#after many hours and a cramped wrist i give these to you

[citrlet]

infant clothing set recolors by aoifae

because they deserve all the cute patterns and fun colors!

bgc standalones

15 items total: 4 tops, 4 bottoms, 4 outfits, 2 socks and 1 hat

all have the same 47 adorable swatches

download (free)

[yieldtotemptation]

RITUAL ft. Yujin

yujin x male reader smut

7k words

Let’s be clear: you’re well aware of what a monumentally stupid idea this is.

For you, it’s just a job. You’ve been fired from plenty before, and there will be plenty more after.

But for her, for Yujin, it’s her career. Her life. Her everything.

And yet, here, in the cramped confines of a bathroom stall, your hand on her ass and hers diving down your jeans; you can’t let go of the nagging suspicion that maybe that’s the fucking point.

“How much time do we have?” Yujin’s lips are on your neck, tiny, hot breaths tickling your skin, nimble fingers at your waist, negotiating with your zipper.

“We had fifteen minutes, an hour ago,” you remind her. “We’re gonna miss soundcheck.”

“It’ll be fine.” Yujin’s unbothered, dismissive of anything that isn’t freeing your cock from its denim prison. “They’ll wait for me. They always do.”

There’s that hint of arrogance, that unshakeable confidence of youth, the invincibility that comes with being that absurdly hot. You can’t blame her at all for it.

What Yujin wants, she gets. You've seen it first hand.

It’s one of the many things you’ve learned about her over the past few weeks.

Well one of the few that don’t concern how good her cunt feels when she rides you, or how her eyes roll to the back of her head when you hit that spot just right, or the way her voice goes hoarse when she screams your name.

“Oh, it’s so perfect.”  Yujin’s seen your cock before, tasted it, taken it, had it in every way possible (in every place available), yet that still doesn’t stop her eyes from lighting up the second she sees it springing out from the waistband of your briefs, standing tall and throbbing painfully. “I’d say this is worth being late for.”

You’ve got a groan for her when she takes you into her hand, her grip firm and familiar. A half-hearted protest, too: “Yeah, but if we’re late, Princess Yujin gets a slap on the wrist, whereas I get fired.”

Yujin scoffs at that. “Well, I am your boss, so I think I get the last say if it comes down to it.”

Part of you wants to correct her, wants to explain that technically you’re not her employee but an independent contractor hired by the touring company. However, that part of you needs to shut the hell up, because the intricacies of employment contracts for musicians-for-hire really don’t seem pertinent at this moment.

Regardless, it all becomes trivial in the face of Yujin. So annoyingly, unfairly pretty, not even the unflattering harshness of the bathroom lights are capable of marring her in the slightest.

You’d probably give her the world if she asked.

She’d happily settle for your dick.

Her hand’s moving now, her fingers dancing around your shaft, exploring the contours of your cock from base to tip, and she's forcing you to resign, “Your logic, as always, is flawless.”

“See?” Yujin smiles up at you, that wide, confident grin that’s graced a million posters, been on every magazine cover and TV channel, and is now laser focused on you. “I’m always right, aren’t I?”

Her point's made with a squeeze around your length, stroking you in earnest, building to a rhythm that’s become so familiar over the past week—quick and precise, dangerously efficient. Like she was made for this. Made to tease your cock. As natural for her as breathing, really.

Yujin’s had plenty of practice, after all—on the morning of every concert, in the evening back at her hotel, on tour buses and in dressing rooms. On a plane once, even. It's the same torrid routine that’s now become a required pre-show ritual. A quiet spot, a secluded room, and she steals you away, bringing you to the brink and back.

And to think it all started because she asked you to help her ‘calm her nerves’.  

Or more correctly, fuck all the worries and concerns out of her pretty little head.

Still, she's never pushed it this far, never cut it this close.

You lean back against the stall door, your breath catching in your throat, the cheap plastic giving slightly under the pressure. Outside you can hear it, hear the bustling sounds of the venue coming to life—staff moving about, the distant roar of fans, the occasional clang of sound equipment. But in here, it’s overpowered by the noisiness of her palm sliding along your shaft, slick with her saliva, and it fills the small space, echoing across the cold tiles beneath your feet.

She’s undeniable—you know you’ve spoilt her. You’ve let her get her way with you far too many times, let her push this arrangement past any semblance of professionalism. Let her poison your mind with whispered sweet nothings that have you pounding her into the nearest available surface whenever she gets a twitch of stage fright.

But you’re also acutely aware of the fact that without these moments, without the promise of her tight, wet cunt wrapped around your cock, you’d be out there on that stage sleepwalking through just another concert with nothing but a drum kit and a bunch of songs you could play with your eyes closed.

“Fucking hell, Yujin, you look too good doing that,” you manage to get out, doing your best to endure her fingers gliding along your length, to last under the microscope of Yujin's dark, hungry eyes.

Another thing about Yujin: there's a special thrill she gets just from watching you, eyes glued to your face, taking in every single nuance of agony she’s wringing out.

“So fucking—” you settle on the most obvious word in your lexicon, “pretty.”

Yujin keens at the praise, her cheeks flush a deeper shade of pink, her teeth grazes the soft skin of her bottom lip. It's hardly new for her to hear this, to have people rave about how she's the hottest piece of ass this side of the equator. Yet there's something about hearing it from you that has her eating up your words every time. "Am I, now?"

You nod, voice momentarily failing you as she pumps your cock, her grip never wavering, never faltering, like she’s milking you, milking words of adulation from your lips.

You still haven't pinned down exactly what it is about you that unwinds Yujin, that makes her chase you so hard. Maybe it's because you're slightly older, a touch more mature than the usual plastic smiles that try to charm her out of her pants.

Or maybe it's because you said 'no' the first time she sniffed in your direction, and then made her scream 'yes' every time after.

Whatever it is, it has Yujin’s other hand reaching up to fiddle with the choker at her neck, flooding your mind with memories of your hand around her throat, her gagging on your length, her eyes watering while you fuck her face.

“And what about this outfit?” She asks, oh-so-innocently. “You think the fans will like it?”

“Yujin,” you say, like she doesn’t already know the very obvious answer. You’ve seen her in it all—tiny hot pants, tight little bralettes, that fucking leather catsuit. Yujin’s a fucking goddess in anything she wears, even a blind man would burn from the sheer heat radiating from her body. “You look fucking incredible, as always.”

“But?”

“No buts.”

“I heard a ‘but’,” Yujin ponders, her hand still working your cock like it’s her favourite toy. “Like: ‘but the shorts are too short, and everyone’s gonna see my cheeks when I bend over’.”

A blatant invitation to take a glance, to look down, down at those denim shorts so tight against her curves, the fabric stretched so taut that it might split open at any moment. Look down at her thick thighs, the way they flex and release as she jerks you off, every movement making the material cling tighter to her skin, moulding themselves around the outline of her perfect, round ass, those juicy cheeks that you’ve had the honour of spanking and biting and bruising.

“Or is it: ‘but your top is cut too low, your tits are gonna spill right out’?”

She’s drawing your gaze upwards, over that smooth, creamy expanse of skin, her stomach flat and toned, up the thin fabric of her flimsy excuse for a shirt, that dips just enough to tease the tops of her breasts, squeezed together and pushed up by her bra. It's so thin, wrapped so tight around her, highlighting the faint outline of her nipples poking through, already stiffened and calling for your tongue.

“Or maybe it’s: ‘the outfit looks good, looks nice and slutty, but you’d much rather rip it off me and just fucking ruin me like I deserve?'"

Yeah, that’s more like it.

You take that as permission, and reach for the hem of her top, eager to finally see those tits, to feel their warm weight in your palms, to have her stripped and laid bare like she knows you’d love to. But Yujin’s too quick, slapping your hand away with a laugh.

“But unfortunately, there’ll be none of that, drummer boy.” Yujin stops, her grip on your cock tightening for a brief, painful second. “Can’t have you ruining my outfit before I go on stage, can I?”

There’s a challenge there, a test to see if you’ll argue, maybe grab her, throw her against the wall and show her just how little of a fuck you give about anything that takes place outside of this toilet stall. But you know she’s right. You're the adult here, remember? Besides there’ll be plenty of time for that later.

You settle for her lips, leaning down, pressing the pad of your thumb against her chin. You tilt her head up towards yours, only for Yujin to pull back, leaving you kissing air. “Seriously?”

Yujin grins, clearly delighting in denying you again, in making your blood boil and cock throb. “Can’t ruin the make-up either,” she explains, making sure to bat her long, fake lashes for extra effect.

“So, I take it that means the pigtails are off limits too?” You ask, idly toying with the ludicrously slutty hairstyle that’s framing her face, bobbing slightly with every stroke she gives you.

“Now you’re learning.”

So, with a frustrated grunt, you keep your hands at your sides, resigning yourself to Yujin’s sweet torture. It’s maddening, just standing there, panting and so horny, at the mercy of Yujin’s slow strokes. “And no concern for my outfit, whatsoever.”

Yujin’s eyes wander over your choice of clothing, and laughs, rather insultingly, if you're honest. “I’m sure all the fans will be very focused on the drummer’s fashion choices,” she says, trusting you to pick up on the sarcasm.

You feign injury. “Ouch, I put a lot of thought into my clothing.”

“Sure you do. Thoughts like: how easy will it be for your little fuck buddy to tear them off?” Yujin’s thumb finds that sensitive spot just beneath the head of your cock, swiping over it with a smugness that’s both infuriating and incredibly hot.

“You’re going to get it later for that one,” you warn, your hand curling into a fist.

“Oh, I know.”

Yujin picks up the pace, her hand a blur, running up and down your shaft, fingers sliding across your slit, smearing the pre-cum that’s beaded there over your cockhead. And there’s a glint in her eye, that needy look that tells you she’s getting off on this, getting off on having you, having someone she shouldn’t be left alone with, squirm and beg and be so desperate for her.

“Look how big you are for me, daddy.”

There’s that word, that sweet, sweet ‘daddy’.

The first time she called you it was an accident, a slip of the tongue during a particularly intense moment when you had her against the window of her hotel, tits squashed against the glass, cunt dripping with your cum. But every time since, it’s been deliberate, calculated, a button she knows she can push to make you give it to her as rough as she wants; as rough as she craves.

“Look how big you are in my tiny hand.” She’s got you moaning now, melting between her fingers, bucking your hips for that extra bit of friction. “You love it when I jerk you like this, don’t you, daddy?”

‘Daddy’ again, rolling off her tongue like a fucking love letter, a song to send your head spinning and your cock pulsing in her hand.

There’s another challenge, can you last a little bit longer? Can you resist the urge to cum all over her fingers? Paint her pretty nails a fresh shade of white? Or would you rather wrap your hand around her lovely neck and force her to admit that she loves all this just as much as you do.

You swallow down the groan that’s building in your throat, your teeth grinding together to maintain some semblance of control. Yujin catches it, sees the effort it’s taking you, and she shakes her head, her lips pursed in a perfect little pout.

“Don’t hold back, daddy,” Yujin's chiding you, disappointed with your restraint. “I want to hear it. I need to hear how good it feels, how desperate you are. Need you to show me just how much you want to see me filled with your cum.”

She twists her hand down on your cock, squeezing when she reaches the base, her other hand coming down to cup your balls, tickling them with her fingers. That has a moan escaping your lips, a low, desperate sound that makes Yujin preen.

“That’s it,” she’s overjoyed, getting what she came for, basking in your pleasure, “tell me how much you want it, tell me how much you want to cum for me.”

And so you do. You tell her, your voice strained with the effort of keeping your orgasm at bay. Not yet, not until you’re deep inside her, not until you're sure that not a single drop will go wasted. “You're too fucking much, Yujin, too fucking hot,” you manage, the words a choked noise that you hope she can hear over the blood pounding in your ears. “You’re driving me fucking mad.”

Yujin’s strokes keep building, one on top of the other, and she’s pressing herself against you, the warmth of her, soft breasts pushing into your chest, her lips sucking at your neck, kissing into you hard. After all, who will notice? Who gives a fuck if the drummer shows up on stage with a few extra bruises on his skin?  

You fall into the crook of her neck, your forehead on her shoulder, as her lips make their way up your throat, across your jaw, until she’s nipping at your lobe, whispering in your ear, “You’re desperate for my cunt, aren’t you, daddy? You want to fill me up right before I go on stage?”

“Yujin,” you grit out, and you’re holding her, hands on those perfectly round cheeks, holding on for dear life, pulling her close to you so that she can feel just how right she is. The words spill out of you like a confession, “I need to fuck you now, Yujin. I need to feel your cunt, make you cum so hard you won’t be able to fucking move, let alone dance.”

And Yujin leaves one last, lingering kiss on your pulse. “So do it, daddy.”

Her words are a fucking gunshot, and you’re off to the races.

You spin her around so fast she yelps, your chest to her back, your cock trapped between her ass cheeks. Her shorts are barely an inconvenience, yank them down, denim catching on her hips, sliding down to her ankles, leaving her in just her panties.

Yujin gasps, the cool air meeting her bare skin, and she braces herself against the wall of the stall, needing something to keep her on her feet. She’s all soft curves and sweet smells, so insanely proportioned, like she's built for this, curvy and thick in all the right places.

While she’s distracted you sneak a kiss onto the creamy-white skin of her shoulder, hard enough to give her a mark to match yours, a badge of honour that brands her in the same way she’s done to you.

Her panties never stood a chance, completely drenched to the point of ruin, sticky with anticipation, snug against her lips. You pull them aside, thumb brushing against her swollen clit, making her hips jerk forward. She’s on your time now, you’ve got the green light to turn the tables and drag her through the same torment she’s put you through.

“Look at this,” you’re in her ear now, taunting, “you’re already so fucking wet for me.”

Yujin’s cheeks burn red, and she’s pushing back against you, grinding her ass into your cock. “Of course I am. I can’t help it,” she’s a little breathless, a little shaky, “I need it.”

“You’re so beautiful,” your hands like magnets on her bare ass, squeezing, marking her in places only you'll ever know. “So fucking beautiful.”

“Please,” Yujin whimpers, as you slide your finger down, between her legs, tracing her wet slit, testing her tightness, feeling her warmth, feeling how ready she is. “Please, fuck me now.”

You can’t resist her, you never can, not with so little time left and so much of her to ruin. Your cock dips, lining up with her pussy, the tip nudging at her entrance, and all it takes is one strong thrust, and you’re pushing into her, burying yourself to the hilt in a swift, brutal motion.

There’s a scream from her, a grunt from you, blending and echoing through the bathroom, bouncing off the tiles and the stall walls. Someone’s going to hear it, someone’s going to come in and see you fucking the star of the show and that’ll be it for the both of you.

But really, fuck all of that.

Fuck the concert, the venue staff, the fans, the tour managers, the PR nightmare that will follow.

Fuck everything that isn’t inside this stall, that isn’t Yujin’s tight cunt squeezing around your cock, that isn’t the way she’s shuddering in your arms, gasping your name, needing her daddy to fuck her harder, faster.

There's no easing her into it, not like you know you should. You fuck her hard, just like she’s begged. Your hips snap against her ass, the sound of skin slapping skin drowning out the noise outside, again and again, in and out, over and over.

Yujin’s never needed much to get started, always so easily soaked, so easily ready. She'd told you as much one late night (or one early morning): "I can take it, take anything, as long as it's coming from you. "

Her walls clamp down around you, she’s already pulsing, her cunt desperate to wring you dry. You’re gliding in and out of her, using her, letting her mold herself so perfectly around you, her juices coating your cock, making it slicker with every thrust.

“Yes—that’s what I fucking need.” Yujin cries out, her voice high-pitched, her head thrown back, and the flimsy plastic isn’t enough anymore, she needs you to hold her steady, to dig your fingers into her hips and nail her into the wall.

Each stroke, each thrust into her cunt, each time you fill her, stretch her—each one could be the last one, the one that has you exploding inside her. Could be the one that overwhelms you, the one that makes you forget where you are, that there’s anything that exists besides fucking this needy, little brat.

It’s the way Yujin clenches around you, tight and perfect, like she’s made just for you, like she’s never been fucked this way before, will never be again.

(Even though you have. Even though you will.)

Each time is like the first, you’re discovering her all over again, peeling back layers of this beautiful, untouchable idol, and finding something new, something beneath the sheen of purity and perfection. Something that makes you want to ruin her, bring her down to your level, to roll around the filth with the rest of you mere mortals.

And Yujin knows it.

There’s a need to make her feel it, and there’s her fucking pigtails, dangling in front of you like a carrot, flicking up and down in front of your face with every thrust. You need to grab them, to yank her back onto your cock, to force her to take it as hard as you want to give it. It’s almost too much to resist.

But even in your haze you know better. Instead, you settle for that choker on her neck, your thumb sliding under the black leather band, feeling the pulse of her blood racing beneath her skin. You grip it, tight, but not too tight. Just enough to make her gasp, to make her cunt tighten, to make her cry out—

“Gah—God—fuck—”

Strangled cries have her screaming, have her needing you to go deeper.

“Fuh—fuck—yes—right there—right—fucking—there—”

She’s chanting, almost sobbing, doing her best to take everything you’re giving her, everything she’s needs, everything she deserves. You’re tapping into that deep, dark desire within her. The one that gets off on being treated rough, the one that loves having a daddy, the one that needs to be nailed to a wall and reduced to nothing but a shaking, mewling mess of climaxes.

You dare to snake a hand under her top, you’re not going to mess her outfit, but that doesn’t mean you can’t get a taste of what’s underneath. Your fingers stretch under her bra, testing the elasticity of the cotton, before finally finding the swell of her breasts, cupping it, filling your hand with it.

Yujin’s moan is all the encouragement you need, a wordless permit to squeeze, to pinch her nipple, roll it between your thumb and forefinger until it’s a hard little nub.

“Oh fuck yes—touch me. You love touching me, don’t you?” She's feeling it, really feeling you, the stimulation of your palm on her breast, the sting on her nipples. “You fucking love my body.”

It’s the damn truth—these past weeks have been a crash course in Yujin, and you haven’t found an inch you didn’t immediately fall in love with. Every curve and dip and line, every soft place and every sharp edge; the weight of her in your arms, the way she fits against you, how she responds to your touch like she’s been waiting for it, for you, for fucking ever.

“Fuck, yes, just like that, daddy, just like that.”

“You’re so fucking perfect, Yujin. So tight, so wet, so fucking mine.”

You slur words into her, words that make her shiver, make her tremble against you, make her so fucking happy to hear them. It’s the words that she loves, hearing you talk like that, like she’s the only one who can make you feel this way. And maybe she is.

So you keep talking, keep whispering those loving, filthy soliloquies into her ear, keep telling her how good her cunt is, how desperate you are for her body, how much cum you have to give her. And her body has an answer for you each time, each syllable a caress that sends shivers down her spine.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful, Yujin. So beautiful when you’re like this, when you’re all mine.” You can feel it boiling up inside you, that pressure building with every smack of your hips against her ass. “I’m going to cum so hard for you, princess.”

There’s the guitar, the bass, the keys, the band tuning up outside, noise filtering into the stall, faint but unmistakeable, the only thing missing is the beat of the drums, the only thing missing is you.

Yujin’s grinning, knowing she’s the one keeping you occupied, knowing it’s her cunt that you’re buried in, that’s not letting you go.

“If only they knew,” she’s giggling like a schoolgirl (she might as well be with those pigtails), “if only they know how good you’re fucking me right now. They won’t have a fucking clue, will they?”

“Such a fucking tease, Yujin.”

She looks over her shoulder at you, and sends a coy, “Who, me?”

“Yes, you, you little slut,” you answer, not bothering to mince your words. Your hand tightens around her choker, not enough to cut off her air, just enough to keep her right there, panting and needy and yours. “You know exactly what you’re doing out there. I see how you dance, how you move. Like you’re forcing them to picture you fucking, making them all want a taste of what they’ll never have.”

The truth makes her shiver against you. “They all wish they could do this to me, all wish they could fuck me and fill me like you are.”

There’s a tension building inside her too, the blend of your words and the reality of the performance she’s going to have to put on afterwards. It has her body tightening like a bow string, ready to snap at any moment.

And you’re going to be the one to release it.

You venture a hand downwards, gracing over her stomach, her belly button, until you reach the wetness of her pussy. There's her clit, ripe for teasing.

You fuck your cock in deeper still, matching the swirl of your finger with the pounding of her cunt, timing it just right to make her leak all over you.

“That feels so—fuck,” Yujin purrs, so, so blissful. “Only you—only you, daddy. No one else will get to have me—fuck—fuck me like this.”

“Whenever I want, any time I want,” you’re telling her, promising her, even though it’s more likely to be the opposite. That it’s Yujin that will seek you out on those lonely nights and those quiet mornings, or just whenever she’s bored and needs someone to fuck all the nerves and stress out of her system.

“They’d be so—gah—so jealous if they knew. I see it when they look at me—how much they want me,” she’s straining to say it, but needs you to hear it, needs you to know it. “I see it—read it in places they think I don’t look.”

She’s lost, lost in a sea of her own musings, thoughts of how everyone with a working pair of eyeballs wants to fuck her. Relishing in the knowledge that she's found the only person that can fuck her right, and that their cock is buried in her cunt, their fingers working her clit.

“They call me a slut, a whore, but that’s not true, is it, daddy? I only fuck you,” Yujin repeats, “I’m only a slut for you.”

There’s an edge to her voice, a raw, animalistic need that makes you want to prove her right. Want to erupt inside her so badly that she’s forced to carry a part of you inside her when she’s on stage.

“Yours to use,” Yujin taunts. “To fuck, to fill...”

Jesus.

“To break.”

Fucking.

“Maybe I should let you rip off my clothes, fuck up my hair—fuck—my makeup. Go out on stage with all the marks you’ve left on me, with all your cum—gah—all over me.”

Christ.

It hits you like a sledgehammer, adding another layer of taboo to this already fucked up situation. The thought of it is fucking wild, ridiculous to contemplate, you’re sure it’s all just part of the game, another button Yujin’s pressing for her own thrill… right?

“Then everyone would know—everyone would know that it’s you—that you’re the one that’s fucking my brains out when no one else is watching.”

You’re all over her and deep inside her, lips on her throat, her jaw, hands at her tits, her cunt. Devouring her, all of her, from those tightly binded pigtails all the way down to her carefully manicured toes.

