Zhongli looks at you in disbelief. "How stupid could you be?"

"M-Mr. Zhongli... it's a blessing of the Anemo Archon... I prayed for him set us free from fate."

"Y/N... I..." He was at a loss for words, his heart ached as his eyes searched your neck in vain. "Fate... going against it is painful. It must've been excruciating."

"It was... but this if for you, Zhongli..." You smiled, feeling him loosen his grip. "Because I love... loved you." You fully free yourself from him, rubbing at where he previously held you.

The wind around him picked up, and he hears the faint whispers of an old friend along with it. Whispers of comfort, as he clearly ruined what would have been the light of the rest of his days.

Your soulmark fades, but his remains...

Zhongli loathed his mark, for it bears no meaning, no one but him bears that mark.

As you leave, trying to fade away in the background of his life, you remain under a spotlight in his eyes, for you will always be the one that shares his mark, no matter if it is visible.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

What y'all think of this one? :3

I bet y'all's feelings were hurt hehe

[mwphisto]

SnowCrow

Warning, this post includes: smut, threesome (MxMxF), oral (both Zayne and reader receiving), Sylus brat taming his favorite hunter and favorite surgeon, teasing, and dirty talk.

Maybe I’m ovulating but I cannot stop thinking about how perfect the SnowCrow x Reader dynamic would be.

Banner from @cafekitsune <3

Sylus has come to adore the both of you very much, finding Zayne to be a sweet black cat while you are his spunky and unpredictable orange. You both bring beautiful additions to his life, lighting up his dreary nights.

Sylus is rather addicted to watching you and Zayne interact, finding the surgeon’s soft smiles and sparkling eyes utterly adorable. Your shared laughter and soft touches tug at his heart. He used to grimace at the idea of sharing you, but now he realizes there is no sharing involved. Somehow, Zayne has won his heart too.

All three of you have quite the bad habit of staying up late, sometimes for work, sometimes due to overtime, and sometimes due to insomnia.

Sylus has always thrived at night, so he doesn’t mind the company. But when both of you are bleary eyed and have dark circles beginning to form, the leader of Onychinus takes it upon himself to coddle the two of you until you’re in his bed, under his covers, sound asleep.

His brave little hunter and his smart little surgeon.

Though, it’s not always that easy. Sylus thought you were quite stubborn, but he didn’t realize how stubborn you could be when Zayne was right there with you.

“I thought you were more mature, Zayne.”

But there is a flash of something in the surgeon’s tired eyes that makes Sylus nearly choke on his saliva. Crimson eyes find yours next, innocent written all over your face but that similar glimmer is residing in your eyes too.

You’re both daring to challenge him. How cute.

Zayne’s laptop and your phone are yanked from your hands by a nearly invisible force. Sylus’ evol snatching both and placing them high up on a shelf neither your nor Zayne would be able to reach without help.

“I don’t think you two understood me the first time around.” He starts slowly, stalking towards where the two of you were snuggled up on the couch. “It wasn’t a choice when I said you two need to go to bed.”

But the air is charged with something else now, effectively snapping you and Zayne out of the half-awake trances you had been in seconds prior. “I don’t wanna.” You start first, eyes holding Sylus’ despite your heart beginning to pound.

“Me neither, my report was nearly done.”

You shift your position when you feel Zayne cross his arms over his chest. “I wasn’t asking.” Sylus’ tone dropped an octave, sending heat straight down your spine. Judging by the way Zayne tensed, he felt the same.

“You’re both going to bed, even if I have to tie you down.” You felt it then, the ghost of his evol wrapping around your body, daring either of you to disobey.

Before your mouth could open to retort, you were being yanked off the couch and tossed over Sylus’ shoulder.

“H-hey!” You thrash a little, wiggling your hair from your face to look down and see Sylus had Zayne under his other arm. He was holding both of you as if your combined weight was nothing more than a sack of potatoes.

“Sylus-“ Zayne’s tone was wary, but his cheeks were burning a shade of a crimson.

“Hey this, Sylus nothing, you’re both going to bed.”

You were both being tossed onto the mattress before you could even process what was happening, Zayne landing on his stomach while you bounced on your ass.

“Sylus c’mo—hmph!” Your words were cut short, the towering man was crushing you beneath his weight, lips melding to your own. You barely recognized the sound of Zayne’s sharp inhale over the muffled groan from Sylus.

“Quit putting up a fight, you two are such brats.” You were breathless when he pulled away, lips swollen from the intensity of his kiss and slightly dazed.

Long fingers threaded through raven locks, yanking Zayne’s head closer to deliver another devastating kiss.

“I won’t be satisfied until the two of you are knocked out.” Sylus started as he pulled away, leaving Zayne equally as dazed. “I don’t care what I have to do to achieve it.”

Oh you were both fucked… literally.

It was a flurry of movements, and by the time you could think straight, you were naked. “How is this—“ Zayne was equally undressed, cock standing at attention and twitching. “I only have one mouth.” Sylus states plainly, still fully dressed and taking note of your dripping cunt.

“So I’ll just have to be creative. Two brats don’t deserve anything more than my tongue.”

Sylus’ eyes shift between the two of you. “Zayne, lay on your back. Kitten, lay on top of him, chest to chest.” For once, neither of you give him any trouble. Too curious and needy to know what was coming next.

You did as you were told, flashing Zayne a look. The surgeon only smiled back, hands coming up to cup your cheeks and place a sweet kiss on your lips.

Sylus’ hands found your hips, tugging at them and separating the two of you. “You can do wherever you please to each other, just let me get this right.

You glance over your shoulder, fingers toying with Zayne’s earlobe. A habit Sylus had noticed, one the doctor didn’t seem to mind. “What are you-“ he cut you off again, watching in amusement as your words died off.

Instinctively, Zayne’s hands shot down to your hips, a subtle groan vibrating his chest. His aching cock was between your spread thighs, twitching against your cunt.

“Like I said, I only have one mouth and two birds to kill. I have to be creative and efficient… can’t have the two of you staying awake much longer.” Sylus is dipping down, just out of your view. Now, you have to rely on feeling.

“Sylus this—“ but Zayne’s mouth fell open as your grip on his earlobe pinched. Sylus flattened his tongue against Zayne’s cock, dragging it upwards. You shivered at the warmth, not quite reaching your cunt but enough to have your hips wiggling in response. You wanted attention too.

“Use him, baby. Grind yourself against him, I’ll keep him steady.” You whimper, eyes flashing towards Zayne’s. He’s already dazed, pupils blown wide as he glances down at your breasts squished to his chest. “Be a good girl, listen.”

You’re a fucking goner, the second Zayne gives you his permission your hips begin to drag up and down his length, nearly timing it with Sylus’ tongue.

Every time his head catches on your clit, you’re mewling, burying your face in his chest and nearly sobbing and pleasure ebbs through your veins. Between Sylus’ saliva, Zayne’s precum, and your own arousal, it’s a slick mess.

“Could have…” another lick “…had so much more…” there’s a kiss on the back of your thigh, then your ass. “… had you two not been…” he’s panting, grabbing your hips to kiss your sloppy cunt and leave Zayne twitching on the brink.

“… such fucking brats.”

You whine as he spits, the glob of saliva sliding down your cunt and landing on Zayne’s cock. Sylus let’s go of your hips, letting you continue your erratic humping.

“Sylus please…!” Zayne humps upwards gliding along your cunt and nearly snagging on your entrance. He knows Sylus won’t let him have you, as badly as he wants to slip inside and fuck you stupid… maybe even while Sylus fucks him stupid at the same time.

“Be a good boy, doctor Zayne.” You’re both moaning at that, your orgasm just out of your reach as Zayne twitches and pathetically spurts on Sylus’s tongue and your cunt.

“Coming without my permission? Guess it can’t be helped.” Sylus sighs, licking his lips and pushing upwards to grab your ass. “Still gotta make our princess cum, don’t tell me you’re too sleepy to help.”

One look at Zayne and you knew he was a goner, even as Sylus forced your hips upwards and pressed you further into Zayne. His hands were snaking under you, finding your puffy clit and rubbing as fast as his hand would allow.

“Atta boy, Zayne.” Sylus purred, mouth descending on your cunt and fucking you on his tongue. The orgasm you had been so close to obtaining finally came crashing down on you, a weak cry tumbling out of your lips.

The exhaustion you and zayne had been fighting hit the two of you at the same time. Bodies going limp and breathing slowly steadying as Sylus admired his messy handy work. Cum and saliva ruining you both.

“Sweet dreams, you two.”

[phoenixrisingastro]

Mars in the Houses: The Blood, the Carnage, the Madness Edition

Mars is the raw, unfiltered essence of war, rage, and primal desire. It is the blood that pumps through your veins when your fists clench and your pulse races. It is the fire in your chest when you’re ready to destroy or be destroyed. Mars doesn’t ask—it takes. It doesn’t negotiate—it conquers. It lives for the thrill of battle, for the taste of blood, for the screams that echo in the aftermath.

But Mars is more than violence—it’s seduction, hunger, and the driving force behind every carnal urge you’ve ever felt. It whispers in your ear to go further, push harder, break the rules, and taste what’s forbidden. It’s the fury that makes you throw the first punch and the lust that makes you pull someone closer, knowing it might ruin you both.

In the houses, Mars shows where your battles rage, where you destroy and rebuild, where you ignite passion or chaos. This is not a placement for the faint of heart. This is blood on your hands, fire in your soul, and war in your bones.

Find your Mars. Face it. And pray it doesn’t destroy you.

Mars in the 1st House

You are war incarnate. Mars in the 1st house doesn’t just give you presence—it gives you a thirst for dominance. You don’t enter rooms, you invade them. You don’t want to be noticed; you demand submission. Every look, every breath, every move you make is a silent declaration of war. People fear you because they know, even if they can’t articulate it, that you are a weapon. Your rage is a beast with no leash, a wildfire that consumes everything in its path, even you. But what makes you truly dangerous is your refusal to stop. Even when you’ve destroyed everything, you’ll fight the ashes themselves because surrender is your ultimate enemy.

