#But every time I wanna do something I think

[andersonfilms]

KNUCKLE VELVET, TORN ON MY TEETH

❝ VI!ONE SHOT ❞

pairing. pitfighter!vi x bartender!reader

warnings. eighteen+, nsfw content: arcane season two spoilers, soft angst, smut, bartender!reader, crashout!vi mends her cold heart, inexperienced!vi, switch!reader + vi, fem coded reader, coded alcohol addiction, slight spit kink, strap use.

KNUCKLE VELVET TORN ON MY TEETH, there's something charming about the pitfighter who doesn't stop drinking until she reaches the bottom of the barrel and the bartender who keeps walking her home.

wc. 7k+

rayray yaps. popping my vi!oneshot cherry, hehe, and i'm happy to do so. the vi brainrot has been real as fuck lately. i fear it's not going away anytime soon. but i wanted to give a special shoutout to @hypnagogics for proofreading this fic, means sm to me ily + my sweet bubba, @absfawn for the title name, i could kiss you until my lips fall off. the best people ever, i love them so much. okay, now i have yapped enough! happy reading, hope you enjoy.

Trapped in the abyss, just when everything had been taken from her life seems to sacrifice another offering on a silver platter. Something else that she thought could be hers, but wasn’t. In the end, all of it was the same. Life is the same. She takes three steps forward, circumstances out of her control take her apart like enforcers imposing their will on Zaun, and she’s forced to move five steps back. It’s all she feels, powerless. 

Wanting nothing more than to drown her sorrows, forget all that she's lost. For everything that’s been taken, Vi feels an overpowering loss, threatening to take over everything she’s trying to build. But Vi thinks of none of it now, she can’t afford to think of one more thing. So, she doesn’t. All of her mind forgets. She forces herself to. 

Zaun, Piltover, Jinx, Vander, Silco, and Cait. 

She drowns in blood, sweat, and liquor for nights to come. She forgets everything and you are just the cherry top on this one shitty sundae. Anytime she’s here, Vi manages to get herself into a fight. Each time. Every time she tries to apologize or hold an ounce of guilt in her eyes, you see right through her crystal blues. From the very first night, you called her bullshit. Even if Vi didn’t give in, it was hard to hide her small smirk. 

She lets herself think it’s because you’re a bartender. You practically get paid to read people, listen to them vent about shit you probably don’t give two shits about and break up the fights that erupt every thirty minutes. Overinflated egos and drunken assholes weren’t a great mix. The jury was still out if you though Vi was one. She could have both, she didn’t really talk much. Vi fought, drank until she couldn’t see straight, and you helped her up to her small apartment right across the street and up the steps into her said apartment. 

No matter how hard she tries, it always ends the same. Vi looking like an imbecile and you, the pretty bartender who shuts down every advance she throws your way. Vi wonders who had a stronger shell, what you’re hiding in order to protect yourself. 

Maybe she is just an asshole. 

“You don’t have to walk me up here. I-I can make it just fine on my own.” 

As soon as your fingertips let go of her fragile frame, Vi’s inebriated body collapses on the concrete steps, grabbing onto the metal framing as if her life depends on it. 

��Really? Now you wanna prove a point?” 

“For your information, I’m always in it to prove a point.” 

Even if your words are harsh, with a soft smile and a hand open, Vi takes it as you let her lean on your weight as you assist her up the steps. There’s little shame to be had once the two of you make it in. It isn’t like the first time and when she noticed the scrunch of your nose in taking the smell, tequila and grease. Vi thought it was cute but she halts any further thought. 

Quickly, Vi disposed of her leather jacket and pants she’s left in boxers and the wrap protecting her chest. The part of her life that seems to be kept together. She doesn’t really mind it though, you. Seeing her like this. Even more so, she enjoys it. You’re always so dismissive at the bar, hardly holding eye contact, turning down any flirting she hurls your way. Just like the vomit Vi had nearly thrown up on your shoes but made a quick diversion for the bush to the right of her instead. 

This is truly the only time she knows you want her. Not so subtly, your eyes trace her like each pinpoint of your gaze is painting her on a clean canvas, one Vi wonders if she’ll like or not. When she’s been around you, she’s been wondering about a lot of things — thoughts she quite literally can’t afford. 

It’s her, nothing ever ends well when her feelings can get crushed on the other side. 

Everything she touches burns to ash before she can even hold it for a moment, a second of symphony retaliates with years of misery. How could you be any different? She wishes you would burn her underneath your gaze, put her out of the misery she feels growing every day, but you don’t. You’re always pulling her out of trouble when you truly don’t have to. It’s not your job to take care of her or hell, even look after her. 

But you do and she can’t seem to figure out why. 

“Why are you doing this?” 

“Just shut the fuck up and let me help you. Not everyone has a motive. Some people just like to help when someone is so clearly struggling.” 

“I’m not—” 

You give her a glare that seems to shut her up. You draw a bath for her. It’s easy to find her towels in the only cabinet. It’s an acute studio apartment. More so of a small room with a stove stop, minimal counter space, and one bathroom enough to bathe and brush her teeth in. There isn’t much left of it but it’s hers. Grabbing the first aid kit, you kneel between her legs, the mattress sits on the floor, her legs spread and stretching out in front of you. 

“Let me help you. Alright?” Vi grumbles, a incoherent complaint, but she lets you tend to her wounds. 

It’s mainly just cleaning off her dry blood as she still complains in the process, but there’s a few cuts on her face and her cheeks are already beginning to bruise. It’s not a secret, she bruises like a peach but she always makes sure her opponent is leaving a lot more with just a few cuts and a bruise the size of a plum. 

It’s then, when you’re concentrating on the cuts on her face, the busted lip she’s sporting; she looks at you. Maybe it’s the first time she has, but without even realizing it, she gets lost. Not in the way Vi doesn’t know who she is, that she’s completely lost on, but Vi sees you. 

Bright-eyed, optimistic, helpful, kind — all attributes she couldn’t claim but wears like a badge of honor. As if helping others instills you with a sense of purpose, something that’s always been a lost cause to her. Fight until the next fight, and the next, and the next. That’s what she’s done, she's always been a fighter. She’s fallen back on it when needed. It’s clear to her. Like a vision she could see, crystal clear through some stupid ball, it’s always been about survival. 

But how much longer does she want to fight and how much more does she have in her? 

“Thanks.” Vi speaks softly. 

Not knowing where to place her palms, she settles for her thigh. Silent as she watches, nearly analyzing every moment, every glance, every little thing you’re doing. It’s sobering to say the least. You don’t need to be delicate but you are. It’s more kindness than she deserves, nearly leaving a bitter taste on her tongue but when you offer a small smile and a soft whisper, you’re welcome. 

It’s the sweetest thing Vi has ever seen. 

There’s something different in the way you look at her. The soft omission exposes how sweet on Vi you may be. Definitely more than you’d let on, which was well…none. Up until tonight, she thought you hated her. With each word uttered in your direction, Vi assumed you’d rather swallow bile than stomach her slurred, flirty speech. 

“Why do you want to help? It’s not like I’ve exactly been—” 

“Kind?” 

“Yeah, something like that.” 

This time Vi lets the smile reach her eyes and your smile gets even sweeter. She can practically feel the sweetness rotting her teeth as she speaks. It’s the first time she feels something new, something as bright as the light radiating through your eyes. 

“You just seem different. Even if you do try to hide it.” 

With a flush of crimson coating the apple of her cheeks, she’s never been quite as exposed as this. The next few weeks are spent with less drinking, but Vi frequents the bar just as much as she did before. She orders a few pints just to talk to you. She’s learning more about you, slowly but surely, you’re opening up more. Divulging information you wouldn’t have before, trust is earned. It’s something you told her the first night you met and to this day, Vi still remembers it. 

Regardless of how drunk she’d been when you said it. 

It’s a typical night. Vi flirted with you but you aren’t being dismissive tonight but you’re careful enough to not let her know exactly how you feel. Everything you say is guarded enough you keep her on her toes, for a moment she thinks she might have to become a ballerina. It’s a slow night, Wednesday. Go figure Vi thinks. There was a woman who’d also been flirting with you all night. Vi thought she was beautiful, sweet, funny…certainly was making you laugh all night. 

Part of Vi wanted to feel jealous but it feels too good hearing you laugh, she says nothing. Maybe you just don’t like women. Vi was known for reading into things too much, thinking everyone thought with their heart first just like she did, and assuming every hot and attractive woman was into other women — just like she is. 

But the brunette left before closing, leaving Vi and a few other regulars paying their tab as they stumbled home with a belly full of liquor of their choosing. 

“Alright Vi, don’t you have somewhere to be? Maybe getting some sleep for the night?” 

“I don’t sleep much, it’s better if I don’t.” 

“Keeps the nightmares away.” 

All Vi does is nod. 

“Story of the century.” You take Vi’s empty pint before washing it dispersing in the sink before cleaning up the remainder of the bar top. “Everyone’s got one around here and the new one is usually even more depressing than the last.” 

“What about yours?” 

“If you wanna hear that, I’ll have to be the one doing the drinking.” You smile but it’s the first one Vi recognizes as insincere. 

“Yeah, seems to be the stone cold requirement for a heart to heart.” 

Vi’s silent as you vent to her about the customer who refused to pay up tonight until you threatened to kick his ass and that wasn't enough, you threatened Letty on him. Vi found herself only slightly entranced as you spoke with such color, your animated voice doing impressions of the stubborn patreon, moving your hands as you speak, eyebrows furrowed as you finished the story. 

You’re done cleaning and are ready to close by the time you finish, locking the door as Vi stuffs her hands in her pockets, “Can I ask you something?” 

You cling to your bag like a lifeline. Vi notices how tight your grip is on the strap, almost as if you’re afraid. Of what? She has a craving to find out. “Why’d you turn her away? She seemed plenty interested. Not your type?” 

You take a step forward, just as close as the last time you were in her apartment, tending to wounds she wouldn’t have really cared about but still she let you clean them. 

You didn’t have to know that. Not yet, anyway. 

“No, not really. I like my women a little rough around the edges, stumbling out of bars so wasted they can’t even walk home by themselves.” You smirk, grabbing the lapel of her leather jacket as you tug her closer to you. “Or is that what you want me to say?” 

“Is it true?” 

You both know the hope in her eyes is dangerous. 

Hope. 

A foreign concept in Zaun. If you get too close to the flame, you’ll get burned, dusting into ash as if you never existed. It’s what shimmer did to people, wipe them off the map until they reformed into a shell of what they used to be. You didn’t just get out of a place like this, not without some help. Vi could barely even help herself. 

The both of you know it’s a bad idea. A terrible, god awful idea, but you still move in closer to her. Vi notices and she wipes the smirk off her face, your warm hands finding purchase on her exposed hips, drawing soft circles on her hip bones. She likes it, even when her heart feels torn from being blown to bits by a certain blue-eyed beauty. 

Vi likes you. 

“Your skin is softer than I thought it would be, smooth like pure silk. Not that I’ve ever touched it before but I’ve got to believe it would feel a lot like this.” 

Vi feels a tingle up her spin, your touch is overwhelming, more than she bargained for really. A stumbling, messy kiss is all she really expected if anything. Not this. Clearly, you knew what to do. Leaving Vi a little clueless in that department, she’s knocked off her feet once again but this time in a way she wants to be. But actually bringing something this special to anything more than a few flirty quips? It never seems to be her strong suit. 

So, she puts her best foot forward. Her big stupid mouth, one she can never quite fully silence. “I can guarantee my lips feel a lot softer.” 

“Vi—” You speak her name like a warning, an unspoken law you’re breaking by entertaining your feelings and the bubbling sentiments you hold for her close to your heart. You know better than to keep it so close, but the halo in her eyes blinds you to reason and you let it. 

“It’s Violet but you can call me whatever you want, sweets.” 

You chuckle at the pet name. 

“Just one night. That’s it. Just to get it out of our system.” 

“One night, sweets. It’s all I need.” 

— 

It’s how you ended up here, the third night in a row since the first, trapped under the web of Vi and her eager mouth. Slender, perfectly sculpted fingers feel like a hex to your cunt, every moment causing you to fall further into her spell. To say she has a certain talent would be considered an understatement. It’s clear Vi’s enjoying herself, fuck, damn near suffocates herself in your weeping cunt. Last night wasn’t nearly enough, she needs to have you, again. Not that you were complaining. 

As much as you hate to admit it, there has been no one as generous as her. As good as her, as sweet, as kind, and she did whatever the hell you asked for. Nothing has beaten the first night, her thumping clit nudging against your as she hiked one of your legs over her toned shoulders. 

It’s not a secret how built she is, far from it, but it’s another thing entirely to watch her flexed bicep ripple with every grind of her hips. Each movement seems to be calculated with precision, focused on doing more than just making herself feel good. With pure determination, glazed over crystal blue eyes, and a pouty scarred lip, she makes sure you’re enjoying this as much as her. With each moan you let slip, her confidence only grows until she’s commanded full control over you. She takes what she wants from you and in return you’re seeing stars behind your eyes, constellations created in the shape of her name as you come. 

“That’s it pretty girl, just for me, yeah?” Vi talks you through  as she works you through your orgasm with her strong hips, not stopping even after you’ve cum. She wants more and Vi pulls three more orgasms out of you before she’s done for the night. You expected her to be good. There was no shocker there but you didn’t expect her to be so sweet afterwards. Vi is a drunk, an addict, whether she wants to accept it or not. You could be just another object she’s addicted to. Somehow, you convince yourself it’s just a one time thing. It doesn’t mean anything, it won’t. 

Truthfully it feels much more than just a one night stand, more than an itch being scratched — the blossoming ache in your soul feels tethered to your heart every time Vi makes you feel an ounce of love — even when she tries to hide it behind a wall. Whether you’re aware, the wall can’t seem to stop crumbling. Brick by brick, it’s coming undone just as you have. Weak-willed and with purpose, you fall into her. 

There isn’t an inch of your body Vi didn’t kiss. Her lips tattooing every inch of your skin with marked affection, almost as if she’s mending your skin with the burn of her lips. When she claims your soft lips, haunting you with the salvation of perfection as her velvet tongue invades your mouth, the taste of you melting from her tongue to yours. The silent declaration you didn’t ask for but craved, the carnal moan leaving her mouth as she chuckles when your hips pathetically grind into hers. 

Vi enjoys your company, that much is clear, but this time you bring her to your place. It’s more or less the same. Both of you coming down from the highest of highs, you feel sticky, dirty, and damn right heavenly. Vi disappears into your bathroom, grabbing a wash rag before dampening the material underneath a warm faucet. Carefully, she kneels by your hips, legs twitching softly as her skilled fingers find your slit before Vi’s sucking the digit in your mouth. 

“I just wanted one last taste before I clean you up.” 

As she has before, Vi makes good on her promise and cleans you up. She enjoys when the pad of her thumb grazes against your clit, terribly overstimulated, your stomach twitches. All Vi can do is chuckle. 

“I’m just a little—” 

“Sensitive?” Vi smirks as you hide your face in the palm of her hands, the pad of her thumb gently caressing your skin.  

It’s the lightest she’s felt in weeks. Almost as if she’s floating on a cloud, she wants to stay up there in the cloudiest of nines. Just you and her and an aging mattress as she offers you everything she can give. Albeit, it isn’t much but she’ll still freely give. 

Like a dog with a bone, Vi corners you on the third night when it’s just you and her in the bar. Closing time has long since arrived and vanished into the crisp air of the night but Vi has you bent over the bar, desperation clawing at the weathered countertop of the bar as Vi’s fingers fucks your pretty little hole while her tongue laps at the slick that’s dripping out of you. Your pretty little skirt pushed up, your panties pushed to the side as she laps and sucks at your juices. She can feel you dripping onto her chin and it only makes her that much more eager to swallow every bit you have to offer. 

“We shouldn’t be doing this—” Fuck. Vi starts doing tricks with her tongue, sliding in another finger, pushing against the soft spot buried deep as she toys with you in the way knows best. “We, um, Vi we said just one night.” 

“Shut the fuck up and take it like a good girl. Or did you forget?” Vi moans into your cunt, the vibrations causing your thighs to shake under her mouth. “It’s not like you were complaining last night.” 

Vi silences you as her pace picks up, her fingers fucking you at such a pretty pace, feeling the build grow in the pit of your stomach edging to come to a full bloom. 

All of you begging for it to be released. Vi uses her free hand to slap your ass, sending you moaning and lurching forward. You push yourself back grinding against her tongue, before she removes her divine mouth as she kisses up your spine, her fingers stuffed inside you not faltering for a moment. 

Vi continues to kiss up your spine until she reaches the nape of your neck, her breath kissing your skin, your body shivers into her touch. Full lips ghost over your ear before whispering quietly, “Are you sure you want me to stop? I will if you want me to. I just thought you might wanna, you know, take my cock tonight. Give it a good ride.” 

The moan you let out would put Aphrodite’s to shame, needy and choked sobs escape you as her fingers thrust inside you faster than they have before. 

“Oh? Do you like the sound of that, babygirl? Want to show me how good you can be for me?” Vi doubled down on her efforts, enjoying how much you arched into her body, your hips pushing back as you grind into quick fingers. She’s fucking you better than well…anyone. 

“Vi, please.” Your voice catches in your throat, hoarse and full of need. An insatiable craving; one you fear only she can provide. A few mindless days and careless flirting to land in her sheets, her in yours, the details didn’t truly matter. A vampire out for blood, almost more venomous than precious canines breaking the skin, you yearned to suck on every last drop. But she didn’t seem to be in a mind frame to relinquish control. 

“Please what? I’m not sure if I understand you.” 

All of it, so tantalizing, so fucking infuriating. Three fingers inside you, effectively making you silent, shutting you up as she brings you closer to the edge. That’s the thing, truthfully, Vi has you right where she wants. Only a few thrusts away until you come undone around her. The black haired succubus increases the pace, thumb playing with your clit, her calloused fingers increasing your high as she applies more pressure on the thousands of nerve endings on your precious pearl. 

“Shit. You’re gonna pay for this.” 

“What? For making you come? I hardly constitute that as a crime.” 

Your hands reach for the counter top, you’re not sure what exactly you want, but Vi makes you come for the first time that night. It’s a game, the push and pull. Dangerous. Intoxicating. Some disposition falling far from your fingertips, a game to her and a downward hill spiral for you. Addiction festering next to an open wound and the only antidote can be found on her tongue. Tasting the devil’s mouth is one thing but swallowing the sensation of the woman you’re beginning to love is something else entirely. 

Vi, despite her best efforts not to, makes you fall over the edge. It’s more than her eager tongue and expectant mouth slurping at the vindication of your taste. The craving builds like an exposed vein. Her confidence irrevocably soars like a raven through the midnight sky. Even if Vi acts like she’s done this before, you could pull the curiosity intertwined with naivety a mile away. Violet has never done this before, not with a woman at least, you’re sure of it. She’s a fast learner and such a great accomplishment should replenish such a reward. 

With the energy you have left, you push your skirt down first, as Vi puts your underwear back in place. She doesn’t stop touching you. She can’t. There isn’t much she feels she has control over, this arrangement being one of them. She’s good at this and Vi enjoys it. Every other part of her life, failure surrounds her, her ability not to please anyone in her life. 

In a constant loop, she finds herself caught in the crossfire. Tugged between sister and lover, family and righteousness. Her enemy becomes her lover and lover becomes enemy — all of it poisons her blood and cures her core — and all of it makes her hear a voice she doesn’t recognize but it’s just as true as the four walls surrounding her. 

Oil and water. 

Collecting like scars on her porcelain skin, Vi feels herself sink like an obliterating star. There’s a wonder settled in her chest, it feels heavy and weak, two incapable fists unable to surround her heart with anything but loss, betrayal even. She can’t punch her way out of this one.

All of it wakes a fire in her chest, a dagger being punctured in her heart by the one Vi thought she could trust the most. She doesn’t want to admit it so she doesn’t. 

But this? It feels easy. 

She needs easy, light, even good. Maybe she doesn’t deserve it. 

Vi definitely doesn’t, the sentence flows like a never-ending stream of waterfall continuously drowning her. The blood on her hands stains her perception of all things pure, she wonders how she even sees you at all. How you see her more vividly than anyone, possibly even Cait. There’s no judgment, no snarky remark of where she comes from. Even if she thought there had once been love, Vi questions it now. 

When you come, it feels like a breath of fresh air, a golden wave washing over her sinful hands. Each stroke of gold, your grit and blind hopefulness soaks Vi’s entity. This is what she wants. There’s nothing more than this, someone she could love, who loves her. It’s uncomplicated but the feeling flees as you come to it. Vi can’t help but feel regretful as you cover your ass, it’s such a pretty sight. She can’t stop that she’s greedy, you’ve fed her for the first time in her life and now Vi feels full but she’s only human. 

A sinner always craves more. 

She lets her touch linger on the gold between your thighs, pushing the white substance back into you before Vi lets you feel how wet you are, the dripping slick feels uncomfortable caged into cotton underwear and she wants you to feel it. The breath Vi hears are still heavy, impossibly heavy, and there’s pride in hearing you center yourself, back pressed against her chest as Vi keeps you in place. 

The pleasure within your body begins to slither away as you come back into the angel you are and not the sexual deviant bent over the woman who never pulls her punches. 

“Felt good, yeah?” Vi says. Her angelic, sweeter than the cotton candy stick in your teeth, voice penetrates through. You like it too much. It shouldn’t make you feel as good as it does. Desperately, you want to keep this casual but you’re even losing your footing. 

You pride yourself on the lack of attachment; you don’t need it. Never really had. But then with her it seems to change even faster than the seasons, your wall breaks somehow in between from spring to summer. With intent, you move around, her bright eyes have darken a bit but the fading light looks brighter than you’ve ever seen it. 

Fuck, Vi is making this difficult. 

“You could say that.” You speak softly, a tremble in your voice occurs but Vi says nothing but she does smirk. “Can I ask you something?” 

You turn around and suddenly Vi is staring at your exposed cleavage, the one you use to draw in patreons and to fill your pockets with as many tips as one can muster. Vi had been one, a faithful one trying to drink her away to the bottom of every bottle until she found something else for her. Something that didn’t leave a burn in her throat. 

“What is it?” 

“Was it your first time? The first night?” 

Sheepishly, Vi blushes. For a second, she contemplates lying but you’d see right through it. Right through her. It would only take one look in her blues and you would know. 

“That obvious?” Vi struggles with her words next but she manages to murmur a lame excuse. “Stillwater didn’t leave much time for this.” 

“And after?” You tease but the sincerity in your eyes soothes her. 

“There could have been but there wasn’t. Some things just don’t fit.” Oil and water is what she wants to say but she bites her tongue. 

“You should have told me. I wouldn’t have been so, I don’t know, selfish?” 

“There’s nothing selfish about it. I wanted to make you feel good. Did you enjoy yourself?” This time she makes your skin feel hot. Fuck. 

