#brainrot is the only way to rot

[superstarcherrycolagirl]

piece of you in how i dress

“cherry” by harry styles

benny cross x reader / 1.1k words

idea: benny rocks a new look

tw: none really, drinking, smoking, cursing, but just a bunch of cuteness

notes: sooo i sent a request to clo a bit ago (b4 we became bestie boos) and i was rereading what she wrote and it was SO GOOD so i kinda wanted to write a little piece abt that!! sorry if this is kinda shit imve been really really busy the past week but i wanted to put something out BUT i hope y’all like this :)) also PLEASE go read @semperamans work bc she is just TOO GOOD and deserves all the love !!

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

benny’s always had a distinct look to him. messy hair, ripped jeans, sharp tattoos, scares covering his fists, and a chilling stare on his face that completed his intimidating look. although he and the rest of the vandals all seem to look the same, with their colors on and unique pasts merging together, benny was always recognizable and stood out like a sore thumb.

nobody really questioned why the young vandal was so feral, why his past shaped him into somebody who can either lurk in silence or create chaos out of nothing in the blink of an eye, because it wasn’t anyone's business. sure the vandals began because of the love to ride all day and night, but the community of people was built around acceptance of each member, regardless of their past.

so why the hell would anyone care? the guy just has a classic look to him!

until benny met you.

“wahoo you seeing what i’m seein’?” “the sexy redhead with that tiny skirt on? cause if you are-” “stop fuckin’ droolin’ for a second and turn that thick ass head of yours ‘round! over at the pool table!” due to drinking a ton and smoking weed, it took a while for corky and wahoo to focus on the same thing. and luckily they were able to, looking over at the pool table where benny was watching cal take a strike during their game. his dark shirt and dark jeans were so rough against his skin, that the pop of blush pink was throwing the two guys off. a little pink blob was tied around a belt loop on benny’s jeans, standing out like a sore thumb.

to say that wahoo and corky were stumped was an understatement “what is that shit on his pants?” “i d’know, that’s why my last resort was askin’ you” “ah fuck you too shithead! if you care s’much let’s jus’go ahead n’ask him” wahoo stood up first with corky trailing behind as they walked to the pool table, the mix of alcohol and pot in their systems making them stumble and laugh.

once they reached the table they immediately approached benny, perching their hands on his side of the table “hey benny! did ya’ fairy godmother visit you in ya’ sleep last night?” “or a.. a princess spare y’any gifts?” the boys started chattering, trying to hint to benny at what they were talking about “what t’hell are you goin’ on about? did you take some of that shit sonny got?” benny was genuinely confused, wondering what in gods name wahoo and corky took to be asking him about fairies and princesses. “what y’mean? look at you! all pretty in pink for us tonight! jus’wanna know what lucky lady gave y’that?” corky said with a laugh, which got the attention of cal.

oh here we go.

benny put it together in his head what they were laughing about, and a rush of pink started to fill the cheeks. he completely forgot he had your pink scare tied to him, you asked him to hold onto it because it was bothering your neck. he didn’t even think of it, and now caught off guard that his friends noticed.

he didn’t know what to say. was everyone else gonna start teasing him? telling him that he’s changed and now all soft? he had no idea. but as he was trying to open his mouth to say something, cal already beat him to it.

“you guys know who gave that to him, she’s literally been in here 3 times this week! spared your sorry asses some cookies that were for the ladies!” cal chirped in, his voice gaining the intoxicated guys attention “benny’s right, what the fuck did y’all take? can’t have y’forget so much that your dicks are hanging out ‘cause you forgot how to zip up your flies!” he said vulgarly, but earning a little chuckle from benny “now go smoke whatever shit sonny gave you outside! m’getting a headache” cal told corky and wahoo. both benny and cal watched them walk away, drowning in drunken cackles.

benny turns his head back to cal, seeing him take a sip of his beer before shifting his attention back to him “so how is she? i noticed that she isn’t with you tonight?” cal’s question threw off benny for a moment, surprised that he’d be asking about his girl. “yeah she’s good. she uh.. picked up an extra shift early for the mornin’, so she stayed home so she could get a good sleep,” benny said softly, the shift to talking about his girl made the blush creep even higher “almost didn’t show tonight ‘cause i wanted to help her relax, but she insisted for me to come here anyway” he said with a smile. oh how stubborn you could be.

“well i'm glad that she’s well, y’got a hard working lady on y’hands” cal said in response, noticing how shy benny got “listen, you and i both know that they're off their asses tonight, so don’t let their teasing rattle you, i know they respect her as much as the rest of us do” cal spoke to benny calmly, unsure if he was upset with their friends “no no i.. i’m not mad. i feel the opposite really,” benny looked down at the sweet pink scarf against his jeans “jus’happy that’ll get to see her once i get back home” he looked up at cal with a smile. it’s already getting pretty late, and benny told you that he’d drive you to work in the morning, so he might as well just call it a night and head out.

and just like that it was like cal read his mind “well why don’t you go on and get to it, i’ll cover our drinks right here” cal offered, which benny returned with a nod. he benny grabbed his leather jacket, and started walking away, cal spoke up one more time

“tell her i wish her luck, and hope to see the both of you on friday” “i promise i will”

and with that final promise he was out the door, hopped on his bike, and was on his way home. while driving down the dimly lit roads he’d glance down at your scarf blowing in the wind, and couldn’t help but smile. ‘a little piece of you in how he dressed’ some could say.

he couldn’t wait to get home.

[hellonerf]

would alfred f jones be allowed to vote

probably not due to human nation differences but i bet he'd try. or tried. and i also think he's not allowed to endorse a candidate

[technicolorxsn]

amputee sabitsuki my beloved<3333

[emily-mooon]

Either I’m a genius or insane for coming up with the crack ship of Young Neil and Stacey Pilgrim.

[hughiecampbelle]

The Boys Preference: Wearing Their Clothes

Requested: i followed you for succession and currently im the boys brainrotted so you wouldnt believe my excitement when i realised you wrote for the boys too!!!!! i want to request maybe hc on how the boys would react to reader wearing their sweater/tshirts - anon

A/N: My love, the brain rot is so real!!! When I tell you I have an entire folder of The Boys edits, I mean I am kicking my feet and giggling at these people covered in blood lol. Thank you for requesting! Please feel free to again, I absolutely love writing preferences! I hope you like it!!!! Feedback is always appreciated 💜

Butcher absolutely adores you wearing his coat. It drives him wild. It started one night where you two were alone, the group split up. While everyone else had their own jobs, you and Butcher were on surveillance. It was freezing out. He noticed the goosebumps on your arms. You swore you were fine, but he could tell you were putting up a front. Oi, just take it. Not wanting to blow your cover and fight, you put his coat around your shoulders, thanking him. It's a long night and you take shifts. When he catches you curled in a ball, his coat wrapped around you, it tugs at his heartstrings. Something about this image of you just makes him melt. After that, he's eager to see it again. Realizing this, you never turn down his offer. Now you basically have 50/50 custody. You like it. It's warm and worn, but it also smells like him and, when you're apart, remains a reminder that he's always looking out for you. Both M.M. and Frenchie are full of jokes when they catch you wearing it, but Annie and Hughie find it endearing.

Hughie loves that you wear his t-shirts and hates it. Not only do you look better in them than him, which is annoying enough, and now everyone finds them funny now that you're wearing them, but now he can never find the one shirt he wants to wear. It's either on your body or in your closet. Of course he would never stop you, he doesn't want you to stop, but he does wish there was a little bit more of a compromise. You wore it the first time you slept over. Your shirt had been discarded somewhere you couldn't find, but Hughie's was right there. He tried not to show it, he tried not to get caught smiling, but he was way too obvious. Something about seeing you in his shirt made his day, his life. It never gets old. When it's laundry day, most of your clothes end up being his. Now he has double the laundry. Still, it's worth it. His clothes always come back smelling like you. When they get ripped or torn from fights you apologize profusely, but he's just glad you're okay. Who cares about a stupid shirt?

Annie has always loved you in her clothes. When you moved in together, your clothes just sort of became jumbled. Neither of you felt the need to separate them, so you really can't tell if the sweater you're wearing is hers of yours. When she buys clothes she always makes sure you like what she's picking out so that you both can wear it. No one even noticed what you two were doing, that one day you'd be wearing a shirt and a few days later it would be her turn, it's just sort of become a thing. When something gets ripped or torn or covered in blood, you're the first to make jokes. I loved that sweater, you say, though Annie knows what you really mean is it's a stupid piece of clothing, you're just glad she's okay, that's all that matters. Your favorite thing is to look at pictures where, in one, you're wearing this sweater and, in the next, she is. Something about that puts a smile on your face.