Mars in the 2nd House

This is the violence of possession, of obsession so deep it leaves bruises on the soul. Mars in the 2nd house fights not just to protect, but to hoard, to conquer, to claim. What is yours is yours, and anyone foolish enough to challenge that will feel the crushing weight of your retaliation. You don’t just take revenge—you starve your enemies, strip them of everything that makes them human, and leave them crawling in the dirt, begging for scraps. You want them to feel your absence like a knife in their throat. Your violence isn’t loud; it’s precise, merciless, and always lethal.

Mars in the 3rd House

Your words are murder weapons, sharpened and ready for the kill. Mars here doesn’t just argue—it dismembers. Every conversation is a battlefield, every disagreement an opportunity to annihilate. You don’t fight fair; you dig up secrets, weaponize insecurities, and leave your opponents bleeding out from wounds they didn’t see coming. Your mind is a predator, stalking its prey until the perfect moment to strike. You’re not just smart—you’re sadistic, reveling in the psychological carnage you leave behind. But be warned: every word you use to cut others is a blade you’ll eventually turn on yourself.

Mars in the 4th House

Home is your prison, your sanctuary, and your hell. Mars in the 4th house takes the place meant for comfort and turns it into a war zone. You grew up knowing violence—not always physical, but emotional, the kind that leaves scars no one can see. And now, you repeat the cycle, bringing chaos into every intimate space you touch. Love for you is suffocating, a stranglehold that leaves no room for escape. But hate? Hate is a fortress, a cold, impenetrable wall that keeps others out and traps you inside. Your home is a battleground, and you are both the victim and the aggressor.

Mars in the 5th House

Your passion is destruction. Mars in the 5th house takes joy, love, and creativity and twists them into weapons of chaos. You don’t just love—you consume. You don’t just create—you destroy what came before. Relationships with you are intoxicating, addictive, and utterly devastating. People fall for you like moths to a flame, knowing they’ll get burned but unable to resist the pull. Your love is a drug, your rage a plague, and your presence a hurricane that leaves nothing but rubble in its wake.

Mars in the 6th House

Mars in the 6th house is self-destruction disguised as ambition. You grind yourself into dust chasing perfection, wielding discipline like a whip against your own back. But the war doesn’t stop there—you turn your fury outward, lashing out at anyone who dares to disrupt your carefully constructed routines. Co-workers, subordinates, even your own body—they’re all fair game when your rage takes over. You don’t just fight for control—you demand it, and when you can’t achieve it, you dismantle everything, piece by agonizing piece.

Mars in the 7th House

Love is a battlefield, and you are its most ruthless combatant. Mars in the 7th house doesn’t seek harmony—it seeks dominance. Your relationships are power struggles, full of passion, rage, and destruction. You attract lovers who mirror your intensity, partners who thrive on the chaos you create. But this isn’t love—it’s war, and the casualties are high. Arguments become bloodbaths, and reconciliation feels more like a ceasefire than true peace. You leave people scarred, haunted, and forever changed.

Mars in the 8th House

This is the Mars of obsession, of control so absolute it borders on possession. The 8th house is the realm of sex, death, and transformation, and Mars here revels in its shadows. You destroy to rebuild, seduce to dominate, and love to control. You don’t just crave connection—you demand it, pulling people into your orbit and refusing to let them go until they’re completely consumed. But your power is a double-edged sword. The more you destroy others, the more you destroy yourself, leaving you trapped in a cycle of pain, desire, and rebirth.

Mars in the 9th House

Your beliefs are your weapons, and you wield them with a ferocity that terrifies even you. Mars in the 9th house turns conviction into carnage, making you fight for your truth with unrelenting zeal. You don’t just argue your point—you decimate opposition, burning bridges and cities in the name of your ideals. But this righteous fury comes at a cost. The more you fight for what you believe, the more isolated you become, until all that’s left is the scorched earth of a war you can’t stop waging.

Mars in the 10th House

You are ambition made flesh. Mars in the 10th house doesn’t just climb the ladder—it tears it down, piece by piece, until only you remain at the top. Success for you isn’t a goal—it’s a war, and every opponent is just another obstacle to conquer. Your ruthlessness is unparalleled, your drive unstoppable. But your rise to power is littered with casualties—friends, family, even your own integrity. And when you fall, as all warriors do, you’ll rise again, more dangerous and determined than ever before.

Mars in the 11th House

Even friendship isn’t safe from your wrath. Mars in the 11th house turns social circles into battlegrounds, where alliances are forged and broken with brutal efficiency. You don’t just belong to a group—you dominate it, using intimidation and manipulation to maintain control. But when conflict arises, your fury is swift and devastating. Reputations are destroyed, relationships dismantled, and chaos reigns. People fear you, admire you, and ultimately, never forget you.

Mars in the 12th House

Mars here is a ticking time bomb, hidden in the shadows of your subconscious. Your battles are internal, fought in the dark corners of your mind where no one else can see. But when the bomb goes off, the destruction is catastrophic. Your rage is unpredictable, a force that lashes out at the world even as it tears you apart. This placement makes you a master of hidden warfare, striking from the shadows with a precision that leaves no survivors. But your greatest enemy isn’t out there—it’s within you, waiting for the moment you let your guard down.

This isn’t just a post—it’s a mirror. Look into it and see the war inside you. Feel it. Fear it. And when you’re ready to face it, you know where to find me.

© PhoenixRisingAstro, 2025. All rights reserved

[giuliannna]

SAY IT

— you need hamzah to talk you through it.

“that’s it.. just like that,”

hamzah’s voice is low against your ear as he fucks into you.

slow but deep, every thrust hits you perfectly. his hips grind against yours like he knows he’s giving you what you need.

“y’feel that?” he breathes out, his hand sliding down between your bodies, fingers finding your clit. “feel how good you’re squeezing me? fuck, you’re close, aren’t you?”

you whine, squeezing your eyes shut in frustration. your nails dig into his skin, legs trembling around him. he’s right - you’re so close you can barely breathe, pleasure coiling tighter and tighter in your stomach.

except, something’s holding you back. you can’t seem to get over the edge just yet.

“what’s wrong, hm?” his lips brush your throat, feeling the way your body trembles under him. “you strugglin’?”

you nod, absolutely desperate and frantic.

his smirk is sinful. his thrusts slow slightly, just to tease you, to make you feel every inch of him stretching you out, filling you utterly.

“yeah?” his fingers work your clit in slow, deliberate circles, his voice dripping with praise, with control. “need me to tell you how fuckin’ good you feel? how pretty you are like this, takin’ it so well?”

a choked moan tumbles past your lips, your body arching into him.

he groans, thrusting into you deeper. the sound of his hips slapping against yours is obscene. “i can feel you holding back, baby. let go.”

you whimper pathetically - you’re so close, it’s unbearable. but your mind just needs more. you need his voice to push you over the edge. he knows it, too.

his fingers press a little harder, rubbing a little faster against your clit. “you wanna be good for me, don’t you?” he taunts. “wanna finish like a good fuckin’ girl?”

your breath shudders. the pleasure tightens, builds, your entire body unraveling beneath him.

“yes, i - i want to,” you gasp. “please, hamzah.. fuck, i-”

“do it.” he snaps. “you’re right there. don’t be pathetic.”

the second he says it, the tension in your body shatters. your orgasm crashes through you so intensely it’s like a live wire in your veins, heat blooming low in your belly before it spreads, overwhelmingly devastating. your vision blurs, your entire body locking up as pleasure rips through you.

“that’s it, beautiful, fuck, that’s so good,” hamzah groans, feeling you tighten around him, your cunt gripping him like your body never wants to let go. “god, you’re soaking me, baby - making such a mess.”

your body jerks, thighs trembling, your moans breaking into raspy sobs as he keeps moving, drawing it out, fucking you through each wave of euphoria.

your body is completely spent, heat buzzing in your limbs, but hamzah still doesn’t let up. he doesn’t stop talking you through it, his words wrapping around you, coaxing every last aftershock out of your oversensitive body.

“you’re perfect,” he murmurs, his voice thick with praise. “so pretty when you finish for me, angel. so pretty.”

a/n: thank you sm for 500+ followers !!

xoxo giulia

taglist: @gulicore @thevoicelikesmartydoes @slushedup @arroganceisherfavoritecolor @layzerzlovesu46 @babysitter19 @marixoa @starjely @viennawaiits @a1exaaaa @freakzah444 @anginluv @gabwilliams @sturniyolo @screamertannie @brlwla @yourstrulykiya @thefantastickid @hamzaholic

[yup-thats-me]

That's how the 6'2'' tall puppy pouts at you when you say no pussy. And he'll be utterly devasted.

"WHAT?" He almost screams in shock and disbelief. "Why can't I eat you out, Y/n?"

Yunho trails behind you as you continue with your chores around your shared apartment. "Just like that," you shrug dusting off the shelves.

The man pouts hurt written all over his perfect features. "I just came back after a week and you decide to torture me more?" He sighs. "They are right, true love is dead. Six feet under I say!"

Sighing, you turn around. "Yuyu, baby just be patient, okay? You'll have me all day tomorrow, all right?" You try to console the broken man.

"No!" he shakes his head like a kid. "Why can't I have you today?"

"Because I haven't shaved! If you wish to explore a jungle, be my guest!" You finally give in to his tantrums.

Yunho blinks. Not shaven? He can hardly believe that's the reason you decided to torment him.

The singer without batting an eye, scoops you off the ground, making a beeline to the bedroom, a fire burning in his brown eyes. You try to fight him, punching him lightly against his chest. "Yu, put me down!" He however, pays no mind to your actions.

He just sighs deeply. "You forget I'm a 26 year old man, an adult, mind you," his voice determined as he gently sets you down on the plush bed.

And immediately, something clicks. His demeanor changes in seconds as he takes off his tee, eyes set on you like prey.

"If you think a little bush is going to stop me," he breathes as he bites the skin of your neck.

