#But there's nothing savory about them

[bowbow-the-clown]

... The Lord Of AnchorDeep Nautical Fiction ...

... A MUST READ For Anyone In The Land Of The Old Faith ...

[starrysharks]

freaks!

[tartagliatum]

mmm older childe carrying a lil extra weight on his waistline bc he finally settles down with zhongli, who loves nothing more than taking care of him. always a dragon at heart, gift giving is a major love language of his, and doting on childe feels like a behaviour intrinsically written into his DNA.

childe who's a little insecure when his clothes become a bit snug - not necessarily about his body, but because it means he's gone soft - and zhongli who shows him why soft is good. shows him just how much there is to love, how much more of him there is to grab and sink his teeth into. zhongli who kisses and praises his little stretch marks and worships every change in his body, any small difference that may have planted seeds of doubt in childe's mind.

worrying he and his insecurities are burdensome, zhongli assures childe that there's nothing more he loves to do than bring him to his favorite bakeries and restaurants and ply him with all of his favorite foods. watching his eyes light up, his tongue lick the crumbs from his fingers, his lips stain red from wine as he relishes every delicious bite, savors every rich taste.

zhongli is even happier seeing him enjoy his food; seeing him enjoy and settle into life, now that he has the time for it. the proof of this joy, manifesting in a soft, gently curving arc of a wider middle, in plumped thighs and rounded cheeks and a heavier frame when he sits in zhongli's lap, is only something to treasure. the archon more often that not finds himself touching childe with such affection; in public, in private, wherever they are, he cherishes the life they have together. he slides his hands over the gentle slope of his middle, pressing his fingers into the pillowy softness. he cups his face when he kisses him and brushes his thumbs across the apples of his cheeks, admiring the new gilded freckles. glides his hands over his thicker arms, widened hips, the tender flesh of his thighs, soaking in how beautiful he looks and how utterly divine he feels.

his stomach, in particular, zhongli admires. somewhere a little healthier to rest his head when sleepiness washes over the two and they snuggle close in bed, childe's fingers absently twirling his dark hair around his fingers. somewhere a little more nourished to settle his hands when he wakes up and the redhead is already making two coffees through a haze of sleep, smiling crookedly with hooded eyes and a gruff good morning when zhongli hugs him from behind. he nuzzles his own cheek against childe's. slips his hands over his inviting middle, palms fitting perfectly over the gentle swell of his warm belly. pressing innocent kisses to his neck, he slips his hands up his shirt to appreciatively sink his fingertips into the yielding softness, calming the small growls of morning hunger.

childe with little bite marks on his tummy chub. with finger print bruises on his thighs and pliant hips. with stretch marks and a plush cushioning to his body, built from the delight zhongli takes in providing him the life of luxury he deserves. signs of comfort, of care, of love, instead of just wounds and scars from a life of violence. zhongli finds himself warmed by the changes in his body and how comfortable he's gotten. looking after him is something he once feared the battle-addicted harbinger would not be able to live long enough to let him do; and now, both in retirement, he doesn't waste a single minute passing up the privilege to do so.

[s0dium]

Warning: Horny Geto Suguru, male masturbation, fantasizing about various sexual activity, breeding

Geto Suguru cannot stop having sick fantasies about you.

He hates himself for it. He hates the fact that you linger in his mind like a melody he can't forget, weaving through his thoughts at unexpected moments, filling him with a relentless desire that only grows stronger with each passing day. He wants to forget about you he really does, but his stupid brain can't seem to let go of you.

Of course, you wouldn't know this. You have no idea that he spends hours dreaming about you, undressing you with his mind, and playing with you until his heart's content. Certainly, you have no idea how various his fantasies are, from stuffing your cute hole with loads upon loads of cum to sticking a vibrator on your clit and watching you squirm and cry for him. Fuck, he's drooling right now thinking about it.

The fantasies have become so intense, so tangible, he's even started to engage in less-than-savory activities. Subtly, almost imperceptibly, Geto finds excuses to be near you, to catch the faint scent of your shampoo or the unique fragrance that seems to encapsulate your essence. At the dead of night, Geto will touch himself to your beautiful pictures on your Instagram, staring at your pretty lips and imagining them around his dick. God, how would you feel if you knew these innocent pictures of yourself were being used to get yourself off?

Geto shudders as he drags his hand up his shaft. He's already so sensitive just from the thought of you. The pleasure dulls his senses as well as the wall he kept up against those sick thoughts he has of you. Geto bites the inside of his cheek as he moves his hand faster up and down his length. The euphoria is immediate, milky white beads of precum dribble from his angry red tip that he uses to accelerate his motions. Oh god, he can't stop them now, the dam has been broken, now he can't stop the thoughts, the thoughts about what he'd fucking do to you.

"Fuuckkkk y/n.." Geto is not a whining man, but here he is, his voice laced with a certain vulnerability as if he was pleading for you, begging for you. He wonders what you would look like underneath him, face covered in his milky white cum. Jesus, he'd probably smear it all over your tits and lick it off you, maybe even force you to swallow his load.

"Y/n please please please," He practically gasps, the syllables of your name roll off his tongue like a caress, each one imbued with a sweetness that contrasts starkly with his unholy ministrations. Geto jacks himself off feverishly, desperate to feel the pleasure that he can taste so sweet on his tongue. He knows, lord he knows that his fist will be nothing compared to the real thing, compared to the squeeze and wetness of your soft walls but right now he will have to make do.

Thats when a new idea hit him. Could he make you squirt on him? Geto moans at the thought, his hips bucking up into his fist. Oh yes, that would be a dream, for you to squirt all over his dick, his fingers, shit, his face. If, no, when, he gets the chance, he won't stop licking your sweet cunt, he will suck and lap at your clit like an animal in heat.

Strands of Geto's black hair are starting to stick to his forehead. He is so close, his abs are contracting and his toes are curling and uncurling from the pleasure. Yes, Geto Suguru swears he will do all of those things, he will get to live these fantasies in his head with you he promises himself this. He will fuck you in doggy, in a mating press, on a table, on the floor, fill you up with cum in all your holes until your begging him to stop oh god hes gonna cu-

"Nghhh y/n fuckfuckfuck."

Geto suguru's mind goes blank white as his hips buck into his hand and white ropes of cum spill from him.

Yes, Geto Suguru will experience those sick fantasies he was with you.

[gloomwitchwrites]

Last one I swear...What If 141...had an American girlfriend and they argued or had to teach them about some cultural differences? Football/soccer...currency...bathroom/loo, etc.

You said last one but we know that's not true. Don't blame you though. Keep them coming.

I love this idea. It's so cute! Translation mixup, confusion about slang, cultural differences, etc. Even though the Brits speak English, it's nothing like American English in a lot of respects, which is why I find this prompt so fun!

Wanted to make this quick and short. Presented in four drabbles. Enjoy!!

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

Task Force 141 x Reader

Content & Warnings: brief swearing, brief mentions of alcohol

Word Count: 400

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

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

“Those are cookies, Kyle.”

“It’s a biscuit.”

“No,” you say, shaking your head. “A biscuit is savory. Cookies are sweet.”

“Your biscuit is a scone.”

“Oh my god,” you groan.

An old lady navigates around the two of you inside the grocery store. Her cart almost clips you.

Kyle glances down at the list in his hands. “What the fuck is an eggplant?”

“We need it for dinner on Tuesday.”

“But what is it?”

You point and Kyle follows. His arm drops to his side and he side-eyes you.

“That’s an aubergine.”

“That’s an aubergine,” you mimic as Kyle laughs.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

The front of the pub is painted all black with intricate gold lettering. A nearby streetlamp casts the front window in a warm glow.

“Remember what I told you?” asks Simon.

You both stare at the pub, neither moving to the door just yet.

“Tell me again.”

Simon clears his throat. “If I’m buying a round, don’t offer money for your portion. Order at the bar but don’t linger. Know what you want. Respect closing time.”

He pauses and you see him turn in the reflection of the window.

“Got it?” he asks.

“Got it.”

“Let’s get bloody pissed then.”

John "Soap" MacTavish

“You’ve got this. Don’t stress.” Johnny grasps your shoulders and squeezes. “It’ll be fine.”

“What if I mess up. Make a fool of myself?”

“You won’t,” he affirms.

“Johnny.”

He sighs and then cups the sides of your face. “You don’t have to say anything but three things.” You breathe deep, and Johnny goes in for a quick kiss. “What are they?”

“Aye,” you say. “Which means yes.”

“Naw,” and this is you emphasize with a terrible accent that makes Johnny wince, “is no.”

“What else?”

“It’s okay to use ‘fuck’ casually in a sentence.”

“That’s my girl,” laughs Johnny.

John Price

“If you’re coming to the game, you’re calling it by its proper name,” says John, pointing at you.

“What?” you ask with pretend aloofness. “Soccer?”

“Football,” he growls with annoyance.

It irritates John when you call the sport by its American name. But you do it anyway just to tease him.

John holds up a jersey. “This is important to me.”

“I know.”

“It’s a game with the boys.”

You pat his shoulder. “I know, John.”

He sighs. “What is it called?”

You remain quite and John arches an eyebrow.

“Soccer,” you answer, grinning.

