#black highlights my beloved

[deadman-walk1ng]

Warlock and Magus

[niilue]

congratulations on 3k!　for the event:

von herder (my beloved)　+　blindfolds　+　gun play, if possible　+　panties to the side

⎯ von herder • moriarty the patriot

cw: sub von herder, dom male reader, blindfolds, gun play, panties to the side. - im so sorry for the super late delay of this :(( </3 hope u like it

niilue's 3k event

the room was dark, illuminated only by the soft glow of a lamp in the corner, casting faint shadows across the walls. von herder knelt on the bed, blindfolded, his trembling hands resting on his thighs.

the black fabric covering his eyes left him completely vulnerable. he couldn’t see you, but he could hear you. he could hear every click of the gun in your hand, the sound of cold metal shifting between your fingers.

"are you nervous?" you asked, your voice calm yet firm as you circled the bed slowly.

"no," he replied, his tone low and controlled. but the slight tremble in his voice betrayed the truth: he wasn’t nervous. he was aroused.

you stopped behind him, running the mouth of the gun gently along his neck. the response was immediate: his body shivered, muscles tightening under your touch.

"isn't this dangerous?" you murmured, pressing the barrel against his skin. "trusting someone like me this much?"

von let out a shaky sigh, his lips parting slightly. "if trust were easy, it wouldn’t be worth it."

"good boy."

your free hand slid down his back, tracing the curve of his spine until it reached the soft fabric of the panties you’d made him wear. black satin, hugging his hips perfectly, highlighting the curve of his ass.

"you look so fucking good in these…" you whispered, running the gun along the small of his back and down to his panties. "do you like wearing them for me?"

"yes."

"why?"

"i don’t know…" von herder swallowed, trying to steady his voice. "maybe because… it makes me feel more yours."

you smiled. that was the answer you wanted to hear.

"more mine, huh?"

with a slow, deliberate motion, you slid the panties to the side, revealing his tight, trembling hole. his body quivered slightly, the pale skin of his ass framed by the contrast of black satin.

"does this feel good?" you murmured, pressing the gun’s barrel against the curve of his ass.

von let out a low moan, his hands gripping the sheets tighter. "yes…"

you leaned down, licking a line up his neck as your fingers traced circles around his entrance, feeling how he clenched and twitched under your touch.

"i'm going to wreck you," you whispered. "but first…"

you brought the gun to his mouth, pressing the barrel softly against his swollen lips.

"open up."

his lips trembled before he obeyed, parting to let the gun slide inside. he let out a muffled moan, his cheeks flushed red as his tongue traced the cold metal.

"do you know how fucking sexy you look like this?" you asked, pushing the gun deeper into his mouth. "with your mouth full, like you can’t wait to be used."

von whimpered around the gun, his hips shifting backward slightly, seeking more contact.

"desperate, aren’t you?"

you slowly pulled the gun out of his mouth, watching as a string of saliva hung from his lips, his cheeks red and his breathing ragged.

"please…" he murmured. "do it already."

"what do you want me to do?"

"i want you to fuck me," he said, his voice breaking with need. "until there’s nothing left of me."

that was all you needed.

you slid the gun down his back again, pushing the panties farther aside with the barrel as your other hand grabbed his hip. his exposed entrance twitched, tight and ready for you.

you positioned yourself behind him, rubbing the head of your cock against his hole.

"i'm going to ruin you," you whispered in his ear. "and i won’t stop until you’re crying from how good it feels."

"please…~"

with one firm thrust, you pushed inside him, feeling how his body opened up slowly to take you. von let out a strangled moan, his back arching as his hands clutched the sheets.

"ahh—" he gasped, his voice broken with pleasure. "fuck…"

you stayed still for a moment, savoring the way his body trembled around you, how tight and warm he felt, clenching and pulsing with every breath.

"is this what you wanted?" you whispered, moving your hips slowly, grinding deeper inside him.

"yes…" he whimpered, his voice trembling. "please… don’t stop."

you had no intention of stopping.

each thrust was harder, deeper, pulling more broken moans from his lips. the blindfold had slipped slightly, and you could see his red, swollen lips trembling, his body shaking with every movement.

"don’t stop…" von begged, his hands fisting the sheets. "please, don’t stop…"

"i'm going to make you come just like this," you said, pressing the gun against his abdomen as you thrust deeper.

"ahh— yes…!" von cried out, his body shaking violently. you could see precum dripping from his cock, his entire body trembling with how close he was.

"you’re mine, von," you whispered, biting down on his neck. "only mine."

"yes…" he moaned, his eyes closed beneath the blindfold. "only yours."

and when he finally came, his body convulsed beneath you, his back arching as his seed spilled onto the sheets.

word count: 864

[timmydraker]

Bruce had never been to The Eclipse before.

The club was similar to that of a gentleman’s club from the starting years of America, filled with dozens of tables all curved and ready for a game or feast. The three floors of the place each had a game room, a bar and a section for private rooms for the more seedy type of talks to be had.

It was one of the few non-criminal funded place in Gotham that was still rich. Deals definitely went down, but it was more fitting for gossip that anything else.

Often people went there for catch ups in a refined setting.

Bruce was there for a catch up, or more accurately, a reuniting with his son.

Tim had sent Bruce a time, date and location and said he was only going to meet with him and no one else. Considering Bruce hadn’t seen his beloved son in nearly four years, including his time in the time stream, he accepted without argument.

Tim said he would look different but that if Bruce was as good of a detective as he says, it wouldn’t be a problem.

Bruce had no idea what his son meant until a woman let him inside and told him that ‘Drake had asked you to find him yourself’ with a confused bend in her eyebrows.

It took him a little longer than he’d be happy to admit, although still less than forty seconds, to find his son.

Or maybe that was the wrong word now, if the regal young woman staring at her drink was anything to go by.

Like something out of a vintage movie, the woman had curled black hair and dark red lipsticks. Her dark eyeshadow matched her sweetheart collar dress, black with thick straps and tight enough that each breath was visible.

The gloves on her hand were long and black, one putting a stark contrast to the pink coloured cigarette lit in her hand.

Everything about her screamed old money.

Bruce only knew it was Tim because of the sweet blue eyes and shape of his jaw, though there was also some kind of… paternal instinct in play.

Tim only looked up when he put a hand on the rounded couch, Jim’s tearing nervously down at his distinguished looking child.

It was when she smiled, a real thing that was just highlighted by her dark red lips, that Bruce knew he wasn’t mistaken.

“Hi Bruce.”

A lighter voice, not soft so much as smooth, and nothing like the more monotone sound he was used to.

“Ti-… hi.”

She smiles and gestures for him to sit before taking a final drag of her smoke and putting it out.

Bruce stares at for just a second before looking at his child. Despite the shock of the obvious changes, he notices something far more important, “You look healthy.”

Well fed, clean, nourished.

Like she’s gotten sleep.

“I am. I’ve done a lot of work on myself and it’s paid off.”

Bruce smiles, genuine and almost a little painful, “I can see that. What… what do I call you?”

“Charlotte. Charlotte Jackson Drake.”

“A beautiful name.”

Charlotte smiles before a serious look comes over her face, “Bruce. I haven’t just changed my lifestyle and body, I’ve changed how I look at the world and I’ve come to understand a lot more in my life now.”

Never has Bruce been so attentive, ears feeling on fire as he does his best to focus on every word spoken to him.

“The main thing I’ve come to understand is you.”

Bruce doesn’t move, scared to make his daughter stop talking to him and so he just does his best to show he’s listening.

Charlotte continues, “I get why you brought all of us in. It wasn’t just to protect us from the world, but from ourselves. I can see now that you are only crazy because you’ve been given the impossible challenge of being a necessity in Gotham and the worlds survival and sanity. It doesn’t change that you’ve made mistakes and fucked up, but I get why now. You didn’t want us to apart of Batman, but we forced you, me most of all.”

Bruce is more than stunned by the honesty and understanding in Charlotte’s words, but the fact that he himself only figured that out after loosing Jason.

She smiles at him like she could read his mind, “It took me a long time and I still have anger towards you, yet I want you in my life all the same.”

A gloved hand comes to hold onto his own, delicate and gentle in a way that reminds him of his mother all those years ago.

Charlottes smiles is far too sad to be hers though, “I’m not the boy you once knew, not just because of the woman I want to be now. I don’t want to help you, to save you and parent you, I want to know you. As my father. If-if you’ll allow it?”

Bruce has cried in public before, several times in fact, but normally it’s to play up his over emotional persona.

This time it’s pure relief.

“Of course. Anything you want, at any pace you want, I- what ever you need.”

Charlotte smiles and squeezes his hand, “Thank you.”

Bruce eventually huffs a laugh and wipes his eyes, “god, you really are good at catching me off guard.”

She laughs, a honey like noise that makes him realises he’s never heard Tim smile and that maybe his daughter could only do that once she be same ‘her’.

The two order drinks and Bruce is given the tale of how Charlotte came to be, of how sometimes she misses being Tim but never wants to go back. He learns that she chose her name based on what she would ah e been if she was born a girl so she wouldn’t feel like she was betraying her parents.

Bruce learns that she is still a hero, operating as Red Robin, but that she focuses on prolonged crimes like trafficking rings and makes sure to take them down in on go instead of busting a few and giving the rest a chance to escape.

He’s not so happy to hear that she isn’t ready to talk to the others and that she only really talks to Cass and Duke as both of them have always been on her side and are truely her siblings.

Yet he respects it, if only to keep her close and show her the love he failed to give.

Respecting his daughter’s privacy, he doesn’t tell his other kids anything about what happened and acts ignorant when there’s a few articles about the mysterious Charlotte Drake and her distant relation to the private Tim Drake.

He meets with his little girl, his Lottie, once a week at The Eclipse and talks with her about their businesses both in the literal sense and more broadly.

He meets Bernard and can’t quite see what it is about the strange boy that makes his daughter so happy, but all he needs is to see her big smile and know it doesn’t matter.

That and the several background checks he did.

[cheoridoll]

confessing —

pairing: robby keene x reader

warning: nothing, just something cute.

includes: robby confessing his love.

note: thinking of releasing a robby obscenity, perhaps?

words counted: 1.200

playlist for the fic: spotify | again, excuse the bad english! english isn't my first language :)

At the back of the dojo, Robby paced restlessly, his right hand stroking his chin in a visibly failed attempt to calm his nerves.

He was still wearing a kimono, with messy hair and bandages on his eyebrows. The black highlighted his muscles, which had been worked in the fight, while the yellow of the coat of arms highlighted his hair, which was as shiny as that of a certain princess when she sang.

"Damn, damn, damn" — he repeated to himself as he walked around. Across the mat.

Sam laughed at the whole situation, finding it adorable how his friend acted under the effects of love, even though she was in the same happy situation. She was clinging to Miguel, one of his current best friends, the same one who helped Robby choose the rings he would give to the girl he was going to declare his love to at the end of the day, since Diaz, having been raised only by his mother, had a certain notion of what girls liked.

The girl took classes at night, the only time allowed by the sensei, who said that they would be simple classes, below beginner level, because according to him, "the girls didn't have any aptitude". Pathetic.

The boys never denied having a certain hatred towards Kreese's idiotic and ill-thought-out speeches, always making a point of covering their ears, humming or even running to the bathroom when the oldest began his speeches.

"Relax, you idiot!" — Diaz threw one of the foam bricks in his direction, hitting Robby's already bruised face. "She already said she loved you."

"I know, I... Ah." — he turned his body and threw himself on the floor, looking at a random stain on the ceiling of the dojo. "She said she loved me and I ran away like a coward."

"You're afraid of women." — Sam said ironically, looking at Miguel.

The blond couldn't stop laughing, escaping a little from the nervousness that was consuming him internally, leaving aside the hands that seemed to crawl like slugs.

The clock rang. It was on time. The students began to enter the dojo, while Kreese rolled his eyes in boredom and contempt, leaving the place as fast as a sprinter, making way for the night teachers, Miguel and Robby.

"Okay girls, let's warm up first, walk in circles around the dojo, then run, alternating between slow and fast." — Diaz took the lead, seeing that his friend was busy drying the newbie still confused on how to put on her belt.

Adorable.

The whole class had been hectic, as the girls had blood in their eyes, and as recent professionals, they could say that not even the most experienced boys fought dirty like the girls. In a good way, perhaps.

"Hey!" — Robby ran, almost tripping over his own feet due to fatigue. "I need to, yeah..." — He cleared his throat, looking for the words he would use, the right words so that he wouldn't come out automatically and end up saying more than he should, more or less than he feels.

"Talking to you, seriously, I need to tell you something."

She laughed. Robby's world seemed to fall apart, not in a tragic way as it seemed. She laughed tenderly, gracefully like one of the beautiful flowers in the school garden, the ones Robby steals every morning, hoping to give them to his beloved, always giving up a second before. His world fell apart, fell apart when he realized that no words would be enough to show enough.

A tightness invaded his chest, leaving him desolate for a few seconds, to the point that the girl needed to call him, say his name several times, something that gave him a certain feeling of being in heaven next to an angel, due to such a melody.

"Sweet?" — There. That speech was the one that no longer allowed Robby to hold his tongue, no longer paying attention to automatic, he just spoke and spoke, as if tomorrow no longer existed.

"I love you. And, and it hurts me every single day, the way I ran away like a coward, the regret of not having pulled you by the arms and kissed every little detail that I love so much about you, which perhaps would have been impossible, since I don't just love your exterior, but also your interior, this wonderful woman that you are, your personality, your grace and tenderness, fuck, I don't even like swear words, what did I say? But, hell, you're the woman I want to be with."

The fighter remained silent, leaving the blond distressed, breathing irregularly and sweating visibly. He was as cold as an ice cube. Daniel, who was watching through the window of the small room, could have sworn that his friend was about to faint, Johnny and he were already preparing to run in case something really happened to the boy.

"I hate you, you know?" — Finally something came out of her mouth, surprising him, not in a positive way.

"Did I do it too late? That, I mean, declare myself?"

"Yes." — He sighed, throwing his body against the other's.

Robby was confused again, what was she doing? "But I love you, I love you so much that I can't say exactly what goes on in my chest and my head, they constantly fight with me."

They both laughed, still hugging each other, enjoying the short time they had together.

"You can do what you want."

"What did I want?" — She smiled, amused by the boy's short memory, taking the lead in the action that Robby had been waiting so long to do.

The fighter put her arms around the other's neck, carefully caressing the nape of her current love's neck. The caress soon went from a simple demonstration of what was about to happen, their lips collided, the movements became loose, both guided, a beautiful fit, there were no misunderstandings, or fight for command. As I said, a fit, the perfect fit.

"I love you, Robby."

"I love you too, my princess."

I'm very happy that you enjoyed my previous fanfic! That really makes me very motivated. Oh, and I place orders! :)

[bloom-into-blue]

ℕ𝕠𝕥 𝕒 𝕃𝕒𝕫𝕪 𝕃𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕣

summary: you're a single mother who verymuch wants a partner once more, and by a stroke of luck, your daughter leads you to a very special someone...

contents: fem!reader x angell, no mania au, reader had a husband before meeting angell, age gap (reader is in her early thirties, angell in her early twenties), reader is very obviously thirsty, some fluff, finge.ring, cunn.ilingus, transfem!angell

word count: 4.1k

author's note: this got so out of hand. i wanted just 1k, maybe 2k. this is my first fic in this blog and it's just showing how whipped i am for angell. good god. i am currently in my era where i wanna be a milf, so you get that this time, but maybe one day, the reader will fuck milf!garofano. maybe. also this is my first smut ever ever sooo feedback? feedback tonite queen?

things hadn't been going so well after your divorce, to say the least.

you have full custody of your daughter, yes, something you're eternally grateful for. a steady job, a nice place to call home, your beloved daughter, for all intents and purposes your life is as perfect as it gets!

but after 5 long years of marriage with an uncaring husband, one who you weren't sure you were attracted to to begin with, you find yourself feeling remarkably lonely. the touch of another, something that's been so scarce for so long, and simply knowing someone treasures you… your heart desperately longs for that. specifically, you find yourself craving a woman before a man, but as no one comes along, it's a somewhat fruitless thought.

alas, while you're a single mother, you enjoy the parenting side quite dearly.

after an uneventful shift at work and a stop by your daughter's school, you're heading back home with her holding your hand, the usual commute for the two of you for the past year or so once the divorce was finalized, though today you've taken a bit of a detour due to some construction work in your usual route. from the corner of your eye, you spot an ice cream vendor and smile to yourself; your daughter's been behaving rather well, it'd be nice to give her a treat today as a reward. “wait for me right here, alright?” you tell the little girl with a smile, then walk over to buy a popsicle for her.

barely a minute passes between leaving and coming back to your daughter, yet when you turn to face her, she's already walked away from where you left her. alarms blare in your head in less than a second, though as quickly as terror arrives, it leaves the second you spot her a few ways away, from where she calls out for you.

