#I want him to be yandere too

[just-null]

Do you ever do requests? If so, do you ever plan on drawing some Yandere with the Hantengu clones? :D hope you have a good day/night!!!

Mentioning an unfamiliar name

yes!! I love yanderes.. and these guys.. these guys are such good material...... nods nods..

I'm not sure about requests..I assume you mean drawing requests? I suppose if it REALLY catches my interest enough, I'd do it, but it'd probably just be line art/sketches.

[cruel-hiraeth]

꒰ FLESH OF MY FLESH; BLOOD OF MY BLOOD ꒱ KAMO CHOSO X READER — ft. itadori yuuji

warnings ⟢ dead dove: do not eat. minors do not interact—i will block you! incest. yandere elements. implied drugging. noncon. slight forced feminization (choso uses “sister” and she/her pronouns to refer to reader, but reader is nb). religious imagery. reader is yuuji’s twin, but no physical descriptors are used. reader has a vagina.

word count ⟢ 963

notes ⟢ this is part of @ficsforgaza’s kinktober event! my prompt was choso + incest. i have an au with big brother choso and twins yuuji and reader, so this was the perfect opportunity to explore their dynamic. a huge thank you to my dearest lexi—@drleggman—for requesting this (and for allowing me to go full degenerate) <3

“Yuu…”  “Yuu…ji…” “Yuuji…”

Your twin’s name ambles from your petal-soft lips, voice laden with slumber, muted snores drifting through the gaps. The bedroom you share is swathed in midnight’s gloom; moonbeams peek through the cheap apartment blinds, luminous stripes cutting across the men huddled above your nude figure.  

“Our baby sister seems to be having sweet dreams,” Choso states, mouth reluctantly detaching from your nipple, a silvery thread of spider silk connecting his lips to your tender flesh. “She’s naughty, though—calling out to you when I’m the one pleasuring her.”

Choso removes two thick digits from your weeping hole, examining the twitch of your jaw as he strums your clit with calloused fingertips. He experimentally increases the speed and pressure of his caresses, humming when you let out a whimper. As your breath grows heavier and your eyes flicker and dance beneath your lids, he pauses to smear your slick across your pubic hair, and scrapes his teeth up your neck to nip at your pulse point. 

Yuuji lies beside you, honeyed gaze soaking in the tranquil curves of your dreamy expression. He strokes the hair at your temple with the care of a collector admiring his choicest possession; he can’t help but drag his nose across your cheek, blotting a kiss at the hollow behind your earlobe.  

The reverence Yuuji treats you with starkly contrasts the way his muscular body presses against your softness, his bare cock dribbling pre onto the plush of your thigh. It’s something of a punishment that Choso doled out—not being able to indulge in you fully—upset with your twin for being secretive and possessive of you. But as far as Yuuji is concerned, to be anywhere in the halo of your presence is a heavenly gift. To merely witness your divinity, to press his lowly, sweaty skin flush to yours—it’s more than he deserves. 

“Don’t be too rough with them,” Yuuji fusses when Choso abruptly presses your knees to your chest, leveling his face with your spread cunt. “W-wait—I wanna taste, too.” 

After Yuuji shuffles over to join Choso, two sets of broad shoulders hunch over to marvel at your beauty. Yuuji fully expects to be chewed out again—perhaps even shoved off the bed or thrown out of the room; he swallows his pride and formulates a half-hearted apology, prepared to grovel for a chance to revel in you.

Instead, he grunts in surprise when he’s pulled into a kiss.

Chapped, chilly lips slip against his own, urging Yuuji’s mouth open, wet muscles intertwining. A shiver skitters across his limbs when he discovers the little silver ball that pierces Choso’s tongue—now bumping along the expanse of his palate, tracing the velvet of his gums. It’s a sloppy exchange of spit and teeth and tongue, too frenzied to be mistaken as purely passionate. Choso reaches over to swipe a thumb across Yuuji’s fat, leaking cock head. Yuuji keens into his brother’s mouth before ripping himself away, swollen lips parted, blooming rose from the tips of his ears down to his heaving chest.

“Let’s taste her together,” Choso rasps.

Not waiting for a reply, he pecks the fat of your hip before dipping down to lap at the arousal leaking from your hole; Yuuji watches heatedly, letting saliva pool on his tongue and drip onto your clit. He then cleans his mess with noisy sucks, occasionally tugging at your folds. Too preoccupied with coaxing your unconscious body to orgasm, the brothers don’t realize how you begin to stir, fingers and toes flexing and relaxing. They savor your eventual high, admiring your glistening release.

“I’ll have her first,” Choso announces thickly, Adam’s Apple bobbing as he swallows. He’s practically vibrating—pale skin dewy with desire—having fantasized about this exact scenario more times than he can count. “You should prop her up.”

Yuuji leans against the headboard and pulls you between his strong legs, your head resting on his chest. Choso angles your hips and pumps his throbbing length a few times before nudging your entrance. Your breathing shallows and you yawn; Yuuji’s heart catches in his throat.

“Fuck—how much did you give them? Clearly not enough,” he hisses, arms tightening around your waist. “I think they’re about to wake up.”

For the first time all evening, Choso smiles at Yuuji. It’s an unsettling sight: his knife-sharp inscisors gleam in the dusk, irises black as bruised plums. “Relax,” he soothes. “She’s going to enjoy this, too. It will become a treasured memory for us all.”

Before Yuuji can respond, your eyelids flutter open. “Ch-Choso…Yuuji…” you murmur, words slow and slurred as molasses, “what are you—”

The air is promptly punched from your lungs, a strangled yelp interrupting your train of thought as Choso enters you in a single thrust—cock so deep you swear you can taste it. One of Yuuji’s rough palms rests on your belly and meanly presses down with the movement; you throw your head back and warble a moan.

“Call me ‘onii-chan,’” Choso grits out, refusing to succumb to the squeeze of your cunt so soon.

