#<- ino tag

[masked-and-doomed]

I HAVE VAGUE THOUGHTS ABOUT I NO AND UG FRIENDSHIP AND I NEED TO LOOK INTO INO A BIT MORE BEFORE I CAN SAY STUFF BUT JSYK I REALLY WANT TO DRAW THEIR GOD/ANGEL FORMS HUGGING AND EMBRACING EACH OTHER. AND ANOTHER PIECE OF UG HOLDING A DEAD INO IN HER HANDS. OKIE.

[piixcelz]

`. ALONE ! pt. 2

prompt: in which jjk men wake up to you not next to them in bed

feat. i. takuma , t. inumaki , y. itadori , m. fushiguro

note: pt. 2 to this cuz i forgot you cant put more than 10 pics apparently ? anyways inumaki , yuji , and megumi are aged up (freshmans in college). pt.1 is here

𝜗𝜚

[delzinrowe]

Takuma Ino | everyone's local skater bf

[daisynik7]

thinking about him bouncing you up and down on his cock, grip so tight around your hips, his fingernails dig into your flesh. your eyes glazed over, tongue lolling from your mouth in a fucked out expression. "'gonna come," you manage to whimper pathetically.

he smiles, all too eager. "come for me, baby. come on this cock."

ragged moans pour from between your lips, clenching him in another delicious orgasm, body pliant like a rag doll as he increases the pace of his thrusts. he watches you with a crazed look in his eyes, spit flying out of his mouth when he grunts, "that’s it, fuck you through it. fuck you through it" until you squirt all over his lap.

[theylovevenus]

Shikamaru and all his exes plus his current girlfriend in chronological order. This has gotta be one of his top ten worst nightmares

[veryinnovative]

@jegulus-microfic | january 3, prompt: ruthless | word count: 1.422 featuring pornstars jegulus! NSFW

“They’re going off-script, why are they going off-script?” Barty grits out, confined to the sidelines since he’s part of the camera crew and not the main act, one hand firmly gripping the tripod’s handle as the other waves the booklet in front of Evan’s face.

Because Regulus is sprawled out on the bed on his back, his harness and strap-on discarded on the floor, purple rubber still glistening from where it had been seven inches deep inside James moments prior. His thighs are spread wide by the broad palms and pinned to the mattress as his set partner crawls between them, face still flush from exertion and hair in total disarray as a result of Regulus’ constant pulling and shoving.

The position is not a total mystery, no. Regulus had been in the industry for over a year now, a short span of time during which he had climbed the rank listings and breached the top ten, now striving after the top five together with James Potter, arrogantly self-proclaimed oral king by the looks of it, always needing something in his mouth to satisfy him or shut him up, take your pick. The entire set had been arranged by both their managers, going off on tangents about how they have impeccable chemistry on-screen (combined with Regulus’ superb acting abilities). It’s their second time shooting a video together, considering how their first had broken the record just three weeks ago, and neither Pandora nor Lily had wasted a second to get them together in a room again.

“What are you doing?” Regulus hisses as James’ mouth works a burning trail down his chest, tongue laving over the latticework of bruises and the lovebites blooming. He tries very hard not to lean into it, wards off the urge to chase after the hot cavern the ventures dangerously low.

“Going down on you,” James whispers into his stomach, quiet enough for the microphones not to pick up. Even if they did, it could be edited out afterward. 

“I was supposed to go down on you, remember?” Regulus retorts, mentally convincing himself he’s only keeping his legs open for the camera. It’s not like he’s been wondering if James’ mouth is the real deal as many others have made it out to be. Not at all.

“I already came and you didn’t, so I’m just returning the favor before we move on,” James mumbles into his thighs, masking the speaking movements of his mouth by kissing the skin.

“You’re wasting your energy.” Then, the little light of Dorcas’ camera across them flickers, indicating it’s Regulus they’re focusing on. He makes a show of letting out a pleased sigh, craning his neck, and throwing back his head so his face can’t be recorded. It allows him to talk. “I don’t feel like cumming, so just let me do my job. Besides, I doubt you could get me off like this anyway.”

Blatant fucking lie. James undoubtedly notices because he stifles a snort into his leg.

“Sure thing, love.”

Regulus’ jaw ticks and he winds his fingers into James’ hair, reprimand ready on the tip of his tongue, dying off into a choked gasp when the flat of a thick, broad tongue runs a long stripe through his folds.

And the thing is, it’s not just his mouth. Because James’ hands wander, alternating between gripping his hips and roaming upwards to flick his nipples, taking them between his forefinger and thumb to stimulate—rub, pull, gently squeeze all the while his tongue dips in and out of him, gathering the wetness there, swallowing it, moaning at the taste, stopping and only letting the hotness of his breath ghost over Regulus’ dripping core. Building anticipation. Teasing. Lips slick and just as swollen as he is, spreading him open wider just so the camera can get a clear-cut image of how James leans in again, thumb pulling up the hood, mouth this time aimed at Regulus’ cock.

James’ tongue is ruthless.

Licking, sucking, humming around Regulus and sending the vibrations roiling through his spine, static shooting into his skull, paralyzing the rest of him. Using his nose for friction if it’s his tongue that’s too occupied fucking in and out of him, thumbs eagerly pressed into the divots of his hips.

“Jesus fucking Chr—” The words pathetically drop in pitch, bleeding into a low whine as Regulus’ hips buck, James’ mouth only following the undulations. He swirls his tongue, pulls him into his mouth, and sucks until the wet, sloppy sounds of his mouth no longer rise above the ringing flooding Regulus’ ears. He moans, fingers pulling onto the thick curls until it leaves James whining between his legs as well. “Oh, fuck.”

“Oh, fuck, indeed,” Barty whispers from to the side. “Holy shit, he’s making it look so real.”

“Am I about to tell you something,” Evan mutters, adjusting the sound settings.

Regulus arches off the bed, writhing in place against the steel hold on his hips, the balls of his feet digging painfully deep into James’ back when he feels the pressure building low in his stomach, pleasure pooling low below his spine. 

“I’m not going to cum,” Regulus gasps out, not giving a fuck how loud it comes out. Between his clenched thighs, James chuckles, its rumbling reverberating through each and every one of his nerves as he pulls off his cock with a wet pop.