“mama, look! the nice lady has a kitty!”

still on edge, you approach your daughter and the woman who's crouching beside her while holding a cat. “hon, i’ve told you to not approach strangers-” you begin with a frown, though your eyes focus properly on the woman besides your daughter. her black hair with its white highlights, the leather jacket and her tank top, though it's not long enough to cover just a bit of navel that peeks out above her jeans, you can see her toned abs even as she crouches… quickly, you force your eyes to meet her golden ones, lest this stranger realize you're absolutely ogling her in broad daylight.

thankfully she doesn't notice, and if she does, she doesn't say it. instead, this stranger stands up to face you properly, making you realize just how much taller she is than you…

your daughter calling out to you curiously is what truly snaps you out of your stupor, and you nervously chuckle to yourself while handing her the popsicle you bought for her.

“s-sorry, i hope my daughter didn't inconvenience you,” you say to the unnaturally handsome woman.

she shakes her head lightly, then glances down at the cat by her feet. “don't worry, it's no trouble.”

while your daughter is delighted to be eating her ice cream, she still looks at the taller woman with a glint in her eye. “mama, can i keep playing with the lady and her kitty? pretty please?” your child begs between licks of her ice cream, and it's hard to say no to that sweet face and those puppy dog eyes. (part of you is glad she took after your side of the family entirely in the looks department)

“you can play with the kitty hon, but make sure to not bother the lady,” you warn with just a hint of firmness in your voice. with a happy cheer, your daughter goes on to pet the black cat, who doesn't seem to mind if his loud purring is any indication. the stranger before you smiles at the sight, a tiny grin at best, and you feel something in your heart throb at the sight.

…you realize you're acting like a lovesick schoolgirl as a grown woman, but you push the thought as far away as possible.

“seems he likes your kid. he's not this nice to most people,” you hear her say, which brings your attention back to the situation at hand. your gaze follows hers and you see your daughter, her popsicle partially melting in one hand while the other continues to pet the cat like he's the world's greatest treasure, and your quickly-developing crush is pushed briefly to the side, instead letting your heart focus on the adorable sight.

smiling, you nod your head. “she likes cats, though we don't have one right now.”

“hm. this one's clingy when he wants to be. usually he waits around this spot for me to come home from work.”

“oh, is that so?” mentally, you think it might be nice to take this route more often.

and that's how you first meet angell.

the more you get to know her, the more of a mess you realize she is.

the two of you chat for a few minutes at the end of each work day while your daughter plays with angell’s cat, a new addition to your peaceful routine. while you talk about your hobbies and your work sometimes, angell tells you she's a delivery worker for a well known restaurant here… but when you learn about her dietary habits, you don't know whether to pity her or be flabbergasted. it's a wonder she's a healthy and fit woman if she's always eating foods that may very well be expired by at least a month. it's quite the juxtaposition between her workplace and her actual food, which baffles you even more when you realize she's paid really well for a delivery worker.

it gets to the point where you start making lunches for all three of you, though you give angell hers at the end of each day. the first time you gave her that container with something as simple as pasta with some fried chicken on the side, yet the way she looks at you when she sees it… “for me?” she whispers with wide eyes, and you forever commit to memory the way her expression turns tender and fond and her cheeks flush. it's a herculean effort to not kiss her.

something else that's made you weak in the knees for this woman is that, much to your surprise, she starts playing with your daughter by letting her hang from her biceps and even spinning around with the child holding onto her, to your daughter's delight. it's become something that your daughter adores, and when she's laughing brightly and angell thinks you're not looking, you see the way the taller woman smiles softly at your child, only to become pink at the cheeks when she realizes you're watching her. angell is usually a rather stoic woman, so the rare sight of her being so bashful is one you realize you want to see more often.

at one point, you decide to invite her for dinner, something your daughter instantly cheers for. angell looks shocked at first, but she smiles and agrees with ease.

the three of you then walk back to your home, all while your daughter chants happily. “miss angell’s stayin’ with us! miss angell's stayin' with us!”

it's… nice. you didn't expect angell to be good with children when you first met, but this almost feels perfect.

when you arrive to your home, your daughter is quick to head back to her room to change from her school uniform, so with a fond sigh, you set your coat in the nearby rack and turn to angell with a little smile. “would you like to help me cook dinner?”

“i… i would like that,” angell replies in a low voice. this is the first time the two of you are alone together. hearing her voice like this, so smooth and deep… part of you wonders if you'll live past tonight.

angell takes off her leather jacket and puts it beside your coat, which prompts you to stare at the ground intensely in order to avoid gluing your eyes to the newly uncovered skin of her arms and shoulders, and the way her muscles move… focus, focus!

the two of you settle on making red bean soup at your suggestion, and it's a relatively easy affair with two pairs of hands working, even if angell's movements are clumsy and you gently have to guide her.

your daughter comes out of her room a few minutes later, and she's all smiles as she watches you and angell cook, though she quickly distracts herself by watching cartoons in the living room.

once more, you focus on the meal you're trying to prepare and the quiet woman you're trying not to kiss silly.

when you two are done preparing the soup, you move to grab three bowls so you all can eat while angell stirs it a bit to check its consistency. “it smells nice,” she murmurs.

“that's good to know,” you reply with a little smile, so focused on the bowls you're holding that, when you turn around, your front accidentally bumps into angell’s, and you remain close to her due to the kitchen's somewhat reduced space.

from this distance, you can see angell's golden eyes widen a fraction and her cheeks flush slightly, though your focus is more on the way her toned abs and her chest are flush against your own body, which makes your own cheeks redder than a tomato. your noses are almost brushing, and your eyes wander down to her soft lips.

“you're warm,” you hear angell muse quietly, and with a little squeak, you step back and turn away before even allowing yourself to imagine what it would be like to kiss her. faintly, you can almost hear her chuckling.

dinner is served a moment later, and soon, angell, your daughter and you sit together for a nice dinner, though the little glances you and angell exchange feel too charged to focus on anything but the taller woman.

midway through your dinner though, the sound of rumbling thunder crashes above your house, prompting your daughter to shriek fearfully and you to jump as well, while angell simply frowns. the sky had been clear during the trek to your home, but to think a storm was coming? just a few seconds later there's the sound of rain as well, slowly growing from a light drizzle into a heavy downpour. it's some hell of a background noise, something that puts your daughter on edge and makes you frown at her reaction.

angell, as always, surprises you though. “hey, it's okay. your mom and i will keep you safe from thunder,” she says with a totally straight face.

“r-really?” your daughter asks, clearly doubtful.

“yeah, really.” angell smiles at the girl and adds, “i'm strong enough to keep the two of you safe. that thunder won't come close to you, ever.”

your daughter's eyes widen at angell's confidence, and with that reassurance, she resumes eating her dinner happily. the sight, coupled with the gentle way angell reassured her, makes your heart feel light; you love seeing the two of them bond like this.

dinner happens uneventfully after that, though the rain remains as heavy as before, even when it's your daughter's bedtime. you reluctantly tell angell to wait for you in the living room while you tuck the little girl in for the night, worried about what the two of you should do now.

you refuse to let angell walk back home under the rain though.

“the storm doesn't seem to be letting up,” angell comments when you come back, her expression annoyed at the sight of the rain hitting the windows of your home.

it's then that an idea pops up in your mind, and before you can stop yourself, you open your mouth and say, “you could sleep here for the night.” hastily, you add, “i-if that's fine with you, of course.”

angells seems caught off guard at first, though her expression shifts into the smallest smile as if she were… shy? “i’d like that. better than walking under the rain.”

smiling to yourself in both relief and delight, you take angell's hand and guide her to your bedroom, realizing that her cheeks turn a slight pink when she notices where you're headed. the sight is beyond adorable and makes your smile wider.

in the bedroom, you rummage through your clothes trying to find something that angell can use as sleep wear, eventually finding an oversized sweater and a pair of loose shorts, though the sweater seems to fit angell's form just fine once she comes out of the bathroom wearing your clothes. she smiles when she notices you staring, though you quickly tear your gaze away from her form.

you take your own combination of a long-sleeved shirt and shorts before heading to the bathroom to change as well, then come back out to find angell sitting on your bed, as if waiting for you like an obedient pup.

“should i sleep in the living room sofa?” she asks before standing up to face you.

“oh, no no, we can just share my bed!” you say cheerfully without thinking. a mere millisecond later you realize what you just said, and your cheeks go red at your own suggestion.

angell, bless her, simply smiles. “alright. it is kinda cold tonight,” she remarks.

while you still feel bashful about your faux pas, this response is one that makes your heart skip a beat.

when the two of you get under the covers together, there's a bit of a distance that separates you from angell, though she sighs softly before inching closer and wrapping her arms around you like it's nothing, somehow. your eyes go wide and you feel your cheeks grow warm, and from this distance her golden eyes draw you in, just as they did when you first met.

“is this alright?” she asks almost nonchalantly, but you've grown used to her, you think. the underlying nervousness and shyness in her tone are not some product of misplaced illusion.

“it’s… more than alright.”

“…good.”

she holds you close, the rain still falling as little more than background noise, and the two of you simply… lay together. you allow your eyes to scan her face, even though you're both supposedly going to sleep now, and manage to catch her eyes traveling down to your lips, then flickering back up as if she didn't want to get caught.

so it's mutual, you think as a little smile rises to your face. “how about we stop this little game, why don't we.”

it's adorable how her lips form a little pout, clearly showing her puzzlement at those words, though all confusion flees when she feels your lips against hers, and instead you're rewarded with a quiet, soft grunt before her lips move in tandem with yours. your hands go down to hold her waist as she kisses you, and in return angell's hands rise to tangle her fingers through your hair.

she's inexperienced, you can tell by the way her teeth clash against yours sometimes, but that doesn't change how heavenly angell feels, how gentle she is despite clearly wanting to do even more.

at this point though? you're both equally desperate.

you pull away, just a few inches, and she's already whispering against your lips, “can we do more?”

you want to feel scandalized, almost. she's barely started kissing you and she already wants to do more, and yet… “i… so long as we're quiet,” you reply in a hushed whisper, but that's all it takes for angell to kiss you once more, though there's a hunger to her motions that goes entirely unrestrained now.

“you make my heart all… crazy,” angell murmurs against your lips, then pulls away to start leaving open mouthed kisses across your jaw, then neck, and soon she's silently asking for permission to lift your shirt by playing with the hem of it. you nod almost too eagerly.

angell takes in the sight of your bare front as she lifts your shirt up, and while you feel self-conscious for a second as you think of your stretch marks and extra weight, she's quick to reassure your insecurities in the way her lips continue their sloppy journey down the expanse of your skin, stopping at the valley of your breasts to nip and kiss at each tit.

“you're beautiful.”

“so… stunning.”

“you taste so good.”

if her mouth weren't working wonders across your body, you'd pull angell up to kiss her silly once more.

your hand tangles itself in her hair as she keeps going, and you bite your lip to avoid gasping loudly, for her mouth has wrapped itself around your nipple and god, she's driving you crazy.

the very tip of her tongue circles your areola, the sensation too much and yet not enough at the same time, before your grip on her hair tightens the second angell starts flicking the bud of your nipple properly, then she presses her tongue flat against the sensitive skin. she's not inexperienced, you realize, simply needy, hungry, eager.

angell lets go of your nipple with a quiet pop, and it's then that you realize she's pulled your shorts and underwear down while you weren't paying attention. “a-angell?” you call, though you want this as much as she does.

she hums curiously in response, and her lips kiss down your navel, until she's right next to the place where you need her most, where she plants a soft kiss to your inner thigh and makes direct eye contact.

“n-nevermind. carry on.”

she chuckles, the little devil. “thanks, babe.”

oh, you're going to lose your mind.

angell then dives right in, delivering almost teasing licks to your lower lips like she suddenly wants to take her time with you, uncomfortably akin to a cat playing with its prey. while she teases you with barely any pressure, you throw your head back, because this is still the first time someone has touched you like this in a long time.

and yet, it's everything you need. she's everything you need.

it takes her a few minutes, but suddenly, angell's already pushing two fingers inside your aching cunt, and this time you actually have to cover your mouth to avoid letting out a loud cry. angell takes it as a sign to be even more bold, and soon she's wrapping her lips around your clit and sucking while her fingers move in and out, then press down and curl right up against that gummy spot that has your toes curling in an instant. you realize she's started to grind her hips against the bed, but by god, you cannot focus on anything that isn't her mouth and fingers.

“god, angell, please-” you whimper quietly, only to muffle another moan when she increases the pace of her fingers, pumping in and out with a squelching noise. you can feel angell smiling as she lets go of your clit, as if she were savoring each reaction she gets out of you.

“don't worry, babe. i’ve got you,” she rasps against your drenched folds, the vibrations absolutely adding to the stimulation that's already making you bite your hand just so you can remain quiet. between that and the way her fingers fill your pussy, she's making you see stars.

your back arches while angell eats you out, but the second you let out another quiet gasp, she pulls away her mouth and fingers as if she could feel you were close to cumming.

angell chuckles at the way you whine, feeling empty now that her fingers don't fill you up anymore. “sorry, i just can't hold back anymore. really feels like i’m going crazy,” she whispers as she rises up from between your thighs.

you curiously raise an eyebrow, but before you can ask about what she means, angell pulls the shorts you lent her down. her dick is hard, tip red and coated in precum, clearly showing just how riled up eating you out has left her.

your eyes widen at her size, though you quickly realize angell almost looks nervous now, and that's enough for your expression to soften instantly.

“c'mere, honey,” you prompt gently, and the second angell leans down with her torso hovering over yours, you pull the sweater she's wearing off of her, leaving her bare for you to see in all her glory.

while she seems genuinely embarrassed at first, all it takes for her to relax is you gently cupping her cheek. just like that, those golden eyes you love so much gaze at you with lust and affection once more.

her chest, soft and pliant, presses against yours while the tip of her cock brushes against your cunt in a way that leaves you both eager for more.

“i'm going in now. last chance to back out,” she whispers against your ear.

“sweetheart, please just hurry,” you beg a moment later. angell holds back a soft laugh at just how eager you sound, and she decides she's done teasing you for tonight, just because she finds you cute.

you let out a soft sigh before gasping against her neck. angell grunts at the same time, slowly and gently pushing her cock inside you and filling you up in a way that feels wonderful. she shivers above you, breathing ragged and warm against your skin, and you wrap your arms around her back.

she lets you adjust, because this woman is as sweet as she's quiet, whispering about how good it feels, how you take her so well, how warm and tight you are around her cock.

soon the feeling isn't enough, and you whisper with utter need, “please… take me, angell.”

“i'd love nothing m-more,” she replies in a breathless murmur.

she pulls her hips away until the tip of her weeping length is the only thing that remains inside, then slams herself right in like it's natural for her, dragging a startled gasp from you due to how intense it is, how intense the pleasure is. you're quick to bury your face into your pillow, biting it to avoid letting out too loud a noise while angell does her best to keep her groans and whimpers quiet.

“god, you feel s-so tight,” she says while thrusting her hips into yours again, her pace slow yet hard. it's like she wants to focus on your pleasure, yet her own hunger drives her into increasing the pace of her hips.

soon she's relentless and almost growling against the skin of your neck, her hands gripping your hips almost possessively while she thrusts her cock in and out of you. all you can think about is her, her hands on your body, her lips on your neck, angell, angell, angell.

at one point, angell grips the back of your knees and pushes them back against your chest, all while thrusting relentlessly against your body, and the pleasure is already coiling in ways you hadn't even felt before in your life.

“i'm close, ‘m close,” you gasp while trying to stay silent, yet angell makes it so damn hard as she grunts against you.

“go ahead. let go, please, cum ‘round my, please,” she begs, and it's obvious that this song and dance of yours was going to end like this from the start.

with a strangled gasp, your mouth falls open and you cum around angell like she so eagerly pleaded for, leaving a white, frothy ring around the base of her length in just a few thrusts. the sight makes angell let out a sound between a grunt and a whine, and she bites down onto your shoulder before pulling out and stroking herself to completion, cumming all over your tummy while quietly gasping against your skin. the bite only adds to your pleasure, even with the slight pain that follows.

once she's done milking her own cock, angell flops down on top of you and lets go of your shoulder, her breath coming out in tired pants that match your own uneven breathing.

you let her lay there gladly, going as far as to stroke her hair before pressing a kiss to her forehead. angell hums at the sensation, then pays you right back with a kiss right on the center of her bite mark.

“be my girlfriend?” she asks, sounding satisfied yet drowsy.

with a tired little giggle, you continue to run your fingers against her scalp. nuzzled against you like this, she once again reminds you of a cat.

“you did it a bit out of order, love.”

[musaslullaby]

The night has only just begun

Max Verstappen x fem reader

Summary: Max becomes jealous when he sees you talking to another man.

