#but i originally planned for it to be pretty short and simple

[rainsyru]

How long has the Xin and Huey story been in the making? How much has changed since then? (you don't have to be very detailed, just the general timeline of major changes). And is everything (ABSOLUTELY EVERYTHING) canon in the extras comic? (Very important information for the next theory video I'm making)

Hoo boy ok so, I've had the characters since like, 2013(10+ years now whEEZE), and had story ideas for them since back then too. Obviously it has morphed significantly since then as I grew as an artist/writer. Some elements I liked may carry over or inspire stuff now, but overall it's verrry different. Also I like to entertain ideas that definitely don't make sense in the main storyline, so I kinda relegated them to AUs(you've already seen 2 of them lol).

As for the extras comic, I originally intended them to fit in AFTER a "season finale" of the main comic. I will say though, for the main story, I have a big picture idea of where the story is going...so big plot points like main characters' backstories, how they met, etc. are pretty solid and I did like to hint at some of it in the extras. But smaller details and how EXACTLY they will unfold is still subject to change. So all that is to say, I started the extras comic back like...3 or so years ago, and I intended it to plausibly fit into the main timeline. But it's possible some small details might become irrelevant as I'm working thru the main story.

[satoruhour]

RIDING JJK MENS ABS

a/n: thinkin’ bout dbf! jjk men bc of the toji drabble….. ouuuuhhhh im cooking

warnings: ab riding / humping & clit stimulation & pet names for all, implied phone sex, implied m! masturbation, somnophilia, cum eating, praise, implied second round (gojo), orgasm denial, implied overstimulation, calls you ‘slut’, a little mean, slight brat-taming, consensual recording, fingering from the back (geto), nipple play, soft sex, praise, brief unprotected p -> v penetration (nanami), toji is ur dad’s best friend, age gap (reader in uni, toji is in his 40s), calls you ‘whore‘ once, implied unprotected sex, implied creampie / breeding kink, lots of dirty talk, slight degradation, he smacks ur ass once (toji), n*sfw under the cut

✶ GOJO

your eyes flit between gojo’s and his pants, hanging low on his hips as his chest heaves in even breaths. it’s more often now that the strongest sorcerer wakes up after you, feeling so safe in your arms, but today you have other plans.

you feel a little sorry for him when he’s completed a gruelling mission last night, but the throbbing of your core and the twist of your stomach is uncomfortable enough when that gruelling mission lasted three days. you’ve sent him risqué photos, along with texts of needing him bad but the most comfort he could provide was late phone calls with the sound of him stroking his cock.

the real thing was always better, though.

your resolve hardens when your mind wanders to satoru’s moans you heard on the line just last night, dragging yourself off the warmth of the sheets and onto him, not before taking off your pants, freezing in place when he shuffles just a little. you’re awfully cautious especially when you‘ve been caught before from your output of cursed energy and his six eyes.

so when you settle down on him, you’re already grinning at your triumphant feat until your clit bumps along his abs and you’re sitting up straighter. oh.

you abandoned your original plan of pulling down his pants, instead dragging your pelvis against the hard muscle there, the ridges of his core feeling absolutely divine against your cunt. the only thing you can do with your hands is to hold them up, careful not to put any force on his chest while your hips move against his front and you’re moaning, softly. it feels too good to stay silent, letting out short breaths and wanton pleas of his name.

within a few rocks of your hips, you can feel your high already approaching, a little embarrassed at how wet his skin was from your dripping cunt but the feeling of it all makes you lost in pleasure, not even realising how, now, there was a pair of blue eyes staring back at you.

“wow.” 

“satoru!” you jump at the sudden voice interrupting your deep spell of pleasure, not surprised when all he does is sneak a peek at his torso and just smirks, taking a finger and swiping at the soaked skin of his abs. he pops it into his mouth, humming, satisfied with the taste and you can feel your body heating up from the need and the desperation for gojo after being away from him for three days.

you’re just unaware he’s also missed you like a dog misses a bone, and he’s so goddamn hard it hurts, but he’d do anything for his pretty baby to get off first.

gojo grins, “why’d you stop?”

“i— uhm, just— ah!” you know that grin only ever holds sinister thoughts when he flexes his torso and stimulates your clit, enjoying the sudden moan you let out, “’t-toru…”

you start moving unconsciously, body sagging over his as your hands find their place on his chest and you press hard, gojo’s breath being taken away both literally and figuratively when you grind down onto his naked skin with the attractive bend of your body, the ridges of his abs making your pussy feel so good.

“sato— oh, f-fuck!” you whine out as he places his hands on your hips to help you, leaving trails of fire hot touches along your ass and waist. his hands are so big, too, the simple movement of his hands on you is enough to make you clench around nothing.

“that’s it…” satoru is entranced by your cunt, dragging up and down his middle while your whimpers taint his ears and he’s hoping you’d cum soon just so he can see your trembling thighs and beautiful voice. “that’s right, ride me like a good lil girl— shit, clenching ’round nothin’.”

“g’na cum?” nodding, your pelvis moves desperately on his torso as gojo’s words make you mewl out for him, the burn in your core finally releasing when his hands spread on your plush ass that it has your clit pushed up all against him and your hips stutter in cute little jerks.

“satoru, satoru, satoru, oh my god—!” and you cum loudly with chants of his name, cunt leaking more and more cum that all he can do is watch, asking you with a sweet voice to lie back on his legs while he spreads your pussy to see just how wet you are, a glistening shine on your folds. gojo just grins, licking his lips with a glint in his eyes and a throbbing cock — the morning’s just started.

✶ GETO

sometimes geto was a professional at hiding what he was really feeling — at how annoyed he gets when someone brushes your opinion off, or the anger when gojo accidentally had smacked you hard while explaining something. but because he was so adept in this skill, you never really know what he’s thinking until you’re teasing him in public.

you whine when your hands are slapped away from his pecs, an aht aht leaving him when all you want is some balance. but geto is mean when he wants to be, and he’s not entirely happy after the stunt you pulled in the high-end fashion store today. a show of brattiness and teasing, asking him to come into the dressing room just to bend over with your ass right on his cock. this photo would look so cute as my wallpaper, suguru!

you were right, even if geto didn’t want to admit it, but it’s the last thing on your mind now when you’re been denied your orgasm twice already, forced to ride your boyfriend’s abs with no one to help you.

“su’,” you mumble, going delirious from how much your clit ached, and yet you weren’t allowed to cum until he thinks you can, hands going everywhere from your hair to your face just to have some sort of ground. “w’nna cum, p-please… ’m sorry sugu—”

a high-pitched moan leaves you when geto tenses his torso, enjoying your show as he leans back comfortably with both arms behind his head. you look so stunning like this, begging for release while your body contorts in all sorts to grind your clit into him with more friction. it’s so cute, and while geto doesn’t enjoy being tested in public, there’s a thrill in denying it and then giving it all to you later until you’re begging for him to stop.

“what was that?” he makes an act of putting a hand to his ear, “didn’t hear you, baby.”

“’m sorry, suguruu— s-shit,” your hips speed up when you find a particular spot, apologies continuing to spill from your lips until they’re cut off but geto grabbing your hands, being a little lenient as he lets you use his chest. your moans turn into thankful whimpers paired with the lewd sounds of your pussy against skin, fingers feeling all around him from his neck to his hair and unaware of how geto could cum just from how you use him like a fucktoy.

maybe he should capture this.

“dirty little slut, hm?” you only could hum and agree, babbling out some yes’s aimlessly as you continue to grind your puffy clit on his front, a yelp sounding when geto prods at your entrance which is sopping wet. “look at you soaking my tummy, naughty girl.”

“yea— yeah, yeah, ’m your naughty girl haah—” as his finger nudges into your hole, you mewl and your mouth hangs open, thick finger already stretching you out nicely and he smiles, watching you amused while as your expression melts into rolled back eyes and thrown back head.

“yeah, you are,” geto mutters breathlessly under his breath, making haste to grab his phone with your photo on the screen to open the camera and presses record — something he loves documenting for a folder named ‘my eyes only ♡’ that’s full of you getting ruined.

“smile for the camera, pretty darlin’,” and your drunken state is captured right up to the moment suguru inserts another finger and he’s so glad he’s got it on camera — your whines, your faltering hips, your hooded eyes, your wet pussy — his cute baby smiling so brightly at the camera while you ride yourself into oblivion on geto’s abs, absolutely loving the attention.

because even if geto swears he loves putting you in your place, he loves seeing you in pleasure more, especially when it’s all just for him.

✶ NANAMI

“kento, can i try something?” you mumble, a little shy at the idea that popped up randomly in the outing with your friends earlier. you couldn’t wait to get home right after to try it out only to find that your boyfriend was still on his mission. a cold shower, your favourite show couldn’t distract you one bit, practically jumping up when he comes through the door at ten o’ clock.

nanami who never misses a night to read a few pages of his book, puts it down, a curious tilt of his head that’s got your heart full and pumping fast, both at the cute gesture and the thing you were about to suggest.

“in what way, baby?” he gives you his undivided attention, glasses pulled off his face and you suddenly don’t want to say anything until you remember the aching pulse of your cunt and you think that it would be worth it.

“uhm—” you stutter, taking his reading glasses from his hand and the book as well, setting them down on the bedside table. in a second you’re straddling him, being the victim of a knowing slight smirk and wandering hands on your waist.

“if you had this in mind, you should’ve just told me, dear,” nanami smiles at your flustered state, but is dumbfounded when you pull up the fabric of his nightshirt and move up just an inch from his hips to his torso, sighing softly to yourself when your pelvis meets the dips of his abs.

and before nanami can ask, you’re moving slowly, experimentally and it’s a little humbling when you’ve got this hot blonde guy across you staring at you with a raised eyebrow, but he eases it into it immediately, cooing at your unsatisfied cravings, no doubt getting hints from the message he got from you earlier, multiple messages of i miss you’s and what time are you coming home?’s

“need some help, darling?” you whisper a small yeah, letting him tug your underwear off one leg and then the other, not missing the way his eyes follow the wet spot on the fabric before tossing it to the side.

“if you wanted to grind on me, you could’ve just said so,” he says matter-of-factly, like it‘s just another day at work but nanami’s also been thinking of you the whole time, too, eyeing the way your nipples start to harden. he chuckles at the twitch he immediately feels in your cunt, teasing her a little but rubbing a thumb over your clit and a soft moan leaves your lips.

“’s embarrasin’,” you hum, lowering yourself against his body to hide and your elbows wrap around his head, soft blonde hair tickling your arms. but at that point it’s invitation for nanami to nudge the thin shirt up your body and effectively disrobing you before he latches his mouth onto your hardened buds, sending a choked whimper past your lips.

“k-kento, baby… ohh my god—” the feel of his tongue flicking against your nipples and sucking hard on them prompts your hips to hump faster, panting and moaning like a dog in heat while you start to soak his torso. nanami groans when he feels the wetness of your pretty pussy, unconsciously tensing his core. 

“kento… f-fuck—!” he’s preoccupied with your tits, moving to the other one and repeats the process and your back arches in his hold, a pornographic whine going straight to his ears and right down to his cock.

“s’good for me, my love, doing so w-well…” nanami trembles when he feels your pussy contract and clamp around air, pulling away to look at your tear-filled face and knitted eyebrows and he feels a little guilty from being away the whole day.

“can you cum for me, hm?” nanami asks breathlessly, hands squeezing the fat of your breasts before they glide down to your ass, helping your tired hips. “cum for me, baby girl.”

you’re closer once those words leave his mouth and his lips capture yours in a harsh kiss, both groaning and moaning into each other’s mouths until you announce you’re cumming, hard. your hips move erratically, whining into nanami’s hair as your juices seep from your folds, leaving his torso dripping wet and soaking. but you’re so high from the orgasm that you squeak when his tip prod at your entrance.

it feels so good and soon you’re wiggling down to get his fat cock into you, pussy fluttering when his length stretches you out.

“’m gonna make it up to you, darling,” nanami grunts at the way your cunt feels around him, “been missin’ you so damn much today too.”

✶ TOJI

“baby, don’t think we should do this—” toji grunts when he feels you push him down onto your bed, headboard creaking just from how long you’ve had it. he would know, anyway, especially since toji had seen the bed in your room ever since he’s met your dad a few years ago when you were still in college. but now you’re bolder and older, clad in a short skirt with no panties and toji’s shirt.

because even when toji mumbled things like that in fear of your father finding out, you know he couldn’t resist you and your pussy.

“then how come you’re hard, toji-san?” he groans when you straddle his body that has a tight shirt on, the juices of your cunt leaking through. his hands immediately feel you up, palms going under the skirt and fondling your ass and he thinks that maybe he should let loose for once. toji isn’t sure when you had gotten so mesmerising, admiring the way you always helped your dad selflessly, contributing to his paperwork and bringing him coffee.

but until you’ve started dressing more provocatively around toji, he’s never noticed the way you grow into your features either, until one day you’re coming home after your second year of university in a tight pair of yoga pants, talking about joining some sports club to your dad while toji can’t take his eyes off of you.

it was so wrong of him, he knows, but when you’re confessing that night how you’ve recently been thinking about him, he loses all restraint he had, swallowing your cries of his name as he fucked you so good that night.

toji tsks, “dirty girl. grinding on your dad’s best friend like a whore. none of the boys at uni can fuck you good?”

you grin and shake your head, lifting your hips to pull the shirt off his body while he props himself up on his elbows to make it easier; the sheer size of shoulders and torso makes you lightheaded every time, toned in every area, albeit a little less years ago.

“y-yeah, toji-san, love it s’much…” your hips move on their own accord, eyes meeting his hooded ones as you drag your pussy up and down his middle, gasping when the hand that was caressing your ass lands a loud smack! that resonates throughout the room. you burn with shyness after, a pout making its way to your face before you bend down to hover an inch to his face.

