#apprentice tap

[silvermoon424]

Ojamajo Doremi 🎶🎼🎵

[currentlyonstandbi]

george lucas should have left this scene in the final cut because it slaps HARD

[inkmaze]

shaking lawrence gordon round like a bug in a jar

[florencemtrash]

Take it Off - Azriel x Reader

Summary: You and Azriel have been friends for centuries... but what happens when he wakes up one day to find that things have changed? And how will he react when you start wearing Cassian's clothes?

Warnings: Angst. Jealous Azriel. Suggestiveness and then some (I don't know what warning to put, but it's spicier than my usual stuff is all I'll say). Cassian is an absolute menace... good for him

Author's note: Did I write this to procrastinate editing SSIB Ch 22 after watching Bridgerton S3?... yes

Is this a fucking game to you?

Cassian grinned over the lip of his cup, raising his brow in a poorly disguised expression of confusion. He’d been playing the innocent fool all throughout breakfast, seemingly oblivious to the daggers Azriel was throwing his direction every time he made you laugh.

Internally, he and Nesta were both cackling. He threw his arm over the back of his meta’s chair, plucking the cream puff she held out for him, and tossing it into his mouth with a shit-eating grin. 

I’ve not the faintest idea what you’re talking about, Azriel. Although it hurts me deeply to see you so upset.

Upset was an understatement. Azriel was holding onto his glass of orange juice so tightly cracks were beginning to form beneath his fingertips. 

You elbowed Azriel in the ribs, brows furrowed as you pointed your slice of toast towards his hand. “Are you ok?” You whispered low and just for his ears. 

The molten anger in his eyes melted away, hazel eyes softening as he took in your concerned expression. You were the first and only one of his family members to watch him so intensely. You could unravel the meaning in every twitch of his jaw, every rhythmic tap of his fingers against his thigh, every flicker of his shadows. You knew when he was upset, when he was happy, and when he wanted to laugh but had trouble expressing it. The only thing you weren’t aware of when it came to Azriel was how unbelievably in love with you he was. 

But that was his own fault. 

You’d watched him fawn over Mor for centuries, watched as he practically crawled on hand and knees for any kernel of affection she was willing to throw his way. Then, when you thought he’d finally gotten over his feelings for her, he’d chased after Elain’s heels like a dog in heat. You didn’t even want to begin thinking about Gwyn and the way she’d trampled over his hopes with the simple phrase, “I love you as a friend, Azriel. Nothing more.” 

No. It was entirely his fault that you’d learned to bury your own feelings for him so deep they’d become background noise — as inconsequential and ever present as the sound of your own breathing. 

Still… you couldn’t help but notice the secrets swimming in his eyes, the hurt and longing there that you could only guess the origin of. Who’d hurt him this time? You wondered. 

“I’m fine.” Azriel whispered, his hands ghosting over your thighs before deciding against touching you there. 

You hummed, clearly unconvinced. You held your toast in between your teeth, tasting the raspberry jam explode on your tongue as you reached over and carefully peeled Azriel’s fingers off his injured glass. 

His heart stuttered at the sight of your lips as they closed around your thumb, licking away crumbs and jam from your fingertips. But then his gaze dropped to your chest and his stomach soured. 

As Madja’s apprentice, you’d acquired a special interest in botany — an interest that had all but shoved you into Feyre’s studio so you could learn the skills necessary to depict all manner of flora and fauna in your field journal. When you’d complained about finding paint and charcoal stains over your clothes, Cassian had jumped on the opportunity to give you his old shirts to use as painting smocks. He had to congratulate himself for the stroke of genius. After all, he and Nesta had been discussing plans on how to get Azriel to admit his feelings for months now. 

Azriel did not respond well to outright suggestions or bullying. If he told Azriel to pull his head out of his ass and ask you on a proper date, the Shadowsinger would only hunker down on his preconceptions that he was unloveable, and that you were far too good for him. If he revealed to Azriel that you’d secretly loved him for decades that would only make him feel even more embarrassment and shame. 

No.

  Jealousy worked far better when it came to Azriel.

You looked comfortable and happy in Cassian’s clothes — a fact that escaped no one’s notice. You had the sleeves rolled up past your elbows, the rows of buttons at your back haphazardly done without wings to accommodate. You’d worn that particular shirt a half dozen times now and replaced any scent of Cassian with your own. 

Still, you were wearing another male’s shirt… and it was starting to drive Azriel insane.

“I was going to get rid of these and thought you might like them for… painting.” Azriel shifted on his feet, holding out the neatly stacked pile of clothes for you. 

You were laying on your stomach in bed, colored pencils and textbooks splayed out around you, but quickly righted yourself and sifted through the piles he handed you.

You held one up for a better look. 

“Azriel, you were just wearing this last week.” It still smelled like him — the scent of the Illyrian mountains at night woven through the soft, cotton material. “I can’t take this. Or this. Or this!” 

“I have more just like them.” 

You huffed, fists balanced on your hips. 

Azriel was a simple male with ample space in his wardrobe. When he wasn’t in his Illyrian leathers he wore the same three outfits on rotation, all of them nearly identical. If there was anyone who shouldn’t be giving away clothes, it was Azriel. 

“I really appreciate it, Az, but I’m ok. I don’t need these. Cassian already gave me enough hand-me-downs to last two decades at least.” 

A muscle in Azriel’s jaw jumped out. “Well I’m glad for that.” He was practically seething. You noticed, as you always did, but you couldn’t imagine that you were the cause of his frustrations. 

“Are you sure you’re alright, Az? You’ve been acting strangely the past few days.” 

“It’s nothing.”

“I doubt that.” 

There were various things on his mind, chief among them you. So he took hold of the olive branch you’d extended him and laid down beside you, talking about everything and nothing at all. But one thing he avoided talking about at all costs was how the gentle scraping of your nails through his hair as he rested his head in your lap made him want to lock the door and never come out. 

He wanted to bury his face beneath your sundress and then tear it to pieces. He wanted to dive under the covers and leave an assortment of marks on your skin. To hold you so close that you began to smell like one another. 

You lay down beside him, leaning your head against his shoulder so he caught whiffs of your elderberry and lemon shampoo. 

“You know you can tell me anything, right? That’s what friends are for.” 

Right… friends. He was starting to hate that word. 

“Yes… I know.” 

How long do you think he’ll last?

Nesta felt Cassian’s soft laugh blow over the back of her neck as they crouched just behind the door of Feyre's painting studio.

Azriel had been undeniably irritable the last two weeks, his patience fraying like a linen skirt with the hem torn off. Cassian was still sporting a bruise on his cheek from this morning’s sparring session after one of his teasing remarks had hit a little too close to home. 

Not much longer. Look at him, Nes. He’s practically vibrating.

Nesta slapped her hand over her mouth, stifling her laughter. 

Azriel was restless, his wings kept opening and closing with agitation and the curve of his ears had long since turned a bright shade of pink. He’d had his shadows knock over a cup of ink earlier, sending its contents splattering over your shirt and staining the fabric beyond repair. But you’d only shrugged and said, “It’s my painting shirt. It’s meant to get dirty,” before going back to your canvas with a soft smile. The moment you’d turned your back to him, he’d silently cursed the ceiling. 

Stupid, stupid, stupid. He kicked himself, too focused on your continuing conversation to think that his meddling brother and sister-in-law might be watching. 

He hadn’t expected his emotions to take over so quickly, least of all with you. You’d been his best friend for over two hundred years. You were a staple in his life, more familiar to him than the childhood blanket he still had tucked away in his drawer. There was no reason why he should suddenly wake up one day and realize with a shock of surprise that he loved you and couldn’t imagine living in a world that didn’t have you in it. 

It had been such a silly moment as well. You’d been getting ready for Starfall, your hair done up and a flush of color spread over your cheeks and lips. He’d come to check in on you and lost his breath when he saw you sitting at the vanity, holding up earrings to your neck to see if they matched the satin of your deep blue gown. And then you’d politely asked him to lace up your dress and he’d nearly swallowed his tongue in surprise, forcing his hands to stop shaking as they brushed against your spine. Gods he’d wanted to throw himself off a balcony that night, if only because you’d be the one tasked with healing him. 

He wanted to throw himself off the balcony now. Let the ground swallow him whole so he wouldn’t have to make a fool of himself in front of you… again. 

I give it another week. Nesta declared.

Cassian smirked. I know my brother. He won’t last another three days.

In the end they were both wrong. 

It only took two days for Azriel to finally snap.

“Take it off.” 

You swiveled around in your chair, tongue pressing against your cheek as you wondered what gave Azriel the audacity to march into your private lesson with Feyre and make such an out-of-character demand. 

“What?” You asked, furrowing your brows. 

Azriel stood as still as an obsidian statue in the doorway. His wings loomed over his shoulders, talons reaching towards the ceiling tense and twitching. 

“Take. It. Off,” he repeated through gritted teeth. He clutched a neatly folded shirt in his hands, knuckles pale and bloodless from the tight grip. You’d been wearing Cassian’s clothes almost every day this past week and he couldn’t stand it anymore. He couldn’t stand sitting beside you at the dinner table or in the library, the laughter in his throat dying when he caught Cassian’s scent drifting off your skin. 

It was maddening the way you didn’t think anything of it. 

Yes, Cassian was practically a brother to you, and yes, he was a mated male but… fuck it bothered Azriel so much to think of anyone else laying claim to you. To think that one day you might actually walk around wearing another male’s clothes because you loved them. To think that that male wouldn’t be him. 

He’d tried to bring up the topic with you in his own round-about way, but you’d shrugged off all his suggestions of wearing something — anything — else. 

“If you want painting clothes, why don’t we go shopping this afternoon? I’m sure Feyre has recommendations. Or we could just walk around the Rainbow until something catches your eye.” 

“I’m not a full time artist, and it seems silly to spend money on clothes you intend to ruin.” 

“Why don’t you ask Feyre or Mor for hand-me-downs then? They’ll fit you better and the sleeves won’t drag so much.” 

“I like it when my clothes are loose.” 

Feyre glanced between the two of you, namely the flare of Azriel’s nostrils and the way he ground his teeth so intently you worried he’d crack a tooth. 

“I’m… going to leave now.”

“Wait—Feyre!” 

The High Lady kissed your cheek, a knowing look in her eyes, before scurrying out the door. 

Don’t scowl so much, Az, you’re making her nervous. She chirped to the Shadowsinger before slipping down the hallway and disappearing. 

She made it all of ten feet down the hall before crowing, “It’s happening!” to the others. 

It’s happening?! Mor leapt out from her bedroom, a robe hastily tied around her waist and soap suds clinging to her hair. “Fey—” she hissed.

Feyre pressed a finger up to her lips, cutting her off. They’re in the art studio now. 

I fucking KNEW IT! Mor squealed in delight, stomping her feet soundlessly into the floorboards as she allowed Feyre to grab her wrist and drag her forward. 

I won the bet, Nes.

You didn’t win, we both lost!

Semantics. 

Why you bas—

Feyre, Rhys, Mor, Cassian, and Nesta streamed into the foyer. There was an air vent here that led directly to the art studio two floors above them and painted over so expertly it may as well have been part of the molding. The sounds traveling through it were muffled by echos and distance, but nothing that fae hearing and magic couldn’t overcome. 