“You’re lucky you’re so damn cute.”

taglist:

@km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @miaraei @cherryofdeath

@enarien @saoirse06 @ferns-fics @unhinged-reader-36 @miss-mistinguett

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@taysarchive @gingergirl06 @eternallyvenus @smileykiddie08 @vrb8im

[yndrgrl]

you + katsuki bakugo's relationship dynamic <3

fluff. cute lil drabble. established relationship. ooc! bakugo. any au you want ig haha. gn! reader.

warnings: innuendos but nothing crazy

a/n: another drabble before i drop a long, hardcore mafia boss! dabi x spy! reader smut 👀

-

before bakugo found you, his friends pictured him dating someone dainty, soft-spoken, & just all around quiet. however, when you came into the picture, your dynamic just made so much sense.

the two of you clicked & meshed so well together. you were outgoing, kind yet snappy, & you were just glowing whenever you were with katsuki.

your friends were worried when you first got with katsuki, knowing you. you were the type to take no bullshit from anyone, not afraid of conflict, & you were just so headstrong.

what shocked everyone the most is how katsuki change when with you. we all know katsuki; if you look at the guy wrong, he'd punch the look off your face before you could even blink. he was always yelling profanity at someone with a seemingly permanent scowl on his face. the nicknames he gave people were less than savory.

but with you? you could say whatever you wanted, you could act like a princess brat & he would just dote on you. it was your way, or the highway. katsuki would go to the ends of the universe for you-- even if you just wanted a cup of tea. no mean names for you (unless under the shirts), you were his darling, his love. how could he not worship you? you're just so perfect.

he's just so happy to be in your presence, it was as clear as day. he would never say it out loud (unless you batted your pretty eyes at him, of course), but he just relished in your beauty.

loving katsuki is the easiest you've ever gotten the pleasure to experience. people say that he would start fights then never back down. it was quite the opposite, though. he would tease you because you were just so cute all huffy & puffy, but once you started to get actually upset, he would immediately deescalate the situation. profuse apologizes would flow out of his mouth, butterfly kisses up your arm, & if you were truly mad, he would look so hurt.

your fights were rare & far in between. honestly, there wasn't much to fight about because he would avoid them like the plague. you didn't like when he did something? he literally unlearns it on the spot. you didn't like he wasn't doing something? he would immediately jump into action, mentally burning it into his brain.

he didn't want to lose you. you were an angel amongst a dirty sea of sinners, & he was your ever-so-willing worshipper.

he loves that he gets the privilege of seeing your sweet side. you give the world your rough exterior with glimpses into your true self. however, when with him, you can let go of the facade. there was a never ending flow of compliments coming out of his mouth.

"darlin', you're just too sweet for me." "god, i can't believe i'm the lucky one who gets to praise you." "(y/n), you're just so mmm."

life with him got comfortable, never boring. you had your routines. on monday, you'd call at 9 p.m. until midnight. on fridays, you'd get off of work at 6 p.m., & he'd already be outside of your house, waiting to pick you up for a date.

"oh, how i adore you, (y/n)."

[paperultra]

back of house.

Pairing: OPLA!Vinsmoke Sanji x Fem!Reader Word Count: 1,113 words Warnings: Mild swearing

If it weren’t for his principles regarding women, you’re fairly certain Sanji would’ve throttled and strung you up to dry by now.

“I … I’m impressed, sweetheart,” he says with a bright smile, though under the swinging lights of the kitchen it seems more out of pain than pleasure. “You managed to burn water.”

Your cheeks flame as you peer into the blackened pot with him, all traces of the water you’d been tasked with boiling completely gone. Vanished. You have no idea how or why.

“I’m sorry, Sanji.”

“No need to apologize. Everybody makes mistakes –”

“Sanji!” you hear Zeff before you see him round the corner. “Why the hell do I smell something burning in my kitchen?”

“None of your business, old man,” Sanji snaps immediately, murmuring a quiet excuse me, dear to you before taking the pot by the handle and heading to the sink. He twists the faucet open and running water roars like thunder in your ears as he thrusts the pot underneath. “I have it under control.”

“Under control, eh?" Zeff says. He suddenly turns his squinted gaze upon you, and you shrivel. “This your doing, missy?”

“I –”

“Leave her alone,” Sanji interrupts. “I didn’t give clear enough instructions. It was my fault.”

“Oh, there’s no doubt about that.” Eyeing your guilty and defeated figure next to the stove, Zeff shakes his head with a sigh and points you to the door. “[Y/n], go out and wait tables for the rest of your shift.”

Immediately, you make a move to remove your apron. “Oka –”

Sanji makes a noise of dissent and turns the faucet off. “Wait tables? She can still chop the vegetables and help me plate.”

“You’ll do that yourself. Front of house needs the extra person, anyway.”

“I’m her mentor.”

“And I’m the damn boss.”

The rest of the staff roll their eyes and carry on while the two men argue in the middle of the kitchen. You swallow and take your apron off, balling it up in your hands. This isn’t the first time they’ve butted heads over your incompetence, and watching them now cuts at your last shred of dignity.

Clearing your throat, you grimace when Sanji’s head whips around to look at you.

“Zeff’s right,” you tell him. “Dinner rush is coming up soon and I’ll just be in the way, anyway.”

Zeff grunts with satisfaction.

The expression on Sanji’s face reminds you of a kicked puppy. “But …” he begins to protest.

“Oi, you heard what she said. Get back to work! We have customers waiting!”

Sanji blusters about before heading back to his station, casting you one final, forlorn look as he does so. You imagine that your own face looks just the same when you turn to leave.

—

You take orders and serve customers for the remainder of the day, as promised, and help with cleanup after closing time. And then, long after the sun’s dipped below the horizon, Sanji joins you on the upper deck with a steaming bowl of seafood fried rice.

“For the madam,” he says with a smile, offering you the bowl.

You accept it silently and take a bite as he sits down next to you. It’s perfect like it always is – savory and warm on your tongue, happy and gentle in your stomach. You’ve never known a home quite like Sanji’s cooking.

His eyes remain fixed on you as you eat all of the rice, scraping the bowl for every last grain and setting it down beside you once you’re finished.

“Thank you.”

“It’s nothing. I figured it would cheer you up.”

“It did.”

It did, and yet, your lips tremble and your throat closes up. You clench your hands into fists in your lap.

Sanji’s hand immediately presses your shoulder as you sniffle. “Are you alright?” he questions worriedly.

(His attentiveness strikes you like a hot iron sometimes, even now.)

“Why haven’t you given up on me yet?” you whisper.

His brow furrows. As if it’s obvious, he answers, “You want to be a cook. A lady’s wish is my command.” Sanji pauses. “And I can’t call myself the greatest cook in the East Blue if I can’t teach others to be great cooks as well.”

“I think you’d be the greatest regardless.”

You glance at him through watery eyes in time to see his face flush a deep red. He looks away hastily, chuckling with feigned modesty. “I’m flattered that you think so highly of me.”

Your shoulders lift in a shrug as you look back down at your hands. You reach up to blot away your tears.

How could you not think the world of Sanji? Or the world of anyone at the Baratie, for that matter? When you were kicked off the merchant ship you’d stowed away on two years ago, you had been sure that you’d be banned from setting foot in such a fine-looking restaurant. Years of scorn and slammed doors had not given you the chance to think otherwise.

But Sanji spotted you on the docks, called you madam like you really were one, cooked you a meal in the kitchen and talked to you. Zeff gave you a job and a bed of your own. The staff gave you a family.

“We’ll try again tomorrow. I’ll figure out something that’ll make everything click for you, and you’ll be a proper cook in no time.” Sanji leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and winks up at you. “I promise.”

As always, your heart skips a beat.

“Okay.”

Maybe, you realize suddenly, you don’t necessarily want to be a cook so much as you want to love the way Sanji does.

“That’s my girl.” Standing up, Sanji takes your empty bowl in one hand and offers the other for you to take. “Now, shall I walk the madam to her room, or does she wish to stay out on the deck for a while?”

You allow yourself to grin, considering. “The madam wishes to stay out here and …” you hesitate but then decide to soldier on, “and possibly chat with a dear friend for a few more minutes?”

Your pulse pounds in your ears.

Sanji’s eyes widen a bit. Then he blinks, and then he smiles, drawing his hand back and quickly sitting down next to you once more.

“A lady’s wish is my command,” he says.

He takes out a cigarette, making a quip about Patty while he lights it, and your combined laughter rings out across the Baratie. It’s perfect like it always is – savory and warm on your tongue, happy and gentle in your stomach.

Indeed, this is home.

[anisangeldust]

————————————————————————-

Office Hours 𝜗𝜚⋆

Summary: Anakin definitely has a favorite student.

Pairing: Prof!Anakin x Student!Fem!Reader

Warnings: READER IS 18!, masturbation (m receiving), mentions of sex, no use of ‘y/n’, undertones of grooming.

A/N: Ik this shouldn’t be glorified, but i also crave for an older man to tell me he’s proud of me and that i’m doing a good job <\3. Also i hope the perspective changes make sense in this!

PART 2 HERE!

————————————————————————-

Anakin loved grading your work, in fact, he set aside your papers so he could grade them together.

He taught a required course, one that all student who wished to have a degree in anything to do with English had to take and pass. Some hated it, most just did their work and got their grade.

But not you.

You cared, Anakin could tell. you were always on time, you were attentive, a gifted writer, a wonderful person, and a great student. On top of all that, you were the prettiest girl he’d ever seen.

At first he kicked himself for his feelings, telling himself it was inappropriate, that it was wrong, how dare he think about one of his students like that! But you were 18 and he was only 32, that’s not so bad right?

The more he stared to feel about you, the more he let himself think about you. How could he not? When you always wore little pink bows at the back of your pigtails, when your lips were always pink and glossy, your cheeks always flushed when he’d compliment your work. You were truly an angel, perhaps a goddess; but that didn’t matter to him.