"Think again, sweets."

inspired from @yun-fangz ''bush talk''

yup-thats-me®

[happyhauntt]

— march fic recs, brought to you by happyhauntt.

a wee fic rec post for a few of the fics i read in march that altered my brain chemistry!! i've put a lil comment next to each rec because honestly writers don't get praised enough for their work these days and i wanted to show my appreciation for these talented souls!!

grishaverse.

➡ kaz brekker.

what do you want from me by @rubysunnday. notes: literally perfect wtf.

dark days by rubysunnday. notes: i reread this literally constantly, it is so perfect, kaz's characterisation is perfect, i adore it.

bloody hands by rubysunnday. notes: i devoured this whole thing like a starving person it was sO good.

when am i gonna lose you? by @crowsmybeloveds. notes: this is so beautiful honestly i have no words.

the lost princess by @ellewritesalright. notes: look it's only part one but elle is a fucking wizard and i'm a sucker for an anastasia au.

you and me (a whole lot of history) by @heliads. notes: this was so cute and such a clever concept i fell in love!!!

schat by @amourology. notes: fully choked this is so adorable.

soulmate by @magpiencrow. notes: KAZ BREKKER SOULMATE AU didn't know i needed this but now i need 100 more!!!!

➡ nikolai lantsov.

nine long years series by @ellewritesalright. notes: i am actively fucking screaming over this fic. i will never stop. this might genuinely be the best thing i've read in a LONG while. everything about it has me sobbing i actively CANNOT COPE. and it's not even finished yet.

one of us by @songofpatrochilless. notes: literally had me sobbing you don't understand the domesticity of it all!!!!!.

come on back to me by @atlabeth. notes: there is a very strong chance that i'll literally never stop screaming about this fic.

dreams of you by @wh0refornikolailantsov. notes: every cell in my body is SCREAMING.

this love by @lantsovsupremacist. notes: did not, in fact, give you permission to hurt me like this do it again.

salt in the wound by @in-my-feels-probably. notes: brain goes brrrr this has everything i need to survive tbh.

wanting was enough by @rubysunnday. notes: beautiful stunning magnificent i want to eat it.

an exhausted smile by @writing-havoc. notes: think i had an aneurysm reading this it was that amazing.

run away with me by @sumsebien. notes: i am still sobbing over this.

in emerald hearts, emerald minds by @undiscovered-horizon. notes: love love love love love. there aren't enough words in any language to describe how much i love this.

➡ alina starkov.

alina starkov x reader by @heliads. notes: alina does not get nearly enough love and this was so fucking sad and cute and brilliant.

➡ nina zenik.

the ten steps to 'i love you' by @sophierequests. notes: this was SO HEARTWARMING AND SWEET i adored it!!!

➡ zoya nazyalensky.

forget-me-nots by @syllvane. notes: not enough zoya fics on this hellsite. but also this ripped my heart out and made me sob so RUDE. i feel devastated.

➡ inej ghafa.

inej ghafa x reader by @heliads. notes: INEJ MY SWEET BABY, this fic is everything to me. everything. and it's so beautifully written!!!

➡ the darkling.

the dark side of the moon series by @myhairpintrigger. notes: this fic is ASTOUNDING. i haven’t cried this much reading something in a long time. i was FULL-BODY SOBBING. i don’t even like the darkling. i am Not a darkling girlie. but i was intrigued by concept of this fic and i can safely say it has ruined my life. this is Emotional Damage Incarnate. i will never recover. author, i salute you.

911.

through the smoke by @borntobewondering. notes: spent twenty whole minutes sobbing after reading this. i felt undone i felt hollow i felt so utterly fucked. author is a genius and that's all there is to say.

not so one night stand by @shmaptainwrites. notes: this was so fuckin adorable i'm in love.

d.c. to l.a. by shmaptainwrites. notes: bobby my guy just doesn't get enough fucking credit and this is so fucking adorable.

criminal minds.

➡ spencer reid.

trouble almost all my life by @januaryembrs. notes: this series is. it's literally. everything. i love bugsy like she's my own child. sister relationships are everything to me. i spent an hour sobbing in my bed over parts 2 and 3. i want this tattooed on my forehead.

➡ aaron hotchner.

found by @benedictscanvas. notes: DADDY i mean what. all jokes aside this was so sweet and beautiful and i'm in love the writing!!!

doctor who.

rage rage (against the dying of the light) by @morganas-pendragons. notes: felt feral after reading this. kayla just gets me in my feels every time.

heartbeat by morganas-pendragons. notes: this was the most emotional devastating thing i've ever read and i fully needed 3-5 business days to recover. rude. i want 100 more.

untitled by morganas-pendragons. notes: PAIN i love this so much.

ache by morganas-pendragons. notes: just scoop my heart out of my fucking chest i don't want it anymore after reading this.

a mind full of blissful terrors by @magiccath. notes: simply fucking amazing.

light in the dark by @i-imagine-my-doctor. notes: screaming please i adore this so much.

baby talk by @kisstherainwriting. notes: THE ABSOLUTE CUTIEST EVER. there's not enough clara fics and this had me squealing and feeling all warm and fuzzy!!!

holding my hand by kisstherainwriting. notes: angst galore this was STUNNING.

in another's eyes by @cas-kingdom. notes: PERFECTION.

where do we go now series by @theetherealbloom. notes: literally so fucking amazing i don't have enough words.

marauders.

the winner takes it all by @ellecdc. notes: brb faye is having a STROKE--

come back, be here series by ellecdc. notes: i think i had a full on stroke while reading this series. the attention to detail is insane. the characterisation is perfect.

i don't know you anymore (maybe i never really did) by @thenyoumightaswellwrestleangels. notes: SCREECHING i'm in love you don't understand.

bridgerton.

➡ anthony bridgerton.

distractions by @peterpparkrr. notes: simply immaculate.

right person, all the wrong times by @wwinterwitch. notes: did you mean one of my favourite tropes bc this is it.

right in front of me by @idontgiveaflyinggrayson69 & @thirteenisles. notes: i felt feral after reading this tbh.

➡ sibling!reader.

reluctant caretaker by @rubysunnday. notes: this fic hit my heart in all the right places okay sibling stuff means everything to me.

did she have a cookie by rubysunnday. notes: a joyous read from start to finish i CACKLED the whole way through.

moon knight.

come back to me by @mgparker. notes: still sobbing. immaculate.

the other sarcophagus by @starryevermore. notes: i literally reread this constantly i adore it so much!!

marc spector x reader by @softlyspector. notes: i had an aneurysm reading this and i haven't been the same since.

more marc spector x reader by softlyspector. notes: i am having an intense emotion hold on. anytime i see autistic stuff in canon content for any fandom i SQUEAK. and this is so well done honestly.

star wars.

heartless by @youvebeenlivingfictional. notes: i reread this constantly, it's so amazing and heartwrenching and beautiful and i want to eat it.

little talks by @light-yaers. notes: you simply do not understand how much i adore everything beff writes. i adore this fic more than i need oxygen to breathe.

right where you left me series by light-yaers. notes: personality-defining series. i LIVE for this fic. every update adds five years to my lifespan. if you're not reading this you are MISSING OUT.

a light, a song, a bluebird by @millllenniawrites. notes: made me SOB 10/10 would recommend if you like emotional trauma.

invisible string by @campingwiththecharmings. notes: pining!!! loneliness!!! i adore!!!

hard landings by @softlyspector. notes: no. no you don't understand. this fic doesn't just own my soul it is my soul. i want it tattooed on my face.

misc.

hopper x reader by @luveline. notes: you don't understand this might be the cutest shit i've ever read and jade is a fellow welsh person which automatically makes them brilliant in my book.

muña by @in-my-feels-probably. notes: alicent means fucking everything to me and this had me sobbing.

mistletoe magic by @writingsbychlo. notes: literally the cutest fucking thing ever, had me kicking my legs and squealing!!

[thef1diary]

teamprincipal!carlos fingering you after he heard you say bad things about yourself after a race and making you praise yourself 😵‍💫😵‍💫

— good god nonnie 🥵 he will never let anyone speak badly about his driver. 18+ content below

The door to Carlos’ office slammed shut behind you, the tension in the air thick enough to suffocate. You paced the room, tugging at the sleeves of your race suit, anger and self-loathing swirling in your chest. The race had been a disaster—or so you thought—and the words spilled from your lips before you could stop them.

“I’m so fucking useless,” you muttered, your hands clenched into fists at your sides. “I’m a goddamn joke out there—”

“What did you just say?”

Carlos’s voice stopped you in your tracks. It was low, sharp, and full of disbelief. He stood by the door, his arms crossed, his dark eyes narrowing on you like you were a problem he needed to fix.

“I—” you stammered, caught off guard by the intensity of his glare.

“Don’t you dare,” he muttered, taking slow, deliberate steps toward you. His tone softened, but it was no less commanding. “Don’t you dare talk about yourself like that.”

Before you could respond, his hands were on you, one gripping your chin to tilt your head up, the other slipping around your waist. His lips crashed against yours, swallowing your apology, silencing every self-deprecating word you wanted to say.

The kiss was rough, possessive, yet tinged with something almost tender. You gasped into his mouth as he pulled you closer, your bodies flush. His hardening cock pressed against you, and your hips instinctively ground against him, desperate for any kind of friction.

“Do you have any idea how fucking incredible you are?” he murmured against your lips, his voice laced with both anger and something softer—almost hurt. “How can you think otherwise?”

His hands found the zipper of your race suit, tugging it down to your waist. Beneath it, your fireproofs clung to your body, but Carlos was quick to strip you of the top, exposing your bare skin. His gaze raked over you, dark and hungry, as his hands cupped your tits.

“Let me remind you,” he said, his thumbs brushing over your nipples, rolling them between his fingers until they hardened under his touch. The sensation sent sparks straight to your pussy, and you couldn’t help the soft whimper that escaped your lips.