“That’s it!” The chair you’d been sitting in skittered back with a squeak. “What is your problem, Azriel? You’ve been agitated for weeks now. You won’t tell me, or any of the others, what’s wrong and every time Cassian so much as glances in your direction you look like you want to tear his throat out!” 

Azriel said nothing as you stomped forward and dragged him into the room, slamming the door shut behind him. Whiskey eyes flickered down to your hand — the hand you currently had closed around his wrist — and he shuddered. 

You didn’t even want to begin to unpack the hidden meaning of that response as you brought him to the center of the room and let go. 

He dropped the shirt on the nearby desk, hands lowering to the hem of your painting smock with a grimace. 

“I need you to take this off.” He repeated with a frown.

“What kind of person marches into a room and demands that their friend take off their shirt?” 

He flinched at that word — friend.

“Az!” Your voice snapped him out of his thoughts, and his anger. “What is going on with you?!” 

“It’s nothing.” He growled out, but he tugged at the hem like its very existence was a personal offense.

“Clearly it’s not nothing.”

“Can you just take off your shirt and put this one on?”

You shoved him away. It wasn’t even like he was asking you to get naked, you both knew you were wearing something beneath this, but it was the way he was asking that grated on your nerves — like what he was requesting was perfectly normal and you were the ridiculous one for not listening.

“No.” You folded your arms over your chest with a huff. You were just being stubborn now, but you didn’t care. 

His eyes turned tortured and he clasped his hands together in front of you. “Please?” He begged.

“No! Not until you tell me what’s going on and why you’re acting this way!” 

“I don’t want to have this discussion while you’re standing there smelling like another male!”

That was… not what you were expecting.

You gaped at him, unsure whether to howl with laughter, or slap him across the face. 

“That’s what this is about? You’re upset because I’m wearing Cassian’s clothes?” You gagged at the mere thought of what Azriel was insinuating. 

“Well that was a little hurtful.” Cassian mumbled. 

Mor slapped the back of his head. “Shhhhh. I’m trying to listen.”

Azriel shifted on his feet, color beginning to spread high on his cheekbones. “It’s not about Cassian… not really…”

You tapped your foot on the ground, waiting for him to continue. Azriel felt naked. Stripped back like one of your insect specimens lit up beneath a microscope. Your eyes raked over his every movement. Even his shadows, usually so attention-seeking, cowered behind their master’s back whispering to one another about how Azriel might dig himself out of his own grave. 

“Well?” You snapped. 

Azriel shrank back, “I… I like you, Y/n.” 

You rolled your eyes, “I know, that’s why we’re friends. I like you too.”

“No. Not… not like that.” Azriel groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Oh I’m fucking this up so badly it’s not even funny anymore.” 

“I don’t even know what it is you’re fucking up. I—”

“I love you, ok?” He said in a burst of energy.  “I love you and not in the way that friends are meant to love one another and Cassian’s an idiot and I’m a jealous bastard and I… I…” 

You stared back dumbly. “You can’t mean that.” 

Azriel’s face fell. “And why not?”

“Because I have been here for decades, centuries,” you jabbed his chest with a finger, “And you never once looked at me that way. Never once considered me as anything more than a friend. You’re upset because I’ve been wearing Cassian’s clothes the last few weeks? Well guess what, Az, I’ve watched you walk in and out of those doors for years with your poorly concealed hickies and that lovesick look on your face, and I never made it your problem or anyone else’s.” 

“Well I want you to!” He shouted. It was the first and only time you could remember him raising his voice. “I want you to make it my problem, Y/n. I want you to tell me that you love me and I want you to shout at me for all the stupid decisions I’ve made because I’m yours. I’m yours to shout at. I’m yours to get angry with. I’m yours to love if you’ll still have me and…” Azriel gasped for breath, chest heaving as he came face to face with the fact that he’d just said those words out loud. Those words that he’d kept close to his chest with the rest of his secrets. Those words that proved just how completely at your mercy he was. 

Please say you’ll still have me. His eyes begged. 

When you didn’t move or say anything, he felt a piece of his heart wither away. He lowered his eyes, suddenly interested in a speckle of red paint that had smeared under his boot, “Forgive me. I’m… I’m sorry I didn’t… I shouldn’t have—” 

“You’re a fucking idiot, Azriel.” You muttered breathlessly. 

Then you flung yourself into his arms and crashed your lips into his. 

Kissing Azriel was better than you could have ever imagined. The fantasies you’d constructed late in the night when you were lonely blew apart like paper houses, crumbling in the face of reality. His mouth fumbled for purchase against your lips before slotting into place with a strangled moan. He lifted you in the air and you instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist, tightening them until you could feel him harden between your legs. 

His tongue flitted over your lips tasting like oranges and magic. 

But his hands. 

His hands. 

You couldn’t get enough of them as they slid up and down your back, squeezing and pressing into your skin until he’d memorized the curve of your spine. You wove your fingers in his hair, tilting his head so you could stare into his hazel eyes before diving in for another taste. 

He walked you back to the desk, shadows flinging the tins of charcoal and pastel pencils off the furniture so you could perch there instead. Then he surged forward, pressing his hips into the space between your legs so he could feel the heat that gathered there. It sent shivers down his spine.

This… this was everything he’d ever wanted. You were everything he’d ever wanted. Not some unapproachable female he admired from afar but hardly knew, but someone who’d seen every inch of his soul and never flinched. Someone who’d nestled into the hidden corners of his heart and grown there like a willow tree. 

You moved your hands over the wide expanse of his back, digging your nails in to feel every twitch of muscle, every shudder, as he latched onto the side of your neck and slid his tongue over the sensitive skin there. 

He smelled like mountain rain. Like fresh wind and petrichor and sea salt. 

You smelled like lemons and safety. Like maple leaves and lavender and… Cassian.

Because you were still wearing his gods-damned shirt. 

Azriel felt his blood boil, and an instinctual rage took over as he growled low in his throat, bunched the fabric of Cassian’s shirt in his hands, and tore it in two.

You pulled away from him at the sound of ripping fabric, but kept your grip on his solid shoulders as air blew across your skin.

Azriel’s pupils were blown wide, his lips pink and raw as he leaned his forehead against yours in a daze. You continued to breathe each other’s air like you were drowning. He seemed just as in disbelief as you, if not more. 

“Azriel…” You whispered, chest heaving. 

He looked at you with half-lidded eyes full of heat. “... yes, Y/n?” He asked breathlessly.

“I think you ripped through my dress… and my bra as well…” 

“Oh…” He fingered the ruined fabric that fell loose around your shoulders and realized that your back was indeed on full display. The straps of your bra slipped down and the mangled buttons of your sundress clung to their loops by weak threads. “Oh…oh gods.” 

One hand flew up to your chest to keep the fabric in place while the other slapped over your mouth, suffocating the laughter that threatened to burst forth. 

Azriel’s ears and cheeks turned brighter than the sun as he slowly lowered you down to your feet, fumbling over apologies like he hadn’t been shoving his tongue down your throat mere seconds ago. 

“I’m so sorry—” 

“Azriel, it’s ok.” 

“No, I was being an ass and now I’ve ruined your dress and—” 

“You can buy me more.”

Azriel’s shoulder dropped. “I can?” “You can.” 

He shook his head very seriously. “Yes, yes you’re right, I—” Azriel had always been the beautiful one — the one that drew eyes when he walked into a room. The one that had females and males falling out of their seats for a proper look at his elegant features. But right now he looked so helpless, so flustered and unsure of himself that you finally lost it. 

Champagne bubble laughs slipped out of your mouth, light and airy, and sent a shock of warmth through Azriel’s chest. It was infectious the way the skin stretched over your cheeks. The light in your eyes couldn’t be contained no matter how hard you tried. 

He couldn’t help himself. 

He started laughing too. 

What began as one of his reserved chuckles grew into uncontrollable peals of laughter that echoed throughout the studio and had you clutching onto the desk for support. 

Azriel doubled over, one hand holding the stitch in his side together as you howled. 

“Oh gods. I can’t—” You hiccuped. “I-I-I can’t breathe.” 

Soon you were both kneeling on the ground, clutching each other’s arms for some semblance of stability. You gasped for breath, wiping away tears from the corners of your eyes. 

Azriel captured one of your hands, weaving his fingers through yours before bringing your wrist to his lips for a soft, reverent kiss. You thought you’d experienced enough emotions for today ranging from frustration to anger to a joy you couldn’t begin to put into words. But you were certain your heart could handle one more shift in the atmosphere. 

Wordlessly you tugged off Cassian’s shirt, dropping it to the side where shadows caught hold of the cursed fabric and quickly tossed it into the fireplace. The flames crackled with triumph, eating away at the shirt with a vengeance. 

“A little dramatic, don’t you think?” 

“We can agree to disagree.” Azriel murmured, his eyes growing dark and heavy. His gaze drifted down to the soft skin now exposed from your tattered dress, the thin straps clinging to your arms, the gentle swell of your breasts as you breathed heavily. 

His fingers danced over the straps in silent permission, eyes searching yours for any hint of hesitation. But you were open and wanting and desperate for his touch. You crawled into his lap and a faint nod was all he needed before the pale blue fabric of your dress fell down and bunched about your waist. The bra followed, and then you were sitting there naked from the waist up, feeling the heat grow between your bodies as Azriel looked at you with pure adoration in his eyes. 

“Am I dreaming, Y/n?” He whispered, rubbing circles into your hip bones. 

You smiled softly, “Have you dreamed of me before?”

“Yes. Many times.” He kissed your chest, slowly dragging his hands down your ribs as you shivered and fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, and then his belt buckle. “But we never got this far.” 

“Hmmmm, I think we could go a little further.” 

“NOT IN MY STUDIO!” Feyre’s voice echoed oddly through the room, sounding muffled and far away. 

Azriel’s wings flared out, hiding you from view as you yelped and pressed your chest against his. Your cheeks burned with embarrassment about being found in such a compromising position. But the door was closed! And so were the windows!

His shadows finally found the culprit in the air vent.

“Godsdamnit—HAVE YOU BEEN LISTENING THE ENTIRE TIME?!” Azriel shouted. 

A moment passed before Feyre answered, “... No,” in a much softer tone. 

“We missed part of the beginning,” Cassian chimed in. 

Azriel groaned, dropping his forehead against your shoulder as you were stunned into silence. He muttered something beneath his breath that sounded oddly similar to, “I swear I’m going to kill him one day.”

Azriel helped you to your feet and finally, you put on his shirt. 

“Are you happy now?” You teased, arms dropping to your sides. 

The corner of his lip twitched upwards. You looked… very good in his clothes with the sleeves rolled up and a sliver of your dress (now skirt) peeking out from beneath. 

He looked towards the vent, then wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you close so he could whisper, “I would be happier if I saw my shirt and that dress of yours on the floor of my bedroom.” 

His hand slid up your skirt, squeezing the back of your thighs in a way that had you stiffening. 

All at once he was second-guessing himself. Maybe he’d taken things too far. Maybe the lust-filled haze had cleared and you didn’t want him anymore. 

You swallowed and wrapped your hand around his wrist, gently guiding his fingers to your core. You let him know just how much you wanted this. 