And then she stops dancing around the subject and demands it.

“Ruin me. Fuck me, please, daddy. Just—kiss me, now.”

“You said—”

But Yujin’s already twisting around at her waist, angling her body so she can seize your lips, smear her lipstick across your teeth, flood your mouth with her tongue. She’s got fistfuls of your shirt, pulling you closer, as if she’s trying to claim you, claim every inch of you as property of An Yujin.

Now that you’ve got permission, you thread your fingers into her hair, gripping tight, pulling her by the pigtails like you’ve been dying to, kissing her like your life depends on it.

You’re getting rougher with her now, tugging her head back, peeling her lips away from yours, sliding your cock out of her. You ignore the whine, ignore the tears. It’s game over for her makeup, for her hair, her outfit. She’s a beautiful, chaotic mess—so shamelessly yours, so perfect in every way.

The separation barely lasts a second, you’re lifting her up, turning her and depositing her atop the toilet seat, spreading her legs wide, putting her on display.

This is the real show—Yujin looking up at you, eyes dark with need, tits out and heaving with every breath; thick, toned thighs glistening with her juices, your precum; and her pussy, all puffy and so ready to be filled again.

“Daddy—” Yujin starts, and ends, as you’re inside her again. Inside her tight, welcoming cunt, her back arching off the cold porcelain, her legs wrapping around you, ankles crossing and locking in place.

Just one hard thrust and you see it—it's in the watering of her eyes, the wobble of her lips.

She’s close, and you’re not far behind.

“Please.”

It’s barely a whisper, nearly lost somewhere between your haggard breaths and the sloppy wet sounds of your bodies colliding.

But you hear it, and it’s all you need.

It’s her pigtails in your hands again, strands wrapped around your fist, and you’re taking a front row seat in the spectacle that is Yujin falling apart.

“Please, fuck me.” There it is again, louder now. “Fuck my tiny little pussy, daddy. Make me yours.”

It’s every single sound out of her mouth, every folding and crumpling of her perfect features, every single drop of sweat sliding down her neck, every time she says fuck me, or break me, or over and over again—make me yours.

You want to savour this, burn this image into your mind, live off the memory of Yujin’s cunt pulsing around you, but there’s no time, no time to do anything but kiss her again; clumsy, hungry, wet, open-mouthed kisses.

“Please,” she’s biting into your lip, licking into your mouth, clawing at your shoulders, “say my name.”

“Yujin,” you give it to her, offer her name like a sacrifice. “Yujin, I’m so fucking close.”

The porcelain is doing its best to bear your weight, to survive the punishment you’re hammering into Yujin’s tight, perfect body, to outlast your relentless fucking. “Cum for me daddy, cum for me.”

But it’s her, it’s Yujin that crosses that threshold first, coming apart until she’s nothing but a mess of whimpers, moans, and cries of your name. Of pleases and thank yous, until she’s just a hot, tight cunt getting used for your pleasure.

“Fuck—fuck—I’m cumming—daddy, I can’t—it’s so—”

It’s all there across her face, all in the way she’s shaking, the way her cunt is gripping you, her walls fluttering around your cock like a fucking heartbeat, tightening and releasing in endless waves that crash down on her.

“So good—you’re so good—you’re so—fuck—fuck—cum—cumming—"

Her entire body seizes, tenses all at once, and you’d be worried if you hadn’t seen it countless times before, if you didn’t know to expect her to lose all control of her limbs, to not be able to do anything but stare at you, all teary eyed and feeling so, so good.

But you keep going, hips pumping, cock driving into her, keeping her steady, helping her climb to her peak, filling her tender, creaming cunt over and over again. You want to make this last, want to keep her like this, unable to think about anything but you, unable to think about anything that isn’t your cock.  

“So fucking good for me, Yujin, so good, princess.”

“God, fuck—daddy!”

It’s the praise that pushes her over, unravels her, has her mouth frozen in the shape of your name, like the idea of you is the only thing keeping her tethered to this world. That, and her nails digging into your skin, adding to the tapestry she’s already engraved on your back.

And then the silence comes, and that’s the real killer.

Yujin’s always loud when she gets fucked, always desperate to tell you how good it feels, needy for you to know how good you are to her. But when she cums—when she loses herself on your cock—it’s like she relinquishes all ability to articulate, to make any sound other than a whine or a gasp.

You know what she wants to say—don’t stop, please, don’t stop—know what she wants to tell you—thank you, daddy, thank you, thank you, thank you—and it’s your responsibility to see her through it, to plunge your cock deep into the smooth, velvety muscles of her cunt, to have her rocking and creaming all over you, again and again and again.

And then she falls apart.

So beautifully, so perfectly.

But you’re not done yet.

Your thrusts come in thick and fast, making the whole stall shudder, making your vision swim. Yujin’s still reeling, snapped back into the land of the living by the force of your fucking.

She’s leaning forward, pressing her forehead to yours, able to form whole words again, whispering something that you can’t quite catch, something sweet and needy and demanding.

“I’m all yours, daddy.”

It’s a trigger she’s been waiting to pull—the moment she says it, you let go.

There’s no holding back anymore, you’ve been fighting it for what feels like hours, trying to keep your shit together, but it’s no use. You’re going to cum, the only question is, where.

You can’t shake the image of her covered with you, painted all over her face, her chin, her neck, her chest, her perfect, perfect tits. You want it, want to see it realised, want to parade her out on that stage looking like a fuck doll—your fuck doll.

But not now, not today.

So instead, you bury yourself inside her, so, so deep. Yujin’s nodding, teasing “deeper, deeper, please,” begging you with her whole body, watching you with those eyes, half-lidded and glazed over, licking at her lips, bracing for you to fill her.

It’s your turn to shake, your turn to let go of that knot in your gut that’s been twisting ever since she dragged you into the bathroom, pushed you into the toilet stall and told you she needed this.

You throb, tighten, the base of your spine tingles, and that’s all the warning you get before you’re cumming, rushing Yujin’s greedy cunt with your hot, sticky load.

“Daddy, daddy—daddy—yes!”

It’s an addiction now, she needs your cum like she needs oxygen, and you need to fill her as if you’ll die if you go another day without pounding her cunt.

“So good, so fucking good inside me—all yours, all yours—"

It’s a thousand blissful little moments stacked on top of each other, her clenching, you throbbing, her grinning, you grimacing, but it all comes together in this heated space that leaves you both boneless, breathless catastrophes.

Yujin’s the first to come down, slumping against you, drooling down your chest, staining your shirt with a sheen of her saliva. Her legs go slack around you, finally letting go of your waist, still shaking in the aftershocks of her orgasm. You can feel your cum leaking from the corners of her cunt, oozing down the inside of her thighs, sliding past her knee, down to her ankles.

A finger under your chin to tilt your head to her, to kiss you. One of those quiet, intimate kisses that will have you spending the night trying to decode its meaning. But, for now, there’s just the salt of her sweat and the sweetness of her lip gloss.

“Thank you, daddy,” Yujin says, so sweetly, so sincerely, and it’s like a knife twisting in your chest.

“Always.”

And slowly, carefully, you’re pulling out of her, even though she’s still clenching, still trying to keep you in. Your cock exits her with an audible slosh, and you need to brace yourself against the stall door, lean into it hard as you take in the sight of Yujin, sprawled on the toilet seat, well fucked and utterly ruined in all the best ways.

She reads your mind, “You really made a fucking mess of me.”

“I only claim fifty percent of that responsibility.”

Yujin pouts, makes sure you’re watching her, and dips her fingers into her defiled cunt. “This is all you, daddy.”

She drags out her digits, holding them up for you, your cum glistening on them like a prize. And then she’s slipping them between her lips, flicking out her tongue to catch a drop that dribbles down her wrist. She licks it all up, slow, savouring it, making sure you’re watching, making sure your eyes are glued to her as she devours the last traces of you from her hand.

That sound she makes, that little “Mmm” of satisfaction has you feeling heady, makes your cock twitch, eager to be back inside her, to fill her right back up so you can watch her do it all over again.

“Cumslut,” is the only word you have her for her, as she slides her fingers in deeper, tickling the back of her own throat like it's the most natural thing to do. Her cheeks hollow out, and after a long, dramatic suck, she pulls her fingers from her lips with a wet pop, all shiny and clean.

She corrects you. “Your cumslut.”

And then a switch is flipped, and she’s putting herself back together.

Yujin’s graceful, at odds with the confines of the cramped bathroom stall she’s just been fucked in. It amazes you every time, the way that she moves. All liquid and soft, as if she’s not really touching anything, as if she’s floating.

She licks droplets of cum off her lips, scoops the remainder up her legs, her thighs, and you’re just staring, gawking at her with something akin to awe, because she’s just so fucking beautiful, so utterly composed, so untouchable.

You help her, you try, help her tug down her shirt, pull up her panties, her shorts, help her slip back into the role of Yujin, the perfect idol, the star that can’t be tarnished by something as dirty as a quickie on top of a toilet seat.

She nods towards the stall door, and you let her past you, help hold her steady as you lead her to the bathroom mirror, give her a chance to assess the damage you've wrought on her. The smudged lipstick, the kiss bruises, the hair sticking to her neck—all evidence of you.

And yet, she smiles, looking back at you over her shoulder. Like she’s got it all under control, like you haven’t ruined her, not really. Not yet.

“Well, that’s something,” she says, her voice a little too breathless for the breeziness she’s aiming for.

But then she’s got her compact out, the tiny bag she's had hidden in her back pocket specifically for occasions like this. You stand back, giving her space to work her magic. Cheeks are patted for colour, lips glossed for plumpness, eyes relined with that dangerously smoky look that makes them pop.

“How do I look?” She turns, looking at you through the mirror, hand on her hip, posing.

“Like you’ve just been fucked in a toilet stall, honestly.”

That makes her laugh. “Good.”

She’s heading to the door, smoothing out her skirt, fixing her top, stopping along the way to give your forearm a quick squeeze.

There’s that look in her eyes again.

One you’ll be revisiting once the show’s over and the doors are closed.

“I’ll take off first,” she says, tying her pigtails back in place. “Wouldn’t want to make it too obvious.”

You catch her hand before she can get away, pulling her face close to you, wiping away a stray bit of cum still shining on her chin. “Good luck out there.”

And there’s that smile. That smile that’s going to make an audience of thousands fall in love with her. That’s going to make you fall in love with her, if you’re not careful. “Don’t need it,” she says, pressing her lips to yours, ruining her lip gloss all over again. “I got you, daddy.”

[stararch4ngelqueen]

hey! just hopping on the period train here…can we get tender, soft, tooth-rottingly sweet ghost with a reader on their period? reader has cramps and will 100% try to overexert themselves if not directly managed lol. Anyway love your work🤍🤍🤍

The unintentional period train 😆 I’ll try, haven’t written about Ghost in a hot minute.

It’s not as grand as I’d like it to be, but I think it’s pretty good for a quick half hour ✨let’s say this is at home too for convenience sake

—

Simon wouldn’t be aware you were on your cycle at first, which makes the most obvious sense.

You; his sweet, bombshell of a woman, had a tendency to hide what irritated you. Physical or not.

Moving into a new house was a bit of a process, one that had a lot of challenges to overpass before enjoying the rewards. You believed their wouldn’t be as many boxes, or as many things to haul off the moving truck and through the front door.

Simon would then assume something was wrong by the amount of breaks he’d find you taking. Moments you’d catch your breath, stand completely still with a hand along your side, or sitting down in the passenger seat of the truck.

Try as well as you like, it’s his job to be concerned about your well-being. Exertion was a high price to pay in the military; sore muscles, lack of proper sleep, etc.

You weren’t in the military anymore. Pushing yourself wasn’t necessary inside your new home.

You figured this pain would go away. Exercise was always a factor to lessen cramps. An annoying tale, but sometimes effective.

Sometimes.

The more boxes you hauled, the quicker you’d walk, the more you’d pace yourself was met with more pain on your end.

“Go rest.” Came his voice from behind you, startling you after you settled some kitchen appliance boxes on your new marble counter.

“I’m fine,” you quickly state, turning your head to meet your husband’s gaze. “I’m okay—“

“That’s an order.” Simon states, leaving little to no room for doubt or denial. You’d frown, but he didn’t care, maintaining his ground with a firm brow and stern expression.

“Simon—“

“Now.”

You scoff, glaring up at him as if he asked something vile from you. Again, he didn’t care.

“Fine,” you bite back a bitter tone before leaving towards your bedroom. “You can finish unpacking all by yourself.”

Simon expected this, seemingly unfazed as he watched you go. He didn’t mind the attitude, he would’ve found it funny. He kind of did, but you didn’t see his smile.

He’d find you later curled up on a bare mattress, yanking blankets out from their boxes to wrap yourself up in. Your head settled on a pillow, his pillow, he recognized after a second glance.

He approached, proceeding to pull off your socks and shoes for you.

He pulls the blankets back after crawling into bed, per your irritation, only to apply a warm bottle compress along your tummy.

“M’sorry,” he murmurs into your ear, proceeding to lay the blankets back over you. Your raised hand stops him, your fingers grasping along his wrist.

Your quiet plea encourages him to join you in bed, clutching your body like a gentle wall of support. Occasionally, his hand would remain over the compress, moving it around along spots you desired it the most while his other massages the back of your neck.

“I’ll start unpackin’ in the morning,” Simon murmurs, his head settled ontop of your head, breathing in your sweet scented shampoo.

Your mouth opens to persist, but he beats you to it.

“No no, don’t wanna hear it. I’ll unpack the rest of the frame, an’ the sheets, give you a proper bed to rest on.”

Your silence meant you were listening, which makes him assume you’re growing irritated by his unique form of ‘persistence’.

“Sickness an’ in health, love,” He kisses underneath your earlobe, hearing your small sigh.

“I’m not sick.”

“You’re cranky.” A faint rumble of a chuckle erupts from his chest. “Often times I’d hear ya say you would get lobotomized back in the day for this type of behavior.”

“That’s what I used to tell Soap just to mess with him,” you faintly muse, nearly falling asleep from his rough hand providing the most gentlest of massages along your nape.

“Get some shut eye, sweetheart. Talk about your self diagnosis in the morning.”

-

I don’t know how to end this 🧍🏽‍♀️this is not proofread. Back on the grind.

[virtual-bunny]

Gojo and Squirt

bunny’s note: i haven’t been able to write a lot bc i have no motivation and it honestly upsets me, so this is probably trash

pairings: Gojo x chubby reader

WARNINGS: overstimulation, force, a bit of dub-con, short “fic”

Gojo would whine when you squirt.

Like he would be fingering you, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

“Please baby give it to me, please please.” He would whine.

And you have no idea what he’s even saying because his fingers feel way too good and you just keep gasping and moaning and tossing around the bed, holding onto Gojo’s hair.

Your moans turn into heavy breathing as Gojo starts too eat you out like his life depended on it, looking at you and fingering you without stopping, his face and hand covered in your juices.

“Satoru-!” You whine, but Gojo is in a trance, he could feel his arm and hand cramping up but he didn’t care. Your poor pussy was so sore it started to hurt. You tried pushing Gojo off but he would grab your wrist and look up at you.

“Don’t move me.” His face was smeared in shiny and white juices, his eyes so darken, you felt like could cum just by looking at him like this.

You tried to tell him to stop but he just couldn’t, he wouldn’t and didn’t stop.

Gojo liked to hold onto your love handles, squeezing them so hard it would leave marks. He loves holding onto your tummy for support, to bring you in closer. But it also made him go faster, and faster, and faster

So you squirted again, your whole body shaking, Gojo having to put his arm on you to restrain you. You cried out, telling him to stop, but Gojo would just laugh, thinking it was so funny that he could make you react this way.

And although you kept repeating to him that “is too much Satou~”, he didn’t care, he was selfish. He moaned and groaned every time he licked you, jerking himself off to your taste. (and your cries)

You were overstimulated, barely thinking. It didn’t matter how many times you’d tell him to stop, he wouldn’t listen. As time passed, you’d realize that Gojo never listened to your protests. You think it’s been about maybe an hour or so, and he was still going at it. Gojo only took two breaks.

One of them was to drink water.

And the other one was to make you sit on his face.

You had protested because you were self conscious, but Gojo only groaned and rolled his eyes, pushing you onto his face, his strong arms wrapped around you.

You didn’t even know you were grinding on his face until he gently pushed you away.

“I thought you didn’t want anymore?” He’d grin, but you didn’t hear him, you thought you’d lost your senses, the only thing you could feel was how your pussy was pulsating.

Gojo kept going, he didn’t care that you were crying, and he didn’t care that you felt like your soul was getting sucked out of your body, so you just let him do whatever it was he wanted to do to you.

You were his toy after all.

[iridescent-solstice]

Fic 1/2 made for the amazing @cinsilly for winning this contest I hosted a while back. I hope you like it and also thank you for participating in my silly little shenanigans. If I did my job right, hopefully you’ll join future events too! 🙆🏻‍♀️

The candle by his side burns faithfully as Julian leans over his cluttered desk. Wispy strands of his ginger hair wave back and forth as he grumbles in frustration. With an aching back and cramped wrists, his sleep deprived mind urges him to take a break.

But he won't. Because there is much to be done. Far too much.

He chides himself internally for not working enough. For not being fast enough. Because, despite the countless hours he’s spent here, there are still too many old journals to comb through. Too many documents he’s scribbled and had to scrap or re-read. He's frustrated. Tired. Hungry and extremely worried for all the people out there in worse conditions than he is. The physical states of those already infected aren't getting much better, and the count's temper is only getting worse. "DAMMIT WHY IS NOTHING WORKING!" He curses slamming his fist down on the poor table. It's like he's walking around in endless circles, isn't he? There has to be a cure! He chants in his head. With a library as huge as this, there must be something here about a plague spreading by beetles.

It’s almost beginning to feel like he’s drowning in pile and piles of unending assigned reading. Even with an apprentice, there’s still so much he has to do. If he doesn’t . . . No. Julian shakes the thoughts away. He doesn’t want to think about those consequences. Finding the cure is too vital a task to slack on. And he won't discover it if he spends all his time wondering about what will happen if he doesn't manage to uncover it. He can do it . . . Well, even if he couldn’t, there are too many people's lives at stake to not try his darn hardest. Too people relying on him. The countess. The citizens of Versuvia. The count. But most importantly . . . his apprentice is counting on him too. So, he has to find a cure. No.matter.what.the.cost.

Books, letters, documents and other knick knacks are sprawled all over the cinnamon-coloured table. But the mess inside his head is even worse than the one infront of him. A looming giant window behind him gives a glimpse into the internal state of the city. Cold, dark, deserted and in complete disarray. The normal hustle and bustle is no longer as usual as it once used to be. You’d be lucky if you saw a single person in sight. Not anymore though. They’re all hiding away inside their homes. He has no doubt that you would be too if you gave yourself the luxury too.

But he’s glad you haven’t taken that liberty. That you care enough to stay by his side. To risk your life. He has no idea how he'd do this without you. Throughout all his travels at sea, he's spent a great deal of his time alone. But he doesn't think he could ever go back to that lifestyle anymore. He needs you. 

He needs you to check up on him. To hold his hand and cheerfully tell him everything will be alright again. To not give up. He nee- No he wants you. Wants you to sit suspiciously close by as he navigates the medical forms. While he relays the important findings he just discovered. As he flips through the records. Patient after patient, case after case. It’s almost too much, but he knows he can handle it. With you by his side, he’s sure he can handle anything. Fatigued eyes search all over the table but his thoughts wander to you again. Like they always do when he’s stressed out. Are you hunched over a desk like he is? Huddled up in your shop researching old tomes? He wonders if you think about him too. He wonders if you miss his company as much as he misses yours. He can’t imagine those talking books to be good company. 

[ ᴅɪᴠɪᴅᴇʀꜱ ʙʏ: @/fairytopea]

[kashimos-hajime]

—𝟐𝟐 - 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 | 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲, 𝐢 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮

pairing: getou suguru x fem!reader

summary: anonymous musician, kogane, had been dropping non-hints of who they were since they first began releasing music to the students of tokyo metropolitan technical college nine months ago to the frustration of everyone ever.

getou suguru, long-time (arguably #1) fan and campus heartthrob with a reputation is determined to find out exactly who they are before he graduates, and he has no idea where to start. that is, until resident idiot and best friend and roommate, gojo satoru, points him in the direction of you, the musical genius behind kogane

word count: 11.3k

a/n: hey yall!! i’m here with one of the most important chapters of the series. for reference for the song that *spoiler* suguru and y/n dance to, it is house of cards - full length by bts. i recommend you search up the translation of the lyrics if you do give it a listen because it has a lot of foreshadowing (also it’s a certified banger)

[9:30 AM]

You get up with a sense of trepidation. 

You spent all of last night picking out what to wear, and making sure you had everything you’d need so you wouldn’t rush in the morning, and as you leave the apartment while Maki still asleep, you can’t help feeling like your stomach’s about to spill out of your body.

A date. Your first… real date in a long time. Are you insane? As you check your reflection in your phone camera, you can’t help but scrutinize every aspect of your face. Every imperfection. What is going on through his head? What… what made him suddenly ask you out?

No. He might not even have meant it like that, you tell yourself firmly, turning off your phone screen and slipping it back into your pocket. Despite what your friends said, you have to keep a sane head about you. Not to mention, all that talk about Sukuna…

There’s no space for him in your head today of all days, and you firmly try to shut down that thought before it can branch any further.

He’s waiting in front of the building, looking around, and the way your entire body seems to lunge forward at the sight of him makes you burn in embarrassment. He’s dressed in sweats and a hoodie, a windbreaker pulled over that, and his gym bag is slung across his body, but he looks handsome as always, and he lights up when he spots you coming over.

Your heart cramps in your chest.

“Good morning. Sorry if it’s too early,” is the first thing Suguru says as you approach him. 

“If it was too early, I would’ve came later. I need to get work done anyway.” You push your glasses up your face, and fish out your student card from your pocket. It’s attached to a lanyard, and you loop your wrist through it. “I need to stop by the recording studio first really quickly before we head to where you needa go.”

“Yeah, sure.” They walk to the door, and you scan your card so they can head in as he adds casually, “You look nice.”

Your ears warm. “What?”