“Sir,” you breathed, your body arching into his hands as he pinched and teased. The attention he lavished on your nipples had you squirming, your thighs pressing together in search of relief.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his voice softening as his lips brushed along your jaw, then down your neck. “So beautiful, so fucking perfect.” His hands continued their work, alternating between gentle caresses and rough pinches that left you gasping.

The heat pooling between your legs was unbearable by the time he pulled back, his hands sliding lower. He turned you around, pressing you against the edge of his desk. His palm slid beneath the waistband of your fireproof leggings, finding your bare, slick cunt.

“You’re dripping,” he said, his tone low and full of approval. “All this for me, hermosa?”

You nodded, your breath hitching as his fingers dipped into your folds, spreading your arousal.

“Such a good girl,” he murmured, sliding two fingers inside you, his thumb circling your clit. His pace was maddeningly slow, deliberate, and utterly devastating. “Now, tell me what I want to hear.”

“I—I’m sorry,” you started, but his fingers froze. His other hand grazed up your back until he reached the nape of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair before he tugged harshly.

He leaned closer, and you were able to feel the heat of his body surrounding you. “Wrong answer,” he whispered in your ear, his voice dark and dangerous. He pulled his fingers out of your pussy and slapped your clit, the sharp sting making you cry out.

“Sir, please!” you whimpered, your body trembling as he teased you mercilessly.

“Try again,” he said, sliding his fingers back inside you with a rough thrust. “Say something good about yourself.”

“I—I’m good enough,” you stammered, the pleasure building in your core.

“Louder,” he commanded, his fingers curling inside you, hitting that spot that made you see stars.

“I’m good enough!” you cried out, your hands clawing at the desk for support.

“And?” he pressed, his thumb pressing harder against your clit, making your legs shake.

“I’m a good driver,” you whispered, the tears pooling in your eyes as you struggled to believe your own words while focusing on the pleasure building.

“The best,” he corrected, his pace quickening. “Say it.”

“I’m the best!” you sobbed, your body shaking as the tension coiled tighter and tighter.

“Good girl,” he purred, his lips brushing against your ear as he worked you closer to the edge. “Now cum for me. Show me how much you believe it.”

Your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, your body convulsing as he continued to thrust his fingers into you, drawing out every drop of your release. The wet, filthy sounds of your orgasm filled the room, your cries of pleasure muffled by his hand over your mouth.

As you slumped against the desk, breathing heavily, Carlos carefully flipped you over, a small smile gracing his lips as he noticed your tinged cheeks. He leaned down, grazing his lips over your neck before pressing a firm kiss to the spot behind your ear.

“Remember this, princesa,” he murmured, his voice softer but no less authoritative. “You’re mine. My driver. The best one on the grid. And I don’t let anyone—not even you—talk shit about my driver.”

want more team principal!carlos? send me an ask with your filthiest thoughts and it’ll get answered during one of my dirty drabble days

[deebris]

Heartbeat

Simon "Ghost" Riley x daughter reader (platonic!)

Synopsis: At just eight years old, you struggle with a heart condition that makes you too fragile for shocks or exertion. To protect you, Simon keeps his military life as far away as possible, and his home, a safe refuge. But everything changes when an intruder, unaware of Simon's true identity, decides to rob them. What should have been a simple burglary turns into a desperate race against time when fear triggers a heart attack. Now, Simon is not only fighting the thief — he's fighting to save your life.

Warnings: Profanity, firearms, panic, mentions of death, the reader is 8 years old, has Long QT Syndrome and is a girl.

Word count: 4.5k

Observation: English is not my first language, and I have very little exposure to British English specifically. I had a really hard time writing Simon and Price's dialogue, but I hope I at least got close to something more realistic.

Simon put you to sleep, just like he had for the past two nights, and now he lay with his head resting against the pillow, the insomnia visiting him once again. He was exhausted from the day, chasing after you and handling your tantrums – but still, sleep wouldn’t come. No one would believe it if they were told that he, a shadowy wall of muscle and silence, spent his afternoons playing dolls and tea parties with an eight-year-old girl.

Your father always watched you sleep for a while, his calloused fingers gently brushing your chubby cheek and smoothing your hair. He admired your serenity, as if the world were perfect and no problems existed. Simon wished you could stay that way forever, carefree and small. The thought of you growing up and facing the world unsettled him, but it was inevitable.

You were a wellspring of joy, something that warmed his heart. Always looking for him, and always worried about how he felt, if he was okay, when he should be the one asking you that. Something inside Simon shifted every time you asked if he was hurting when went too quiet.

He used to think that a child’s mind was too oblivious to understand how adults worked, but you always noticed every time his eyes tightened just a fraction differently, wondering: Why is Daddy sad? And not every time was he exactly sad, but sometimes, his gaze grew distant, thoughts reaching faraway places. Now, he was much more careful not to let it happen around you, not wanting his daughter to think something was wrong with her father.

Everything about you made him immensely happy, a feeling buried deep in his chest that he had to protect you at all costs. But Simon couldn’t protect you from his greatest fear. Your heart worked differently, he had told you that himself, and it had brought him to the edge of panic more times than he could count. When it wasn’t clear what was wrong, he felt useless, powerless, as if he would never be enough.

Once, you couldn’t breathe at daycare, and he was thousands of miles away. Your babysitter called him in tears, it was one of the worst moments of his life. He thought you were going to die, and the very idea haunted him like some loathsome creature. He had faced death many times, in many forms, but with you, it was utterly devastating. You couldn’t disappear. It would destroy him.

When he was near, he handled you like porcelain, always cautious, as if something invisible could suddenly trigger another episode, making you cry from a pain he couldn't take away.

That’s why he refused to take anything that might help him sleep, twisting at the thought of you needing him and him being too dazed to respond. He forced himself to stay awake, alert, every little noise in the house making him tense. A creaking window, the sound of distant footsteps, a whisper in the hallway – he always checked – even knowing it was probably just his mind creating monsters. But he couldn’t help it. The fear of something happening while he was lost in the darkness of his own mind was unbearable.

In the middle of the night, he would get up several times just to check if you were still breathing. The room was silent, except for the rhythmic, comforting sound of your breath. Occasionally, there was a small hesitation, a brief pause that sent his heart into his throat, before the steady rise and fall of your chest resumed. He knew it was paranoia, but he couldn’t stop. To him, you were more important than the very oxygen in his lungs. Every beat of your heart mattered more than his own life.

But he wasn’t unshakable, no matter how much he wished to be for you. Eventually, exhaustion would take hold, his bloodshot eyes pulling him into the dark. When it did, he would wake at the first sign of morning – his sleep never lasting long. But tonight, something was different. He woke up much earlier.

A crash from the hallway, the sound of a lamp shattering against the floor, yanked him into full awareness. Like an instinct buried deep within him had been triggered, Simon’s hearing sharpened instantly. His body tensed, slipping into a readiness only someone like him could know. With a single swift motion, he was out of bed, his bare feet touching the floor with such precision that they barely made a sound.

Then, a sharp, terrified scream shattered the silence, echoing through the house.

It was your voice.

“Daddy!”

Cold fear rushed through his veins. His heart pounded violently, but he didn’t hesitate. Instinct seized him like a crushing weight, and he moved with the speed of a predator. The sound of his own ragged breath and the pounding of his heartbeat were all he heard as he bolted toward your room, his only thought to reach you before anything else could.

He burst through your door, flipping the switch to flood the room with light.

Someone was there.

A boy, probably a teenager. He wore a balaclava and clutched a pistol, the serial number scratched off. Simon noticed it instantly. He always noticed details – nothing escaped him – and guilt tore through his chest.

He should have prevented this. He should have seen the signs before the intruder ever set foot in his house.

“Stay there!” The boy shouted, his voice trembling. His hands shook so much they could barely hold the gun. He seemed on the verge of collapsing, as if he might wet himself at any moment. Maybe he was just a young man making a stupid mistake, a rash decision. That's what Simon's rational side told himself. But his emotional side could only feel anger – a muffled, uncontrollable fury burning inside – because of how that gun had been pointed at you just seconds ago.

Simon's figure must have terrified the invader even more. The boy hadn't expected to find someone like him. Tall. Intimidating. His face covered in scars, his eyes cold and empty. Instinct screamed inside the younger: this is no ordinary man. Even when Simon raised his hands, in a gesture of surrender, he didn't seem to feel safe.

“Calm down.” Simon's deep, imposing voice filled the room. The boy trembled even more. The lieutenant opened his hands, trying to show he wouldn't do anything.

He heard your crying. He could feel your heart racing, almost as fast as his own. And that was not a good sign. Your chest was rising and falling irregularly. He knew you needed help. Now.

“Put the gun down, kid.”

“I'm not putting anything down, Motherfucker!” He shouted, his voice shrill, desperate. You jumped in bed. Simon diverted his eyes for a second, just to see how you clung to the blanket, your fingers gripping so tightly they were turning white. Your father knew the swearing, the yelling, and that gun were terrifying you.

“Look at me! Don't look at her!” The boy yelled again, hysterical. Fear was written all over his face. He thought Simon might attack him at any moment.

“You can take whatever you want, just put the gun down.” Simon's voice came out brutal again, cutting. He needed to appear in control, even though he wasn't. He moved his hands slowly, cautiously, trying to convince the stranger he wasn’t a threat.

Meanwhile, your mind was on high alert, painted red as you saw the barrel of the gun pointed at your father. For a dark moment, you thought that guy was going to hurt him.

“I didn't know she was here, I swear.” The kid whispered. His breathing was erratic. “I don't want to take anything, I just want to leave. I'm very sorry...”

Simon saw the tremor in the boy's shoulders, saw the tears forming behind the fabric of the balaclava. He was crying, probably from the shock of finding a child while doing something so horrific.

“Fine. Then go.” Simon agreed, his mind spinning, his heart hammering in his chest. He just wanted to get to you. Your breathing was becoming difficult. You were so scared you could barely speak.

The thief swallowed hard. His gaze wavered for a second.

“As soon as I get closer, you'll grab me.” He said as if it were a fact, sizing up Simon’s physique – a man who knows how to fight. A cop, maybe? Military? The boy knew he wouldn't stand a chance against him.