M.M. feels a little insecure. You used to love wearing his shirts. Truthfully, no one can tell what's his and what's yours, your and his clothes are so blended. Since becoming in charge of The Boys, as close to a leader as possible, he's lost a lot of weight. Grown smaller, and his clothes no longer fit you. You of course still have his old shirts, but his new wardrobe just doesn't fit. You assure him it's just temporary. The anxiety, the OCD, it really hurts his appetite. He can't even think about food anymore. Still, realizing that you can no longer share, it makes him self-conscious. Something about you wearing his clothes made him think that he was there with you always, that this was a way to protect you, as silly as it might sound. Now that you wear your clothes more, he isn't there to save you. It just adds to his many worries. You assure him you'll be safe, you'll always come back to him, but he just can't help it. You make a point to wear his older shirts as much as possible, not wanting him to worry more than he does.

Frenchie literally can't tell when you're wearing his clothes vs. your own. His style is pretty eclectic. His pants alone are bright and patterned and, to his friends, a fashion offense. His clothes are rarely organized, so you end up picking through piles to find something specific. Most of the time you have to point out when you've got one of his jackets or shirts on. He of course thinks you look better in them than him and he makes it known. Your friends make fun of you and him for some of the outrageous outfits you put together. Everything is worn in and soft and smells like him, a mix of cologne and fabric softener and smoke. Not realizing, Frenchie wears your clothes, too. Only when you ask for a shirt back or where it is does he realize oh! so this belongs to you. Neither of you mind. It makes you happy seeing him wear your clothes. He definitely styles is better than you.

Kimiko's entire closet is all black. Not only is it easy to blend in with the crowd, and it all matches, but it can also hide the sight of blood. Neither of you can really tell whose shirt or pants or jacket belongs to who, considering most of your clothes are pretty identical. Still, she'll poke fun at you every so often when she realizes you've got on one of her shirts. Is that mine? She smiles. Is it? You didn't even realize. You always ask her if she wants it back, if she wants you to change, but she shakes her head. She tells you look good in it, badass even, and you shrug it off, though it means a lot. You and Kimiko both are still figuring out how relationships work. It takes a lot of trust, something neither of you were very well versed in. Sharing clothes is just another way you two show that you're a partnership. No one else can tell, but you can. That kind of attention would normally make alarm bells go off in your head, but you know Kimiko, you know she does it out of affection and not something more sinister.

Bonus! Homelander rarely, if ever, wears civilian clothes. If he's not in his suit, he's probably naked. You've never seen him in anything else. The only time he's done it was to see Sage and that was in secret. Still, you find a way to share by wearing his cape. Typically wrapped around you after you slip from the bed, in search of your own clothes, half-naked and embarrassed. He assured you you have never looked better. Homelander likes power. He likes when people listen to him, respect him, and show him their loyalty. You wearing his cape shows him all of that and more. He never thought he'd like you in his clothes, it's just another thing he's territorial about, but he's pleasantly surprised. Now he expects it. If you forget or just don't wear it, his ego is pretty wounded. You assure him it's nothing against him. Now you go out of your way to do so, knowing it makes him so happy.

Bonus! Soldier Boy feels such an attraction to you when you wear his clothes. He doesn't really wear anything but his suit, so one day you jokingly put it on. You filled it out differently than he did, but it didn't look horrible. When he saw you, he was all smiles. The first thing that comes to mind is wanting to take it off you *wink wink*. What was a joke is now something you do on special occasions, putting it on and parading around in it. The things he says are awfully dirty and make you laugh every time. You never thought something as silly and simple as putting on his suit would end up driving him this wild. You should have known, it makes perfect sense, but you just never realized. When he does, on rare occasions, wear regular clothes, he's the first to suggest that you share. It isn't as enticing as wearing his suit, but the attraction is still there. It makes him feel like you belong to him, that you want to show that off. Nothing matters more to him than that. Nothing makes him feel more seen.

[fluffypotatey]

i have been thinking about nothing else but this

what she says: i’m fine! what she means: Anticlea’s melody does not just continue to play with the underworld saga, but it starts at the beginning of the underworld saga, Anticlea’s melody is haunting the underworld saga this whole time and the melody has been hunting epic the musical since the Troy saga I am not OK please help me, Jorge you son of a bitch—

[hitomisuzuya]

Scaramouche brainrot. Smut. Generally Scaramouche being perverted, horny, and kind of soft-ish(?) College AU. Scaramouche x fem!reader

Just free typing some horny brain rot.

Scaramouche was having a rough night. Not only was he painfully horny, but he missed you. He liked to have you by his side whenever he could, but there were inevitably times where you couldn't, be it because of evening classes or something else.

Earlier in the evening, he'd let himself into your dorm and flopped himself down onto your bed. He could smell you in the sheets, opting to lay face down in your pillows in hopes that your scent would soothe him.

Being without you always made Scaramouche crankier, snappier, and harder to deal with in general.

Being as horny as he was, it didn't take long for his thoughts to turn to remembering all the times he'd fucked you senseless on your bed, pounding his cock into your drooling pussy while he bit and sucked dark, possessive bruises on your neck and shoulders.

Groaning, he rolled over onto his side, his cock hardening as he thought of spreading your legs wide and tongue fucking your cunt until you cried. Unbuttoning his jeans, he took out his cock and massaged his thumb over the leaking tip.

He stroked his cock thinking about how pretty your strangled cries and sobs of pleasure would sound, your fingers tangling in his hair and pressing his mouth on your cunt.

Your legs would shake as he prodded his tongue on your throbbing clit, your hips bucking into his mouth as he latched his lips around it, sucking while he swirled his tongue.

Scaramouche squeezed his hand around his cock, moaning softly as he rutted into his hand. His cock pulsed, making him hiss. He could practically taste your pussy clenching around his tongue while he degraded you.

"Such a filthy slut, fucking your cunt onto my mouth like this," He could just see your eyes melting in further adoration for him, foggy in a haze of fucked out bliss. The way you clenched equally as hard when he called you a good girl, creaming all over his tongue was always nothing short of divine for him.

Scaramouche's cock throbbed, threatening to spurt cum into his hand any moment. The pace of his hand increased thinking about the way your messy cunt would swallow his cock once he flipped you over onto your stomach and took you from behind.

He always knew you were about to cum hard when you called him Daddy between broken sobs and loud moans of pleasure, mewling as he smacked a hand across your ass. "That's it, cum like a slut on Daddy's cock," Your whole body would shake as his cock kissed into your sweet spot.

Scaramouche let out a loud moan as cum roped into his hand, nursing himself through his orgasm thinking about sucking on your nipples to overstimulate you until you were whining and begging for him to fuck you full of his cum again.

He hated being away from you with every fiber of his being.

When you finally returned from your night class, Scaramouche was going to put a collar around your neck and fuck all of his horny frustration out on you.

[nariism]

ೃ⁀➷ ALL I WANT ✧.*

a/n: tooth-rotting fluff !! this is so so mushy and soft. kissing and some touchiness but nothing too crazy i think. also this is unedited brainrot i wrote at 2:30am so enjoy ... <3

Neuvillette has never told you that he loves you.

The words are always there— resting heavy behind his teeth just waiting to burst out at the most inconvenient times, and yet he's never brought himself to say them.

You don’t need the words to prove his devotion to you anyways, already aware that there is no other soul in the world able to hold him the way you do. But he’s always wanted to say it, stopped only by his own fears.

Immortality is a funny thing. In a thousand years you could be nothing but a distant memory for him, gentle whispers in the back of his mind or ghostly touches wisping over his skin.

The idea of losing you terrifies him, but he knows the loss well and knows to keep his heart safeguarded somewhere deep within himself. I love you are words he only murmurs into your skin while you sleep, or chanted in his head when you hold him.

However, you’ve been proving it difficult to resist ever since you moved in with him.

There's nothing extravagant about the way you wake up, nothing extraordinary or strange. You wake up like any Fontainian would: cold and gloomy and complaining about the weather.

Despite how ordinary it all is, it doesn't stop him from spending the first few minutes of the day admiring your face before he inevitably has to get out of bed to get ready for work.

