#a rare present tense from me

[yuwuta]

CAN’T KEEP MY HANDS TO MYSELF (I MEAN I COULD, BUT WHY WOULD I WANT TO?) — JJK BOYS + TOO HOT

featuring. gojo, okkotsu, choso, itadori, fushiguro

content, warnings. playing too hot with the jjk boys—(too hot is a party game in which two people kiss while keeping their hands to themselves; the first person to touch their partner loses), making out, tongue sucking, uhhh slight predator/prey in yuuta’s oops, they’re a bunch of losers to be honest, there’s a word for the thing yuuji does but i don't know it lolol

word count. 1.6k

SATORU GOJO Satoru is prideful, but you also know that he is nothing if not handsy, borderline clingy on his worst days. The concept of personal space is foreign to him, he’s rarely not touching you when you’re in his proximity, and when you aren’t, he closes that gap—so you’re confident that he’ll lose this game. 

And he does. It takes ninety-two seconds for Satoru to put his hands on you; his palms cupping your cheeks, forcing your jaw open for him to lick at your tongue. You yelp in surprise, try to take in your victory, taunt that you’ve won, but Satoru’s playing an entirely different game now. “I know, I lost,” he pushes his thumbs at the corners of your mouth, parting your lips and staring at your open mouth. Briefly, his eyes flicker to yours, drinks in your pliant expression, the soft touch of your fingers around his wrists, the feel of your body sinking below him, and he smiles, “But I want something else right now. Indulge me?” 

You tap at his right wrist and he moves his thumbs away from your lips, stroking against the soft skin of your cheeks instead so you can speak, “You lost, you’re not supposed to make demands.” 

“Take pity on a rookie like me, won’t you?” Satoru hums, tilting his head to kiss your cheek, then closer, just below your bottom lip, “Please, sweets?” 

“Depends on what you want,” you pout, but your words are strained against Satoru’s kisses. He grins, guiding a thumb back to your lips, this time pressing past the barrier of your lips until they’re wrapped around his digit, smile turning cheshire when he feels you sucking, “I have a different game we can play instead.” 

YUUTA OKKOTSU “Ah, ah—” you pull away from Yuuta, much to his dismay, pulling the hem of your shirt from his grasp, “That counts as touching. You’re not supposed to touch, Yuuta.” 

He’s looking at you intensely, gaze bordering on predatory, slow blinking with blown-out pupils. He nods shallowly, moving his hand from where it was to your side, palm pressing into the couch next to your thigh; it lets him that much closer to you, the tip of his nose grazing yours, you can feel his laborious breaths tickle your lips. Yuuta tilts his head ever so slightly and pauses, blinks, waits—for you to make a sound, for you to tell him no again, for you to run. 

You don’t. He shifts his weight and positions his other hand to rest at your side, caging you between his arms, slotting you underneath his gaze. You curl underneath him, backing up until you’re pressed against the arm of the couch, until Yuuta’s crawled to slot his knee between your legs. You crane your neck away, but you’re still within his reach, and now you’ve presented the perfect canvas for him. He dips his head into your collarbone, leaves a deceptively soft kiss there before nosing up the expanse of your exposed skin and sinking his teeth into your neck. 

Yuuta feels you tense underneath him, body going rigid in a moment of surprise, and then slacking with an exhaled moan, like a bitten bunny. Reflexively, your hands find purchase in his hair, and Yuuta nips over the tender skin, and smiles, “Caught you.” 

CHOSO KAMO “You’re nervous,” you conclude, pulling away from the shallow kiss Choso gave you. 

Beside you, he’s flushed, a hand coming up to reach at the back of his neck as he replies, “I don’t know why,” he exhales, “It’s just... weird to not touch you. I have to think about not touching you, and that means I have to think, which tends to make me, you know... nervous.” 

You giggle, leaning in closer to him, careful not to touch; careful to keep your hips raised above his, even as you straddle him, keep your arms and hands at your sides even though the instinct is to wrap them around Choso’s neck. He doesn’t pull back, even though he should; you like that he doesn’t. “You don’t like to think about me?” 

“No—no! Not like that,” he’s too loud for the proximity, sighing in embarrassment shortly after; you’re too close, way too close, and he’s not supposed to touch, but he wants to—Choso doesn’t like this feeling of restraint, of constriction; it’s too close to when he had a hopeless crush on you, to when he was pining and praying you’d spare him the time of day. Isn’t the point of dating that he gets to have you? To touch you, to hold you—to not hold back? 

“Because I like to think about you,” you admit, leaning in even closer, pressing a kiss to the base of Choso’s neck—and he whines, “I think about you a lot, Choso.” 

The sound of his name from your lips is sweet torture, as is the way you trail your kisses up his neck, up his jaw, behind his ear. Choso’s certain he’s going to rip a hole in his jeans with how taut he’s pulling them between his fists. This isn’t fair—nothing about this is fair. “I don’t want to play anymore,” Choso whines, eyes screwing shut when you suck a hickey onto his collar.

“But we’ve only just started,” you giggle against his skin, “And nobody’s won yet.”

Choso bites his lips, his knuckles are sore, his resolve is weak, and you smell good, you feel good—and he can’t do this. Pathetic, maybe, but he doesn’t care; he didn’t make you yours to try and stay away from you. So, Choso gives in, unwinds his fists, places one hand on your waist, and the other against your back, pulling you flush against him, and burying his face in your neck. 

“There, I lose,” he grumbles, not caring for your laughter reverberating against his chest, “Now I can touch you as much as I want.” 

YUUJI ITADORI “Th—this isn’t fair,” you tremble, attempting to move away from his kisses, but you’re caged in between Yuuji and the wall. There’s nowhere for you to run, nothing for you to grab purchase onto but Yuuji—nothing to do but lose. 

“I didn’t hear any rules against this,” he feigns innocence, suckling at your skin, “Think it’s fair game.”

You close your eyes, trying to focus on something, anything else, but it’s hard when all you can see, all you can feel is Yuuji, Yuuji, Yuuji. Kissing up your neck, at your cheek, then your lips, and you find yourself sighing into his touch, balling your hands into fists to avoid the temptation of cupping his face. 

Yuuji moans when he feels your tongue against his, kisses you back fervently, swirling his tongue across yours and into the cavity of your mouth. He inhales all your breaths, makes it impossible for you to do anything but succumb to his kiss, to swallow his moans, to take everything he gives you. You didn’t expect Yuuji to have this much resolve—you’d anticipated a short, cute round of a silly party game, but you should have known better; Yuuji has never lost a challenge before, and you were naive, at best, to think otherwise.

Predictably, it’s you that lets go first, whining when Yuuji sucks on your tongue, hands trembling and reaching to hold him, to cling to him as some kind of recourse, unable to squirm or move anywhere else. That doesn’t stop him—Yuuji only sucks harder, only forces more moans out of you until you’re digging your nails into his shoulders and bending your knees, weak. 

Then he pulls back, leaving you breathless, tilting his head up to kiss your forehead and flashing you a grin that’s equal parts boyish and wicked with intent, “I win.” 

MEGUMI FUSHIGURO It’s the kind of thing he usually turns down; cliché, fruitless, and unnecessarily time-consuming; but it’s you, so he makes the exception. You’re too eager, positioning yourself to sit on your hands, your legs folded under your knees, peering up at him from where he’s sat slack against the couch, and he thinks you look awful cute on your knees for him.

“Okay, ready?” you smile, “Three, two—” but Megumi already knows his plan, already has his lips on yours before you can say “one,” drinking in your surprised yelp and greedily licking against your tongue when you part your lips to kiss him back. He turns his body towards you slightly, taking advantage of his height and position to bully you into chasing him upwards, to push his tongue into your mouth with ease. 

He indulges in the back and forth for a while, sighs into your kisses, groans when you nip at him. It’s when you pull away, that Megumi decides he’s played along long enough; when he can see your chest swell with heaving breaths, see your hands in your lap, neck craned and spit-slick lips that drive him to reach for you. He’s less than gentle, hands finding purchase on your hips, and forcefully pulling you into his lap, ignoring your yelping, choosing to turn them into moans when he sinks his teeth into your neck. Megumi licks, and bites, and bites, and bites, until he’s certain he’s left a mark, until he feels your hands tugging at his hair and giving him permission to splay his palms against your back and buck you forward.  

“I lose,” he hums, soothing over raw bitten skin with open-mouthed kisses, “So, how do you wanna punish me?”

[ybklix]

playing with his hair

giirrrl idk, a feral thought maybe; bf!felix x fem!reader w his long hair since i’m too lazy to make it a whole detail fic for now lol so, (i deadass tried to make it a drabble but it pass the 1k words😮‍💨)

genre - warnings: smut, fluff!! dry humping, handjob, grinding, unprotected piv, mention of cockwarming, idol bf felix btw

word count: 1.6k

a/n: this is what i have to deal with everyday, actually, oopsies, he’s next to me rn! also writing in present it’s so new, I like to read it when yall write like that, but I’ll stick with past tense😁 edit: girl i had this in the drafts for days, but he was a little too happy in his recent promoting video, he’s sleeping outside, someone pick him up /jk srly pls

Felix likes to try new hairstyles ever since he let grow his hair, he feels very confident with it and likes the way you randomly stroke it every time you’re together.

Your idea of fun is one of those very rare free afternoons for him since he’s all the time busy at work; it’s when you’re just chilling together at your place because you feel too lazy to go out but very comfortable with each other’s company.

Your days are simple, and your hours with him are very limited but he always makes sure to enjoy being with him; so you try to do everything at once, watch a movie, talk, lay on his chest while he’s playing games on his cell phone… and suddenly, just playing around, with you sitting on his lap in front of him, giggling while playing with his hair.

“Fuck, your hair is so fried” you tease him with a smile, looking at your fingers entangling with his straight hair.

He pouts, “Stop, then don’t touch it…” he responds also joking, just watching you with heart and sparkling eyes.

Felix rests his hands on your tights and caresses them softly. You down your gaze to meet his, he’s suddenly looking at you so sweetly that makes your cheeks get a little warm.

“Can I play with it?” you asked joyfully.

“With what?”

“Your hair” you replied in an obvious tone, “I can do pigtails, braids, middle part, side part” you continue to say, laughing while playing with his hair.

Felix chuckles softly, completely in love, closing his eyes sometimes, then looking up at your arms.

“Wait here” you speak again, standing up from his lap and going to get a comb, hair ties, bobby pins and some random hair clips to take pictures of him just for fun.

“You can also do my make-up if you want” he comments, raising his thick voice so you can hear him.

You sit back down on his lap.

“Oh no, you wear makeup almost every day, let your face rest today” you answer, kissing him tenderly on the bridge of his nose, hiding a little bit the fact that you love seeing your boyfriend’s bare face, straight black eyelashes, big dark eyes, full lips, cheeks and nose with freckles all over.

You laugh at doing whatever you want with his hair, taking silly pictures every time you find him adorable, just giggling saying your favorite inside jokes, then ending with a bow on his hair.

“You can really use me, huh” Felix says, giving you a funny but adorable look with his eyes wide open.

Felix starts caressing your back, with more consistent and intense caresses and he suddenly realizes how you haven’t kissed each other on the lips the whole time, so he moves closer to you and you without hesitation receive his kiss, following a tender and slow rhythm at first, pressing your lips together in a delicate lip rubbing, but you’re a bit desperate when it comes to each other, so your boyfriend catches his breath between kisses and looks himself at the work of being more glued and pouncing on you, with his touches all over your body, from your thighs to your back, slipping his hands under your blouse to feel your bare skin.

Your make out starts to heat up precipitously that you can feel the growing erection in his shorts, so, with your hands wrapped around his neck, you begin to move over his cock, pressing it to your core and stimulating you both. At this point, your pussy is throbbing and you feel slightly heated. You’re always impressed by how incredibly fast you want and desire him. You both moan softly at the friction. As you pull apart you smile slightly mischievously at him and for some reason you start kissing his neck, which Felix loves so, causing him to give you a huge tender smile showing his teeth, clutching his grip on your hips tighter.

You pull away once more to meet the wide grin on his face, which gently turns into a slightly strained expression as you continue to move your body against his erection, Felix gasps, his lips forming a soft expression of satisfaction this time with his submissive facing enjoying the naughty act of crushing his cock with your center, with your clothes on.

“Fuck, baby, it feels so good” Felix sighs, biting his slightly swollen, full lips, lowering his gaze to your pussy being trapped in him, moving his erection back and forth, guiding your hips for better movement.

You smile satisfactorily at him in response, each time feeling the heat of your body and pussy brush against your panties, wetting them all over, just playing more with your arousal. You see him, he looks so fucking cute and yet so hot with the last few hairstyles you gave him, two little high ponytails with bows leaving the rest of his hair loose, he looked silly cute, but serious manly moans coming out of him contrasts somehow so perfectly.

Felix sighs again sonorously, his legs shaking a little, he doesn’t think he can take it long enough without cumming if you keep moving so dedicatedly on him so he speaks again:

“Mmm, c’mon baby, take off your clothes, or do you want me to take you to bed.”

A pleasant shock goes through your body as you hear him a little more needy, you’re not thinking straight and you don’t want to pull away from him so you just reply a simple, “It’s okay like this, Lix.”

With your heart beating fast you grab his shorts, indicating you want to pull them down, Felix helps you right away, releasing his pink, needy, throbbing cock, you look down at his member and then at the same time you join gazes, Felix looks at you so needy and innocent, his big eyes begging you to touch him, you can’t help but melt every time he does that and in a needy sigh, with your cheeks a little red, you stand up, embarrassed, pulling down your comfy cloth shorts along with your panties, climbing back onto his lap, catching your boyfriend licking his lips at the sight of your cute bare mons venus.

Felix smiles, so excited at the thought of feeling you on him again, now with the sensation of your warm wet center in him, he gets more excited at the thought that you were finally going to settle on him ready to fuck, however, you start pumping his entire erect length, making him gasp loudly as he throws his head back, marking his bulging Adam's apple in his throat. Felix returns to his posture, looking straight into you with desire, biting his lip as you with a smile, touch all over his cock, stroking his tip gently with your fingers, feeling his stiffness and the slight sticky precum sliding down your hand as you jerk him off.

You’re so wet, and Felix is getting over the edge, so you finally accommodate your body, squeezing your pussy tighter on his cock, grinding on it a little before you put his cock inside you, encouraging in him more arousal if that was possible, teasing him and you at the sensation of his dick rub between your labia, until you feel his throbbing member so foreplayed, and until you see your boyfriend’s sweet expression as he can’t resist anymore and, finally you insert his rigid manhood completely in you. The temperature of both your bodies rises, it feels so fucking good to be filled by him, every move you make comes out of pure bliss, panting, sliding on his cock in a rhythm that makes him shudder and moan; Felix feels every part of his body beat intensely, enjoying every thrust into him.

“Oh, fuck, l-ove, ke-keep going please, I’m gonna cum, fuuck” he whimpers, desperate in a high-pitched tone, closing his eyes.

Felix thinks about the idea of cumming all of him inside you, of filling you up, brings him to a better ecstasy and in a thick sigh of relief and satisfaction, he manages to cum, relaxing a bit all the tension built in his body, making his thighs restless in soft tingling and trembling. You rest your hands on his shoulders and hide your face on the side of his neck, moaning close to his ear and with your face brushing against his soft hair, gently overwhelming you with his sweet scent, you bite your lip at the sensation of his hot semen shooting inside you and you also sense you’re so close to your climax that, despite being slightly tired, you intensify and increase each movement, sliding a little more slippery as you are filled with his cum. You hug him without thinking, your walls squeeze his sensitive cock still stuck in your core, you’re climaxing so intensely that you open your mouth almost in an inaudible squeal, your vision blurs for a few seconds and you let yourself release completely onto your boyfriend.

You feel the joining of agitated chests and breaths, Felix hug you warmly wrapping your back, once again your body melts at the slightest touch of his, but you can’t help but feel him so close to you, acting tenderly. Felix doesn’t even have to say it, but you know he loves you, you feel it too, so you relax your body on top of him, stroke his hair and he gives you a soft kiss on your shoulder as he caresses your back and keeps you in such a vulnerable position with both sexes together, with you on top of him until you decide to move.