“I won’t.” Simon kept his voice firm, but he felt the fear seeping in. His eyes quickly shifted to you, seeing your feet moving under the blanket, you were in agony.

Then he saw it.

Your small chest rising and falling erratically. You brought your hand to your heart, your face contorting. Pain.

Panic exploded inside Simon.

If it weren’t for you, Simon would have already lunged at the invader and ended it. But he couldn’t risk it. A stray bullet. One wrong move.

“What’s your name?” His voice came out softer, controlled.

“J-James...” He stammered.

The oldest in the room nodded, memorizing the name. “James. I’m Simon.”

The boy just nodded.

“You look young. I reckon you made a mistake comin’ ‘ere, and now you’re regrettin’ it.” Simon measured each word with precision. “I don’t care if you walk out that door and vanish, just as long as you’re outta my daughter’s sight.”

He was lying. He was lying with every word. But he needed James to believe it. He needed him to leave. He was definitely going after him later.

James averted his gaze and, for the first time, really looked at you.

Your body was trembling. Tears streamed down your face. Your lips were trembling so much you couldn’t speak.

“W-What’s wrong with her?” The young man asked hesitantly. His voice was different now, but Simon didn’t want to talk. He needed to get to you.

“You're frightenin' her.” He said through clenched teeth, and something seemed to change in the boy. His gaze softened.

But the gun was still raised.

And Simon was running out of time.

He saw you try to call his name once more, but the sound died in your throat.

He knew what it was.

The cold soldier’s face crumbled, giving way to that of a desperate father, and he looked into James's eyes before finally exploding:

“If you don’t let me help her, she’s gonna die!”

The boy blinked at hearing the threat, confused, and Simon took a step forward.

“She’s ill.” He gushed the words harshly, laden with an emotion he couldn’t control. “If you don’t let me go to her, she’ll die. Do you understand, bloody hell?!”

For a second, after the beastly shout he gave, only silence filled the room.

James froze.

And Simon waited.

The boy gave up and nodded, his fingers still trembling as he lowered the gun. Simon didn’t waste any time. In an instant, he crossed the room to you, his steps heavy and determined. You were pale. Small. Your hands still clutching your chest. The fear in your huge eyes was enough to break something inside him.

Simon crouched beside you and held your face between his hands, forcing a softer tone than he had used with the intruder. James, panicked, couldn’t do anything but put his hands over his head, sliding down the wall while apologizing repeatedly. He pulled the balaclava off his face, revealing his features. He was just a teenager, between 16 and 18 years old.

The boy had no idea what he was doing there, nor how he had reached the point of thinking that breaking into a family’s home for some cash was a good idea. The moment he realized what he had done, a chill ran down his spine as he understood that, for an instant, he had pointed a gun at a child.

A child.

“Hey, I’m here. I’m here, sweetheart. Look at me.”

You blinked a few times, as if trying to focus, searching for safety in your father’s face. But your body trembled. Then came the first unsteady breath. Then another. Small, desperate gasps. Your chest rose and fell too fast, and Simon felt his blood turn cold.

No. Not now.

A sob escaped you, and you clung to his shirt as if your life depended on it. Maybe it did.

He held you tightly, as if he could shield you from everything, as if just pulling you closer could stop life from slipping through his fingers. Heart pounding, he descended the stairs in long strides, muscles tense with the urgency only a father understands. Nothing else mattered now – not the stranger still in the house, not the shards of glass on the floor, not even his own fear. Only you. Only getting to the hospital in time.

“D-Daddy…” Your voice came out as a weak whisper, so soft he only heard it because your face was pressed against his shoulder.

Simon’s stomach twisted. You were scared. More than that, you were terrified. Your small fingers clung to his shirt so tightly they could have torn it, as if you were drowning.

“You’re gonna be okay, my love.” The words came out fast, hoarse, more for himself than for you. He yanked the car door open and carefully placed you in the back seat, making sure you were positioned safely. His eyes quickly scanned your pale face before he rushed to drive.

Simon didn’t look back. He didn’t think about the stranger, the house, anything else. He just turned the engine on and slammed his foot on the gas, the headlights cutting through the darkness as he sped down the nearly empty streets. His mind was torn between the road and the sound of your unsteady breathing in the back seat.

“Stay with me, sweetheart.” he murmured, glancing at the rearview mirror. You were curled up, your wide eyes locked on him, trying to stay focused as your small hands gripped the seatbelt.

Simon’s chest tightened. He wanted to say something to soothe you, but all that came to mind was the corrosive fear that maybe – just maybe – he was already too late.

✧✧✧

A few hours later, the sun was shining brightly as morning advanced. Simon shifted in the uncomfortable hospital chair, elbows resting on his knees, his hand holding yours. The warmth of your skin against his was the only thing that a little peace, his thumb tracing slow circles in an unconscious gesture of comfort. He had been silent since arriving, but not in his usual way. This silence was heavy, suffocating, filling the room like an unspoken weight.

He didn’t dare take his eyes off you, afraid that even the slightest lapse in attention could make things go wrong again. The constant beeping of the heart monitor was offering him fragile relief, a reminder that you were here, alive. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was just a temporary illusion – that at any moment, the rhythm would spike again, and you’d be in danger.

Two hours ago, you had woken up, still drowsy, sedated by the doctors to prevent stress. Your eyes opened sluggishly, scanning the room until found him. You were scared – for him. The image of the boy pointing a gun was still vivid in your mind, and the fear overflowed. When the panic set in, your heart rate spiked again, and the medical team had to intervene, sedating you once more.

Simon could do nothing. He just sat there, motionless, fingers pressing against the bridge of his nose in frustration.

The sound of the door opening pulled him from his thoughts. Simon turned his head and saw Price standing there. His captain, one of the few people he trusted, and someone who knew you well enough to understand what had happened.

Simon had never minded being alone. Solitude was an old companion, a shadow he had learned to carry without complaint. But this time, for some reason, he had picked up the phone and called John. Something inside him had pushed him to press that button, an insistent, uneasy force hammering inside him.

He wanted to believe it was just for your sake, because you and Price were close, because he had a duty to inform him - because his captain would be furious if Simon didn't tell him about it. But deep down, he knew the truth.

He needed someone else to be there.

Your “Uncle John” never failed to send you gifts when he could, and sometimes even made the hour-long drive from his city just to say “hi” to you. Price cherished you as if you were his own daughter.

“Oi, Lieutenant.” The older man’s voice was steady, comforting.

Simon took a deep breath, trying to compose himself, falling back into the tactical demeanor he always used in the base. But even when he wore his mask, John could read him like an open book.

“Captain.” That was all he managed to say.

Price knew him well enough to understand that Simon needed support. He was used to dealing with Ghost. But this – this was just Simon.

“How’s our Thumbelina?” Price asked softly, as if afraid to wake you. He walked over to Simon, placing a hand on his shoulder in a brief, almost hesitant gesture.

“She'll wake up soon enough.” Simon replied, his eyes fixed on you but not really seeing you. His gaze was distant, unfocused.

“You said she went into shock, didn't you?” Price murmured, trying to follow a line of conversation.

“The doc thinks so.” Simon sighed and leaned back in the chair, exhaling slowly. “They’re going to refer her to a shrink. Don’t want those memories messin’ with her head.”

Price nodded, remaining standing.

“I made a few calls,” he announced, watching his friend's reaction. “I got some info on the brat.”

Simon looked up, attentive.

“He didn’t even try to leg it. Found him in her room, and I called in a contact from the coppers.” He scratched his mustache at the memory of the encounter.

At first, Price got confused. But within seconds, he was already gripping the teenager by the collar, fury burning in his eyes. He only started to rein himself in when James, terrified, began apologizing, without even knowing who the man pinning him against the wall was. His empathy took over. The boy had hurt you, yes, but he didn’t know the severity of your condition. He was wrong, but he wasn’t a demon.

“His mum showed up at the station right after. It was a proper scene. The two of them were at each other’s throats, shouting. The woman was in tears, all disappointed, and the boy looked right sorry for himself.”

Simon clenched his jaw. “I couldn't give a toss about that nonsense.” The irritation was evident, even though he hadn’t intended to be rude.

“He thought the house was empty, Simon. Got it mixed up with the neighbour’s.” Price added carefully. “It was a daft dare from friends who knew he needed the money, so he nicked his father’s gun. He’s off to court. With what he’s done, he might end up in a juvenile centre.”

Simon remained quiet for a moment, running his tongue over his teeth. Then, he exhaled sharply through his nose.

“Yeah. Great.” he muttered, irritation dripping from every syllable.

Price watched his reaction, hesitating before continuing.

“I know you're pissed off, mate, but...” He paused, studying Simon's tense face. “Maybe it’s worth figuring out what the hell was goin’ through that boy’s head.”

Simon heard every word but didn’t reply. He absorbed his captain’s advice and kept his gaze on him. The memory of how you screamed, the tears, all the agony... It made Simon clench his free hand into fist.

You thought he was going to get shot. You were desperate.

Price noticed the movement. He saw how Simon’s fingers were practically digging into his own skin with the force of his grip. He decided not to press the issue. Instead, he walked to your bed, observing your face for a moment. A faint smile flickered on his lips before he reached out and ruffled your hair in a gentle pat.

Then, John pulled something from his pocket and held up a stuffed hippopotamus, showing it to Simon.

Simon frowned, clearly displeased with the choice.

“Come on, you know she fancies it.” Price said, trying to lighten the heavy mood. “Hippos are tough, you know?”

But Price’s joke was cut short when he noticed you were waking up. Your eyes opened slowly, blinking several times as you oriented yourself. Simon shifted in his chair, and a quick glance was enough for John to understand that maybe it was best for you not to see your father right away – not while his image was still tied to the terror of the night.

“Hi, Uncle John…” Your small voice came out in a hoarse whisper, heavy with sleep.

“Oi, little doll.” he murmured back, his expression filled with a warmth he only used with you.