A roar of blood sounded in the Shadowsinger’s ears. 

“I think that sounds like a very good plan.” You murmured in agreement and his eyes turned black as night.

He stole another long kiss before scooping you into his arms. 

“Az, where are we going?” You giggled into the curve of his throat as he flew down the hallway and stairs. “We just passed your bedroom.” 

“We’re not going to my bedroom.”

“Well we missed my bedroom too.” 

He didn’t respond.

Azriel skidded to a stop at the top of the staircase, already well aware that his family had gathered at the bottom and were waiting to bombard him with questions. 

Azriel smirked at you, leaned down, and kissed your cheek. “When I take you to bed properly, it won’t be with our nosey family members in the house.” He ran his tongue across the line of your jaw all the way to your earlobe and whispered, “I want any noises you make to be for me, and me alone.” 

“You are certainly a man of poetry, Az.”

He smiled. “Only for you.” 

“Well, well, well if it isn’t the two love—” Shadows flew into his mouth, muffling his words. “HEH! Azz! Whazthf—”

“I’ll see you in a week.” He said to no one in particular, his shadows opening the door of the River House. 

“Where are you going?” Mor asked, her eyes zeroing in on the bright red mark blossoming on your neck. What the fuck? She mouthed at you, giving you two thumbs up as Azriel crossed the doorway with you in his arms.

“None of your business. I’ll see you in a week.” Then he looked down at you, eyes growing soft. “We’ll see you in a week,” he corrected himself. 

Your stomach bottomed out, heat flowing through your body as you heard him make such a declaration in front of... well everyone. You couldn't wait to see where he would take you and where he would take you.

"Ready?" Azriel asked, a sultry smile growing on his face.

"Ready."

You wrapped your arms around his neck, burying your face in the hollow of his throat as he took off into the air. 

[blackjackkent]

Down the parsed dialogue rabbit hole again, this time looking at Ethel's Vicious Mockery lines for all the characters, and goddamn, they are brutal.

ASTARION You're one thirsty night away from betraying everyone. Deep down, you like being leashed, don't you? Is there still rat stuck in your teeth, slave?

GALE I can smell what's under those bandages, wizard. You're all rot and ruin. Come to greet death early? You'll be a lovely spectacle. Who would be jealous of you, apprentice?

KARLACH Let's pull your strings, infernal puppet. Happy to sell everyone's soul but your own, aren't you? When I'm done, even the Hells won't want you.

LAE'ZEL Your people will never take you back - illithid scum. Do you miss kissing Vlaakith's feet, gith? A toad with a tadpole! How fitting.

MINSC How quaint! The hamster has a pet. Only evil here is what's inside you, ranger. Go rub your rat, soft-skull.

SHADOWHEART You're so far up Shar's cake you can't see straight. Pathetic. Why would Shar love you when no one else does? You're no complex puzzle. Just a sad little girl.

WYLL Do you think losing that eye made you a hero? Oh, look! It's daddy's regret. Fraud of the Frontiers!

DRAGONBORN Aww, where's your clan? Bet they'd exile you for that brainworm in a blink. Bet that honour of yours shatters easy as your scales. You foul-breathed little lizard!

DWARF No flabby dwarf's a threat to me. More beard than brains, the lot of you. Bet you'd trade your friends for a trinket or two, gold-eater!

DWARF (DUERGAR) Bow your head, slave. You remember how, don't you? Grey and useless as a stone comb. I'll squeeze that stone heart until it bleeds, dwarf. Need a new master, illithid lover?

ELF Fancy yourself immortal? We'll see how long that lasts. I'll show you what a true fey does, dearie. Elves are so pretty. Pretty worthless!

ELF (DROW - FEMALE) Filthy underscum! Just another of Lolth's pretty harlots. Slaver. Sadist. How dare you judge me?

ELF (DROW - MALE) Bare your throat, spider-bait. Kneel, boy. Just like the matriarchs taught you to. Bow to your betters, boy.

GNOME Disgusting burrow rat. Bet your clan's happy you're gone! Try laughing after I rip your throat out, gnome.

HALF-ELF I wonder which parent regrets you more, half-breed. How revolting. Another thin-blooded mongrel. Half-elf. Half-human. All useless.

HALF-ELF (DROW) Even the Underdark doesn't want you, half-breed. A half-drow? How grotesque. Surprised you show yourself in public, abomination.

HALF-ORC Come now, tusks-for-brains! Doesn't this make you angry? All that bloodlust. A little tap, and I bet you won't know friend from foe! Lumbering half-orc. Twice as ugly as your parents combined!

HALFLING Come closer, little softie. You'll be tender. A tiny, sweet morsel. Just for me.

HUMAN Another human rat infesting Faerûn. A human! So desperate to be special. Pity. That tadpole actually made you interesting.

TIEFLING I'll burn you alive and everyone will celebrate. You're everyone's punching bag and no one's favourite. I see the Hells spit out another tragic little tiefling.

[specsthesecond]

Witch Troubles #1

You should've locked the door.

Maybe you were a little too eager to get home after a very stressful day of studies and apprentice duties. You barely greeted your roommates when you got home, only offering a quick wave to the orc, naga and werewolf lingering around the living room before shutting your bedroom door with a heavy sigh.

You just needed this release so badly. You couldn't even change out of your day clothes before grabbing the chalk on your nightstand and drawing the familiar summoning circle on the hardwood floor in the middle of the room.

You whisper the incantation and tap it with your wand. The chalk lines glow and the portal begins to open. You waste no time pulling your panties down to your thighs, hiking your skirt up and placing your needy pussy right over the portal, knees on either side of the circle.

You only needed to wait a few seconds before the slimy purple tentacles squirm their way out the portal, around your legs and crawl up your thighs towards your dripping cunt.

You whine softly in anticipation and, almost like they can hear your pleas, one finds your heat and slides its suckers along your mound.

Others wind their way around your thighs and squeeze gently, leaving light circular hickies with their suckers. You hump up into the big one covering your cunt and it seems to understand you, slowly moving back down so the tip is tracing your entrance almost teasingly. Just when you're about to grab the damn thing and shove it in yourself, the slimy tendril thrusts itself into you. Slow and deliberate, it fills you up to about what a normal cock would.

You cover your mouth to smother your desperate groan. The tentacle inside you gives a few shallow thrusts, testing the tightness of your walls. Your legs shake, the slickness of these strange tendrils always makes you so wet and the suckers on the walls of your pussy feel like heaven. Having opened you up a fair amount the first tentacle retreats and two new ones squirm their way deep into your pussy, fighting for dominance as they set a pace thats much rougher than the first one.

It takes no time to work you to your peak, the two tentacles wriggling deeper into you than any cock could reach and thrusting in tandem with eachother while they fight for space in your pussy. Another tentacle runs it's suckers along your clit while the others grip and smooth over your thighs. You arch your back, press your cheek against the cold hardwood floor and cum hard.

Clenching and twitching for your tentacles only makes them want to squirm deeper into you, fighting back the resistance of your orgasm with even more fervor.

You've drooled all over the hand that's covering your mouth, your eyes are droopy and you can barely register anything as the tentacles keep thrusting into your soaked cunt.

You don't even register the knock on your door.

Two more tentacles make their way up your stomach and under your bra to squeeze and suck your soft tits.

It feels like being dumped in ice water when you hear the door click open, the familiar squeak of the hinge freezes you further and you whip your head around to find your roommates massive orc frame standing in your doorway.

You let out a yelp and your eyes meet his equally wide ones. The haze still clouding your mind leaves you to just stare at him in horror, not knowing how to react.

Those split seconds felt like hours but you were forced out of your frozen state when one of the tentacles gave a hard suck to your clit.

The sensation makes you moan in surprise which seems to also knock your big green friend out of his shock. He finally breaks eye contact with you to look at where the slick tentacles are still working their way deeper into your pussy and he lets out a gruff choking sound at the sight. You finally gain enough brain function to reach for your discarded wand and flick it towards the door, shutting and locking it in your poor roomates face.

You groan, not in pleasure but in pain this time, covering your burning face with your hands. For a second you consider closing the portal and weeping on the floor for the rest of your life but the erotic squelch that comes from your stuffed cunt as the tentacles fuck you makes that thought vanish quickly. You make the quick decision to let your trusty tentacles fuck the thoughts out of you as they do so well.

Unfortunately, you can't be a tentacle fuck toy forever and after a couple hours and a nap, you're getting hungry. Your brilliant plan to quickly snatch something from the kitchen and run away to your room is immediately thwarted.

"Oh there you are! Cmon, I made dinner."

Your sweet Naga roommate ushers you to the kitchen table and places a plate in front of you. Normally you would be very grateful but right across the table sits the very orc you were trying to avoid. You risk a quick glance up at him only to find that he's already staring intently at you with a very amused expression, to which you look back down at your food in embarrassed despair.

"I didn't see you today love, are you feeling alright?" The motherly Naga says to you as she sets a plate in front of the very eager werewolf next to you.

You nod your head not looking up from your food.

"Sorry, stressful day. Had a nap." Comes your short, quiet response. Technically not a lie.

You're never very talkative so this response shouldn't be out of the ordinary, yet it makes the orc across from you smirk and hum thoughtfully.

"Honestly, I figured you'd use a more magical way of relieving stress."

He says before popping his fork into his mouth, his eyes don't leave you and it doesn't look like they're going to for the rest of dinner.

You let out a strangled sigh and try to eat your food, wishing a portal would swallow you up forever.

[yrieso]

parents w no dance experience stop trying to teach your child the steps during class just because it’s visitors week and you’re allowed to sit in class and watch challenge

[noirscript]

silent servitude

WARNING/S! DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT. YANDERE. noncon; breeding; powerplay; biting; slightly descriptive sex scenes; f!reader

One must abide by His Majesty's every rule.

It was a phrase you often hear from other servants in the castle from the moment you joined them as your mother's apprentice. A phrase that helped them survive the dog-eat-dog world inside the palace walls.

“You're not expected to excel in your work, but do not even think about failing the task given to you.” Your mother grabbed your shoulders with a squeeze. “Do you understand, my child?”

You nodded your head as you tightened your grip on your skirt. “Yes, mother.”

She lightly tap your cheek before placing a lasting kiss on your forehead. “Go on, dear. I will see you before sunset.”

You looked around your surroundings before hesitantly nodding. For some reason, you can't seem to ignore what you've been feeling from the moment you entered the servant's gate. As if someone's watching your every move.

The path inside the dark tunnel was short, but for you, the time seemed to slow down. Your feet felt heavy to take one step forward after another. Like it was keeping you from going any further.

“You've arrived,” a middle-aged woman spoke while standing in the midst of the desolate area, few steps from where you came from. “Follow me.”

You scanned your surroundings, a poor attempt in remembering the path where you came from. However, the more you walk further and further away from the path that leads to your mother, the more you could sense something ominous was about to occur.

“Are you listening?”

You bowed your head and apologized.

“Stand tall and look at me,” she ordered. “In this castle, you must keep your eyes and ears open at all times. Do not even try to let your mind wander elsewhere. If you don’t want to suffer any consequences.”

Your body shook. You tried to speak, but your voice broke. However, when you nodded your head in desperation, the woman simply turn around and started to list down the rules within that castle.