——————-

𐙚TAGLIST: @rylea08 @hann1bee @iovecb97 @armystay89 @bubblebisk

[murdrdocs]

thinking about taking care of jack after a LOOONNGGG day. hes spent hours networking, chatting up crowds etc and all he wants to do is come home to his (controversially younger!) girlfriend and let her jerk him off as she asks about his day

disclaimer: this is a piece of fictional work. although based on real people, the characters—and circumstances—presented are entirely fictional and should be treated as such.

slight power dynamics; handjobs; pet names (honey and baby); clothed sex; MDNI 18+ w/ JACK SCHLOSSBERG

you've always thought that jack looked pretty when he was all dolled up. when his hair was swept off of his clean-shaven face and his slim body perfectly filled up a suit that was tailored just for him. when he unlocked a part of himself that you rarely see, even though it's such a big part of who he is. jack's always pretty to you, even if he glares in the mirror and turns his head this way and that before an event, nonverbally expressing how jarring it still is to see himself like the ones who came before him.

you'll tell him he looks good—whether that be via the words coming out of your mouth, or a restrained kiss that worked to transfer as little makeup as possible. maybe a gentle press of your fingers into his shoulders, or wrapping your arm around his back. either way, it was always honest.

but you truthfully prefer jack when he's like this—leaning back against the bathroom counter, his hair fallen out of the swept back wave, curls visible thanks to the late-summer humidity as well as the heat swirling in the bathroom from the previously running shower. you'd shut it off once jack breathlessly complained about wasting water.

he was right, but you still appeared a little upset about having to stop your task to reach a hand into the water and turn the dial off. you were back on jack within the minute, though.

your hand wrapped around his cock, while you stared up at him attentively, smiling and nodding as if you weren't languidly jerking him off and you both were just having a regular conversation. he's keeping up well, only faltering every so often, usually whenever you twist your hand around his tip every few strokes.

but he recovers quickly, clearing his throat and blinking a few times before picking up where he left off.

"then i had the meeting with my editors after lunch..." he continues detailing the events of his day, maintaining eye contact with you the entire time, only drifting off to the side whenever he has to think about something.

you could've undressed him completely, you probably should have, but you like how he looks like this. his pants unbuttoned and shoved down just enough for you to reach into his briefs and tug his dick free. his white shirt—no longer as crisp as it was this morning when you kissed him goodbye—unbuttoned to give way to the thin undershirt he wears. it's been lifted up now by your irreverent hands, sitting towards the top half of his midriff. you have a perfect view of the hair leading down towards his cock, along with his abdomen which tenses and relaxes periodically.

"uh-huh," you nod, glancing down for just a second before bringing your attention right back up.

you're the one getting him off, but his gaze still makes you feel a little hot. the intensity in his dark eyes which are framed by shadows of long lashes. the prominent furrow of his brows when he hesitates, paired with the flicker of his tongue over his lips.

he's so pretty. you don't think you'll ever get tired of looking at him.

"i got a drink from that place we wanted to try." this snaps you out of your daze.

"what? without me?"

jack smiles a bit and your attention is briefly brought to the grooves along the side of his mouth. he speaks through a grin. "sorry, it was on the way!"

"you're a traitor."

"if it makes you feel any better the drink was really—" his words taper off into a moan. it's satisfying to see his eyes screw shut, his mouth falling open.

you would wait for him to continue, to either confirm your suspicions and tell you that the overpriced drink was the best thing he's ever had, or that it wasn't worth his money, but you can tell he's lost his train of thought.

one of his hands lift off of the counter and flail uselessly in the air for a second before it finds you, wrapping around your forearm and then drifting to gently cup your elbow.

"close. 'm close."

as if you needed him to tell you. you can tell, it's written all over him; from the way the center of his eyebrows reach for his hairline, to the way you can feel his dick throbbing in your hand.

the audible slick! gets louder as you increase your pace just enough, determination driving your movements. you keep going, trying to push him closer and closer, waiting for him to tell you what he wants.

his lips hang open, not a single word coming from them, and then he speaks. "talk to me. c'mon, honey. help me out."

you're quick with it. "you're so pretty, baby. i love it when you let me do this. i can feel you, y'know? can feel how bad you wanna come. go ahead. please? for me?"

it gets him every time.

he curves away from you at first, his head falling back, resting between his shoulder blades as the initial spurts of cum shoot out onto your hand. and then he slumps forward, large frame swaying in the air until you catch him. you stumble from the weight, but you're struck still by a long arm winding around your waist, keeping you right there as jack comes into your hand and a little onto your belly.

[missaengg]

Massaging Lord Sukuna

Day 23 of Kinktober: Visions of Temptation hosted by @xxsycamore found here Featuring: Jujutsu Kaisen | Sukuna x f!reader Tags: mdni, smut, massage, hand job, Lord Sukuna, servant reader, Sukuna is massive Prompts: Massages | “That's it, you're doing such a good job.” ao3 link here.

“Enter.”

The deep, foreboding voice commands you through the sliding doors. You enter, hastening to your Lord’s feet and falling to the ground in a deep bow.

“You called for me, my Lord?”

“Uraume tells me you’re well-versed in the art of massage.” “Y–yes, my Lord.” 

You keep your eyes trained on the polished wooden floor. You’ve heard the stories whispered among the other servants, how Lord Sukuna can change his mood on a whim, how if you happen to be present when his mood shifts… You shiver. You’ve seen the empty beds of those who entered his chambers and never returned.

“Stand before me.”

You scramble to your feet keeping your head bowed. You don’t dare look him in the eyes.

“Look at me.”

Trembling, you raise your chin, tentatively gazing into his cold, demon eyes. They appraise you slowly, taking his time to drag over every inch of your tiny form. You hold your breath, terrified of making the wrong move and catching his ire. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he looks away, releasing you from his hold.

“Do not disappoint me, wench.”

You inaudibly release the tense breath you’re holding in your lungs. “Yes, my Lord.”

Lord Sukuna disrobes, casually slipping the luxurious silk material fluidly off his shoulders and discarding it carelessly to the side. You gasp and avert your eyes quickly, a blush blooming on your cheeks at your Lord’s unabashed naked form. It’s your first time seeing a man – if Lord Sukuna can be considered a man – bare, and you’re surprised by how much you relish it, at the rush of heat overwhelming you. While it’s no secret Lord Sukuna has an informidable build, seeing him disrobed… you can’t help, but admire just how chiseled he is, how clearly each contour of his body is outlined under his flesh.

“Where…” You clear your throat, reaching for the massage oil. “Where would you like for me to focus, my Lord?”

“My shoulders and my back. Do not skimp on the pressure.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

You get to work briskly, slathering a generous amount of oil on your hands, rubbing them together to warm up the oil so your hands aren’t too cold. You don’t know if he’ll mind, but you prefer not to find out at the cost of your life.

Desperately attempting to quell your shaking, you place your hands on his shoulders, feeling his taut muscles ripple under your palms. You can tell that he’s tight, and you knead along the fibers, pressing as hard as you can with your thumbs. You run your thumb along a particularly dense knot, and Lord Sukuna grunts. Lightening your touch, you wonder if perhaps you’ve pressed too hard, and you wait with bated breath, waiting to see if he’ll turn on you in rage.

“Harder, brat. Do not make me say it again.”

You bite your lip to keep from squeaking in fear. “Y–yes, my Lord.”

You dig your thumb in the knot again, harder this time, rocking it back and forth to loosen what you can. Lord Sukuna grumbles in displeasure, your thumb too weak against the thick fibers of his dense muscle. Coating your elbow in oil, you press your bony joint into the stubborn point. You relax when Lord Sukuna sighs, now using your forearm and elbow to soothe the strain in his back.

“Uraume was right. You are satisfactory.”

A rare utterance of praise.

“Thank you, my Lord.”

The tense clench of your body begins to subside as you focus on the task at hand, finding a rhythm to the way your arms slide along his broad torso. You frown when your thumbs travel down towards his waist. His lower back is an impenetrable column, even tighter than the knots in his shoulders. Re-coating your hands with more oil, you rake your knuckles against the firm ropes of muscle, following the path to his glutes. 

You almost topple over once you realize where your hands are placed.

“F–forgive me, my Lord. I did not mean to touch you indecently.”

Lord Sukuna simply chuckles. “You wish to seduce your Lord?”

“No, my Lord!” You throw yourself into a deep bow even though you know Lord Sukuna can’t see you. “For–forgive me, my Lord!”

Lord Sukuna sighs. “You may continue.”

Shaking, you place your palms back down on his glutes, but the heels of your palms are too feeble against his powerful muscle. You wince. You have no choice, you’ll have to use your knees. Hiking the hem of your yukata up to your hips, you coat your knees in massage oil.

“Please excuse me, my Lord.”

“Hm?” Lord Sukuna’s bored hum hangs in the stifling tension, but he doesn’t move, uninterested in your next move.

You carefully climb on top of your Lord, your knees moving in opposing circles on his cheeks, leaning with your hands on his shoulder blades. You’re practically laying on top of him attacking both his glutes and his upper back simultaneously, painfully aware of your close proximity. You can feel his body heat radiating off of him in heavy crashing waves. For such a cold, imposing demon Lord, his body heat is impossibly, scorchingly hot, and you’re burning in its presence.

Lord Sukuna tenses, and you freeze. Are you not using enough strength? Remembering his earlier threat, you prepare to sink more of your meager weight into his flesh when he suddenly rises, and you tumble unceremoniously off his back to the hard floor below. 

Your breath catches in your throat, fear dancing in your now teary eyes. Is this where your life will end?

Lord Sukuna simply flips over in one swift movement, his back now on his futon. You catch a glimpse of his impressive twitching cock, and you almost choke at the sheer, monstrous size of his appendage. It’s standing at attention, fully engorged, a bead of something glistening on his tip. It’s your first time seeing a cock in real life, but they can’t possibly be this big… Can they?

“I’ve changed my mind…”

You forcefully tear your wide eyes away from his lap.

“I want you to work on my front.”

You’re still too dazed to fully comprehend Lord Sukuna’s request or wonder why he suddenly changed his mind when you’ve hardly worked on his back, which is still a mess of crunchy, tangled fibers. All you can do is stutter, “Yes, my Lord,” before moving to kneel by his head.

You jump when Lord Sukuna grabs you by the wrist, snapping you out of your dazed trance.

“By my side.”

You blink. You don’t understand why he wants to keep you by his side to massage his chest. The best placement for the neck and chest is with his head cradled between your knees, but you comply. You aren’t reckless enough to argue with him. What Lord Sukuna wants, Lord Sukuna gets.

“Yes, my Lord.”

You kneel by his chest. Despite the awkward angle, you do your best to knead his pecs. 

“Lower.”

You move your hands down until they’re directly cupping his chest.

“Lower.”

Abs aren’t quite an area that’s normally massaged, but you accede. While humans don’t generally prefer having their stomachs pressed, perhaps demons are different in that regard.

“Lower.”

This time you pause. Lower would mean… you blush furiously at what his command is implying.

“My Lord?”

“You heard me, brat. Lower.”

You hesitantly slide your hands lower following the trail of hair leading down to his�� your blush deepens. There’s only one thing in that region that’ll require a massage, and it’s currently twitching quite violently in your view.

“Do I need to spell out what I want?”

The irritation threading through his words is clear. 

“N–no, my Lord.”

You know what he’s asking you to do. Taking in a deep breath, you grasp his thick shaft, your tiny hand barely able to close around its full girth. It’s throbbing, the protruding veins pulsing in a steady yet demanding rhythmic beat. You exhale. The feeling of a man’s dick is foreign to you, and you’ve heard other ladies giggling over their midnight trysts with the other men, but this is your first time even holding one in your palm, much less one this massive. 

Struggling to remember what exactly was shared in the cover of night, you timidly move your oil-slicken hand up and down his shaft. Are you supposed to squeeze? How fast are you supposed to go? Do you include the tip?

You squeeze your eyes shut, tears prickling your eyelids. You so desperately want to please your Lord, but you have no idea what you’re doing, and you’re too scared to ask. Too scared of the consequences that may follow.

“You’ve never done this before, have you?”

“No, my Lord.”

“Hm. Interesting.”

Lord Sukuna is staring at you, contemplating something in his head. There’s a look in his eyes you can’t quite read. You don’t know whether you should be struck with fear or something else entirely or a combination of both. Your hand stills. The moment is tense with unspoken words.

“Apply more pressure and increase your pace gradually.”

Relief floods your anxious, fearful heart. For whatever reason, he is being patient with you, and you’re grateful for his mercy. You strengthen your grip around him, and pump, twirling around his shaft to cover every exposed inch.

“That's it, you're doing such a good job,” Lord Sukuna purrs, his eyes still trained on you, still gleaming with the something you can’t identify.

“Thank you, my Lord.”

“Do not forget to include the head of my cock.”

Your hand aches. After the strenuous exertion of massaging Lord Sukuna’s dense body and the width of his member, your fingers are cramping, at their limit, but you refuse to give in to the strain. Lord Sukuna has spared you several times already, and you’re determined to keep him pleased.

Lord Sukuna growls quietly under his breath, and you take a peek, taken aback at the rosy flush that has appeared on his cheeks and at the way his eyes are rolling under his eyelids and his mouth hangs open. His breaths are rapidly shallow.

He’s enjoying this.

Emboldened by your Lord’s response, you pump furiously. This time remembering to include the bulbous head. Your hand glides easily, the massage oil acting as a slick lubricant allowing you to increase your pace smoothly.

Your aim is to please your Lord, but you feel unsettled by the way your thighs are rubbing together, the way his growl has awoken a fluttering in your belly, the way you ache and throb between your legs.

Sukuna’s growls grow louder, interspersed with guttural grunts, all laced with a feral edge. Every so often his hips jerk against your fist until his cock pulls taut, and with a fearsome groan he erupts, shooting wave after wave of his white cum, his explosion so powerful and copious, his cum is spilling over your fist and spurting onto your clothes.

The ladies spoke of what happens when a man is pleasured, but this… This is something else entirely. Lord Sukuna’s release is a relentless torrent of white far beyond anything you’d previously heard. 

Lord Sukuna finally stills, his breathing labored. Despite spilling an impressive amount, his cock is still undeniably firm. He cracks his eyes open, and he languidly smirks, taking in the way you’re practically bathed in his cum.

“You have pleased me, little one.”

“Thank you, my Lord.” You bow, ignoring just how drenched you are from his release. “If you are satisfied, I shall take my leave.”

You’re so shaken from how much pleasure you also felt from pleasing your Lord, you forget you must first be dismissed before leaving his presence.

Lord Sukuna narrows his eyes, and he grabs you by the arm, pulling you closer towards him. “I’m not done with you, brat,” he hisses.

You flinch, recognizing your impudence. “I’m sorry, my Lord,” you whisper, flushing from how close his face is to yours.

Lord Sukuna trails his finger down your cheek, a wicked grin gracing his lips. You look into his eyes, finally understanding the gleam you couldn’t identify earlier.

Ravenous hunger.

He brings his lips so close to your ear, they brush your helix causing you to shiver, and says…

“I won’t be done with you until morning.”

[bookwormjust]

Protective shadows (Established relationship, Azriel's mate, Cassian teasing as usual, Azriel not in the mood)

The sun hung low over the sprawling courtyards of the House of Wind, casting long, golden rays across the stone floors. The Inner Circle had gathered for a relaxed afternoon, a rare reprieve from the pressures of their roles and responsibilities. You sat beside Azriel on one of the plush outdoor sofas, enjoying the warm breeze that carried the scent of blooming flowers from the nearby gardens.

Azriel’s shadows, ever-present and watchful, danced lazily around him, the dark tendrils swirling softly like smoke caught in a gentle breeze. One shadow, in particular, was coiled around your wrist like a bracelet—warm and familiar, its touch a constant, comforting reminder of his presence. It seemed to pulse with a life of its own, moving in sync with the rhythm of your heartbeat.

Cassian, always one to notice the little details, caught sight of the shadow and grinned, leaning back in his chair with a teasing glint in his eyes. “You know, Az, I don’t think I’ve ever seen your shadows so attached to anyone before. Are you sure you’re not overdoing it a little?” he joked, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I mean, they’re practically glued to her.”