“Yeah, I did enjoy myself,” you pressed against her as your arms loop around Vi’s necks to bring her closer “but I think it’s officially my turn to offer my services. Don’t you think so?” 

It’s how Vi ends up here, in your place, in your bed — soaked. 

If there was one thing you knew, it was how to please someone. You managed to pull whimpers out of her she didn’t even know existed. The desperate plea coming from her shivering body as she spilled in your mouth the first time sent a shiver down her spine, the band in her stomach snapping as you sloppily spit on her cunt, constant circles of pressure on her clit seeing nothing but your eyes look up at her. 

Not letting a single drop go to waste, you fucked Vi through it, swallowing her completely. Vi shed the wrap covering her chest next. Her body bruised from the pit fights but you couldn’t think of anyone more beautiful than her. You paid attention to her collarbones, neck, and her tits. Sucking on her nipples as Vi tries to come down from the high you placed her on, she doesn’t think she ever will. 

She tries not to think that she wanted these things with Caitlyn. Cait. Cupcake. 

Vi only allows herself to think of her when she’s dreaming, visions of what that could have been, what she used to be. All of it so trivial, so senseless when she thinks of you. How you make her feel is different and she tries not to think of what it all means. 

One night. 

Then two. 

Now three. 

In another life, maybe she was stronger, and didn't need to be wanted. Hell, even needed. She could wait for someone who she thought loves her but the other part of her doesn’t want to think, she wants to feel. Vi likes feeling the softness of your skin, the light in your laughter, the swell of your exposed chest, the way your greedy eyes take in her abs, your soft lips kissing every part of her skin. The smooth, the scarred, the unworthy — you take it all in such stride. 

“Do you want to stop? I think I lost you for a second.” You inquire to the pretty girl beneath you, her hands find your waist, creating makeshift circles on your hip bones. 

“No, that’s the last thing I want.” Vi brings you to her lips, capturing your bottom lip, tongue invading your mouth. She tastes herself as your tongue melts with hers and the rest of her worries melt away. It’s just you and her. “I want to keep going.” 

“Then tell me what you want, baby. I’ll do whatever you want. It’s yours if you want it.” 

It’s spoken as a reminder. All of this is her decision. Vi decides when she wants this, how she wants it, and you’re letting her take all of it in the way she needs. Vi tried not to think the first couple times, she never wanted her first time to be a big deal. Maybe with Caitlyn it could have been, but then she changed. 

Vi thought maybe she could too. So, she did. 

“Can you—” Vi stutters. Yet again her attention gets pulled to your tits, the softness of your stomach, she can’t stop looking at you. As if she’s trying to remember everything about you. She’s committed to it. Vi wants to remember the soft curves of your hips, the way you moan when she comes on your tongue. 

The sight of you looking down at her makes she lose every rational thought, she wants to commit to memory forever. It won’t be something she easily forgets. 

“Gotta speak up, babygirl. Especially if you want me to keep my attention focused on this pretty cunt of yours.” 

You sit between her legs, tilting your head, you look at her glistening pussy, the way it shines with her cum and your sloppy spit. It would look even more exquisite with a little more. Taking a beat as you take your time, you gather enough in your mouth before spitting slowly, Vi whimpering as your spit makes contact with her lower pair of lips. She couldn’t stop it, it slips and you’re grinning, hips desperately bucking to feel more of it. 

“F-Fuck, need your cock. Please? I need it more than anything.” Vi confesses. There’s no need for dignity, especially if she keeps it and you won’t give her what she’s itching for. 

“Yeah? Are you sure about it? Don’t want you backing out just in case you can’t be a good girl and take it.” 

She can take it but she can’t take the countless teasing, trapped underneath the images drowning in her mind. This is what she wants, someone to dissolve into her, make her forget everything that has happened, just a pretty girl with some pretty tits who knows how to fuck. Right? That’s all this is. It’s all it can be tonight. Her lip is busted from the fight tonight, knuckles bloodied and bruised, but you don’t seem to mind all that much. It’s all the same to you. Vi is all the same, that’s been clear from the start. 

Then, she decides to let her mind get shut off, let herself fall into you. You did know how to take care of her and tonight she would let you. 

“Let me know if it’s too much, okay?” 

“I promise.” 

Once the harness is on, you wedge yourself in between her thighs, tattooed and toned, brave and brawny but she transforms into someone else entirely once you’re sinking inside her warm walls. You think about what it would feel like to feel her. Is she clenching around your cock? Would you feel the throbbing heartbreak of her clit? What you can hear is the whimper, uncontrollable and breathtaking, you slip further into her as you make home in her beautiful cunt. 

She’s made it yours to take. You’d do anything and everything for her, the thought alone scares so you do what you do best, you grind your hips slowly. Not wanting to overwhelm her too quickly, it’s the first time she’s taking penetration and you want it to be good for her. 

“You’re so perfect. Doing so good for me, taking my cock like a fucking champ.” You whisper out, taking too much enjoyment in her getting lost in your soft thrusts. Vi’s chest starts to heave as her hips roll into yours. Vi never even imagined wanting this, or that she could really have it with someone else. It’s not like she’s experienced, she has nothing to compare it to, but it feels incredibly intimate. 

She likes how you’re being with her. Soft, gentle, delicate. Vi thought she’d never want to feel that way, but maybe it’s just under the right circumstance in the right light. 

“Shit, shit, shit” Vi chants as your hand grabs the headboard, giving her one particular powerful thrust. Perky tits spring to life, jolting against the sudden movement, her moan so fucking load, as you continue your movements. This time not as hard, but you pick up your pace, wanting to see if she would have any arguments against it but Vi doesn’t. Profanities and whimpers leave her mouth as you split her on your cock. Face half-smashed into the pillow, trying to muffle her moans and you offer this one mercy. 

She’s still shy. 

Now is a good time as any to fuck it out of her. 

“Do you want more Vi? Want me to go…faster?” Placing a hand on her abdomen, the abs defined and clenching as you halt your thrust for a moment. “Do you wanna feel me in your stomach, baby?” 

“Can you even do that? I’m not so sure you’re even capable. Looks like the rookie knows more moves than the veteran.” Vi bites back. But it doesn’t last for long. Vi thinks she must have said the wrong thing, pushed you too far, you slipped off her but only to move her body to the edge of the bed, placing her on all fours right in front of a very convenient mirror. 

“Fine. Thought I’d be sweet but that isn’t what you really want. If you want to get treated like a whore, I’ll fuck you like one.” You take a beat to appreciate her wonderfully sculpted back, the artwork is truly exquisite. It feels so much like her but the foolish girl is smirking at you through the mirror. 

You know you’ve been caught ogling at her body, checking out every inch of her exposed body, you slap her ass in retaliation but she just grinds her ass back onto you. 

“I’m waiting.” Teasingly, Vi arches her spine more. “Where’s the whore fucking you’re muling about?” 

In one move, you’re inside her, fucking her beautiful face into the mattress. Never in her life has she felt so full, so good, so sweet. You grab her by the meat of her hips, bringing you back on her repeatedly. Vi wonders what she would give to have this, have you, and the thought scares her just as badly. She instead focused on you. 

Tits bouncing as you thrust into her at a punishing pace. Divinely and so perfectly you, making her see stars, she feels trapped. Not in a punishing way, but in a way that has her never wanting to leave the entrapments of your coaxing cock. At this moment, this is where she’s meant to be, just a toy for you to use. 

But it’s more than what meets the eye. If Vi was just a toy, you’d be done after the first night. Tonight, you weren’t using her for your own pleasure. You seemed perfectly content to give. The shine in her eyes gave you something only she could, edging you even further, a constant wave hitting Vi like a tidal wave making home on the shore. 

“God, you’re just too perfect. Fuck, just like that, take what’s yours.” Bouncing back on the strap, the words fall from her lips before she can’t stop them. Overflowing like a water fountain, it’s before she really even realizes what she’s saying, it just feels right. 

“Mommy, please.” 

Vi has had those words on the tip of her tongue but not that you’re fucking her into a different dimension, she lets the aching plea slip from sinful lips. It’s only once but it’s enough to set you off. You pull Vi up, her gorgeous back pressed against your chest, sitting on your thighs as you fuck up into her. Brutally, she takes everything you have to give. 

Sweat glistening across her body, accentuating her chest as she tries to compose herself  but you don’t give her the option. No. It would be too easy, wouldn’t it?

“I want you to watch, Violet. Watch yourself when you cum, be a good girl and show me how pretty you look, hm? Wouldn’t wanna disappoint, Mommy, now would you?” 

Vi sucks on your middle digit, tongues swirling as she feels the tight band in her stomach, threatening to snap. She’s close. When the sensationally soft pad of your thumb applies pressure on her clit, Vi’s done for. 

“Shit, oh my fucking god, baby baby babbyyyyy.” Incoherent murmurs and moans come in abundance as Vi bounces herself your cock, falling right apart as you toy with her clit, fucking her through the impending high. Your other arm tweaks around and up, fingers squeezing her tits, over stimulating her as she slumps against you. 

It’s the easiest task ever done. Submit to you, your skilled fingers, the power of your sinfully sensational thrusts, she comes all over you. The powerful demeanor weakens before your very eyes. When you gently move her back on the bed, slipping out of her, Vi’s eyes begin to water from the loss. 

The first time getting strapped down is always a lot to handle, you’d still taken it easier on her, too afraid you would push her too far but by the blissed out eyes, she’d enjoyed herself. She had enjoyed herself and you couldn’t really ask for much more. 

When the both of you are cleaned up, Vi cuddles into your frame and you let her. Even if your first instinct is to push her away, saying something you know that’ll hurt her, none of it finds any merit on your tongue. For the first time, you find it difficult to turn away a pretty girl, her lips kissing your collarbones, up your neck until she finds home on your own lips, sloppily invading your mouth with your tongue. 

Hitting you where it hurts, she moans your name in her mouth, unable to contain the neediness she feels around you. It’s worse than Cait. This is pure addiction entangled with something carnal. Vi knows if she doesn’t get to fuck you again, you fucking her cunt again, she might as well give up on life now. 

“I could go again.” 

You chuckle. Of course she could. 

“Don’t know rookie, that might be all you can handle for the night.” 

It’s a challenge and you know she’ll bite the bait. 

With ease she gets on top of you, and just as if she’s done it a hundred times, Vi sinks on your cock, “I think I can handle another ride, don’t you?” 

[maybankswhore]

WANNA BE YOURS ’ JJ MAYBANK.

summary: jj’s been avoiding you after your break up with john b , but not for the reason you think.

request from prompt list: “i can’t stay away from you.”

When you think back to your relationship with John B , you aren’t sure when it stopped being meaningful.

Of course the relationship had its moments. The ones that you could look back on and smile , cherish the memory. But it was different. Because you didn’t look back on those memories and feel sad. You didn’t cry that they were fleeting. You didn’t miss it.

It was more of a grateful feeling. A feeling of fulfillment and enjoyment. But not sad.

In the end , the both of you felt it. That connection wasn’t there. The relationship wasn’t growing. You weren’t falling in love with eachother , more so , falling into a friendship that the both of you were scared to let go.

He had become your person and vice versa. The comfort the both of you had gotten from eachother , how honest and vunerable the two of you were able to be was something special.

But the relationship ran its course and John B admitted that he had started developing feelings for Sarah Cameron.

You weren’t mad at him or upset. He cried , feeling ashamed and scared of what it meant: you held his hand , brushed his face and encouraged him to explore it.

Breaking the news to your friends were the hardest part. Pope and Kiara were all knowing , especially Pope who you had confided in once before. They were supportive , and promised that nothing would change in the Pogue’s dynamic.

JJ on the other hand , he looked like a deer in headlights. He fidgeted alot , kept glancing up at you to study your face. JJ could tell that you didn’t look upset and he wasn’t sure what that meant. He wanted to yell at John B , push him and curse him for taking something as beautiful as you for granted.

But he couldn’t.

In fact , he couldn’t even face you.

JJ had always been taken with you. Since the moment he met you on the beach , everything about you just left him speechless. He though you were the most beautiful girl he had ever seen and he remembered how he gushed to Pope about you , ranting and raving about the girl he met.

Imagine his surprise when you showed up at the Chateau two days later next to John B— grinning up at him with stars in your eyes. He was deflated. Hurt. But he couldn’t blame anyone but himself for not making a move that night.

For two years he watched you and John B be together. And in those two years he had gotten to know you. All of you. That didn’t help. He thought the feelings he had for you would disappear. Girl after girl came into his life until he realized , he looked for you in every girl he met.

Although it was hard for him and it hurt him to slowly fall in love with you while you were seemingly falling in love for his bestfriend , it was easier for him to accept the fact you were off limits because you were taken by said bestfriend. Now that you were single , free and John B was running off with the Kook Princess , JJ wasn’t confident that he could just. . . not make a move , not confess everything he had pent up all these years.

But God , did he love you.

JJ had made it a point to avoid you. Any time he saw you at the Wreck , he ducked and hoped you hadn’t seen him. When you were invited to the Chateau or to the marsh , JJ always found some excuse to give so he wouldn’t be there. So he wouldn’t have to see you.

It was killing him on the inside. He was itching to see you again. To finally touch you , feel you , be yours. But he was afraid. Afraid of rejection , how it would to his friends , how John B would feel especially.

It was too messy and he couldn’t do it.

He couldn’t.

Eventually you had noticed JJ’s sudden change in behavior.

“Is it just me or does he like , suddenly hate me?” You mentioned to Kiara while the two of you sunbathed , JJ affectively avoiding you by staying in the water.

Kiara scoffed. “I wouldn’t say hate.”

You were confused by what she meant.

But days turned into weeks , and you couldn’t take it anymore. You missed him. It made you feel like he blamed you for the break up with John B or he resented you for whatever reason.

Your knuckles rapped on the door to his room where you knew he was staying in John B’s hallway. The other Pogue’s went surfing and told you JJ wasn’t coming because he was sick.

You finally had enough.

“JJ freaking Maybank! I know you’re in there so open up the damn door.” You yelled through the wood loudly , a fixated look on your face.

Nobody answered and you continued knocking on the door. “JJ! What the hell is your problem with me?” Your voice was just as loud. But after minutes of silence , you stopped knocking. Suddenly you felt all of your anger disappear. You felt small , and for some reason your chest began to hurt.

“JJ. . .” the anger was all gone , now your voice was soft and sad. Cracking at the end of his name. “Why won’t you talk to me?”

As if JJ’s own heart broke at the sound of your voice , he sighed heavily and got up from his place on the bed. The door flung open and in front of you stood a disheveled JJ. His hair was a mess , there were bags under his eyes and you could tell he had been crying. “I can’t stay away from you—”

“Really? Because it seems like that’s all you’ve been doing these past couple weeks is staying away from me.”

“I can’t stay away from you but I have to.” JJ finished his sentence. Scratching the back of his neck , he refused to meet your eyes. “I just need some time.”

You blinked confused. Your heart squeezing. “Are you mad at me? What did I do? Is this about John B?”

JJ groaned. “This isn’t about John B! Nothing about this is about John B right now.”

He snapped at you and it took you aback. Your eyes widened , not expecting that from him. It made you frown and you took a step closer to him. “JJ please. . . tell me what’s going on.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I just— because I can’t.”

“You can’t or you won’t?”

“I love you.” JJ blurted. Now he was fully looking at you. “Okay? I love you. Not in the friend way. Not in a Pogue way. The in love with you way—” JJ suddenly felt the world lift off of his shoulders. It all started coming out like word vomit and he couldn’t stop it , but he didn’t want to either. “I love the way your hair gets all knotted up in the saltwater and it takes you hours to comb it out. I love that you wake up every morning and eat the same exact breakfast and makes sure everyone else in the house eats before they leave. I love that you love the animals and you care about nature. I even like you stupid little romance books that I pretend I hate hearing about when secretly I wish we were in our own love story. . .” he took a deep breath.

“I’ve loved you since the moment I met you , sweetheart and I’m trying to make it go away but it’s not.”

You were stunned. It all hit you at once and you stared. Mouth agape , eyes wide , and your cheeks flushed pink. It was the sweetest confession you had ever gotten , and the way JJ looked at you like you were the only girl in the world only added to the butterflies now swarming in your stomach.

“Why did you—” you stuttered , trying to figure out the words to say. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Would it have changed anything?” JJ said defeated.

“It would have changed everything.” You admitted.

You weren’t sure what was going to happen now or how to navigate the news. Though you did know that something changed. It would forever be changed.

And you were okay with that.

[sturnsrecord]

OVER THE PHONE

— [ex!matt x reader. angst] matt bites the bullet and decides to call you on a lonely night, desperate to just hear your voice.

ʚ part two ɞ

the thought of you often appeared in matt's head. and when it didn't, he'd consciously think about you, all the things he remembered loving about you.

it could be as simple as your smile, or even the way you rolled your eyes at him. 

he contemplated your entire relationship. going over how it ended, as well as every mistake he ever made.

he hadn't been like this with any other girl he'd seen or dated. he'd usually shut all the memories out and move on. convincing himself that it was for the better, which apparently it was. 

but you – you plagued his mind, with both wanted and unwanted thoughts. 

he tries to keep some dignity, acting like he's fine and that he doesn't miss you. but despite the persona he plays in front of his friends and family, he knows the truth. he knows how much he misses you. 

he's considered calling you a few times, mostly on nights where he feels lonely and nostalgic, his memory of your voice not being quite enough to fuel his dopamine. 

so he drops his pride, scrolling through his contacts to find your name. his finger hovers over the call button, his teeth gnawing at his bottom lip nervously.

maybe he should just send a text, he thinks to himself. but he knows he doesn’t want that – he wants to hear your voice, and your tone. 

he decides to go for it, starting the call as he brings the phone up to his ear. his heart pounds in his chest, there's a good chance you won't even pick up, or that you'll hang up as soon as he starts speaking. 

but his heart stops as soon as he hears your voice.

“matt?” you question, confused. his mind goes blank, short circuiting. he hadn't really thought about what he was gonna say, now just sat there, his mouth run dry as he listens to you.

“matt?” you say again, now slightly worried. “hello?” you chime, wondering what the fuck was up.

he finally speaks up, his voice coming out in croak. “uh, he- hey.” he mumbles, his palms sweaty. he swallows, trying to calm his nerves.

“hi?” you say, still not understanding what was going on. you sigh when he doesn't respond, considering hanging up on this non-eventful phone call. 

he notices the way you sigh, his heart picking up again. “don’t - just don't hang up.” he panics slightly, taking a deep breath.

“ok.” you mumble, giving him the benefit of the doubt. “i just wanna talk - just about anything.” he mumbles weakly, trying not to sound pathetic. “tell me ‘bout your day.” he says quietly, a meek suggestion.

you sigh again, reluctant to do this. but you'd be lying if you said a part of you didn’t wanna talk to matt. you thought about him sometimes too.

“tell you about my day?” you question, frowning a little at the suggestion.

“yeah.” he breathes out, trying to relax his body a little. “anythin’, just wanna hear your voice.” he admits. you sigh, rubbing your temple. what the fuck were you doing? 

“i've not been doing much - mostly just work.” you mumble out, abiding by his simple request. he lets out a small breath at your words, happy that you'd decided to continue the conversation. 

he smiles to himself, reminding himself that you were in college now, living a whole other life. “right, college. forgot ‘bout that.” he mumbles out, fiddling with the bottom of his top as he speaks. “how is it over there?” he asks, suddenly desperate to know everything about your new life.

“it's ok. hard work, but it's good.” you nod as you speak, trying to respond as casually as possible. “nice change in pace.” you add quietly.

he swallows, listening to your every word. he sat there imagining you in your new life, studying at college. you were always smart, and it made him happy that you were doing something good with your life, something you'd spoken about to him when you were together. 

“they’re not workin’ you too hard are they?” he jokes, keeping the conversation light and interesting for both your benefit.

“what, at college?” you joke back sarcastically. “nah, it's just what i signed up for.” you sigh, smiling to yourself without even thinking.

he nods, biting back a smile. “you happy though?” he asks sincerely, wanting to make sure you were good. 

you think for a second, nodding to yourself. “yeah, i am.” you respond quietly and honestly. “social lifes good, turns out not every girl here is a bitch.” you joke, getting more comfortable in the conversation. 

he raises his eyebrows, chuckling under his breath. “that’s surprising.” he chimes back, amused by your lack of filter that he knew so well. “s’no surprise though, you've never been bad at making friends.” he says kindly, knowing damn well how easy you were to talk to. how you'd effortlessly charm everyone with your addictive personality, in a way he admired and wished he could do.

his compliment makes your brain fizzle with happiness, but you push past it to keep the conversation lighthearted. “yeah, not socially awkward like you.” you retort back playfully, smiling ear to ear as you speak. 

he scoffs at your insult, although he found comfort and relaxation in the light teasing. finding it easy. “wow, rude.” he responds, shifting around his bed to get more comfy. “s’not my fault i like a smaller social circle.” he defends.

“yeah, you tell yourself that.” you snap back quickly, lightly chuckling as you speak. then there's a silence across the call, one where it would feel like a good time to hang up. but neither of you wanted to, that much was clear. 

“you doin’ okay?” you mumble through the phone, knowing that now was probably the only time you'd be talking like this. checking in on one another wasn't exactly a usual occurrence.

he swallows hard, his whole body feeling hot at the caring tone in your voice. “yeah - i mean, i've been better.” he mumbles awkwardly, trying to sugar coat his emotions. he was fine, just not great. but you weren't in his life like that anymore, you didn't need to know. 

your face drops a little at his words. right, so he wasn't doing okay. “m’sorry, ‘bout that.” you mumble quietly, unsure what to say. 

“it's fine” he huffs, fidgeting with the blanket under him, also unaware of what to say. the conversation veering in a slighter deeper direction, a direction he didn't particularly wanna go with you right now.

but his words escape his lips quickly and quietly, his emotions coming out over his logical thinking. “i miss you.”

his words send a thrilling shock through you. you let out a sigh, trying really hard not to say it back and make this whole stupid phone call an emotional breakdown over your past relationship. 

he swallows at your lack of response, knowing it was stupid of him to say. but talking to you on the phone like this was driving him insane, knowing he couldn't just do this whenever. it's like he was on a time limit to get everything off his chest before he went back to his life without you. 

the call is silent, but he knows you won't just hang up without saying anything. he feels his emotions bubbling over within him, the hurt consuming his mind with thoughts and questions, consuming his everything.

one question rattles in his brain, gnawing at him on a replay, so much that he didn't know if he was saying it outloud by accident or if his inner voice was just that loud. but considering the hole he's already dug himself into he stupidly lets it slip, needing to know the answer so deeply.

“are you seeing anyone?”

you shut your eyes firmly, hoping you hadn’t just heard that. “matt.” you whisper, practically pleading him to stop with just the tone of your voice. 