He’d worship you either way.

The ding of a clock indicated that he had 30 minutes to grade before his next class started, the class you were in, and he dug into the pile of ungraded work like it was the best book he’d ever read.

The last assignment Anakin gave was easy but long, a research paper on a book of your choice. Then you had to take notes on your work and turn in the paper and notebook.

He was giddy with he saw yours, the essay neatly tucked into the cover of the notebook, adorned with a small smiley face on the corner by your name. Anakin saved yours for last, a little treat he reminded himself as the other students’ work was less than savory.

When he got to yours he opened it up and almost groaned with excitement. never would he be over how neat and tidy your handwriting was, nor the fact that you wrote the whole thing in with a crisp, pink ballpoint pen.

Your work was superb, as always.

Anakin could have cum in his pants from how careful your essay was, the time and detail was apparent as he read through your incredible notes. He read both over and over again before the filing in of students reminded him that class was starting soon.

He wrote a few notes on your work and put it in the stack of graded notebooks to hand back.

————————————————————————

“Brilliant work as always clever girl”

The words seemed to jump out at you, they were right next to the big red 98% on the corner of the essay you just got back from your favorite professor.

Surely it meant nothing, he was a professor, an educator, he was meant to praise those who did good, so why when directed to you did it always feel so different?

‘Maybe i’m just better than the people in here’ was the thought that jumped forward in your mind, of course your professor didn’t have a crush on you! what a silly thought to even entertain!

Yet his glances at you when you left the classroom, and the fixing of his pants when you smiles and waved at him made you think otherwise.

————————————————————————-

Anakin was rock hard when your class got out. the look on your face when you saw your final grade and the little note he wrote was enough to make a lesser man moan out loud. The way you chewed on your nail the rest of the class and jotted down notes had him sitting down so his erection was less apparent.

Naturally, he wasted no time when the day ended.

He quickly discarded himself of his blazer before sitting in his desk chair and unzipping his pants, his aching dick slapping against his stomach as he pulled down his boxers and immediately started rubbing the pad of his thumb over his leaking tip.

He wondered what it would feel like if it was your cunt, the mewls that would erupt from your throat, the desperate movement of your hips as he pounded you into his desk, the wet slapping of your arousal, god he craved you.

After gently teasing himself for a few moments, he fully wrapped his hand around his full length and began to messily jerk himself, your name falling from his lips like a sacred mantra.

The moment felt so good, the feeling of his hand was heavenly against his aching length, it was so good that he began to wonder what he could do to get you to let him fuck you, asking you up front could lead to him losing his job, no.. he needed privacy, he needed to know you wanted it to.

Ropes of cum spurted from his fat dick, the moments of clarity allowing him to think of the most perfect scheme.

————————————————————————-

The flutter in your heart was almost painful, you had ran the moment over and over again in your mind. Double, triple, quadruple checking that you weren’t crazy, that your beloved professor did, in fact, call you sweetheart.

If you were a man you’d 100% have a boner right now.

All you did was mention how you were proud of yourself for your grade on your last assignment, you were not expecting your beloved Professor Skywalker to quip back with-

“I’m proud of you too sweetheart”

-you could’ve cum right there, and you might’ve if you didn’t race out of that classroom like someone was chasing you.

This was wrong, horrible, ghastly. Though he wasn’t married, he had a tendency to ramble during his lectures, he was still 32! a whole 14 years older than you! But no amount of self-scrutiny could stop you from wanting to tangle your hands in his shaggy blonde curls while you rode him like a stallion.

———

The next few weeks felt interesting to say the least.

It seems your professor was un-aware of how much he was affecting you. the semester was coming to a close, so he rid himself of his blazer to prepare for the summer air, dawning only a white button up that displayed his back muscles the way they deserved.

You wanted to rip him apart, claw at his back until it was bloody and raw, suck on his skin untill you were the only thing he could feel, you wanted to destroy him, the only stronger feeling in your system was your want for him to destroy you.

His little notes also changed. It went form standard teacher notes like:

Awesome! or you did great!

to ones you could tell he only left on your paper, adorned in the corner of everything you got back was:

good girl, i’m so proud, i knew you could do it princess

It was getting too much to bare, he even started to touch you, to let his hands linger. Like when he passed you in the library and places his hands on your hips to move by you. It was too much.

He had to know what he was doing right? he had to know that you were rubbing your pussy raw to the thought of him, gridding pillows and hooking up with random boys that had similar mops of curly blonde hair and piercing cobalt eyes. he had to right?

He did.

————————————————————————-

Anakin knew he had you. Weeks of teasing, testing the waters, leading you to him, and you finally took the bait.

When he opened his E-Mail this morning and saw one from you he almost jumped out of his skin. it was professional, just you saying that you’d like to chat about your grades, but he knew, he knew the moment you walked in that you were his, that you’d do whatever he wanted.

It just so happened he was unavailable the rest of the day after you scheduled your office hours.

———

Anakin groaned, he thought maybe he could wait, that he could hold in his desires for after you two spoke, but he just couldn’t. He was uncomfortably. hard, his whole body was shaking from need, and it was still 5 minutes until you had scheduled to see him.

despite his better judgments, he undid his belt and palmed himself through his boxers, it felt so good, his balls were heavy with need and the tiny wet patch indicated that he needed to get off, now.

Yanking down his boxers, he did the same thing he did everytime he was alone with the thought of you, his hand pumping up and down his fat cock. The only thing he could hear was the sound of his own heartbeat in his ears. he was so deaf, in fact, that he didn’t hear the rattle of the turning knob to his office door.

“Professor Skywal-“ your voice was sweet like velvet. His eyes shot open.

shit.

————————————————————————-

[shotmrmiller]

Imagine wearing one of fighter!Simon’s big shirts but it’s not actually his. It’s Johnny’s and Johnny sees you in it. (He’s never wash that shirt again)

you are soooo foul for this.

you're washing your clothes for the umpteenth time because simon comes home bloody more often than not, and he doesn't particularly care if he smears it all over you.

digging through simon's rucksack he uses to store his own clothes in (you're gonna go to hobby lobby and get him a portable closet even if it's the last thing you do) the shirt you pull out is worn and tattered, with holes around its stretched neckline. it's a washed blue and the material is so thin you can see your sports bra underneath. it's a good thing that scottish creep isn't coming home tonight— something about having a romantic dinner date at the italian deli around the corner. (you've long stopped begging simon to get a flat of his own, that man's an immovable object.)

you're bent over with your head almost inside the dryer as you toss some of your wet clothes in when the familiar clicking of the front door closing shut alerts you that simon's home.

the welcoming words you have on your tongue lodge in your throat when you realize that simon's not home, but his buddy is. soap. and his gaze is on the shirt you're wearing, but not where you'd expect it to be: on your clothed chest. it's lower, where your navel is.

"oi. eyes up here, bud."

he hums, acknowledging, a rumbling noise that comes from the back of his throat but does not look up at you.

"shirt looks good on ye. but then again," his blue eyes cut to yours, hunger blazing in them, "ghost's always had good taste."

fucking creep. "yeah, well. surprising, considering his wardrobe consists of black; the occasional wild grey making its rare appearance." you close the dryer door with your knee. "didn't you have a date or something?"

he scratches around the healing laceration on his eyebrow. "aye. jus' came back fer somethin'."

uh-huh. he leaves with nothing. and when simon actually comes home, through bites of his savory chinese food, he asks you why you've got johnny's shirt on.

[baldval]

There isn't enough wholesome shipping content so can I ask for Alastor, Angel, Husk, the Vees, and Lucifer with an S/O who likes to cook and bake and it's their primary love language. Hust making sure they've eaten or have treats to snack on or even cooking with them.

BAKING W HAZBIN!₊˚⊹♡

characters: alastor, angel, husk, vox, velvette, valentino, lucifer

warnings: incredibly fluffy fluff fluff fluff

a/n: this can be mostly read as both platonic or romantic (except for the parts where i explicitly say that it's romantic) so enjoy x.

ALASTOR:

ᰔ lowkey probably has never even baked before.

ᰔ just never had any interest in it.

ᰔ he really likes eating baked goods tho.

ᰔ especially the sweet stuff.

ᰔ total sweet tooth.

ᰔ he helps out sometimes in the kitchen at home, but nothing crazy.

ᰔ if you like baking, and you invite him to come join, he is so down.

ᰔ he's not the best at it, and you'll need to guide him through a lot of the process.

ᰔ but he is so eager about it.

ᰔ will request that you bake specific things together depending on what he's craving.

ᰔ if he has a crush on you, he'll become more bold about his recipe requests.

ᰔ he'd also try to intitiate baking hangouts more often.

ᰔ the entire time he'll be sneaking glances at you with this cute slight blush on his face.

ᰔ he is no stranger to pretending to not know how to do something so you'll come over and help him too.

ᰔ if things get more serious, i can see him getting more into it.

ᰔ but it'll always be more your thing.

ᰔ your number one supporter though.

ᰔ brags about you and what you baked all the time.

ANGEL:

ᰔ another one to not really be seen baking unless someone invites him to do it.

ᰔ except unlike alastor, who can make do, he's terrible at it.

ᰔ he can kinda cook?

ᰔ to an extent.

ᰔ but his baking is on a whole other level.

ᰔ he does really enjoy it though.

ᰔ just… mostly aesthetically?

ᰔ the process of creating something from scratch, assembling the ingredients, kneading them together, and watching them become something beautiful.

ᰔ it's all very soothing to him.