Warning: NSFW, +18, you are responsible for what you read.

Masterlist

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I've always loved being around people. Parties, interviews, or simply going out to dinner were a way to clear my head from eternal melancholy.

The limousine sped through the empty streets of Monaco. The only lights visible through the tinted windows were those of the beautiful stars, shining independently in the sky. They’ve always inspired a sense of trust in me, and now, after years of hard work, I can happily consider myself one of them.

"Schatje, are you ready?" Max asked, placing his hand on my leg, covered by the expensive blue dress that sparkled under the moonlight.

"I'm always ready. Perhaps I should ask you if you are." My mischievous smile caused an adorable chuckle from Max, who gently stroked me before stepping out of the car. Like a true gentleman, he opened the door for me, and only at that moment did my eyes wander over his entire body, perfectly framed by a black tuxedo as dark as the night, which highlighted his light blue eyes.

He extended his hand toward me with an elegant gesture while a brilliant, sincere smile adorned his features. His expression was relaxed, genuinely happy, and it made me smile involuntarily. I loved seeing him so at ease, especially because it was rare—during races, he often showed his worst side.

I gently placed my hand in his, which was larger than mine. It felt reassuring as we walked down that red carpet; his presence was warm and calm, in stark contrast to the continuous flashes of the journalists' cameras blinding us. Even the sky seemed to hide its beloved stars from those equally bright machines.

When we entered the venue, the lights were dim, a soft murmur lingered in the background, and waiters constantly passed by with glasses of sparkling wine. Occasionally, you could notice a dark wooden table surrounded by Ferrari-red couches.

My eyes darted around, scanning every person, and they casually caught sight of blonde hair. In an instant, I left Max's side, diving into that ocean of important people, dressed like kings and queens. When I got close enough, I recognized that boy. I knew my eyes weren’t deceiving me. "If I’m not mistaken, this is the scent of…" I said, stopping, resting my hand on my chin as I pretended to think. "Ah yes, it’s the new Giorgio Armani fragrance?"

The boy turned to me with wide eyes. "I can’t believe it, Y/N, how long has it been!"

"Too long!" I whispered, laughing, as we hugged, fearing we’d lose each other again.

"So, how’s it going?" he asked, his bright smile so contagious that I felt a facial paralysis coming on.

"Everything’s fine, thanks," I replied kindly, my voice slightly sweetened.

I had no idea how much time had passed since we started talking, but the only thing I knew was that he hadn’t changed: he was still the same goofy boy as always, and in some ways, that was reassuring. As caught up as we were in the conversation, I completely ignored the phone going crazy with calls and messages. By then, my handbag was vibrating every three seconds.

A laugh erupted from the back of my throat; I loved his humor and jokes, but I didn’t even have time to reply before I felt a deadly grip on my wrist, being yanked from the conversation without realizing it.

"That's enough," Max whispered through clenched teeth, his jaw tight.

"Stop it!" I yelled, trying to resist, drawing the attention of those around us, who suddenly stopped talking. Couldn’t they mind their own business?

"Will you explain what’s wrong with you?" I asked, stumbling as he let go, shoving me violently against the bathroom wall.

"What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with me?" His anger was evident; I could see it in his eyes, but beyond that, I saw something else… sadness? Melancholy? No, that wasn’t it. Something deeper, perhaps?

"I’m not the one who was eyeing another man," he continued, almost shouting, his voice filled with frustration and repressed feelings.

"What are you talking about? You know I only have eyes for you," I whispered, a slight sense of guilt starting to weigh on me, causing me to lower my gaze.

"Good, liefde, then prove it," he said, pressing his face against mine. I felt his warm breath brushing my lips and his mischievous grin. Ah, that’s what had been in his eyes earlier: lust.

With my cheeks flushed pink, I made the first move, throwing myself onto his slightly chapped lips. Max knew me too well; I would never back down from his provocations.

His hands gripped my hips in a firm hold, pulling me against his body. His teeth sank into my lips, asserting his dominance.

Involuntarily, I let out a sharp squeal, which earned an approving sound from Max. His kisses moved down to my exposed neck, biting and sucking the sensitive spots he knew all too well.

When he pulled away, I ran my hand over the purple and red marks he had left on me. A shiver of excitement shot down my spine as Max seductively licked his lips.

"Kneel," he ordered in a firm, authoritative voice, as he unbuttoned his pants.

With a subdued nod, I knelt before him, noticing the bulge in his pants. When I saw his member freed from its restraints in front of my face, I felt a sharp pang of pleasure deep in my core. Without hesitation, I took him into my mouth, swirling my tongue around him. I could hear his muffled grunts under my touch, and the heat he caused throughout my body was heavenly.

"Damn…" His hands found a grip in my hair, tugging to push deeper into his sex. My cheeks flushed red as he completely controlled the rhythm. Gag reflexes took over my body, feeling his member contract and the veins growing rigid. Suddenly, I noticed the pace increasing, although sloppier, and after two more thrusts, Max released himself into my throat.

"Swallow it all, I don’t want to see a drop," he whispered, pulling me up by my hair. His cheeks were flushed pink, and sweat dripped down his forehead.

He was incredibly sexy. With a seductive movement, I placed my hands on his chest, letting his expensive jacket fall to the ground. The white shirt clung to his body from the sweat, revealing his sculpted abs.

Max dropped the authoritative act for a moment, planting a sweet, wet kiss on my lips, tasting himself, before returning to the Max from before.

Without effort, he lifted me into his arms, playing with the edge of my panties, slightly pushing them aside, brushing against my swollen, already wet lips.

"You're already ready for me, schatje? Pathetic," he whispered with a mischievous laugh on my lips, and his closeness definitely wasn’t helping.

Quickly, he aligned himself with my entrance and penetrated me, our ragged breaths mingling together. I could feel every part of him inside me, every small movement and his overwhelming heat. He didn’t wait a second before hammering into me at an inhuman pace. I was sure my screams could be heard throughout the club.

He was consistent, hard, and fast. No second thoughts or hesitation, his movements were precise and sure. I buried my face in his neck while he grunted, throwing his head back in pleasure.

The tip of his member hit my g-spot, making me melt like cream in his hands. I could no longer think straight. A warmth crept into my lower abdomen, and with each thrust, it became more intense and taut until it finally snapped, accompanied by a scream carrying his name in a vulgarly melodious way.

"He would never make you scream the way I do," he said between grunts, pushing even deeper, losing energy as he went.

After a few more thrusts, he reached the height of pleasure and came inside me with a stifled groan, muffled by a kiss full of sweetness and lust, mixed in a perfect cocktail.

Sweat dripped down his face as he lovingly pressed his forehead against mine.

"I love you, schatje," he whispered against my lips in a soft voice, planting a few kisses on my face.

"I love you too, especially when you're jealous," I said with a playful smile, grazing his earlobe with my teeth, making him shiver at the contact.

"Ready for the next round?" he said with a mischievous smirk, running his fingers down my back, exposed by the low cut of my dress.

"The night has only just begun..." I whispered, laughing softly as I gently caressed his cheek, my heart beating faster knowing what awaited me.

[evergumi]

M. FUSHIGURO ⋆ when words fail.

pairing ⋆ bf!megumi fushiguro x reader

summary ⋆ reader is feeling overwhelmed and bf gumi comes to them to comfort like the amazing bf he is <33

warnings ⋆ fluff, sliiiiight angst if you squint (it wouldnt even be called angst), sad reader, megumi loves them but shows it in his own special way !

wc ⋆ 0.7k words

a/n ⋆ awww the cuties ! i love gumi sm omg my adorable boyfieee, anyways enjoy ! i lowkey dont like this buttt :((

you couldn’t pinpoint exactly what had drained you—maybe it was the mission gone wrong, the constant tension, or just the weight of everything pressing down on you. all you knew was that your chest felt heavy, and you couldn’t shake the dull ache that settled deep in your bones.

you walked into the dorm, hoping for a few moments of peace, but as soon as you closed the door behind you, the silence felt suffocating. the soft thud of your shoes hitting the floor echoed too loudly, and your gaze lingered on the messy space around you. it had been a long time since you'd felt like this—numb, hollow, as though no matter how many times you exhaled, you couldn’t breathe deeply enough. unlocking the door to your room, your eyes heavy with exhaustion, you shuffled over to your bed. god, this feeling. it was so heavy it hurt. it weighed on your shoulders like the sky itself had decided to settle there. letting out a deep, shaky sigh, you flopped back onto your bed…

bad idea.

now, as you lay there, it felt as though you were lying directly on the weight you were carrying—sharp, heavy, painful… overwhelming. you just wanted to sleep and forget about it all. squeezing your eyes shut, you brought a hand to your face and dragged it down your features, the stress evident in every line. anything to get rid of the gnawing ache.

your phone buzzed.

with a soft groan, you lazily draped your hand over your eyes and blindly reached for your phone. when your fingers brushed against the white case adorned with a small black cat (the one your beloved boyfriend had given you), you brought it up to your face, squinting at the sudden bright light. and then, a soft, gentle smile spread across your lips. it was megumi… you had been waiting for him. unlocking your phone, you tapped on his name.

megumi: how was the mission?

you sighed, running a hand down your face again, and typed a quick response.

y/n: it was terrible, gumi. miss you so much.

before you could set your phone down, it buzzed again, the shrill ping echoing through your dorm room and making your growing headache worse.

megumi: be there in a sec.

your eyes widened.

y/n: wait--

before you could send another message, trying to stop him from coming all the way over, the door to your dorm creaked open.

“y/n?” megumi’s low, familiar voice called from the doorway, tinged with softness only for you. “where are you?”

the soft glow of moonlight filtered through the curtains, highlighting megumi’s features as he stepped inside. his gaze softened when it landed on you, and his lips parted in concern. he was holding a plastic bag by the handles, the straps dangling from his calloused fingers as he stepped closer.

“you’re not alright,” he said, his voice gentle but sure. you liked that about him. most people would’ve asked “are you alright?”—a question that would’ve only frustrated you more. but megumi didn’t need to ask. he could see through the walls you built around yourself.

he sat at the edge of your bed, his soft, spiky hair catching the moonlight, making him look almost ethereal. without looking at you, he pulled a stuffed bunny from the plastic bag and handed it to you.

“you left this at my dorm,” he muttered, avoiding your gaze. you knew he hated the idea of your stuffed animals receiving more of your attention than he did, but he also knew how much they meant to you. that’s why he’d brought it back.

you took the bunny from him, hugging it to your chest, almost like you were holding megumi himself (not that he needed to know that). “thank you, ‘gumi,” you whispered, looking up at him.

he avoided your gaze, a blush creeping up his neck. he knew what you were asking through your gaze, even if you hadn’t said it.

“fine,” he muttered. “but only because you’ve had a long day.” with a small, pained smile, you shuffled over on the bed to make room for him. megumi kicked off his hello kitty socks (something only you knew about) and climbed into your soft, pale pink sheets.

without missing a beat, he slid his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into him. you rested your head on his toned chest, feeling the tension in your body slowly melt away.

he could do this for you. he could make everything feel a little lighter. “thank you,” you whispered sleepily, your eyes fluttering shut. “thank you for coming to me.”

megumi hummed in response, pulling you closer. you nestled your head into his favourite spot—the crook of his neck, the place that always felt warm even when it had no business being so. his scent was there, in that one spot; always stronger than other parts of his body, forever comforting.

after a while, he spoke up, his deep voice reverbrating through your relaxed body.

“you’re welcome,” he murmured softly into your hair, his fingers tracing circles on your shoulder when he thought you’d fallen asleep. “sleep, y/n. i’ll be here when you wake up. i always will.” he pressed a soft kiss to your temple, a gesture so small but full of so much meaning.

you just hoped he didn’t feel the smile tugging at your lips as you drifted off, content in his arms.

a/n ⋆ lowkey giggling omg ?? i hc him to wear the most adorable socks ever and only y/n knows... like he def accidentally forgot to wear 'cool' socks one day when u guys were hanging out after you first started dating ahhh !

thank you for reading, ily ! lmk if you wanna be tagged and remember, reqs are always open loves !

© evergumi

[avayarising]

DPxDC prompt: Here is the News

“You’re watching CDTV Now, and I’m Ace Atchinson with a special feature. Last week, the nation was shocked when a team of junior heroes affiliated with the Justice League apparently vandalised one of America’s most beloved national monuments.”

A short, jerky video plays, showing an explosion on a large stone face – one of four carved out of the side of a mountain. The smoke clears to reveal a large hole where the nose used to be. Several figures fly out of the stone and are caught by some sort of flying vehicle. It swoops across the mountain and away.

“With me live in the studio this afternoon are some of the members of Young Justice, here to tell us their side of the story. Superboy, Wonder Girl, Impulse – did you destroy Mount Rushmore?”

“Yeah, we did,” says the boy with black curly hair and a leather jacket over his brightly coloured hero suit. A bar appears across the bottom of the screen. Superboy, it says. Member of Young Justice. “On purpose, too.”

The girl, with stiff black hair and large square glasses, scowls in his direction. “We weren’t trying to destroy it,” she says as the camera closes in on her. The bar across the bottom of the screen now reads Wonder Girl and Member of Young Justice. “We were rescuing our friend.”

“She’s a ghost you see and the apes captured her and held her in this secret base –” The brown-haired boy in goggles stops when he is nudged by the girl beside him. The bar flickers for a moment to say Impulse before returning to Wonder Girl.

“OK, so, we need to go back, like, five steps here. There was a secret government base inside Mount Rushmore where they were conducting inhumane experiments on ghosts.”

The host laughs in a strained, nervous way. “Ghosts?” he asks.

They nod. “I’d like to introduce you to another member of our team,” says Wonder Girl. A mist forms behind her as she speaks, and swiftly coalesces into the form of a pale, slight girl, hovering behind the sofa. “Um,” she says nervously. “My name is – I mean, I go by – Secret, and… I’m a ghost.”

-––––

“Danny! Turn on CDTV now!”

“What? Why?”

“Just do it!”

–––––

“–torture and imprisonment, and she hadn’t even done anything! They’re just prejudiced against ghosts because they think they’re dangerous!”

“She is dangerous,’ says the black-haired boy proudly. The label Superboy appears on the screen again, in case anyone had forgotten. “She can shape-shift and go through walls and even possess people –”

“K– Superboy!” hisses Wonder Girl. “Not helping!”

“I’m right here,” says the ghost girl. The people who do the labels have obviously been hard at work, because she now has one too, saying Secret and Alleged ghost. “And I can do those things, but that doesn’t mean I want to hurt people or –”

There’s yelling from off camera, and a crash. A bolt of blue-white energy flies past the camera and the image whites out. There’s a scream, and a burst of static. The image returns, fuzzy and striated. Another bolt of energy. A large man wearing white rushes into view. Someone in green boots and a yellow and black cape lands on his head and knocks him down. A bang, and the image turns sideways as the camera crashes to the floor. The sound cuts out. There’s smoke, and running feet, and suddenly the side of the studio sofa, before another flash of blue-white light and the screen goes dead.

Nothing happens for almost a minute, and then the TV starts playing a rerun of the highlights of last week’s sports game.

––––––––

“Well, shit,” says Danny.

Superboy here is not in fact Kon but Match pretending to be Kon and trying to sabotage the team. Robin was hiding in the ceiling behind a lighting rig because Batman is going through one of his ‘we are cryptids’ phases and wouldn’t allow him to appear on screen. Anita hasn’t joined the team yet, which is good because her dad is one of the agents and it would have been awkward.

[man-down-in-hatchet-town]

THERE'S A CASTLE ON THE HILL, AS THE STORY GOES...

As promised, some initial thoughts on the things I loved about seeing this show. Spoiler free, since most of us haven't gotten to see it yet, and under the cut since I do wax a bit poetic...

Cinderella’s Castle is, in a strange way, an exercise in irony. The show is a retelling of an ancient story that is beloved and recited throughout so many cultures, and yet somehow feels completely fresh. The modern take on glam-punk lighting, a score infused with styles from 80s synth to anime, a high fantasy set with the costumes to match, the spirit of Jim Henson lingering through both the puppets and some larger and intangible vibe, a script combining that Starkid humor and Hatchetfield darkness with a whole different style of speaking… all of these beautifully executed elements melted together into something that I’ve never before seen. To take a tale as old as time and make it unique is no easy feat, but Starkid did so with magic and charm to spare.

Like any good Starkid show, Cinderella’s Castle is relentlessly dynamic: fun and tragic and exciting and just-plain-silly, with many twists and turns and character moments will make you gasp or cheer just as often as you laugh. It simply rollicks. The story clicks right along, especially in act 2, but the characters are so distinct and fun that I found myself almost wishing the Langs had sacrificed their plotting and pace just to spend more time hanging with every single member of this ensemble of personalities.