“i know, i know.” he mumbles, backtracking as he realises what he's just said. he knows he shouldn't have pried like that, but the need to know overtakes his pride. “i just.” he begins, sighing to himself. “i just need to know.” he croaks out, voice breaking. 

“matt.” you whisper again, in the same pleading tone that was telling him to stop asking questions he didn’t wanna know the answer to. “please don't.” you huff, practically warning him of the answer already. 

his stomach drops. fuck. you’d just answered his question, and fuck did it hurt. he was taking this a lot worse than he thought he would, jealousy surging into every nerve ending of his body. an emotion he didn't often show because of how ugly it was.

“just tell me.” he mutters, his voice coming out in a rasp of both desperation and pain. you bite down on your bottom lip nervously, honestly debating hanging up, but you owed him at least this. to be honest with him.

“yeah.” you say weakly, your heart rate picking up as you become nervous. “i have a boyfriend.” you mumble out. you know that's not what he wants to hear, but what were you meant to do.

“fuck.” he whispers under his breath, his body relaxing from its tension as the words finally leave your mouth. but what filled in was much worse, the pain and jealousy of knowing you'd moved on whilst he was still sat here thinking about you almost everyday. he felt pathetic in all honesty. 

“matt, m’sorry-” you begin, feeling bad. but he cuts you off quickly. “no, no- you don't need to.” he sighs, rubbing his temple. “you don't need to apologise, for that.” he speaks softly, trying his hardest to rationalise with that part of his brain. the logical part screaming at him to not get upset over this, to not let it completely ruin him. 

“m’happy for you.” he mumbles out, the words catching in his throat, like he's struggling to say them. maybe thats because deep down he didn’t really mean them, some fucked up, jealous part of him cruelly wishing you weren’t happy. but he couldn't act out on that. he was smart enough to understand this wasn't his place to comment, nor let his ugly emotions get the better of him. 

“thanks.” you mutter back, trying to keep the situation civil. you knew he was upset. you knew because if he had a new girlfriend you'd be freaking out, probably hating it more than you'd like to admit. and maybe that wasn't fair, but weren’t gonna dwell on the logistics of the situation.

he takes a deep breath, trying to keep up his calm demeanour, not wanting to pathetically slip up. but it's difficult trying to keep his mind at bay with thoughts of you happy with someone else. a part of him crumbled, knowing that something he had dreaded for a while now was true, and it had been for a while.

“i'm uh- i'm gonna go.” he mumbles, deciding that he couldn't talk to you anymore without practically breaking down. 

“right, okay.” you mumble, mentally smacking yourself for letting the conversation get to this. you scrape your brain for something else to say, something to fix the now low mood. but nothing comes to mind, regret taking over. 

“bye matt.” you whisper softly, the shock of the situation beginning to take over, your eyes brimming with tears as you think about the fact you've just hurt someone you care so much about. 

maybe it had been easier this whole time when you weren't talking to matt, able to keep him so incredibly separate from whatever life you were living now.

the only reason you'd been able to move on is because there was hardly anything else in your life that had any attachment to matt anymore. but getting a call from him, and hearing his voice, it really fucked you up.

“bye.” he whispers back before hastily hanging up, letting out a sigh as his eyes water. god was that a bad idea. he takes a few deep breaths, stopping himself from crying over this.

he felt pathetic and sad for himself. here you were moving on and he was just stuck, stuck on a part of both your lives that you had so easily left behind.

he hated himself for it, because he only had himself to blame.

©sturnsrecord

notes . this was inspired by @pearlzier c.ai chris bot lmao

tag list . @iizzyyy @sophsturns @strnilolover @sturniolossss @hearts4sturniolo @emely9274 @dominicfikeenthusiast

[paperstarwriters]

to Hear, to Feel, to Know

Inspired by @muletia’s Obsessed Optimus fanfics—they just so so so so good!! The yearning, the ill-buried desire, Optimus chaining himself in place like some dog with a biting problem when all he wants to do is love you???? OUAGH so so good!!

Asdfghjkl I wanna try my own hand at a fic looking at Optimus’s tendency towards obsession in love, but for now, I’ve been thinking about Optimus as a bot who tends to listen….

Pairing: Optimus Prime x Reader

Warnings: n/a

Summary: Optimus is a bot who's exceptionally good at listening. What he likes listening to most of all though, is you.

Masterlist | Transformers Masterlist

Word count: 1,106

───♡-♥-♡-♥-♡-♥-♡───

There was no denying that Optimus had a keen eye, and an even keener attention. His ability to promptly decipher texts based on key words or phrases allowing him to understand the greater picture from his days as an archivist served to train him well in noticing patterns of behaviour if he focused his attention on it. The ongoing war certainly helped as well, forcing him to zero in on what would allow them to survive. Forcefully training his eye to fall to keep points in any battle field.

And yet as trained as his eyes were, Optimus was always keen to listen.

Or perhaps absorbing was a better comparison. How despite being a leader, despite giving commands, Optimus was almost always better suited to listening to the people around him. The information that they shared, the feelings they expressed. Ratchet always used to say he would make for a much kinder medic than he if he took a role in that field. Perhaps it could have served him even better as a leader, but there was little he could change through the tides of time.

It’s why he clings to these things, saving them in the event that one day they may save him. From another attack or another encounter with Megatron, to even a stretch of boredom or loneliness.

It is why he clings to your every word.

Why he loves it when you sit atop his shoulder. So close to his helm, it is as if you’re speaking directly into his processor, filling his thoughts with your words—your delights, your frustrations, your sorrows, your needs. A direct feed like some constant supply of energon into his lines.

Both, he supposed would make his spark stutter a bit.

Ah, just thinking about it brings to mind the many times you’ve pressed yourself against his audial, leaning against his helm or purposely cupping his audials as you whispered sweet words his way, words for him and him alone, a gift sweeter than any energon could ever be.

You didn’t even have to be saying something sweet. Scathing secrets and vicious critiques against some other’s back from the mistreatment you received in the hands of a cruel stranger or an even crueler co-worker, or even some coy remark against a teammate, the fact that you chose to whisper your words to him—to confide your secrets and burning emotions to his audials.

Even being chosen as a Prime was a lesser honour than this.

But perhaps the thing he enjoys listening to most, though your every word delights him and your laughter makes his spark feel so light it might burst from his chest, the sound Optimus likes best it’s the soft thud of your heartbeat and the whisper of your breath.

He recalls when he first heard the sound, mass displaced at your request as you showed to him your beating heart after he showed you his whirring spark.

There is meaning to the action, to show one’s spark to the other, but Optimus felt he need not explain it to you, knowing full well you wouldn’t be able to return the gesture.

And yet somehow you did.

Even if you could not pull back the viscera from your chest the way he did the plates of his chassis, you brought his helm to your chest, pressed his audial against you, and implored him to listen.

And he did.

In the caverns of your chest, Optimus heard as air filled your lungs, swelling with every breath you took, and for a moment he mistook that steady beat for an abnormal twitch, until you began to explain.

“That’s my heart.” You had told him. “The ‘thud-thud, thud-thud, thud-thud’.”

And pressing just a bit harder, Optimus stilled his fans to listen to the faint beat.

And he heard it.

Loud against his audial the drum of your heart pounded against your chest like an insistent knock, or the demands of a captive begging to be freed.

Though perhaps that’s just wistful thinking.

He hears it in his full form sometimes, when you lean your back against his helm or when you cling to his audial in a moment of fear or excitement. A gentle faint rhythm, that sings that you’re alive.

He wishes some days that it would accompany him in his berth, as he lies under the midnight silence hounded by the whispers and wails of the dead of the living he must fight, of the humans he’d never know. They all rattle and sob frying his processor as he starves himself of a proper recharge, but then, some days he hears something this in the base. Perhaps it’s his own movement, perhaps something falls—once even it was the rumble and stroke of thunder and lightning overhead. All the same, it brings to his mind the thump of your heartbeat, and like a spring being unwound, he replays your words in his head. Every praise, every sweet word, every secret you’d give him. Your smile your laughter, your delight and glee he’d play them all over and over in his processor, lingering on the compliments you’d direct his way, every smile you’d make when your eyes met his.

All with the background theme of your heart singing its little song of life, your every breath an instrument to the symphony.

You were here, you were alive, you were with him.

Ah, but sometimes those moments stung worse than the wailing dead.

You were not here with him now, and all he had was the echo of your heartbeat. If he could hum its melody he would, but the sound doesn't comply with his voice box. Still he taps it out with a digit sometimes or a pede even, a little reminder of a precious tune.

He hasn’t had the chance to listen to your heart again. To mass displace and press his head against your chest, to listen to that sound, and maybe listen to you speak as he follows the gentle beat. He hopes one day he might get the chance. He hopes one day to tell you what it means when one shows the other their spark.

One day, he dreams, he’d tell you what it meant, and you’d smile, perhaps in rapt delight, perhaps shyly, but you’d open your arms to him and allow him to listen once more, let him listen as he lets you watch his glowing spark.

Until then, he basks in what he can get, faint as it is against his full form, listening to the soft beat of your heart, feeling you warm and pressed against him, resting assured in the knowledge that you were here, you were alive.

[delopsia]

honey | bob floyd x reader

Word Count: 13,800 Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+, AFAB!Reader, Succubus!Reader, Virgin!Bob. Shapeshifting, elements of magic, blood, parties, first-time blow jobs, cunnilingus, first-time sex, virginity loss, vague plot twists despite the severe lack of an actual plot. This was a crack warmup that just became...this Brief Summary: "Rich, hot, and a virgin. What's wrong with you?" Or, Bob's coworkers jokingly summon you, a succubus, to take his virginity, but everyone gets a lot more than they bargained for. You included.

Well...

This is new.

"It wasn't me! I promise!" 

"Well, someone drew my symbol on the floor." Folding your arms in front of your chest, huffing. All that for this?

"It wasn't—" He freezes, teeth flashing through an awkwardly stretched smile. "I...my coworkers were playing a prank on me."

Lovely that you learn that after you've planted your ass in his lap. "So you don't want me here, pretty boy?"

Because he is cute. Floppy brown hair and the biggest blue eyes you've ever seen, hidden behind a pair of wireframes that perch on his freckled nose. His partner must be an incredibly happy person, having someone like this walking around their house. 

"N-no!" He blurts. His face falls. "—wait! Well-well, I...uh, I...I don't wanna be rude, but I mean I-I..." Your index finger presses against his thin lips, silencing whatever he had left to say. If history is anything to go off of, you wouldn't have been able to understand what he's trying to tell you anyway.

But...well, you are stuck here, so you'd might as well ask. "What's your name?" 

"Ro-Ro..." A short pink tongue darts out, wetting his lips. "Robert." 

"Well, Bobby," you can't help but say it, a little too eager to watch the blush in his cheeks deepen. "It's a shame that you didn't. You're pretty cute."

Even in the dark, you can see how his face reddens, adam's apple bobbing as he swallows his words. 

"But! I'll be on my way," lifting yourself from his lap before you can become too comfortable there. Something bumps into your ass; you think that may have been his cheek. "Do me a favor and tell your partner that they're a very lucky person, would ya?"

"Partner?" Squeaking.

Your feet freeze. There's no way he's... "Don't tell me you're single."

But Bob nods his head like it's the simplest confession he's ever made. "That's half of the reason why they went through the trouble of making you come here." He pauses, his left eye twitching as a thought visibly crosses his mind. Whatever it is, it's got him looking away from you entirely. "Said I'm...said I'm too old to be a—" 

"Wait, wait, wait." Holding your hands up. Need a moment of silence to understand what the hell you're hearing. "Your coworkers summoned a succubus to take your virginity?"

His lips flatten into a line. "...yeah."

"Well, that's shitty!" That's a new one. Finally, something to top the time a sorority summoned you to party with them for...some reason. Bragging rights, you think. "Do they pay you enough to put up with those assholes?"

It's been a minute since you've run into someone so nonchalant about a demonic creature standing in the room with them, never mind hold a casual conversation with you. 

But here Bob is, shrugging his shoulders like this happens to him every Tuesday. "You learn to deal with it when you're paid a hundred sixty-thousand a year."

"So you're a rich virgin." It shoots out of your mouth before you realize the thought crossed your mind.

Again, Bob is too calm about this. "I...guess?"

"Rich, hot, and a virgin." Modifying your statement. "What's wrong with you?"

Those blue eyes widen. Blinking rapidly. "Huh?"

"Well, there's gotta be a reason why you don't have a line of people out the door." You say, crouching back down in front of him. Sure wish he'd let you do something about that tent in his pajama pants. "If it's not the looks that reel the ladies in, it's the charm, and if it's not the charm, it's the money. And you've got all three, pretty boy."

It's not supposed to be a serious topic, not as if you're about to go and write an article about his non-existent sex life to publish in the weekly paper. But this guy is actually thinking about it. His brows furrowing as he mulls over his thoughts, mouth parting, only to fall closed once more. 

"I think it has something to do with the nature of my job and my severe inability to start a conversation," he concludes, with a little nod of his head. 

You wonder if you could put him in your pocket and take him home.

Now that you think about it, you're pretty sure you're standing on some a ship right now. Is he some kind of cruise captain? "That'll do it." 

Bob doesn't have anything else to say about that, awkwardly closing his legs before you can get another look at what he might be packing under there. Whether or not he caught you staring or he's just become aware of his current state, you're not sure. It's such a shame that someone else summoned you on his behalf; he would have been a fun one to toy with.

Hm.

"Do you wanna fuck with your coworkers before I leave?"

He blinks at you. Not a thought behind those eyes. "Huh?"

"Well, you've already got me here," an excited lilt in your voice, maybe a bit too eager to present your totally thought-out idea. "Believe it or not, I double as a poltergeist on Tuesdays and Thursdays." 

Or whenever you feel like, really. 

"That would be mean," shaking his head. What is he, some kind of saint? 

"They just summoned a demon to fuck you in a locked room," deadpan. 

For a moment, it's quiet, and then.

"...that's a fair point."

As it turns out, Bob lives on the world's shittiest cruise ship. A ship without a pool, a dimly lit cafeteria without a single Michelin-trained chef in sight. Long, narrow, colorless hallways. There aren't even individual rooms, just even smaller hallways stacked high with bunk beds. On the thinnest mattress you've ever seen, might you add. 

Worst of all, rather than allowing personal clothes, everyone is dressed in clothing provided by the ship. Whoever picked the color schemes needs to be introduced to a fucking color wheel. 

How do you trick the head of the United States Navy into summoning you? You have a few choice words about this place. 

You appear in the mirror first. A little flash of your face, and then you're gone, nothing but a figment of the imagination. Again, later in the night, those two coworkers of Bobs have convinced themselves that they had made it up. 

The plan was to end it there and to come back in the morning to turn it up a notch, but there's a chair sitting in the bunk room that's just so comfortable. So what if you lounge there all night, poking through a book Bob had on the foot of his bed? The room just dark enough to allow them to see your vague silhouette, air so quiet that every turn of the page seems to echo.

Not one of them sleeps, but Bob does, snoring away in his bottom bunk. He sounds like a little cat, tiny little noises that sound closer to grumbles than snores.

When morning comes, you show up in their showers right as they turn around. You appear on opposite ends of crowded rooms and in high-stakes meetings with fancy-dressed higher-ups just to get a reaction. Tapping on their shoulders when they think they're alone. Somehow, you managed to get away with swapping the labels on the mustard and hot mustard. Effectively ruined several breakfasts in one fell swoop.

One, this loud-mouthed blonde you forgot the name of, wakes up to you sitting on his chest. Who would have thought that he had such a shrill scream?

But you might take it too far when you chase them down the narrow hallway—five grown adults shrieking like they're in a haunted scream park and not a Navy ship. 

Or at least, you thought you did. 

"I can't-I can't believe you just—!" Bob's laughing into his palms, keeling over with it. His mouth is moving, but he can't get anything out. Bubbly, loud giggles that travel around the tiny little fan room, bouncing off every corner. 

"And here you said it would be too mean," gently mocking, unable to fight off the smile that works its way across your face. So big you can hardly speak through it. 

That should technically be the last of your encounters. 

You should be heading back through your portal and off on another job, but Bob doesn't utter the proper incantations to make that happen. He starts to, but then you ask about his book, and he squeaks at you for spoiling the ending, and then you begin to second guess if you're recalling it correctly.

Then the conversation starts, and suddenly, you've been bound to him for three weeks. 

If it were anyone else, you'd complain and force the portal to open by yourself. There's more than one way to break the spell and go back to where you came from, but there's something about Bob Floyd that keeps you lingering. Maybe it's the way he blushes when you get too close. Maybe it's because you can't remember a time when someone kept you around solely because they liked talking to you.

Maybe it's because he has a fantastic taste in literature. Anything he's reading somehow becomes glued to your hands, unable to be put down until you've reached the final page.

"I can't believe nobody has gotten bold enough to comment on the strange figure reading a book in the corner every night," you giggle, nothing but a misty haze hovering over his head. 

His lips curl into a smile, toothpaste spilling over as he fights not to bite his toothbrush. "I think they're afraid of another hallway incident."

"Are you afraid of another hallway incident?" Appearing in the mirror, if only to get your message across.

"Nah." 

If you had known that the Admiral would be the final person you would get to scare before Bob left the ship, then you probably would have gone all out on it. But at the moment, all you're thinking about is how unfair and rude it was to pin Bob for the mistakes that his pilot made up in the air. The guy can't even fly a jet. How is it his fault that the pilot confused their lefts and rights?

So you show up in the mirror, jump on him, and spiral about the room in a foggy haze before rustling down the hallway in such a storm that it creates a draft. There seems to be a growing trend with men having high-pitched screams on this boat.

If Bob ever catches wind of the incident, he never brings it up.

Hell, maybe he thinks he's left you behind because he sure is surprised to turn around and find you sitting on his kitchen counter one morning.

"Did ya forget about me?"

"Please." Clenching at his heart. "Knock first."

Wordless, you tap your knuckles against the cool marble. 

Knock. 

Knock. 

Knock.

Those pretty blue eyes roll, their color a little more vivid now that he's wearing that deep blue button-down, the sleeves pulled back just enough to reveal the thick muscle of his forearms. They're still swollen from his workout; you wonder if he knows you were watching.

"Got a hot date tonight?" Kicking your foot at him, brushing against his slacks. The last thing you're expecting is for his hand to wrap around your ankle, lightly squeezing, as if to test out the feeling. 

"I got invited to a party and can't get out of it," he hums, letting your leg slip free of his grasp. Then, after a moment. "Wanna come?"

"You're inviting a demon to a party?" Slipping off the counter, batting your eyes at him. 

All it takes is one step forward for him to stumble back, wide-eyed and stuttering. "Is that... am I not supposed to do that? I'm sorry." 

"Hey, I never said no," your hands find their way to his chest, gently pushing—his back thumps against the fridge. "What color do you like?" 

"R-red?" That cute mouth of his wobbles, the slightest hint of facial hair coloring his upper lip. It'll be gone by five, but it's nice to see it for once. 

Red it is.

You think this party was thrown by the same sorority who invited you up to party with them because this is...not what you were anticipating. Shot glasses, shitty beer, and flashing lights, the thump of the music so heavy that your bones really with it. You don't even know where the speakers are, lost to the swarm of people crammed into this tiny bar.

All of a sudden, your long, sultry dress has shed into a short little number that blends in with the rest of the crowd. You can't see him, but you can feel Bob's eyes jump onto your frame. 

"How did you do that?" Tilting his head to the side like that will somehow help him find an answer to his question. 

"Magic, I suppose," there's an actual explanation for it, but you've long since forgotten it. Something about manifestation and energy and a word too big for your tongue to pronounce. "I actually have zero idea how it works."

There's so much going on that you find yourself vanishing for a few minutes. Nothing but a misty haze lingering over Bob's head as one of his buddies shoves a drink into his hand and pushes him down into a cushioned chair. You haven't the slightest clue what kind of golden liquid is swishing around in that cup, but it's got a flavor that has Bob's nose wrinkling.

"Someone's not a drinker," observing aloud, a sudden presence in his lap, your knees caging his hips.  

"Was it that obvious?" Sheepish, with that little sideways smile of his. Whether that's from admitting to his inability to drink alcohol or from where you've chosen to sit, you're not sure. 

"Your little nose wrinkle gives you away," your little tap on his nose makes him blink. "You're almost a little too clean-cut for this place." 

There's nothing special or different that he's done about his appearance, but the aesthetics of the crowd make it look like he's walked into the wrong party. A little bit too put together when you compare his ironed button-down and perfectly gelled hair to the half-drunk faces, trendy, cheap outfits, and that group of shirtless men over in the corner.

At least you have the luxury of changing clothing at the drop of a hat. Otherwise, you would be in the same boat.

"He said it was only gonna be a dozen of us," Bob lifts the glass to his lips once more, his nose twitching at the bitter flavor that greets his tongue. He's trying to hide his reaction, but you can still see the disgust in his eye.

"More like twelve dozen," plucking the glass from his hand, setting it on the little table next to the chair. "You could've convinced me this was a high-end frat party."

Looking around is enough to make you question if 'high-end' was just you being generous because this is looking more like an average party by the second. A myriad of nameless faces lost to the flash of the lights: red, blue, green, purple, yellow, a cycle that never loses its pattern. But even the strain it puts on your eyes isn't enough to distract from the sloppy grinding of bodies against each other, hands in the air, writhing to a beat that definitely does not match the music. 

Something is starting to press against your inner thigh. An insistent pressure that almost feels—

Damn, how long have Bob's cheeks been bright red like that?

"Are you good?" Pressing the back of your hand against his forehead, clammy to the touch. "You're red as a balloon."

"Yep," his voice strained, so tight it may snap at the slightest hint of pressure. And he's looking over at the painting on the wall, one of those uninteresting things with only a few paint splatters to stain the pure white canvas. Not the kind of thing worth staring at so intently.

You shift forward, thumb swiping at the sweat beading at his temple—

"You sure get hard easily." Teasing. You hadn't even been trying, but that's definitely a heavy bulge pressing into you, straining against the thin fabric of his slacks. 

A muscle in his jaw flexes, swallowing hard. "Please don't say it out loud."

"I can fix that, you know." Perhaps curling your hand around his jaw is a little bit too bold, but he isn't making any moves to push you away or tell you to stop. "Some say I'm pretty good at that."

"No, no, that's okay," Bob shakes his head, gently dislodging your hand from his face. "I don't wanna make you do that."

"You're not making me do anything," leaning the slightest bit closer, tapping him on the chest with an index finger. "I'm volunteering. There's a difference."

He swallows again.

Someone calls out his name, waving a hand in the air as if to guide attention to himself as he emerges from the crowd, drink in hand, smile so big that it ought to blind someone. You vaguely recall seeing him back on the ship; name starts with an 'f'.

...shame that you don't remember anything more than that.