ᰔ loves the smell too.

ᰔ regardless of if you're in a platonic or romantic relationship, he would never decline an invitation to come bake with you.

ᰔ though he would definitely stay on the sidelines, prefering to instead keep you company and hand you what you ask for.

ᰔ will send you recipes that remind him of you.

ᰔ if he has a crush on you, or if you are in a romantic relationship with him, you might notice him making every excuse on earth to spend more time with you in the kitchen.

ᰔ and he'll do everything he can to help out too!

ᰔ passing you tools, giving you praise, cleaning up after you, brushing the flour from your cheek.

ᰔ name it, he'll do it.

ᰔ he's so sweet about it too.

ᰔ will offer to feed you, and never fails to have the biggest grin on his face when you agree.

HUSK:

ᰔ local hotel bartender probably does not bake.

ᰔ probably pretty impartial to sweet things as well.

ᰔ he's just more of a savory guy.

ᰔ if you liked baking, and you ever decided to invite him along for the ride, he'd actually be down for it.

ᰔ it's not his thing, but it's yours.

ᰔ and if it'd make you happy to spend time with him like that, he sees no reason to say no.

ᰔ just make sure to guide him along and give him tasks.

ᰔ otherwise he's completely lost.

ᰔ if he has a crush on you, I could see him taking interest in your favourites.

ᰔ shyly requesting to cook those together next time.

ᰔ he'd try to appear nonchalant about the final product, but inside he's actually pretty happy he did it.

ᰔ especially after seeing your reaction.

ᰔ and if you guys do end up getting more serious, he may actually even end up getting pretty good at it.

ᰔ even going so far as to learn a few recipes by himself .

ᰔ he just wants to learn how to cook the things you like the most.

VOX:

ᰔ never thinks about baking honestly.

ᰔ he likes baked goods, but he just doesn’t see himself getting much out of making them.

ᰔ has all the ingredients available to him if he ever changes his mind tho.

ᰔ prefers things with dark chocolate or berries.

ᰔ and especially likes eating them with his daily cup(s) of coffee.

ᰔ if you like baking, you’ll have to invite him if you want him to join you.

ᰔ he’s not good nor bad at helping out, and will prefer if you take the lead for the majority of it.

ᰔ he will bring over the little extras or whatever you’re missing.

ᰔ and as you serve up, he’ll offer to make you a drink or something simple to go with it.

ᰔ if he has a crush on you, he’ll start including you in his little 'vees' snack grabs.

ᰔ and if you ever mention needing something but not being able to find it in town, he’ll secretly get velvette to special order it.

ᰔ if you end up getting into a relationship together, he’ll make sure you’re always stocked up, mostly on general ingredients, but especially any decor.

ᰔ likes buying you sprinkles or marshmallows and making you custom mixes.

VELVETTE:

ᰔ love, love, LOVES anything tangy, zesty, or citrusy.

ᰔ doesn’t bake though, and doesn’t know how to either.

ᰔ but not because she doesn’t want to.

ᰔ just because she never really has had to.

ᰔ she knows she can just hire someone to bake anything she's craving.

ᰔ only to later on realise that nothing anyone bakes will ever compare to what you make.

ᰔ if she ever has a craving, she’ll go straight to you.

ᰔ would also love to join you in your baking endeavours.

ᰔ if she has a crush on you, you’ll probably see an influx of messages from her describing the newest baked goods she’s tried or heard about.

ᰔ or she'll straight up just send you recipes.

ᰔ she’d also probably memorise your favourites, and find herself subconsciously looking for them whenever she goes shopping for herself.

ᰔ if you get into a relationship together, and especially when you move in together, i could see her indulging in baking as a pastime more.

VALENTINO:

ᰔ val knows he's not good at baking.

ᰔ but he loves doing it so much.

ᰔ and you can see how eager he is about it.

ᰔ so you're of course, super encouraging.

ᰔ truthfully, his baking isn’t that bad.

ᰔ i mean, he makes mistakes often.

ᰔ and things usually end up a bit burnt .

ᰔ but you can always eat around stuff.

ᰔ likes a big range of baked goods and flavours.

ᰔ but especially likes eating whatever you make for him.

ᰔ he might ask you for help to make sure nothing goes wrong.

ᰔ you’ll figure out quickly that’s he’s actually got a lot of good ideas.

ᰔ if he has a crush on you, he’ll start recommending you his favourite recipes.

ᰔ he’ll also ask you for help more often.

ᰔ if possible, he hopes that you’ll be able to make something together.

ᰔ and of course you do.

ᰔ if you do get into a relationship, he'll keep baking.

ᰔ he knows he's getting better and might get all cocky about it with everyone else.

ᰔ but behind close doors, he kisses you as he states that he owes it all to your help.

LUCIFER:

ᰔ actual closet baker.

ᰔ has a cute apron and matching utensils.

ᰔ wears it all the time.

ᰔ he's like- really good at baking bread.

ᰔ he'll make it all from scratch.

ᰔ he even has a few starters setup - uses it for his lunches.

ᰔ he gets so awkward whenever he tries to gift you one of his loaves.

ᰔ if you ever ask to bake with him, he'd accept, but only if you're at least good friends by this point.

ᰔ and he'd be a little hesitant about it too.

ᰔ if he has a crush on you, and you get past that initial shyness, will invite you to bake with him all the time.

ᰔ he's pretty dependable too!

ᰔ if there's anything you're unsure about, he'd be willing to teach you.

ᰔ he loves to put on your apron for you.

ᰔ if you're in a romantic relationship, will bake things for you all the time.

ᰔ totally the type to put pretty designs into what he bakes as well.

ᰔ he'll write "i love you" in a cake you're working on together while you're not looking.

[sencrose]

— COUNT YOUR BLESSINGS, I’LL COUNT MY SINS

pairing: suguru geto x f!reader

tags: DUBCON, coercion/heavy manipulation, stalking by proxy, fingering, cunnilingus, breeding, power imbalance, reader can see curses but is not a sorcerer/curse user, one mention of making reader into a mother lol

wc: 4.9k

a/n: idk what to say lol this has been in my drafts for 3 years and i’ve been working on it on and off since ‘21 so if the writing style feels all over the place it’s because it is. ao3 link here

summary: suguru usually doesn't pay any mind non-sorcerers, but when he realizes you can see the cursed spirit wrapped around him, his interest is piqued. he'll bring you to him, using less than savory methods.

To no one’s surprise, Suguru Geto, the most wanted curse user in Jujutsu society, is not a big fan of outings. Especially those in Tokyo. Then again, he promised the girls that he would take them on a day out. Nanako and Mimiko being the trendy teens they are, insisted on a day in the city. So he finds himself in some trendy cafe with overpriced drinks and photogenic food. The girls are excited of course, saying it’s something they’ve been eyeing out on Instagram for the past few months.

As soon as he steps into the cafe, he’s greeted with the sickly-sweet aroma of baked goods wafting through the air. It’s decadent and overwhelming, as if the simple act of inhaling will coat the back of his throat with syrup. It’s safe to say he won’t be ordering anything for himself but a black coffee. The walls are a rosy pink, decorated with frames of dried flowers and neon light fixtures of faux-inspirational quotes. The glass case at the front of the store has various arrays of grandiose drinks and picture-perfect desserts on display.

While the girls are dressed for the occasion, Suguru sticks out like a sore thumb in his casual attire of a loose t-shirt and jeans. He could have dressed up a bit more, but something about matching outfits with a dessert he’s not going to order doesn’t sit right with him. More importantly, the thing that sticks out most about him isn’t his outfit or the lack of photos he’s taking on his phone; it’s the unsightly worm sitting around his shoulder.

It’s for protection. Any regular citizen won’t be able to see it and if he were to be spotted by a sorcerer, it’s good to have a weapon on hand.

As he waits at a table with the girls, he can’t help but notice someone staring at him. Upon another glance, your stare isn’t necessarily aimed at him, but the creature on his shoulder. An alarm in his head is ringing, but he maintains his cool composure, not wanting to worry the girls. He can never be too careful. It may have been nearly a decade since he’s been cast aside by Jujutsu society, but he still has a death warrant above his head.

There are three options. First, you’re a jujutsu sorcerer sent to kill him. You haven’t made a move or shown any signs of calling for help, so he could rule that out. Second, you’re a curse user. Then again, you haven’t hidden your gaze. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. He can feel your eyes burn a hole into his shoulder. Any curse user worth their salt wouldn’t be so obvious. So that leaves the last option: you’re an unfortunate civilian who was born with the ability to see cursed spirits. It may be a curse to some, but to Suguru’s eyes, this was a blessing. An opportunity.

He should be disgusted with this intrigue; you aren’t a sorcerer after all. But this is different. 

Your lingering stare has nothing to do with his status as one of the most despicable sorcerers of all time, nor does it have anything to do with the false religion he runs. It has everything to do with the deformed worm wrapped around him. Suguru excuses himself from the table, as he makes his way towards you. His steps are careful, calculated, with his shoes gently tapping against the linoleum floor.

“Is something the matter?” He wears a smile on his face, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, feigning politeness. His sudden question causes you to jump, briefly taking you out of your staring contest with the creature wrapped around him.

“N-no, sorry.” You can’t bear to look him in the eye, your gaze going back and forth between the worm on his shoulder and the half-eaten dessert on your plate.

“Is there something on my shoulder?” He looks past the creature resting so casually on him. You immediately ball your hands into fists, knuckles white with how tight you’re squeezing. Regret blooms in your chest, your heart pounding so hard you can feel it in your ears. You never should have looked in his direction.

