#ITS JUST. SO DELECTABLE OF A SONG

[snekthedemonnoodle]

I WANT TO EAT SOBER UP IT IS LITERALLY SUCH A GOOD SONG AND I WANT TO CONSUME IT AND INJECT IT INTO MY BLOODSTREAM IM GOING CRZY HELP ME

[risuola]

FEELIN' LUCKY || GETO SUGURU

Suguru has a reputation of a playboy — and rightfully so. He likes to change girls, bedding them as he pleases. He thinks he can have them all. He's a player, a red flag and you show him he's wrong. It's a story about a boy who has everything but craves to have you.

contains: frat boy!suguru x nerdy!reader, pining, maybe a little slowburn-ish, flirting, smut (unprotected sex, some body worship, mentions of hooking up, booty calls, sexting), wc. 9420 ⋯ reader discretion is advised

kinktober '24 masterlist || art in the header: @/chu-cho on tumblr

Suguru knows how to navigate around the campus. He’s tried all the shortcuts, been on all the parties, talked (and fought) with all the teachers. He’s known around — troublemaker, a frat boy, a heartbreaker. It’s no news to anyone that Suguru Geto is a red flag personified; a ladies’ man, playing with every beauty he deems worthy of attention. And he’s lucky too, girls tend to love him, all of them. After all, bad girls love bad boys and good girls, unfortunately, do too. He’s a flame that attracts all the moths, a sin that tempts and renders every heart helpless. He’s a siren song luring women towards their doom. The ultimate playboy, reveling in the attention he gets everywhere he shows up, soaking it up like a cat basking in the sun.

It’s unfair, he jokes sometimes, when he aims to add another notch to his bedpost. Unfair how easy it is for him to have what he wants, how all that meets his gaze is heart-eyes and flushed cheeks. But he likes it, he likes to take, he likes to be wanted and pick from the crowd. It boosts his ego. He is, after all, drop dead gorgeous. He is, truly, with his long, raven hair and purple glint to his eyes, all surrounded by an air of sexy danger coming from his piercings, his clothes and the way he acts.

“Who’s that?” He wonders, mind rushing through the extensive catalogue of female students he knows. “She’s new.” Clearly. He doesn’t know you yet.

You’re pretty, too pretty for him to let you go just like that. You came to the party at the frat house, but you don’t seem to fit right in. Maybe you’re a transfer student? Or a friend of someone? It doesn’t look like you’re someone’s girlfriend. A man that’s sane would not let you wander around such place alone. Not in that dress. You’re gorgeous, breathtaking. You make Suguru’s heart beat a little bit faster, his pulse quickening and he can hear it in his ears, a steady thump echoing over the sound of music. It’s excitement — something he has not felt in a long time.

His friends say something. He’s not listening, eyes laser focused on you and only you. You move with grace, your hips sway from side to side like a pendulum as you find your way through the crowded living room. Your cup is empty, it’s clear from the way you tap it with your fingernail every time someone tries to stop you — you’re pointing on it, gesturing your intentions as you try to speak over the loud music and blurring chatter. You seem polite too, the way you smile brightens the area. He likes how it reaches your eyes, how your nose scrunches a little and the skin near your temples crinkle. Everything about you is hypnotizing, you know what you’re doing. You have to know what you’re doing. You’re magnetic and he wouldn’t be able to resist even if he wanted to.

He doesn’t.

You push through the crowd and Suguru follows, a predator stalking its prey. You are, after all, like a sweet little rabbit tonight. His eyes never leave your back, watching the way your hair sways and bounces with each step you take, how the fabric of your dress hugs your delectable curves. You look soft, he’d love to touch you, to squeeze those plush thighs, to feel the pliable flesh of your rear, to have your chest squeezed against the hard planes of his muscular torso. He wonders how soft your skin is under the fabric, if it’s smooth and warm to touch. He wants to find out, to explore every inch of it until he maps out every mole, scar and birthmark. He licks his lips subconsciously, his tongue swiping over the piercing in his lower lip and he wonders if you’d like it — if the cold metal decorating his mouth would be something you’re into.

He catches you in the kitchen. You’re holding a can of strawberry flavored soda and looking around, and he knows what you’re searching for. “Hey there, beautiful,” he greets smoothly, flashing you a smile that’s known for making girls weak in the knees. “Allow me,” he reaches, taking the cold metal from your hands — his fingers brush against yours as your eyes met, the touch lingering a little longer than necessary but he’s content as he swiftly opens the can for you, earning himself a chuckle.

He’s already got you.

“Thank you,” you smile, taking the drink back and filling your cup with the pinkish liquid. It smells sweet, the delicate aroma of artificial fruit breaking through the typical mixture of sweat and alcohol that fills the room. It’s refreshing, the scent, the look of bubbles dancing at the edges of your cup. You take a sip, tasting the flavor on your tongue and he wants to try it too. From your lips, preferably. Those glistening, cherry-colored lips. Oh, you look delectable.

“I’m Suguru,” he grins again, his eyes scanning your breathtaking features and committing the picture to memory. “I don’t think we’ve met before.” He already envisions you below him.

“I doubt that too,” you nod and you know he’s attracted to you. It’s clear from the way he looks at you, eats you with his eyes only. Obvious from how his gaze lingers on your lips a little longer than he should but you allow him. You introduce himself too and he repeats, testing the name on his tongue.

“What brings a gorgeous woman like you to our little shindig?” He extends his hand out to shake yours, his thumb brushing over your delicate skin as his touch lingers.

“I got invited by one of my friends but I can’t seem to find her in this crowd. I’m sure she’s having fun somewhere though, it’s alright,” you explain, briefly looking over the students crowded in the main area of the house. Most of them are drunk already despite the quite early hour but you don’t mind it. A frat party is exactly what you expected it to be. “I wouldn’t honestly dare to call this a little shindig.”

Suguru chuckles lowly, the sound rumbling in his chest. “Well, I suppose ‘little’ was an understatement,” he grins and sips on his own drink. “How do you like it so far? Do you enjoy the mingling masses and blasting music or maybe I could steal you away? My room is just upstairs.” His eyes flick down to your lips once more before meeting your gaze again, a hint of mischief dancing in their violet depths. One step closer and he’s invading your personal space just slightly. “Because I could show you a good time, if you’d like. Just the two of us, away from all that noise and chaos,” he finishes a little quieter, a little lower. His tone is meant to seduce, to tempt you and he knows it always works. In his mind, he’s already alone with you, he imagines tracing your curves as he trails kisses along your jawline. His touch feels electric against your skin and you have to give him that — he sure does know how to get the attention he wants.

“I appreciate the offer, but I came here for the noise and the chaos,” you reply, smiling as your hand finds his wrist in a gentle caress meant to put some distance between his fingertips and your skin. “It’s not every day I get to attend a party such as this one,” that said, you’re ready to retract when his free hand meets the curve of your hip. You hear a hum and he’s suddenly much closer, you feel his breath on your lips, a mixture of mint and something strongly alcoholic. A little sweet too. A coke, maybe. There’s warmth bouncing off of him, one that you feel tingling on your skin when he leans down to meet your height. The tip of his nose teases yours before it moves to the side, running over the lines of your cheekbone.

“Are you sure?” He asks, smirking as he waits for your resolve to crumble. Not a single girl before you had resisted his charms and you surely are not going to be the first. He enjoys the challenge you present. Most girls would have melted under his touch but you remain composed. He likes that. He likes a woman who knows what she wants. “We could make our own noise, create our own chaos.”

“I’m content with all that’s happening here,” you hum, slipping out of his embrace. “Thank you for the company, Suguru. It was nice to meet you,” and you’re gone.

He stands there, dumbfounded. He stands there, once more looking at your back and he cannot believe what happened. A bunny that slipped from the hands of a wolf, girl that rejected Suguru’s charms, A moth that said no to the flames of his lust. A challenge he’s not going to pass on.

He smirks.

Before, he just wanted to have you.

Now, he has to have you.

And he will do whatever it takes.

Over the next weeks, Suguru has not given up. He hasn’t been able to get you out of his head, his interest in you hasn’t diminished; if anything, it’s grown stronger with each passing day. He’s determined to unravel the enigma that is you, to uncover the secrets hidden behind your captivating eyes and sweet smile. There’s something about you that made him desperate. A mystery he cannot quite unravel, a puzzle he can’t solve. And he thinks of you. He finds himself lost in thoughts of you more often than he’d care to admit. He spots you around campus occasionally, always looking effortlessly stunning and each time, he feels that familiar pull, that undeniable attraction that draws him to you.

Maybe it’s him, who’s the moth.

He doesn’t like this. How you always brush his advances off, how sweetly you smile while doing so. Every time he wants to touch you, you slip right through his fingers. You have tainted him with longing he has never felt before, you ruined him. He doesn’t want other women anymore, the line of booty-calls and flings blocked and removed from his phone. The nights he spends thinking of you, fucking his fist and swearing to all gods above and below to change, asking for a chance to sink his teeth into you. Because he doesn’t want anyone else. And he doesn’t know what you have done to him.

“Fancy seeing you there,” he remarks, settling himself beside you on the bench outside the library. The afternoon is particularly sunny, warmth caressing your skin as you sit comfortably, engrossed in a book. “Mind if I join you?” He asks, but he doesn’t wait for the response, as he leans over to glance at the title of your read. “Ah, philosophy. A deep thinker, huh? I like that.”

“Do you?” You ask, nudging a bookmark between the pages. “You don’t strike me as a philosophical type. You seem to me more of a live-in-the-moment kinda guy.”

He chuckles. “You’d be surprised,” he replies, his tone light and teasing, “there’s more to me than just good looks and undeniable charm. Although, I won’t deny that those are pretty great assets,” he winks playfully. Suguru leans back on the bench, stretching his long legs out in front of him. The ripped, black denim exposes a bit of his thigh, the ink of his tattoos peeking through the dark threads, drawing your attention.

“Oh, the confidence. It’s much more valuable trait than the outside looks,” you hum, leaning against the backrest too.

Geto laughs, a rich, warm sound that carries easily in the quiet outdoor setting. Then, he turns to face you fully, his expression turning serious for a moment. “But you’re right, I’m not usually one for heavy books and deep discussions. I prefer to keep things light and fun.” It’s a confession, he admits to it with a hint of vulnerability that’s quickly pushed behind his typical grin. “Besides, a guy can learn a thing or two from a smart, beautiful woman like yourself.” He flirts, but there’s an underlying sincerity to his words. He leans in closer, his voice dropping to a murmur. “Tell me, what’s so captivating about this particular tome? What insights does it hold to have captured your attention so thoroughly?”

“It’s a tale of a man discovering what really matters in modern life, a story of loss and reconciliation. The narrator, whose days are counted due to sudden diagnosis, meets the Devil who offers him an extra day of life in exchange of making one thing in the world disappear,” you explain briefly and he watches your fingers dancing over the front cover of the book, tracing the lines of the simple graphic of a cat. “There comes the question, how do you separate out what you can do without from what you hold dear? I think it’s something we don’t pay much attention to in our lives because we have everything within reach, but what if something just… disappeared? The narrator has to take responsibility for each one of his decisions. There’s no going back, there never will be, once a thing is gone, it’s gone.”

Suguru listens intently, his expression thoughtful as he absorbs your words. “That’s quite… It makes you think, doesn’t it?” He muses, nodding slowly. “It makes you wonder what you’d choose to erase if given a chance to live just a day longer.”

“The question of how to decide what’s okay to remove and what’s not is what makes me think the most,” you look up. The day is beautiful today, fluffy clouds travel sparsely over the azure blue sky, the sun warms your skin with its golden rays and the birds sing, hidden within the crowns of the nearby trees. You hear some chatter, somewhere from the distance where other students pass by, you hear the cars that honk impatiently as they stand in the traffic and you hear a dog barking. There’s a park not far away. “Some things that are insignificant to me might be the entire world to someone else.”

“So you think the burden of consequences might outweigh the price of life itself,” he notes, his eyes studying the lines of your profile. Your eyes, reflecting the blue of the sky, your cheeks flushed from the wind and sunrays. He thinks the color of your scarf makes your complexion looks brighter. “I don’t know if I would be capable of eradicating something from the world permanently. At first, I thought it might be easy, just get rid of something small and simple, but then it made me wonder if things I think are unimportant, truly are so.”

Truth is, Suguru doesn’t think he would dwell much about the topic if not you, but he wonders what if. What if he made a decision that would cause a war? Or someone else’s loss? What if a thing that he picks results in him not meeting you?

“That’s what philosophy does to you,” you chuckle, turning your gaze back to him, just to meet his eyes glued to yourself.

“But maybe that’s what makes life worth living,” he turns to you fully, his eyes wondering as he drops his usual playfulness and mischief. “It’s much easier to pretend we have control over our lives and the world around us rather than confront the harsh truth that we are all just tiny cogs in a vas, unpredictable machine. But maybe it’s the uncertainty, the constant surprises, the knowledge that anything can change in an instant what makes the journey worth the effort.”

“Maybe it is,” you nod, taking a moment to let his words sink in. “I wouldn’t expect you to engage in topics such as this. I apologize,” you offer a smile and he melts.

“You know, most people assume I’m just a pretty face. They don’t expect me to have substance beneath the surface,” he muses, his expression turning thoughtful before he lets out a breathy chuckle. “I guess I do give them the reasons to do so. But I really enjoy talking to you. It’s nice to have conversations that aren’t just surface-level flirting and innuendos. There’s just something about you...” He trails off, reaching out tentatively, brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear. His fingers linger against your skin for a moment before falling away. “I like how you challenge me, make me think deeper than I usually do. You are a puzzle I can’t wait to solve.” His gaze locks with yours, his expression open and vulnerable in a way you haven’t seen from him before. “Can I see you again? Like this, I mean. Just talking, getting to know each other better.”

The question hangs heavy in the air as you consider it. You will meet him again, one way or another, somewhere around the campus or at another frat party. You will see him again as he targets another girl, flirting his way into another pair of panties. And you exhale, your lips curving upwards slightly as you lean your head on your fist, elbow on your knee.

“Suguru,” you begin, his name slipping over your tongue with ease you enjoy. But you know better than this. You have seen it all too well how he treats women. “I enjoy conversing with you and if it’s just talk that you want from me, then I will find time to meet you again. But I need you to know that I will not allow myself to be another notch on your bedpost. It’s easy to get swayed by your charms, but I know your reputation and I know it for sure that if I had to give up one thing in the world, it would never be self-respect.”

And he knows for sure that if he had to give up romance for the rest of his life just to have you, he wouldn’t think twice about it.

“I don’t want to charm my way between your legs,” he swears, too quickly, too desperate to make himself believable and he groans, annoyed by his own self. He nervously runs his hand through his dark, raven hair. “Just, please, give me a chance. I won’t lie to your face and say that I’m suddenly ready to settle down or that I’m done sowing my wild oats entirely. I know what kind of reputation I have and I can’t deny that I’ve played the field more times than I can count. I’ve earned it fair and square,” he admits, his voice tinged with a hint of bitterness. All of the lustful nights flashed before his eyes, the nameless girls, the empty promises and unanswered calls afterwards. All the nudes, all the sexts, all the quickies in the locker rooms and dingy bathrooms. Suguru would give them all away if only earned a chance to be with you. “I want to change. I already started to change. You don’t have to believe me right away, but you are different. From the moment I laid eyes on you, I knew there was something special about you. And I won’t lie that I’m not attracted to you physically. That would be impossible. But there’s more to it than that. Something worth pursuing beyond just a one-night stand.”

“And what change are you talking about?” You quiz. “Because as far as I am concerned, I’ve seen you flirting with some girls just yesterday.”

And he winces, unable to deny your accusation. “You’re right, I did flirt with them. It’s become a second nature to me, a habit I can’t seem to break easily.” He sighs heavily, running a hand through his hair once more, frustrated. “But it didn’t go further than talk. I didn’t… I’ve stopped sleeping around. I blocked and removed all the girls’ numbers from my phone, deleted the pictures I had. Fuck, I even declined an invitation for a party with my pals, for the first time since high school. Look,” he leans in, his eyes locked with yours and his hand finds yours. You feel his thumb rubbing soft circles on your knuckles and you wonder if it’s to soothe you or himself. “Being with you, talking to you… it’s opened my eyes to what I have been missing out on. I’ve spent so long chasing meaningless encounters, never allowing myself to form real connections with anyone and now, I’ve tasted something more substantial and realized just how hollow my previous pursuits have been. I want to do better. For you, yes, but also for myself. I want to prove to you that I’m capable of more than just cheap thrills and empty promises.”

It’s true, everything he says. He is ready to drop the player mask, to shed his frat repute just to have a chance at something real, something that makes his heart flutter in his chest and his stomach bubble with butterflies. He is ready to say no to easy sex just to fight for your attention, your touch, your heart.

He is genuine, but you just hum, your expression unreadable as you weigh your next words. You like him desperate. You like how his violet eyes sparkle with puppy-like vulnerability rather than a flirty mischief. And he is beautiful, you cannot deny it — a man of impressive built, clad in ripped jeans and leather, heavy boots and a band tee. He looks like he bites, and you know he does. You take in the sight of his piercings, the large gauges, the snake bites in his lower lip, the piercing across the bridge of his nose, right between his captivating eyes and the one right above his left brow. You wonder what kissing him would feel like. Would the metal come in the way? Or maybe it would add to the experience?

“I’m not sure what to tell you,” you sigh. “I will give you a chance if you think you can change. But you’ll need to prove it. Think about it.”

And he did.

The lonely nights he spends at the frat house, laying in bed instead of partying with his friends, he wonders where the path of his change will lead him. What if it’s him, confronting the devil and having a chance to lose himself just to earn a day with you? He thinks he’d take it. He’s sure he would. He flips on the mattress, his eyes squinting as the lights from his phone blinded him with a new message. An unknown number. He opens it, it’s a picture, a bare body that he recognizes by the butterfly tattoo on the ribcage. A nude from one of his exes. She must have gotten a new number because he remembers vividly how he blocked her. Usually, he wouldn’t think twice about it, he’d reply with something cheeky, possibly send an explicit picture of himself, maybe set up a meeting or invite her over. His fingers typed the message before his brain managed to intervene and once he hit ‘send’, he cursed out loud.

“Fuck, you idiot!”

A pillow flew across the room as he stared at the ceiling. Would it hurt to go once more with no strings attached? It’s been some time since he’s gotten laid and the vision of tension coming off of him was a temptation beyond measure. But what about you? What about a change he had promised?

Is the change even for him?

Suguru stares at his phone screen, the message he sent glowing mockingly back at him, a shameful reminder of his weak self-restraint. The girl already replied, they always reply so fast, and he doesn’t know what to do. He knows he fucked up, he knows he shouldn’t have responded. He shouldn’t have even entertained the idea of hooking up with his ex, or any other girl. It goes against everything he told you, everything he promised.

With a heavy sigh, he tosses his phone aside, despite the notifications flooding his inbox. More pictures, the location, the time — an annoying ding makes his blood boil and he groans, burying his face in his hands. He feels conflicted, torn between his desire for physical release and growing feelings for you. He wants to be better, to be the man you deserve, to be the man that deserves you. He wants to prove to you that he’s serious about changing, but old habits die hard. The temptation is still there, lurking in the shadows of his mind, waiting for a split second of vulnerability.

He tosses and turns in bed. His thoughts race with the pictures of you, his mind replaying every conversation, every shared laugh and stolen touch. He remembers the way your eyes sparkled when you discussed philosophy, the passion in your voice as you told him about the importance of self-respect. He realizes that those moments were more fulfilling than any other fleeting pleasure he’s experienced before.

But he gets up anyway, he pulls up his dark-washed jeans and a hoodie, socks and boots and he’s ready to go. With a jacket grabbed in the hallway and a phone in his hand, he leaves the house. The crisp air of near winter hits him the moment he steps outside, cooling the blood in his veins and clearing his thoughts.

12 unread messages.

He groans again, this time into the nightly silence as he strides through the pavement, legs leading him in the direction of his doom. Suguru slips the earphones in, plays on the music but the melody and lyrics are helpless against the chaos in his mind.

It’s pointless, to resist his own body. He knows it’s pointless, he knows he has control over his legs and deep down he knows he would reject the booty call if he truly wanted. You deserve a better man anyway, not a player that fucks around like it’s a sport. You deserve someone who would worship the ground you walk on, a man of culture and manners with whom you’d engage in long, deep conversations late in the evenings, not a man-boy who cannot control his own dick. But fuck, does he wants you.