But Bob is uttering some Navy jargon that you don't have the capacity to keep up with, and your knees are starting to hurt, skin stuck to the cheap leather cushion. It's much easier to turn yourself around, back leaning against his chest, now free to scan over and watch the part of the room you couldn't see before. 

It's not that you don't feel him pressing into the curve of your ass; you just...well, you kind of forget about it. The moment you lay eyes on the game of beer pong happening behind the pool table, you're invested. Straining your neck to try and get a better look at who is winning, crossing two fingers as a lady in a little white skirt goes up against a guy who looks two beers away from a total blackout. 

Neither of them are good at it. Far from it, actually, but the girl's friends are cheering her on, and the man has missed the cup thrice now, stumbling over his own two feet. He misses. She scores two. He gets another point while she's trying to catch a ball that has rolled off into her crowd of friends.

You don't realize you've been squirming until Bob's forehead thunks against your back, shoulders rising with his inhale. 

"Where did your buddy go?" Chirping in the lightest tone you can muster. As if you're blissfully unaware of what's going on.

"Maybe we should get up," entirely evading your question.

It's a worthy idea that goes down the drain within the same minute it's suggested. What you couldn't see from the couch was how big the crowd actually is. It's a swarm that swallows you whole, someone's shoving into your back, and Bob's stumbling into you, and it's all you can do not to explode into a plume of mist. 

You're only distantly aware of his arm curling around you, cinching you to him as if to anchor you in before the storm can wash you away. Your leg slotting between his is far from intentional. But it happens, and you're nose to nose with him, and the corner of his eye is twitching, and you swear you can hear a dam breaking.

You don't entirely know how you wind up here. Squeezing into this sorry excuse of a bathroom stall, your hands greedily dipping beneath his shirt, chest to chest. Every little meet of your lips has him gasping against you. His tongue tastes like the honey biscuit he was nibbling on earlier, the one that dripped on his shirt and left little white crumbs all over his lap.

You could eat him.

"We shouldn't..." He's whispering. A secret meant for your ears only.

Everything screeches to a halt. "Do you wanna stop?"

Shaking his head. "No." 

He makes it so damn easy. Legs parted just enough to allow your thigh to slot between them, immediately squeezes down around it the moment he recognizes it's there, drawing you right up into—

A shiver wracks through him. So intense that you can feel it.

You don't need to worry about taunting him. He's reacting as if you've already made a remark. Nose scrunching as he tries to steel his face, warding off the softness that once lingered there, taken aback by the sudden pressure between his legs. Such a strong front. Shame that it folds the moment your hand curls against the bulge in his slacks.

"You're bad at this," a teasing lilt in your tone, lazily working your hand against him. No real rhythm or method to it, simply a shifting pressure that you can already feel his hips beginning to follow. 

"It's been a while," muttered like a confession—a sin of the past.

Now that has your attention. "You've done this before?" 

The bathroom door squeals open, the handle cracking against the tile so hard that some of it tears off the wall entirely, shards of ceramic scattering across the floor. A chunk of it rolls under the stall on a one-way track to strike the side of your shoe. You don't recognize the too-loud voices that enter the room, but Bob seems to, eyes rolling for a fraction of a moment. 

"Something similar...once," hardly audible over whatever the hell is being discussed by the sinks. 

You'll have to get the full story out of him when there aren't extra ears lurking mere feet away. Right now, though, you're tugging at his zipper, yanking it down as far as it will go, your hand darting through the gap. 

Good lord.

It's always the quiet ones.

"I'm surprised you can get through security with this thing," there's so much of him that you've got to use your other hand, fumbling to pop open his button. 

"With what?" Bob's brow furrows. You lightly squeeze the base of him. "...oh." 

One of the men shouts. Two laughs chime after it in hot pursuit.

There's a considerable weight to him that you hadn't anticipated until just now, his pretty, flushed cock throbbing in your hand. Muscle memory kicks into gear without much thought, gradually gliding up from his base to his tip—ruby red, almost angry in appearance, such a sharp contrast to your fingers.

His hips follow your motions, subtle little backs and forths that you nearly miss at first, keen on chasing your touch but too shy to allow himself to do it. Teeth sink into his bottom lip, pressing so hard that they leave an indent behind. Breathing hard through his nose, eyes screwing shut like he's fighting something back. 

You know what he's doing. Can't let a single noise escape for fear of it reaching the other ears in the room, but there's no way they can. Not with all that racket they're making. 

It's fifty-fifty if you still remember how to interrupt electricity, your one sure-fire method of making sure nobody can see what you're doing, but there's only one way to find out. 

Getting on your knees in a bathroom stall might be a new one for you, but here you are, blindly sinking lower and lower. Can't quite see what you're doing, your eyes hopelessly locked on Bob Floyd and his pink cheeks. Hasn't even realized what you're doing yet.

There's probably a good minute or two where you just hover there, waiting for the moment he realizes that you've moved. Eye-level with his cock, lazily thumbing each and every bead of precum across his plush head, a little routine to decorate the loose up-and-down of your hand. But his eyelids remain closed, and you're just so damn impatient.

The greet of your tongue has him jumping up onto his tiptoes. His head smacking into the flimsy stall wall. 

"What was that?" 

It's as if the room has morphed into a library. Complete, utter silence. Nothing but the faint breaths of the men gathered outside of the stall, Bob's, and your own. From the gap, you can see a black and yellow shoe taking a step forward. Silently inching closer.

The whites of Bob's eyes are so big that you can hardly see the color that decorates them. Drowned out and lost to a wave of fear that you can feel prickling through his body. If only those stupid yellow shoes would turn around and walk away; you wanted to play this card a little bit longer. 

The bathroom plunges into darkness. 

So you do still remember how to do that.

Someone screams. You're not sure who, but it was far too high-pitched to be the man right in front of you. Maybe it was the loser with the yellow shoes. Audibly stomping across the tile floor, shouting at each other as they fight for the door. The hinge squeals. Someone accidentally kicks the corner of it on their way out. 

And then it swings closed. The room falling quiet as the sliver of light peeking through the gap disappears entirely. 

Your mouth opens, gently drawing Bob into your mouth. Thicker than what you anticipated, uncomfortably stretching your lips around his head, but it's only a slight inconvenience. You can hardly think about it. Especially not when flicking the tip of your tongue across his slit elicits that sort of noise. Pitchy and drawn out, slipping out of him before he can stop it.

"That's—" his palm finds its way to your forehead. Pushes lightly. Jerks away. Lands on the side of your cheek instead. "A lot." 

You have very different definitions of 'a lot'.

You're actually moving rather slowly, gradually working your way down his length. He's only just beginning to touch the back of your throat, but Bob sucks in a sharp gasp of air as if you've just sprung this on him. You'd complain if he didn't taste so sweet. Just can't help but take him as far as he'll go, the tip of your nose kissing the cold metal of his zipper, throat so full of him that your head spins. 

He's trying to say something. Little fragments of words that might or might not be your name. Breaking apart the moment they fall into his mouth, shattered pieces raining down upon you and your eager ears. 

Maybe you're too quick about this. A fraction too eager to draw all the way back, only to fall upon him once more, lazily letting yourself gag around him if only to hear him groan low in his throat and to feel his thighs shudder beneath your palms. 

"I'm—I'm already, I..." Bobby's panting. Pawing at the side of your face. Doesn't know if he wants to pry you off or push your head back down. 

You expected this. You knew he would be a little bit quick, but all of a sudden, he's twitching in your mouth, a rope of cum decorating your tongue and...

Honey.

Why does he taste like honey? 

It feels like a fluke at first. Has you drawing all the way back, sucking gently on his spasming tip, but it doesn't change. Overwhelmingly sweet and thick on your tongue. It doesn't...since when did human men taste like this? Good lord, what took you so long to find one like this?

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Bob's abruptly pulling out of your mouth with a sharp 'pop,' the toilet paper roll audibly spinning as he grabs at it. 

The overhead light flickers back on. Damn near blinding. You nearly miss the shade of cherry decorating his cheeks. 

"Has anyone ever told you that you taste like honey?" 

"You can't be serious."

"No, something's gotta be wrong. I've picked something up somewhere," Bob doesn't seem to realize that he's started pacing again, striding back and forth across the room. "That doesn't...it shouldn't taste like honey!"

Your leg kicks off the edge of the exam table, taping him on the hip as he drifts past. "And what? You think a mystery STD will?"

"Maybe there's one I'm not considering," he stops dead in his tracks, looking you dead in the eye. "You should get tested too."

"Hard to catch a human virus if you aren't human," dragging your foot up the side of his thigh, "maybe it's just a succubus thing."

Bob's hand curls around your ankle, bringing it to rest comfortably against the side of his hip. "Huh?"

"I mean, like...maybe I taste it differently based on how much I like the person?" You're already grasping at straws as it is, but it's so hard to think when Bob is rubbing the back of your ankle like that. Diligent fingers pressing into strained muscle, drawing the tension away with every loose spiral.

"No," shaking his head as if to add emphasis to an already firm word. "I don't...no, that wouldn't make sense." 

That was your one and only theory, but, well, if he insists. "Alright, honey cum."

"Please, don't."

You're gone by the time the doctor decides to come back. Doesn't have a whole lot to say, but a few weeks later, there's a neatly folded paper on the counter with a whole bunch of negatives on it. 

Bob catches you looking at them, but he doesn't have anything to say about it. He's more intrigued by your appearance than anything else, brushing the pads of his fingers against one of your horns as he drifts past.

"Have you always had these?" He chirps, on a one-way track back to his coffee maker. His poor heart might stop if he pours himself anymore, but that doesn't seem to be stopping him.

"Technically, yes," it's a lazy reply, but you're not sure what else to say. "I didn't think to hide them today. What is that, your third cup of coffee today?" 

"Fifth," he corrects, unashamed about finishing off the pot. There's just enough left to fill his mug to the rim and then some. How he doesn't spill it, you'll never know. "Do all demons have horns?"

"Depends on the race, really," shrugging. "Succubi have short, narrow horns with vibrant colors, crossroad demons have horns similar to a Texas Longhorn, fallen angels don't have any at all..." You could keep going, but you would be talking for a long, long time.

You probably shouldn't be lingering around Bob's apartment, invisible to the naked eye as you lounge in the soft red couch and gaze out the window at every rise and fall of the sun. He seems to know that you're still here; hums something that sounds like your name when the cushion sinks beneath your weight. 

It's a cute apartment, really. A thrifted coffee table and an oversized bookcase that has already run out of room, excess books spilling over onto the shelves that were once reserved for figurines, and clever callbacks to movies. 

There's a stash of DVDs lurking inside of the TV stand, and in the ottoman, a pair of signed and framed Star Wars posters decorating the hallway. He thinks that he's spread out the anime enough to pass undetected, but you can clearly see the manga lurking in the smaller bookcase in his bedroom. There's a Naruto sticker hiding on the side of the fridge, a Pokemon in the bathroom cabinet, and so far, you have counted four Trigun figurines. 

Five, if you include the one you just watched him unwrap and place next to his model jet. This one kind of looks like him...

"Are you still in here?" Bob calls out from somewhere on the other side of the apartment. It might be the first time you've heard his voice rise above a mutter since he left the doctor's office. 

You're not entirely sure where he is. Haven't exactly moved from the couch now that the sun has fallen again, blankly gazing at the distant ocean as if it's a home you once knew like the back of your hand. 

He appears in the hallway. Fiddling with the edge of his t-shirt, his eyes squinting as he tries to scan the room without his glasses. You're still waiting for him to realize that he left them next to the stove again.

"Come out?" He tries again, ambling forward. "Please?" 

"Looking to terrorize your boss again?" Dissolving into solidity, the chilly air nipping unpleasantly at your skin. Invisible was better. You couldn't feel the temperature when you didn't have a body. 

Or...maybe you're feeling the temperature incorrectly because Bob looks like a shrimp mid-boil. Red in the cheeks, so flushed that it crawls down into his neck, and the sliver of chest showing through the collar of his shirt. 

"Bob?" Tilting your head to the side. 

"I wanna return the favor." Deadpan.

Blink.

Blink again.

Blink one more time.

You don't follow. "Pardon?"

"I mean, I..." his eyes skip around the room. Bouncing off of the coffee table to the poster behind your head, the miscellaneous figurine shelf, and the refrigerator. "You did something for me, and I...don't...like the idea of it being so one-sided?"

"Bob, I'm a succubus," there's supposed to be an underlying hint there because this is kind of the very reason for your existence, but Bob doesn't seem to pick up on that. Or maybe he does and just doesn't react. "Do you even know how?"

A beat passes. 

His head shakes. No.

"I'm a quick learner?" Offering it up like he's bartering. You wonder if you can get him to start offering crops and livestock. "Is that...okay?" 

You're not sure if it's the novelty of the idea or if it's because of that soft, doe-eyed expression he nails you with, but something has you agreeing to it. But just because you're on the same page together doesn't mean you'll be the very next sentence that he reads. 

You're gone the moment he's in front of you. 

"Where did you—"

"But you'll have to catch me first." Reappearing behind him. Walking your fingers up his spine. 

He turns. 

You're gone. Drifting behind his back again. Blowing at his nape. 

"Hey!" He squeals. So shrill and pitchy that it nearly throws you off. Only manage to dissolve into a plume of mist when he reaches for you. 

Bob is already spinning around. Blocks you from getting to his back again. And there must be some kind of 'tell' of where you are because his eyes follow you every which way. You'd might as well be fully human because this isn't working. 

You don't know how you get into the kitchen. But you're on one side, and Bob is on the other before you've even become solid. You stumble three steps to the right; he's already there. You go left. But then he goes left. You dart right—corner to corner to corner. Shit, you've put yourself in a corner. Either way you have to get past him. 

"Why are you so damn quick?" Giggling. Your feet slide against the hardwood. Not as fast as him. This will only last so long.

"Did you forget." He jumps left. "I'm in." Right. "The Navy?" Left again.

"I thought that meant you would be good at swimming!" You're slipping. Grabbing at the countertop before you can hit the floor. "Not—this!"

He breaks the pattern first. Shoots around the corner so quickly that you nearly don't have time to spin back around. His fingertips graze your back as you turn. You're tearing off around the corner. Dissolving bit-by-bit and—

There's a pressure around your waist, and the room is spinning, and you don't remember when or how your feet left the ground. 

"Bobby!" You're squealing, throwing your arms around his shoulders before you can slip. 

It's hard telling when or how things escalate the way that they do. All you remember is the coldness of the floor as he sets you back down, the heat of his arms around you, and the bump of his nose against your cheek. And melting. Fuck, you remember melting into him like snowflakes in July, meeting him halfway, his soft lips melding with yours so easily. 

You do remember when you fall against the couch. Nothing but ruby red cushions and the lingering pink in Bobby's cheeks, settling between your legs with such ease that you almost wonder if you've done this with him before. 

Christ, he could probably convince you that you've already had a few nights together. 

There's no reason why or how he should know that you're sensitive beneath your ear, mouthing at the skin there but never making a move to mottle it with bruises. Respectful. Irritatingly so. Never leaving behind a mark, not even when he bites at the collar of your shirt and grazes the skin that lurks beneath.

He wasn't lying when he said he was a quick learner. Is he sure that he's never done this before? Because he gets your lounge shorts off surprisingly easily. His waist dipping between your thighs, swollen lips finding your lower belly once more, working down, down, down...

"Shit," his tongue has you jolting, entirely caught off guard. "A little sudden there."

It's hard to feel any sort of annoyance when he peeks up at you from beneath his lashes, tongue hanging out of his mouth like a dog. "'m sorry."

Your hand curls into the back of his hair, a fraction longer than it was when his so-called friends summoned you right into his lap. Only takes the slightest pressure for him to dip his head back down, licking a slow stripe against you. He misses your clit on the first try, pulls away a little too soon. But he finds it on the second, visibly perks at your sharp inhale, and retraces his steps until you do it again.

Learning should imply that he doesn't know what he's doing beforehand. You're gonna need to steal his dictionary off the shelf and look up the proper definition because you're pretty sure he was lying. 

There's no damn reason why he should know how to point his tongue and trace it around your clit, teasing until your hips lift off the mattress. Temporary relief comes in the form of the hum that rumbles out of him, vibrating through your nerves like electricity. He's settling into it now, laying flat on his belly, arms curled around your thighs as ifhe belongs there.

Fuck, and he's working his way down. Pressing lazy, open-mouthed kisses into your dripping pussy, stopping to lap at your entrance before pressing inside. His tongue isn't even all that long, but the wet heat and the tip of his nose pressing against your clit yanks a gasp out of your throat, eyes snapping shut. 

Your thigh squishes against his cheek, leg looping lazily over his shoulder as if that could somehow possibly bring him closer. Fingers twist in his hair, nails scraping across his scalp—

"What the hell?" Your own voice sounds foreign. Detached from your body.

Bob lifts his head, and good lord, his lips are glistening. "Hm?"

"What is this little bump on your head?" Tapping your nail against it, uniquely bony compared to the rest of his scalp. Feels like a perfect circle.

"I don't know what they are," nonchalant, already dipping back between your legs, "'ve had 'em since I was born."

You can see them when you push his hair out of the way, little indentations beneath the skin, solid as can be. One on each side, a few inches above his ears. These kind of look like...

No, that's not right. 

That sweet tongue of his finds you again. Drawing lazy shapes that transform into shock waves on impact, rumbling up your spine and down into your fluttering thighs. Letters. He's drawing letters, and you can hardly decipher what they are, but the voice in the back of your head whispers that he's writing is name into your cunt. Over and over until he's certain that you'll never find pleasure in a name that isn't his. 

"Bobby, I..."

He hums, hands curling around your hips, pulling you in. Doesn't let go of that same lazy pace that he just set for himself, curling through an 'R' and into an 'O' so intoxicating that you find your own mouth mimicking it, too. You don't mean to cum so soon. You really don't, but your eyes unintentionally lock with his, that tiny smile curling the corners of them, and shit—

Your back twitches up off the bed. Crying out so sharply that it rips right out of your throat. Your head might just tumble off your shoulders. Floating up into the clouds, heaven-bound. Weightless. 

The hands on your hips tighten. Anchoring you back down. Bob's burning tongue working you through it like he's done it a hundred times until your body is tensing and jerking away from every little lick.

"Jesus," sucking in a breath, "Christ." 

Bob lifts his head, swollen lips twisting into a cheesy grin. "Wrong name." 

"Nerd," tapping him on the nose.

"Demon," biting the inside of your thigh. 

It's hard telling who sputters into a laugh first. Giggling like school kids as he climbs up the bed, his mouth clumsily finding its way to yours. It's so much easier to hold his face when his glasses aren't in the way; don't have to worry about smudging a lense or accidentally knocking them off his face entirely. 

If you thought that you were bad, then Bob Floyd is another monster entirely because once he's gotten a taste of you, he can't get enough. 

Because he's on you again in the morning, kissing at your shoulder and working his way down your naked belly before his final alarm goes off and forces him to start getting ready for work. His sweet tongue working over your clit, chasing down a vastly different zig-zag pattern as he eases a thick, curious finger into you. Lazily searches for a little spot that steals your breath away and has you babbling for another.

In the evening, he's nibbling and kissing at your thighs while you wait for the pizza delivery guy is on his way. Leaves behind sporadic little marks that gradually acquire a delicious tenderness that makes you gasp when you try to cross your legs later. 

You answer to the sound of your name on an average Tuesday afternoon. An unapproved presence in a top-security Naval building, perched up on the edge of a locker room bench like you belong there. Like you, too, are a pilot with a willingness to perform and just the right amount of crazy flowing through your veins. 

Bob doesn't utter a word about it, but you know that one of his superiors has chewed him out again because his cheeks are pale as can be, eyes only softening at the sight of you appearing before him. And maybe he's a little bit too eager to fall to his knees, peppering your skin with kisses that make their way to where you crave them the most. 

Again and again. An addict who seems to need his fix every time he's overwhelmed. It's your purpose, the very thing you were built for, but the invisible string that draws you into him is unlike any other you've been wrapped up in before. An undescribable something-else lurking behind the charm of those wireframes and his warm, dizzying voice. Never asks for anything in return, all too content with eating you alive.

Your favorite might be the night that he pulls a muscle in his shoulder blade. One little misstep in the gym is all it takes for a night and a half of overwhelming soreness, binding him flat on his back, minding his left side. But even the mix of ibuprofen, Tylenol, and a dash of pain isn't enough to keep him grounded.

"I have an idea." It's been forever since you last heard him speak. The last time you recall hearing his voice was last night when he asked you to pass him his toothbrush.

"Uh oh," not in any particular hurry to lift your head from his chest, naked and oh so warm to the touch. 

"What?" He's trying to act offended, but the attempt dies mid-air. Won't be making a living in acting any time soon, that's for sure. 

Tapping your finger on his collarbone, overtop a thin white scar you've yet to learn the story of. "Don't 'what' me." 

His laugh sounds like thunder. Deep and rumbling into your ears, a tune you didn't know you craved until just now. 

A familiar warmth settles against your cheek, diligent fingers tracing the edge of your jaw. "What if I told you I had another idea?"

One of these days, you'll learn to quit being surprised. 

Today, you're shocked that he asked you to ride his face. 

Shit, but here you are. Knees precariously resting above his head. Trying your best not to let your thighs clamp down around his face as he dips his tongue between your folds, half-lidded gaze fixated on your expression. You've long since lost count of how many times you've felt this. The soft whisps of his short hair tickling your skin, the way he hums when he hears you gasp.

"You've got," raking your fingers against his scalp, anything to distract from the calculated zig-zag across your clit, "a problem." 

"Maybe that's what's wrong with me," muffled. His every word rumbling through your core and reaching up into your chest. 

"Yeah, well..." drinking in a shuddered breath, "you being addicted to eating me out was not on that list."

It's his fault for laughing again. Should have known that the vibration would have twisted into your nerves and sent them firing, thighs impulsively clamping down around his head with no regard for him or breathing. 

Fuck, it takes a moment to remember how to move them again. 

"I'm sorry," and you're about to lift yourself up, let him get a full breath of air, but his hands find your hips, anchoring you into place. 

"'s okay," pausing to lap at your clit, wet and messy, and god, the sound. "I don't mind."

He'd say that if you accidentally suffocated him to death, too.

Your nails drift across his scalp. Dragging just enough to feel the shift of hair beneath your fingertips, disturbing the hardened bump lurking just a few inches above his ear. You know that it's probably because of the swelling, but you swear it feels bigger than it did a few days ago. And maybe it's sensitive too because, for the briefest moment, you catch the whisp of a gasp. A sharp little intake of air punctuating the way he drifts down to toy with your entrance. 

They're worse the following morning.

He's only just beginning to settle between your legs, diligently kissing down the inside of your thigh, when the brush of your knee sends him reeling. Pawing at the sides of his head. Wincing. Yelping at his own touch.