“No, I’m just… just spacing out a little. My bad.” you lie through your teeth, hoping the explanation is enough for him to leave you alone.

“No, my apologies. Enjoy your meal.” he leaves it at that, offering a wave as he walks away.

He walks back to his table with his hands in his pockets, an air of nonchalance to him. He leaves you alone, for now. That doesn’t stop him from stealing a look or two on occasion. He finds it cute, how flustered you get when your eyes match his for a split second. He can see your heart skip a beat when your body jolts a bit out of your seat.

You remind him of a helpless rabbit, the way your hand slightly trembles as you bring up your fork for a bite of your pastry. He ponders the idea of taking you apart, piece by piece, savoring your pleas and cries as if they’re part of a decadent three course meal.

A soft chuckle escapes his lips as he takes a sip of his black coffee, looking at you through half-lidded eyes.

Maybe the girls could use a mother.

—

You’re used to strange sights every now and then. It’s something nobody around you ever seemed to understand, dismissing your long-winded descriptions of horrors as an overactive imagination. You’ve since given up on explaining your visions to others, but they haven’t given up on you.

They sit on people’s shoulders, hover around their heads, and stare into your soul, as if they’re aware that their existence is a dirty little secret kept between the two of you.

Over the years, you’ve learned that the easiest way to deal with them is to treat them like an unsightly drunk: leave them alone and you’ll be left alone. Do not, under any circumstances, make eye contact. Do not acknowledge its existence no matter how scared you are. Of course, you’re not perfect; sometimes you see something so strange you can’t help but look. Especially as of late, it’s been becoming more and more difficult to hold yourself to your self-imposed standards.

It started with a small beige creature, with unsightly bulging eyes and translucent wings. It followed you everywhere, wings humming incessantly in your ear as it hovered around your shoulder. It eventually left after you refused to give it any attention, only to return with a swarm of its friends. Silence was a rarity. The noise only got louder as night approached, depriving you of a good night’s sleep.

It would be one thing if it ended there, but it only seemed to get worse as time passed by. If it wasn’t the constant buzzing, it’d be the strange things you’d find in front of your apartment door. Another deformed and wretched looking creature, sitting innocently on your welcome mat as if it has every right to be there. It burns a hole into your chest with its stare, presenting an toothy grin as it looks up to you.

By the time morning comes, it’s gone, leaving a single note in its place. It’s neatly folded in half, crisp black ink displaying a message that raises more questions than answers.

“Doesn’t it get tiring seeing them all the time? It’s only going to get worse the longer you wait. Why don’t you help me help you?”

Reading the note only adds to your sleep-deprived headache and dwelling on it isn’t going to make it better. Your eyes pass over the neat handwriting a few times before you fold it back up and leave it on your desk.

Truth be told, running on fumes for the last couple of weeks has taken a toll on you. You’ve fumbled simple tasks you’ve never messed up before;  dropping items while restocking, giving the wrong amount of change, handing over the wrong pack of smokes. It doesn’t help that your manager is quick to reprimand you, yelling his head off until his face turns red. There’s no use explaining or drawing up excuses. It’s not like he’d understand. It’s not like anyone would understand.

Your walk home is an exhausting one. Your steps and sighs are heavy, unsure how else you’re supposed to get this pressure off your chest. You would close your eyes for some relief if you weren’t convinced you’d fall asleep while walking. 

You can’t help but feel like something is watching you, or worse— following you. It’s different from the winged creatures. There’s no noise to accompany its presence but you can feel it in your bones – in the way your breath hitches, the way you're constantly looking over your shoulder for relief, but relief never comes.

A single street light flickers along the otherwise well lit street. It doesn’t feel right. It feels out of place compared to the rest of the road, but it is your normal walk home, and nothing’s ever gone wrong before.

Yet as you approach the light, the flickering becomes more erratic. It buzzes incessantly, growing louder, louder, nearly trembling until the bulb bursts into pieces.

Even with the absence of one streetlight, it shouldn’t be this dark. The road ahead fades into blackness as you walk forward. The darkness swallows everything whole. You try to walk back from where you came but the road you were walking on just seconds ago, is gone. Your hands tremble as you reach for your phone. You turn on the flashlight in an attempt to see anything. It doesn’t do much to help. 

Your heart is starting to race now as you try not to let panic set in. In all your days taking this commute, you’ve never experienced something like this before. Your fingers shake as you attempt to go through your contacts and text your coworker. You’re not too far from the store, they’re probably close by. As your finger presses on the arrow to send the message, a red exclamation point pops next to your text. Unable to send.

Was this always a dead zone?

You take a deep breath but it does little to soothe your nerves. You flash your light forward, attempting to continue your walk home, hoping that you can rest in the comfort of your bed soon. With each step you take, the air becomes uncomfortably cold as it fills your lungs. The darkness seems to be everlasting until you can barely make out a figure in the distance.

The sigh of relief seems to leave your body too soon as you start running towards it, desperate for help only for your steps to diminish upon a closer look.

A woman stands in front of you, long black hair obscuring her face with some features peeking out between the strands. Her smile looks inhuman, jagged sharp fangs unnaturally stretching out her mouth with drool leaking out of the corners. She stands disturbingly still in her disheveled white robe, her left hand bandaged and holding a pair of rusty snips.

“Am I beautiful?” she asks.

You open your mouth to attempt to answer, but fear takes over. It’s as if cotton blooms in your throat, choking you out of a proper response. Your hesitation only agitates her, as the grip around her snips tighten. The moment you’re able to blurt out an answer, the blade flies past you, grazing your cheek to draw blood.

Before you can muster a reaction, the street returns as swiftly as it disappeared, the previously flickering street lamp returned to its former glory. The woman is nowhere to be found, but you can feel the burn from the cut she’s left behind on your face.

The silence cradles you, chills you with its embrace. You turn your head, left, right, take a few steps back before looking around again. 

Any idea of a calm walk back is quickly thrown out the window. Desperation and dry air rushes into your lungs, harsh tramps slap against the pavement with a twinge of ache in your knees. Your legs burn as you push them to their absolute limit until you make it back to your apartment, clumsily scrambling through your key ring. You shake as you slam the key into the lock and turn. 

As soon as you get inside your apartment, you turn the lock with a heavy clack before collapsing onto the floor. You take a moment to recollect yourself, hand on your chest to steady your heaving as you swallow to alleviate the dryness in your throat. 

You jolt back into a panic when the sound of footsteps pass by, stopping right in front of your apartment. 

Knock. 

Your heart stills as you stare at the door. For a moment you swear it stares back.

Knock.

Time stands still as you hold your breath, desperately hoping that whoever’s outside leaves. 

A pen scribbles on your door for a moment, before the crisp sound of paper folding flits past your ears. With a gentle glide, a note slides under your door, landing right at your feet. 

“That looks like a rough cut. Are you sure you can keep living like this? What if it only gets worse? Help me help you. I can make them all disappear.” On the back is an address, which upon a quick search, leads to a monastery on the outskirts of Tokyo. 

You look back at your door, trembling as you contemplate looking through the peephole. 

With the gentlest steps you can muster, you approach the door, pressing your hand against it for balance as you look into the peephole. 

Nobody’s there. Still, you tremble. 

— 

You spend hours scouring the web to find anything about the monastery, which ends up with you on some seedy forums. Other users post about their experiences with spirits possessing them, all healed by a monk who goes by Geto-sama.

“I couldn’t get any sleep for months and Geto-sama healed me in a moment’s time!”

“This spirit was following me for weeks and I thought I was losing my mind. Geto-sama’s the only person who believed me and gave me the help I needed.”

“Geto-sama truly is a saint sent from above. He was kind and reassuring throughout the entire spirit removal process, and it was completely painless. I can finally feel like myself again.”

It’s nothing but pages upon pages of reviews saying how this Geto-sama is a miracle worker, nothing short of a God. The more you read, the more uneasy you feel. It seems too good to be true. You do your best to find something, anything resembling a bad or even neutral review, but your search is fruitless.

Maybe it’s the lack of sleep, maybe it’s the burning desire for a day of peace, but after reading countless testimonials you start to believe he can help you.

Maybe you could be convinced.

—

The heel of your shoes clack louder with each step you take up the stairs leading to the monastery. A heavy sigh leaves your lips as you stare at the large wooden doors in front of you. It takes a decent amount of effort to push it open, creaking slightly as it reveals a dimly lit room.

You’re not too sure what to expect of this so-called savior. No matter how hard you looked, you couldn’t find any pictures of the man in question. None of the reviews went much into detail about the process, just that all their problems were solved. He is supposedly kind, but it doesn’t seem to dull your nerves as you stand in the dark room.

You can make out a few things: pale bamboo flooring, intricate latticework windows with dark mahogany accents, and a man wearing a Buddhist robe standing at the back of the room.

He steps towards you, his face becoming clearer as he gets closer.

“What brings you here, little one?”

You know why you’re here, but the words dissipate in your throat as it sinks in that you recognize this man. The memory rushes back into your head; the cafe, the strange worm, his confrontation, the stolen glances.

Your mind races a million miles a minute, your heart beating a little harder, a little faster. Every nerve in your body is telling you to run but fear keeps you frozen. You’re barely able to mutter a weak plea,

“P-please don’t hurt me.”

Gentle fingertips hold your chin, tilting your head up to face him.

“I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here to save you.” His thumb delicately brushes against your bottom lip as he repeats himself. “Now tell me, why are you trembling so much?” Your lip quivers as he tilts your chin to meet his gaze. 