“don’t wan’ dad to hear, toji…” you mumble, loving how you had so much effect over him by the way his chest heaves. It’s not often you see him, a normally cool-headed person, in this state, and toji’s equally enamoured by you as he smirks, tongue darting out to lick his lips.

“what if i want him to hear, pretty girl?”

you mewl, hips starting and halting every few times from the way toji stares at you. “what if i want your father to hear how my cock stretches your little pussy, hm? or how you’ll bring coffee to him with my cum leaking out your cunt?” his green eyes are unwavering, hand guiding you on his abs that flex and contract, making pleasurable contact with your needy clit.

“maybe then he’ll know what a little slut his sweet, sweet girl is,” toji voice mutters with a lilt and a rasp, drunk on the way your whimpers turn needier and sluttier, hips moving picking up their speed.

“wan’ you to ruin me, toji,” you drag out his name, the wetness of your cunt making obscene noises in the quietness of the room while your dad watches a football match downstairs, and you hope he doesn’t notice how his best friend and you have left the living room for too long.

“i’ll do that after you cum on me, angel,” toji grunts, rocking his body with you as your juices stain his skin, pleasantly surprised when you take one of his hands and stick his fingers in your mouth, sucking on it like how you usually would with his cock; the other swears he might just cum from that, and how you’re clenching around nothing, finally cumming hard with widened eyes and a slack jaw.

“cumming— cumming, cumming, toji…!” toji coos as you continue to ride out your high with cum dripping down your thighs and his body, a sly grin spreading across his face when he hears you say that they’ll be having another important football match after this and your dad wouldn’t miss it for the world.

you giggle as he places a gentle kiss to your lips, hands making quick work of his pants, “glad i get to have more time with my good girl, then.”

[fictionalmenxyn]

♥︎𝐖𝐭𝐟?! 𝐅𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐫?! 𝐑𝐥𝐥𝐲?!♥︎

Paring: frat!rafe x sorority!reader

Warnings: language, vague mention fighting, protective!possesive!rafe, creep, being followed

♥︎♥︎♥︎

You were walking home from college. Your original plan? Go to the store, buy some food for tonight. Then head back to the sorority. Simple take to end the afternoon? Yeah, you thought so.

Walking in the sun, headphones around your neck. You walked down the street, after going to the store you held your grocery bag. Your school bag perched on your one shoulder, as you walked.

You could hear someone walking behind you for the past ten minutes. Since the grocery store. You just thought it was another student, usually it was. You glanced over your shoulder. A normal thing you’d do, to see if you knew them. Usually if you knew them, you’d walk along side them.

But this guy… he was off… wearing a hoodie in the middle of may. The sun beaming, yet his hood remained over his head. He walked almost as if he was hiding. But every so often he’d glance up to you.

You took another corner, going the slightly longer way to the sorority. You and the girls did this to see if someone was following you. Because the route you’re currently on to the sorority. Wasn’t a way many students would take to get back to their places.

The guy was following you, oh shit…

You didn’t wanna make a big fuss, knowing if you ran. He’d run. If you speed walked, he would. So you stayed as casual as possible.

You texted Rafe.

Y/n: hey Rafey! U home rn??

Rafe: ye I’m at the frat rn u comin over later?? Wanna see ur pretty face :)

Y/n: ye im coming over! Love u, see u later!

Rafe: love u too sweet girl see u later ;)

You knew one of Rafe’s rules you both made. Feel unsafe? Go. To. The. Frat. House.

He made sure you knew that rule. Even if he wasn’t at the frat when or if you felt unsafe. He knew the guys would look after you till he’d get back. The guys were like brothers to you.

So when you heard the guys steps quicken, you knew you had to get to the frat.

Once you arrived, you walked up to the porch. Knocking a little too franticly. Rafe opened the door. Just in his basketball shorts and socks. You smiled a little nervously “heyyy Rafe…” Rafe noticed it. He knew you all too well for him to not see through your nerves. He asked “what’s wrong, baby?” You subtly pointed to behind you. You whispered “is he still there?”

He? Who is he? What the fuck did she mean by he? Rafe’s protective mode was in play.

He placed a hand on your hip, “who?” He looked over the top of your head. The height difference coming into play. He saw the guy. Smugly leaning against a street light. Hands in his pockets, despite it being the beginning of summer.

Rafe’s jaw tensed, he looked down to you “he followin’ you or somethin’, sweetheart?” You nodded “couldn’t shake him… it’s making me panic…I think it’s my shorts? You think that’s the re-” Rafe’s rage started to creep in. He cut you off “baby, don’t overthink it, he’s a creep… your outfit shouldn’t make him follow you, okay?” He kisses your forehead. “Just let me deal with it, ok?”

Rafe tilted back a little, tilting his head, turning it to the side. He called out “hey guys?!”

Topper jogged down the stairs. He was originally going to grab a snack. But walked over when he heard Rafe. “What’s up?” Topper asked.

Rafe replied “take Y/n inside, gotta deal with a asshole…”

Topper nodded, he opened his arm out to you. Rafe gently pushed you inside, letting you be tucked under Topper’s arm. Topper guided you into the kitchen. He helped you put your food away. Both of you knowing Rafe won’t let you out of his sight for the rest of the day and the next.

As you went inside, Rafe walked over to the guy. He called out “hey! What’s your problem, man?” The guy replied “what problem?” Rafe scoffed “uhh how about the following my girl problem??” The guy smugly replied “I don’t see no problem.”

Rafe laughed coldly “oh yeah? You think in your creep of a mind, that it’s okay to follow girls around, huh? What sick fuck are you, hm?” The guy scoffed “I ain’t no sick fuck, not my problem she wore that, she had it coming for her… she begged to be followed.” That was the last straw for Rafe. How the fuck says that?? Did the guy have a death wish?? That was all it took for Rafe to swing his first. And definitely not last punch.

You went over to the couch, grabbing your book from your tote bag. You laid on your stomach, on the couch. Opening your book, continuing where you left off last time.

Soon enough, the front door opened. Rafe waltz into the living room. His stern and angered expression softens at the sight. You, in his place (technically his). Lying on the couch, reading your book.

He walked over, climbing on top. His chest to your back. Rafe rested his head next to yours. Your temples squished together. Rafe’s hand comes to play with a few strands of your hair from the front. He whispered “you know, I hate reading…” you interrupted unintentionally “yes I know that…” he chuckled “yeah… what I was saying… I hate reading, but when I watch you? It makes me feel at home, ya know? Just like when we were kids…” you chuckles softly. “You enjoyed when I read it to you, didn’t you?” He nodded. “I did… still do… but don’t tell anyone..” you smiled “pinky swear, I won’t…”

After some time, you had fell asleep. Your forehead in the book, keeping it open. Rafe had returned from his room, after having a zoom meeting with the football team.

He smiled, he walked over. Grabbing the bookmark from the arm of the couch. He gently slipped the book from under your head. Putting the bookmark in, then putting the book into your bag again.

He gently picked you up, with ease. Your head turning into the crook of his neck. He whispered “ssshh… just gonna take you to bed, m’kay?” You subconsciously nodded.

He took you upstairs and down the hallway, to his room. He gently placed you on his bed. Then closing the door, he gently took your shoes and socks off. Along with your cycling shorts, knowing you’d complain about how you don’t wear ‘gym’ clothes to bed. Knowing how cotton sticks to nylon. The then pulled your tshirt off. He went to his closet and grabbed one of his T-shirts.

Heading back into the room and back over to you. He gently and carefully put his tshirt on you. Then he climbed in next to you. Holding you closely, protecting you from the world. He loved you, tried to protect you, always. Lying here not just comforted your sleeping self. But comforted him, knowing you were there… in his arms.

He kissed your temple softly, keeping his lips there as he mumbles “I’ve got you, I’ll keep you safe, sweet girl… always.”

♥︎♥︎♥︎

[eevees-hobbies]

Honeyed Kisses Against Tender Flesh (Fem!Reader x Hayato Suo) - NSFW

Author’s Note: I got carried away with this one. But shoutout to those of us who write for Hayato Suo cuz we really are working with crumbs. Like he’s whatever we say he is until we get more information. 

Synopsis: Your friend Kotoha and brother Hiragi are worried about your relationship with Suo. It all comes to a head at the beach, to your embarrassment and Suo's delight. No big deal, though; you’ll just have sex against Hiragi’s truck or whatever. 

Content Warning: I’m a really bad judge when it comes to dark content. To me, it’s a spectrum and while I don’t consider this particular story truly dark, others might. So I encourage you to read the warnings and make the best decision for yourself:

Smut with a plot, the obsessive kind of love, possessiveness, hickeys, bruises, biting, spit, enjoyment of public humiliation, teasing, licking of blood, sex/nudity in public, super brief mention of a golden shower, praising/worshipping language, unprotected sex, no-pulling out despite being asked (wrap it up, folks!), like he straight up says “nah.” 

Also, please note that you are written as Hiragi’s sister in this story. I do not expand on your relationship, so you might be his half-sister, full-sister, step-sister, adopted sister, etc. I say this for my readers who may hold a racial/ethnic identity different from Hiragi, hoping that you can still feel like this story is for you (because it is <3). Minors Do Not Interact.

Word Count: 3.2K

Divider by Saradika. Story banner by me.

On a day when you and your Bofurin friends decide to visit the beach, the unforgiving intensity of the sun makes you feel as though you’re simmering in a boiling pot. No one except you is ill-prepared; the men are wearing various colored shorts that seemingly match their personalities, and their unclothed torsos are on full, unapologetic display.

Kotoha, sitting on a beach towel next to you, is in a three-piece halter bikini set with a sheer sarong skirt that accentuates her curves. Even your brother Hiragi has abandoned his usual band shirt to showcase his well-toned arms and abs. You find it pretty horrifying but good for him, you think. 

It’s hard not to be jealous of all the bare, suntanned skin as you take inventory of your fit. You are wearing an oversized grey hoodie and sweatpants combo that covers every inch of you. Underneath your hefty clothes is a simple but cute black two-piece bikini you originally planned to show off that day. 

You are roasting under the sun's rays—and in your anger—as you glare at the person responsible for your attire: Hayato Suo. 

He’s sitting on the beach towel with you, his perfectly parted hair blowing softly against the breeze. Despite his attempt at trying to appear inconspicuous in reading his book, you can tell that he’s very much aware of your disdain for him with the way the corners of his mouth twitch upwards. 

Kotaho lowers her sunglasses so she’s looking at you over the rim of the frames.

“Why are you wearing a sweatshirt and sweatpants at the beach of all places? I’m getting hot just looking at you.”

You shift uncomfortably, having hoped that this was not a conversation that would come up. You instinctively pull the collar of the sweatshirt higher until it’s tucked snuggly under your chin. “It’s not so bad! I just have to stay hydrated!”

Kotoha leans closer to you and lowers her voice, obviously trying not to catch the attention of Suo. “But why? Is this a cry for help because of you-know-who? Say the word, and I will scream.”

You and Kotoha have become close since you applied for a position to work at Cafe Pothos. She was your boss, but she’s also the embodiment of a girls-girl. You bonded over cooking and annoying brother figures; there wasn’t a thing you didn’t know about each other. 

So color her shocked when one day she picked up her cell phone after receiving a series of texts that were coming in rapid succession. She had assumed the sender was Umemiya, but instead, they were from you!

8:50 PM: OMG 8:50 PM: You won’t believe what just happened to meeeeeeee ihfdnf 8:51 PM: SUO! SUO! 8:52 PM: He KISSED me!  8:55 PM: HELLO?! The love of my life just put his tongue in my mouth and you HAVE THE AUDACITY TO NOT ANSWER!? I’m heading to the cafe right fucking now.

Kotoha was confused, not because she didn’t think you deserved the world—you deserved the world and more. She was confused because she couldn’t picture you and Suo together. He was pleasant whenever he came into the cafe, only ordering tea and always leaving a big tip. But other than that, she didn't know much about him, and no one did, and that was a difficult thing to accomplish in a small town. 

So when you finally ran into the cafe, practically colliding into the glass door as you shuffled in, Kotoha poured you a fresh cup of coffee, sat you down, and asked if you were sure about this.

Were you sure it was a good idea to date a guy who wore an eyepatch, had never been seen eating, and had a different story about his life every time he was asked? You assured her that Suo was the man of your dreams and you’ve never been more sure of something in your life. And while Kotoha may not know much about Suo, there were small moments that felt as though you were gradually building up to this kiss all along. 

The way he’d offer to walk you home even though it was out of his way, how his hand would brush up against yours and linger when passing you coins to pay for his tea, and god, that smile of his that usually didn’t reach his eyes but did when he was talking to you.

You were adamant that this was something you wanted.

You didn’t exactly come out as “official,” though. In a strange way, your relationship just “was.” 

Your friends acted as though you had always been together, and the way Suo became a constant in your life—walking you home after every shift from the cafe, texting and calling you more often, holding your hand in public, and taking you out on dates to your favorite places—made it difficult to remember what life was like before him. You quickly became the shadow of the other, and not without concern from Kotoha and Hiragi. Some would call your love for each other smothering, but to you; it was anything but that—it was perfect. 

“Everything is fine, Kotoha, I promise.”

She lets out a sigh and pulls her sunglasses back up. You can see the reflection of the guys in her dark shades—Hiragi, Umemiya, Sakura, and Kaji playing volleyball, sand kicking up as shouts of, “get that, doofus!’ and “who are you calling doofus!?”  traveling over to you but being drowned out by the roar of waves breaking shore.

A bead of sweat travels down the side of your face, and you look up at the sun, hoping to will it away with a pitiful look.

“Why not take off that burdensome outfit, sweetheart?” 