He didn’t need to say anything else to make you smile. As soon as he lifted the stuffed hippo, shaking it like it was going to devour you, you let out a giggle.

The sound relieved Price, and especially Simon. He watched as your tiny fingers grabbed the toy, hugging the plush creature to your chest.

“Thank you…” you murmured, pouting a little as you placed your index finger between your upper lip and nose, mimicking his mustache.

Price copied the gesture, but the face he made was much funnier than yours.

“Where’s Daddy?” you asked just like the first time you woke up, your brows furrowing in worry.

The beeping on the monitor sped up slightly. Simon noticed immediately and ran his thumb over your hand again – a reminder that you weren’t alone. You turned your head and found him there, still sitting in the same chair, his dark eyes betraying the sleepless night he had spent.

“I'm here, love.” His voice was firm, both a reassurance and a promise.

You gripped his forearm tighter than you had held your new stuffed hippo. Simon felt the tension in your small fingers and let you cling to him without saying a word. You seemed calmer now, less frightened.

Price grabbed a cup of water and handed it to Simon, who helped you drink. You took a few small sips, the way children do, but it was enough.

Then, your eyes locked onto your father’s, serious, as if you had something important to resolve. He braced himself for anything. Maybe a question about what had happened, maybe a request to go home. But not this:

"You said a bad word."

Simon blinked slowly. “What?”

“He said ‘bloody hell’.” you whispered to Price, as if revealing a forbidden secret.

Price raised his eyebrows, holding back a smile. “Oh, really, eh?”

Simon sighed, running a hand over his face. “Prob'ly did.”

Price let out a low chuckle, satisfied to get some reaction out of him.

Suddenly, you started paying attention to your surroundings. A hospital room wasn’t strange to you, since you had been here a few times before, but that didn’t mean you liked it. The doctors always said they needed to keep you under observation until the crisis passed, and the worst situations happened quickly, in the middle of chaos, before anyone could stabilize you.

There was a time they had to use a defibrillator, and just the thought of it sent a shiver down Simon’s spine. To his relief, this time all you needed was to simply shut down, a milder way to calm your emotions.

“I want to go home…” you pleaded, your voice thick with emotion.

“We will, in a few hours.” Simon replied firmly. If he gave you an inch, he knew you’d push until the end.

“Is Uncle John staying with us?” you asked, grabbing the hippo by the ear and waving the plush toy in front of Price, who pretended to try catching it but failed miserably.

“No, Princess. I'm sorry.” he answered regretfully. “I wish I could stay longer, but I only came to see you. I’ve gotta head back home soon.” He pinched your nose between his fingers, making you giggle.

“Okay…” you murmured, disappointed, but already starting to feel a little stronger.

You shifted on the bed, getting on your knees to hug Price, who held you firmly, running his hand over your back before pressing a kiss to the side of your head. As soon as you let go, you turned to your father and practically buried yourself in his lap, seeking shelter. You settled on his legs, leaning your torso against his broad chest.

Simon was used to this, but this time, you seemed even more in need of security. Your small fingers poked at the dog tag hanging around his neck, as if it were the most interesting thing in the world.

Simon knew you were still scared. He knew that, in the coming days, you wouldn’t leave his side. And he didn’t mind.

Because deep down, he wanted to stay close to you too.

He held on to this moment, feeling you fidget with the metal piece on his neck. Simon knew things wouldn’t be easy for now, but he chose not to get lost in thoughts of the future. He held you even tighter, his arms wrapping around you like a blanket while you found comfort in the calm. Simon felt deeply grateful that you hadn’t asked questions about the boy, and in silence, he turned to Price, who responded with a simple nod, as if he had understood the unspoken message.

Price took a few steps closer and crouched down, looking at you with affection. “Goodbye, Thumbelina,” he said, extending his fist for a farewell bump.

“Goodbye, Mr. Mustache.” you replied softly, but with a smile that made Price chuckle as he ruffled your hair. He stood up, turning to Simon with a look that carried the same unwavering trust as always.

“Take care, lad. I’ll see you soon.” he said, not waiting for a response, already knowing the lieutenant’s temperament well.

Simon watched Price leave, letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. His hardened expression softened the moment there was no longer a need to hide behind it. He still made an effort to appear confident for you, but as he closed his eyes and held you tighter, he finally allowed himself to relax. The silent gesture of protection he offered was an unspoken promise.

He knew that as long as he was with you, nothing else mattered. He would always be by your side. And even with the weight of the world on his shoulders, Simon allowed himself to believe, just for a moment, that maybe the future would be a little lighter. No matter what came next. Together, he and you would face it all.

[yandere-wishes]

｡ ₊°༺ Pink Pony Club ༻°₊ ｡

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆Yandere! Dr Phosphorus x Reader ⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧

⋆.𝄞𝓟𝓲𝓷𝓴 𝓟𝓸𝓷𝔂 𝓒𝓵𝓾𝓫 𝓑𝔂 𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓹𝓮𝓵𝓵 𝓡𝓸𝓪𝓷𝄞˚.⋆

✮★✮ Oh Mama, I'm just having fun, on the stage in my heels it's where I belong, down at the Pink Pony Club, I'm gonna keep on dancing at the Pink Pony Club. ✮★✮

⋆☠︎︎⋆ He lets the music roll over him, allowing the drums to melt over his flames and bleed into the marrow of his black bones. When you dance, you have to focus on the turn out of each step, on the wave of your arms, when to stiffen when to loosen. It makes it all so easy to forget the pain of being constantly on fire. To forget the melancholy that festers inside you. When the adrenaline is this high, you can only make out the strobing neon lights and the dazed amusement of the crowd.

⋆☠︎︎⋆ It's hard to hate the music and the lights, to shy away from a crowd so easily fascinated by the gleeful macabre. It's really the most sanity-inducing thing you can cling to when your body has turned into the thing you once loved. When you've become your research after watching your old self die in a furnace at the hands of those who once wielded all the power in the world. Funny how we make our own monsters, funny how the thing that kills us, is nothing more than the very man we once tried to kill, now engulfed by his own invention. Phosphorus spins, left leg, right leg, jump, and twirl.

⋆☠︎︎⋆ The dancing, the music, the clapping, the lights, it's all so perfect for melting away the terrible things that slither inside him, to burn away all those good memories until the kill and the luxury are all the remains. It's getting just too easy to forget his son's face, to forget the smile his wife gave him on their wedding day.

⋆☠︎︎⋆ There's a moment between moments when the world seems to stop. It's only then that he notices you, or rather notices what you're wearing. It's the dress he thinks, pink like the mushroom clouds he'd once adored, like the sunset framing devastation. Or maybe it's the way you have your hair so cruelly tied. Tight circle above your head like an atom waiting to explode. In a flash it's over, someone is handing him a drink. Another sitting on his lap. And he's thrust harshly back into reality, back to a world of trying to forget.

⋆☠︎︎⋆ Phosphorus is and always will be a man of logic. A man of science. He lets his fingers glide over the stack of pristine hundred-dollar bills. To think he'd spent his whole life begging for a quarter of all of this. Begging for scraps of funding to save the lives of thousands. It had all been so important once. Still, he can't help but let his mind wonder, what could he build with all of this? What could he solve, discover, create? He tells his men to lock it up in the safe, he's not ready to go back to all of that just yet.

⋆☠︎︎⋆ The next time Phosphorus sees you, he's half sunken into the plush couch of the VIP lounge. It's been a long day, a long tough day. Everything had gone wrong and all so right in the same breath. This time your dress is the shade of clouds marred by the blood of a dying sun. He should know this shade from the history books he'd used to read, the shade of skylines behind ancient temples. Back then he'd been trying to understand. Understand what he's not quite sure, he'd been so desperate to pry every little answer from the world. To chew their solutions, breaking them with his teeth and spitting out his own variation, his own thesis. He'd been so utterly convinced of his own intellect, convinced that reading Saadi at the same time as the latest research paper on Nuclear decay meant understanding the world.

⋆☠︎︎⋆ He watched with staunch fascination as you tried to dance. Following your friend's steps, heels stepping awkwardly completely out of tune. You bend your knees, sinking to the floor. And Phosphorus can't think of any excuses for why his cheeks feel hotter than usual. Why his eyes are permanently affixed to the sway of your arms.

⋆☠︎︎⋆ He thinks you look just like nuclear fission dancing in the limelight with your friends. Like you've split your own body to create them. Little atomic nucleus dancing under his microscope. You look perfect, your toned legs amplified by the radioactive pink of your heels. Long neck he'd love to kiss decorated with a thin string of gold. You don't look a thing like the other girls at the lounge, you look like an experiment beckoning him, seducing him into cutting you open, and observing how you explode.

⋆☠︎︎⋆ He's been following you keenly, trying to see what happens next. It's the fourth week in a row that he's forgotten about dancing for the crowd, about the girls who used to hang off his arms. He's too devoted to this experiment. "Nuclear scientist finds atomic bomb inside ancient temple from the bronze age". Phosphorus examines the sway of your hips, the bob of your head, and the crude kicks of your legs. There's something wrong with those heels, they're too thin, too high, inviting everyone to stare at you. But he's quick to shove them away, circling you from afar. He can't let anyone tamper with his experimentation. Certain matter performs differently when it knows it's being observed. So he allows the notion of invisibility, making you feel unobserved, safe in your own ignorance.

⋆☠︎︎⋆ He hasn't felt this alive in years. This ecstasy tastes utterly sweet, pure saccharine. It's the same thrill as watching your particles stabilize after days of trying to find the right frequency. Watching them organize into the right motion. And isn't that what you are? An ionized atom. After all, what is dancing if not ionization, if not trying to lose a part of yourself you can no longer bear?

⋆☠︎︎⋆ He's late tonight, rivals had somehow bled in and were after the safe from Phosphorus' newest heist. He'd burned them to a crisp and danced on their ashes until they flew away. But that doesn't change the fact that he's late, too late in fact. When he rushes through the door, men nervously run behind him. His eyeless sockets fall upon an uttermost dreary sight...