“W-what?” you sniffle. Your brain is foggy from whatever concoction they gave you, incapable of piecing together your predicament.

He grasps your chin firmly, forcing your glazed stare to focus on him. “Onii-chan,” he repeats with a harsh snap of his hips.

You squirm, trying to turn to Yuuji for help, unaware of the tears carving hot rivulets down your cheeks. But Choso won’t let you go. His heavy frame eclipses yours, trapping you in place. “We’re family,” he huffs, fucking you steadily, umber strands falling to curtain his face.

“Everything we do, we do together. You have both been—nnghhh—selfish. It’s time to make it up to onii-chan.” 

[satoblue]

giving satoru the spare key to your apartment feels like a huge milestone in your relationship — a gesture of trust, a silent invitation into your personal world. you’re practically telling him “yes, you can come in whenever you want.” and oh, does that make his heart race. he’s practically glowing with excitement, thrilled that he can finally enter your space with your permission now… so it’s not weird anymore!

not that he’d ever admit it but… he already has a copy. he wouldn’t want to bother you with the details though — it was for your safety, really. on the nights he can’t sleep, tossing and turning in the cold bed sheets in his lavish penthouse, he’ll quietly let himself in at your place and sit by your bedside — just to make sure you’re okay. to ease the gnawing worry in his chest. and that’s all it is! nothing creepy. he swears.

and when you eventually ask him to move in with you? oh, he’ll be over the moon. and not because he’ll have more access — he already had that. but because now he won’t have to pretend. he can watch over you all he wants, like he was always meant to. to keep you safe. bc no one — no one can protect you like he can. after all, he is gojo satoru — the strongest.

[yearninflowers]

Imagine…

Mydei, the warrior of Okhema, intimidating he is, yet for unknown reasons, also someone to hold you close in his embrace. His expression was unreadable, yet the erratic beat thumping inside his chest betrayed his facade. His hands, the way they hovered over your waist, held you close to him as if you two were beings never to be separated. His eyes, glaring at everyone who came even a meter close to you both, would scare anyone away.

His embrace, while it was hard, was warm. And it fully warmed up your heart, one whose beat was slow and close to a dying silence.

And so, for a while, you'd forget the one fact about him to spend a day more beside the man. Scary as he is, his attentive actions would always prove otherwise to you. Sometimes, even while looking at his presence, you'd forget that his hands were stained with blood. The same hands that hold you close to him; you would forget it all at the prospect of being close to such warmth.

Even as you close your eyes, resting your head to drown in the deep slumber, his call for your name echoed endlessly. In the night, the clock striking at twelve, you'd sober up, realising that the feelings inside your chest were nothing more than a sickness. His love—no, care—had you sick, even sicker than before. But was it really sickness if you felt safe? Loved even?

The vines of dependency held you tight with him. Mydei, one that draped you over the bond, was one you had loved dearly, yet his love, warm as ever, sucked you dry until you could never live without it. That much you noticed.

If to cut the vines is to kill yourself, no matter your love, vines could never hold you tight enough to stay. If one needs to be bound to love, then will it always be so restrictive? So pestering, until you grow fond of being scared? His embrace, while it fills you whole, made the surroundings go cold. Shivering through the relentless loss of warmth for long, wondering if Mydei will ever come back, scares you too much to let the vines stay. And cut shall you do.

…

Perhaps loosening it first should be better than cutting it all immediately. You didn't know the hands of someone in the battlefield could be this harsh and tight. Mydei, in contrast to you, tied himself with the vines on his own. Perhaps he knew what he felt was never pure love, but a mix of control laced with selfishness to mark someone as his. Yet what does he know about love? What even is love in the eyes of someone who fought in battles?

Days and nights, planning and executing, fighting and surviving, there was never love in those. Mydei couldn't possibly learn of such pure, innocent feeling in the heat of fighting for survivability. So, he wrapped you up in something he was most familiar with: control. Love was never his expertise, and while he would love to learn, love was never part of your expertise as well.

Both you and he lived similarly; love so scarce, you had to dig it up no matter the shape. But with even something sweet mixed in, once bitter will always be bitter—and you had enough of it. Mydei didn't, though; he could never. He had tasted something better than blood and pain. The thought of losing such a sweet taste would render him useless; his heart would restrict him from taking another step away as if he would die.

Truly, from the start, vines were never the ones tying you up. Have you noticed the slight tremble you'd experience once he was away? The terrified feeling and the dread once he was out of reach from your arms? Those things would always be the real ones binding you. Dependence was never it, was it? It was addiction and you never realised it.

You loved him, yet you felt so lost once he was away. There was never something you could do to prolong his stay, so you stopped, already tired of hoping for more—but what exactly more do you want? Perhaps true freedom? True love? Whatever you were thinking when you tried to run away, Mydei will do anything to make your wish come true. Longer stay, longer hugs, longer love? Mydei will do it all so long as you stay beside him once again. His embrace warmed and filled you whole, right? It will do its job once more and so on. Addiction is always so hard to get rid of, and it will be harder to erase if you never know the root of the problem.

What Mydei learnt after fighting in the field was that most people would let down their guards once victory was at the tip of their fingers. That would be an optimal choice to attack, rendering them to be at his mercy. And if he needs to do so to you, he shall do it, even if he has to bind you again with the same vines as before. After all, making you think you could escape the tight bond was easy for him; the illusion of vines trapping you felt more real than his warm embrace that truly trapped you with him, or to be more exact, the addiction that comes along with his love and loss.

It is all yours for the taking, bitter or not; Mydei will make sure you will take everything from him and he, too, from you.