He wants you so bad, he wants to be all those things for you. He wants those discussions about philosophy and life, he wants to kiss your knuckles and be the knight in the shining armor, carrying you in his arms and shielding you from the world and assholes such as himself.

He lights up the cigarette, taking a deep breath in and looking up. The night is pretty. Calm. He wonders if you are already sleeping. Or maybe it’s one of those nights that you pull in order to study and secure your grades. The semester just began but he learned it already that you care about your future more than he does about his own. You’re a little nerdy. He thinks it’s cute. He can imagine himself wrapping a blanket around your shoulders when it’s late and carrying you to bed when you’re falling asleep on top of the books and notes. You would fit perfectly in his arms.

“You fucking moron,” he slanders himself quietly, already seeing the motel in front of him. He shouldn’t be there but he moves forward anyway. He knows his ex is already waiting for him, he can tell by the lights in the room they always used to book for the casual encounters. He stops before he enters, giving the smoke few more moments to burn. He can feel it in his lungs, somehow calming as he checks his phone, scrolling through the notifications.

One of the messages is from you.

It’s innocent in the sea of suggestive texts. There’s an apology for the late hour and a book title that you promised to send him a day before. The one you’ve been reading for the last few days and the one that made him rethink his entire life’s choices. There’s not much substance in the message, but it shakes him awake.

The turn he takes is aggressive, it’s resolute. Heavy boots thudding against the concrete panels as he walks away from the motel. ‘Sorry, not coming.’ He sends the message and blocks the number, feeling lighter the second he removes the nude picture and the unwanted contact.

It takes just an hour before he knocks at your door, the dormitory silent in the nightly time so he keeps himself quiet. You open after a long moment, dressed in a make-shift pajama. He likes the way your hair is messy from the pillows, how you smell like vanilla and flowers and coffee. You look so pretty like this, so undone, so unexpecting yet not entirely disappointed to see him. You seem… content?

“Suguru?” His name comes from your mouth and you usher him inside, afraid of someone seeing him. Once the doors shut behind him, your eyes search him for answers.

“Brought you some food, I thought you might need it,” he grinned, showing off the box of pizza and a bottle of soda. “I figured you’re studying tonight and might need some fuel.”

“So thoughtful,” you tease, but the smile that shapes your mouth reaches your eyes, so he knows it’s genuine. He follows you to your bedroom and he’s not surprised seeing the notes all over your bed and scattered on the floor. The papers full of sparsely highlighted knowledge that you want to transfer into your brain take most of the space before you gather them onto a neat pile. He sits right there, on the newly uncovered spot on your mattress. It feels intimate, to be in your room, to rest on your bed, to see you in your pajama. He wonders if you know what the sight of your thighs does to him, the plush, tender flesh begging to be touched, kissed and kneaded. Suguru thinks your skin would look beautiful with bitemarks all over.

“So, pizza,” he clears his throat after letting his eyes linger for way too long on your bare legs. “I took pepperoni, I hope you like it.”

“It’s perfect,” you smile and separate the barely cut pieces for easier access. “I appreciate the thought, really. But there was no need for you to leave the house just to do this.”

“For you, I would do it at every hour,” he says and then sighs deeply. “But truth is, I didn’t plan this.” Suguru feels like he’s inside the confessional. It’s a foreign tension, completely different from the one he felt just hour before. The knot in his stomach has nothing to do with lust and desire and all to do with stress and regret. “I’ve received a booty-call from my ex. That’s why I left the house,” he spats it out quickly, thinking it’ll hurt less if he does it in rush. “I didn’t go there though. I told her I’m not coming, blocked the number and came here instead.”

You stay neutral, chewing on the pizza as your tired eyes size him up. “Old habits die hard, huh?” You mock, slightly amused by his tormented expression. His eyebrow creases before he lets himself drop back onto the mattress, a soft grunt escaping his mouth as he covers his face with his hands.

“I meant it. I want to change and I’m working on it.” He says, his voice quiet and devoid of his usual cheekiness. “I fucked up when I entertained the idea of hooking up with a random person tonight but cut me some slack, I didn’t do it.”

 “Good boy,” you mock-praise and he groans again, but then his entire body tenses when you lay next to him. He feels your breath against his cheek, the tip of your nose prodding the flesh. He doesn’t move, too afraid to ruin the moment. “Do you regret it? Not going, I mean. Be honest, don’t say what I want to hear.”

“I don’t,” he replies, his tone resolute. “I don’t regret not meeting my ex and not having sex tonight. I was pent up — fuck me, I still am, and when I replied to her text, I didn’t think much about anything except for my dick. But I don’t regret not going because I didn’t want to go. And I’m grateful that you texted me because you reminded me what really is important. Right now, it’s you.”

It makes you smile. He’s torn inside of his mind but you take it as a win anyway. Before, Suguru wouldn’t second-guess pulling his pants down and now you made him think. Now, you made him reconsider; wonder who he is without the façade of the charismatic ladies’ man. He will have to learn to navigate social situations without relying solely on his charm and wit to get what he wants. But he can do this. For you.

Before he speaks again, you’re asleep already. Sideways on the bed, most likely uncomfortable but right next to him and he doesn’t dare to move a muscle in his body. You’re sleeping, your face just an inch from his own. The soft fragrance of your skin fills in his nostrils and not even the smell of pizza nearby can disturb it. There’s a hair somewhere around his face, he doesn’t know if it’s yours or his own, but it tickles his cheek every time you exhale. It’s fine.

An hour passes and he finally gathers the courage to shift, as carefully as he can, he turns to his side, to face you. You’re a vision he takes in with his eyes wide open, committing the picture of your peaceful expression to memory. He likes everything about you, every hair of your eyebrows, every freckle and beauty mark. He likes the way you look so unbothered, so comfortable next to him. He wants to touch you. Oh, how much he craves to caress your cheek, to thread his fingers through your hair. His heart thumps in his chest, reaching speeds matching those of sprinters. The feeling is foreign. Is this…? It cannot be. Suguru Geto is not about… that. His entire life he believed he’s meant to have fun, no strings attached, no responsibilities. What did you do to him?

You move and he stops breathing. It’s an instinct, he thinks, that you shift closer to him, but he tells himself you want that. And you fit so well against his chest, your head below his chin, your hand around his middle. The room spins and he wraps you in the embrace of his arms.

He feels your heartbeat, the gentle rise and fall of your breathing and suddenly, he calms down. It sinks into his mind that it’s where he wants to be. All the years of empty flings, the mediocre orgasms, the shameless pursuits could never compare to the feeling of you in his arms. That’s what he has been missing on. And he will do everything to be the man deserving of you.

Time passes, and Suguru slowly falls into the rhythm of his newfound resolve. It’s easy to decline hookup invitations when he can spend time with you, but maybe he did feel a little too confident when he decided to attend the big, annual party at the frat house. It’s Halloween, after all, how could he not go there when everyone will come? Quickly he falls into familiar routine of charms and alcohol, nursing a beer from a red plastic cup and chatting playfully with attractive attendees. His friends push him towards temptation, inviting more and more girls to the crowd and Suguru feels drawn to the lively atmosphere, the flirtatious banter comes as easy as breathing.

That is, before a pretty sophomore dressed in a devil costume takes a seat next to him — a seat he has kept for you, because you promised you’ll come, despite the need to study. It’s fine if the girl sits there for a moment or two, he thinks, as he engages in a conversation. He knows, it’s as obvious as day, that the second-year beauty is interested in getting into his pants — her hand on his thigh, the fluttering eyelashes and pouty lips say everything about her intentions. As the night progresses, he finds himself more and more… uncomfortable. Surprisingly.

And so, he feels relieved when he sees you in the crowd, late but looking absolutely adorable in your sweet bunny costume. It’s simple yet makes his pants grow tighter as he takes in the way the plain black dress hugs your curves. The fluffy tail bounces with each step you take through the filled living area and the long, pink-lined ears swing just slightly along with your hair whenever you move your head around, looking for something — for him and his heart skips a beat. In that moment, everything fades away — the raucous laughter, the pulsing music, even the sophomore girl next to him.

Excusing himself from company, he forces a smile as he brushes the invasive hand off his thigh and gets up from the sofa, making his way over to you. “Hey there, cutie,” he greets, pulling you into a hug and you melt into his chest in an instant. “Glad you could make it.” He breathes in your scent, letting it calm his nerves but it does little to calm other things down. Fuck, you look perfect.

“How could I miss my favorite frat boy sporting a vampire costume?” You quiz, backing up a little to take in his attire. He’s wearing all black, a dress shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest, pants that make his legs look even longer than they are. His eyes are smudged with little bit of black eyeliner but it works for him, he looks sexy. “Aren’t you a pretty one. I might consider letting you bite me,” you tease, and he knows you’re joking but it doesn’t stop the blood in his body to travel downwards.

“Careful what you wish for, bunny,” he muses, “I might just take you up on that offer and sink my teeth into that delectable neck of yours.” His fingers intertwine with yours as he lifts your hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss to your knuckles before he leads your arm up onto his shoulder. “God, I missed you,” he murmurs as he lowers his head, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

He feels you chuckle, your nails scratching at his scalp as you thread your fingers through his dark locks. Once more you proved him that the change is worth it, because it’s you who’s on the line. “Dance with me?” He asks and you move with him towards the makeshift dancefloor.

Suguru pulls you closer as you enter the rhythm of the music, one hand resting on the small of your back while the other twirls you around gracefully. You’re giggling, amused by the undivided attention he pays you — he’s sweet when he has his eyes on the target, when he has to work for something. He dips you dramatically and your hand tighten on his shoulder, but it’s secure, the way he holds you as if he wished to protect you from all the bad in the world. His eyes lock with yours as he pulls you back up, flush against him. The heat radiating off both your bodies mingles together, creating an intoxicating aura that threatens to consume you whole.

You don’t really listen to what’s playing, a melody mellows in the background as his hands trace patterns along your sides and hips, follow the line of your spine, sometimes teasing the fluffy ball that is your tail. His touch ignites sparks wherever he grazes, leaving trails of fire in its wake. He’s hungry, for you, and you are too. It’s hard to deny it any longer and you think that maybe, just maybe he is ready to commit to something more than just a fleeting romance. It’s been months since he began pursuing you and his attention has been focused solely on you, despite the obstacles and temptations of his life. A reward wouldn’t hurt now, would it?

“I need a drink,” you tell him and he’s quick to react, taking your hand and leading the way towards the kitchen. He knows what you like, snatching a can of strawberry soda from the counter. When you nod in approval, he opens it, too hasty, too eager, that he doesn’t realize the way it bubbles over, spilling over the aluminum container and his fingers. Before he can react, your lips are already on his skin, licking away the sticky trail of pinkish liquid.

Suguru freezes as he feels your tongue glide across his skin, tasting the sweetness of the spilled soda. A shiver runs down his spine at the sensation, his breath hitching in his throat. Desire darkens his eyes, pupils dilate as he watches, transfixed, how you lick the sugary mess from his fingers. The sensation sends jolts of electricity coursing through his veins, pooling in the pit of his stomach. He breathes out your name, but you’re quick to shut him up.

You pull him down, your hand in his hair as you press your lips to his own. He tastes the strawberry sweetness of the soda on your tongue as it dances with his own, the flavor mixing deliciously with the taste of you. The dripping can is soon forgotten on the fake-marble countertop as he scoops you closer, arms wrapping around your waist securely. He can feel the heat of your body through the thin fabric of your costume, the softness of your curves molding perfectly against the hardness of his muscles. He’s eager, he moans lightly into your mouth, the sound vibrating against your lips. You feel the cold metal rubbing against your face, it’s interesting, it’s addicting. You like it.

“Always wanted to try that,” he pants out when for a moment you pull back. He chases your mouth, hungry for more, desperate.

“The soda?” You ask, pressing soft pecks to his pout.

“You.” He lounges forward once again, unsatiated and you don’t stop him. You don’t hear music anymore, all that’s rumbling in your ear is the sound of your heartbeat. You feel the heat in your veins, the flooding of ecstasy filling your cells one by one. There’s no space left between you, but you take a step forward anyway. You feel his hips rolling, a desperate cry for any sort of friction and when you slip your hand down, palming his groin through his pants, he groans into your mouth as his hips buck involuntarily into your touch. “Please,” he begs, eyes locking with yours as he leans his forehead against your own. He can feel himself throbbing beneath the confines of his pants, straining desperately for more of your attention. “You want me too, please tell me you do. I can’t… It hurts, I crave you so much, it hurts.”

“Let’s get out of here,” you murmur. “Your room is upstairs, isn’t it?”

“It is,” he breathes out. “But I won’t take you there. You deserve better than this place and my filthy bed. Let me take you to my apartment.”

He doesn’t wait for an answer and you follow him anyway, your hand incased in his large one, sticky from the spilled soda but none of you seem to care as you saunter through the dancing crowd of young people. Just to get outside.

The walk is a blur, you don’t remember much of it and so does Suguru. The night air is crisp, sending chills down your spine and the boy teases you about it, promising all the warmth he can produce in just few moments. You laugh with him, unbothered by the cool wind that tousles your hair. “It’s just around the corner,” he promises and you hum, matching his pace as he leads you through the neon-lit streets of Tokyo. The world blur into nothing, all you see is the man that holds your hand, the blue-ish hint to his hair whenever the lights fall on it just right, the sticky heat of his palm. You can still smell the faint strawberry aroma; you can definitely feel it on your tongue even though you didn’t manage to truly take a sip of it.

And you laugh again when he fumbles with the keys to his apartment. “Nervous?” You tease him playfully. “You have no idea,” he replies, smiling sheepishly and the entry finally swings open. He ushers you inside, kicking the door shut behind him and flicking the lights on.

Suguru wastes no time, pulling you flush against him once more as he presses you against the nearest wall, his lips finding yours in a heated kiss. His hands roam your body greedily, mapping out every dip and curve, learning the shape of you and you do the same. He shrugs the jacket off and you’re quick to explore the broad lines of his shoulders, the hard muscles of his chest and stomach. You feel him everywhere, the hungry touch devouring every inch of your form. He breaks the kiss, trailing his lips down the column of your neck, sucking and biting the sensitive skin and you whimper breathily — the sound undeniably similar to his own name.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, guiding him lower as he reaches your chest. His kisses grow more wet and delicate as he meets the soft mounds of your breasts, tightly confined by the neckline of your dress. He breaths in your scent, an intoxicating mixture of sweet and floral. It makes his head spin, it’s addicting. He wants more.

It’s easy to slip the dress off of you — first the straps and then the garment goes down, inch by inch revealing the smooth expanse of your skin to his starved gaze. He drinks in the sight of you, his eyes roaming hungrily over the newly exposed flesh and in that moment he swears he has never seen a more beautiful woman in his entire life. His fingers skim along the edges of your bra, tracing the lace delicately before he leans in again, kissing your lips with softness that speaks more than any words could. He wants you, but he wants to worship you. He doesn’t want to make it all about lust and desire, he wants to make it about you and him. About whatever is this feeling that bubbles between you.

And so, he moves down slowly, lips mapping out the curve of your collarbone and down the path to your sternum. His hands follow your curves with gentleness he doesn’t recognize in himself. “You’re beautiful,” he whispers, his hot breath meeting the skin of your stomach, “just breathtaking,” he lowers himself to his knees — something he has never done in his entire life, used to have women at his feet.

“Suguru,” you breathe out but he doesn’t listen. Not when the skin of your thighs feels so soft against his cheeks, not when it tastes so delicious as he trails wet, open-mouthed kisses along the plush flesh. Your fingernails find a way into his hair and he dives between your legs, encouraging one of them to hook over his shoulder. He savors the scent of you, his nose rubbing against the fabric of your underwear, prodding at the little wet patch. He licks it, his tongue flattening over the cotton, catching a hint of your taste — and that’s enough to make him go crazy for you.

“Fuck, you’re so sweet,” he breathes out, every exhale that meets the wetness of your panties sends jolts of electricity up your spine and back down to your core. He presses his lips to where he thinks your clit is, you feel him sucking gently and it’s enough friction to feel yourself pulsating. You moan quietly, the sound escaping your parted lips easily as your hold on his hair tightens. There’s no denying that you want him just as much as he wants you. He’s desperate but so are you.

Your knee buckle as he continues the torture and he coos sweetly. “Let’s take you to bed, you sweet thing,” his tone is sugary, a melody dripping with honey as he smiles at you in a way that makes you blush. There’s adoration written all over his face, his cheeks are flushed, lips red and glistening. You want to follow him when he stands up, but he swoops you off your feet, carrying you bridal style towards the bedroom. It makes you giggle.

“Practicing already?” You muse and he just smiles.

“Perhaps.”

Your back meets the cold bedspread as he lays you down delicately. No time is wasted before he’s right above you, right on you — you feel the weight of his body pressing you into the mattress. No complains about it. He feels good, his hips rolling in a way that has his bulging erection grind along your panties. You hate the fabrics between you two, you hate how they make you feel less of him.

So you move your hands, slide them between your bodies, fumble with the buttons of his shirt. “Impatient much?” He teases, but helps you, pulling the shirt over his head, saving you trouble of the bottom fasteners. His lips find yours in a kiss that burns and you whimper into it, feeling the warmth spreading all over your body.

You reach down. Button, zipper. Your hands tremble as you push the fabric off his hips and he kicks it down. He helps himself with a hand and soon, his pants are on the ground, along with his socks and your bra, that you impatiently toss away. Suguru’s heart rumbles against his ribcage as he takes in the sight of your bare chest. It’s perfect, you are perfect and he cannot believe the luck he has — after years of chasing simple pleasures and meaningless peaks, he had finally found someone he wants to call his.

He feels your heart underneath his cheek as he leans down, inhaling the scent of your skin — his nose trails patterns over the soft flesh before he presses his lips to it, kissing his way towards one of your nipples. It pebbles beneath his touch, hardening as he latches onto it, sucking and teasing it with teeth, twirling his tongue all around. He matches his ministrations with his fingers, not letting the twin feel left out. Your taste is of pure heaven and the sounds that leave your mouth are ones of an angel.

There’s a patch of wet on his boxers, right where the throbbing head of his cock strains against the fabric — the precum oozing out as he grinds his hips against yours. It makes him insane how you reply with the roll of your own, to match his moves, to cause more of that delicious friction that sends both of you into a spiral of desire.

Unable to wait any longer, you hook your fingers at the waistband of his underwear, tugging it down and Suguru replies with the same — pulling the soaked cotton off of you. He wants to taste you, and he will, but not now. He reaches down, guiding the tip of his cock between the folds of your pussy, the head sliding with ease as your slick mixes with the pearly beads of semen. He loves the way your thighs tremble every time he glides over your sensitive clit, how your breath hitches and eyes close.

“Ready?” The question falls and you nod fervently, your hands finding his shoulders for balance. “Use your words, beautiful.”

“I’m ready,” you assure and then, your back arches off the mattress. He slides in inch by inch, stretching you, filling you so completely, making you go blind for a moment. The pain burns just faintly, losing its flames to the flooding of endorphins and pleasure. He goes in to the hilt, his body shuddering as he drops his head to the crook of your neck.

The feeling overwhelms him. The way your pussy grips him, like a vice that almost pulls him in more and more. It’s delightful. Ecstatic. It’s something he’s never experienced before. Is that what love feels like? He moves, slowly backing his hips until there’s nothing but a tip nestled inside you before he pushes forward again, knocking the air out of your lungs and his own too.

You paw at his arms, his back and chest. You want him closer, you want to feel all of him. Stars are clouding your vision, the world ceases to exist and there’s nothing else in it but you and the man on top of you. He feels so good, like he’s meant to be right there with you and Suguru feels the same. Like he found home, like he belongs there, in the warmth of your embrace, in the tightness of your walls. He loves the way you cling to him, the way your nails dig into his skin and your heels dig into his ass, urging him to go harder, faster. He complies, his hips snapping against yours as the wet sounds of your bodies colliding echo through the room, alongside your moans and gasps.

He changes the angle, shifting his hips to hit that spot inside you that makes the stars glitter before your eyes. He knows he’s found it when your back arches off the bed, your nails scoring down his back and a scream tears from your throat. He loves the sound, he loves the sight. He loves how you come undone, how beautifully blissed out your expression is, how your eyes lock with his even though you see nothing but haze. He grins, a smile lost against your skin as he continues pounding into you relentlessly, chasing his own high. He can feel it already, it threatens to consume him. His balls draw up tight, his heart races in his chest.