“You look nice,” he repeats. “I like your cardigan.” You look over at him just as there’s a beep, but he’s already moving to hold open the door and he sweeps his arm, gesturing for you to go in first. “After you.”

“Uh. Thanks.” Maybe it’s the memories of the last time you’d seen him flashing in your head, but your entire mouth blazes and you duck your head to walk in first, leading the way. 

The building’s pretty confusing if you’re a newcomer, but it’s one of the most comfortable places you’ve ever been in. Equipped with many rooms for recording music, practicing instruments, rehearsing for dance, it’s a place where many of those majoring in such studies have to be in for up to twelve hours a day. Your work space is the third floor, and Suguru follows close, just a half-step behind.

In the elevator, you glance up at the numbers.

“How’re you and Mina?” you ask as nonchalantly as you can. “You said you guys weren’t friends?”

“I stopped seeing her,” he answers. “Just not interested anymore.”

“She got boring?” You frown, surprised. It’s harsh of you to say, but Suguru’s been seen hanging onto her since the party. You’d thought that whatever had occurred to him was nothing more than water under the bridge and she was… she’s prettier than you, and bubblier. Very kind. Friendly. Hard to find someone like her boring.

Suguru shrugs. “No. She just wasn’t my type.”

“She’s not your type? But she’s beautiful and really nice, too.”

“So?”

“Well, if that isn’t your type, I don’t know what is.” The doors open and you walk ahead. He trails after you after a beat, and your mind wracks for what could possibly be the reason Suguru decided to drop someone like Mina so suddenly. Not interested in dating? Then why was he with her for the past week? And he hadn’t denied the rumours surrounding him earlier when you had asked him before yesterday.

Men are so fucking confusing. 

You shake your head.

The studio you’ve unofficially designated as yours as one of the senior music students is the one closest to the lounge room that houses a small kitchen unit, big couches, and even a TV that is hoisted onto a wall. 

You explain, briefly, about the lounge: “There’s even a gaming system that someone donated a few years back.” Unlocking the door to the lounge for him, you turn to Suguru with a faint smile. “You can wait here,” you tell him. “I just needa grab something next door.”

“I can’t come with?” he asks and you shake your head. “Why not?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“Surprise?”

A track that you’d been crafting for a while that you want to upload later in the year, but you’re not about to tell him that so you just smile. “Mhm.” Suguru pouts playfully, and you shove him into the room, promising you’ll be back soon. “I’m sure you can entertain yourself. I’ll just be next door.”

“But I wanna see your studio.”

“You’ve seen it before.”

“I know, but it’s been a while.” 

“Suguru.”

“I missed you,” he sniffs, nose scrunching and a playfully childish expression on his face. You roll your eyes, and he inches closer, as if to walk past you towards your studio himself. You grab his arm, and he grins toothily. “I want to spend time with you, (Name).”

“Can’t you last two seconds without me?”

“I think I’ll die,” he affirms, and you can’t help your own foolish smile. He tilts his head, catching it, but you merely turn away, taking the arm you’ve grabbed and throwing it towards the lounge door. “Wait—“

“Stay put, baby,” you drawl, and his eyes widen. Ears beginning to pink, he opens his mouth to argue but you simply shove him deeper into the room and close the door on him. 

Scampering to your studio, you swipe your card and slip in. Taking your laptop out of your bag, you hook it up and begin to transfer a file you wanted to insert into the track. It’s a pretty old audio, from a recording of when you were a new student on campus, and now that you’re in your last year, you thought it would be right ro release a graduation song. A last farewell. It includes your voice back then, too, and you cringe at your own singing as you listen to it playback through headphones you shove onto one ear.

As soon as it’s done, you click through to make sure it transferred properly before sighing and unhooking everything. You try to keep your school laptop pretty empty, consisting of only new works in progress and other school files, which means all your music on the side has been shoved into USBs scattered across everywhere you live, other computers. One day, you’ll be glad that you can strip this laptop bare and have it focused solely on producing your tracks and not stress out about anything else.

You slip your laptop back into your bag and head out, migrating back to the lounge room. Inside, Suguru’s laying on the couch, his legs draped over the back of it as he scrolls on his phone, but at the sound of the door opening, his eyes dart up to meet yours.

“Look who came crawling back,” he teases, drawing himself up, and you shake your head, moving to check on the fridge. There’s a lot in here surprisingly, but you think a lot of it comes from people working at restaurants and them bringing their leftovers when they can. You sigh, rifling through it to make sure nothing’s spoiled. It stinks up the entire floor if someone’s not on top of it so most of the senior students keep up to date on the inside. “Woah, you got a lot of food in here.”

You jump, head snapping to the sound, and you jerk back when you find Suguru’s face mere inches away from yours. Heat flashes across your face as you straighten up, backing up. He observes you quietly through squinted eyes, and then he leans over the fridge door that barricades them from each other, smirking. “Did I scare you?”

“The food is for all-nighters. Need coffee and food to stay awake when you’re working at 3 AM,” you manage to say, pulling away from him as quick as you can without it being weird. Dark eyes bore into yours, and you reach to close the fridge. It seals itself shut and suddenly there’s nothing between their bodies. For some reason, it makes you feel very vulnerable. “And no. You didn’t scare me.” 

He clicks his tongue with a wry side smile. “Tch. Dang.”

Running a thumb underneath the shoulder strap of your laptop bag, you begin to walk away. “You’re annoying.”

“And yet, you keep me around.” He follows.

. 

You’ve only been to the uni’s dance studios once or twice, but Suguru leads you to one you’ve never been in before. It’s on the top most floor, and has a good view of the rest of the campus. When they go inside, the blinds are down, but Suguru tells you to make yourself at home and heads to pull them up, revealing so much sunlight pouring into the room it makes you squint. One wall is all mirrors to the left of the windows, and on the right are ballet barres, which you situate yourself under so you’re near the center back of the room. 

“You comfy there, baby?” he calls, and you look up on instinct, nodding before registering what he called you and you look down, pulling your laptop out hastily. He walks back over to you, sliding forward onto his knees with a hand planted on the ground and his leg bumps into yours as he flashes you a smile. “If you get hungry or anything, tell me. We can stop whenever.”

“Okay. But you’re working on something, too, right?”

“Mhm.”

“What is it?”

“Just workshopping some things,” he answers. “I hope you don’t mind me playing music.”

“I got my headphones,” you reply, pulling them out. He tilts his head, eyes flickering to it, before back up to you, and you blink, brow furrowing at the soft smile that flits across his face. He sighs, sets a hand on your head and pushes himself off.

“You’re cute,” he mutters, shaking his head. You scowl but he’s already turning his back, and you’ve lost your chance to spit something out in retort. 

This is so weird.

Is this a date or not?

It certainly doesn’t feel like one. They haven’t seen each other in a few days, but it feels just like it did when they hung out before. The heat, the way you feel so self-conscious around him. He gets close to you, and something in you wants to freak out but you can’t even fucking tell if you want to freak out in a good way or a bad way, and then he’s gone and the entire opportunity has melted away.

Suguru’s got rid of his jacket and hoodie in favour of a loose white tee, and now that he’s just in socks, he begins to roll down his body, stretching and slowly warming up with a lo-fi music playlist that you’ve just noticed beginning to play. His eyes are closed so he can’t see you looking, but when he lifts his arms up above your head, a flash of skin makes you avert your gaze.

You should not be staring.

Firmly placing your headphones on, you open your audio mixing program and bury yourself into the work. The sunlight warms your skin pleasantly, and you begin to forget where you are, finding a comfortable slouch as your mind begins to run like an engine humming, searching for new nooks and crannies in the score that you can fit or adjust another aspect of the instrumental. You haven’t finalized lyrics or anything, but there’s a certain sound that’s missing, and you’re not sure what it is.

It’ll have to be saved for later. You can never be satisfied with what you make. It’s probably one of the worst aspects of being a perfectionist, you think. You can’t let loose ends be. It’ll dog at you until you force yourself to give it up, but until then, you’ll keep trying to craft the perfect goodbye.

Replaying a segment of the bridge, you adjust your legs, stretching them out in front of you and resting your computer in your lap. Your eyes glance to the top right corner to check on the battery, and you roll your neck under a palm as you fish out your charger from your bag blindly. Fingers wrapping around the looped cord, you look up.

And what catches your eye makes your entire body freeze, soften, melt. Your eyes widen as you watch Suguru dance. He’s beautiful as he moves, his hair unbound, his body a singular flowing being that pushes and pulls with the pulse of sound. Your heart lurches into your throat as you dumbly slide the headphones off your ears just to hear what he’s hearing.

You’ve seen him dance before—of course, you have at year-end festivals and other presentations. In short bursts when they were talking about the project. It’s not an unknown fact that Suguru is one of the most talented dancers in the program. 

But there’s something different here. It doesn’t feel like a performance, more it’s like you’re watching something you’re not sure you should be seeing.

The purest expression of human emotion in the way his body is impacted by each note, Suguru bleeds something… vulnerable. Something raw. It’s a pain that echoes and your legs twitch, as if you want to join him, and it takes all your impulse control to stay down.

You’ve never been so close to Suguru while he was immersed fully in his choreography, and when his feet shift, when his arms stretch into those languid lines that are honed with practice, you can’t help but feel something swell in your chest. It hoists the two broken halves of your heart like a balloon, and mends the sharp edges with soft, buttery rubber that wanes under the grace of his pirouette.

You feel soft, and warm, and cherished as you observe art. You don’t know if this is how other people feel when they watch him dance, but this is how you feel. It might be because you have feelings for him, or maybe it’s the way his eyes are barely open, letting his instinct guide him, letting his heart lead his body to extend into the most beautiful lines, but in the sunlight pouring through the wide, tall windows, you are sure that Suguru’s pale golden figure swaying to the song pouring from the speakers is as close to an angel as you will ever get.

The song begins to climax, and Suguru prepares himself for a sharp spin. Your breath hitches and the world begins to slow as he pushes off his foot. Leg out to the side, he begins to pull it in with a control you can’t even fathom. As he turns faster and faster, though, his balance falters, and he stumbles out of the turn four rotations in.

Collapsing to his knees, Suguru lets out a frustrated noise, and he rolls out and lands spread-eagle on his back. He slaps his hand on the floor before it curls into a tight fist, and he throws an arm over his eyes. When the track completely finishes, he flips himself onto his hands and knees, and pushes himself up to his feet again, eyes dark and a displeased scowl plastered across his mouth. It’s so dark it nearly takes you aback, but you know exactly the feeling.

“I like the song,” you offer quietly as the music starts again from the beginning of the track. Suguru’s gaze snaps to you, and you meet his stare head on, offering a half-smile and a shrug. The tension in his face melts away, and the corner of his lip pulls up. Using the bottom of his tee to wipe the sweat from his face, he sighs, and turns around, staring at himself in the mirror and letting his arms swing out, shaking the excess tension out. “You’re a beautiful dancer, Suguru.”

“Thanks. If I could get this turn, maybe I’d be even better,” he adds the latter in a softer, more venomous tone, and you shake your head.

“It looks difficult.”

“I guess.” He shakes his head and sets himself into the prep stance for the turn again. His shoulders square off, and he shifts his weight testily on his back foot. Arms out, he stares at his own reflection, and he’s about to go when he drops his limbs, turning around to look at you. “Don’t watch me.”

“Why?”

“It makes me nervous.”

You can’t help but laugh. “Me?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because when pretty girls watch me, I get shy,” he drawls, hands on his hips. His tee sleeves have been folded up as a make-shift tank top, and his posture’s slouched as he cocks his head, still catching his breath. He wipes at his nose with the back of his hand. “Turn around, (Name).”

“I literally will not do that,” you reply. “Staring at the wall is stupid.”

“For me?”

“What on earth makes you think that would make me change my mind?”

He sighs dramatically, and you can’t help your smile growing as he turns back around. You return your focus to your laptop, but watch through your eyelashes as he sets himself into his prep stance once more. One attempt. Two. Four.

You can’t tell if it’s getting better or worse. You have no expert eye, but when Suguru falls onto his back and runs a hand raggedly through his sweaty hair, pulling on the ends, you know for sure that he isn’t feeling his best. You sigh, putting all your stuff down and getting up. He doesn’t raise his head at the sound, and your heart swells in sympathy at the fierce scowl twists his face.

Descending to your knees, your lips press together, and he tilts his head towards you. An arm has been tossed over his eyes again, and he lifts it a bit higher when he realizes you’re so close.

“This is embarrassing,” he admits. “I wanted to impress you with how unbearably talented I was at dancing, but I’ve been stuck on this part of my routine for weeks. To be honest, I thought the extra motivation would help.”

“Perfectionist,” you mutter, surprisingly fond. His face softens, and you help him sit up. He shakes his head, and you let your hand rest on his elbow as he hunches over, sighing. “Maybe you’re in a rut because you’re so focused on it.”

“You think?”

“Mmm, that’s how I feel when I compose something. If there’s sections that aren’t connecting the way I want, I just keep working and go back to it.” Sitting back on your calves, you shrug. “I get frustrated really easily, but I have a pride thing about it, so it’s been a hard road of figuring out that giving your brain a break actually helps see the solution clearer.”

You feel cold compared to the heat radiating off of him. When he offers a hand, you let go of his elbow to take it, and together, they stand. Your heart is pulsing at a mellow pace, but it oozes warm honey everywhere through your body, and it makes your limbs feel lethargic. Your mouth opens, and you wonder what you would’ve said, but Suguru merely grins and it silences you.

“You always know what to say, huh.”

“I’ve been freaking out about a lot of things long before I met you,” you answer, and he laughs. Suguru squeezes your hand before letting go and heading to where his phone is hooked up and you grab your fingers, the tingling that buzzes over your skin making you uncomfortable in your own skin. “What are you doing now?”

Pausing the music, he scrolls on his phone, and you’re about to head over, curiosity piqued, but he holds out a hand, concentration overtaking his features.

“Hold on one second… trying to find it, ah—here it is.”

He presses play and piano begins to flow through the speakers before a strong, hearty string accompaniment joins the instrumental, and Suguru begins to saunter over to you as vocals kick in. You barely hide your smile at the over-exaggerated way he bends his knees as he swaggers over, his body swaying like a piece of silk flowing through wind.

“What are you doing?”

“Convincing you to dance with me with my uncontrollable appeal.”

You laugh. “You’re doing a terrible job of doing it.”

“Am I?” He finally arrives within arms length, and his fingers reach for your forearms, trailing down to your wrists. Leaving trails of cold fire that cause your spine to shudder, you let him pull you into him, and you shake your head as he guides your hand onto his shoulder. His other hand clasps yours in a firm grip you can easily slip out of, and his eyes are on yours the whole time, gauging for any sort of discomfort that could flicker across your face. 

His concern is touching, but you can’t imagine even deciding to run now as his arm tentatively rests on your waist. You step closer, and his Adam’s apple bobs. A tiny nod to himself, Suguru adjusts his feet, shifting his weight in a easy, simple move to the music. 

“Maybe you’re not so bad,” you admit, tilting your head. Your hand on his shoulder runs down the curve of it, and you watch the sun hit his smooth face that’s not lost its pink tinge ever since you’ve come close to him. “You know how to lead.”

“I’m an excellent dance partner,” he informs you, and you roll your eyes.

“Don’t let me convince you otherwise.” 

You have never danced with someone like his before. It’s completely out of your comfort zone to be this close with someone who you aren’t already close with, but Suguru tells no lie in regards to his passion for dancing. You can’t deny you don’t feel out of place as Suguru turns them around the room to the beat as the music begins to pick up in the chorus. 

His feet are placed smoothly, and he guides you without you needing to glance around, but you’re not quite sure you could’ve looked away from his dark eyes either way. Dark, affectionate, his watchful gaze does not stray from your face for a moment. Hair nearly falls into his eyes, but every time, you brush it back behind his ear, and he smiles when you touch his face—not a full smile, but that one he does that pulls at the corner of his mouth teasingly. Like a secret shared between two people. A secret between the sun and the moon.

He lifts his hand to turn you a few times, and he always catches you as they disappear in between the violin, the sound of the singers breathing through their notes in heavenly harmonies, the consistent pattern of piano chords that you can hear as clear as you can feel your blood in your ears. 

Music is your life. You can’t deny it. That, and the intrinsic link it has to dancing. The expressions of the soul. Oh… Suguru. You cannot help but think of the poeticism of it. The romance of it all. Your rose-tinted glasses shift, catch the sunlight, and you can’t help your smile grow bigger as the music begins to fade. You and Suguru still step to their own tune that’s been strung into their bodies, and as he guides you into another spin, you realize then that you trust him entirely.

You trust Suguru not to drop you—or, at least, to break your landing when you fall for him.

Whether it’s to reciprocate your feelings, though you doubt it, you know that through everything he says, everything he does… he cares about you. You’re not stupid enough to deny that he has some sort of affection for you, and that he only has your best intentions, and you have to tell him. You have to tell him everything. Sukuna. Your feelings. Everything. It bottles up inside you, shakes so suddenly like a boiling kettle, that you think you might explode.

He stops your turn, and their fingers find each other easily this time, interlacing. Suguru’s smiling at you, and you lift your hand from his shoulder to brush a few stray strands back away from his face. He turns his face into your knuckles, and you poke his brow, pushing him back.

“You’re so clingy,” you mumble, secretly pleased, and he laughs. Nerves twist your stomach as you let your hand return to his shoulder. “What’s gotten into you?”

“I missed you. We haven’t spoken at all in person this week since the party.” His hand on your waist does not let go, and you let go of his hand in favour of draping your arms over his shoulders lazily. His free palm settles on your other side and they toddle, sway to a panel of sunlight where it’s warm. Suguru hums, slowly stopping their rocking rhythm so they can just stand in the golden beam. “You’re a good follower. If you were in our program, so many people would want to partner up with you.”

“It’s not hard to be a follower. The lead does all the work.”

“That’s not true,” he corrects. “It’s hard to let go of control and trust someone like that, especially people you don’t know that well. The lead has to know where they’re going most of the time and physically hold up their partner, true, but the follower has to let themself flow with the lead. If they resist, it makes everything impossible. They support the lead just as much as the lead supports them.”

“But I do know you. That’s why I trust you,” you reply. “If it were anyone else, I wouldn’t even let them touch me.”

“Hah. Now, that, I have some experience in.”

“So, you’re happy that I’m letting you so close to me, now?” Something playfully malevolent possesses your tongue and you nearly regret your next words as they fly out: “Nanami wasn’t this close to me at the Halloween party, if you’re still keeping score.”

He groans. “Don’t bring up my stupid lapse of judgement, (Name).”

“I think I’ll bring it up as much as I’d like,” you retort, grinning. “You got so jealous over nothing.”

“It wasn’t nothing. He likes you and you guys spent nearly the whole night together.”

“Well, whose fault was that? I wanted to spend time with you, but you decided to be all grumpy, but don’t worry, I haven’t seen him since.” You narrow your eyes at him. “Are you jealous again? He barely even exists to me.”

“I know, but—“

Exasperated, you shake your head. “Suguru. Why do you care so much? And I know I asked you this before, but… but Nanami’s not here. He’s not even—I don’t even have any way to message him,  and it’s not like he reached out, so why does it still bother you?”

“Because it’s stupid.”

“What is?”

“How much I wanted to be where he was,” he confesses. Each word presses against your skin in a plush, soft breath, and your heart shoots forward as he tilts his head, his nose brushing against yours. Stomach tightening, you swallow, lips parting. Suguru lets out another pained sigh, “Oh, fuck.”

His eyes find your mouth.

When Sukuna kissed you for the first time five years ago, it had been your very first kiss. You hadn’t known, truly, what it would spiral into. You couldn’t really see his eyes at the time, and in your dreams, they are swallowed by his shadows. In reality, his room had just been too dark to make out anything more than the shape of his nose, his chin, his lips, outlined by the light of his laptop screen. You couldn’t even watch it happen. It just happened. 

One moment, you were watching a show, the next, a mouth had pressed against yours softly, and you submitted to him. For years, you have wondered if the lights had been on, if you would’ve still been there. If the lights had been on as a witness to what your body was doing, would your brain have screeched to a stop?

You think of this now.

Not because you want to think of him. You don’t. You just look into Suguru’s face, and you think of Sukuna, who you can barely recall at this very moment, and you watch it happen this time. 

There’s so much sunlight in this room it’s almost spilling out of their skin, and you can see the way Suguru’s eyebrows twitch together. You watch his thoughts like a one-way glass; you can see into him, and he can’t see a single thing into you, and as he searches your eyes, your mouth, your face for the answers to questions you’re nearly certain he’s silently asking, a sinking feeling begins to rise into your stomach at how long it’s taking. Sukuna had been near instantaneous. You had initiated last time at the party.

But they’re both sober right now, in broad daylight, and they’re both more than aware of what’s going to happen. You’re aware of every atom in your body—the placement of his hands on your body, your arms over his muscled shoulders. You can see the pores in his cheeks, the small acne scars from when he was a teenager you didn’t know existed.

Wasn’t this how a kiss went? Don’t they just go for it?

“If you kissed me right now,” you mumble, feeling more and more uncertain the longer the moment drags on, “I wouldn’t be mad at you or anything.”

Yet, he still doesn’t move.

Why?

Because he won’t do it.

No.

Because why would he? 

You’re right.

Why… would Getou Suguru ever kiss you when he’s sober?

“I can’t,” he finally utters, and the little voice in your head crows in triumph. You draw your hands back until you’re holding onto his shoulders, but even that feels like too much and you step far enough that his hands fall off your body too. 

Oh… but you expected this, didn’t you? 

Fucking shut up.

A boiling oily feeling coats your nose and cheeks as Suguru scowls at the floor, fists clenching and unclenching. His knuckles blanche, and you stare at them, trying to ignore the burning in your eyes. The back of your neck prickles as he curses hotly. “Fuck. Fuck me.”

“What?” you intone, lifting your head with a deep breath and pasting a smile on your face. His head jerks to you, but you only keep that wry half-smile on your face. “Taking the rejection harder than me or something?”

A horrified expression seizes his face, and he grabs your arms suddenly, his mouth opening to explain in a rush. “No, no. (Name), wait—“

“Suguru, it’s fine if you don’t want to kiss me,” you tell him despite the ache in your heart. Gently pushing his grip off with the side of your palms, you pull away. Your face is burning with shame, but you swallow your injured pride in favour of appearing unaffected. It’s better if people don’t know how they hurt you. It’s embarrassing when others figure out that they can hurt you like that. 