"Did I—"

"No!" He blurts. Pitchy. "I'm sorry, it's, I—it hurts."

Even the delicate pressure of an ice pack is too much for him to tolerate, hissing like a cat the moment the material touches his skin. You're not entirely sure what to make of them. Dissolving into the air around him for a better view, drifting around his head, twisting every which way as if discovering the perfect angle will reveal the secret.

It doesn't...look infected. Strained is the best descriptor you can come up with. As if something is trying to claw its way out from beneath the skin. 

"And you said you've had these since you were born?" Musing aloud, resisting the urge to reach out and touch them.

Hands find your waist as you settle into your human shape once more. "That's what I'm told." Then, tilting his head to look up at you, not making any move to get out of his chair. "Why, what did you see?"

"The same thing you're seeing," you can't help but push his hair back, watching the short strands gradually slip free from your fingers. "Must be a really odd birth defect."

He hums, blinking up at you without a word, perhaps not as concerned about his situation as he should be. Not a trace of worry clouding his features, though the corner of his eye twitches when you unintentionally drift over one of the bumps. 

It's the same kind of gaze that gets you into trouble three nights later. 

He doesn't seem to realize that he's doing it, drowning you in pools of ocean blue every time he looks your way. You don't understand how you make it through the night. He's just so damn distracting. Tapping his foot against yours beneath the table, legs tangling as a nameless mid-forties man in a fancy suit rambles on about the honor of working in the Navy and things you don't care to follow. 

You don't know how you get to the hotel bed. Only vaguely aware of the sensation of your feet leaving the ground, thighs clinging to the sharp bone of his hips. One of his hands is on your ass, and the other is smoothing up your back. Presses just hard enough to have you arching, chests bumping together hard enough to break your kiss.

"Bobby—"

"I know."

The room collapses into a world of pristine white clouds—or maybe you've just fallen onto the bed. You can't tell for sure. Can't be bothered to. Not when a familiar pressure appears against your lips, his firm body settling between your legs with a weight you can't possibly ignore. 

He tastes like the hot chocolate they poured into his cup when he turned down the champagne. Sweet and so warm that you can feel yourself melting, and you must be made of chocolate, too, because he moves as if he's going to eat you alive. Hands rising to cradle your face, settling into a lingering liplock that has you gasping for air.

Your head is spinning. One hand curling around his bicep. The other smoothing up the side of his burning neck. Hardly aware of how your hips lift up from the mattress, but all too aware of him meeting you in the middle. A new pressure forms between your legs. The not-so-subtle bump of a growing bulge against your cunt. 

Curse the layers of fabric separating you from each other. Can't do anything but meet him halfway. Mewling into his mouth like a cat in heat. Legs curling around his hips. The heels of your ankles digging into his ass, urging him closer, closer, closer.

Something trickles across your fingers. Smearing across his neck. 

"What is that?" It's sliding down your palm, scurrying past your wrist and beyond. Water? No, where would it have come from...

Bob draws away, an unusual chill filling the space he once occupied. "What is what?" 

Your hand is crimson. 

Why is your hand...?

"Oh my god." Reeling back. Hands held high as if that can possibly stop the blood that drips from your fingertips, so fresh that you can still feel the warmth of it. 

It's everywhere. Staining the fresh sheets, smeared across the back of Bob's neck, pooling at the shoulders of a brand new uniform that will never be the same again. It's on the shell of his ear and in his hair and—

"Oh my god," you sound like a broken record, but it's all you can say. "Bobby, your head."

Looking back on it, you're thankful Bob booked a room with two beds instead of one. 

There's no salvaging or rectifying the utter disaster going on in the bed that he claimed as his when you first got here. The sheets and comforter torn clean off, lying in a messy pile, waiting for the front desk to call back and tell you what to do with them. From here, they look perfectly fine, still the same shade of pure white, as if nothing has ever happened. 

Your attention meanders across the floor, tracing the lines of geometric shapes, following them on their journey between the beds until they disappear beneath the mattress. Bob's foot still hangs off the edge, a smidge too lazy to try and readjust himself now that he's found home here on your chest.

It's almost strange being here. Snuggling on a hotel bed with a man who didn't even summon you wasn't on the job description. Hell, the last time you even set foot in a place like this was probably years before you realized what you were and fully committed to the whole demonic entity thing. 

"Why don't you ever leave?" Bob's voice rumbles into your collar, a smidge deeper than it was the last time you heard it. 

"You never said you were satisfied with me," darting from your mouth before you can realize what you're about to say. A script so rehearsed that your tongue needs no instruction to utter it.

The room is quieter than it was before.

Which...is odd because nothing about it has changed. The cheap air conditioner still rattles to its own mechanic tune. You can still hear the girl talking on the phone in the hallway. Through the wall behind your head, the neighbor's television still plays the rerun of what sounds like a football game. 

Bob's eyes are open. Can feel the flutter of his lashes against the side of your neck. If you didn't know any better, you would mistake it for the dustings of tiny butterfly wings.

But he doesn't say anything. 

"I'm sorry, I...that may have come out the wrong way."

"'s okay." Says it so quickly that you wonder if he's listened to your apology at all. 

Antsy, you reach for his hair, fingers coming through the still-damp locks. A little bit fried after two full washes, but it was the necessary sacrifice to get all of that blood out. 

You've got to crane your neck to see the culprit, but it's still there, in the same state it was the last time you laid eyes on it. Scabbed over. No longer as swollen as it once was, but there's still something solid lurking beneath the surface. You could have sworn you saw a flash of white in there before it had closed up again, but looking at it now, there's nothing. 

"I think I just like being around you," concluding, after a long moment. 

'Like' may be an understatement, but...

The corner of his mouth is turning upward. You know it is because you can feel it against your chest. "I like being around you, too."

And here you thought you'd figured out what Robert Floyd defines as a party. 

Bubbling glasses of golden champagne, the same shade of the delicate chandelier sparkling overhead, crystals cascading down like a spiral staircase. Enchanting. Beginning three stories up and only ending mere feet away from where you stand, you could probably touch it if you tried. 

Such a stark contrast to the midnight peeking through the windows, twinkling city lights of every color in the rainbow drowned out by the blinding white and gold palette you've found yourself in. Unfamiliar faces and dresses worth more than a car fresh off the lot, wrapped up in the whimsical tune of a live orchestra off to your left.

So many things to look at. Luxury desserts and vivid red couches cozied up beside the fire. There's more to be discovered, entire rooms you have yet to venture into, a custom theater, a cocktail bar...yet, your eyes continue to drift to the only familiar thing here.

And his appear to do the same.

Locking from opposite sides of the room, the buzz of the crowd melting into a distant hum, as if you've just plunged into the very crystal oceans that color his irises. The heat of his gaze is the only thing keeping your head above water, burning across every inch of your skin. It's a wonder you don't go up in flames right here and now.

Glass shatters somewhere to your left. A lady yelps. Someone swears. But you can't bring yourself to look to see what just happened. Captured in a never-ending trance as you move about the room, only able to look away for milliseconds at a time. 

One of Bob's friends are talking to him, mouth moving a mile a minute, but Bob doesn't seem to be listening—Fireball or...something. The name should come to you easier than it does. Bob's told you so many stories of them together, but you fear you've spent too much time lingering on the sound of his voice to actually store and remember the fine details. 

The music swells. 

Heads turn toward the melody, and with it, feet begin to move. It's as if one-half of the party has vanished, opening up the floor enough for you to walk without worry of bumping into anyone. You wouldn't even be in this position if filtering through different forms was socially acceptable and not the quickest way to give someone a heart attack. 

It's like drawing too close to a fire, the flames so bright that you can hardly look at them without being blinded. Except the flames are the open buttons at the very top of his long sleeve, milky white skin peeking through the gap. He's grown a bit since this was fitted, the fabric hugging a little too tightly around his chest, straining already weakened seams. Two of the buttons have already snapped off, unveiling more than he would ever willingly show off. 

He would catch your staring if he weren't already doing the same damn thing. Knows he's been caught, too, cheeks dusting a cherry red the moment he tears his attention away from the slit in your dress, showing off your upper thigh. 

But Fanbase is still talking, rambling on about the subplot of a movie that you've yet to see, and you're simply not interested enough to linger any longer than you have to. Gliding past Bobby as if you hadn't just made eye contact with him, your hand trailing up the side of his arm on your way past. 

The door couldn't come quickly enough, and you disappear through it with nothing more than a wayward glance over your shoulder.

He's still looking at you. 

It's so much quieter in the hallway, all that noise and music vanishing the moment the door swings shut behind you. You're not sure where you're going; didn't plan this far ahead, but you can already see a floor-to-ceiling window that looks interesting enough. A decorative fountain rests in front of it, the water sparkling with the city lights.

The view is better at night. Still breathtaking during the day, but...god, something about the velvet black and twinkling shades of neon really bring out the charm of a city like this. Though you've still yet to figure out why a Navy event is all the way up here, in the tallest building they could find. One of their own venues would have sufficed; then they wouldn't have had to rent all these hotel rooms. 

"Your dress looks awful familiar." Maybe Bob is hiding magic powers of his own because there's no way he could have snuck up on you without floating here.

But there he is. Shoulder resting against the wall, arms folded over his chest. The rolled sleeves are struggling with his forearms, fabric so tight that the threads silently scream. 

"Does it?" Coy. You entirely stole this idea from the front cover of the magazine he had sitting on the kitchen counter. 

You don't mean to step forward at the same time he does, but you do. Nose to nose in the blink of an eye, so close that your vision goes a little blurry and out of focus. 

A door slams down the hall.

The invisible string snaps.

Your hands are in his hair, and his are on your waist, and mouths are clattering with all the grace and elegance of a car crash. The back of your leg hits the fountain. Sends the thing jumping as you all but slam into the window. It's a wonder you don't go crashing through it, plummeting through miles upon miles of midnight neons. 

Because it certainly feels like you did. 

Head spinning as if you're in a free fall. Fingers twisting in his hair before unspoken forces can peel you away, sloppily falling into tune with the bold dance of his lips. Fuck, it's so much more than what you've spent the past fifteen minutes picturing in your head. He tastes like cola and honey, so dizzyingly sweet that a sugar rush buzzes through your veins.

What is it with you and this human? 

It's as if you're one half of a magnet, hopelessly bound to him by forces that you can't quite identify. Yielding to the subtle pressure of his hands, allowing him to gather you into his chest as if you aren't close enough as it is. Heaven, Hell, and Earth could collapse right here and now, and it still wouldn't be enough to drive a wedge between you. 

"And here I thought you weren't the PDA type," that thought was supposed to stay in your head, but it's far too late to do anything about it.

"I think this is a little beyond PDA," Bob's mouth twists into a smile too soon. Teeth smash together with a sound that makes you wince. 

There are voices down the hallway, familiar, but you don't care to try and identify them. Whoever they are, they don't get a chance to see you here because Bob's taking hold of your wrist, and you're falling into the clumsiest run imaginable. Arms awkwardly tangling together. His boots too new to grip the floor. Giggling to yourselves as you slide to the right, fighting to get around the corner before he can be recognized. 

You're already crashing into each other again. And again. And again. Stealing kisses as if you need one for every few steps taken. Can't function otherwise. Winding through the hall, no regard for where you're going or if it's even the right direction, barging through a door and racing up the stairs. You trip on one. Bob falls on his ass on another.

It's a damn wonder how you find the correct door. 

At least, you assume it's the right one because your back all but slams into it; don't even hear the noise that rattles down the empty hall. How are you meant to pay attention to such meaningless things, when a soft pressure appears at your lips? Greedily leaning into it as you all but melt into one another, his breath running ragged.

The key. You need the key. 

It's somewhere on him, your hands blindly smoothing over his chest, searching for the outline of that thin plastic key card. And so what if you momentarily hook your fingers into the top of his shirt? It could have been hiding there, for all you know.

Bob finds it just before you do. Plucking the hunk of plastic from his front pocket, and you can feel the heat of his arm as he reaches past.

Beep.

Gravity tilts on its head. Falling backward. 

Toned arms loop around your waist. Force you to remain upright. Pulling you close like there's a risk of you blowing away. Stumbling backward. Through the door. You don't know how your arms got around his neck, but you're not making any move to let go. Clinging to him like it's the only thing you know how to do. Nose bumping into his cheek as you find your way to his mouth once more. 

One fleeting, accidental brush of his teeth against your lip has electricity bolting up your spine. Shades of gold explode in the depths of your frenzied mind. Fireworks. Tongues tangle for the briefest of seconds. But then he's licking at your bottom lip, and it's parting with a gasp, a little too eager to let him in. Twisting together in a fashion entirely unfamiliar to you, an exquisite dance that has you melting like snow on a summer day.

The mattress greets the backs of your knees, a gentle nudge that has you falling backward without ceremony. He's on top of you within a second, forearms bracing his weight on either side of your head, chests pressing together, and—

"Mmh."  His legs spasm around your thigh, only to push it up into him again, pressing against the growing tent in his slacks. Heavy. 

"What was that?" In the lightest tone you can conjure up, rubbing your thigh against him once more. 

His face flushes red. Eyes darting away like he'll catch on fire if he keeps looking at you, but there's no hiding the way he twitches at your touch. And he knows you've felt it because, somehow, his cheeks get even redder. 

"What, don't like being teased?"  

"I might die if you keep talking." 

You'd like to see how true that statement can be. But that's an experiment for another night; you can only take your mind off of the throbbing heat resting against your thigh for so long. 

Fuck, and it seems he's on the same page. Spit-slicked lips find the corner of your jaw, one of his hands smoothing down your side as he works his way beneath your ear. One kiss after the other, only lingering long enough to lightly suck on the skin there. Teeth scrape against you, and you absolutely shouldn't shudder at such a simple feeling, but it happens anyway.

Just like how you wander to his shirt, perhaps a bit too eager to start fumbling with the buttons. They're just as stubborn as you thought they would be, angrily wedging themselves in the gaps designed for them to fit through. Stupid things. Who ever thought these were a good idea?

Bob reaches past you, his wrist bumping your hand away—

Buttons scatter. Rolling across the floor. Bouncing across the bed. One strikes your chin. Another thunks against the headboard.

"I didn't know you had it in you," giggling. Only have a handful of seconds to admire the broad expanse of his pale chest before he's on you again. Picking up right where he left off, somewhere beneath your ear, where you're most sensitive. 

His hum sounds like it's wrapped around the shape of your name, vibrating up your neck, rattling around in your skull like an earthquake. It's a wonder you don't fall apart. Fingertips biting into his shoulders, squeezing them as tightly as you can. And he just keeps kissing on you. Working down, down, down to your collar, only stopped by the fabric of your dress.

You can make it disappear.

He knows you can make it disappear.

And yet his hands slip behind your back, tugging down the tiny zipper that runs parallel to your spine. 

Takes the time to ease the soft material off your body, impossibly slow, as if he's afraid of ripping it. Past your hips and over your knees. Folds it in half and sets it off to the side. And for a moment, he pauses. Lips shining with the same light that reflects off his glasses, hardly distracting from the sparkle of his eye. 

Kisses find the inside of your knee. Working across the joint and delving into the delicate territory of your thigh. It's a tune he's played so many times that you already know where he's going and what thoughts are lurking in the back of his quiet mind. Tempting, but...

The dog tags hanging from his neck are too perfect not to grab. Why he's wearing them, you're not sure, but they reel him back in so damn easily. 

But Bob freezes the moment you're eye to eye with him, not entirely sure how to tread this newfangled path he's found himself on. And that must be what makes it so easy to push him around. Flipping your positions with a skill you forgot you had, your ass snug in his lap, knees straddling his hips.

The back of his head thunks against the headboard, unnamed shades of red rising to tint his cheeks and the tips of his ears. 

"You're sure?" He croaks; for a split second, you're on the ship again, meeting for the very first time. 

"Are you sure?" Countering. The bridge of your nose bumps into his. 

You don't necessarily remember what happens after that. 

It all melts into a blur. Starts with you bouncing a button off his bare chest and ends with the sound of his pants hitting the floor next to you. You don't know who got the lube out. It must have been him because you still don't know where it even came from, but it's the sensation of his slick fingers pressing into you that catapults you back into reality. 

"You remember that I'm a succubus, right?" The intended sarcasm doesn't so much as reach your vocal chords, nothing but a breathy whisper of the obvious. 

A smile is all that he gives in return. "I know."

It's been too long since the last time you felt this. The pressure of thick fingers slipping into your already drooling cunt, knuckles catching on your entrance as they drag past. Coarse fingertips drag against your walls, crooked, running across a bundle of nerves that he has no business knowing about. Knows he's found it too, the corner of his mouth twitching upward at the sound of your whine. 

Yeah. 

It's been too long. 

That's why you're so sensitive all of a sudden.

It's certainly not because of the heavy cock resting against the swell of your ass. Has nothing to do with the pools of blue that lurk in his eye; you reckon you'd drown in them if you were to fall forward. No, you only feel like that because of the never-ending city view that sits just past his head. Broad and expansive, just like...just like his shoulders...

You don't realize what your hand is doing until you overhear his sharp inhale. His body jerks, shocked by the sudden trace of your fingers running up the underside of his cock. 

Impatience will be the undoing of both of you. In such a sudden hurry that lube spills onto the bed in your rush to slick him up, and it's only after that he realizes he's forgotten about the condom. Doesn't matter. The damn thing flies out of his hand when he tries ripping it open with his teeth, landing somewhere on the floor.

"Again," lifting your hips, lazily smacking his blunt tip against your cunt, "succubus."

"I'm sorry," he's yet to realize you're merely messing with him. Condom, no condom, you don't care either way. "I don't wanna make a mess of you."

"Maybe I want you to make a mess of me," countering. And it's the last thing you can say before the pressure of his cock shuts you up. 

If you asked, you're certain he would humbly refer to himself as average, but this is...this is so much better than average. Thicker than usual and wonderfully curved, fitting that a man so intent on pleasing you would also have the perfect cock, too. Stretches you just enough to make your jaw go slack, his fat tip dragging against every little nerve it can find. 

Bob tilts his head back, his chest rising with a heavy inhale, and that may be a whine that you hear. His lashes flutter, visibly fighting to keep them open as you sink down on him. Inch after inch, and it's been so long since you last felt this full. 

And maybe they've sucked all of the oxygen from the room because neither of you can seem to catch your breath. 

"That's..." his eyes drop down, fixating on the sight of him disappearing into you, "shit, that's..."

He doesn't get to finish that thought, and you don't get the chance to bother him about it, entirely distracted by the overwhelming sensation of him bottoming out. Your ass flush with his thighs, so damn full of him that your heart has risen into your throat. 

You've already found the strength to lift your body again. Bracing your hands on his shoulders, using him for leverage as your hips lift, the city lights seeming to twinkle when he rubs into those soft nerves. Can only manage to raise yourself by an inch or two before collapsing down into him once more. 

The warmth of Bobby's gaze crawls up your naked body, slow, like he's trying to take his time before he meets your eye. And when he does...

"You still in there?" Winding your arms around his neck. Can't seem to get him close enough.

His tongue darts out to wet his swollen lips, dry from panting, "uhuh." 

You suppose he's telling the truth because he's present enough to remember how to tilt his head up and catch you with a kiss—breathing hard through your noses. His hands squeezing your hips. Holding them through every rise and fall. 

Lube squelches between your legs. His cock head driving directly into that bundle of nerves again, your pussy helplessly spasming around him. You fear you're going to shatter into a million pieces if he does that again, but there's no attempt to shift your angle. Chasing that sensation again, crying out as a shock bolts up your spine. 

"Bobby," it slips out so easily. Riding on the coattails of a gasp. 

Foreheads knock together. So close that the sight of him goes a little bit fuzzy. Noses bumping when his hips twitch up, snapping into yours so swiftly that it knocks a whimper out of you. Just makes him do it again, and you are not living up to the whole succubus thing by collapsing into his shoulder. 

"Fuck, I can—" he grunts, punctuated by the lewd slap of skin against skin, "can feel you clenchin' around me." 

And you can feel him twitch inside of you. Such a simple feeling that has you getting wetter around him, can only imagine what kind of mess is forming between your bodies right now. You'd look, but it's hard enough pulling yourself back, thighs burning, desperate to work back into the rhythm you just...built up...

Is...that...?

"What's wrong?" Bob has stopped moving at...some point. You don't know when that was. The concept of time passing is a little bit irrelevant right now.

Words don't necessarily come to you. Fleeting chunks of vaguely related sentences that you can't quite stitch together. You don't...that's not...when did...?

The only thing you can think of is to touch one of them. 

His back jerks off the headboard. Sucking in a gasp. Eyes going wide. But then, twitching at the corners, pretty blue irises rolling back, his cock spasming despite your lack of movement. For a moment, not a sound seems to escape him, but then it's all shattered by a barely muffled whimper. 

"So that's what's wrong with you." Deadpan. 

Touching them made him cum. That's... somewhat familiar, actually. 

Bobby's eyes can barely tear themselves open, fighting against them as he blinks up at you. "What?" 

You're almost hesitant to touch them again. Two tiny horns, no more than an inch tall, poking out from where those pesky bumps once resided. 

Horns. Of course. Why did you think you were wrong when you considered that earlier? They're identical to yours! A few inches above the ear, wide at the base and growing narrow as it nears the tip. Jet black for the time being, but they'll develop their color with time. 

The one upside to being a succubus. Uniquely colored horns. 

"Not to bring up family while all seven and a half inches of you are inside of me," because you're not sure about how to start this conversation, jumping on the first half-baked plan that comes to mind. "But are you entirely sure your folks are human?"

His head tilts. "Why?" 

The only thing you can think of is to take a picture. Those two tiny horns poking out like they're part of a cute headband, so ridiculously small in person and even smaller on his phone. As you pass it off to him, you catch yourself wondering if he'll see them at all. 

"...huh." Is all that he can say. 

They're far too sensitive for him to touch, not after what mess you just caused, but he tries. Winces the moment his fingertips make contact with the fresh new bone; you can only imagine this is how you reacted the first time your horns made their appearance, too. 

You wonder if there's anything behind them. You've seen a few variations where a second pair sprouted behind the first, but you can't see anything from this angle. If you just lean a little further to the right—

A whimper twists through the air. Pretty blue eyes squeeze shut.

"I'm sorry, I—"

"No, no, no, don't," his hands are back on your hips, pulling you back down into his lap before you've even moved an inch, and oh, you can feel his cum beginning to spill out of you. Fuck, there's so...there's so much of it. It'll make a mess of the bed if you're not careful, but you can't move. Not with those big hands anchoring you down. 

But he's not done talking. 