Your head snaps in the direction of Suo, the tone in his voice–thick with faux concern–alluding to the pleasure he’s getting from watching you like this. He’s all too aware of what you’re hiding—he’s the culprit who put you in this situation.

He shrugs innocently, “you’re developing sweat stains,” you follow his finger as he points at you. To your horror, giant wet spots have formed at your armpits and collar. You groan, the realization that if you don’t shed these clothes soon, you’ll likely meet your untimely demise via heatstroke—and that’s a very unsexy way to go. 

A shaky hand grips the drawstring of the sweatshirt, and you peel it off with the sweatpants following shortly after. Before you can set the clothes beside you, Kotaha lets out an audible gasp. You wince, knowing that your movements and her sharp intake of breath will surely draw the boys' attention—a result that you were trying your damnedest to avoid.

You thought Hiragi’s booming voice would be the first to reach your ears, but instead, it’s Sakura’s. 

“What happened to YOU?!” 

The volleyball spinning through the air hits him square in the chest; a loud thud has him doubling over in pain, but it’s not enough to break away Hiragi’s stare from the bruises and hickeys that litter your neck, chest, and thighs.

After gathering himself, Sakura stands up and turns his attention to Suo, “You should really keep a better watch over your girl. She’s obviously getting her butt kicked somewhere-”

Sakura is unable to finish before Hiragi interjects. He takes a step forward, and if you weren’t on sand, you’d be almost positive that the sheer force would shake the earth. “Suo, what did you do to my sister's skin?”

You stare at Hiragi, deep veins already protruding from his forehead. If looks could kill, Suo would be dead right now. You give a sideglance at your boyfriend, who has two hands raised near his head and his shoulders shrugged up to appear non-threatening. 

“I am NOT doing this right now!”  You proclaim, hurriedly picking up the keys to Hiragi’s car and padding through the sand, trying your damnedest to escape the sound of rising voices. 

Suo follows you soon after de-escalating the situation. Assuring Hiragi that he may have gotten carried away with the amount of hickeys and bruises he left on your skin wasn’t easy by any means, but you two were both consenting adults, so there wasn’t much Hiragi could do anyhow. He desperately wanted to add that you didn’t mind the bruises when they were happening to you—but that didn’t seem wise.

Hiragi’s truck is parked next to the property line between the beach and the expanse of forest. When you arrived, the parking lot was full of people, but beach-goers packed their belongings and left as the day neared its end.

Suo can’t see you as he approaches the truck's passenger side, so he assumes you’re on the driver's side. As he rounds the corner, he’s met with the sight of you bending over and attempting to fish the keys off the ground, which must have fallen. The sight of your ass completely swallowing the seat of your bikini bottoms has him suddenly leaning against the car for support and blood flowing south. Even with one eye covered, he can see the outline of your puffy pussy. The bikini is much better, he thinks to himself.

You turn around, hearing the sound of gravel shifting quietly—hoping that your brother hasn’t followed you, but it’s Suo. 

“Well, that was awk-“ you begin, but you're cut off. The fluidity and quickness of his motions still surprise and catch you off guard. He pins you in place to the truck with his body—chest to chest.  

You can see arousal churning in his eye as his now rock-hard cock presses against your thigh. At that moment, you’re thankful that the shade of the trees shrouds this side of the truck and that anyone coming from the beach would need to walk around the vehicle to catch you in the act.

For Suo, the build-up of knowing what you were trying to hide from the group and the eventual reveal of his handiwork had given him one hell of a rush. Being in on the secret was fun, but the way Hiragi’s eyes darted over your skin, the way he caught Kaji’s cheeks reddening as his eyes swept over your exposed and marked-up flesh, it was practically unbearable.

Suo’s hand tugs at the string of your bikini top, and it doesn’t take long before the flimsy fabric releases and drifts to your feet. You shiver as cool air licks at your breasts and nipples, hardening the sensitive buds upon contact. It isn’t until Suo’s warm hands cup and massage your breasts that you let out a whimper; his touch feels firm and needy, delivering pinches and squeezes to the over-sensitive and bruised flesh.

“S-someone could c-catch us!” You protest in a hushed whisper, but you’re not pushing him away—you tilt your head back to rest it against the truck and arch your spine to give him more access to you.

“They’d be so lucky,” he growls softly into your neck.

As your stomach twists in arousal and nervousness, you know that the Hayato Suo who is fondling you in the parking lot against your brother's truck is a different Hayato than the one your friends interact with. 

Suo is often poised and has immense control over his emotions, but sometimes, he gets so overcome by desire that it feels like a gaseous cloud is seeping into your pores and lungs. 

You’ve become a welcome victim to the Suo that likes to grip you so desperately that he leaves bruises, bites you so hard that sometimes it breaks the skin, and fucks you so roughly that you’re confident that you’ve experienced the closest thing you can to death.  

“Suo, we shouldn’t. They saw my bruises and the hickeys. Toma might kill you.”

“You can’t convince me that this isn’t something you want. This,” he presses two fingers against the seat of your bikini, which sink into the moistness of you, “tells me otherwise.”

Your face grows hot because he’s right. You’re not innocent in your shared dynamic like Kotoha, and Hiragi would like to think—you crave him just as much as he craves you. 

You’re just as much of a thrill-seeker as he is but you two have to be quick; anyone in your group could come looking for you any second—and nothing would destroy your arousal more than Hiragi seeing your boyfriend fucking you in public. Suo would enjoy that, though. 

It’s as though he can read your mind because Suo is pulling down your bikini bottoms so that they hang around your ankles. 

His lips are on yours, his kisses somehow hungrier than his touches. Suo kisses you as though he’s found solace against the plush of your lips and the treasure housed within your mouth. He tilts his head so his tongue can explore every inch of you deeper; he’s unapologetically devouring you.

When he finally pulls away for air, his voice is low and almost gravelly, a departure from his usual calm tone.  

“You make me become the most disrespectful version of myself, Y/N.”

His fingers roll and pinch at your nipples, but his eye is on yours. His gaze is intense, and even though he looks at you as though you are his prey and he is your predator, the last thing you want to do is look away.

He continues, “I want nothing more than to be the nice, sweet boyfriend your friends and brother want me to be, but you turn me into someone I don’t recognize.”

He’s pushing his shorts down, and you groan at the sight of him. His dick sits straight up against his abdomen with a slight curve, an aggressive vein pulsates on the side, and the crimson tip of it is smeared in an ungodly amount of precum. How can such a pretty dick look so angry? 

Without much prep or warning, he pushes into your wet sex; he’s so deep so quickly that your body jerks reactively. 

He can’t hold back the moan that escapes his lips at finally burying himself in you. His mouth has found purchase against your neck; both he and you can feel your pulse quickening, firing rapidly against his tongue as it reaches out to lick at your skin. 

“When I look at you, just as you are, I want to ruin you. So if that means I’m covering you with bruises, hickeys, or the most intimate parts of me, so be it.” 

He sinks his teeth into your neck, and the sharp pain makes your eyes roll back. The searing sensation doesn't last long as his tongue laps up the droplets of blood that bubble from the punctures.  

“Tell me that you’re just as obsessed with me as I am with you,” his fingers are digging into the soft flesh of your thighs as he holds your legs around his waist, allowing him to bounce you on his cock.. 

“H-Hayato, I’m just as obsessed with you, baby. I promise.”

And you mean it. You’ve never felt a love quite so all-consuming and suffocating. He’s explored every inch of your body; at first, the way his eyes drank you in made you squirm, but he assured you that he was simply appreciating what was his—you wouldn’t fault an art curator for appraising the Mona Lisa, would you, Y/N? No? Then let me be.

Suo has licked parts of you with enthusiasm, parts that you’d be embarrassed to admit to anyone. 

And for you, the taste of him is just as nourishing. When he pulls your head back by your hair,  his hungry eye communicating to you without him having to say it, you find yourself eagerly opening your mouth and accepting his spit on your outstretched tongue. 

The good girl muttered in his smooth voice afterward, and his infamous smile that reaches his eyes when he looks at you makes your clit twitch. 

It doesn’t matter if it’s his spit, cum, or other golden liquid of his, you want it all. 

During intimacy, Suo tears you down to the most basic, hedonistic version of yourself—his delivery never includes harsh language in the traditional sense—he would absolutely never call you out of your name. You are far too important to be called something derogatory. Sometimes you’ll refer to yourself as “his whore” or “his slutty girl,” and it will make him leak so much precum he has to catch his breath, but he hasn’t reached a point in which he has personally referred to you as those titles…yet.  

For now, he uses deft fingers and honeyed words dripping in veiled threats of orgasm denial and overstimulation to push you to the precipice of your pleasure—and you trust him to build you back up afterward with softly cooed hymns of worship and strokes of your tender skin. To Suo, you are a goddess, a deity to be revered. To Suo, you are everything. 

And it isn’t until moments like this that you see his mask slip. Your usually stoic boyfriend's mouth opening and closing in pleasure the same way that yours is, soft guttural moans escaping his lips and his brow furrowing, obviously about to lose control to you—-for you.

“You are everything, dove. You are my everything.” He groans as your silky walls clench around him, clutching him for dear life.

“You like it when I compliment you, pretty girl?”

You give him a grunt of approval, feeling yourself so close to becoming undone as he fills your head up with chants of his devotion.

At this point, each thrust has his dick bottoming out into your sopping-wet cunt. Pelvis to pelvis, you can feel every inch of you stretching to accommodate him. His maroon-colored pubic hair tickles at your skin, dampening at the contact of your slick as deep thuds from frantic thrusts fill the air.

And even though you’re only participating in a quickie, a rarity for you both, your cunt still drools just the same, streaks of it managing to glide down your inner thigh and leave droplets at his feet. 

“S-suo,” your nails dig into his shoulders, resulting in a delicious hiss from his lips. “Y-you have to pull out! You aren’t wearing a c-condom!”

Suo presses his lips to your ear; you can barely make out what he’s saying over the soft gasps and the way he’s suckling at your earlobe that he has pulled between his teeth.

“I can’t. You’re mine, and I want to fill you up. So you have to take it, dove. Take all of it.” 

And the way Suo says it, you know that he isn’t asking; he’s telling you what he plans to do to your body because you are an extension of him–you are his, and it’s his right to cum in you without silly obstacles like “protection.”

His pounding against your cervix feels animalistic, and the force of him fucking you is making the truck rock back and forth. 

You bite your lip and hold onto him for dear life as that oh-so-familiar feeling takes over. Your thighs squeeze him, and to muffle the scream bubbling up into your throat, you take a note out of Suo’s handbook and bite his shoulder so hard that he sees a hot, white flash. 

In that moment, you give each other everything—all of you becomes all of him—mixing into a mess of creamy, frothy white essence that drips down balls, legs, and thighs.

Between soft kisses on the fresh hickeys and bite marks along your neck, Suo chuckles, “Hiragi is going to be upset.”

[riki-riks-chick]

HIII im sorry forr requesting this again i just love how u write, can u make another non affectionate niki? where his affectionate gf stops being clingy bc niki is annoyed with it yet he got jealous when he saw his gf pat or hug someone

Cling To Me ┃N.RK

non-affectionate!riki x affectionate!reader

riki gets upset bc yn isn't being clingy like usual and she's giving the other guys attention instead.

cw: fluff! jealous riki, kisses, hugs, riki secretly likes yn's clinginess.

wdct: 858

don't be srry for requesting again bc I'm lowkey obsessed w non-affectionate riks too. the first one was originally js for me but now im obsessed.

═════════════

Third Person POV~

Today you had plans with Riki and his friends, so you got up early, wanting to shower before he got up so you could make sure he had breakfast. He often skips so sometimes you have to semi-force him.

You took a quick shower, wearing some sweats and a loose tank top, and setting your outfit out to put on once you finished getting ready.

You made breakfast, a simple meal consisting of some fluffy pancakes, and some fruit. You also poured two glasses of orange juice, setting the table before heading back to the bed room to wake Riki.

"Riki.. Wake up.." You shake his arm, pushing his hair out of his face as he groaned. "Hm?..." His eyes flutter open as he gazes at you. You chuckle. "Get up... I made breakfast."

He sits up, stretching before getting out of bed and following you to the kitchen.

He mumbles a sleepy thank you before eating, albeit slowly.

"After you're done eating we can leave once we're both ready." You mumble as he nods. "Okay.." There's little conversation as you both finish eating, and Riki offers to do the dishes while you finish getting ready.

Once your hair and makeup is done, you put your planned outfit on which consisted of a pretty top Riki had bought for you and some jeans.

After finishing the dishes, Riki took a shower, spending minimal time getting ready, and once he finished, you both left.

The car ride to the arcade was short, and Riki had tried holding your hand and placing his hand on your thigh through out, but you rejected both actions by ignoring him.

He was confused because of how unlikely that was of you, but he tried to ignore it, not wanting to read too much into it.

When you finally got to the arcade, Riki opened your door for you, and you smiled, giving him a kiss to his cheek as a thank you.

The two of you walked in, immediately spotting Jungwon, Sunghoon, and Heeseung who were standing near the prize counter.

"Hey, guys." Jungwon greets as you and Riki walk over. He gives you a hug which you gladly return, making Riki pout. He gets even more upset when Sunghoon and Heeseung hug you too.

Now that he's thinking, you didn't give him a kiss or a hug when you woke him up, which is highly unlike you. And he can't tell if you're mad at him or not because you still made breakfast and you gave him a kiss on the cheek just a few minutes ago. It's all really confusing.

Once the rest of the guys get to the arcade, you all start playing games, and for the most part, you stick to Jay. And it's no surprise to Riki because you and Jay get along well and you call him your dad as a joke since he treats you like a kid and spoils you the same way he spoils everyone else.

But it's clear something is wrong when you guys leave the arcade, heading to a restaurant that you all wanted to eat at, and you don't sit next to Riki.