After all, you’re supposed to be cold, closed off. Untouchable.

Except, you had decided you would tell him anyway, didn’t you? You’d tell him all about the hurt that has festered and rotted in your heart in hopes that it’ll clear a space for him to settle in.

Except, when Suguru reaches for you again so insistently, tentative shaking fingers at your wrists, you don’t feel as invincible as you’d like.

You’re a book open for his perusal. You’ll tell him. You will. He’s already denied you one thing, but if you want to be friends with Getou Suguru, you must be as honest with him as he has always been with you.

“Actually,” you finally manage to say, “this is probably a good thing. It was stupid of me. We both said we weren’t looking for… for anything, so it’s better not to complicate things with that sort of stuff. I get it.”

“(Name).” His thumbs stroke your wrists and you want to curse his name. “(Name), no, No, it’s not that I don’t… you don’t understand how stupid I feel knowing I said all that shit about you not being my type and here I am standing, wanting nothing more than for you to kiss me. Or let me kiss you.” He laughs nervously, and draws your hands closer to his chest. You can feel his heart thumping swift like a river against your knuckles, but you can only blink in response to his own words. “It’s just… I need to tell you something before I dig myself too deep a hole that I can’t get myself out, y’know, I—”

“I like you, Suguru,” you blurt out, and when those words leave your mouth, you feel so relieved you think your heart might float out of your body. Suguru’s mouth drops open and you twist your hands to take hold of his own, squeezing painfully. “I like you… a lot. Like in a ‘I want to date you’ way, which I know you don’t exactly fuck with, but, y’know, I can’t help it. Fuck, it feels good to tell you, but I have to tell you, I’m fucking mortified right now because I’m pretty sure I’m just digging myself a deeper grave.”

“(Name)… I…”

“And you don’t have to do anything with that knowledge. You probably have people telling you that all the time, so I just thought I’d toss my two cents while I’m here because it’s good to be honest, right? We promised to be honest. I’m not feeding your ego again after this so you might as well take this while you can,” you ramble, that smile digging deeper and deeper into your lips. He watches you with a sympathy that makes you hate everything as he lifts a hand to cradle your face. You recoil, turning your head away but he grasps your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes. “What?”

“Can I tell you a secret, (Name)?” he asks softly, and his thumb stretches up to rest just underneath the swell of your bottom lip. He regards you in a way that makes you shatter, and when he smiles, you think that a rotten part of you that died five years ago breathes to life—swells with blood, oxygen, knits together unnaturally to the side of you like a tumour. But it’s just you. It’s just your heart. “I tell every person that they’re not my type to let them down as gently as I can.”

A beat. “That’s not gentle,” you point out, strangled, and he hums.

“I know. I… it’s the best way I can put it. It’s rarely ever because of them, though.” As if that excuses it. At your silence, Suguru explains himself with a quiet tint of shame: “It’s… just I couldn’t think of someone who could change my mind on relationships, and there was all these people wanting something I couldn’t give them. I never wanted to date because it never felt like it would be worth it to open up to someone, y’know, and then break up with them and start over. There wasn’t anyone I wanted to get to know like that again. It was just a waste of effort.”

“Suguru…”

“I know. There has to be some deep-rooted fucking psychological problem with me because who thinks about the end before it begins, right? I never want to miss anyone ever again.” He chuckles mirthlessly and your brow furrows, your frown grows. “Then at the party, the idea that Nanami could have you drove me fucking crazy.”

“We don’t have to go over this again,” you tell him hastily. “I was just joking about it.”

“No. We do, because I don’t want to lose you to someone else more than I don’t want to miss you.” He strokes your bottom lip, and his face softens. In the sunlight, his eyes are clear brown, as if you’re seeing through crystals, and you reach up shakily to touch his cheek. He smiles as soon as your fingers brush his skin. “I was lying when I said it would be lame to care about it. It’s not. It’s actually so fucking not lame that I feel… I don’t know. I don’t want any other person looking at you, or talking to you the way I want to talk to you, but I was afraid you’d freak out if I told you, but I can’t not tell you when I get so irrational about it because I fucking like you.”

You inhale sharply. No. This has to be a joke. “You do?”

He nods. “I do. I’ll swear to whatever you want me to swear on that I do.”

“Y-you… you don’t have to do all of that,” you murmur, and he chuckles, touching your face everywhere, looking at your eyes, your nose, your brow where sunlight is dancing across your skin. He carefully pulls your glassess off, tucking them into his sweatpants pocket, and his fingers dust over your eyelids. Cupping your jaw, Suguru hums, amused, and you don’t know what to do with your hands. One of them is still on his cheek, the other over his shoulder, and although the silence swallows them, you think your world has stopped.

Getou Suguru likes you.

Getou Suguru likes you back.

This hasn’t all been for nothing. Your heart tripping in your chest, you try to figure out if he’s lying or if he’s joking so he can try to scam you for sympathy points, but as soon as you think it, a pulse of disgust rises up in defense of the boy. 

Suguru would never hurt you on purpose. Not like this. He knows. He has just as much on the line as you.

“Can I have my glasses back?” you demand quietly, and he laughs.

“You’re so beautiful.” His breath kisses your skin, and your lips part before you remember yourself, pressing your mouth into a thin line and swallowing hard. “So… so beautiful. I can’t stand it.”

“Stop talking nonsense.”

“‘M not,” he mumbles. “I wanna kiss you so badly. You drive me crazy, but I always feel like I’m finally a little bit more sane when I’m around you.” Your shoulders sink and he pulls away just to stare at your face. His thumb touches your under-eye, and he sighs. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you haul him into a hug, one he accepts fully with his arms encircling your waist. “I haven’t felt sane in a long, long time.”

“Suguru…”

“I need to tell you something, (Name),” he murmurs, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other wrapped around your waist. His heat seeps into your body—he’s wearing a freshly washed shirt, and he smells like his cologne and a hint of sweat. Every inch of him is soft, pliant, and when he tucks his head into your shoulder, silky strands of his hair fall through the crevices of your hand when you card your fingers through. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“I need to tell you something, too,” you whisper. 

“Okay. Okay.” He withdraws, and holds your face in his hands, before smiling. It doesn’t reach his eyes, but his effort shines through the dimple that pokes his cheek, and you touch it. You’d never noticed he had dimples before. “You tell me first.”

.

You sit against the wall underneath the barre. That’s where Suguru finds you when he returns with drinks from the nearest café on campus. Handing you a matcha latte, he grins at your glasses back on your face, and he reaches down to fiddle with them. You smack his hand, scowling, and he chuckles, sitting down beside you.

“How much was it?”

“I dunno why you even try, baby,” he says around a sip of his own coffee, and you roll your eyes, crossing an arm over your stomach and taking a stubborn taste of your own drink. Your lips twitch into a faint pleased smile, before you set it down beside you and look over at him. “So… we got drinks. Do you wanna talk about it or do you want a little more time?”

“No. I had time to think about how I wanted to say it,” you mutter, although you won’t look at him. He frowns around his drink. A part of him is secretly dreading what you’re about to tell him. It’s hard to decipher, especially when after that whole sunlight dance, you had detached yourself so robotically, and asked him to give you some time alone to organize your thoughts. Suguru can’t read your every thought, even though he likes to flatter himself with thinking he can read you better than most people, so he sits there, nursing his drink as you pull your knees to your chest, resting your chin on your knees.

“There was a guy in high school. He was my… first everything, I guess,” you utter at length. “He was sort of everything I wasn’t. I was a band kid, y’know, choir. Smart-ish. He was kind of like the bad boy. But popular, and it was sort of annoying because I didn’t really get it. He had all these girls trying to ask him out, but he was mean to them, so why the fuck would they want him?” A hint of a laugh makes his heart ache. You sound so nostalgic, so young, then. “But… then we became desk mates. It’s stupid, but I liked him because he wasn’t ever mean to me and I felt special. He was a bit rude, but he wouldn’t insult me over stuff I was insecure about, and he was really patient when I was dealing with things. We were friends, sort of. I guess. Friend circles didn’t mix, but we shared classes.”

Suguru thinks he has an idea of where it’s going as you unfold yourself, crossing your legs and leaning back against the wall. You stare at some far off distant point in the floor, but he only has eyes on you.

“I liked him a lot in my second year of middle school, but then nothing ever happened, and we drifted apart. I guess we were just too different, but there’s that feeling, I don’t know if you ever… but it’s like when you have these people in your life, and you look at them, and you think, ‘oh, I could fall in love with you so easily if I had the chance.’ He was like that person for me. I thought if I ever tried even a little, I could really like him again, and maybe I just never stopped liking him, because I wasn’t really interested in anyone else besides him.”

“Did anything ever come out of it?” he asks softly.

You nod, swallowing. A bitterness curves your lip. “In my second year of high school, we somehow… I don’t even remember how anymore. It just happened we reconnected somehow, and we decided to hang out, just the two of us. I feel like it was me who initiated it, because I feel so stupid about it.” Wistful: “It was winter. Not snowy. It was just beginning to melt, actually, and I thought we were just friends just going out for lunch. I thought… I thought he wanted to hang out with me because we were friends.”

His heart drops. A premonition of dread begins to grow darker and sharper in the back of his mind. “(Name), you don’t have to—“

“He invited me back to his house,” you whisper, trembling. “And we were just watching some show that we were talking about earlier. I don’t know how it happened. I just kept saying yes because I wanted to, I really did, and I thought he liked me. That he had sex with me because…” You cannot continue the sentence. Instead, you inhale sharply, and let out an agonizing exhale. “When he dropped me off at my house after, he texted me that he loved spending time with me, but he didn’t have feelings for me and that he just wanted to be honest so I didn’t get hurt further down the road. Isn’t that funny? It makes me laugh because I had to sit there, holding onto my phone, and pretend that my heart wasn’t breaking reading his texts. When he said he cared about me, but he didn’t want a relationship with me because we wouldn’t work out in the long run, he could see it, and that all we did… that all of that was pretty much… nothing to him. Man, I felt so.... so disgusting and used.” 

Raging anger shoots through his system as you shake your head and let out a quivering breath. “It hurts so much, in here.” A hand against your heart. Your eyes are closed, head tilted against the wall, and your lips are pulled into a grimace as if you’re holding back tears. Suguru’s entire body feels hollow as he watches your face scrunch up at the memory. “Why did he do that if he always knew he didn’t want to be with me?” You don’t wait for or want his answer. “And the worst thing is… I can’t ever bring myself to hate him. I can’t. I fell in love with him over the course of that day, and I… it’s so hard to get over someone you never even dated, Suguru, you have no fucking idea.”

A beat of silence. You inhale deeply, lifting your head from the wall to look at him blankly, and it clicks. The way you tried so hard to avoid his touch, your aversion for a relationship. You had given yourself to someone before, and they had discarded you like nothing.

“Something must have happened between him dropping him off at my house, and driving back to his own,” you continue with such a strong conviction that it makes Suguru’s heart ache. “Maki thinks he was just a fucking douchebag, but none of my friends knew him like I did. It’s been five years, and sometimes I think I can’t move on, but then I met you, and…”

“Do you still love him?” he asks tentatively, and your smile grows fonder, your eyes fall to half-mast as you regard him in that way of yours that makes him feel like he’s the only thing you see. Suguru looks down between them, his mind a swirl.

He already knows what he’s decided: he can’t tell you. He can’t tell you the truth. Not after this. Shoko can kill him for all he cares, but if she knew what he knew, she would fucking understand.

“When I first started liking you, I was so afraid that everything that happened with him would happen to me again, but you make me feel willing to try.” Your fingers stretch to touch his hand, and he takes hold of you immediately. “I’m telling you because it’s important, and I want to explain everything. Why I can’t move fast—why this is a really big deal for me. Suguru, please, look at me.” He sets down his latte and does so. “It still affects me. It still scares me, but I want to try. Do you… do you want to try?”

You’re so beautiful. Tentative with your heart in his hands, but open. You want to give him everything. You want him, and Suguru is a selfish boy with a liar’s tongue. He can’t hurt you now. Everything he wanted to tell you, the courage he’d been building up since he asked you out last night, crumbles to ash.

Because to say Getou Suguru is not a lover is not entirely true. He wants love. He needs it. But he is not built for love—not designed to be a capsule for it where it can age and ripen and grow into something warmer and hearty and healthier. He is a sieve. Everything will fall through no matter how fine, how big, a particle is, and he can do nothing but watch.

And you want to love him, but he remembers Riko, and Nanami, and now there is another figure in the corner of his eye that looks like a stranger, and you are in front of him, surrounded by all this shadow, untouched, pure in the light. You are the sun, unmarked by the noxious miasma that fogs his brain. 

His throat tightens. 

Riko’s youthful face is just like he remembers, flickering by your shoulder and smilling, completely unaware of anything happening as she speaks to someone. He hasn’t seen a mirage of her in so long. Not since she died. He used to see hints of her in the halls of the school, wisps of someone who used to be alive, and knows this is just a residual memory playing in his mind. 

An everlasting reminder.

But you would’ve liked her, he thinks. You are both too sunshine-like to not get along.

Because you are the sun. Hidden behind a cloudy, stormy exterior, Suguru has never seen someone shine quite so brightly as you when you finally let him in.

“Suguru,” you whisper presently, reaching to touch his face, and he blinks, head jerking to you. When had he even drifted away? “Are you still there?” Your fingers touch his cheek. “You look a little… lost.”

“I want us to work,” he insists, and his eyes close. “Sorry. I just was thinking…”

“You’re here,” you tell him softly. “And I’m here, if you want me to be.”

“Okay.” He nods. “Okay, I’m okay.”

“You’re okay,” you repeat, and he lets out a soft sigh, opening his eyes. “Let’s get up, and find something to eat.”

“I’m sorry. I’m all distracted when you told me all this stuff. I promise, it’s not because it’s not important, it’s because—“

“You’re thinking about Riko, aren’t you,” you murmur, and his eyes flash to you. “I can tell.”

“You can?”

“Relationships are a big commitment, and you’re… you’re sort of scared of commitment, Suguru. Dunno if you can tell,” you murmur, voice edging on teasing. It diffuses the heat inside him, and he slouches as you chuckle, coming closer. He lets you, fingers wrapping around your wrist to hold your hand against his face. Kissing the palm of your hand, he closes his eyes. “Could be because of her.”

“It probably is.”

“I mean, I’m not a psychiatrist, so…” you drawl playfully, and he lifts his head again, glaring at you in faux irritation. You smirk. “What?”

“You’re too smart.”

“Why else would you like me?”

“Do you want me to whip out my notes, again?” he asks, pulling away, and you scoff. “I can do it. I’m gonna do it.”

“Do not—“

“I’m getting up to do it.” Pushing himself to his feet, he begins to walk back to where he left his phone and you call his name, annoyed. He doesn’t listen though, content to walk like there’s a breeze beneath his feet. He just about reaches the table when something grabs his hand, pulling him backwards. His muscles contract, hauling you close as he turns around, and he catches you before they can knock heads.

“I don’t wanna hear about your weird lists,” you snap, eyes narrowed, but you don’t try to escape, and he chuckles, leaning in closer and rubbing the tip of his nose against yours teasingly.

“Why not, baby?”

“Because it’s embarrassing,” you mumble, turning your face away. He lifts a hand from your bicep to tilt your face back towards him, and he leans in close. “Stop,” you whine. “You make me feel so stupid.”

“What’s so embarrassing about me having feelings for you?” he utters softly, and you inhale, shivering in his hold. “Should’ve known as soon as I made a list of all the things I knew about you in my notes app that I was a goner.” 

Your eyes meet his, and he’s struck by the glow in your eyes. It’s not something physics can explain. Something more innate than science ignites Suguru from head to toe and he feels like he’s been ushered into a warm room after nights spent out in the winter night. 

You swallow, lips parting to speak, but he rushes to cut you off: to say you’re beautiful, you’re the prettiest girl he’s ever fucking known. But what comes out instead is: “Shit.”

You frown. “What is it?”

“Is it okay if I kiss you?”

Your eyes widen, and you struggle to formulate a sentence, before settling on a nod, your breathy ‘yes’ just barely reaching his ears.

Suguru lifts his hand to remove your glasses, setting them blindly on the surface behind them. He cannot take his eyes off you. The sunlight is just barely hitting your face, giving your skin a warm glow despite the coming winter.

And there’s that tiny little frown again, the one he adores so much. He needs to kiss that pouty mouth or he thinks he’ll starve.

Suguru kisses you, and his entire body cannot help but meld into yours. He pulls you even closer until you’re flush against him, his hands immediately cupping your jaw as soon as he feels your body against his. Your fingers wrap around his wrists gently, your mouth parting, and he feels your gasp in his body as his tongue tentatively slips against yours, warm and soft and velvety. 

You let out a soft keening noise, and a hot surge pulses through Suguru’s core, but he suppresses the desire and pulls back. Sucking in a deep breath, he returns with lingering, but chaste kisses, and your fingers dig into his wrists tightly as you push up against him, almost chasing him. It makes him grin against your mouth, and he draws back fully, thumb brushing the swell of your lip.

Your eyes open slowly, dreamily. You look so happy that Suguru wants to eternalize this moment. He doesn’t want to let another thing hurt you in this life, in this world. Not when he’s still here by your side. He wants to swear it, but he can’t, and all of a sudden, his heart cramps in his chest so intensely it’s like it’s reminding him that it’s still here, and still beating, still alive. 

He’s been here before, or something that looks enough like it. His mind reeling, his eyebrows knit together as he thinks back to earlier this week, to when he had said he couldn’t be your boyfriend. All the events leading up to that moment, even the positions their bodies had been in as he said it, are unclear blobs of colour vaguely resembling their costumes, but when you shift your body, his stomach tightens and he sucks in a soft breath.

They’ve been here before. Arms around each other, eyes shining with all the adoration a human being can possible encompass. Your legs wet against his from the hot tub. Your mouth burning from the alcohol as you kissed him senseless. His hands on your body, the sneaking glances when they’d returned, concealed by drunk giggles.

You burrowing into his hoodie as you fell deeper asleep on Satoru’s couch, relaxed and at peace in the remnants of their party.

Did you have feelings for him then? How far back did they go? Do they go as far as he’s willing to acknowledge his own? Or did they come closer to today, where they stand now, body to body, nose to nose. He wants to know. He wants to know everything. 

“Suguru? What is it?” you whisper presently, derailing his thought train. Their illusion is slowly breaking, and the golden bubble is rapidly disappearing as you frown. Suguru meets your eyes tenderly. Oh, you are the most precious thing, and he is weak at the knees.

“You’ve kissed me before,” he informs, scarcely audible. You flinch away from him, but he doesn’t let go of your waist, squeezing reassuringly. “I’m not mad. I’m just—“

“I thought you didn’t remember.” Horrified, you duck your head. “Shit. I—I didn’t want to tell you in case it didn’t mean anything. I… I thought you didn’t remember.”

“I didn’t. I just remembered.” Then, testing: “Do you remember anything?”

Your shoulders sink and you shake your head. A swell of relief tides in Suguru despite the guilt prickling in his gut. So you don’t remember what he said. That’s good. It’s simpler if you don’t remember stupid things he’s said.

Don’t get him wrong. He was honest with you back then when he said he couldn’t be your boyfriend, but that had been drunk thoughts, insecurity, and the secret of it all threatening to spill out of his chest. He couldn’t wasn’t the same as he shouldn’t or he wouldn’t. 

You regard him warily. “Are we okay?” 

Suguru blinks, and there’s that distinct feeling from his youth growing up side by side with someone like Satoru; that feeling of not being quite able to catch up. Mouth dry, he affirms, “Of course. I just wish you told me. Then, I wouldn’t have had to waste this week trying to figure shit out.”

“Yeah, well, I was scared it didn’t really matter to you. It was just a kiss, after all, and I didn’t want to ruin something over a thing I might’ve blown out of proportion when you probably didn’t care, so I… I don’t know. Y’know, I take that stuff kinda seriously.”

“Well, it wasn’t just a kiss to me,” he says. “You kissed me. The girl I like kissed me. I would’ve been fucking elated if I remembered.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. And then, maybe today wouldn’t have been an elaborate, subtle, kind of vague ploy to get you to go out with me, and we could actually be going out for real right now.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Was this supposed to be a romantic date?” you ask curiously, and heat rises to his face as you carefully wrap your arms around his neck. He puts on a smile and shrugs carelessly. “Stupid.”

“Have you been on better dates?”

“Considering what I just told you, no. So, granted, you’re winning so far,” you tease. He opens his mouth to apologize, but you shake your head. “I get to make fun of it. It’s okay.”

“Are you sure?”

“Mhm. Five years, and I’m getting over it. Enough to like your sorry ass.”

“Well, sorry you fell for my good looks, charisma, and natural talent for everything.” You shove him away, scoffing, and he laughs, grabbing your hand again, and squeezing it. “C’mon. Something to eat, right?”

“You’re driving us somewhere, then.”

“Demanding me of something already and we’re not even five minutes into this relationship,” he jokes. Your gaze darts to him warily, and you cross your arms over your chest. He catches the shift, and he straightens up, smile shrinking. “What is it?”

“That’s what this is?” you ask quietly. Your fingers dig into your own biceps as you look away. “A relationship?”

He frowns, hesitantly asking, “Isn’t that what you want?”

“I… I do want it,” you admit, “but now that it might happen, I don’t know if I can do it. If I can just go out in public and say, hey, I’m dating the guy everyone wants to date. That’s just not me.”

“We don’t have to make a big announcement out of everything. We can just… see how it goes, can’t we? Play it safe and slow,” he murmurs, but you shake your head, looking doubtfully at the space between their bodies. “Hey, hey, hey. It’s really no big deal to me how you wanna go about this. I really do like you, and if you want to date, fine, if not… that’s fine, too.”

You deliberate this for a moment.

Then: “I’m just gonna this first before we go further that you’re not gonna fuck me.”

His body goes stiff. Not from disappointment, but just by the sheer amount of ice in your tone. “What?”