⋆☠︎︎⋆ The problem with people is that they never truly appreciate beauty. They treat it as if it's something to conquer something to tame. They never bother to understand it, to study it from afar whispering prayers of gratitude for bearing witness to this new discipline. The man's body is too close to yours, head following your lips, as you awkwardly try to sidestep. The moment you try to flee he grabs your wrist. You scream, no one ever hears screaming through the bass and the rhythm.

⋆☠︎︎⋆ There's smoke in your eyes, sickly-sweet honey in the back of your throat. It's all too acrid but at least the hand assaulting your wrist subsides. The thing in front of you glows green, an acidic neon green that feels too familiar in shade. You watch as the skeleton seizes your shoulders, such a warm touch hearthlike in every way. He pulls you closer till all you can smell is null and all you can feel is smothering warmth.

⋆☠︎︎⋆ You never quite quiver under his touch, never fully shy away when he cups your jaw and tilts your head. It's like you want the radiation, want to feel his nuclear essence bleeding into you. Maybe then you'll be whole. Maybe then neither of you will need the music, and the lights, and the crowd to feel whole.

⋆☠︎︎⋆ You never belonged in the clubs, it was painfully obvious you could never mold to their dances, their music. Your heels never fit right. Phosphorous knows he's been trying to do the very same for all so long. Neither of you needed to kill off your electrons, to throw them away to ignorant nobodies who would sooner hurt you for their own voracious motivations. "Give me your electrons and I'll give you mine." Phosphorus tucks your head into the crux of his shoulder, "I'll fuse with you so you'll never need anyone else."

⋆☠︎︎⋆ Phosphorus' hands mirror yours, swaying overhead before falling lower like the cascade of a wave. Side step, side step, stop, and bend. He thinks this is better than any club, any choreography he could do by himself. He feels so whole dancing only for your eyes. He feels so happy having you dance only for his eyes. Your palms touch as you circle slowly. Dancing like the airy rotation of electrons. There's no more dancing at the Pink Pony Club.

⋆☠︎︎⋆ What do you call a dance that feels like merging two atoms? What do you call it when your heart feels like the denotation of a bomb? He presses his lips to yours slowly, feeling the nuclei crash, a nuclear reaction, his tongue hum between your teeth endeavoring to melt away your fear. His fingers, dance across your hips heating up, leaving burning hearts and hand prints, claiming you as his, making you death just like him.

Lost the request for this but thank you so so much to the sender!! 💞💋💞💋

[mediacircuspod]

This scene was absolutely beautiful BUT it’s also the crux of the issue. You guys this is where the problems start. Because—because Crowley’s already cast out, he finds COMFORT in the idea that they are lonely together. “As far as he can” becoming “as far as they can” is an END to his complete “otherness” and something to appreciate, to covet, and to find solace in. He’s finally not alone.

But—and this is important.

Aziraphale does NOT feel that. He can’t.

This moment is completely and utterly devastating for Zira. He finds out he’s not damned and sure, he’s relieved. But he’s no longer “an Angel” in the way that he’s learned is right. He’s now unchangeably and forever; less holy—a concept that is dearly important to his identity. “[Going] along with heaven as far as he can” is a FAILING on his part. Not heaven’s(at least to him). There is no solace or comfort—he finds existence like that—just the two of them—achingly LONELY. And that’s just how his perspective demands to be taken. It’s the only perspective he is capable of in that moment AND after it, too.

Take into account Crowley has went from having no one AT ALL to having SOMEONE. And he puts EVERYTHING he has into it. This is not good. It’s unfair to Aziraphale. And it’s unfair to himself. On the opposite side, you have Aziraphale. Who has just went from having the ENTIRE HEAVENLY HOST, to having this SINGLE demon— who, one minute ago, Aziraphale thought would be dragging him off to hell.

And the part that aches is that this perspective hasn’t changed. Aziraphale feels like his existence is lacking because he wants so badly to be GOOD. And good is Holy. Good is heavenly. He’s the problem for having morals that are misaligned.

Spoilers for the last episode:

Aziraphale has just been given the validation that he is not only GOOD but the most HEAVENLY Angel there is, the Supreme Archangel, even. And if heavens morals are now HIS morals, then that’s EVERY PROBLEM SOLVED. With a bow even, because Crowley’s basically on heavens side anyway, he’s GOOD, isn’t he? He’s been good this whole time, so why wouldn’t heaven want him back? Reinstating him as Angel would fix everything. They can be together, and they can be good, and they can be HOLY. All Aziraphale’s conflicting emotions about loving Crowley can be packed away because Crowley will be perfect again—and surely Crowley wants to be perfect—wants to be forgiven.(sorry everyone, that hurt me too, oof) Aziraphale is SHOCKED by Crowley’s refusal. He’s devastated that his version of perfect is treated as something naive and distasteful.

Crowley’s devastated too. He’s just lost “their side”. A concept that for 5000+ years has been THE ONLY THING he puts love into besides his car and perhaps his plants(And humanity, but he’ll never admit to that—I’m looking at the “No more dying” scene). Crowley is constantly being devastated by Aziraphale. He’s “too fast”, he’s too evil, he’s too good sometimes. Crowley has always been TOO MUCH. But this is different because for four years, he’s had “them”(on their own side) without the hiding, and without the denial and without Aziraphale constantly putting former jobs between them. PLUS he has a mountain of trauma centered around the concept of “forgiveness”, so that’s not great considering Aziraphale’s last words to him(THAT HE HASNT SAID ALL SEASON EVEN WHEN HE MADE CROWLEY APOLOGIZE IN THE FIRST EPISODE, AHHHHH). He’s losing everything and he’s desperate: Why isn’t he enough, hasn’t he been enough these last 4 years? Hasn’t HE been enough the last 6000?

Aziraphale has always been enough for Crowley. But being enough for Crowley doesn’t fix how Aziraphale has never been enough for himself, not since Job. He looks at this offer as a chance for HIM to be enough, and for Crowley to be FORGIVEN. Crowley looks at it as a betrayal because it’s Aziraphale saying Crowley ISNT enough, and he NEVER has been.

But that’s not what Aziraphale is saying. He’s saying, “Let me fix it for you”. Crowley is hearing, “Let me fix you for it.” Two completely different and completely horrifying concepts.

And then Crowley needs to say HIS piece(oh my gosh, btw, this was heartbreaking).

“Let’s be together on our terms” is basically what I’ve distilled it down to. But Aziraphale hears, “Let’s run away from our problems”

Aziraphale doesn’t want to run away, and Crowley doesn’t want to change who he is.

They both want to be together so badly but they don’t understand why they each want it so differently. And Aziraphale can’t compromise because he’s brainwashed and LOATHES himself. And Crowley can’t compromise because he’s traumatized and LOVES Aziraphale just as he is. Crowley doesn’t want to be good on heavens terms. He can see Heaven for what it is; “toxic”. He hates heaven not only for what the Host did to him, but for HOW THEY TREATED Aziraphale.

They both don’t understand each other because for all the pleading and presenting and monologuing, they never once in that whole conversation, actually talked.

[lavenderprose]

I see we're talking about Emmrich and substances again. I am thoroughly entertained by the idea of Emmrich surviving through Mourn Watch Grad School on a carefully balanced diet of Fantasy Adderall and rarebit. Emmrich also definitely had a cocaine phase, which Johanna witnessed in excruciating detail, and it's why they're Like That about each other. Emmrich became the main character in Johanna's life right around the time that she saw him snort a line off the blade of his own staff, flinch violently, scream, and then do an about-face and corpse-whisper a sixty years dead Mortalitasi to ask his advice on focusing fractal energies in the fade.

That being said, Emmrich hasn't touched any of that stuff in about thirty years by the time he walks into Neve's office the day after Rook disappears into the Fade and asks her where, exactly, one can find an unwise amount of Something That Will Keep Him Awake. Neve sighs and decides, based on the manic look on Emmrich's face and the posture of devastated determination he's holding, that it's not a notion worth dissuading him of.

Weirdly, as she's standing at Emmrich's back in a dark Dock Town alley and watching him carefully sample the wares of the most reliable dealer she's aware of--and oh, the way he dips his pinky finger in and rubs it into his gums? Like riding a fucking bicycle, apparently--she can only think that Rook was absolutely correct. The man is sexy and utterly deranged. Through the sadness and the panic, in some way, she gets it.

"This is good," he says, dropping gold into the dealer's hand and disappearing immediately. Neve's lost him by the time she reaches the Eluvian. It's a week before she sees him next, and when she does, he's got bruise-purple shadows under his eyes, most of a perfect replica of Solas' lyrium dagger in his hand, and the kind of insane plan that only substance can possibly fuel: Recreate original sin. Break into the Fade. Get Rook Back.

"Not on your own, you won't," Neve replies, and goes to find Bellara.

Davrin, Lucanis and Taash finally realize that the mages have holed themselves up in Emmrich's laboratory keeping Ski Chalet Hours only once the hole into the Fade has already been yanked open.

[lay-z]

Thank you @raspberryandechinacea for putting this thought in my head. Love ya, berrybabe 🤭🩷

cw: mention of eating disorder; tummy issues (totally not projecting); established relationship; fluff — john 'soap' mactavish x gn!reader

Groaning as you roll onto your left side again, you try to ease the throbbing pain in your gut while clutching the soft koala bear-shaped heating bottle to your upper stomach—a recent gift from your boyfriend for ‘when ah’m not there ta rub yer belly’. 

You love it dearly, but it’s not enough tonight. Not after the devastating results you’ve received today. You could’ve handled some lactose intolerance, really, but being allergic to fructose? Now that’s just ridiculous.  

“Got ye somethin’,” he announces as he saunters into your shared bedroom before showing off the bowl of strawberries in your favorite little bowl; pinkish-red skin still glistening with water and neatly cut in halves. “Did ma research. They’re still safe for ye ta eat in moderation, bunny.” 