Mornings are his always favourite; the slow stirrings of the day like a calm before the storm. Those few minutes are precious to him more than anything in the world, where he can do nothing but kiss your sleeping face awake and keep you wrapped up in his arms.

You've recently made it your routine to follow him out of bed a few minutes later. He hasn't found out why exactly until today.

He doesn't even need to turn around to know it all— every part of you memorized and carved into each muscle and filling any thoughts that cross his mind.

The slow shuffling of your feet across the room; the quiet yawn that makes him smile because he can imagine your face; the bumping of your body into the back of his in your clumsy state.

It's all comfortable. Familiar. You.

"Morning..." You mumble, arms wrapping around his waist and nose buried against his back.

"Seems someone slept well," he hums.

Your arms squeeze his waist a little tighter. "Because you keep the bed so warm."

"I see. Is that the only reason you decided to crawl out of bed this morning?" He asks with a little lift of amusement, placing his mug down and watching the ripples stir in his coffee.

"No," you lie rather blatantly, and he laughs in a way that makes your heart flutter. "....Shut up."

"It’s quite rude to say that to the Iudex, no?"

"Shut up," you huff again. Your hands carefully climb under the hem of his shirt and explore the expanse of his skin. The cold this exacts on him makes him stop in his motions. He shivers before finally turning around to catch your wrists.

You frown, gently knocking your face back into his body— his chest this time, where you can hear his heart beating.

"Not my fault you're so warm."

Neuvillette only sighs, scooping you fully into his arms and leaning back onto the counter so you can rest your weight against him.

And he knows every part of you like this too: a memory chained to his beating heart. A second life breathed into him meant only to remember you this way.

He knows you're cranky because the sun just rose and here you are, already shuffling around the cold house since he left his side of the bed empty. He knows that you're impossibly perfect in his arms— a piece of a puzzle hand-crafted for him to hold. He knows that it will be sunny today.

You are everything. Everything.

He pulls you away by the shoulders, nose brushing against yours as he leans in close to kiss you. There's a pause just before your lips meet— an apprehension in his actions. He sighs, shaky and nervous.

"I love you."

Then he kisses you slow and sweet, the same way he has always savoured that feeling twisting in his heart at the very thought of you. Enduring and knowing, lacking any more hesitation because he knows this is exactly what he wants and where he needs to be.

You're blinking at him dumbly when he pulls away, lips parted in such a cute way that he wants to lean in again.

"I must be hearing things because I swear you just said–"

"I love you," he repeats quietly, suddenly feeling embarrassed by his confession yet unable to contain the words anymore.

Your expression twists in wonder and for a moment he can't help but think that you're the most beautiful person in the world. In the centuries that he's been wandering Fontaine, he's never been so sure of one thing:

"I love you," he says for a third time in full confidence. His lips crash into yours again in a frenzy, a flurry of emotions swirling in his stomach and so many thoughts screaming in his ears that he can't think straight.

When he stops for air he doesn't fully leave you, mouth still married to you as he kisses along your cheek to your jaw. You laugh, arms circling around his neck.

"Can you say it again?"

And he will. He would say it a million times just to see you smile like that again.

© ALABOADOA 2023 — please do not translate or post my works to other platforms.

🏷️ @saetoshi hi my beautiful

[lxvebun]

୨୧Getting a little dizzy thinking about if Simon had just a little bit of cuteness aggression when it comes to you<3

୨୧Content: Simon "Ghost" Riley x gender neutral reader. Tooth rotting fluff. Just a stream of consciousness brainrot really. Kissing. Cheek kisses. Neck kisses. Use of nickname love Simon's described as taller and bigger than you. English is not my first language so i'm sorry for any mistakes.<3

♡dc, ed n k¡nk blogs dni. I do block and report♡

The word "Adorable" may seem a little out of place to describe someone like Simon, but his cute aggression when it comes to you makes him indeed Adorable♡. And aside from the times he pinches your cheeks a little too harshly, you don't mind it. It makes you feel extremely loved and never fails to awaken the butterflies and honestly it's also the most playful you have seen this man aside from the occasional corny jokes he throws your way.

Because he just can't contain himself and the only way to get rid of the hearts and flowers that seem to fog over his mind and the way his heart almost beats through his chest is by kissing you silly and holding you until your hearts beat in sync<3

So do you seek it out on purpose? Yes, of course. And it's so easy to do as well shdhjd

It takes as little as you just opting to wear one of his hoodies over your own And it's like he manifests out of thin air, you understand why they call him ghost because for such a big guy, he moves incredibly quiet. Suddenly he's hovering over you, pulling you tightly against him and pressing too many wet kissses to your cheeks and neck, your skin actively muffling the plethora of compliments that spill from his lips apart from a whispered "you're just too cute, love"

It's even funnier when he's in public because he can't exactly just...kiss and cradle you against him till his hearts content and the SIDE EYE he gives you is hilarious. He's trying to look at you all intimidating and strong but over the years of mastering the art of reading his eyes, it's as clear as day to you how his eyes fail to hide the smile under his mask and...simon? Are your ears getting red love?

Thank you for reading angels!<3

More simon fics<3

[seruadoric]

okay but ramming you headfirst w my brainrot but like jiyan(wuwa) probably a brat tamer right? tbh i cant really get into brat taming bc if my mans start being all mean to me i would /gen get upset esp in like the bed UNLESS its like done out of love. So like i can only imagine he ""brat"" tames his lover when they've done something he does not like and like i dont think jiyan is the type to get easily upset UNLESS you've like---say put yourself in harms way bc of him to like shield him from an attack or something then he'd fuck you meanly (after you've recovered obviously) anyways hello welcome to wuwa rot let us all go to hell amen

I HAVE SUCH A SOFT SPOT FOR JIYAN so many relationships/smut hcs for him 😔 afab!reader, slight voyeurism

personally, i don't see jiyan being too mean with you. rough as he is on the battlefield, he's much more tender and gentle with his companions.

but at times, he finds himself frustrated at your attempts to protect him ... he knows that you're coming from a good place, and that you really care for him — but he can fight for himself just fine.

so when he sees you injured for trying to shield him, his emotions just blow up ... ( nsfw under the cut )

"consider this your punishment." he growled into your ear, thick and girthy cock ramming into your cunt once more. pressing you up harder against the wall, he was not holding back. "i already told you i could handle myself out there, and you want to play hero?"

"look at yourself." whimpering and moaning against the wall, with jiyan's hand covering your mouth. you were a mess underneath him. "stay silent, or do you want someone else to hear you?" "j-jiya—" you managed to say, only for him to press himself harder inside you. "i told you to stay quiet."

another moan slips from your lips, and jiyan takes his hand off, instead exploring down your body. he felt your walls tightening around him, taking him in so good —

he groans, pushing himself deeper inside. "i'm close," he whispers in your ear, his cock throbbing against your womb. "do you want me to do it inside?"

with your nod, he plants his seed inside of your core, eliciting a loud moan from your lips. he gently pulls out, grabbing a cloth and cleaning the both of you up. "i hope you've learned your lesson, sweetheart." his demeanor was different than what you had just seen, as he placed a kiss on the corner of your lips. "... don't do that again."

this is highkey shitty 😭 i don't have much experience writing smut, so please forgive me if this wasn't as good ૮ ◞ ﻌ ◟ ა this is actually my first time writing smut scenes, so eckkck 😿

i might also write this but for amab!reader ... but i need someone to tell me so, since i'm not so good at writing for amab 😓

[sutorus]

imagine having a sleep over at megumis and toji decides to steal you away once he finally passes out 😮‍💨 his shirts and sweats probably have cigarettes burns in them

you gave me sm toji brain rot

-🫧 anon

we gave each other toji brainrot anon 🤝 kind of a part 2 to the kinktober toji fic

WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI. f! reader, unprotected, mild daddy kink, some anal play, degradation, toji being toji

you’re shifting on your feet, lips trapped between your teeth as you ring the doorbell. you’re early to the sleepover by a full hour.

you don’t know what you want to expect. if it’s toji, sitting on the couch, glass of some cheap shit on the armrest and hand tucked into his sweats.

or if it’s megumi, waiting at the door, bowl of popcorn by his hip and tv blasting because his dad isn’t home to scowl about the noise.

megumi does open the door. and toji does sit there.

and somehow, that’s the least likely, worst case scenario.