[fresanita]

Angel Dust Turns Human pt6

"Alastor & Angels background 3"

Pg1 Pg2 Pg3 Pg4 Pg5

Originally this was part of pt5, but Tumblr doesn't allow more than 31 pics so☹️ Sorry it took awhile, I've been putting off positing this mainly cuz I've been busy w assignments and wanting to catch up w my hobbies💔 but I finally finished fall classes so YAYAYA🙂

Antoní is PLATONICALLY blushing bc he's flustered that someone would care enough to give him something in general🙂🫶!! He's thinking, 'Woah, a whole scarf! Omg, this is so sweet and kind!!' (NO ITS NOT IT'S THE BARE MINUMUM-). Also, sorry, Alastors shoulders kinda look less broad😓! Also, pg 15 (or 16?) Angel dust's cheeks look more pinchable than I remember lol🤭!

Anyways, we're finally kinda back to the present!😁 but uh-oh, Angel knows there'll be consequences eventually☹️ I feel like Alastor has only been saying Antoní, but I promise he'll have more dialogue in the next one😥!!! He just missed his little boy; he hasn't said that name in years!! Also, I should let it be known that Angel Dust's human form WILL be getting a haircut‼️ it may look aesthetically messy, but it's actually just clumped up hair!🤫

Again, sorry for the delay and hope you like pt6🙂🫶

Tag list: @diffidentphantom

[running-with-kn1ves]

An Elven Winter

CW: None! Arranged marriage, very cozy very comfy, winter nights, grossly affectionate moments

Synopsis: You’re late for dinner with your brawny elf husband, again. Is he going to scold you this time, and live up to his name as a heartless elf?

A/N: Your favorite boy Cirdan is back! Here's the OG piece I wrote with him if anybody wants some more comfort and cuteness.

Snowflakes whipped from the left across your face, illuminated by dampened yellow street lanterns with an icy blue tinge to their miniscule edges. The cold stuck to your eyelashes, to the tip of your nose, to the bottoms of your trudging boots. 

When was the last time it snowed this hard? Not in years, certainly. Not since you began to share your home with another warm body, waiting to welcome you home away from the chills seeping into the openings of your sleeves. You could see your home only two doors down now, the front bathed by hanging porch lights, a trellis covered with dead vines propped against the dark, unlit corner of the cabin. Everyday he’d water that thing, and everyday it’d continue to shrivel under the coldening wind.

Your face creases with concern for what your spouse's reaction may be once you make it home. He might fawn over every trickle of water that was once snow on your shoulders, fraught by the coldness of your fingertips in his palms. It wasn’t his worry that was exhausting, it was the fear of making him feel anything other than glowing warmth, of adoration for you.

Your feet slid over one another racing to the front doors in a jog. Another wave of guilt washed over you for the tenth time tonight for being, what was it now-- an hour late to dinner? How your lovely, saint of a husband worked endlessly to make your homestead full of comfort and homeliness-- and yet you couldn’t make it in time for a meal he had spent endlessly curating. You would beat yourself over the head if you had a moment to spare.

But there was nothing you could do to turn back the time, to slide any quicker on the glassy, frozen ground. Tripping to race up to the door, you fumbled over stone steps in impatience.

The delicately carved door handle was just as cold as the tip of your nose was, hardly putting up a fight as you pulled it toward you. The door opened with a breeze of thick comfort blowing against exposed skin unveiled on your body. Warmth and the smell of a working oven flooded to the points of your cheeks, the door’s creaky nature betraying you as it let the other resident of the house know of your return home. 

This would be the part where you shout “Honey, I’m home!”

But you’re given no time, no time at all. A crackling fire fills your ears, the sudden appearance of a dastardly large silhouette clouding your vision of the kitchen table, plates upon plates decorating a tablecloth you knew so well.

“It’s nine.” His voice relented, the emotion detected and yet hard to describe as you look up to read his face. 

His cheeks are tinted a slight red, as if he had been outside in the cold, waiting for you. 

“It is; I’m sorry, Cirdan. I really thought I'd get here sooner, we were trying to wait out the snow. And, well.. That didn’t really do much.”

His eyes were full of thought, expression in their hardened lids and watery irises. Being late for things seemed to be your specialty. It broke your heart into desperate pieces when you saw the look on his face-- hardly concerned with the cold food, but locked on to you to see what had gone wrong, if you were hurt, what he could do to fix it all. 

“Don’t apologize. I’m just.. So glad you’re home.” He genuinely sounded relieved, a rough stutter you hadn’t heard in a long time, if not ever before. 

His body, so untraditional to what elves were expected to be, came forward to hold you just as gracefully as any normal, lean and tall version of the creature would. But he was all brawn-- a hard and heated rock that snug itself tight against you. A thick hand made its way into your hair to press the top of your head to his pointed nose. 

His taut inhale was shaky, white strands of hair much longer than your own crowding your view. 

“I was nearly about to go out there and find you myself. It’s no place for you to be, out there in the snow. Cold and alone.”

It sounded as if he had scared himself with anxiety-ridden thoughts about where you were in your tardiness. 

“I know.” You muffled against his chest, the wool of his sweater smelling like sweet potatoes and rosemary. 

If it were anyone else you’d be embarrassed to press your head deeper, to lean into the touch so clearly full of desire. But you knew no other way to make up for all that you had done. Your briefcase bag fell to the floor, crumpled and forgotten. 

The affection was so tender you nearly forgot about the sensation of frostbite clawing at your fingernails and the aching in your stomach. It resounded out in the room with an acidic gurgle, forcing your body to go rigid with a mix of exhaustion and embarrassment. 

You could feel the soundless laugh Cirdan let out through the shake in his body-- his warm, scarred arms your safe space. Even the apron two sizes too small on him smelled of sweets. It  hugged him enough for you to feel the ridges underneath his sweater. 

“Are you hungry?” He asked, gently releasing you from his stroking bear hug. 

“You have to ask?” You mumbled, still somewhat embarrassed by your show of weakness. You were supposed to be the strong one, carrying out the toughness of reality and endless meetings between the human and elven realm, while your unconventional elf husband finally had a chance in his brutality to rest, to be easy and let his heart and scars heal. But you were only human. 

“I kept it warm for you, wasn’t sure when you’d be back.”

 Your chest ached at those words.

