#and reached out for his hand that was resting on his hand....still (falsely) affectionate... and he was visibly lile Shit What The Fuck.

[cumironi]

BOTTOMS OUT, BRAT TAX jjk men

feat. gojo, geto, nanami, toji, sukuna, shiu, higuruma

summary. what’s the price that comes from being a brat? stay on the corner? orrrrrrr... getting fuc$ by your boyfriend hard, mean? probably the second that’s why being a brat is your that time of the year.

warning. non-sorcerer! jjk men, 23 you & 31 them, age-gap, brat tamer, mean, overstimulated, cock-drūnk, dirty talk, hair pulling, titie$/pu$$y slap(s), $pitting / $pit(s) in mouth, chocking, degrading, daddy-kink, very rough, mean praise, matīng presses, MARATHONS, brēeding mention, dūmbifícation, fíngering, cūmplay, swēaring. it might be too rough or disturbing for some people, read on your own awareness.

GOJO SATORU

the first thing he did when he walked in the door wasn’t kiss you. wasn’t hug you. wasn’t talk.

he unbuttoned his sleeves, rolled them up past his forearms, hung his jacket on the rack, and stared at you.

you on the bed. knees tucked under you, hair a mess, some dumb little tank that didn’t even cover your tits right, nipples hard and begging. phone still in hand. watching him like you didn’t already know what you’d done.

“how was work, baby?” you chirped. smug. god, smug.

his jaw ticked. he didn’t answer. just walked forward, slowly, fingers unbuttoning the rest of his shirt. all that pale, lean muscle. eyes like glass, but fire underneath.

you bit your lip. he noticed. always noticed.

“you think you’re cute,” he muttered, pulling the phone from your hand and tossing it somewhere. “think you can spend the whole goddamn week being a brat and i’ll just kiss your forehead and call you princess?”

you tilted your head. innocent. false.

“aren’t i your princess?”

he laughed. once. bitter and dark and mean.

“no, sweetheart. tonight, you’re my fucking problem.”

he grabbed you by the back of the neck and shoved you down on the bed, chest to mattress, ass up. panties soaked. you hadn’t even pretended not to touch yourself waiting for him. he could see it. smell it. the heat pulsing from your cunt was obscene.

“been teasing me for days,” he murmured. voice low. affectionate. like it was all just a joke between lovers. but his hands said otherwise. they yanked your panties down, spread your legs, palmed your ass like he owned it. “flaunting this little hole, moaning when i’m on the phone, fuckin’ grinding on me during movie night—”

a pause. breath tickled your ear.

“you been begging for this, baby.”

you shivered. “i missed you…”

his hand cracked against your ass. smack. you jolted.

“no, you didn’t. you missed my cock.”

he bent down, kissed the welt he left.

“but i missed you, too. fuckin’ brat and all.”

he reached between your legs, dragged two fingers through your folds. wet. soaked, needy, messy. you cried out, hips jerking, but he pinned you down easily.

“so pretty like this,” he whispered, voice soft like silk wrapped around steel. “so dumb for me. already wet and you haven’t even felt the stretch.”

you moaned when he shoved both fingers in. schlick. curling them up, slow, slow, mean.

“you know how many times i thought about this pussy this week? sittin’ in my office, watching your texts pop up—‘miss you daddy,’ ‘thinking about your dick,’—you really thought i wasn’t gonna make you pay?”

you whimpered into the sheets. “i wanna pay… please make me.”

his voice broke, almost tender. “fucking hell, baby. you were made to be ruined.”

he took his cock out, dragged it up your slit, wetting the head with your slick. you gasped when he pushed in—not fast. no mercy, but no rush either. like he wanted you to feel it.

“so tight. always so fucking tight. greedy little hole doesn’t wanna let me go.”

you moaned loud, hands fisting the sheets, body arching, already clenching.

“shh, baby,” he cooed, fucking you slow, mean, deep. every stroke brushing your walls perfectly. “let daddy do the talking now.”

you nodded, face buried in the blankets. eyes wide, leaking. he leaned down, pressed his chest to your back, mouth by your ear.

“gonna fill you up,” he whispered. “make you forget your own name. you’ll be just my sweet little fuckdoll, stuffed full of cum, dripping all over the sheets like a good girl.”

you sobbed. “please… harder…”

he obliged. slap of hips to ass. pace brutal now. no buildup. just hard, filthy fucking, his hand curled around your throat from behind, keeping your head tilted just so he could speak into your ear.

“look at you,” he breathed. “so easy for me. so soft. bet you’d let me do anything. bet i could turn you over, fuck your throat till you choke, and you’d still thank me.”

you nodded, gasping, tears leaking freely now. you loved this. loved it.

“you’re mine,” he said, filthy and reverent. “mine to fuck. mine to break. mine to put back together.”

his hand slipped to your clit, rubbed fast and hard and perfect.

“cum for me, baby,” he whispered. “show me how much this little cunt needs me.”

you screamed.

orgasm ripped through you like lightning, thighs shaking, body convulsing, drool on the pillow, eyes rolled back. you clenched around him so hard he groaned, hands gripping your hips like he’d die if he let go.

“fuck—fuck, gonna fill you—gonna make you my little cumdump—take it—”

and he did. thick ropes of hot cum spilling deep inside you, cock throbbing, buried to the hilt. he stayed there. didn’t move. just pressed his body to yours, forehead on your shoulder, heart racing.

he kissed your neck.

“you’re such a little problem,” he whispered.

then softer

“but you’re my favorite problem in the whole fucking world.”

GETO SUGURU

you were on your knees when he came in.

good girl posture. hands resting on your thighs. no panties. tank top soaked from your own nipples. mouth open, eyes wide, trying your best to look obedient.

geto saw right through it.

he didn’t speak at first. just stared. heavy boots thunking across the floor with slow purpose, like every step was judgment. thirty-one years old, still in black slacks from his shift, sleeves rolled up, hair pulled back neat—clean.

too clean for the way he looked at you. like he was about to do something filthy. sacred.

“how many days you think you’ve gotten away with this?”

his voice dropped like honey into a coffin.

“with what?” your lips curled. “being good?”

he knelt, big hands sliding into your hair, curling tight.

“no. playing sweet, sitting here like you’re waiting for a blessing when all week you’ve been acting like the devil’s little cumslut.”

your mouth dropped. thighs clenched.

“don’t play innocent,” he hissed, breath hot against your cheek. “skipping class, mouthing off, posting thirst traps while i’m at work—you wanna humiliate me, baby? want everyone seeing what’s mine?”

“i wanted your attention,” you whispered.

“you got it now.”

he dragged you by the hair, tossed you on the bed like a ragdoll.

“face down.”

you didn’t even blink. flipped, legs trembling, soaked already, thighs sticking together.

he tore the shirt. clean. one motion. your tits bounced out and he didn’t waste time. slapped one, hard, made you yelp.

“no bra? of course not. why would a whore need one?”

you whined. “suguru…”

“don’t say my name like that unless you want me to spit in your fucking mouth.”

you turned your head, open. waiting.

he grinned. “good little slut.”

ptui— his spit landed on your tongue. you swallowed without blinking.

he shoved your legs open. two fingers slid between your folds. he paused.

“…this wet already?”

your moan was so soft it barely counted. “for you. only ever for you.”

his fingers moved slow. filthy. obscene. gathering slick just to smear it around, tease your clit, then slap it. smack. your hips jumped.

“you’re not sorry.”

“no.”

“you want me to hurt you.”

“…yes.”

he bent down, kissed your spine. so gentle it made you ache.

“then i’ll make you scream, pretty girl. and you’re gonna thank me.”

he undid his belt. the sound alone made your breath hitch.

when he dragged his cock through your folds, you shook.

“look at you,” he murmured. “so needy. creaming on my cock before i even fuck you.”

you turned your face, whimpering, “please, i need it—”

he pushed in. all the way.

no warm-up. no slow thrust. just one thick, brutal drive of his hips that made your mouth open in a silent scream.

“fucking tight. trying to squeeze the cum out of me already? greedy fucking pussy.”

his pace was cruel. loud. thwack, thwack, thwack—his hips slamming your ass, hands gripping your waist like he was holding onto something holy.

“keep it open for me,” he growled, voice ragged. “don’t run. you begged for this, now you take it.”

your moans went high-pitched. broken. drool soaked the sheets.

he leaned over your back, one hand slipping under to grope your tits, the other gripping your jaw, turning your head to him.

“you know what you are?”

“what?”

“my sweet little altar. made to kneel. to take my cock like worship.”

you clenched. hard. he groaned.

“oh, fuck—yeah. you love that, don’t you? being used. being my soft, pretty thing to ruin.”

you cried out, “yes! fuck, i love it—please, harder—”

he grabbed your throat from behind, pulled you up, your back against his chest, still fucking deep, brutal, fast. your body jolted with every stroke.

“then take every inch. show me you mean it.”

he grabbed your jaw, forced your mouth open, spit into it again. “swallow.”

you obeyed. always.

“that’s it. my dirty girl. my pretty.”

his pace faltered—then slammed in harder. faster. pounding. like he wanted to break something.

“gonna fill you,” he gasped. “fuck you till it leaks down your thighs. i’ll knot you if i have to. keep you plugged all fucking week.”

your second orgasm hit so hard your legs collapsed. you shrieked—“SUGURU—”—body shaking, pussy clenching, squirting mess over his cock and thighs.

“fuckfuck— ohhh my girl—take it—take it all—”

he shoved in, one final time, and came. deep. thick. endless. flooding your cunt until it was dripping, running down your thighs.

he stayed buried. chest to your back. lips to your ear.

“my perfect little thing,” he whispered. “my brat. my problem. my heaven.”

you sobbed. smiling.

he kissed your temple.

“…round two’s in the shower. don’t you dare rinse me out.”

NANAMI KENTO

you knew what time he got off work.

you knew he’d take the train.

you knew how long the walk from the station to your shared apartment took.

and still, you were spread on the couch with your ass in the air and your vibrator buzzing so loud it was practically greeting him when the door opened.

“welcome home, daddy,” you purred, glancing over your shoulder, thighs slick and shining. “miss me?”

he didn’t speak. didn’t breathe.

nanami kento closed the door with the click of finality, set his briefcase down gently, and rolled his sleeves with the precision of a man preparing to kill. slow. methodical. focused.

you didn’t even blink. just arched your back more.

“you couldn’t wait,” he said, voice like death in a silk tie. “again.”

“i needed to come.”

“and not a single fucking thought for who you belong to.”

you moaned at the tone. his belt was already off, folded in his hand.

you whimpered, “make me remember.”

he did.

three cracks across your ass with the leather before you even finished exhaling. you yelped, jerked forward, vibrator falling out of your cunt—he kicked it across the room like trash.

“don’t you ever take what’s mine without asking.”

you turned your head, breathing fast, face flushed. “i’m yours.”

his voice dropped lower. colder.

“then act like it.”

he yanked you off the couch by your hair, not cruel, just firm, dominating, until you were on your knees before him.

“open your mouth.”

you obeyed.

his cock was hard already, heavy and thick, flushed red at the tip. he didn’t stroke it. didn’t tease. just shoved it past your lips and down your throat in one smooth, brutal thrust.

glrk—glgk—mmph!

“quiet,” he muttered. “you gag, you make a mess, i’ll make you clean the floor with your tongue.”

his hand in your hair. his cock down your throat. his voice in your head.

“disobedient little holes like yours need reminders. rough ones. you think acting like a filthy little brat will earn you soft touches?”

your throat fluttered around him. tears spilled from your eyes.

he pulled out. you gasped—air, finally—only to be slapped across the face with his cock. once. twice. precum smeared your cheek.

“no. you get discipline. and when you take it well, then—maybe—you get to hear me say how much i love you.”

you whimpered. “please, daddy—i love you—”

he bent down, grabbed your jaw, squeezed until your lips parted wide.

“and i love you,” he whispered, cruel and tender. “which is why i won’t stop until this body forgets how to lie.”

he flipped you over the couch, pushed your head down into the cushions, shoved two fingers into your dripping cunt, slow and punishing.

“look at this mess,” he hissed. “you soaked my furniture. like some heat-addled bitch waiting to be bred.”

you keened, trying to fuck back on his hand. he pulled away.

“don’t move.”

he lined up behind you. one hand on your hip, the other fisting your hair. then he fucked into you.

slap—slap—slap—

no warning. no easing. just cock, thick and deep, pounding your pussy open like it owed him something. your cries echoed in the room, each one sharper than the last.

“say it,” he snarled, fucking into you harder. “say what you are.”

“your slut—daddy—i’m your hole—fuck—i’m yours—”

“louder.”

“I’M YOURS—”

he yanked your hair, bit your shoulder, hand sliding around to rub your clit in tight cruel circles.

“you come without permission, i start over.”

you sobbed, trembling, pussy spasming around him.

“please—please please let me—”

he licked your ear. breath hot.

“beg prettier.”

your voice cracked. “daddy, please let me cum—i need it—been so bad, need your punishment—need your cum in me—please mark me—please—”

he groaned, deep and low. “fuck.”

his pace stuttered. faster now. rougher.

“cum for me, baby,” he hissed. “make a mess. cry for me. scream.”

you shattered.

your orgasm slammed through you like a train, thighs trembling, gush of slick coating his cock, your whole body collapsing forward into the couch cushions. sobbing. raw. ruined.

but he wasn’t done.

“stay there.”

he pulled out. flipped you over. shoved his cock between your tits and started fucking them while you whimpered, barely conscious, still twitching.

“look at me while i do it,” he ordered. “eyes on mine.”

you blinked, tears spilling, lips parted. he jerked himself with one hand, using your tits for friction with the other, voice shaking.

“i love you so fucking much,” he muttered. “you drive me insane. make me mean. make me need to ruin you.”

he came all over your chest and neck, thick spurts painting your skin like ownership.

he collapsed forward, kissed your mouth so softly it made you ache.

“you’re my everything,” he whispered. “my brat. my problem. my love.”

you nodded, dizzy. “i know.”

he cupped your cheek.

“and next time,” he said, already smiling, “if i catch you touching yourself again…”

he kissed your temple.

“…i’ll tie you up for three days and make you watch me cum on other things.”

TOJI FUSHIGURO

you slammed the door.

he kicked it open.

you were already halfway to your bedroom, huffing, rolling your eyes, making that smug little face that said “what are you gonna do about it?”

toji didn’t say a word.

he didn’t have to.

his heavy boots hit the floor like thunder. you didn’t even get a chance to shut your bedroom door before he was there—six foot something, broad, scarred, tired of your mouth and twice as tired of not fucking it shut.

he caught your wrist, yanked you back, threw you face-first onto the mattress.

“oh, we’re doin’ this again?” he muttered, pulling your shorts down without an ounce of gentleness, thong snapping against your thigh as he ripped it clean off. “you really don’t know when to quit, huh?”

you were soaking. dripping down your thighs. and he hadn’t even touched your cunt yet.