“Do you even know why you're here?”

“T-To train to become my m-mother's replacement...”

The woman sneered. “If that'll help you sleep at night.”

After giving you a tour around an area that only a handful of servants can access, she led you towards a gated path that lead towards a small chateau in the middle of a small open field inside the castle walls.

The chateau, albeit small compared to the colossal main palace, was still bigger than your home. You also noticed the crawling vines on its walls, and as well as its tinted windows that kept its interior hidden from prying eyes.

“You will keep this place in order. You may not ask for anyone's help. You will only work here alone. Your food will be provided by one of the servants, but do not let anyone else inside the chateau.”

“But my lady...”

“That is all you need to know.” She looked down at your stature before clicking her tongue. “Stupid commoners.”

With that, she left you on your own.

THINKING BACK, you should've realized the message behind her poisonous words. Nobody would think that it is normal for a servant to clean an entire chateau within the day all by themselves.

That doing such chore might result to an inevitable mishaps that forces one to change their attire. Something that might force them to take every piece of clothing from themselves.

“Y-Your Majesty, please forgive this commoner from—” you felt one of his large, calloused hand caressing your face while the other hand pulled you closer to his bare body.

“Kept that mouth shut before I do it myself,” he whispered against your cheek before slightly biting it. “Who would've thought that this would be an easy chase?”

Callix, the reigning monarch, is known for his compassion towards the commoners. Some people would even see him interact with the lowest of the poor during their darkest moment, providing them hope and warmth.

But as you writhe beneath him, allowing him to touch every inch of your body as he please, made you doubt everything you heard about him.

After savoring your heat, he aligned his thick member against your quim. Callix grabbed you by your cheeks and forced you to meet his gaze.

“Please...” you pleaded, but he only swallowed all your pleas and cries as he penetrated your tight walls.

When your first intercourse with him ended almost immediately, you believed that he would let you go. That he would order you leave and never show yourself in front of him.

But after resting his head against the crook of your neck, he suddenly grabbed your ankles and pushing it apart.

You could feel his cum gush out of your quim, but Callix was far from satisfied.

That night alone, he ravished your body until the morning sun has risen.

When you woke up, you felt the coldness of the heavy iron wrapped around your ankles.

“You're awake,” you heard his voice from somewhere in the room. “I have some news for you. So, open your eyes.”

You tried to open your eyes, but for some reason, your eyelids felt heavy.

“Are you disobeying my orders?” he asked while gritting his teeth.

“Open your eyes!” he demanded as he grab your cheeks tightly.

You tried your best to open at least one of your eyes and look at him.

“There's my queen's beautiful eyes.” You could feel his hands all over your body as he leave kissing against your face. “Can you hear me, my queen?”

“M’not... queen...”

He chuckled before yanking your hair back, exposing your neck to him.

“You dare oppose me, hm?” he asked as he harshly nip your neck. “Are you forgetting who I am, my queen?”

How you wish you could simply forget who he is.

Quick note: This might be the start of some series. Let me know your thoughts :)

[charmwasjess]

Lightsaber Theory: Obi-Wan "Sith Lords are Our Specialty" Kenobi consistently loses duels to Dooku not for any reason of technical form mismatch or lack of ability, but because Dooku is not even pretending to try to kill him. Resultantly, Obi-Wan can’t figure out what the fuck is going on when they fight. 

Obi-Wan: (preparing to defend an expected lethal strike) You’ll answer for your enormities, Count!

Dooku: (giving him the lightest love tap on the leg) Don’t be so sure, my special good lineage baby boy, so perfect in my eyes. 

Obi-Wan: …What?

Dooku: What?

Which Dooku and Obi-Wan proud lineage moment is even the most unhinged? There are so many to choose from! Is it Dooku’s frequent inability, both in AotC and TCW, to keep from spontaneously gushing about Sidious’s plans and even his own dark secrets to Obi-Wan?? Is it the time in Labyrinth of Evil where Dooku drags a long-suffering, bored Grievous over to watch a holorecording of Anakin and Obi-Wan thwarting his plans yet again, to point out how beautifully they’re working together as a team and how much he likes watching their lightsaber work evolve? Is it in the recent Brotherhood novel, where Obi-Wan just has to casually namedrop Qui-Gon to get Dooku to do exactly what he wants?

Obi-Wan is a big problem for Sidious in his mission to destabilize and corrupt Anakin, and Sidious knows it. He needs him out of the picture to do the same isolating, evil bullshit that worked so well when ensnaring Dooku himself. But the war has been going on for years now, and guess who remains inconveniently alive? And whose job was that to take care of? Oh yeah. I remember. His useless, Padawan assassin-collecting apprentice: fucking Count Dooku. By the time of RotS, Sidious has specifically ordered Dooku to make fucking sure Obi-Wan is dead only for him to completely ignore the command about a half-dozen times.

Going by the Stover RotS novelization, in the same scene where Dooku also literally refers to Obi-Wan as his fucking grandson actually, add that to our earlier list, Sidious reiterates that KILL OBI-WAN is the plan (over the sound of Dooku’s loud complaining) moments before that final duel.  I kind of wish we’d gotten a shot of Sidious's incredulous, enraged expression as Dooku knocks Obi-Wan unconscious and pins him safely out of the way. He is, once again, going out of his way to not kill Obi-Wan in that duel, and this time directly disobeying his Master to his face after they just had a conversation about it. You just know exactly what Sidious must be thinking at that moment. Oh, Dooku. You are so fucking fired.

[saphronethaleph]

Literary Illusions

“It’s ironic,” Palpatine said, shaking his head. “He could save others from death, but not himself.”

Anakin frowned.

“And this is something the Jedi wouldn’t have told me?” he asked.

“Of course not,” Palpatine replied. “Is it a story you’ve heard?”

“Well, yes,” Anakin said. “Just now, from you. But not before then… and that surprises me, Chancellor.”

Palpatine shrugged. “I think you’ll find, Anakin, that the Jedi have not been telling you everything.”

“Maybe not, but… honestly, that sounds like exactly the kind of thing they’d tell me,” Anakin said.

Palpatine frowned.

“...what?” he asked.

“You know,” Anakin said. “Some Sith Lord works out how to bring people back to life from the dead, but his apprentice kills him and doesn’t bring him back to life because the Sith are inherently self destructive. If the two of them had worked together and been able to trust one another, they’d have been immortal.”

He shrugged. “It’s a good illustration of the inherently self destructive nature of the Dark Side, and it’s the dichotomy of how the Dark Side leads you to seek power in order to achieve goals that you then discard as irrelevant, because they’re not directly related to gaining power… hold on a second.”

Palpatine was a little distracted by trying to avoid mentally kicking himself, so it took him somewhat more than a second to notice what Anakin was doing.

“...Anakin?” he said. “Are you getting your comlink out?”

“Yeah,” Anakin replied. “Going to text Obi-Wan, ask him what he thinks of the story. Maybe there’s some kind of detail I missed which makes it less of a good illustration of the different worldviews and mindsets of the Jedi and the Sith.”

The Knight shrugged, his thumbs tapping away at his comlink. “He probably knows it, he knows all of the old stories.”

Palpatine blinked several times.

“...don’t,” he said, then very discreetly scrambled for a reason why. “It’s the middle of a performance. We don’t want to interrupt them.”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s on silent,” Anakin replied, with a shrug. “Or vibrate. Did I put it on vibrate… hang on, Chancellor, I’ll make sure it’s on silent…”

He turned the comlink over, then a loud bwing sounded.

“Oh, right, I forgot to set it to do not disturb mode,” Anakin said. “Hang on… uh… yeah, there we go, I forgot I added all these custom modes. I’ve been missing a lot of sleep lately.”

“Perhaps-” Palpatine began, but Anakin spoke over him.

“Huh,” he said. “He says he’s never heard of it either. Wants to know where I heard about it, it looks like he’s really interested… or maybe he’s trying to tell me about a death stick vendor, he’s terrible with multiglyphs and he thinks he’s good at them.”

Anakin glanced at the Chancellor, hoping for some solidarity, then visibly noticed that the Chancellor was several decades older than him and abandoned that.

“Is there a book I can get the whole story from?” he asked, instead. “Obi-Wan is better at nuances, like I say.”

“That is not the point,” Palpatine said, trying not to get visibly angry. “The point is that there is a way to save your loved ones!”

“Maybe there used to be, but not any more,” Anakin shrugged. “Like you said, this was a Sith thing and the Sith are all dead. Well, unless General Grievous is a Sith who knows how to heal people, but I doubt it given how much he got hurt, and I’m not sure Dooku knew it either… hey, if this story needs to be publicized more then maybe we could have them do a play of that instead?”

Palpatine blinked several times, as he tried to keep up with a Jedi with possible undiagnosed ADHD and found himself discovering a lack of talent for podracing.

“What?” he asked.

“You know, a play,” Anakin explained. “Dramatic betrayals, lost loved ones, it would probably do numbers. It’d be better than this, anyway.”

He waved his hand at the ongoing performance of Squid Lake.

“...what is wrong with Squid Lake?” Palpatine said, before reflecting that that had really been a stupid question for him to ask and that he should have asked a much better one.

“Well, uh,” Anakin began, looking a bit abashed. “Actually now I say it out loud this might be really culturally insensitive of me, but to me this play might as well be eighty minutes of people boasting about having enough water to swim in.”

“It’s a ballet,” Palpatine told him, now completely having lost control of the conversation.

“It’s just a less scary version of Sarlacc Pit,” Anakin went on. “Someone tried to drown me in a lake once, because they thought I couldn’t swim, but floating on sand is much harder, you barely have to do anything to escape a lake. You just float.”

Very belatedly, Anakin caught sight of Palpatine’s look of total befuddlement, and shrugged.

“Watto was a lot of things,” he said. “But he had culture.”

Palpatine’s hands twitched, as he very seriously considered the idea of abandoning literal centuries of Sith planning and decades of personal political advancement in favour of stabbing Anakin somewhere it would hurt.

It was extraordinarily tempting.

“...hold on,” Anakin said, slowly. “I guess… the thing I’d like most at the moment is for… and that means… this is literally one of those times when I could fall to the Dark Side because of it, like Darth Plagueis.”

He bestowed a grateful smile on Palpatine. “Thanks, Chancellor! I need to make a call, I guess the ballet won’t mind.”

Palpatine was so thrown by the swerve that he couldn’t think of a way to stop Anakin in the few seconds he had.

“Love?” Anakin said, into his commlink. “I… think we need to come clean, because otherwise I’ll fall to the Dark Side.”

Palpatine’s eye twitched.

[a-local-idiots-shitpost]

seems to apply only to B and up, and man you wouldn't believe how long it took me to get all of this

-------------------------------------------------------

Nightbringer Surprise Guests

Lucifer

I'm feeling good. Why don't we open a bottle of my prized Demonus?

1. Tap Face

2. Rub Head

3. Rub Chest

I know you want to give me a high five, don't you? Fine, just this once. Call it a special occasion.

1. High Five

2. Rub Chest

3. Tap Arm

Mammon

We'll be invincible if we Team up!

1. Rub Face

2. Rub Face

3. Rub Face

Hey, hey, hey! The Great Mammon makes his mark!