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, muffling his groans and whimpers against your tender flesh as his hand grips your hip tightly. You match him thrust for thrust, nails leaving angry red marks in their wake. You feel the pleasure building inside you, coiling tighter and tighter until you feel you might explode. Your walls start to flutter around him to the rhythm of your heartbeat and the desire coursing through your veins.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” Suguru gasps, his voice strained with exertion. He knows you’re close, it drives him insane. “I’m gonna—” He cuts himself off with a guttural moan as his climax hits him like a freight train. He follows you into the pit of pure delight, headfirst, no thoughts. Just pure, overwhelming bliss.

He collapses on top of you, his weight pressing you into the mattress, as his hips buck forward few more times, riding out your highs with stuttered thrusts. You both lay there, panting and sweating, basking in the afterglow of passion. His softening cock slips out of you, followed by a gush of combined fluids but none of you worries about the mess, too blissed out to care about a thing.

“Wow,” he breathes, nuzzling his face into your neck, finding your pulse with his lips. “That was incredible.”

You giggle softly, carding your fingers through his sweat-dampened locks. They feel like silk, soft and luxurious. “Mm, it certainly was.”

“I don’t deserve you,” he exhales, rolling off of you and pulling you into his arms. He presses a tender kiss to your temple, marveling at the intimacy of the moment. It feels new, like an uncharted territory that he wants to explore further. With you. “I meant what I said earlier,” he murmurs, his voice barely above whisper and sincere. “I want to be better. To be worthy of you.”

You hum, lifting your head to look at him and all you see in his violet eyes is raw honesty and a depth of emotion that takes your breath away. “I believe you,” you tell him, leaning in to capture his lips in a slow, lingering kiss. There’s no more rush, no more lust — just pure, soft affection. “And I want to help you change. Together, yeah?”

Suguru smiles against our mouth, his heart swelling with love he never knew he was capable of.

Together.

[redr0sewrites]

im a handful (but thats what hands are for)

🍇A/n: the title is a song lyric,,,, iykyk

🍇Cw: smut, dirty talk, praise + degradation, pwp, fingering, riding, breeding kink, a bit of angst???, implied switch!Touya, fem!reader

🍇divider

you and Dabi had always been complete opposites in terms of demeanor. while he was carefree and frivalous, you always prided yourself on being complex and thorough. with the ever burning tension between you two, it was no wonder that you had ended up in the position you were in now- although this was certainly not the first time- pressed down on your bed with one of Japans, no, the worlds most dangerous criminals finger fucking you to hell and back.

"there she is," he whispers, the same words as the first time you'd let him fuck you. "knew there was a pretty little slut under that cold exterior."

you follow your script with practiced expertise, repeating the same words you'd uttered all those months ago- and so did he.

"ffuck you-"

"isn't that what i'm already doing 'ma?"

Dabi was mesmerized with you, to say the least. from the hitch of your breath when he first curled a finger into your pretty cunt, to the soft whines that slowly fill the room with each ministration, followed by the delectable squelch of your pussy as your clit rocks against his knuckles.

it was clear in every sense of the word that he was purely obsessed, almost worshipful- not limited to, but especially in bed.

"yea? y'like that?"

piercing blue eyes watch your every move, keeping careful catalog of every twitch and shudder you make in response to his actions. Dabi's thumb finds your clit with practiced ease, and he rubs swift circles over the sensitive bud.

"Dabi, oh-h, fuck-"

"thats not my name, hun," he coos, leaning down to press an almost condescending kiss to your forehead.

"y'really are worked up, huh? c'mon, we're all alone, you can say it."

"ffuck, Touya!"

"there she is," he smirks, curling his fingers and sliding in a third as you whimper. you can practically see his mind whirling with sawtrap level plans to keep you in bed with him, to finally let him truly be yours. in all the times you both had slept together, you had never fallen asleep beside him, never stayed the night, hell, never even mentioned it outside of the bedroom. it had started off as a challenge, but that soon melted into a raw, desperate, carnivorous need to be yours. Touya had never been wanted, so he rarely even dared to allow himself to want in turn- but fuck, did he want you.

he watches you as you cum like a sheep watches its guard dog, knowing deep down that you could ruin him, sink your teeth into his neck and tear out the remains of his bleeding, broken heart- and yet, the dog stays ever loyal, defending its livestock even at its own expense.

your ability to speak seemed to flee as your orgasm washes over you, sending ripples of pleasure across the planes of your body. all the while Touya continuously pumps his fingers in and out of your dripping cunt, prolonging your pleasure as the world around you fizzes in and out of focus.

"y'alright?" he rasps, pulling his hand away from your sticky cunt- only to lick your release right off his fingers. you make a face and he snickers, and for just a second, you can see a ripple within the veil of time, and instead of one of the most dangerous people in the world, a snarky, beautiful young man is sitting in front of you. that was the difference between Dabi and Touya in your eyes- he could act cold and nonchalant all he wanted, but behind closed doors, he was your Touya.

"you want a taste?" his words pull you from your stupor, and you roll your eyes.

"no thanks, i'm good."

"are you sure? you taste sweet, y'know," he teases, and you laugh in spite of yourself.

"bull."

"don't knock it till ya try it," he snickers, before shifting to stand up. your body reacts without thinking, and you grab his wrist.

"where are you going?" you demand, and he turns to look at you, almost.... surprised.

"i was gonna go get something to clean up, but i guess if you'd rather be covered in your own slick-"

"what about you?" you motion to the obvious strain in his boxers, and he rolls his eyes.

"you worried about me, doll?"

"sit back down."

he obeys almost immediately, your commanding tone wiping the attitude out of his demeanor- but it isn't enough to diminish the teasing smirk off his face.

"why? ya gonna suck me off?"

"no," you murmur as you begin to shift closer until your hovering over him. with one hand, you push him down against the mattress, and he relaxes compliantly, like a ragdoll beneath your fingertips. you look down at him, lust clouding your gaze as he stares up at you with those big, blue eyes.

"then what're you gonna do, ma?" he mumbles, voice noticeably raspier.

"you'll see, Touya. be patient." you continue to hover over him, keeping yourself from fully straddling him just yet. he'd already shed most of his clothes earlier, leaving him bare before you in nothing but his boxers. his cock is already hard, straining up against the thin material of his undergarments.

you take your time to admire the pretty scene laying down in front of you- and pretty it is. his scars are even more defined in the dim lighting, and the streetlights from outside your window illuminate the silvery piercings holding him together.

you had been cursed- or rather, blessed- with intrusive thoughts of tearing them all out one by one with your teeth while he burnt you alive from the inside. it was disgustingly, beautifully gruesome, almost carnivorous, the way you loved- no. lusted for him. you desperately want him to be your undoing- and you, his- but you could never let yourself love him. not when he would never love you. you keep that in mind as you trail a hand over his chest and pectorals, yet your heart pays careful attention of the way his breathing hitches at your gentle touch.

"so pretty," you murmur, before leaning down to press a kiss to the conjunction of his neck and collarbone. Touya practically melts, getting all squirmy and unsure beneath you like he always did whenever you show him any attention.

"shut up," he hisses, but his words hold no bite as he shudders beneath you.

"mhm," you continue your assault on his neck, pressing gentle kisses across the scarred flesh.

"you nervous, Touya?" you tease, and he sucks in a breath.

"i said shut up."

"of course, baby~" you coo, pretending to ignore the strained whine that leaves his mouth at your words. he always got like this after a long day, all compliant and needy, but it was rare that he was this quiet. you indulge his good behavior, and your hands, which were previously exploring his chest, travel down to find purchase on the waistband of his boxers.

"can i take these off?"

"yea," he rasps, lifting his hips up off the mattress to assist you in removing his undergarments. his cock springs free, lightly tapping against his stomach in its erect state. you once again marvel at his complacency, and your heart flutters at how much he trusts you. then your brain tells your heart to shut the fuck up. regardless, you make eye contact with him as you spit into your palm before gingerly running a finger up the side of his aching length, causing Touya to grit his teeth to prevent another whine slipping out.

"don't tease," he grumbles, blue eyes narrowing in adorable irritation. you hum, watching the way his body tenses as you situate yourself above his aching length, aligning him with your entrance. scarred hands tentatively hover over your hips, and he looks up at you almost questioningly. you give a nod of approval and he grabs your soft flesh, rubbing small circles with his thumb over the plush of your hips.

"y'ready?" you mumble, before slowly sinking his tip between your folds. Touya nods breathlessly, watching as your cunt slowly begins to swallow up his length. his tip slowly protrudes into your gummy walls, and you shudder around his size. he's barely halfway in and he's already practicing breathing exercises to keep himself from cumming too early, with the way your squeezing him so tight.

you watch his stomach twitch beneath your hand as you sink further down his length. Touya's head is thrown back, and with every inch engulfed into your aching heat he lets out a few more tantalizing noises. your thighs burn as you finally seat yourself on his cock, with your clit ever so lightly brushing up against his navel as you get situated. you give yourself a second to get used to the slight burn you've associated with having him inside of you, and Touya squirms beneath you as he too struggles to adjust.

slowly but surely, you begin to roll your hips against his, marveling at the way his tip kisses your g-spot. Touya gasps as you raise your hips, almost letting him slip out of you entirely, before slamming yourself back down hard onto his cock. he lets out a strangled moan, squeezing your hips so tight youre sure that they'll bruise.

"yea? y'like that?" you parrot his words from earlier, rolling your hips in a desperate effort to coax out more of his lovely noises.

"ha-ah, fuck, you're so-o tight, 'm not gonna last, m'gonna cum in this pretty pussy," he slurs, looking up at you with hazy eyes.

"yea? s'that what you wanna do Touya? gonna make me yours?"

Touya nods eagerly, rocking his hips up into yours. his thrust hits your g spot perfectly, and you let out a wanton moan. he immediately takes a firm hold of your hips, pistoning his cock up into you again and again, repetitively hitting that spot so deep inside of you.

"you can, y'know." you pant, sweat dripping from your brow.

"huh?"

"cum inside."

Touya sputters something incomprehensible, and you have the audacity to giggle. at him.

"m' on the pill, hun. y'really are worked up, huh?"

Touya lets out a choked moan, recognizing his own words being spat back at him as he rolls his hips impossibly harder against yours. a scarred hand reaches between you both to rub harsh circles on your clit, and you gush, clenching around him at his ministrations.

"i, hah, 'm close- i want you, closer, please," he babbles, wrapping his free arm around your waist and pulling you tight against him. Touya nuzzles into your chest, his lips finding purchase on one of your nipples. your pussy squeezes him tight as he sucks lightly, and his cock twitches once, twice, three times before he cums. he presses down hard on your clit as he spurts inside you, continuing to fuck his release deeper into your spongey walls. those actions alone push you over the edge, and you call out his name as your second orgasm of the night washes over you like a tidal wave.

Touya continues rutting up into you for a few more seconds, prolonging both of your orgasms and pressing sloppy kisses to your chest and collar. he isn't sure what to focus on, or even if he can focus. his mind is fuzzy, filled with you, you, you. nonetheless, your happy to indulge as you paw at his chest, continuing to grind down against him until the pleasure begins to melt into overstimulation. Touya can barely comprehend the fact that you had just let him cum inside of you, and it sparked the possessive side of him that so often reared up in these moments with you.

"o-oh fuck, ffuuuck fuck fuck," he's gasping, cock twitching desperately as he pulls out. cum is dripping down between both of your legs, hot release pooling on the sheets beneath him. you hover over him for a second before collapsing down besides him, and a firm arm wraps around your body, pulling you flush against him. Touya marvels as you melt into his embrace, nuzzling into his neck. if he could cry, he probably would, he wants you insatiably, impossibly close. in this moment, he knows that if he could crawl inside your skin, he would. he would tear out his own burning heart and hand it to you on a silver platter in return for moments like this, where he could be soft, where he could be Touya instead of Dabi.

"shit," you mumble against his skin. "that was... wow. better than ever."

"good enough to make you stay the night?" the words slip out before he can stop them, and he regrets it almost instantly as you tense. fuck his sex-addled brain and his stupid mouth. he's fully prepared for you to immediately get up and leave, but instead, you surprise him like you always do.

"i didn't think you wanted me to stay," you whisper, and he blinks hard.

"f'course i did. i still do."

"..okay. i'll stay."

he can't help the smile that stretches across his face as you snuggle into him deeper.

"on one condition- or maybe two."

his heart sinks.

"we clean up first."

damn.

"and you have to promise that we'll discuss this in the morning. i don't want to keep doing... this. if we're going to continue to sleep together, i want to be, like, more than just friends."

Touya is silent for a moment, and he swears that his heart is beating so loud that the entirety of Japan can hear it. you had just said that. he was sure he must be dreaming.

"really?"

"yes, really. now let me go so i can clean this mess up before it dries!"

"...never. i'm not ever letting go of you ever again."

"ugh, you're such a handful," you grumble, curling into his warmth as he lets out a raspy chuckle.

"i guess you're stuck holding me."

"..yea. guess i am"

hey guys ! im so insane over him actually. he's literally eldest daughter syndrome (me) in the form of a traumatized man (i would not fix him. i support his atrocities. id help him fuck up endeavor.)

ANYWAYS SEND IN DABI/TOUYA OR JUST BNHA ASKS OR THIRSTS PLS

[ghostofhyuck]

Deja Vu

It’s been months since you two broke up and Jeno got a new girl now. She’s pretty, nice, and exactly his ideal type. And yet, the ghost of you still lingers, maybe because Jeno brings her to the places you two used to go. 

Deja vu? Maybe. Or it’s just Jeno’s not over you. 

Word count: 2.2k

Tags: angst, fluff, ex to lovers (?) cheating if you squint really REALLY hard.

Song inspiration: Deja Vu by Olivia Rodrigo

AN: TDS3 D3 Jeno went topless and it was a sign for me to finish this fic. 

Also this is part two of this fic. Read it so that you can have more context, but this can still serve as a stand-alone. 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

“So, where is this ride going?” you asked. 

“If I told you, it’ll ruin the surprise,” Jeno replied. A smile plastered on his lips as he took a quick glance at you before focusing on the road. 

It was five in the afternoon. The sun’s slowly setting, and the sky’s painted in its godly gold. It’s bright and warm, as the sun’s shine passed through the window of Jeno’s Ford Mustang. You just finished your last exam for the semester. After nights of cramming and chugging down coffee, you’re finally free from the semester. Vacation is just around the corner, and what’s the perfect thing to celebrate the end of semester other than celebrating it with your boyfriend?

You watched as Jeno drove smoothly across town, going down the coastal area where the sunset’s more pleasing to watch. You slide across the bridge and the next thing you know, the sun’s following you through the long bay of your town’s beach. 

Jeno knows how much you love the beach. It’s a safe place for you where you can get away from your university. So you two just usually hangout around the coast. 

Your boyfriend parks the car near the baywalk. He quickly turns off the engine, and just like the usual thing he does, he leaves the car first and opens your car for you. 

“You don’t always have to do this, you know that?” 

“But I want to,” he said casually just like the way his arms wrapped around your shoulders immediately, pulling you closer to him. You only smile as he gives you a small kiss on the head. 

“So, where are you taking me?” you asked once again. 

Jeno only hums as he stops, that’s when your eyes widen at the shop in front of you. 

“No way!” you shouted. 

“They just opened yesterday, so why not celebrate with a cup of yoghurt?” Jeno smiled. 

“Oh my god, I’ve been craving for it for so long!” you shouted. 

Jeno only smiles, internally patting himself good job. He knows everything about you, and he knows how lately you’ve been obsessed with yoghurt. Whether it be a drink or served in a cup, you’ll love it somehow.

“Did I ever tell you that I love you?” you asked your boyfriend who only lets out a chuckle before stealing a kiss on you. 

“I love you too bub, now come on, it’s a do-it-yourself, so get as many toppings as you want.”

When you entered the shop, you immediately separated from your boyfriend, eager to have a cup of yoghurt. Jeno watched as you grabbed a large cup before going to the yoghurt machine. He was smiling ear to ear as you moved to the topping and sauce section, picking carefully your toppings because you’re still a picky eater nevertheless. 

Eventually, he joins you as he grabs a medium cup and picks some toppings that suit his taste. After weighing the cup and paying for the dessert, the two of you went out where an al fresco area can be found. You two sat at the corner, digging on the delectable treat that you two are having. 

The sun is setting and you’re halfway on your cup, you could only stare at the sun. feeling overwhelmed but in a good sense. You finally finished your semester and your boyfriend brought you to a yoghurt shop. You couldn’t help but to smile. Things are better and you just feel so lucky to be here right now. 

“Having deep thoughts again?” Jeno asked, knowing that you tend to space out sometimes. 

“No, no deep thoughts,” you told him. “Just happy right now.”

“Oh really?” Jeno teases, “can I ask why?”

You only smiled, “of course because school’s over, and I have my handsome boyfriend treat me my favorite dessert at the moment.”

Jeno only smiled, gazing at you lovingly. He wonders if days are going to be like this. He likes this life of his. In this town where it’s just you and him, in a small yoghurt shop, with the sun setting on the background. 

And as Jeno stares at you, he couldn’t help but be in awe. Thinking how lucky he is to have a girlfriend like you. 

Your attention shifted to him, making him stare at you even more lovingly.

“Jeno,” you called out. 

“What?” 

“You’re spacing out,”

“What makes you think of that, yn?” 

“Yn?”

Jeno’s eyes widened. 

“Who’s yn?” 

The girl in front of him is not you. Her hair is in a different shade, falling along her shoulders, unlike yours who you usually tie in a messy ponytail whenever you’re eating something. She’s pretty, definitely pretty that it can make anyone turn their head. 

They stared at each other for a minute. That’s when Jeno realised that your name slipped onto his lips. 

Fuck. He thought. That’s when he remembered. It’s been months ever since you two broke up. Months after that night that was full of frustrations and arguments. Jeno barely recalled what you two argued about but he knew that you were crying and instead of comforting you, he stormed out of your place.

You two didn’t break up that night officially, you called it quits over a text three days later. Instead of calling you, Jeno lets it be. Thinking that you two were just never meant to be. 

Unlike you, Jeno found it easy to get over you. He’s a charming guy, so it was quick for him to find another girl that he can love again. 

Or so he thought. Because as he stared at the girl in front of him, he couldn’t believe that he called her by your name. 

“Nothing, it’s nothing, sorry,” he quickly apologised. Shifting his attention to the melted yoghurt on his cup. 

Maybe it was his fault. For bringing her to the places you two went. Jeno knows that there are a lot of places where he can bring her, but why does he always end up in the coastal area? On a particular yoghurt shop that you love? 

Jeno couldn’t help but to question it. He thought that he’s over you but it seems like the ghost of you still keeps on haunting him. 

You who’s always cheery. You who always have a certain sweet treat every semester. You who loves bringing your polaroid camera and taking photos of the people you hang out with. 

You, who was there for Jeno. Who loved him despite his flaws and even though he is lacking in some parts, you ignored it and loved him nevertheless.

He wasn’t perfect, but you weren’t looking for a perfect boyfriend. You love Lee Jeno no matter what. And you always say that to him. 

“Hey Jen, I’m done here, should we get going now?” Jeno snapped out once again when she spoke out again. 

He stares at his yoghurt. It’s all melted and doesn’t look appetising at all. He then glances at the sun and it’s barely touching the sea. If it was you who’s with him, you two will wait until the sun sets and set out when the stars are in the sky. 

But you’re not with him anymore, and he’s with a new girl. Who’s pretty, who’s nice, and is exactly his ideal type. Jeno had accepted it, after all. It’s not only him who’s moving on. He knows that Mark Lee’s making a move on you. He watched as you laughed with him over a cup of coffee a few weeks earlier. 

So it seems like you two are moving on. Good for you. He thought. You deserve someone better than him. While he knows that there are no other girls that can surpass you, Jeno hopes that at least for his side, he can be a better man for his new girl. 

The ride home was nothing but an awkward tense. Jeno keeps on glancing at her, who’s too busy on her phone. If it was you, your eyes would linger on the view outside — even though you’ve grown up in this area, you always love staring at the view. But at some time, you’ll shift your gaze at Jeno, who’ll reciprocate your giggles with a soft chuckle. His free hand lacing around your fingers, never letting you go until you reached your place.

“Watch out!” and luckily, Jeno stepped on the brake quickly. His eyes staring at the dog that just passed by. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t —” 

“No, of course not! The dog suddenly jumped out of nowhere,” she said in a soft tone, smiling as she pats Jeno’s shoulders. “You prevented it too, and there’s no accident that happened, so it’s okay.”