“Yes, you will,” James answers, kissing his cock before biting into his thigh. “Because I’m going to make you.”

The mouth leaving him punches a little, pitiful sound of protest out of Regulus, one he will most certainly deny and demand be edited out. Though, right now, he’s too strung out to care. Regulus’ eyes droop down, watching how James leaves the little space between his legs, strings of spit and wetness breaking off into the air as he crawls up onto his knees.  

Everything moves rather swiftly afterward. The excited noise filling the room might have either been his or Barty’s, but none of it matters when James grabs Regulus by the back of his knees and pins them down, nearly folding him in half before he continues his mouth’s assault, urging the tightening knot low in his abdomen to unravel.

There’s the tongue inside of him, on him, in him, around him—circling, pulling, teasing, drawing out the most guttural of moans when he feels the graze of teeth. The entirety of Regulus swallowed by James’ mouth, consumed with the sort of deprivation only the taste of him can alleviate if the desperate sucking is anything to go by. Regulus’ legs shake, body twitching in place, fingers curled so tightly around handfuls of curls when he chokes out a weak, “I’m not—I’m not going to—”

James groans a muffled command, fingers digging deep into his thighs, the splay of stray strands across his stomach, muscles pulled taut, the fluorescent lightning above, that stupid fucking tongue, the sole bane of his existence—

Regulus cries out a soundless rasp, like his voice has left him together with his soul, entire body convulsing, head thrown back on the arrangement of pillows as his eyes roll back into their sockets. 

Worst of all, James doesn’t stop, only grunts in response as Regulus gushes over his tongue, making a dangerous sound stuck low in his throat when the hand on his head tries to push him away.

“Stop,” Regulus squeaks out. Squeaks, because that’s how terribly low he’s fallen. The overstimulation is a lot, pleasure overwhelming like his brain is threatening to come oozing out of his ears, and next thing you know the video will be titled ‘James Potter managed to make exalted Regulus Black cry with his orgasm’. 

“Please, please s’too much—” Regulus tries again, almost sobbing out a breath of relief when James does finally lift his head with a gasp, his entire fucking face slick from where it had been buried inside Regulus.

“Fucking hell,” Barty hisses in the back, vocalizing Regulus’ internal monologue. “Cut! Fucking, cut the cameras! Pause! Water! Bring this fucker some water before he passes out—”

A flurry of movement in the background, the noises fading into white noise as Regulus’ legs are lowered back onto the bed. James hovers above him, the spit-slick grin almost blinding, or that’s just the stars blinking in Regulus’ vision.

“You were saying?” James asks, teasingly touching Regulus’ puffy cock, laughing when it rewards him with a full-body shudder.

Regulus weakly wacks him in the chest. “Go fuck… Yourself.”

[ikanebula]

Happy Jack-O'ween!!!!!

[telleroftime]

Takuma strikes me as a man that would break if you call him "pretty boy."

He had called you something similar amongst the swarm of other compliments praising your appearance because he wants you to know just how beautiful you are to him. "Beauty", "sunshine", or in general "my pretty", not expecting anything in return. He just hopes it would tease you a little, make you all flustered. But nope, you retaliate with "you're one to talk, pretty boy."

And he's just there like "huh?" Not a single thought behind his eyes as his smile morphs into an awkward grin. You're worried until you notice that giveaway red of his ears. Before you can say anything he speaks a louder "huh??!!", trying to hide behind his beanie as if that would ever stop what was about to come.

Because ain't no way you are letting this slide. It is "pretty boy" after "pretty boy" with every opportunity you get. And when you call him "my pretty boy" in front of Nanami? He melts. He is melting, face as red as a beet, unable to form even a word as he just whines from how flustered he feels.

[transhitman]

ARCSYS RESPOND TO MY EMAILS. I KNOW YOU SAW THEM.

(Da Capo Al Coda is a musical term meaning to return to the beginning of the score and play through it again. A fitting little tagline for her I think.) (Also her theme would be modeled after the album "Time" by ELO.)

[sommerregenjuniluft]

Jirgin save me. Save me jirgin

just for you i’m blowing away the dust and making the gears turn in the old thinkerio again

tumblr fucked me over by deleting a whole paragraph when i turned on my data so now i’ll try and recount

with james being the only virgin in the friend group he’s obviously getting teased about it, it’s a running joke but! nobody else outside their small circle knows if they’re really joking or not because james is hot and it’s almost too ridiculous to be believable that he’s never had sex. because he looks fucking delectable and is also super charming and popular. and so when regulus joins them at uni and starts hanging out more and more with his brother he is Constantly subjected to the topic in some way or another and he just Wonders…okay. he’s a noisy younger sibling, sue him. and it’s aggravating how much time he his mind spends busy on the subject at some point oh and then start the dreams. regulus dreams of a tight space, dark nooks and crannies that two bodies are shoved into, all panting breaths and broken moans and too tight pants with no real space to grab properly. but it’s so hot and in the dream it smells like james and it sounds like james but regulus never manages to get a real glimpse of a face. he just wakes up drenched in sweat or stomach down and pressing his hips into the mattress. and then he goes about his day and to makes matters worse sees james. about campus, in the cafeteria, at his brother’s flat.,, what infuriates regulus even more is that from then on out he starts getting flustered around james whenever they’re interacting, all warm cheeks and hitched breaths.. to the point where he makes the active decision to instead of being in rather elicit the state of embarrassment. and so starts regulus’ flirting agenda, touching james too much and in places that’s bending the boundaries of their vague relationship (which is barely being friends at that time by proximity of sirius). he learns rather quickly that a perfectly timed raised eyebrow or a derisive look down his nose is the fastest method to fill james’ cheeks with color and that blinking up at him through his lashes or the tip of his tongue playing with lips is the easiest way to get james to lose track of his thought mid sentence. and it’s too fucking easy almost and it’s so horribly addictive to the point regulus is so consumed by the power high it gives him that he doesn’t realize how his original plan of getting the subject of james’ sexuality out of his mind is completely failing

[brambeag]

yuh

[itsjaywalkers]

a little silly jegulus for my darling @veryinnovative !! happy birthday ino MWAH <333 (very very light nsfw)

"What the fuck did I just walk into?"