Not wanting to argue or make a scene, he decides to let it go, but it kills him everytime he glances around the table and he sees you giggling with Sunghoon and Sunoo. For some reason it irks him that he's not the one with your attention.

He finds himself wondering if you ever feel like this, and if it's one of the reasons you're so keen on affection, but he still can't wrap his mind around your reason for avoiding him today.

This bothers him until you get home, and you're both quiet as you change, getting comfy for the night. You're taking off your makeup and doing your skincare, but Riki is already on the bed, a pout set on his lips.

He waits until you finally climb onto the bed to glance at you. "Are you mad at me?..." He asks as you look over at him, confusion settling on to your face.

"No, why?.." You question as he sighs. "You've been ignoring me all day.. And you haven't hugged or kissed me at all, even when you woke me up this morning."

You chuckle at his words. "I didn't think you would care.. Usually you call me clingy when I'm all over you throughout the day." You mumble as he sighs. "That doesn't mean I don't like it... I was suffering all day because I thought you were upset with me. I went all day without a single hug or kiss from you."

You laugh at how pouty and adorable he is, moving to hug him, before pulling back to pepper kisses all over his face and then his lips.

He smiles, deepening the kiss, his large palm cupping your jaw. He eventually pulls away with a smile. "Please don't ignore me again.. I want you to cling to me.."

═════════════

[dduane]

The first part of that last message got me curious -- given how long-running of a series YW is, how do you keep track of All That when writing a new entry? Copious amounts of notes? Re-reading the entire series backlog? Keeping a fully-functioning simulation of the entire YW universe running in your head with perfect accuracy? (only mostly joking with that last one)

And somewhat-relatedly, did you have any plan or idea when you started for how long YW would run? Or was it more of a "I'll keep writing about this universe until it stops churning out ideas," type of thing and that point just (very thankfully!) hasn't happened yet? I know for per-book purposes you're a proponent of outlining (I swear I'll try writing to one one day Q_Q) but do you also apply that to a series as a whole?

Let me take this backwards, as it may make more sense that way.

Particularly when doing series work, outlining is more vital than usual for me. (Which is saying a lot.) Some of the most basic reasons for this are laid out over here.

The simplest one, though, for series outlining, is logistical. Without having achieved a sense well in advance of what events (or effects of events) are going to be most formative or important (or both) for the characters in a series, you won't have allowed yourself time to think about them enough. And to fail to spend enough time on this is to cheat both yourself and the books in the series. (And your readership.)

If you're smart, you learn very early on that attempting to save time by shortchanging or omitting the planning stages is potentially profoundly destructive. You need to have a plan... and you need not to let anyone make you ashamed of needing one. Putting off your detailed character-interaction and event planning in the name of some magically occurring fit of inspiration, or theoretical bid toward creative spontaneity, will serve neither you nor your creation. You can throw "Hail Mary" passes all you like... but you'd better be damn sure there'll be someone in the end zone to receive. ...If not Herself.

...And just in case you're worried, your initial plans can be really loose! They don't have to jump out of your head full-formed like some local war goddess after somebody hits her dad in the head with an axe. The plan for the Middle Kingdoms books—after The Door Into Fire dumped me gasping by the side of the road and left me a few minutes to breathe—was nothing more than "Now that his boyfriend's finally upped the ante beyond all expectations, Freelorn finally gets off his feckless Would-Be Robin Hood shit and gets to work becoming king." I then spent the next decade thinking purposefully about how that was going to happen, and writing the second book in the series—while sufficiently working out the fine details of the climax (and beyond) to then be able to get busy executing the third book. Even though there was a change of publishers between the beginning of that series and the end of it, the basic dead-simple MK plan from a very early stage quickly became detailed and robust enough (because the series was short enough) to withstand the change. Not least because I'd been thinking about it in a general way since the early 1970s... and continue to do so, pretty much daily. The Door Into Starlight is still hanging fire...

YW has been a different story—quite literally—because the only plan extant at the start of things was, "Everybody slowly gets older (and slowly closer)." I always knew there were going to be more than the original three: there was way too much interesting ground to cover to just stop with those. (I've never yet succeeded in finding out who started the rumor that there were only going to be three books. Over time it's become one of those things you just shrug at and move on.)

(Adding a break here, because this does go on a bit. Caution: contains publishing skullduggery, plans ganging aft agley, approximate word counts, software recommendations, and value judgments.)

("Now wait just one minute. 'Feckless would-be Robin Hood shit'? Can she just say that??")

The circumstances surrounding the writing of Deep Wizardry and High Wizardry, though, made it plain to me that I was not going to be at the then-publisher (Dell) all that much longer. By the time HW came out, they were already starting to pull away from midlist books and authors in order to spend that part of the budget on best-sellers... so it became plain to me that attempting to construct a long arc with/at that publisher would have been folly. Because who could be sure what was going to happen next, and blow everything I'd built to smithereens?

Sure enough, when I finished A Wizard Abroad, Dell declined to pick it up (even though the books had been selling steadily and increasingly strongly in paperback). This annoying validation of my concerns—and my shiny new agent's—made it plain to me that further books in the series were going to need to be thematically driven, rather than mostly character-event-driven, and almost entirely capable of being taken as standalones. Any long arc was going to have to be one that could be suspended, or reworked, with little warning. Because what happens to you once, in publishing, doesn't at all mean you're immune to it after that.

It wasn't until the YW books were picked up by Harcourt in the mid-90s, with a strong editorial team behind them, that I felt confident enough to start building longer-arc material into the books, beginning with the arc that kicks off in The Wizard's Dilemma and more or less completes in Wizard's Holiday and Wizards At War. There is a secondary (and I assume, generally less obvious) arc that picks up material still unhandled in the "War Arc," and deals with it in A Wizard of Mars and Games Wizards Play. But plans for those stories' management were already nailed down in electrons as soon as 2001, because I had made some early choices about where I was going with the characters and their situations; and as new books came out, my editors agreed with me that the choices had been sound, and should remain.

I'll say this only because I've said it before: there is one piece of business planted in So You Want To Be A Wizard that has never been explicitly dealt with/followed up on in any of the books, and is at the core of YW #11. For the moment, it's safest merely to say that I do not willingly leave loose ends hanging. Beyond that, I'll leave you all to your own deductions.

...Now. How do I keep track of all this stuff? (The urge to mutter "With great difficulty" and run off into the wings is strong. But never mind.) :)

The question's fair, as there's a million-plus words' worth of it in the series at the moment. ...Mostly my guide remains the books themselves, in ebook form (in their NME versions. If I need to, I refer back to the traditionally published versions as necessary). I normally have a general memory of where a given event happens or where a given issue comes up for handling. I then pull that copy of the ebook(s) in question, and do a search on various useful target phrases until I find what I'm after, and where it leads.

For new work, or stuff not yet committed to what passes for canon, I do have lots of notes. Some of them are actually out in public, at the currently-being-revised Errantry Concordance (though they're not in any form that anyone but me will recognize). Others are tucked away in the notes sections of pertinent Scrivener files—this being one of the most valuable things about Scrivener, as far as I'm concerned: the ability to store project notes in the project itself as opposed to "all over the damn place." Others yet are in my iPad, as either typing or dictation, and get transferred to other files/formats as necessary.

But the very first thing that happens, when a new work comes into train, is an outline. Sometimes a hilariously simple one, sometimes one with more detail in the middle than at the beginning or the end. Doesn't matter what shape it starts in. All notes, scraps, prose chunks, random thoughts, and midnight cogitations, get slotted into place in this until it's ready to be organized and sent off to an editor. And this outline—no matter how fragmentary or how polished—remains ready to hand at all times until I've finished with correcting the book's ARC and am looking at the release date.

And then I zip it up and put it away where I can find it later if I need to... because some other plan, still in the building stages, may need something in that one that never happened, but now has its chance. Because in YW, as everywhere else in my work, it's so often about the things that have always almost happened... until they do.

...Anyway: HTH!

[huboi]

“it wasn’t your fault”

[muzan kibutusuji, kokushibo and akaza x gn! reader]

╰┈➤ includes; mentions of r*pe, self loathing, death (not reader), please note this is a triggering topic so readers’ discretion is advised

╰┈➤ extras; this was a request, sadly I can’t tag them cause tumblrs’ being a bitch about it so I just hope that the requester comes across this

╰┈➤ a/n; it’s important to note I haven’t dealt with anything like this personally, so apologies if this doesn’t seem realistic or is badly done, I will try my damndest to be as respectful as possible with this fic

ʚ ═══･୨ ꕤ ୧･═══ ɞ

muzan kibutusuji

yes, he’s a demon, not just any demon but the king of demons, which certainly means he cares for no one, especially not a human of all things right?

wrong

muzan originally planned on turning you, when something in his dead heart jumped for joy at the sight of your face, he just couldn’t turn you

and so he protected you when needed and eventually you ended up dating

one thing he noticed is that whenever he goes to touch or kiss you etc. you seem to back off or hesitate, you believe he doesn’t notice but he does

he’s also noticed you tend to cover your body 24/7 with baggy clothing and never wear short sleeved shirts or shorts

when he confronted you about it, you just burst into tears, thinking he would dump you or blame you for what they did to your body

with a comforting embrace, and some time to mull it over, you decided to tell him what happened

muzan was furious to say the least, not at you, never, he was furious at the disgusting person who dared to lay their filthy hands on you without your consent

he gives you little kisses on your face (with consent of course) and hugs you close whilst assuring you “it’s not your fault”

later on when he was sure you were fast asleep, he took care of a certain someone

safe to say that that person will never touch you again

ʚ ═══･୨ ꕤ ୧･═══ ɞ

kokushibo

it’s pretty obvious he’s a demon

so as soon as you guys crossed paths, you could tell he wasn’t human by his face alone

at first you were worried he was gonna hurt you, but he simply shrugged and explained how he doesn’t bother killing people unless necessary

somehow you guys ended up in a relationship and bam!

you’re one of the most protected people in Japan

kokushibos’ weary eyes couldn’t help but notice your hesitancy towards his intimate advances, no matter how simple

he could also tell you held some sort of self hatred towards yourself, as he had been in your position hundreds of years ago

he brings it up one afternoon, explaining how he wants to make sure you’re both comfortable in the relationship

you hesitantly give him the answer, expecting for him to kill you on the spot

only for the usually stoic demon to wrap you into a tight hug, arms trembling and face contorted in anger

“it’s not your fault, you didn’t do anything wrong” he seethed, before asking if you remember what they look like

after giving him a brief description of them he was off in a flash, seemingly teleporting to god knows where

the person trembled, cowering into a corner begging for their life to be spared, kokushibo simply unsheathing his sword and landing cuts all over them so they can bleed out slowly and die from the blood loss

when coming back from his deeds, kokushibo saw you in bed wrapped up in the blanket, he simply climbed in after you and hugged you from behind

ʚ ═══･୨ ꕤ ୧･═══ ɞ

akaza

definitely the most angry out of all three demons

he will hunt everywhere for this person and won’t take a break until he finds them and breaks them himself

when he does come across this ‘human’, he will personally punch them so that they die from a slow painful death

when coming back to you, akaza will simply be there for you throughout the healing process/trauma

he hates how the monster caused you so much trauma

akaza is always there for you if you want to vent or talk about your feelings

if anything like that ever happens again, tell him, he’ll be there for you and will also personally deal with the monster that did this to you

ʚ ═══･୨ ꕤ ୧･═══ ɞ

© content belongs to @huboi, please refrain from republishing on any other platforms! I don’t own the characters in this story

[lurkingshan]

Hellooo, do you have any recs for well written bls that also deliver on the romance front? My favorites that are both great shows and great love stories are Eighth sense, Old fashioned cupcake and I told the sunset about you ( the 2nd season is great but I dont f with cheating)...

Hello! I am interpreting your ask to mean you want bls that 1) are focused on a Big Love Story as their main purpose and 2) have strong writing that nails the romance, in particular. With that in mind, here's what I would recommend in addition to the ones you already listed, sorted into a few categories.

Dramatic and Swoony

La Pluie

Two soulmates (or are they?) meet, try to figure out their relationship, and decide whether they care what destiny has to say about it. Also features an equally swoony side couple romance. This show is Big Romance all around and very much in conversation with the genre.

I Feel You Linger in the Air

It doesn't get much more epic and swoony than this show about a modern gay man who gets sent back in time and falls in love with a young heir. This one has an asterisk next to the strong writing criteria because things get pretty wobbly in the final arc, but the romance stays strong throughout and it features some of the best bl romance scenes of all time.

Bad Buddy

It's gay Romeo and Juliet, but nobody dies (though importantly, someone does get shot). This one is tumblr famous for a reason!

Romantic Comedy

Cooking Crush

The sweetest romcom Off and Gun have ever made, with a simple love story between a med student and a chef. This show has some flaws--they let a drunk monkey take over the editing booth on a few episodes in the middle--but it's well written and the romance is great.

Cherry Magic Thailand

A remake of the Japanese original, this one shocked most of us by improving on an an already solid show. It's a fantastic romance, alternately funny and poignant and sweet as hell.

Semantic Error

The perfect bl romcom doesn't exis--

Light On Me

A high school love triangle where everyone is likable and the right boy gets the guy.

I Cannot Reach You

High school friends to lovers and done exactly right. This show is so goddamn charming and funny while still managing to get to the underlying angst of this trope. Perfection.

My School President

This one is all first love and high school shenanigans and a ton of original songs that will get stuck in your head.

Comforting and Cozy

Sing My Crush

Here's one for your constant rewatch list. A story of two best friends who love each other instantly but take awhile to make it explicitly romantic, as one of them is hurt and hiding and the other is oblivious yet somehow still devoted. You will love them.

Takara’s Treasure

This is a gentle love story between two lonely people who are exactly the right fit for each other but struggle with their own insecurities.