Jeno could only let out a sigh. Somehow, he feels like blaming himself because of the incident, if it wasn’t him thinking about you, then maybe he’ll be more concentrated on his drive. He tried to focus on the road, but you’re in his mind no matter how hard he tries to shake the thought of you. 

He didn’t notice that he just reached her place. It was as if he was driving out of instincts. 

“Thanks for dropping me off,” she said, smiling. 

“No worries,” Jeno only said, and before she left, she gave Jeno a soft kiss on the cheeks. Jeno watches as she gets out of the car, walks through her apartment and closes the door. 

But Jeno couldn’t move from his seat. He doesn’t know what to do. Frustrated, Jeno lets out a sigh as he rests his head on the headboard. He doesn’t want to fuck up. He already ruined your relationship, he couldn’t bear to ruin another one too. 

“I’m so stupid,” Jeno whispered. He opens his eyes and looks at the road. He knows that deep inside, he’s not yet ready to enter another relationship. It’s too soon. 

Not when you spent three years together, and broke up abruptly. Throwing everything you two had. Never had a decent closure or even a proper apology from each other because of what happened that night. No. The only thing Jeno wants more is to find closure from you, and perhaps, in the better light, 

you two can finally move on and find someone better. 

Jeno knows that partly, it’s his fault that things went downhill. So it's up to him to fix everything. He turned on the engine, and without any hesitation, drove to a familiar route that he memorised by heart. It was a gamble, but Jeno was willing to see the outcome of his indecisive decisions. 

As he reached your place, Jeno didn’t hesitate to turn off his engine, leaving his car as soon as possible. 

He walks towards your apartment, a sense of familiarity welcomed him. It felt like home and Jeno tries to brush off that feeling — that odd sense of missing a place that has been a home for him for years. 

Jeno stops in front of your door. He lets out a deep sigh before knocking on the door. For a minute, no one answered.

He knocks once more. Two, three, four loud knocks, in hopes that it can be enough for you to open the door. 

But within a minute, no one answered. Jeno took it as a sign. That maybe closure isn’t for you two. Jeno tried to ease his beating heart — he didn’t even notice that it had been beating abnormally ever since he arrived at your place. 

So he turned his heels around, walking a few steps when he heard the door open. 

“Jeno? What are you doing here?” 

As he turned around, Jeno was shunned. 

There you are, with your hair in a mess, wearing your favourite cinnamoroll-patterned pajamas. He saw how your round eyes became wider as he made eye contact with you — both yearning for something. 

“I…I —” Jeno decided to go near you. “I just, want to ask you how you have been.” 

That was stupid. That was so fucking stupid. Jeno’s mind was barely functioning when those words slipped out of his mouth. 

But you didn’t take it into something. You were just surprised. Jeno’s in front of you. The sense of familiarity to the man in front of you is still there. His scent, presence, and the feelings you had for him. It’s all still there. 

And you don’t know why, but maybe you just wanted to see if he still loves you. 

Because instead of answering him, you grabbed him by the neck and smashed your lips onto his. 

But in a quick second, you realised that what you did was stupid. You broke out of the kiss, and yet your hand remains on his. 

Jeno’s gaze shifted from a surprised one to something more familiar. Lovingly. You knew that stare, you’ve always loved that stare of his. You know that because you’re the only one who he gave that gaze with. 

And the next thing you knew, his lips crashed onto yours. You couldn’t help but to kiss him back with more intensity. His arms instinctively hold your waist as you attempt to balance yourself. He pushes you backward, making you two enter your apartment without breaking the kiss.

[sorceresssundries]

Sanctuary

Pairing: Gale/Female Tav

Warnings: Nightmares, mention of trauma, sex, NSFW

Word Count: 2.2K

Summary: After what happened at Baldur's Gate, it's no wonder Elspeth Dekarios is still haunted by nightmares. Luckily, she has somebody to look after her and chase the bad dreams away.

A/N - a happy birthday gift to the wonderful @elspethdekarios!

The place that had once been the centre of Gale Dekarios’ universe had condensed down to one singular point, the side of the bed where Elspeth slept. These moments of stillness were his sanctuary, when the city was quiet and the window was open to the moon and stars, and the soft froth of the waves rhythmically brushed the shore, singing serene songs from faraway places. Their music had once been his only bedfellow, but it no longer soothed him to sleep the way it used to. The sea could keep its solace. His peace was wrapped up in the woman lying beside him.

In these delicate, moonlit hours where tomorrow was still deciding what it would become, Gale would watch Elspeth dream. Her body, softened by the gentle tug of slumber, was the most sacred figure he’d ever worshipped. 

This was a mortal intimacy he could once only have dreamt of. The flutter of her eyelids hinted at some distant dreamworld beyond his reach, and her lips were slightly parted, as though ready to whisper some secret she had discovered there. Gale liked to imagine he was still a part of her even in her dreams, that perhaps the memory of his mouth moving over her skin lingered in her consciousness. He hoped his touch—whether the gentle brush of his fingers over her back or the heat of his tongue moving inside her—was too sweet, too intense to leave behind, and so she carried him with her, even into the faraway fantasy of her dreams.

Sometimes she would moan; the most delectable, breathy incantations that  left him melting and enraptured. He would lean closer, wanting to press his mouth to hers and catch those dream-born sighs between his teeth, to steal her breaths like a thief, to consume her utterly, the way he did her body on those slow, sultry nights when they had all the time in the world and his lips traced every one of her curves and hollows.

She was magic. A Goddess made flesh, a wish granted, and he was the fool who had stumbled upon an enchanted lamp and had been bestowed the impossible. 

It broke his heart that not every night was this peaceful, that he could not always protect her the way he wanted. Gale had taken to being extra vigilant during the hours when the rest of the world seemed to fade away. She suffered nightmares, of course she did, It was a crushing inevitability. Even someone as tough and resilient as Elspeth Dekarios could not prevent the smoke of long-smouldered fires from wisping through her mind and clouding her light. 

He knew the past knotted the silk of her heart, and the storms she had weathered would always linger, echoing the boom of voices long gone, and the flashes of lighting splitting apart skies she thought had cleared. 

He would give anything to take it all away from her; crowns and kingdoms and magic. All of it, everything - just to make sure no nightmare ever found her again. He wanted her to know only gentle peace. But, he was only human, and her mind was her own. So… Gale would watch and comfort and love her, the way only he could. 

One night while she slept, deep and secure, he had left her to work on some correspondence at his desk. He wasn’t sure how long he had been there for, long enough for the candle to burn down and for ink to stain his fingers, when he heard a cry from their bedroom. He had never moved so fast in his life. She was sat up, breathless and shaking, so wracked and gripped with fear that even her tears were too frozen to fall. 

“You were gone.” She had gasped, clutching the bedsheets between her fingers as though they were a lifeline. “You were..”

“Hush, love.” He was wrapped around her, her head tucked beneath his chin, his hand rubbing her back. The ink stains smeared deep blue across her starlit skin, but neither of them noticed. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he whispered between kisses. His words were full of gentle comfort, assuring her that he was here, he was safe, she was safe, and that he loved her more than anything. 

He promised her he would never leave again. 

He took his time, holding her and talking to her. Offering her simple truths and silly stories which coaxed out smiles and sighs as he held her against him. The pads of her fingers brushed through the hair on his chest, and followed the trail of it along his body, making him shudder as her slender, harpist hands stroked his skin. 

Slowly, the peppered kisses became slower, deeper. His lips trailed down her neck, soft and love-filled, meant to ground her, to reassure her. “I’m here,” he whispered again, his mouth against her shoulder now, down her back. Each kiss was slow, deliberate, meant to melt the fear from her bones and replace it with something else—something solid, something certain.

Elspeth’s breath hitched, but it wasn’t from fear this time. His kisses travelled further, down to the curve of her stomach. He took his time, savouring the feel of her beneath his lips, the way her body responded to his touch. Her fingers threaded into his hair as his lips moved lower, coaxing her away from whatever nightmare had held her captive. 

By the time his mouth found the warm heat of her core, molten and waiting, all the tension had left her body. Her breaths came in soft, stuttering gasps and her legs parted ever so slightly as he pressed his mouth to her. He worshipped her in the way only he could, his tongue moving in slow, languid strokes, tasting her, feeling her. Every moan she made was a step away from those towering heights, back into the safety of his arms. He wanted to make gentle what had been sharpened, bandage and balm each unseen wound, the way she had done for him - countless, precious times.

He didn’t rush, didn’t push. He was thorough and patient, his tongue slow and loving, promising her in every possible way that he was here, that he wasn’t going anywhere. His hands held her steady as his mouth worked to bring her the kind of peace only he could give.

Ever since that night, when Gale loved her until dawn broke, he kept his promise. He never left her again.

He watched over her now, as her sleepy sentinel, and his soft, heavy, love-filled eyes began to flutter and drift as he lay his head beside hers, counting all his favourite things about her: the full ripeness of her laughter, the furrow of her brow when she was lost in a book, the magic in her fingers as she...

.. played the

 harp…

 …or..

 th…

..

.

It didn’t take long for sleep to carry him away. His breathing fell into the same rhythm as hers; as easily and thoughtlessly as the entwining of fingers. He drifted off to the steady beat of her metronome heart.

Elspeth awoke startled and cold. Her bedsheet had abandoned her, the only thing covering her skin was the breeze from the open window. The whistle and gust of it had picked up from across the sea and crashed into their room like a stranger whilst she slept. Her nightmares clung to her, cloying and sticky, fogging up that sensitive place right behind her eyes where light scattered. There was no light there now, only darkness and crackles of terror. Memories held under the lens of her lingering fears until they swelled into something too big to hide away.  

She couldn't tell which world she was in. She was lost, and she couldn’t find her breath. Gale’s arms were not around her… where was he.. Oh Gods what if he were…

Before the panic could take root, his voice broke through the haze, thick with sleep. "El, love, I’m here."

His voice pulled her back. His arms wrapped around her from behind, strong and warm, drawing her into safety. His breath was slow, still heavy with sleep, as he curled himself around her. He hadn’t fully woken, but even in his half-conscious state, his first instinct was to hold her, to protect her from whatever haunted her dreams.

Always guarding her, even in his sleep.

Elspeth let out a shaky breath, her pulse gradually slowing as she leaned back into him, settling into the warmth of his chest against her spine. The weight of him anchored her back to this world—their world. 

He pressed his lips lazily against the back of her neck, more instinct than thought. “It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice a low thrum, “I’ve got you.”

And he did. He always did.

Elspeth danced in the delicate space between sleep and wakefulness, her thoughts swirling and mingling in that hazy realm where they were neither dreams nor memories, but something gentle and in-between. She could feel Gale’s hands cupping her breasts, and her drifting desires envisioned his dedicated lips against the peaks of her nipples. Instinctively, she arched and stretched, caught in the soft fuzz of her thoughts.

“Elspeth…” His voice was more rumble than speech, followed by a low, heavy moan as the plush of her ass pressed back against him.

How many times had she heard him say her name? It had left his lips wrapped in the sweet peel of his laugh, it had bounced around the walls of their home when he called her for the second he got home from work, it had been sighed, shouted, murmured, mumbled… but this was her favourite. When it was the first thing he said after sleep. The way his tongue wrapped around the letters of her, like she was the first taste of summer fruit. 

Sighing dreamily, she took one of his hands and moved it down to the soft curls between her legs, and the hard length of him pressed more firmly into the small of her back.  

His breathing quickened, but it was still sleepy, heavy. There was no rush, just the steady, comforting rhythm of two lovers reacquainting themselves in the midnight hours. His hand explored deeper, stroking and teasing, each touch sending waves of warmth through her. Elspeth’s body softened, opening to him, her hips rolling slowly in time with his movements. She didn’t need her bedsheet any more, and the unwelcome bite of the breeze had turned into a relief against her sweat-soaked skin. The ice had thawed. She was heated. She was molten. He stroked her with a slow, deliberate rhythm that made her pulse race.

“Please…” she breathed, the sound barely a whisper, a plea woven into the quiet of the room. 

He responded with a low groan, and his lips found her neck, his tongue pressing against her pulse point. His other arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her even tighter against him, as if he couldn’t bear to let even the smallest sliver of space come between them. His erection pressed against her, and she instinctively pushed back, aching to be closer, as close as a wave to the shore. 

The room was filled with the rhythm of their heated breaths, the rustle of sheets as their bodies shifted together. There was no need for words; everything was said with soft sighs and murmured sounds of pleasure.

He moved then, his fingers leaving her slick heat to wrap around her hip, guiding her as he positioned himself. She felt the deliberate press of him at her entrance, and she gasped, her body already responding, opening to him. With a slow, careful push, he entered her, and she let out a quiet moan, the sensation of him filling her warm and perfect.

They moved together in the moonlight, the pace slow and deliberate, savouring every minute of it. There was no urgency, no rush to the end - just comfort and pleasure.

Elspeth felt the world outside fade away until there were only the two of them. She swelled like the steady rise of a tide, but she wasn’t in a hurry. Neither of them were. Gale took his time with her, looking after her, using his fingers to play and stroke as he moved inside her. His tongue pushed and pulsed against the back of her slender neck in the same rhythm he was using to fuck her.  

His breath became more ragged, his movements more deliberate as his own need grew, but still, he remained gentle, holding her close, not letting himself unravel before she did. 

Elspeth orgasmed not with a crash, but a slow undoing. Every coil had unwound into loose string. She had come apart, and had no desire to be put back together again any time soon. What was frantic was now calm, what was close was now distant, and to Gale’s complete delight… With him still inside her… Elspeth began to snore. 

His heart swelled with love and amusement. His sweet, sexy, snoring sanctuary.  

He stayed there, not wanting to break the delicate spell, his lips brushing the back of her neck as he laughed gently against her.

He wasn’t long before he followed her into sleep, the same way he would follow her anywhere.

[sophiepiastri]

CANDY NECKLACES|LN4

————————————————————————

pairing: Lando Norris x singer!reader

genre: smau

context: y/n has been hinting about an album for a while now, and when she finally releases the album most of the songs are about her McLaren driver boyfriend…

faceclaim: Lana Del Rey

warnings: this is my first fic, so bare with me if it is bad or not well written! by all means message me some tips and tricks ❤️

————————————————————————

@youruser

liked by, landonorris, lilymhe, 867,543 others

@youruser i know i keep saying this but.. I PROMISE ITS COMING SOON!!!

this album is very personal to me. it has songs about things i’ve never spoken about, about the man i love and my dreams. it has been a long time coming and the time will be soon i promise..

thank you @ jackantonoff for helping me make this album the best it can be 🤍✨

comments

@ user: i know for a fact this album will make me cry and buss it down all at once ❤️liked by author

@ landonorris: spoiler alert 🚨 first song made me tear up 😀 —> @youruser: now why are you lying?? you full on sobbed in my arms.. —>@ georgerussel: this is more believable, this man cried when he saw a fish in a pond. —>@ landonorris: please stop lying 🤣🤣 —>@youruser: we’re not.

@ user: LMAO lando being called out by y/n and george 😭😭

@ lilymhe: girl please let me hear some of the songs 🙏😔 —>@youruser: SOON I PROMISE —>@ lilymhe: you’ve been saying this for 2 years

@ user: we’re cooked.. jacks a producer, it’s going to be piano ballads 😔 i’ll buy the tissues y’all

@ user: day 821 waiting for the album to drop

more comments…

@ landonorris

liked by, youruser, oscarpiastri , 943,776 others

@ landonorris: my beautiful girlfriend @youruser has given me the honor to announce that her album comes out in 2 days!!! i love you so much baby i can’t wait for it to finally be out to the world

comments

@youruser: lando baby i love you, but what’s with the 3rd picture?? —>@ landonorris: wdym?? that’s my delectable gf 😋

@ user: OMG OMG OMG I CANT WAIT OMFG?!!! ❤️liked by @youruser and @landonorris

@ charlesleclerc: congrats y/n me and Alex can’t wait to hear it, alex has been none stop talking about it ❤️liked by @youruser

@ alexandrasaintmleux: unbelievably excited✨ —>@youruser: i love you 😢❤️

@lilymhe: THE LOVE SONGS ARE ABOUT ME GUYS 😋. —>@ alexalbon: oh? —>@ landonorris: but there not though

@ user: brb preparing myself for an 1hour and 30 minute crying session in 48 hours

@ user: I JUST WANT TO KNOW THE TRACKLIST AND WHAT ITS CALLED!! —>@youruser: 😋😋

@youruser

liked by,landonorris,iamrebbecad, 987,566 others

@youruser: 1 DAY TILL THE ALBUM DROPS!!!

i hope you are all really like this album, i’ve spent 3 years making this. i’ve written it through the toughest and happiest parts of my life. some songs have an extremely deep hidden message and some get straight to the point.

side A are my meaningful “sad” songs and side B and my more upbeat “happy” songs

get ready ❤️❤️

comments

@. landonorris: extremely proud of you love!! 💗 —>@youruser: I LOVE YOU

@ landonorris: burning desire is about me y’all 🤭🤭🤭

@ user: SO THANKFUL THAT SAD SONGS ARE FIRST. THEN I CAN BUSS IT DOWNNNNNN

@ user: isn’t scott street the street her and her ex boyfriend lived on??? —>@ user: yes i think so, he was a horrible person to y/n.. im actually dreading that song, im scared of what she’s going to say in it 💔

@ user: “off to the races” defo about lando 😋😋

@ alexandrasaintmleux: so excited ily 🤍 ❤️liked by youruser

@lewishamilton: i’m so ready, can’t wait to hear it y/n

@ user: the meaning of the word “kintsugi”… so scared and excited to hear this.. —>@ user: what does it mean? —>@ user: it’s an art were you fix broken poetry with a lacquer dusted with powdered gold.. maybe suggesting she was broken and lando fixed her?? ❤️liked by youruser

@iamrebbecad: this album cover is gorgeous —>@youruser: thank you!! ily ❤️

@user: so are we not going to talk about “outro” ???? that song literally is the embodiment of the end of a chapter or the end of a story.

@ user

liked by, user, youruser, 10,776 others

@ user: when y/n said side A was going to be sad i didn’t think she meant GUT WRENCHING SAD

comments

@ user: FOR REAL. gilded lily “haven’t i given enough?” 😢😢who hurt my girl? cause i will find you…

@ user: “sweet” almost took me out.. “do you want children? do you wanna marry me?” her thinking about if lando wants to stay with her and grow old together even when she pushes him away :(

@ user: i know living legend is about lando but when she started screaming “why?why?why?why?why?” at the end my heart stopped..

@ user: its such a y/n thing to make us bawl our eyes out at the start of A&W and then buss it down why’ll crying ❤️liked by youruser

@ landonorris: i’m going to own up to it now.. yes i did sob in y/ns arms. yes i did have to leave the studio because i wouldn’t stop crying…

@ user:i had to pause scott street after i heard “do you feel ashamed when you hear my name?”

more comments..

@ landonorris

liked by, youruser, lewishamilton, 886,765 others

@ landonorris: so unbelievably proud of this woman, i am so proud of what she has done and how much effort she has put into this album i love you so much @youruser (cherry and burning desire are on repeat 🤭🤭)

comments

@youruser: babe i thought we agreed on no more bad photos of me.. —> @ landonorris: wdym?? i stuck to the agreement 😗😗

@youruser: I LOVE YOU SO MUCH. COME HOME RIGHT NOW. I WANT TO HUG AND KISS YOU. I LOVE YOU. I LOVE YOU. —>@ user: she’s so cute omg

@ georgerussell: hes not joking i can hear burning desire through his headphones 😀😀

@ user: y’all they love eachother so much

@ user: they cute or whatever

@ oscarpiastri: brb off to listen to side A because i didn’t get a post like this when i got p2 in monaco 😔

@ user

liked by, user, 14,675 others

@ user: y/ns bussy tastes like what now?

comments

@ user: that being the first line is so unhinged

@ user: i know the song is called cola but i didn’t think it would be about her kitty cat

@ user: BUT HER VOCALS DURING THE BRIDGE SENT ME TO HEAVEN

more comments..

@youruser

liked by, landonorris, lilymhe, 1,456,355 others

@youruser: “candy necklaces” music video out now!!! this song is one of my favorite ive ever written and it has been one of my favorite music videos!! hope you enjoy it!!

comments

@ landonorris: bbg the curly hair 😋😋😋😋😋😋

@ user: petition to get y/n a real hollywood star!!

@ lilymhe: this music video is so appealing to the eye

@iamrebbecad: being on set with you was ethereal

@ user: her dressing as different hollywood stars that have died 😢😢

@ charlesleclerc: the piano solo at the end 🫡🫡

@ alexandrasaintmleux: charles is now learning this on piano.. and i’m not complaining 😗😗 one of my favorite songs

more comments..