“hey,” megumi greets you, stepping aside to let you in.

toji doesn’t spare you a glance, so you let your eyes travel all over him. his bare feet propped up on the center table, his arm behind his head and fingers scratching his hair.

megumi notices you looking and — thankfully — only clicks his tongue, believing you’re just as irritated at his father’s presence as he is.

and are you? you’re unsure.

you don’t know how to face toji. you don’t know how to interact with him anymore, if you even should.

you sleep over at megumi’s house all the time, but right now you suddenly forgot how it even goes. do you take your shoes off at the genkan? do you leave your bag by the door?

you decide to just walk to megumi’s room wordlessly, taking the long way behind the couch as to not block toji’s view from the tv.

this doesn’t go unnoticed by either men.

megumi follows you inside, closing the door behind him and plopping down on his bed.

“so are we starting with the first movie?” he flips his laptop open. “it’s the best one, anyway.”

“uh, yeah, sure,” you sit down beside him hesitantly.

you’re just now noticing how much megumi and toji look alike and it’s freaking you out.

“what the fuck is wrong with you today?” blunt as always. blunt as toji.

“huh? dude, chill,” you lie down, placing the laptop on your lap. megumi eyes you suspiciously before lying down beside you. “i just didn’t sleep much last night.”

“right,” he says, skeptical but disinterested, and presses play.

every minute of the movie is torture — on the screen and in your head.

around the beginning of saw iii, megumi orders pizza. him, you and toji eat in silence.

complete silence. he doesn’t even look at you.

why isn’t he looking at you? you’re in your pajamas already. no bra. short shorts. you thought you’d both established that that worked on him.

toji wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and gets up, with a grunted clean up when you’re done.

it’s so frustrating, the total lack of attention, and you’re starting to get pent up. settling back down next to megumi to watch fucking saw iv and hear him question the viability of each trap drives you crazier by the minute.

when you finally tuck in for the night, you’re anything but relaxed.

what happened to “you have one more hole for me to wreck don’t you”? toji’s so full of shit, probably too drunk to even get it up tonight anyway.

it’s those angry thoughts that lull you to slumber, regret settling deep in your gut for having ever let that horrible man inside you.

not long after you fall asleep, however, you’re stirred awake, a soft, sake-soaked breeze blowing over your face.

you crack one eye open, no surprise in your gaze because who else could it be.

toji’s smirking, crouched down, eyes searching all over your sleeping form. it sends a chill down your spine.

what do you want, you mouth to him, anger persisting against the arousal already starting to build within you.

his grin grows wider, wilder. he gets up slowly and beckons with two fingers, and like the silly fucking slut you are, you follow.

you — not toji — make sure to gingerly close the door to megumi’s room before you turn around to face him. or rather, face his chest, the flimsy cloth littered with cigarette burns that covers those muscles you finally got to know so well.

“hello?” is all you can manage to say.

he loves your indignation, loves the brattiness, will love to fuck it out of you tonight, too.

“what, don’t want it?”

you roll your eyes.

“you had to wait until megumi’s right there to say you wanna do it?” your focus wavers as he runs his hands up and down your waist. “you couldn’t have pulled me aside before?”

toji presses his leer to the side of your throat, caging you in against the wall right by the door. you let out a soft moan, hands already reaching for his arms.

“had to make sure you two weren’t gettin’ it on,” he growls into the crock of your neck, making you grimace in disgust. “i don’t like to share my toys, y’know.”

“ew, he’s your son,” the irony in your statement isn’t lost on you, the person you should actually be ewing at.

you push him away and the feeling of his abs under your palms is enough to break any rest of resolve you had in you.

toji lets out a low, satisfied laugh, throwing his head back. “exactly why i worry.”

soon enough, and unsusprisingly, he has you bent over the kitchen island, pussy stretched out and dripping on his thick cock.

“shut the fuck up,” he keeps saying when you moan, only to fuck you harder and faster and deeper.

the furniture is digging into your belly, your forearms skidding on the top. you whine softly, angling your hips so he can hit that one spot inside you that makes you see stars.

“ohhh yeah, fuck back into me,” he grabs your hair and you let out a yelp, punished with a blow to your ass. still, you do as you’re told, the sounds of your skin slapping against his growing louder, quicker.

“t-touch me, touch me, make me cum,” you beg in a desperate whisper, head straining in his grip.

toji laughs, dragging his cock out of you slowly before plunging all the way back in.

“shut up, slut,” and god, why is that so hot to you, “last i checked you weren’t in a position to make demands.”

you whimper, trying to snake a hand down your clit to do it yourself.

suddenly, toji stops.

“ah, that reminds me,” he slowly, torturously slowly to make you feel every inch of him, pulls out of you completely. then he pokes your asshole with the head of his cock.

“no,” you say in a panicked breath, trying to turn around in his grip. “no, no, not today, definitely not right now no—“

“shhh, fuck, be quiet,” he wraps his entire forearm around your throat and brings your body into his chest, nibbling at your jaw. “you’re gonna like it.”

“i don’t want to,” it’s one last attempt, the most honest one you have. toji likes fucking with you, flustering you, that much is obvious.

but is he seriously— and without any prep, too?—

he chuckles low in his throat, right into your ear.

“then ask me not to.”

he slides the tip back into your cunt and you relax a little, even moving your hips back and forth like hey! look how good my pussy is! can you just stay in it and not ruin my ass please!

“please don’t fuck my ass,” you try.

“hmm,” he hums, sliding his cockhead out. then back in. then back out.

“please, toji, don’t fuck my asshole tonight,” you clench around him, trying to take more of his length inside.

“not good enough, whore,” he slams all way back in, shoving your body into the sharp wood and making you wail. toji starts moving, fucking little noises out of you with every thrust. “say, ‘no please daddy not there, not my little asshole!’”

you let out a long, pitchy whine, clawing at the arm around your neck.

“do it or else,” toji gathers up some wetness at your entrance with your thumb and presses it to your asshole, rubbing little wet circles.

“fuck you, toj—ahh,” his finger slips inside and you clench down hard. “please! please daddy not there, not my—“

toji cackles, fucking you in earnest now, plowing every word and thought out of your brain. you’re grunting with the force of his thrusts, finding purchase in the edges of the kitchen island, knuckles turning white.

“such a good little girl, aren’t ya,” he says into the shell of your ear, snaking a hand around your hip to rub your puffy clit.

you throw your head back onto his shoulder, legs shaking in between his. “ahhh, fuck, d-daddy—“

your orgasm washes over you so forcefully that you feel like folding in two, going limp in toji’s grip as he chases his own.

he buries a few low, animalistic grunts into your hair before he’s filling up your cunt, aborted little thrusts pushing out staccato breaths from his lips.

he releases his grip on you, cock still spurting out the rest of his load.

once he pulls out, toji keeps feeding his cum into your pussy over and over, telling you to watch the floors before you have to limp your way to the bathroom to clean up.

you do the best you can without taking a shower, body so thoroughly exhausted that you don’t even know if you’d have the energy for one.

right now, all you want is to plop down on a soft surface and get some much needed sleep, feeling actually satisfied.

when you leave the bathroom, you’re faced with a groggy, disheveled megumi standing by his bedroom door.

your eyes quickly scan your surroundings.

toji is nowhere to be seen.

megumi’s eyes reveal nothing, none of the thoughts that might be going through his head right now.

as for you, there’s only one word bouncing around inside your skull:

fuck.

a/n sorry again

[okkotsuus]

SWEET BABY (rin i.) !

features: rin itoshi

contents: tooth rotting fluff. no wc (prbably like 0.4k?). brainrot.

notes: for the loml zen (@saexy) because its ur fault i'm thinking about him.

rin's voice is muffled against your neck, soft black hair ticking under your chin. his massive frame is sprawled overtop of you on the couch (which his feet hand over the armrest of because he is simply a big baby).

"i'm not cute, that's lukewarm." he grumbles, plush pink lips brushing slightly against your pulse point. you can feel his scrunched up brows against your skin: he was sulking.

your chuckle rings like bells in his ear, it doesn't help to distract him from the gooey warm mush clouding his mind. "rinnie, i believe many boys would be lucky to have their lover calling them cute..." there's a playful lilt to your words, corners of you lips quirking upwards in amusement.

he finds himself suppressing a whine, you know damn well why he's acting this way and you still chose to torment him, to tease him to ruthlessly.