1. High Five

2. Rub Head

3. Rub Head

Leviathan

Haha, let's experience tha taste of victory together!

1. Tap Head

2. Rub Face

3. Rub Head

Let's great each other like Normies would!

1. High Five

2. Rub Head

3. Tap Face

Satan

We won thanks to me.

1. Rub Face

2. Tap Chest

3. (Rub/Tap Chest, Tap/Rub Arm, Tap/Rub Head, Rub Face) Tap Face (couldn't get one with more hearts???)

Is this how one shares happiness? Give me a high five.

1. High Five

2. Rub Head

3. Tap Chest

Asmodeus

A win for me is as natural as breathing air!

1. Rub Head

2. Rub Chest

3. Rub Arm

Come on, hold out your hand. High five <3

1. High Five

2. Rub Head

3. Rub Face

Beelzebub

Thanks to you, I was able to get through it despite being hungry.

1. Tap Head

2. Tap Head

3. Rub Chest

Not bad, huh? It's time for a victory hamburger!

1. High Five

2. Rub Chest

3. Rub Arm

Belphegor

You want to hang out with me? All right, you got it.

1. Rub Head

2. Rub Face

3. Rub Head

All right... you want me to hold up my hand, right?

1. High Five

2. Rub Head

3. Rub Head

Diavolo

It really does feel good to win, doesn't it!

1. Rub Head

2. Rub Head

3. Tap Head

All right, let's savor the joy of victory... Just you and me!

1. High Five

2. Rub Face

3. Tap Face

Barbatos

Was I of any help to you?

1. Tap Head

2. Tap Head

3. Rub Head

Is this where we do the so-called "high five"? Someone taught me how to do it.

1. High Five

2. Rub Head

3. Tap Head

Solomon

You're my best student, you know? As your teacher, you make me proud

1. Tap Chest

2. Rub Chest

3. Rub Chest

Hey! It felt good to win like that, huh? We make a truly amazing teacher and apprentice team, am I right?

1. High Five

2. Tap Chest

3. Rub Head

Simeon

I'm super excited right now, but how about you?

1. Rub Head

2. Rub Face

3. Rub Arm

How about we see whether exchanging greetings will deepen our bond?

1. High Five

2. Rub Head

3. Rub Face

Luke

...So how was it? Did I look cool?

1. Rub Head

2. Rub Face

3. Rub Arm

Okay here we go! It's time for a high five!

1. High Five

2. Rub Head

3. Rub Head

[be-with-me-so-happily]

il gran finale

ONE SHOT

Summary: As photography apprentice to Lloyd Wakefield, you have been around Harry quite a lot on tour, capturing all the mesmerizing moments on stage. But at the after party of the final show in Reggio Emilia, he seems to be the one zoned in on you.

AN: I don't know if this is any good. I haven't written smut in so long, but with Love On Tour coming to an end, I needed to do something!

Warnings: Some explicit language, alcohol consumption, mild exhibitionism kink, fingering, public unprotected intercourse (wrap it before you tap it people)

You've always known Harry Styles is a gentleman. Even before you took on the role of apprentice photographer to Lloyd Wakefield, you only ever heard positive comments about the man, about how kind and caring he is. No one ever has a bad thing to say, and touring with him has only proven those things to be true. He is a sweet guy, just as everyone claims him to be.

That's his reputation. His public reputation.

But the way his enchanting and lustful green eyes have locked in on you for the past several minutes has made you think of nothing but the other reputation he has. The dream that you and thousands of his fans indulge in. The fantasy of him taking control of every single part of you, of using you, of pleasing you. Of giving you everything he has while you are under him, and on top of him, and in front of him, and…

You reset yourself as nearby laughter pulls you out of those delicious yet indelicate thoughts, ones you may need to draw upon later in the privacy of your hotel room.

It's bad enough that he has a flirtatious side. The subtle winks, the cheeky smiles, the wiggles of his eyebrows when a mildly indecent comment has been made. Usually by him. Both on and off stage, each of those gestures can easily get you flustered.

And it definitely doesn't make your job any easier, especially considering it's your assignment to watch him, to photograph him, to view him in a variety of different angles, none of which could be considered unflattering. He always looks good.

The outfit tonight, the shaggy silver get-up, showcasing his glistening pecs and chiseled abs, only added to the assortment of desires you only dwell upon alone at night. You're usually very composed, for the most part. You know how to play it cool.

But right now, as his stare exhibits something primal, you feel as if your entire body is on fire, and you can't help but be engulfed by the flames.

Clinking of the ice in your glass as you bring it to your lips alerts you to the fact that your drink has been fully consumed, and you decide to head to the bar for a refill. If not just for another drink, then for the moment of solidarity to gather yourself and bring some air back into your lungs. Because you are sure it's not the alcohol that's causing you to feel so dizzy.

"Hi, could I please hav-"

"Another margarita?" You hear in a deep, sultry, British voice sounding out from behind you. Right behind you.

"Yes please." You utter, almost inaudibly, to the bartender, the heat from before intensifying with each breath of Harry's that you feel on your neck.

"And I'll have two shots of Tequila, please sir." He states, so casually, as you stand frozen in place.

A cold breeze hits your skin as you see him move around and position himself to your left, leaving you to miss the warmth he was just providing.

"You look like you're having a good time." He states, as he brings his glass to his lips. You watch as the rim rests on them. You watch as the liquid slides between them. And you watch as a smirk pulls in the mischievous dimple that he is so well known for, unintentionally licking your own lips in the process.

"Sorry… what were you saying?" You ask, attention moving back to his gaze and finding those glistening green irises already locking in on your eyes.

"Enjoying yourself?" He chuckles in response to your question, leaving your heart pounding with embarrassment.

"I am!" You exclaim, quicker than anticipated, clearly not playing it cool like you believe you usually do.

"Good." He replies simply.

"Are you?"

"I am." He nods, his eyes quickly flickering down your body, before switching their focus back to the bar, creating a warmth between your legs, and you try desperately not to squirm.

"Good." You reply, with a giggle, finally taking the sip of margarita that has unknowingly been sitting in front of you for a few minutes. "So we're both enjoying ourselves."

He chuckles along with you, shaking his head as he throws back his second shot. He swallows it harshly, drawing your eye to the way his Adam's apple bobs with the consumption of the liquor. You notice his body begin to turn towards you, and as you glaze up his neck to his gorgeous face, a lustful expression falls over it. His brows narrow, and deviancy sparks in his eyes, turning them to a deep, enticing emerald.

"Want to enjoy each other now?"

"Sure, that-" You begin to respond, but your eyes begin to travel down to his lips, noticing how his teeth dig into the bottom one. His look of determination makes you wonder if there's a more devious meaning behind it, and that thought alone causes an extreme yearning between your legs. "Wait… what do you mean?"

He leans against the bar, his tattoo-covered forearm resting on top, as the palm of his right hand gently slides over your hip and draws you closer with the mildest press of his fingertips against your dress.

"YN, I just had one of the best nights of my fucking life! I want to celebrate. Really celebrate."

"And… how-... umm… how do you want to really celebrate?" You chuckle nervously, every hair on your body standing straight, every nerve on high alert.

"I can show you. If you want me to." He utters, almost a whisper, barely audible in the jumble of conversations surrounding you, but loud enough that it sends the coldest shiver down your spine. He leans closer, his body following along until you are only inches apart. "And considering how tightly your thighs are clenched together right now… I think you do."

Your mouth instantly drops open, and if he wasn't actually correct, and those contracted muscles weren't holding you upright, your legs would have buckled beneath you.

"C'mon." He whispers, softly running two fingers down your arm and grabbing your hand, pulling your body to follow him.

"Harry, wait." You manage to get out, surprisingly, considering the daze he's just put you in. "This… is your party..."

"Yeah." He states, shrugging so casually as he turns back to look at you. "So?"

"We can't just leave!"

Harry stops his trek, along with your heart. He swivels around, the most salacious smirk wide across his face, and to your surprise, you manage to clench your core even tighter.

He leans down to your ear, his lip barely grazing the bottom, his breath steady but thick.

"Who said anything about leaving?"

An exhale releases all the air held in your lungs, leaving you unsure whether it is the margaritas or his suggestive statement that's making your head spin.

He turns back and maneuvers through the crowd of people that have come to congratulate and party with him. But he seems to be a man on a mission.

Through the dim lights and the loud thumps of the music filling the room, you somehow find yourself looking at a staircase leading up the the second floor of the venue.

"Just us?" You hear Harry ask the security staff member guarding the way.

"Yes, Mr. Styles." He responds with a quick nod.

Without hesitation, Harry leads you up, each step building the anxious anticipation inside of you. It's not even clear what may be waiting for you at the top, but if Harry's apparent determination is any indication, it won't be boring.

As you reach the landing, you do a quick scan of your surroundings, seeing a couple of purple velvet sofas pushed against the wall. He takes you further in, letting go of your hand and placing both of his large palms on the thick, black railing in front of him. You stand at his side, copying his stature, though feeling the sweat of your hands being transferred to the metal within them.

The neon flashing of lights is the only thing brightening the venue, as the music sounds and provides a rhythm for the rest of the attendees to move their bodies to. You feel Harry's closest arm glide its way across your back, settling itself on your opposite hip, and squeezing with enough firmness to tell you he wants to be gentle with you, but also wants not to be.

The rest of his figure moves along behind you, pulling you closer to him, as if your bodies had an unretractable magnetic connection. The warmth of his lips suddenly hits right below your ear, causing every muscle you have to practically melt under that simple touch.

"Harry…" You utter, unsure if you've been heard over the sound of the new song beginning to play. "People could see us…"

"Doubtful." He mumbles, his breath tickling down your neck. "No one's looking anyway."

Another kiss moistens your skin, and your head falls backwards to him, resting against his broad, strong shoulder, encouraging him to continue his tantalizing exploration.

He grazes your hips with his palms, running them up and down the tops of your thighs, letting out a heavy exhale when he stops at the hem of your dress. His fingertips tease the edge, sliding around to the front. One hand lifts up to your waist, while the other glides around to your inner thigh, and you could swear your panties are already soaked.

"Do you like this?" He whispers in your ear, and with the state of daze he currently has you in, all you can manage is a subtle nod. "Tell me. Do you like this?"

"Y-yes." You breathe out.

"Do you want more?" He asks in the lowest tone he's ever spoken in, barely needing to convince you that he'll give you whatever you want.

"Yes." You reply, anticipation thick in your stomach.

His fingers run up and under your dress, and you thank yourself for picking the shorter of your two options when you were getting ready for the party.

You attempt to push him back a few paces to the closest velvet sofa for some privacy, but he stands solid in place and you stretch your neck to get as good of a look at him as you can.

"Stay." He states simply, not a demand that you couldn't reject, but the way his tone hit your soul, you can't even imagine refusing him of almost anything he wanted.

Suddenly your body jumps, as you feel mild pressure slowly moving up the center of your panties.

"Soaked." Harry whispers. "Didn't realize I got you this wet, this fast."

His teeth begin to nibble on your earlobe, as his fingers snap the fabric of your underwear, causing you to let out the most pathetic and needy whimper.

"Harry… please." You whine, desperate for something, anything, that he is willing to give you.