————————————————————————

author note: thank you for reading!!! this is my first fic and i think it’s okay?? please message me tips of how i could improve.

List of songs used:

Gilded Lily- Cults

Candy Necklaces- Lana Del Rey

Kintsugi- Lana Del Rey

Living Legend- Lana Del Rey

Sweet- Lana Del Rey

Scott Street- Phoebe Bridgers

Arcadia- Lana Del Rey

A&W- Lana Del Rey

Burning Desire- Lana Del Rey

High by the Beach- Lana Del Rey

Off To The Races- Lana Del Rey

Cherry - Lana Del Rey

Ride- Lana Del Rey

Cola- Lana Del Rey

Outro- M83

[death---dealer]

51 with caesar?

51. Slow Dancing. Song. "Wait here." Caesar told you, sauntering himself into the actual gas station itself as you were left to relish in the remnants of humanity.

The smile on your face was... Different than anything that Caesar had seen from you and it was hard to pull away. He tried to recollect moments of the past, finding it difficult to pinpoint as you were swept away by the sound of music. Not rhythmic or chanting like the banging the Colony supplied during supple ceremonies, a way to entrance delight and delectation, but... Actual... Music.

Tears bristled around the corner of your eyes as you were unable to look away from the '76' of the gas station. Malcolm and crew were able to successfully get the power back on, something Caesar knew you would not believe until you actually saw it with your own eyes, up close. Caesar was rather well versed in music, his eyes watching through the shattered window as you drifted forwards a bit, your feet pressing into the ground with every beat that was made through the dim speaker. Loud enough to be enjoyed for at least a mile wide radius. He knew what Will, Caroline and Charles enjoyed and given the time to reflect, he would choose Charles' classic music over anything else. And luckily for the King of Apes, there was a CD just for that in the abandoned gas station, along with another pile of more rock, pop and even some disco. Things he did not enjoy himself, but knew that Will and Caroline did. "Have you heard anything so beautiful before?" You whispered quietly, your eyes flashing like neon as Caesar finally emerged from the building. "I--- I haven't heard music like this in so long, I al-almost forgot what it sounded like." Your voice drew into a gasp as you hummed to the familiar tune. Clair de Lune. It was like you were sifting in a dream, your feet felt suddenly weightless as you pressed yourself against your mate, letting your forehead rest against his own for only a moment, Caesar bracing himself for a split second upon the impact you gave him before his green eyes slid shut and he accepted the form of affection without a word. There was nothing that he needed to say.

He did this for you - having stayed behind once Malcolm and the other Humans departed, finding the right CD, admittedly getting angry a few times as he tried to figure the actual device out, and then set back home to tell you and to return the next evening.

You were beautiful, he thought to himself, knowledge that was always there but was never at the forefront until he was alone with you. Instead of your usual motion to reach up and cup the sides of his face to bring him in closer, Caesar felt your arms tangle around his neck and you were suddenly flush against him, chest to chest. He could feel the rapid nature of his own heart sitting against yours as if they were playing time to the piano notes drifting around the two of you.

Mimicking your actions, Caesar hoisted you against him by positioning his arms around your waist, holding onto you by the small of your back and controlling your entire being, which you were more than willing to relinquish. The gasp you gave him at his touch made him wish the music would stop right then and there so he could just listen to you breathing instead, but as you placed your head into the crook of his neck, admiring the always present musk, conifer and river that dance from his scent alone, he digressed. "Don't suppose you know how to slow dance." You joked quietly, getting a mouth full of his fur without worry as you adjusted your head to look at the side of his face. While still intimidating and large, his features did soften just a touch at your words, feeling a slight movement of swaying.

"Raise... by Humans." He muttered, letting himself fall into your hair and take in the smell that was so familiar to him know that he occasionally took advantage of its blossoming fragrance when he was busy, "Do know..." You chuckled at that, eyes sliding shut as he rocked your bodies back in forth, nuzzling a bit further into his neck. Tears began falling from your closed eyelids, down the scape of your face and to get trapped against his fur, "Do Chimps not know how to keep rhythm?" Caesar felt a chortle hit the back of his throat, "Not very... well." "Good enough for me."

[the-raven-lady]

(Not) The Savior You Long For [Part 2]

[Masterlist] [My Ko-Fi]

Pairing: Night Lord (OC: Elias Rushorik) x serf!Reader [fem]

Song Inspiration: Jaws - Sleep Token [YouTube] [Spotify] “And I’m not here to be / the savior you long for / Only the one you don’t. / Are you watching me / with eyes of a predator / As you move towards the door?”

Warnings: Violence, cannibalism, explicit and detailed blood and gore, Night Lord things, ownership over reader, accidental voyuerism (sound only), trypanophobia (medical syringe)

Word Count: 3.7k

Author’s Note: 1.6k words of this are just an introduction that I wrote before I even got into the meat of it, completely by accident, because I do not know how to write without adding 30 layers of context and background (4D chess ass writing). Special thank you to @cannibalise for giving me delectable ideas and reading over some of the more graphic parts to help me set the tone!!!

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]

Tag List: @egrets-not-regrets @sleepyfan-blog @kit-williams @bleedingichorhearts @bispecsual

@lemon-russ @moodymisty @dedios-of-the-word @pickpocketing-your-gender @historitor-bookshelf

Even weeks later, you struggle to shake the psychological mark the terminator’s gaze left on you. You make yourself busy sweeping one of the main halls, pushing your broom robotically up and down the grand passageway. The other legion serfs around you serve a similar purpose: readying the ship for the return of your Primarch and his elite troops. The Nightfall had been in orbit of this planet for naught but a week, dealing with a cultish tech-society and its oppressive government, yet the Night Lords managed to convince them to join the Imperium in record time. 

Convince is a strong word. You’re intimately aware that the discussion was had in the language of acts of violence and burned cities. Having once been on the receiving end of the Eighth’s hedonistic wrath, the thought sends an unpleasant chill through you, memories of mutilation and dismemberment still so clear in your mind. It had taken months for you to stop having panic attacks at the metallic tang of fresh blood. The whirr of a heavy flamer still got to you.

On one of your passes, you sweep by the alley leading to the armory and stop, staring down the dark hall. The serf no longer hangs from the torch bracket, and the astartes that attacked you no longer sits limply against the wall. His armor had been picked at and ‘recycled’ back into the legion. You have no idea what became of either body.

Another memory involuntarily takes you back to the night you had been so narrowly saved by the terminator.

—No, you could not call him your savior. He had just wanted his armor shined, and there was something in his way so he removed it. Night Lords are selfish, self-interested and sadistic, and he was no different.

You rested the massive helmet in your lap as you worked, scraping at filth that had built up for who knows how long. It amazed you that the astartes it belonged to could even see through the lenses given how much dried blood was crusted on them. It came off in flakes before dissolving into the moisture of the wash rag. You could have called the stained fabric spotless when you started compared to how soiled with grime it was now; at a glance, no one would be able to tell that it was white before.

The terminator’s eyes watched you like final judgement. The weight of his gaze instilled an unease in your heart, stabbing at every opportunity it could: each time you looked up at him, each time you lost focus, each time you caught a glimpse of the mangled Night Lord on the floor. It all hammered at a primal spike of dread that threatened to overwhelm you, consume you entirely, reminding you that you were only alive because you were useful. The tension was just as strong as when you had been pinned to the wall or huddled on the floor.

Your washcloth eventually reached a point where it was only smearing the grime rather than removing it, and you looked up to your silent master. The power of his presence alone made you hesitant to speak, and you found your throat suddenly parched. When you eventually recovered your voice, it left you as a croak, “I-I need to grab my water pail from the other room.”

He simply continued to stare at you, unmoving. As still as the gargoyles adorning the hall. You thought for a second that maybe he hadn’t heard you, and you opened your mouth to try again.

”I need to—“

”Then do it.”

You flinched. A rolling storm, his simple response left no room for questioning. Carefully placing his helmet onto the bench, you scuttled off to retrieve the bucket from the other room. His gaze burnt holes into your back.

The water in your bucket was a rusty brown slop when you returned to it. All of the heavier contaminants had settled to the bottom in a coagulated mass while you were away, gelatinous flesh and tangled hair weaving throughout. You lifted the heavy pail, careful not to spill any of the vile concoction onto yourself. Passing by, you noted that the other serf’s water was substantially less dingy than your own, and you didn’t think twice to grab it instead. It’s not as if it was of any use to her now.

The squelch of meat being torn and defiled echoed suddenly through the otherwise silent armory, instinctually gluing you to your spot on the floor. Cracks and crunches of something solid breaking bounced around you. The abrasive sounds left your heart fluttering and nerves electric, and a panicked tension flowed through your limbs as fight or flight tried its damndest to take over. 

‘It would be safer to hide, hide, retreat to safety,’ it erroneously cried, weighing you down like lead. A comforting lie. 

One you refused to give in to. 

‘There is no safety here,’ you retorted, ‘Only certain death.’ A wolf’s den, and you were the doting lamb. The fear of facing punishment for taking too long far outweighed the hesitation to continue, and you willed yourself to step forward through the icy shackles binding you. 

The sight of the terminator tearing flesh from the body of his former brother froze you as you rounded the corner with your pail. His eyes were glazed in manic pleasure as he ripped off another juicy chunk, sharp teeth effortlessly dissecting muscle fibers from the cooling corpse. Bestial snarling and slurping accompanied every chomp, and growls at a pitch nearly too deep to hear rattled through your bones like a saw. With each gnash of his powerful jaws, blood and spit shot out of the torn hole in his mouth, drooling down his armor in crimson dribbles.

Time itself seemed to stop when his predatory gaze found you. His dilated pupils completely swallowed the outer corners of white— could you even consider them dilated when they took up so much of his eyes already?— and pinned you in place. The ravenous beast swallowed his kill in a silent threat. 

You were about to make a run for it when he lowered the defiled corpse and snarled at you, foreign viscera spewing from his scar.

”Finish.”

You had done exactly as you were told while the terminator continued to make a mess of himself. Once you’d finished his helmet, he made you clean off the rest of his armor as a token of a job well done. 

A strong dissonance contrasted the perfectly shined ceramite and rags of human hide adorning his war gear. You didn’t understand at first why the Night Lords would go through such lengths to clean their armor, only to decorate it with the disgusting tokens of their kills and bathe it in blood again, but over time you began to recognize the mentality. The layers of blood were a byproduct of their work— terrifying in their own right, yes, however ultimately just ‘part of the job’—, but each placement of flesh and bone was deliberate; they chose to wear them. It added terror to their already gruesome countenance.

You figure you must have done well polishing his armor, because the terminator had left you alive in the end. As expected, he gave you no feedback. No thanks or gratitude shown before he simply walked off. For the second time that day, you were left in the armory with a huge mess to clean entirely on your own.

Shaking your head, you return to the present and continue sweeping, pushing the pile of dust around to keep yourself busy. 

Sharp clanks of heavy boots cut through the relative peace. You look down the hall to see other serfs parting ways and scurrying off to make way for a coming company of giants. Their armor dwarfed that of the regular Night Lords, tanks of metal and firepower that razed battlefields in their wake.

The Contekar Elite.

You knew of them from hushed whispers passed between serfs in the chow hall. Units of butchers that sowed despair in the hearts of their foes. Ruthless in how they constantly checked one another, the Contekar took advantage of any perceived weakness to prove their dominance over the rest of the legion. They were notorious for simply killing any commanders they disagreed with, and only the likes of First Captain Sevatarion or the Lord Night Haunter himself could tame them. 

Each colossus carried weapons as long and large as your entire body as they approached: chainblades, flamers, and cavitators, all ready to be used at a moment's notice. You hurried to get out of their way, tucking yourself behind a hallway corner. The monoliths of steel shook the ground with each step, a deafening thunder echoing down the main hall that signaled their arrival. There was no chorus or fanfare amongst them to be found; each marine was as silent as death itself.

They ignored you as they passed by. The Contekar couldn’t care less for the meddlings of a common legion serf, too busy with themselves to notice you, and it brought you shallow comfort.

At least, it would have. 

Preoccupied with watching the marines at your front passing by, you didn’t realize that one of them was headed straight towards you until his footfalls physically rattled the ground beneath you. You whip your head towards him and nearly jump out of your skin, clutching to the corner of the wall as he stares down at you. 

His entire body is marred with blood. Even from where you cower, you can see that he must be at least three meters tall in his armor, if not more. The digits of his power claw have pieces of mangled flesh still caught between their hydraulic pistons, forming webs between them. A mummified head dangles at eye level from a meat hook, and it crosses your mind that it could have been yours. 

You recognize his tusked helmet immediately.

The Contekar studies you. He is a perfect statue: unmoving and silent aside from the faint whirring emanating from the power pack on his back. Behind the scarlet lenses, his eyes scrutinize you down to your very last atom. A lion picking apart its prey.

“Come,” he orders, his gruff voice offering no further explanation. He takes a step away from you with the intent to continue further down the passage, and you suddenly find your limbs leaden and weak, unable to follow. Sensing your trepidation, his head turns back towards you, eyes locking on yours. The faded skull decal isn’t as cute when you’re at the receiving end of its ire.

Pain shoots up your left arm as you’re yanked off of the wall and lifted without another word. The cold metal of the Escaton power claw digs into your bones uncomfortably, sharpened claws at each fingertip poking into your flesh. The terminator grasps you by your forearm and drags you beside him until you can find your footing and walk on your own, stumbling into a jog to keep up. When you retrieve your arm, partially dried pieces of viscera stick to it from where you were grabbed. You brush them off hastily with a grimace; at least the power claw didn’t break skin.

You hug closely to the terminator’s leg as you walk with the group, not wanting to get trampled. The other serfs mostly keep their heads down as you pass them by, but a few give you a sympathetic look. The rest of the Contekar continue to ignore you.

The suites housing the Elite are grander than any part of the ship you have been in thus far. Compared to the regular Night Lord’s dorms, the metal halls leading to their private quarters are pristine. The usual decor of skulls and tanned skins is present, but there is no buildup of filth and grime along the floors and walls. The scent of fresh air is jarring. Most surprising to you is that each of the marines has their own private rooms, which you learn when you are unceremoniously shoved into one. 

The tusked terminator’s room is shockingly comfortable, for a Night Lord. A thin light strip, the same brightness of a full moon on your former world, serves as the only illumination of the dark room. Along the walls are various trophies that you assume are from his time in the field, both of his kills and plunders. A large work table and chair take up the whole of the wall to your right. Instead of a regular astartes-sized cot, there is an actual bed with pillows and a wide plush mattress. In the back corner of the room is a closed door, which you assume leads to a washroom.

Whoever your new charge was, he lives well.

A click catches your attention, and you turn to your left to see him removing the heavy pauldrons of his armor. He places each of them on the sturdy table, then turns his attention to his power claw, his gauntlets, his vambraces— steadily pulling them off one plate at a time. After removing his helmet, shakes out his greasy black hair and turns to look at you with a furrow in his brow. 

You remember your place and jump into action, aiding the marine in removing his sabatons. The plates of ceramite are much too heavy for you to lift on your own, but it’s easier for your smaller hands to get into the creases to release locks and latches. The two of you enter a wordless synergy, pulling off the heavy terminator armor piece by piece and placing each on a designated mantle. You’re extra careful not to get caught on the hooks of his armor. The desiccated head serves as a good reminder.

Even reduced to just his body glove, the astartes is colossal. His height easily dwarfs the majority of his brothers. You have to crane your neck upwards to look at his face, barely coming up to chest level on him. This close, you can see the sprinkling of grey hair within his sideburns and the lines of his face that indicate some arbitrary older age. You never did know how to tell the ages of astartes.

He uses his newfound freedom to stretch his limbs. Each is as broad as a tree trunk, and you figure they’re likely just as immovable. When he catches you staring and waiting, he simply returns the look, quietly raising an eyebrow.

“Would you like your armor shined, my lord?” you try, gesturing vaguely to the table and mantle. His eyes track the movement, looking over his war gear in silence before he gives you a curt nod. He points to a drawer beside his bed, then without further clarification turns his attention to removing his body glove. 

Within the drawer you discover a stack of folded shop towels. Why they’re there is a mystery to you. Judging by the size of the terminator armor, you decide three is enough for now, grabbing them and sliding the drawer shut. You look up to ask if the Contekar has any armor oil around, only to see him half-naked walking through the door in the corner. It swings shut behind him, leaving you once again to solve your problems on your own.

You wonder what force in this universe blessed you with such a communicative master.

It took him three entire days to tell you, “you live here,” instead of simply denying you the ability to leave and making you sleep on the floor. You swore he was going to turn your rib cage into a new trophy when you eventually did get out, trying to navigate your way back to the serfs’ dormitory for much needed food. He had hunted down like a rabbit, snatched you up from behind, and thrown you back into his quarters with a growl to, “stay put.” What the terminator lacked in words, he greatly made up for with his intimidating presence.

He did get you food, though, and an abundance of it. You hadn't seen so much variety since you were still living on your home planet. Delicacies like meat were rare to you, and you eagerly scarfed everything down. In your hunger, you did not ask where the meat came from.

It’s not as if he would have told you anyway, given how scantily he spoke. You haven’t even gotten his name out of him yet.

The only times you were permitted to leave the suite were when you could accompany him. Trips to the armory gave you vital chances to hoard cleaning supplies, having gotten accustomed to the lesser atmosphere of decay around the Elites’ quarters. On top of the standard armor oils, you managed to snag an expensive looking jar of polish, which you hoped would gain you some favor. Your master doesn’t particularly show you signs of care, but he also hasn’t killed you yet, and that has to be worth something.

On your way back to his quarters, a discordant howling rings out from one of the rooms adjacent to his. You flinch at the sound, assuming the worst: that somebody nearby was in the midst of being tortured and flayed alive, and that you would have to hear their slow untimely demise throughout the night. It wouldn’t be the first time you had to fall asleep to the sounds of screams and cries. The Contekar, however, scoffs. His nose scrunches up in annoyance, teeth bared in a disgusted snarl. 

“Don’t understand the appeal,” he grunts, shaking his head and continuing forward. 

Glancing over in confusion, you start to pay more attention to the sound. The rhythmic pattern of each holler and whine. The sound of skin on skin. The quiet pleas of, “more, please, more!” 

Your eyes widen when you put two and two together, ducking your head down to hide the blush steadily rising on your cheeks. That was not the type of torture you were expecting to hear. You pick up the pace and hope the terminator doesn’t recognize your sudden newfound urgency.

He allows you to store your armory stash in his bedside drawer alongside the rags. It nearly knocks you over when he throws an arm out to keep you from closing it, sending you staggering back with a huff. He removes one of the towels, then abruptly drops it over the top of your head. You don’t even get the chance to remove it before you’re being pushed in a direction, blindly stumbling along. A transition strip between some passageway causes you to trip and fall to the floor. Pulling the towel off of your head, your vision clears to the sight of the bathroom. 

You shoot the terminator a bewildered look before he lifts you by the back of your shirt and throws you underneath a showerhead, giving you no warning before turning it on. The cold jet hits you like a hose spray, causing you to yipe at the sudden temperature shock. Freezing water saturates your clothes. 

He breathily laughs at your agonized shiver.

Despite the rude beginning, you return from the washroom refreshed, feeling for the first time like your skin isn’t permanently encrusted with the gunk lining nearly every surface of the ship. It had been weeks since you could last bathe in any capacity. The water did warm up eventually– not warm, but not frigid– and allow you to scrub the filth off.

When you exited the shower, your master was nowhere to be seen, and there was a new uniform on the oversized counter. It wasn’t difficult to tell that it was intended for you, given the vast size difference between you and the Elite. The navy blue outfit bears an embroidery of the Eighth’s winged skull over each shoulder and lines of Nostraman text that you are unable to translate. You’re just happy the new garbs aren’t tattered and fraying like the last, which you gleefully toss. They land in the bucket with a wet squish.

As you approach the door to the main room of the quarters, you’re alerted to the sound of quiet conversation, not expecting there to be anyone but the terminator about. The tonal register is too low and quiet for you to make out any spoken words. 

You enter the space in time to watch your master sit at the table and place his arm out flat upon it. An apothecary stands beside him unpackaging a syringe. He stabilizes the terminator’s arm in the crux of his shoulder, turning his palm upwards and pressing the bevel of the needle into a prominent vein running distally from the elbow. Crimson liquid slowly fills the barrel as he pulls the plunger back.