Azriel’s expression shifted, his eyes narrowing slightly as he glanced at Cassian. There was a flicker of something sharp in his gaze, a protective edge that made his shadows stir restlessly around him. He kept his hand resting on your knee, his thumb brushing slow, calming circles into your skin, but his posture tensed, like a coiled spring ready to snap.

“They do as they please,” Azriel said, his voice low and steady, but there was an unmistakable warning in his tone. His shadows, sensing his unease, tightened ever so slightly around your wrist, as if reaffirming their presence, their silent vow to protect.

Cassian chuckled, clearly oblivious to the shift in Azriel’s mood. “Oh, come on, Az. It’s just a shadow. It’s not like anyone’s going to steal her away from you,” he teased, the grin on his face broadening. “Besides, it’s not like she’s in danger here.”

Azriel’s eyes darkened, a flicker of anger sparking in their depths. The shadows around him grew denser, swirling with a sudden intensity that made the air feel heavier. He leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping to a dangerously quiet level. “They’re not just shadows, Cassian,” he said, each word edged with a quiet menace. “They’re a part of me, and they know exactly where they belong.”

Cassian’s smile faltered, the lightness of his teasing dimming as he realized Azriel was not in the mood for jokes. He raised his hands in a mock gesture of surrender, though the gleam in his eyes showed he was not entirely cowed. “Alright, alright. No need to get your feathers ruffled, Shadowsinger,” Cassian said, though his tone was more subdued now. “I’m just messing with you.”

But Azriel’s gaze remained hard, his grip on your knee tightening slightly. “She is my mate,” he said, the words resonating with a possessive finality. “My shadows protect what’s mine, and I won’t apologize for that.”

The declaration hung in the air, charged with the weight of his emotions. Azriel’s shadows pulsed in time with his heartbeat, the tendril around your wrist tightening slightly before relaxing, as if echoing his protectiveness. You could feel the intensity of his feelings through your bond—the fierce need to keep you safe, to ensure that nothing and no one could ever harm you.

You reached up, placing a gentle hand on Azriel’s arm, grounding him with your touch. “I like having them close,” you said softly, offering him a reassuring smile. “They make me feel safe.”

Azriel’s gaze softened as he looked at you, the tension in his posture easing just a fraction. His thumb resumed its soothing motion on your knee, and his shadows seemed to calm, their movements becoming more languid and relaxed. He turned his attention back to Cassian, his expression still guarded but the anger fading from his eyes.

Cassian met Azriel’s gaze, his own expression more serious now. “I get it,” he said quietly, a hint of understanding in his tone. “I just didn’t realize it meant that much to you.”

“It does,” Azriel replied, his voice steady, though the underlying edge of protectiveness remained. “She’s everything to me.”

Cassian nodded, his teasing demeanor replaced by a rare look of respect. “Well, then,” he said, a small, genuine smile touching his lips. “I’m glad she has you—and your shadows—looking out for her.”

Azriel inclined his head, accepting the peace offering with a slight nod. He turned his attention back to you, his expression softening further as he caught your eye. The shadow around your wrist gave a gentle squeeze, like a silent promise, before settling back into its usual, comforting rhythm.

You leaned into Azriel, resting your head against his shoulder as his arm wrapped around you, pulling you closer. His wings shifted slightly, brushing against your back in a gesture that felt both protective and intimate. The bond between you thrummed with warmth, a steady reassurance that no matter what, Azriel would always be there, his shadows ever-watchful, ever-loyal.

Cassian might have teased, but you knew the truth: Azriel’s shadows were more than just wisps of darkness—they were extensions of his love, his devotion, and his unyielding promise to keep you safe. And in that moment, wrapped in his embrace with the steady presence of his shadows around you, you knew you were exactly where you belonged.

[55sturn]

✮ MEAN!CHRIS x CRYBABY!READER X SWEETHEART!MATT

synopsis: in which we witness the rare occurrence where chris is unintentionally cruel, and it’s not his usual bedroom type of cruel and shows his softer side when he realizes just how much he hurt his sweet girl as matt comforts her.

disclaimer: swearing, chris is actually mean [ without intention ], angst with comfort, poly relationship but absolutely no incest [ matt n chris are sharing the reader ].

inspo: @muwapsturniolo and her concepts of chris x bunny x matt

crybaby!reader who buys a deer plush for chris and an owl for matt, and can’t find the nerve to give them to her boys, and chris finds the deer, and teases her about and with it. he condescendingly and jokingly teases about having stuffed animals at her grown age and holds it above her head when she notices what he’s holding, and she’s desperate to get it back but she can’t and chris, like the sick fuck he is, finds pleasure in making her feel so small. but when he playfully dangles it over the trash can, he unfortunately makes her cry, before she huffs and gets mad and looks at him with a stern but heartbroken expression on her face because she can’t see the playful glint in his eyes or the lack of genuine intention behind what he’s doing but his heart drops when she cries out why she had the stuffed animals.

“i bought that one and the owl for you and matty, so quit bein’ a jackass.” she sniffles, fat tears rolling down her pink cheeks as she curls her arms around herself, almost as if she was bracing for the impact of more cruel taunts, and she knows she’s being sensitive but she bought the stuffed animals because she had planned to tell her boys that she loved them for the first time as she gifted them the two woodland creatures, but upon seeing chris’ behaviour after finding them, she couldn’t imagine gifting them to either of them anytime soon. especially if he found the idea of her owning the toys childish, she couldn’t bear to imagine what he’d say if she presented the deer to him.

and he’s stunned, she rarely ever cusses at anyone, let alone him, and his heart breaks as she tucks herself into the corner of the sectional couch. he goes to speak, but the words get lodged in his throat, he never means to actually hurt her when he’s teasing her, and to know that now he has, kills a part of him inside.

when matt comes home from the warehouse to her sniffling and pouting on the couch and chris leaning against the kitchen with a solemn expression on his face, his eyes not wavering from her frame tucked in on itself, not even to greet his brother, he’s confused.

“what happened with her?” matt whispers, nodding toward his and chris’ girlfriend on their couch, as he grabs a bottle of water.

“i found a stuffed animal in her drawer in my dresser an’ i started rippin’ on her, an’ i ain’t mean anythin’ by it but i really hurt her and she wants nothing to do with me but i know i need to apologize.” chris sighs, rubbing a hand along his jaw as matt’s tenses for a moment at the idea of chris upsetting her, but ultimately letting it go, knowing that he never meant to actually hurt her. so he puts aside his frustration with his brother and grabs his bottle of water and walks over to y/n, twisting off the cap and handing it to her, watching as she timidly takes the water, take a few small sips before passing it back but matt shakes his head.

“nah, you need to drink more than that, darlin', all that crying will dehydrate ya’.” matt sighs, wrapping his arm around her, watching the way she fights with herself to sink into his embrace.

“now why don’t ya’ quit your sniffling and pouting and tell me what’s a’matter?” matt hums, watching as she takes a deep breath, and looks at her lap, wringing her fingers together before finally meeting matt’s stare.

“i bought two stuffed animals for you and chris, a deer and owl, because they made think of you guys and i wanted to tell you both that i love you but chris found ‘em and started ripping on me for having them. and i know i’m being sensitive but they meant a lot to me and i wanted them to mean a lot to you guys too.” she sighs watching as chris cringes inward on himself, realizing just how badly he cut her down. and he’s quick to walk over to where her and matt are sitting, gesturing for matt get up.

“matt move outta the way.” chris rasps, claiming the spot beside his girl and wrapping his arms around her, tugging her into his hold as he whispers against the side of her head,

“i am so sorry doll, i ain’t mean to hurt ya’, you gotta believe me okay? i was just fuckin’ around and i didn’t realize how serious it was to you, i love you and i would love any gift you give me, and i know i normally rip on you and tease you, but i never mean to actually hurt you, baby. can you forgive me?” he pleads, his eyes stinging with tears at the thought of making her think he doesn’t love her or wouldn’t love her, and it breaks his heart to see her so sad because of him, and he’s scared she’s not going to forgive him, that he hurt her too much to forgive him, but his fears wash away when he feels her nod against his shoulder. it’s not much of a nod, but the faint jerk of her head and the way her arms tighten around his torso let him know he’s forgiven.

“and i hope you know that i love you too, darlin’.” matt hums, coming to sit on the other side of her, placing the deer and owl stuffed toys in her lap, watching with a soft smile as she places each one in their respective owners lap.

and normally, matt’s quick to huff about her and chris being exclusively physically affectionate in front of him, but he knows that both chris and y/n need that bonding experience right now more than ever. and chris is quick to brush off any sort of moment like this but he’s quick to make this fight a lesson to learn from, to teach him the signs of when he’s gone too far, and when the teasing isn’t too much for her.

STARS CORNER this is an idea i’ve had brewing for a while now because i wanted to really showcase the cruel side to mean!chris, and how far he’s willing to go when teasing crybaby!reader, even when it’s not in a sexual manner.

[pseudowho]

hi haitch!! do you have any works about hiromi worried about his hair getting too grey too fast? if not... could you...? 🥺

Domestic Bliss: Higuruma Hiromi #4, Silver Fox

Hiromi leant on his desk, elbows planted and face buried deeply in his palms. The stress would surely kill him. He wondered, vaguely, about making his life insurance policy more generous, in the likely event of him dying young. At least, then, you'd be looked after.

After another lost case, however, Hiromi saw it as far more likely that he'd murder the Judge and Prosecutor instead. He laughed to himself, a chuckle ringing through the empty office. As if.

Running his fingers through his hair with a groan, and gazing into his palms, Hiromi's stomach dropped. At least half of the stray hairs caught in his fingers were...grey.

Hiromi felt them in dismay, his mouth comedically downturned. Coarse. Almost wiry. Nothing like his usual silky black hair, those corvid feathers that you loved so much, now being devoured by time, and shit, I'm starting to look like an old man I can't have it she'll hate it I can barely keep up as it is fuck fuck fuck--

Hiromi stood with a groan, and stopped himself, sounding like his grandfather. He caught his own eye in the reflection of the shining gold tellers' lamp on his desk. He pointed to himself, stern.

"Get your shit together, Higuruma."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Arriving home late, you stepped straight into the other side of a striptease. A discarded black and white suit led an enticing trail to the bathroom, in the order of: shoes, suit jacket, socks, shirt, trousers. You kicked your own shoes off, following the trail with a jaunty call.

"If I get in there, and you're still wearing boxers, I'll be very disappoi--...Hiromi, what on earth are you doing?"

Hiromi sat on a kitchen chair in front of the bathroom mirror, surrounded by the sickly sweet scent of hair dye, the remnants of a box scattered around the sink. With a towel around his shoulders, and solemn eyes, Hiromi held out the prepared bottle of dye to you.

"Help me?" He begged, his voice small.

You sighed, stripping off slowly to your skirt and blouse. Hiromi waggled the bottle at you, which you took, and stepped in front of him. He would not catch your eye. You ran your fingers through Hiromi's hair, and he couldn't help but purr, leaning into your touch. Your fingernails across his scalp never failed to make his cock twitch.

"And why do you think you need this?" You asked, pressing Hiromi's forehead forwards against the plush of your belly. "I thought you loved your hair."

"Yes, quite. Loved. Past-tense." You looped your finger through the strands of silver and black, like crema on an americano.

"Well, I love it. Right now. Present-tense."

"You're just trying to make me feel better--"

"--of course I am, I'm your wife--"

"--who deserves someone not even half as decrepit as me--"

"--who deserves to see you age. And mature, like wine, or cheese, or Maggie Smith--"

Hiromi grabbed your hands, standing and pressing you backwards against the sink. His towel slid from his shoulders, leaving him in just his boxers as he glowered over you, stern and authoritative in a way you rarely got to see him. A wave of heat burst from your heart, outwards.

"Enough. I hate it. Get rid of them for me. Please, I'm...not ready yet. Not ready to get old. It feels...everything feels wrong. Something feels...wrong."

You swallowed, and allowed him to lift you onto the counter, looping your arms around his shoulders as he tried to bury himself into you. You felt an eerie disquiet trickle, cold, down the back of your neck.

"Hiromi...you're not old. Grey doesn't mean old. You've just...lived. You're beautiful. My silver fox."

Hiromi sighed, the hot puff of air from his nose against your neck. Stress rolled off him in waves. You stroked his hair again, cradling his head against you. Hiromi murmured.

"I'm sorry, it's just...what a stupid last straw." He berated himself. "My fucking hair. I knew there were a few greys, but-- just-- not that many."

Hiromi was silent again, the nuzzles of his nose growing needy, almost aggressive as they built, his lips dropping petals against your skin. You locked his hips between yours, satisfied by the shudder he rewarded you with, his cock straining against your core. He mumbled through his kisses, fragile.

"...Oe's case tomorrow. Oe Keita. I just wanted to feel...vibrant. Powerful. Not washed out, not ugly, like-- like--"

You silenced Hiromi, slipping your hand flat against the black trail of hair on his belly, your fingertips grazing the base of his cock. He swore, bucking into your touch, shoving his boxers down to free his weeping cock. You whispered to him.

"Not ugly. Yes, powerful. And you'll be amazing. You always are." Hiromi moved with urgency now, yanking your skirt up, and your panties aside. Stroking his tip between your folds, his corded shoulders heaved with the clawing need for relief.

"Even if I'm late home," Hiromi gasped, as he pressed himself inside you, gripping you before you could squirm away, "even--even if I'm late-- wait for me-- please--"

"Always." You whispered, carding your fingers through those feathers of black and grey, arching with bliss as you felt him begin to move within you. "Just...come home to me. Just as you are, now. Present-tense."

[dollfacefantasy]

greedy ♡

satoru gojo x fem!reader x suguru geto

you and satoru get greedy and break the rules. but suguru's there to teach the both of you that there are limits for a reason.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, overstimulation, daddy kink/ddlg, dacryphilia

a/n: part 1 <3

Quiet. When Suguru hung up the phone, that was all he heard.

The house had been so quiet lately, but to be clear, he was not complaining. After the little lesson he taught you and Satoru a few weeks ago, the two of you had been getting along much better. There was bickering here and there, but he was much more gentle with you and you were less likely to get upset from his teasing. He could actually leave the two of you alone now without the worry of your whines ringing through the house or Satoru's cocky laughter permeating the thin walls.

The two of you were alone right now. He'd gotten a work phone call that unfortunately couldn't wait. It was supposed to take fifteen minutes, but the other party's incessant rambling dragged it out to over an hour. He was done now though, and as soon as he clicked that little red button, he felt relief flow through him. He could return to his two favorite people now.

He's quick to return to the bedroom. On the way there though, he hears some whining. Not the kind that had been filling up the house when you and Satoru were at each other's throats. This was needy and breathless.

Pushing open the double doors, his eyes immediately lock on the two of you. You were on your back, Satoru on top of you and between your legs. His pale body was on full display from behind. His muscles rippled as he thrust into you, soft enough to not make the bed creak. He had your legs pinned up by your sides and his face in the crook of your neck.

Suguru clears his throat. He sees your eyes snap open to meet his. The look on your face told him that you knew you'd been caught red-handed. Satoru doesn't even raise his head to look at the other man. His guilt shuts him up and traps him in a rare moment of silence. His hips reluctantly come to a stop, but they tremble with the need to keep driving into you.

"I can't leave the two of you alone for one hour without you breaking the rules? I expect better," Suguru says, breaking the silence, "I'm happy you're getting along, but that's no excuse to start fucking like little rabbits the second I leave."

That wasn't a lie. Suguru was pleased with the progress between you two. This wasn't about jealousy or some other petty qualm. Had he come back to Satoru eating your pussy or humping your leg, this wouldn't have been an issue. But you both knew the rule. The rule was that Satoru was not allowed to truly fuck you without Suguru being present.

Rules were essential to this dynamic. You and Satoru needed them. Each of you craved them, yearned for Suguru to enforce them on you and keep you in your place. So that was what he was going to do.

"Daddy we didn't mean-" you start timidly, but Suguru cuts you off.

"You didn't mean to? You didn't mean to let Satoru shove his cock inside you? You didn't mean to whine for more?" he taunts, "What about you Satoru? Look at me when I'm talking to you."

You feel the warmth of Satoru's breath leave your neck as he pulls his head up. He drops your legs and rises to his knees so that he can turn his head to face your shared lover.

"We're sorry," he says, sounding more sheepish than you, "I'm sorry. It was my idea. She's just so... she's so soft... and warm... and I'm sorry."