In this moment, you very well feel like crying―utterly overwhelmed with a cocktail of emotions. Fear of your ED getting out of control now that you have the perfect excuse not to eat, love for the man who has been nothing but loving and supportive since you two met, helplessness and frustration that come with the pain you’re currently experiencing again. 

“You’re so sweet,” you say meekly, struggling to sit up in bed. When you let out another breathy groan, Johnny is at your side, setting the bowl down on your bedside table before helping you up by sneaking one arm around your back. “Thank you–” 

“Nah, shhh, ‘s alright, bunny.” He brushes your hair behind your ear once you’re settled, places a lingering kiss on your temple while you gaze up at him with big, wet puppy eyes. It’s always heartbreaking for him to see you in such pain. 

“I uh... I did more research and actually found sum’ safe foods f’ye ta try,” he announces eventually, standing up from the edge of the mattress. “Oh? Like... what?” you ask almost innocently, brows drawing together when he goes on to pull off his hoodie. 

“Ah, y’know–” His voice is muffled, covered by the fabric momentarily before it drops to the floor.

And you can’t help but burst out laughing as soon as he exposes his bulky torso to you; golden skin covered in tufts of coarse, dark hair on his chest while SAFE FOOD is scribbled in large, wonky letters above his pecs with red sharpie; little smiley faces drawn around his nipples.

His face beams with a wide grin as he makes his chest muscles jump. “Aye? Wanna give ‘em a lick?” That only makes you laugh harder. 

“Or–wait, wait–” He snickers, hooking a thumb into the waistband of his sweats to tug them down. “Perhaps ye’d prefer this?” 

There, around his thick happy trail, little hearts litter his skin with arrows pointing down towards his junk. He’s laughing along with you at this point, tugging his sweats down just a bit more to expose his trimmed pubes with SAFE FOOD scribbled right next to the root of his cock. 

“You’re mental!” You giggle, feet kicking under the blanket, pain nearly forgotten for a moment. “Oh, am I, aye?” 

He snorts, braces his knee on the edge of the mattress and hovers above you while you scoot onto your back again, gazing up at him while his baby blues twinkle with mischief before he pulls his bottom lip down to reveal the pinkish, glistening flesh of his mouth―and SAFE FOOD scribbled on the inside of his lip in smaller and smudged black letters. 

“Yeah,” you retort with another soft huff through your nose as you shake your head with a smile full of adoration. “Absolutely mental, MacTavish.” 

He hums deep in his chest as he crawls on top of you. “Mhm, c’mere. Lemme try to kiss it better, luv.” 

[mapis-putellas]

𝑾𝒊𝒔𝒅𝒐𝒎 𝒕𝒆𝒆𝒕𝒉

Pairing: Mapi Leon x Ingrid Engen x reader

Words: 1366

Warnings: blood, drool, mentions of sex? Idk

Summary: you get your wisdom teeth out. Chaos ensues.

The world around you was a fuzzy haze of colors and sounds, and the strange tingling in your mouth had you more than a little bewildered. You tried to move your tongue, only to realize it felt like a giant, numb blob taking up most of your mouth. Somewhere in your groggy brain, you remembered you’d just had your wisdom teeth removed, but nothing was quite making sense.

Blinking, you saw two faces peering down at you, one with a halo of dark hair and green eyes full of concern, the other with blonde hair and dark roots, her brown eyes glinting with amusement. You blinked harder, trying to focus. The sight of them together made your heart swell, and you felt an urge to ask the one pressing question on your mind.

“Who… who are you?” you slurred, staring at them in awe.

Ingrid’s mouth curved into a gentle smile as she rubbed your shoulder, her soft voice filling your ears. “We’re your girlfriends, sweetheart.”

Your jaw dropped, as much as it could with the gauze and numbness. “Both… of you?” you whispered, eyes widening in absolute wonder.

Mapi, who was standing beside Ingrid, let out a giggle. “Yes, cariño, both of us.”

You looked from one to the other, a giddy smile spreading over your face. “That’s… that’s amazing.” You sighed dreamily, staring at them as if they were the most enchanting thing you’d ever seen.

In your dazed state, your gaze wandered down to Mapi’s exposed midriff, her crop top showing off her toned abs. Without thinking, your hand reached out, fingers outstretched to touch the mesmerizing sight before you.

Mapi, sensing what you were up to, swatted your hand away with a playful glare. “Ah, no, no. Hands off, cariño.”

You looked up at her, betrayal clear in your glassy eyes, and your lower lip wobbled. “But… I wanted to touch…”

Mapi’s eyes softened, and she shared a glance with Ingrid, who gave her a slight shrug. Mapi sighed, muttering something under her breath in Spanish that sounded like, “No puedo con esto,” before relenting and grabbing your hand, gently placing it on her abs.

The moment your fingers made contact, you beamed, eyes closing in bliss. “They’re so… perfect.”

Ingrid chuckled softly beside you, and you lazily leaned against her shoulder, basking in the comfort of being surrounded by both of them. But as quickly as your happiness had arrived, it faded, another question nagging at your addled brain. You tilted your head up toward Ingrid, squinting up at her as the realization dawned on you again.

“Wait, who… who are you guys?”

Ingrid sighed, her patience unending, and she brushed some hair out of your face. “We’re your girlfriends,” she said with a soft chuckle.

Your face lit up all over again, a broad, giddy smile spreading across your face. “Both of you?” you repeated, utterly enchanted.

They both nodded, and you let out a little squeal, so delighted that you puckered your lips for a kiss. But the gauze was making it impossible to keep your mouth closed, and you could feel the unpleasant sensation of saliva dribbling down your chin.

You waited, eyes closed, for a kiss, only to feel nothing. Opening your eyes, you saw Ingrid and Mapi exchanging an uncertain glance. Mapi’s brow creased, a little grossed out, while Ingrid looked as if she were weighing her options.

“Why aren’t you kissing me?” you wailed, hurt flashing across your face. The tears in your eyes were instant, your lip trembling as you looked at them, crushed by the rejection.

Ingrid sighed, and Mapi leaned over to plant a quick kiss on your lips, her nose scrunched up adorably. You were ecstatic, until, just as your lips touched, you tried to sneak in a bit of tongue, which made Mapi squeak in surprise and pull back, laughing and wiping her mouth.

“Cariño, no!” Mapi laughed, while you pouted, devastated. “You know you’re a little messy right now…”

You sighed heavily, your emotions swinging from blissful to heartbroken in an instant. “I’m sad you won’t let me kiss you properly,” you murmured, sniffling.

Ingrid gently stroked your cheek, attempting to calm you, but then something terrifying hit you. You tried to move your tongue, but it felt like nothing more than a numb, foreign object in your mouth. Panic gripped you, and you looked at Ingrid with wide, horrified eyes.

“Baby?” she asked, noticing the alarm on your face.

“I… I can’t feel my tongue!” you whimpered, the words barely intelligible through the gauze.

“Oh, love, it’s just the anesthesia,” Ingrid assured, trying to soothe you, but you were already spiralling.

“No, no! They took my tongue! I’m never gonna be able to eat you guys ou-”

Ingrid clapped her hand over your mouth, her cheeks flushed red as she glanced at a snickering Mapi, who found the whole scene utterly hilarious. “Cariño, shhh!” Ingrid tried to whisper, stifling a laugh, but you were insistent, your muffled words trying to escape as you continued to voice your distress.

“Cariño,” Ingrid interrupted again. “I promise, it’s just temporary. You’ll be fine.”

“I was just saying,” you whined when Ingrid finally removed her hand, only to have her cover your mouth once more. This time, though, your eyes welled with fresh tears, upset that they weren’t letting you speak. “You’re not letting me say anything!” you cried, breaking into sobs again.

Mapi snorted, laughing so hard she had to wipe a tear from her own eye. “Ay, Dios mío, Ingrid, I can’t take this. She’s too much.”

You let out a dramatic sigh, sulking as you reached your arms out to Ingrid, mumbling, “I want your face.”

Ingrid leaned forward, obliging, but the moment her cheeks were within reach, you clumsily cupped them, tracing your fingers over her soft features. You stared at her in awe, marveling at her beauty. But then, in a moment of misguided affection, you leaned in and licked her nose, leaving a smear of blood and saliva.

Ingrid pulled back, trying her best not to grimace as she wiped her face. “Oh, sweetheart,” she said, doing her best to stay patient, but you noticed the hint of disgust, and it was enough to break your heart all over again.

“You don’t want me to touch you!” you sobbed, your head dropping in disappointment.

Mapi, trying to hide her smile, moved closer and rubbed your back, finally deciding that you were too upset to be left alone. “Come here, cariño,” she murmured, helping you up so that she could pull you against her. Your head rested against her abs, and a contented sigh escaped your lips.

You closed your eyes, practically melting into her, a blissful smile overtaking your face. “So perfect,” you mumbled, your voice slurring as you absently let your hand wander toward her backside, unable to help yourself.

Mapi caught your hand just in time, a playful smirk dancing on her lips as she shook her head. “You just don’t give up, do you?”

But the rejection made your heart plummet, and tears welled up in your eyes all over again. “Why won’t you let me touch you?” you wailed, completely dejected.

Ingrid, seeing that Mapi’s teasing was only making things worse, gave her a look before lifting you into her lap and settling you down. She rubbed your back soothingly, wrapping her arms around you as she whispered, “We’re here. It’s okay. You can relax.”

Your head drooped onto Ingrid’s shoulder, and you let out a tiny hiccup as you clung to her, finally feeling a little bit of peace amidst the chaos. “I just… I just wanted to be close to you,” you mumbled, sniffling into her shirt.

Ingrid held you tighter, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. “We’re here. You’re with us, sweetheart,” she murmured, stroking your back as your breathing started to slow.

“Promise?” you whispered, your voice growing soft, drowsiness starting to tug at the edges of your consciousness.

Ingrid’s eyes softened, and she shared a tender glance with Mapi. “Promise, love. We’re not going anywhere.”

**

Tags:

@codiemarin @goldenempyrean @girlgenius1111 @marysfics @ceesimz @xxnaiaxx @liloandstitchstan