The apothecary’s cart bears instruments uncharacteristic of typical medicae. Replacing scalpels and suturing utensils are various packaged needles and pigment bottles. A large battery pack wires into a small rectangular box, the screen and dials illegible to you from your current distance, with a strange metal stylus connected to it. Sitting atop a stack of disposable napkins is a tall wash bottle containing a clear substance. The apothecary flicks the syringe until the bubbles have all risen to the top, slowly venting the air until only blood remains, and he carefully ejects a drop into each of the waiting ink cups.

Your gaze falls back on the Contekar in time to see him rising from his chair and walking towards you. You cower back on instinct, anxiety creeping up from your chest. 

He wipes a stray drop of blood from his arm with a thumb, and when you move to question what’s going on, he jams the digit into your mouth. The coppery taste spreads over your tongue as you gag from the intrusion, unable to pull away due to the unyielding grip he has on your jaw. He jerks your head upwards, forcing you to look at him, and the abyss of his black eyes swallows you whole.

“Strip.”

Not everyone saw the art the first time around, so here's your Mans

[Part 3]

[sillyhanako]

❀．LET US SING THE SAILOR SONG ﹗

☆★ WINDBREAKER BOYS as pirates !! ft. umemiya hajime, akihiko nirei and sakura haruka 𖥔   ࣪   ˖

☆★ sfw. 496 WC   ࣪   ˖

cw :: nothing crazy just umemiya being umemiya, profanities used in sakura's part, sakura and sugishita being on eachothers throats

☆★ notes :This was so much fun to make!! This was also inspired by the strawhats pirate crew roles!! So i cant be sure if the roles are 100% accurate to the real thing and for that im sorry 🙁 can you guest my mind was blank at sakura's part? 😭 sorry for sakura's content eaters 🙁🙁

. . .UMEMIYA HAJIME the captain // leader

pretty obvious one! Umemiya is super confident and positive, even when his ship is being chased by a whole bunch of navy ships. He goes from island to island, recruiting crew members from all over the place, no matter who they are.. (hiragis on life support) In his many adventures, he makes friends with all sorts of people. Some say that the Bofurin Pirates and the Shishitoren Pirates are extra close pals! Maybe even drinking buds?

He also has this little garden where he spends most of his time in, growing and caring for his vegetables and will go batshit if an attacker ruined it.

Hiragi : can you pass me the salt?

Umemiya : huh?? The what?

Hiragi : the salt.

Umemiya : HUH?

Hiragi : *long suffering sigh*

Hiragi : ...the ocean cocain?

Umemiya : Oh yeah sure

Umemiya : am i going too far??

Hiragi : No, no, no. You went too far about seven hours ago. Now we're going to prison.

. . .AKIHIKO NIREI the navigator

At first, I wasn't sure if Nirei would be an archaeologist or the ship's navigator. But, I decided to make him the latter. As a member of the Bofurin Pirates, Nirei is responsible for guiding the ship and its course. Even though he just joined the crew, he will sometimes give orders when needed to keep the ship and the crew safe. Nirei is still getting used to having this job, but he's determined to do his best since Umemiya trusted him with the role!

Nirei's room is filled with a jumble of maps and charts of various islands he and the crew have visited. Did you know? that each map is accompanied by a collection of pictures and personal notes detailing unique features and characteristics of each locale?

Tsubakino : you're so sweet !! ><

Nirei : thank you i have abandonment issues

Nirei :i feel silly for admiting this but, im actually really nervous this is my first time on a shi-

Sakura :

WE'RE GONNA CRA

. . .SAKURA HARUKA the combatant

Due to Umemiya's empathetic nature and genuine respect for him, Sakura agreed to join him. His unflinching loyalty to Umemiya pushed him to persevere through even the most difficult situations. Sakura feels a strong desire to train diligently to protect both the ship and the crew, and would wipe out any threats, hes always striving to meet new rivals to horn his reflexes and learn new fighting styles.

Sakura is often spotted snoozing on deck, lounging with both Suo and Nirei (though he is reluctant to admit it), or simply relishing the delectable meals prepared by the ship's cook, Suzuri.

Sakura : im not passive-agressive. Im just aggressive. I dont even know what passive means. That doesnt make me stupid. I'll fucking kill you *unsheathes sword*

Nirei : you know what would be cool?

Sakura: what

Nirei : if we had a pet! pirates always have a pet of some sorts

Sakura : who needs a pet when sugishita is right here.

Sugishita : what did you say-

ー﹕m.list﹐

© 2024 sillyhanako ━ do not copy, steal, or reupload my works. Thanks!

[womenloverlmao]

Sweater Weather (Spencer Reid X Reader Smut)

Based on the song Sweater Weather by the Neighborhood

Summary: Y/N comes into their living area wearing one of Spencer's sweaters and it has more of an effect on him than intended.

Warnings: Sub! Spencer Reid x Dom!Fem! Reader. needy Spencer, munch Spencer, pathetic reid??? he fucking cums in his pants guys he's a fucking horny teenager basically. oral (f! receiving), uhhh... Reid will literally drop to his knees and go down on reader whenfuckingever, mommy kink, finger sucking?? wtf?? its based off a line in the song I'm sorry. humiliation, degradation, praise, thigh humping, slight nipple play, breeding kink, would be more breeding but reader is on birth control... yeah.

You didn’t think much of it when you put on one of Spencer’s sweaters. You were wearing your bra and some jean shorts–that rose a little too much–under it, and… well, you looked downright delectable to him. He was already implausably down bad for you, but now you looked like this and it was driving him impossibly insane. 

He was reading when you came into the room wearing that. He was practically hidden by whatever book he was reading at the moment, one that you couldn’t translate to save your life. You started to journal after sitting down somewhere near him, completely ignorant of his eyes that were, in effect, undressing you. Safe to say, his mind was far from the Russian literature. 

The sweater fits you fine, but it was meant to have something under it. It revealed a little more of your cleavage than you intended, but it was just Spencer. You knew he wasn’t a weirdo, so you were comfortable wearing things like that in front of him. That isn’t to say that when you finally looked up from your journal and saw how he was looking at you, you were uncomfortable and wanted to change. In fact, you wanted to use this to your benefit. 

“Spence?” 

His eyes shot up from where they had been. “Hmm? Sorry, I must have zoned out.” 

“Zoned out, right,” you rolled your eyes. 

“Did you know we spend about 47% of our waking lives zoned out?” He tried to distract the both of you from the fact that you had just caught him staring at your tits. 

“We both know that you weren’t just zoned out.” 

“Zoning out is, by definition, the act of becoming unaware of one's surroundings. Which is, technically, what just happened to me.” 

“I can’t win anything with you,” you scoffed a little, but you weren’t upset. You did have one more thing to use. “Also, you might want to go take care of your friend.” 

Leave it to Spencer to find a girl who would bully him. He turned red, set his book down, and started to walk away. That was when you spoke again, “Unless you want me to help you.” 

He knew you better than anyone else. He knew there would be something to it, even if you hadn’t said anything yet. He walked over to you nonetheless; he sat next to you as you looked over him. “Did I do this to you?” You asked. He nodded. “Use your words, baby.” 

“You did, ma’am,” he looked down. 

“Only fair that I fix it then, right?” He didn’t respond to that statement. “Kiss me.”

He did what you asked, cupping your face with one hand as his other slid under your–well, his–sweater. He began to push you backward, gently. The hand that was on your face moved to support him beside your head. He started to trail kisses down your neck; your thigh managed to end up between his legs. His hand started to make its way up to your breasts, rubbing your nipple through the fabric of your bra. 

“Did I tell you to do that?” You asked. 

He looked up at you with his pupils blown out, fuck, those puppy eyes were gonna be the death of you. “N- no, ma’am, I’m sorry, but- please, please mommy…”

You looked as if you were contemplating it, but he knew you had made up your mind about it already. He just didn’t know what it was that your mind was set on. “Sit up,” You told him. He whimpered but listened. “Good boy…” 

You put your hand on his face gently, your thumb running over his bottom lip. If anyone else was doing this to him, his mind would be going off and telling him to stop, but with you… he couldn’t bring himself to care. He took it into his mouth. You were surprised, but not reluctant. You watched as he sucked on it carefully. 

“You’re killing me, baby…” you told him as you removed your thumb from his lips. “Why don’t we put that mouth of yours to good use, huh?” 

Desperate as he was for any friction, he could never say no to eating you out. Every time he went down on you, it was as if he was starved. With no hesitation, he got down on his knees in front of you. Those beautiful brown eyes of his were almost innocent; they always looked up at you as if you were just below God Himself. 

“My beautiful boy,” you smiled, running your fingers through his curls. “Straining so hard against your pants, bet it hurts, huh? But you’re still so eager to please…” 

“Just wanna make you feel good, mommy,” he says. 

“Then make me feel good,” you told him. 

That was the confirmation he needed; he practically dragged you into your bedroom before he began to unbutton and unzip those little high-waisted shorts. He tugged them down your legs as you leaned against the wall. His hands pushed your legs apart gently. “You’re so pretty…” he said, before attaching his lips to your clit. You let out a string of curses as he moved downwards. He licked a stripe over it, before pushing his tongue into your heat. His nose pressed against that little button near the crest every time he did anything. You tangled your fingers in his hair. 

His fingers dug into your ass as they were practically the only things holding you up. He tugged on one of your legs gently, and you understood what he meant. You put it over his shoulder, and… well, fuck, that new position made the feelings of his lips on yours (I'm so funny) even more pleasurable. Whenever he was between your legs, it was as if he forgot what even the idea of oxygen was. Nothing mattered besides bringing you delight. 

Spencer knew your body well. If he wanted to keep you on the edge for an hour, he could, or if he wanted to make you cum in a minute he could do that. He may have been the submissive between the two of you, but he knew what he was doing. He possibly knew your body better than you. He did something slightly different, and not even a minute into that you fell over the edge. He didn't let a drop of your pleasure go to waste, leaving you slightly overstimulated before he pulled away. The look of your slick on his face was almost enough for you to cum again.

You slowly removed your leg from his shoulder and leaned against the wall for a minute, before you went to lay down on the bed. Part of you wanted to be nice and reward him for pleasing you so well, but the other part of you wanted to do something a little silly… 

He joined you, climbing on top of you. He was fully clothed, and all you were in was his sweater. You glanced down again. “How bad do you need me?” 

“So bad, please, mommy,” he whimpered. 

“Aww,” you cooed. You decided to slot your thigh between his again. “There, you can use that.” 

He whined. “But-” “Either that or nothing.” 

He huffed. “Can I at least touch you now?” 

“Fine, you can touch.” 

You didn't need to tell him twice before his hands were under the, now communal, sweater. His hands practically massaged your tits as he started to rut his hips against your thigh. It was humiliating, yes, but he really would do anything to please you. He hid his head in the crook of your neck, leaving kisses and curses in his trail. He moved one of his hands to keep himself steady as he rocked faster, his other tweaked with your nipple. Pinching, twisting, letting go, rubbing, then restarting. It hurt, but it felt so good. 

His whimpers became more prominent as he got closer and closer to his climax. “Please, mommy…” “Please what?” 

“Want to- need to cum in you so badly, please…” 

“You can do it by doing this.” 

“It’s not the same, please… Needa put a baby in you, need it so badly…” he whimpered.

“You want to put a baby in me?” 

“Mhm, mhm,” he said, moving faster against your thigh. His fingers and hips became more frantic. “You’d look so pretty, and- and everyone would know you’re mine and I’m yours-” 

“Wanna make me yours, hmm?” 

“O- oh fuck,” he said as he came into his pants. He would have felt less vulnerable if he had been fully naked in comparison to this, but fuck, it made you need him even more. He finally stopped his movements, and you couldn't help but smile. 

“Did I make you that desperate? Did you cum into your pants? Couldn’t hold it in?”

He turned red. “‘M sorry, you just- you felt so good.” 

“Such a fucking whore,” you commented and took note of how his dick twitched in his pants. “Already excited? Gosh, you’re like a fucking teenager.” 

“‘M sorry, ma’am…” he said as he slid off you. 

You sat up to try and take the sweater off, but he grabbed your wrists. “Keep it on, please, mommy…”

That’s when it clicked. “Is that what all this is about, Spencer?” He looked down and nodded. “Holy shit. This is all it takes to turn your brain off? I just wear one of your sweaters, and suddenly you’re a mindless slut? Tell me, Spencer, why do you like it so much?” 

“It- It says that you’re mine. That you- that you aren’t embarrassed about it either. And you- you look really pretty. You always look pretty, but even more so like this. And it- I can see you wearing that, and- and p- pregnant with my babies.” 

“You wanna get me pregnant, huh?” 

He nodded. “So- so badly…” 

“Come on, then,” you told him. You were on birth control, he knew that, but it was just for dirty talk. This was all just for a scene, right? 

He rushed off the bed and struggled to get his belt off because his hands were shaking slightly. He took off his soiled boxers and pants before getting his shirt and sweater off. He climbed back on top of you for the third time that night, stretching you out with his fingers for a couple of seconds before he finally positioned himself at your entrance. He slid in, inch by inch… no matter how many times he had been inside of you before, you would never be able to get used to that. You could feel him for days after.

It’s always the tall, skinny, scrawny boys. 

“You’re- you’re so tight, ngh-” No matter how dominant sounding any of his words may seem, he always said them in a submissive manner. “You’re- so pretty around me, and- and I can see myself in you.” 

He took your hand with one of his and pressed it down on your lower stomach. Sure enough, there was a slight bulge. You couldn’t help but clench around him. He let out a whimper. He knew he wouldn’t last long; he intertwined your fingers on one side, before using the other to circle your clit as he moved his hips in the way he knew you liked. He had to make you cum first, he would feel horrible if he finished before you. Always eager to please. 

“You’re so perfect,” he kissed your neck. “‘M so lucky to have you, so unbelievably lucky- Gonna- gonna fuck my babies into you, gonna let everyone- ev- everyone know you’re mine.” 

“Fuck,” you moaned. You could feel that all-too-familiar feeling bubbling in your lower stomach. “Right there, baby, I’m so close-” 

His breath hitched slightly as he continued what he was doing, except for his movements on your clit went slightly harder. About thirty more seconds of that, and you were letting that knot slip. You clenched around him as your mouth opened into a silent scream. Once it was over, his fingers stopped moving on your clit but his hips never ceased their almost bruising pace. 

He started going faster, desperately chasing his own climax. You decided to help him, despite the overstimulation. “Gonna get me pregnant, yeah? Gonna knock me up, let everyone know I’m all yours?” 

He nodded, you knew he was close but something else was needed even if neither of you knew what it was. 

“Gonna make you a real mommy,” he whimpered. 

“Mhm, gonna make me a mommy. But… I’m already yours Spence. All yours. This just tells everyone else.” “Mine, you’re- you’re mine, mhm-” 

“And you’re mine, all mine, yeah? 

That’s what it took. Hot ropes coated your walls as his hips stuttered until he was empty. After a minute, you asked if he wanted to get cleaned up. 

“You’re supposed to keep it in for around twenty minutes to an hour,” he said, his voice slightly muffled by your neck. 

“I’m still on birth control,” you reminded. 

“I know, but just for the… I dunno, idea.” 

“Spencer.” “Fine,” he pulled out gently, both of you letting out a whimper. He watched as a combination of his and your cum spilled out of your hole. You knew he was already half-hard again, but you were not in the mood to go again. “You do need to urinate th-” 

“Leave it to Dr. Spencer Reid to dirty talk his girlfriend into letting him cum into her and then ruin the moment entirely,” you laughed. 

“I’m serious! I don’t want you to get a UTI.” 

“Fine, I’ll go take a piss.” 

“One more thing?” 

“What is it?” 

He didn’t say anything, only collected what was dripping out of you, before gently pushing it back in. You couldn’t deny that that did turn you on, but you knew that if you didn’t stop now you wouldn’t. You went to the bathroom and then took a shower together. 

After all that, you were finally lying down. The more you recounted your previous activities, the more you liked what he said. Maybe it was time to forgo the birth control… 

[milswrites]

Can I have this dance?

~ Azriel X Fem!Reader

Summary: Lovingly trapped in a moment on a roof in the Rainbow, you and Azriel take advantage of the little time you get alone, enjoying your evening together until dawn makes her appearance.

Warnings: Just cuteness!

Notes: Don’t know why this made me feel homesick for a place that isn’t real. (I definitely didn’t base this off the song from High School Musical 3 👀🫣)

Life couldn’t get any better than this. You had just shared in the most magical evening with Azriel. The delectable meal at his favourite restaurant , secretly hidden down one of the narrow, twisting streets of the illuminated city. The blissful walk along the Sidra, hands entwined and swinging between you as you spoke about everything and nothing all at once. Then finally to end your evening the perfect view of the rainbow, enjoyed only by you and the shadowsinger, hiding away on the roof of Feyre’s studio, not yet wanting the most wonderful of nights to come to an end.

So here you were, sat together on a blanket Azriel had materialised from his shadows, your head resting against his shoulder as you admired the scene. Eyes closed softly as you appreciated the humid kiss of the evening breeze against your cheeks, ears perked as you listened to the bustling streets below. Friends laughing with friends as they crawl out from the rustic bars, ready for an exciting night ahead in the clubs of Velaris. Artists calling out enticingly, attempting to squeeze in a few more sales from the interested public before they packed up for the night. Velaris was a city full of life. The rising of the moon, and the dotting of twinkling stars appearing in the inky sky, called its people from their homes like a sirens song.

You and Azriel had always been wallflowers, preferring to sit back and absorb the moments you were in. So being here, sat only with each other for company on the silent roof, heightened senses taking in the sights, smells and sounds from the streets below, was your idea of heaven. You mainly sat in comforting silence, though Azriel occasionally released a low rumbling laugh from his chest, pointing out a poor fae who had drank a little too much and was struggling as they stumbled wildly down the cobbled streets. Or you would gasp in adoration each time a dog ran by, tongue hanging out as its tail wagged happily. You were watchers and this was the perfect place to observe.

Hypnotised, you were unsure just how long you had been sat there entwined together, the night sky being your only guide as to what the time was, hundreds of stars now shining in the night sky. The vendors had all taken their leave, wheeling their lightened carts away as their places were taken by musicians and performers seeking to make a few coins and share their passion with the keen citizens of Velaris, who were all too willing to stop and watch as if they had all the time in the world.

Which it felt like you did, you and Azriel sat here on the roof trapped in your little moment with no concept of time. It was almost as if you were merely figures in a painting. Too enticed by the transfixing tug of the city that was Velaris. The only thing that could ruin your enjoyment would be the rude interruption of dawn breaking, and so until then you would absorb this picture in its entirety.

The wind carried a melodic tune from the streets which you overlooked. The airy whistling of a flute accompanied by the harmonic pull of a harps strings. It was the type of music you liked to imagine the gods would listen to, the skilled musicians drawing all kinds of emotions from you through their beautiful symphony.

Azriel, who had always been appreciative of good music, softly hummed along to the tune, his voice beautifully harmonising with the notes from the instruments below. Captivated, the song made you sway softly, continuously brushing against the shadowsinger’s shoulder as you did so.

Gleeful giggles joined the orchestration, you could almost feel the vibrations of the joyful sounds as the wind gently blew them towards you. Curious, you moved from your comfortable position to lean over the edge. Still humming contentedly, Azriel absentmindedly shot out a reassuring arm to hold onto your own, ensuring that you wouldn’t topple over the ledge, interrupting the magic that was being produced below.

You peered over, merriness filling your eyes as you watched couples, both young and old, joined together in an enchanting dance. Arms embracing their lovers as they swayed to the mesmerising tune.

You squealed at the sight, hopping excitedly to your feet as you wanted nothing more than to do the same, Azriel lurching forwards in fear at your sudden movement. The male stilled as he saw you were alright, eyes glancing in confusion to the open hand you were holding out for him to take.

You chuckled at his furrowed brows marring his handsome face, his thoughts still lost to hypnotising rhythm of the music. “Dance with me” you grinned, waving your arm about energetically as impatience flooded your system, wanting to start the dance before the melody came to an end.

A matching smile crossed his face as he placed his hand in yours, “I’m not much of a dancer” he nervously mumbled, afraid to disappoint you with his skills, or lack thereof. Mustering all the strength you could you pulled the male up from the floor, “it doesn’t matter Az, all that matters is you, this. Right now.”

You raise your entwined hands just as you saw the elder couples doing below, resting your head on Azriel’s chest as you wrapped your other arm round his muscular back, the male following suit and doing the same to you.