"Oh I'm sure you are," Suguru chuckles as he walks further into the room. He stands at the end of the bed. The tense air in the room makes it seem as though he looms over the two of you. "You're so sorry you didn't even pull out."

Neither of you had a response for that one. Satoru was in fact still buried balls deep in you right now. He couldn't pull out when your velvety walls were still fluttering around him, providing him the most muted form of pleasure.

Suguru knows his words have rendered the both of you temporarily speechless. He shakes his head with a mocking smile on his face before walking a few more paces to the recliner in the corner of the room.

"Well don't let me stop the two of you. I wouldn't want to intrude," he says.

But it's a leading tone. You know it's a trap. It's some crazy reverse psychology shit that you can't figure out fully while full of Satoru's dick.

"Daddy..." you whimper while peering at him around the white-haired man's torso.

"What?" he asks you, "I'm giving both of you want. Go ahead. Enjoy yourselves."

You want to protest more. As good as it felt physically, something wasn't right about this. Satoru doesn't seem to hold the same suspicions as you though because his hips resume the pace they had before Suguru walked in.

He drops back on top of you, his chest flush against yours, smooshing your breasts against his sweaty skin. His head falls back into the space where your neck connects to your shoulder. Your worries are quick to scamper away from your mind to make room for the pure bliss brought on by his thrusts.

Each stroke into your slick embrace brings a grunt out of him and a mewl out of you. Your arms lazily drape around his neck as he rocks you into the mattress.

"So fucking good, baby," he mumbles against your flesh. You can tell he's trying to be quiet, to keep the praise from Suguru's nearby ears.

He continues pumping in and out, back and forth in a rhythm fit to hypnotize you. His pelvis connects with your ass too many times for you to keep track of. All you know is that you never want it to stop.

After a little while, you're getting close. You hadn't been too far away before Suguru walked in. Satoru can feel you tightening up around him, and he's not faring much better. He has his plush, pink lip between his teeth. His pretty blue eyes look up at the ceiling as if thanking whatever higher power there was for bestowing him with you.

His fingers dig into the warm dough of your thighs. You're reaching that peak, but you can feel Suguru's eyes on you. You can feel his dark gaze baring into you and the man on top of you. Whatever his plan was still lingered, like a panther in tall grass waiting to strike.

"Daddy... can I cum?" you whimper and catch his eyes over Satoru's shoulder. You had to prove you were still a good girl. Nothing was right in the world if Suguru was mad at you.

"Do you even need to ask me? You didn't feel the need to ask before you let Satoru spread your legs," he responds. It's short and simple. Cut and dry. You feel the urge to squirm out from under your one boyfriend to rush and plead for forgiveness at the feet of the other.

But you don't because Satoru starts hammering into you harder, chasing the high for both of you.

"Toru," you whimper and cling to him tighter.

"I know, princess. Me too," he mutters.

Only moments later, the both of you are twitching messes of moans and whines. Satoru fucks his cum deep inside of you, and your pussy milks every last drop out him. He doesn't stop moving until he feels he has none left to give.

When he is done, he collapses on top of you. He feels like some kind of weighted blanket, keeping you secure against the smooth sheets and soft pillows. You nuzzle him lazily while he pants in your ear. The situation is so comfortable, it lulls you into a sense of security. You almost forget the fact that you're being closely observed. That is until the one observing you pierces the silence.

"Pull out of her, Satoru," he states simply.

Without a word of protest, he obeys, leaving you empty as he unsheaths himself from your dripping cunt.

"Now, baby girl, I want you to lay on your tummy with your head at the end of the bed," he directs.

You also follow the orders with no resistance. You snake around your lover's lanky limbs and get in the position he wanted. You're facing him now. There's no escape from his watchful eyes.

"Good girl," he says. It's simple though. Not affectionate enough to make your chest swell with the feeling that you did something right. "Satoru. Stick it in her again."

Satoru had already been a bit flushed, but his cheeks tinge an even deeper shade of pink now. "What?" he asks.

"You heard me, baby boy. I want you to slide your cock into her again," he repeats.

Satoru's brilliant eyes blink with confusion. He strokes his cock, still glistening with the remnants of your release, to try and get it half hard. He had good stamina, so it wasn't a huge issue.

"My babies acted out for a reason, right? Not just because you're needy brats I’m sure," he mocks, "I need to make sure the two of you get your fill. We don't want this happening again, do we?"

The both of you shake your heads. Suguru chuckles at the seemingly synchronized motion.

Satoru climbs back on you and mounts you again. You whine as his lengthy shaft fills you up for the second time. He slides it all the way to the hilt with ease. You were still nice and ready from your last round.

He doesn't wait to start thrusting. The tight fit of your cunt around him gets him to full mast in no time. He falls into a similar rhythm as before, his hips bouncing off your backside with timed precision.

You tug his forearms closer so that he's boxing you in. He nuzzles his face into your neck again and keeps in there to muffle some of his whimpering.

Glancing upwards, your gaze meets Suguru's. It's unwavering. He doesn't smile, doesn't coo at you or encourage you. He watches. He waits for you and Satoru to start hitting that peak again.

It's not too long before he gets what he's waiting for. The both of you were still sensitive from the last time you came. Only a handful more strokes and Satoru is draining himself again, filling you up for the second time.

Like last time, you're both breathless and limp, melting into one another. Your skin is sticky with sweat, both his and yours. You squirm a little to signal for him to get off, and he's about to. But then Suguru speaks again.

"Don't even think about pulling out," he says.

You both look at him. It's starting to become clear what he had in mind.

"You don't pull out until I say, and now is not that time. You're gonna wait until you're hard again, and then you're gonna fuck her again."

"But daddy-" you start to whine.

"None of that," he says, his tone sharp as a blade.

It shuts you up in an instant. Even the normally chatty Satoru has nothing to say.

There's a brief pause between everyone for the moment, but then you feel it. You feel the push and pull of Satoru's body starting up again. You whimper and drop your face into the blankets.

He starts slow this time, but Satoru's needy by nature. He can't keep himself from pistoning into you at a certain point. His lower half ricochets off yours while he keeps a bruising grip on your hips. Strangled whines burst from you with each pump while his noises flow in a constant stream.

He ruts into you on the bed until he's cumming again, but Suguru doesn't give him the ok to pull out. He simply signals to go again. And Satoru does. He fucks you again. And again. And again. Until the both of you are absolutely cum drunk.

You'd stopped counting how many times he'd brought you to the height of pleasure. Your pussy was aching now, throbbing with the desire for peace rather than the need for release. You aren't too sure how Satoru's doing considering he's melted down into a whiny mess behind you. He doesn't even need Suguru's direction anymore. He can't stop fucking himself into your cunt.

Tears roll down his glowing cheeks and quiet sobs leak from his lips.

"So good, baby. So so fucking good," he whimpers, "This pussy's all I need."

You whine in response and claw at the blankets beneath you. Tears are building on your own lash line from the white hot overstimulation of your insides. You sniffle. You had the safeword, but you couldn't bring yourself to use it. This was the most pleasurable pain on earth. The sweetest spot between heaven and hell right in your bedroom.

"This is what you get for being greedy babies," Suguru chides. He palms himself while still sitting in the recliner. A bulge had long-since formed in his pants from watching the two of you go at it. But as he made you two give in over and over, he held back.

"We're sorry, daddy," you cry, tears finally spilling on your face, "Shoulda listened to you."

"You're right. You should've," he smirks.

Satoru huffs in your ear, a sign that he was going to cum again soon.

"Too full," you whine and writhe under him, "Can't take anymore, Toru."

He simply whines against you and tightens his grip on you.

"S-sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, fuck baby," he whimpers, "You're a good girl. Such a good girl. Taking my cum. Gonna make it up to you."

He sobs as he shoots inside you again. You don't know how he's not firing blanks at this point. His body shakes with the torturous euphoria in the pit of his belly. It makes him pause and just lay on top of you as he rides it out.

You think this might be it. This has to be the last one. But Suguru still doesn't say anything. You cry into the blankets as Satoru begins to roll his hips on yours again. It's slow and reluctant at first, but soon enough, that needy rutting is back.

"Harder, Satoru," Suguru grunts from the corner.

Satoru's head bobs up and down in a sorry excuse for a nod. Running on fumes, he thrusts into you harder. His tip batters into your abused sweet spots, his balls slapping against your puffy clit.

More sobs and tears pour from you. "Daddy, please," you cry and look up at Suguru with bleary eyes, "I'm sorry. Please daddy. I'm a good girl. I'm sorry."

Suguru's eyes flutter, and he has to tilt his head back to regain his composure and stop himself from cumming in his pants on the spot. Once he's got it under control, his eyes return to you.

"You can be a good girl, babydoll. Keep taking Toru's cock. You're almost done. I promise," he says.

"Noooo," you sob and your face falls again. You reach out as if Suguru could save you, as if he wasn't the driving force behind Satoru, "Daddy, please!"

You continue wailing into the blankets, and Satoru's eyes roll back. He's panting like a dog, tongue hanging out of his mouth and all. Whines echo from him as if on a loop. His eyes screw shut, and he slams into you particularly hard before he loses some consistency and grows more erratic.

"Sugu- fuck- Daddy," he corrects himself, "C-can't go anymore. Hurts."

"It does hurt when you don't listen to daddy," Suguru agrees, "Keep going."

He whines and drops back down on you. He shoves his face against your skin and takes a deep breath. His long arms snake around you and hold you to him like a toy. His hips jackhammer into you with the hope that this was the last time.

You're pretty sure you black out with your next orgasm. You feel the spark of ecstasy between your legs, and then you see stars. Literally. Your vision goes white and then your eyelids shut to a dizzying burst of colors.

You can vaguely hear Satoru losing it in your ear. You sort of feel him drooling on your shoulder. You don't remember feeling if he cums or not. You feel him limp on top of you and then hear Suguru speaking distantly.

The next thing you know, a hand is sweeping over your forehead.

"You with me, sweet girl? Are you ok?" Suguru's voice coos in your ear.

Your eyelids are heavy, but you manage to crack them open. The first thing you see is Satoru passed out next to you. Above him is Suguru. The only response you can make for him is a whiny babble. You extend your arms for him, and he indulges you this time. He scoops you up and brings you to rest at the top of the bed. He gives Satoru the same treatment next.

Finally, he climbs into bed, letting the both of you curl up to his sides. Satoru's cheek is squished on his pectoral muscle while you rest on Suguru’s bicep. His eyes look just as fucked out as you imagine yours to be.

"There's my babies. All tuckered out like they should be," he coos and rubs the both of your backs.

"Daddy..." you mumble.

"That's right. Daddy's got you. Daddy's got the both of you," he murmurs.

A kiss lands on the top of your head and then Satoru's.

"Both of you babies are gonna take a nap and then we'll get you cleaned up, ok?" he says, "I think the both of you learned your lesson."

You can almost hear the smirk in his tone, but it’s of no matter to you as you’re already slipping into the comforting thralls of sleep.

[januaryembrs]

tea!! anything bugsy and spencer

the one with the surfboard | Spencer Reid x Prentiss!Reader

description: there's only one person who could ever get Spencer Reid in the ocean and that's Bugsy

length: 1.6k

warnings: mention of sex, swearing, Penelope and Reid being thirsty for Morgan and bugsy. Pen calls Derek chocolate thunder but this is nothing new! set at beginning of season six.

part of the trouble almost all my life universe

Spencer settled his feet into the warm sand, trying his hardest to make sure the grain didn’t stick to the thick layer of suncream he’d applied not even five minute earlier, his sunglasses hanging on his nose as he watched Morgan and Bugsy hit a ball to one another over an invisible volleyball net. 

“You not going to take a swim, pretty boy?” Emily asked, basking on her back in a red bikini, soaking up the sun they rarely got so clearly stuck in their office. His face scrunched up, shaking his head until he remembered Emily had her eyes closed, and it only took one look at where JJ was laying incredibly still to know she’d already dozed off on the sun lounger. 

“One litre of ocean water has about one billion microbes of bacteria and around ten billion viruses, so,” He shuddered, his lithe fingers gripping the arms of the chair as he tried not to think about every single one of them entering his mouth if he were to even get close enough it could spray on his face, “No thankyou,” 

“Not even if Bugsy asked you?” Penelope pointed out, a sex on the beach she’d ordered with a giggle and a ‘if Morgan gets lucky.’

His lips twitched, feeling his neck grow hot in a way he told himself was just the sun, and he glanced at the technical analyst with something fleeting, “She did ask me, I told her the exact same thing I’m telling you guys,”

“And?” Emily asked, sensing that hadn’t been the end of the conversation because her sister knew exactly how to get her way when it came to men, Spencer specifically. 

Rubbing under his nose with his knuckle, Spencer downcast his eyes to the beer Bug had handed him, sand sticking to the green, frosted glass as the liquid bubbled freshly inside the bottle, “She said I owed her an hour of fun,”

Penelope’s face lit up at the innuendo of it, nudging him lightly with her shoulder, “Hell yeah, you’re such a stud, Reid. An hour?” 

Emily winced in grotesque, “That’s my sister you’re talking about there, Pen. A sister is very much present here,” 

The blonde shrugged, sipping through her pineapple decorated straw, “Not my fault you have a hot sister, Prentiss,” 

“Can we stop talking about this? Please?” Spencer floundered, his fingers wrapping over the edge of the seat, his jaw tensing as the words hot, hot, hot, smeared all over his brain like a stamp. And everything he’d tried to deny for months bit at his neck so much so he was quickly fiddling with his shirt collar. 

“Agreed,” Emily seconded, taking a long drink of her mojito, and Penelope saw it as a chance to lean in close to him, a smirk on her clementine scented lips.

“Don’t you think watching the two of them play together is like something out of Baywatch,” She murmured, her eyes locking on the two agents that seemed to be on their longest streak yet judging by all the laughing and shouting going on in between hits. 

Spencer had never tuned into Baywatch, nor did he have any intention of doing so. But he did have to admit that watching Bugsy jump around in the ocean, her hair clasped back in a claw clip away from her face, her skin practically glowing from the vitamin D both on her face and on her obscenely beautiful body that was free to see in those bikini shorts and mini top, was more captivating than any tv show he could imagine.

He swallowed, shaking his head, “I think you spend too much time with Derek,”

Penelope held her chest in mock offence, her glass empty in her hand as she looked at him with teasing eyes, “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that, Reid. There’s no such thing as too much chocolate thunder time.” 

Spencer smirked, chuckling to himself and he barely even noticed the two people that were the hot topic of conversation had left the sea until a plastic, bouncy ball went hurtling at Emily’s forehead and rebounded clear off her hairline. 

“FUCK,” The woman cursed, opening her eyes where a few rogue droplets of sea water dribbled down her cheek, her peace and serenity completely wiped away where her little sister stood with a hidden smirk, Derek biting his knuckle to hide his laugh, “You fucker, what was that for?”

“Just making sure you hadn’t cooked alive, you looked very still,” Bugsy held her hands up in innocence, even though Emily stood with a vengeance, rolling her eyes at the cheeky grin she got back. 

Emily muttered something about her being a childish shrew, before she huffed, shoving past her sister and heading towards the beachfront bar, Derek and Penelope in tow. Which left the two of them, and a sleeping JJ, on their tiny corner of the beach. 

“You sure you don’t want to come in?” Bugsy asked, trails of salt water sliding off her hair and down her stomach, the sight of them making Spencer’s mouth dryer than the sand beneath them, “I saw a jellyfish, or at least I think it was, it may have been a condom,” Spencer gagged inside his mouth with an incredulous look on his face, and she chuckled, dropping the ball to his feet, “Relax, I’m kidding. I’m going back in if you want to join, promise I won’t splash you or nothing,” 

“I’m good, you go have fun with your new pal; the condom,” He said with a grossed out pull of his lips, though he smiled when she did and she grabbed the surfboard stuck in the ground beside him, trotting off back towards the ocean, “Remember to reapply soon!” He called, and she flicked a look over her shoulder.

“You're as bad as Emily,” She yelled back, taking off towards the waves with a chuckle, the sea breeze blowing tiny shrapnels of sand against her calves.