You were tempted to let out another ‘you don’t have to do that’ or ‘you should’ve just left it in the fridge’, but it would only serve to dishearten him even more. 

“Thank you,” Was all you could half-heartedly murmur, looking up to stare at him. 

His hair fell sloppy along his face, snowy locks hiding his grey, blinded eye. He had started letting it show in privacy, when scrubbing the stove oven or reading in his colossal wine-red chair, black specs you called his ‘old man glasses’ falling off his nose. You pushed the heavy strands behind his pointed ear, letting your hand slide down the curve of his jaw. 

Cirdan merely smiled longingly, crinkling at his eyes and gazing at you as if you were all the stars in the sky held in front of him. He leaned just slightly into your touch, its coldness offering a stark contrast to his warm, honey skin. 

“Go, sit by the fire. I’ll bring your dinner.”

You were again ready to protest, but an intensely soft fleece blanket was draped over your head, covering from your forehead to your calves. It was originally made for your husband, twice any human’s size and still long enough to cover his shoulders. Cirdan had turned to the loveseat beside him to grab it, leaving you to buckle under the weight of swarms of fabric as he moved toward the kitchen. Blindly, you made your way to the orange glow in the middle of the room, bright flames caressing freshly chopped oak.

The corners of your home closest to the outside world had a chilled air of ice, but within the middle was where the heat resided, beckoning you to the fireplace onto a small elk hide rug. 

Cirdan’s footsteps upon the soft kitchen floor came toward you, steam rising from the plate held in his hands. He seemed so relaxed, shoulders drooped and yet posture enviously perfect, an effect of having an elven spine and ruthless upbringing. His loose sweater was soft on his carved shoulders, reminding you of your shared cozy bed-- of his body radiating glowy warmth against you, rustling sheets tangled as you push deeper against the crook of his neck.

But your stomach was too insatiable for anything other than food right now, even warmth. The herby, peppery scent brought drool to your mouth, looking at the elf with wide eyes in hungry desperation. 

“It’s hot, let it cool off for a second.” Cirdan blows on the mouth-watering food as he hands the plate to you with a potholder on its lip, protecting you from the heat. He is quick to grab a pillow and place it in your lap, gently letting the plate rest.  “I kind of went overboard; something in me felt like cooking tonight... We can give the leftovers to the neighbors.”

“No!” You shout territorily, covering your plate as if he were ready to steal it from you. “It's mine to eat, I mean.” 

You don’t leave room for the conversation to continue, shoveling a forkful of well-seasoned vegetables in your mouth. The moment a green bean touches your tongue you realize your mistake. 

“Haw, hawt!” 

Your open mouth does a dance as you try to fan the heat, so eager to eat that you forgot to heed his warning. 

“I told you!” Cirdan exclaims, a laugh escaping him as he reaches for a glass of water on the table behind him. “I guess my intuition knew you’d try something like that.”

You take the glass with unheeded swiftness, letting lukewarm water settle in your fiery mouth. 

A hesitant swallow leaves your tongue numb and your hunger yet to be filled.

You reach for another bite, this time for a heap of buttery mash potatoes, soft and fluffy like the piles of snow outside yet starkly contrasted in their steamy heat. 

You know better now, blowing on the fork before taking a hesitant, small bite. 

Cirdan merely gives you a watchful, entertained grin. He doesn’t have the pompous smirk of most elves you’ve met with, but instead a full, close-lipped smile that reaches to his sharp eyes, his uncharacteristically full cheeks rising, his face slim and etched like the rest of his kind yet with more ruggedness and expression in it, remnants of a jagged past etched into his skin. 

“I’th really good.” You cover your full mouth, singing his praises with potato and sweet, savory bread in between. 

“I’m glad you like it,” The comment he passes hardly utters any attention to what you say, instead busy watching you consume like a ravenous animal. Cirdan brushes back hair that falls close to your plate, stroking just gently a thumb over your cheek. 

You swallow a few more bites before you feel the ache in your stomach subside. The intense way the elf keeps looking at you is not unforeign, but you still have yet to be comfortable with it. 

“Thank you for the food,” You wipe your mouth with your sleeve, hoping you weren’t too many levels of disheveled. “but, I have another favor to ask.”

“Hm?”

You witness in his eyes the willingness, eagerness to see what you desire. 

“Let me brush your hair?” 

Cirdan’s lips part in an ‘o’, before returning to the usual gentle hardness of his face.

“That’s all? I thought you were ready for dessert.” 

The elf lets out a stifled laugh, deep and bouncing off the small cabin walls in pure delight.

You shoot a self-conscious gaze at him, lips half upturned in a hidden smile; you’re not sure whether to laugh or bashfully tell him nevermind.

“You know you don’t have to ask. I was waiting until you were done to clean myself up--” He turns to the side, opening a stool compartment stuffed with a myriad of little things from nail polish to old lighters. His gentle hands searched for a delicate hairbrush, elven in the intricacy of its design and dwarven in its robusticity. The curving vines against the brushes ivory skin along with its weighty hold made it a piece of craftsmanship worthy of generational pass-down. 

 He takes your plate fit for kings off of your lap, moving it to the floor closest to the fireplace. In this house, everytime you attempt to do something, it seems to be done at-hand immediately before you can think to move. 

Cirdan wordlessly hands you the brush, tender fire under his palm gliding over the icicles you called fingers.

You attempt to scoot behind him, blanket nearly falling from your shoulders to do so, but the elf catches you. 

“I’m not letting you freeze to death on my behalf first,” He grunts, grabbing your hands in a chokehold. “You're practically frozen my love.” 

The tendrils of his fingers wrapping over your own were akin to hot coils, oddly welcoming and conflicting to your body void of warm blood. 

“Your behalf? I’m the one who suggested the idea!” You shake your head in mild disbelief. “Besides, being near the fire is warming me up. I’ll be unfrozen soon.”