And that’s also a tribute to the actors themselves. Jeff is David Bowie reborn as the impish and fabulous narrator. Jon and Joey bring Hop A Lot and Crumb to life with so much charm and presence that they practically had the audience eating out of their hands from the very first second. Like, seriously, you will not believe how invested you will immediately become in these talking animals. Kim’s Fairy Queen is as radiant and terrible as promised; her portrayal of immortal inhuman power compels and commands and stands fully distinct from the Lords in Black. Lauren and Mariah are delightfully disgusting as the vile but deeply lovable troll step-sisters; you can feel the fun they’re having practically radiating off of them. Curt’s Tadius is dryly funny and put-upon, but also provides a vitally grounding and centering presence in the larger-than-life world of the Lands That Are. His big scene with Bryce is probably my favorite part of the whole show. James Tolbert is nothing short of an absolute STAR as the Prince, stealing scene after scene after scene with ease and charm and more jokes about genitalia than I think any of us expected. Angela once again displays a completely different facet of her never-ending range, exuding such elegance and control even in trollish filth that I do fear that the kids on the internet are going to start calling her “mother” with greatly increasing frequency. "Facade" was an absolute highlight of the night. And of course Bryce anchors, propels, and heightens every scene she’s in with such apparent ease you forget she’s been rehearsing for weeks and isn’t simply Ella herself. Ella is this world’s bruised, brave, and angry heart, and you will absolutely root for her every step of the way as she wrestles with who she is and learns what it means to claim her own power.

This was Starkid’s biggest budgeted show to date, and you could tell. This group of Michigan Wolverines and friends have accomplished incredible things since the Very Potter days of a single door and some cardboard columns, and I’m so proud of how far they’ve come. And yet Cinderella’s Castle, the fifteenth musical in the fifteenth year, still retains some of that core Starkid magic that I’ve always believed boils down to love. You can so often see that love emanating from the performers on a Starkid stage: love for the show, for their friends, for their craft, for the audience’s energy pushing them through. And the sense of love and support and community radiating from the audience is just as palpable. The man sitting behind me last night was at his first ever Starkid show, and afterwards he remarked in awe how that was the best audience he’d ever been in. And all that love isn’t unearned—it is built and it is nourished by a proud history of creativity, of song and of dance and of laughter and tears. And Cinderella’s Castle, I think, is going to prove an installment worthy of both Starkid’s past and future.

Starkid family, Bogs Hollow grants thee Starlight.

[cheriecoke]

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ IN ALL THE LINES I'VE READ — nanami kento

summary . . . coffee shop meet cute with literature professor nanami <3

contents . . . sfw, written w f!reader in mind, lit prof nanami tehe, fluff, grumpy nanami, reader is a barista, age gap (nanami early 30s, reader early 20s) — 1.4k

notes . . . selfship coded :,,) this is such a random idea from rylie's brain (and drafts) bc i must post something for my most beloved for valentine’s day <33 i have some other ideas for this so let me know if you like it !!!

The first time you meet Nanami Kento, it’s in a dimly lit cafe in your hometown. 

The evening is just dawning upon you, the grey of the dreary sky turning into a muted black. It’s just after 5pm; the sun already fading into the horizon, drizzly rain coating the windows like crystals. 

You’ve been busy all day — it’s always busy on rainy days, when people seem to recall that the ambience of rain pelting outside mixes well with a cup of warm coffee between your palms. The tables are all full, now that people have gotten off work, and it’s a favorite study spot of many students. 

It’s tiring work sometimes, and there are days where you get weary of the same routine. When saving up money seems like a fruitless effort, and you feel like your life should’ve begun already.

But it’s also good to be around people like this… Seeing them laugh and smile, while you only wonder what they’re talking about. The job pays less, but it’s better than being cooped up in a office all day. 

“Hey,” one of the other baristas sets a latte down, a pattern of milk sitting just on top. “Can you run this to the man over there,” she points to a blonde in the corner of the cafe. 

Wordlessly, you take the mug, wiping the drops of coffee that have spilled over the sides of it. The customer had ordered a pastry as well, one of your favorites. There is a small puff of steam wafting off of it, the bottom of the plate still hot.

The man’s back is towards you, facing the window, and he’s bent over a pile of papers. You can’t see his face — but his hair is done up nicely, and his white button-down sleeves are rolled up to his elbow. There’s a nice watch on his wrist, silver and black; one that’s probably more expensive than anything you own.

It’s a balancing act, weaving through the tables with the pastry and mug in hand, and when you get to his, there’s no room to set his order down. Papers are scattered across the table, and there is a stack of well-loved books beside him. A few are titles you recognize, ones you’ve read, ones you own but haven’t gotten to. Some you know only vaguely. 

“Here’s the latte,” you say, distracted, scanning the spines of the books. The man mutters an apology, and moves his papers so that you can set the coffee and plate down. 

He doesn’t look up at you, offering only a dismissive thank you. But the sound goes unnoticed by you; you’re too preoccupied by your excitement. So few people walk in here with with books you’re actually interested in discussing. 

“I’ve been meaning to read that one,” you say, pointing to a title that is on your long list of books to be read. 

He hums — it’s obvious he doesn’t care, and the sound is just one of acknowledgement.

Embarrassment heats your cheeks as you realize this is probably something he gets often. Upon second glance, he’s attractive… breathtakingly so. He probably fends of hoards of woman, ones who use books to gain the key to his heart, even if they’re only pretending to be interested.

“I enjoyed his other books,” you continue, highlighting the ones that you’ve read and love. At least, then, he’ll know you’re not an idiot, even if he stays silent, eyes glued to the paper. 

His pen stops scratching marks into the sheet, but only for a second. Then, he carries on, unimpressed by whatever slim knowledge you’re able to supply. 

“Are you a teacher?” The words leave your lips, once before you can stop yourself.

He doesn’t care. You aren’t sure why you’re even still bothering. 

“Nope,” he replies, finishing up his summarized commentary, scribbled in a penmanship that is something in between messy and elegant. “A professor.” 

“Oh.” You’d thought he was too young to be a professor, but when you look at home closer, there are faint lines around his eyes, ones even more obvious on his forehead. Around thirty, you’d guess. Maybe even older than that. “That’s interesting.”

You should probably leave him alone. He’s busy, and you’re supposed to be working, and he probably thinks you’re a child, the way you’re talking to him like a brick wall. Yet, there is something about him that keeps you glued to your spot, so intrigued by the stack of novels and the way his hand flexes around the pen. 

“Is it?” There is a hint of irritation in his voice when he finally glances up at you from under the round, wire-rimmed glasses, perched on the bridge of his nose. The pen drops onto the table with a soft click. “Because, I find that—”

His lips part. Whatever he was going to say next seems to die, abruptly cut off, and he blinks at you. Two dark eyes scan your face with a hint of surprise. 

You’re cheeks warm, and you suddenly feel uncomfortable. It’s not typical of you to make conversation with strangers, and you’re certain he notices how awkwardly you’re standing. 

“I’m sorry,” you say, clearing your throat, and pointedly ignoring the lump in it. His silhouette had been striking enough, but it’s nothing compared to the entirety of his face. He’s beautiful — like he’s stepped right out of the pages of a novel himself. He feels like everything you’ve ever wanted, with his stack of books and piercing irises. “I’ll let you get back to grading.” 

“No need to apologize.” The tone shifts a bit, his voice not as rough. Maybe you’re just delusional, but his eyes appear to soften. “I’m almost done, anyway.” 

You nod, and a little smile pulls onto your face. It’s not quite true; the stack of ungraded papers is twice as large as the ones he’s finished. “Well, I should … Get back to work. Enjoy the coffee.” 

He smiles, amused; your heart flips, then sinks all the way down to your stomach, pounding. “Alright. Thank you.”

“Have a good night!” you say, far too quickly, before turning on your heels. Your hands are sweating, and you hope he never comes in again, because you’re not sure that you can stand the embarrassment you feel. 

The blonde professor, name unknown, lets you go, and you slink off to hide in the kitchen, cursing yourself for acting like a fool. With hot cheeks, you down a glass of water, big gulps from your shaking hands, and glare at your co-worker when she grins to herself. 

Thirty minutes later, your shift ends, and the professor has made his way out the door, walking down the sidewalk. As you leave the cafe, your bag over your shoulder and hair undone, you notice that he left one of his novels, the one you’d pointed out to him in the beginning of your conversation. 

You rush out to stop him, carrying the book with you. “Hey,” you shout, waving it to the stranger. “You left this.” 

He glances over his shoulders, bundled up in a coat to combat the brisk air. There’s a redness on his cheeks from the cold, a hint of a smile on his lips. “I know,” he says, hands firmly tucked in his pockets. “You can keep it.” 

“But—” you start, swallowing as the pages rustle with the wind, the cover snapping open. 

“You wanted to read it, didn’t you?” he shrugs. “I’ve got lots of copies. You can give it back to me when you finish.” 

You start to question him, but he’s already turned around, heading away. 

Which means he’ll be back, won’t it? You haven’t scared him away completely. 

You shout something at him, and turns, just halfway, making a face that tells you he didn’t hear you.

“That’s my name,” you say again, repeating it, licking your lips. Your only hope is that he’ll offer his. 

But he doesn’t — he keeps walking down the sidewalk, before he answers a phone call, and crosses the street.

Unsurprising.  

You sigh, gaze dropping down to the book. The pages are filled and filled with his handwriting, notes in the margins, highlights and lines across the words. So much thought had been put into it, that you wonder how many times he’s read this book, if maybe, it’s a favorite. 

The wind flicks the cover back to the front title page, the publisher underneath. In the top right hand corner, Nanami Kento is smoothly written. As if he’d wanted you to discover it yourself, instead of hearing it from his lips.

You trace it, and smile. 

[lorelune]

of carnage

|| blade x reader || E/18+ || shared toxicity, band au || wc: 8.8k  || ao3 ||

You and Blade are mutually assured destruction. You know this, and yet it does not stop you from chasing after him.

minors, antis and ageless blogs dni

notes: well hello :3c this fic is part of a trade i did for some LOVELY selfship art with MOST BELOVED @rabbbitseason!! they asked for toxic bladie and reader and i come to DELIVER 🙏 setting and au are heavily inspired by my time in my local music scene and all of the 💀that came with it. i'm glad it can be all get repurposed into blade smut 🫶 THANK YOU!! to bitti for giving me so many fun wants to craft around!! THANK YOU!!! as well to @ofmermaidstories and @2kmps for beta reading!! now, please mind the tags on this one and enjoy <3

CW: dark content, band au, dubcon, pain during sex, bleeding during sex, toxic relationship between blade and reader, angst, hurt/a little comfort, manipulation, gaslighting by blade and the reader @ themselves, face slapping, spanking, spitting, reader smokes cigarettes, reader drinks, self destructive reader, past blade/dan heng, implied unrequited jing yuan/dan heng, kernels of jing yuan/reader

“Are you going to the gig tonight? Fu Xuan asks as if the answer isn’t obvious already.

You crane your neck back to look at her from your roost in front of your full-length mirror. Your knees dig into the carpet and the tips of your fingers are tinged with black. You’ve spent the better part of the last thirty minutes attempting to perfectly smudge the smoky line of eyeliner on your lower lash line. A tube of dark, red lipstick (his color) and sticky gloss rests on the fluffy carpet beside your folded knees.

“Of course.” You can’t make yourself smile, not when your stomach is in knots. “Are you?”

“I should if you are going,” she huffs, leaning against your doorframe. “You need a chaperone.”

(She’s probably right.)

“Please tell me you’re joking.” You grimace and turn away, unable to meet her gaze. She’s too good at reading you. “I’ll be just fine on my own, thank you very much.”

“... He’s playing, isn’t he?”

“I mean, yeah.” You rub more aggressively at the widening smears around your eyes. “But that’s not the only reason.”

“Sure.”

“It’s not, really.” You meet her gaze with a glance in the mirror. It’s hard to keep, her stare intense and full of judgment— (And worry.) “There’s a bunch of good bands tonight. There’s a touring group— all the way from Pier Point.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You have no faith in me, do you?” You pout, keeping your voice light, and hoping it comes off as a bit of a jest.

When you finally turn to face Fu Xuan fully, she dips to sit beside you, on her own folded knees. She plucks your soon-to-be-worn lipstick off the ground and uncaps it, just long enough to see the color, before sighing and closing it once more with a pop. 

“Not really, no.” Fu Xuan leans against your side, cheeks puffing out. “Not when it comes to him—”

“You can say his name, you know.” You smear chalky highlighter on your cheeks with your fingertips. “It’s not a slur. He’s just some guy.”

“‘Some guy’,” She groans. “If he’s really just some guy, why don’t we skip the gig tonight and stay home? We can order in some nice food, and I could invite Qingque.”

“... I—”

“You know that going is a bad idea, right?” Fu Xuan sighs. “We’ve gone over this before.”

“I’m aware of that.” You can’t suppress your scowl any longer, turning to face her. “Blade is fine—”

“He treats you like shit.”

“He treats everyone like that.”

“That doesn’t make it better. If anything, that makes it worse. You deserve better.” Fu Xuan sounds genuinely upset. “And you can do better. Easily. With literally anyone else, even if you find them at one of your nasty house shows. Try entertaining the thought?”

“You don’t have to be so—” You turn to her, fist balling up on your knees— “So mean about it.”

“It’s messy.”

“And it’s not your business.”

“It’s not!” Fu Xuan says, exasperated as she rolls her eyes. “I really shouldn’t even be bothering, but you are my friend. And it is painful to watch you chase the tail of a man who will hardly give you the time of day or bare minimum respect. Excuse me for showing concern.”

“Your concern is noted.” As it has been before. “But I’m fine. I wasn’t lying earlier— there’s other groups I want to see tonight. You... don’t have to come along just to babysit. I’ll be alright. I know you hate them.”

“I do.”

Fu Xuan crosses her arms and exhales, something angry and burning. “At least let me drive you. I can pick you up later too. Rather I do than some stranger or him—”

“Blade. His name, Fu Xuan.”

“Blade.”

“God, you do say it like a slur.” You roll your eyes, the pit in your stomach having become larger and darker. You swipe below your eyes and thank an Aeon or two that your eyeliner is waterproof. 

...

The house venue is a bit out of town, in the rural suburbs on a lot that’s big enough to host a crowd and not bother the nearest neighbors. Fields streak by during your journey, humming with junebugs and chirping with late- summer crickets. Low hills roll by as a harvest moon rises, waxing and half-full.

Fu Xuan drops you at the curb and idles as you collect yourself. A crossbody bag carries your essentials (your phone, your sticky lip products, a lighter to go with the pack of cigarettes that you actually don’t smoke, and two condoms shoved against the bottom). You fiddle with the strap against your shoulder.

“Call me when you need me to pick you up, okay?” Fu Xuan taps the steering wheel. “I’ll be awake.”

“Okay, mom.”

“I mean it—”

“I know.”

“Don’t go home with Blade. Or let him drive you home. He handles a car like he’s trying to kill himself.”

It’s a fair assessment but you still shake your head, trying to seem good-natured despite the rot you feel curling in the back of your throat. Bile, rising, before you have a drop of liquor in you. It’s a little pathetic; you’ll really think so in retrospect. For now, you walk toward the venue itching for a drink in your hand or familiar company. Thundering bass and ripping guitar vibrate from the basement windows, shaking the ground beneath your feet.

A crowd clusters at the back of the house. Folks swap cigarettes and clutch cans of cheap beer and flasks decorated with stickers. You quickly survey, looking for, searching for him—

(He’s usually out here before his set, hiding away somewhere with Kafka sharing cigarettes and glaring at anyone dumb enough to make a pass at her.)

A hand grabs you by the shoulder, and you nearly jump out of your skin. “Oh my gosh, you’re here! I didn’t know you’d be coming to the gig!”

It’s March, you know. She is easy to identify with the sweet, candy-like perfume she wears and the slight press of her almond-shaped gel manicure into your shoulder.  March turns you abruptly, throwing her arms around your shoulders and squeezing. Too tightly, knocking the air out of you in an instant. You give her a tentative hug back and pull away quickly. The contact scalds you.

“Have you seen—?”

“Blade?” March pouts and tilts her head. “You know, I feel like you only come to these things to see that guy. He’s nothing special. And I have seen him. He was off sulking a while ago, by the sheds in the back of the lot.”

“... I’ll have to check. Thanks, March.”

She sighs as you walk away from her, before calling out to Stelle (who is always a step or two behind her anyways.) 

You feel— bad about how you treat them. They’re both good people. So is the third in their trio, Dan Heng, a man with a beautiful face and an eerily calm demeanor, especially when compared to his companions. The group of them was introduced to you back when you first started attending these shows, hanging around the scene, and sweating in the basement of mildew-filled houses. They were some of your first friends, and easy to mesh with when you gave yourself the time and space to. Stelle always had a flask with lukewarm vodka or tequila, and March kept a case of seltzers in her trunk. Dan Heng was the ever-reliable sober cab. 