Spencer shamefully felt his eyes drop to her butt, and as fast as he did, he looked away, because that was supposed to be his best friend. She’d certainly never made it seem like they were going to be anything else. Perverts watched pretty girls running, perverts watched how their skin lit up with the rays of lights bouncing off the water and their hips swung with every step, and he wasn’t a pervert. 

He was just… human. And who could ever resist her. 

He watched the sea spraying out beneath her feet as she ran right in, and she waded out deep enough that he lost sight of her stomach, the board skirting the surface of the water for a moment. 

She was possibly the coolest person he’d ever met, and she was his best friend. 

He watched her hop up onto her stomach, keeping an eye on the horizon for a big enough wave rolling in. Deciding on an incoming ripple gradually gaining traction, she paddled out towards it, her arms strong and focused from what he could see where he was sat, nursing his bottle of beer. 

“Baby Prentiss got moves,” Morgan whistled as they returned back with drinks cold enough Spencer saw the condensation gathering on the glass already, though that was the only time he actually tore his eyes away from her as she got further away from the safety of land, the black band attaching her ankle to the board the only thing he could really see of her. 

“She talked some bar boy into teaching her the Summer she spent in Mexico with my mom,” Emily shook her head as they watched her jump up into a steady stand, the rip gathering under her surfboard and soon she was floating over the water, the concentration evident on her face as she held her arms out to balance. 

She went a few more times, the group settling into the quiet they had whenever she was busy, because she was not exactly known for her calm nature, yet Spencer’s eyes were the only ones glued to her figure the entire time, ever the worrier when it came to her daredevil side. 

And it was like he was watching it in slow motion; on her fifth turn riding a particularly quick rip her balance got thrown off. Nothing serious, it was only a few ten yards out offshore, and she was a strong swimmer, he’d seen it. She quickly lowered herself back into a straddled sit, only for the wave to gain traction before it fizzled out, crashing into the side of her board right as she was about to take a breath, and he watched her flip sidewards into the water, the tide bringing her close enough he knew she’d be able to stand.

But she didn’t come up for a few moments, and it was enough that Spencer was out of his seat, taking off jogging towards the ocean, every statistic that had been whizzing through that big brain of his about how filthy the water was suddenly evaporating as he watched her throw a hand up to the surface, her board skirting above her being the only pointer for him where to go. 

By the time he made it over to her, he was knee deep before he thought of the consequences, the cold hitting him like a freight train, and she was already dragging herself towards land on her hands and knees, her hair stuck to her face, her claw clip ripped out by the current.

“Are you okay?” He asked, but she didn’t respond, only to cough up sea water with a screwed up expression that told him just how horrible it tasted. 

“I need a beer,” She wheezed, as he lifted his hands under her arms, tugging her to her feet, his entire torso getting drenched as she clung onto him for safety, still spluttering ocean out of her lungs. 

And he shook his head with a smile, brushing her hair back enough for her to see, her eyes sore and red with angry blood vessels where he imagined it stung to get the salty water in them, and all but dragged her back up the rest of the beach where Derek and Emily were laughing at her fail so hard they’d woken JJ up. 

“Yasmine Bleeth never ate seawater, Bug, what happened?” Morgan jeered, earning him a middle finger to the face as Penelope offered her a nice big gulp of a margarita to clear her taste buds. 

And for the first time all day, Spencer wasn’t even thinking about how much bacteria was all over his skin if it meant she was alright.

[erosiism]

SACRED | YANDERE PRIEST X M!READER

prompt: yandere!priest x transmigrated!male!reader

character(s): priest (anton), you

warnings(s): mention of violence, god complex, religious imagery, dub-con, not to be glorified or romanticised

note(s): male reader, second person, past and present tense, not beta read. from twisted faith on my wattpad.

It takes a few moments for you to truly process what just happened. From the coarse sheets underneath your skin that differ greatly from the silken ones you have grown so accustomed to, to the air that smells like blood, you know something is terribly wrong.

Then you see a mural of a priest on the wall, and you remember where you are. A horror game.

Anton. It’s the name of the priest you need to find.

The first time you see the priest is the day after you transmigrate into a horror game. The said game, Spiraling into the Abyss features almost a cult like fanaticism with religion: you learn in the first few seconds of your time in the new world that they worship a priest like a God, and that they sacrifice humans to please the apparent gods of the heavens.

You’re a sacrifice. You know that. You are found to be guilty of some stupid crime you didn’t commit, and as far as you know, you are a worthless extra who will die by burning—you will do everything to prevent that.

To survive, you need to get into his good graces. You see him on the day or worship, when you come early to the Church: and his beauty astounds you. Symmetrical features—and the whole blue eyes and golden hair combination that is seen as rather cliche, in terms of beauty—but Anton doesn’t have a common kind of beauty; he is radiant. Benevolent. Ethereal. You marvel at him. His skin is without a blemish, and is fair, like he hasn’t gone out in the sun for a while...yet it has a healthy glow to it. His expression is serene. Anton's hair frames his face perfectly, and his eyes are expressive and rather captivating, with long, dark lashes that draw attention to it. His cheekbones are well-defined, his nose straight—and those only add to Anton's appeal.

He speaks to you in lilted tones, and immediately, you realize the priest isn’t just evil—he’s downright a menace.

"Sometimes I forget you are a new, naive believer. God is perfect, is he not? So his messengers, in turn, can do no wrong. He sends his messages through me. God is part of me. I'm merely ridding the world of evil."  He strides to where you are, and his hands touch the top of your head lightly. His fingers fall to your cheek, and he strokes it gently.

You can only swallow. “Yes, Father Anton.”

There’s one day where you ask him why he burns those bodies. He calls it “cleansing”, apparently.

“They donate to the church out of the kindness of their hearts,” you tell him, swallowing the bile down your throat as you hear more screams. “Is that not…a little extreme?”

“Extreme? Why, no, not at all.”

“You burn people alive.”

“That is the cleanest way to proceed. Their ashes tumble away, and it makes it much easier for the people, too. If we were to use magic, or beheading, or even hanging—it would be much messier, no? And I believe fire is such an awfully beautiful thing. It can make death look inviting; and even though the heavens might cast them away…in hell, all they will see is the fiery pits. This is their punishment. To feel sorry for them is strange, Y/n.”

Despite this, for the sake of your survival, you continue to visit him. Now, such visits are rare: Anton barely makes time for anyone. But he does, for you. 

Of course, this partial treatment doesn’t go unnoticed by you. He treats only you like this: it’s concerning, actually. His words are light and gentle, but the weight of it isn’t. In fact, he speaks of cleansing, he speaks of murdering in such a calm manner that you wonder if the devil truly resides in him.

But one thing is clear. 

To survive, you need to get into his good graces.

You feel your sanity slip each minute you spend in the game.

Anton kills. So does the Church. And you still can’t explain the goddamn obsession he has with you. Why has he not killed you yet? Anton is no saint, not at all.

Perhaps Anton was ensnared by the promise of Godhood—ensnared by the tendrils of his own self proclaimed grandiosity. Perhaps he had been idolized so much…worshiped by the devoted believers that he had simply been led to believe in his imagined divinity. Anton was a mortal who had dared to cast a shadow that eclipsed the very stars that he had reached for. Anton was simply adorned in robes of imagined omnipotence, and smelt of the fragrance of narcissus.

Here, he was god, but Anton was completely alienated from empathy. For what was a god in isolation but a sovereign ruler over an empire of one, ruling over a realm devoid of the richness of God’s grace?

You can’t deal with him much longer. He keeps murdering: he murders those who come to you under the guise of the silly notion of cleansing, he finds it amusing to see you sob and cry…and he has no qualms about drugging you. If not for the items you have stored in your inventory, warning you of drugs, you would have succumbed long ago.

Anton is no priest. 

And now he stands before you, his lips curling into a smile when he sees the look of despair on your face. He has just killed a friend,

You have to. You have to fight Anton…you have to…

Anton leans forward. You two are a hair’s breadth away.

God. Is God real? Is the devil real—has he taken form in Anton himself, twisting, persuading, begging, tempting people to court evil, to withhold the stench of death? The crimson flames have not faltered for long, and have only seemed to welcome him with fiery contempt, only surrendering when everything has been destroyed in its wake.

You long to spit curses towards Anton. You long for your limbs to connect with his face, and leave a mottled bruise there. You long for your twitching fingers to wrap around the priest’s neck; watch as oxygen slowly slips from his lungs out of your throat. You long to see his body grow limp.

“You are so perfect,” Anton murmurs, “so, so divine. So perfect…”

You don’t get why he says this. He’s been telling you this for ages: it’s the reason why you’ve been treated well. He claims you are some savior from an oracle ready to save him, he claims you saved him.

And now in this scenario, where his fingers are grazing your cheek?

You swallow. There was no way, right? No fucking way—

“I want to kiss you.”

Your heart drops. “…If I say no, you wouldn’t listen.”

A kiss. It would just be a kiss, right? That was okay. It means simply brushing your lips against Anton’s…yeah, that was possible.

You want to cry. Anton presses his lips on yours—it’s a mixture of heat and warmth; the way Anton ravages your lips has some sort of twisted hunger to it, craving and craving and craving. There is an obscene sheen of saliva coating your lips when you part.

The kiss tastes just like the forbidden fruit, plucked from the tree of desire. It is the same way that Eve sinned—eating a fruit that had belonged to the serpent. It was as if you had forged a pact with the devil himself—that in kissing Anton, it was like sealing your fate in the molten wax of sin, staining the canvas of your soul. Had matted it black. 

It was shameful. So utterly shameful that the kiss…

Once Anton fully lets go, he smiles, and you collapse on the ground, tears running down your face.

He needs you, Anton thinks, he needs you. You are the savior who has brought him from the depths of hell. You are his miracle. You are his little pet; his little divine sacrifice, the white sheep with the white wool. You are the one who will follow him guiltlessly. Untouched, untainted, clean.

You are shaking like a newborn lamb.

He presses another kiss on your forehead.

[ before, Anton’s pov ]

The world was dirty.

It needed a savior. Someone to bring them out from the depths of hell—to cleanse them. After all, was that not what the texts read? Was that not what he had learnt, ever since young? Was that not what had been instilled in him since his very birth? Luke 15:11-32. The wayward son who squandered his inheritance but was welcomed back by his forgiving father—Anton had marveled at it when he was young. To think someone would have such boundless grace; such forgiveness for a foolish person…

The oracle. Anton saw the oracle as a gift—a symbol from God. It had been delivered to him when he was young, naive, and careless. 

Anton remembered very little about his childhood. Extremely little. He remembered his mother, his father. But that was it—but oh, how he hated them. Anton did not remember why he hated them, why the portrait of his family had been torn out. He regarded life then, and now, as the beginning of the end.

Something fleeting, something ephemeral. Something tragic. Life was a wonderful tragedy.

People look at me with such endless wonder; such spellbound eyes and widened mouths. They see me as God—they see me as a deity above them all.

And that was true, Anton thought. That was very true. Sinners. Wretched, dirtied, horrid sinners, all of them! Anton despised humankind; they were worthless—made of brittle bones with flesh. He did not even see them as humans. They were just mere vessels in need of salvation.

“Father Anton!”

“Father Anton, would you please help me?”

“Bring me to the path of salvation!

He was anointed by a divine purpose to purify the soiled souls of the world…

Yes, that was his purpose.

It was relieving and calming to have a purpose. To drift in the vast expanse of the world; the universe without a tethering purpose is akin to being a feather in the breath of the wind. Useless, damaging, lonely. Anton could see—it was very easy for him to see who were those who were aimless in life, compared to those who had the bright, bubbly life shining magnificently in their eyes.

Oh, Mother. Anton would stand before her grave. Again, he did not remember much of what he believed was to be a mundane, boring childhood, but his mother’s name left a bitter taste on his tongue, horrid and painful. Somehow, he did not feel a single bit of…remorse, or guilt when he gazed at her tombstone. He expected to feel guilt for something he was quite sure he didn’t do.

But his lips would always curve into a smile when he saw the words etched on the grave. She was dead, he would remember. Dead. Occasionally, snippets of memories would come to him—her shrill voice, her messy, jagged hair, her crazed, crazed eyes. The way her fingernails felt on her skin when she scratched at him wildly.

Clearly, she deserved to die. How did she die, though? What exactly transpired? What kind of person was she, and what kind of person had she tried to make Anton into?

Anton found, to his surprise, that he was bothered about this. Detachment was something he prided himself on: he would never venture too close.

To have attachment with someone would be detrimental. Annoying. Haunting.

There were times—many, many times when Anton had awoken, hollow and void. 

The oracle.

The oracle.

When is it coming? When is it coming? Have the gods lied to me?

The oracle—his lifeline since he was young—was the very proof that this world had a chance, to live on, to heal.

A savior.

There were times Anton would grow impatient. He needed to do something about the state of the world. It would be easy, wouldn’t it? Why did people falter in front of flames? What did people shun away from blood? Was the sight not wonderful, not enchanting? The heat was welcoming—a gentle caress. Those who ventured in, would have their faces bathed in mesmerizing glow. Nevermind their screams, nevermind their bleeding, rotting flesh. 

The fire illuminated the world before it dissolved like nothing. Like it hadn’t existed. 

“Horrible! Horrible! You’re fucking horrible!” Then the stinging of flesh. There was something piping hot, something burning him.

“Why won’t you even flinch, you monster?”

Anton smiled loosely. Another memory. They came into his mind occasionally and quickly. He never pondered over them—it was useless to; for he already had everything he wanted.

The day you came into the world, was the day he felt alive. Waiting had become a bore to him—it was the same routine over and over again, with the same stupid, foolish people—

Something extraordinary had graced his reality. The oracle. You were the chosen one. The chosen one. The chosen one. The one he yearned for; seeked for; the change in the world.

“Dear God,” You had said the first time he saw you. “I confess I have been impure in my holy spiritual presence…”

Anton had seen you before the mural; your head lowered, your words soft and quiet.

Anton had stepped before you, tilting his head to the side as he observed you. In fact, you seemed to be struggling.

“You have to be sincere. You can’t just read off the mural.” Anton sighed.

You seemed to look at him with flickering recognition.

“Forgive me, Father Anton, for I have sinned.” You appeared shocked for the words to even slip past your lips; and oh, you were beautiful. Lovely. Innocent. Anton gazed at you—this was the person he had been waiting for his whole life—fervently, impatiently, silently. 

“You don’t seem to be used to this,” Anton said at last, as he took off his hood. He had not meant to come to church today—he was aware the crowd was growing more stifling, more crazed by the minute. The women of the church reminded him of his mother. There were times he wished he could draw a blade to their throat, and watch the blood spill out in a wonderful crimson.

“I’m afraid it’s been long since my last confession.”

Anton couldn’t help but smile. You were lying. 

“That’s alright,” He said calmly, “you have come now. Is there something in particular that’s troubling you, perhaps? To bring you to confession?”

“I…”

Anton could read human beings exceptionally well. From the way their eyes narrowed, the way their pupils widened marginally, to the gap of their fingers…you were trembling. You were thinking of what other lies you could say.

An adorable fool.

“You…?” He prompted. “You must not feel self conscious in the eyes of God. He already knows, Y/n. He is only waiting for you to confess.”

I am only waiting for you to confess. To tell me that you are from the oracle.

“I cannot even recall it.” You admitted.

You cannot recall it because it is not true.

“What do people come here for, Father Anton?”

Many things.

“The ones who have sinned so awfully they are made to be sacrifices.”

Oh. Sacrifices. Anton did not even—

There were times he would stand before dead bodies, blood in his hand, blinking slowly. When? When had he killed them? It all happened so fast, he wasn’t even aware of the blood staining his clothes, the bodies riddled on the ground.

“You tell me, Y/n.”

“Murder…?”

Anton wanted to laugh. A textbook answer. You had much to learn, didn’t you? It was alright. Anton could teach you. Teach you from ground zero, till you would become who you were supposed to be.

“Mostly, it’s their lack of faith. Rebelling against us. It is their perceived lack of loyalty, and their utter ignorance and disregard for God that leads us to take drastic measures.”

“But that’s…that’s killing isn’t it?”

So pure. So untainted, so innocent. 

The oracle. The person from the oracle. 

“But that doesn’t matter,” Anton said softly, “you show a desire to learn. And that is always very splendid, always welcomed.”