Regulus doesn't even bother to look up from where he's sitting on the floor, head between his knees as he waits for God—or whoever is up there, really, he isn't fussed—to fucking smite him. He does, however, let out a pitiful sound, both in acknowledgement and as a response. It doesn't explain much, he's aware of that, but Barty knows him enough at this point. He doesn't require anything else from him.

"Yeah, I can see you're having a bit of a breakdown," Barty huffs out, and Regulus hears his steps, light and careful, getting closer to him. "What brought it on this time, though? I literally just went to the corner shop to grab some Redbulls. It's been 15 minutes since I left and you were fine."

Regulus makes another pathetic noise, still refusing to raise his head. This one is a bit more petulant, because Barty has a talent for bringing out his pettiest side, even when he's experiencing unknown levels of distress.

"Babe, I'm gonna need you to give me something else," Barty insists, before sighing heavily. His walking comes to a halt, and Regulus doesn't need to check to know he's standing right in front of him.

He groans, but decides to be merciful, despite being aware that Barty knowing about what's upsetting him this much won't do him any favours. Barty can be a surprisingly supportive friend when it matters, but he's insufferable when he's right.

Regulus lifts his arm and points to his left, hoping he's being accurate enough, considering he isn't even looking. He keeps the position for a couple of seconds before dropping the arm back down, going back to hugging his legs tightly.

Barty begins moving once again, but stops after taking a few steps. "And what the fuck does that mean?" Barty exclaims, and Regulus can picture him throwing his hands up in the air. It almost drags a smile out of him. "You pointed at the couch. Am I supposed to believe our couch attacked you?"

Regulus exhales loudly through his nose, but doesn't deign that with a response.

"Because even if it did, Reg, I'm sorry to say you're gonna have get over yourself and your cute little breakdown. That couch cost us a fortune, and it's where Rosie first kissed me, so I refuse to—"

A sudden buzz interrupts Barty's train of thought. It makes Regulus' blood go cold, and he attempts to bury his face even deeper between his legs, a pained moan escaping his mouth as his face burns.

"What was that?" Barty mumbles, pacing around their living room. "Was it your phone? Why don't you have your phone on you?"

Regulus lets out a grumble, burrowing himself tighter in his own embrace while he listens to his best friend search for the origin of the sound.

It buzzes again, and Regulus is this close to grab the stupid device and throw it out the window, when Barty clicks his tongue, some ruffling following the noise.

"There it is," he says quietly. "Why the hell did you bury it under all the cushions? I know you're not a big fan of it, but this is simply—"

Realisation dawns on Regulus way too late, and by the time he snaps his head up, clumsily trying to get back on his feet as fast as possible but only ending up on his knees, Barty already has his phone in his hands. His eyes are wide, lips slightly parted, and he seems to be reading Regulus' notifications.

He's never regretted giving him his password as much as this instant.

"Barty, that's not—" Regulus starts, strained.

"Oh my fucking god," Barty murmurs, gaze fixated on the screen of the phone. He's not even blinking, and the stupid thing buzzes again, lighting up with a new message.

"Shut up," Regulus says, the blush on his face worsening by the second, as if it knows what's coming.

"I told you," Barty responds, still not looking away from Regulus' phone. "I fucking told you, dude—"

"Shut up!" Regulus repeats in a hiss, pushing himself up a little shakily but managing to regain his balance, not even hesitating before beginning to make his way towards his friend. "Give me my phone back!"

"No way," Barty snorts, dodging Regulus at the very last second, barely avoiding getting tackled into the couch. "This is too good, Reg, I can't believe you fucked up this badly. I would've killed myself if I were you—"

"Shut the fuck up!" Regulus snarls, cheeks aflame while he follows Barty around their apartment, attempting to get his phone back. "As if you're not completely shameless—"

"At least I've never been caught screenshotting my crush's thirst traps—"

"He's not my crush! I literally cannot stand him!"

Barty barks out a laugh, and it makes him falter enough for Regulus to get ahold of the hem of his shirt. However, his grasp is too loose, and Barty breaks away from it before Regulus can tighten it and finally take back what's rightfully his.

"Tell that to the dozen screenshots of his shirtless pics you have in your gallery."

Regulus makes an outraged sound, doubling his efforts, the heat in his face becoming almost unbearable as he chases his annoying best friend.

"That's an invasion of privacy!" he yells, grabbing one of the cushions and throwing it at Barty's head. He hits him right on the face, and it makes him feel considerably better, especially when Barty gives him his most deadpan expression. "Why are you in my gallery?"

"Well, Reg, after reading Potter's texts I got curious. I thought 'it can't be that bad, Reg is subtler than this' but it definitely can be that bad—"

"Stop! You're making such a big deal out of it, there's barely any—"

"Reg, babe, you have a folder just dedicated to James Potter's snapchats."

"It's for better organisation—"

"You must've been blowing his phone up with all those screenshots. Honestly, I don't understand how he hansn't blocked your creepy ass yet—"

"I know you aren't lecturing me about being creepy. You just aren't. Or do I have to remind you the kind of shit you pulled back when Evan wasn't giving you the time of day—"

"The joke's on you, idiot, Rosie is very much into my creepy shit," Barty retorts, stopping for a second just so he can put his hands on his hips and stare down at Regulus. "Although, I suppose Potter must like your freak behaviour too, considering how desperate he seems to be about getting you to reply. Not like I'm surprised, it's gotta be a boost to his massive ego—"

"Stop. Stop. Stop fucking talking—" Regulus lunges at him once more, but Barty is prepared every fucking time, avoiding him without breaking a sweat. "This is all your fault!"

Barty gapes at him. "How is this my fault? I warned you, dude! I told you people get notifications when you screenshot their stories—"

"Well, you didn't warn me hard enough!" Regulus schreeches, burying his hands inside his curls and pulling frantically. He feels like he's a breeze way from losing his shit. "James followed me back out of fucking nowhere, even though I was on my secret account, and then he began texting me all these things. Teasing me, making fun of me, always so fucking full of himself. And as if that weren't bad enough, then my brother also texted me just to sent me a voice note of himself laughing his ass off for two minutes—"

"I don't blame him," Barty snorts with a shake of his head. "Doesn't he live with Potter?"