Your airy voice is sarcastic and not nearly as teeth-chattering as it once had been-- yet still, Cirdan huffed over your fingertips, letting out heavy breaths to warm the parts of you that were yet to be anything but icy. 

“You aren’t going to win this fight.” He looked up at you, a serious furrow of his brows, “I won’t lose you to such simplicities of frostbite, you’re too precious.”

Oof. Right in the heart. Everytime you see his resting brooding face like that your chest lurches in worry--- but then he’ll say something so sweet in sincerity that you want to collapse into a puddle.

You open and close your mouth like a gaping fish, unsure what to say to beat, or even match that. 

The elf deeply exhales once more against your trembling fingers, letting silence float between you with the sound of crackling flames flickering in between. 

With a final heavy breath against your knuckles, he straightens your fingers out, placing them over his heated cheeks. Even with the ridges of bone and scar on his face, he was squishy and pliant like a human. Your thumb brushed against the healed tissue leading from the bridge of his nose to his blinding eye, relishing in the slow blinks he gave. He looked… tired, and yet full of comforting bliss. You break the silence with an anxious swallow.

“I can't believe this.. you should be scolding me, making me eat cold leftovers in a dark room for being late, once again. Instead you're welcoming with open arms and a full stomach? I just don't get you; I don't know if I ever will.” 

You smile a little sadly, grateful and mystified.

“Maybe you won't understand it,” Cirdan moves his lips to your palm, nudging it with a kiss. “but it's what I'd want.”

You did understand that. All those nights he laid in the cold snow after throwing himself against battalions as a living shield, coming home to an even colder room, eating alone and wondering if anyone was thinking of him. If he meant anything more than a body to be used. He wouldn't let you feel that way, if he could help it.

You nuzzled so hard against his face it made you both scrunch up your noses. 

“Oh I just-- wish I could stick you in my pocket and never let you go-- never let you feel anything but warmth and softness and love again.”

Cirdan grinned, his expression practically basking in the adoration. 

“You don’t know how good it feels to hear you say that.” 

You kiss him rough, not caring if the temperature difference sparks you both, making your noses tingle with electricity and your lips buzz. With gentle encouragement your hands holding his face might lead elsewhere, but tonight you wanted to show him the chaste devotion, the love he deserved in any way you knew how. Cirdan was fervent with his kiss, though he still seemed concerned with your warmth as his hands searched blindly for the blanket slipping from your back. 

You roll your eyes, letting your lips fall away with a warm breath. You're quick to get back to what you want, the task at hand.

“We're getting off track-- will you let me brush your hair now? I promise I won't freeze you with my icicle fingers.”

You drum your fingers against the sides of his cheeks, watching as he reaches for the forgotten brush on the rug, slightly dazed. You leave the tepidness of his face to snatch it with playful ease, ushering him to turn around.

“All right, all right, my love,” He concedes with a sigh. “Whatever you desire.” 

You grasp the edges of his messy hair as he faces away from you, pulling out the slipping black elastic band to let the rest of it fall; It’s gently knotted at the tips, but the rest of it still holds a sleek shine created from fine, thick strands and patient washing. 

“It’s my turn to take care of you..” You mumble, holding a fistful of silvery white strands with a calm stroke of the brush. The rhythm lulls you into a peacefulness, listening to the flickers of fire in front of you, the gentle snowfall from outside your little world of warmth and coziness. The blanket falls to your elbows-- you don’t go to fix it, so enraptured with the task at hand. 

Cirdan begins to hum just the slightest, his eyes shut in a stoney, calm expression that you can see if you tip just slightly sideways. It was a solemnly elven tune, and yet it slowed your heart so simply that you felt a wash of nostalgia and ease run through you. 

You would trade anything to keep this December night going, to have the man in front of you, held in your arms forever. Cirdan’s warmth was inseparable from your own, your bodies impossibly close for comfort. 

[cynnkk]

mammon. oh mammon.

since he's competing w/ all the other devils for your attention, he decided to be owned by you, not the other way around.

He opened up and admitted that he fell in love with you at first sight. if you remember, you were resting on his chest when you woke up in the hospital and he spent all that time thinking about how wonderful, breathtaking and powerful you were and what it would feel like for you to own him, for him to belong TO you.

He would be solely and exclusively devoted to you and to your well-being. Mind you, he's not a low level demon: he's the king of Tartaros, the wealthiest kingdom in Hell and everything belongs to him but, as his master, everything will belong to you as well.

The whole thing is new to the both of you but he's resolute: he likes you "just because", not because you're solomon's descendant but because you are you.

You'll come around someday and love him like he loves you. He wants you to surrender to your greed, to take everything from him and he'll accept everything you have to offer: from lovely dates along the tartaros river to long fucking sessions on his throne, he would lap it all up, like the good sub he was always meant to be.

in a world where you are seen as somebody else's stand-in, he's the one asking you to recognise him.

You're his master after all, no one can replace you.

He's yours. you just have to accept it as a fact, because he's not letting you go.

[solplease]

meet cassian :]

close ups and more info under the cut!

gloomiest guy you’ll ever meet

pathetic loser

he’s an artist 

comes from a rich family

he barely leaves his house, he stays inside a LOOOOOT

insane attachment issues

clingy and dependant yandere

he guilt trips a lot (isn’t really aware of it lmao) can be really manipulative without trying unfortunately

texts you constantly but if you don’t answer back in like 5 minutes he starts freaking out 

sometimes he’s normal enough but if you take too long he WILL lose it

doesn't like it when you talk to other people, why can't you just talk to him? is he not good enough for you? what's so interesting about other people anyway?