Anton would morph you and turn you into something splendid, divine.

remember to reblog and like! comments are always appreciated

[ninibeingdelulu]

Memories ✧

Plot: Satoru come to apologize after an argument.

You stalked back into the apartment, jaw clenched and shoulders tense after storming out of Jujutsu High earlier. You couldn't get that infuriating image out of your head - Satoru beaming that stupid, annoyingly charming grin while playfully teasing and fawning all over Utahime with those shameless flirtatious antics of his.

The mere memory had your fists clenching, a flare of heated jealousy twisting in your gut no matter how much you knew you should trust your boyfriend.

After all, you'd been inseparable ever since those tumultuous high school days when the three of you - you, Satoru, and Suguru - were as thick as thieves.

At least until Suguru went rogue, leaving just you and Satoru to grow even closer in the wake of losing your other best friend to the darkness.

You'd argued so viciously last night after witnessing that scene, slinging bitter accusations at Satoru about shamelessly flirting with Utahime right in front of your eyes.

He vehemently denied anything untoward, of course, but that only fueled your heated shouting match until you'd finally given up in disgust.

Hence why you'd spent a restless night alone on the couch, stewing over the entire mess while your stubborn ass of a boyfriend likely snoozed away obliviously in your bed.

Just thinking about it made you want to scream.

"There you are," drawled that maddingly familiar voice from right behind you.

You stiffened at the unexpected proximity of Satoru's presence, unable to resist sneaking a glance over your shoulder. Great, he just came back from Jujutsu High.

Sure enough, there was your boyfriend towering over you wearing that carefully neutral expression behind the concealing fabric of his ever-present blindfold, hair artfully mussed.

Just the sight of him immediately rekindled that simmering spark of frustration and hurt inside you.

Without a word, you whirled around to stalk towards the kitchen, fully intending to avoid this confrontation altogether.

Until Satoru's hand snapped out to encircle your wrist, halting you mid-stride.

"We gotta talk about this, babe," he stated in a low rumble, reeling you back against the solid wall of his chest before you could protest.

You huffed out a sigh but didn't struggle against his gentle yet insistent grip as Satoru bent at the waist, face ducking to tuck into the crook of your neck as he sagged against you vulnerability.

His tall, deceptively lanky frame molded flush along your backside, radiating body heat through the thin cotton of your top.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled thickly, voice slightly muffled against your skin but still clear enough for you to pick up the rare hints of contrition lacing those two simple words.

"I didn't mean to... get so carried away with Utahime. It's just... she reminds me so much of how things used to be, y'know? Back when the three of us were always together. With Suguru. And the others."

Your throat tightened at the dejected, almost childish tone as realization clicked into place.

Of course he missed Suguru, despite everything - the three of you went through hell and back in those days.

Their bond of brotherhood had been unbreakable until that bitter, bloody end.

Warmth bloomed in your chest, smothering the residual burn of jealousy as you let out a shuddering exhale.

Satoru's shoulder's slumped further against your back, almost curling around you as if seeking shelter and forgiveness in your embrace.

With a rueful half-laugh, you turned in the loose circle of his arms to properly face him, hands gentling on the slopes of his shoulders.

"You're such an idiot," you murmured, barely above a whisper yet still rife with soft affection. "I get it, I do. As long as that's all it was..."

Strong arms circled your waist, tugging you infinitely closer as Satoru finally lifted his shrouded gaze towards you.

Despite the lack of eye contact from behind that immutable blindfold, you could feel the intensity of his stare searing into you.

"Of course it was," he rumbled gruffly, the usual cockiness beginning to bleed back into his deep timbre.

"You know you're the only one for me, baby."

His wandering palms skimmed brazenly up the curve of your spine, sending a shiver up your nape.

You gave him a light smack on the chest in playful chastisement even as the first genuine smile since yesterday's argument tugged at your lips.

"Better not forget that, jackass," you teased, nails scratching lightly against the nape of his neck - a spot you knew drove him crazy.

Satoru sucked in a sharp breath, fingers flexing indents into your hips before scooping you up and off the floor in one sinuous motion.

You couldn't contain the small squeak of surprise as your legs instinctively latched around his narrow waist.

Satoru wasted no time sealing his mouth over yours in a scorching, thorough kiss that immediately made your insides melt into liquid fire.

"Mm, not likely," he murmured smugly against your lips between fervent nips and caresses of his wicked tongue.

Suddenly you were moving, stumbling towards the bedroom with Satoru's lust-darkened aura flooding the apartment.

"Need to make up for last night... among other things," he purred silkily.

You could only manage a breathless giggle in anticipation while surrendering yourself to the fiery promise blazing behind those words.

[pretzel-box]

I’m back!! And I have an idea!

Mkmk so could we please get a Happy Ending type fic where after reader and Sebastian escape the facility, reader brings him home and makes him a good, home cooked meal?? I’m such a sucker for sweet domestic shit and I NEED Sebastian to finally be able to relax.

Thank you so much!

Tags: Established Relationship, Happy End, Fluff, Domestic Life, Reader and Sebastian are living together in a sea-side home. Both are emotional.

Words: 2,2k

Authors note: I wrote it on two different days and isn't proof read, so maybe it sounds weird.

Sebastian’s heart pounded in his chest, the echoes of gunshots still reverberating in his mind. He stared at you, disoriented, his eyes wide with the lingering terror of his situation. It took him a moment to realize where he was, to understand that the screams, the glass shattering, and you. He saw you in front of him, screaming in panic, yelling, pulling on his coat as if your life depends on it. And somehow, he couldn't hear your voice no matter how hard he tried, his ears blocking out the sound.

“Se…b…ti..n”

“Seb…ast…ian…”

“Sebas…tian.”

He blinked a few times, his vision adjusting to the soft morning light streaming through the curtains that floated gently in the sea-breeze. The smell of the salty ocean mixed with the delicious aroma of the breakfast you had prepared for him. His body, tense and curled up, began to relax as the reality of the present settled in.

You stood by his bedside, your expression a mix of concern and tenderness. Your hand rested gently on his shoulder, the warmth of your touch grounding him, pulling him back from the depths of his nightmare. A nightmare. It was just a memory after all and the realization made him sink back in the pile of pillows you got him.

"Sebastian," you repeated softly, your voice steady and calm. “You were having a nightmare again.” You offered a small smile, trying to comfort him. It wasn’t the first time and wouldn't be the last. The events were still fresh in your memories. "I brought you breakfast. I thought it might help."

He looked at the tray, eyes lingering on the sunny-side-up eggs, the crispy bacon, the fresh slices of bread, and the hand-poured coffee that steamed invitingly. His stomach growled in response, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten properly in… well, he couldn’t remember how long. The sight of the food, the smell of it, suddenly made him aware of just how hungry he was.

“It looks… really good,” he murmured, his voice still a bit shaky. “Thank you.”

You smiled warmly, setting the tray down on the small bedside table in his reach. "It’s the least I could do," you said softly, sitting down on the edge of the bed beside him. His body was squished in the bed, his tail sticking a bit over the bed frame, so there wasn't much space for you. “You’ve been through a lot. I thought maybe a good meal might help you feel a bit more at home.”

Sebastian nodded, his eyes still searching your face, as if looking for reassurance that this wasn’t another cruel trick of his mind. That you were really there, that this place—this peaceful, cozy home by the sea—was real.

He sat up slowly, the rather small blanket falling away from his shoulders. His tail, which had been twitching anxiously, calmed as he reached for the coffee. He took a careful sip, savoring the rich, warm taste. It was a simple thing, but it was the best coffee he had ever had.

“This is… nice,” he said, his voice soft, almost uncertain. “I’ve never had anything like this.”

You chuckled, brushing a stray lock of hair away from his eyes. “It’s just coffee, Sebastian. Nothing fancy.”

“To me, it is,” he replied, his gaze meeting yours. There was a softness in his eyes, a vulnerability that he rarely showed. “All of this… it’s more than I’ve ever had.”

You reached for his hand, squeezing it gently. “You deserve this, Sebastian. You deserve a home, a place to feel safe. And I’m glad you’re here with me.”

He felt his heart swell at your words, a mix of emotions swirling inside him—relief, gratitude, something warmer, something he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in a long time. He had been through so much—too much—but here, with you, he felt a glimmer of hope. A chance for something better.

He set the coffee down and turned to you, his hand still in yours. “Thank you,” he said again, his voice thick with emotion. “For everything. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

You leaned in closer, your forehead resting against his. “You don’t have to thank me, Sebastian. We’re in this together. Always.”

He closed his eyes, taking in the comfort of your presence, the softness of your touch. He breathed in deeply, letting the scent of the sea and the breakfast you made fill his senses. For the first time in a long time, he felt… at peace.

“Do you want to eat together?” you asked softly, not wanting to break the moment but knowing he needed to eat.

He nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

You moved the tray onto your lap, cutting into the eggs and bacon, offering him a forkful. He hesitated for a moment, blushing hard at the sudden offer, then leaned forward, taking the bite. His eyes closed as he savored the taste, a soft hum of approval escaping his lips. The taste of a lovingly self-made breakfast filled his mouth and it touched him to have such a meal after years of isolation and trauma.

“This is amazing,” he said, opening his eyes to look at you with genuine appreciation. “You’re amazing.”

You laughed softly, a blush creeping onto your own cheeks. “I’m just glad you like it. I wasn’t sure if you’d have an appetite after… well, everything.”

He nodded, understanding. “It’s… it’s a lot to take in. But this,” he gestured around the room, “this is good. Better than good. It feels… right.”

You smiled, your heart warming at his words. “I’m glad you feel that way.”

For a while, the two of you ate in comfortable silence, enjoying the simple pleasure of a home-cooked meal. The tension from Sebastian’s nightmare slowly ebbed away, replaced by a sense of calm, of normalcy.

After breakfast, you helped him out of bed, leading him to the small kitchen where you started brewing another pot of coffee. The room was filled with the rich, warm scent, and Sebastian leaned against the counter, watching you with a soft smile.

As the coffee brewed, you turned to him, reaching out to brush a thumb across his cheek. “You’re safe here, Sebastian. I promise. No more nightmares. No more running.”

He leaned into your touch, closing his eyes once more to savor the moment. “I know,” he whispered. “With you, I finally feel… like I’m home.”

You pulled him into a gentle hug, his arms wrapping around you in return. You stayed like that for a while, just holding each other, listening to the soft rhythm of the waves outside.

When you finally pulled back, you cupped his face in your hands, looking into his eyes. “Stay with me, Sebastian. We can make a life here, together. A real life.”

He nodded, his eyes brimming with emotion. “I’d like that,” he said, his voice a soft whisper. “I’d like that a lot.”

And in that moment, in the quiet comfort of your kitchen, with the sea breeze drifting through the open windows, you both knew that you had found something precious—something worth fighting for. A chance at happiness, at love, at a life free from the horrors of the past.

The sun had risen higher in the sky, casting a warm, golden glow over your small seaside home. The breakfast dishes were cleared away, and the rich aroma of fresh coffee still lingered in the air. Sebastian was seated at the kitchen table as best as he could with his tall size, his eyes following your every move as you bustled about, wiping down counters and humming a soft tune.

You could feel his gaze on you, warm and intent, and it sent a pleasant shiver down your spine. Ever since you had rescued him from the facility, brought him back to this sanctuary you called home, there had been a quiet understanding between you—a deep, unspoken bond that had grown stronger with each passing day.

Finally, you turned to face him, leaning back against the counter with a playful smile. “You know, you’re allowed to help around here,” you teased, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’m not your maid, you know.”

Sebastian chuckled, his lips curling into a soft smile that reached his eyes. “I would, but I’m not sure I’d do it right. You seem to have a system,” he said, his voice warm and teasing.

You raised an eyebrow, feigning offense. “Are you saying I’m a neat freak?”

“Maybe,” he teased back, his smile growing wider. “But I don’t mind. It’s… comforting. Feels natural.”

Your heart swelled at his words. You knew how much he had been through, the horrors he had witnessed and endured, and to hear him say that this place—the home you had made together—felt like home to him meant more than you could express.

Pushing off the counter, you moved to stand in front of him, placing your hands on the back of the chair he was sitting in. “Well,” you said softly, your tone turning more serious, “I want you to feel at home here, Sebastian. I want you to feel like this is where you belong.”

His gaze softened, his eyes searching yours. “I do,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “I really do.”

There was a moment of silence, the air between you thick with unspoken emotions. Then, almost without thinking, you reached out, your fingers gently brushing against his cheek. His skin was warm under your touch, and you felt him lean into your hand, his eyes fluttering closed.

“Sebastian…” you whispered, your voice barely more than a breath. “I… I’m glad you’re here. I don’t know what I would have done if…” Your own memories of the escape flashed through your mind.

He opened his eyes, capturing your gaze with an intensity that took your breath away. “I’m here,” he said firmly, his voice steady. “And I’m not going anywhere. Not without you.”

The weight of his words settled over you, filling you with a warmth that spread from your chest to the tips of your fingers. Without thinking, you leaned down, your forehead resting against his. The world seemed to pause, the only sound the gentle crashing of the waves outside and the soft beating of your heart.

“I’m glad,” you whispered, your lips so close to his that you could feel his breath against your skin. “I’m really, really glad.”

And then, as if drawn by some invisible force, you closed the distance between you, your lips brushing against his in a soft, tentative kiss. Sebastian’s breath hitched, and for a moment, you worried you had crossed a line. But then his hand came up to cup the back of your head, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss.

It was slow and sweet, a gentle interaction, a promise of something more. His lips were soft against yours, his touch tender and careful, as if he were afraid you might disappear if he held on too tightly.

When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathless, your foreheads still touching. You looked into his eyes, searching for any sign of hesitation, but all you saw was warmth and affection—a deep, unspoken love that made your heart flutter.

“Sorry,” you murmured, a small, shy smile playing on your lips. “I just… I needed to know.”

Sebastian smiled, his thumb brushing gently against your cheek. “Know what?”

“That this is real,” you replied, your voice barely more than a whisper. “That we’re real.”

He nodded, his smile soft and reassuring. “It is,” he said softly. “It’s as real as it gets.”

You smiled back, your heart swelling with happiness. “Good,” you said, your voice light and teasing. “Because I’m not letting you go anywhere.”

Sebastian chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

You stood there for a moment longer, just holding each other, savoring the quiet comfort of the moment. Then, with a soft sigh, you pulled away, your hand slipping into his. “Come on,” you said, your tone bright and cheerful. “I’ll show you around the rest of the house. There’s a lot more to see than just the inside. I haven't showed you the back.”

He grinned, standing up and following you as you led him out of the kitchen and into the cozy backside of the house. The sun was streaming down from the blue sky, casting warm patches of light on the worn but comfortable outdoor furniture. An old wooden bench, placed with pillows and a jar of seashells you had collected over the years.

“This is nice,” Sebastian said, looking around with a smile. “Feels… free. "Comfortable."

The back of the house is directly connected to the sea, like a little porch hovering above the water.

You nodded, squeezing his hand gently. “It is.”

He looked at you, his expression soft and full of affection. “Thank you,” he said again, his voice full of sincerity. “For everything.”

You smiled, leaning up to press a soft kiss to his cheek. “You don’t have to thank me, Sebastian.”

He nodded, his smile widening. “Yeah,” he said softly. “But I still want to.”

Your eyes sparkled in the sunlight. "Let’s go back inside...P.AI.nter must be awake by now too."

And as you walked together, hand in hand, the sun warming your skin, you knew that no matter what the future held, you would face it together. Because here, in this cozy home by the sea, with Sebastian by your side, you had found something precious—something worth holding onto after all the pain.