"Keep going," he blurts, his chest shuddering with a breath. Horns be damned, those aren't on his mind right now. "Please, I just, I want, I want you to—" 

A swivel of your hips shuts him up. His teeth sink into his bottom lip, already too late to stifle the pitchy little noise that sails out of his throat. God, that's a hell of a sound. Combined with the way his half-hard cock twitches in you, it's almost too much to bear. He can hardly handle it himself, squirming, not sure if he wants to push into you or away from you. 

"There!" Stardust twinkles behind your eyes. "Right there. Don't move."

It's as if the room has exploded into a galaxy. Midnight black and the deepest shades of navy, decorated in a rainbow of distant, twinkling stars. You and him and this big, oversized hotel bed. Weightless. Floating round and round, further and further away, until you're lost to the Milky Way itself. 

The fat tip of his cock drives up into those nerves again. Space nearly swallows you up once more. "Bobby..."

Your eyes must have been closed because you don't remember his head tipping back. Dazed, flushed cheeks, so entirely focused on you that the rest of the world ceases to exist at all. Pitchy whimpers, stumbling off his drooling tongue, overstimulated but making no move to push you off of him.

His lips seal. Hardly manages to muffle his noises, but it's already too quiet for your liking.

One of your hands curls around his cheek. Thumb pressing against his bottom lip, hardly takes any pressure for him to give way, allowing you in. And his poor tongue is right there, practically begging you to pin it down, and who are you to deny such a request?

Heat twists in your belly. Pussy clenching tighter around him. Your motions growing jerky. Sporadic. Sparks of color flash behind your eyelids, growing heavier by the second. And it's so fucking loud in this room. Whimpers. Cries. Blending together so seamlessly that you can't tell who makes what noise. Every motion punctuated by an all-too-loud squelch of cum and lube, fuck, this bed is going to be ruined after this.

"I-I'm—" Bob whines, tongue flexing beneath your thumb. Eyes glassy, one blink away from tears spilling over the brim. 

"Close." Don't know if you're finishing his sentence or speaking for yourself. 

It washes over you with all the strength and violence of a tidal wave. Hips stalling. Head falling back. Cumming on his cock with an unexpected cry, heat racing through your veins, skin prickling, breath hung up in your throat. You think your eyes cross. Can't really figure out how true that is, too busy floating through the cracks in the universe to think about anything but the spasm of his length inside of you. 

And you're vaguely aware that he's cumming, too, his cries vibrating through your thumb and deep into your bones. 

"Still in there?" You find yourself asking after a moment. 

Bob hums and you're only now realizing that his glasses are gone, blinking up at you with unfocused eyes. Where they've gone, you don't know; don't think you could get up and look for them if you tried. 

All of the strength has left your legs. Thighs trembling as you lift yourself from his lap. And they can only hold you up for so long before you find yourself collapsing next to him, greeted by the significantly cooler sheets. 

Those horns are still there. All too present as he tries to snuggle down onto a pillow, inconveniently brushing against the fabric. You're both a damn mess. His lower belly glistens in the light, and you can already feel his cum beginning to spill out of you onto the sheets. 

Sheets that you don't want to change for a cleaner set. 

But the shower is so far away...and Bob is curling his arm around you. Pulling you closer to him as if the six inches of space between your bodies is too much for him to handle. Your nose bumps into his chin, the slightest hint of stubble growing there.

You should hide his razor and see what happens.

"How do I make them disappear?" Bob's voice cracks in the middle, sporadically skyrocketing in pitch. Water might do him good, but...damn, the fridge is by the bathroom. 

"I'll teach you, eventually," your voice isn't doing much better; you can hardly get it above a whisper. "I wanna see them on you for a little longer first."

His eyes roll, shaking his head all the while. Almost like he expected you to say that. But he doesn't call you out on it, content to tilt his head down and shut you up instead. Swollen lips crashing together, lazily tangling. A small explosion would be less messy, tongues licking into each other's mouths and teeth clacking so hard that your even bones recoil at the sensation. 

...but there's pressure on your shoulder, and you're rolling onto your back, his comfortable weight settling on top of you. Half hard against your thigh. 

"Satisfied?" You murmur, though you suppose you already know the answer to that.

His lips curl into a smile. Devilish, even. "No."

You're beginning to think you've swapped roles in this relationship.

[chocoqtelle]

inner child pac reading

🦀 pile one,,

I know we're used to being super helpful, but it's good to help yourself too. you should always make sure you're okay first. It's important for us to be okay, even if other people don't think so. we should think so. things are gonna be okay for us. they always are. I want to do the things we like. I don't understand why you care about what people think now. I think we should try doing what we like more, even if it's embarrassing. it doesn't have to take a lot of time. it's just good to have fun sometimes. maybe you can get back into some of our old interests if you want?

it seems like this pile had to mature quickly and was overly generous in childhood. this likely led to some people pleaser habits. when the world said "be nice" and "care about others" you took it to heart, but it felt like you were the only one who did. you felt like you had to be the adult in your childhood and care for other people around you. for some of you, you may have had to care for a parental/older familiar figure or your siblings. you're used to changing your words and your personality to be more digestible and gentle because this strong fear of conflict. you were scared of people being mean to you, so you avoided making anyone mad. it was like you were always tiptoeing over eggshells. now, you don't have to, so there's no point in worrying about people who don't worry about you. you'd be doing yourself and your inner child a favor by doing what you want. it might feel wrong to be yourself, but at least try. I won't delve too much into this part, but I believe some people in this pile also dealt with being oversexualized or being hyper sexual at a young age. I think it's important to know you're more than what you can give others for this pile. please also take a break for the love of god.

🐸 pile two,,

It's hard to feel loved if nobody shows you. at the same time, i don't think I'd want to be loved. it seems weird and uncomfortable. I'm not used to it so it's scary. I still wish that someone would care at least. it feels like nobody else cares. I'm really tired of things being silent and boring all the time. I want to do something fun. I want friends but I want to be by myself. people think I'm weird, but I think they're the weird ones. they can avoid me but I wouldn't wanna be friends with them anyway. it doesn't matter if it's lonely, I don't feel less lonely around people anyway. some people think I'm mean. I don't think I'm mean. i heard I look mean or I act mean sometimes, but what if that's just who I am? I don't try to be mean to people. I just don't want people to hurt me.

holy neglect trauma... there's a lot to unpack here 😓 first off, I hope you're alright. it seems like this pile never really learned how to interact with people and is probably still a bit of a people hater. this pile has had to keep strong boundaries and walls on to protect themselves from unfamiliar experiences (being spoken to positively.) if you've never experienced something, it can be scary but you have to stop thinking every little thing is gonna go wrong in your life. it's fine. separate note but I think someone's ancestors are very present here, might want to connect with them if you don't already. you can try to shut down the feelings of loneliness and pretend connection won't help but it does. you're probably not connected with your inner child or you're ashamed of yourself for some reason. trying to be cold won't undo anything or save you from the feelings you're hiding. you'll have to acknowledge them at some point. escapism and forcing ignorance wont help forever. hopefully it'll be sooner than later, but that's your choice. it's okay to be soft, btw.

🐕 pile three,,

I know what I'm talking about. I'm serious. I wish people would take me more seriously. i get good grades, I study hard, I always prove how smart I am. for some reason, people still act like I'm too young and stupid to have opinions or that what I say is just silly, especially with emotions. they act like having emotions makes you a less rational person. some people look down on me for who I am, too. it's not something I can change. whether it's gender, age, or whatever, people always want an excuse to ignore how I feel or what I have to say. I know I'm right though. I don't want us to stop expressing ourselves. I wanna share how I feel to the world.

this pile is extremely opinionated and knows how to share their emotions. this pile is for the "bossy" kids who "should have been lawyers" or "a CEO" according to every adult around them. you were emotional as a child and it was always ignored or joked off as if your feelings were invalid. this pile is definitely natural-born leaders so if you aren't/never have been aspiration-driven or "extra" this pile probably isn't yours. the most healing thing you can do for yourself at this point is speak up. continue to speak about everything. share your opinion more, it's safe now and people will actually take you seriously. be emotional, be too much, be annoying, be talkative, be over-opinionated, be everything you feel like being and don't let anyone talk you out of it. lead your life how you want to. call everything out, even if it means being weird. I definitely feel like some people in this pile had the gifted kid experience or liked to read a lot when they were younger. there's also some unresolved anger that might need to be taken care of. I think speaking up more instead of bottling feelings up will definitely help that, though. you're not stupid or weak for being emotional. just be yourself unapologetically and that's the best thing you can do for your younger self.

[judesmoonbeauty]

My Thoughts & Spoilers On Jude's Route

This will contain detailed major route spoilers. If you do not want to be spoiled, please move on because I will not be filtering my review. Also, not all spoilers and details are being shared. This is intentional. Bear in mind this is written prior to my thoroughly translating his route, so the translation may have some adjustments to this information.

So, I really LOVED it!! It's a very good storyline. Am I biased? Yes. However, whether you're romantically interested in Jude or not, I feel like you'll like in route in general. I do highly recommend reading his and Ellis' Past Records before his route if you can. His route does bring up clips from PR, but it's very minimal and there's a lot of context and extra details in PR that you don't get in this MS. I did my best with this, but my thoughts are still every where, so if it doesn't make sense. My bad.

Tropes: Enemies to Lovers....of sorts?, Slow-burn. Key Side Villain Characters: Ellis, Nica, Victor New Side Characters For His Route: Theodore, Gilbert Murphy, Oswald Simmons Love Language: Physical Touch (I'd just like to say that I called this.) Who Falls in love first: Kate First Kiss: Kate Kisses Jude First Snu-Snu: Chapter 24 Both Premium ends Jude's Fate Tragic End: He will die bearing a grudge against/hating the world. Route CW: Violence, Smoking, CA, Neglect, Mentions of a child's death. Jude's Age: 28-30. Jude's Heritage: Irish-British Jude's Curse: 13th Fairy (An endless cycle of hatred) Jude's Fated End: To die with a hatred/resentment against the world.

Plot: In a nutshell, Kate is trying to find one good thing to like about Jude prior to her term of FTK (fairytale keeper) ending, as per their first promise made together. If she finds one, Jude must fulfill any one request she has. Amidst working for both Crown and Raven, Kate tries to come into her own in terms of standing as Jude's equal, seeing the world as he does, and essentially saving him from not only own his death wish, but from being framed for treason against their country.

My thoughts: Jude's route is very lively, it's got a healthy amount of funny moments, action packed moments, and it's quite wholesome overall. However, it still retains some darkness in the sense of his past, and the fact that he's literally on this tightrope of life and death.

Kate: She is not afraid of voicing her thoughts and feelings, or speaking sarcastically to Jude. I almost died when I read that she stuck her tongue out at him LOL. There's this scene where Ellis tells her she's thinking out loud when she doesn't realize it, so she apologizes. A few minutes later after she greets Theodore, she sees Jude behind him:

Kate: ....And thanks for your hard work too, Jude. Jude: Can ya please stop greet me so sourly? Makes me wanna vomit my mornin' tea. Kate: I wonder if I'm under a curse that'll kill me if I don't say something sarcastically...

So, she is very courageous and gutsy, but she also thinks things through. There are times where she wants to act because she loves Jude and wants to be there for him, but she also knows not to act rashly because her movements can hurt him and Crown, so she opts to bide her time instead.

Out of all of her versions, I think she is the one who gets the most frustrated, the most angry, and laughs the most at certain situations such as getting locked in the office with Jude. She is very optimistic and kind, but not saintly kind.

She is a fighter. She learns self-defense and how to use a gun, a lot this takes place off screen, but she does develop this over time. Which is nice because it's more realistic.

Jude & Kate Relationship: Starts off very rough, and I say it's an enemies to lovers trope, but no one actually hates the other person, they simply don't get a long and it has that vibe. Jude is trying to kick her out of Crown, and Kate is trying to find something she likes about him.

Overall, they bicker and banter a lot. It's cute because in MLE Kate says, "If I say one thing, he has 10 things to say", and in BLE Jude says, "If I say one thing, she's got 10 things to say." They're adorable together.

One scene I loved was when Jude is being attacked by a group of thugs in his office after closing hours, and Kate barges in with her gun. She yells at the men to stop what they're doing, and then she tells Jude to step away from them. And so, Jude and Kate are having this full blown conversation as they're surrounded by these thugs as to why she is at his office, who's fault it is, etc, etc. And when the head thug starts to complain, both Jude and Kate say, "Shut up!" at the same time. This seems like it actually becomes a thing for them, they say it in MLE as well.

Were they childhood friends? No. That was an AU thing only, and a clever misdirection from Cybird. I think key take aways from Dark IF and Prison IF are that they made promises to each other, and that Kate tries to return to little Jude in Prison IF. Additionally, it does hint that two children were involved in Jude's past, just the other wasn't Kate, it's his sister. While some may be disappointed by this, I loved that it turned out this way, it surprised me.

Love Language: Physical. Touch. Lemme say it again. Physical Touch. While their relationship is a slow burn, it's not without it's tension along the way, and the pay off is hella worth in my opinion. I just knew that Jude was going to tear into her, and he does.

But more importantly, Jude touches Kate a lot especially before missions. For example, in BLE just before Kate goes undercover at a criminal organization that is using Raven products, she and Jude are in his office reviewing the plans, and while he does this, he touches her bare skin, kiss or bite her, and then after the mission he'll make love to her. Why? Because Kate made another promise to Jude earlier in the route that she would never die before him, so he doesn't have to suffering loss ever again. So, prior to any missions, he'll touch her up to a certain point like a promise she won't die, and then finish once she returns safely. I can't...he's so damn precious.

They love each other very very much, but Jude doesn't like saying the words. "I love you." Not because he's a tsun, but because they're easily said. So, he'll convey his love to Kate with words like, "I'm taking you to hell with me." If you read his side stories, he'll tell you just how much he loves her, and he admits that there is no other woman in the world that he could ever love like her.

Important Side Characters: Theodore: 21 y/o and he works in the sales department at Raven. Every one calls him Theo, even Kate. It seems that he's worked for Jude for a long time as well. He's very personable, and chatty, and he gets nervous about things like when the president forgets his custom fountain pen as he's on his way to business meetings. He even says to Kate and Jude that Kate is his type, and everyone is like.....um what? I'm really happy that Theodore isn't a traitor. I like him. I thought Cybird would use him the way that contract worker in Jude's first story event would be used. But no, he's just a loyal young man who cares about his job. I hope to see him again.

Oswald Simmons: He is the doctor who treated Jude and his sister after Jude memorized an entire medical textbook in a week. After Jude's sister was sold off, Jude ran to Oswald and asked that if he put Jude through school, let him lodge with him and provide him food, then Jude would pay him back with interest. Oswald agrees and in time, Jude does pay him back with interest. Oswald treats everyone equally, and he finds Jude's intelligence and ability to memorize things amusing. While he does not offer to take Jude in of his own initiative, Oswald does have a soft spot for Jude, as he tries to gift Jude a new pocket watch upon graduation and the success of his new company. He even tries to dissuade Jude from seeking revenge that will only force Jude into be lonely. In the route, he tells Kate to relay a message to Jude, that if he ever gets into a pinch to comeback and he'll give Jude a run for his money. To this day, Oswald still has the watch that Jude refused to take.

I honestly, hope that they reunite one day. Jude doesn't wish Oswald any ill-will (though he calls him a weirdo), and he wished Oswald a long life when he said goodbye.

Gilbert Murphy: He is a high-ranking officer of the British military who colludes with the Privy Council and a criminal organization to frame Jude treason and building military weapons. However, Gilbert truly does think that Jude is going to the moon for monetary purposes. While he is being an asshole for framing my beloved, his motives are to protect the people from potential weapons that can be created with Jude's research. Still, it's sullying Jude's innocent and pure motives. Still, he testifies in Jude's favor and takes the blame of the dead privy council member, as his own form of justice for trying to frame Jude due to his becoming blinded by his obsession to protect his country.

The other villains: Ellis: Ellis is Jude's right hand so he is heavily involved with the plot, especially in MLE. We know about Ellis.

Nica: Darius asks him to investigate Jude, so he does. Twice, he offers information to Jude that he's gathered after he lets him know he's aware of what he's building.. The first time, he tells him that a part from the criminal organization Jude has already been dealing with, the British military want his plans too. And wouldn't it be something if they teamed up to get Jude's research. He asks if he can snatch the robin away from Jude, but Jude says she doesn't belong to him, and no matter whom she dated she belongs to herself.

Nica leaves the bar after getting scolded by Jude, but prior to that, he tells Jude that the robin is in the most danger because she's around him. A few chapters later, Nica appears again and tells Jude that his assumptions based on the previous information given have come true, and because he didn't let go (of Kate), he's letting her know the facts. After he explains the situation to her, he tries to whisk her away on a date, but Kate declines. While Nica is a "playboy", it seems that he does care for Kate's well-being.....I am letting my current knowledge of his past events, and bond stories influence me by saying this.

At any rate, at the end of BLE, Darius asks Nica why he follows his orders so complicitly, and Nica says it's because he's on the winning side, and to him, Darius will be or is the winner. Darius is satisfied with this, and when he leaves Nica looks at his palm and says that he will be the happiest someday. It's already been established that becoming the happiest person is important to him, but this has now been reinforced.

Victor: Lore crumbs are very little, but what we do know is that when Kate asks him if he is angry, he tells her that he's forgotten loneliness a long time ago.

Further, when he approaches Jude and asks if Jude is hiding something from him and Crown, he tells Jude he has the means to help him. Jude asks if Victor isn't the one hiding something, and remarks that's why Harrison hates him so much because he knows he is lying. Victor simply smiles and stays silent. Upon leaving his study, Victor does tell Jude no matter what, he doesn't want their freedom disturbed and those are his true feelings.

Further, Victor later tells Kate in the BLE that when Jude says he abuses his power, Jude wasn't lying about that. Later in chapter 24, all of Crown are gathered together in front of her Majesty the Queen for a very important meeting. Victor speaks saying that they wish to grant Kate the position of fairytale keeper permanently, and when Jude finds out, he leaves angrily. In the middle of all this, the Queen never utters a word.

I don't think we learn anything new that we weren't aware of before with Victor to be honest, unless I missed something while reading. But, it's nice to know that we should see something big for his route. We better for how under wraps his lore is kept.

Jude's age: He can't be any older than 30 because in his Past Records he definitively says that he is five years old. In the MS, Oswald states the events he recounted to Roger and Kate took place over 20 years ago. Kate reason's that if it was 20 years ago then Jude had to be under the age of 10. I think he's 28-30.

Jude's Curse: Jude's curse was born when his heart was completely broken, and he vowed to get revenge on those who made him and his sister suffer. It's manifestation was described as a black flame of hatred in his heart. Essentially, Jude has entered a vicious cycle of hatred that never really ceases. Jude fuels this cycle by acting in a way where people want to get revenge on him, and a part of that is because he want's to die.

Jude's Fated End: Jude is fated to die bearing a grudge/resentment/hatred against the world. Jude himself says that his death will not be an honest one. Some have made comments that his fated end is a bit underwhelming, but I am pleased that Cybird left Disney alone, and stuck with Grimm's ending for the 13th fairy. I love it because no one knows what the fairy was thinking or what happened to it, it just simply disappears. This is something that is mentioned quite a bit in Jude's route.

In the MS there is a beautiful chapter with all of Crown gathered for a fireworks beach day, and while Jude is looking at the fireworks, Kate is looking at him. She thinks he is like a firework, beautiful, dangerous if you get too close, and then simply gone.

In BLE, Kate watches a Sleeping Beauty play hosted by local town children where she is staying and even though she knows that the outcome of the fairy is unknown, she is hoping for a different outcome. When the kids stick to the fairytale, it's then she realizes that Jude too - while still stuck in his cycle of hatred - will die. He will never know happiness, and disappear like the burnt body of cigarette smoke, like a firework in the sky.

In chapter 18ish, while Jude is being held captive and being tortured by the British military for information on Crown, he laughs self-mockingly and says that this is the perfect fit for him to die bearing resentment/grudge against the world.

Is Kate Trying to find a way to break the curse? No. Unlike Alfons and Roger's route, Kate is willing to accept Jude's fate, stay by him, make him happy and be his reason to live. That is her sole purpose, to make sure he doesn't die. Kate is obsessed with keeping him anchored to the world no matter the cost, and she even mentions to Victor that even though no fated ends have ever been avoided, that doesn't necessarily mean they are tragic.

Is Jude happy by the end of the route: Yes. Though he won't admit it out loud being the tsun tsun that he is, Jude's first glimpse of happiness occured when he told Kate about his dream and she didn't laugh at him. By the time he puts her to sleep and leaves her behind, he tells her that being genuinely liked wasn't so bad. And of course, Ellis asks if he can kill Jude in his BLE epilogue because it's obvious that he's happy......Jude tells him he can go die, and Ellis is like okay okay. FR though E, I need you to calm TF down.

The depth of his love for her is so great that he tells her that if she ever tries to run from him, she should just kill him. The reason is because she is his only happiness - she is the moon that he's been trying to reach for so long. He'd have no reason to live if she left him.....

Hmmm, here are some of my favorite parts in his route:

He tries so hard to protect Kate, from throwing her out of a window when a house is on fire and telling her she died in that fire so she wouldn't have to return to Crown, to lying to her and accusing her of making a 10,000 £ mistake and firing her from Raven, and other things.

I love that he even assigned people to watch her secretly after he's left her behind in a seaside town, with the intention of doing so for a long time since she is known throughout London for said involvement with Jude. He says things like, if she can live a calm, normal life, then that's enough for me. So, he's resigned to love her from afar.

He does everything in his power to protect even Crown from getting involved with his research so they aren’t crushed and hated by the privy council or others, even undergoing brutal torture.

Jude promises to make Kate the happiest he can before they go to hell, and there are many, many more things he does to endear me even more to him. I nearly cried when he introduced Kate to his sister at her grave he had made for her, saying she (his unnamed sister), was the only family he had left.

Even though he knows his dream of going to the moon is going to be difficult, he is more determined than ever to achieve it, because he's got two promises to keep.

Ultimately, we have our teasing Jude and Kate kicking ass together, and loving each other until their ends come.

Ugh, I'm gonna make myself cry. Well, this is it in a nutshell. Sorry for rambling!

[nxtaliaistyping]

Heyy I love your writing so much!! I was wondering if you'd ever consider writing for Harvey dent/ Two-face?? Maybe something based on what you said about the coin landing on the scarred side and him liking a girl with a softer/pink aesthetic? Thank you so much darling~🩷🎀🩷

Two-Face and his favorite girl

Authors note: There are multiple ways of interpreting the Harvey/Two-Face dichotomy in writing, I went with a more Arkhamverse inspired one. Hope it’s okay sweetheart <3

18+ nsfw, rough sex, degradation, spitting

“You’re too perfect f’us sweetheart.” Harvey mumbles, as his large hands come to rest on your hips.