(It was nice back then. Before you had become so entangled with Blade and the subsequent social politics that came with chasing and occasionally fucking the hot, albeit emotionally-unavailable bassist of HUNTERS. It was far easier to hold those friendships than to orbit around a man who you can never tell if he hates you or wants to fuck you in his back seat.)

You find Blade tucked away around the side of the house, cloaked in shadow while taking long drags of a cigarette. The cherry glows in the dim light. From the basement window peeking out from the ground, a red glow pours out, illuminating the well-worn combat boots he wears. They’re crusted in filth, falling apart at the toe. 

(You’d still lick them if he asked you to. Hump them if he asked you twice.)

Another figure stands across from him. Serene, arms crossed, with storm eyes visible even in the poor lighting. Dan Heng keeps a perfectly neutral expression as he speaks, hushed, to Blade who wears a scowl so perfectly that it looks like he’s carved of immovable stone rather than not flesh. 

You’re not quite within earshot. You can’t make out their words, only their tone. It’s an angry exchange, one that’s charged with heat lighting and ire. Blade spits something at Dan Heng, venomous in his tone like he so easily is. Dan Heng replies back something so cooly that it’s like a low-tide wave lapping at your feet.

If you were better, you would turn around and leave. Neither of them know that you’re here, so close. It’s invasive to listen, but you know that there’s... history between Blade and Dan Heng. You’ve always wondered what it is, and considering that Blade has the emotional availability of a rotting vegetable, you won’t be getting those details out of him.

Maybe witnessing their dynamic (yet again) could provide you some clarity—?

(And maybe, if you know why Blade was so, so hurt by Dan Heng, you can do better. You can be the exact thing that Blade wants, and then he will want you, just as much as you want him.)

You listen more keenly:

“I’ve asked you to stop booking shows where the Express is already playing.”

“And I’ve asked you to get off my dick and stop being such a priss, but it doesn’t look like you’ll ever do that.”

“I’m asking you to be reasonable.”

“Sure, because clearly asking me to not play prime gigs is ‘reasonable’. Not to mention you should be taking this up with Kafka or Elio, not me. Did you just want an excuse to talk, Imbibitor Lunae—”

“Don’t call me that.”

“What, have something else you’d prefer to be called? I remember plenty of things you liked hearing. Want me to name a few?”

“Hold your tongue—”

A stick cracks behind you and you nearly jump out of your skin.

“Bladie~” Kafka purrs behind you, hands sliding up over your shoulders, hot breath over the back of your neck. “We’re on soon. Soundcheck in five, Firefly has a vodka shot for you if you want.”

You’re frozen.

Blade grunts from around the house, and as he does, Dan Heng emerges from the shadows quickly, on hastened feet, and nearly stumbles when you see him. Your expression must be— fucking stupid. Wide-eyed and slack-jawed as Kafka runs her nails up and down your neck. 

As Dan Heng practically sprints off, Kafka croons quietly into your ear, “And what are you doing all the way back here? Looking for Bladie again?”

You don’t need to speak for her to know your answer. Blade’s steps thud against the ground over the short, dry grass. 

Part of you knows you should scramble away and pretend you weren’t just lurking like a stray dog begging for kitchen scraps. It’s humiliating to be caught by Kafka (yet again), doing the same shit on a different day. Another part of you, one which is much louder, more persuasive, and saccharine sweet, urges you to face Blade. If you get caught in his maw, good. 

Your hands shake as Blade emerges from the dark.

He looks like death. Ghostly pale skin with deep purple eyebags, like bruises. His eyes are cut carnelian, ethereal and volcanic against his parlor. A cigarette hangs between his plump lips, threatening to burn and melt the pieces of his fringe that hang around his cheeks. Long, wild black hair, tipped in faded crimson, falls down his back in frizzy waves. His arms bulge obscenely in the tight, black shirt he wears. A carved jade pendant hangs off of his belt.

Blade stares you down and his scowl deepens, turning even more sour. He mutters something under his breath, something unintelligible but cruel. It’s not the first time he’s spoken to you that way. He’s done so more loudly and more brutally. 

You—

(Hate it. You love it. Well, maybe not love, but you crave the way that Blade is awful to you. You’re horrible.)

“Better get inside now,” Kafka hands drift to your waist, tugging on the belt loop of your pants. You let out a little yip. “I’m sure the front row is filling up fast. No need to spy on Bladie if you get a prime spot during the actual set, hm?”

She’s right; she usually is.

Kafka leaves you with an elegant twirl, humming one of HUNTERS songs from their new EP under her breath. You know the tune. You’ve been playing it on repeat for the last two months. 

It’s easy to follow the jarring trills of soundcheck as you float inside the home, following the trail of people headed toward the basement. Descending down the rickety, railingless stairs into thick, humid air that reeks of sweat, beer, and fledging mold. Down, down, down you go— maybe to hell, where you perhaps belong.

...

Moon Drinker by HUNTERS

You taught me that the high moon 

Was our lovers’ sigil

How quickly did you throw away our runes

How empty is your cup

Moon Drinker

That you would break mine too

...

The gig is decent. That’s how these shows tend to be and you enjoy them just enough to tolerate the stench and humidity of grungy basements like this one. 

Three bands play, IP3, the Express, and HUNTERS. The interest you expressed to Fu Xuan about Pier Point’s IP3 was a lie, but they’re not bad. The frontman, a blond with eyes like inverted crystals, has a sultry edge to his voice that verges on sexual. It’s a cleaner sound that rips into something dirtier, filthier, as their set goes on. 

The Express follows IP3. You’ve seen them more times than you can count, but the trio is still nice to listen to, even now. March always plays with the crowd in between her harmonies in a way that riles folks up just enough without causing abject chaos. The band plays a new song you don’t know, one that is angry and loud and so unlike their normal sound. Dan Heng is on vocals, rather than solely on guitar, and you’re reminded of how mournful and melodic his voice can be. The exact words of the piece get eaten by the cement foundation of the basement, but you imagine that it’s an elegy.

HUNTERS is last on.

They usually are, as their music is the loudest and gnarliest, and they’re typically the most well-known (even if they have a shit reputation and their crowds leave trashed venues in their wake). You feel— insane when they start playing. You know all of their songs, even if you don’t really like their music. Kafka’s voice is hypnotic in a way that’s disarming, even on a recording. Silver Wolf is too good of a drummer for the caliber of band that they are, and Firefly shreds easily on guitar, trained on strings since childhood, but using her talents in a grunge band rather than on a world stage.

Blade’s bass playing is messy. Though his tempo is sure and unwavering, the actual rhythm drags and punches in intervals that verge on unnerving. You have never been able to place if this is due to whatever rage and poison he carries into music making, or if his fingers are as arthritic as Kafka jokes that they are. 

It doesn’t really matter, in the end. The sound blends together in a cacophony that sounds like the way bursted flesh looks. If you could taste the way their newest EP sounded, it would be the iron tang of blood and the acrid burn of bile. 

You’re fucked for it— for Blade. You’ve been since you first became tangled in this web.

A pit opens in the middle of the crowd, small at first, but rapidly widening, with more and more people throwing themselves into it. They bounce around and bash against the individuals at the sides of the pit, only to be shoved back in a moment later. 

You try to stay away from it. Instead, you watch Blade like a fucking pervert.

The basement has gotten hot. Steamy, if you look hard enough at the air that barely circulates against the low, pipe-ridden ceiling. Blade has thrown his hair up in a high ponytail, wisps of hair still cling to his neck and temples, sweat visibly rolling down his neck. His shirt sticks to his toned chest as the overclocked speakers try to keep up with the HUNTERS most recently released song— ‘MOON DRINKER’.

Blade doesn’t look at you. Not once.

His eyes are fixed elsewhere, deeper in the crowd, beyond the bodies in the pit and those who hang at the outskirts by the house’s ancient boiler. Blade’s attention is fixed on— something (someone. You can assume who.) Not once does his gaze drift down his instrument, and never does he acknowledge the way you stand in the front row, so close, with your attention squarely on him.

(This is normal. So normal, it’s painful.)

The pit expands even further, widening as more gig-goers jump into mosh as one song bleeds into the next. You almost get swirled in yourself as a stranger slams into your side with enough force to nearly knock you to the ground. 

A broad, warm hand catches you by your bicep, hoisting you up before you even have a chance to fall. 

“Be careful now,” It’s Jing Yuan (who is much too powerful and rich to be at a basement show, but yearning pushes you both to do stupid, nonsensical things) who speaks directly into your ear, so you can hear him even as your ears ring muffled. “Are you alright?”

You turn to nod at him, flashing him a thumbs up and nervous smile. The cologne he wears permeates the space around you, overpowering the sweat and mildew with ease. He gives you an easy smile and a squeeze, before letting you. He sidesteps your frame to be closer to the pit, crossing his arms over his chest and shielding you from the worst of the throng. 

You’re grateful for the cover; it would be embarrassing to topple over right in front of Blade.

It takes you a moment to recenter yourself, lost in Jing Yuan’s scent and the roar of Firefly’s final, aching guitar riffs. You look back to HUNTERS once more as they finish out their set in a loud, carnal flourish. The expensive speakers they’ve dragged with them are going to fucking blow out—

Blade is staring at you.

Not into the crowd, toward the placid face and cold heart that so clearly plague him, not to his bandmates or instrument, but looking at you.

In the red-lit basement, his eyes nearly glow, unnatural in their anger as they always are. It seemed more concentrated, feral and crystallized in its intensity. Rage. You want to cower under it while your insides feel hot and frigid all at once. He pierces so easily, so thoughtlessly. As the crowd erupts into cheers and shouts as the set ends, you cannot move. Staked in place. 

Not once does Blade look away from you, and his mouth does not deviate from the twisted frown he wears.

... 

Swordmaker by HUNTERS

If I were forged alongside you, 

Do you think I would forgive you then?

If iron was your skin,

Steel your lungs

and lead your heart,

You would be easier to hold.

Empty are memories

Full is the garden

And bloody is the blade.

…

You should be better than this.

Blade slams you up against the back of the shed, the motion jarring and far too fast to be pleasant. Your head knocks painfully against the wood and peeling paint, and despite how you whimper with the impact, Blade doesn’t react. He doesn’t seem to care. 

(You know he doesn’t.)

He hikes your leg up over his hip and grinds against your core through your pants. The motion is rough, clumsy and far too harsh to be pleasurable. The dry friction through your panties makes you squirm and dig your nails into his shoulders. Blade grunts in your ear. You think he likes the pain.

The gig was only let out half an hour ago, and plenty of people are still milling around. Whispers are circulating about if and where there will be an afterparty. You weren’t paying much attention to them— they’re easy to ignore— especially when Blade had been dragging you by the wrist just far enough away from the main house to fuck without being overtly noticeable. 

(Barely, though. Blade can be loud and you can be loud when you’re with him. You’re tempting fate to be caught, seen with him in this way. It’s an open secret that you’re the scraps that Blade entertains himself with, but you would rather not be caught with your literal pants down.)

Blade smells like cigarettes and sweat. The scent of unclean smoke tangles in his unruly hair as you get a grip on it and tug. The juncture of his neck has the faintest hint of some cologne you’re sure he doesn’t know the name of and stale sweat. You press your lips there and dare to drag your tongue across his skin and taste him. It’s not a good taste, not necessarily, but you love it. Salty and filthy. (It’s disgusting, but familiar and morosely comforting.) You are drunk on it and it makes you feel pathetic at the same time.

A growl sounds in your ear as Blade pins you with his weight to the shed. Dragging you back from his neck, he grabs your jaw, forcing you to look at him fully. 

“Don’t leave marks.” He paralyzes you with his stare and sneer. 

“I’d never.” You try to sound earnest, even if it’s a lie. Because you would— you’d bite and tear at his neck (like he does at yours) until the skin there is black and blue. Happily, you would leave hickies above his collar. Split his lip and bite his jaw hard enough to bleed. You could wear his blood on your teeth and smile for once at these fucking gigs.

Instead, you do not bite him. You just let Blade maul you as he desires.

He grinds against your core. The pressure is unpleasant at this point, too much and too little all at the same time. When you whimper now, he just ignores you and slips his hands under your shirt. He grabs your waist in both hands and squeezes.

“Turn around,” says Blade, already twisting you himself, so your front is pressed against the shed.

“H-Here?” You laugh nervously. Despite your... reputation, something cold, unwelcome and uncomfortable settles in you. “C-Can’t we go to your car? Or inside?”

“Maybe later.”

(It’s awful. It’s sick, the way your heart flutters at the implications of ‘later’. ‘Later’ means more of him. More of Blade’s time, his touch, his hardly-there care. More scraps for you to gorge yourself on, more time to beg for more. It’s sick. It’s sick how fucked you are for him.)

Blade reaches around your front to undo the button at the top of your trousers. In a swift motion, he has them around your thighs. Just enough that he can bend you over and access your cunt with some amount of ease. He keeps your panties on at first (he usually does this. You’re never sure why. You can delude yourself into thinking it’s him taking his time with you, but you know that that is a lie). 

Blade places one of his hands on the back of your neck to flatten you against the shed, while the other must be unbuttoning his own pants to get his cock out, based on the jingling of metal and shred of a zipper. You swallow, your mouth dry. You’re dry, but you know that if you try to touch yourself to prep at this point, Blade will only be meaner.

The most he does is run two fingers over your slit, over your panties. It’s barely enough contact on your clit to be felt, but you gasp and shudder anyway. Canting your hips back, you try to encourage more contact. Anything he’ll give you.

He sighs behind you. Disappointed. Aggravated. It makes you want to cry.

Blade peels down your panties. The cold air shocks you, your core tightening up, but you hardly have time to adjust to the temperature before Blade’s equally cold hands fully part your folds. He sighs again, pulling away only to spit on his fingers, and smear his saliva around your hole. It feels dirty. You feel dirty.

When Blade pulls away, you whine at the loss of contact (at how cold it is, at how the crowd milling around smoking cigarettes and cheap weed is just on the other side of this dilapidated shed crows and laughs into the night). You swear you can recognize March’s giggle above the din of conversation.

You’re brought back to your entanglement with a harsh slap to your ass. Harsh and audible. The sound that escapes your lips is choked and high. 

“Don’t get distracted,” Blade huffs. He spits again, presumably on his dick. 

You nod, latching onto the pain radiating from slap to your ass. As if sensing it, Blade lays down another strike. This one is hotter, harder. He isn’t holding back. It is sure to bruise the tender flesh there. A mark. Something that will tangibly ache, something leftover from your tryst.

You could cry.

The velvety head of Blade’s cock nudges your folds. He brackets you into the wall, arms on either side of you. Heat radiates off his chest and sinks into your spine.

“‘Feels good?” He asks, voice hoarse as he coats himself in your meager slick.

“Y-yeah,” you lie. It’s not enough to feel good. You don’t care.

Blade seems content enough with your answer as he bears down on you. Flattening you to the dirt-covered shed, he hitches his hip down, then up, trying to fit the tip of his cock into your hole. He maneuvers your hips as he pleases, grunting when the tip of him catches on your cunt. When you dare to whine, even the smallest sound, he cracks his hand down on your ass again. Your vision speckles into darkness with the shot of pain and—

(The roar of anxiety and subsequent shame when you realize how much quieter the milling crowd nearby has become.)

“Hold still.” Blade's voice has sunk low, gravely with the cigarettes he’s been smoking all evening. 

The next time his cock touches your opening, he presses in without hesitation.

It’s—

It’s too fucking much.

It is, it always is, every single fucking time he fucks you. Any prep he gives you is perfunctory. Blade will never lavish you with attention, not in the way that you probably need. That you—

(Might even deserve.)

No, the most that Blade will do is fuck you filthy behind a shed, near some of his more well-adjusted peers and probably come inside of you. On past occasions, he has let you suck him off in the backseat of his car. He’s only accidentally (‘accidentally’) came on your face a few times. Less than ten, more than five. Once, he ate you out for a few minutes, but you swear to god he was groaning someone else’s name as he did.

(You’re fucking pathetic.)

This is always too much. Blade is too big. Too big, even if you were stretched and primed with a few fingers like would be right and proper. As tight and dry as you are, it’s painful. He has to grind into your cunt with rolling little thrust so he can fit himself in at all. Each one shocks a breath out of you, a shattering, fragile sound. 

When Blade bottoms out, he lays flat over your back. The weight of him is suffocating. His corded muscle is all dead weight above you as his cock twitches inside you. You can’t tell if he’s idling to allow you some time to adjust, or purely for his own leisure. You can’t be sure. You don’t want to ask him either.

“You’re tight.” Blade’s voice threatens to break.

(Of course you are. He’s the only person you will let fuck you, and these trysts only occur every few weeks, when there’s a show that you can be cornered at.)