[loganhowlettshousewife]

animal

chapter 3

friendly reminder that i am not a writer, i'm just a girl who loves logan howlett and wanted to write something exploring his animalistic side since i so rarely see it done. my first language is also not english, so please do not be rude when giving me any feedback.

warnings: swearing, mentions of blood, mentions of sex, non-sexual nudity

series masterlist │my masterlist

logan sleeps in your bed now. night after night you found him on the hard floor, until you couldn’t deal with the thought of him being so uncomfortable just because he wanted to be near you. so you forced him into your bed, though you’re not sure if forced is the right word to use given how willingly he slipped in next to you - as if he’d done it a million times before, as if it was normal.

he’s a walking heater - you swear there’s a fire burning under his skin, working through his veins to spread throughout his body. you naturally run cold, you always have, so cuddling up to his warmth is a luxury. even in the beginning, when you didn’t want to fall asleep in his arms for fear of what it would mean for your relationship, you would wake bundled up in his arms, safe and protected and wanted in a way that made you never want to leave the bed.

it’s nice, really nice.

and it simultaneously sucks, because you’ve started having dreams of logan, of kissing him, calling him your husband, watching him rock a baby. and you’ve had other dreams too, the ones you’re sure logan can smell on you, with his advanced senses. he’s always awake watching you when you wake up from those dreams, his body still curled against yours, hard dick pressed against you. but he never does anything.

it’s horribly endearing. he’s obviously affected but won’t leave you, knows how much comfort you’ve found in his arms. so he grits his teeth and bears it. despite being half-animal, he’s more of a gentleman than most of the men you’ve met.

and you love knowing that you affect him, knowing that your feelings for him are not completely one-sided, even if you can only be sure of the physical component. when you leave the room to start on your morning routine, he stays behind.

you can’t be certain, but you imagine him taking his dick in his hand, stroking himself to completion, hard and desperate and quick, muffling the sound of his groans with a hand pressed to his mouth.

you’re not used to being woken up like this, however. logan hovers over you, face twisted into a snarl so full of hatred it brings tears to your eyes. his claws are out and have ripped holes in the sheets and the mattress, locking you in a makeshift cage.

his eyes are glazed over, like he’s not quite present in the moment. he’s somewhere else right now, lost somewhere in his mind where you can’t reach him.

this isn’t a slow awakening where you can take time to blink the sleep from your eyes, letting them flutter shut for two more minutes to enjoy the bliss of being not-quite awake. the adrenaline hits you hard and fast, your heartbeat pounding loud in your ears.

you’re trembling, can feel it with every breath you take, shaky exhales and sharp inhales. you’re careful not to make any sudden moves, worried about what logan may do to you.

you know him, know he wouldn’t hurt you. but he doesn’t see you right now, you don’t know who or what he’s seeing in your place. but he’s never looked at you with these eyes, with this level of anger - in fact, you can’t remember a time when he’s truly been angry at you. scared, cautious, tense, maybe. but not fury like this.

“logan,” you whisper.

the sound has barely left your throat when he pulls one clawed hand away from the mattress, tearing more of it in the process, before punching his claws towards your chest. you cry out, instinctually, and that snaps him out of it.

you feel the sharp sting of his metal claws dragging over your skin as he pulls away. it’s only a scratch, and not a terribly deep one at that. you’re used to small injuries, pricking yourself in the garden or accidentally cutting your thumb while cooking or any other stupid way to draw blood to the surface of your skin.

but it’s not the pain that matters, it’s the thought that if it took him a second longer to break out of his nightmare he could have pierced your heart, killed you. 

“logan,” you ask, shaky, “are you okay?”

he’s staring at you, eyes wide and frightened, but the hatred that was there is gone. his claws retract back into his skin. he nods, slow, never breaking eye contact with you.

and then you burst into tears.

you can’t stop, your cries hysterical. logan sits on the bed, moving away from you with every cry that rakes your body, but you grab at his arms desperately, needing him. somehow, despite logan being the reason for your fear, he’s the only thing you want, your mind calling out his name like a prayer.

he hesitates to touch you at first, but you beg him with a broken “please”, and then he’s all over you, pulling you into his lap, nuzzling his face into your neck. he kisses you softly on the skin there, a habit he’s taken up that you don’t mind. you probably should mind, but you’re unable to care about that when it feels so right.

you fall asleep crying in his arms, the exhaustion pulling you under. you wake up again with the sun, logan looking haggard and pale, still holding you. it seems he didn’t fall back asleep when you had.

your throat feels raw from crying, and you can feel the tear tracks where they dried on your skin.

“what was the nightmare about?” you try to ask him.

he shakes his head, every line around his face pulled taunt, “no.”

you’d expected such an answer, something short and succinct where he refuses to lay his problems on you. still, you’d hoped he might share some information, even a sliver of his story that could help you help him.

you’re still worried about logan, but there’s not much you can do if he won’t speak to you, so you leave the bed to wash the dried tears from your face. you go on with your routine as usual, keeping a closer eye on logan, waiting for possible signs to help you uncover the mystery of whatever the fuck is happening with him.

there are none, of course - he’s very difficult to read when he wants to be.

he doesn’t touch you as much, a step further behind you than usual. but otherwise his behaviour doesn’t change too greatly. he’s still sweet and grumpy and lovely.

you teach him how to cook your favourite breakfast foods, and to your surprise, it comes naturally to him. he works by your side like he’s always been there, listening to your instructions perfectly every time. the cuts on your chest still burn slightly, but simply feeling his presence by your side makes everything better.

you’re reading a book on the couch when logan returns from hunting. he never brings anything from his hunt into the house, for which you’re grateful, but he does drag in a lot of dirt. 

you have a routine by now, or at least the bones of one. he likes it when you help him clean up after a hunt or a run in the forest, and so do you. it’s the kind of moment you imagine you’d find in a book, with a couple so deeply in love that they can hardly stand to be apart for a second.

you’re still not completely comfortable with the idea of stripping naked in front of him, but logan has no such qualms. in the bathroom, he pushes his pants and boxers down in one motion.

you blush as he steps into the shower, so unashamed of his body. there’s a wild edge to him that you notice more in moments like these, where you realise the impact of not having those human memories, the socialisation that teaches you to dislike yourself, teaches you that confidence is a negative thing, makes you vain and egotistical.

the water soaks him in an instant, flattening his cute hair tufts against his scalp and you giggle at the way he looks like a wet kitten, though less disgruntled.

he tilts his head expectantly, waiting for you. his gaze is dark and heady, intense as you pull off your shirt, leaving you in only a bra. your face warms as you take off your skirt next, watching logan’s face the entire time, the way his eyes linger on your panties for a long, long moment.

it’s not the first time you’ve undressed in front of him, but every time the effect is the same. warmth pools in your stomach, a mix of arousal and nerves. he’s intoxicating, and that’s terrifying to you.

you don’t take off your bra and panties. they feel like armour, protecting you from being fully defenceless in front of him. it’s not like he couldn’t see the full shape of you, every curve of your body, the parts that you love about yourself, that make you smile at the mirror, and those you hate. 

still, it makes you feel like the one in control - he’s completely naked and you’re not - though you know that he’s larger and stronger than you, that really he’s letting you be in control of the situation, not moving too much as you wash the blood and grime from his body. 

he cares so much about your comfort. sometimes it makes you want to cry. 

“you, now,” he grunts.

“what?”

you’re taken aback at the break in the quiet. it always shocks you a little when he speaks, his voice rough from disuse. 

“i will clean you, now,” he gestures at you and you laugh nervously, taking a step back, as far as you can until you hit the tiled wall. it’s not a very large shower, there’s not really anywhere to go.

“logan,” you whisper, heart in your throat, “no. not right now, okay? finish up your shower, i think- yeah i’m going to go now.”

you practically run out of the steam-filled bathroom, feeling like you’re going to collapse at any second. the thought of him stripping you out of your remaining clothes, unclasping your bra, pulling your panties down your legs and tossing them aside, his hands running over your body, even for something as innocent as washing you, something you’ve done with him a dozen or so times.

you’re having enough sex fantasies about him as it is, you don’t need to add more fuel to the fire. and the thing is, you want it. you want him. you want those fantasies to come to life. but you can’t help but fear that logan’s only clinging to you because you’re the one who found him when he was at his most vulnerable.

when he goes out into the world, whether that’s sometime soon or if it takes years, will he start to resent you? will he find someone better? will the soft intimacy that’s been growing between you collapse like a house of cards?

you’re in your bedroom, laying on top of the sheets, staring up at the ceiling when logan enters.

“you’re upset?” he asks, and at the tone of his voice, the pain that you hear reflected in each syllable, your head turns his way. he looks devastated, like the idea that you might be upset at him is the worst thing that’s ever happened to him in his life. you’re very certain that’s incorrect.

he looks so innocent like this, not a wild animal with claws that rip through flesh like butter, but a man, anxious and unsure and pleading. you can’t help the smile that rises to your lips. you shake your head as much as you can against the mattress and reach your arms out towards him, a wordless beckoning.

“never,” you say.

within moments he’s in your arms, hugging you tight, his face pressed into your chest. it’s nice, the solid weight of him, like a very heavy weighted blanket. minutes pass, and then logan shifts his body just enough to look up at you.

he makes eye contact with you, and in his eyes you see a raging storm. his face is blank as it often is, a mask that you can’t read, but you can feel his muscles tense as if preparing for a fight, can catch a glimpse of several different emotions in the hazel staring back at you.

he leans up, until his face is barely a centimetre away from yours, and your breath catches. you’re scared to hope, terrified, even if all signs point in one direction, so you don’t move closer but you don’t move away, eyes fluttering shut as if it’ll all become easier, as if the butterflies in your stomach will recede, if you’re not looking directly at him.

he closes the distance between you, mouth meeting yours in a chaste, soft kiss. it’s nothing like you expected from logan, feral and intense in everything he does. but he’s waiting for a response from you, scared in the way you’ve only ever seen him once, when you’d first found him in the barn.

he pulls away and you grab onto him desperately, forcing him to crash back into you. you share open-mouthed kisses, hot and urgent yet so loving. it’s everything you’ve ever dreamed about, perfect in the way little else can be, and you feel tears prickling in your eyes, a sob catching in your throat.

you’re absolutely fucked, your heart stolen by him, and you can only hope logan meets you where you are and doesn’t hurt you.

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if your name is in white it means i couldn’t tag you for some reason. i’m very sorry :(

[jienem]

Head cannon story

"Sebek, it's nice to see you too." Your tone was casual, unbothered by his sudden demand.

SEBEK ZIGVOLT

---

"Move before I make you."

Sebek's sharp glare fixed on you, his eyebrows furrowed deeply as his slitted eyes seemed to burn with irritation. You met his gaze with calm resolve, not backing down. You were at the library, tucked away in a small, secluded corner that you had chosen for some quiet reading time. This was your little haven, far from the usual chaos, perfect for enjoying the novel you'd finally saved enough to buy. Sebek, however, had different plans.

"This is my seat, human. How dare you take it from me," he seethed. Surprisingly, his voice was lower than usual—perhaps a rare courtesy, considering there were many students and even Trein was nearby. You raised an eyebrow at the toned-down Sebek but said nothing about it.

"I'm sorry, but I'm not moving." You gestured to the other tables, all occupied. "Besides, every table is packed. So, I'm staying here."

His eyes narrowed, frustration radiating off him in waves, but you stayed rooted, not willing to give in. For a moment, you thought he might force the issue, but then, to your surprise, Sebek pulled out a chair and sat down across from you, the movement sharp and almost petulant. The textbook he slapped onto the table was thick enough to make a resounding thud, and he immediately buried himself in it, ignoring you completely

"Why?" you asked after a pause, still caught off guard by his behavior.

Sebek didn’t look up from his book, though his scowl deepened. "Shush, human. I'm being generous. I don't have time to entertain your stubbornness. I have a responsibility to achieve the highest marks for the sake of Waka-sama."

His words were tense, as if he were gritting his teeth through his forced patience. You couldn't help but feel a twinge of embarrassment, sitting there with your light novel while he pored over academic texts with such intensity. For a brief second, you wondered if you were wasting your time reading for pleasure while Sebek’s ambitions seemed so focused.

Still, you returned to your book, though your concentration was broken by the odd contrast between you two. The tension between you ebbed slowly, replaced by an awkward yet comfortable silence. Minutes passed, and despite his earlier hostility, Sebek’s focus on his studies remained steadfast—though his ever-present scowl never softened.

You couldn’t help but chuckle softly at his intense concentration. It was almost as if he was battling the textbook itself. His sharp ears twitched at the sound, and he shot you a glare. "What’s so funny, human?"

"Nothing," you said, your lips twitching into a grin despite yourself.

Sebek, however, wasn't satisfied. His eyes flicked down to your book, and he scoffed.

"That book..." he muttered, disdain dripping from every word. "It’s absurd. The story was weak, and the characters—especially the knight prince—were utterly pathetic. A disgrace to warriors everywhere."

You frowned, genuinely surprised. "You’ve read it?"

"Unfortunately." His tone dripped with disdain. "The knights were incompetent, and the relationship between the 'knight prince' and the human was laughable at best. Blasphemous, even."

You shook your head, amused by how riled up he was getting over a fictional story. "I don't think it’s that bad. The relationship between the knight prince and the human is actually kind of sweet."

Sebek scoffed, leaning back in his chair with crossed arms. "Sweet? You find such foolishness sweet?"

"Well," you began, trying to find the right words. "When they first meet, the knight prince is so uptight, so proud. Kind of like you, honestly." You grinned when you saw his frown deepen at the comparison, but continued. "He’s treated as a spoiled, so naturally, his actions come off as heartless. He’s stubborn and selfish, sure, but what I love about the story is how the human doesn’t try to change him. They accepted him for who he is and they know he’s too stubborn."

Sebek’s glare softened slightly as he listened, though his expression remained unreadable. You traced your fingers over the book’s cover, smiling softly as you continued. "It’s the knight prince himself who chooses to change. Not for anyone else, but because he wants to be worthy of the person he loves. He becomes better, for her."

Your voice had grown gentle, your thoughts drifting to the story’s heartfelt moments. Sebek, on the other hand, remained silent, watching you closely. His usual sharpness had faded as he seemed to process your words. For a fleeting moment, his gaze softened, his slitted eyes flickering with something you couldn’t quite place.

"This story," you added with a soft chuckle, "was one of my favorites back in my world. It’s funny how similar the themes are to things here but still different. " You read the title aloud, mumbling something while completely missing the way Sebek’s eyes lingered on you.

The silence stretched on for a moment longer, Sebek’s attention still fixed on your face. He quickly looked away, his ears turning a faint shade of red as he returned to his book. "It’s still a ridiculous story," he muttered under his breath, though the bite in his words had lessened.

"Perhaps," you mused with a smile. "But sometimes, the most ridiculous stories have the most heart."

"Cease your rambling, human. You’re disturbing my study," he shot back, though without much force. You could tell, however, that he was no longer as focused on his textbook as before.

And so, the two of you sat there in comfortable silence once more. The library around you was bustling, but in that little corner, it felt like the world had shrunk down to just the two of you. Every now and then, you caught Sebek sneaking glances at you, though he would always immediately pretend to be deeply engrossed in his book whenever you looked up.

You didn’t mind. After all, in his own way, Sebek was just like the knight prince—stubborn, proud, and trying to become better, even if he would never admit it aloud.

DEUCE SPADE

“Yo, Deuce, you up for some pranks?” Ace’s voice broke through the peaceful quiet, appearing in Deuce’s vision from above, wearing his signature mischievous grin. Deuce, lying on the grass beneath the large oak tree, sighed, shaking his head.

“Too tired to do anything right now,” Deuce groaned, his voice hoarse with fatigue. “Just… leave me alone, Ace. Do something that doesn’t involve breaking the rules, would you?”

Ace shrugged, rolling his eyes. “Lame. Suit yourself. More fun for me,” he said, turning to walk off, whistling as he disappeared from sight, leaving Deuce behind, staring up at the clear blue sky.

Deuce closed his eyes for a moment, feeling an overwhelming sense of exhaustion that tugged at him, both physically and mentally. He wasn’t sure why, but today had been draining in a way he couldn’t quite explain. As he lay there, his mind drifted, thoughts wandering back to memories of his mom, of home, and of the promise he made to be a better student—a better person.

Before he knew it, Deuce felt sleep beginning to pull at him. But when he awoke, it wasn’t peace he found. His body was covered in sweat, his head felt like it was on fire, and his limbs ached as though they were weighed down by invisible chains. He groaned, trying to sit up, but the dizziness hit him hard, making his vision blur. He had no choice but to lean back against the cool grass for support, breathing heavily.

He didn’t notice the approaching footsteps until a gentle, warm hand rested on his shoulder, its warmth contrasting with the cold sweat clinging to his skin. The touch sent a jolt of awareness through his foggy mind, but it was still hard to focus. His vision blurred, the world around him tilting.