Taking the lead you began to sway in time with the tune, taking small steps which Azriel copied, his eyes locked onto your feet to ensure he didn’t step on them. Briefly, you removed your hand from his back just to take him by the chin and move his face to meet yours before returning it to its original position, his golden-amber eyes which were fogged by lust meeting your own.

Gaining confidence as his eyes bore into yours, Azriel began to guide you, steps widening as the two of you began to move around the roof, spinning together in broad circles, allowing the moment to take over and let your bodies do all the work. He raised your joined hands, allowing you to twirl under his arm, being mindful not to bump into his wings which were slightly curled around you both in your embrace.

You moved fluidly, two shadows dancing together under the moonlight, the powerful music controlling your movement. It was an elegant mess of unplanned yet coordinated spins and dips, Azriel doing whatever felt right at the time, allowing his instincts to work for him. He drew you into a deep dip, your back arching over his supportive arm as he did so before lifting you back up and spinning you in a circle once more, pulling you close to his chest after you were steadied on your feet.

Beginning to run out of moves, both your arms drifted up his body until they locked around his neck, his own hands coming to rest at your waist. You resumed the gentle swaying, head pressed against him feeling the vibrations in his chest as he once again began to hum the melody as you moved.

You continued this dance until the music began to fade, still making the small steps even after the last note rang out through the wind, too enthralled by this perfect little scene shared between you. Enjoying the rare time you get alone when you are both off work and aren’t joined by your family - as much as you loved them.

And so the dance didn’t end with the song. The sound of your steady steps against the roof echoed until dawn finally made its appearance. The two of you still tangled in your enveloping embrace until the sun had long since risen. Allowing your perfect night to carry through into a beautiful new day.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Notes: literally had this idea and wrote it in an hour as I was just too excited

[fob4ever]

i loooveeeee the fall out boy gay hiatus toxicity its so insane like there are only insane gay people in this band comprised of 3 straight guys and 1 sexually ambiguous guy. like when pete was like “patrick needs to get the pete wentz stink off him” and when he was waxing so much poetic about fob and patrick during the hiatus, tweeting at patrick CONSTANTLY and @ing him to get his attention AND ALSO patrick at his sp halloween show being like “my BEST friend and i did my makeup backstage” very obviously not referring to pete despite the Everything and then them writing songs in secret even pre-fob getting together to cheer each other up but it Not Working and just it feeling weird and off is like wow. delicious. glad theyre normal and happy and whatever now but the toxic evil gay yaoi that permeated 2010-12. delectable

[nixoon-again]

The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, the full moon taking its place in the new night sky as stars twinkled like a blanket of diamonds overhead. The campfire crackles and pops, its flames enough to both cook dinner to fill their bellies before they call it a night and to keep them warm in the slightly chilly air. The calm of the night is accompanied by crickets singing their song in the distance, hiding somewhere among the greens of the forest.

Sonic takes in a deep breath, the scent of the forest's damp moss and decaying leaves bring a sense of tranquillity to him that no city can. He looks into the pot he has skillfully placed over the campfire in a makeshift holder and takes a wooden spoon to stir the chilli cooking inside, its delectable aroma filling the air as it tickles his nostrils and makes his mouth water.

Little feet patter towards him. Sonic doesn't need to look back to know who it is.

A small hand reaches out and gently touches his shoulder.

“Hm?” Is the only acknowledgement Sonic gives to the little fox cub standing behind him, his eyes still on the pot to make sure he gets the chilli perfectly cooked.

“Sonic…?” Tails calls, there's a strange hint of nervousness in his voice that, Sonic thinks, doesn't really go with the peaceful nature of the night. 

Sensing something wrong, the hedgehog looks over his shoulder. Green meets blue but blue doesn't return the gesture. 

Tails is picking the fur on the tip of his namesakes again. He does this a lot, Sonic has learnt. He's no expert himself but the four year old before him has some habits that he thinks no four year olds are supposed to have. Sonic isn't going to dive deep into that yet, some other day maybe but for now he just softly taps the kit's forehead with his knuckles to bring him back to reality.

Tails looks at him. There are tears forming in the corner of his eyes.

He looks scared.

Sonic immediately gets off the log he's been sitting on, the wooden spoon abandoned in the grass as his quills bristle. He grabs Tails by his upper arm and looks over him, wondering if he's hurt.

Tails is quick to shake his head and tell him he's fine. Sonic looks at him dumbfoundedly, his eyes alone asking, “What is it then?”

Tails kicks a stray pebble, scuffs his shoe on the ground.

Sonic has to tap his forehead again to get an answer out of him.

“It's just that… Um, I was wondering, when you…”

Sonic isn't known for his patience, Tails knows that. So before Sonic taps his forehead again, Tails words his worries.

“When will you throw me out?”

The words don't hit him as much as the sincerely behind them does.

Sonic doesn't know what form of shock appears on his face but whatever it is, it makes Tails fumble over his words as he anxiously flaps his hands and tries to explain what he just said, “I-I mean, it's been three months now and you— you've been very nice a-and, I'm— I'm, I've been eating your food and using your supplies a-and no one has kept me for long without—”

Sonic doesn't like the way fat tears roll down his muzzle, he doesn't like the way Tails cuts himself off mid sentence as if he's scared to say more, he doesn't like the way Tails thinks he needs to be abandoned for some reason. Sonic likes Tails; the little guy is smart and keeps up with him without asking him to slow down. Despite not having had a home and being bullied by other kids, he's still more well-mannered than Sonic is. Not to mention, Sonic likes Tails just for the sake of it. No one wants this kit. Sonic does. 

So naturally, Sonic gently wipes away Tails’ tears. He points towards his own chest and then pokes Tails’ with his index finger before signing, “Together.”

Me and you; together.

Then Sonic holds his index finger up with his gloves palm back and draws a few large circles to sign with a promise, “Always.”

They will always be together and Sonic will never leave the little cub before him alone.

Tails will never have to feel alone again. Not when Sonic is here

_____

Sonic is tired.

It's been a long day.

He heaves a sigh when he takes a step closer to Tails’ Mystic Ruins workshop. The lights are on, he's glad to know Tails is here. He found him purely by chance today, he didn't have to run into multiple labs scattered around the world to find him which is good because he's already late. The night has fallen. The moon isn't visible under all the clouds, Sonic can't see a single star.

He thought he'd visit his own.

He ignores the way his hand shakes when he reaches out for the doorknob. It's rather cold tonight. It won't be long before it starts snowing. 

Tails likes playing in the snow.

Maybe they'll make a snowman.

He opens the door and steps inside. His vision gets a little awry for a second as the interior of the live-in workshop spins but that's okay, Sonic closes his eyes and gives himself a minute. It's okay. He's okay. 

He just wants to see Tails.

He steps inside, a little dizzy. He looks around the place in search of familiar golden fur. He doesn't find it right away so he walks in further. Briefly, he wonders if Tails is working late again and if he will have to drag him to his bed and tuck him in again. 

He's not against the idea.

It might be a bit selfish, but for time's sake, he'd like that.

Tails has grown up on him so fast.

He remembers when the little four year old first asked to be tucked in. He was so shy, so unsure, so terrified of asking to be loved.

Sonic loves Tails.

That's his little brother. He raised Tails. He took him in when no one else would — and quite frankly, whoever refused to give the kit a home missed out because Tails is amazing. He's everything and more. His little star, his sunshine. He loves him more than anything in this world.

He frowns.

Sonic doesn't remember the last time he told Tails that.

He doesn't remember the last, “I love you.”

He knows he doesn't say it often. He never felt like it was something that needed to be worded. Not saying it didn't mean Sonic didn't feel it. That's just been the way they go about their lives. There are many unworded things between them, not any less stronger than the ones that have been voiced.

Yet, Sonic feels a strange pang of guilt.

What if Tails doesn't know?

His little brother's self-esteem is always lingering in the negatives. What if he thinks Sonic doesn't love him because Sonic says it like once every two years during his most vulnerable moments? Sonic doesn't like that, Sonic doesn't want Tails to feel unloved because that's just simply not true.

He should've said it more often.

“Sonic?”

The hedgehog smiles at the voice. Tails has found him.

Emerald eyes slowly shift towards him. The fox is wearing a knitted baby blue cardigan, standing on the staircase. His eyes are on Sonic's left hand that rests just above the hedgehog's hip, stained red.

It's really cold, huh?

“H-Hey, bud…” He greets weakly, his smile ever-present.

Tails looks horrified, he gasps, “Sonic.”

Sonic doesn't reply. Not right away. Not when his voice fails him. He didn't come here to worry his little brother, no. He just came here to see him.

He reaches out his free hand towards Tails, takes a step forward but he ends up unable to maintain his balance. 

He sways.

Tails catches him before he falls.

“Sonic!”

The fox bands his arms around the teen’s torso to support him, his breath hitches as he struggles to grasp what he's seeing. A million questions running through his head. How did this happen? Who was Sonic fighting? Why didn't he call him? Why didn't Tails go with him? Why didn't Tails know? Why didn't the hedgehog's communicator record his vitals and ping Tails? Where is Sonic's communicator? What's he doing here? How much blood has he lost? What should Tails do—

Tails feels Sonic's hand cradle the back of his head, the hedgehog removes his bloody hand from his wound to loop it around Tails’ back and pull him in a hug, staining the cardigan before he rests his face on top of Tails’ head, nuzzling in his soft fur.

Tails is so much warmer.

“S-Sonic,” Tails feels the panic slowly bubbling up in his chest, “Sonic, what happened—”

“Shh…” Sonic hushes, “Don't worry about me.”

“Shut up.” Tails lets out a humourless chuckle, “If you don't want me to worry then don't walk in bleeding out like that.”

“Sorry, lil bro.” Sonic mumbles. Then quieter, “Couldn't really control it this time.”

“Sit down, let me check the wou—”

“No…” Sonic slurs. Tails feels his blood run cold when the hedgehog tightens his grip on him, and doesn't let him go, “No. Just… Just let me…”

He didn't come here to be treated. He didn't come all the way here to worry Tails. He knows coming here light-headed from blood loss is going to worry Tails whether or not he wanted to, if he didn't want to worry his little brother then he shouldn't have come.

But he can't help it.

He doesn't want to leave without seeing him one last time.

“Sonic?” Tails calls but the hedgehog remains quiet, still in his hold. So Tails calls again, “Sonic?” 

And he doesn't know why his voice sounds smaller, why he sounds scared. Is he terrified? What of? They get hurt all the time. It comes with their line of work. Sonic has been hurt before, so has Tails and they both recovered. Now isn't any different, is it?

It shouldn't be.

Sonic promised.

Always; he said always. He promised. They're supposed to be together forever. 

Sonic is supposed to be fine, then why is he scared?

The hand on the back of his head slowly slides down, the weight of Sonic's body increases on him.

They tumble to the floor but Sonic wraps his arms around him tightly as soon as they do, not wanting to let go any time soon.

Sonic pulls Tails closer. The kit's chest undoubtedly tainted red by now. Sonic's still glad, at least it's his own blood in the fox and not Tails’. He buries Tails’ face in his chest, he gently pets him and lays a soft kiss on the top of his head. Tails wraps his namesakes around him in return, hugging Sonic like his life depends on it. The younger doesn't like the implications of it all as Sonic starts brushing his fingers through the fur on Tails’ back but Sonic doesn't seem to care.

He's content.

But with only one regret.

“Tails…?”

“Yes, Sonic?”

Sonic wants to say he loves him, more than he can ever imagine. Sonic wants to make up for every time he didn't say it, he wants Tails to know.

His words fail him and he ends up with, “I'm sorry… I promised to go on that trip to Chun-nan with you. I don't think I can anymore.”

“That's okay… We'll go when you're better, won't we? It can wait.”

Sonic just hugs him tighter, “I-I don't think I can, bud.”

His voice cracks and Tails tries to escape his hold to most likely give him a very painful dumbfounded look. 

Tries, because Sonic doesn't let him.

“Why?” Tails asks. The teen feels his tears on his chest, “Why?”

Sonic smiles even though Tails can't see it.

“Hey, now… Don't be sad, okay?”

“No.” Tails shakes his head, “No, stop talking like that you… You promised. You promised.”

He knows that. He has promised Tails so many things. He's afraid he could only fulfil a few.

At least there's one thing he can do before going.

He doesn't say it often so naturally, it takes him longer to find the words, “You know I love you, right?”

“Sonic, please—”

“It's okay. It's gonna be okay.” He hushes him, scratches the back of his ear to calm him down. 

They sit like that for a while. It can't be more than a few minutes but its feels like year pass until Sonic's starts feeling more and more sluggish, until he can't get his fingers to move enough to pet Tails, to brush his soft fur. His hold on his little brother gradually gets weaker. 

With the last of his strength, Sonic separate himself from Tails.

The kit looks up at him, ocean eyes filled with tears.

Sonic looks into those eyes for a minute before pressing his forehead onto Tails’.

And at last, he says,

“I love you.”

(Tails doesn't move, he doesn't know how long he holds onto his brother till Amy visits — and when she does, he finds himself unable to cry anymore.)

[crumbledcastle28]

Joel Miller: Marked Me Like a Bloodstain

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader (afab; she/her)

Excerpt: "Wait," you whispered, "let go."

He did, and you laid him down flat on his back before leaning down on his middle and pressing a soft kiss to the scar. You traced it again, sketching designs of stars and infinity signs around it.

"I'm sorry you went through that," you whispered, and kissed it again, "but I'm glad you're here."

He kept eye contact with you as you did this, and although he'd never admit it, a slight mist lined his eyes. "Me too, baby. Me too."

Warnings: all fluff, Joel's insecure (what's new), descriptions of blood and getting impaled (also what's new), kissing, references to oral sex, major descriptions of scars, please think before you read.

A/N: title feel familiar to anyone else? (I made this title before the breakup rumors I'm so sorry)

Word Count: 1.5k

Pedro Masterlist

If you'd like to leave a like, comment, ask, or reblog, it would be much appreciated <3

(Gif credit to owner)

The rise and fall of Joel's chest was even underneath your cheek, but the rhythm of his heart was not. With each drag of your nail across his sternum, pecks, and stomach, his heart would escalate and cascade, in perfect tempo with your fingertips. It was like a song, it never ceased to follow, and you couldn't help but smile into his warm skin after a particularly apparent inflation.

A flush of heat on his neck told you he noticed too.

"Somethin' funny," he asked with a chuckle, causing you to only giggle louder into his neck.

"Yes,' you whispered against his pulse point, pecking it slightly.

“I ain’t even gonna try to play it off," he replied, "your fingers are drivin' me nuts."

You placed your free hand on his scruff-dusted cheek and pulled his pouty lips to yours, making him groan delectably as his pointer finger continued its task of tracing over any and every inch of your exposed back.

You were never going to leave his bed.

Your nude body was warm against his own--a mix of the warm meal the two of you had shared and the slowly cooling summer night--as he kissed you back. Usually, on a night like this, you would taste each other until the sun rose, and do it once more for good measure, but not tonight.

Tonight was a jewel, an artifact, a golden crown. It was one of the rare nights that all Joel wanted to do was lie next to you, talk about anything and everything, and just be.

You pulled away and pecked his nose before tucking yourself back into his chest, sighing with relief, but never removing your eyes from his face. These nights were your favorites, purely because you could stare at him endlessly, and memorize him enough that, even in your old age, you would still be able to picture every detail of his face.

The sharpness of his jaw, the streaks of grey in his dark brown hair, the patchiness of his stubble, the exact arch of his nose, the slight wooden hint in his scent, and the drips of honey in his eyes when the setting sun hit them just right.

Naked, in every sense of the word. Your addiction to it would surely be the death of you.

Your fingers continued their mission to feel every part of him as you stared up at him, and he stared down at you, likely committing every bit of you to memory the same way you were for him. You couldn't deny the flood of warmth that bloomed across your chest at the thought.

Your fingers continued their mission to feel every speck of skin on Joel Miller as they traveled lower and lower, and no matter how many nights you had done this, felt as much of him as you could, Joel always stiffened up when you did. Always. And this time was no different.

You had found that words never seemed to help him shred himself of his insecurities, no matter how poetic the prayers that fell from your lips.

It's me, Joel, only me.

Please, don't hide from me, baby.

I love you. Let me know you.

Nothing. It was when your lips were used for other purposes that Joel's body began to meld into the mattress.

As your fingers traced every mole, mark from the sun, freckle, and scar, your lips pressed a kiss onto his chest, bicep, neck, and face, alternating between them all. He exhaled, finally letting go, as his eyes fluttered shut.

"I love you," he whispered, eyes still closed but lips parted in rhapsody, "I love you."

You didn't respond with your words, only another kiss.

His deep breaths filled the air as your fingers made their way down, down, down to his lower stomach. They made it to the two moles above his belly button, one of your favorite places to admire on him, but as they made their way further and further to his left side, the muscles on his abdomen began to tighten, and his breaths shallowed.

You removed your lips from his collarbone at the feeling. "Joel--"

"No," he whispered huskily, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he said, "Keep goin'."

You nodded, and he pressed kiss after kiss to your hairline as your fingertips went from soft skin to a long stretch of indented, deeply textured skin. It was wide, and rugged, and old. You felt over every inch of it, noting how it felt deeper towards the center, but more soft on the edges.

You propped yourself up slightly to look at it; its stretch across his abdomen, its darkened tone, and how it was slightly raised from the rest of his tanned skin.

It was the biggest scar you had ever seen on his body, and in your life.

"How have I--" you began, looking back at his solemn face, "--how have I never noticed this before?"

"I never let you," he responded, his tone full of both disappointment and relief, "never wanted you to see it."

You couldn't help the tears that lined your eyes as you asked, "What happened?"

And he told you. Every detail. How it felt when the pipe entered his body, how it felt pushed up against his organs, and how it felt coming out. He described everything from that point on as hazed and muffled, except for the look of fear in Ellie's dark eyes.

"That's what kept me walking," he said, wiping the tears from your cheekbones as he spoke quietly, "her eyes. Her need for my heart to keep beatin'."

He described the next few months as dream-like, like he never really knew when he was awake or not, unaware what was real or figments of his imagination.

"It was hell," he said, "but she stayed with me through it all, and she's the reason I'm alive."

You nodded, understanding that in order to keep himself sane, he had to focus on Ellie's role in it, not his own.

Still, you couldn't hold your tongue as you said, "I'm sorry you had to go through that."

He shook his head at your tears and kissed your forehead once again. "S'alright, got some of the best sleep of my life."

You laughed breathily into his chest as he held you close, once again running his hands up and down your naked back as he did. He exhaled deeply, like he had finally gotten a heavy weight off of his chest, and you pressed a kiss to the middle of his sternum.

But you weren't done yet.

"Wait," you whispered, "let go."

He did, and you laid him down flat on his back before leaning down on his middle and pressing a soft kiss to the scar. You traced it again, sketching designs of stars and infinity signs around it.

"I'm sorry you went through that," you whispered, and kissed it again, "but I'm glad you're here."

He kept eye contact with you as you did this, and although he'd never admit it, a slight mist lined his eyes. "Me too, baby. Me too."

You laid down on top of him, completely letting your body weight onto his, and tucked yourself into his neck once again. You always loved how well it fit there. His hands went up into your hair to massage your scalp, and you practically hummed.

"I don't mind bein' scarred," he said into your hair after a few beats of silence, "means I'm still survivin', and that means I'm still with you."

You smiled against him, and the unique silence of understanding between two people who know each other better than anyone else was the only thing that filled the room. These moments, this silence, was priceless.

"Besides," Joel said suddenly, carving through the silence huskily, "marks are good, means it meant something."

You nodded, murmuring a small "mhm" as you did. Your eyes were beginning to grow heavy, and the depth of his voice was only lulling you more.

"You've marked me, in a way," he said against your face, and your eyebrows came together in confusion.

"Yeah, not in a scar way though," he said, and brought your hand to his beating chest, "but just as permanent. More like in a...a bloodstain way--a good bloodstain--in here. You've marked my heart with it."

Your eyes met his own, and it didn't take you thirty seconds before you both started laughing in perfect symphony.

"A 'good bloodstain'," you said through your laughter, feeling a tear drip onto your face once more, "I never took you for a poet, Miller."

"Well, I ain't," he said in reply, his face beginning to flush, "that's why that was so terrible."

Through the both of your smiles you were still able to kiss him, whispering against his lips, "I know what you meant."

Because you did. You had marked each other, internally, in a way that could never be removed, and as you kissed him one last time before falling asleep wrapped in warmth and love, you couldn't help but agree with him.

Tag list: (if you'd like to be added please let me know!)