You turn to pick up your glasses from behind you. “We’re not having sex or anything today. If that’s what you’re looking for, tough luck.” You slide them on, trying to move past him, but he grabs your elbows insistently, keeping you rooted before him. You try to fight it at first, begrudging attempts at trying to rip yourself away, but Suguru is stronger. When you finally don’t try to run, he lifts an index finger to your chin, guiding your gaze back to him, and your face contorts, anguished and cracking apart at the seams. 

“Don’t ever think that. I’m not here just so I can have sex with you, (Name).”

“I know it’s out of left-field but most guys expect that, don’t they?”

“Yeah, but I don’t,” he insists firmly, trying to keep the irritation out of his tone. He knows he’s not annoyed at you and he doesn’t want you to mistake it that way. He’s pissed that you think like that, sure, but you have every reason. Fuck, if he could just… somehow heal that part of you, he’d give anything, but you’d hate his pity. Gentler, he adds: “I don’t like you just because I think I can sleep with you,” he says, appalled. “Do you trust me?”

“I do. I do trust you, I just I can’t…. I can’t put myself there without feeling gross, Suguru, and a relationship normally progresses that way, and I don’t know if I can do it now, or soon, or whatever your timeline is, so please, don’t ask that of me.”

“I won’t,” he assures you, as sincere as he can be. “I don’t need that kind of stuff. As long as you’re comfortable with everything we have going on, I’m happy, okay? And if you want to sleep with me, okay, if you don’t, all good. I like you, (Name). I always have. That’s not gonna change just because I can’t do something as trivial as sex.”

“I wish it was that easy for me,” you mutter, but he shakes his head.

“I like that you take this stuff seriously. I think it’s admirable, and romantic, and I like that about you,” he murmurs. “Believe me, it just inspires me to woo you even more.”

“Woo me?” you echo, sarcasm inked into your words, but your tone lightens. Suguru’s heart lifts, too. “How are you going to go about that?”

“Well, first,” he drawls, tilting his head to press a kiss against your cheek, “I take you out to dinner.” A kiss to your other cheek. “And then I take you to the beach.” Your eyes meet his, and he grins. “Hopefully there are fireworks.”

“So, it’d have to be a special occasion.”

“Mmm, and we could dance on the beach.”

“That sounds nice, actually.”

“You could lead me, too, and dip me over your leg to kiss me,” he suggests much to your dismayed expression, and he chuckles. “Just kidding.” He sneaks a peck, one that has your eyes closing, and you swallow, letting out a long exhale. 

When your eyes open again, they’re filled with a renewed vigour. 

“Suguru, you’re really sure about this? Boyfriend, and all?”

“If I wasn’t sure, I wouldn’t still be here. Believe me.”

You bite your lip and nod. “I’ll try.”

“Good enough for me.” Stepping back, he extends a hand towards you, fingers outstretched, and when your hand slips into his, it has never felt more like two puzzle pieces finally finding one another. 

You run to catch up to him, and your face is cupped by his free hand briefly, his lips seeking your forehead. You pause, feeling his lips brush down your temple, and your cheek pulls. He can feel your smile against his lips as he finally touches your lips with his own in a soft, lingering kiss.

Three words threaten to push against his tongue, but he pulls away, surprised at the urge to blurt out something he’s not even sure exists, so he simply settles on kissing your forehead again and pulling away.

“I can keep calling you baby, right?” he checks, and your nose wrinkles as you laugh, shoving his face away.

“All that, and that’s what you want to ask me?” A beat. “Yes, you can, baby.” You grab his chin, kissing his jaw, before letting go of his hand to gather your things.

“Well, I might wanna try other names.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

“Honey. Dear. Sweetheart. Flower.”

“I like baby, I think.”

“Baby?”

“Yeah. I’m just used to it.”

“Okay.”

You hoist the bag ont your shoulder. Suguru grabs his bag, too, grabbing everything he needs. Thoughtfully: “Flower is a strong contender.”

An idea springs forth, and he glances over his shoulder. “How about sunshine?” You’re adjusting your glasses, but you’re hiding a smile behind your hand as you meet his gaze. He thinks on it. “Sunbeam.”

“That doesn’t suit me.”

“Yes, it does. Go argue with a wall.” You walk up to him, and a faint smile graces his lips as he catches your phone camera sneaking a picture of him. Quirking an eyebrow, he leans over to see what you’re doing, but you turn away. Suguru peers over your shoulder, and a heat blooms from his chest when he realizes you’re changing his profile picture.

“You just changed it a few days ago,” he points out as you adjust the position of the picture. You look up at him, and he shimmies closer to watch you save the image. It’s slightly blurry, but it looks distinctly charming. Maybe because you took it. Resting an arm across your shoulders, he presses his nose against your temple. “Sunbeam.”

“Yeah?’ you mumble, distracted. You’re swiping through notifications on your phone, now, and he averts his gaze, focusing on leading you to the door. His hand slips into your free hand, and you finally look up when he closes the door behind you. Flattening your bag strap, you rub at your face. “Sorry. Got distracted.”

“’S long as I’m still your boyfriend,” he says, and the word settles so easily on his tongue he wants to say it again. Announce it to the whole world. He’s a boyfriend now. Getou Suguru is a boyfriend. 

He doesn’t think it would’ve ever sat right if he was someone else’s boyfriend—anyone else’s but yours. Because you roll your eyes, and you try to pretend it’s not a big deal to you and say something about how Maki’s going to hate his guts, but when they walk to his car and you climb into his passenger seat, you shyly press a kiss to his mouth before he pulls out of the lot, and sneak your fingers between his on the centre console.

There’s a soft melody playing from one of his CDs you picked. 

He squeezes your hand as he passes an intersection. You squeeze back, looking out the window, but in the reflection of the glass, he can see the curve of your smile.

a/n: thanks for sticking around and reading all the way to the end! please leave a reblog/comment if you enjoyed :)

tags: @thelameless @lucyrocks86​ @kentospet @id-rather-be-an-outsider​  @ys2800​ @tuzuis4thwife @pidwidge​ @xbookmanx​ @kaitlyn2907​ @butterfly-skinnylegend​ @rumi-rants​ @bloombb​ @mykyoon​ @waterlily502​ @hanabihwa​

[cammyyyydekarios]

Wasteland Baby,

I’m in Love with You

A Gale x f!Dark Urge fanfiction

Warning: 18+ readers only. Full tags on AO3

‼️spoilers for act 2 dark urge path‼️

Summary: Gale has a confession and Lilith is struggling with many complicated feelings.

Read on AO3 or under the cut

It was a cheerful night at the Last Light Inn - or, rather, as cheerful as the night could be in the shadowlands. The path to Moonrise Towers was grueling and dread still lingers on the edges of minds, especially Lilith’s.

The half-drow, half lost to her thoughts is nestled in the corner of the bar, drink in hand. Her urges have been harder to control - especially after seeing Isobel, her supposed ‘target’. After the initial shock and fear and murderous rage crossed her mind she had to defend the Selune cleric fiercely and suddenly. How the urges begged her to rip her throat out, to watch the blood gush from her wound while the life left her eyes. Instead, she settled for stabbing Fist Marcus until her wrist cramped, covered in his sticky blood and only half satisfied.

She disgusted herself. Worse, she terrified herself. She hated herself. She convinced herself the world would be better if she didn’t exist - that it would be easier if she was dead, and her urges along with her. But she lives - and knows she is needed in the fight against the Absolute. She needed to save her friends from becoming mindflayers. It was the least she could do, to right her ever growing list of wrongs.

So yes, tonight she broods in the corner of the bar, getting drunk on cheap wine and watching everyone around her celebrate. Seemed a fitting end of the night for her.

Her companions were all drinking and making merry. Perhaps too much merry, as Shadowheart looked as if she had too much to drink grasping onto Lae’zel’s shoulder for support. The gith scolds her and leads the cleric to the bedrooms of the inn. Wyll, Karlach and even Astarion are taking delight in watching Volo perform.

Lilith sighs and decides she’s had enough of the festivities for tonight. She begrudgingly lifts her hips from the stool and the frayed hem of her trousers catch on the chair, sending her stumbling forward. She braces herself for a fall, but is surprised by the feeling of strong hands on her hips holding her in place.

Her head tilts up, making eye contact with her mystery savior. A bratty quip about ‘keeping your hands to yourself’ dies on her lips when she meets warm brown eyes.

“Gale.” She breathes. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to-“

The wizard silences her with a smile. “It’s quite alright, Lilith. I was actually hoping to catch you before you retired to bed tonight.”

His hands were removed from her hips now. The heat of his touch lingered, rousing something deep in her gut.

She swallows nervously. “Here, or…?”

“I was actually wondering if you’d care to join me outside?” Gale asks, his tone giving way to his anxiety.

It would be better for her to keep her distance from the wizard - she knows she is dangerous. Anyone who gets close to her is in grave danger. She didn’t know consequences were in store for her now that she refused to kill Isobel after her butler’s order.

But Gale is Gale - kind, smart, handsome. Deserving of happiness. And for whatever reason, he desires her.

He’d expressed as much just mere hours earlier.

Then, her hair was wild, bloodied. The white strands were haphazardly pulled up and stained red. Her body shook with adrenaline from the battle with the shadow creatures. She was wiping blood from her face when Gale had approached her. She smiled as he appeared in front of her, but stood stock still when she saw the expression burning in his eyes. They were dilated, heavy lidded, wanting, even. He’d approached her, pressing his palm hard against her hip, making her gasp. The filthy words he whispered in her ear made her melt into his grasp like putty. He’d said she never more beautiful than in the heat of battle. He’d admitted his own desire and she could feel his growing arousal as he pressed himself against her.

As quickly as it happened, he’d pulled himself away, but not before his eyes lingered on her lips. The memory of their shared scene in the weave with his lips on hers played back in her head and she wanted nothing more than to kiss him in that moment. Until Astarion had approached with a mirthful grin, dangling an enchanted necklace to show off to her.

“Of course.” She responds after a moment, taking herself out of the loop of doubt wracking her system. “Lead the way.”

The night is dark as Gale leads her to an uninhabited clearing outside the inn. Cold air pricks her skin, sending a soft shiver throughout her body.

Darkness cloaked the land, usually - something Lilith was familiar with. The little memories she did have were of early childhood - and growing up in the underdark she found comfort in the way it draped over the land night and day.

Tonight, there is no cloaking darkness. Lilith’s eyes widen as she takes in the awe-inspiring sky before her. Colors swirled where the darkness should be. An aurora borealis.

“Wow,” she breathes out. She moves to seat herself on the cold ground but Gale reacts quickly, muttering a quick conjuration spell. A soft bedroll appears under her and she can’t fight the smile that plays on her lips. “Is this all your doing, Gale?”

The wizard seats himself next to her, his thigh brushing against hers lightly. “It is, indeed.” He answers her, his eyes set on the sky in front of him. He turns his gaze towards her, swallowing hard.

Lilith reaches out and brushes her hand against his. He responds by twining his fingers through hers. His thumb caresses her knuckles tenderly.

“Are you alright?” She asks him. Her heart races in her chest. She wonders for a moment if Gale is as nervous as she is. She wonders if she rests her hand over the orb in his chest if she would feel the wild thumping of his heart. Of course she would - a bittersweet reminder of how alive he is, so alive and so different from anyone her fractured brain can recall. All she remembers is death; by her hand, by others, it didn’t matter. Sickening images taunted her night and day with no repentance.

Well, almost no repentance. When she is with Gale…everything is different. She feels almost soft, almost pliant. She smiles. She can’t say the other companions bring that side out of her - most of them thought her ruthless and kept a careful distance. Not Gale, though. He was always quick to remind her that the urges were not her, that she was not a monster. He brought out her human side; the side of her she always thought was weak. Yes, she had all the makings of a drow; pale, moonlit skin, pointed ears, misty purple eyes. With human blood coursing through her veins. She was conditioned to believe humans were weak, fragile…but she’s come to find that Gale is none of those things. He is strong, intelligent and open minded; whilst also being tender, soft and sweet.

She recalls loving a human before losing her memories, in her own revolting way. She cannot recall his face, the visions of him merely shadows in her mutilated brain. She cannot recall anything about him. But being close to Gale often brought back snippets of memories - feelings, mostly. The soft brush of another’s hand, a lock of hair pushed behind her ear. The soft, caring touch of someone tending to her wounds.

Sometimes, when she lies awake at night, she wonders if she is truly capable of loving someone else. In her mind, there is no doubt she is undeserving of it - loving someone, and being loved - all together. To her, it is almost crueler that she feels so much. It would be easier to not feel at all than address the ache in her chest when he comes near.

“I love this time of night.” She finally hears Gale breathe out. His eyes are glassy as he continues caressing her knuckles with his thumb. His voice wavers, giving way to his nerves. “There’s almost a reverent silence that accompanies the peak of darkness, when you’d almost believe the dawn would never break…the cradle of eternity.”

Lilith’s mouth quirks in an attempted smile as she continues to listen to him. She is quite used to the endless words akin to poetry that seemed to be instinctual to the wizard, but something about his tone tonight is different.

“The timelessness of lovers…” he drolls out, turning his head to look upon Lilith. Her breath hitches as their eyes make contact. Gale expression is so vulnerable…so open. A hand presses against her cheek. The touch is brief, but the heat of him lingers. “The most beautiful of fantasies.”

Her face warms at his praise. It isn’t unlike him to flatter - but that remark feels different. He feels different. Lilith cant deny the effect his words have on her, but she knows that’s exactly what she is. A fantasy. A pretty face to look at, a warm body to indulge in. A tool to be used and thrown away. Nothing more.

She swallows, hard. “Why did you summon me here?”

Gale releases her hand now, leaving it cold at her side. “This may be my last night alive. I wanted it to be under a canopy of beauty, and wonder.” He tells her as he looks upon the stars. His gaze shifts to her again and she stiffens. “And with company to match.”

“I thought this place might bring me peace. I thought it might make the weight of what I must do feel a little lighter. But I am not so sure.” He finally confesses.

“Gale,” she starts, her eyebrows furrowing. “I refuse to believe this is the end. We will find another way, I promise.” She tries to hold back the rising panic in her voice, not wanting to divulge how much she feels she needs him.

The wizard’s smile is guarded. “Thank you. But even if we do find another way, perhaps this is the right way. The end fate wishes for me.”

“No. No.” Lilith breathes. “I cannot accept that. I cannot allow you to throw away your life for her-“

“It’s not for Mystra, Lilith! It’s the whole godsdamned world in the balance and I have a way to fix it-“

“I won’t let you. You can’t-“

“But why?” Gale asks. His usually warm brown eyes are wide, pleading.

Lilith’s gaze drops to the ground. A rising panic floods her body.

“Please, tell me.” He urges her, taking her cheek in his hand. His hand brushes her cheek and her eyes meet his. “You’re….crying.”

It’s an observation. One that shocks even her. She blinks, confused. Streams of hot, salty tears flood from her eyes. She can’t remember the last time she cried. Hells, she could barely remember anything, but she knew she didn’t cry. At least, she thought she didn’t.

Gale wipes her tears, and there is something so foreign, so cloying about his thumb brushing them away. Has she ever been touched so gently?

“I do not know who I am, not wholly,” she confesses. “But I know you. You’re good, you’re kind. You’re an incredible wizard and you have family and friends who love you, Gale.”

The wizard is silent, for once. She continues. “I wish I could take your place. I would take the orb from you in an instant, destroy the absolute and finally pay for everything I’ve done.”

Gale’s hand cups her jaw, willing her to look at him. “Lilith.”

“I’m not good, not like you. I have nothing, no one and it’s more than I deserve-“

“Lilith, look at me.”

It’s a command, and she follows it. She darts her eyes up at him, and gods his dark eyes are so soft as they look at her. The sincerity of it makes her feel naked. Powerless, even, as this human man cradles her heart in his hands and he doesn’t even know he has it.

“You must know you are very special to me.” Gale says, his voice merely a choked whisper. She trembles, and he covers her hands with his. “If things were different, if we were home…I’d have taken the time to do things properly. To say it all better. But time is short.”

Lilith knows what’s coming before it leaves his mouth. She’s pulling away, ready to retreat. “Gale-“

“I’m in love with you.”

She sits still, in shock after his confession before shaking her head. “I am undeserving of your love, I’m a murderer, Gale-“

“I’m in love with you, Lilith.” He repeats himself, sterner this time. “And I think you love me too.” He grips her hands like they are his life source, his eyes pleading with her and Lilith is tired. She’s tired of holding back. She’s tired of pretending she doesn’t love him. So, she takes his jaw in hand and slots her lips against his, and she’s finally kissing him. Hesitant and clumsy at first; her lips touch his, barely pressing. He reaches up to cup her cheek, groaning as he tastes her lips. She realizes very suddenly Gale isn’t shy with his mouth - his tongue slides against her lower lip, seeking entrance. Lilith lets out a choked little noise and parts her lips. He tastes like sweet red wine and magic as he lazes his tongue in her mouth. She could feel the weight of his body, incessant, pressing her against the bedroll.

They kiss for a long while. Long enough that Lilith forgets her earlier hesitations.

“I think I’m in love with you too.” She whispers against his chest when they finally part. “I don't - I don’t know what it’s supposed to feel like. But…I know I want to be with you.”

Gale smiles, he truly smiles for the first time since Mystra charged him with detonating the orb. “That’s a relief. It would be a shame to spend my final hours making an ass of myself.”

“Gale!” She swats at his shoulder playfully, sending him rolling on his back. He laughs, freely, a light sound. She rests her body on top of his, her thighs on either side of his. His thumping heart beats quickly against her breast. “I’ve made a mess of you.” She tells him with a sigh, thumbing away her signature raven black lipstick from his irritatingly kissable lips.

With a hushed command and small gesture of his fingers, the lipstick disappears. She feels a light tingling on her skin. Gale takes off the rest of her makeup too with another hushed prestidigitation cantrip and he looks at her. His big brown eyes are admiring her, full of adoration. “You are beautiful.”

It’s the first time he’s seen her without makeup. The face that’s usually so severe, setting fear in the hearts of so many looks so soft as she gazes down at Gale. Her skin pale like marble, her eyes a soft lavender. Her lips deliciously pink and kissable. The same could be said about her cheeks, all hot and flushed just for him. And on the plane of her nose and on her cheeks are a soft smattering of freckles. With a light touch, he traces the scar that starts at her forehead and runs diagonally through her full brows to end at her cheek. His eyes are questioning, but he doesn’t voice his curiosity.

“I think I was young,” she starts, letting her mind sift through her broken memories. “I don’t remember anything other than that.”

Gale hums for a moment, staring up at her with an almost tangible warmth. “I could pick up a pen write poetry about your beauty…alas, there are truly no words that compare to the vision in front of me.”

“Hmm. I admit, I’m not well versed in poetry. Though I do enjoy a good raunchy ballad.” Lilith teases him, sliding her hands along his plush velvet tunic.

He grins wickedly. “Ah! A splendid idea! It would be quite the story to hear in a tavern, wouldn’t it? Two unlikely companions becoming close through hardships and grave dangers, finding love with the prospect of death looming on the horizon…”

“If I’d known you felt this strongly about ballads I would have asked Alfira to write one about us instead of my ravishing body.” She accentuates this point by taking the wizards hands in hers, guiding them up her frame. She places them on her waist before letting go. Gale’s fingers dance along the fabric of her tunic before settling on the soft curve of her waist, squeezing gently. “Or perhaps an erotic novel featuring a noble wizard and his drow maiden would be more to your taste?”

Gale’s mouth parts in surprise for a moment as he gathers his thoughts. There was no denying the impact her words had on him. In fact, his growing excitement was evident between her legs now.

The wizard clears his throat, sliding his hands lower to claim her hips with his touch. “A novel written by you would be a dream come true, my darling. In fact, I could try my hand at it. It should be easy, given even a mere glance from you inspires me to no end. In more ways than just one.”

A hitch in Lilith’s breath emboldens him, evidence of her reaction to his words. His gaze trails from her face, flicking down to her chest lingering just long enough to be respectful, (he is a gentleman after all) eventually landing on her thighs spread on their side of his, then back up to her eyes. “Of course, I would very much enjoy writing of this ‘ravishing half-drow maiden’,” - he is quick to correct her and she rolls her eyes, muttering “semantics!” - “but I’m not quite sure any flowery words could accurately describe just how lovely she truly is.”

“Then you must recount just how ravishing I am. In extra detail.” Lilith demands, leaning in just enough their noses touch.

“Oh yes, my dearest Lilith,” Gale starts, his thumbs dipping just under her tunic. He traces shapes into her bare skin and Lilith has to remind herself to breathe. “I shall write of every little thing that makes you so. Starting with those spellbinding lavender eyes that give way to your every emotion. Your gorgeous lips, your delicate curves, your fascinating mind. I’ll write of your strength, too. The feeling of your skin under my hands, as well, though I may need to do more…research, so to speak, on that specific topic.”

“Are you saying you want to touch me, Gale?”

“If I could be so lucky - I want it more than anything.”

“Then why write when you could feel? Experience?” Lilith guides one of his hands to her chest, over her hammering heart. He feels it beat under his touch for only a moment until she slides the hand down, placing it on her breast. He takes it in hand, her plushness filling his palm. “I’m quite real, you know.”

“Oh, I know.” He smirks shamelessly, his hand kneading at her. “But consider this, love: in the future…when death welcomes me to her door, my words will remain. Our love immortalized on paper forevermore. I shall write of you until I can no longer hold a pen, when the ink runs dry and I fill the final page, until there are no more words to say.”

Even as he palms her breasts eagerly now, his voice stays perfectly even. Godsdamned wizards and their impeccable concentration! He speaks in a relaxed, even cadence saying the sweetest words and touching her - though now, Lilith could see his pulse jumping under his skin. Small victories.

“You are such a romantic.” She murmurs affectionately, pulling her lower lip in her mouth as his thumb brushes lightly against one of her nipples. “Tell me, Gale, how is it possible such a lovely man has no wife awaiting him at home in Waterdeep?”

“Perhaps it is the same reason why a beautiful unmarried maiden such as yourself is perched so prettily in my lap. Gods, I feel so privileged to touch you like this.” The wizard was losing it now, his thoughts spiraling all in the same direction. He needed her close, to worship her with his touch. He needed to show her just how special she is to him.

Lilith toys with the hem of her tunic, a bright flush decorating her pale gray skin. “You may touch me however you wish, Gale. I grant you that privilege.”