"Yes. Yes, he does," Regulus mumbles, nearly hysterical. "And I really didn't need the reminder—"

"Sorry, sorry." Barty doesn't sound sorry in the slightest. "Listen, it might not be as bad as you think. Potter will get tired of you ignoring him soon, and then he'll give up and drop it, and this will just become an anecdote that we'll all laugh about in a couple of months. I mean, I'm already laughing."

Regulus stops trying to tear his hair out for a moment, narrowed eyes focusing on his best friend as he squirms in his place, shifting the weight from one foot to another. "You think so?"

"I know so," Barty assures him, and his confidence is somehow relieving, even though Regulus knows better than to trust anything that comes out of his big mouth. "You can finish having you breakdown, if you want, but you have nothing to—"

Another buzz cuts Barty off. The noise makes Regulus tense up almost unconsciously, because after today, he doesn't think he'll be able to listen to the bloody sound without having a heart attack. His shoulders relax slightly a second later, before going stiff once more when the buzzing doesn't stop.

"Oh," Barty whispers, eloquently. "Someone's calling."

"Don't—"

"Potter is calling."

"Fuck," Regulus says, with feeling. "Fuck."

"Yeaaaah," Barty drawls, gaze jumping from the vibrating phone in his hand to Regulus' panicked face. He's wearing that irritating shit-eating grin of his. "Forget what I said. I was lying anyway. You're fucked, dude."

"Shut your fucking mouth and hang up," Regulus snaps, heart beating so violently he can feel it in his fucking throat.

Barty tilts his head to the side, considering. Regulus gives him a warning look, getting mildly sick at the way in which Barty's smirk only appears to spread even wider. "Where's the fun in that, though?"

Regulus feels himself go pale, bile climbing up his throat. He swallows it back down with some struggle, his insides burning.

"You wouldn't," he mumbles, his phone still ringing.

"Wouldn't I?" Barty questions, arching in an eyebrow.

"Barty—"

His best friend is picking up the phone even before Regulus has finished uttering his name. Barty presses the device next to his ear a second later, and there's an almost manic quality to his grin.

"Hey, Potter," he greets, voice filled with glee. Regulus almost screams. "Yeah, yeah, he's here, why?"

Regulus shakes his head furiously, hands moving widely and forming cross after cross, despite Barty ignoring every single one of his signs. His best friend starts walking towards him, and Regulus retreats hastily until his back meets the wall.

"Oh, you wanna speak to him?" Barty is saying into the phone, gaze never leaving Regulus. "And it's urgent? Hm."

Please, Regulus says inaudibly, the perfect picture of desperation.

There's a pause, and for a brief moment, Regulus thinks Barty is about to take pity on him. Put an end to the joke before it ruins what's left of Regulus' dignity.

But Barty is Barty, and considering he seems to feed on Regulus' misery, he ends up smiling big, showing all of his teeth, before he gives James another affirmative reply and then he's handing the phone to Regulus.

He's convinced that Barty has never spoken this politely to James, but Regulus supposes that Barty is more than willing to put his hatred aside when the goal is to take the piss out of him.

Regulus clutches the phone and slowly, his hand shaking, he presses it to his ear. He doesn't say anything, but he lets out a shuddery exhale.

"Regulus?" James murmurs at the other side of the line, and the sound of his voice is nearly enough for him to drop the phone.

"Yeah?" he responds after a beat, the word coming out surprisingly calm.

"Finally done ignoring me?" James questions, and Regulus closes his eyes tight, turning away from Barty's figure. If he has to keep staring at him poorly repressing his laughter, he'll end up murdering him.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Regulus sniffs.

"Oh, don't you?" James chuckles, amused, and Regulus hates the havoc that that mere noise wrecks inside his guts. "There's nothing to be ashamed of, love. I'm very flattered, you know?"

"I bet you are," Regulus bites back, glaring at nowhere in particular. "It really isn't what you think—"

"No? You haven't been taking screenshots of all my shirtless pics?"

"Not all of them were shirtless pics," Regulus complains weakly.

James laughs again, louder this time, and it fill his chest with warmth. "True. I think there was a couple of selfies, too."

"And that one pic with your little cousin," Regulus adds, because he hates himself, apparently.

Barty's cackles turn unbearable, and Regulus' fingers twitch around his phone. He's making a run for his room a second later, slamming the door right behind him, even though the walls are so thin he can still hear the faint sound of his best friend's laughter.

"Ah, yes," James hums, seemingly deep in thought. "That one threw me off a little."

"How so?"

"You see, I assumed you were just collecting wanking material—"

"James!" Regulus hisses through gritted teeth, so ridiculously flustered he feels mildy dizzy. "Don't be disgusting!"

"Nothing wrong with that," James rushes to say, and Regulus hates how sincere he sounds. How pleased.

"Really? You wouldn't find it weird? Knowing that I—that someone has masturbated to your pictures?"

"Well, have you?"

"You wish."

"I do," James retorts without missing a beat, always so shameless. "It'd make me feel better about all the times I've jerked off to the thought of you."

Regulus sits down on the edge of his bed, knees failing him and ears ringing. He swears he can feel his soul leaving his body.

"What?" he says, voice embarrasingly high-pitched.

"What?" James repeats it with a laugh, as if this is all very amusing to him. "Say, love, what are you wearing right now?"

Regulus pulls his phone away from his ear momentarily, blinking at the screen. The call is real, and still ongoing, even though Regulus is certain he must be imagining this whole conversation, because there's simply no way.

"No," he retorts robotically as soon as the phone is back against his ear.

"No?" James inquires, some hesitance slipping into his tone.

"We're not doing this," Regulus insists.

"And what's 'this', hmm?"

"You know what! I don't know what game you're playing, Potter, but I want no part in it."

"There's no game, love. I mean this."

"No, you don't."

"No offence, Reg, but I think I know what I want better than you do."