“fuck you,” you spat.

he laughed. loud. mean. dragged a hand through your hair, grabbed a fistful and yanked your head back.

“no, sweetheart. not tonight. i fuck you.”

he shoved two fingers into your mouth, watched your eyes widen as he fucked them in deep, slow, choking you just enough to blur your vision.

“this is what you’re good for. being used. being bent over and stuffed full ‘til you’re cryin’ and leaking. that what you wanted, princess?”

you moaned around his fingers, drooling down your chin.

he spat on your ass. spanked it with his free hand, making you jerk.

“talk back to me again this week and i’m fucking your ass next.”

you whimpered. clenched. because yeah, you wanted that too.

he yanked his belt off, undid his pants with one hand, shoved them down, cock already rock-fucking-hard, vein thick down the shaft, leaking.

“been walkin’ around like a tease all week. no bra, no manners, no fuckin’ sense,” he grunted, dragging his tip down your slit. “you want me to be mean to you.”

you nodded, barely able to breathe.

“yeah? you like when i fuck the brat outta you?”

you didn’t even answer. your eyes were already fluttering.

he shoved in with a grunt. balls-deep.

no warning. no mercy.

“FUCK—!”

your scream echoed off the walls as he filled you to the goddamn brim, hips flush, his palm between your shoulder blades pinning you down like he was staking a claim.

“tight little cunt,” he growled. “so fucking wet for me. already stretchin’ like a good girl.”

he pulled back and slammed in. again. again. faster now, fucking you like it was his full-time job.

you sobbed, hands clawing at the sheets, body jolting with each brutal thrust.

“what happened to all that attitude?” he taunted, leaning over you, chest to your back, lips on your ear. “gone all quiet now that you’ve got cock where your mouth used to be?”

you cried out, “toji—ohmygod—!”

he bit your neck. hard. left a mark.

“you’re mine. say it.”

“yours—fuck—i’m yours—!”

he laughed again, rough and satisfied.

“yeah, that’s what i thought. all that mouth and now you can’t even breathe without my dick stuffed inside you.”

his hand reached under, fingers to your clit—he didn’t stroke. he rubbed. hard, cruel circles, timed to each thrust. you were soaking him, wet squelches with every pump, your whole body on fire.

“cum like my fucktoy, baby,” he hissed. “i wanna feel you milkin’ my cock. wanna see you ruin these fuckin’ sheets.”

you screamed when it hit—legs shaking, vision blurring, whole cunt clenching tight around him in messy, gushing waves. you collapsed. sobbing. drooling. wrecked.

but he wasn’t done.

“nah, sweetheart. you don’t get to finish before i do.”

he grabbed your hips, pulled you back onto his cock, used your spent, twitching body like a toy. loud, brutal slaps of skin. balls slamming into your soaked cunt. groaning like he was at war with himself.

“fuck—gonna fill you—make you walk around leaking all night—fuckin’ dripping down your thighs like a good little cumdump—ugh—take it—take it, take it—”

he came inside you so hard you felt it. thick spurts, hot as sin, flooding your walls until it dripped down your ass.

he pulled out slow. stared at the mess. smirked.

“that’s what you get for runnin’ your mouth.”

you turned your head, dazed, voice hoarse.

“i hate you.”

he leaned down, kissed your forehead soft as anything, voice like syrup over gravel:

“love you too, babydoll.”

RYOMEN SUKUNA

he didn’t knock.

he didn’t text.

he kicked the fucking door in like he owned the place—and you.

and he did.

you didn’t even flinch from the bed, lounging like you hadn’t been a little menace all week. phone in hand. pussy bare. your cunt glistened under the city lights pouring through the window. thighs spread. one finger buried inside you.

he saw red.

“you’ve got a lot of nerve,” he growled, voice thick with something ancient, brutal, blood-soaked. “you touch what belongs to me and don’t even ask?”

you slid your finger out, sucked it slow, gaze steady.

“you weren’t here.”

he crossed the room in two strides, hand around your throat before the second breath left your lungs. pinned you to the mattress, his claws—yes, claws—digging just enough to make your pulse stutter.

“and that gave you the right?”

you gasped, breath caught between fear and heat.

“no,” you whispered. “i needed you.”

“that’s better.” he released your throat only to slap your cheek with the same hand. not hard. just sharp. humiliating.

“you need me. like a filthy mortal needs breath. like a cunt needs cock. like a god needs worship.”

his other hand dragged down your stomach, slow, possessive. past your navel, between your thighs. he spit on your pussy. watched it drip down.

“look at that. already wet. already messy. pathetic little shrine all ready for my cock.”

you whimpered. hips lifted. he slapped your pussy. smack.

“not yet.”

he stood at the edge of the bed, peeled off that black robe he always wore like he was royalty—chest marked in thick black lines, tattoos like scripture, four arms rippling with power. his cock hung heavy, long, thick enough to hurt. twitching already.

“on your knees.”

you scrambled. didn’t dare disobey.

he gripped your hair with one hand, used the other to stroke his cock, and before moving to hold your chin still.

“mouth open. tongue out. beg for it.”

you moaned. “please, daddy. i need it. need to choke on you.”

“then take it.”

he shoved into your throat, all at once. no easing. no mercy. just a brutal, choking thrust that had your lips spread wide, nose buried in his pelvis, drool leaking instantly.

glk—glrk—hhhk—!

“such a tight little throat,” he snarled, hips rolling into your face. “feels like you were made just for me. every hole on you’s mine.”

he fucked your mouth like it was a hole in the wall. used. owned. you gagged. he laughed. sweet, cruel, delighted.

“look at you. tears running, drool soaking your tits. and you’re moaning around it. you like being treated like a toy.”

you nodded, eyes glassy.

he pulled out with a pop. your spit hung in strands from his cock to your lips.

“on the bed. ass up.”

you obeyed, body shaking. he grabbed your hips, yanked you back to the edge, slapped your ass until it was glowing.

“i should tear this pussy open,” he hissed. “should split you on my cock ‘til you scream. but you’d like that too much, wouldn’t you?”

“please,” you whimpered. “please hurt me. i want it.”

he growled. bent down. bit your shoulder—hard.

“you’re fucking sick.”

he lined up. shoved in.

balls-deep. in one thrust.

your scream split the air. your hands clawed at the sheets. he was so fucking big. so full. you could feel him in your guts.

“there it is,” he moaned, hips jerking. “tight little cunt squeezing me like it’s trying to keep me.”

his pace was savage. slap, slap, slap—his hips brutal, body hard against yours, hands gripping your arms, claws biting into your skin.

“you thought you were in charge,” he snarled. “thought you could make me come crawling back by acting like a brat.”

“yes—yes—fuck—”

he leaned over, mouth at your ear.

“you belong to me, whore.”

you sobbed, clenching around him.

“my hole. my cumdump. my little fuckthing. say it.”

“yours—! please, kuna—i’m yours—i’m your little toy—”

he grabbed your throat from behind, dragged your back against his chest, never breaking rhythm, fucking you upright while you trembled and cried.

“gonna fill you up. fuckin’ ruin this cunt. make you drip my seed down your legs all week.”

“yes! please! i want it—want your cum—”

“good fucking girl.”

he slammed in deep. held. came. groaning. loud. thick. endless. his cock pulsed and pumped you full, hot liquid spilling out around the base.

he bit your neck again. sucked a mark. kissed the bruise he left.

“…you ever touch yourself again without permission,” he growled, low and sweet, “i’ll tie you up and make you watch me fuck someone else.” he would never, but still.

you whimpered, ruined.

he laughed.

“but don’t worry. you’re still my favorite. always have been.”

his hand cupped your cunt. felt the cum leaking out.

“let’s do it again.”

SHIU KONG

you’d done it again.

talked back. wore that skirt with no panties. flirted with some other guy at the bar just to see if he’d look.

you didn’t make it past the hallway.

shiu slammed you up against the wall so hard the picture frame fell off its hook. his breath hit your neck like smoke before fire, hands already pulling your shirt over your head, teeth scraping your jaw.

“think i didn’t see you?” he growled, mouth against your ear, voice dark and deadly. “batting your lashes, giggling like some fuckin’ club bunny? touching his chest?”

you gasped, but you were smiling.

“you jealous?”

his hand wrapped around your throat. tight.

“no. i’m furious.”

he grabbed your wrist and dragged you through the apartment like a criminal to sentence. your knees smacked the floor when he shoved you down in front of the couch. you didn't even protest. you wanted it. you lived for it.

his belt hit the ground. next were his pants. his cock was already hard, thick, twitching.

“open.”

you licked your lips. “yes, sir.”

“say it louder.”

“yes, sir.”

he slapped your cheek. not with his hand—with the head of his cock. smack smack smack. precum smeared your lips. your thighs clenched.

“good little bitch. show me who owns this pretty fuckin’ mouth.”

you opened wide. tongue out. obedient.

he shoved in deep. you gagged. glk—glrk—guhk— he didn’t stop. one hand held your hair, the other cupped your jaw, forcing you to take every inch until tears blurred your vision and spit dripped down your chin.

“that’s it. choke on it, princess. this what you wanted, right? some attention from your daddy?”

you whimpered around his cock. he laughed.

“you don’t even need to answer. your cunt’s been dripping since the bar.”

he pulled out with a wet pop, gripped your hair, yanked you to your feet and threw you on the couch. not placed. not guided. threw. you bounced on impact, legs splayed, skirt riding up to show everything.

“no panties,” he muttered, kneeling between your legs. “you wanted me to snap.”

you nodded, panting.

“say it.”

“i wanted you to lose it. i wanted to be punished.”

he grabbed your thighs and spread them wide. stared at your soaked cunt like it insulted him.

“fucking slut. god, you’re perfect. look at this pussy—so soft, so wet, and all of it mine.”

he didn’t even finger you. just leaned in and bit your inner thigh. hard.

“you wanna play games, sweetheart? fine. but i don’t play fair.”

he stood. lined up.

you whispered, “please be rough.”

his voice dropped to something cruel and sweet.

“oh baby. you don’t have to ask.”

and he slammed into you.

your scream lit up the room. no warning. no prep. just raw stretch and heat and cock, thick and punishing, shoved into your tight little hole like he was trying to fuck his name into your guts.

“there you go,” he hissed, holding your hips down when you tried to run. “now you’re quiet. now you’re mine again.”

his pace was vicious. brutal. thwack—thwack—thwack. the couch shook. your body rocked. tears streamed. and he didn’t stop. his hands roamed your body like they were memorizing every bruise he left.

“so fuckin’ pretty like this,” he growled. “cryin’, wrecked, full of cock. you make me crazy, you know that? i see you flirtin’, smilin’, and all i can think about is how you beg for my cum when you’re stuffed full.”

“shiu—shiu—please—”

“please what?” he slapped your clit. you squealed. “please more? please harder? please daddy use me like the cumdump i am?”

“yes—” you sobbed. “please ruin me—!”

he fucked harder. faster. one hand grabbed your throat again, squeezing. the other rubbing your clit mean and fast.

“then take it. take every fucking inch. milk me for it, baby.”

your orgasm ripped through you. back arched, vision gone white, mouth open in a silent scream, cunt clenching tight.

“that’s it,” he panted. “cum like a good little bitch.”

he didn’t pull out. couldn’t. he was already snarling, pounding into your spasming pussy like he was trying to breed you.

“gonna fill you up,” he moaned, voice ragged. “gonna leave you dripping for days—fuck—gonna make your body remember who owns it—”

and he came. hard. deep. thick.

cum painted your walls, leaking instantly around his cock. he held you there, pulsing inside, trembling.

and then—he kissed you.

soft. messy. possessive.

“you fuckin’ drive me insane,” he whispered. “but i love you so much i’ll keep breaking you every time you forget.”

you smiled through the tears, body ruined.

“…then i guess i’ll keep forgetting.”

HIGURUMA HIROMI

he didn’t even loosen his tie.

you watched him walk in—black coat soaked from the rain, briefcase in one hand, that cold stillness around his shoulders like he just left the courtroom but brought the executioner’s gavel home.

you were already waiting on the couch. bare. innocent. dangerous.

legs crossed. vibrator buzzing in one hand. nothing else on but gloss and guilt.

he saw the shine on your thighs. the fake innocence in your eyes.

and he smiled.

a soft thing. terrifying. like a man about to pass sentence.

“you’ve been playing again,” he said, setting the briefcase down.

“mm,” you hummed, slowly parting your legs, giving him the full view. “not guilty.”

his eyes dragged over your cunt, soaked and glistening.

“you sure?”

“you want to cross-examine?”

his coat dropped to the floor. no hanger. no pause. just unbuckled belt, tie yanked loose with one motion, shirt still tucked as he stalked toward you.

“stand up.”

you did.

“hands behind your back.”

you obeyed.

he circled you once like a predator and pressed his palm to your ass, dragging it down between your cheeks, feeling your heat. your slick.

he leaned in.

“verdict’s in,” he murmured, voice warm like whiskey and holy sin. “guilty. of seduction, disobedience, and fucking filth.”

your moan was a whisper.

he turned you, bent you over the couch, and cuffed your wrists behind your back with actual cuffs—black steel, no fluff, no play. courtroom restraints.

you gasped. breath hitched. he kissed the back of your neck.

“you don’t get to come tonight unless you confess.”

you turned your head, panting, “confess to what?”

he slapped your cunt. hard. you cried out.

“don’t play dumb. you get off on this. teasing me. touching yourself when i’m gone. soaking the sheets in that sweet little pussy like a bitch in heat.”

his cock was out now—long, flushed, angry. the head leaking precum, thick vein down the side pulsing. you whimpered at the sight.

“you been thinking about this cock all day?” he asked, dragging the tip through your folds.

“yes—yes, your honor—”

he slapped your ass.

“try again.”

“…yes, daddy.”

his laugh was low, dangerous.

“better.”

he shoved in with a groan.

deep. slow. endless.

“fuck—tight. still fits like it was made for me.”

he didn’t move yet. just stayed there, cock buried in your soaked heat, stretching you open while his hands gripped your waist like a ruling passed down from the gods.

you moaned, trembling.

“what’s the sentence, daddy?”

“remand.” he pulled out, slammed back in. thwack. “no parole. full use. no safeword.”

you cried out, back arching, eyes rolling back.

his pace was slow and mean.

every thrust perfect. deep. angled to punish.

“look at you. taking it. soaking me. drooling. just a needy little slut waiting for her judge to ruin her in the courtroom and the bedroom.”

you whined, broken, body jolting with every thrust.

“beg me,” he ordered, voice warm and calm and cruel.

“please—please don’t stop—please keep fucking me—”

he leaned down, mouth to your ear, voice pure velvet:

“you want the whole courtroom to hear how loud this sloppy cunt gets? want the bailiff, the stenographer, every poor bastard sitting in the gallery hearing you scream daddy while i fill you up?”

you moaned so loud you swore it echoed.

his hand wrapped around your throat. the other on your hip, holding you still while he started to destroy you.