Our Dating Sim

A second chance romance for two high school friends who meet again as adults after a bad separation. Short and sweet with just the right touch of angst to burrow into your heart.

Angst Baby

At 25:00 in Akasaka

Two actors who first met in college are cast in a bl together, and the lines between their professional and private lives start to blur. This is a really beautiful and evocative show.

Wedding Plan

A gay man who is preparing to marry his lesbian best friend to protect themselves from their families falls in love with his wedding planner. It's a classic romance trope but this show does it so well, with an added layer of queer angst that really deepens the story.

My Beautiful Man

A high school story that centers on a psychologically complex relationship dynamic that will not become fully clear to you until the end (by design, the writing for this show is remarkable). It's not a traditional romance but it is a deeply moving one, and if you like it there's a sequel season and movie that are both also great.

Theory of Love

The messy angst-ridden friends to lovers drama we deserve. Don't skip the special episode, it's one of the rare cases where the special is actually crucial to the story and not just bonus fluff.

My Tooth Your Love

This one is romcom shaped but also deals a lot with trauma, so on balance it's more of an angsty romance. Warning for dentistry (which I recently learned is an issue for a lot of folks on here).

Gameboys 1 and 2

A pandemic-era romance that starts long distance before our boys can come together in real life. Definitely watch both seasons!

Jack O’ Frost

The only bl that has ever used the amnesia trope well. A romance gone wrong that gets an unexpected second chance after an accident forces a reset of their relationship. I found the themes of generosity and forgiveness in this one really moving.

Seven Days

This one is what it says on the tin--spend a week with two teenage boys as they try out dating each other. I really love the structure of this one, and the romance is well done.

[marvelobsessed134]

I’m not that innocent

A/n: Set around the events of Iron Man 2. Instead for Natasha spying on Tony, you will take her place. (Love Nat tho don’t get me wrong). This has been sitting in my drafts for *ehem* about 500 years but here it is :)

Warnings: smut, blowjobs, getting caught (not sexually), degradation, reader goes by a undercover name for a short amount of time, reader doesn’t get to cum lol, and I think that’s it let me know if I forgot anything.

Summary: Tony catches onto your act

This mission was simple enough. Go undercover as Tony Stark’s assistant to collect information on him for Nick Fury. Originally your friend Natasha was supposed to go on this mission but unfortunately she got sick with the flu so Fury asked you to take over.

You were nervous since Tony is a powerful CEO, literally Iron Man, and he’s mega hot. But you knew you had to set aside your personal feelings to successfully get this mission done. The CEO was obviously flirty with you, and you couldn’t help but be a little flustered. Everything was going according to plan until one day.

You were caught bent over in his office, looking through one of his file drawers when you heard a door open, close and lock. A grunt filled the room. You quickly looked up to see non other than your target. Standing there like a deer in the headlights, you just stared back at the older (and albeit larger) man.

“What do you think you’re doing Missy?” Tony asked as he slowly started to stalk towards you. “Just looking for these files that Pepper wanted.” You tried to easily make up a lie.

“That’s interesting because Pepper left early today.” Ah, shit. You are so cooked.

“Oh! Um, sorry must’ve slipped my mind um-“

“What were you doing sifting through my private files?”

Quick, Y/n, say something! Your mind shouted at you. But really, what excuse were you supposed to use now? Especially since he called your bullshit on your first one. Without even having to say anything, Tony spoke up, “I have a feeling you’re not really an assistant. You work for SHIELD is that right?” Okay, how the fuck did he get that spot on?

It must’ve been written all over your face because he said, “Yeah, I’ve had an inkling for awhile. I bet your name isn’t really Holly Brooks. What’s your real one?”

You were too scared and stunned to speak and so the raven haired man lifted your chin with his index finger and said in a lower tone, “I said, what is your real name?”

You gulped, “Y/n. Y/n L/n.”

“That name suits you far better than Holly does. And because you’re so pretty, I’ll let you out of this office and I can forget you ever did anything.” You looked at him with a surprised but hopeful expression.

“But you’re gonna have to earn it, sweetheart.”

“Earn it? How?” You had an idea of what this “earning” would entail and it made your panties damp.

“I think you know what I want.” He said cockily before pushing the file drawer closed and walking to his desk chair before sitting down in a leaning position. “Get on your knees pretty girl.” You were quick to obey, getting on your knees as you looked at him with doe eyes.

“You gonna undo my pants or what? Are too much of a dumb spy to not know how to suck cock?” His degrading words sent you spiraling and you let out a quiet, “Sorry sir.” Before buckling his belt and pulling his pants and boxers down allowing his large cock to spring free. Your eyes widened at the size and the tip already leaking of precum. You did wear a revealing outfit today, a white blouse with the first three buttons undone to show your black lacy bra, and a shirt black pencil skirt with just your matching panties under it. Maybe you were waiting for this moment…

You took his cock in your hand and began to jerk him off before taking the tip in your mouth and sinking down his length. “Oh fuck.” Tony hissed as you began to suck him off, bobbing your head up and down and jerking off whatever you couldn’t fit in your mouth. The older man gripped your hair roughly and started to control your movements, using your mouth as his own personal fleshlight.

“Such a slut, you like this don’t you? I know you’ve been waiting for this moment ever since I saw you staring at me a couple times with those fuck me eyes.” He groaned out, enjoying the way tears filled your eyes as you helplessly sat there on your knees being used by him.

“Who knew you were such a good cocksucker? I’m gonna have to keep you around.” His words made your brain short circuit and encouraged you to lick him and help him get to his finish while he was using your mouth.

“Shit, I’m gonna cum. You better take it all or I swear to god-“ The CEO cut himself off when he released his seed into your mouth and down your throat, you swallowed it all and he pulled you off his dick, leaning your head back to look at you. Your mascara was messed up, your face was wet from tears, and your eyes were blissed out.

“Such a pretty girl. Could’ve treated you real nice, taken you out to dinner before I take you home and destroy that little cunt. Too bad you have to be a whore.” His tone was so condescending and somehow that made it better.

“Get up.” Tony commanded and let go of your hair. You stood up and watched him rise as well, taking his blazer jacket off and loosening his tie before unbuttoning his shirt and fully getting rid of his pants. He grabbed you and pushed you against the side of his desk, kissing you hungrily. You kissed him back, hands wandering his sculpted body like it was the best thing you’ve ever put your hands on.

The raven haired man ripped your white shirt open and roughly pulled the cups of your bra down to expose your breasts, letting them pop out effortlessly. He tweaked and played with your nipples, spitting on them, sucking them, making you moan and squeal in the overwhelming sensation.

Then he pulled your skirt up roughly, and cupped your clothed core, “So fucking wet. Just from sucking my dick? Or was it being naughty and getting caught doing something you shouldn’t have been doing? Which is it?”

“Both.” You answered obediently and honestly.

“Fucking slut.” He huffed before ripping your panties off which caused you to gasp but you didn’t have a chance to open your mouth when he turned you around and bent you over as if you were nothing.

He slapped your ass once, twice, three times before lining up his cock to your dripping entrance. As he gripped your hips he slowly pushed in making the two of you moan. Oh god, you thought to yourself, his employees can probably hear this. They think you’re just another one of his conquests. In way, you are.

“Oh fuck! So fucking tight!” Tony growled as he began to thrust and fuck into you faster and harder slapping your ass occasionally. “Such a bad girl, thinking you can tease me all day, make me hard in meetings, just to try and fucking spy on me,” he scoffs, as if the whole situation was pathetic, “but now I have my cock deep your pussy so, at least one of us is winning.” He continued to fuck you senseless, your hands gripping the edge of the desk. You couldn’t hide your moans and cries as the CEO repeatedly hit your g spot.

“Oh god! I’m gonna cum!” You cried.

“Yeah? Do you think you deserve it? After all you did?” Tony grunted.

“Yes! Please let me cum! I’ve been such a good girl so far!” Your cries and pleads were pathetic. You were pathetic, Tony thought. And god was he having the time of his life.

He felt himself getting closer and closer to edge and said, “Yeah, I don’t think so.” And pulled out of you before shooting his cum on your ass.

You whined at the loss of contact and orgasm making him laugh and say, “If you want to cum, you have to let me take you out to dinner. And get rid of any files you might have stolen from me digital and physical copies.

[freelancearsonist]

in shades of gray and candlelight

➔ Marcus Pike x fem!Reader - 7.2k

➔ Nothing good starts in a getaway car, but you sure do have fun delaying the inevitable.

➔ Rated MA for artist!reader my beloved (reader is able-bodied, basic female anatomy and feminine pronouns used, reader is described as having hair that is long enough to be put up but otherwise she’s a blank slate), unprotected p in v sex, cum swallowing, creampie, semi-public sex acts, oral (r + m receiving), handjobs, fingering, very light switchy dom/sub dynamics, a couple spanks, pet names (sweetheart, pretty girl, baby, honey), heavy praise kink, light size kink, consent king!marcus, just like the song it does not end happily [please let me know if i missed any at all :)]

➔ this is my (first 😈) submission to @beskarandblasters Taylor Swift Drabble Challenge! i really did mean for this to be a drabble especially since i didn't know anything about marcus before receiving this prompt but he has my whole fucking heart and mind now 😩 thank you so much for the challenge lovely kel, and special thank u to my baby @fhatbhabie for betaing and screaming with me ily <3 (dividers by the amazing and talented @saradika-graphics)

You meet Marcus Pike on a Friday night and it’s obvious from the start that he’s going to change your life forever.

He looks a little disheveled when he enters the gallery–brown hair ruffled and standing up in places, tie loose, top shirt button undone. There’s an alluring five o’clock shadow burgeoning across his jaw and cheeks. He looks like he’s had a long day, and it’s only going to get longer. It’s all part of the plan, of course. He’s supposed to look like a standard blue collar worker, and he pulls it off with ease.

It’s the exhibition’s opening night, so it’s a little more packed than the gallery normally would be. It works in his favor–he’s able to collect a plastic cup of champagne from the refreshment table and blend seamlessly into the crowd.

His eyes are diligent as they scan the faces that come and go. He tries to commit them all to memory–the tall woman with the slight limp, the short guy wearing the Hawaiian patterned shirt. There’s dozens of people that pass by, and so many of them are forgettable. It’s exhibitions like these that make him dread undercover work.

The art on the walls isn’t exceptional, but it’s not bad. Nothing that seems worth stealing, that’s for sure. But his source is good, and his source said that this place was getting hit tonight. So he keeps his watchful eyes vigilant and pretends to sip the champagne in his hand.

Until he finds your exhibit.

There’s a depth to your art that he’s come to be familiar with–something he sees often in work of high value. Anyone can make abstract art, it’s as simple as flicking paint at a canvas. But few can charge it as emotionally as you have. To convey feeling and passion and heart through abstraction is a separate art form all its own, and it’s one you’ve mastered.

He’s seen original Rothko’s, Van Gogh’s, Kandinsky’s; he’s held their frames in his own two hands. But nothing’s ever made his breath hitch in his throat quite the way yours does.

He stands in front of a canvas simply labeled “Waves In Motion” with your name printed neatly underneath, brow creased with a concentration that seems a little unnecessary given the subject matter of the painting. It’s all shades of blue and violet, swirling together in a way that seems partly sensuous, partly violent. It makes the hair on the back of his neck prickle, and he takes a step closer. That’s when he notices it: a single dot of red paint right in the middle, a focal point of all the swirling cobalts. So small that he wouldn’t notice it if he wasn’t close; so small it could almost be interpreted as a mistake.

But he knows without having to ask that it’s not an answer. He wonders who that dot represents: you, the artist? Most likely.

Without meaning to, he smiles. It’s been a long time, years really, since a piece of art provoked such thought. 

“Hi.”

The voice Marcus hears next to him is soft, dulcet. He doesn’t turn to the noise quickly–from the tone in that word alone he senses a hesitance, as if you’re a fawn that’s lost its mother and you’re bound to run if he makes any sudden movements.

And, truth be told, part of him thinks he might not be able to look away even if he tried right now. There’s something so beautiful about this painting–and underneath, something so ominous. There’s an air about the work that says he might unlock the secrets of the universe if he just keeps looking.

“Hi there.” He keeps his eyes trained on “Waves In Motion” as he responds–playing the game. He’s here to brush shoulders, after all; to be the right amount of forgettable yet memorable. 

“This is my best, I think,” you murmur while taking a step closer. “It took the least time of all of them, surprisingly. But… I think when you know exactly what you’re trying to convey, it just comes to you easily.”

“These are yours?” There’s admiration in his eyes and an air of something akin to disbelief in his voice as he takes in the group of canvases proudly displayed on the plain white gallery walls.

And then he turns and lets himself take you in. More specifically the curling strand of hair that falls out of your updo to frame your face, the deeply plunging neckline of your dress, the way your calf muscles work even standing still in your high-heeled shoes. You’re a work of art in your own right; the most beautiful piece he’s seen in a long time.

“Yeah.” You duck your head–shyly, modestly–and he’s hooked. There’s one thing in this building that deserves awe and reverence more than your painting, and it’s you. “You know, you’re only the second person who’s come over tonight.”

“No way. They’re all just working their way back here,” he whispers before he can calculate a more articulate response.

But it works in his favor–your giggle is gorgeous, if a sound can be described that way. Sweet and syrupy, it seeps over him as if he’s standing under a cracked honeycomb. He hasn’t actually taken a drink of his champagne, and yet he can feel his nervous system tingling. You’re just that intoxicating.

“The gallery closes in half an hour,” you tell him–a little wistfully at that. “In my defense, I don’t have any family or friends in the area. I wasn’t really expecting anyone to show, not with so many other talented artists here.”