Being with them both for a while now, you can always tell who’s fronting at any given moment. While the voice was usually a giveaway, Two-Face preferring to almost growl out every little sound that escapes his throat, whereas Harvey just sounds like a deep baritone. But it isn’t just that, it’s the way he looks at you. Which eye twitches when you say something, which side of his mouth curls more when you flirt with him, or wear a revealing outfit.

Much like the one you have on now, the pretty pink babydoll dress barely covering the cute panties you’d slipped on when he’d texted he was coming to visit. Whenever that happened, he usually needed a softer touch, a calming session, or a rough fuck to take the edge off.

“Needed to see you.” He continues, hands groping at the plush of your hips in time with his words.

“Always wanna see you.” You giggle in response, smaller hands coming up to grip his broad shoulders. He groans in response, the tension leaving his body at the slight massage.

Emboldened, you begin to really knead your fingers, although being much softer on his scarred side to avoid any pain or discomfort on his end.

At least he’s letting you touch him there, given the nights where Harvey is in control, his jaw clicking whenever you lean against his scarred side or caress it gently. It makes him feel like a failure, a reminder of who he once was. When he was whole.

But you don’t mind, both of them occupying a space in your heart. So you seek to prove it, kissing up Harvey’s jaw while your hands keep easing the pressure and tension out as best you can.

He relaxes underneath you, and you’re just about to climb onto his lap before his hand starts to twitch, thumb feeling that familiar pocket of his trousers. Noticing, you pull away and look at him, before he groans.

“No…fine.” He mumbles, and you realise he isn’t talking to you.

“You need to toss your coin Harvey?” You ask softly, moving away for a moment to look at his face.

“Need to decide…” he starts, before pulling the coin from his pocket and feeling the weight of it in his fingers. “We both want you in different ways sweetheart.”

Blushing softly, you think you’re starting to understand as you nod. “Do you wanna be more…gentle?”

Harvey nods, hand moving to your thigh to grip the soft flesh. “He wants to fuck you.”

Shivering a little, you can’t deny the appeal of either one as he readies the coin. “It’s okay, whatever happens happens.”

He grunts softly at your words, before flicking the coin up. Watching it skim through the air sets your goosebumps off to claw at your skin, time almost slowing as it begins its decent. Quickly he grabs it, covering it with his palm as you both eagerly anticipate the result. He lifts his hand…only to see the scarred side of the coin staring back at you.

At your catch of breath, his head moves ever so slightly, so much so any other person might not have caught it. But you did. So you stare at him with doe eyes until he speaks.

“Guess I’m the lucky one.” Two-face growls, moving you roughly onto his lap. You squeak, feeling the way he moved you as if you weighed nothing at all.

Immediately he’s kissing and licking up your neck, tugging on your hair to expose more of you to his hungry gaze. His other goes under your dress, feeling the lacy material of your panties before giving a soft slap to your clothed cunt.

“Wearing next to fuckin’ nothing.” His tone almost sounds like he’s mad, but the way his fingers grope and cup your pussy shows you how much he loves it, how much he can’t get enough. “Harvey’s right, you shouldn’t be with us. Far too fuckin’ pretty.”

You whimper, shifting on his lap at the feeling of his digits, before he rips off the material to push two fingers immediately inside. At your gasp, he shushes you and fingers you messily.

“Quit y’whining.”

Nodding as best you can, you try and gain as much pleasure as you can from him prepping you before he decides he’s just too impatient. With a slight huff, he throws you off him and manoeuvres you so you’re bent over the sofa.

You hear the sound of his belt unbuckling, so you go to take your dress off, but oh barely get it past your hips before he grips your wrist harshly. “No no no doll. I didn’t say you could do that.”

Before you can reply, you feel his cock head tapping against your clit, gathering up your slick before pushing in roughly, not giving you time to adjust. At your soft cry, he groans heavily, pulling your arms back to hold before starting to push in and out.

“Look at you, creamin’ around my dick. Wanted me to treat you like a whore all along huh?”

You whimper out a yes in between moans, his cock moving in and out at a brutal pace. Clearly he has a lot of steam to blow off, with you acting like the good stress reliever you are for him.

“Our pretty fuckin’ girl, always so dolled up for us. Bet you thought about this while putting on that short fuckin’ dress huh?” He grunts out, feeling the tightness of your walls wrapped around him.

“Yes…yes.” Is all you can say, your knuckles almost turning white from how hard you’re gripping the back of the sofa. Each thrust causes it to creak a little under your combined weight.

“Gonna corrupt your sweet ass for all of Gotham to see.”

His hand yanks your head back, gazing down on your sweet face, the mascara adorning your pretty eyelashes and the lip gloss on your kissable mouth. In that moment, all he wants to do is just ruin you. So he isn’t even surprised at himself when he spits on your cheek. And he certainly isn’t surprised when you moan like a paid whore.

“Dirty fuckin’ girl.” He grins, hips snapping against yours.

Feeling the spit drying on your face, you go to wipe it before he does it for you, rubbing it into your cheek and lips, smearing your lip gloss. The sight makes his cock throb inside of you, especially with how pretty those ruined lips look when he pushes his thumb between them.

You suck the digit and moan like it’s his dick, wanting to please him even now. He loves that about you, they both do. How eager you always are, how that innocent princess look hides such a depraved mind beneath.

Eventually, your cunt throbs with the sign of your impending orgasm, your fingers rubbing tight circles on your clit. Before you can alert him, the grip on your hair tightens to an almost painful degree.

“Gonna cum? Gonna cum at me fuckin’ you like a slut I picked up in the Bowery?”

At your desperate sobs of please and yes, he has the audacity to laugh at you before grunting out his permission. After a couple of deadly thrusts against your g spot, you’re cumming hard around him, whimpering pathetically.

But he isn’t done, no no he doesn’t even slow down. He keeps railing you, pushing as deep as he can into your cunt before ripping himself out and repeating. Your juices make a sinful noise with each thrust, the squelching reaching your ears and causing a burning flush to spread over your cheeks.

After what feels like a lifetime, he buries himself deep and cums, unloading the stress of the day practically straight into your womb. A guttural moan rips from his mouth, as he collapses onto you for a moment, coming down from the intensity.

"Good girl..." Two-face mumbles, and you bask in the rare praise from him as you keep laying boneless against the sofa. "Might have ruined your dress though dollface. Gotta get a new one."

[yemmuis]

thinking about roommate!choso, who, after fucking you for the first time, decides its the only thing he likes anymore.

besides spending time with you, and watching movies with you, and smoking with you.

you know those ���physical needs, physiological needs, spiritual needs” pyramids you learn about in highschool? yeah, chosos goes fucking you in bed, fucking you in his car, fucking you on the bathroom counter, fucking you on the couch, and then—and only then—comes eat, sleep, drink.

he cant stop himself. i mean, really—when you’re walking around with your ass practically hanging out of your shorts, tight shirt with no bra underneath, how can you blame him for bending you over the nearest surface and barely taking the time to pull your panties off? (he doesn’t, just pushes them to the side or pulls them down enough to expose your wet cunt. just for his stupidly big cock to bully into your cervix as usual.)

and how can you blame him, when hes so sweet to you when hes quite literally pounding you over the back of the couch? all that comes out of his mouth is “i’m sorry, baby, ‘m sorry, but you know how i get when you tease me” and “i love you, thank you” over and over and over until hes pumping you full of his cum and then dropping to his knees to watch while he stuffs you full of his fingers to make sure you cant fake cummin’ for him.

so what, he’s a little anxious. what is he if he cant please you, though?

and maybe he has a bit of a…disregard for protection. it just feels so much better when he isnt hindering himself with a condom, obviously!

and maybe he likes watching you drool into his chest when hes done with you; watching his nut ooooze out of your cunt and make a mess wherever hes fucked you this time.

sure, you scold him after every time— “you gotta use protection next time, cho, i don’ wanna get pregnant.” you grumble, even while your lips are locked with his and just by his half-lidded eyes and dilated pupils you know hes not quite done with you yet.

deep down, you know maybe you wouldn’t mind having chosos babies.

not that you’ll tell him that. he’s very weak to your suggestions, and you don’t know what you’d do if he got it in his head that he wanted to marry you and pump you full of his kids.

…maybe you two should have a talk on where this whole roommates-to-fuckbuddies thing is going.

note :: i have something big in the works i proooommmyyy i jus need 2 find the time 2 write ☹️☹️ soon u shall have ur fix my babies i promise

[letsyapthenightaway]

Hockey boys with a sweet talker plus size! gf

Matt Rempe- He loves it, it entertains him so much and yes he's a grown tall ass man but it makes him putty. Has gotten bashful so many times it's adorable! But don't think just because he reacts like that he's not gonna respond. No, he lives to get you just as equally flustered. He'd one-up you by getting handsy, grabbing at wherever he could while laughing and teasing you. "Look at you and it's all mine"

Luke Hughes - Blushing and caught off guard every single time. "Babe!" as he looks at you with wide eyes and a shocked smile. Usually, he'd react like that if you say something that's either leaning towards inappropriate or just is. Would just shake his head and smile when it's something light. If he's feeling daring he'd lean into your space with a smirk, pull you close, and test if you'd do what you said you would.

Jack Hughes- "Is somebody gonna match my freak" he would. You say something out of pocket at first he's shocked but quickly bounces back with an equally flirty response. This is how you guys started dating because even before being official you two had this dynamic. Like Rempe, I feel like he'd let his hands get involved either casually touching your face or playfully swatting your bottom. "It was right there I had to!" dude would mention the jiggle just to make it more playful.

Quinn Hughes- Laughs, kind of like Luke he would test if you mean what you say in a teasing manner but wouldn't say something flirty back like Jack. If you say it in public where people hear he'd shake his head with a bashful smile " Yup, that's my girl" Loves that sometimes you don't even notice you doing it. Was surprised when you first showed that side of you because it wasn't towards him. It was to your friends, it came off so natural to them but with him liking him made you too nervous to talk like that.

Connor Bedard- Saw how you talked with your friends and questioned if you actually liked him. Once again you got too shy to be like that to him because you actually felt like that towards him. Once dating it was like a bomb went off, he'd get so excited to see or hear your little flirts. Smiles and blushes whenever he hears them, I feel like he would wanna respond but his brain short circuits sometimes so it just leaves him giving the classic Bedard stare and stance. idk but I feel like every time you do it, it makes him wanna kiss you.

[ckret2]

I'd been meaning to do this since I found your account but today I read through the entirety of your Goldielocks fic (or at least, what's available) and all I can say is WOW !!!!!

You're really fucking good at writing these characters, capturing the lighthearted-yet-somehow-serious tone of the show, and the stuff you make up for worldbuilding fits right in with canon stuff. As a lover of making things canon-compliant and in-spirit-of-canon, this fic is like a dream come true. You're an amazing author !

I really look forward to your post-TBOB edits of the eclipse arc and the flatworld arc, I can already kind of guess where you're gonna go with it, but it's still exciting to think about what direction you might take things.

I'm also wondering, are you planning on changing anything about the Death Valley girls, what with the info we got about ciphertology and the like ? Or keeping them relatively the same ?

(I stayed up till almost midnight reading this - I'm so glad I don't have to be anywhere early tomorrow)

Thank you!! I've discussed my TBOB edits of the eclipse arc already, you can see some of them here if you want.

For the flatworld arc, I actually think basically nothing's going to change. Spoilers, but: Bill's world was never gonna be like Flatworld. It was gonna be a big reveal late in the fic ("big" for the characters, not the readers lmao) that Bill's world was actually pretty okay—like yeah, a few flaws, but not "barely-exaggerated satire of Victorian-era ableism/sexism/classism" flaws—and everything the kids read in Flatworld that made them pity Bill was 100% bullshit. It was going to turn out that Bill's world is actually...

... pretty much fucking exactly like Euclydia ended up being in canon—up to and including baby Bill getting medical trauma over having a super-rare cool-ass eye mutation that lets him see the stars of the third dimension.

I was gonna have Bill go "oh yeah, that's why I drove the author insane, I was that pissed at him for making my home world look that bad. I didn't correct you guys because I thought it'd be useful if you pitied me."

I did this because, before TBOB came out, I knew that no matter what I wrote about Bill's home dimension, probably a good 20% of readers would just push it to the side and automatically assume that his dimension was exactly the same as Flatland—like, occasionally readers were making comments about my fic talking about how triangles ***ARE*** oppressed in his home dimension like it was a canonical fact and taking it as a given that I was writing that. For that 20%, it seemed to me like the best way to ensure it got through to them that whoa, this isn't Flatland would be to have the characters assume his dimension is exactly the same as Flatland so that I could say, in story, "no that's totally wrong."

Post-TBOB, a lot fewer readers are gonna make that assumption. But having the characters assume his dimension is a lot worse than it really is is still a part of the story—it ties into the narrative of them slowly growing to expect him to be something more sympathetic/heroic than he actually is, a la Dipper's assumption that the Axolotl poem is a prophecy about how Bill will help save them—so there's no reason for me to take it out.

So yeah, tl;dr: Flatworld doesn't need to change because it was always going to be wrong.

I'm only gonna change the Death Valley girls a little bit. Everything I've currently written about them stays the same; except I'm also gonna mention that, yes, they are a Ciphertology sect, and yes, all the girls in the cult are Cipherwives.

So now I also get to crack jokes about Bill being both flattered and a little creeped out that even after he mostly ditched the cult they just kept inducting new recruits as "cipherwives" whether he showed up or not, like wow, you're just gonna marry him off in absentia to some lady he's never met??? What if he doesn't wanna marry her? What if he doesn't like her haircut?? Every time he shows up he finds out he's got a new wife! He loves the attention, but jeez, girls! At least send him a letter with his new bride's picture and wait for him to mail back an "OK" or something!

[son1c]

i had a dream last night about the sonic movies. they were different, though. instead of staying put once he lands on earth, he keeps moving. he travels from place to place, always out of sight, staying safe with his speed and momentum. he gains a real appreciation for earth's environment this way, since he's basically "roughing it" through north america's many biomes.

he manages to go undetected until he's about 10 years old. his discovery happens like this: he's tramping through the woods like he always does. he's pretty far in there--don't want to risk running into any hikers, right?--but there's someone else there. at first, he thinks it's just a bird or bobcat making some noise. so, he turns the page in the stolen "borrowed" library book he's reading and ignores it, but it doesn't stop.

he closes the book. strains his ears. now that he's listening harder, the noise almost sounds like someone crying.

of course, sonic has his 1 golden rule: don't let anyone see you. he's stayed true to that for all these years, and he's not going to break that rule now... but what's the harm in a little investigating? it'll just be a quick peek.

as it turns out, the noise wasn't coming from a bird or a bobcat; it was the faint crying of a human kid. sonic can tell even from a distance that the kid is hurt--there's no way an ankle is supposed to bend that way--but he's also hesitant to get any closer. what if this is a trap? isn't it a little suspicious that there's a kid all the way out here? and, most importantly: does he really want to break his golden rule?

well, yeah. there's no one else out here but him and the kid. help isn't coming--if there's gonna be a hero in this situation, then there's no other choice. so, sonic steps out of the bush and toward the kid with his hands raised in what he hopes is a peaceful gesture. his heart is beating a million miles a minute, but he's not scared, not really. his entire being aches with this opportunity; the opportunity to shed his years-long loneliness and make a connection, if only for a moment.

the kid hears a twig snap under sonic's feet and stiffens, her sobs catching in her throat. in a trembling voice, she asks, who's there?

sonic pauses. he's barely 10 feet from her now. looking directly at her, with nothing in between them but air. and yet, it's like the kid doesn't see him. her eyes dart around, searching, but always jumping right past sonic. trying to keep it casual, sonic replies, your hero has arrived.

sonic holds his breath. the girl looks confused, her brow furrowing, but at the same time, her shoulders relax. under her breath, she mumbles something that might be, a kid? then, she looks directly at sonic... kind of. her head turns toward the direction his voice came from, but her eyes don't focus on him. what are you doing way out here?

you know, sonic says, a smile tugging at his lips despite the anxiety coiling in his stomach, i was just about to ask you the same thing.

the girl frowns. she turns away from sonic as a stormy expression overtakes her face. none of your beeswax, she replies, but her venom is halfhearted. she's clearly hurting right now.

tentatively, sonic steps closer. his golden rule is beginning to slip from his mind. ooo-kay, he says slowly, keep your secrets. now, sonic kneels down in front of the girl. if he wanted to, he could reach out and touch her, and it took every ounce of his self-control to stop himself from doing just that.

the girl turns toward sonic again. this time, her eyes don't slide past him like he's made of slippery syrup. she squints, her nose scrunching up as she appears to focus very, very hard on what's barely a foot in front of her face. then, finally, she asks, you just gonna stand there and stare?

sonic grins. hey! it's not every day i get to stage a rescue operation in the woods. i wanna savor the feeling of being a forest ranger. sonic pauses, the girl's shallow breaths bringing him back to reality. he notices the old backpack clutched in the girl's hands and asks, what's in the bag? please tell me it's a smartphone. preferably of the apple variety. but i'd accept a blackberry too--those are cool. either way, we can use it to phone home. you know, like in E.T.--

i'm not an alien! the girl snaps. besides, i don't have any home left to call. she tightens her grip around the backpack as her eyes narrow into tiny slits. when she does this, sonic notices the deep, dark circles under her eyes. either rescue me, or go away. i don't care.

sonic matches the look of angry despair on the girl's face with one of stubborn optimism. i thought you'd never ask, he says. then, he pulls an old t-shirt out of his quills and tears it into strips. alright, so, he starts to say as he reaches for the girl's twisted ankle, i've watched almost all of grey's anatomy, and the first two seasons of house m.d., which means i'm basically a doctor. right?

the girl blinks. no?

sonic stops, his fingertips millimeters away from her bloody sock. you have a better idea?

the girl bites her lip. no.

great! i'll be fast. promise. true to his word, sonic wraps the girl's ankle in a flash. then, he says, yeah-heah-heah! now we're talkin'. if i didn't know any better, i'd say that was a professional patch job!

the girl loosens her death-grip on the backpack and slowly wiggles her toes. it hurts, but not as much as before. not bad, she mutters.

beaming, sonic offers her his hand. but she doesn't react at all, so sonic slowly lowers his hand. then, he scratches his head. he's missing something, but what? he looks around, scanning the dirt-and-leaf-covered forest floor for any clues until eventually he finds it: a white cane poking out of a nearby bush, caught in the root of a particularly gnarled tree.

forgetting himself for a moment, sonic uses his super speed to grab the cane before returning to the girl's side. he goes unpunished though, as all she does in response is widen her eyes and ask, what was that?

just the wind, sonic says, a little cheekily. then, he tells her about what he found. the girl snatches the cane from him rather rudely, but sonic lets it go without comment. then, because she's still sitting on the ground, he asks, need a hand?

and then the dream ended. i think it was pretty epic because a visually impaired companion would mean sonic could have a friend without letting his secret (i.e. the fact that he exists) get out. he'd just have to be veryyyy careful about not touching her or letting her touch him. cuz while he can explain some things, like his arms are fuzzy cuz he's wearing a... ""fur coat""... and his hands are big cuz he's still ""growing into them""... other things, like his quills, are a bit harder to explain.

i'm also not entirely sure what her deal was but i know she was a runaway orphan. her family died tragically etc etc. i was imagining a house fire. the flames of disaster, as it were. idk.

[hazbinshusk]

blitzø x gn!reader. during a slow week at the imp office,blitzø convinces you that there are better ways to spend your time waiting for a new client to call on. and honestly, it doesn't really take all that much to convince you, especially when he figures out a kink you've been keeping close to the chest. requested by the wonderful @blitzsicedcoffee. 2.75k

featuring: collar kink, light pup play, dom!blitzø, oral sex (blitzø receiving), blitzø using his tail as a leash, light degradation, penetrative sex. blitzø uses terms like 'pet' and 'pup', reader has non-specific genitalia, and a prehensile tail (so could be read as an imp or an incubus/succubus).

Flipping idly through an outdated Weapons of Wrath catalogue, you’re curled up on the sofa in the I.M.P. office, leaning against the arm of it comfortably. It’s been a slow enough couple of weeks that Blitzø had decided to start having you all work in shifts, and with him holed up in his office, you had the main room to yourself, waiting pointlessly for a new client to call in.

And holy fuck, you were bored.

Even thinking that thought seems to be enough to summon your boss from his office, and you jerk upright as the door slams against the opposite wall when he kicks it open.

“Satan’s fucking taint, how does no one in this shit-slinging ring want to have somebody murdered?” he complains, tossing an empty coffee cup towards the trashcan and missing completely. It bounces off the wall behind it and the lid pops off, spilling the remains of a couple of ice cubes onto the carpet. “This is still Hell, isn’t it?”

“Last I checked,” you reply dryly, returning your attention back to your magazine, thumbing a page over idly.

He arches an eyebrow at you, irritated by your lack of similar dramatics. “Since when do I pay you to just fuckin’ sit there?”

You turn another page with practised nonchalance. You know it’s only going to piss him off further, but, well… you’re petty. “Depends. Did you have something else that needs doing?”

Blitzø groans, throwing his head back dramatically. He sighs, straightening his posture and setting his eyes on you again. He considers you for a moment, an eyebrow raised, before he says, “So… you wanna fuck?”

If you’d been drinking something, you would have choked on it.

“What?”

He grins, shrugging. “There’s no point in soundin’ so damn scandalised. It ain’t like we haven’t done it before.”

You feel your face flush. “A couple of drunk hookups does not mean I’m going to fuck you in the office, Blitz.”

“Why not?” he asks, closing more of the distance between you. You clutch the catalogue tighter against your lap as though it’s some kind of ward against bad decisions. And this would definitely be one. Right? “Ya think M&M don’t get their fuck on on the conference table every chance they get?”

“Christ, Blitz, that is so not the po—”

“This is jus’ fuckin’ adorable, by the way,” Blitzø tells you lasciviously, hooking a claw up under the choker around your neck. You’d worn it on a whim, and you curse yourself for the way your breath catches despite yourself. Your cheeks warm even more as you feel the band tighten slightly around your throat. There’s a second where you hope he doesn’t notice, but Blitzø’s eyes widen then narrow, a downright villainous smirk blooming on his lips. “Ohhh… I get it. Lil’ pup likes to play.”

You swallow, finding your voice. “Blitz…”

“That’s it, ain’t it?” he continues as though you hadn’t spoken, although his smile twitches wider at the hitch in your voice. “You like bein’ collared, don’t ya?”

You hesitate a moment even as excitement floods through you. Heat pools low in your belly at the suggestion in his voice, as the way his claws graze the column on your throat as he hooks two more in the front of the choker. You swallow again, wetting your lips with the tip of your tongue as it tightens the choker around your throat. He tugs on it, urging you to stand in front of him, and you do it without thinking, the catalogue slipping from your lap to the floor. Blitzø is standing only inches from you, his tail switching back and forth behind him slowly.

His breath fans across your face, warm and tickling. “Don’t you?”