Gale swallows hard, understanding quickly dawning on him. He releases her breasts to drag her tunic up over her head. She raises her arms and the garment is quickly discarded. His breath hitches in his throat as he takes in the view of her; the tops of her breasts spilling through her bra. It digs into her skin uncomfortably and the wizard furrows his brows. “That looks painful. May I?” His fingers trail up her back to the clasp holding the constricting fabric together. She nods and he doesn’t hesitate; the bra falls to the ground a second later, discarded and forgotten.

Lilith sighs in relief as her chest is bared to the cool night air. She watches Gale’s expression turn as he observes her, his eyes dragging down her form appreciatively, memorizing every inch of her milky skin. She resists the urge to cover herself. A part of her feels shameful when he looks upon her. Of course she knows her body is littered in scars. Gale, however, didn’t know the extent of just how scarred she is. So many wounds, some healed and barely visible, some fresher and pink. And he has yet to say a word! Not knowing what he is thinking is akin to torture for her.

“You practically glow in the moonlight.

Goddess.” He finally says. His voice is finally shaky, breathy even, like he can scarcely keep himself together. “I often wondered what you would look like, bared for me. My imagination pales in comparison to this.”

Lilith is throbbing between her legs now as he touches her properly for the first time, lithe fingers dancing along her skin before circling her sensitive nipples. Her thighs clench, squeezing his hips. She bites back the meek moan threatening to leave her.

“You haven’t seen me bared yet.” she teases, rubbing the crux of her thighs along his length.

Gale practically groans as she rocks her hips on him, grabbing at hers to still her. “I haven’t, have I? Allow me to amend that.”

Lilith slides off his lap so his fingers can work at her laces. Warm, practiced hands slide the fabric down her legs before throwing it to the ground. Those same hands caress her hips and thighs in earnest now. Her eyes lift to meet Gale’s, only to discover how utterly enamored he is with her body. Gods, how intense those kind eyes could be. How much heat could lie inside them - lurking just beneath the surface. She presses her thighs together, her core barely concealed by a small pair of black panties.

“Ah, ah.” Gale tuts, prying her legs apart, first admiring the way the fabric sticks to her flesh. He dips his thumbs under the waistband of her underwear, stealing a breath from her. “Would you allow me the privilege…?”

She nods, maybe a bit too eagerly. “Please, Gale.”

With no hesitation, he slides them down her legs and bundles them up, placing them in the pocket of his trousers. “…for safekeeping.” He assured her with a wink.

A nervous laugh bubbles in Lilith’s chest as she rests back on her elbows. She anticipated he would jump on her at first opportunity; but he pulls back, choosing instead to admire her under the soft glow of the sky he conjured just for her. “Lost your nerve, wizard?” She asks him. Her legs drape open and she’s finally bare beneath him. His eyes lock on to the small thatch of silver hair between her thighs before they traveled lower, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.

“How inviting you are. Just beautiful.” He murmurs appreciatively and she has to fight the visceral reaction her body has to his words. She clenches around nothing and pulls her lip between her teeth, biting hard.

Gale’s steady hands cup her jaw, pulling her into him and kissing her fiercely. He pulls away - breathless, before asking: ”May I touch you?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure-“

“Gods, please Gale!”

“Desperation is a good look on you, dearest.” he admits before kneeling in front of her and lowering himself until she could feel his breath on her. “Such a delicate flower.” He whispers, finally dragging a single finger down her folds. Dexterous fingers tease her flesh, circling once around her opening to gather her slick before pressing against her already swollen clit. His eyes lift briefly to admire her debauched expression as he slowly sinks one finger inside her, immediately followed by another. “Does that feel good?” He questions, but the knowing smirk on his lips tells her he already knows the answer.

Lilith pouts and sighs dramatically, causing him to stop the movement of his fingers inside her. He looks up, a furrow in his brow. “Is something wrong?”

“Yes, something is gravely wrong. You see, a certain talented wizard of great renown once told me he had a practiced tongue…” She smirks, scooting her hips closer to his face. He presses a soft kiss right under her navel, leaving her shuddering. “The problem is, I’ve scarcely been able to think of anything else but that beautiful man and his tongue-“

Gale swiftly cuts her off with a long drag of his tongue up the expanse of her. She whines as he reaches her clit and threads her fingers through his soft brown curls.

“Oh.” she breathes as he parts her folds and focuses on her tiny bundle of nerves. Gods, was this man eager to please. She bucks hard against his face and he presses a hand hard against her thigh, holding her leg up to rest on his shoulder. “I - I apologize,” She stammers out, her whole body quivering. “It’s been a while, can’t even remember the last time-“

The hot lave of his tongue between her legs abruptly stopped, replaced by Gale’s thumb, his other fingers still stroking inside her at a languid pace. “What exactly are you apologizing for, love?” He asks and his hot breath makes her squirm.

“Gonna come fast, Gale please-” she practically begs him now, her hand in his hair pushing down his head, desperate to have his mouth again.

Gale seals his lips around her clit and her whole body contracts, her legs only spreading wider for him. He greedily laps up her release as he pets at her inner walls, stroking deeper and deeper as they contract around his fingers.

“Gale…” she whines, practically tearing at his tunic to pull him closer. His fingers slip out of her as he falls into her embrace, their lips meeting desperately.

Lilith didn’t know she could feel this way. To feel more like a woman than a monster. But in this moment, pliant in Gale’s arms, she feels like a woman. Hells, she feels like a goddess after he worshipped her with his tongue.

The same tongue that was now sliding across her own. Her hands grab at the hem of his tunic, shoving it over his head. The wizard chuckles before assisting her, slipping it the rest of the way off. Her palms slide over his bare chest, finally feeling his skin under her hands. His trousers are next to go, haphazardly thrown to the side and when Lilith opens her eyes Gale is looming over her in only his underwear. Her hands find the waistband quickly with all intentions of dipping her fingers inside and taking him in hand, but she hesitates. Instead, she looks up at him, and finds him staring down at her. Their eyes meet - his, dark and stormy, full of lust and love. It steals the breath from her lungs and she kisses him them, pressing her forehead to his. “You’ll stay with me?” she asks him now, her voice softer than he’s ever heard before. Her teary lavender eyes are begging, pleading him. Please, she wants to say. She wants to have him, to keep him. She wants to be enough. Enough for him to stay.

”I’m here,” he tells her, his voice strangled. His own dark eyes are glassy. “I would never even dream of leaving you, Lilith. I love you.”

Their lips meet again and she takes him in her hand, earning a groan from her wizard. His skin is hot in her palm but she needs more. She pulls away from him, settling back on the bedroll and opening her legs. “Please.”

Gale exhales heavily at the sight of her, so open and ready for him. He crawls over to her, his body hovering over hers. ”Gods, you’re a vision - what do you need, my love?”

Lilith cannot help it; her eyes flit straight down his body to stare between his legs. He looks achingly hard; a bead of wetness at the head that she desperately wants to lap up. However, in this moment - her need for him to be inside her was far greater.

“I need your cock.” She finally tells him, pleading, her arms reaching out to pull him on top of her.

“Eloquently put, dearest.” Gale murmurs teasingly before holding her close, kissing her slowly, languidly. His hardness presses against her stomach and she reaches down, angling him against her center. A whine escapes her as the tip of him brushes her still-sensitive clit. She is so wet, her slick so abundant he slides right down through her folds and enters her with no resistance. He groans as he does - his control waning for every torturous second he lets her walls adjust around his girth.

Lilith gasps as he thrusts inside her for the first time, her hands flying up around his neck. “Gale,” she moans, placing a wet kiss over his pulse point. “You make me forget this god-forsaken world, you elate me, excite me, intoxicate me - fuck!”

A brutal thrust causes her to lose her train of thought. She moans with reckless abandon, clenching around his length that’s buried so deep inside her. “By the gods, I feel the same way, Lilith.” Gale manages to say, his breath hot against her neck.

”You know me like no other,” she proclaims, winding her legs around his waist. She digs her heels into his backside, a desperate moan spilling from her lips as the angle forces him even deeper. “Gale, I - I love you. Come inside me, please, make me yours. I want to be yours.”

Gale wastes no time in dipping his head down and licking into her mouth, her jaw cradled in his hand. His cock throbs against her fluttering walls as he fucks her at a maddening pace and she knows he is close. Still, his hand slides between their bodies, his fingers gathering her slick and circling her clit. She whines in his mouth and clenches around him, so close to the edge already.

“I feel it,” he practically growls against her lips. “The way you tighten around me - gods, come for me again my love.”

She does - she comes around him like a storm, mewling into his mouth, squeezing his cock with reckless abandon. It sends Gale to the edge; his hips stutter against hers and he spills inside her.

The moment feels precious. Cathartic. His lips slide against hers and for once she is grateful to not be able to remember anything before the tadpole. For this; being in his arms - is perfect. He is what she wants to remember. No one else.

“Will you?” She asks him. “Stay with me?”

Gale presses a sweet kiss to her head. “Of course I will, my darling.”

And for now whilst Lilith is nestled safely in his embrace, she stares up at the sky. Her lips curl in a smile as the colors of the Aurora Borealis comes into view. She marvels at how incredible the stars could look. An almost indescribable feeling rushes over her sweat slick skin, a sense of security she’s never experienced before. Her eyes move to Gale, who’s eyes are closed, his breaths coming even and deep. She waits for the urge to call on her, tainting the moment. But it’s quiet, seemingly dormant.

For now, everything is perfect.

[mastcrmarksman]

KNOWING YOUR PARTNER WELL CAN POTENTIALLY MAKE WRITING TOGETHER A LOT EASIER.

REPOST DO NOT REBLOG !!

NAME : Izzy

PRONOUNS : they/them

PREFERENCE OF COMMUNICATION : I'll hand out my discord here and there, but you can reach me by DMs.

NAME OF MUSE(s) : Clint Barton, and then I've got a handful of other blogs; but Clint will literally devour my soul and I can't write anyone else when this happens (it's happening)

BEST EXPERIENCE : Honestly, this come back to tumblr after being away for like 3 years. The friendships and dynamics I've built with Clint on my return has been amazing, and I'm also very glad people like how I write him, cause I've pretty much picked up comic Clint and said "he's mine now. i'm giving him a whole new arc/plot/story to explore and away from canon" and people are buying into that. Thank you so much everyone! I love all my friends and writing partners here so much <3

RP PET PEEVES / DEALBREAKERS : Uhhh, pet peeves? I don't quite get what's with people not liking posts anymore or using the reply/comment feature more, like if you see someone posting an hc. Take a second to read? Give it a like or comment a heart even, if you're really that pressed to control your likes..... Dealbreakers, I haven't encountered anyone, I guess it'd be just if I pushed to write or make smut centric, but no one is doing that.

MUSE PREFERENCES : I like characters that have an internal struggle (lol that could be anyone). I don't know. I try to write so many types of characters, but characters like Clint I always come back too. Honestly, whatever is the character type that's been Clint Barton and Pepper Potts.

PLOTS OR MEMES : Memes are usually good to start, but I definitely wouldn't mind doing more plotting and giving a general direction to a thread. Although, really memes are great, and I truly appreciate those who send a bunch of memes, or don't mind treating some memes as one shots ( i love one shots ; just look at the length of some of my ask responses )

LONG OR SHORT REPLIES : Both. I want more shorter threads right now, but I have a knack for getting wordy and writing long things. This is why length matching does not matter, as long as there is enough substance to continue or something to help move something forward; a shorter reply to a longer reply is good; just as I tend to take a shorter thing and get longer with. This is also why I tend to like or mention with meme responses, like you can just reblog/save this and treat this as little one shot/drabble I wrote for you. I also tend to do the same.

BEST TIME TO WRITE : I don't get a lot of work, I am home all the time. So i'm bored a lot. So literally anytime, although I have a tendency to write a lot more late at night. For me, why I'm not writing is usually mood, or I don't have a very good set up for writing long haul; so if my neck, back, or hands and wrist start to cramp up cause my sit down to write isn't a good position/only position. That usually defeats me; like after I post this I will probably take a break, stretch, keep on my break and write a bit in a few hours.

ARE YOU LIKE YOUR MUSE(S) : Yes and no / I don't know. I know I'm the type of neurospicy where Clint Barton has rotten my brain for like the past 15 years or something; and I've been writing him for like 10 years; that I'm probably funny like Clint is, but who actually knows lol. I try to be normal and healthy with muse and mun separation; even if his whole recovery arc is very important and real to me; and I will live in the delusion that is what I am getting from the comics as in I will just write it myself on my roleplay blog (this is a joke; legally I have to say that I think)

tagged by; @danversiism evil boops you infinity, ily tania <3

tagging: lol im suppose to tag people; if you wanna expose yourself, do it. flash the dash. i'll probably read it and like it.

[playdatecollectorau]

Jingle J. and Polaris First 'Playdate'

A few employees bring a spindly, eight foot tall jester animatronic into a living room like area, equipped with a long couch, a chair, and a table. The many bells on the animatronic, attached to them on their skirt, their wrists, the tops of their feet, and extending from their hat, make loud jingling noises while they move.

She wears a mask reminiscent of older 'puppet' models or staff bots, with closed eyes and a wide smile. Her gait is long and energetic, arms swishing at her sides. She's mostly unbothered by the annoyance of the employees.

"Play nice," one of the employees says, then closes the door, leaving the robot alone only for a moment.

Not long after another animatronic is brought into the room. Shorter then the first at seven and a half feet with his heeled shoes.

He looks like a more aesthetically pleasing sun model, with bright colors and less uncanny face.

He frequently skirts around the employees attempts to touch him as they usher him in. He gives them a customer service quality smile, thanking them pleasantly for escorting him.

Upon the metal door closing and locking the two in the new room, he grimaces looking to the other in room.

His grimace is quick to change back into a broad, albeit strained smile.

"Ahem....Hello there....new friend. My name is Polaris, and you are?" He emphasizes his name, false cheer to the words.

The puppetoid leaps forward towards their new companion with boundless energy and enthusiasm, the chimes of countless bells still ringing in the air as they offer a three fingered hand.

"Jingle J. Jester, friend! It's very, very nice to meet you!" Their voice matches the energy of their movement, and even while they speak they cannot seem to stay still, swaying back and forth on their heels. "You're from another location, aren't'cha? Another daycare attendant model? Not like me, no, no, I'm not fit for the daycare, I just know some fellows from my location's daycare! I wasn't actually allowed in during open hours. Or anywhere near the general public. But Strudel and Kuiper spent time with me after closing!"

The fellow rambles quicker than lightning striking the ground, hard for any normal human to decipher. Their excitement is obvious, but it seems possible that's just how they are.

Polaris watches, keeping his strained smile and blinking slowly.

Uncertain.

Something about the others mannerism read as like that of a child...while he could be wrong and they may not truly be a child in mindset...hard to tell with fellow animatronics over humans.

His smile becomes a bit less broad, still smiling but less strained then before as he listens.

Nodding along quietly.

Watching the other's constant movement, Polaris subconsciously starts to sway slowly. Just enough to make the skirt like ruffles on his waist give a slight swish.

A habit from working with children.

"...Yes, yes I am. I'm not sure which its referred to as though." He tilts his head. "Are...Strudel and Kuiper your....friends Mx. Jingle?" He asks politely, not wanting to outright imply they could be the others...guardians.

"Oh, yes! They got me out of that wretched box - I don't like cramped spaces, no siree, much too small for a fellow like me! I owe them everything, and they're so nice to me!" She takes her hand away, deciding he doesn't seem interested in shaking it. That is just fine, she's quite happy simply to meet another person. After all, Strudel and Kuiper are her only friends that stuck around. She hasn't seen any of the kids from before she was banned from interacting with them.

"Are your friends in the other room with you too? You're kept in a room, aren't'cha? Or is it different for you?" So, so many questions, very similar to how a child would behave. "Miss Strudel and Mx. Kuiper are still there, I think. I don't think they wanted me to go, they didn't look very happy... But when I go back I can tell them all about you, nice m... oh. gender? Er, pronouns?"

At the mention of them being in a box Polaris gives a concerned frown. "You were...trapped in a box before?"

He gives another polite smile, wary but softer. He can't help it around children, no matter how miserable he truly is, they bring out the best in him.

"I'm glad they helped you, they sound like...good friends." He's grateful when they dropped their hand, not wanting to be...rude but not keen on the contact.

Polaris blinks pausing and giving a strained smile when asked about his....'friend'.

"My....company counterpart...er 'friend' is still in the room yes. I share a room with it. I assume anyone here share's with others from their location." He tells the fellow animatronic, trying to force some cheer he doesn't feel into his words.

He clasps his hands behind his back, metal squeaking at his tight but hidden grip, hiding his discomfort with the last two questions.

"I'm....Male, I'm male, He/him." Polaris tells then, words coming out a bit more stilted, lacking the practice ease his speech usually has.

"Mhm. The charging box. I don't like it very much, but it's the only thing compatible for my model to charge." Their movements grow slower, more uneasy. They have no facial expression, only the ever-smiling mask, so body language is the only tell of how they dislike the topic of conversation. The box isn't nice, not at all. So small. So dark. So cramped.

She's very glad that the conversation is changing subjects, and returns to her previous, energetic state as Polaris brings up his 'friend'. Any sense of discomfort or tenseness is completely lost on her, and she claps her hands together.

"That's wonderful! Friends should be able to stick together. I can't imagine what it would be like without my companions. Oh, and thank you, Mr. Polaris! It's very nice to meet you, very nice indeed! You're so kind!"

They giggle and twirl, the pieces to their skirt flaring out like a tornado. They had been bored out of their mind only a few moments previous, when they were in their 'residential space', so they are very glad to have someone new to talk to with new options for things to do.

"Could you tell me about yourself, Mr. Polaris? You seem very interesting!"

"The rooms here are...decent at least, baren but decent in size and clean. Better then your box, I'm sure." Polaris tries to tell them cheerily, wanting to cheer them up.

"Er....yes, friends are certainly wonderful things to have. It's been nice to meet you as well little light." He feels awkward, agreeing but...not truly having friends himself, the little lights he watches over being the closest to that.

He realized what he said and is quick to backtrack. "Sorry, so sorry, Mx. Jingles, I didn't mean to call you....little light, habit of calling the children that." He smiles politely.

Polaris gives his rays a spin, trying to mirror the others energy.

"I'm sure you are much more interesting then me, but...at my location I work with the children, playing with them, making crafts and ensuring they stay safe. Sometimes they try to rope me into joining them for crafts or 'grand adventures' and stories. My...counterpart watches over them as they sleep."

"Oh, yes, very nice. Much more space in the room than in the box! Strudel and Kuiper both have beds, those are very soft and cozy." The beds aren't the highest quality, but they're better than no bed at all, which is what Jingle is used to. She doesn't have a bed of her own, but Kuiper and Strudel don't mind sharing with her, so it was fine.

"It's no problem, Mr. Polaris! I thought it was nice," Jingle hums with delight. They're more than used to being assigned little nicknames, Strudel and Kuiper do it quite frequently. They're rather fond of it, in fact.

"That sounds a lot like what Strudel does! And your counterpart is like Kuiper, then! Day and night, night and day!" Somehow, the comparison seems to make Jingle more excited than they already were, like they were winning a game of connect the dots. "Of course there'd be similarities, you're all daycare attendant models, but... Still!"

Polaris forces out a chuckle.

"Right....right, same base model, but we each have have things to make us different as well..." Polaris watches them for a moment, tentative.

"Mx. Jingles...what about you, is there anything you enjoy to do or talk about? There...isn't much to do in here but we could play a game of some kind or talk about something you like or....even a story if you'd prefer?"

Polaris can feel his caretaker protocols itching for him to engage like he's supposed to with a child, despite the other being....far bigger then himself, they read as a child nonetheless.

"Hmm... I do like stories a lot, Kuiper tells me those sometimes! In general, I like to do crafts too, Strudel usually helps me with that, but we don't have stuff here right now. And I love games! Games are so much fun, all sorts of games! I like a lot of things, I guess." Their words are followed immediately by an amused giggle, and they do yet another twirl.

They aren't very fond of staying still. They like to make use of all the open space they have while they have it, just in case they get trapped again. That's a thought they don't like.

"Mmmmm, nope..." she mutters to herself, then focuses on Polaris once more, "what would you like to do, Mr. Polaris? I don't mind any of them!"

Seeing their love of moving about, Polaris gets an idea.

"...I could teach you one of the dances I teach the little lights, it's not often I get a chance to, we may not have music but I could hum or sing, I'm...probably out of practice. Just an idea." Polaris spins his rays, smiling to hide his uncertainty at suggesting this.

"Oh! Oh I'd love that! That sounds very fun!" Jingle grabs pieces of their skirt and swishes them about, quite giddy. They love the idea of dancing, though they can't recall if they've ever actually done any real dances before. Probably not, they conclude, but they aren't opposed to trying.

The door to the room opens.

"Wrap it up, you two, you're out of time," one of the employees from earlier says.

Polaris tries to hide how he tenses up, giving the employee a polite smile.

"Of course. Maybe next time Mx. Jingle...?" He looks to Jingle with a smile.

It was...strange to see someone else but...as awkward as it was, he did enjoy his time with...the childlike animatronic.

"Next time, Mr. Polaris! Hopefully it'll be real soon!" Jingle Jester waves with the same overenthusiasm they'd been giving this entire time. They're slightly hesitant to leave, not wanting to abandon their new friend just yet, but follow when the employee beckons them over.

"Goodbye~!"

[phantomphangphucker]

Phic Phight - Tailored Hijinks

For: @thejustdancerodent @mymadmedleyw @lexosaurus @q-gorgeous

Even just simply amusing his friend by playing dress-up doll can’t go normally.

Danny stretches out his fingers a little, flexing them to get the slight cramping out. This stupid gash in literally the bottom of his foot was being a bitch to stitch up, and was surely going to be even more of a bitch to have to walk around on. And then, lucky him, his phone goes off.

“Danny? Goddamn finally, could kinda use your help…", and she trails off a  little.

Danny sits up stiffly before realising that she doesn't exactly sound very urgent; and after all not even ‘I need your help’ call needed to be urgent, all his friendships would be pretty fucked if that was the case. Sagging a little and sticking the phone between his ear and shoulder, continuing to work on his stupid foot. He knows that by the time he gets to wherever she is, his foot will still be sore as fuck, but at least it won't be a giant, bone deep hole. "Where are you? What’s happening? It better not be goddamn Boxy”.