"i'm not a baby, i'm a man..." rin huffs, but the soft pout on his lips and the grasping hands against your shirt tell otherwise. his head lifts up to expose his reddened cheeks: giving you the meanest glare he could muster (which looked more like an angry puppy than anything...)

your hands instantly cup against the roundness of his cheeks. though his baby-face had long since grown sharp, there's still just enough to pinch gently between loving fingers. "you'll always be my baby rin, my sweet boy..."

the boy only groans, large hands reaching to gently encircle your wrists. there's no real force exerting from him as he pushes your hands down against the pillow beside your head.

his knees dig into the plush of the couch on either side of your hips, allowing him to hover over you. turquoise eyes dart around every slope and valley of your face, memorizing what love looks like to him.

"i'm not a damn baby, and you know it..." his voice is gruff as he falls back onto you, pulling a soft 'oof' from your lungs. rin's fingers intertwine with yours, still keeping your hands down by your head.

he claims not to be a baby but he's just so damn soft when it comes to you, how could you not want to spoil him rotten?

okotsuus 24

[harmonysanreads]

hello <3

wishing you freedom and happiness from academic hell before diving in. you opened requests so 👉👈

forgive me if this counts as idea stealing since you posted about it but yan! neuvillette with a darling who wants to file for divorce would be such a messy situation. court proceedings go to him now that the oratrice is no longer functioning. how do you expect to win against the law of the land?

filing divorce in a different land also isn't an option, because it is written in your marriage contract that you cannot leave fontaine without your husband and he sure as hell isn't going to come with you for something like this

oh well.

Jeux de Vagues

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Neuvillette x [ Gender Neutral ] Reader

Warnings: Yandere, Implications of forced marriage, Captivity, Slight dehumanization, Coercion, Fontaine archon quest act one spoilers, Old married couple bickering (literally)

「 Words : 3k 」 �� Trivia for Jeux de Vagues 」 「 Read on AO3 」

· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Hiii Zuri!! I have been brainrotting this fic since version 4.0 so thank you so much for just giving me the opportunity to unleash it lol. For plot reasons this takes place between act 1 and 2. I dedicate this fic to all the anons who brain-rotted with me and kept me motivated to think about neuvillette with their creative asks<3

“Husband, I wish for a divorce.”

In Spring, the snow of the bygone winter thaws and raises the tides. They twirl to the edges of the shores ; push and pull, back and forth, mesmerizing the nation of Hydro with their temptatious dance.

You wonder what it'd take to entice the waves to your direction, to have the power to make them rage and placate. When one desires to control something great, they see its reflection upon mundane things — just as you envision yourself dictating the tides upon cups of dainty porcelain, noon to evening and midnight to dawn — your spoon conducts its rhythm.

In Summer, the waters boil and vaporize upon the touch of sunlight to reach the heavens and complete the cycle. Just as wisps of steaming tea tantalize their way upwards from cups and tea pots. Beyond that translucent veil stares back a pair of watchful eyes, undecipherable are their emotions and primordial their age.

“The tides of time heed no one's orders or pleas. Very well, mon trésor, let us begin this trial.”

You're quick to catch the hint and slow to react, deliberate and relaxed as you bring the rim of the cup to your lips. The tea scathes your lips and paints your tongue bitter, bitter, bitter — a smile stretches across your tingling lips, deeming the liquid's taste adequate to your present temperament.

You are bitter, not because of the contents of this ‘trial’ but, due to the delay of it. You've been crossing days after days from heaps of calendars, preparing all your accusations and aligning evidence to back up your claims for this chance only comes once every fin de siècle.

“I heard your justice machine broke?” a ‘clang’ accompanies the tea cup meeting the saucer. You focus on the chirping of birds and the noises of crystal flies buzzing past instead of the possible damage done by your words.

You hear it, the swell of rising waves before they pacify with a purposeful cough. You don't let the event’s lamentable duration plunder your motivation, more precisely, you take it as a good start.

“Calling it broken is quite the stretch. You and I both know that the Oratrice Mechanique d’Analyse Cardinale—”

You swat a hand and the waves placate completely, sans any questions or any other brewing feelings. “I'm quite aware of what it's called, husband.” ‘I just could not care less’ goes unsaid.

You point your finger towards the Iudex of Fontaine, “You,” then return it back to yourself, “and I, both know the purpose of me bringing that incident up in our private trial.”

No amount of sensory loss would render someone ignorant of the mockery of your words. You bite the inside of your cheek in a lazy attempt to suppress a smirk, times like this really make you regret not having the privilege to face off against Neuvillette in the Court of this land ; you're quite sure your most recent stunt would earn you many bewildered gasps. If only the gates of your husband's manor crashed down, perhaps incapacitating him in the process for good measure.

“...Yes, we do. Your intention is to insinuate the impending prophecy and learn how we plan to prevent or battle it.”

Neuvillette's words resemble velvet in the manner they roll off his tongue, you catch his gaze drifting towards the chalice to his left, from where his reflection returns his stare. There are many tales passed among melusines of the equanimity practiced by your husband in even the most dire situations. But you have seen the depths of the ocean, where its secrets are forever concealed by an ever stretching darkness.

“Correct,” you affirm.

“Unfortunately, mon trésor, our investigations have not yet reached a decisive conclusion. While I can guarantee you that we'll do our utmost in the face of the prophecy, I cannot yet give you the specific details. Besides, this information is quite... arbitrary to our ‘trial’.”

The ocean returns your scrutiny, threatening to yank your breath away to that unknown darkness. You watch the ripples along its surface, wondering and devising plots to uproot the ocean's schemes from your safe space.

You want to tear through that ataraxia and illuminate those depths for all to see its hideous secrets — so that your claims will no longer be deemed senseless.

“Well, you could try acting the part of the Iudex first.” you exhibit great interest in your nails.

“Apologies, mon trésor. The trial is now in session.”

The most preposterous trial there ever was, in fact ; spectated by cups of tea and plates of desserts, overlooked by the jury of birds and bees under the naked skies and one stubborn ‘judge’ to lay down the final verdict — who was also the accused in question.

It'd be more fitting to call this some courtroom version of playing house and you wonder if Neuvillette sees it as exactly this ; since the notion of normal matrimonial life flies past his head.

You swallow your profound irritation at his nonchalance and that prickling soft gaze, the calm of the ocean surface is just a facade, you remind yourself.

“O honorable Chief Justice of Fontaine, riddle me of what I must do with my husband. He sees fit to cage me down while preaching justice simultaneously and allows me not to indulge in ‘rudimentary interactions’ with any other life forms. Do you not think that such hypocrisy is utterly ridiculous?”

Your hand cradles your heart, fully embracing the spirit of a mistreated spouse. Neuvillette regards it with an almost comical graveness, nodding as though he understands. Had it not been for the situation, you would've marveled at how willingly he's playing along with this fiasco.

A gloved hand stretches out to you in suggestion, “Perhaps it's because your husband just worries too much for your well-being?”

Your right eye twitches, “I’ve made it acutely obvious to him that I'm far from a toddler in need of constant supervision.”

The Iudex smiles succinctly, “I’m sure that he's not ignorant of that fact. But if, as you say, your husband guards you with such determination that you're not allowed to interact with any other forms of living organisms besides himself, it means that you hold great value to him.”

You cross your arms petulantly, it's not that you're forbidden from talking with everyone, many of Neuvillette's most trusted melusines do come to add flickers of color to your otherwise bleak existence sporadically.

You're grateful for their kindness and brief companionship but, this small leeway does not outweigh the rest of your husband's misdeeds. Your eyes flicker to the patient eyes of the man separated by one small oak table, barely suppressing a scowl at his serene composure.

You despise it when he acts like the raw image of propriety, of an ideal husband ; so withdrawn from the covetous creature that he actually is — because it poses you as a lunatic, a lunatic who demands separation from what the rest of society perceives as perfection and debilitates all of your claims.

The more you think about it, the more frustrated you get — you don't want to let frustration consume you, you don't want to lose this one opportunity for freedom. Your nails dig into the sleeves of your apparel as your mind scrambles to search for more accusations.

Why did you want a divorce again?

You control your erratic breaths forcefully, “Well, I don't feel safe in Fontaine anymore. A deadly prophecy is at our door and with no solution in sight. I'd much prefer to relocate to someplace with less volatile weather, like Liyue or Mondstadt.”