“Y-You. You’re the one that sent them after me, aren’t you? You’ve been leaving those notes at my door. I-I don’t know how but-”

He interrupts you with a melodramatic sigh.

“And what if I did?” A ball forms in your throat as you struggle to string your thoughts into cohesive sentences, only able to let out a meek, 

“Why?” Your body trembles as you take a step back. 

“Why not?” he retorts with a sly smile that sends a chill down your spine. 

“W-what do you want?” You take long steps back until your body is pressed against the door. Geto follows, making slow strides until he’s right in front of you. He’s so close you can see the rise and fall of his chest, the individual strands of obsidian that frame his face.

You try to open the door but it’s locked shut. He slowly steps towards you, your back pressing against the door.

His expression shifts, looking displeased as you struggle to escape.

“Are you leaving now?” He asks in a tone that is clearly meant to mock you, pouting his lips to feign concern. He grabs your hand as you continue your failed attempts to pull the door open. “And what are you going to do when you get home?” 

He doesn’t need to hear your answer; he can see it written on your face as your eyes shift between him and the grip on your wrist. A mix of uncertainty, fear, and helplessness. He knows he holds all the power. Who’s going to believe you? Who else can you turn to?

“Don’t you want to be saved from these evil spirits?” His hand gently caresses your cheek before sliding carefully down your neck. 

“Don’t you want to have a full night’s rest?” His hand continues to wander down, his arm wrapping around your waist. His face gets dangerously close to your face before he whispers, “To not live in fear?”

His gaze holds you still. When you can find it in yourself to look away, his hand holds your chin and forces your eyes to meet his. You shouldn’t be here – a realization you’ve made far too late. Like a snake wrapping around his prey, you’re well into his trap, ripe for the taking. There is no escape. So with a tightness in your chest, and a tremble in your voice, you let out a soft,

“Y-yes.”

“Then help me,” His fingers grab onto the zipper of your skirt before pulling it down, “help you.”

His hand slips into your underwear, slowly stroking your folds before drawing languid circles on your clit.

You try to push him away, grab his arm to move him off of you, which only causes him to tease you more. There’s nowhere to escape with Geto imposing his body onto yours, pushing you further against the wall.

“Just take what I give you and I can make them all go away.” The warmth of his breath lingers by your ear. Tension builds in your chest as you grow unsure of what to do, but there is one thing you are sure of.

You’re tired of fighting, tired of persevering. 

Your grip on his arm loosens, which he takes as an answer. 

“Don’t worry, you’re in good hands.” He looks pleased with himself, looking through you with heavy lidded eyes.

His hand moves painfully slow, his fingers occasionally slipping into your hole just to slide back out.  Your legs squeeze together at the intrusion, your breaths becoming labored the more he plays with your cunt. A soft moan escapes you, and Geto perks up upon hearing.

“Oh?” His lips form a devilish grin before slipping his fingers in all the way. “Let me hear more of you.” 

He scissors his fingers inside you, his thumb reaching to play with your clit. The stretch drives you insane as you lean your head back to let out a shaky moan. He slowly starts to pump his fingers inside, lewd sounds of his fingers pumping your wet cunt echoing in the empty room. 

You hate how good it feels. His fingers reach places you never could, fill you up more, and hit that special spot that has you seeing stars with startling accuracy. You cover your mouth with your hand, embarrassed at the obscene noises escaping you only for Geto to move it away.

“Don’t make me repeat myself. I want to hear more of your cute voice.” He looks into your eyes with a piercing gaze before picking up the pace. You can’t bring yourself to meet his gaze, but Geto’s hand grips your cheeks before turning your head to face him.

The debauched expression on your face sends blood flowing to his cock. He wants to see more: your face contorting from pleasure, the bounce of your tits as he fucks you, his cum leaking out of your poor quivering hole. Just the thought is enough to drive him crazy. His other hand makes its way to your clit, drawing tight circles. You can’t hold back your moans, the tension in your core building as he continues to fuck you with his fingers. 

“G-Geto-sama!” Your hands clench into the fabric of his robe, desperate for balance as your orgasm washes over your body.

“That’s more like it.”

Once his fingers are out of you, you slide against the wall before dropping onto the floor. Your heart feels like it’s going to beat out of your chest; you’re not sure if you can take any more. 

“There’s more work to be done.” Geto smirks as he looks at his hands, admiring the way your arousal glistens on his fingers. 

He slides the top of his robe off his shoulders, revealing his toned arms and hints of a chiseled body. His hands press on your inner thighs to spread your legs before him. Heat rushes to your face as you try to close them shut, only for him to spread them apart further. 

“Don’t be shy.”

With the grace, or lack of, that’s unbecoming of a monk, he buries his face into your cunt. His tongue feels foreign as he licks your folds before making his way to your clit. Unlike the cool and composed air he had when he was fingering you, the way he eats you out is primal. It’s filthy, how he spits on your cunt before going back in with a grin on his face.

Your back arches off the floor as he continues, tension building in your stomach with each passing moment. His hands spread your folds apart as he gets a better look at your cunt before twirling his tongue around your clit.

Your hand hesitantly hovers over his head before his hand grasps yours and presses it against his head. 

“Eager now, are we?” He laps at your juices before pressing a finger into your hole, achingly slow.

Your labored breaths become soft moans as he indulges further. His tongue makes lewd noises as he traces your folds before sucking on your clit. Tension builds in your core as he gradually picks up the pace, his fingers going faster and hitting deeper, his tongue drawing tighter circles. 

“G-Geto-sama, please I’m getting close!”

He abruptly pulls away, heavy breaths escaping him as he wipes the mixture of your arousal and his spit off his face with his sleeve.

“Then beg.”

“H-huh?” His response sends blood rushing to your face, your cheeks feel like they’re on fire.

His fingers tease your hole, shallowly inserting one in before removing it. He’s agonizingly slow and he knows it’s driving you crazy. He takes great pleasure in seeing the embarrassment strung across your face.

“G-Geto-sama… Please, please-”

“Please…?”

“Let me cum.” you whimper pathetically, attempting to rut your hips against his hands for some much needed release.

“What was that? I didn’t hear you.” He takes his hand away from your body, staring you down with a smile.

“P-please let me cum!” The words slide off your tongue with ease this time around, desperation riddling your voice.

“That wasn’t so hard now, was it?” The sound of shifting fabric fills your ears as he removes the rest of his garments and tosses them off to the side.

Nothing could have prepared you to see his body in its entirety. His robes did him a disservice, hiding his toned muscles, slightly glistening with a sheen of sweat. Your eyes trail over his stomach, wandering lower until they reach the base of his cock. A chill crawls up your spine, trying to fathom how something so large is going inside of you.

He catches your expression as his hand wraps around his cock, giving it a couple of pumps before lining it up with your hole. 

“Don’t be scared, little one. I promise you’ll feel good soon.” It enters you slowly, filling you up inch by inch. You’ve never felt this full, there’s no way your toys could ever compare to the real thing. The size, the warmth, the way it throbs inside you.

Geto lets out a breathy groan once he bottoms out. Your walls wrap around him so tightly, as if your body is begging him to cum inside you.

It takes every ounce of self control in his body to not rut into you at a dizzying pace. He wants to savor this, building you up only to have you fall apart in his arms. The desire to ruin you, to keep you wrapped around his finger burns hot in his chest. He steels himself before starting with slow strokes, his breathing labored. 

His hands reach for your blouse, ripping the buttons off their threads as they scatter across the floor. Deft fingers make their way to your bra, tugging down to reveal your chest. His hands are warm, almost like they’re melting into your skin as he plays with your breasts, fingers drawing circles around your nipples. Your moans only get louder as he continues to explore your body. His fingers pinch your nipples and an involuntary squeal escapes your lips. 

He leans in towards your ear before slyly whispering, “You need to be louder if you wish to be saved.”

You don’t have a chance to respond as he rams his hips into you, striking a spot that has you seeing stars. His pace is relentless, heat building in your stomach with each stroke. It’s hard to form any cohesive thoughts, much less sentences, when you’re chasing a high on his cock.

“Work harder for your salvation, little one.” he teases.  

And you do. 

You moan his name like a mantra, press your hips harder into him, chasing your own high. You bring him into an embrace, your nails scratching his back as an offering. 

“You’re holding me so tight- it’s like you want to bear my child.”

“W-wait-” Panic strikes your chest but Geto strikes his hips harder into you, cutting you off.

“Is that what you want?” he coos, gently tracing your jaw with the back of his hand before tilting your chin to face him. “That’s why you came here, right?”

You want to say no, that you came here to stop being haunted by spirits, but every part of your body is melting in pleasure, screaming yes. It’s impossible to even articulate an answer, your mouth only speaking in slurred moans and pants.

The sound of your moans is music to his ears. His lips press against your neck before biting down, earning a yelp from you in surprise. 

“I’ll give you exactly what you want.” he whispers in your ear, his hips striking into you harder. 

“W-wait, Geto-sama, please!” you attempt to plead, only to sound more like a sultry moan. 

“I’ve waited long enough,” he groans into your ear. 

His dizzying pace is hard to resist, as you feel yourself getting close. With a few more thrusts you feel your walls clamp around him, waves of ecstasy washing over your body. Geto follows soon after with a choked moan, warmth filling your insides. 

Geto removes himself from you shortly after, admiring the way his seed leaks from your hole. 

As he revels in the mess he’s made of you, he’s already conjuring up plans to bring you back to him. How should he torture you next? What pathetic expression will you wear when you seek his help? 