“i love you, you know,” he whispered, fucking faster now. “but you’re such a goddamn problem. smart mouth. bratty ass. needy little whore. you need this. you need to be put in your place.”

your climax hit without warning—violent, soaking, screaming.

he didn’t stop. not for a second.

“that’s one,” he muttered. “we’re not done. you don’t get a reduced sentence for good behavior. you think i give out mercy? i’m the fucking law, baby.”

you sobbed, body twitching, begging.

he flipped you over, still cuffed, shoved your legs open and fucked into you again—face to face now. slower. deeper. crueler.

his eyes locked on yours. serious. sweet.

“you’re mine,” he whispered, stroking your cheek. “no jury. no appeal.”

you nodded, tears slipping.

“yours. forever.”

he kissed you. sweet. filthy.

and came inside you with a groan like confession. thick, hot, endless.

still buried, still pulsing. still in control.

“court adjourned,” he said.

but his eyes?

still hungry.

[practistyles]

everyone wants him (pt 1)

in which Harry is obsessed with Y/N but she doesn't want anyone to know about them and for good reason

In this part: popular college football star Harry, fluff, Harry being cute & obsessed w Y/N, no warnings i think!

Inspirations: “Slut!” (Taylor’s Version) [From The Vault] by Taylor Swift, Teenage Dirtbag by @freedomfireflies, that nick and priyanka moment when he pulls her chair

1.6k words

Y/N's textbook disappeared from under her bent over head just as suddenly as she felt her chair being nudged. She gasped, then looked up. And his face in front of her  - it just made sense. Of course it was Harry. She always chose the quietest, most remote place in the library, but he always managed to find her. 

Harry morphed his face into one of fake thoughtfulness as he stared at her textbook. “So, Y/N, true or false? A consistent heuristic is always admissible.”

Y/N groaned. “I would be able to tell you if you would just stop interrupting my studying.” 

He lowered the book and looked right at her. He was still a bit sweaty, which meant he was off doing some football thing. 

“You like when I interrupt your studying,” he said, his grin returning and Y/N felt her own face betray her by breaking into a smile. 

“I do not. I’m seriously going to fail my exams.”

He pulled the chair beside hers and collapsed into it. “You are not. You’re gonna ace the exam.”

“How do you know? Have you seen the paper?” Y/N retorted. 

Harry placed the book back in front of her and rested his chin on his palm. “No, but I’ve seen you. It’s gonna go great.”

Y/N smiled at his compliment. “How was football?”

“Boring. Missed you.” 

“Oh? Did you miss my obnoxiously loud cheering or my incredibly helpful tips on kicking technique?”

Harry chuckled. “You have no idea how it works, do you? No one cheers in practice.”

Y/N shrugged. "Maybe they should. Might help you kick the ball better."

Harry’s mouth tugged at the corner. “Come here,” he said, gentler than before, and reached forward to drag her chair closer to him. He lifted a hand up to her face, carefully cradling her jaw, making her eyes meet his. 

“That’s better,” he said, and leaned forward, lips pressing at the corner of her mouth. 

Y/N smiled, her hands reaching up to rest on his waist. “You really did miss me, huh?”

She felt his breath on her neck. “Always, Y/N.” 

Y/N felt warm and bubbly inside. These days, Harry seemed to get more and more… needy. There was no other word for it. He kept finding her at random moments in the day, he kept saying how much he missed her everytime they weren’t together. She never felt the way she did when she was with Harry. In the two months they’d started this, he’d more than proved to her that he was sincere, but everytime he was even slightly affectionate Y/N felt her defenses go up. His touches and his affection made her incredibly giddy, but it also made her feel guilty. And sad. And terrified. 

Two months ago, when she’d let this wonderful, talented, golden boy kiss her, she’d made him promise no one could find out about them. About her. And at first Harry seemed to understand, he almost agreed. His teammates were assholes, Y/N’s classmates were huge gossips, and she honestly just thought he was too good for her. This is what she’d believed: she was easy and lonely, he was bored and famous. No cared about her, everyone cared about him. 

But she didn’t think that was true anymore. Or at least, most times she didn’t. Harry was wonderful to her. Sometime it almost felt like she was hurting him by not letting him be with her around other people. But she was scared that once they let it out, he would realise what he was actually missing out on, all the other wonderful people he could be spending time with instead of this girl whom he made his entire day revolve around. 

There was a rustle behind them and Y/N suddenly remembered where they were. Who she was. She pulled away suddenly. Her cheeks reddened and she tried to subtly  glanced around. She felt Harry gently squeeze her fingers where they were intertwined with his, and as she turned back to him the look on his face was slightly worried. 

“Sorry,” Y/N murmured, “for being so paranoid. I just - ”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Harry replied. “I understand. It would be absolutely shameful for you to be seen with me.”

Y/N’s jaw fell open, but then she saw the look on Harry’s face, his wide grin, crinkles near his eyes, and she swatted his arm. “I hate you.”

“Liar,” he said, and pulled his chair out to stand. “I need to go shower and then head to class.”

Y/N nodded. “I need to study the shit out of this textbook.”

“Don’t worry your pretty self too much.” He bent down and kissed the top of her head. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

Y/N nodded and watched him walk away. She couldn’t focus on any studying for a while after he’d left. 

****

At night, his call was unexpected. Y/N was at her table, stress clouding her mind, considering just going to bed and going over the material she was trying to revise in the morning. When her phone rang, she groaned, because the last thing she wanted to do was speak to someone. 

Except the person who’d actually phoned her. Just his name on her phone had improved her mood entirely. 

“Hey,” she said. 

“Y/N,” Harry’s voice came from the other end, slightly grainy due to the terrible service on campus, but she could hear his smile through it. 

“You good?” she asked. 

“Now I am,” he said, and she swore her insides fluttered. “Were you about to sleep?” he asked.

“No, not really.”

“Okay so listen, I was thinking if you’d be up for something.”

Y/N plopped down on her bed. “Okay, I’m listening.”

Harry cleared his throat at the other end. “There’s this game next weekend. It’s here as well, and super important. You probably don’t want to know about the leagues stuff, but if we win we could get into the finals for the next season.”

Y/N felt her heart lurch. She knew where this was going. “Okay, and?”

“And, there is this after party later.”

“Right.”

“Which I would have to attend.”

“Because it would be for the team in which you play, yes.”

“And also because we would win.”

“Oh? How do you know you’ll win?”

“If you will come to the party with me, I’ll win it.”

Y/N was silent. She knew what her answer was gonna be, but she didn’t know how she would make him accept it. 

“Harry…” she started, her voice already lacking conviction. 

“Okay, listen, I know. I know,” Harry scrambled in the aftermath of her reply. “I get it, Y/N. But think about it - it’s gonna be a huge party, no one is really going to care about us. And I really want my friends to know you. My life would be so much simpler if I could talk about you to my friends. Because I always want to fucking talk about you. I feel like I need to keep it in all the time.”

Y/N smiled sadly. She imagined Harry lying on his back with his arms folded beneath his head, phone lying next to him on the pillow. Or on his side, phone clutched in both hands, expectantly waiting for her to say yes. 

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” she said. 

He sighed at the other end. “Whatever you’re worried about Y/N, I’m not going to let it happen,”

“I don’t - It’s just  - we both know everyone is gonna be confused seeing us together and I just don’t want to -”

“We don’t even have to be together!” Harry said, excitedly. “I mean, if you just came, we could just stay apart. Can’t promise I’ll be able to, though. But we could sneak around and no one has to see. I would just love it if you came.”

Y/N felt  a little ache in her bones. “I’ll think about it.”

“That’s all I want,” Harry said. 

The entire night Y/N kind of tossed and turned around in her bed. She could never really explain to herself fully why she was so paranoid about them. Y/N felt like she had been stringing Harry along, even though they both knew that wasn’t really true. 

She was just simply scared of a repeat of last year, which she thought was a very valid fear. She never really spoke to anyone about it except her parents. Y/N shuddered at the small flashbacks she got. She wondered if all of Harry’s teammates still remembered. And how had Harry never even known about her? She had become a private joke for them. They way she’d let Jacob treat her… Y/N had sworn to never let it happen again. And now she was putting herself in that exact situation.

****

The next day, she met Harry in the parking lot outside the cafe.

"What are you doing next weekend?" he had a smug grin on his face and Y/N just knew he was not going to take no as an answer. She had to just get through it.

"I have no plans yet. Are you proposing something?"

He turned her away from the side of the cafe and put his arms around her waist, drawing her close.

"What if I am? Will you say yes?"

Y/N's eyebrows raised. "Propose first."

Harry stepped away from her and got down on one knee. Y/N feigned surprise, hands flying up to cover her mouth.

"My darling Y/N, will you make me the happiest man alive and come to the afterparty with me, but kind of not with me, on Saturday? "

Y/N couldn't help but beam down at his honest, beautiful face even as everything inside her still remembered the horrible feelings she had felt.

"Yes, Harry. Yes, I will."

****

omg omg omg my first post ever. i am so excited for pt 2 hopefully i can actually write it soon. i have no idea how to do this but i really wanted to start!

also, read the second part to this here !

[slutoru1207]

Sinister!Mark x reader part 2

TW: Stockholm Syndrome Elements – Sinister!Mark is manipulating the reader into questioning their own emotions.Psychological & Emotional Manipulation – Gaslighting, coercion, and possessive behavior.Forced Confinement & Kidnapping – The reader is being held against their will.Threatening & Implied Violence – Sinister!Mark’s reaction to the tracker shows his capacity for dangerous escalation.Loss of Hope / Isolation – The destruction of the tracker removes the reader’s last known chance of rescue.

His breath was still warm against your lips, his forehead pressing against yours like he was grounding himself in you—like he had finally found the missing piece of his shattered world. But you?

You were drowning.

Your chest rose and fell in shallow, trembling breaths, your body locked in place, trapped between his grip and the unrelenting weight of his obsession. Sinister!Mark’s hands stayed firm on you, his thumbs brushing slow, affectionate circles against your skin, a stark contrast to the violence barely restrained in his golden eyes.

“I can feel you shaking,” he murmured, voice drenched in sickening amusement, his lips ghosting over your cheek. “It’s cute.”

You tried to move back, to put any amount of space between you, but his grip only tightened. “Why are you doing this?” you whispered, barely able to hear your own voice over the rush of blood in your ears.

His expression softened—almost heartbreakingly so. Like you had just asked him the saddest question in the world. “Because I love you,” he whispered, as if the answer was the simplest thing in the world. “I need you.”

You flinched when his fingers traced down your arm, slow, possessive. “I know you’re scared,” he continued, his voice laced with false sympathy. “But it’s okay. You don’t have to be. I’m here. I’ll take care of you.”

His fingers reached your wrist, curling around it, not squeezing, not hurting—just holding. Like he was making sure you wouldn’t disappear on him.

“You are happy, right?” His voice was barely above a whisper, but there was an undeniable warning beneath it.

Your throat was dry. You swallowed hard, forcing down the nausea building in your stomach. “Mark…”

A flicker of irritation crossed his face at the name—the wrong Mark.

His grip tightened, and before you could react, he yanked you forward, forcing you against his chest. His heartbeat was steady, eerily calm. His breath fanned against your ear as he spoke, every syllable dripping with dangerous devotion.

“I don’t want to hear his name from your lips,” he murmured, voice low, quiet, but laced with something lethal. “I’m the one who loves you. I’m the one who came for you. He doesn’t deserve you. He never did.”

You tried to step back, but his arms locked around you, caging you in. His fingers trailed up your spine, slow and deliberate, making every nerve in your body scream.

“I know you think you love him,” he whispered. “I know you think he’s the one you belong with.” He exhaled, pressing a lingering kiss against your hair before resting his chin on top of your head. “But that’s just because you forgot what we were. What we are.”

Your stomach churned.

“You’ll remember,” he assured, voice soothing, like he was comforting a frightened animal. “You’ll see. You just need time.”

Your pulse pounded in your ears.

Time.

He wasn’t letting you go.

Before you could speak, a sharp beep cut through the air.

Sinister!Mark tensed.

You barely had time to register what was happening before a small device—a tracker—rolled out from the hem of your sleeve and landed in the grass at your feet, flashing red.

The realization hit you all at once.

Mark—your Mark—had put it there.

And Sinister!Mark knew it.

His entire body went rigid. You could feel his heartbeat pick up, his fingers twitching where they held you, his breath hitching just slightly.

Then, slowly, achingly slow, he reached down and picked up the tiny device, rolling it between his fingers.

His golden eyes lifted to yours, and for the first time, there was no mask of sweetness, no twisted gentleness.

Just rage.

And beneath it, something far, far worse.

A smile.

A small, knowing, cruel smile.

“Oh,” he murmured, turning the tracker between his fingers. “He’s already looking for you, isn’t he?”

Your stomach dropped.

His eyes burned with something dark—something excited.

“Good.”

Then, before you could scream, before you could move, he crushed the device in his palm, the metal and circuits crumbling like dust in his grip.

And just like that—

Your only hope of being found disappeared.

part 3?

[kidcanines]

sunlight baby

x - x - x

—NSFW DNI—

papa getting me ready for the day. waking me up so gently with his head resting on my sheets, face illuminated by the soft light of the sun coming through the window. in my sleep addled mind he vaguely reminds me of an angel and i say as much, my hand blearily reaching out to run over his face. he just laughs and grabs my fingers, bringing them into his side and pulling me closer to him.

“hi bubby…it’s time to wake up…” n i just groan n try to turn around and away from him, a whine in my throat that he gently shushes.

“no no…none of that, cmon..” he coos, fingers gently coaxing me into his lap despite me being fully wrapped up in the sheets. he’s kissing me on my nose and forehead to wake me up. i push his face away, whiney “no’s” and sleepy giggling escape my lips as he pulls my hands away to continue his assault on my face.

finally, he asks- “you awake?” brown eyes looking at my sleepy face, all affectionate and warm as I nod where I am- draped over his knees, legs still tied up in the blankets.

when all is said and done he pulls out my clothes and helps me put them on. he’s grabbed a long sleeve so he gently pulls my arms through it and i pull it over my face with a soft “guh.” that he laughs at. i insist that i can put my pants on by myself and he allows me to try- but i end up toppling over.

“d’you need help bubby?” he asks…looking at me from his place on our bed. i pout a bit from my impromptu seat on the floor, having barely gotten my foot through the top pants hole before reluctantly nodding- “there’s no shame in asking me for help, okay? it’s how we get better at things..” n i nod as I step into the pants he’s holding, hands braced on his shoulders. he ruffles my hair and pulls me close to him for a hug when we’re done.

he sits me on the bed and grabs my socks, i giggle as he tries to catch my swinging legs, rocking them back and forth until finally he catches them and slips the sock on. he looks at me- false exasperation on his face as i hide my mischievous smile behind a blanket.

—DNI NSFW—

[damnaation]

Dragonheart

Dragons eat princesses—but it's not always exactly as the stories say.

Soft, safe willing fantasy AU vore—dragon J.uniper and princess Phoenix.