Neuvillette tilts his head, “Ah, you want to go on a vacation, am I correct? To be honest, I've been entertaining the thought of traveling to the other nations with you by my side for quite a while. Though, things being the way as they're now, that is not possible. I can promise you that after everything has been settled, we will go on a journey together, mon trésor.”

This time you don't bother to conceal your disbelief, of course he focuses on the part that most serves him and twists the narrative to further enrich his fantasies! You bite your tongue back from yelling that you don't want a vacation, you want freedom from these suffocating high walls of marble. You don't just want freedom from Neuvillette, you want freedom from this cursed nation and it's solely Neuvillette's fault you were unable to do so with your kin five hundred years ago.

“Fontaine will face diplomatic and political consequences soon. Because you threw that Harbinger of Sumeru—”

“Sneznaya, mon trésor.”

“—I know that. My point is that we might face backlash from the Fatui in our vulnerable state and who knows? Fontaine might just collapse as a nation! I don't want to stay in a city like this.”

You freeze at the sigh that escapes Neuvillette's lips, you've been probing and digging for a normal human reaction from this man for a while, but at the instance that he actually gives it, you cannot help but find it jarring.

“Fontaine will not collapse from something as trivial as diplomatic pressure from the Fatui. Even though the prophecy looms above our heads, there are many factions that are actively working towards prevention. And even if Fontaine were to be drowned tomorrow, I have faith that not all of the citizens will be dissolved and you would always be my first priority. As for that Sneznayan Harbinger… we've merely followed the Court's protocols. If we did indeed convict him of crimes he did not commit, we'll most certainly compensate him to the fullest extent allowed by the law.”

For a transient eternity, all that echoed throughout the garden of the Chief Justice were the chirping of birds. Your mind carefully assesses the words from moments ago, searching for even a modicum of dishonesty.

You watch the Iudex's unfettered gaze, at last giving a glimpse of the tumults raging beneath the pretentious still surface. You can hear the swelling of waves again, albeit not for the purpose to engulf but, with the determination to protect.

You'd recognize that look on Neuvillette's face even in your (unlikely) deathbed, the causation of your bafflement though is that, this is the first time you've seen it appear in correlation to something other than yourself.

Your right hand idly smoothes your garbs and your left grips the wooden handle of your seat, you find both of your palms drenched in sweat upon contact.

“You’ve gone soft, ______”

You blankly admit in your semi-dazed state and it's Neuvillette's turn to take a deep breath. It's been a while since you've spoken that name aloud, the one that is only permitted to be uttered by you in private ambiances such as this and which serves as the origin for this clandestine marriage.

For some reason you cannot quite comprehend — especially since your husband does not seem to suffer from it — your memory enjoys having a love-hate relationship with you. From what you recall at this instance, the last time you called the Iudex by his true name was when he gifted you this garden. Its utterance is so rare that even the bearer is rendered speechless each time.

Neuvillette copies your previous antics and pastes it onto the current situation with a prolonged look-over of your person, “Your apparel today suits you most exquisitely, mon trésor.”

You answer with a gracious eye-roll, “Don’t change the subject.”

The Chief Justice of Fontaine straightens his posture with a somewhat bashful chuckle, the afternoon sun's soft hues make the ivory strands of his hair sparkle. “Apologies, I've been meaning to compliment your appearance, not that it is ever short of radiant — I just could not find a suitable opening.”

You submit to the urge to slouch ever so slightly with a sigh, “You don't have to apologize for every little thing, you know?”

“Apologi—” Neuvillette corrects himself with a cough concealed by his fist, you watch with intrigue as soft coral dusts his pale cheeks.

“As for your ‘question’, I will admit that throughout my coexistence with humans as Fontaine's Iudex, I've come to appreciate their ideals, characteristics and interpersonal relationships. In a way, I've understood myself to a great extent through observing them. Just as you wished I would.”

You furrow your brows in genuine confusion, “What do you mean?”

Your husband seems to steel himself for something, hands intertwined atop the oak table and eyes drained from his earlier playful light all too quickly. “You’ve always wished to become human. To view this world through the eyes of a mortal, to be able to have a taste of their myriad and complex relationships and... to die alongside someone you truly love.”

Somewhere in the crevices of your archaic mind, there's a vacuum hidden beneath the symphony of sea waves. Unchanging, uncharted and unperturbed by your attempts to identify what used to occupy that space.

Neuvillette's cryptic admission creates a crack on what you assumed to be an empty spot occupied by white noise, the cleft dents your memories and spreads, a raucous scream threatens to rupture your eardrums.

“Are you, perhaps,” your fingers clasp onto the silk of your garb, “insinuating that you've granted me my ‘wish’?”

If you had gathered the strength to look up, you would've been blessed with the sight of the Iudex thrown off-guard. But the lapse in composure is short lived, “Of course.”

Something about his easy confirmation annihilates your decorum and replaces it with a rage of unknown origin, “So you think imprisoning me has made me happy? That it's made me feel human? That your kindness and preachings of justice have bewitched me so much that I've considered you as a lover for even a second? No, no and no! I have never and will never stop hating you, ______!”

But why do you hate him? Your thoughts echo back to you ; he's ensured you never have to ask for a meal, he's clothed you, he's provided a solid roof above your head and he's given you his heart — or at least that's what he says.

For not once does a memory that he's mistreated you arise in your head but, what does bubble in your heart is an inexplicable hatred. A hatred so grave that it motivates you to not surrender to this unfair trial, contemptuous waves swell, rise to heights unseen, crash down—

“Do not forget that abandoned property belongs to whoever finds it first.”

And drag everything to the ocean's dark depths.

A jolt shakes your whole body, your eyes rise to meet the tempest in disbelief and suddenly, the dam shatters. Now you can see the serpent leering behind the charming flower, an unrestricted view of what the fair and ideal Iudex is inside those glimmering garbs of honor — a dragon with manicured claws and perfumed scales, seated to a chair of judgement yet, forever guilty of a sin he refuses to purge.

Only you remember that Neuvillette wasn't always like this ; in days not noted down in history he'd been an enigma, unsure of the significance of his existence, burning with contempt for the so-called Usurpers and sometimes cruel. But at least, he wasn't a hypocrite.

He'd dug his talons deep into your heart and skin and engraved his name within your soul, he'd defiled the waters that construct your being with hatred and malice but at least, he hadn't refused to acknowledge that it was him who shackled you to this godforsaken nation, separated from the rest of your kin.

Neuvillette takes a deep breath upon noticing your erratic trembling, the tsunami recedes. “It always ends like this,”

It does. This excuse of a trial with your freedom as the wager, born of your husband's ironic belief of justice, that you should still be given a chance to speak up against iniquity. He'll take great note of any other issues that might cause you distress, but the actual concern will never be addressed — that's how it's been for five centuries.

It is the kind of judge that Neuvillette has become in matters that concern you, finding loopholes to keep you attached to his name yet hidden from prying eyes ; all because of his principle that having a public personal relationship will bring the impartiality of the judiciary system to question.

“However, it must be done to ensure your safety.” you tense as he rises from his seat, gloved fingers trace the silk table cloth.

The grass crunches beneath his heel, “For who knows what the public's reaction would be if it was to be leaked, that the Iudex Neuvillette's spouse was the progenitor of the prophecy?”

You feel the familiar texture of Neuvillette's glove supporting your face, wiping the cascading tears that escaped without your notice. “Do you not remember, mon trésor, that you need me?”

Your vision blurs and all you see is blue, his blue or yours, your mind refuses to confirm. But what it does corroborate are Neuvillette's words, that you would not survive without his care, that you are the first who had wished to become human and that you are the first sinner.

You feel his touch more firmly this time, it's not warm like all the other times ; but soothing and sedating. As though, a cavity within your soul was given meaning and a portion of your memories hidden away. Your eyes are defeated against the temptation of slumber, but before the darkness engulfs you, you vividly hear the rumbling of an ensuing storm, the first of many tears of the sky hitting your skin.

“I suppose this must be my punishment. But, I would rather prefer being the recipient of your scorn and contempt than to not have you at all.”

But why go through such lengths? Neuvillette's conscience asks as he takes your limp body in his arms, the sound of heavy rain follows his footsteps back towards your shared ‘home’.

To this, he consoles himself : the words unspoken are the flower.

[neuvistar]

no bc imagine gamer blade with virgin/inexperienced reader 🥹🥹 (im in my gamer blade brainrot rn omg)

INEXPERIENCED.