"What do you want, YN?"

"Touch me." You reply, your legs already weak at the thought.

He listens, running his index along your center, feeling how slick he's made you. Suddenly, he dips it inside of you, and you worry he could make you cum right here and now. But god you want to feel so much more. You want him to give you so much more.

Slowly, his finger pulls out, but immediately glides back in, accompanied by another, pumping them both in unison, and sending your head into a spin.

"Do you want more?" He asks into your ear.

"Yes." You barely reply, hoping with all you have that he heard your response.

He adds one more finger, and the trio pick up their pace as his thumb puts the perfect amount of pressure on your clit.

"Oh my god." You whine, feeling a sensation ripple through your body. Nothing you've done to yourself, alone with just your thoughts of him, could ever compare to the feeling of what he's doing to you now.

In and out, his fingers pump, and you're sure if the music suddenly stopped, the noise of his motions would echo from wall to wall.

"You're so tight." He utters. "Don't know if you'd be able to handle my cock."

Just the mention of that word has you moaning, so you reach your arm up to grab onto the back of his neck, and you tilt your head towards him.

"I want that."

"You want what?" He asks, quickening his pace, and halting your words until you swallow the lump that's caught in your throat.

You look down, scanning the crowd for any prying eyes, only to find everyone distracted by their own activities below. Although, at this moment, you aren't sure if that matters to you. If that would stop you.

"I want your cock." You admit, using your free hand to push in between your two bodies and palm over his hard bulge, the feeling of his thick girth creating an even deeper yearning for it.

"Fuck." He growls, his cock twitching under the fabric of his pants.

The emptiness created as his fingers leave your body almost has you wishing you hadn't made any other request, but as you feel his waistband tug down, and the bare skin of his cock as it springs out from its confines and back into your hand, you get wetter than you've been in any moment before.

A strong thigh parts your legs, the back of your dress inches up, and as you feel his long, thick cock glide between them and coat itself in your wetness, Harry lets out a deep, rumbling growl. He runs one hand up your spine and pushes slightly on your back, getting you to bend over a bit and prop yourself up with your hands gripping the railing.

There's never been a desperation so intense as now, as you feel Harry's tip tease your entrance. You've never wanted anything more than the sensation of him pushing into you, stretching you out, giving you everything you've ever fantasized about.

"Think you can fit me inside there?" He asks, the smugness more enticing than you could have imagined possible. But his words, his touch, his everything is overwhelming and rendering you speechless. Then you hear Harry hum, as if knowing your inability to reply, and answering it for himself. "I think you can."

And just like that, he slips in. Slowly, giving you time to adjust to his size each time he pushes in a little further. Filling you completely with every inch he goes deeper, until all you feel is him. Until all you know is him.

"Oh my god." You moan out, unaware if it has been drowned out by the music and chatter of everyone else.

He quickens his pace slightly, and your hold on the railing tightens, not only to steady yourself, but also to possibly disguise your actual activities as simply enjoying the rhythm of the song.

"All these people… and no one knows what we're doing up here." Harry grunts as he thrusts into you, drawing out another, yet much heavier, moan from your chest. It's followed by a pleased groan from behind you, the sound almost as good as any song he's ever sung. "But I wouldn't care if they did… if they saw how well you're taking me… and if they heard much you love it."

"Harry…" You whine, as an extreme sensation builds in your core, feeling every nerve peek, alerting you to the fact that at any moment now, you'll be completely taken over by the intense amount of pleasure he's giving you. "I need to-"

"No." He states sternly.

"Please!" You beg, all dignity being tossed aside.

"Not yet." He replies, and all of a sudden, you feel hollow. Something is missing, and as you feel yourself clear out from the heightened state of a daze you've been in since you reached that second level of the venue, you realize his glorious cock is no longer inside of you.

"What-" You begin, stepping back and turning around to face him, finding his teeth digging hard into his bottom lip, creating an even stronger desire to have him fill the gap again.

"I need to fuck you harder, and faster." He explains grabbing both hips as he backs up and lowers down to take a seat on the sofa. "And I need to watch you when you cum all over my cock."

A shallow breath makes its way out between your lips at his statement, and you slowly lower yourself to straddle his lap, feeling a throb inside yourself as you feel another underneath you.

Your hips begin to grind on him, hoping to create an impatience in him as strong as the one in you. You cup his cheeks within your palms and bring your lips to his, smiling against them as they part and release a deep moan. You move to kiss his jaw, letting the stubble tickle your skin and you make your way down his neck. His hands begin to roam your body, exploring more than they had been able to when standing at the railing. They grip your back, your waist, and settle at your hips, gripping just tight enough to guide them back and forth.

"All I've thought about tonight… is having you like this." You hear him utter, the words hitting deep into the pit of your stomach. "Hell, all I think about most nights is… fuck… is having you like this!"

You pull back, your eyes immediately locking in on his, as if your bodies are confessing their deepest desires to each other in a secret, seductive language. Without a word, you push up on your knees, hovering over and inviting him back inside of you, where you want him the most. One of his hands holds his cock steady as the other remains on you, helping you to lower back down onto him. In this position, you can feel him ever more, much to your surprise considering he filled you so well just moments ago.

"Then fuck me how you've been wanting to." You state, your focus still fully on him.

As soon as he's given that permission, both palms squeeze tighter to your body, pulling you down on his cock as if to meld your bodies together.

"Oh god." He exclaims, throwing his head backwards to rest on the sofa, dropping his mouth open as you begin to bounce.

Almost instantly, with the new depth he's hitting, you feel your body reignited and a release drawing near.

"Harry, this is…" You mumble, the pleasure hindering a complete coherent sentence. "It's… how…"

"Tell me, baby." He replies, holding you down as he starts to thrust up into you, leaving you unable to feel anything other than him.

"This is how… oh my-… I've been wanting you… to fuck me, too…"

"F-... fucks sake!" He exclaims, no longer holding back his vigor as he goes as fast and gets as deep as he possibly can, causing moans to burst out from both of you.

"Harr-... I'm gon-..." You whine, trying to plead with him to get you over the edge and fall into a pool of ecstasy. The sight of his hair becoming messy with sweat, the feel of his hands holding you down, the taste of his skin on your lips, the smell of his cologne exuding off his chest, the sound of his breathy moans in your ear. He has completely taken over all of your senses, and you know this is the best experience you've ever had.

"Say it, YN. Look at me and say it." He growls, and as your eyes find his, the amount of lust in his begins to push you off the ledge.

"I'm gonna cum."

"Where?"

"On your cock!" You blurt, the level of volume coinciding with the intensity of your desperation. "I'm gonna cum on your cock."

"Do it." He commands, and with his permission, you immediately let go, completely melting into him as that desired ecstasy rips through your entire body.

Your face falls into the crook of his neck, only leaving enough room to draw in some shallow, labored breaths. You can feel Harry squirm beneath you, his stride becoming less rhythmic with each stroke into you, his chest rising and falling in the same, unsteady way.

"YN… if I can't cum inside you, tell me now, 'cause I'm… fuck, I'm so close."

Your head lifts and pulls away, looking into his gorgeous green eyes, pupils blown and a glaze covering them. You lean down to his ear, letting your breath puff gently over his skin.

"Cum inside of me, Harry." You whisper, placing a kiss right below his ear.

"Y-yeah? You want my cum?" He fumbles, his breathing becoming more random with every sloppy thrust. "I'll give you… f-fucking all of it!"

Harry grips tighter, bouncing you on himself with a determination you aren't sure if you've ever seen before. He lets out a moan so gritty you know it originated deep in his chest. The sound alone could have you orgasming again if it drew out a few seconds longer. It's accompanied by one last thrust of his hips and a powerful, pleased throbbing of his cock, as his cum coats your walls.

If the dj wasn't blasting anything through the speakers, the sound of your synchronized, labored breaths would be enough to fill the room. You sit up straighter, still straddling Harry's lap, and you finally take in the mess of a man in front of you. His head still rests back on the sofa, his eyes now shut, and a blissful smile stretched across his face.

"That's one way to finish a tour." You chuckle, pushing your palms against the fabric of the shirt now sticking to the drizzle of sweat on his chest.

His palms shoot up to your face, holding it so gently, but with an untapped passion behind his eyes. They flicker to your lips and he dives in for a taste, running his tongue along to part them, and sighing as your own tongue dances along. A pop sounds out as you pull apart, with just enough room for an inhale of air, and he rests his forehead against yours.

"And cheers to the next one."

Main Masterlist

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[444ngles]

Paint me like one of your French girls

synopsis: the night of your mentor's final show, things get a bit frisky content: fem reader, geto suguru! is a caligrapher, geto suguru, dirty talk, rough sex, praise, choking, p-ssy slapping, geto is packing icl, he paints on you, fingering, swearing, pet names, overstim, breeding

Wrapping up the last national tour show, your mentor took his bow, the crowd offering a standing ovation - rightly so. After all, you were the apprentice of one of the most esteemed calligraphers of your time. As always, you waited to greet Geto at the wing, a bouquet of flowers and sake in hand, over thirty shows in less than half a year was no easy feat, even for a professional. 

Taking the deepest of bows, Geto’s hair fell from his shoulders, yukata slipping slightly, the nape of his neck exposed. This was always your favourite part, it wasn’t professional by any means, but no one could deny that your master was a true adonis. From where you stood, he seemed to sparkle under the dim lighting, milky skin reflecting the subtle glow of the candle, looking almost translucent. It was also only from this angle that you could truly appreciate his profile, angular jaw and nose contrasting so magically with the soft slopes and curves of his lips and forehead. Finally, now as he looked at you with the most elegant smile, he approached, with eyes the colour of the darkest of voids, consuming you every second you held his gaze. Expression steeled, you almost forget to hand him his presents.  

“Incredible…”

“What was that?” Geto asked, eyes still on you, lips flushed such a delicate shade of pink. You knew it was inappropriate to fantasise about your mentor, but who could resist? When in the presence of a prodigy, it would almost be wrong not to worship him. 

Flustered, you laugh stiffly, handing him the bouquet of white lilies. “N-nothing…congratulations, as always, you were a pleasure to watch!” Keeping hold of the sake, you exhale a sigh of relief. Finally, with the tour over, you could relax - travelling daily was exhausting, to say the least. 

“Care to share a drink with me?” Geto nods to the bottle in your hand before peeping out to check the crowd has cleared, leaving the stage completely empty. 

“It’d be an honour.” Smiling enthusiastically, you followed him to the calligraphy table, breath caught in your throat as your giddy heart began to swell. Not only was this your first time on stage, it was your first time drinking with Geto.

“Stop being so formal with me…you’re off the clock.” Chuckling, he pushes the pillow towards you, kneeling on the floor opposite. 

“Old habits die hard.” Remembering to treat Geto as an equal was almost impossible. In your eyes, he was always the inspiration that had offered you personal tuition, a miracle in all sense of the word. Now, being able to call him your friend as well as your mentor felt like a fever dream. 

Pouring the sake into cups, he serves it to you. “Cheers!” Tapping the rims of your glasses together, you finally feel the tension break. 