Like many stories, there is a dragon and a princess. A great, green-scaled beast, looking like he was carved from a massive emerald, and a fair maiden—sometimes—with hair like fine copper. Of course, everyone knows what happens with dragons and princesses, at least in the stories. However, unlike the stories, they get on quite well. Like a house on fire.

For now, though, the princess—Phoenix was her name—sleeps, curled comfortably into a hollow formed by the dragon's body and tail, coiled loosely to give her a place to rest.

“Little songbird…” A familiar voice intrudes on their dreams, and they scrunch up their face, shifting as if to turn away from it. Something bumps their side, dragging them further from their slumber, before they finally open their eyes, shooting the dragon a look—he had better have a good reason for waking them. 

“What?”

“Grumpy, aren't we?” He chuckled, nuzzling her gently. His snout was surprisingly soft, and after a moment she relented and gave him a little pat. 

“You woke me up.” They grumbled, yawning widely and rubbing at their eyes. “‘Course I'm grumpy.”

He hummed, pulling back a bit and snorting—the warm air of his breath ruffling their hair as they looked up at him. 

“I just wanted to offer you somewhere more comfortable to sleep.” His voice was a low rumble, almost a purr as he licked his snout, wings shuffling slightly. She blinked up at him, thoughtful—she knew what he was implying from the way he looked at her. Affectionate, but also hungry.

Letting out a soft hum, they stretched as they thought. The curl of his tail and body was more comfortable than the cold stone floor, but they were still at least partially laying on it. And they knew how this game went—they would play along. 

“Oh? What did you have in mind?” She asked, falsely innocent as she gazed up at him. There was a bed for the both of them, of course—he could take a human form if he wished, and she was here by choice. While he preferred his natural form, he didn't want to deprive her of comfort. 

He rumbled softly, lowering his head and making a show of licking his chops. “Somewhere dark and warm and close at hand, where no one would bother you, my love.” Sharp teeth that had never once touched their skin shone in a predatory grin as he leaned in close enough they could reach out and touch him if they wished. 

They paused as if to think his offer over, humming quietly under their breath. Drawing it out until they could see him practically vibrating in anticipation, before they reached out to put a hand against his snout. “Show me to my room?”

“Of course, my dear.” His words rumbled with an affectionate purr as he opened his mouth to scoop her up, careful to not so much as snag her dressing gown on his teeth. She let out a soft sigh, closing her eyes as she felt his tongue shift beneath her—rough like a cat’s, but still gentle as he lapped at her relaxed form. 

It wasn't long before their gown was plastered to their skin with thick, clinging saliva, at which point they felt him start to tilt his head back. They took a deep breath, holding it in their lungs as he swallowed and they were pulled into the tight squeeze of his throat. The contracting muscles felt like a full-body massage as they slipped down further into his body, wringing any small bit of tension from them until they were finally deposited out into a larger space. 

His crop wasn't expansive, but it seemed almost perfectly sized for her to curl up comfortably inside—a fact she'd discovered the first night they'd met. It had been more frightening then; meeting the prince she was set to marry, only to find a large green dragon instead, though one that didn't fit with the stories she'd read—gentle, well-spoken, and clearly the one she had been exchanging letters with. But he'd swallowed her up regardless, despite her fearful struggles and protests.

Now, though, the little chamber in his chest was as comforting to them as their own bed—perhaps more so, as their bed didn't have the sound of a massive heart beating and lungs breathing to lull them to sleep. With a wide yawn they snuggled into place, already feeling the pull of sleep tug at them once more. 

“Comfortable?” He murmured, sounding somewhat amused. She simply hummed, rubbing the side of his crop with her hand in response—smiling slightly at the hitch in his breath when she did so. He rarely admitted it, but he enjoyed it when she stroked him—inside or out. A sure way to have him curled up and purring like a kitten in her—sometimes metaphorical—lap.

“I'll take that as a yes. Sleep well, my heart.” 

Letting out another yawn, they allowed the symphony of his body to send them off to slumber once more. 

Dragons eat princesses, yes—but sometimes, the princess asks to be eaten.

[dawn-moths]

hi, hope youre having a blessed day!! can i ask for #1 and #4 with dabi in a headcanon typa way please? tysm!!!

hi, of course you can! i hope you’re having a lovely day as well ☺️

prompt(s): constant physical touch to feel safe & understanding each other without words

character: touya/dabi (boku no hero academia)

words: 893

content warning: 18+ content! minors please dni! mention of drugs/alcohol, a tiny bit of smut, some hurt/comfort.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

♡ I think when Dabi is first getting to know you, he acts like physical touch is only something he’s comfortable giving rather than getting, maybe getting a little too handsy with you before you two are officially dating just so he can feel like he’s the one in control. But the truth is, the reason he does that is because it’s the only way he can contain just how crazy he is about you. The moment you agree to be exclusively his, however, it feels like his rough, scarred hands never leave you for more than a few minutes at a time.

♡ In the early days of your relationship, when things are still new, if you’re in a meeting with the League or just hanging around hq, Dabi will place his hands on your hips or drape one over your thigh, gently kneading your soft flesh under the table or the bar counter and smirking to himself as he watches you struggle to remain composed out of the corner of his eye.

♡ But when things between you two get more serious, especially after the first time you sleep together, it’s like the notch of Dabi’s need to touch you gets turned up to 100. Suddenly he’s lacing his fingers together with yours or leaning over you from behind to rest his chin over your shoulder as he hugs you close to his chest in plain view of the other members of the League, feeling like if he goes too long without feeling your gentle warmth against the raging inferno caged behind his ribs that he’ll explode. You have a calming effect on him that no amount of his drugs or alcohol could ever hope to accomplish. In fact, ever since you’ve been around, been his, he’s nearly quit some of his old addictions.

♡ It’s a little overwhelming for you at first, if you’re being honest. You’ve just never been with someone so physically affectionate. And he is affectionate, in his own, special, twisted little ways— like how he presses the sweetest, most tender kisses to the bruises and bites he leaves on you after getting a little too rough during sex, or the way he wraps his long, thin arms around you as you drift off to sleep together, the rhythmic beating of his wildfire heart slowing to something more akin to a crackling campfire when you’re near.

♡ It’s one night when you’re lying together afterward, staring into each other’s eyes and murmuring quiet, sated conversation when you reach out and actually touch him first. It’s unexpected to him when your little hand reaches over and cups his cheek, the soft pad of your thumb gently stroking the patchy, purple skin under his eye, making him flinch a bit, but it’s not just the sudden contact that has him tensing and freezing for a moment. It’s the way you’re looking at him— looking at him like he’s more than just scar tissue and trauma concealed under the false guise of not giving a shit.

♡ He turns into your palm, presses his mismatched lips to it and plants a chaste kiss there. If anyone else ever saw this side of him— the soft underbelly of the blue flamed beast— they’d never let him hear the end of it. So he saves it just for you, here in the privacy of this room, laying bare and vulnerable beside you, perhaps the only place he feels truly safe. He lets you trace his scars with your careful, loving fingertips and knows when he lets out a shuddering sigh because no one’s ever been this tender with him, you won’t hold it against him or take it for granted.

♡ It only takes a few months of really knowing each other that the two of you begin to notice something sort of odd, and that’s that sometimes, all it takes for you to communicate something is a single look. Whether it’s a twitch of a dark brow over one of his bright sapphire eyes or a crooked twist of one side of your mouth, a simple gesture or expression seems to convey an entire conversation between you two.

♡ The others don’t understand it— don’t understand how just a few looks and a couple murmured words or quiet sounds here or there can put you both on the same page of whatever it is you’re trying to communicate, but you don’t need them to understand. All that matters is that you and Dabi get each other. At the end of the day, that’s all the two of you have ever really wanted. Just someone to relate to without having to explain all the gruesome details to beforehand.

♡ But even if the other members of the League have a lot of things they don’t understand about you two, there is one thing they can all agree on after witnessing enough of your shared interactions, and that’s that you two really are perfect for each other. You two are ride or die, and even with your differences you still seem to end up on common ground.

♡ Dabi loves you. He loves you. How long has it been since he’s been able to say that— to feel it— and actually mean it?

♡ But the best part is, you love him too.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

send me a number from this prompt list + one of the characters i write for and i’ll write a short lil something for you 💕

[tenebriism]

The sheer amount of chaos was certainly shocking for Rothalion, although he supposes he's never truly had to deal with a persistent traditionalist who hated him enough to desire his head on a platter. Adrenaline still thrummed through his veins, his breath heavy and blood staining his hands and face. Several bodies lay around the pair, some discarded with easy slices to the throat or stabs in the chest, however the one Rothalion yanked his knife from in particular had been gutted like a pig. He smirked, spitting upon the corpse as he wiped the blood and viscera from the blade of the knife. It was one of very few items of value he owned, its blade tasting blood for the first time in nigh a decade.

Rothalion turned to Zenos, pocketing the knife as he stepped closer and reached out to take his hand.

"At this rate we may end up wiping out the population of mercenaries and hitmen," he mused with a giggle. He stood up on his tiptoes, his free hand reaching up to gently pull Zenos down so he could better reach his face. Delicately he brushes away a few spots of blood, amusement flickering in verdant hues as he pressed a few peppered kisses over his cheeks and lips.

"... Have I ever told you, that you are the most beautiful man I have ever seen in my life?" he whispered, head canting to the side. He hummed, brushing stained fingers gently through a few stray locks of golden hair. "Soft hair like the golden rays of the sun, eyes beautiful as the skies... some say cold as ice, but I would wager instead that they are warm and comforting. I would bask in your gaze for an eternity should you allow it."

Rothalion nuzzled his jaw affectionately, squeezing his hand. Even for all the exhaustion that wore on his very bones as adrenaline faded into a tired buzz, he did not regret his decision. How could he, even stood among the gore of their borderline immoral actions he knew he would do it all over again when such scenario arose again. For now, they had some manner of peace - another lull where they may recover until this contingent was reported failed and another was hired in its place.

"To me, you are perfect," he murmured suddenly, and lo as he was to withdraw he finally steps back and motions towards a faint, flickering sign in the distance.

"Maybe we should purchase a room nearby, though. At least to rest for a time? And clean the... shit, from our clothes. I'm sure we'd be in much worse a case if the cops find us like this, especially when neither of us show wounds that could excuse the filth as a brawl," he said, shaking his head. "I could use a nice bath, and even a motel is better than a creek."

Not surprised... nor disappointed. Not hurt, not upset, not saddened.

He is angry. Infuriated may, too, be putting it lightly. 'Tis his father, the man has never been one to handle matters with mere words alone; it simply wasn't his style, but no matter how capable Rothalion was in defending himself, it did NOT excuse the simple fact that his father was making attempts on their lives in the first place, all because his son had found LOVE from an unaccepted source. Would it have been so hard to just LET THEM GO? To focus on sweeping whatever disappointment and shame Zenos had ushered in after his public proclamation 'neath the rug and MOVE ON? He's never been much of a son to Varis as much as a tool 'pon which to force the Galvus empire come his inevitable death. It would have been EASY to find another willing and capable successor in his place.

It didn't have to be like this.

IT DIDN'T HAVE TO BE LIKE THIS.

Now, here they stood amongst breathless, LIFELESS bodies, covered in blood that wasn't their own. Anyone else may have been shaken. Cared more about the fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers, whomever they have just taken from the innocent unawares, but not Zenos. Nay. They have made their own beds and curled up within them; they had CHOSEN to pursue him for a paycheck and whatever other false promises his father had manipulated them into believing they were entitled to and earning. Has he ever taken a life before this? No... that part of the family shared corruption hadn't yet seeped into his veins. Not, at least, until now.

Zenos lifts his phone, snaps a picture. Absolute carnage that makes for quite the beautiful photograph; he only WISHES he could see the look on his father's face when he attaches it to a message and clicks ' SEND, ' before chucking the burner phone off to the side. 'Tis likely to be traced, if not the phones of the numerous goons that had killed.

No matter; he has about a dozen more at his disposal.

'Tis Rothalion, as always, that draws him from the dark depths of his head. He'd mentally wandered off somewhere unhealthy where the walls were beginning to close in, moving not an inch until a hand slips within his own and the light returns to his eyes. Content hum escapes him as he is warmed by affection, leaning into every ounce of it Rothalion sees fit to bless him with like a needy puppy.

" If we do, it will be their own fault... " He mutters, humming again. They really shouldn't be standing here having a MOMENT amongst a scene straight out of a horror flick, but Zenos cannot help but preen to such sweet words. Rothalion compliments his hair, so he responds with a tilt of his head so those very strands of golden sunshine may slip 'gainst his shoulder. Rotahlion compliments his eyes, and they open just that bit wider, shine just that bit brighter. It's strange how words that would have had no effect coming from anyone else make him feel like the singular most important person in this entire world coming from Rothalion.

" ... you would endeavor to make me blush when we are both covered in blood and filth? Such a strange man you are... " He whispers with a chuckle, snagging his chance to turn the affections unto Rothalion, now, as he pulls him right back into his arms and flush against him. Nevermind the motel or wherever they shall seek accommodations this eventful evening; Zenos every thought, as usual, rest solely on Rothalion.

" Yet, you are perfect to me and for me. You make this once cold and empty heart of mine beat with warmth and fervor... and, gods, do you arouse me, as well. Merely to look at you like this... "

Lips ghost 'long Rothalion's neck, down to his shoulder, caring little for the crimson colored evidence of their actions that painted his flesh. " ... I would take you here, now, were we not certain to be caught. Should the authorities see us, I could not care less... I more-so loathe the thought of inevitably being INTERRUPTED. " 'Tis a less likely risk in a private room, Zenos pressing more wanting kisses 'gainst his beloved's skin as if to seal the promise that his words shan't merely be left as is. If nothing else, Zenos is one to act, and fully intends to when they are afforded the ability to do so. For now...

" Let's head somewhere a tad further. My father is sure to send more of his brainwashed units after us, and coupled with the eventual law enforcement... this area will be doubly scoured. I want to ensure you are safe, above all else. "

@draikoeques ;;

[amaryllisenvy]

The Ties That Bind

Part 5

Part 5 November 9th, 1876

By the time Billy thought of heading home, it was already well past the afternoon. For what felt like the first time, he felt normal. Billy’s more progressive feelings weren’t spat on and ridiculed. For once, Billy felt like how he felt about the world wasn’t as insane as he had been led to believe. 

“The only thing stopping us from becoming like the animal savages is our strong moral compass. We know what minimizes harm. Anything we pursue of such a nature I feel will rarely end with us being on the wrong side of history.” Billy was almost fascinated by the journalist’s ability to analyze so many details simultaneously. He knew the man had so many things in common with him. Finding another soul who recognized his own as an equal was legendary. The mutual respect such a relationship offered was symbiotic. 

When two minds truly collide and time slips away when it’s spent together, Billy felt that was when he was the most mindful and present. The three new companions ordered food and chatted their way through all of their meals. 

He felt at ease with the conversation. He was also at ease with Amaryllis sitting next to him. Billy was keenly aware of their bodies brushing one another occasionally when one of them moved.