— featuring ┊gamer ! blade x fem!reader

— warnings / content warnings ┊all consensual btw! not proofread cuz i’m a lazy bum, virgin!reader obvi.. blade referred 2 as “yingxing��� bladie being all gentle with u but then it goes wrong (he loses 2 his demons), mating press, overall suggestive content. 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

— a/n ┊oooo ngl i lowkey feel like he would also be a virgin, like it’s his first time too but he knows more than u do, ykwim? (this has been rotting in my drafts for awhile here u go!!)

honestly.. it’s not like you were experienced in this sort of thing.. and it’s not like you were thinking about doing this kind of thing when you’re ready, you had knowledge about it but you weren’t told that it was gonna probably gonna hurt for the first time?!

here you were, hands gripping at the sheets from beneath your sweating frame.. trying your absolute best not to squeeze and clench around blade’s cock that was carefully buried deep inside your drenched cunt, it’s not like you weren’t enjoying it.. you loved it. you absolutely love the fact that it fits just right, filling you up only a few inches deep! he was not even barely in and you were already moaning out his name, nuzzling your nose against the flesh of his neck to hide the blush that crossed your face. it was embarrassing really, atleast that’s what you thought. you were inexperienced and blade knew that, he said he was as well but you didn’t quite understand just why and how he’s so good with using his dick, you didn’t know if he did this sort of thing before and he was lying or he watched played or watched some.. pornographic film, you didn’t even know! you were so deep in thought that you almost didn’t even feel the pain of him fully sliding himself into you so easily, forcing a choked moan from your throat.

out of reflex almost, your pussy pulsed around his cock.. the walls of your insides pulling him in even closer as blade threw his head back at the sudden movement, fighting the urge to thrust into you completely and break you tonight, but that’s not happening.. no.. not tonight at least. blade wanted to take it slow with you, be sweet.. but the way you were clenching around him made it more difficult to control those urges. “e—easy sweetheart, eaasy.. yeah that’s it..” his voice sent a line of electricity through your body, making you jolt. aeons, he really knew how to use his cock.. he knew how to use it pretty well and he knew how to show you just how good he can use it.

“yingxing.. y—yingxing ‘s too much already.. dunno if i can take it..” you whined to him, clutching tight on the cotton black shirt he always wore until your knuckles turned white, squeezing your eyes shut when you finally feel his cock sliding in and out of you, his thrusts were slow and sweet.. passionate and full of love. but yet, it was your first time and you had such a tough time trying to accommodate his length.. it’s like you could feel tears forming from the ends of your eyes already from how good it felt, yet it hurt like a bitch. you didn’t know if your tears were from the pleasure or pain, but it’s safe to say it was from both.

“you can take it, big girl. i know you can. c’mon, keep going.. you got this.” he praised, well that was a surprise. blade had his hands on your knees to help your legs spread out more, letting the cold air brush against your soaked pussy as you whined again, he bit down on your shoulder to try and restrain himself from ruining you for the night. sweat trailed down all over your body from how hot it was, blade could almost feel like his body was melting and burning from the heat of the moment, running his fingers through his hair as he looked down at you with a dangerous stare. that sight.. that sight of you beneath him.. how sweat dripped down all over your body, how your breasts were slightly bouncing from the impact of his gentle thrusts, how sweet you sounded every time you whispered “yingxing..” under your breath, how you had your hand on your mouth to prevent you from making any more noises.. oh how he stretched your poor pussy out from his cock alone, how lewd the sounds of squelching were.. it drove him crazy.

well, you weren’t wrong when you thought about how good he was with his cock! and there, blade lost control as his slow passionate thrusts became more quickened and desperate ones, his grunts growing louder the more he slammed himself into you, tightening his grip around your knees. “yingxing..?—“ “sorry.. i need this.. i need this now, angel. i’m sorry— ah..” was all he mumbled before his dick practically hit every spot inside your walls, you could’ve sworn you could feel your eyes gouging out of your eye sockets as his pace quickened further, grabbing ahold of your knees and forcefully pinning them against your chest, keeping them in place as he proceeded to dick you down, the sound of creaking from the bed increasing as well as your moans and the noise of skin slapping against each other, fuck.. he was getting more and more desperate the more he fucked his dick into you, egging you on to take more of his length and girth.

“fuck fuck fuck.. yingxing please!” your voice was muffled against him, wrapping your arms around his neck as blade bullied his cock deeper and deeper into your cunt, his tongue flicking against the skin of your neck as his fingers gently squeezed your breast. “mm.. does that feel good?" blade asked softly, his tone now filled with lust. “yeah.. more? you want more? i’ll fucking give you more..”

blade was completely out of it now.. squeezing you in a mating press as he pushed your knees further down your chest, the new position allowed his dick to access your deepest areas.. the pain soon disappearing as it was replaced with pure pleasure and euphoria, the euphoric feeling deep within your veins.. that euphoric feeling of how good he was fucking ypu to oblivion. “don’t squeeze around me like that.. you’re gonna make me cum, [name].. i can’t—“ blade bit his lip as he grabbed your knees, pinning them even further as he pounded inside your aching pussy, the position could make him come alone from how flexible you were.. damn. “yingxing!” the way you said his name, the way his named rolled so gently off your tongue, your teary eyed expression.. he wanted to see even more of it.

honestly.. you were inexperienced but you don’t think that.. you were inexperienced enough to take his cock. you knew damn well that night.. you took him like it was nothing.

perhaps.. maybe you can do it again more often?

[jals-stuff]

Some Rayne brainrot...

this is some stupid (and a bit horny??? no? yes? i don't know) stuff that went through my mind last night

MDNI PLEASE! this spawned in my head, no context

warnings: female reader, rayne is ooc and pervy, he is staring, dubcon (bit steamy at the end), bit of swearing, bit of horniness, mentions of boobies and peen...

i am very sorry, i wrote this with 0 hours of sleep. barely proofread. enjoy

Rayne Ames. The Divine Visionary, the Sword Cane.

If you watch animal documentaries, you are probably aware that cheetahs can stay in the same position for up to sixteen hours without moving at all…

Well, it so happens that Rayne’s facial expression is like a cheetah. He somehow always looks like you’ve told him a really bad pun, and he’s judging you for it (not funny, did not laugh). He probably even has this face on while he sleeps, eats, showers, and probably even while he decides to please himself. 

And yet, despite looking annoyed every second of the day, despite looking like the unfriendliest guy in the whole Academy, he looks absolutely stunning. Anyone would agree that Rayne Ames is a feast on the eyes. And you, as his seatmate in class, aren’t one to deny this.

.....................................................................

It was your last class hour for today and you couldn’t wait to go back to your dorm room and rot in bed like the absolute lazybone you were. Changing out of your uniform was now an emergency, as the shirt you had picked today was somehow way too tight for you.

Being clueless with basic things such as laundry had its pros and cons. Sure, your clothes were smaller now and you could barely fit; but it made you look incredibly sexy! …or so you kept telling yourself. Maybe you were just trying to cope with the fact that you were incredibly bad at basic human tasks.

You made your way to the classroom and got your notebook out. 

Today’s subject was pure theory, and you would’ve fallen asleep if you didn’t have the most scrumptious distraction sitting right next to you. You spent the hour doodling, taking notes whenever you paid enough attention to do so, and mostly throwing quick glances at your seatmate, Rayne, who was way too focused on the soporific theoretical experiments your elderly professor was passionately explaining, to pay attention to you.

When the old man turned around to write something on the blackboard, Rayne finally turned a fraction of his attention towards you. Of course, this happened during the minuscule amount of time you weren’t looking at him, and he took notice of a few things.

First of all, your notes were an absolute mess. Instead of trying to keep them consistent, you had picked a few words the teacher said, and chose to throw them into an adventure with other words, picked at different moments during class, resulting in an abomination that wouldn’t make sense, even to you. But you wouldn’t know, of course, since you never read your notes anyway. 

He would give you bonus points for the adorable little bunnies you had been doodling for the majority of your time in class, though.

Secondly, you seemed like you were about to sleep, but given the way you were taking notes, everything sort of made sense. Not your notes though, only the fact that you weren’t invested enough to stay awake.

Third of all, your shirt. He wished his eyes hadn’t lingered for such a long time on it. Why was it so tight? “Is she so dumb she can’t even do laundry?”, he wondered to distract himself from the fact that the button that kept your shirt closed around the chest area had the strength of a thousand lions. 