The more you drank, and the longer you talked, the more you began to unwind. Noticeably, your yukata had begun to slip from your shoulders, the soft slopes and curves of your frame catching Geto’s eyes. Initially, he didn’t feel the need to address it, but when you finally dropped your hair from its formal updo he couldn’t help the shiver that ran down his spine. Taking a prolonged inhale, Geto digested the sight of such a beautiful woman before him. Probably goaded by the intimate setting and alcohol coursing through his veins, he suddenly felt the desire to touch you.  

Similarly, you had noticed the way his adams apple bobbed as he talked, and the way the sake that missed his mouth glossed his lips, his thumb swiping it away. Even the way he sat seemed to almost invite you to touch him, leant back on his arms, one leg propped up and the other splayed to the side. If not for your fear of ruining the otherwise pleasant atmosphere, you might have begged him to kiss you. 

“Kiss me…” 

Oh. It seemed you already did. 

“S-sorry?” Shocked, Geto’s eyes widened. He’d just been babbling about this book he’d read when you suddenly interrupted him. 

“I said, kiss me.” You don’t know whether it was the alcohol, but you had a newfound confidence, one that instantly excited Geto. The way your dollish eyes searched his for any kind of reciprocation almost made him coo, despite your bold words, it was evident you were just as shocked as he was. 

With no hesitation, Geto leaned across the table, his large hand wrapping around the back of your neck and pulling you into the most passionate of kisses. It was almost ravenous the way his tongue forced its way down your throat, making you yelp in surprise. He can’t help but chuckle at your cute reaction, struggling to contain his hunger as he kisses and nibbles at your lips. “I…thought…you’d…never…ask…” With each word punctuated by a kiss, your brain struggles to catch up with your body, mindlessly kissing him back with just as much desire. 

To your displeasure, Geto tears away from your lips, admiring the way your eyes had glossed over, lips swollen and sparkling with a mixture of his saliva and yours. “My gorgeous girl…” With a deep exhale, he guides you around the table, seating you infront of him as he reconnects your lips, the returning sensation comforting the growing ache between your thighs. Carefully, he lowers you, head resting on the tatami flooring as he towered above you, refusing to break the kiss. 

Geto’s hands began to tug at the fabric of your yukata, pulling it further down your shoulders, stopping at your cleavage before leaning back to admire just how angelic you looked beneath him, hair splayed beside you, arms curled up at your sides as you patiently anticipated his next move. 

“Can I touch you?” Nodding in response, he seems unsatisfied. “I need to hear you say it, my love.”

“You can touch me…” Almost sounding desperate with how breathless those words came out, Geto couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Thank you.” Only, you were shocked when you followed his movements, hand reaching for his calligraphy brush to the right of him, dabbing it in the ink and blotting away the excess.

“W-what are yo-” Before you can finish, Geto hushes you.

“Relax…you’ll enjoy it…” Gently, he leans down to press a loving kiss to your nose. Geto’s thumb soothed over your collar bones, tracing the raised skin, smoothing it out as if it were paper. Then, the bristles met your skin, cold liquid making you flinch. The air was tense as the paintbrush glided against you, each stroke and curve tingling on your skin, feeling like ghostly kisses across your chest. “Might be my best work.” Smirking, he admired how the dark ink settled, the kanji that spelt his name staining your skin.  Blowing gently, Geto instantly made space to spell his name down your neck, softly caressing where he intended to write. 

Over and over he marked your skin, leaving little space across your chest for much else. All the while, he began to shift on top of you, knee wedged temptingly between your thighs, inching closer and closer to your throbbing cunt. You hate to admit it, but the way his hair draped, grazing your hands, and that concentrated expression that contorted his pretty face spread goosebumps across your skin. Especially when so close, the scent of his sweet-woody cologne and the raw smell of skin encompassed you, warming your cheeks. “Look at that...so beautiful.” Geto exhaled, finally retiring his paintbrush, unable to turn his eyes away from your decorated decolletage. 

Reaching up, you tucked some loose strands of hair behind his ear, hearing him hum as he leant into your touch. Finally, he starts to kiss you again, this time, his knee firmly pressed against you, applying sinful pressure to your buzzing cunt. Long digits began to trace your figure, following the curves beneath the linen of your yukata before coming back up to graze past your hardening nipples. Geto could hardly contain himself, the way your body subtly demanded his touch made his already hard cock throb furiously, precum glazing his sensitive head. Your thighs spread slightly, welcoming his knee with an easy-to-miss eagerness, your hips rolling gently to make the most of the sensation. 

“Suguru…” He was pleasantly surprised when he heard you call out his first name. “T-touch me.”

“Awe, my baby can't wait any more?” Suddenly, his tone seemed a lot more demeaning, almost sarcastic as he retracted his knee slightly, eliciting a peeved whimper. “Show me how bad you want it…” Whispering seductively, he watched in anticipation as your hands ran down his neck and under the neckline of his clothes, before going back up to his face. Cupping his cheeks, you brought him in for a more intimate kiss, desperately rocking against his thigh, each time feeling his painfully hard erection poking your stomach. You almost shudder, realising each time just how big he was, feeling so thick and hard against you, even through the fabric of his yukata - ‘would he fit?’ you thought.

Laughing into the kiss, he feels how you momentarily freeze, finally giving in, he simply couldn’t wait any longer - he just had to break you. 

Digits reaching between your thighs, he prods and rubs at the wet patch on your panties, sighing as your slick coated his long fingers. Pulling them aside, his fingers scissor at your entrance before pushing in, stretching out your fluttering walls. “S-so tight…can’t imagine how good this is going to feel.” Bringing his lips to your ear, he nibbled and kissed at the shell, soft groans flooding your senses. 

You can barely hold yourself together as Geto’s forefinger stroked and curled against the plush of your walls, hitting spots you’d never reached by yourself. “F-fuck…s’so good…don’t stop!” Arching into his touch, Geto almost feels like he could bust here and now, watching keenly how you writhed and squirmed on his fingers. Desperate to hear more, he brought his thumb to your clit, rubbing precise circles while continuing to piston into your entrance. “M-more…”

Coming out as nothing more than a whisper, Geto could’ve missed it, but he was so intent on catching every moan and whine that it was unmistakable. “Oh? Think you can handle my cock already?” Scoffing, he lands a hard slap on your cunt, watching with a senile grin as you quiver at the sharp sting. “Fine…but don’t tell me to stop.” 

Falling back on his knees, Geto parts his yukata, and you watch eagerly as he does so. Thank god you did, the sight of his cock springing free, slapping against his abs was a sight that almost made you cum there and then, audibly moaning. Like you thought, he was huge, his hands wrapping around the tip and smearing his precum along his slit. With little effort, his other hand brought your legs up, holding them to your chest in a mating press. The view alone made Geto groan, the way your messy cunt glistened with slick only encouraging him further. With one pump of his length, his length is gliding between your folds, tip rubbing on your desperate clit, walls tensing in anticipation. 

“Pl-please…Sugu…” Whining so pathetically, Geto could hardly resist, roughly pushing his head past your entrance at your command. Fists squeezing tight, your face screws in surprise, the sudden feeling of being split apart on his length making your body stiffen. “ S’too much…too much!” Almost screaming as he continues to push his length in, with no pity he's bottoming out, tip pushing against your cervix.

“You can take it…I know you can.” Leaning against your thighs, he pushes himself almost impossibly deeper, finally being able to see the sweet expression on your face. His spare hand reaches down to your cheek, wiping a stray tear, twitching inside of you as he revelled over the way you struggled to take him. Almost impatiently, he’s pulling out again, thrusting his hips dangerously back into you, abusing your pretty cunt.

“So fucking good…you’re so f-fucking tight…” Hissing between clenched teeth, you barely make out the sly smirk painting his expression, the once delicate touch of your cheek being replaced with a tight grip on your neck, smudging the ink that he’d spent so much time decorating it with. “My precious girl…taking me so well…” 

Considering how composed and gentlemanly Geto usually was, just hearing him curse, let alone talk so filthily made you tighten around him. A flood of whines and moans pours straight from your parted lips to Geto’s cock, thrusting so ruggedly inside you, he almost felt more drunk off your pussy than the sake. Like a madman, he continued to push into you, sucked in by your walls, moulding around him like putty. 

“That’s it, such a good girl…I knew you could do it, just like that.” Rambling praises, Geto seems to make up for how rough he was being, hold on your throat pulsing as he struggled to contain his excitement. He almost felt like a teenage boy in that moment, so desperate to cum he could have released there and then. If not for his ego, he probably would’ve. But the way you squeezed and milked him was almost irresistible, something he’d never felt with anyone else. 

You, on the other hand, had never felt this full in your life. Not only was his sheer size impressive, but the way he precisely hit that sensitive spongey spot over and over again with little struggle sent you tumbling over the edge. 

“Cu-umming!” Gripping tightly onto his shoulders as he continued to pumel into you, those words were music to his ears, giving him new found stamina to continue ruining you. 

“That's it…cum for me.” Breathless, his words barely come out as grunts, hardly audible over the sound of his balls brutally slapping against your ass. Each thrust became more and more targeted, better yet when he leaned back, bringing his hand away from your neck and back to your partially neglected clit, watching in awe as you shook against him. Rolling the bundle of nerves so skillfully between his index and thumb as he continued to pummel into your pulsing core, he could hardly wait to see how you melted when you came. 

Lucky for him, he didn’t have to wait much longer, your shaking becoming more intense, arms falling slack as hot white flashes blinded your vision, shooting straight for your brain. The warm sensation that travelled up your legs almost numbed them, especially when he continued at such a violent pace. “F-fuck…what a pretty girl, cumming all over my cock…” Cursing and muttering, he bites harshly onto his lower lip. 

“Sugu…” Overstimulation washed over you when Geto continued to fuck into you even as your high passed. “S’too much…s-stop.” 

“Take it, fucking take it…I’m so close.” Feeling his cock twitch against your slick walls, sucking him in so deliciously despite your pleas. Each thrust became sloppier, still reaching just as deep as he came closer and closer to his orgasm. The volume of his groans and grunts only seemed to get louder, almost overpowering yours. 

With one final thrust, Geto was pumping you full of his hot cum, fucking it into you like he couldn’t let an ounce go to waste. “Such a good pussy…oh-oh-oh.” Struggling to even run that nasty mouth, his jaw fell slack, eyes squeezing shut as he road out his high, letting you take every minute of it. 

Coming to a stop, Geto released you from the almost painful mating press, almost cumming again when he watched his seed spill out of your cunt. “I can’t believe I waited this long to fuck you…” Running his hands through his hair, he drops to the floor beside you, lying on his side. 

Planting delicate kisses to your temple, his does his best to soothe the the pain, rubbing your thighs gently. “That was…” Lost for words, and exhausted, you struggle to vocalise just how you had felt.

“Incredible?”

Scoffing, you hit his chest, realising he had heard what you said earlier that evening. “Fuck you…” Rolling your eyes, you struggle to contain the stupid smile that spread across your lips.

“Again? Didn’t know I was that good.” 

The two of you laughed, laying on the stage a little while longer. What a wonderful finale to a brutal tour.

[wintermischief]

Bucky x Reader Friends To Lovers/Mutual Pining Trope Fic Recs (part one)

18+ ONLY. Writing may contain mature content. Mostly Bucky Barnes x F! and GN!Reader. Please show support to these amazing writers!!