Regulus laughs, but it's nervous, and shaky, and forced. "And what do you want?" he asks, trying his best to sound as mocking as possible. Regulus isn't sure he does a good job. "Me?"

"Yeah. Yeah. I want you so bad it's actually driving me insane."

Regulus lets out a choked off noise, and the urge to throw his phone against the wall is so strong he has no idea of how he manages to supress it.

There's a moment of silence, and then, "Regulus," James calls him again, and he straightens up as a reflex. "What are you wearing right now?"

Regulus rolls his lower lip between his teeth, pressing his thighs together. "Just some shorts and one of Barty's shirts."

There's a sharp inhale of breath.

"I hate that," James grumbles, and Regulus can feel himself frown.

"Well, I'm sorry it's not anything sexy, but I wasn't expecting—"

"No, no, it's not that, love, you look gorgeous in everything."

Regulus puts the back of his hand over his mouth, despite the fact that there's no one to see his smile.

"Then?" he questions.

"I just—you're wearing his clothes."

"Who's? Barty's?" Regulus blinks a couple of times. "Yes, of course, he's my friend—"

"Just that? Just your friend?"

"Why, Potter? Are you jealous?"

"Reg—"

"Yeah, James," Regulus sighs, probably sounding more pleased than he should. "He's just a friend."

"Good. Good."

"You know, this talk isn't really turning me on."

James chuckles softly, and Regulus' cheeks hurt from how big he's smiling.

"Aw, man, really?" he whines, almost making Regulus laugh. "That's such a shame. I've been half-hard since we started talking."

"James!" Regulus scolds him, but it probably doesn't have the desired effect, considering his grin is basically audible.

"I'm serious!" he laughs, and Regulus shakes his head, leaning back until his back touches the bed. "It's not my fault your cock is so fussy—"

"Don't have a cock," Regulus answers without thinking.

James falls silent, and Regulus is about to take it back, laugh it off or even hang up without an explanation, but then James is speaking up again.

"A cunt, then," James says, and he sounds okay, casual, even if a little stiff. "Is that—are you comfortable with that word, or...?"

"Yeah," Regulus tells him softly, almost in a sigh. "I don't really mind that much, I just—I didn't want you to think—"

"It's completely fine, love. Really. Doesn't make any difference to me. And I know I shouldn't have assumed—"

"You're fine, James," Regulus reassures him, endlessly endeared by this ridiculous man.

"I'm glad, because I genuinely want to do this," James says quietly, like it's a secret. A confession only meant for Regulus' ears.

"And what's 'this'? Phone sex?"

"That, and a date."

Regulus stops breating. "A date?"

"A date," James affirms. "More than one, hopefully, but I'm trying not to push my luck."

"Aren't you doing this a bit backwards? Considering you're already attempting to get in my pants."

"Maybe. But I'm very impatient, and I've been waiting for this a while, love."

Regulus goes silent, pretending to think it over. James' tension is palpable even through the phone, and he delights a little in making him squirm for once.

"Okay," he ends up saying, hoping his enthusiasm isn't too obvious.

"Okay?" James repeats dumbly.

"Okay, I'll go on a date with you."

"Shit, really?" James sounds so excited it drags a giggle out of Regulus. "That's—fucking amazing, we're gonna have so much fun, Reg—"

"And about that phone sex," he goes on, casting a glance at his closed door, "you can call me again tonight, and then we'll see.

James' breath hitches on the other side of the line, and Regulus presses his legs even closer together. He hasn't felt this giddy in quite a long time.

Horny, too, but he thinks the wait will be more than worth it.

"Yeah?" James exhales.

"Yeah."

Regulus is already counting down the minutes.

[inoreuct]

would you agree that we all need more Sanji getting nosebleeds over Zoro in this fandom?

YES *pelting down a hill waving the proposal for this in my hand like a madman* YESSSSSS

the first time sanji gets a nosebleed over zoro is his clue-in that oh. i’m not straight, am i. the swordsman’s doing a bench press (shirtless, as always) as sanji walks by (and sanji sneaks a look, as always, because who wouldn’t?) and when he glances over the plates he has to do a double take because what the fuck. zoro’s pressing more than twice his body weight. zoro’s repping more than twice his body weight. he’s just registered that maybe he’s stared for a bit too long when he feels something warm and wet on his upper lip, iron dripping over his mouth, and he books it for the galley.

he slams the door shut and presses his back against it before he slides to the ground and screams into his knees because what. the fuck. it’s not even that he’s getting hot and bothered over a guy; it’s just that the guy’s zoro. he’s not supposed to get nosebleeds over zoro.

but he does.

and it gets worse.

zoro walking around shirtless on deck? nosebleed. zoro re-tying the sails and just hanging on with his legs around the mast? nosebleed. zoro strutting out of the shower door, damp with steam and hair dripping wet and a towel around his waist? nosebleed. zoro tsking irritably and grabbing all of sanji’s food and packages from him to haul the whole lot over his shoulder? NOSEBLEED.

and not even that. he starts getting breathless around zoro and his chest hurts. he kicks zoro back while they’re sparring one day and the swordsman grins, feral and unrestrained and all challenge and teeth, and sanji’s heart spasms so hard that he actually wonders if he’s about to go into cardiac arrest. he’s barely twenty, he isn’t ready to die— much less because of some stupid marimo. chiselled abs and a nice set of biceps are only worth so much of sanji’s dignity. he twists and smashes the sole of his shoe right into zoro’s pretty face.

still, it gets so, so bad that he’s elected to just. avoid zoro completely. he’s sneaking around corners and running across open expanses ducked low like some kind of goofy thief and he knows it’s so fucking stupid but he doesn’t. he doesn’t know if zoro likes— no. he doesn’t even think about it. there’s no way, and if he gives himself false hope he’ll just break his own heart. he doesn’t know if zoro likes men, or anyone, much less him; nobody in their right mind would, not really. he's nice to have but not to keep and he's come to terms with it.