he hates stairs (he's fallen down and up the stairs WAYYY too many times)

shy (lmao ok) and introverted (has a really hard time talking to people)

has a mascot! (his name is PopUp :] he made him for a school project and just ended up liking him a lot lol)

sopping wet cat

don’t be mean to him, he doesn’t like it, even as a joke

doesn’t get much social interaction cause he stays inside a lot

WAYYYY more comfortable texting, he’s like a totally different person when you’re texting him

spams a lot. like a lot

used to be a lot more outgoing and social

wishes you could be by his side 24/7

he’s sad a lot of the time

feels unloved, please shower him in love

really pessimistic when it comes to himself

he’s really passionate about art

you and art are the two things that make him extremely happy

if you thought nox was tired, meet cassian! he has an even worse sleeping schedule than nox

he’ll do ANYTHING to keep you by his side

so he can and will kidnap you! lol!

is also a stalker… great..!

has probably installed a camera somewhere in your room (um??)

you’re probably one of the only people that can convince him to leave his room

really loves shoujo manga, has fantasized about being the perfect male lead for you (he really wants a romance like that, only with you) 

he's a huge romantic, he wants the two of you to have a happy life together

so please don’t leave him. please

takes a lot of walks at night, don’t worry he doesn’t spend ALL of his time inside (he wishes he could tho.)

he wants to have his happy ending with you <3

[just-null]

Yknow that pic where that drunk lady kissed lipstick marks all over her cat? All I can imagine is doing this to the clones each time I get home

POINTS AT MY PET AU

[the pic in question!]

[choccy-milky]

hi ik i just sent u an ask and i hate to be a bother but HOW DO YOU DRAW SEBASTIAN'S HAIR

LIKE THIS!!

honestly its different every time but this is the gist of how i do it...i start with his lil ear curl parts, then i do the sweep/bangs, and then add the rest. his hair is chaotic af but HOPE THIS CAN HELP!!

ALSO THANK YOU BAHAHAHA

@sleepingmissingprincess IM GLAD YOU THINK SO!! TY!!💖💖🥹

@strawberrysnmatcha THANK YOU BOTH 💖💖 and i responded to an ask last month about the same thing/my process for writing, you can see my answer here!! ive also talked about my writing methods more than just this time, so if you go back through my asks im sure you can probably find more of my yapping about the subject bahaha. GOOD LUCK WITH YOUR WRITING!!

@foundthatoldzeppelinshirt LMAOOO NOOOOO THIS MADE ME SO STRESSED WHEN I FIRST READ IT BAHAHA now im just imagining if clora's fell out and her and seb only realize once they get home and they have to go looking for it😭😭if only we were drawings and didnt have to worry about it falling out/deal with gravity...😔cuz im with you girl i just keep it on my desk🥰my clora shrine🙏

LMAOOO IM WORKING ON SOMETHING RN, TRUST!!! BUT IF ANYONE HAS ANY YANDERE SEB IDEAS PLS SEND THEM TO ME!!! I NEED MORE!! i want to draw yandere seb but i have like no ideas...im ashamed bc i love yanderes so much....😩😩i gotta go replay my otome games for a reminder...on my switch aka my otome visual novel machine 🥰

[tee-dohrnii]

Aw, I hope your arm feels better and you get all the rest & recovery you need! (Irl care & situations always come first, even when we want nothing more than create our favorite blorbos)

Having said thattttt, I have two Gale ideas that you can feel free to use or not use as you see fit (I just hope they make you happy if nothing else!):

—washing Gale’s hair and/or bathing with Gale (he is so PRETTY and CUTE when you draw him, and I want nothing more than to give him SHAMPOO and braid his HAIR)

—Dark Gale tempting you and/or trying to make a deal with you (I saw your dark doodle again the other day and I’m obsessed again)

Hope you’re getting lots of rest! 💜

I really wanted to draw the dark Gale one okay I'll go back to resting ( ; v ;)

[kindofatheatrekid]

Soft Yandere! Veteran being pegged! (No. You're not on top.)

How long has it been since I promised a male reader pegging this old dude? Uhhhhh... 😢

How about we not think about that and like- uh- focus that it got done? I have absolutely wonderful pookies that motivated me to finish this so let's all thank my lovely alphas for this! I wanted this to be on kinktober but writer's block and all dat- 😄

This has pegging. Which is in the title. It's clearly NSFW. So like-

MINORS DNI. MINORS DNI. MINORS DNI.

Alright! Now that that's all said and done! Enjoy fucking this old man!

TWs: overstimulation, condescending behavior towards reader, cum play, nipple play, I think that's it- comment if I forgot something pls-

WORD COUNT: 1.6K

KINKTOBER DAY ONE: TEMPERATURE PLAY

Pleasure. That’s the only thing you could possibly be thinking of right now. With your dick shoved into his ass, yet he was the one in full control of this situation. It didn’t matter that it was your hands on his hips— no. Your hands were just finding a place to grab onto while he rides you like he’s trying to drain you dry of both cum and life. This had to be why he looked like a silver fox, right? Stealing the vitality of the poor youth that got caught in his seductive ways. Which, in this case, was unfortunately and fortunately you. It was so warm inside him, the slowly cooling water only accentuating just how much more warmer he was— both from the soft walls that were clenching onto your dick like a vice, and from his skin. The wrinkled, aged skin that only made him even hotter in your eyes. White mixed with black hair on his arms just like his head.

Your eyes tear up from the sheer euphoria he was giving you, tongue almost shamelessly lolling as your mouth stayed open. If it wasn’t for that familiar, irritatingly enchanting glint in the old man’s eyes— moan after loud moan would have been falling off your kiss-bitten lips by now.

Speaking of lips, the reason for your current dilemma was now sliding his thumb over your bruised lower lip. His other hand goes to caress your cheek, the warmth forcing a groan to slip from you without warning. He notices the drool that threatened to leak, using it to coat your dry lips— dry from the heavy breaths you forced yourself to take as he rode you.

“Why aren’t you saying anything? Cat got your tongue?” He chuckles out as you try to focus a glare on him, pathetically failing due to your vision blurring from the incoming tears. His hips suddenly slam down onto you; a brash, animalistic noise leaving you as you’re buried down to the hilt.

Heaven. This must be what heaven felt like.