When her eyes collided with him, she gave him a sweet smile. Billy studied every part of her exhausted face and, despite her false act, felt worry creep into the back of his mind. The darker skin below her eyes seemed more prominent than they had been earlier.

He furrowed his eyebrows at her. “Are you feelin’ alright?”

The tired nod she gave him did little to assuage him.

“I think you need to rest.” Mr. Upson also gazed at his friend with worry. 

Billy reached for her hand that rested between their bodies on the bench. He interlocked their fingers and gave her hand three squeezes. He ran his thumb back and forth over her knuckles affectionately. 

When their hold on each other loosened ever so slightly, Billy felt a cold breeze acutely on his hand, contrasting the heat between them. When he brushed his thumb over the back of her hand once more, he felt how there was a slight wetness. 

Billy looked down in confusion and pulled his hand out of hers. His hand was now stained and smeared with blood.

“Amaryllis?” Billy couldn’t hide the spike in his adrenaline as his voice came out more. “Is your shoulder bleedin’?”

She blinked at him in evident confusion before she sat forward and looked at her hand. A trickle of blood dripped from her fingers onto the floorboards and chair. He could tell when the realization hit her. She felt her shoulder area and winced with pain. When her hand moved away, a bright red trail of blood slipped down her delicate wrist. 

Finally, Billy studied her face. She was ashen and her eyes drooped slightly, as if her exhaustion was finally catching up with her. 

Billy and Upson both jumped up from their chairs and sandwiched her between them. Amaryllis didn’t speak as she looked up at Upson blearily.

”Hold still, honey.” Upson pressed his hand firmly to her sleeve and became pale himself when he pulled away his blood-stained hand.

Soaked.

“We’re taking you to the doctor.” 

--

Billy wouldn’t budge on not letting her walk across town having lost so much blood. He carried her effortlessly in his arms and hers looped over his shoulders. Her hold on him wasn’t nearly as strong as he knew it should have been.

They stitched the wound.

By the time the trio reached the healer, Amaryllis was swaying when she was placed on her feet. Grabbing her waist. Billy picked her up and placed her on the table in one of the doctor’s rooms.

When the aged man came in, it was a relief when he instantly started examining Amaryllis’ ashen look. He placed his hand on her neck and held it there for a moment.

“You’ve lost a lot of blood.” Billy had to clench his teeth when the doctor quickly tried to pull off her outer dress without any warning.

When she winced, Billy stood up and took the doctor’s place. His undressing of her was much more gentle. He went slowly and she gave him a weak smile in gratitude. When she was once again in her undergarments, Billy kept his gaze on her face. He brushed sticky bloody hair away from her neck gently.

It seemed like the sensation of the rough skin on his fingers made her unwittingly give him more access; tilting her head away from him and moving her torso closer.

“Another gods damned dress. Ruined.” The pout on her lips made him smile, despite the real danger in her circumstance. 

“Get healed up, and I will buy you as many dresses as you want.” Mr. Upson watched along with Billy as the doctor cut the soaked-through wrappings on her shoulder and back. 

“Your stitches ripped open. I need to remove the first ones you did, which don’t actually look too bad considerin’ it was your first time.” The doctor’s expression was somewhat praising.

“Not good enough to last longer than a couple of hours.”

Shaking his head, the doctor poured a liquid that smelled strong into a cup. “They look like they got reopened from being stretched, not because it was poorly done. The stitches on the front are still intact, though.”

When did they reopen? When he helped her change? 

Billy closed his eyes in realization. When she had begged for him to practice self-preservation, he had ripped his arm from hers. The realization had the agony of self-blame rushing through his bloodstream. He had already hurt her. Billy was a tall and muscular man who never even thought about being gentle. 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Billy felt sick. 

“Now, I know you aren’t blaming me, Billy Antrim,” for the first time, her gaze was steely when it met his. “If I knew, of ‘course I would’ve done something. My whole shoulder has been on fire nonstop since I woke up this morning. When I move it, it’s excruciating. I just didn’t notice it was any different.” 

The guilt almost swallowed him whole. The feeling of her warm hand squeezing his three times was the only thing that could ease the tightening in his heart. Her small weak smile was honey-sweet and genuine and, miraculously, seemed only focused on him. 

“Don’t-,”

Billy held her hand, even when her grip crushed his as the doctor poured a strong-smelling liquid on her wound. Ever the stoic, her eyes screwed shut and her jaw clenched but she had no other reactions. She didn’t react when the doctor flushed the wound twice more except for a slight sheen to her skin. “Don’t blame yourself, Billy. If you knew this would happen, would you have still done it?” Her face was red and her eyes were teary. 

He didn’t answer but he knew she saw the answer in his face. “You wouldn’t have. I’m hardly going to be mad over something you didn't do on purpose.”

-----------

November 9th, 1876

Billy had been staring at the blackened sky and the accompanying stars. He had been in the same spot since the sun began setting. The horizon had been on fire, slipped into purple, and slowly was overtaken by the deep midnight blue.

The dark seems to always swallow up the light.

He felt almost ashamed of his defeatist attitude when he thought of his father. Billy couldn’t see the point of having a light inside of him when the world just swallowed it whole.

Aren’t the stars the most beautiful part?

Billy was startled at his inner thoughts. It wasn’t his voice this time, but Amaryllis’. He sat in confusion until he realized it was something she would have said.  He had the same moment with Mr. Upson. It seemed his consciousness was heavily shaped by people he respected.

To meet strangers who harbored different opinions than the people he had grown up with enlightened him. For the first time, his distaste for the cruelness and the cowardice plaguing the society he lived in was met with understanding. They were willing to talk about the problems and, what's more, they were trying their best to do something about it.

Billy then knew that inaction was something that frustrated him more than anything else. With his mother, she remained stuck with a monster because god hadn't told her not to. She remained faithful to her vows, even though her husband hadn't followed them a single day in their marriage.

His best friend being shot was due to his inaction.

His eyes snapped to the streets, seemingly alerted as the figure of the girl who had taken up a large portion of his thoughts appeared as if he summoned her. Even when she was just walking through the full moonlight, she somehow stood out amongst the shop owners who locked up their stores for the night. 

Maybe there wasn’t anything extraordinary about her. But he thought she was. He was certain that in a room full of people, the first person he saw would be her. However, he was irritated that she wasn’t still resting. 

Safely getting her up the stairs to her room, he had left her so she could rest. Her not knowing he waited for her tossing and turning to end wouldn’t kill her. The second he left, he wondered when he would see her again. 

What she was doing out this late, he did not know. He supposed it wasn’t any of his business. That proper thought didn’t stop him. Billy wouldn’t have been able to look away, even if he wanted to. He tracked her as she smiled at the people she passed, only stopping to greet a woman waiting outside a building. 

He watched in the silence he sat in, them leaning toward one another and whispering. Amaryllis nodded at her, before turning and following the woman inside. His eyes missed the sight of her immediately. 

The only other thing he wanted to look at having gone away, Billy rested his head back on the wall behind him and stared up again. He had always thought the darkness was what made the night so beautiful. As long as there were stars left in the sky, there was good left in him.

------

“What you think is a failure is in the past. You do not have to live there anymore, Billy.” Amaryllis’ words repeated over and over again in his head.

Find your weakness. Make it a weapon.

He looked at his haunted reflection. His eyes were red and dry from the arid air. The bags under them resulted from him not having slept the night before. How could he rest when his best friend had nearly died?

He was running on nothing. 

Then be faster.

His hand went to his revolver. It must have been drawn and holstered more than two hundred times that night until the motion became seamless. He kept going until the gun felt like an extension of his limb. Billy practiced holding it, cocking it, reloading, and his mobility. 

His forearm burned with the evidence of his efforts. With every draw, his aim became more steady and precise. The visual results of his practice had his head filled with confidence as he looked at his reflection.

The knock that came loudly on the door didn’t startle him. “Billy! Dinner is ready!” 

Billy listened as Joe’s footsteps bounded off down the stairs. One more time, he stared into his own eyes in the mirror. One more time, he drew his revolver.

Next time, he would be faster.

-----------

Billy would kill him. 

The man who shot Carlos was the same man his mother had married. Billy couldn’t forget Antrim’s face of pure hatred when he murdered the three men right outside the room where his mother and brother slept. 

When Billy thought of his face, he understood what Amaryllis meant by rabid men. Antrim’s eyes had been blown wide in unsettling excitement. There was nothing human about him at that moment as he received a thrill from such a heinous act. He was nothing more than a bloodthirsty animal; an animal who had broken his mother’s heart for the final time.

After years of watching his mother survive her marriage, Billy needed her to be free from all binds. He would never accept an alternative world where the bastard continued to disrespect the woman who had given him everything. 

The breaths he panted out fogged the night air. His steps kicked up a hurricane of dust that billowed around him at his breakneck pace through the streets. When three children who were playing in the street saw him, they went silent with their nervousness. His aura must have been announcing his murderous intentions.

Billy’s knuckles wrapped on the door and it instantly opened, revealing a woman in very sheer nightclothes. She gave him an inviting grin and he gave her the most polite nod he could muster. 

The door had barely opened before he pushed his way in. “Where is Antrim?”

“There is no one by that name here.” The woman answered.

Billy realized it was a stupid question. Discretion was one of the reasons whore houses remained popular. 

Searching the room, Billy found nothing but women sitting on the couches in the waiting room. Some walked with trays holding drinks and he watched as one woman walked down a hall and opened a door, disappearing inside. 

Billy scanned the place one more time. The hallway was where he would place his bets. Through the red-tinged room he was looking through, his eyes seemed to gravitate to a gorgeous woman sitting on one of the settees with two other women. 

Amaryllis sat upright, not indicating her injuries, and spoke in hushed whispers to the women around her. The light was low but he noted the tiredness in her eyes. She wrote in a journal much slower than he had seen earlier and her exhaustion wasn’t well-hidden from him. Maybe her bright smile fooled everyone else but Billy saw how she dissociated. 

“The woman in the red. Why is she here?”

“She is working, sir.” The woman who let Billy in watched him search for Amaryllis in confusion.

Billy didn’t notice he had stopped breathing.

“Sir, did you want to hire a woman tonight? Any woman here can be yours.”

He shook his head and angrily tore his attention from the girl who danced in his thoughts. He wouldn’t let her take over them this time. Undoubtedly, she would win later. For now, he wanted to focus on his rage and make his stepfather pay.

He said nothing as he turned on his heel and walked down the corridor the other lady had gone down. A man leaving with a sated look on his face told him he was in the right place.

Billy waited and listened in the hall for any sound. The ringing in his ears was more prominent than ever and mixed with his pulse pounding in his head. As his heart thumped in anticipation, Billy heard a feminine giggle followed by a man’s cackling. 

Billy had no hesitation as he busted through the door. He knew what he would find but the sight still left him frozen. His stepfather laid on his back with two disheveled women doting on him. It was the only kind of attention a man like Henry Antrim could receive. The kind you pay for.

“Why, if it isn't the kid.” The unrepenting smirk on Antrim’s face made bile rise to the back of his throat. “What do you want, Billy? To lose your cherry? Is that it? About time I'd say.”

Billy removed his father’s hat from his head as a sense of calm washed over him. Certainty. It was the type of calm one had when their fate was set in stone.

“Ladies, you may want to leave.” Pausing for only a moment, the women quickly scampered off of the bed, righted their clothes, and fled from the room. 

Before the last girl walked out, Billy pressed a handful of coins into her hand. The lady’s face was scared but softened when she realized he wasn’t a threat to her.

The murderous look in Billy’s eyes must have been enough of an explanation to any questions they may have had. The deadbeat waste of oxygen stumbled onto his feet and stopped in front of Billy.

“Your mom never sent you over here, now did she?” Henry Antrim wetted his chapped lips. “Of course not. She has every reason to be grateful for me.”

Even caught being disloyal, Antrim’s arrogance didn’t waver in the slightest. 

His ugly face turned up in a scornful grin. “So you just run on home like a good little boy or else, god help me, I'll whip your a-”

Billy’s hand found his revolver in the blink of an eye. The movement was more natural than ever but he didn’t pull it out.

“Yeah? Why don't you shoot me?” Henry Antrim goaded knowingly. “How do you think Kathleen would feel, huh? Seeing you danglin’ from a rope.”

It would destroy her.

Billy couldn’t stand that he was right. He backed away and turned toward the door. His mother was worth hundreds of the cheating racist donkey.

With half a decade’s worth of rage and slights against his mother, Billy’s fist connected with Antrim’s gut. 

He couldn’t kill him but Billy would be sure the bastard paid. If he couldn’t deliver Carlos justice, he would deliver it to his mother.

Doubling over, Antrim’s whiskey dropped from his hand, and glass shattered across the floorboards. After several more punches, Billy threw him onto the pieces, hoping silently that his face was being shredded as he kicked Antrim’s ribs with all of his strength.

Like practicing with his revolver, Billy put in the time to make Antrim agonize over his actions. Much the same, he must have pounded his fists and his feet into Antrim over two hundred times. 

Billy knew Antrim would hold no guilt. He made sure the pain would last long after that night. He never hit his face. The humiliation Antrim would experience would be able to be hidden beneath clothes, something the bastard had done to his mother.

This chapter is such a filler and I'm sorry.

[beantothemax]

As per the agreement with Yvon, Cyrus had not been in Atlasdam in forever. Six months and twenty two days, to be exact. He kept count of how long he was gone, eagerly awaiting the day he would return.

After paying a visit to Noblecourt, the group passed by Atlasdam and decided to stay there for a day. The days were at their longest and there was to be a festival that Cyrus had described as being fun. Of course his friends were curious to see it as well. They all listened intently as he described the beautiful melodies and immaculate pastries one could have the pleasure of experiencing at the festival.

But it quickly became annoying when they realized he would not stop talking after ten minutes. He spoke endlessly of the wonders of the Atlasdam summer solstice festival with a bright smile on his face. H’aanit placated him and asked as many questions as he had answers. Luckily, the rest of the group was finally spared of his endless rambling when they reached the city gate.

“Come with me, the archery contest is over here!” he beamed, taking H’aanit’s hand.

She happily ran after him with a laugh, followed closely by Linde.

The archery competition was nothing special. Every target was far too close to the start line. The organizer handed H’aanit a flimsy bow and poorly made arrow.

“Have you done this before?” they asked.

And H’aanit couldn’t help but laugh, “this is mine profession.”

Cyrus stared in wonder at her cocky smirk as she effortlessly got three bullseyes. The dumbfounded organizer handed her a slice of reward cake which she gladly accepted.

“Comen, Cyrus, you must showen me all before sunset,” she smiled.

He took her hand and led her to the next attraction.

Upon a stage, a band played Atlasdamish folk tunes. They were all sung in their native tongue  and though Cyrus had begun to teach H’aanit the language, she barely caught a word. Still, she put a hand on Cyrus’ shoulder and they danced and laughed until their feet ached.