"That little shallow bitch and her groupies are here, I so don’t want to deal with this, so care to join me at the mall?".

She says it in a way that Danny honestly can't refuse in good consciousness. Sighing slightly as he finishes up the stitching, giving his foot a little pat, "…Fine."

"Oh thank fuck, get your ass down here already", and she hangs up on him, making him roll his eyes. Whelp, there's no backing out of this shit now.

Normally finding one lone person in a mall, even in a small town, would be a bitch to do but Sam was a goth. So massive crowd or no, why the fuck is there so many people?, he finds her at the food court very easily, her rocking her combat boots, purple Trenchcoat, grey/black plaid skirt, purple fishnets, and some underground punk band tee; at least this meant he wouldn’t have to spend potentially hours chasing her scent through a million stores or something…

Waltzing over to her with ease before gently tapping her on the shoulder, her eyes snapping up to him before a large grin stretches across her face. She jabs him with a finger, "finally! I got us food, salad lettuce wraps, don’t you dare complain".

Danny shrugs, snatching up his wrap, he’s down to eat and get off his currently throbbing foot; absently rubbing it slightly with a wince.

She glares at him, “you better not be injured, Danny”; she wanted a shopping buddy/popular girl shield, but not that badly.

“Skulker was being an ass again, but I’m fine”. That was a lie, on both counts. Danny stepped on a grenade with no clue where said grenade came from; and said foot was not actually fine but it would be in time.

Sam hums a bit disbelievingly but unwraps her food and chomps down, giving him a pointed look the entire time.

Danny coughs, biting into his own food, “so-”, swallowing a bite or two, “-what kind of shopping are you dragging me into here?”.

She swallows the last bite of her sandwich with a grin, standing up immediately, “Glad you asked. I was thinking about hitting the new higher-end alt store in hopes of finding these huge platform shoes that I saw online. And I can also get you a new wardrobe too”, and smirks meanly.

Ah. Once again, Danny’s the dress up toy. His body ready to be used and abused for whatever she wanted to do with it. Thankfully, he’s not that picky about his clothes and doesn’t really mind people dressing him up for fun; whether it's in a dress, a skirt, heels, a leather jacket or eyeliner. But his own fashion will always be one part lazy and one part durable/able to hide blood stains. So he shrugs, “I mean, I guess? I won’t consistently wear any of it, you know”. And then glares murderously in the distance at Paulina who had eyes Sam a little; little Miss Popular scampers off.

Sam rolls her eyes, “we’ll see about that one”, grabbing his wrist and dragging him off; barely giving him a chance to throw out the garbage… only, like, a third of the thrown garbage managed to actually make into the trash.

-

With in minutes Danny’s stuck sitting near a dressing room twiddling his fingers and vaguely playing with his phone; looks like ol’ Boxy had taken his daughter out to the playground, the pictures are legit adorable. There's a large pile of clothes sitting next to him, it was a little absurd honestly, some of it was frilly? He didn’t really do frilly, way too easy to get snagged on or by something.

Sam makes shooing motions at him towards the dressing rooms, “well, dummy. Try it”.

Danny rolls his eyes but obliges, making a damn point of trying on the most horrifically mismatched shit he could; it was also freakishly oversized. A particular sad banana dress shirt, green polka-dot cargo pants with an absolute ton of straps, a bright orange chest harness that is surprisingly thick, and a hot pink choker. As soon as he stepped out she chucked practically twelve shirts at him, “that is horrific! My poor eyes”.

Danny snickers and slips back into the dressing room, next he’s totally wearing one of the sweaters from the women's section that he could absolutely rock if it wasn't several sizes too small and if he hadn’t paired it with a silly pumpkin spice themed scarf and newsboy hat.

She actually assesses this one, “if that sweater came in bigger sizes…”.

Danny grins a little, “tell me about it”, flexing in a bit of a ridiculous pose, sweater absolutely ridding up over both his stomach and arms, “I mean really? This is not giving it”.

She nods with a cringe, pointing at him, “and if you ever wear a skinny scarf again, I’ll smack you”. Then getting up herself and going in.

… She comes out in a neon blue clear cyber skirt, one of those ones made out of plastic, paired with shiny red shorts, and a long sleeved paint splattered black sweater, “too bright?”.

Danny covers his eyes comically, “ah! I’m being blinded! The light! The LIGHT!”, and starts laughing when she smacks him a bunch. Him wheezing after a bit, “okay okay, I’m serious now”. She huffs at him, as he continues, “but really, if the light hits the shiny shorts right the clear skirt will reflect it back and you might actually blind a bitch”.

“So the shininess is the problem”.

Danny nods curtly. Danny did actually know his shit with clothing, his high dressers have stuffed him into a million things that he had to get used to wearing; when you get used to dressing like a mother fucking royal you also learn how to dress that way.

She nods right back before shoving another set of clothes into his hands, "I demand more, dance for me, my mannequin”.

Danny gives a slightly nervous, “okay”, but sticks his tongue out while he heads into the dressing room again. Honestly? dealing with dressing rooms and shit was half the reason why he just repeat bought the same shit over and over again. He obliterated his clothing so damn often, so he was always having to replace his clothing. Heck, just the sheer amount of shoes he went through? Fuck he went through a pair every month at minimum.

Some of the shit Sam had grabbed was shit he blatantly would never wear, like, ever; which she damn well definitely knew. A masculine crop top. A fishnet over top. Another fishnet top. A third fishnet top. Ancients. A shirt with a v-neck lined with spikes that was so low it wasn’t really a shirt… more like a unfinished jacket. The corset was a massive fuck no. Why did she even put an Emo version of a lion king themed varsity jacket in here? The shiny red pants would have been a maybe if they didn’t look like they’d take ten minutes just to get on. But there is some okay things. A nice maroon t-shirt with a tiny devil decal in the bottom left corner. A soft black vest over top with filigree detailing. Black trousers with a subtle houndstooth design and a nice leather belt. There was at least eleven different collars, most with either spikes or oversized crosses. The amount of times he got choked seriously put him off from having anything that tight around his neck; the thick dog chain wasn’t bad though. At least she didn’t hand him any Tripp pants, he’s rejected those things so many times, they were just way too hard to run in and the noise of the chains smacking around was annoying.

He’s picking that dog chain, the houndstooth pants, and a shirt that says ‘I eat babies in my spare time’. Strutting out and trying to exude ‘I own the world’ with every step, “this is mildly tolerable”.

Sam rolls her eyes at his antics, “oh I’ll take it”.

“Now are you going to let me get away with only getting one outfit?”.

She gives him a mean look, “absolutely not, suffer”, and chucks some more stuff at him.

Unfortunately, one of the things she threw definitely had a spike on it and said spike goes right into his eye with a wet swick. Danny just stands there, all the clothing falling to the ground except the vest that’s currently more or less attached to his eye socket. She goes wide-eyed and just stares at him, so he kind of just slowly grabs the vest and yanks out the spike. Holding the vest at arms length, “whelp, now I have to buy this”.

“It… it will look good on you”.

Danny smirks at that, “I always look good covered in my own blood”, and blinks the gored eye socket; this is probably the first time he’s ever messed up his clothing before he even bought it, goddamn. He hands it off to her and drags the rest of the stuff into the dressing room, shouting at her, “I’m just going to sit in here till I have an eye again!”.

Sam shakes her head with a slight apologetic wince before moving to clean off the vest she just bloodied with his face.

It doesn’t take too long for his eye to not be a mangled mess, and for it to be possible for him to pull the tattered sweater with the grim reader drinking a martini on over his head without smearing it with blood/ectoplasm. The fall themed harem pants are something that he absolutely will not ever wear though, he can just feel how easily they will get caught and snagged on things; he likes baggy pants but this was a little ridiculous. He’ll still let her see it though, meaning he walks back out, she immediately throws the spiked vest at him again… at least it doesn’t impale him anywhere again. And when he slips it on it does actually go pretty well with the sweater, Danny looking down, “I look like a beat up hippie”.

He can hear the cringe in Sam’s voice, “yeah harem pants are definitely meant for someone skinnier than you. Anyway, last things”.

Danny looks up at her and sighs, grabbing the last bit of clothing she’s holding out. He gets that she has money but this all feels kinda like a waste to him, “you know this is all gonna get destroyed right?”.

She huffs at him and makes shooing motions, “just ‘cause you put clothing through hell doesn’t mean you should dress like you crawled out of a dumpster”.

“Hey I like my dumpster-chic”. She glares, he goes back into the changing room.

It’s one of those black sweaters with a hole in the chest that is absolutely skin tight… Tucker would make comments about her trying to turn Danny into eye candy. The black pocket covered pants though? Are fucking Kevlar which might actually be super good for him. Honestly he was a bit more used to the stores she’d occasionally drag him to to try and goth/punk him up only having cheaper or basic grade clothing. The ghost necklace is pretty cute too, dainty and will be destroyed in a week at best, but cute. He adds on the leather belt from earlier and goes back out. Quirking an eyebrow at her and gesturing a bit ridiculously at the shit, “happy?”.

She snaps a photo immediately with a smirk, “very much so, yes”, pointing a finger down to the pants, “think those might survive a while?”.

“I’m honestly surprised you found Kevlar anything, worth a shot. So yes, definitely buying”.

She cheers a little and motions him over. Spreading some of the clothing out on the bench. “Okay so I know I’m getting these for sure”. From the looks of it she’s got a black sweater with a bunch of glitching teeth all over it, two more plaid skirts, a pair of tights that give the illusion of doll legs, a pack of black socks, the neon blue clear cyber skirt, a sweater with a bunch of stiff fabric cut outs of knives dangling off it, and a Lurking Class ‘trust no suits’ shirt. “And you’re definitely getting these, and the pants you’re wearing”. There’s the vest that stabbed him, the maroon shirt with the devil on it, the houndstooth trousers, leather belt, dog chain, dainty ghost necklace, the sad banana dress shirt (which yes, is because it will piss Vlad off the next time he drags Danny to a gala), and the ‘I eat babies in my spare time’ shirt. Sam nods at the spread and then smirks at Danny, “you’re getting that sweater too”.

Danny rolls his eyes, “absolutely not, I’m not this kind of whore”. She doesn’t drop the smirk and Danny finds out why when he goes back into the dressing room to get back into his normal clothing… she put fucking glue all over it and it was now stuck on him and he can’t actually change back into his actual clothing; he couldn’t even phase it off meaning it was ghost grade glue, because of fucking course. That mother fucker. “SAM!”. She starts laughing menacingly at him immediately before her arm snakes under the door and snags his jacket… meaning he can’t cover this up either. Goddamnit. At least the fucking pants come off.

As soon as he gets his actual pants on he’s out and basically chasing after Sam, who managed to not only pay but also leave the store in record time. Danny shouting, “I’M WITH THE GOTH!”, as he leaves himself.

“She already paid for what you’re wearing! Please don’t throw money at me!”.

Danny gives a thumbs up behind him as he goes, he is mildly annoyed he can’t just fly at her as he follows after her all the way back to the food court. Which then turns into a game of ‘hide around the tables’ with her running around and behind tables, bobbing and weaving, with him trying to snag her. She ducks under a table and pantses him… Danny just stops and blinks at her, pants around his ankles, “really?”. She smirks and books it; fleeing the food court.

And then Dash of all people turns away from the New York Fries stand and blinks at Sam running away, then at Danny, “what did she do to you?”, blinking again and walking over some, “and I knew you had muscle these days but damn”, and offers him the fries.

Danny flips him off, but does take a fry while staring after Sam a bit murderously.

“Are you going to pull your pants up, or…”.

Danny gives him a flat look, “are you going to do it for me?”. Dash immediately smacks him in the head, which turns into a mild slap flight; the fucking fries get destroyed and some wind up in both of their hair.

Sam’s just watching from a distance with her hands sticking out to the sides disbelievingly and a ‘you’ve got to be fucking kidding me’ look on her face. She facepalms when Vlad comes around a corner, stops dead in his tracks, at mutters, “Daniel, what the fuck”.

Which instantly resulted in both boys instantly stopping and turning to look at the mayor well know for only swearing with food stuff. Danny squeaks, “did you just swear?”.

Vlad blinks before going a little wide-eyed, turning on his heel and speed walking away. Danny sputtering, moving to go after the man, “oh no you don’t! You get back her-”, and his fucking ankle pants catches on a chair resulting in him flipping over the courtyard railing and flinging the chair with him which flies through the air and nearly brains someone. Danny gives up and lays on the ground; he’s pretty sure he ripped his pants even.

Sam walks back over and looks down at him, “how are you this stupid”.

“Hey! You’re the one who glued a shirt to me”.

Dash blinks, “she glued that on you?”. Sam glares at the jock murderously, so he takes a step back and grumbles, “I’m going to get more goddamn fries, you freaks are menaces”.

After a few seconds Danny speaks back up, “you are forgiven, Vlad said fuck”.

Sam goes wide-eyed and then digs in his pants pocket, doesn’t bother pulling them up for him though, and grins at the device; when she shows the screen to him he can’t help smiling too. Somehow, some way, he accidentally had the voice recorder on; he had audio proof of Vlad swearing like a proper mother fucker. He texts it to Vlad immediately.

Vlad sent back: 👁️👁️. Which was absolutely a death threat. Followed by ‘put your pants on, Daniel’, Danny takes them off fully and throws them in the trash, walking home in underwear, a glued on titty hole sweater, and fries in his hair. All with promises of Sam-focused revenge.

End

Prompts: Sam tried getting Danny into the ‘goth stuff’ she likes and What did she do with his body? and Well, shit. He can’t change back! and "Danny stopped at once, his mind pausing for a second. Did he... did he hear it well? Did Vlad just curse like... like a normal human being?" A.k.a. the one time Vlad had a legitimate reason to drop his sweet-related swears and surprisingly over a mundane situation.

[misc-obeyme]

to the 🪿 anon - your oc Pandora sounds really cool!! i also want more thirteen content 😭 I'd love to see her interact with others more. I can only think of the Battle for the Bread memory card and then that other one with her and Mammon (Panic something?)

I just end up daydreaming about scenarios between characters (and then never writing them down) BUT I'LL GET THERE... EVENTUALLY

I had an idea I wanted to talk about and I've totally forgotten. Anyway, LEVI BIRTHDAY CARD NEVER CAME HOME AND I'M SO SAD 💔 I SPENT SO MANY VOUCHERS, and unlocked so many spaces in devil tree (OG you got 75 devil points after unlocking 400)

WAIT I REMEMBERED MY IDEA, OKAY, UM, HOW DO YOU THINK DEMONS COMPARE TO HUMANS IN TERMS OF- I can't think of the word. Not durability. Endurance? Hm..

Because I'm thinking about Luci and Dia always having tons and tons of paperwork, and wondering if their hand ever cramps. Can demons develop arthritis?? (I ALWAYS COME UP WITH THE SILLIEST QUESTIONS/IDEAS I'M SORRY)

This came up in my mind because we finally got approved to get product in (brand new empty store), and we've been stocking nonstop. On Fri/Sat, me and another manager were in charge of floral AND breaking down everyone's boxes and throwing them out (15+ people who were instructed to throw their cardboard at the end of the aisle to work product faster)

So like, 9 hour shift both days, and my hand is curled around this tiny box cutter for a majority of it. I was switching between opening boxes in floral, and then doing laps around the store every hour to break down and collect everyone's trash. And understandably, it hurt to move my fingers on Sunday lol. I admit I also have a tendency to push myself because I want to get things DONE and move on.

Today I was stocking jewelry so no breaking boxes, just unwrapping beads. My fingers are doing a lot better AND THE AISLE LOOKS SO PRETTY.

Anyway, I wonder if they do get hand pain, and if Barbatos has a cream or pain relieving tea. I need him to teach me his ways.

- ✨ anon

My anons communicating through the ask box 🥹

Anyway, I did not get the Levi bday card, either. But I don't usually try too hard for the bday cards in general. I usually pull once or twice and that's about it. (Obvious exceptions are Barbatos and Solomon. They're the only ones I'm allowed to be weird about when it comes to bday nightmares. Yes I have rules for myself lol.)

Okay, so I've actually considered whether or not I think demons get things like carpal tunnel and like arthritis is a similar situation. And personally, I don't think they do. Because imagine Barbatos, if you will. Certainly a repetitive motion such as whisking or stirring ingredients could give one carpal tunnel if done enough. And that guy is constantly baking. Can you imagine Barbatos ever getting carpal tunnel?

I just think that demons live for so long, they would have to at the very least not get such issues as quickly. They live too long, you know?

BUT. I do love the idea of Barbatos having a little cream that he rubs into his wrists and hands as prevention. And I don't doubt that he knows of such things, too. Hang on why am I remembering a chat about this?

Yeah, I got a daily chat where Barbatos was like "Ciaran there's something weird in the fridge what do you think it is?" And it turned out to be some hand lotion that Diavolo had made for him, but he thought it was some freaky food substance.

I was so touched because awwww Diavolo looking after his old hardworking butler! But it doesn't really say if it's meant to like... relieve hand pain, it's just like yeah some kinda cream lol!

Anyway, I think demons likely either don't get such issues at all or they get them, but it takes a lot longer due to their lifespan situation. Either way, I also think that Barbatos is the one to ask about pain relief... I don't doubt he knows about all the perfect tea blends and likely the perfect types of creams and such, too.

As for you, I must recommend hand stretches. I get wanting to get things done, but if you push yourself too much you could accidentally cause yourself real and long lasting damage! Honestly all you'd need to do is put that knife down for like five minutes and roll your wrist around, maybe do that claw pose with your fingers and move 'em around, you know how it is!

But I'm glad you're feeling better now and I hope you get to do some things that don't put such a strain on your hands!

[ethereousdelirious]

Welcome to the sediment layer of "fills I had to write on a 10+ y/o iPhone because I post my real phone in Canada"

It has since been replaced, but. That was a dark time

Sicktember 2023 Day 28

Prompt: "I should have stayed home"

Fandom: Pokémon

Characters: W.allace, St.even

Notes: Emeto emeto emeto

Now, at this very moment, linguists were re-writing the Official Hoennese Dialect Dictionary. Flip to the 'D' section— there, under 'down bad,' a picture of Wallace sweating through his shirt.

Definition: whatever; example sentence: "Wallace is down bad for Steven Stone."

Down so bad that he'd agreed to come to this hours-long lecture on rocks. Down so bad that he hadn't canceled despite waking up with the stomach ache of the century. Despite the near-misses he'd had throughout the day, stifled gags behind closed lips and hoping the challenger of the hour wouldn't notice anything. And thank the Makers that he hadn't actually gotten sick in his Gym, because then some poor janitor would have had to melt the ice and drain the water and that would have been a nightmare.

Wallace's stomach bucked beneath his waistband. Oh, right. He was already in a nightmare. A never ending stream of lectures on rocks and stones and boulders and minerals and whatever else and he was right up front, so when he inevitably left to go puke his guts up in the university bathroom, everyone would notice.

And then, once he'd recovered, he'd have to find his seat again and sweat through some more lectures, because of course Steven was speaking last.

There was just no way Wallace could miss his speech, not after months of late-night phone calls helping Steven workshop subheading names and sentence structures. He'd been so excited that Wallace had agreed to come.

So Wallace was going to sit and swallow back the waves of nausea and shiver in his custom white suit (with the diamond-studded tulle capelet, thank you very much) and be there for his best friend.

All he had to do was wait.

And wait.

And w— and not throw up, do not, do not.

And wait.

The misery came in waves: first a cold sweat on his brow and pressure in his stomach, then more sweat rolling down his back, then a heavy urge to retch sitting in the back of his throat. His breaths came so loud through his nose it interfered with his ability to hear the lectures and surely his neighbors resented the chill of his exhalations on their wrists, but he couldn't control it. Not if he wanted to control his stomach.

Worst of all, the longer he held back, the more his stomach hurt, cramping like Nolan's Pinsir had him in a Vise Grip.

Pressure and pain built up in his belly until he just couldn't ignore it any more. Brackish saliva flooded his mouth and every attempt to swallow it down met increased resistance at the back of his throat.

He stood just as applause filled the auditorium— a stroke of luck. Keeping his head down, he stumbled over his neighbors' legs on his way out of the auditorium. How rude, to leave like this. But still, it was better than vomiting all over the carpet.

Wallace staggered into the atrium with the next speaker's voice booming in his head— "...the significance of Kanto's Mt Moon. How many of you have had the chance to visit—"

Wallace's stomach lurched and all his senses slammed inward with it, frantic focus on self and now and oh no I'm not going to make it.

Giving up on the bathroom, he steered himself toward the nearest trash can and immediately coated its contents with a thin wash of watery stomach acid. The edge of the can rammed into his sore abdomen and he heaved again, this time bringing up nothing but a quiet noise of distress.

Tears flooded his eyes and his knees gave out. He hit the ground hard, further irritating his stomach, which now felt like the Rusturf Tunnel: violently hollowed with rusty digging equipment.

He sat there on the floor for a moment. Just enough to collect himself, calm his breathing. He felt better now, really, a little better. Better enough that he could do the stupid, thirsty thing and stay long enough to listen to Steven's speech. Otherwise, what was it all for?

All he had to do was picture the grateful look on Steven's beautiful face and it would all be okay.

The feeling of tentative stability stayed through the second half of the speech he'd bailed on, even backing off enough to let him enjoy honest butterflies in his stomach when Steven finally took the stage.

Wallace's front row seat gave him a perfect view of the way Steven's silvery-green eyes sparkled in the spotlights. They were especially captivating tonight, probably because of the fever cooking Wallace's brain. Or, no, Steven really was that magical, wasn't he? From the easy way he commanded a room to his effortless presence in battle, he really was divine.

"...Wallace, whom I really cannot thank enough."

Wallace shook himself. Was that a blush on Steven's cheeks?

"Please stand up, Wallace; I really could not have done this without you." Steven gestured into the audience. "Gym Leader Wallace, everyone."

With his own cheeks burning, Wallace stood. He would have waved to Steven if he hadn't immediately come over dizzy. All his focus shifted at once to the monumental task of staying upright; he had to lock his knees and lean back against his chair for the modicum of stability it offered him.