His eyes moved back to your face, and at this very moment, you chose to look at him. Your eyes met, and his expression was, as always, unreadable. Was he bored? Upset? Annoyed? At this point you were pretty sure he didn’t know any better. But it seemed a bit different this time, you could’ve sworn you saw his lower lid twitching slightly. 

You decided to turn your attention back to the teacher— or at least pretend to, for a while, and it lasted for a whopping fifty seconds. Efforts had been made! You deemed yourself deserving of a little treat, and an attempt was made to look at Rayne once again.

His eyes were still on you. Now it really felt like he was upset. You were used to his icy glare but it was getting a little uncomfortable, and so, as one does, you had a great shitty idea. You decided that stretching your back could maybe help you release some of this discomfort, and your button, may it rest in peace, gave up on its sole task of keeping your shirt closed. 

You couldn’t tell where it went at all. In fact, you didn’t even notice, but you did feel a little more comfortable now that your chest area was no longer being compressed, except it was in a literal meaning now, and not just figuratively speaking. You could still feel Rayne’s eyes on you, and decided that you wouldn’t look at him for the rest of this oh so boring class.

What you hadn’t noticed was that his eyes were no longer on your face, but rather on the missing button’s previous spot. “Is she so dumb she can’t take care of her clothing?”, he wondered to distract himself from the fact that he could now clearly see your bra. 

He could see that one mesmerising spot where your breasts were pushing in a wondrous effort to get out of their insufferable lace prison. In fact, pretty much anyone could’ve seen it if they had turned around, but it seemed this professor was either hypnotic or soporific because everyone was staring in his direction. 

You were then blissfully unaware of the fact that Rayne was now leading an internal battle. He had to get his eyes off of your cleavage, for your breasts were not the only things screaming for freedom anymore. Ah, perhaps Rayne was also bad at laundry, because his pants felt increasingly tight the longer he stared at you.

Divine Visionary or not, he was but a man, and what power does a man hold when presented with sweet bosoms? None. That’s right. He tried to think about anything else. Rabbits? His little brother, Finn? The concerning relationship Lance had with his little sister? The way alcoholism thrived amongst the ranks of the State police? No matter what went through his head, he couldn’t take his eyes off of you.

He had to do something about it, and you were probably not escaping this one.

.....................................................................

As soon as the bell rang, he closed his coat as much as he could, and grabbed your arm before you could leave, and this time you could tell he was pretty upset. Why? How could you know? You didn’t know anything. Had your head not been attached to your shoulders, you would’ve probably lost it already. 

Instead of giving you any sort of explanation, he immediately dragged you with him. Your life felt like a movie that was playing in front of your eyes. My time has come, you thought, but… not quite.

You found yourself in Rayne’s dorm room, locked in with him. His roommate wasn’t there, and it was clear this crime would leave no witnesses. 

It took him half a second to remove his coat and— oh. You were suddenly in Egypt.

Everything was there: the stone hard pyramid, the Sphinx (that seemed ready to pounce on you), and the heat. Oh boy, the heat. As a very refined lady (yes you are), you brought your hand to your chest in indignation, and oh, how distraught you felt when you realised that your beloved chest button was nowhere to be seen. It was all starting to make sense.

Without a word, he pushed you against the wall and his lips met yours in a rough, steamy kiss. Your whole body felt like it was on fire; his toned chest was pressing against yours and breaking your buttons further, his clothed erection was slightly rubbing against your clit through your panties and his hands roamed your body hungrily while his tongue left no corner of your mouth unexplored.

It was all a lot to take in but it felt so intoxicating, the way his large hands held onto your hips to keep you from squirming too much underneath his passionate touch, and how his teeth were grazing against your lips while a mixture of both your salivas dripped from the corner of your mouth. 

His body was grinding against yours like waves on the beach, and both your breathings were becoming increasingly noisy. Only after long, delicious minutes of this make-out session did he break the kiss, panting for air, as he looked into your eyes with a lustful gaze you were now used to seeing.

It wasn't your first time pushing his buttons like this, and it certainly wasn't your last.

“You did it on purpose, admit it.”

Whaaat, you? Pfffft, never! But… let’s just say you’re not usually that bad at doing your laundry.

.....................................................................

smol reminder that i am very bored and i also take requests for mashle, hsr, genshin, jjk, elsword, tower of fantasy...

xoxo

[astralnymphh]

♯┆spacesoldier/spacescientist!ellie: who won't shut up about the hookup between you and her from the night before, and longs to do it again, fully. .ᐟ ★

literally don't question the randomness of this blurb. i run on revelations and sudden visions, and this one was just too hot to let rot. i had to pause a whole request for this thing. and it's a bit rushed, i'll like expand on it some other time i just wanted to return to this trope. anyways, I digress— space scientist ellie, nine month voyage through the cosmos, hookups.. tipsy hookups.

it'd be morningtime in the wake of certain events preceding that memories would slowly begin to prick through the surface— owing to ellie's imperfect subtlety. hills and hills of planetary research, prototype weaponry, instructions on how to properly utilize said prototypes, and coffee-stained reports, dawdled through like the process couldn't get any more boring than it presently is; stress, procrastination, a murk in the thick of your thoughts— literal brainrot. then, the main office zone gate slides open, that little airy whir pulls through your ears, and the person that walks through foments sudden recollection to the promotion party last night. ellie. a new recruit under your stations wing— and the immodest girl who was under your hood many hours ago.

ellie is a damnable pesterer of love; portending that if you've ever been intimate with her, she'll be stuck to you like an idiot's tongue adheres to icicles in wintertime. and tipsy her definitely was after you two had sex: pleading for you to stay a minute longer to cuddle, pressing every work-related praise hot into your nape, mentioning how good you taste out of the blue, so on and so forth. yet now that it is a bright and advantageous morning, and considering that she woke up to the scent of you woven through each fiber of her clothes— she remembers, and she reminds.

ellie's got her legs crossed, arms crossed, leaned against your desk's edge, small butt of hers rudely stamping one of your precious folders; the usual stance she does when you're plying your trade, and she prying for attention. "seriously. thursday, you and me, conference room number twenty-seven, i'll bring wine and fetch dinner from the canteen— please?" an earnest ask, you can sense it in her tone; evenly pitched and soft, softer when she pleads, as always, albeit that the spaceship you dwell in has no actual restaurant so dating environments are centered around some good old D.I.Y and empty meeting rooms. her foot winds out slightly to tap the spokes of your office chair, nudging the focus you so dearly casted to the papers below you, to her instead. which regrettably works; tossing an eye roll as you spin, "dates and recreational dinners don't fit into anyone's schedule here, you know that." it aches to claim that, and aches harder to see her take that hit of an that answer. watching her head drop and her mouth tug into a contemplative shape that wanted to battle it out with excuses, loopholes, promises— but it forms into a grin rather, and decides to be impish. "had time for last night though, didn't we? a great time, actually, n' i wanna see where that.." her voice sinks into the pit of her throat— deep and reserved — and her thumbs start to do that cute fiddly thing at her waist, rolling over each other while the rest of her fingers intwine and overlap, "—takes us?" modifying her words into a delicate, unsure question. a toothy, one-sided smile and sad puppy brows, ugh you could just pinch her cheeks. but of course, she spices up the deal, "hopefully.. back into my room, if my flirting skills aren't total shit." annoyingly rambling as a way to showcase how gravely you've impacted her mind the last twelve or so hours. so grave, you're the only thing her motivation could cling upon to urge her limbs and weasel her sluggish weight out of bed earlier. "please?"

that please chisels a smile into your lips, unfortunately-fortunate, "god, you're so bad, williams." poking fun at her and coasting the wheeled chair away with the back of your knees straightening, rising from your seat with documents in-hand, and agreeance in-mind; written ripe on your lifted cheeks.

"was i?" said indirectly, a cocky implication twisting her cheeks to the same level as yours. it took you— let's say, two, three, awkward seconds of squinting before you understood her crafty-ass joke that took your words a completely different, and lewd direction. stupidly faced too: cocking her brow with the scar slicing through, and cocking one side of her head upwards too, overall just cocky. now you could just squeeze her annoying face until it exploded. figuratively.

"shut up." "okay."

MASTERLIST . DAILY CLICK . READ THIS . PALESTINE MP . DOC VER