The voice was soft yet firm, cutting through the haze clouding his mind His body instinctively reacted to the familiar tone, though his head felt heavy, almost disconnected from his body. He blinked rapidly, trying to force his eyes to focus on the figure in front of him. The sunlight filtering through the trees only deepened the shadows around the person's face, making it harder to see clearly.

“Deuce!”

The voice called again, more urgent this time. He could hear the concern, almost bordering on panic. He strained to make out the face but his vision refused to cooperate, swirling in and out of focus. He tried to stand up buth his legs gave out beneath him, and before he could register what was happening, his body collapsed forward.

Strong arms caught him, cradling him against a firm chest. His head lolled as the person knelt down, their hold steady, keeping him from sinking to the ground. Deuce vaguely felt the press of a hand against his cheek, a quiet gasp escaping the person as they registered just how feverish he was. Their touch, cool against his overheated skin, sent a shiver down his spine.

“Hang on, Deuce. You’re burning up…”

The words floated in his ears, distant and muffled, but there was something about the way they said his name—soft. He tried to respond, but his throat was too dry, his body too weak. His vision was swimming, the world around him dimming. All he could focus on was the scent—something familiar, comforting—surrounding him as they held him close.

Before he could make sense of it, exhaustion pulled him under like a heavy tide. His consciousness slipped away, and the last thing he registered was the steady thrum of their heartbeat, the way their arms tightened protectively around him as they whispered, "I’ve got you."

And then, everything went dark.

When Deuce woke again, he found himself in the infirmary, tucked beneath crisp white sheets. The familiar sterile scent of the room and the faint ticking of a clock greeted him, disorienting him for a moment. It was dark outside, the moonlight spilling in through the window.

He jerked upright, his mind racing. What time is it? Oh no his dorm rules! He wasn’t supposed to stay out this late.

Before he could panic, Professor Crewel strode into the room, his eyes glinting as always behind his thin-rimmed glasses. "You finally woke up, pup," Crewel remarked, placing a bowl of soup on the small tray beside the bed. "You should eat before it gets cold."

Deuce blinked, rubbing his eyes. “What happened? How long have I been out?”

"You passed out from exhaustion and a fever," Crewel said, arms crossed. “Another student found you in time and brought you here. Good thing too. Your body clearly needs more rest than you’ve been giving it. Now eat."

Deuce muttered his thanks, taking the bowl of soup in his trembling hands. The warmth from the bowl seeped into his palms, providing a little comfort.

“And don’t worry about your housewarden," Crewel added as Deuce took a sip of the soup. "I’ve already spoken to him and he sends his well wishes. Focus on recovering. It’ll take a few days."

Relief washed over Deuce as he nodded. The soup was simple but delicious, and the warmth it brought made him realize just how starved his body was. Crewel, satisfied that Deuce was eating, turned to leave.

“Thank you, Professor,” Deuce called softly as Crewel disappeared through the door.

As the days passed, Deuce slipped in and out of consciousness. Each time he woke, there would be a fresh bowl of food and a cold handkerchief on his forehead. Whoever had taken the time to care for him never stayed long enough for him to wake fully and meet them. There was always this gentle touch, a warmth that lulled him back to sleep before he could open his eyes.

One day, Deuce decided he wasn’t going to sleep. He lay there with his eyes closed, feigning slumber when he heard the door open quietly. He tensed when he felt that familiar warm hand gently press against his forehead. The fever had finally broken. Then he heard a soft, familiar voice.

“It’s finally down… good.”

The voice was unmistakable. It was you.

Deuce’s heartbeat quickened, but he couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes. You gently caressed his cheek before placing a fresh towel on his forehead, your touch lingering for a moment longer. He wanted to say something, but the words wouldn’t come. Before he knew it, you were gone again, and he remained there, his thoughts swirling.

By the next day, Deuce had fully recovered. Professor Crewel checked on him once more, deeming him fit to leave the infirmary. As Deuce gathered his belongings, he noticed a small note nearby.

'Congratulations on your recovery.' It was simple, unsigned, with a small doodle of a flower at the bottom of the paper.

Deuce smiled, his chest warm. He didn’t need a signature to know who had left it.

Later that day, you were sitting in the cafeteria, chatting with Grim as he rambled on about some mischief he had gotten into earlier. You were mid-bite when your vision was suddenly blocked by a bouquet of red roses. Startled, you looked up, only to find Deuce standing behind you, his chest brushing lightly against your back as he leaned over.

“Thank you, Prefect,” he said, his voice low, his face a little flushed. "For taking care of me."

Your mouth opened in surprise, cheeks growing warm as his words sank in. You hadn’t expected him to figure it out, let alone confront you about it. "It’s… it’s nothing," you mumbled, looking away, your fingers hesitantly wrapping around the bouquet he had thrust into your hands.

Grim, sitting beside you, looked on with utter confusion. “Huh? What’s going on? What’s with the flowers?”

Ace, who had just joined your table, gawked at the two of you, his brow furrowed in disbelief. “Yuck. What happened to both of you?”

Your face flushed an even deeper shade of red, while Deuce—completely unfazed by Ace’s comment—sat down across from you, a satisfied look on his face. His usual tough-guy demeanour softened just a little, though there was still that hint of bashfulness in his eyes as he watched you cradle the roses in your lap.

Grim shook his head. “This is weird. What did I miss?”

You tried to focus on your lunch, but every time you caught Deuce’s eye, you felt the heat rise back to your cheeks.

And despite the teasing from your friends, you couldn’t help but smile.

[lavendermin]

Please don't leave us hanging from the Jing yuan drabble I'm afraid you awoken something in me (take your time also take good care of yourself 💖💯💯)

If you mean the little drabble of jing yuan being told he’s going to have 8 kids in the future, I have soooo many thoughts I’m trying to put together. He makes me insane, anon 🫠💗💗💗

a continuation based off this post below

cw | pregnancy, breeding kink, fem reader

Needless to say the words linger in his mind for the rest of the day. They play over and over in Jing Yuan’s head. He needs to process them, but what’s there to process?

Coming from the Master Diviner of all people, it was a prominent future she saw. It tells him two things: one, Fu Xuan has been checking up on him (this one is her job actually) and two, he’ll be quite busy with his spouse soon.

How soon? Jing yuan can’t help but wonder. And he didn’t want to pry with Fu Xuan. Best not to give her the upper hand with something to tease him with.

“Something on your mind, love?” Your question brings him out of his pondering. He takes a seat on the couch next to you, a quiet sigh leaving his lips as he sinks into the plush comfort.

“Just a few things I have to do.” His reply is vague and the smug smile he wears makes you raise a brow.

You shuffle over to straddle his thighs, nimble hands working into his tense shoulders.

“A lot of work recently? Will you be busier?”

He chuckles, closing his eyes to relish the attention you give him.

“Mm. Something along those lines.”

“Want me to run a bath for us?”

His hands absentmindedly settle on your hips. “A little later. Haven’t even kissed my wife yet.”

You can’t help but smile with a little roll of your eyes, easily giving in and placing a peck to his lips. It’s chaste and loving—a sincere ‘welcome home’. But as Jing Yuan chases your lips, it’s clear there’s something more he’s after.

You pull away breathless, a string of saliva connecting you both. It’s a little obscene, even for him. “J-Jing–”

He cuts you off as his lips slot over yours again, his tongue pushing into your mouth greedily. This kind of possessiveness was rare with him. It lit a fire in your belly when he got like this. But…

“Jing Yuan– Wait,” you lightly push him off you. His lips continue to feverishly press kisses to your jaw and neck. A sharp gasp leaves you as his hands start to slowly grind you back and forth on his thigh. “L-Love, I’m ovulating. We can’t– It’s too risky.”

It wasn’t like him to be this lost to reason. A rumble akin to a growl leaves him as soon as you mention it. By now your neck is littered in marks he’s sucked to the delicate skin there. Jing Yuan is breathless as he uses all the resolve he has left to stop, his breath hot against your bare chest where he was already pulling down your top.

You can’t help looking at him with concern. In an instant, he looks up at you with composure back under rein. His smile is sweet, devilish as it hides the insatiable hunger that’s growing at an alarming rate.

“All the more reason to make love to my precious wife, wouldn’t you say?”

With the opportunity presented to himself and the tangible future of his wife, lovely and pregnant, he thinks himself a fool not to start now.

You chuckle at first, assuming it’s some of Jing Yuan’s usual teasing. But as his eyes lock with yours, unwavering and pupils blown wide with lust as his arms press you further against his broad body, it dawns on you that he’s completely serious.

“You– We,” you stutter as you feel your core throb with a surge of need. Damn those hormones during your ovulation. In a small, shaky voice you ask, “I thought you said you wanted to wait until you retired… Do you really want to try for a baby?”

There’s a glimmer in your eyes, chest tight with a flood of different emotions. Anticipation, unabashed lust, adoration.

Jing Yuan responds with a chuckle, opting to gently pull your face for a kiss. This one is only a light simmer of the ardent need he has to breed you until dawn.

“If you’re agreeable, of course. There’s a saying from a few star systems down that says life is what happens when you’re busy making other plans. I’ve already made you my wife, I’d love to also make you a mother.”

The bright smile that breaks on your face is all the answer he needs as you pull his face in to litter kisses all over his face, ending by going in for a kiss that leaves him smiling like an idiot. Your idiot.

Jing Yuan has no plans to retire soon, but officially starting his family rejuvenated his resolve to continue as general for a while longer. There was still work to be done to keep the Xianzhou safe and ensure the era of peace continues for his children. He’ll have to thank Fu Xuan later for the slip of her tongue.

And it’s no surprise that making love to you for the next few consecutive days proves fruitful a couple weeks later.

Gossip and rumor spreads fast, especially with Jing Yuan being general of the Luofu. He’s constantly in the eye of the public. Once your tummy starts showing a bit more, he can’t help but stroll around proudly with you by his side—his hand protectively on your belly whenever he can. The people call your pregnancy a sign of abundant good luck, an omen for exceptional good to come in the future. Likewise, Jing Yuan is positively over the moon as a soon-to-be-father.

He can’t wait to hold his twin girls in a few months.

And after that, he can breed you again. And again. And again. It’s in his future, after all.

[dedalvs]

it's fascinating to me how endlessly complicated High Valyrian seems to be when you answer questions about it. Is there any language in the world more or less at the same level of complexity?

It depends how you're thinking of complexity. All the languages of the world are equally complex. They have to be, because they all need to perform the same function, and they're all used by the same human brains living inside the same humans living human lives. I think English speakers (and hypothesize that, by extension, the same would be true of Chinese speakers, Hawaiian speakers, Vietnamese speakers, Swedish speakers) look at certain other languages and think of them as more complex in the meta sense because they are more morphologically complex.

By this, I mean in English, for a noun you need to know its singular and plural form—that's it. For a verb, you need to know its -s form, its -ed form, its -ing form, and, very rarely, its -en form. There is some irregularity in form for almost all of these (-ing appears to always be regular), but there aren't more forms, outside of "to be", which has a unique first person singular form.

And...that's it, really. We have adjectival comparison, I guess, but even that can be traded out for an expression (aside from "better" which can't be replaced easily by "more good", most comparatives can be replaced—e.g. you can say something is "more red" than something else even though you can also say it's "redder" than something else). There aren't many word form changes in English a user has to learn in order to be able to use those words in a sentence. The same is true of those languages I listed in the parenthetical phrase above.

Compare that to Spanish, where there are more word form changes for verbs in the present tense (indicative and subjunctive) than in the entirety of English. And that's just one tense for verbs! There's loads more that needs to be memorized; many more word form changes you need to know to be able to use words effectively in a sentence. And there are irregularities on top of that!

Is it the case, therefore, that Spanish is more complex than English?

Certainly, Spanish is more morphologically complex, but does that mean you can express more in Spanish than you can in English? Certainly not! So then what does it mean when we say Spanish is more morphologically complex than English? What's the upshot? What does it mean for the language user?

Perhaps it would help if we compare some Spanish verbs and their English translations:

hablabas "you were talking"

hablé "I spoke"

hable "you would speak"

The precise translation of these verbs will depend on context, but this is a fine example. These are all single words of Spanish. They're different forms that must be memorized, but they're single words. The English requires at least two words for each concept.

So which is more complex? On the one hand, you have fewer words but more forms. On the other, more words, and more words = bigger.

And that, essentially, is the crux of it.

Any time you have complexity baked into single words morphologically in one language, you'll find complexity in the form of multiword expressions in a less morphologically complex language. The meanings are always there(*), but they're expressed in different ways.

As English speakers, we're used to having to express things in multiword expressions, and a speaker of a given language will find their own language to be simple just because. We extend that to think of languages like ours as simpler than those that are different. But, in truth, it's six of one, half dozen of another. Furthermore, there's just as much complexity in languages with less morphological complexity. Consider the following expressions in American English:

I walked to the store. ✅

I walked to a store. ✅

I walked to store. ❌

That's pretty standard. English has articles and you need to use them, right?

I ate the dinner. ✅

I ate a dinner. ✅

I ate dinner. ✅

All those are okay. They don't mean the same thing—and, indeed, the first two have much more restricted contexts—but they're all okay. That's a little weird, isn't it?

Not as weird as this:

I made it by the hand. ❌

I made it by a hand. ❌

I made it by hand. ✅

The first two aren't just weird: they're yikes-a-doodle-do wrong. You might try to brush it aside and say that it's just an expression, and, sure, it is, but ask yourself this: how'd that expression come about in the first place? This one is actually from Shakespeare (Romeo and Juliet) and still works the same way in American English:

You kiss by the book. ✅

You kiss by a book. ❌

You kiss by book. ❌

And just for funsies:

He won by the nose. ❌

He won by a nose. ✅

He won by nose. ❌

You might think the way these shake has to do with what they stand for—that the semantics of the noun in question condition whether or not you can use articles—but consider the first one "store" and compare it to this one:

I walked to the Barnes & Noble. ✅

I walked to a Barnes & Noble. ✅

I walked to Barnes & Noble. ✅

Barnes & Noble is a store, but refer to it by title, and suddenly it's all okay.

Now, if your native language is English, ask yourself: when and how did you learn all of this? Did someone sit you down and tell you where to use which articles and where not to? I'm sure there was some level of instruction you got in elementary school (whether it was accurate or not), but how much of a difference do you think that made? Did you just not use articles before then? And even now, could you explain this? Do you even think about it? Or do you just do it—flawlelssly and effortlessly? Adult learners of English will tell you learning this stuff is a nightmare. Throw in phrasal verbs (pick up vs. pick out vs. pick on vs. pick up on vs. plain old pick) and suddenly English doesn't look too simple anymore.

Bringing this back to your question, when you look at High Valyrian, is there a natural language with an equal amount of morphological complexity? Sure. Maybe something like Latin. But understand that any language will be as complex—not more, not less: as. The only difference with High Valyrian, actually, is its vocabulary isn't as large (give me a couple decades), and it doesn't have nearly as many users as any natural languages. It's also being kept artificially small, in that the language is built up to fit a fictional reality, rather than being expanded to handle anything, the way modern languages are. But pick up any language and it will be equally complex.

(*) From above, it is not always the case that the same "meanings" will be in the equivalent translation of a given sentence. A good example is gender. If you say El río es largo in Spanish it means "The river is long" in English. Like, exactly that. There is no question that these two phrases are functionally equivalent. HOWEVER there is more information in the Spanish sentence. The words el, río and largo are all masculine gender. What does that mean? Nothing more than that they're not feminine. If you hear el in Spanish there are a limited number of words that can legally follow it. When you hear largo, you know that what it refers to has to be in the same class. The function of this is simply to enrich the signal. If you only hear "is large" in English from the previous sentence, you have no idea what noun is large. If you hear es largo in Spanish, you also don't know—but whatever that thing is, you know it has to be masculine. That means that if a Spanish speaker has to guess what es largo they were trivially have a better shot at guessing correctly than an English speaker guessing what "is large" (e.g. if an English speaker has a one in a million shot, a Spanish speaker has a one in 500,000 shot, because roughly half the nouns of Spanish are masculine and half feminine). This means, technically, there's more information in the Spanish sentence than the English sentence, and that information is not represented at all in the English sentence, and is, essentially, unrecoverable. But that "information" is more morphological in nature than semantic.