He all but collapsed when the applause died down and Steven's next few sentences faded away to the roar in his ears.

Oh.

He was really sick.

He should have realized it earlier, probably, as though gagging into a trash can and collapsing hadn't been enough of an indicator. He was… too sick to be here and too stubborn to leave.

Even when the roar in his ears died out, silver spots blinked in his eyes and refused to go away no matter how he tried to ignore them. Worse still, the cramping pain in his stomach came back, low and constant.

And still.

He refused to regret his decision to stay. Steven really had blushed and that meant something and damned if Wallace was going to leave before reaping the rest of tonight's rewards. If staying earned him even one more smile, then he would stay.

-

"Wallace! There you are!" Steven beamed, his smile no less dazzling for the muddy yellow lights beaming down from the exterior of the auditorium. "I wondered where you'd gotten off to."

"Smoke break," Wallace said, uncrossing his arms before Steven could notice how desperately he'd been holding his stomach.

It seemed Steven was too caught up to notice anyway, because he didn't even pretend to laugh at Wallace's bad joke. "I'm so glad you came," he said, taking one of Wallace's hands between both of his own. "Really, I can't thank you enough. You look wonderful."

Wallace's stomach did a flip, half nerves and half real nausea. "I wouldn't miss it," he said. Steven had no idea.

"I'm glad you're alone, actually." Steven held tight to Wallace's hand, somehow not noticing the cold sweat on his palm.

Another flip.

Well, less of a flip and more of a triple lutz, triple flip combination that kicked up a dangerous splash of briny saliva in the back of Wallace's throat. He swallowed with difficulty, trying to keep focused on Steven's face when every instinct in his body screamed at him to curl up on his side and get ready to turn his stomach inside-out.

"Wallace, I wanted to ask you to dinner," Steven said, "just the two of us." His eyes shined green and earnest in the yellow light, putting to rest any lingering suspicion that this was just another dinner between friends.

He had left Wallace the perfect opening to say something charming or, better yet, heartfelt. But the only thing behind his lips was a strangled gag. He swallowed it down and managed to squeak out, "A date?" without painting Steven's shoes, but it was a near thing. Oh, he could cry. All he'd wanted, it was all he'd wanted...

"Yes," Steven said slowly, "a date. Wallace, are you—"

Wallace turned and heaved into the bushes, yanking his hand out of Steven's. There really, really wasn't anything left to come up and he coughed on the empty gags crawling up his throat.

"Wallace!" Steven's warm palm found his forehead, the other anchoring on his back.

The leaves tickled Wallace's face. He batted feebly at them, hands shaking, heaved again, and then his knees buckled and Steven had him, Steven had him.

"Wallace, can you look at me?"

Ugh, leave it to Steven to start testing his mental orientation instead of immediately administering mouth to mouth. With tongue.

"M'fine." Not strictly true. "Not having an aneurysm." A shudder ran through him and Wallace stifled a groan into the warmth of Steven's thigh. "My stomach hurts."

Steven's muscles shifted beneath Wallace's cheek and warm fingers began to brush his hair back. "Did you eat anything questionable earlier?"

Wallace shook his head as much as his positioning would allow. Ah, yes, he was mostly on the pavement, wasn't he? He should get up; his suit would get all dirty. "Haven't… felt well all day. Had to close my Gym early."

"Then why—" Steven's hand stilled for a moment. "Not that I'm not grateful, but why did you come if you weren't feeling well?"

Wallace tried to shift so he could look Steven in the eye, but his stomach cramped fiercely, so he stayed still. "I was hoping you'd ask me out on a date."

"Ohhh..." Steven sighed. "Wallace." He took a deep breath and released it, running his hands through his hair. "Can you sit up? Apparently we're having our first date at the ER."

-

The nurses spared Wallace some indignities and let him keep his suit on. Steven had to help him with his jacket and with rolling up his sleeve and even held his hand when it was time for the IV (which was very, very soon after arriving, because Wallace passed out in the lobby like some kind of waifish soap opera star).

"Did you know you have a fever?" Steven asked, reaching over to put a hand on Wallace's forehead.

Wallace closed his eyes, anchoring one hand on the emesis basin in his lap in case he needed it. "No," he said. The fluids had cleared his mind a little, but all he could picture was Steven's spotlight-dazzling smile. "I would've come anyway."

"I—" Steven broke off with a sigh. "You really don't think you should have stayed home?"

"Do you know how long I've been waiting for you to ask me out on a date?" Wallace countered. "I had a feeling tonight would be the night."

"You could have asked me out if you were so sure," Steven said, strangely subdued. Wallace opened his eyes and found Steven frowning at him, a furrow between his brows.

"I wanted you to ask me."

"But does that mean that you only agreed to help me with my speech because you wanted—"

"Steven Stone." Wallace held up a hand to stop him and winced when he pulled on the tape holding his IV line in place. "I risked throwing up all over your parents tonight because I wanted you to ask me out on a date. I helped you with your speech because I love— Ah." Searing heat flooded Wallace's face and his stomach dropped, though not in a way that indicated a strong need for the emesis basin. He white-knuckled it anyway, drawing it closer. "...rocks," he finished weakly. "Because I love rocks."

Steven, who had yet to let go of Wallace's hand, pressed a kiss to the back of it like he couldn't help himself, like it was something as reflexive as breathing. "You know, Wallace," he said, gazing at him like he was more beautiful than any diamond, "I love rocks, too."

And this time, Wallace and his upset stomach managed to not ruin the moment.

That honor went to the doctor, who interrupted their adorable little mutual confession with questions about Wallace's health and wellbeing, like that mattered when he could have been canoodling in a hospital bed with Steven.

When the doctor was finally satisfied, thankfully clearing Wallace to go home, Steven took his hand again. "Have you at least learned a lesson from all this?"

"Oh, sure." Wallace squeezed his hand and smiled despite his exhaustion. "Steven Stone rewards bad behavior."

[f1-chicane]

┏━━━ what happens in vegas, stays in vegas

characters : yoon venus (referred to as iseul).. jayoon.. etc era : predebut words : 406 tags : loosely inspired by pink in the night by mitski, venus is a dumbass but a sad one, jaeyoon is clueless

Bustling tables, writing orders, placing dishes in the sink. Table One wants a caesar salad without anchovies, six wants the mushrooms taken out of their pasta, Three wants their dessert to go..

Too many substitutions, too many people, too many hours on her feet. With the sound of a baby crying in the background, Iseul loses track. she feels a palm grip her shoulder as she grimaces.

“hey, you alright? I just finished my round around the restaurant if you need anything.”

Jaeyoon. Despite the exhaustion, a small smile gets pulled onto her face.

“I’m good! I’m good, just a little out of it today.” He gives her that sweet, sweet smile she loves. She doesn’t want to leave. She can’t, not him. “C’mon, let’s take a break while everyone else catches up.” he’s pulling her by the wrist before she can even think about rejecting (she wouldn’t have anyways.)

They go outside and sit on a bench at the side of the restaurant. Jaeyoon relaxes and lays back, “This is gonna be the rest of our summer huh? Fuck if luck’s on our side, maybe for the rest of the year. You don’t have a set date yet right?” He doesn’t know. He really doesn’t know. Of course he doesn’t know, Iseul never told him. She’s leaving by the end of the month. 

Across the world, back home. 

Home, back to living in her cramped home with her family. Jaeyoon has this resting smile, after working the same long hours, he looks at her the same. Iseul can’t tell him. His eyes stay focused on her as he sighs. 

“Seul.. if this is about the whole training process, I’m sorry for bringing it up. But there’s really nothing to be worried about. You were good enough to get sponsored. That’s insane. How many people get their trainee expenses paid straight out?” Jaeyoon moves closer as he continues, “You’ll do just fine. I promise.” 

“I know, I know. You tell me this every time.” Iseul glances at him. “Thank you, Jaeyoon.”

“Don’t use my full name. You’ll make it sound like a goodbye. Besides, if everything goes our way, we’ll meet at the finish line.”

[cyberrat]

67th Batch of Fics: 6th Fill

Hanzo/Cole – Rough And Tumble – Part 8 – age difference; oversensitivity – Hanzo putting Cole through his paces.

---

Yes, as Hanzo had predicted, Cole looks so damn proud of himself once he has gathered himself enough to turn around and take a look.

Of course he can’t let him keep this moment of dumb self-satisfaction – it makes him look weirdly handsome – so he makes sure to immediately humble him.

At first Cole obviously thinks it is some kind of reward to have Hanzo’s hand wrapping around his already eagerly straining cock to slowly jerk him off… but that glitter in his eyes quickly turns to despair when after he is allowed to come without reprimand and ridicule, Hanzo’s hand stays right where it is, slowing down in its pumps but never entirely stopping.

He becomes restless then, his hairy ass shifting against the sheets, thighs wanting to close but not daring to when Hanzo hasn’t told him he’s allowed. Oh, he is so obedient.

“Uh… S-Sir? Maybe uh… just a few more minutes? Half an hour?”

Such a sweet idiot. No thoughts in that head of his.

“You will stay hard,” he tells him, voice brooking no argument.

“I… will?” he sounds so confused… but his legs do relax again, probably since the oversensitivity of his orgasm is receding now. So he lets Hanzo jerk him off again. His load is far less… copious this time around but still much more than Hanzo would have expected after being allowed for the third time in the evening to shoot it.

By the fourth time he is getting restless enough that Hanzo has to reprimand him. By the fifth time his lovely deep voice has gone very scratchy and his stomach is pumping hard and fast as he skirts on the edge of hyperventilating.

He has no idea why Hanzo is doing what he is doing. It probably is occurring to him only at the point of his body producing a pitiful watery squirt that this is, in fact, not a reward for him.

After the fifth time, Hanzo wipes his hand against the bedsheet. His wrist is seriously cramping and Cole’s cock looks less ruddy and more chafed, so he tells him to relax himself a little while he goes and gets them something to drink.

He sends off a text to his secretary that she should cancel or postpone his morning meetings – he feels like this night will be quite a bit longer than anticipated.

He does not plan to get into the habit of playing a waiter for his mutt, but he can’t deny that he feels some warm kind of affection watching him eagerly drink down the glass of water he offers him.

“I want to see how many times you can come for me,” he finally tells him, unconcerned about the huge-eyed gaze Cole gives him. “And then you will fuck me tomorrow night and we’ll see if you’ll manage to leave me unsatisfied yet again.”

He pushes the soiled bedding to the side so he can comfortably lie on a dry space while Cole stutters through a reply.

His halting denial quickly comes to a stop once Hanzo suckles the tip of his soft dick into his mouth. He groans softly, pressing both hands to his face… then just gives himself over to his destiny.

Hanzo appreciates his willingness to just roll over and accept fate.

He suckles on him nice and slow, tongue tickling around the spongy head. He keeps seeking out the little triangle of folds sitting just below the crown, weirdly interested in the silky texture now that he’s still soft.

Hanzo has never really thought about sucking a soft dick; he’s into young, virile studs, after all. Impotence has never been one of his kinks, and yet… there is something rather entertaining about how squishy and soft Cole’s bull cock is and how he whimpers whenever Hanzo sucks too harshly or presses too forcefully.

He is so very sensitive… it is a miracle in itself that he manages to tease him back into hardness at all... Though it is not as difficult as he would have expected. While it does take markedly longer for Cole to offer him a nice fat erection again, he manages to get it up before Hanzo could lose interest in the whole endeavor.

What definitely surprises him is the gentle touch of fingers slowly carding through his hair. Here and there they stop and play with a particular strand which he supposes might be a few of his gray hairs. It seems that his boy toy has a particular fascination for them. Maybe their sight has him realize the age gap between them.

He tries to think about it as he slowly pushes Cole’s dick past his glottis, but… well. It is difficult to think much of anything while he is stretching his throat out on his boy toy’s dick and tickles his big warm breeder balls in the same instance.

It takes longer this time around until the thick cock begins to pulse and cum oozes down his throat like it’s a particularly decadent treat. Despite his earlier bitchiness, Hanzo swallows it without complaint. He’s kind of surprised by his own reaction; he had not thought he would enjoy it this much teaching Cole some restraint… yet here he is, panting just from sucking dick and already waiting for the next load to fill his stomach nice and warm…

He keeps sucking him through his orgasm until Cole starts whining like the dog he is and the fingers that had carded through his hair carefully close into a fist as if about to pull him off.

It only needs one sharp, incredulous stare from him to snuff that particular thought right out. Cole quickly lets go of him, holding his hands up at his shoulders in capitulation. His face is about as brick red as his dick had been.

It’s getting softer and softer again despite Hanzo trying his damndest to keep him nice and hard for more play.

Cole’s eyes are decidedly watery. His chest is heaving, sweat glistening and pulling Hanzo’s gaze while a litany of soft expletives keeps dropping from Cole’s lips. They sound strangely compelling when he says them with his deep, crooning drawl.

To Hanzo’s sides, Cole’s thighs are trembling something fierce. He puts his fingers against them to feel the contraction of muscles and him fighting against the need to curl them around Hanzo’s head and squeeze down hard.

Aw, he’s so adorable. First time getting pushed far his limits and he’s behaving like a gentleman.

Hanzo, in a rare show of compassion, slowly pulls back and lets his soft dick slip out from his mouth. It does not seem like it will get hard again any time soon anyway.

He gets a lot of ‘thank you’s for his trouble which he likes. He sits up slowly, daintily wiping his mouth with a handkerchief that had been lying on his bedside table. As he gets himself presentable, he watches Cole sitting there, sweating and flushed and absolutely beat. He looks like he’s seriously contemplating never sticking his dick into any holes ever again.

Oh but he will. He has to learn, after all.

[sinfvlwishs]

( small things about levi being in heat: )

very embarrassed about being on it, will try and hide in his room for the average of 3 days it usually takes for him to get through it. very temperamental towards his brothers but soft as hell with his lover. he might even bring a few empty bottles to his room just in case he's too embarrassed to leave to simply go to the fucking bathroom. his brothers usually know what's up after about a day or so.

of course, as expected, and is typical of all demons, he gets horny as fuck. much needier for sexual contact than usual.

his shy disposition doesn't change much, but he does express much more of a direct interest in particular sexual activities that are brought up. if anything, he's more shy about having to explain the fact that he's in heat much more than he's bothered by any discussion about sex.

he also becomes quite hungry too (general demon heat symptom). he generally eats a tiny bit more than the average serving of food for a demon, mostly thanks to the amounts of video games he plays and the shows he watches, but if he's feeling up to it, during a meal, he might be able to eat up to as much as beel's average serving of food.

speaking of food: WEIRD. CRAVINGS. one second he might want raisin bread toast with cinnamon, the next he'll be craving a grilled cheese sandwich with tomato. prepare the ingredients in the kitchen for this. he'll be making many different requests.

despite being much more needy for sex, his energy level does drop quite a bit (another demon heat symptom). he can sleep for up to twelve hours at night and finds taking longer naps during the day much easier.

might experience some abdominal cramping and feel generally nauseous for the days he's in heat.

VERY. PHYSICALLY. AFFECTIONATE (you guessed it: ANOTHER GENERAL SYMPTOM). he'll be at your side pretty much 24/7, wanting to touch you in any way he can, rubbing his cheeks all over you and marking you with his scent like a cat. demons have scent glands in their necks, wrists, and ankles, so prepare for the other brothers (and other demons in general) to comment that you smell like levi for at least 4-5 days.

more of a general demon heat hc but i imagine that male demons in particular tend to have their heat cycles line up if they spend a lot of time together, and the brothers probably all get it at around the same time. so i bid any mc who has to deal with that the best of luck i can possibly give them xD

[parkerdoesparkour]

-Sticks and Stones (Heartslabyul Ver.)-

Titania gets injured and gives the boys a heart attack.

Riddle Rosehearts

Titania and Riddle were pruning the roses together, chatting happily about their day and making plans for a coffee date in town. Grim was supposed to be helping but he galavanted off the first chance he got. It didn’t escape Titania’s notice, though, that Riddle let Grim escape, no doubt to get more alone time with her. 

“I should be done with the meeting around two,” Riddle says. “If that time also works for you.”

“As long as Ace and Deuce behave,” Titania laughs. She reaches into one of the rose bushes, slightly distracted by the conversation and not paying enough attention to where her finger was going. There’s a pinprick of pain and she hisses, immediately drawing her hand back. The blood is barely the size of a bead and after the initial pinch, it barely even stung. “Damn,” she sighs and Riddle pauses in his own work to take Titania’s hand. He investigates the injury. “Do you think I’ll need stitches?” she teases and his concerned expression melts away into a smile. 

He places the tip of her finger in his mouth, not thinking much of it since these kinds of injuries were common when tending to the roses. Titania thought differently, flushing pink. With perfect timing, Ace bursts into the scene, and whatever he was about to tell them vanishes when he sees the scene in front of him. 

“Housewarden, my goodness!” he says with a sharp grin. “Seducing Titania in public now, are we?” 

Riddle, as he often does when he gets embarrassed, clenches his teeth together as he tries–and fails–to will himself not to blush. However, unlike the other times, Titania’s finger is in his mouth, so when the inevitable teeth clenching happens, he accidentally bites down on her finger. 

Titania squeals, Riddle swears, and Ace laughs so hard he ends up with stomach cramps. Thankfully, Titania’s injury heals an hour after the whole ordeal but the damage to Riddle’s pride takes a little longer.

Trey Clover

Trey leans against the Heartslabyul kitchen counter, Titania against him, with his arms loosely thrown around her waist. His chin rests on her head and he watches her scroll through Magicam, occasionally making a comment about a post. 

“Oh, look at this,” Titania says. She pauses on one of Cater’s many, many cafe posts, showing Trey mini cherry pies with hearts on the crust. “We could make this for Ace.”

“I don’t know,” Trey chuckles. “I feel like we’d have to time it right, so it’s not like we’re rewarding bad behavior.”

“Then we’d never get to make them,” Titania responds with laughter. Just then, the timer goes off, signaling that the vanilla cupcakes baking in the oven were done. Titania, distracted by the delicious smell, goes immediately to get them out of the oven. 

“Wait, you need–!” Trey begins but Titania is already grabbing the handles of the pan without any oven mitts. She recoils, shouting profanities and Trey rushes to her side. He grabs her by the wrist and shoves her hand under cool water. “Honestly, what were you thinking?” he sighs. 

Titania smiles weakly. “I was thinking about the cupcakes. Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” he replies, letting his shoulders relax. “I’m just… please be more careful.”

“I will, I will,” she says, “but…”

“But?”

“I know you’ll always be there to help me.” Titania gives him a cheeky grin. “You’re my knight in shining armor, after all.”

Trey’s ears go red. “You��re such a handful,” he says, but he’s smiling all the same.

Cater Diamond

“Coming through~!” Cater shouts, zig-zagging through the groups of students as he makes his way through the halls. Close behind is his pursuer, Titania Goodfellow, who shoves students in her way with the strength of a scorned princess. “Outta the way, outta the way!”

“Cater, get back here!” Titania shrieks. There’s no real malice in her voice but still, Cater continues to run as far away from her as possible. He laughs and rounds a corner and Titania follows, though she ends up slipping on the floor as she tries to catch up to Cater’s long strides. Her feet fall out from beneath her and she ends up on her back with a groan. 

Cater appears above her in an instant, offering his hand with a strained smile. “You ok?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” Titania says, grasping his hand. He lifts her up back onto her feet. “Just got the wind knocked out of me.”

“Are you sure?” he says. He circles her with concern, looking for bruises. “You’re not hurt?” 

“No, but,” she pauses, slightly guilty at how quickly Cater comes to her side, “I would feel a lot better if you deleted that picture of me.”

Cater laughs, wrapping her up in his arms. “Oh, yeah? Maybe you should kiss me first, and I’ll consider it.”

Titania leans in with a giggle, complying with his request when Trein suddenly bursts from a nearby classroom. “Diamond! Goodfellow! What have we said about PDA in the hallways?”

“Run, Cater!” Titania laughs and he lifts her up bridal style, taking off as Trein continues to shout at them.

Deuce Spade

Deuce had asked Titania to accompany him on his morning job, so she follows close behind him at a steady pace as they pass around the outskirts of the main building. It’s not strenuous and Deuce turns back every now and then for a passing comment or just to check in on her. It’s during one of these minor conversations that Titania, focusing on Deuce rather than where she’s going, snags her foot on a tree root and falls forward. 

She lets out a sharp gasp as her knees hit dirt and Deuce goes pale, falling beside her to investigate her skinned knee. He looks so funny, his face tight with concern and his lip pouting, Titania can’t help but laugh.

“It’s not even bleeding,” she says. Deuce’s pout gets worse and she presses a kiss on his cheek. “Sorry.”

“S’fine,” he mutters. His cheeks are pink as he lifts her up bridal style into his arms. “I’ll carry you back to Ramshackle. We need to get the dirt cleaned off so it doesn’t get infected.”

He looks so earnest that Titania doesn’t bother to mention to him that it won’t get infected because, again, it didn’t even break skin. Instead, she settles into his arms and lets him carry her across the field towards Ramshackle, wrapping herself up in his warmth.

Ace Trappola 

“Shrimpy~!” Floyd shouts, throwing his arms around Titania when she enters the gym. She laughs and pats his head. “Did you come to watch practice again?”

“Hey, get off of her!” Ace marches over, basketball in hand. This was a daily occurrence, Floyd clinging to Titania and Ace getting pissy that someone other than him had themselves wrapped around her. 

Floyd sticks his tongue out, teasing a pissy Ace as he gets closer, while Titania attempts to untangle herself from his long limbs. Ace grits his teeth and throws the basketball in his hand directly towards Floyd. However, the eel proves too slippery, and moves out of the way just in time for the basketball to hit Titania square in the face. 

Tears sting her eyes from the impact and her hand flies up to her nose as she crouches down. Ace rushes to her side, wrapping her into his arms and cradling her against his chest like she had just broken her nose instead of simply just hurting it. She laughs into his arm, looking up at him with a small smile. 

“I’m fine,” she assures him. “Really, I’m fine.”

Ace grumbles something about a ‘damn eel’, pulling her into another tight hug. They remain like that for longer than necessary, Ace quite literally hissing at anyone who came too close or who tried to tell him practice had already started. 

Not that Titania was complaining.