…until zoro corners him in the galley and demands to know what the fuck’s going on.

sanji stays facing away, slowly washing the dishes even as his heart pounds so hard it hurts. he is painfully aware of the way zoro’s seething like an over-boiled kettle in one of the chairs behind him, arms crossed over his stupidly broad chest and stock-still because he never, ever shakes his leg even though sanji knows he wants to.

his sponge squeaks across ceramic. the water’s warm against his fingertips, and his eyes flick up to meet his own reflection in the porthole window; he looks… well, he doesn’t know. scared, maybe. nervous. his mouth is thin, eyes wide, cheeks flushed, a shudder running its fingers down his spine even as his heartbeat thumps between his ribs and god, fuck, it aches. and he knows. he looks himself in the eyes and he knows that somewhere along the line nosebleeds had turned into falling in love and he was the stupid idiot who had just let it happen because he was too weak to pry zoro out of his thoughts.

his gaze flicks down sharply when he hears the sudden scrape of the chair, and zoro spits, “look, i can’t fix whatever i did wrong if you don’t tell me what it is.”

sanji’s heart throbs. “what?”

he can hear zoro’s scowl. “what, what? i obviously did something. you’ve been avoiding me like the plague.”

the cook almost laughs. he bites it down and swallows his words, salty-sweet at the back of his throat. guilt nips at him; zoro’s his rival and and his personal annoyance and a blockhead but he might also, maybe, just maybe, be sanji’s best friend. and sanji hasn’t been very fair to him lately.

he swallows again, clears his throat silently. “you didn’t do anything, marimo,” he murmurs to the plate in his hands, trying for airy and getting more somewhat vaguely strangled. he coughs. “just forget about it. sorry i’ve been weird.”

sanji will deal. he will, somehow; he’d been careless and careless is dangerous and for perhaps the first time in his life, he has too much to lose. he’ll squash his heart into a box and lock it down tight like he always has and it’ll hurt, but when does it ever not? he mentally declares the matter done and dusted as he shakes off the plate and gently sets it on the drying rack.

his lungs hitch as a callused hand cups his elbow.

zoro pulls him around. he’s too weak to resist. the edge of the sink digs into his hip as stormy grey eyes scan his face and zoro looks tense, his jaw set in the way it only is when he faces off with a particularly vexing foe.

“did i not look happy enough at dinner?" he asks, and it could be mockery but it isn't, not with that edge to his voice; not desperation, but damn near. like filter paper burning its way to ash. "was it my clothes on the floor? my boots on the bed? what?”

sanji can't stand it anymore. he looks away, tries to twist out of the invisible bonds zoro has him trapped in, but fingers looped around his wrist are all it takes to make him stay and fuck, fuck, he's so fucked.

"sanji, what did i do?” zoro breathes, brow furrowed, voice too near and too damn earnest, and sanji's throat bobs as he digs the heel of his palm into his eye.

this isn't how it's supposed to go. zoro isn't supposed to care. zoro isn't supposed to be standing here in the galley saying his name in that tone of voice. a hand carefully pulls his own away from his face, and zoro doesn't fucking let go, and sanji feels too much like he's been stripped down to the bone.

"i know," zoro continues, gruff like he doesn't know how to be anything else, "that i upset you. so would you please tell me what i did so i can fix it?" he bends lower still, ducking to try and catch sanji’s line of sight but sanji just can't look at him. "i'll fix it, i—"

"you can't fix this." the words are out and in the air before he can stop them, and a bittersweet smile curves his mouth. "there's nothing to fix, so you can't fix it. just let it go, alright?"

zoro wants to argue. sanji can tell. but the swordsman lets out a measured exhale after a long moment and pulls back, face carefully neutral. "at least tell me what's going on, cook."

sanji looks down at his feet. "...i can't."

"like hell you can't," zoro replies immediately, and it's such an abrupt reminder of their normal banter that it wrenches a rough noise from sanji's chest. "i was the one who held your hair back after you had, like, seven margaritas too many. don't think you could tell me anything worse than the experience of trying to stop you from falling into your own puke."

"oh, jesus fuck," sanji swears on instinct, then laughs. it's unfortunately hollow. "that was one time, asshole."

"one time too many," zoro hums, raising an eyebrow. "so you gonna tell me what's going on, or do i have to make it a captain's order?"

sanji grits his teeth.

"i will drag luffy in here, i don't care—"

"fucking—" he holds his breath, flipping around to white-knuckle the edge of the sink and letting it out slow. "fine. you ever loved someone, marimo?"

"sure." zoro shrugs easily, crossing his arms as he looks out the window. "kuina, but i think i learned to love her memory more than anything else. luffy, nami—" a near-unnoticeable flutter of thick lashes. "you."

sanji exhales through his nose as he rocks back on his heels. squeezes out air till it hurts. "you know that's not what i meant."

"what did you mean, then?"

he turns to look at where zoro has settled lazily against the counter, the moon turning his eyes to silver. "I mean the kind of love that makes your blood race. that makes you want more even when you know you'll never take more than you're allowed. the kind that makes your heart hurt so badly you feel empty without it."

the swordsman's face is unreadable as he tilts his head slowly. "i did say i love you."

it hits sanji like a bullet. he sucks in a sharp breath, and his throat burns as he turns away and tries to stop his shoulders from heaving up. "don't fuck with me, zoro. not about this."

it feels rather like a cruel cosmic joke. he's so near yet so far, just one step away with a gauzy curtain between but he can't touch it. he won't. he's got too many things on the line and yet he can't even name one of them.

"hey."

he squeezes his eyes shut against the burn of salt that shouldn't even be there, and look at that. little sanji's gone and broken his own heart again.

"hey," zoro tries again, more insistent, one hand hovering in the space between them and sanji feels the pull of it like a magnet.

he doesn't turn away as it cups his cheek. doesn't run as fingers slide through the short hairs at his nape, a thumb behind his jaw. his lashes are damp. it is everything he wants and everything he cannot have and he can't—

"look at me."

"i can't," he breathes, lungs rising fast and shallow. he's afraid to open his eyes. he's afraid of what he'll see.