It seems so indignantly unfair to Marcus. That you’re shoved into the far back corner of the gallery, that people haven’t come in droves from all over the country to see your work.

“Where are you from?” He asks as his mind finally starts to clear from the haze it’s been in the past few minutes. With only half an hour left on the job, he allows himself a small sip of the drink that he’s been cradling all night.

“New York. This is actually only my second exhibition,” you explain, and you almost sound shy about it; as if you need to be embarrassed about being young and fresh-faced in the art industry, as if you aren’t the most talented artist Marcus has ever met in person.

He hums in response, eyes unconsciously dragging over you once more. “You came a long way for this.”

You smile so prettily up at him, and in that moment he sees something in your eyes. He can’t describe it–maybe it’s something akin to longing. Something incomplete, unexplored. It’s familiar; it’s the red dot from your painting. Solitary amidst the swirling, lost yet not hopeless.

And just like your painting, he finds himself wanting to get lost in your eyes.

“Well, it’s not every day a gallery wants to host you,” you say after another sip of your drink. “Plus, I’ve never been to Texas before, and I needed a change of scenery.”

There’s something so charming, so boyishly intoxicating about the smile he graces you with. “How are you liking it so far?”

“It’s hotter than I’m used to,” you say with a chuckle that he echoes. “And I haven’t been able to do any exploring yet, my flight only got in a couple hours before I had to be here.”

“That’s a shame,” he hums in a tone that reveals deeper meaning. “How long are you here for? Do you have any plans?”

“A week,” you murmur. Subconsciously he leans in closer, on the edge of his proverbial seat. To seal the deal, you lean in too. “And not a damned one.”

There’s no air between you and Marcus. You exist in a vacuum for this moment–unable to breathe, choking on anticipation. He’s so close, yet way too far away. You want to be consumed by him–for him to be swirling blue; and you, a single speck of red in his midst.

The moment shatters with an audible sound–a deep, penetrating voice. “He’s still not here, huh? I don’t think your boyfriend’s coming. If he even exists.” There’s something strange in the raspy voice that drawls these words–something strange enough to immediately put Marcus on the alert.

You flinch at the sudden intrusion into your vacuum, but you recover quickly. You have to, because this intrusive stranger is standing way too close and has way too much alcohol on his breath.

And then something strange happens–you worm your arm around Marcus’s waist and press yourself firmly into his side.

“Actually, he’s right here,” you say. There’s a quality to your voice that wasn’t there before when you were just talking to Marcus–it’s firm, clipped, bordering on hostile. “He just got held up at work. Isn’t that right, babe?”

Thankfully, Marcus has always been one to think quickly on his feet. He wraps his arm around your shoulders and pulls you closer, unconsciously moving an inch or two in front of you. Protecting without really meaning to. “I’m sorry, honey. I got here as soon as I could.”

The man–burly and balding, probably a good twenty years older than you–scoffs. “Unbelievable.”

“Is there a problem here?” Marcus draws up to his full height–towering a good few inches over this strange intruder.

Whoever this guy is, he’s not completely stupid. He senses this isn’t going to be a fight he’ll win, so he backs off. “Not at all, man. Just didn’t want little miss standing here all alone the whole night.”

“Thanks,” you say with bitter reprehension. You wind even closer to Marcus–closer than this sudden farce demands. “But we’re fine now.”

He nods once–curt and unhappy, but seemingly satisfied that he’s not going to get what he wants. “Have a good night, ma’am. Sir.”

Marcus takes a mental inventory of the man as he storms off, committing his physical description and his outfit to memory. He doesn’t look like a casual art viewer, and he doesn’t look like a collector. He’s exactly the type that Marcus came here to look out for.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper as you step out of Marcus’s personal space. “He’s been hovering all night, asking me who I’m going home with and shit.”

“That’s the other guy who came over to talk to you?” It brings a deep frown to his face, a crease forming between his brows. It certainly raises a red flag–if the guy has any eye for value, of course he would be drawn to your exhibit. And if he has an eye for value, he could be the guy Marcus came for.

“Yeah.” You rub the back of your neck awkwardly and avert your gaze, as if you should be embarrassed for drawing that guy’s attention. “It’s not been the greatest night.”

Marcus hates that. He hates that you came all this way to be let down, that this is only your second exhibition and you’ve had such a bad experience with it. More than anything, he hates that he can still see the spark in your eyes when you look up at him, and he can tell that it’s dimmed.

“Gimme just a minute.”

He doesn’t mean to be so abrupt, but he wants to make it quick. He hustles to the single-stall men’s room and tugs the radio out of his inside jacket pocket to call in the man’s description. Then he turns it off, tucks it back into its concealed pocket, and goes over to the sink.

He thought he looked perfect for the part he had to play when he left his house to come here. Now, he’s too disheveled. He wets his fingertips and tries to tame the mess on top of his head; he re-buttons his shirt and tightens his tie. He looks flustered, and he’s not even surprised by it. You’ve got his heart pounding with anticipation in a way he doesn’t think it ever has before.

Butterflies fluttering on in his stomach, he emerges from the restroom to resume his position by your side.

Except you’re not by your exhibit anymore, and the crowd has thinned considerably. He checks his watch and realizes there’s only five minutes before the gallery closes for the night. Maybe you’ve decided to cut your losses and leave early.

He hates the way his gut twists with disappointment, but then he reminds himself that he didn’t come here for you. He’s working, and he needs to stay vigilant. No distractions, no complications.

“You’re still here.”

There’s a wave of relief that washes over him as he hears your voice, and this time he’s not too timid to turn towards you. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Thought I might’ve scared you off.” There’s a fresh cup of champagne in your hand and a hint of vulnerability in your voice, and it makes his heart pick up pace just the slightest bit. You duck your head–that shy, modest gesture again. “I… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have just done that without permission.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he tells you, more earnestly than he’s ever said anything in his life. “I didn’t mind at all, I swear. Just had to hit the head.”

You look so deeply into his eyes he almost wonders if you aren’t looking through him. But whatever you find, you must like it.

He clears his throat and tries to not show how thoroughly unraveled he is by your gaze. “I’m Marcus, by the way.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Marcus.” You pause for a moment, and he can tell that there’s something else lingering on the tip of your tongue–so he remains silent in hopes of drawing it out.

“Do you have someone to go home to?”

There it is–the invitation he was both dreading and hoping for. He should really lie. He’s here on a job, after all–he’s supposed to avoid complications, and some instinct tells him you’re going to be much more than a simple distraction. But he’s told you the truth so far, and he doesn’t want to stop now.

“No. No, I don’t.”

This is everything that Marcus has never even considered doing. It’s late, it’s dark, it’s a little chilly for spring in Austin. The alley is grimey and drafty–your hair blows in the breeze even as you kneel down before him.

All he can do is stand there, dumbstruck with his back up against the rough brick wall, and stare down at you. 

He’s still breathless from the way you’ve been kissing him–all heat and passion, fire and brimstone. Your hands ran through his hair and undid the effort he put in while in the bathroom, and his hands clutched your waist in a futile attempt to ground himself. Your lips are so soft; he thinks he could kiss you forever and never get tired of it. He was certainly planning on finding out, until you dropped to your knees in front of him.

“You… you don’t have to–”

But the way you look up at him through your lashes makes his throat close up around whatever protest he was going to try.

“I want to,” you assure him–more of a purr than a spoken statement.

And this really isn’t the place. He shouldn’t let you do this here. But he’d be lying if he said the thought didn’t make him harden in his boring gray work slacks.

Marcus has never been about excitement. He’s always strayed to the comfortable and familiar–he falls into the sweet, caring companion role with grace and ease.

And tonight doesn’t have to be that different. If you’re going to suck his dick in a dark, dingey alley, he’ll let you. But he’s going to lay his jacket down on the ground so you don’t scrape up your knees first.

You keen at the thoughtful gesture and grace him with a grateful smile as your adept fingers work his belt open. He’s straining against the seam of his pants now, begging for the attention that your gaze promises him.

If he didn’t know better, he’d think you’re every bit as eager to get his trousers and boxers down as he is.

And Lord help him, he delights in the gasp you emit when his cock springs free from its confines.

“Fuck, Marcus.” Your lips actually part as you freeze for a moment, just taking him in. He’s thick, maybe an inch longer than average, swollen head peeking through uncut skin as if begging for your waiting mouth. He curves to the left just a little bit, and you can almost see his pulse thrumming through the prominent vein that runs along the length of him.

“S’not that impressive,” he mumbles, and you know that he knows that he’s full of shit.

Your fingers almost don’t wrap all the way around him, and suddenly you’re second-guessing this back alley stint, too. You want him in bed. You want him deep inside you, kissing your face as he fucks you, hands all over your body, thrusts hard yet slow. You want it languid, you want it desperate, you want it any way he’ll give it to you. You don’t want to blow him and say goodbye.

He calculates your hesitation as something other than pure unadulterated lust, and he lifts your chin gently with his index and middle fingers.

“Hey, we don’t have to–”

Again, you cut him off–this time, by dragging your tongue from the seam of his balls all the way along his length to swirl messily around his tip. You taste every heady inch of him and then moan at the salty foreshadowing on your tongue when you catch a droplet of precum leaking from his slit.

Your hand springs into action with a long, slow stroke along his cock, and then you sink your mouth around him and he moans. Without caution or pretense, like you’re not in an alley that anyone could walk down at any moment. It’s a little more high-pitched than he’d like for it to be and his head thumps back against the brick wall hard enough to hurt, and even still he’s never felt so overwhelmed with pleasure before in his life.

Your nose meets the neat patch of hair at his base and your free hand comes up to his hip, effectively pinning him against the wall when he tries to buck greedily even further into your mouth.

No one’s ever taken him so relentlessly before. You’re insistent, pressing onward even as you gag on his length, and it makes his balls tighten in a way he’s never felt before. It’s like you’re hungry for him; like you’re doing this more for your own pleasure than for his.

Marcus Pike has been a giver his whole life. Tonight, with you, he finally decides to take.

He’d be embarrassed about how fast he comes if you weren’t so eager for it. You moan around him and push yourself as deep as you can, throat working around him desperately not to choke on the size of him. Before he can warn you he’s spilling into your mouth, maybe more than he’s ever come before, thick and salty but undeniably sweet too. You allow yourself a moment to savor him as he pulses in your mouth, tongue swirling around the sensitive head of him in a way that makes him shiver and whine.

He’s panting, nearly light-headed, when you finally pull off of him and press one last gentle kiss over his slit.

“Holy shit,” he murmurs, because there’s nothing else to say.

You giggle, and he realizes with a strange wistfulness that he would do anything to keep this girl–a girl he’s just met, a girl who’s leaving to go back to her home on the other side of the country in just a week–smiling and laughing the way she is now.

“My hotel is only a couple blocks away,” you tell him as he helps you to your feet. “Would you like a nightcap?”

You pick up his jacket and dust the grime off it–it makes him chuckle. Everything about this encounter has flown in the face of what he’s used to. 

He’s never felt so alive.

“I would love a nightcap.”

Your senses wake up slower than normal.

First it’s your eyes–they tune in on the bright mid-sunrise light streaming through the open balcony blinds on the far wall. It falls in slivers and shards over the rumpled white hotel-standard bedding–the second thing your senses tune into. Everything is so soft and light, but it’s a little cold too. Especially the other side of the bed; there’s no heat remaining there at all.

You push yourself up with a grunt and let the sheets fall away from your bare torso, tired eyes scanning around the room. You notice clothes scattered all over the floor while your ears wake up enough to hear water running in the bathroom, and you can’t help the involuntary smile that spreads over your face. He’s still here.

Marcus lets the too-hot water wash over him in scalding waves, muscles still a little sore after a long night tangled together with you.

He checked his phone first thing this morning, and the gallery was quiet all night. They think the suspect he radioed in was the guy they were looking for, but they weren’t able to apprehend him. The running theory is that he might’ve recognized Marcus and decided low-value art wasn’t worth the hassle, but one guess is as good as the next until they can bait and catch the guy.

It’s the weekend now, and Marcus is thanking his lucky stars. Not only does he have a successful mission to celebrate, but he has the most beautiful woman in the world to celebrate it with.

He emerges after a few minutes, wet hair messily scattered over his forehead and wide hips straining against a low-slung hotel towel. He’s a languid Saturday morning wet dream on two legs.

“G’morning,” he hums with a smile–he doesn’t even try to hide the way his eyes dip down to hungrily take in your naked torso.

“Good morning, Marcus.”

He stalks towards you slowly, eyes darkening with each advancing step. It doesn’t take more than a second to realize he didn’t get his fill of your body last night, but you’re certainly not complaining.

He’s already starting to harden as he drops his towel and crawls over the foot of the bed, surging forward to capture your lips in a sweet kiss. If last night was desperation and passion, this morning is syrupy and sweet. He explores your mouth slowly, tongue sweeping between your lips and tracing every curve and ridge he can–almost like he’s trying to commit you to memory.

There are universes in the depths of his dark eyes. He may not say exactly what he’s thinking, but you can see it playing out in those baby browns of his. There’s something simmering underneath the surface–something more than just lust or desire.

Something dangerous.

You tug him closer and cup his face in your hands, enjoying the gentle scratch of morning stubble underneath your palms. He surges forward and presses you into the pillows as he settles himself comfortably between your spread legs. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs through kisses scattered along the length of your jaw.

You know you probably look like you got run over by a bus–you toss and turn in your sleep, and it always leaves your hair a matted mess. And that’s not even mentioning the slight tremble in your thighs, left over from Marcus’s enthusiastic attention last night. But there’s so much sincerity in his voice; you don’t think he would waste his breath saying it if he didn’t mean it, and that fact alone makes your heart pound with desire.

There’s a syrupy slowness to the way he moves down your body, lips leaving behind heavy wet kisses as he works down your chest and over your stomach.