When the sun had begun its slow descent, Cyrus pulled her aside. At this hour, a bonfire would be lit in the square. They held on tight to each others’ hands in fear of getting separated in the dense crowd.

Though they both struggled when there were too many sensations at once, with the familiarity of the festival and Linde’s comforting presence, neither felt unwell. Cyrus knew exactly where and when everything was and H’aanit trusted him fully. But in the crowd, his grip on her hand loosened and he let go without intending it. Before he knew it, at least a dozen people separated them and he could no longer see his partner.

“Professor Albright!” a familiar (but incorrect) voice called out.

Cyrus knew the city and its people but he only wished to see the former. Last he was there, people he once considered close friends said they hated him for his disgusting actions. Of course, those outlandish accusations were all false and merely fabricated by Therese.

She smiled at the sight of her old professor.

“Oh, hi Therese,” he muttered.

They stood by the edge of the crowd where there was no need to move with the current. Usually that was good, but Cyrus’ lungs seemed to fail him the longer he stood in the presence of that detested girl.

“How have your travels been?” she asked.

“I-” he started but his throat was dry and it could not produce a sound.

“Did a monster take your voice?” she laughed.

Gods, he wished he had an excuse that good. Unfortunately, it was only her. She had ruined his life and taken everything from him out of jealousy. Not of him but of another of his pupils. Why must it hurt him? He had done nothing wrong and yet she chose the worst possible accusation she could think of.

At that moment, a leopard’s head popped out from the crowd. Linde rubbed her head on his leg, affectionately circling around him. He instinctively reached down to scratch behind her ear. Her soft fur was among one of the most comforting feelings he knew and just her presence eased his anxieties.

Before Therese could question his fondness for the leopard, H’aanit appeared. She leaned down to give Linde a good head pat before looking to Cyrus, “who is this?”

“An old student,” Cyrus murmured.

“I’m Therese,” the girl smiled.

“Therese?” H’aanit thought.

Cyrus spoke at length about Atlasdam, especially to H’aanit. When they became close, he opened up about everything that happened, about the anxiety it caused him and the nightmares he had. He spoke of an experience he had as a child, how he thought it was behind him, only for every single unpleasant memory to come flooding back when Therese accused him of a crime similar to the one he had been a victim of.

“Ah, Therese. Cyrus speaks of you,” H’aanit finally said.

“He does?” Therese gasped.

H’aanit didn’t utter another word. She took Cyrus’ hand and practically dragged him away as he all but fainted at the sight of Therese. Linde could sense his uneasiness and stayed beside him. He rested a hand on her head and she purred under his touch.

“Where is thine home?” H’aanit asked.

Cyrus only pointed at a street as his voice hadn’t yet returned. H’aanit, though she knew not the city, took the lead and hoped Cyrus would stop her at his house. Lucky for them, this street only had homes and no establishments and it was quiet. The tension in his shoulders loosened as they got further from the loud crowd and Therese, who fortunately did not follow them.

“This one,” Cyrus muttered, pointing at a house.

He pulled his keys from his pocket and H’aanit snatched them. She opened the door and led him inside. He had scarcely removed his jacket and shoes before he ran upstairs to his bedroom. Once H’aanit had removed her out-clothes as well, she followed him to find him curled up on his bed.

A soft smile spread on his lips as he rolled around in his pile of blankets and pillows. He was in the safety of his own home for the first time in what felt like a lifetime and he never wanted to leave.

“It maketh me joyful to see that thou chose a bigger bed than thou needen. There is room for Linde and I,” she smiled as she crawled in.

She wrapped her arms around Cyrus and kissed the crown of his head as he yawned. All the tension was gone from his body and all it left was exhaustion. He needed to rest and recover after, not only seeing Therese, but also attending a festival. Fortunately for him, H’aanit loved him dearly and knew just what he needed in such situations.

The foot end of the mattress sunk under Linde’s weight. She was like a fire and warmed the bed in no time.

“I wish Therese could feel shame. I wish that bastard that hurt me got a life sentence and I wish he’d die,” Cyrus mumbled.

“I thought thou were against violence,” H’aanit replied.

“He deserves it.”

“I suppose so.”

Only half an hour passed before they remembered they had six other travel companions. H’aanit climbed out of the bed as quietly as she could, careful not to step on Cyrus or Linde.

“I will tellen our friends we will sleep here tonight. Haven thou room for guests?” she asked.

“Mmm… no. Tell them to tell the inn owner they’re my friend though, I tutored her son for a few years so she likes me,” Cyrus grumbled.

“That I’ll do.”

As silently as though she were on the hunt, H’aanit left. She slipped through the crowd and found her friends in no time, eager to return to her lover who needed her company.

had to stand up and just. walk around my room for a few minutes because ohhhhhhh my gosh. oh my gosh. th.

h’aanit and cyrus going around the festival was very fun! then I had a sense of impenetrable dread fall over me once I saw therese enter the scene

I REALLY loved how h’aanit just. drags cyrus away. the minute she finds out this is therese she goes ‘ok we need to leave this conversation as soon as possible’ and accomplishes that by essentially carrying him away from said conversation. if it works it works I suppose.

and…… the whole end………….. pie have I told you how good of a writer you are today. because. augh.

[rosavulpes]

Smiling softly to himself as he watched his friend , and travel companion busy herself by starting to affectionately play with Lady Asta's pet dog , he figured that with their most recent stop here to Lady Herta's Space Station that he'd have some free time to catch up on some personal affairs .

Leaving , knowing full well that he could leave March 7th in the capable hands of Lady Asta , Arlan , and the Trailblazer themselves he wouldn't go out too far . Though they weren't due to leave anytime soon . Traveling by himself to an area of the space station where he could find some solace , and privacy to get some work in .

Well ... as much privacy as one could find when Lady Herta had eyes and ears built in quite literally everywhere on her ship .

Reaching into his pockets , once he'd manage to find a computer terminal to work off of , he'd insert a thumb drive into the machine . Folding his hands over his chest as he watched the computer perform the necessary security measures of scanning his drive for any malware , then just as quickly downloading all the files that he'd amass within it thus far . Copying them into a specified series of folders .

It was nothing extraordinary , just a few minor research projects that he'd been tasked with completing by staff from the station . Projects that were never a requirement of him remaining both a traveler , and a trailblazer aboard the Astral Express but rather commissions that had been posted offering money in exchange for completion . Simple things .

In his earliest days of trailblazing it had been a bit embarrassing to have to rely on others for income so this had been a means of earning his own money to avoid any future awkward situations and pay back those he owed .

A vibration coming from his phone resting in his pockets would soon confirm the successful transfer of credits into his personal bank accounts .

With that done , Dan would eject his thumb drive from the computer , and open up a few tabs on his web browser to see if there were any more projects he could take on in the meantime . Aside from being a means of earning some credits here and there ... it was also a means of keeping busy , and learning more about the Universe he was helping to explore through hands on research . It was always interesting ... and maybe a bit fun for him too .

As chat messages began to pop up on his sidebars , he was lucky to be in the position of a traveler when undertaking these projects . He could obtain materials or document phenomenon that most researchers would either have to go out themselves to get , or pay hefty sums of their allocated budgets to hire outside help .

Truth be told , he was starting to suspect that some of his benefactors might have been the lead researcher of the station Lady Asta herself speaking through proxies or false accounts . Regardless , the pay was still good so he didn't mind .

Sliding his gloved fingers across from one screen to the next , it was best to only accept research projects that if required , would most likely be in close proximity to where their next destination would be as he certainly wasn't going to ask to make alterations to the Express's schedule . That was out of the question for him .

Thumbing his way through different project descriptions , some were accepted with a simple affirming click , others dismissed with a casual wave . With each acceptance , his terms of service would automatically be sent out to the job posters to ensure that they understood how he worked . He had a feeling that he would soon be dispatched on another trail blazing expedition in the near future with the Trail Blazer , March 7th , and another new passenger .

With the Trail Blazer , and another new passenger set to join them he could only guess that Lady Himeko might try to send them all together out on the next expedition . Best not to take anything that had a pending deadline .

With that done , his next task would be to go through the station's virtual library to start picking out and choosing what research reports , guides , and references he would need to help him work through the current listing of projects he'd picked out for himself ...

With time passing him by as his mind focused solely on reading the electronic documents before him , he'd no sooner finish placing an order for some actual physical books to be delivered onboard to the express before departure that his cellphone suddenly began vibrating a few more times in quick succession in his pocket . He could only guess , March 7th .

Fishing his phone out of his pocket , and glancing at the lock screen to see pending message notification from their group chat awaiting his response . He'd soon rise , unlock his phone to type out quick responses , and would soon be on his way back towards the express to help with the both boarding process of loading on supplies as well as to properly greet their newest addition .

@capravulpes

[guhamun]

@keiseiensei said (inbox):

' tomoe. ' smothered and nestled into vibrant silks, the tips of yan qing's fingers graze against the pink-red folds of peony, then the bittersweet greenery of mulberry leaves. when the noblewoman turns, there's a mixture of fondness and twinging sorrows. captivity ached, but companionship did not, particularly when it was as ever-pleasant as the other's. this was the sort of thing that produced a deep, intimate trust, if only between them. still, yan qing had no intention of voicing her woes, nor her feckless, irresponsible whimsies of freedom; perhaps, soon, someday, but not just yet. instead, it was enough to quietly ask where orders weren't necessary. her nails trim and sever a peony head from its stem. turning with it in hand, approaching with this sole-bloom bouquet, she quietly smiles. ' our tomoe. my tomoe. do you like the sound of anything like that? or, if i put this peony in your hair ... would you accept it? perhaps, not just out of duty as someone hired by the manor, but just from myself. me. ' every day, the same wretched flora. the same awful view. and yet, ' i want to see the flowers bloom in your hair. i think it would be very beautiful. your fires, your martial skill suits you. but so do things like these, i think. if you won't accept it, won't you at least tell me your favorites? that way, if i ever get to see them, i can still think of you. '

     POLITELY AND DUTIFULLY DID she keep watch over her charge, not because she was hired to do so, but because she genuinely wished for Yan Qing’s protection and happiness. However, it was easy to tell that she did not feel the latter. She played the proper lady, fulfilled her role as was expected of her within this household…and yet…she reminded Tomoe of a bird that was never released from its cage – forever peering out the window it was placed by and wondering if it too could take to the sky like those that would dance upon the windowsill. Yan Qing never spoke her thoughts on that matter, nor bemoaned her circumstances, but Tomoe had been around long enough to notice the smallest hints of displeasure without words needing to be said. Hands that were clasped politely in front of herself tightened in their hold, his lips pressing together firmly for a moment’s time before the sound of the other’s voice broke her from her reverie. ❝Yes, My Lady?❞ she asked, perking up instantly and awaiting whatever would pass those lips.

     For a time, Yan Qing said nothing – the noblewoman merely examining the peony she had plucked as if mesmerized by its delicate petals. When she finally did speak, surprise flickered across Tomoe’s features. ❝M-My Tomoe?❞ She unclasped her hand, gently placing it upon her chest and peering down upon the ground in thought as that affectionate title swirled about in her head. ‘My Tomoe’… She wondered what it was that had brought such about, but at the same time, it didn’t bother her. On the contrary, it made a spark of warmth burst within her; a small, delicate flame so like a lit candle. It was unprofessional to become too attached to one’s charge – that was what she had been taught, what had been drilled into her head a long time ago. Her duty was to serve and serve only. Everything else would be overstepping her bounds, but...being a distant protector felt…so cold, and Yan Qing had dealt with more than enough of that. The false smiles that never quite reached the eyes, the seemingly polite conversation that held daggers underneath…

     What a lonely existence.

     How could Tomoe not wish for Yan Qing to have something more? To genuinely smile? To genuinely laugh and thrive? ❝If…if that is what you desire, then such is fine with me.❞ She held no qualms to this – acceptant of both her new ‘title’ and of flower both. She smiled, then, head lifting and hand moving to rest by her side. ❝Yes, I accept both.❞ No one compared her to flowers before. They may think that of her at first, but upon seeing her brutality, her viciousness in combat, such thoughts would be quick to fade away. It was…refreshing…to not just be seen as cold and deadly like a blade; all sharp edges at the ready to cut. ❝Perhaps…new flowers can be brought in too. I can see that it is done. That way, when you awaken in the morning, rather than always being met with the same flowers in the garden, you can see different blooms to make your day brighter.❞ It wasn’t much, she knew. Nothing like actually leaving this place and walking the countryside…but it was something, wasn’t it?

[hannie-dul-set]

GOING THROUGH MY PAST MESSAGES AND I JUST LIVED THROUGH THIS VERY INSANE JAEMIN DREAM I DREAMT LAST APRIL TWENTY EIGHT TWENTY TWENTY ONE.

[forlorn-crows]

i just want dew to be loved so....

Aether peppers little kisses behind his horns, across his cheekbones, along the curve of his jaw. He wraps his big hands around Dew’s waist, pulling him closer against his chest.

“Aethe—what—” his hands are dripping with dishwater where he’s holding them above the sink like a helpless praying mantis. Aether just keeps kissing him, laughter bubbling up in his chest as he purposefully gets more enthusiastic. He noses for that spot on Dew’s neck that makes him crazy, but his breath is huffing over his skin with silent giggles, only serving to make Dew scrunch up and attempt to flee.

“Stop you bastard—t-tickles, stop, Aetheee,” he whines, fangs desperately trying to stifle the smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

Aether bumps his horns into Dew’s affectionately, ceasing his onslaught of kisses. “You’re just so cute, I couldn’t resist.”

Dew reaches for a nearby towel, still pinned against the quintessence ghoul’s body. “Right, because me doing the dishes is so attractive.”

Aether gasps in mock offense. “Excuse me, it is. I saw you from across the room and my heart stopped, fire lily.”

Dew’s face burns. “Whatever,” he mumbles, tossing the dishtowel on the counter. He crosses his arms and peers at Aether out of the corner of his eye, mouth still fighting back a grin.

“Look at you,” he presses the pad of a finger into the corner of Dew’s mouth, smiling wide. “Acting all shy. Like you don’t know how cute you are.”

Dew hangs his head, silvery hair falling to block his face. “Dunno what you’re talking about.”

“See! Doing it again,” he teases, pleased with the peek of dusty pink now running down his neck. Aether brushes the hair away from his face. “I love you all flustered,” he mutters, kissing the shell of his pointed ear. An involuntary shiver runs down Dew’s spine.

“I’m not flustered. Now if you’ll excuse me I have dishes to finish, thank you very much.”

“I think you’re a filthy liar,” Aether laughs, pulling him closer still. Dew wriggles in his grasp. Aether easily adjusts his grip to still the chaotic fire ghoul. He rubs his nose into Dew’s hair, inhaling the smell of cinnamon and shampoo. He exhales, purring contently.

“Do you know how crazy you make me? I just wanna eat you up,” he trills.

The reverberations are slightly intoxicating, lulling even. Aether’s still nosing and mouthing at his ear, over and over on that sensitive spot just above the back of the lobe. The combination of both of these things plus Aether’s words has him easily melting into the bigger ghoul, tipping his head back to rest on his collarbone and whining under his breath.