You’ll be back soon enough. He’ll make sure of it.

[elixirfromthestars]

On Days Like This

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader (established relationship)

Summary: The comforts of sick days with your boyfriend Matt.

Word Count: 1.1k

Warning(s): fluff / descriptions of mild sickness / sick + comfort

requested by anonymous

a/n: hello! i'm jumping between wips and i was able to finish this bingo request 💖 originally it was just going to be the first part, but then I got carried away 🤭✨ as always feedback is appreciated! and my writing challenge is still on going 💗

birthday bingo masterlist ♡ // main masterlist ♡

When He's Sick

“ Matt, don’t even think about it,” you warn as he reaches for the armrest of the couch. You know what he’s about to do and you refuse to let him do it. You’re not letting him move a muscle while he’s sick. 

“ I got it,” you add, rushing to the front door and answering the knock that rang throughout his apartment seconds earlier. Matt grumbles something under his breath as he sinks back onto the couch—a resigned sigh leaving his lips. 

Your boyfriend gets a little grumpy when he’s sick. He relies on his senses to see and it’s hard to do that when he can’t breathe out of his nose and has a constant ringing in his ears. The delirium of his ongoing fever further muddied his brain. The clouding of his senses was overwhelming to say the least and you were trying your best to help remedy that. 

You open the door and grab the items you instacarted to make him some homemade chicken noodle soup. You make your way back to the kitchen where you take the items out and start preparing the meal.

You peak out into the living room. Your boyfriend resembles a child all snuggled up into the blue cotton blanket you draped over him earlier. The slight hum of the television in the background casting a light glow onto him. 

He won’t admit it now, but he secretly loves being taken care of. Its not a feeling he’s used to, but when it comes to you he welcomes it. 

When you’re done preparing the ingredients, you pour them all into a pot to simmer. You wash your hands thoroughly and then make your way over to your boyfriend. Its time to take his temperature again.

“ Hey, how are you feeling?” You ask, your tone filled with a gentle worry. You lower to your knees to be eye level with him.

“ Like my head’s going to explode,” he groans quietly. You give him a weary smile, pressing the back of your hand to his forehead. You’ve done this so many times you can’t tell if his fevers gone down or not. 

“ Open up,” you request as you inch the tip of the thermometer to his lips. He does as told and you take his temperature. 

“ One hundred and two. Looks like that medicine is starting to kick in. You were at one o’three earlier,” you say, slightly optimistic. This does nothing to cheer your boyfriend up as he’s still in his sickly haze.

You kiss your fingers and then press it onto his lips,“ Soup will be ready soon. I promise it’ll make you feel better,” your voice brings him a comfort he direly needs. Coupled that with the indirect kiss and the way you’re brushing away the strands of sweaty hair from his face—he’s in heaven. 

“ Thanks, baby,” he manages to croak out. You brush another strand from his face and he leans into your touch. “ No need to thank me. I’m here for you,” you reply with a soft sincerity. 

Damn the medicine and the soup. All he needs is you. 

After about another forty minutes the soup is done and served in a bowl. You let it cool down a bit before heading over to the couch, setting the bowl down on the coffee table. Matt can faintly pick up the savory aroma in the air and he gently sits up. He intends to reach out to grab the bowl until you swat his hands away lightly. 

“ No. I got it. You focus on getting better. I’ll do the rest,” there’s a slight pout on his lips as you say this. You’re tempted to kiss it away, but you stop yourself. The last thing either of you needed was for you to get sick too.

You blow on the soup a bit before serving him the first spoonful. The warmth spreads throughout his body blanketing him better than anything else did. 

You were right. The soup did make him feel better.

When You're Sick

A content sigh escapes you as Matt massages the lavender scented shampoo into your scalp. His fingers are delicate, but working with purpose as he lathers every strand. Your body was already melting into the bath, but with the way his hands were working—you’d soon melt into him. 

There wasn’t a strand of hair left untouched by him. He gave every bit of it his full attention. Wanting to make sure he was doing things right. He had never done this for anyone before. 

The bath was Matt’s idea and his doing. When you came down with the flu and complained about your achy muscles and congested sinuses—he knew just what to do. 

Well, more like the internet told him what to do and what products to buy.

His every touch was gentle and soothing. The scent of lavender was calming to your senses so he left it in your hair to settle for just a bit while he worked on lathering a rosemary scented body wash into your skin. His fingers work in slow circular motions, applying just the right amount of pressure to pacify the ache. 

“ How’s that?” he asks, fingers gliding over your back as his circular motions continue.

Now you were completely melting into his touch, “ Perfect. That seriously helps so much,” you reply a little breathless, your eyes closing to focus on the feeling. 

Matt grinned, pleased that he was able to help you. He loves taking care of you as much as you take care of him. Being the one you can lean on, on days like this, means everything to him.

When You're Both Sick

“ Come here,” Matt’s quiet voice rings out in his dark bedroom. The slightest sliver of moonlight coming from his window. His arms are outstretched in your direction as you make your way into the covers. 

You sniffle briefly as you snuggle into his side, his arms enveloping you immediately. You clear your throat to hold back a nasty cough that is trying to fight its way out of you. 

Your bodies tangle under the blanket, trying to calm the chills that run through both of you. Matt’s head rests delicately on your head as your face nestles into the crook of his neck. 

The cold medicine starts to take effect as your eyelids get heavier. Matt’s breathing has relaxed signaling to you he’s on the verge of falling asleep too. 

“ Goodnight,” you whisper, tilting your head to plant a soft kiss to his jaw. 

“ Goodnight,” he whispers back, planting a loving kiss to the top of your head, pulling you impossibly closer to him. 

You fall asleep just like that.

[cod-dump]

this scene won't leave me be

---

Makarov stared at the champagne bubbling in his flute, "I think I'll kill them all. Maybe leave only one behind."

Graves was quick to laugh, "I wouldn't advise that. You're fucked if you do that. It doesn't matter who you leave, once you kill their everything, they'll have nothing left to lose."

Graves wasn't their friend anymore, he had no hope in repairing whatever he had with 141. But him not being their friend or ally does not mean he doesn't know them. He could let Makarov fuck around and find out, would be fun slowly watch him lose everything... if he was kept alive long enough to enjoy that.

But Graves still had fondness for them, he didn't want them to die, especially didn't want them to suffer, no matter how they felt about him.

Makarov seemed to listen to his warning and actually take it to heart. The man was dangerous, crazy, but he wasn't an idiot. He was smart, thought ahead and listened to advice given to him, even if from a prisoner.

"If I am to kill them, I need to do it all at once? I like a challenge."

He smirked predatorily, drinking his champagne in a slowly, savory manner. If he was worried about his adversary he didn't show it. Graves used to think he was on Makarov's level, could maybe get in his head. They weren't the same, Graves couldn't read him. He was a true wild card.

"Leave a note on how you want your funeral."

Graves wasn't an idiot, he knew how this was going to end. He was on the receiving end of them, and he had gotten very lucky. He was alive after all. Makarov? He was already a corpse. He just hadn't started rotting yet.

[daenysx]

Hey darling, just wondering if i could make a request about modern!aemond? it can be just some drabble about his wife(reader) telling him about her pregnancy, or them finding out their gender💘

hi, i'm a bit self conscious about this but i hope you enjoy! thank you for requesting <333

modern!aemond targaryen x pregnant!fem!reader , fluff

aemond started counting down the days since you told him the date of your appointment with the doctor.

he tries to be cool about it because the most important thing for your baby is to be healthy, he didn't really think about gender. he keeps calling the baby 'baby' , nothing specific, and to be honest he doesn't picture a girl or a boy in his arms when he imagines of the moment he finally gets to meet with the baby.

now, though, when you said you can find out about the gender at your appointment, a sudden chill runs through him. it's a funny feeling and no matter how calm he tries to be, he realizes he's excited beyond the words.

he wakes up earlier than you on the day of appointment, gives your cheek and the baby sleepy kisses. your hand goes to stroke his hair when he presses his lips on your belly but he's quick to not fall for your tricks. you always wanna stay in bed longer and somehow convince him to accompany you. this morning, he will not fall for that. he has things to do like finding out the gender of his baby.

you've been craving savory stuff for breakfast lately, and aemond took that as a challenge to find new options for you to eat. he's preparing the eggs when you walk next to him in kitchen, you kiss his cheek soundly before leaving for bathroom. it's all part of a routine and luckily you have more time to spend with him today since he got the day off.

"so, do you have any guesses?" you ask, after both of you settle down for breakfast.

"i feel like it'll be a girl." aemond says as he puts some olives on your plate. he gets some for himself too. "it doesn't matter if it's a boy or a girl, of course. i'll be happy either way."

"i think it's a boy." you smile. a little boy who looks exactly like your husband is one of the nicest dreams. "and, boy or girl, they will definitely have your hair."

aemond laughs at that. you take a sip from your tea. "i get so excited every time they make us listen the baby's heartbeat. it all becomes real. hard to imagine a baby growing in me otherwise."

you look really beautiful pregnant and aemond makes sure you know that. like you really know that. he finds himself staring at the changes he can spot on your body most of the time, especially in the mornings when he wakes up before you. your skin has a new type of glow, your belly grows bigger, and you have a sore back but it's all been okay until now.

the drive to hospital is filled with your favorite songs. aemond has a small smile on his lips and he doesn't try to hide it. his hand finds yours easily, leading the way to the doctor's room. it's like living a moment that has been there before. he thinks he's watching a movie scene, you're the actors, and now the doctor says her lines.

he can only focus on the sound of his baby's heartbeat. the room is silent. aemond doesn't necessarily believe in miracles but surely this must be some kind of a miracle. a part of both of you, alive and has a heartbeat. it's so beautiful. you can't help your tears, let them roll down on your cheek freely.