Your hands scramble to grab onto his hips, grip almost bruising as if he was the only thing grounding you to reality right now. The almost hypnotic grinding of his groin towards yours not helping with the way your mind wanted to shut down immediately. The cool water, the heat from your combined breaths, the way his hands left trails of fire with every inch they grope your skin— there was just so much for your poor brain to handle.

It honestly felt like you were being used as a dildo with how little work you were doing for maximum pleasure. To be honest, you would happily live your days out as his dildo if that was a choice. His raging hard-on kept on rubbing against your stomach, pre-cum and bath water slick on your skin.

Water droplets dripped down from your hair as you chewed on your lower lip— eyes laser-focused on his cock. His cock that you wanted to touch and feel in your hands. Your left hand lets go of his hip just for it to tentatively stroke his neglected dick; the heat in your palm making you shiver in the water. Thumb slowly tracing circles along the slit of its head, pre-cum continuously dripping down to your wrist and into the already cloudy cold water.

You didn’t want to be the only one losing their head, determined to make him fall into this mindless pleasure you were presently in too. You wanted him to bear himself out like you were doing, to show you the raw, primal instincts that you also had. To the point where manners would be shoved aside, and the two of you would just take and take from each other.

His pace noticeably slows down at the growing pressure of your strokes— hand slowly, yet purposefully, running down his entire length. Fingers smearing the thin fluids along the veined skin, feeling it throbbing in your hands. You could hear the way his heart quickens to the same -if not faster- pace of yours, could see the lust-induced haze in the corners of his eyes.

You use this chance to buck your hips up without warning, relishing in the way his throat hitched. Hand reaching down to squeeze his aching balls that were full of cum ready to be released. Your own cock twitched inside him, not faring better than him— overstimulated, needy, desperate: those were the words that could perfectly describe your deafening thoughts at the moment.

Right when you think that you’ve managed to win this unspoken game between the two of you, his lips curve up into a grin. His eyes held a knowing glint, as if he could read what was exactly on your mind right now— it felt like he was stripping you with his gaze despite your nudity. Crow’s feet deepened while his eyes held an obvious twinkle of mischief.

You should’ve remembered that unspoken games have unspoken rules.

He brings his roughened hands up from the water, skin ice-cold from being in the water for too long. His hands sensually slide up your body -your warm skin prickling from the cold- until they stay on your chest. He could probably feel how hard your heart was pumping right now, wrinkled palm right on top of it. Your eyes meet: calm meeting with panicked, smug meeting with wary.

Rule #1: He’ll always be in charge.

Your back arches when his weathered fingers pinch your nipples— senses confused as warmth floods inside your body, yet everything outside is cold. A gasp-like moan involuntarily leaves your lips, lips formed into an o-shape as your grip on his cock tightens reflexively. A deep groan escaping him as well from the squeeze, cool fingers still refusing to stop as he twisted your nipples almost painfully.

Another, louder, moan is forced out from your vocal cords when his head dips down— lips clamped onto one of your nipples, rough stubble grazing against your wet skin. You couldn’t help but come when his hot tongue swirls around the sensitive nub, teeth grazing against the already tortured skin. Eyes rolled back once again for what felt like the hundredth time. Your other nipple, receiving the same cruel treatment with his icy fingers. He definitely felt when you came; the water significantly more opaque as your cum dripped down his thighs and into the tub you were both in. Your cock still painfully hard in him despite coming just a few seconds ago.

Rule #2: You’re the bitch. Not him.

His eyelashes flutter when he finally releases your nipple from his soft lips, fingers already tweaking it before you could even sigh in relief. Your hand quickly lets go of his cock to grab onto his steel reinforced hips for bearing again— forehead pressed against his chest as you whine for him to stop.

“Why are you moaning, лапочка? I’m the one with your dick in my ass so why are you acting like our positions are reversed, little one?” Fuck. His dirty talk only made you want to beg him for more.

Your moans only get louder as he pulls on your nipples, drool pouring out from your lips like you were a brainless zombie— lips unable to remain closed. Shivers ran across your entire body, body trembling from both the cold and your overused cock. You were sure that you were only shooting blanks by now, every pathetic squirt easily seeping into the cloudy bathwater. You’d need to take a shower afterwards to clean all the come off you.

Rule #3: Don’t ever expect to walk after he’s done.

A choked whimper leaves you when he finally pulls himself off you agonizingly slow, your limbs feeling like jelly by now. You didn’t resist when he brought you into his arms, mind a slurry of contradicting sensations and abused instincts. Your eyelids drooping when he captures your lips in his, the kiss a slow, but careful one— everything he did had a reason and was meticulously planned out. A likely habit from his youth.

“You did so well, Солнце. Such a good boy for me. I’m so proud of you~” He croons out in a heavy voice, peppering kisses all along your face as his scarred hands snake up to your neck— his touch tender as he strokes your warming face. His own, ignored, cock still stiff and raised while he pampered you with the kisses you desperately needed right now. Your voice just whines for more of his attention, arms wrapping around his cold body to pull you closer to him.

The two of you just stay in the chilled bathwater for a moment, clinging onto each other for warmth as your labored breaths become background white noise. His lips trail down to your neck, pressing kisses onto your frigid skin— your breath hitching as his tongue slips out to run a fiery trail of saliva up to your jawline. An almost hissed out groan leaving his lips when he tastes the cold salt on your skin.

His eyes looked practically feral at this point, licking his lips clean of your taste before he crashed his lips onto yours to share what he thought was his own heaven. Swallowing down all your moans and whimpers like a starving man who finally got a feast laid out in front of him.

He reluctantly breaks from the kiss for the both of you to breathe. His hot breaths harsh on your skin as he leans his lips closer to your ear— whispering at a volume where you could only hear even if there was no one else around you two. A little secret that only you would know with him.

“As sweet as ever, Милый.”