“Oh, like that, do you? Not distracting you, am I?” Aether asks with false innocence.

Dew ignores the tone entirely, in fact completely distracted by him. “N-no, I love it,” he stutters.

“Mm, I love you, honeydew.” Normally the rhyme would make him roll his eyes and scoff, but right now he couldn’t care less. Aether continues to kiss at the expanse of blushed skin between his ear and shoulder, pace considerably lazier and more pointed than before. His hands are roaming too, up and down his arms, his torso, palming at his waist. He gasps as Aether runs one hand down the front of his hip, sucking lightly on the junction of his neck at the same time.

He spins around in Aether’s grasp, looking up at him through long lashes. He runs a finger down his chest, stopping to poke him in the sternum.

“Why don’t you show me how much you love me, since you so rudely interrupted my chores, hm?”

Aether grins, grasping Dew’s chin with one hand. He leans in, centimeters from Dew’s lips.

“My pleasure.”

[willshipanything-blog]

Rules of the Game- Chapter 21

Little different this chapter!  I was planning on a few vignettes- little snapshots of Al and Y/N together. I reached out to some lovely mutuals on Tumblr- if they wanted any particular scenes, and got a few ideas I was able to put in alongside some pre-planned little scenes. If you don't see your requests here, it may make an appearance next chapter, which will also have a similar structure! ✌✨🖤

Thanks to @fierytteokbokki @drag-ghoul @grabberwife42 @gremlinology @reborn-ghost and others for their contributions! 💜

Turned out a lil' sweet and sad, but hope you enjoy!

Chapter 21- Still Life (1)

TOUCH

Mornings after the game were always when Al seemed to be at his most gentle, his most nurturing. Down he’d come, carrying both breakfast and an assortment of pills, lotions and ointments to soothe your aches and sores from the previous night’s escapades. This morning was quite the same, and you smiled sleepily and sat up against the wall as the metal door’s creak woke you from a restful sleep. As expected, Al (wearing only the grin this morning) plopped himself beside you on the mattress. The discernable dip momentarily- only momentarily- caused your eyes to flicker towards where he sat, where that cursed knife lay in hiding just below. He hadn't noticed it. A plate of buttered toast and eggs held in front of you thankfully dragged your eyes (and your mind) from that unsavory thought. 

You found you were ravenous (likely helped by last night’s activities) and ate quickly. Al allowed you to wolf down the food before trying to make conversation. With your belly full, and a warm cup of coffee in hand, he finally spoke to you.

“How’s my little dove this morning?” His kind words floated out from behind the false grin; always in such a good mood after a night of Naughty Girl. 

“I’m good Al,” You replied, imitating the smile you imagined hiding beneath the mask, “Did you- did you enjoy last night?” You faltered only slightly. Though you took part in the game without shame, your cheeks always seemed to blush strawberry-red when talking so casually about it afterwards. 

“Oh, Y/N, more than you could ever know.” That low, husky voice made a sudden appearance and his bright blue eyes seemed to flash menacingly at just a mention of the game (though it could have just been the winter sun streaming through the basement window). His left hand found your thigh and he gave it a soft, affectionate squeeze over the blanket. You gazed down at your ring on his pinky, the small morganite gem shining peachy pink in the morning light. The hold he had on you- not on your thigh, but on your whole being- convinced you that his promise would never be broken again. Would Al ever fully be certain that yours could be kept too? Would you know the answer to that yourself?

“Let’s survey the damage, shall we?” Al said, his lilting tones returned as he reached for a nearby bottle of cream. You placed your empty cup beside you on the floor, kicked the blanket off your body and spread your legs as Al applied the cool balm on your inner thighs, where red welts had bloomed overnight into vivid violets. It might have felt a little obscene were his touch not so soothing, like a nurse tending a wounded soldier after combat. Your battle scars would heal soon enough, and you’d happily suffer them again at Al’s hand. 

“The quicker they heal, the sooner you can inflict them again.” You spoke the familiar maxim, almost a sworn oath, setting out the rules of the game. 

“If you’d like me to, Y/N.” A soft voice spoke as equally soft blue eyes looked up at your face. Your brows flinched slightly. Al was no longer voicing the inevitability of a future game, nor was he praising you for reciting that unwritten rule. The choice to play again lay in your hands. Naughty Girl commenced at your command; only once it began would the reins be passed to Al, and he would become master of the game once more. 

You began to reply truthfully:

“I’d love t-” That word. You’d heard it last night. You thought you’d dreamed of Al speaking those three ill-fated words- ‘I love you’ - in some indistinct, nebulous dreamstate. But that phrase, unlike the rest of your half-forgotten dream, had become so clear, so palpable in your mind, you had to wonder… You’d lost your train of thought admitting your unabashed enjoyment, and looked perplexedly at Al, who was looking back just as puzzled, one eyebrow raised in question.

“Um, yeah. I’d like that, Al.” You hoped your foolish choice of words and panicked recovery hadn’t marred the intimacy of the shared moment. A simple nod of his head assuaged you briefly, but a lump the size of a ping pong ball rose in your throat as Al began to collect and place things back on the plastic tray. You floundered, moving to grab onto him- you couldn’t allow him to leave on such a sour note. 

“Please, Al. Stay a little while. Stay with me.” Your hand clasped around his muscular forearm, and he agreed to your terms with a low, assenting grunt. Putting down the tray, he now moved to grip you, his hands easily encircling your wrists. His fingers rubbed soothingly at the reddened skin where the cuffs had bitten into you. You said nothing, instead watching his nimble fingers work their way around your body, finding their way to your bare thighs, where (with the lightest of touches) his fingerpads traced along the purplish bruises. His gentle touch continued as he traversed those familiar trails on your face- your pinkish scar along the ridge of a cheekbone; your jaw, from your ears down to your chin, the raised scar that he fingered just above the surface of your heart. With each touch came a doting affection: how beautiful you looked that morning, how splendid you made last night, how truly blessed he was to have his little dove all to himself.

Al finally pulled you into him once your whole body had been touched by his hand and blessed with his words. As your head rested against his chest, you heard the steady thud of his heart beneath his jet-black shirt. You relaxed as his soft touches to your neck and chest continued alongside praise cooed lovingly in your ear- you’re perfect, Y/N; you’re so, so special to me; we’re going to be so happy here. He was sincere, and you believed every word. The beguiling caresses and praise enchanted you. Deeper under his spell you fell, and as you did so, the more those dreamy words from last night seemed to solidify, forming into something tangible. If they were really spoken- what then? What you and Al shared wasn’t synonymous with that word- love. Was it? 

No, it wasn’t real. If left unspoken, it couldn't manifest itself into something real. You couldn’t let him say it- or allow yourself to respond. This was enough- to care about him, to enjoy him- but no more. You hoped desperately it was enough.

Al wondered if he may have made a mistake- his sweet dove seemed a little uncertain this morning. Of course, she may just be worn out from such a beautifully tempestuous night spent together. But, he figured morosely, Y/N’s demeanor changed suddenly, as if a horrifying realization had struck her. What if Y/N heard those words he’d spoken last night? He wondered whether it was a mistake to speak them aloud- those three dangerous words would certainly not be carried on her sublime lips, spoken back to him in reciprocation. 

Maybe it didn’t matter after all. Maybe these little moments, these perfect, intimate encounters with her that he could steal away and keep locked in his memory- maybe that could be enough. Enough to hold her, have her, own her entirely. That was always what he longed for. He hoped so. 

TRICK

“C’mon, focus.”

“I can’t do it Al!”

“Yes, you can Y/N.” Al growled through what you could tell were gritted teeth. He’d been patient in your training thus far, but a huff of irritation blew out from behind the mask’s grin indicated his growing agitation at your continued self-criticism. 

“Ugh, it’s too hard!” You huffed back indignantly. 

You thought you were a pretty patient person, but apparently sleight of hand was not to be your forte. You hated being bad at something, but even you were almost at your wit’s end. You’d brought this on yourself- you were the one who suggested All teach you a magic trick. Even one as basic as summoning a card as if from thin air had you bested: a field of clubs, diamonds, hearts and spades surrounding you on the living room carpet evidenced your failures in stark red and black. 

Al had shown you the steps, talked through the techniques to use. It involved cupping your palm just so, flexing your hand a certain way, and snapping your fingers quickly to catch the card. When Al did it, he made it appear as though the card poofed into existence. So far, you had only succeeded in setting up a game of 52 pickup. The only thing stopping you from quitting altogether was Al’s promise of a takeout pizza if you managed to emulate the trick. 

“Would it help if you wore the hat?” he teased, lounging on the couch, obviously enjoying your pouting. You shot him both daggers and a cheeky retort:

“Not if I have to wear those stupid glasses too.” 

A low, almost inaudible grunt indicated you were oh-so-close to being a little too brazen. You focused your eyes back on the card in your palm, redoubling your efforts as you thought through each step of the trick. Fnap! The 7 of clubs appeared between your forefinger and thumb. You couldn’t hold back a wide, incredulous smile. 

“Beautiful, Y/N. Again, a little faster”. 

Fnap! The King of Hearts appeared even more swiftly this time. Fnap! 9 jet-black spades materialized in your hand. 

“See, dove, I told you you could do it.” Al leaned over to where you sat on the floor, a soft stroke along your jawbone making your blush appear quicker than any card you could summon. “Good job, too- I was getting hungry.” 

“Extra mushrooms please!” you hollered across the room, as Al rose from the couch and strode across the room, picking up the receiver on the cream telephone. His temples crinkled beside his blue eyes- a sure sign of smiling. He held up a finger to gesture your silence, and you obeyed, turning to focus on re-enacting the trick once more. You also knew he’d have to lift the mask off to speak clearly on the phone, and wanted to afford him some privacy. You’d told yourself you were content with that arrangement: that, no matter how much Al might test you, push your limits, you wouldn’t do the same with his mask. You’d wait patiently for another reveal, however long it took. 

Satisfied you’d got the hang of the trick, you began to collect the cards scattered over the shag carpet, stacking 51 of them neatly on the coffee table before reclining comfortably on the couch. 

“Shouldn’t be long, dove-” Al paused after turning to you, his grinning mask returned, “What, bored already?”

You sat up and flashed a wry smile, performing the trick one final time. Your hands gesticulated much like Al’s, imitating the theatricality and panache you’d watched from your suave magician. Fnap! Two crimson hearts appeared in your hand. The very same card you’d picked from Al during his last trick. 

You knew that he’d remember. You knew by summoning that card, he’d grab you hungrily, pull you in close and take you to the basement, where he’d perform a magic all of his own on you, have you unraveled completely at his spell and mewling at his incantations. A half-forgotten thought wondered whether Al would hear the doorbell from downstairs, but you had a different kind of hunger now, that only Al could sate. 

MASKS

Even as your days and nights with Al hushed into a steady and comforting rhythm- like soothing ocean ebbs and flows- you still often contemplated one of the few remaining barriers between you. It wasn’t the unspeakable things he’d done (which you had sworn to repress), nor was it the fairly obvious situation of you being his captive, his prisoner. It was a physical barrier you meditated on. It was the masks. 

Al had always been deliberate about how the masks were used. The smooth blank visage used to be completely unreadable, and you’d rack your brains wondering what tricks he was up to. The maniacal grin once instilled a strange dread, unnerved by his false kindnesses that would be cruelly reversed in an instant. And the frown always meant punishment and the promise of pain.  

The seismic shift your relationship had undergone meant the masks no longer clamped your heart in a dreadful, suffocating grip. But still, there was a meticulous system in how Al wore them. Naughty Girl still began with that deep frown, though Al had begun more and more to leave the grimace behind, loosening it in favor of kissing your mouth (and anywhere else on your body he so wished to taste). Mostly, half a mask greeted you in your basement chamber. If Al wore the familiar grin, it usually meant time for embracing, cuddling up on the low mattress to talk. His exposed azures (so genuine and trustworthy), fringed by his soft ashen hair, expressed more emotion than you thought possible. When Al greeted you in the devilled horns, his perfectly crooked teeth gleaming through parted lips, you knew you were going to make love. 

But even half a mask concealed things from you. Though you could solve the cryptic expressions and discern Al’s feelings in most given moments, that sculpted alabaster barricade felt sometimes like an impenetrable skin. True, he had revealed his whole face to you, unbroken by that concealing white disguise. But he had done so only once, in a moment of desperation, a sacrifice made in exchange for your forgiveness. You wondered when (if ever) you would see his visage in its unhidden entirety. 

Al surprised you when, after a quiet dinner on the mattress, he had left almost immediately after you’d finished eating. He’d been quiet, pensive, but even so, he had left without a word or a gesture, no reason why nor any farewell caress to your needful skin. A game, then? But no- you’d heard the door shut with the usual thud and click. Still, you tried to swing the door open, but it was sealed tight. Confusion grew into worry, which in turn grew into panic. The festering feeling in your gut, which had been banished for so long, had returned, clawing your insides with razor-sharp talons. It wasn’t fear so much as worry that you might have done something wrong; the thought of upsetting Al, unintentionally or otherwise, made your stomach churn. 

When the door once again opened (thirty minutes or an eternity? It all felt the same waiting and pacing in unknowing agony) your worry did not cease. Al stood in his mask. His full mask, the one with the blank, expressionless lower half. You hadn’t seen this iteration of the mask in weeks. It felt like when you’d first arrived here; when the pale horned face would appear from behind the door, and you had been so unsure of what sinister intentions were hidden beneath the ghoulish exterior. Given that you had deciphered the masks’ tacit codes, this felt like you’d regressed back to a time when they were as confusing as they were frightening. You didn’t know this game now either. But you trusted Al, and you weren’t afraid anymore. 

He approached you slowly, retracting a long, thin piece of fabric from a back pocket. Your feet stayed rooted to the spot, but your arms instinctively rose, hands pressing together. You thought he was going to bind your hands together, but a decisive shake of his head had you flummoxed. You interlocked your fingers, unsure of what to do with your hands, and felt the gold band on your right middle digit. It was a reassuring token; Al wouldn’t hurt you. 

Those gentle blue eyes disappeared from your vision and the basement vanished into a black void. Al had placed the fabric over your eyes, moving behind your ears and around the back of your head, where he tied the blindfold in a couple of tight knots. Your breath hitched in your throat and you swallowed it, trying to remain calm. It was just another game of his- and you always enjoyed them. Reassuring hands met yours, and Al wordlessly guided you back onto the mattress, sitting (you approximated) somewhere in the center. You hoped your smile hid the slight quiver in your lips. 

“Do not move the blindfold, Y/N.” You nodded. The phrase wouldn’t have been out of place during Naughty Girl, a playful yet dangerous warning. But Al’s tone was softer, worrisome even. It was a command to obey, but it was also a plea, a beseeching request. You suspected you knew why he sounded so anxious, and was proven right as you felt his lips meet yours. He had removed the lower portion of the mask. His kiss deepened, a hand cradling around your neck as your hands fumbled blindly to grip his thighs. His other hand ran through your hair as he paused, both of you a little breathless from the prolonged kiss. Your foreheads met as you rested, both breathing in each others’ zealous exhalations. He’d removed the horned half of the mask too. 