And it’s almost like he senses the protest working its way up your throat when you feel his hot breath on your thighs, because he looks up at you and there’s sternness in his gaze. You got your fill last night, and now it’s his turn.

“May I?” He looks up at you from the apex of your thighs with big, round puppy eyes that are impossible to refuse–so you nod eagerly and don’t even try.

If you were eager to have him in your mouth last night, he’s desperate.

There’s no hesitation, no build-up. It’s almost aggressive, the way he buries his face in your heat. He laps like a dog at a bowl, hips canting into the mattress involuntarily as your taste floods his mouth.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he growls into your sopping cunt. “You taste incredible.”

You keen at the praise and card your fingers through his hair, tugging slightly at the damp, spiky strands when his tongue laves heavily over your sensitive clit.

Marcus’s greedy hands grip underneath your thighs and push them as far as you can comfortably spread them. You’re still so sensitive after at least three orgasms last night–you lost count after a point–and it serves to wind your nerves tighter than they’ve ever been wound before.

One hand slides to the junction of your thigh and his thumb comes to take over the pressure on your clit as his tongue plunges between your soaked folds. It’s even more overwhelming like this, and there’s not a thing in the world that you want to do more than let him have his fun. Especially when that hand and his tongue switch spots–his lips seal and suck around your clit while he presses two achingly thick fingers into your waiting entrance.

It actually makes your muscles tighten and your back rise off the bed as he curls his fingers just right to find that spot that makes you fall apart for him. 

He can tell you’re getting close–he’s already so intune with the way your muscles twitch, the change of pitch in your moans. You whine and cry for him the tighter he winds the rubberband, and he’s eager to make it snap.

“That’s it, pretty girl,” he says over the overwhelming flutter of his fingers scissoring and curling inside you. “Let me have it.”

You squeeze your eyes shut so tightly as pleasure wracks through your body that you can see constellations. Large hands come to pin your thighs open as his tongue keeps working, lapping and gliding against your cunt with ease as a wave of arousal gushes from your entrance.

You’ve never been so wet in your life, and he’s just getting started.

He trails open-mouthed kisses up your body as you catch your breath–his slick-soaked lips coat your skin with your own arousal as he works his way up to allow you a taste of yourself.

The first wet lick of his tongue into your mouth makes you moan. It’s not the first time you’ve tasted your own slick–you’ve had a moment or two of curiosity–but it’s never been quite as enjoyable as it is on his tongue. It pairs so perfectly with the minty tang of toothpaste left on his breath and makes you hungry for more.

He moves fluidly under your direction as you push him onto his back and roll to straddle his lap all in one graceful movement. It’s perfect like this–he doesn’t have to support his weight so he can run his big meaty hands all over every inch of you, and you can kiss him as deep as you want while you grind down on his aching length.

“Shit, baby,” he pants against your lips. Those aforementioned beefy palms grasp hard at your asscheeks to guide your hips, pulling you into a slow, long grind that bumps the head of his cock against your clit deliciously.

Your pulse thrums with desperation until you’re seeing white–no more teasing, no more preamble. You take his girth in your hand and give him a firm stroke; if you had a little more presence of mind, you might be embarrassed at how wet his dick is simply from grinding against you for a few seconds.

“Go ahead, baby, take it when you’re ready.”

He gasps at the first press of his cockhead against your entrance, head flopping back against the pillows as his hands squeeze your asscheeks with bruising force.

“Shit, you’re tight,” he murmurs, throat working around a thick gulp. “You can take it baby, I know you can. Did so good for me last night.”

You think you would honestly do anything he asks of you so long as he just keeps talking like this.

It takes a moment for you to work your way down his length–he’s so mouth-wateringly thick and the curve of his cock hits the most delicious spot inside you that you didn’t even know existed.

“Atta girl,” he praises breathlessly as your hips settle flush against his. “Just sit there for a minute. So pretty on my dick.”

God, he makes your entire body flush with heat. He turns your blood to molten lava with his words, lighting every inch of skin on fire. You’ve never felt a sensation like this–so overwhelming yet so intoxicating.

You start with slow movements as his hands trace up and down your sides sweetly–it’s more like you’re grinding on him than anything else. His thumbs rub abstract little patterns into your skin as his hands work up to your tits; when he finally takes them in the palms of his hands and squeezes all pretense of soft, sweet morning-after sex flies out the window.

You drop down hard on his cock and it nearly punches the wind out of him. 

“Yes!” He growls darkly. His eyes flash with something dangerous–it’s the only warning you get before his hand slaps the meat of your ass and grabs a greedy handful. “Just like that baby, use my fuckin’ dick.”

And maybe, if he was someone else, you wouldn’t be nearly as eager to follow instructions. But with Marcus, you’re nothing if not obedient.

Last night was exploration and discovery–hours into the early morning spent learning each other’s bodies, finding what makes the other squirm and whine and beg. This morning is in perfect juxtaposition to that sweet, soft, probing sex–you know what drives each other crazy now, and you each use it to your advantage. Aggressively.

He surges up to suck a pert nipple into his mouth as you set a hard pace on him, long fingers pressing into your skin hard enough to leave marks. He lands another sharp smack to your ass when your thighs start to shake–a reward for using his cock exactly how he asked.

”M-Marcus—”

”I know, sweetheart,” he purrs through a guttural moan. He cants his hips up to meet your thrusts at just the right moment—he hits something so devastatingly pleasurable that your vision prickles white around the edges. “I know, it’s so much, isn’t it? It’s okay, you can let go. Come for me.”

There’s a condescending note to his voice that only makes you squeeze harder around his cock, and within seconds you’re hurtling uncontrollably into ecstasy.

He fucks you through the telltale fluttering of your cunt even when your hips stop moving; strong hands hold you in place and work you through the ebbing waves of pleasure that wrack through your entire body.

”M’so close, honey,” he grunts with a particularly sharp thrust upward. One hand comes up to cradle your jaw in his hand, forcing your eyes to meet his. “Where do you want me?”

”I-inside,” you gasp. “Come inside me, Marcus.”

He fills you as soon as he has your instruction—hard thrusts punctuated by breathy moans as he pumps you full of his release.

There’s a long, silent moment where Marcus pulls your bare chest tightly against his own and you pant into the crook of his neck while trying desperately to even-out your breathing. His fingertips dance across your skin-feather-light, soothing.

The sun is higher in the sky now and meets your eyes with blinding rays through the balcony shutters when they finally open again.

”That was amazing, honey,” he murmurs into the crown of your head. He’s caught his own breath now, but he doesn’t make any attempt to let you go. “How’re you so perfect?”

”M’not perfect,” you mumble into his shoulder; but even to your own ears, it sounds half-hearted. The truth is, he’s so earnestly honest that you believe him.

He hums his dissent with a kiss pressed to your hairline. ”You are to me.”

And you so desperately want to believe him that you don’t even try to argue.

You bask in this warm, lovely afterglow for a few moments longer before Marcus gently taps your hip. ”Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get cleaned up and I’ll buy you breakfast.”

You pull off of his softened cock with a whine and try not to get worked up all over again at the feeling of his cum leaking down your thighs. ”Th-there’s a free continental breakfast downstairs.”

”Oh, then I’ll definitely pick up the tab,” he jokes with a smirk—all you want to do is kiss his goofy, stupidly handsome face.

He pulls you into the bathroom and starts the water running to fill the tub—he’s never really been a bath guy, but your legs are a little too shaky to endure a shower. He’s so attentive—from running a damp cloth between your legs to helping lower you into the water. He doesn’t complain in the slightest when you catch his hand and ask him to join you; he just shuffles you forward and slides in behind you like it’s a casual act that he performs with every hookup.

It’s intimate. That’s really the only way to describe it. You sit between his spread legs, back to his chest, head rested back against his shoulder while his fingers ghost idle paths over your skin. You don’t talk; you don’t really need to. Somehow, you fit together like souls who have known each other for years. Like all you’ve been missing is each other.

You drift off in his arms as he traces soap over all the curves and ridge of your body, the steady beat of his heart thumping in your ear.

It breaks his heart a little bit to wake you—the fact that you’re so comfortable with him, that you trust him with such vulnerability, makes his head spin a little bit. But the water’s turning cold, and the last thing he wants is for you to come down sick or something.

He rouses you with gentle, feathery kisses scattered over your rosy-scented shoulders and neck.

”Mmm… what time is it?” You grumble, pressing your sleep-addled face further into the crook of his neck.

”Just after noon,” he whispers into your hair after glancing up at the clock on the wall.

He can feel the way your mouth shifts into a pout. “Shit. We missed breakfast.”

The adorable downward tilt of your frown as you lift your dad to look at him makes his heart flutter. “Let’s go out, then. The first farmer’s market of the season is going on downtown. I’m sure we can find something good for brunch.”

”Kinda sounds like you’re asking me on a date,” you hum with a slight smirk dancing at your lips.

”Maybe I am.” His tone is light, his meaning clear—he knows this goes beyond a one-night stand, and there’s no harm done if you’re not wanting to cross this boundary. He’d understand not wanting to get too serious about someone who lives thousands of miles away from your home, of course. He’d never blame you.

You give him your best appraising look, staring deep into those constellation-filled brown eyes. ”You’re not sick of me yet?”

”I have a feeling I couldn’t get sick of you if I tried.” There’s nothing but sincerity in his tone, in his eyes. He genuinely wants to spend time with you, even if there’s nowhere for this to really go.

You hum thoughtfully. “I do love farmer’s markets.”

You’re with Marcus more often than not over the course of the next week.

He takes you sightseeing to some of his favorite spots around Austin, brings you to his favorite restaurants, shows you his favorite movies. But he multitasks—while teaching you about himself, he learns as much as he can about you and picks activities he knows you’ll love, too. 

He’s a pragmatist; he knows your time together is short, and he wants to make himself unforgettable. If he never sees you again, he wants you to think about him every once in a while and look back on this time fondly.

You spend your days while Marcus is at work painting or drawing or lingering around the gallery, and you fall asleep in his arms every night. With shades of gray moonlight and candlelight cast over your hotel room, it almost feels like this could go on forever.

He tells you to wear something nice before he picks you up on the last night–he wants to celebrate in style, which starts with reservations at an up-scale restaurant. 

He’s so achingly handsome. He’s in a matching gray suit over a white button-up, top two buttons undone and no tie to be seen. His face bears the slightest five o’clock shadow and your eyes gravitate to the curve of his lips–the instant smile that takes over his face when those gorgeous brown eyes of his land on you.

If you never see him again, this is exactly how you want to remember him.

“Wow,” he whispers reverently. “You look amazing.”

It’s not the most impressive dress you own, but he looks at you like you’re wearing something worth millions–like you’re worth millions.

You lean up and kiss him, and everything feels right. His hands rest on your waist and it’s so easy to pretend that you won’t be on the other side of the country twenty-four hours from now.

The restaurant is beautiful. Dimly lit and romantic, tables spaced enough to give you some privacy. He takes your hand on top of the table and holds it the entire meal. The conversation is light and airy–you’re both stubbornly dancing around what really needs to be said.

Dessert is cleared and the wine bottle is empty by the time Marcus finally works up the courage to acknowledge the elephant in the room.

“I don’t want you to go.”

You knew this would be coming, but it doesn’t make it any easier. You avert your gaze, instead focusing on his large hand wrapped around yours and the windshield wiper motion of his thumb tracing back and forth over your palm. No one’s touch has ever sent such electric tingles through your nervous system the way his does.

You don’t know what to say, so you say nothing at all.

“Look, I…” He takes a deep breath and straightens his spine a little bit, hand leaving yours to gently cup your chin. He forces you to look him in the eyes as he breaks your heart. “I think this could really be something, if we gave it a shot.”

You haven’t lied to him yet, and you don’t plan to start now. “I… I think it could, too. If I didn’t have to go back.”

“Don’t go back then.” There’s a firmness to his voice, but it couldn’t be any more obvious that he’s begging if he actually got down on his knees. “Stay here with me. We’ll figure this out. Just… don’t go.”

And here–with his earnest eyes on yours and his gentle, loving touch on your skin–it’s easy to pretend that it’s that simple.

He takes you back to your hotel room and sheds you easily out of your dress. As cliche as it sounds, it’s not just sex this time. Things that it’s too early to say are buried deep within every kiss, every thrust. He hooks your legs over his shoulders and looks deeply into your eyes while he fills you and you’ve never felt so overwhelmingly connected.

The thud of his heartbeat is insistent in your ear as you come down from your high–so calming, so heartbreaking. You lay on his chest while his breathing evens out and soak up these last few moments of bliss. And then, once you’re sure he’s sound asleep, you carefully worm out of his grip. There’s one more thing you have to do before you go back to New York.

Loud, insistent ringing pulls Marcus from the depths of sleep. He tries to ignore it and go back to sleep, but now that his senses are alert, the sound in combination with bright Saturday morning sunlight won’t allow him the luxury. He presses his face deeper into the pillow that he’s somehow wound himself around in his sleep, but that damned ringing won’t stop.

He sits up slowly and tries to rub the sleep from his eyes–and that’s when he notices the empty sheets next to him. Your side of the bed is long cold, and he knows. Before he even sees the note on the dresser and your room key next to it, he knows you’re gone.

He finds his trousers discarded halfway between the bed and the door and pulls his blaring phone out of the pocket.

“The gallery got hit sometime early this morning. They took everything. Every goddamn piece. You need to get here now.”

His body moves on autopilot as he pulls yesterday’s clothes back on, fingers numb to all sensation as they work to button his shirt. This can’t be happening. It can’t be you.

He notices the note on the dresser as he’s threading his belt through the loops of his trousers, and his gut twists with a sickening sense of foreboding.

I really did fall for you, Marcus. But nothing good starts in a getaway car.