@leahkenobi @untitledarea @avengersfan25 @lexloon​ @aninnai @darling-murdock @daphne-turner @ellesvoid

[scuttlingcrab]

A Devil's Lament

Summary: Raphael brings Tav to an abandoned chapel, hoping to complete one final task before he begins his conquests of the Hells.

Notes: I was inspired by my friend Mark Choi and his announcement of a new piano arrangement of "Down By The River." I desperately needed to see Raphael playing not just a piano, but a pipe organ. And what would suit the occasion? Our favourite Devil playing a song he had composed over a millenia ago, after he first lost the Crown of Karsus...

Link to my other work in the Devil's Archive.

(Image via certifieddilfenjoyer)

There once stood a magnificent chapel along the road to Baldur’s Gate. Mortals came from far and wide to bask in its glory, seek refuge from whatever sorrows afflicted them, and pray to the deity it was erected to honour. However, like most beautiful things on this plane, it was slowly worn down from one conflict after another, until it merely stood as a dilapidated relic of a time gone by.

On a particularly humid evening, nearly one year after the Elder Brain’s assault on Faerûn, Raphael found himself with Tav on the outskirts of the chapel, staring fondly at his old stomping grounds. No place was off limits when it came to his Devilish business, and the various religious structures scattered across the realms always proved to be the most lucrative. Raphael partook in his favourite game of hunting mortals in the very establishments they trusted, luring them into his traps with fanciful proposals of fortune and glory. 

The Devil never settled on the weaker creatures unless there were no other alternatives, but it was the clerics and overly righteous he craved. There was nothing more joyous than watching their resolve slowly decay after his cunning verbiage and skillful charms got under their skins. Their potent souls were simply delectable, and worth all the time and effort to acquire them.

“So what are you planning?” Tav asked, stopping Raphael from reminiscing any further. “I thought you said we had no time to waste.” 

“Walk with me, if you will, there is a final task I must complete before we are to continue.” 

Raphael had already started on the path ahead and Tav quickly jogged to keep up, the stones crunching beneath her boots. He smiled to himself at the notion of her, the Hero of Baldur’s Gate, running after him.

As Raphael strode through the remains of the toppled structure, he searched for something far more valuable than the achievements of past meals. Raphael was after the heart and soul of the old chapel, the instrument responsible for the most beautiful sounds he had ever heard in his lifetime. The chapel’s pipe organ.

He heaved a sigh of relief to find the instrument still nestled at the far end of the rubble, under a canopy of overgrown trees. He had not been back since the fight against the Absolute, and in truth feared for the worst. Raphael would never let that spectacular creation suffer the same fate due to the failures of mortalkind, but he too had neglected it; spending the last few months muddled in the intricacies of reforging the Crown of Karsus.

The Devil had often argued with himself about whether or not to bring the pipe organ to the House of Hope. He had an idyllic place for it on his atelier balcony, overlooking the River Styx and barren wastelands of Avernus. But doing so would open him up to countless interruptions and he’d lose what he valued most: his precious solitude. He would never risk it.

“A marvel…” Raphael whispered, tilting his head up to admire the towering organ, the 3,000 golden pipes glistening in the darkness. 

His eyes attentively moved across the pipes, carefully inspecting every surface for signs of damage. It was no secret that Raphael cherished the instrument, nearly as much as the Crown he had desired for over a millenia. It was Raphael’s own toy box, it could imitate nearly any orchestral instrument with just a few minute actions unnoticeable to the common mortal. The organ could do wonders above and beyond any grand piano, or even any symphony. With this tool, Raphael was his own maestro, having the power to freely weave his own melodies into existence and escape into the futures he so desperately desired. 

“This hunk of junk? It’s practically falling apart.” 

“I will not hear another peep from you.”  Raphael hissed, turning to face Tav. He raised his finger threateningly towards her, as if scolding a small child. 

Tav raised both of her hands apologetically, though there was still a hint of impishness in her smile as she took a step back.

“Sorry. Carry on then…” 

Raphael sniffed sharply, in an attempt to keep his infernal flames at bay. As powerful and useful as that mortal was, she was a constant irritant; pushing Raphael closer and closer to his boiling point the more time he spent with her. And yet, they were inseparable since Tav had gifted the Crown to Raphael. Of all the creatures, in all the wretched planes, that little mouse had to be the one to fall into his claws, leaving a lasting effect on him.

He quickly redirected his attention to the pipe organ, brushing off the rotten twigs and dirt from the three keyboards. He snapped his fingers and a leather bench appeared, replacing the one that had broken long ago. 

Raphael eagerly took his seat, lightly running his feet over the pedalboard to test it was still functional. He then prepared the various stops along the edges of the organ, choosing his intended octaves for the serenade to come. 

After a few more minutes of fiddling with the organ, making sure all the divisionals were arranged accordingly, he was ready to begin. 

With another snap of Raphael’s fingers, sheet music took shape before him. The chosen melody had been etched into his memory for a thousand years, yet he still brought out the yellowing sheets of paper whenever he dared to play it. Like the ruins surrounding him, the pages were close to deteriorating, slowly withering away at the edges. 

The music notes were barely legible, the ink having faded a century or two earlier. Raphael dared not handle the pages by hand, as they would crumble at the slightest touch. Seeing the pages again were oddly comforting to the Devil, a sign of how far he has come. As painful as it was to revisit the meaning behind the music, the moment would always be part of Raphael, no matter how often he tried to consign it to oblivion. 

The Devil took a deep breath and pressed his fingers against the keys. His exhale matched the roaring bellow that emerged from the pipes. Energy surged through his hands as he played the beginning of the piece, his feet moving to a completely different rhythm against the pedalboard. The low notes coming from his feet accompanied the lighter ones from his fingers, creating a flawless harmony. 

The sounds of the pipe organ soon filled the air, echoing around him like lost ghosts wailing in the dark. It was haunting, exquisite, and a perfect representation of his internal strife. It was Raphael’s lament - the anguish, vexations, and seething hatred from all the years of his existence poured through his own spirit into the instrument. The reverberations from the pipes shook the trees above Raphael, causing the leaves to fall like snowflakes. 

These same feelings had fuelled Raphael’s drive and ambition since he was a young Devil. He was discarded by Mephistopheles and left to rot in the deepest, darkest parts of the Hells; forced to suffer for a sin he had not committed. Raphael still found his way, against all odds, and survived every obstacle thrown at him. He learned how to rely only on himself, to play the game of the Hells, and quickly rise up the ranks by tipping the scales in his favour. He had ruthlessly betrayed allies and levelled entire cities, and he would do it a hundred times over if it meant he was closer to fulfilling his destiny of uniting the Nine Hells. He would show his father how powerful and capable he truly was. 

As Raphael continued, he let himself get lost in the tempo, not questioning where his hands went next, which stops he pulled, or where his feet would take him. He soon found the keyboards were wet, had it begun to rain? He closed his eyes, a lump forming in his throat as decades worth of repressed emotions started to bubble to the top. He felt his fingers slip on a key, and then another, causing him to miss a few notes, but he quickly amended the mistake. He opened his eyes in fury, only to realise that he was crying. He clenched his jaw, causing the tears falling down his cheeks to quickly evaporate as his body sizzled in anger; resenting himself and the situation, always such a fool to let these fleeting emotions get the best of him. 

He wasn't sure how long he had been playing, but his fingers throbbed as they continued to press against the keys. He wanted to continue, to replay the song again and again, to make sure it was perfect, but it was coming to its natural conclusion. He would need to leave it as is.

Raphael played the final notes, holding his fingers to the keys for an extra beat as the sounds slowly faded. He snapped his fingers and a small flame appeared in his hands. He lifted it up towards the music sheets and let the edges of the papers catch fire. The pages were devoured by the flames within a matter of seconds. Let the ashes of his lament stay within the ruins of the chapel.

“Gods…” Tav whispered, her voice choking with emotion. “Did you…?”

“I have never played that in front of another mortal. The first and last time you will ever hear such a piece.” 

“It was remarkable.”

“I know.” Raphael responded, rising from the bench.

He flicked his wrist and the Crown of Karsus materialised before them. He caught reflections of himself in the Crown as he stared at it, his visage splitting into broken shards against the material of the relic. Different versions of Raphael stared back at him, as if from alternate timelines, offering a range of glimpses into his future. He smiled at the reflections and the thought of what he might look like donning the Crown, fighting against Zariel and her forces, in all his glory. 

“It was a fitting farewell and one I had been looking forward to for a considerable amount of time. Now onto new beginnings, come.”

Tav didn’t wait for Raphael to create a portal, she jumped towards him, latching on to his arm. On previous occasions he would’ve shooed her away, like an irksome mosquito, but he let her stay clinging to him. Just this once, perhaps for his own comfort.

Tonight Raphael would write a different composition - one of celebration and conquest, that he would play throughout the decades to come, solidifying his reign.

[jinxhallows]

ɪᴄɪɴɢ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴀᴋᴇ | ᴊᴀᴄᴋsᴏɴ ᴡᴀɴɢ x ғᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

☾ -- ɪᴄɪɴɢ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴀᴋᴇ

ᴊᴀᴄᴋsᴏɴ ᴡᴀɴɢ x ғᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: ᴇxᴘʟɪᴄɪᴛ, 𝟷𝟾+, ᴀʟᴄᴏʜᴏʟ ᴜsᴇ, ғᴏᴏᴅᴘʟᴀʏ, ᴇsᴛᴀʙʟɪsʜᴇᴅ ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴsʜɪᴘ

ᴡᴄ: 𝟸.𝟹ᴋ

So I wrote this originally in a discord brainrot with @gdragonsideburns (who ALSO WRITES INCREDIBLE SHIT) because although I am a smooth 30, I'm currently driving this song into an early grave and it made me think of Jackson Wang in the jungle? Do Jackson Wang fics even exist on here? Well, here's one.

"Dearest old man, on this most joyous occasion of your birthday, I bring forth a small token of my affection."  

You call out teasingly in an over the top accent, and carefully place the delicate porcelain plate onto the table, adorned with a magnificent gourmet cupcake, a tropical wonder, complete with a sparkler glowing brightly at its center. The chocolate syrup on top of the plate spells out a heartfelt message from the resort staff,  

"Happy 29th Birthday, Jackson Wang from China." 

His face lights up with an infectious grin as he reads the message out loud.  

"Ah, that's definitely me," he exclaims, reaching out to blow the sparkler out like a candle. But to his surprise, it doesn't extinguish. He shakes it slightly and turns to you. 

"It burns for twenty-nine seconds, because that's how old you are," you quip with a mischievous glint in your eye. 

He looks at you in wonderment, his brows furrowing in confusion. "How do they get it to last exactly twenty-nine seconds?" he asks, genuinely curious. 

You chuckle, knowing he's fallen for your playful trick. "They don't," you say, picking up the remaining sparkler and pushing the plate towards him. "You just believe anything I tell you." 

He rolls his eyes, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "Now that's a lie. I don't believe 99.9% of what comes out of that pretty mouth of yours." With a cheeky grin, he dips his finger into the icing and taps your nose, before bringing it to his lips to savor the delicious taste. 

“Thanks for thinking of me, baby.” he murmurs in a gentle tone, his eyes fixated on the delectable dessert before him. 

The soothing sound of the rain pouring down through the dense Amazonian trees provides a tranquil ambiance. The floor-to-ceiling windows showcase the lush rainforest, with mist creeping up from the warm forest floor. You observe him as he peels off the cupcake paper, sinking his teeth into its side. The coconut shavings crumble onto his exposed tattooed torso. He brushes the crumbs off his skin, just below his navel, where his gray sweatpants meet his briefs, emitting a soft rustling sound. Tilting his head to the side, he takes another bite, letting out a satisfied "mm" at the delectable taste. 

He glances over at you, oblivious to how enraptured you had become with his reaction. "Wanna try?" he offers, extending the cupcake towards you. However, you wave your hand, declining the tropical delight. 

"I hate coconut flavored stuff," you make a face in distaste. 

"Really? Since when? Why didn't I know that?" he queries, taking another bite and shaking his head to brush away the strands of chestnut brown hair from his face. 

“Because thankfully, you’ve never fucked up royally enough to get me coconut flavored anything; and I love you all the more for it.” As you rise from your seat, you feel the cool, marble floor beneath the balls of your feet, and make your way over to the Bluetooth speaker. The room is sparsely furnished, and the sound of mellow Afrobeat mixed with R&B piano and the soothing notes of steel pans fills the air. 

Suddenly, you feel something cold and flat pressed against your lower back, just above the curve of your hips. You look up at his reflection in the mirror, both of your gazes locking before your eyes fall to the bottle of patron silver he was conveniently using you as a table for; oh but Jackson’s a gentleman, he’s got himself pressed up against your ass, and your ample thighs; he’s keeping you nice and steady while he expertly pours a shot, which he sets down with a satisfying "clink" on the nearby table. 

Jackson's second attempt at pouring is a bit messier, causing droplets of the cool liquid to splash against your warm skin, and you slightly jump at the feeling.  It was the way the bottom half of your cheeks jiggled from underneath your shorts, however, that earned you a firm grasp and smack as he throws his shot back, relishing in the sight of your body responding to his touch. With a mischievous grin, he leans down to lap up the stray droplets from your lower back as you blissfully sigh from how good he was pressing all your buttons. 

“Take your shot, I wanna test somethin’.” 

He takes a step back, and you slowly stand up, tossing back the tequila before turning around to face him. 

“Hear me out, try chasing with it.” He walks over to the table, and you admire the flexion in his back muscles as he moves.  He picks up the cupcake, undeniably sexy as he licks it off his finger.  He can tell he’s got you right where he wants you, your eyes never leave him. 

“Chasing tequila, with a coconut cupcake?  You’re gonna have to show me, ‘cause it’s not sounding too appealing yet.” 

“I’m glad you asked, lie down for me sweetheart, let me show you exactly what I mean.” 

As you crawl onto the plush mattress, Jackson follows suit, climbing on top of you. The sight of him, flushed from the drinks he had earlier, is enough to make your heart skip a beat. He chuckles at your confusion, but how could you not be confused? He's holding a half-eaten cupcake in one hand and a bottle of tequila in the other, straddling your body. But despite the mischievous glint in his eye, you can't help but find him utterly irresistible. In this remote, remarkable place, far away from the rest of the world, he has you all to himself, and he's clearly up to no good. 

"Hold this for me," he says, handing over the cupcake. As you take it, he takes a thick swipe of icing from the dessert. He pushes the bottom of your tank top up just enough for the bottom of your breasts to peek out from under the black, scrunched fabric. 

"Jackson, what are you--" you start to ask, but he interrupts you as he paints a straight line of icing down the midline of your stomach, stopping right at your navel. His eyes hold your gaze captive as he slips his finger with the remaining icing between your lips.  

As you obediently suck on his finger, feeling the curve of his knuckle and the lines dividing his long digit into printed pads, he lets out a satisfied laugh and proudly declares,  

"I thought you hated coconut flavored shit?" 

You take his finger further into your mouth, coaxing it in with your tongue. Despite your initial reservations, you can't deny the pleasure you feel from this. He pulls his hand away from your oral fixation with a scoff and a smirk. Taking a swig of tequila, he looks down at you like you're his next biggest conquest.  

Aries men have a thing for that – a conquest. 

He dips his tongue into your navel, licking the sweet trail all the way up to where your shirt is bunched up. You gasp, propping yourself up on your elbows and looking down at him knowingly. "You know exactly what you're doing," you say. 

"I'm teaching you how to broaden your palate," he responds smoothly, wasting no time in taking the cupcake back from you and exchanging it with the bottle of tequila instead.   

The cool air circling in the room feels extra sensitive on the wet skin of your stomach, and it turns your nipples into erect, sensitive nubs, poking proudly through the thin fabric of your tank.  You push yourself up a little more, so you can sit up straight.   

You look up at him as he holds the cupcake out for you to take a sample from.  You swipe your finger in the thick, buttercream icing, and your eyes dance down his chiseled torso, deciding where you were going to take this experiment. 

Your body is trembling with anticipation as you slide your fingers over the waistband of his briefs, feeling the heat radiating from his body. You lean in closer, the scent of his cologne mixed with the faint aroma of tequila and cupcakes filling your senses. Your tongue traces the trail of soft, delicate hairs leading down from his belly button, savoring the sweet taste of his skin. 

You slowly trace a thick line just above his navel, reveling in the way his muscles twitch under your touch. You can feel the heat radiating from his body, his skin flushed and warm from the tequila. You trail the icing down his smooth, taut stomach, disappearing into the waistband of his briefs. 

You can't resist the urge to pull them down just a little, just enough to expose the tempting V-line leading down from his abs. With a steady hand, you spread the remaining icing right where you want it. Jackson watches you with dark, intense eyes, his breaths coming in ragged. 

Jackson’s eyes flicker with surprise and desire as he helps you by tugging at the sides of his pants, pulling them down even further. The sight of his hardness tenting the front of his sweatpants, the print pushing through the slate grey of his briefs, is almost too much for you to handle. He's always had an aura of mystery and excitement about him, and the way he's looking at you now only adds to his allure.  

He sets the cupcake aside and lifts your face up to meet his gaze, you can feel your cheeks heat up under his intense stare. His hand under your chin is firm, holding you steady, but his touch is gentle. You can see the lust in his eyes, but there's also a hint of tenderness there. 

"Give me the tequila, baby," he says, his voice low and husky. You hand him the bottle, your fingers brushing against his as you do. His tongue darts out to swipe over his lower lip, and you feel weak in the knees. 

With a little squeeze of your chin, he prompts you to open your mouth, and you do so eagerly. You can feel the warmth of his body as he moves in closer, his hips tilted towards you. He's always found you uniquely stunning, in a way that appealed to him on a primal level, and right now, it's as though he can't resist the urge to explore every inch of you.  

As you wait, your breath catching in your throat, Jackson's gaze flickers over your face and down to your lips, before he takes a long swig of the tequila first.  He swishes it around in his mouth before swallowing, and he pours a stream of it into your open mouth, letting go and allowing you to cringe as you push it down your throat.  You quickly stick your tongue out, desperate to get rid of the alcohol taste.  You grab his pants, pulling him closer and licking the buttercream trail from his skin.  You pull his briefs down, maybe a little too enthusiastically, to get to the rest, and his stiff cock springs out.  The head is red, smeared with clear pre-cum that had oozed out while he was toying with you earlier. 

As soon as you felt the cool liquor pass your lips, your mouth began to water. You take him in, savoring the feel of him filling your mouth. His substantial length stretches you, and you wrap your lips around him tightly, feeling every ridge and vein as you slide him deeper into your mouth. As your tongue flattens against the bottom of his cock, he hisses at the sensation, his brows knit together in pleasure. His eyes close, and he accidentally holds his breath, lost in the feeling of your mouth on him. 

"Damn, babe," he groans, his voice thick with desire. You can feel him growing harder inside your mouth, and you can't resist sliding your hand down to his base, following the thick curve of your lips with every suck. "Keep doing that, God, it feels so good," he pleads, his hips thrusting gently towards your mouth.   

He probably shouldn’t, but he takes another shot anyway.  He really does want to set the bottle down, but he can’t peel himself from between your pretty lips just yet.  The way your intensity climbs as the liquor kicks in, you take his balls gently in your hand, using all the saliva that had pooled as lubrication to massage them. 

His moans of pleasure fill the room, each one more intense than the last. With his hand covering his face and his other tightly gripping the tequila bottle, it was clear that he was completely lost in the moment. The air was thick with a heady mix of profanity, grunts, and gasps, all signaling his overwhelming pleasure.   

“H-Hold on, hold on—” Jackson somehow finds the inner strength to breathe, to stop you from taking him directly off the edge a lot sooner than he had originally planned.  He drops his hand, revealing his handsome face again.  He stares at you with a look of utter desire and adoration, his eyes glazed over with pleasure. Beads of sweat drip down his forehead, his hair mussed and sticking to his skin in all the right places. His lips are parted, panting softly as he struggles to regain control of his senses. 

His body is a work of art, every muscle defined and chiseled to perfection. The veins in his arms and neck pulse with intensity, a testament to the overwhelming sensations coursing through him. He looks like a god, a vision of pure masculinity and strength. 

You can see the raw passion in his eyes, the way they fixate on you with such intensity that it makes your heart skip a beat. It's a look that says he wants you more than anything in the world, and nothing else matters in this moment. 

“I wanna fuck you,” 

He breathes out, pointing to the oversized window across from the bed. 

“In the rainforest.” 

☾ -- fin