You nod.

Blitzø grins. “Good pet.”

Fuck.

You can’t help the soft whimper that escapes you when he pulls you closer again, his nose skimming against yours. He’s watching your every reaction with hooded eyes, and you feel his other hand ghost down over your waist. It makes you shiver, and his smirk widens when you lean forward slightly to kiss him. Blitzø pulls back the moment your lips should meet, and he bites his lip with a cocky grin.

“On your knees for me, pup.”

Blitzø is half-hard as he palms himself through his jeans, and a soft growl rumbles through him as you tongue slides across your bottom lip. He runs a hand through your hair almost sweetly before he suddenly grabs a fistful of it, jerking your head back to meet his eye.

“What’re you waitin’ for, exactly?”

The pain only adds to the heat blooming low in your belly, and you reach up with eager fingers to unbuckle his belt. You lean forward to nuzzle against the bulge in his jeans, planting open-mouthed kisses over it until the fabric is damp with your saliva and his cock is straining against the zipper.

“Oh, puppy wants to play,” Blitzø croons, releasing a breathless laugh as you wrap your fingers around the base of his cock. You press a kiss to the underside of the head before parting your lips, curling your tongue around it as you take him into your mouth. His head falls back as the wet warmth of your mouth engulfs him. “Fuck…”

Blitzø keeps one hand in your hair as you suck him, the other lifting his shirt so he can watch the way you gag around him when he hits the back of your throat. You whine around him when you feel the spade of his tail slip under your choker, winding around it to pull it tight against your throat. He smirks when your eyes roll back.

“You’re a good little bitch, aren’t you?” he coos, voice husky sweet as you clutch at his thighs, hollowing out your cheeks as you pull back. He moans as you roll your tongue around the head of his cock and suck, his hand tightening possessively in your hair as you take him all the way in again. Blitzø holds your head in place, thrusting his hips forward to feel the way your throat flutters around his cock. “Fuck, you’ve got a nice mouth…”

You moan around him and the vibrations of your throat makes his eyes roll back. He presses his hips forward until you choke in earnest, releasing your hair as you pull back with a cough. Drool hangs from your chin as you catch your breath, and Blitzø reaches down to smear it across your lip with his thumb. You suck it into your mouth, biting down on it lightly, and he hisses through a sharp-toothed grin.

“Shiiiit…” he wraps a hand around his cock, pumping it against your spit-slick bottom lip. “You want me to fuck you, don’t you, pet?”

Your voice comes rough, your swollen lips brushing against the tip of his cock as you murmur, “Yes, Blitz.”

The imp’s smirk widens, his eyes dark and hungry with lust. You part your lips obediently, and he thrusts it back into your eager mouth with a grunt. His tail tugs on the choker again, and you’d be embarrassed at the way your tail wags behind you, but all you can focus on is the way Blitzø’s eyelids flutter as he presses his cock deep into your throat. You gag around him again before he pulls back, instead fucking himself languidly into your mouth. You curl your tongue to cradle the length of him with each slide of it past your lips, the taste of his precum downright addictive. “Then I’m gonna need to hear it, slut.”

You suck firmly at his cock until his breath hitches and he pulls back, gripping the base of his cock. He snickers deliriously, the choker around your throat so tight your eyes roll back as you blink. “Fuck me, Blitz.”

“Not good enough,” he grins wickedly, stroking himself slowly. He leans down, his other hand closing around your jaw as he brings his face down to yours. He forces your chin up, his lips a breath from yours as he growls, “I wanna hear you beg, baby.”

Dear Satan, you wanted to kiss him.

“Please,” you whimper, shifting on your knees in a vain attempt to meet his lips with yours. Blitzø pulls back just enough to leave you wanting, infuriating amusement playing at the edge of his smirk. “Please, fuck me, Blitz.”

“Hmm?” he raises a brow tauntingly, his tail tugging at the choker warningly.

“Sir,” you correct yourself, an edge of desperation colouring your broken voice. “Please, fuck me, sir.”

Blitzø grins. “That’s my good pup.”

He straightens up, stepping to the side and waving a hand towards Loona’s desk.

“Bend over it for me, pup.”

You make move to stand, and his tail tugs you back down again.

“Did I say you could walk?”

Fuck, he looks so pleased with himself. Still, you can’t help the little whine that escapes you at his tone, and you crawl across the scratchy carpet until you reach the desk. He nods and you stand slowly on shaky legs. Blitz unwinds his tail from your choker as he does, trailing the spade of it down your spine and smirking when you shudder.

“Strip.”

You feel a surge of nerves settle in the pit of your stomach even as you tug your shirt obediently over your head. Yeah, you’d fucked before, but those had been drunk and hurried and in the dark. This was stark and carefully paced, and somehow so much more exciting, and your fingers shake as you push your jeans down your thighs. You stiffen as you feel Blitzø press himself up against your back, his fingers expertly unclipping your bra as his lips find the nape of your neck.

A soft moan escapes you as he trails his lips to the side of your throat, sucking a mark into the sensitive flesh as his hands take hold of your hips, pressing his naked erection up against your ass. He shifts his hips to slide it between your thighs, and you whine, head falling forward.

“Bend over, baby,” he mutters, breath hot against your ear, and he squeezes a handful of your ass as you do as you’re told, pressing yourself further back against his cock as you brace your hands on the desk in front of you. Blitzø groans as you do, claws tearing your underwear away greedily. “That’s it…”

You hear him spit, excitement burning through you as you feel him stroke his cock against your ass, mixing his saliva with yours. Your eyes widen and you moan, a long, drawn out, throaty sound as he presses the head of his cock into you.

“Christ on a stick… always so fuckin’ tight,” he groans, withdrawing only to thrust into you again. With each slow push of his hips, he slides another inch into your warmth, stretching and filling you in a way that makes your eyes roll back. You bite your lip in a vain attempt to stifle your moans, claws digging into the edge of the desk hard enough to gouge marks into the wood. “Fuck, I’ve missed this…”

You don’t even want to think about why those words thrill you so much. You push your hips back to meet him with each thrust, and Blitzø snarls, hands clutching at the flesh of your hips hard enough to hurt. He lets you fuck yourself back on his cock, reaching up to hook his claws in the back of the choker and pull it taut against your windpipe. It makes you whine, your head forced back with the way he pulls at it.

“Bli—” you choke on his name, and Blitzø snickers headily at the eager way you ride his cock. “Fuck…”

“Such a good fuckin’ pup,” he growls, gripping at a handful of your ass. His tail winds around yours, the spade of it teasing against your thigh. He begins to fuck you again, punctuating each word with an unforgiving thrust. “So. Fuckin’. Good…”

You jump as the phone suddenly rings beside you, and Blitz curses as you flex around him.

“Go ahead, pet…” he grinds out, fucking into you hard. “Answer it.”

“Blitz—”

He tugs on the choker when you try to protest, and you moan. “Did I fuckin’ stutter, pup? Answer it.”

You whimper, reaching for the phone with an unsteady hand. You knock the receiver off its cradle, the phone clattering obnoxiously against the desk before you pick it up and shove it against your ear.

“I.M…P. Imm—ediate Murder Profession… Professionals.” you say, trying desperately to control your breathing even as Blitzø takes the opportunity to smack you hard on the ass. “How can I—hnnn – help you?”

Blitzø laughs at your tone, his voice tight with his own need, and you bump your forehead repeatedly against the desk as the guy on the other end of the line rumbles into your ear.

“I’m sorry, can I--  uhn… can I call you back?” you stumble over the words, teeth gritted together in an effort to keep your voice steady. You’re so fucking close, your whole body hot and tingling with sensation. “Blitz is… he’s a little busy at the—fuck. Look, I’ll call you back, alright?”

You slam the phone down and it bounces off the cradle, the receiving falling off the desk to dangle over the side. You moan in earnest and Blitzø groans, his hips meeting yours in a desperate, disjointed rhythm as the two of you approach the peak.

“Fuck, Blitz…” you curse as his tail tightens around yours, his claws pulling so tight on your choker you’re sure it might snap. Your eyes roll back at the feeling of it, your jaw hanging slack. Every time his hips meet yours, you let out a high-pitched ‘uhn!’, and Blitzø snaps his hips forward so hard the desk begins to slide against the carpet. “Fuck…!”

“You wanna cum, puppy?” he snarls breathlessly. “You gotta ask nice.”

“Please, sir…” you whimper, so close that your thighs tense painfully, toes curling against the carpet. “Please. Please, make me cum. I need to cum, sir, please…”

“That’s a good, fuckin’ pet.” Blitzø growls and he thrusts hard, wrapping his hand around the back of your neck. The feeling of his large, strong hand closing around your throat is enough to make you keen, and you all but collapse onto the desk as you finally cum, your body shaking with the feeling of it. “Satan’s fuckin’— FUCK!”

Blitzø cums deep inside you, clutching blindly at your hips as he shudders through it. You whimper with every touch he gives you as the two of you cum down, your eyes closing as you feel Blitzø bend down to press a kiss to your spine.

“Christ on a stick,” he moans quietly into your skin, smoothing his hands up along your waist and back down again. “Fuuuuck…”

You laugh quietly, breathless, pressing your forehead against the cool wood of the desk. “Pretty sure we fucked it up with that client.”

“Fuck it,” he mutters, his lips brushing against your shoulder blade. “They really want someone dead; they’ll call back after they’ve finished yankin’ it to that hot little whimper-y thing you do.”

“Shut up,” you retort even as you feel your cheeks warm.

When he pulls out you shudder at the feeling of it, patting you on the ass as you push yourself up. When you turn around he smirks at you, self-satisfied, and he hooks a claw in the choker and tugs you in to – finally – kiss you. He does it languidly, smiling as his tongue slides into your mouth. Leaning back against the edge of the desk for support, you wrap an arm around his neck, the other bunching in the fabric of his shirt. Blitzø braces himself on a hand beside your hip, pulling away only when your lungs begin to burn for a proper breath.

“Y’know, I’m preeeetty sure I’ve got an actual collar and leash set in the sex trunk in there,” he says suggestively, nodding towards his office.

You have to hope he doesn’t notice the way that suggestion, even after what you just did, makes you flush. “It’s still so messed up that you keep that shit here.”

Blitzø cocks a brow at you challengingly. “Does that mean you’re not interested in round two?”

“… I hate it when you’re cocky like this.”

“You fuckin’ love it, horndog.”

[obeymestory]

I don't know if you would like this idea but maybe you could do one where the boys have to deal with a MC that does not like being touched (like it's a trauma thing) and they accidentally lash out at their boyfriend because they didn't know it was them?

Pick what ever boys you want but if you could cqn I have my twins 💙💙💙 if not you can write for whoever

Ps: you write so good!!

Thank you for the compliment friend!!~ I can definitely do that for you!!

✒Lucifer🗃

He would go to take your hand in his, flinching as he barely touched your hand, watching you turn around immediately.

As you lashed out at him, his once calm smile would slowly fade to a frown.

Once you realized it was him you covered your mouth and apologized, trying to stop the tears from coming out of your eyes.

He really wanted to hug you, but as he reached for you he restrained himself, not wanting to upset you or scare you. It's not even something he wanted to think about.

If you gave him permission to hold you, then he would immediately wrap his arms around you, holding you close and resting one hand on your back, the other on the back of your head, keeping your head pressed against his chest, eventually planting a gentle kiss on your forehead.

"It's okay. You don't have to tell me why you reacted like that... but I'll be here to listen if you do."

He would listen to every word, not judging you. If you didn't tell him then he wouldn't mind either, just comforting you the best he could.

💰Mammon💸

"Oi! Oi!! Oi!!! It's jus' me, darlin'." He put his hands up defensively, just moving to get something out of your hair but earning a lash out from you.

Once you realized it was him you sighed and apologized.

He shook his head and put his hands down, pouting softly and murmuring; "I thought ya' were mad at me."

You assured him that you weren't, cupping his face and caressing his cheeks with your thumbs.

He leaned into your touch, the pout slowly subsiding, reaching up to your wrists so he could keep them still, asking if he could touch you this time before touching you as you consented.

He sighed and gently held your wrists, giving you a worried expression.

He didn't ask because he didn't wanna pry, but you could tell he wanted to know, so he could comfort you better and try to understand why you reacted that way to his touch.

🍥Leviathan🪼

He poked your shoulder, gasping as you turned around so suddenly.

He covered his mouth as you lashed out on him, whimpering softly, not used to seeing you so angry.

"Y-Y/N..." He murmurs, making you realize that you yelled at your poor otaku boyfriend.

You sniffled and hugged him, apologizing over and over.

He slowly wrapped his arms around you, hesitant since you just yelled at him about him touching you.

He caresses your back, whispering; "...You wanna go watch anime?"

You pouted and looked up at him, appreciating how he didn't ask why you lashed out on him, agreeing to watch anime with him.

📚Satan🐈‍⬛

He went to wrap his arm around you to surprise you in a GOOD way, but felt you jolt and push him away and widened his eyes as you lashed out at him.

He just stood there stunned, taking in your wrath and blinking.

You realized it was him and shook your head, saying you were sorry and that it wasn't his fault that you lashed out.

"It's okay. I shouldn't have snuck up on you." He admitted honestly, not holding it against you.

You sighed in relief, glad he wasn't angry at you for lashing out towards him.

He did seem concerned at first, but realized that he may have been in the wrong and taking your past into consideration, not wanting to hurt you or make you uncomfortable.

He walked with you, not attempting to touch you for a while until you told him that it was okay to do.

💅Asmodeus🛍

He giggled as he saw you, prancing up to you and putting his hands on your shoulders.

He squeaked as you turned around immediately and lashed out towards him. "Eek!!"

He put his hands up, pouting worriedly as you harshly lashed out.

You realized who you lashed out on and whimpered, pressing your forehead against his chest.

"It's okay, hon. I should've asked before touching you." He admitted, taking your small gesture as a sign that he could safely touch you, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into a comforting yet loving embrace.

He held you for a while, eventually whispering to you; "I'll be there for you if you ever wanna tell me." He said, noticing the trauma in your eyes as you turned around earlier, not pushing anything and giving you an affectionate smile.

You nodded, calming down and listening to him change the subject, wanting to get your mind off of those bad memories and focus on him again. Even if he changed the subject to himself, he was still endearing.

💪Beelzebub🍔

He held a bag of your favorite food above your head, poking your head to get your attention.

He stepped back and widened his eyes as you suddenly lashed out towards him, his expression going to a more stoic one.

He stayed silent as you realized it was him, not even questioning why you lashed out at him, just holding the bag of food he got for you so you could join him for lunch.

He placed the bag in your hands, not even daring to touch you, having a feeling that that was the issue.

You pouted and looked up at him with a pout, gently holding the bag and apologizing to him.

"Can I touch you?" He asked, keeping a serious expression on his face as he asked.

You nodded and hugged him, thanking him for getting you food.

He wrapped his muscular arms around you tightly yet comfortably, a small smile forming on his face.

"You're welcome. I got your favorite." He smiled more brightly, knowing you'd cheer up instantly upon hearing that.

You perked up and smiled brightly at his words, glad he understood you and didn't make a big deal about you lashing out towards him.

🍣Belphegor🌠

He went to lean his head on your shoulder sleepily, instantly jerking his head away as you yelled at him.

He immediately woke up from your tone, pouting worriedly.

"It's me..." He said softly, watching your face drop.

You hugged him and said you were sorry, earning a surprised hum from him, he chuckled and nodded.

"It's okay. I'll ask next time." He gave a small smile, not minding your anger, finding it quite impressive.

He rubbed your back in lazy circles, hugging you gently and looking at you.

"Let's go home and take a nap together." He murmured.

He gave you a gentle pat on the head, taking both of your hands in his and still smiling as he gazed at you.

He truly loved you, so the wrath you presented when you didn't know it was him, only showed him that you were loyal and only liked him touching you.

He didn't question why you lashed out, deciding not to bring it up since it might be a rough subject, walking with you back to the house of Lamentations, so the two of you could take a well deserved nap.

[lexirosewrites]

here for a future slick sunday (wow, it's been a minute since i've submitted something 🫠) thinking about omega heats. very specifically, relationships between omega heats and pregnancy/parenthood

i have a few little ideas/personal headcanons to share, but i would also LOVE to hear anyone else's thoughts!

first, what seems to be pretty widely accepted, is that omegas don't have a heat when they're pregnant (a lot like a period)

i also wanna add that in some rare instances, a lot like in real life with periods, it CAN happen during pregnancy. i headcanon that in those rare situations, it's a lot more subdued than a regular heat would be, and a lot shorter. like a little mini heat

and of course, in my brain, no heat = no rut in bonded alphas. tho, i do think it COULD be different in non-bonded pairs, especially in certain circumstances. again, like real life humans, it probably varies person to person and situation to situation

so now for the part that sparked this whole submission: the first heat postpartum.

i was thinking about it while writing a steddie omegaverse thing, and really wondered what that first heat might entail. obviously, if there's no heat during pregnancy, it would be quite a bit of time between heats. plus, there's all those funky postpartum hormones and a fresh pup and everything. i think that first one would be Rough™️

personally, i like to think that it also ramps up a little slower. the first day or so is just typical body aches and pains, but also the instinctive need to just be with their pups all day. hold them and stay curled up together in the nest and just generally remain within arms length of all their pups at all times, ESPECIALLY the newest pup (no matter how old they are when that first heat finally hits)

from there, i think it takes AT LEAST another day for the omega to finally feel comfortable with their pups being away from them, as the heat really settles in and their need for their partner starts to overpower that original instinct

they still need to know the pups are okay. constantly. every tiny sliver of conscious thought is worrying about the pups. they need to have near-constant updates from whatever caregiver/family member/whoever is keeping the pups for the duration of the heat. if there's no satisfactory update, no way for the omega to know for absolute certain 100% that their pups are safe and taken care of, it can have detrimental effects. severe distress, omega drop, and rejection sickness among them

that's all i can really think of right now, but i just think it's a neat concept. i also don't feel like it's talked about enough (i don't think i've ever actually seen anyone mention it, tho that's not to say it never has been). having children changes a lot of things in someone's life. i've just wondered a lot recently how that might affect omegaverse tropes and i've been meaning to write this out and submit it for like a while now tbh but i kept forgetting to actually do it.

okay, that's all for now. happy slick sunday friends :))

oooooh yes i love all of this. makes sense that the first heat after a pregnancy would be rough and an omegas mind would 100% be on their pups when they have clarity🥺

[really-bibi]

【ｓｔｒｉｎｇｓ　ｏｆ　ｍｙ　ｈｅａｒｔ】

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚pairing: han jisung x reader ⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖summary: your boyfriend and his guitar mesmerizingly capture your heart, yet again. ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚warnings/genre: fluff. that's literally it. its very cheesy though i warn you. ⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖notes: ive been working on this one for a bit and like omg guys wait i actually like this one.. improvement??? i hope u guys like it, english isnt my first language so there might be some grammar issues,, anw enjoy!! ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

the late afternoon sun filtered softly through the windows of jisung's room, casting a warm glow across the scattered sheets of lyrics and music notes. you were sitting cross-legged on the floor, your back leaning against his desk, watching him intently as he adjusted the strings on his guitar.

it wasn't the first time you had watched him with that guitar, but each time felt like a new experience. there was something so captivating about the way he handled it, the way his fingers moved so effortlessly over the strings, each note he played creating its own world.

"you know, you're like a rockstar when you play" "a rockstar, huh? you really think so?" "definitely."

he laughed, but there was a flicker of genuine pride in his eyes as he strummed a few chords. "i don't know about that", he said, "but i've been working on something new. wanna hear it?"

"of course! 'm all ears."

jisung's eyes sparkled as he fixed his posture, the guitar resting comfortably on his lap. he gave you a quick glance, and then he started playing, his fingers dancing across the fretboard with practiced ease. the melody was light at first, almost like a gentle breeze, but then it deepened, the rhythm picking up as if telling a story of its own.

it was mesmerizing. the way his fingers moved, the way his focus was entirely on the guitar, but still somehow aware of you watching. it felt like a private concert, just for you.

the music flowed through the room, and with every strum, you couldn't help but smile. it wasn't just the melody that was beautiful, but the way he made it sound so effortless.

"what do you think?"

"i think you're amazing, even if i do tell you that, like, every day", you said honestly, your heart fluttering a little. "that was perfect."

jisung chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "baby... you're making me blush."

"good. you deserve to blush", you teased, moving over to sit next to him on the bed. "but seriously, how do you make it look so easy? i’ve seen you play this guitar a million times, and it always sounds so good."

he shrugged, his lips curving into a soft smile. "it's all about feeling the music. when you're really in the moment, everything just falls into place."

you watched as he gently caressed the strings of the guitar, his fingers moving with a kind of reverence. there was something magnetic about his passion. it wasn't just the guitar or the music, but the way he could lose himself in it.

"i've been working on another song for a while now", he said, his voice suddenly quieter, almost hesitant. "i haven't shared it with anyone yet. maybe… i could play it for you?"

you could hear the uncertainty in his voice, and it made your heart warm. "i'd love to hear it, baby. i’m sure it's incredible."

he smiled, but it was a little shy, before he started playing again. this time, the melody was slower, more soulful. it was deep, full of emotion. like each note was carefully chosen, each chord a reflection of something personal. it was the kind of song that made you feel something in your chest, even if you couldn’t quite put it into words.

when he finished, you could tell he was waiting for your reaction, the air between you thick with anticipation.

"that was beautiful", you said softly, your voice almost a whisper. "you really put your everything into that song, didn't you?"

jisung nodded, a slight blush coloring his cheeks. "i guess i did. it's.. kind of personal. i wasn't sure if anyone would understand it."

you reached out, gently placing your hand over his. "i understand it, jisung. its exactly what makes you, you. and i'm so lucky to get to hear it."

he looked down at your hand, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. then, he let out a soft laugh, as if he was finally letting out a breath he'd been holding in for a while.

"you're the best" he said, looking up at you with that sincere, slightly bashful smile. "i'm glad you like it.", "you know, i think i've officially fallen for this guitar… and its owner. yet again."

jisung raised an eyebrow playfully, his grin widening. "oh? you’re saying it's not just me you’re in love with?"

you smirked back. "i'm still deciding… but you've got some stiff competition" you teased.

he laughed, his eyes shining with amusement. "guess i'll have to win you over again."

"good luck", you said, giving him a wink. "but i think you're already halfway there."

jisung chuckled softly, setting the guitar down on the bed. he turned to face you, his gaze softening. "well, it looks like i've got my work cut out for me. but i'm not giving up anytime soon."

and just like that, with the sweet sound of his music still lingering in the air, you knew one thing for sure. there was no one else you'd rather spend this moment with than han jisung. the guy, the musician, the heartthrob who’d already played his way into your heart. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ a/n: im actually proud of this one!! i used a little bit different formatting than my other fics but i like how this turned out