He bucks into you, deeper still. The head of his cock is touching parts of you that shouldn’t be touched.

You whimper, “Blade—”

He growls in response. It’s a raspy and low tone that makes arousal burn in your gut and leak down your thighs. (You hope so anyway— it’s more wet and you don’t think it hurts enough that you’re bleeding.) Blade fucks you in earnest, then. There’s no delay, no waiting, no potential for momentary, perceived niceties. He pulls out of you almost completely, then thrusts back into you in one single motion. The friction burns and your vision wavers. 

(You still moan like a whore.)

You feel— dirty. Disgusting. Pathetic as he fucks you like. You don’t feel like a person as he fucks you; you never do. How could you? The grip he uses on your hips is too bruising and the force and strength he’s using to brutalize your cunt is just too much. He fucks you like he’s taking anger out on a piece of drywall. Blade shares physically with you in the way a dog shreds a chew toy to bits, then leaves it on the ground to fester.

Blade grunts next to your ear, nipping there.

He doesn’t kiss you— well, not often. He can’t with your current position. You wouldn’t expect him to anyway. Sometimes he leaves a ring of dark hickies across your neck, like a collar. You like those, but he always waits an extra long time to see you after he marks you like that.

(You presume to make sure that the bruises have fully yellowed, then faded. A clean canvas.)

Blade’s pace increases, just before he pulls out. His cock rests on the cleft of your ass and he tips his forehead to rest on the shed, just beside yours.

“You’re still dry.”

“Sorry—”

He cuts you off. “It’s fine.”

...

It apparently isn’t fine. 

Blade drags you toward the house. He barks at someone, then Kafka, to find a room. You feel dazed as he does. Out of your body, as you receive a number of knowing and unknowing stares from the lingering show-goers who cluster around a firepit. 

(How many of them heard you just now? How many know the exact sounds you make when in barely-there pleasure? In certainly-there pain? How many of them know the sound of Blade’s too-big cock slapping into your too-dry cunt?)

It makes you feel sick to think about.

A room must be found for the two of you, as Blade drags you up the stairs of the back porch. 

As he does, he hesitates.

(He has so rarely done this.)

His gaze is not on you; it pierces elsewhere in the dark. A floodlight off the back of the house illuminates a section of the yard, and just beyond its reach, nestled somewhere between the dark and light, he fixates. His jaw sets and locks. 

There are figures, you realize.

They’re easy to identify once you actually focus. One is lithe and short-haired, the other broad-shouldered and long-haired.  Dan Heng and Jing Yuan. Speaking on the outskirts. It feels private. Their attention turns from their hushed conversation to the two of you as Blade stares daggers and swords into them. As if he could pierce them with nothing more than his silent rage and angry eyes. 

You freeze.

Their expressions are obscured in the lowlight, but you can almost feel the looks they give you. Like a sickly mucus that gets stuck to you and rolls down your flesh in slow, cold globs. 

Dan Heng (once so dear to you, still probably dear to you—) looks guarded, thought darkened. Contempt twists his expression, anger following just after. You’d ever wager that he’s disgusted, maybe. Probably with you, because he knows you’re better than this. Beside him, Jing Yuan wears an expression of careful passivity, of geniality, as he always does, but it’s tinged with something sad and old. For all parties involved in this silent, momentary exchange.

Jing Yuan regards you directly, slowly blinking at you, as though he was a large house cat intent on making you feel safe, and not a presence that only drives the bubbling anxiety in you higher. 

It’s a seconds-long encounter that stretches for an eternity. You cannot make yourself move. You cannot feel anything other than rotten and small.

Blade lets out a harsh exhale and yanks you away. The scene breaks and you’re dragged inside. He whispers under his breath, vitriol-tinging his tone. Your panties feel sticky and wet as you walk.

Kafka had found a room for you, on the second floor of the house. God knows whose it actually is. You don’t get a good look at the room as Blade pushes you inside.. It’s dim, the only light is licking in from the dirty window, an afterburn from the raging bonfire outside. You hear muffled voices still, leaking in like a draft. 

Blade locks the door and pushes you onto the unmade bed.

It’s a cheap mattress with flannel sheets. It smells like old weed smoke and cheap incense. Fu Xuan would tell you that you deserve better than this. You think you might.

Blade climbs on top of you, jaw still locked, and eyes far away.

(You do wonder what happened between him and Dan Heng. Something did. Something gutting and heartbreaking— you hear it when Blade sings. A betrayal, an intangible knife cut but still so painful. Dan Heng has always spoken about Blade with a type of protective neutrality. He warned you to never get involved with Blade. To stay away, to not get on Blade’s bad side, and if something did entangle you with him, Dan Heng could sort it out. He has always cared so fiercely for those he loves; it’s a shame that you have squandered it.)

(Blade is a sentimentalist. Blade is so held in the past that it chokes him. It always has, during every moment you’ve shared with him. He lingers in the bloody past, he holds it in his hands with a grip that’s meant to snap bird wings and flay flesh. He hates Dan Heng. He still loves him, though. You see it on his face sometimes. You hear it in Blade’s music. The ache, the death, the unending grief and mourning and rage that the man simply won’t let go of.)

(It is obsession.)

It shouldn’t make you bitter to think about. Yet, it does. It’s not your place to hold those types of feelings, let alone express them. For so many reasons, Blade will never see you as anything more than a cheap fuck. You think Dan Heng is the primary one. Over time, you’ve grown bitter. Resentful. 

Blade pulls off your shirt in one swift move. He’s slower than he usually is. More deliberate. His hands are shaking, like how they do just after he finishes a set. It’s… off—

You hate it. You hate that the lingering pain of someone else will effect Blade more than you ever, ever could in the present.

You grab a fistful of his hair and tug. His breath catches as you do.

”What the fuck is your deal?” You sneer at him. There’s a cruel edge in your voice that does not sound like you. Blade brings out the worst in you, and you fall prey to it, so easily. 

Blade glances up at you, eyes sharp like cut gems. He says nothing.

”You and Dan Heng,” you laugh. You don’t mean to— you don’t, you don’t— and you yank Blade’s hair so he has to look at you better. “It’s pathetic, you know. How you look at him like a kicked fucking dog. What happened between the two of you, anyways?”

Blade freezes. So do you.

You’ve misstepped so brutally. So stupidly and tragically and idiotically. You’ve pushed too hard for what—?

Blade is on his haunches in an instance and he slaps you across the face.

Your head follows the force of the impact, forcing your face to the side. Your cheek smarts. It wasn’t— that hard. Blade is strong. He could do worse. Still, it shocks you. The pain is enough to make you gasp and reel.

”What the fuck—“

”Don’t,” Blade grabs your jaw, “open your mouth about things you know nothing about. You should know better.”

You should. You do.

”I could know more, if you ever told me, I don’t know— anything?” You laugh in his face, manic behind your eyes. You’re crushing the delicate nature of your cheap arrangement like how a child would crush a flighty butterfly’s papery wings. 

Blade shakes his head, smothering a laugh. He wrangles you forward, half-off risen from the bed, and parts your lips with his thumb. Before you can react, bite, claw— he is raising himself higher than you, dwarfing you in height, and spitting down into your mouth, onto your tongue.

”You don’t know when to shut up, do you?” He pats the side of your face, over the cheek that he struck. It burns. In another world, this touch would be tender. Here, you can only wince. 

Before you can reply, continue to run your mouth and rile him up further, Blade kisses you.

It shocks you, stuns you. 

He— he hasn’t ever kissed you before. It’s never been an explicit boundary, but never once during these trysts has Blade ever initiated this type of contact. It has felt dangerous to do so yourself. Something that’s too intimate, too personal to share. The core of your entanglement is the way he uses you. It’s impersonal. 

A kiss, you think, implies something more tender.

You gasp into his lips, and he takes the opportunity to all but violate the inside of your mouth. His tongue plunders inside, licking at his own spit that you have yet to swallow. A noise chokes off in the back of your throat. Something desperate and shocked that you hardly recognize. It’s filthy. He nips at your lips and pushes you back down.

Blade devours you. 

It’s too much, really. It’s a gesture of tenderness that has been so thoroughly mutilated, calling it a kiss feels paltry. The way his lips are on your own is much more like an argument and a subsequent conquest. One in which you lose ground. He nips at your lower lip, snags it between his teeth, and tugs it as he pulls away.

You pant, the sound of your own breath roars in your own ears. Your hands are still buried in his hair, grip unyielding, anchoring you.

Blade smiles, something poisonous and satisfied. You are too drunk on the singular kiss he gives you to care that much.

“That’s all it takes, is it?” He laughs, the sound dark and rolling, like the sound of an earthquake cracking the earth. 

He already knows you’ll beg for scraps. God forbid he gives you even a morsel more. 

The bed squeaks as he flips you by your hips so you’re laid flat, belly-down on the dirty sheets. Blade spanks your still-clothed ass for good measure before rustling around behind you. Assumedly to disrobe, just enough to fuck you. Assumedly, to ignore the condoms you brought (knowing he would disregard them—). Assumedly, to fuck you with every inch of your life. 

You want it. You want him so badly it physically hurts.

(Or, maybe you tore while he had you behind the shed. Who is to say?)

Blade clamors behind you, shaking, arthritic hands tugging your pants by the waistband. He doesn’t even bother to unzip them this time. Your panties get pulled down along with them, and they get tossed elsewhere in the barely-lit room. Blade spits behind you, and a sound of too-dry stroking follows. 

“D-do you want me to suck you off?” you ask with a hum. You’d let him fuck your face, if he asked. Or, if he wanted. Blade wouldn’t ask.

“No.”

“Just let me know.”

Blade sighs behind you, but you think little of it.

You brace yourself up on your elbows, lowering your upper half to be flat against the bed, and arching your hips as high as they’ll go. It’s as if to make yourself look appetizing. You hope it entices Blade, even a little.

(Please, you need him to want you. You need him to want you so badly. Please, please, please—)

The head of Blade’s cock rubs as your hole, down to your clit, then back up again a few times. He’s so hot, it’s like he is burning you. Contact that scalds. The contact against your clit is... nice. It’s the most warm up he has graced you with in a while. You could crave more, but settle for this. 

“C’mon Blade,” you whine. Your voice sounds airy. “Fuck me.”

He doesn’t reply, not with his voice. The rocking of his hips becomes more pronounced, and the slide of him against you becomes slicker. Still too big, too hot, but wet at least. Which is a bonus. Pre and blood are probably leaking onto the shaft at least a little bit too.

It makes it easier once he slides home in a single blow. 

It’s too fucking deep— especially with this angle. The head of his cock presses against your deepest parts, bruises them in a place where no one can see or feel but you. Blade is huge, the girth of him stretches you as his hips rest against your ass.

A wretched noise bubbles up past your lips. Something between a cry and a plea, for more, for less— to go home, to be in a warm, clean bed with someone who actually cares— you aren’t sure. Your desires have been twisted up and wrong for so long, you can’t tell what you really want. 

It makes you feel rotten, and then there’s only one thing you want.

(To hurt.)

Blade fucks you, then. Fully in, fully out of. Long and deep thrusts that carve out your insides in a brutal way. It’s violent. He leans over your back, and braces himself over you. You feel small, stupid, and hurt. A horrible swirl of things that make tears spring up at the corners of your eyes. You bury your face in the crusty pillow you’d manage to snag nearby—

And Blade tugs it away immediately. His big, calloused hand curls to hold your jaw up, so every pitiful whine and whimper you let out can’t be muffled. The bed squeaks as his thrusts slow.

“Don’t hide.”

“I-I won’t.”

“You were.”

“I won’t a-again—”

“You want this, don’t you?” Blade growls in your ears, then moves to the most fragile skin of your neck and bites. 

(You do, you do— god you do. You need this.)

You nod, and Blade keeps biting. His jaw nearly locks. You’re sure that you’ll be bruised for a week.

Blade scoffs and rears back, grabs your hips in both hands for leverage. And he fucks you.

That’s all it can be, really. You can’t get a solid hold on anything. The pillow has been thrown off the bed, and you struggle to find purchase on the sheets. All you do is take it. Pleasure, or something like it, builds in your core and goes nowhere. It simmers but never crests anywhere near orgasm. 

You don’t mind. This is enough.

Blade’s pace increases, never frantic. Never with him. Manic maybe, insane, tortured and damaged, but never frantic. Not with you. His rhythm falters as his cock slides in and out of you, slick beginning to stick to the inside of your thighs. 

His hand comes down on his ass. The other cheek, this time. It’s enough force to bruise again. You’ll have trouble sitting for a week.

As Blade nears his peak, his rhythm stutters. His breath grows harsher and more strained. His grip goes from bruising to breaking. You gasp with the pain, but don’t tell him to stop. His cock brushes against your cervix, and never your sweet spot. 

Blade flattens you to bed, prone, and puts his entire weight on top of you as his orgasm hits him. A strangled cry shatters from his lips into your ear as he fucks you too fast and too hard. A gush of warmth fills your insides, spilling to your outsides when there isn’t enough of you to hold all of him.

The bed frame slams into the wall with his final few thrusts. 

You lay there, in the filth, in the pain and the dissatisfaction of the tryst, and rot.

...

Blade leaves you there, at some point.

Not right away, but eventually. He rolls off you at some point, catches his breath for a while, checks his phone, then rises to right himself.

You cannot make yourself move. The only thing you can make yourself do is take slow, measured breaths. Each ache in your body is punctuated, loud and unignorable now that the fizzling pleasure of sex has dissipated. What’s left of it is this: carnage. 

“You have a ride home?” Blade asks. He must be near the door, based on the sound of his voice.

Fu Xuan’s warning words come to mind, and shame fills your belly. 

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

And he leaves.

You rot for a while longer.

This is not the first encounter that has gone this way. Blade fucks you like this and leaves. There’s no reverie or sweetness. There is using and being used, and the conclusion that always follows is this. Cooling, soon-to-be dry cum leaking out of you in thick droplets and a bite mark on your neck you’ll need to conceal for the next two weeks. Blade will ignore you like he doesn’t know you, next time he sees. But still fucks you like a toy.

It’s awful. It’s all you want.

You force yourself up at some point.

You’re surprised to find that your pants and panties are in a heap on the end of the bed. You are sure that they were tossed farther, but perhaps you misremember. Painstakingly, you rerobe yourself. Moving your legs in such ways hurts so bad, you could cry. You probably did cry while Blade fucked you. 

The quick stop in the squalid bathroom confirms this. Mascara smudges around your eyes and down your cheeks. The sticky gloss you were wearing has been smeared away. Not even a stain of the crimson remains. 

You feel hollow as you walk down the stairs, outside, toward the bonfire and its rapidly dwindling flames. A few folks still millaround, people you recognize, just barely, though no one you could call a friend remains around the pit. Stelle, March, and Dan Heng are long gone, probably. You’d feel too ashamed to look them in the eye anyway.

Someone offers you a warm beer and you take it. Your hands shake.

Hollow and wordless, you move around the backyard like a specter. Part of you wishes you were one, just something mostly formless and shapeless. Transparent. No one could see you make a fool of yourself that way. There would be no witnesses to your desperation and perversion.

You swallow back bile when it rises in your throat, and wash it down with a chug from the can.

You’re surprised to find Jing Yuan idling around the corner of the house. He looks up when you near him, and he greets you with the same genial smile he always wears. He nods to the space next him, already plucking a pack of cigarettes from the breast pocket on his shirt. You take one, and he lights it for you in the next instant.

“It looks like you needed that,” he hums. He doesn't take one for himself, only tucking the carton away and out of sight.

“Maybe.” You want to vomit. Or slide down the wall of the house and rot there. 

He laughs then. It’s too... warm of a sound for how you feel. For how dirty these venues are, and for the company that you have come to hold, it feels dissonant. Jing Yuan is too kind, too patient. 

(He cannot be your friend because your ruin would spread to him, maybe.)

“Take as many as you like,” he urges with a hum, and settles next to you.

Silently, you ruminate. Descend into yourself. You suppose, given the events you’ve seen tonight, that you’re both stewing in something akin to yearning. 

(Jing Yuan is better than you for it. He, at least, doesn’t sleep with his unrequited adored in someone else’s bed after a messy house show.)

“Do you have a way home?” asks Jing Yuan, breaking you from your slow-rolling spiral.

You shake your head. It would be rude to call Fu Xuan so late. You— you hadn’t really thought about a ride. Not yet. 

Jing Yuan looks you up and down and his smile looks sadder, “How about a ride home?”

“Sure.” You nod. 

The ride back home in Jing Yuan’s (too nice, too expensive, too decadent) car is quiet. An album from a band you don’t recognize plays at a low volume. Soothing, soft voices, so juxtaposed from the venue you leave behind. Maybe you just can’t recognize the words because you’re decaying. Your phone lays in your lap, over your aching thighs. 