"yes, you can." zoro shifts closer and another hand joins the first. it's big and rough and warm and he holds sanji's face like he's the moon herself. "look at me, curly."

he can't.

he does.

zoro's gaze is almost painful to meet straight-on with how intense it is. he seems to realise, face softening as he leans closer, closer, posture loose enough that it would be no problem for sanji to shove him away. "you love me," he breathes. "yes or no?"

sanji's heart stops. his tongue is clumsy in his mouth, his brain a mess of yesnoyesyesnoiwon'tican’tido—

"don't think." zoro's voice cuts through the haze as he shakes his head slowly; a sword through smoke, silver-bright, singing in the air and leaving silence. "don't think. you love me, yes or no."

the galley swims around sanji as his vision blurs. he feels his tears spill hot down his cheek, knows the way zoro aches to brush them away and yet stays still. he opens his mouth and it feels like stepping out of the only shelter he's ever known; he is an open fucking wound and he's raw and everything hurts, everything but zoro. zoro. zoro. "yes."

just one word, three simple letters, and still it feels like damnation; if he'd never said it he could deny it but now it's real. the swordsman relaxes, shoulders dropping enough that his forehead brushes sanji's, and sanji tracks the way his throat bobs. the way steel-grey eyes flicker over his face, molten in the light of the electric lamps and the moonlight spilling through the window, gilding zoro like something out of a dream. a fairytale sanji read as a child until the edges of the pages fitted familiar to his thumbs as his little hands reached for a happy ending that was never meant to be his.

he shakes, now, as zoro reaches up to run tentative fingers through straw-pale hair. "let me love you. yes or no."

"i—" the sound that twists from his mouth is cracked jagged down the middle, unpolished as a common pebble picked up off the damn street. "you don't—"

"yes or no."

"i'm not what you want," he gasps, his face wet.

"yes or no."

sanji wants to break apart. because zoro sounds like he's begging, and he cannot fathom anybody possibly wanting him that much. he wants to scream and cry and claw at the walls until his nails break. he wants to shatter into pieces all over the floor without having to worry about putting himself back together. he wants. he wants, and zoro's looking at him with the closest thing to reverence he's seen in his life, and even that isn't enough for him to believe it. "i'm not what you want."

he can barely look at zoro. he can barely look at himself. the shame is clawing a pit into his stomach, and he lets it, feels every inch of it, because what kind of person doesn't know how to be loved? his breath catches wetly as zoro cups his jaw in both hands, tilting his face up, and once again sanji is too weak to pull away.

"you are everything i want."

the words are so fierce, so sure, and sanji is cracking apart at the seams. the stitches pulled tight by his own hand are unravelling and he can't stop it—

"yes or no."

zoro's breath ghosts warm across his mouth, fingertips in his hair, just far away enough for sanji to see the way his eyes are blazing and yet he waits. his thumb on sanji's cheek is the gentlest thing sanji has ever known.

"you'll get tired of me," he tries weakly, one last time for good measure, and zoro just shakes his head. the resolve in his expression does not waver even once.

sanji breaks.

"yes." the word scrapes itself out of his throat seconds before arms are going around him, and he sobs. lets the swordsman bring them both to the kitchen floor as he curls up in zoro's lap, fingers clawing into his white shirt, numb with how hard he cries because nobody, nobody has ever stayed. not without him getting hurt in the process. he pushes them away when he gets scared and they let him and then it becomes his fault when it all blows up in his face, but zoro's not leaving, and it's so foreign to him that he's shaking so badly and he can't stop.

a warm, heavy palm smooths over his spine and he lets himself be shifted closer, settles sideways as zoro wraps an arm over his shins and rocks them until his breathing evens out. the embarrassment hits like a gut punch; he knows he looks like a mess, face blotchy and hair everywhere and eyes puffy as hell, but zoro cards his bangs out of his eyes and looks at him like he doesn't care, and sanji turns away.

he feels... fragile. like he's made of tinted glass and spun sugar, like he'll cave in at the slightest touch. there is something melting in his chest and it drips down over his ribs; pools fresh as a river in spring, offset by the grounding presence of zoro's hands on his skin. "don't say i didn't warn you," he mumbles, masking his very real fear behind a layer of watery bravado as he hides his face in zoro's shoulder, and of course, of course zoro sees right through him.

the swordsman's thumb traces the swirl of his eyebrow before zoro rests his chin on top of sanji's head. "i don’t listen. you know that."

you know me, is what goes unsaid, and sanji doesn't deign to reply. he buries his face into zoro's chest and breathes in the smell of steel and sword oil and— he sits up slightly, eyes narrowing. "you've been stealing my deodorant, yes or no." the way zoro stills momentarily is a dead giveaway, and he yelps when the swordsman flicks his forehead.

"would you rather i be stinky?" zoro scoffs, rolling his eyes gently as sanji settles back down with a huff.

"you still are stinky. if we're gonna be together i'm expecting you to shower at least once every two days—" zoro groans, and he powers through, raising his voice, "—and if you aren't fussy i'll let you shower with me."

the way zoro instantly stops complaining cracks a laugh out of him. it's weak and watered-down, but it's a start. zoro's hands slide back into his hair and he hums as he lets his eyes fall shut.

the moon's full tonight. their ship rocks gently, and sanji gets comfortable; zoro's warm and solid and happens to make a perfectly respectable pillow. the thought that he can have this now sends a thrill through him.

he's not a fool. he's not optimistic when it comes to this. when it comes to love.

but with zoro's thumb rubbing mindless circles against the side of his thigh and a kiss pressed to the top of his head, he's got a pretty good feeling about this time around.

[mrsackermannx]

lies | ino takuma

tags: angry (argument) sex, intruder role play, unprotected sex, sorcerer ino/non-sorcerer girlfriend, degradation kink, soft ending, not beta read.

authors note: @p00pdev1l jazz i meant to send this to you on asks and then it got super long but i swoon at the thought of being ino’s non- sorcerer gf idk there’s something about it didbdksjsksj. ive not uploaded any writing for so long bc there’s sm different ways and things i want to write and idk how to start idk…this lowkey is it i suppose. i miss writing hehe been so busy but yeh ENJOY MY DEPRAVITY.

- - -

You love your life with Ino, and he loves his life with you. No matter what a curse throws at him, he knows as soon as he sees you at the end of the day that it’ll all be worth it.