"are you ready to find out about the gender?" your doctor asks with a smile. again, it's like a movie scene. aemond holds your hand, you give the doctor a tiny nod. she keeps looking at the screen, her eyes squinting just a bit. aemond feels like his heart will stop.

"okay." she says, her finger pointing something on the screen. "here, can you see that? that's your girl, right there."

a girl? it fits right in to every dream aemond has. no, because what can be more beautiful than having a baby girl who looks like you? he imagines her tiny face, chubby cheeks and softness only she can offer, and he's never dramatic but it's enough to die as a happy man.

"it's a girl?" you ask, crying. "aemond."

he kisses your hair. you're happier, more than you thought you would be when you find out. the doctor says she's healthy and everything looks good, which is a huge relief. you give her nods as she talks about what will happen in the next weeks. aemond can remember those parts from the pregnancy book he read before.

the movie scene stops when you're back in car. it's the reality now. you will have a girl. a silver haired baby, maybe, with your eyes. aemond's smile is bigger now and he never lets go of your hand. now that the baby can have name options, it all becomes more- real.

"i can't wait to meet her." you say. aemond agrees. he can't wait to be a girl dad.

[lowkeyremi]

Thank you for the meal! rengoku kyojuro x fem!reader

nsfw mdni!! not proofread sigh

Kyojuro Rengoku is always saying thank you before his meals. It's muscle memory for him to do so. He would never forget the kindness of someone who prepared him a savory mouth-watering meal. He also never knows if his next meal will end up being his last.

This translates to the bedroom when he's on his knees for you, admiring your pretty pussy. It's the first time you two are trying something like this. You were too scared to suggest it though, scared that he'd be disgusted by such a request. Even though you know he loves you to death and will protect you with his whole life.

----

He came to you about it actually. The way he talked about it so casually was beyond your understanding because you were a squirming mess the whole time.

"I was talking with Lady Shinobu. I wanted to know what would bring a woman the most pleasure. That's what she suggested." His honest eyes never leave yours, waiting for your input.

"Kyo, you're so thoughtful. I um... did want to try that... but I was scared you wouldn't want to." Embarrassment seeps through your body. This time it isn't because of his request to eat you out but embarrassment from the fact that you never asked him for such a silly reason.

-----

Now he's staring at your pussy in an animalistic way. "May I?" He asks so gently it makes you smile.

"Of course, Kyojuro." You grip the sheets bracing yourself for the sensation of his tongue exploring your pussy.

"Thank you for the food." He whispers his hands clasped together, his eyes closed tightly. Once he opens them his big hands find your thighs and pries them open.

"You're so wet and beautiful, honey." The slick on your thighs drips slowly down to your ass. Kyojuro leans in to meet your pussy. He explores your folds carefully and experimentally with his tongue. Your soft moans encourage him to continue.

Kyojuro is a professional at eating, so you expected nothing less when he said he'd eat you out. Somehow with a lack of experience, he still seems to know what he's doing.

His lips close around your clit and he sucks at it like there's no tomorrow. "Kyojuro- oh god that feels so good." You can feel him smile into your pussy.

He starts at a medium place flicking his tongue back and forth on your clit. The stimulation makes your lower half throb, heat pooling in your stomach already.

He switches to sucking your clit once more, making loud obnoxious smacking noises, along with "mmm's" and little moans. He's practically kissing your pussy at this point. His saliva drips down from your cunt to the crack of your ass.

He realizes you're enjoying this and he wants to make you cum using only his mouth. So, he applies more pressure with his tongue. "Oh!" Your mouth is open in an O shape, no other sound comes out. A certain sensation starts building up in the lower half of your body.

You attempt to close your legs, because this feeling is very new to you and it's overwhelming, but Kyojuro keeps you in place with his hands. They're sure to leave nice little marks on your thighs. He pushes his head even deeper as if he could become one with your body. He can feel the way your body responds to him, the heat of your body, your smooth skin, everything.

It becomes fairly obvious to your husband that you're close with the way you grip at his fiery strands of hair. Kyojuro slurps up your savory juices. His moans increase, the vibration of them sending you straight to your orgasm.

You drag out a long, "Oh- fuckkkkk." Your toes curl up and your back arches up like a cat. Without even missing a beat Kyojuro is lapping up all of your cum and other juices.

Your body goes limp. Every breath is rushed as you try to regain composure from the pleasure he has given you. Kyojuro detaches himself from your sweet cunt. A string of saliva keeps the two of you connected.  

"Thank you for the meal, my love." He looks so lewd sitting on his knees with your slick coating his chin.

"Of course, honey. Perhaps I can return the favor?" While giving you everything you need, your husband has forgotten about his own needs. He quickly looks down to see he has a raging boner in his pants. His cock throbs with need.

"If it's not too much trouble.." He mumbles quietly.

"It isn't. After everything you've done for me? This is just a small thank you."

A/N: idk if anyone really writes for this boy but I love him. If you want just imagine him as any of your favs that like to eat :)

[amourtoken]

It seems yall want me to elaborate on the "fucking wolf cut Noah in some sketchy venue bathroom" thing so I will lol and just pretend the timeline is right OK let me live my shitty little fantasy won't u

♡ Can't help but imagine it's right around when Bad Omens started yk they weren't playing the huge shows they are now they were going literally anywhere they could and that definitely lead to some less than savory locations. REGARDLESS you're gonna show up for Noah and the boys, they're great friends of yours and it doesn't matter where they're playing, you're endlessly happy to see them performing.

You'd driven well over 2 hours to be here tonight and you're literally in the middle of nowhere but the crowd seems really energetic even though there's probably 100-200 people there rn max cause of how small the place is. There were a couple other relatively small groups playing tonight as well so Bad Omens had a bit of free time before their set, how did Noah choose to spend this free time? Burying himself in your pussy while you're sat on a dingy bathroom counter ofc.

♡ maybe it's the nerves maybe it's the opposite he just needed to take this excess energy out somewhere and when he saw you in that cute dress he really couldn't help himself he needed to see it pushed up to your hips while your legs were around his waist so bad. He's got one hand bracing himself against the mirror that lines the whole wall behind the sink and the other is holding your jaw steady so he can kiss you while rocking his hips into yours. It's not even coordinated, it's a mess of spit and teeth but he's just happy your lips are brushing his tbh, he'll catch your bottom lip w his teeth on occasion and his cock throbs at the sweet whine it draws out of you.

♡ his pace picks up and so does the force behind his thrusts. He pulls you closer to the edge of the counter and at this point he's mostly supporting your weight himself but at this angle he can fill you so much deeper. It feels like he's stealing the air from your lungs every time his tip slams against your poor cervix. The music outside the bathroom is loud but if someone were right next to the door they'd surely hear you whimpering and crying Noah's name, which drives him to fuck you even harder cause he doesn't give a fuck if everyone in this venue hears you, he needs them to know who you belong to as if the cum that'll be dripping down your legs when he's finished or the dark hickeys he covered your neck in weren't enough. He may as well brand you at this point.

You were bracing your hands on the edge of the counter to keep yourself steady but when he drug you to the edge and started supporting you himself you threw your arms around his neck, whining right against his ear when he hit that sensitive spot that made your legs shake. He shifts again to pick you up entirely, bouncing you on his cock damn near effortlessly like you were just a toy for him. You tightened your arms around his neck and he laughed against your ear.

"I got you baby I'm not gonna drop you- fuck- I promise"

♡ his hands on your ass holding you up end up spreading you wider and he's drilling you so deep any sounds that manage to leave your throat are broken and pathetic. Your brain feels so fuzzy all you can think about is him, how he feels, how he tastes, how he sounds, nothing else dares cross your mind. The coil in your belly is so close to snapping and you almost wish it wouldn't so you could enjoy the moment with Noah longer but fuck when his nails sink into your ass and he takes a step to press your back against the wall while he's fucking you, you can't hang onto it much longer. He can tell.

"Fuck- so fuckin' tight for me baby, gonna cum? Yeah I know- shit- cum for me please- fuck, please-"

"I'm close too- need to feel you first-"

By now he's almost as incoherent as you are, just chasing pleasure and acting like you two are the only people on earth. You're so close tears are pricking your eyes and Noah pulls you in for another sloppy kiss while he grinds himself into you, the feeling of his hips against yours and your clit brushing his lower stomach throw you over the edge violently. You're shaking and twitching in his arms and he's holding you steady against the wall even though his rhythm is starting to falter and his moans are pitching up.

♡ he slams you down onto his dick when he finally spills inside you, stifling the unhinged noises by sinking his teeth into your neck and rutting into you until all the excess cum is dripping out of you and onto the floor below Noah's feet. Once he feels steady enough he'll set you back down on the counter and pull out, leaving you feeling pathetically empty. You don't trust your legs to hold you up yet and you're leaning against Noah for support still, arms loosely around his waist while your face is against his chest and his head is resting on top of yours. He'd stay like this forever if he could but Bad Omens is up next and by now everyone's looking for him.

Noah pulls you in for another kiss, this time softer but still just as passionate, and he apologizes for not being able to spend more time in here with you. He pinkie promises to fuck you right next time, somewhere more comfy, before he kisses you on the forehead and leaves the bathroom to catch up with the rest of the band before they go on.