Translation:

Солнце = sunshine

лапочка = sweetie pie / cutie

Милый = dear / darling

A/N:

Damn. I honestly didn't think this pegging would win. It was honestly included as both a joke and the consequence of staying up too late for too many consecutive nights... (Y'ALL TORTURED ME. THIS WAS SO HARD TO KEEP THIS OLD MAN'S HOLIER THAN THOU ATTITUDE WHILE BEING RAMMED!!) 😟

There. Y'all got to fuck the old dude. Happy now?? But anyways please comment anything you want me to do. (It'll take time, though. I'm not chat GTP okay?) 😩

Just no vomit, scat, and the works okay? Golden showers are a hell no too. Look. I'm not going to kink shame here, but I cannot write anything like that due to my BOUNDARIES. Non-con, baby trapping, and other dark matters are fine. I love that shit. But yeah. Maybe I'll make another OC, maybe not. It really depends on my mood. 😘

AUTHOR OUT! 😌

[yearninflowers]

Imagine...

Anaxa, someone you've gotten to know after one fateful meeting, has begun to grow on you little by little. Although those accidental meetups seem to happen quite frequently nowadays, you enjoy them all the same. He is quite the entertainer, after all. Equipped with various knowledge over life and his rather spicy attitude, he captured your eyes in the heat of prohibition and curiosity. He seemed to shine, somehow, in his own way. How could one be so confident with their belief and never falter? Whatever is fuelling his own devoutness—you wanted to ask—what does it take to be utterly devoted (to all his research) yet empty of faith like him?

The contradiction that lies beneath his impassive face could make anyone who notices laugh amusingly. Anaxa has always been a person who based his judgement on facts, and more often than not, ones he experienced himself. He does not believe, nor does he trust, an existence he could not grasp. It lacks a reason, he would say. Perhaps linking feelings with mindful comprehension has always been a stupid decision, yet he, a person who has never known of such intensity, does it all continuously. Such complexity is gathered to be one thing: devotion. And Anaxa, no matter how long he tried to search, could never have its truest form, faith.

A scholar's mind is to enquire about every little thing the world has to offer and speak of the truth that prevailed. Being one himself, Anaxa tries to do so as well. Questioning, denying, defending—he does it all easily. It comes like second nature to him. However, proving something that cannot be seen by the eyes is harder to do, even for someone as capable as Anaxa. He won't lie, though; the effect of believing said unseen thing is as real as it can be, yet proving its existence has always remained impossible to do. After all, what can you unveil to the world when the object itself is unknown?

So, he deems whatever faith lies upon someone; it is not equivalent to being real and only an effect of illusory belief. But that is what feelings are too, isn't it? An intense effect which stemmed from within the heart yet hidden deep inside the flesh of a soul. It cannot be proven, nor it can be seen, but it would always be there, haunting the bodies that bear the weight.

And for once in his life, something stirred itself inside Anaxa. Something ugly, he feared. The way his hands would tremble, fearing the ugliness of what he could do, made him disgusted with himself. How could someone as him be affected with something he could not foresee? Or an easier way to say, you. How could you, a stranger with no strings attached to any of the Chrysos Heirs, make his mind go numb? You, an ordinary citizen living in Amphoreus, had successfully done something many others had failed to do. You made him feel this absurdly warm feeling, and he could, for once, never figure out why something had happened.

Anaxa pondered for days upon days to search for the reason. He studied your movement almost daily, arranging coincidental meetings with a bump on the shoulder or even a short visit to a place you frequented. He thinks you must've noticed, but no words have been spoken over the increased bonding time. Perhaps you had never known that Anaxa has been watching you, studying you to the point of dissecting you apart inside his mind every time your eyes met. Perhaps you never noticed him just as he noticed you, deeply and obsessively.

Sometimes, it frustrates him. It feels as if all the observation he did had amounted to nothing. What else—just how—no, what will—argh, Anaxa feels the need to rip you apart, taking out everything to search for his selfish need. Will after opening the mystery box make him understand his concerning devotion? Has he finally succeeded in attaining what people often called faith? But has faith always felt so covetous? Is it not filled with belief that stemmed from one's pure love? This does not feel like its description to Anaxa. Whatever it is, it feels disgusting.

Yet it feels so amazing too. For once in all his time in the world, he feels whole—too full, even. However, the question still remains. For something as unreal as faith to fill Anaxa, The Heretic, just who are you to attain such a feat?

He now often wonders, is it you or him that made him feel the impossible? If it is him, then what is the fuel to his interest? Is it the curiosity of a human? Or could it be something entirely different? As a person, he'll gladly let it all flow. After all, feelings are as normal as they can be for people. But as a scholar, he is bound to question it nonetheless. As he said, a scholar's mind is to question everything, even if the subject is an obsession.

However, if it is you. Anaxa will still try to find the reason that makes you twinkle in his eyes. He'll do whatever it takes—even if it means scrapping you until the very last end of your being—to find out why. As someone who sees the world as an abundance of knowledge to be discovered, Anaxa will stop at nothing to find and prove it. Frankly, even if he thinks he's at fault for the sudden change in him, it will still lead to the same conclusion: examining you.

So, to make everything easier, as his new subject of interest, won't you let him search every inch of yourself and help unveil the truth? He can't ever help it anymore—the disgust and the curiosity keep on killing him from the inside, yet it makes him so full and so happy.

At least, for his sake, do it, yeah? Aren't you a very curious person as well? To mingle with such a person, amazed by his antics and abilities, and even seeking him out yourself—he knows you 'love' him too.

[saccharinosis]

ya you are the present

happy birthday alexis

Bonus bunny ver. doodled by my irl

[momomallowart]

Found you.

Blue hair Tomu has a special place in my heart, but I still made a white hair vers as well ʕ⁠ ⁠ꈍ⁠ᴥ⁠ꈍ⁠ʔっ✨

And here's what it'd look like if someone turned the lights on 🔦

[downbadmostofthetime]

it sucks being a sunday fan in these trying times because even after the 2.2 story people think that he’s this horrible abusive manipulator who would lock someone in a cage for the rest of their life.