You couldn’t help but lean away slightly, reach your invisible hands to where you knew him to be, and caress his face with the gentlest of touches. Your hands glided over each feature, piecing together the memory of his beautiful face. He was opening up. In his own way, of course: he was still nervous, uncomfortable to present himself to you so candidly. But he was here, in front of you, allowing you to glimpse into a possible future where the masks could be discarded and forgotten. Maybe one day Al wouldn’t feel the need to hide at all. He’d done it once before, out of sheer desperation and amid the threat of losing you completely. He could do it again, in time. Time is something you weren’t short of. For now, you’d be content with this. 

AWAKE

When the darkness had been in charge, the Grabber had watched excitedly at the fear and the horror that visited Y/N in her dreams, making her fret and moan, waking in panicked sweat to come face to face with an even worse terror watching her like a ravenous wolf. But as that carnal, sadistic side of Al became restrained, so too did Y/N’s nightmares subdue. He still found he liked to watch her sleep. Sometimes for hours. The night terrors had subsided, and Al enjoyed the quiet, perfect moments where her calm, even breaths were all he needed to hear. 

Since growing closer, Y/N often fell asleep in Al’s arms, though still he’d stay deep into the night, enjoying the feeling of her body against him, a perfect fit. Two opposite poles being inevitably pulled together. Inescapable, destined to be. She had woken on occasion to find Al with his strong arm possessively around her waist. He stilled, pretending to snooze soundly, wondering what move she might make. His heart swelled with rapturous delight: she hadn’t wriggled free, but instead rubbed his arm gently, pressing her body deeper into his and stirring no more. Al, unable to hold back his elation, dove into her, planting delicate twilight kisses along her beautiful neck to lull her peacefully back into an ethereal slumber. 

Recently, however, Al had noticed Y/N sleeping fitfully on occasion, like something was weighing on her mind once the midnight moon bathed her basement cell in its pale, ghostly light. His little thing seemed to hide any worries in her waking hours, but she was unable to hide her unconscious, involuntary thoughts as he watched her sleeping. He thought things were better than ever, and worried terribly that he’d done something wrong. He almost laughed at this absurd thought. He’d done everything wrong. He would carry the shame of imprisoning her to his final days. But he was sure she had accepted this fate. So what was it affecting her so, forcing Al to soothe and calm her as she fretted and writhed once more in a troubled dreamstate? His worst fear was that she knew- she knew how he felt, and it had broken her. 

… 

Al woke from his own sleep, his eyes adjusting to the static that buzzed and hummed a low frequency in front of him. Piecing together the scene: he and Y/N had been watching a movie together. They had both fallen asleep on the couch, but she was no longer wrapped tightly in his arms, as he always held her when they lied together. He felt a warmth by his feet, and turned his head slowly in the dim, flickering light thrown across the room by the TV static. There, sitting on the opposite end of the couch, was Y/N, her elbow perching on the back of the couch, head resting on her fist as she looked out of the window. Surveying the outside world through the gaps in the rust-colored curtains. 

She hadn’t crept off to make any sort of escape, or gone snooping through the house. She had woken and stayed near to Al, though he knew his dove was thinking of faraway, unattainable things. Impossible wishes that he had forbidden her to desire. As she looked pensively out of her glass cage, the light December snowfall reflected in her bright, wistful eyes. Aside from her slow breaths and blinking lashes, Al might have thought she was inanimate. His own eyes glistened as he comprehended this idea: for all the choices he had given her, maybe she had become an inanimate being, a doll for Al to play with and discard as he saw fit. He prayed to whatever gods were out there she didn’t feel that way; he certainly didn’t anymore. He felt he had watched her covertly for long enough in the midnight darkness, and spoke softly to her.

“Dove?” She startled at Al’s words, looking away from the frosted window and back towards him. Like she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t have been. Like she thought she might be in trouble.

“You’re still here.” Al sat up, noticing (thanks to the flickering orange street light outside) that her mouth wavered for a moment, unsure whether to speak. She did.

“Where would I have gone?” Watery eyes gazed into him. A punch in his gut at the question. But she was right. She had always been such a clever thing. Where was there for her to go? It might have sounded romantic, forsaking all others to stay with Al. But there was no choice for his dove, and that tore at his insides like a rabid creature. Surprisingly, she broke the awkward and heavy silence that had settled like a blanket of snow between you both. 

“Can I go back downstairs Al?”

“Of course Y/N.” Back to the safety of the cell in which he’d so cruelly imprisoned her, the comfort of a mattress so unkindly given. It’s not how Al wanted things to be, but it was away from the even crueler and more unkind temptations of a world no longer accessible to his most precious possession. He loved her too much to ever let her go. Didn’t he?

[writingmysanity]

Eskel Drabble

one word prompt: Shooting star

pairing: Eskel x reader

word count: 460

Shadows danced in the firelight, the soft crackling the only sound in the clearing for the last hour. Huffing out tiredly, you hug the blanket tighter over your shoulders, breath puffing out like a snuffed out dragon- the thought amusing you.

A large breeze sweeps through the open space, trees and grasses rustling, the soft hum of the forest pulling your attention to the shadow of a figure heading your way. You don't even try to hide your smile as your witcher drops his weapons further away from the fire before plopping down beside you groaning softly. Chuckling, you reach up to brush a couple of curls from his face, fingers coming to rest on the side of his face affectionately, gently tracing his scars. Humming in satisfaction, he nuzzles his nose into your palm.

“You've gotten clean already” you tease, wiping away damp hair. He laughs, nodding. 

“I figured a fair lady, such as yourself, would prefer I didn't join you covered in guts.” with false solemness, you nod.

“You figured correctly, Witcher.” he just snorts.

“Witch” time has proven the nickname to be hostile- but there is no venom in his voice, only affection.

“Healer.” you correct, laying your head on his shoulder, eyes turning up towards the sky, tracing the stars. You can feel his shoulders shake slightly in laughter, warm arms wrapping around your waist.

“To each their own” he states, placing a kiss on the side of your nose, making you scrunch it up. He loves watching your expressions, he never has to guess what or how you're feeling. You're about to say something snarky, or at least try when your eyes lock on a white streak in the sky. Bouncing in place, you grab his hand.

“A shooting star! Make a wish” you sing, closing your eyes, holding his hand between yours like your praying.

“A witch making a wish? Now I've seen it all” Eskel laughs, watching the star fade from view. When he looks back down at you, you're pouting. 

“Healer.” he just shrugs. 

“Semantics.” 

“And my mother taught me that,” you say softly, a small smile tugging at your lips, looking down at the hand of his you still have clasped between yours. He softens, you don't often speak on your family. 

“What did you wish for?” he melts at how blinding your smile is, shoving his chest gently. 

“You're not supposed to say, or it won't come true!” 

“It isn't like I made a wish myself.” he teases, blowing a raspberry on your cheek, making you giggle.

“And why not?”

Pausing, he wraps you back up in his arms again, tugging you into his lap, nuzzling his nose into your cheek. 

“Because I already have everything I want.”

--

@queenxxxsupreme​ i blame you and your witcher/witch series..

[divinolenta]

comforting childe and diluc after a nightmare 

character x gender neutral reader, fluff (angst?)/sfw

trigger warning: brief mention of blood and death

additional notes: this was requested by a lovely anon ♡ i had fun writing these (had the most fun picturing what nightmares they would have but you didn’t hear that from me)! i listened to “the moon song” by karen o while writing childe’s scenario and “butterfly’s repose” by zabawa for diluc’s, which is why i’ve included lyrics in their respective scenarios! feel free to imagine yourself singing another song to them, if you’d like :) there are potential spoilers for their backstories, so read at your own risk.

childe:

he is cold, frigid air nipping at his skin viciously as he flees, blinking away snowflakes that cling to his eyelashes. pursued by ravenous wolves and beasts, he loses his footing, falling into a seemingly innocent fissure in the earth. recognizing the dark realm that haunts his memories, he panics, searching for an escape. no, please, not this again. 

too late, he lands, trapped in this hell once again. pain jolts through his bones and a gasp leaves his lips when he places weight on his sprained ankle. struggling to stand, childe grips the sword in his hand, hope dying when he finds that several monsters block his path. slaughtering them quickly, childe wipes off the blood that splattered on his face. 

“b-brother?”

he turns around, shock evident on his face when he sees his younger siblings, cowering away from him. the snow surrounding them is stained with crimson, and his hands are slick, viscous blood slowly dripping on the floor. tonia wraps her arms around anthon and teucer, shielding them with her body. childe takes a step forward, and extends a trembling hand toward them, calling their names weakly. 

“stay back! you....you monster!” a shriek rips from tonia’s throat, gripping her brothers’ closer to her, her terrified expression mirroring theirs. childe recoils at the lack of recognition in their gazes. no matter how heroic and righteous he believed himself to be,  he is merely a tainted soul, a monster who could never redeem himself.

lurching awake, childe’s momentary relief is quickly replaced by bitter contempt. a nightmare? he almost laughs, running a hand through his mussed hair, but his hammering heart and shaking hands tell another story. childe needs a breather, and he eyes the door, longing to escape the past and lose himself in the beauty that nature offers. perhaps he will meander along the ocean and watch the waves kiss the shore and recede, and let it wash away his sins. sitting up, he swings his legs over the side of the bed, but it creaks underneath his weight and childe cringes at the sound that resonates throughout the room. 

“where are you going?” you ask groggily, squinting blearily at him. 

“i just,” childe begins, but before he could continue, shudders ran through his body, interrupting him. you tug him back into the warmth of the duvet, hands cradling his face while you peer at him in concern.

“i’m sorry...” childe squeezes his eyes shut, hands clenching tightly. he tries to calm down his erratic breaths, apologizing meekly as his hands try to nudge you away. 

what if he hurts you too?

but you hush him, pulling him closer so that his head rests against your collarbone, limbs tangled together. 

you start to sing, the familiar melody striking a chord in his heart. your voice is hoarse and muddled with sleep, but you gradually fall into a soothing rhythm, like the euphonious and undulating cadences of a piano.

i'm lying on the moon

my dear, i'll be there soon

it's a quiet starry place

time's we're swallowed up in space

we're here a million miles away

childe sheds his brash and arrogant exterior and allows himself to get pulled under by the overwhelming tides of his emotions, just like the waves of the ocean that he adores so much. he feels like he’s fourteen again, but this time, you’re here with him. he grasps your shirt tightly, and anchors himself, tears leaking from his closed eyes, falling on to your skin, seeping into the fabric of your shirt. 

there's things i wish i knew

there's no thing I'd keep from you

it's a dark and shiny place

but with you my dear, i'm safe

and we're a million miles away 

he is consoled by the fact that you do not view him as a monster, and when he’s with you, he can be whoever he chooses to be. he does not need to be tartaglia, childe or even the ajax he used to be, rather, he is content with simply being your lover and spending every hour of the day with you. 

diluc:

the moment diluc sees his surroundings, he knows. he knows what’s going to happen, and how everything will go down. the carriage rocks back and forth as it travels over the uneven path, and everything is calm. too calm. swallowing thickly, he turns to his father, heart twinging at the sight of his familiar figure, with hair of flame, so similar to his own. 

horses whinny frantically in the distance, and diluc tries to warn his father, but is cut off by the carriage toppling over as they lose control of the reins. a roar shakes the very earth and diluc is thrown against the side of the carriage, hissing in pain when his hand gingerly presses against the bruise on his head.

“father! wait!” diluc scrambles to his feet when his father begins to rise to his feet to investigate and protect the transport fleet. his father looks at him inquiringly, and diluc advances, clutching the hem of his coat in an effort to make him stay.

“you mustn’t go, father, your life will be in peril.” he implores, and even though he tries his best to keep his voice steady, the anguish he truly feels does not fully dissipate.

“i can’t afford to lose you again” is what diluc wants to say, but can’t muster the courage to form the words. 

“my son, is that not what a man like your father should do?” his father rests a heavy hand on diluc’s shoulder, and his heart sinks in response. 

“but, father-” diluc presses, but his father simply shoots him a reprimanding look.

“i’ll be back soon, just wait for me here.” he lets out a booming laugh, and ruffles diluc’s hair with an affectionate gaze, before walking off, summoning his weapon. 

horrified, diluc calls out, but his pleas fall on deaf ears. he desperately wills his body to move, but it’s like vines have erupted from the dirt and tangled around his legs, trapping him in a prison of thorns. 

all he can do is stand there, watching from the sidelines. even as his father gulps his dying breaths, all diluc can do is clutch on to him, and pray to whatever god that still remains, while the very light of his soul eclipses.

and like an incompetent fool, all diluc does is weep and regret. 

hands shake his shoulders, and diluc snaps out of his dream, released from the tormenting illusion. his gaze meets yours, and when he reaches up to touch his face, his fingers come away damp from the tears that streak his skin.

you’re seated on the bed, sheets pooling around your waist. your brow furrows, and diluc opens his mouth, about to let false reasurances tumble from his lips to alleviate the look of unease you don. how many times had he dreamed of the incident? how many times would he continue to blame himself?

diluc himself does not know the answer. 

you lean forward, hands tenderly brushing away the tears that remain, and diluc loses himself in your eyes. eyes really are the window to the soul, he thinks, everything is so clear, like how he knows that the sun will rise, signalling a new beginning. your eyes betray every emotion that flicker through their depths.

“i’m okay.” he whispers, but both you and him know that he’s lying. diluc lies back down, and he gestures for you to do so as well, but you situate him so he lays with his head in your lap. 

you card your fingers through his hair carefully, your delicate touches evoking a chill that runs down his spine. you begin to hum softly, voice lilting in an ethereal melody before words surface and accompany it. diluc feels like he’s simultaneously floating and sinking. he wants to weep, for barbatos was lenient enough to grant him such a caring and understanding lover to someone as undeserving as he is.

for a moment, he wonders if you are perhaps hestia incarnate. the warmth and love with which you behold him with is surreal, and god knows that diluc is not capable of replicating or returning such affection. 

the shadows in your head

they've got you down again

got you feelin' low

your voice is an intimate whisper, and diluc welcomes the warmth that it entwines him in. he catches your hand, bringing it to his lips so he can press a chaste kiss against it. moonlight slants against your features, and diluc can only stare in awe as you continue to sing, body slightly swaying along as your hand aimlessly caresses his hair. 

but it's time to rest, now 

let it all melt now

wipe your tears 

“thank you.” he murmurs, eyes falling close as your voice lulls him into a sleep. one that he knows will not be plagued with nightmares. you don’t respond, but diluc can hear the hint of a smile in your voice.

it’s a sight to behold: diluc ragnvindr, a man with a renowned reptuation of having a heart of ice, melting in your embrace. out of everything, perhaps your love is what ignites him, and brings back the fervor that was once lost.