❗️ PLEASE MESSAGE ME IF YOU’D LIKE ME TO REMOVE YOUR FIC OR IF I MADE A MISTAKE❗️

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Baby @lovelybarnes

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Cosmic Love | Part 2 @jobean12-blog

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[mysteryshoptls]

SR Ortho Shroud - Apprentice Chef Voice Lines

Summon Line: This class is perfect to test out my new Cooking Gear. I want to learn as much as I can to be able to cook so many things!

Groooovy!!: My brother and I worked together to make this gear. This might just be the initial test run, but it can perfectly follow the recipes!

Home: I'm perfectly antibacterial and waterproof!

Home Idle 1: One-plate dishes like Loco Moco are really efficient meals, since it's a main dish, side dish, and salad all wrapped into one!

Home Idle 2: When I tried telling Leona-san the reason he gets sleepy after meals, he just said, "Yeah, yeah," and brushed me off. It doesn't look like he's looking to fix it...

Home Idle 3: This gear is equipped with basic functions to prep, peel, chop, and weigh ingredients. It even has a tasting function! Isn't it great?

Home Idle - Login: Retrofitting complete. Commencing cooking functions with the 【Cooking Gear】 attachment.

Home Idle - Groovy: Recipe reproduction accuracy: 99%. ―Hmm, I think this gives me a pretty good chance at high marks! I can't wait to see what the judges think!

Home Tap 1: If there's any gourmet food you'd like to eat, I can reproduce them for you! Ah, but of course, you'll have to supply the recipe and ingredients.

Home Tap 2: I don't have any food preferences, but I do know what everyone else's dislikes are. ...Who knows when that kind of info will come in handy～

Home Tap 3: By rounding the bottom of an iron pot, it allows for the heat to gather in once place to cook everything more evenly... It's a simple but smart product design.

Home Tap 4: Apparently, rice is a carbohydrate that can really efficiently boost your energy with even only a small amount. Sounds like the perfect thing for my brother to eat when he's busy!

Home Tap 5: Warning! Warning! An ingredient foreign to the recipe has been added. Halt all processes. Beginning procedure to identify and remove the offending ingredient.

Home Tap - Groovy: Was my dish delicious? Yay～! I'm glad I analyzed your taste preferences and adjusted the recipe for you, then!

Requested by Anonymous.

[sannasruins]

it didn't hurt, right?

bakugo katsuki x reader

type: angst

warnings: cheating (on reader), smoking, f!reader

a/n: hi it's been a while, got writer's block but then something bad happened to me which always makes the writing juices flow, also i didn't proofread, i will never proofread

word count: 2k

The strike of a lighter lit in front of your face, you weren't one to smoke, in fact, you had never smoked a cigarette before. After all that had happened to you today though, you thought you needed a vice. You needed something, anything, too dull, to numb, to take your mind off what had happened. What you had heard, and now this dull ache refusing to leave your chest. You let the flame go out.

Leaning against the cold brick wall in the dark, in the alleyway of the convince store where you had just bought a pack of Marlboro's, the pretty sad girls always seemed to smoke those, and a matching red lighter. You huddled into yourself, hands stuffed in your jacket pockets, fist clamped around the box you had just bought. Your chilled body illuminated slightly by the neon lights of the city that spilled into your hiding place, you shakily take out the box, struggling for a second on how to open it before, with shaky hands, successfully ripping into it. You tapped out a single thin white stick and brought it to your lips, before restriking the lighter and bringing it to the tip. 

You inhaled deeply, and paused before you began coughing, it felt as if you were going to cough your lungs right out of your body with how hard they were wracking your entire being. You bent over, hands on your knees as your whole body shook with the motions of your coughs, the cigarette, forgotten and extinguished on the ground by your feet, while this was a miserable feeling, you thought to yourself, it did replace that horrible knot of anxiety in your stomach for a few moments. Maybe it was worth it. 

You thought back to what had caused this rash change in behavior for you, it wasn’t too long ago, just a few weeks, maybe even a handful of minutes if you didn’t count the foreboding feeling leading up to it. 

You had been dating your boyfriend, Pro Hero Bakugo Katsuki for 2 years now, but had known him since the days that he was an upper classman for you at UA high, you in the support class a year under him, got semi acquainted with him as he frequently was breaking his equipment. After he graduated you both lost touch but when you graduated and found a job as a hero equipment repair apprentice at the same agency he was working at, the two of you began to interact once more. 

You had had a crush on him since your schooling days, your girl friends always calling you crazy for liking such an abrasive boy, but you liked his candor, and his mental fortitude. The two of you found your quick wit in common and you could sympathize with him in a way that it seemed that a lot of people could not, which you didn’t fully understand but you didn’t let it get to you.

He asked you out 2 years after you had started working at the pro hero agency, he had brought a bouquet of your favorite flowers, you were surprised he had known them, but you happily said yes with years in your eyes. Your girlhood crush had been realized; how many people can say that. 

You asked him later what made him ask you out, what he liked about you. He told you he liked your sweetness, your kind eyes, and maybe it was a red flag that he didn't mention how brave you were, or your quick hands, or your impressive talents. But maybe not, it’s hard to tell at this point. 

He was sweet for a while, attentive, present, though it did drop off eventually, maybe after a year, maybe a bit sooner. You could shrug that off though, he was a pro hero, he was busy protecting the city and the entirety of Japan.

The two of you moved in together on your one-year anniversary, you thought it was so sweet when he presented you with the key to his apartment in a little box with a bow. Though was that just lazy behavior? Did he do that because he didn’t know what else to do or didn’t care to do anything else? You were questioning everything about the of your relationship at this point. 

You hadn’t brought much from your apartment, just a couple boxes of stuff besides clothes, since his place was already furnished with things much nicer than yours. You didn’t think you would be needing any of your old furniture again, no point in paying for storage for things you don’t need, so you sold it off for a little bit of money to put into your savings, you secretly had the thought of ‘wedding’ when saving the money. 

You chuckle bitterly in the alleyway you’ve been reminiscing in, “stupid” you murmur to yourself.

It was definitely dumb of you to sell almost all your belongings when moving in with your first serious boyfriend, but you were young and dumb and in love. 

You were happy cooking lunches for the both of you, and then making breakfast, before going to work an 8-hour shift, often having to put in overtime due to unexpected or urgent repairs needing to be done, and then coming home, cleaning your shared living spaces, and starting on dinner before he came home. It became a routine, and you didn’t mind, he worked hard, and you loved him, so putting in some extra effort didn’t hurt, right?

You loved him. He loved you. It didn't hurt, right?

He had been acting a little more distant than usual in the last few weeks, you had tried talking to him, getting him to open up, letting him know you were there for him, giving him his space, but no matter what you did, nothing seemed to work, he just seemed to be getting further and further away from you, coming home later, pushing his dinner around his plate but not eating, and even when the two of you slept in the same bed, side by side, it was as if you were worlds apart. You had no idea what was going on, you equated it to his job, it was hard, he had to watch people get hurt, he had to watch people die, he had to bear the guilt of not being able to save those claimed by death. You felt helpless sitting there watching him drift away but you tried everything, there was nothing left for you to do.

He came home earlier than his new normal that day, the sun was still in the sky, albeit, setting, the orange fingers of light stretching out through the clouds as if grasping onto the day, not wanting to leave the bliss of unknowing. 

“Oh, hi honey!” you greeted him as you heard the door unlock and swing open, “you’re home earlier than you’ve been, so I don’t have dinner ready quite yet,”. 

You continued to happily babble as he took off his shoes by the entrance and closed the door behind him before making his way to the kitchen where you stood and took a seat at the dining table. He ran a hand through his hair, tousling the spikes slightly, in a way he did when he was anxious, but you didn’t see the movement as you had you back turned, happily stirring away at a pot on the stove.

“We need to talk.” He stated. 

You felt your stomach drop in anxiety, you didn’t like his tone of voice, it was curt, it was clipped, it was cold. It was unfamiliar. 

“O-” your voice caught in your throat, “Okay Hun, well dinners almost ready so, like 10 more minutes and we can talk over it okay? Thats fine, right?” you asked, more trying to reassure yourself than anything else. 

“Y/n,” again, the unfamiliar tone, “turn off the stone, that can wait, we need to talk now.”

You slowly released the iron grasp you didn’t know you had on the wooden spoon you held in your hand, a sizable lump growing in your throat, before you inhaled through your nose and acknowledged him.

“Okay, Katsuki.” you turned the burner off, and whipped your palms quickly down your jeans once, steeling yourself before you turned to face him, sitting at the table, which suddenly looked alien to you. 

You walked stiffly towards the chair you always sat in, opposite him, and looked at his face, there was an indescribable expression on it, but it was stern, and chilly. His lips were pressed into a hard line, and his eyes had a storm of emotion in them, determination, but behind that, maybe, guilt. 

You pulled the chair out and sat, dread already filling your stomach as your mind filled with 1,000 ideas as to what he had to say, though nothing could have prepared you for the words that were about to leave his mouth.

“I found someone else.”

Time slowed for you.

He continued, “and I think I love her, more than I love you, I think more than I could ever love you.”, every second felt agonizing as you processed what he had just told you, someone else? You had a million questions, and they all started falling out of your mouth, tumbling and choking you along with your tears. 

“Why? Who? For how long? When did this start? Where did you meet her? What do you mean? Can’t I do anything to fix this? Why are yo-,” You were stuttering and stumbling over your words before he held up a hand to stop your onslaught of questions.

“I can’t say why, I didn’t do it to hurt you, I still care about you, I do still love you, I just,” he paused and put his head in his hands, sighing, “I love her more.”

“I can’t tell you wh-” you stood up, the sound of your chair scrapping against the wooden floor cutting him off. Fat, hot tears ran down your cheeks and you walked past him and towards the front door. 

He stood up as you passed, the sharp sound of his chair on the floor abrasive in your ears, and you flinched, squinting your eyes closed.

He grabbed your arm tightly, perhaps he didn’t know his own strength, but the force was bruising. You tried once to shake him off, but he didn’t let go. “Y/n, sit back down and listen to me,” he tried to command you.

You tried again to shrug him off, and when he again refused to release you from his grasp, your voice, raspy and harsher, and in a tone, he had never heard escape from your lips, confronted him. 

“Let me go Bakugo.”

His hand loosened and you were able to finally shrug your bicep out of his fisted hand.

He stood there silently watching as you made your way to the front door, shoving your feet into the first pair of shoes you saw and grabbing a jacket, before opening the door and heading out, slamming it behind you. 

That is how you had found yourself, now sitting on the ground in the alleyway on the side of a convenience store, knees to your eyes as you shook silently with sobs.

You lowered your knees and again reached into your jacket pocket, pulling out the little box and lighter, deciding to try again. You brought the cigarette back up to your shaky lips and repeated the steps, click of the lighter, bring the flame in close, let the flame die, inhale. Ignore the burn in your chest, exhale.

It didn’t hurt, right?

a/n: there will not be a part two, this was lightly based on an experience that happened to me, and i won't want to write a fake future. even if his actions end up coming and biting him in the ass though, i have moved past it, as i am not going to spend my youth full of regret and rage, it doesn't hurt anyone but me. I hope all of my readers understand. <3