[no new messages]

(Because Blade never messages you after a fuck. You’re not worth that much to him.)

...

Gingerly, you unlock your front door and enter your little apartment. Fu Xuan lays on the couch, on her back, with her phone against her collarbone. Her mouth is parted in peaceful sleep, though her hair is still done up, all of her pins are still in.

(She waited for you, again. And you failed her, again.)

You don’t know how she puts up with you. Or why either.

Some part of you wants to vomit. Wretch, like it’ll purge the awful, disgusting thoughts warming you. They do not serve you. You should just—

(Know better. You gain nothing from entangling yourself from Blade. The sex is... enough. Because Blade doesn’t know his own strength sometimes and makes it hurt, unintentionally toeing the line between too little and too much. It’s still not worth it. It shouldn’t be worth it. You’d be better off never going to any gigs, ever again. You wouldn’t have to disappoint and embarrass yourself to your old friends then. You wouldn’t have to linger in the yearning of others while never having that affection given to you.)

You collapse atop your bed. Your makeup has been roughly scrubbed off with an old towel, and you can feel the crunchy remnants of mascara clinging around your eyes. You can’t make yourself care. Burying your face in your pillow, you burrow into your blankets. You’ll probably be sore and hungover tomorrow... today? The songbirds are just beginning to chirp their morning arias. It makes you sick to your stomach.

As you begin to doze, your phone vibrates. 

[one new message]

blade: did you get home 

Your mouth feels dry and your chest feels so tight you could die. 

you: yeah. jing yuan drove me. 

[seen: 5:11 AM]

You hold your breath as Blade begins to type. Then stops typing. Then begins again. It goes on for several volleys and you really do think you might puke.

blade: get some sleep

You drop your phone somewhere in your sheets. Giddiness fills your chest, despite the exhaustion and ache and bone-rotting fatigue. Elation causes you to smile, something wide and girlish that you have to hide in your pillow, lest it be beared to the world.

(It’s a scrap. It’s nothing. It’s worse than the bare minimum and the bar is already in hell.)

But, it’s something.

A morsel. Something to clutch onto and hold and cherish.

You want to put his words between your teeth and swallow. 

[homijak]

So like, I noticed Pre!Corrupted Shadow Milk and Shadow Milk Cookie, his hair changed, and I found this out:

Thing is, I thought the reason why Shadow Milk's hair is short was because he was bored in the tree and decided to cut his bangs out of boredom lol

I want to talk to you about some details in my artworks that, at first glance, seem to make no sense, but they actually do.

Warning: please treat my artworks and lore as something like an original or AU, because they are only loosely connected to canon.

I’m really happy that someone asked why Light Milk had long hair, while Shadow Milk ended up with short hair. I’ll repeat myself, Milk is rejecting his past, he is rejecting "Light Milk." And he’s starting a new chapter in his life as "Shadow Milk." And it’s not as cheerful as you might think, but I’ll talk about that another time.

The second detail, which doesn’t really stand out, is the clothing of the characters throughout the comic. Light Milk was in a completely white nightgown, while Shadow Milk wore a dark dress with blue accents. Is there a hidden meaning here too? Yes! It’s fairly obvious — Milk moved from the light side to the dark, blah, blah, blah…

But wait… Elder Faerie was in dark clothing, and at the end, in light…

Something doesn’t add up, right? Or do you think I just decided to highlight them with contrast so they wouldn’t blend into the same picture?

No, the meaning here is that Light Milk, being in a white nightgown, eventually shifts to the dark side. And when he's in black, he's already on the side of good. And the blue contrast is just a small reference to his eye with the mark.

At the beginning, Elder is in black, and from the start, he was for the light and goodness. But at the end, he’s in white. That’s because Elder Faerie brought back his beloved, and while in canon, he fought until the end for peace, for the kingdom, and gave his life, remaining a hero… Here, Elder Faerie sacrifices the ENTIRE world to save the person he loves. Elder Faerie becomes a villain.

I think you’ve heard the words: "A hero will sacrifice one to save the world. A villain will sacrifice the whole world to save one."

By the way, I mentioned Milk's eyes… But I’ll talk about that some other time. I’ll just say one thing.

Light Milk’s eyes both glow. Shadow Milk can only have one eye glowing.

I strongly recommend looking for details in my artworks, even if they seem absent at first glance)

[glassrowboat]

Is that an Anaxa drabble or are my eyes deceiving me?? Are you finally getting the vision?

THANK YOU FOR THE FOOD

-⛵️

Eat well, young Sailboat 🙏

And I imagine when we do actually meet Axolotl, I'll have some brain rot for him, especially when my moots are eyeing him. In the meantime...mm....let's see....

"Sit still and watch. Neither of us need any more of your useless fiddling."

Your glaze flicked back to Anaxagora, taking in his image sat in the hollow of a tree. He was dressed as prim and proper as ever, not a single wrinkle in sight despite the hours he had been spending in the library hunched over a stack of books that drew his attention just as easily as he always caught yours.

His knee nudged your shoulder, drawing you out of your fleeting reverie and back to his pale hand hanging in the air before you. His arm stretched out, just enough to allow you to spot a blotting of ink on his sleeve; staining the pure white. The only tell of what he had been up to before your agreed meet-up time had swept him away from his studies. It was like the first footprint in a fresh layer of snow. Only further highlighted by the gold stream of light following each wave of his fingers.

Speckles seemed to flit out, flying into your own awaiting hand reaching out to cup each glittering fleck before the glow disappeared entirely. A firefly begging for a beloved to heed its call or a star sparkling next to its brothers and sisters forming a blanket of radient effulgence- Just like the ones that used to hang in the sky before the black tide had rolled in. You had missed them, truly, their shine having quickly become something you had longed for ever since they had been stolen away.

You could still remember the times in your youth you had climbed up onto your childhood home's roof to watch them. Back then, you could never make heads or tails of them, simply watching. Enjoying.

Your fingers twitched, wishing to embrace the speckle that had died out in your palm; your heart already missing its light.

"You're not sitting still." Anaxagoras sighed, annoyance evident in his voice even as he leaned into you.

His jabot brushed against the back of your neck, reminding you of just how close you two truly were with you sat between his legs. Like this you could feel each twitch every time his leg bounced in impatience as you asked him to once again fulfill your request. He had called it tedious once before, a waste of time another, and yet here he was sitting behind you, making your hair stand on end.

"I know. I know." You rushed out. "It's illogical to-"

"It is, and yet here I am. So politely do as I say, or I'll stop indulging your requests."

"If you say so." A moment of silence passed before you ultimately said, "But Anaxa?"

His singular visible eye twitched at the nickname, but he was asking what it was you wanted regardless with a simple "Yes?"

Your head tilted back, just enough to see him looking down at you. Neither of you acknowledged how your head was in his lap, hair splayed out over the black fabric of his slacks, or how he almost reached down to brush your bangs out of your eyes. Instead, you were saying: "Just one more time?"

The thought turned around in his mind. You could tell just from the way he was fixing his already perfectly straight collar. He tugged on it again and again, before ultimately realizing he was being just as redundant as he claimed the other scholars wandering around the Grove of Epiphany to be.

"...One more time."

With a flick of his hand, another stream of golden stars were willing into existence, all as Anaxagoras shook his head at how easily entranced you were with such a small spectacle.

But still, the next time you asked for "once more ," he would relent - just like always - until the real stars were back in the sky.

[pinkmirth]

I think we need some headcanons of cowboy Reiner

— ( save a horse, ride a cowboy! )

༉‧₊˚. — synopsis: just a cluster of fluffy and smutty headcanons for none other than the love of my life, cowboy reiner!

༉‧₊˚. — contains: (2k words of…) cowboy!reiner x fem!reader, (black coded), fluff, nsfw/smut, modern au, southern setting, established relationship (married), fantasies of having a child, breeding kink (‘cause this is reiner we’re talking about duh!), mentions of pregnancy, bondage kink, oral (m!receiving/blowjob), cowgirl position, doggy-style, creampie, reiner calls himself “daddy”, use of the petnames (mama, sugar, darling, honey, cowgirl), reiner calls you “woman” once, lowercase intended, minors shoo!

༉‧₊˚. — mira’s note: oh absolutely, nonnie! here are some thoughts I have on cowboy rei-rei 💕 (check masterlist for other reiner fics!)

this man is always covered head-to-toe in classic cowboy attire— embroidered cowboy boots, blue denim jeans with a lasso hanging from his belt loop, and a trusty old cowboy hat. he’s got the whole getup, and he looks even sexier in it every time you see him! though, his best look by far is the shirtless one. it’s the highlight of your day when whenever it gets too warm outside, because he’s soon to peel off his top. from across the farm, he can feel your eyes burning into his lightly-tanned skin as he does the most mundane chores. his muscles tense and flex with every move, pecs gleaming with sweat. he shoots you a smirk, folding his arms across his bare chest. “y’like what ya see, honey?” you pray the weather’s even hotter tomorrow.

it warms his heart whenever you come around to watch him do his daily chores around the farm. your presence motivates him to work harder, so he can continue to provide for you and sustain your comfortable lifestyle. you try not to be too much of a distraction, but you can’t help wanting to be closer to your husband; so you tug at his leather belt and pull him in for a kiss. that gets him giddy like nothing else. “ya know how much i love it when y’do that… gimme another,” he puckers his lips, and you giggle. “i don’t wanna keep you sidetracked for too long, rei. you were busy before i got here,” you caress his stubbled cheek and he pouts in response, leaning forward to receive another pillowy kiss. “jus’ one more, mama.”

cowboy reiner loves to cook and bake! he often goes on farmer’s market dates with you, walking hand in hand as you help him pick out the freshest ingredients and spices. you chat and laugh amongst one another, dropping carrots and apples into the hand-woven basket that reiner made for you. after arriving back home, he allows you to relax in yours and his shared bedroom while he whips together a hearty southern meal for the two of you. he shouts from across the house, adorned in nothing but a short pair of checkered boxers and a flimsy apron, “supper’s ready, darlin’! come on down ‘n eat!”

he’s great with animals! reiner cradles an adorable month-old horse in his strong arms, feeding milk to the baby with a soft smile. it’s just about the sweetest thing you could ever see! all the little foals follow him around the ranch because they love papa reiner just as much as you do <3 he’s built something of a connection between himself and his beloved herd, which is why he’s able to bring the horses over to their stables with no hassle whatsoever. this man could practically be a veterinarian with all the animal knowledge he has!

he’s a locally known rodeo champion! reiner wins the prize for longest bull-riding every single year. he should allow someone else a fighting chance, at least 😭 but he’s just effortlessly good at anything he puts his mind to! he skillfully rides the beast with such ease, leaving the crowd in awe. courtesy of his natural-born strength, he hardly ever gets tossed off. reiner’s got medals galore hanging on his wall from every competition.

as a southern man, he’s very family-oriented. his loved ones are of the utmost importance to him, and he’ll always put family first before anything else. he utterly adores you, and can’t wait to start a tiny lil family of his own with you <3 when I tell you this man cannot wait to be a papa, I mean it! there’s no denying that reiner would be an amazing father, considering that he’s so caring and attentive. he knows the best tickle spots to target, and the silliest faces to make to get a child cracking up (both of which he discovered through spending lots of time with gabi when she was small.) he constantly daydreams about dressing up his little one in tiny boots and overalls and carrying them up on his shoulders. (yes, I’m pushing the daddy rei-rei agenda on this fine weekend!)

cowboy reiner has manners like none other— the epitome of a true gentleman! he’s a great listener, is always so patient, opens doors for you, pays for your things without hesitation, gives frequent massages, carries you when you begin to feel tired; the list goes on! he’s just so kind and selfless, and never fails to show it. cowboy rei-rei is truly the perfect husband. “your feet hurt? well c’mere, sugar. i’ll carry you. it ain’t too much for me, y’know i can handle ya! jus’ hold onto me. i gotcha, okay?”

cowboy reiner is a grown man who can wholly appreciate your body and every striking detail about it. he scrutinizes the small dotted beauty marks scattered across your skin, your cutely patterned stretch marks, the curves and crevices of your soft tummy and thighs, and he fucking loves it all. makes it a habit to kiss up and down your body, just to give you a well-needed confidence boost. this man right here surely knows how to make a woman feel special! “listen t’me— you’re so fuckin’ gorgeous, y’know that?”

(nsfw) — reiner loves when you treat him to a surprise blowie during work. he’s up to the usual, arranging things around the barn and tending to the animals. you then make your entrance, wrapping your arms around his waist to hug him from behind. your plump lips curve into a sensual smile as you ask him, “can I steal you for a moment, baby? it won’t be for too long, I swear it.” in an instant, he's allowing you to pull him away from his duties, unknowing of where you’re taking him, but also uncaring because he’d allow you to do whatever you please. he follows you with the goofiest smile plastered on his charming face, because he knows that he’s about to receive the most knee-buckling blowjob of his entire goddamn life. you bring him into the hayloft, pushing him against the red-painted wall until he’s flat against it. you drop to your knees and bring his jeans down with you. “fuck, darlin’… kiss the tip ‘fa me.” he moans lowly. you do as he wishes, suckling on his cockhead with the most beautiful, glistening eyes. you’re so eager to please, and it makes him throb on your tongue. with a hand at the back of your head, he guides you further onto him until you’ve swallowed the entirety of his fat dick. reiner ruts his hips, fucking into your wet mouth. you always know just how to make him feel so good, so loved. he adores you like nothing else. “oh, that’s it, honey, right there… atta girl.”

(nsfw) — the bondage kink on this man is insane, I tell you! cowboy reiner loves to keep your hands tied behind your back and watch you squirm against the rope. “rei,” in a breathless whine, his name falls from your plush lips. you wiggle your ass in the air for him, anticipating his next move. he takes you from the back, raw-dogging your pussy with a merciless pace. you truly wonder where he gets all this unparalleled energy to drill you into the bed, especially considering all the hard work he puts into maintaining the farm every day. one large hand of his stays planted on your waist, hastily grabbing, while the other holds onto your tied hands for leverage. he delivers harsh, deep-reaching thrusts, with his firm hips sharply smacking against you from behind. your wrists struggle against the rope, and he can tell just how desperate you are to touch him. his gaze is fixated on your soft body; every jiggle of your ass and ripple of your thighs is more hypnotizing than the last. you mewl for him, stuttering out something along the lines of ‘t—too much!’ … reiner leans down until his chest grazes the arch of your back, so that he can say, “quit alla-that whinin’, woman.” he clicks his teeth, flooding your ears with that sexy southern drawl of his. “y’can take it all, you’ve done it before.”

(nsfw) — we all know it, the entire goddamn fandom knows it: cowboy reiner has a massive fucking breeding kink! he wants nothing more than to get you pregnant by stuffing your pliant womb with his thick loads of cum. giving you a creampie makes him go completely wild; he watches his seed drip down your slit with hitched breath. a sight such as that is enough to get him hard all over again. the lust takes over, and he’s thinking with his dick for the next three rounds. plowing into you and rubbing at your puffed clit with calloused fingertips, reiner asks, “want me to come inside you? hm?” he gently holds onto your chin, directing your gaze to him. you dazedly look at your husband, pulsing around his thick cock. seeing how fucked-out you are makes his chest swell with the utmost pride. his greatest achievement is being able to please you. “tell me how bad y’fuckin’ want it, baby.” he rasps. your pleading moans urge him to release for you. his warm, pearly arousal seeps into you for the nth time that night. all he wants is to fill you up until you’re walking funny, with your leg shaking from all the stimulation. or, at least until that little stick comes out positive one day. having you grow plump with his child is his ultimate fantasy. “you’d look so stunnin’ as a mama, carryin’ my baby… don’t’cha think so, sugar?”

(nsfw) — reiner likes to let you wear his cowboy hat while you ride him. mounting onto your husband with your legs on either side of his hips, you straddle him. your dainty hands are planted on his broad chest for balance. he pulls off his iconic hat, hair cutely tousled from wearing it all day, before sitting up to place it on your head. “since you’ll be the one ridin’ tonight. giddyup, cowgirl.” he teases with a slick grin. you tip the hat with a breathy laugh before sinking down on his fat dick, maintaining sharp eye contact with him as your throbbing cunt takes him in little by little, until your clit’s grounded and snug against the dark-blonde tufts of his happy trail. his warm palms rub along your body as you swivel your hips, slamming down on all nine girthy inches that he has to offer. he watches your tits bounce, one manicured hand of yours squeezing at your left boob while the other holds onto his hat that rests upon the crown of your head. you rock back and forth with fervor, and he swears he can feel every spongy ridge of your contracting pussy. he throws his head back onto the pillows and gazes at you with the prettiest set of honey-golden eyes, hooded and lust-blown. gravelly moans fall past his agape lips as he spurs you on, giving your ass a thorough smack, “bounce on it, jus’ like that— yeah, fuck daddy’s cock.”