But it’s one night that he comes home especially roughed up…

You’re watching TV, but you hear him shuffling into your apartment, carefully locking up behind him, taking off his shoes. “Hello pretty girl,” he murmurs, voice almost hoarse. He leans over you to kiss your forehead. “I'm off to bed, you should too…”

You’re tired of the whispering phone calls, the leaving you to run away god knows where in the middle of dinner, you’re sick of not being able to tell your friends what Ino does exactly?

All these lies, all this mystery. You call him out on it and it leads to a fight…

It’s your sharp, “I’ve been waiting up for you,” that hits him right in the gut.

“Baby, I tell you not to.”

“Tell me?”

“i meant ask, baby,” his voice lowers, almost breaking from exhaustion. He's so close to snapping. Too close.“I mean ask—so-please, not now.”

His usually sunny demeanour is all gone. He’s working so hard for the recognition of so many people, you being one of them. He wants to be good enough, he wants to exorcise as many curses as he can. He has his own goals, his own vision of the future he wants you in. But he’s so fucking exhausted right now.

He’s not usually like this, he’s usually so reactive it’s almost unbearable. So you push and push.

“I don't even know what you do. What kind of guy are you? Who have I been dating-“

“What. What did you just say?”

You blink twice.

He’s never raised his voice at you like this before. It’s not that it scares you but it ignites something in you, stroking something dark and shameful.

He cages you against the wall, glaring at you. He smells like Ino, looks like Ino, caramel hair tousled and tucked behind each ear. As usual, so devastatingly, boyishly handsome, but his energy is sharper, his grin gone.

“Telling me you don’t know who I am? Huh? Then why the fuck do you let me inside you every night when I come home? If I’m so bad? If I’m this bad guy you don’t know? You let a stranger touch you? Huh?”

“Takuma-“

He gives you such a pointed stare your words escape you. One arm cages you below him whilst the other cups your chin. “You think I’m some kind of bad guy? Don’t you know me by now? Haven’t we been through enough?”

This is necessary communication, he knows it, you know it. But that doesn’t stop the suffocating tension crackling between you two any less bearable.

“I know you’re a good guy, in how you treat me, who you are, but I have no idea who you are sometimes and it’s— it’s, something that i-i…”

You’re getting choked up, but you’re also overheating. Ino is never like this, never so the opposite of himself, never so full of darkness and not his light.

But you guessed it was a good thing you weren’t afraid of the dark, or the man you loved so dearly in front of you.

“What?”

“-it scares me,” you blurt.

“But you like being scared.”

His voice is rough, teetering on the line between restraint and pure lust. He's neither asking nor stating.

“You like it when I come home in the dead of night.” He cups your pussy, your silk nightdress bunching against his palm, he clicks his tongue at the heat. “Sneaking in beside you, you practically baring your pussy for me to use, abuse and—fuck, until you’re begging for more, and more-“

“Takuma,” you whimper into his chest, he smells so like him, he strokes through your hair like he always does, so full of love. He’s holding your most intimate part of you like he owns you, you suppose he does. You suppose you’ve been in the palm of his hand from the moment you met him.

“Not so innocent then are you? When you’re taking my cock in your cunt in the middle of the night? Begging for it, begging for me to wreck this tight little-“

“Takuma! Please.”

He alternates pressure on your clit, over and over, feeling your drip down his fingers.

“I bet you’d like my mask too? Wouldn’t you?”

His hand wraps around your throat, contrasting the way his thumb was smoothing across your jaw. You always felt so special with Ino, like his lover, regardless of whether you were fighting.

“What mask?” Your voice was so shaky you barely recognised it. His hand mapped down his torso to his pocket. Then he slipped on a black mask with nothing but holes for his eyes. “So, this? This is who you are?”

He hated this. He hated you thinking he was some bad guy, some good for nothing criminal.

“Who do you want me to be?” he edged closer, his voice slow and dripping with something dangerous, something that made your pupils dilate, and your pulse run.

“How about tonight I be the bad guy you want me to be,” he drawled. His hands skimmed up and down your sides, admiring…staking their claim on what was beneath them.

“Take me, Takuma.”

A small smile tugged at his lips.

“Fuck you?” he shoved his knee between your thighs, “Or take you?” He squeezed your neck until you moaned, “You and your control? Your body? Your soul.”

“Both.”

It was a blur before you processed that Ino had you flipped against the wall. That he was already brushing your entrance with his cock and then teasing you against it. The head of him almost slipped in, over and over. But he had you flailing and whimpering like a desperate mess instead.

“Shush now, pretty girl. I don’t care if your boyfriend comes home. I’m using this cunt as my own anyway.”

“Oh my—fuck.”

That was it. Your control, your pain, you let it all go. You let it free, you let the wild throbbing in your core take over. You would have fallen to the floor without the wall and Ino standing firm behind you. You gave into your sinful desires.

He trailed his hands down your body, then in a movement so unexpected you cried out as he tore apart your night dress. “Let's hope your boyfriend doesn’t come home to you getting fucked like this, angel.”

He thrusts into you in one brutal slam. “Fuck I love ruining good girls like you,” he sounded so undone that it had you close to breaking, moaning with every slam into your pussy.

“Your cunts are made to be broken into like this, waiting for every drop of cum, squeezing me so tight like that. Fluttering on cock that you’ve been craving so badly, you—pretty —little—slut.”

It’s a primal fucking, and Ino seems to take everything out on you, but you submit so easily you’re succumbing to pleasure you’ve never felt. The things he says are dark and twisted, but the way he holds you is anything but, he holds you like you’re precious, even if he calls you his slut, to him you’re his angel.

When you start to match his rhythm, bucking out your hips to take in more of him, he comes so powerfully you feel his tears slide your back. Panting and groaning out your name, “I love you,” his voice shakes, and he’s breathless as he locks you in his arms.

“You’re so precious to me. More than my own life. More than any goal. I’ll tell you anything, and everything.”

You’re overcome, reeling from your orgasm, but nevertheless you accept his embrace just as tight. “I love you, Takuma.”

“I love you,” he chants, for a while. Until you’re sleeping, bodies coiled together, his hand in your hair. And it feels good. Too good to have finally told you everything.

[hematophagys]

hi i-no

[theylovevenus]

Yearbook Cover Photo with the Naruto Cast