[crystalflygeo]

The dragon and the sacrificial lamb ft. eroded!Zhongli + gn!reader

cw/tags: rape/non-con, angst, bad ending, yandere-ish zhongli? feral/eroded zhongli, biting, crying, restraints (courtesy of improper use of geo as usual ehe)

notes: Alright this is a special one get ready. There's two "version" of this story bc I couldn't decide which path I liked more. This one is the dark/bad ending. Both stories are exactly the same at the start, changing a few word here and there but then reach a point where they divert completely in reactions/emotions and the underlying feeling of the stories are very different. They can be read independently ofc so by all means feel free to choose which tags you vibe with more or enjoy picking up the differences between both!

Bittersweet ending version here!!

Once upon a time…

A long, long time ago…

The people of Liyue revered their beloved Archon Rex Lapis. Just and kind, he led his nation for millennia, upholding order and contracts, defeating countless enemies, and defending their safe Harbor.

It is said the Lord of Geo took a human as partner, and fell in love deep and pure.

And his partner loved him just as much.

A love that would tragically become a twisted obsession.

It is said the God understood that even he himself was not immune to erosion, and it would one day be his downfall. So, he made sure his people were ready to live on without him. That his adepti were strong enough to subdue him if the day ever came.

As for his lover… well…

-----

Your bare feet crunch along the soft grass as you run and run, panting, gasping for air, almost tripping and letting out a yelp but quickly regaining balance and scurrying faster, past the falling golden ginkgo leaves, past the soft sound of rushing waters.

The golden sunset is gorgeous, dying the sky pink and orange with pastel hues but you simply ignore it, having grown tired of it, sick even. It is fake, an illusion. Just as everything else in this adeptal abode.

Everything except, of course, you and the beast you are currently fleeing from.

It is useless to try to escape, this you know, and your heart clenches painfully as tears prickle at your eyes. You’ve done this before, played this game many many times. But at least for one moment… just one moment…

A roar turns your blood to ice and against all common sense you look over your shoulder to see a massive long dragon twisting in the air and diving straight towards you.

Your legs tremble and fail you as you fall down, the grass is soft but your body aches, tired, burning. You scramble around frantically to stare at the beast again and your eyes widen in panic as it lands right on top of you, majestic and terrifying, caging you with its serpentine body. The golden claws alone are as long as your forearms, digging on the ground at either side of you.

You whimper.

The dragon lowers his head, growling at you, fangs mere inches apart and you squeeze your eyes shut, tears running down your face.

“Why do you run away from me?”

“Leave me alone!” You scream.

“Are you not happy with me? My mate?”

At the words you only sob harder.

Mate.

Oh, how much joy did that word bring you once. And now you can only feel your heart shatter.

You feel a shift in the wind, in the energy, in the light around you, and when you open your eyes, the massive dragon has faded to a more human appearance. He changes back to the form you’re most used to.

Long strands of dark hair tipped amber, striking golden eyes with stunning red lines that highlight their sharpness, a handsome face and a muscular body with arms died black, and lines of gold… lines that run along his cheek and down his neck. Cracks, like a broken glass, like scars, under his eyes and around his chest, ruining the pristine skin and unable to disappear despite his ability to change forms.

The undeniable marks of erosion.

You snap back to attention when he dips down and starts nosing at your neck, his hands pulling at the robe you’re wearing, the only article of clothing you picked up before scurrying away from the mansion. It parts open easily, revealing your naked body to his eyes, littered in past bruises, hickeys and bite marks. Claims from the dragon.

“W-wait. Stop-!” You try to push him back, panicked, desperately pressing your palms against his broad shoulders, but of course he’s immovable as stone.

You kick and trash until he gets irritated and suddenly your arms are immobilized, held above your head and pressed onto the ground by heavy geo cuffs.

“Submit.” He growls.

You squirm a little more until your body sags into the ground, exhausted, panting. There is no use. Instead, you shudder as his hands grope and rub all over your body, rough and callous.

He spreads your legs and slots between them as your breath catches. His palm presses at a spot on your navel possessively, a glittering geo symbol engraved on your skin there, glowing subtly like his horns. You whine.

Then his touch goes lower and teases at your entrance, circling the hole and dipping in just barely.

“Z-Zhongli-!”

Another growl comes out of his throat, deep and guttural. “You dare speak another man’s name in my presence? In my realm? When you belong to me?!”

Your whole body shakes, with rage, with fear. Your heart about to burst. You grit your teeth and glare at the dragon god with as much venom as you can.

“I don’t belong to you!”

He snarls, eyes widening to serpentine slits.

“Insolent. No matter, I’ll fill you up again and show you.”

The eroded God leans down to bite at your neck and you yelp, sharp fangs break your skin and you cry as you feel the warm blood spill. His claws prick at your thighs as he starts unceremoniously humping against you. The ridges on his draconic cock making your hole twitch and you gasp as he presses in, dipping slightly inside your thigh warmth. No need to prepare your body after so many years of coupling. Your hole already soft and molded to him like a worn-out toy.

“No, please… n-no.” Your voice breaks, tears running down your face.

Everything turns blurry, fuzzy, and your head spins.

How had things ended up like this?

You see no love in his eyes, no recognition. And you don’t recognize him either anymore. This creature, this beast… he is not your lover. He is not Zhongli…

And hasn’t been for who knows how long…

Zhongli raises one of your legs and rests it on his shoulder while straddling the other and pushes further in the slick warmth, ignoring the sounds you make. “Too big! I can’t-!” You scream and it just urges him to slam it in. “No- Ahh!” Sheathed all the way to the hilt, Zhongli groans as you clench around him.

He immediately starts thrusting and you feel the world tilt. It’s all too much, the sound of skin slapping against skin, your walls getting battered by his thick member, his animalistic grunts and groans, and the way your body betrays you… a speck of pleasure mixed in with the pain.

It's so cruel.

“Sto- gh! Stop it! Zhongli, please…!” You sob.

Zhongli hisses, muscles taut and flexing as his hips buck into yours, finally finding that spot that has you choking out a moan, your body shivers, forced to surrender and feel everything, a hot coil building on your lower stomach where the mark of geo glows as he continues to take what he wants from your struggling form. He laps at your skin and nuzzles there, almost lovingly. “Mine.”

Your moans start turning sweeter, previously pained sounds turning to vocalizations of carnal lust, your eyes glassy. You try to fight it, conflicted, but the stimulation is too much.

You come with a raw cry through gritted teeth, tears flowing down your cheeks and your own juices coating your skin causing you to feel dirty in more ways than one. Zhongli continues through your overstimulated state, chasing his own pleasure as his thrust become erratic until finally, he stills deep inside and moans long and low, painting your insides white.

You feel him twitch inside you and groan, absolutely exhausted, overwhelmed with emotions, feeling sick, used and abused. He lowers your leg but doesn’t bother pulling out, keeping you there as he nips at your skin, murmuring soft words. “My mate. All pretty and filled up. All mine. Love you.”

You can’t bear to hear those words, spoken in the voice you continue to love after all this time. It shatters your soul, breaking it to pieces like the corroded dragon’s destroyed mind.

Feeling about to pass out, you close your eyes and your head lolls to the side, sniffling against your own forearm as tears continue to fall. “I love… Zhongli. Miss him. I hate you…”

He dissolves the geo shackles into specks of gold and holds your unconscious body in his arms, satisfied with the claims and scent he’s left on you. His tail swishes slowly, pleased with himself as he carries you back to the abode’s mansion.

Home.

Were he’ll keep you safe, bound to him.

Forever and always.

-----

…It is said that his lover is the key to keep the eroded God confined.

Trapped by the possessive dragon in a sealed realm, to keep him ensnared, enchanted and bound to them.

Until they both turn to dust.

[gothic-thoughts]

Shut Up and Listen

(took WAY too long to realize out of all my Jojo content, ion have Jotaro 🙄)

Part4! Jotaro Kujo x Black Fem Reader Smut

MDNI, DomesticAU, Babysitter!Reader, Boss!Jotaro

CW: ForbiddenAU, Jojo cheating?? afab parts mentioned, quiet quickie, unprotected cream🥧, tame words(nun vulgar)

Word Count: 1719 (give or take)

(A/n): sorry his first fic is a smut, I hate doing that tbh 😓

Jotaro took a deep breath as he walked to the front door ready to face the possibility of seeing his ex-wife's angry face. He reluctantly opens the door to see his daughter's sitter sitting on the couch with a glass of wine in hand and smiles. He sighed, releasing the breath he held back as his heart began pounding in his chest. 

Since his wife filed for divorce, the only peace he could get after work was whenever (Y/n) was here, whether it be to watch over his 5-year-old daughter or just to check on him. Either way, Jojo's heart pounded against his ribcage just from being around her but it only added to his wife's suspicion of his adultery. 

"Hey, Mr. Kujo." She whispers, "How was work?"

"(Y/n), please, you come over way too much to be so formal."

"Last time I called you 'Jojo' in front of your wife, she looked like she gonna tear my head off."

He scoffs, waving off the thought of her, “Yeah, I bet.”

(Y/n) chuckles softly as he takes off his shoes at the door and tiptoes across the living room's squeaky floorboards before gently sitting next to her much shorter stature.

"Wine after work?" He smiles, taking the other glass from the table. "You know me so well."

"You always complain about needing a drink so I brought."

"You probably need it more than I do, dealing with that one. How was she?"

She groans. "Tantrum."

"About?"

"He just hates resting for some reason. You know how kids are. Though, her mother coming over probably gave him a boost of energy

Jojo almost chokes on his wine, "Her mother? She was here you said? Why?"

"She said she came to see Jolyne for a bit but I feel like she was looking for you."

"Good grief, of course she was. Where is she now?"

"Her inn."

"Good. I don't think I can deal with another fight after a long day. I'm gonna snap." He sits up, "Anyway, did she say anything to you?"

“What do you mean?”

“Anything?”

"What, no not really. I mean, it doesn't matter, she was just..."

Jojo puts his drink on the coffee table. "What did she say to you?"

“Jotaro, I’m fine.”

“That’s not what I asked you.”

“She just...reminded me...of my job.”

He furrowed his eyebrows to figure out why his wife would feel the need to remind (Y/n) of her, but he quickly realized that was just it; his ex-wife was telling her to stay in her place. His eyebrows part and irritation instantly washes over his features as his beloved babysitter puts her glass down. “Listen, Jojo–”

"Don’t.”

“I only come over to watch your daughter. I don't know why I tried to go above and beyond by checking on you--”

“Because you’re amazing--”

“Because now your wife hates me. Like I’m pretty sure she fucking told the neighbors cuz they’re starting to look at me like I'm the worst person on Earth whenever I take Jolyne out."

The sudden sternness in the tone makes the man’s lips part before he bites the inside of his cheek in thought. They both look to the ceiling, listening for the sluggish pitter-patter of Jolyne’s footsteps making their way to the staircase—but it remains silent. Jojo sighs with relief and slides closer to her while she averts her gaze to the wine on the table. He rests a hand on her thigh. 

“Sorry, it’s just--” 

"No." He whispers, guiding her chin to face him, "I'm sorry for putting you through this. You deserve so much better than this.”

“What, no. It’s not you; your ex-wife’s just making life hard.”

He pauses, “Yeah, you’re right. But frankly, I could give a damn what she’s doing, I’m not letting you go—not if it’s not what you want.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Honestly, the highlight of my day is coming home to you and my daughter. I’m not letting that go for anything.”

“You...you serious?”

“You know I’m not one to joke about what I want. Or do I need to show you more recent proof?”

She nods then gasps as her boss quickly links his lips with hers. (Y/n)'s hands slide up his broad chest to yearningly grab his broad shoulders and rest the other on the back of his neck. They cup each other's faces and grasp at each other's shirts, groaning into each other's mouths for more.

Neither minded the amount of saliva due to their fervor as he picked her up and sat her on his lap. He holds her body so close that her breasts squish against him but pushes on his chest, breaking their forbidden kiss. Their lust-filled eyes open while they pant heavily on each other's reddened lips. Jojo's hand rests on her face, thumb swiping back and forth along her plush cheek.

"Sorry.” He whispers, “Didn’t know how much longer I could go without doing that.”

“What if someone sees?”

“Curtains are closed. Don't worry about it." He secures his hands under her thighs, "Let's go."

“Go where- oh!”

He carried her up the main steps, but instead of going to his room, he brought her to the guest room, a little farther away from his daughter's bedroom. He kicks the door shut before locking it, then sets her on her feet and continues to make out, sliding his long, white jacket down his arms and to the floor behind him. Their shirts were the next to go, being dropped at their sides before he pulled her hips closer, pressing his huge bulge into her pelvis.

“We do have to make this quick, though.” (Y/n) whispers breathlessly, "She told me she’d come back when you got off.”

“Shit, alright.” He picks her up again and walks to the available bed, where he mounts her, “Quick, got it.”

"Is this moving too fast? I mean..."

“We can stop now if you want.”

(Y/n) shakes her head, hands sliding down his side to his belts where she quickly unbuckles them. He looks down at her fingers and then back at her face with a small smirk. Before she knew it, his pants and boxers were down by his thighs while her leggings lay discarded on the hardwood floor. He tugs her underwear to the side and guides himself in with a breathless sigh from the tightness, head tilting back.

“Oh my...g-god.”

“Heh, sorry. Too quick?”

"Jus’ a little...big. Fuck Jojo."

He presses open-mouth kisses to her neck, "Not hurting you, am I?" He whispers.

“No...god, fuck no. Feels so fuckin’ good.

“I’m not even that deep yet.”

“I might go insane if you do. Just... jus’--”

“Oh yeah?”

The pads of Jotaro’s fingers dig into her hips as he pulls her closer to try to meet his base, but chuckles at the remaining inches between them.

(Y/n) grips his shoulders and curses under her breath, insides gripping him tightly, trying to stay sane while he stretched her wide. (Y/n) gasps out before biting her lip to keep her moans quiet when Jojo finally moves his hips at a slow yet deep rhythm. 

He tried to keep it together but soft moans still came out while he gripped the sheets under her as his movements gradually became harder. (Y/n) shivers and groans at the change, arching her back slightly as euphoria ran up her spine. Once she moaned his name softly, he lost more of his composure and leaned down for another sloppy kiss in an attempt to keep himself from moaning.

"Jojo, don’t f’cking stop, please; oh my god.”

"I know we're farther from the front," He whispers against her lips, "But you gotta keep it down, ngh~"

She nods. "But you're going so deep...so-o deep. You feel so good."

"I know.... fuck, I know. Goddamn, you’re so fuckin’ tight."

He lifts her legs to his broad shoulders, hips slamming against her ass over and over and creating the sound of heavy, wet slapping that fills the room. (Y/n)’s legs trembled so much from the deep strokes that she cried out only for him to cover her mouth and press his plump lips to her ear to shush her.

“Fuck, (Y/n).” Jotaro mutters, thrusts becoming harder, “You’re gonna wake my daughter if you keep that up.”

“But, ah, gonna cum. So close, Jojo, I’m so close~”

"Come on, cum for me then; that’s why I put you in this fuckin’ position. Cum.”

 He quickened his movements and gently pressed his lips to hers again, moaning into her mouth while his girth throbbed and pulsed with every swift drag through her wet, squeezing walls. She kisses back, scratching his large shoulders, as her orgasm rushes through her nerves. (Y/n) holds the back of his neck as he guides her through her climax, making her moan and gasp in his ear.

"I-I think--"

"What, you gonna--"

"I think I love you."

His face doesn’t change but his hips speed up on their own, "D-do you mean it, (Y/n)?"

She nods.

"I-I do too.... a l-lot more than I should."

"Hah~ Goin' t-too...fast."

"Seeing you every day before work is enough to fuel me for the day."

"You’re m-making it hard t-to--mmh god!"

"Fuck, you don't know how badly I've wanted this shit."

"J’taro--"

"Kissing you, touching you, making you cum for me—fuuck, it’s too much."

Her back arches off the bed, and he slides his arm between the bed and her lower back, continuously pulling her into every heavy, breathtaking thrust.  

"Ah~ Jojo! F-fuck, fuuck~!”

“Me too. Don’t worry, I’ll–”

“No, don’t stop. Please d’nt fuckin stop~”

“Then...you want me to..."

"Y-yeah, just please." She scratches up his shirt, "Don't stop~"

Jojo's hips stutter and his eyes shut as his thighs continue to smack against the back of hers. He groans loudly, burrowing his face in her neck when he meets the edge and spills his load inside her. He gasps and clutches at the sheets, while she plants soft kisses to his chest. They pant loudly together as his hips stutter to a stop, their bodies shivering together to calm down as huffs of breath in each other’s faces start to rile them up again.

Before they could get another word out, the front door could be heard opening from up the hall.