He’s not sure if you knew who he was the whole time and this whole thing was calculated, or if you just got lucky. He doesn’t want to believe you’re that cunning and cruel. He wants to believe that this is just a misunderstanding, that you’re out for ice or something and you’ll walk back through the door at any moment.

But you don’t.

The note is enough of a confession for him. He’ll have the power of the FBI on his side to find you–and he will find you. What he’ll do when he does, he’s not sure. He guesses he’ll know when he sees you.

➔ Want to see more from me in the future? Follow @freelancearsonist-updates and turn on post notifications to be notified when I post new fics!

➔ Want to support me? Please reblog this fic! It helps boost it in the algorithm and gives it more circulation no matter what your follower count is :) any feedback or comment is always greatly appreciated!!

[cirilla-fiona-riannon]

Love's Proposition Collection Event

Translations may not always capture the exact nuances or tone of the original text. Expect grammatical errors.

Slightly suggestive

I woke up earlier than usual and quietly slipped out of Gilbert's bed to change in my room, but, for some reason, the door wouldn't open.

(It's locked from the inside.)

Emma: "Gil..."

Gilbert: "The key is right here."

He seemed to have woken up as he sat up and playfully shook the key in his hand, smiling.

(It's not the first time he locked me in, but...)

Emma: "Do you have something to tell me?"

Gilbert: "Who knows?"

Emma: "Please tell me."

Gilbert: ".........."

Emma: "I was planning to bake a lot of sweets today, you know?"

Gilbert: "Heh?"

He beckoned me over, still smiling.

I approached him cautiously, and he grabbed my hand and bit it.

Emma: "Ouch!"

Gilbert: "Be careful, as every time you make a mistake, your body will be covered in bite marks."

(He's being unreasonable!)

Emma: "Wait, are you sick?"

Gilbert: "Do I look sick?"

Emma: "No."

He pushed me roughly onto the bed, and this time, he bit into my shoulder, opening my collar.

Emma: "T-Then do you want me to help you with something一"

Gilbert: "All of those are completely off."

He bit into my other shoulder, and tears welled up from the pain.

Gilbert: "You need to guess quickly, or you'll end up getting covered in bite marks."

(What else could it be?)

He peered into my face from a close distance.

Drawn in by his seductive blood-colored eyes, I lightly kissed him as if being tempted.

Emma: "Is it something like this?"

Gilbert: "............"

He gently nibbled on my nose.

(This isn't it either.)

(Crap. At this rate, I might not be able to leave the room.)

The strange tension and the pounding of my heartbeat stole my words.

In the silence, Gilbert's cold hand pulled down my negligee, and he bit into my exposed nipple.

Emma: "Nnn. You still haven't given me an answer!"

Gilbert: "It doesn't matter how long it takes me to answer."

As his tongue slid over the throbbing bite mark, my body gradually succumbed to the heat.

He mercilessly repeated it, and my thoughts melted into a heavy, vanilla-like sweetness.

Gilbert: "Why can't you understand something so simple?"

Gilbert: "Come on, think properly."

Emma: "Ahhh... I don't know."

Gilbert: "I see. Then I guess you'll be stuck in here forever."

(Forever!?)

Gilbert: "Don't worry. I'll take good care of you."

His cold fingertips slid from my chest to my stomach, eventually slipping inside the space between my legs.

(I need to think.)

I bit my lip to prevent myself from being consumed by the violent pleasure, but a cold kiss stopped me.

His expression, as he pulled away, seemed somewhat dissatisfied.

(The reason I can't leave the room is a simple one.)

(But when did he lock the door in the first place?)

(At the very least, he had already wanted something by the time I fell asleep.)

(I'm pretty sure he anticipated my actions.)

(Oh!)

The moment I realized it, I embraced him.

Emma: "I'll stay here a bit longer."

Gilbert: "Fufu, well done."

He embraced me back, and our bodies pressed together.

Gilbert: "Going back to your room right after waking up is a bit lonely, don't you think?"

Gilbert: "Just how lonely? Well, enough to want to render your legs useless."

Emma: "Will you stop that!?"

Gilbert: "Ahahaha, don't worry. You wouldn't do something so cruel to me, would you?"

His tone was more like a plea than a threat.

Because of that, instead of getting angry, affection filled me.

(At this rate, I might not be able to stay away for even a moment.)

He repeatedly gave me short kisses with a satisfied smile, and I squinted my eyes at the ticklish sensation.

(But it's okay.)

(Because it's not just Gilbert who feels lonely.)

Ikepri Masterlist

[struggling-jpg]

Some Things About Ma Feima (Yanqing) I Learned

And it matters to HSR Yanqing only because some people have had what they heard about Ma Feima affect their views of him even though it really SHOULDN'T imo.

The underlying point I'm trying to get at is that when we hear about parts of a story or characters we aren't familiar with, it'd be fairer to at least try to look into it more before making final judgments, especially if we only hear see memes and short summaries from a person over the internet.

If you're also interested in this topic then this will be very long, so thank you for bearing with me.

And if not, especially because you don't care or don't want to read about 7S/HI3 Yanqing then that's also fair, Ma Feima and Yanqing are different characters, and I hope you have a good day!

(NOTE: CW for the mention/discussion of a notable age gap between characters in the story. There are details surrounding that but I'd rather place this here for convenience. Look out for yourselves and stay safe!)

It's wild how many different versions of what happened in the Seven Swords visual novel, which is understandable due to its lack of official translation + not being complete (as far as I know? I am open to corrections overall). But the amount of details that go missing or are incorrect is notably large and I find this situation interesting. As mentioned, anyone who knows better (content, translation-wise, etc.), please correct me on anything if needed.

I will use some screenshots from the videos that translated the available chapters (1-2 and part of the beginning/prologue of 3, I believe). The translations are not entirely accurate so heck, I might be wrong on stuff too.

From personal experience, there were two things I heard about Ma Feima from HI3 players:

He killed his master, Fu Hua.

He cheated on his wife.

Legit, the first time I encountered these points, it was as simple as that. And I took it at face value because it understandably takes effort to look into this stuff and a lot of players from HI3 were saying it. But over time, curiosity got to me and I wanted to see the context surrounding it, and here's what I found.

However, here are some things to know about Seven Swords and Fu Hua's disciples:

The Seven in order are: Lin Zhaoyu, Su Mei, Jiang Wanxi, Jiang Wanru, Cheng Lingshuang, Ma Feima, and Qin Suyi

The present of the VN is set in 1496 while the assassination of Fu Hua was twenty years prior in 1476.

Ma Feima, despite being the 6th disciple, is the youngest.

Ma Feima's original name was Yanqing but changed it to Feima when he got older.

Qin Suyi, the 7th disciple, is Sushang's mother in both HI3 and HSR.

Lin Zhaoyu, the 1st disciple, and Ma Feima are married.

Onto the points:

He killed his master, Fu Hua.

Yes, he was involved but some attribute the plan to him. BUT he wasn't. The person who formed this plan was Su Mei, the 2nd disciple.

Supposedly, all seven disciples participated though most, if not all of them, were reluctant to do so.

They were all bothered by Fu Hua's, effective but cruel way of dealing with Honkai-infected people (She would wipe out whole villages if even ONE person was infected).

The last straw for the disciples was when Jiang Wanru, the 4th disciple, got infected.

It was in that battle that Ma Feima got the scar on his face.

Also to note, Cheng Lingshuang, the 5th disciple, was the one to get the last hit on Fu Hua.

This is a straightforward point, a lot of people know this stuff, and is probably the point that's more elaborated on. But I still wanted to mention it because, oftentimes, a lot of the credit for the plan, and sometimes the last hit is given to Ma Feima. It erases the actions of other pretty interesting characters and is simply incorrect.

Onto the second point, because this is where things get really interesting and a lot is going on.

2. Ma Feima cheated on his wife.

This has given the idea that he had an affair, cheating on his wife, Lin Zhaoyu

No, he didn't.

It is true that he was in love with Su Mei but she never loved him back and was very clear about it so in a literal-traditional sense, he didn't have an affair.

Emotionally, yeah.

It seems that he had been attached to her since he was a child.

Lin Zhaoyu seems to have always been aware of that and still pursued to marry him.

BIG NOTE: This is where I'm going to cover the age gap stuff.

One thing that I have rarely seen anyone mention is the large gap between Lin Zhaoyu and Ma Feima in age.

It's said that Lin Zhaoyu is 15 years older than Su Mei.

Supposedly, Qin Suyi was around eight years old when Fu Hua found her.

Remember, Ma Feima is the youngest of the disciples.

I wouldn't have harped as hard about the age gap if they met/didn't know each other in Ma Feima's childhood, but the disciples technically grew up together so I found it to be questionable.

For reference:

In order, that's Lin Zhaoyu, Su Mei, and Ma Feima when they were younger.

At minimum and based on all the searching and math, at minimum, Su Mei would be thirteen there, and by the 15-year age gap, Zhaoyu would have been 28 years old.

Now, based on the writing, Zhaoyu and Feima most likely got married in the twenty years between the assassination of Fu Hua and the present of Seven Swords.

The youngest Feima would've been at the assassination was seventeen years old at that point.

For the present of the story, Zhaoyu, and Su Mei are 56 years old and 41 years old respectively. Feima is likely in his thirties.

Like I said, I'm making a big point to this because, like, what the heck. That's MAJORLY concerning even if you tried to reason your way around it. Besides any potential "normal in the era" type stuff and that they got married when they were both adults, it's still a huge yikes, isn't it? Also, I've seen barely anyone mention that, and the ones I did see it from, it was when I was looking into the visual novel.

It's mostly because Yanqing is the one in HSR, he's the character that gets the most eyes. And when people only know him as a "master-killing wife cheater" without any of the context surrounding it, it's a huge shame, albeit fair if people don't want to actively look into it themselves. But because a notable chunk of players have let those perceptions have weight over an unrelated by anything but appearance, old name, and the parallel of (potentially) killing a master.

The circumstances surrounding the two are very different.

HSR Yanqing has Jing Yuan to raise and guide him safely through his early life. He's still very young and while stubborn, has a good head on his shoulders, and has a lot of potential to grow into someone strong and stable.

7S/HI3 Ma Feima on the other hand, is shown to have grown very differently from his younger self.

He is far from enjoying life, and don't get me wrong, he isn't completely innocent.

But he's completely aware and is miserable.

There's a lot more I could cover in terms of Ma Feima, his circumstances, and the things about the characters around them, but my brain is so fried lol. All-in-all, his story alongside the seven, is very...complicated.

My main thing is that, hey, maybe we should be a bit more vigilant when we learn things about characters. Beyond fiction, misinformation spreads very easily because we, understandably, take things at face value. In terms of media literacy, we see it time and time again when characters get reduced to a singular trait or a ship or get heavily misunderstood by the audience because a simplified summary will never do the context justice.

[potatocitytechnology]

The Black Cat - N.YT

Kinktober Day 3

Shibari: Shibari, which translates to "decorative tying," is a form of rope bondage that originated in Japan and dates back to the seventeenth-century Edo period. Shibari involves rope made from jute or hemp and is considered an aesthetically pleasing form of BDSM.

INTRO: For the first time in your life you found something that made you feel alive and beautiful. Then you and your boyfriend broke up. Little did you know meeting Yuta would be the best thing for you and your obsession.

GENRES: Smut

PAIRING: reader (afab) x softdom!yuta

WARNINGS: profanity/swearing, rope bondage/shibari, extensive use of ropes, temperature play, blindfolding, gagging, use of a vibrating toy, a little humiliation and degradation, oral (F), crying (F), slight suspension, mentions of full suspension, reader has a rope kink?, softdom!yuta, bdsm themes - overall explicit content - PLEASE, DO NOT INTERACT WITH THIS BLOG OR POST IF YOU ARE UNDERAGE. MINORS WILL BE BLOCKED!

WORD COUNT: 5.7k (shit.)

AUTHORS NOTE: Wow, this was not meant to be nearly 6k long... especially since i'm trying to keep all kintober works under 2k (˶ •́◡•̀ ˶) I ended up doing a decent amount of research into shibari and just couldn't keep it short (it needed a backstory!). i really wanting to write for it but i had absolutely no confidence in my ability to describe something so intricate and complicated. However, this is my interpretation of this kink with some other bdsm kinks thrown in to make it interesting. Anyways, enough of my rambling, enjoy! 𖦹 ̫ 𖦹

You met Yuta through a friend of a friend. To be honest you don’t know much about him, even after meeting up with him a few times to discuss your mutual… interests. You met up at normal places, coffee shops mostly, but this time was different. This time you were gonna do what you’d been planning all this time. 

The reason you heard of Yuta was because you were talking to your friend about why you keep going back to your ex. One of the main reasons was the sex. And trust, it wasn’t just sex. Your ex, Ethan, was into shibari. Something you never even knew about before you met him, but it quickly became your favourite obsession. 

There’s just something about the feeling you get when you're tied up, all pretty and captive. The dopamine that courses through your veins is pure addiction and the stress leaves your body immediately. Ethan made you depend on him even after you’re broken up, it being second nature to call him up when you needed your fix. You hate how much you need it. 

Yuta became relevant when your friend said she knew an old friend from Uni who was into shibari, too. She offered to get in contact with her again and ask if you and she could meet up. You were eager to say the least, not having met anyone else with the same kink aside from Ethan and you would do anything to not have to go to him anymore. 

Luckily, her friend agreed and that’s when you met up with her. Lucy is a very funny and warm hearted person. She was incredibly happy to help you learn more about rope bondage and introduce you to more people through parties and clubs. 

On one of those nights was when you first saw Yuta. However, you could say he saw you first judging by the way he stared at you for a good hour before you locked eyes with him from across the room. It was an instant attraction, your breath catching in your throat as you looked him up and down. 

He then walked over to where you and Lucy were talking with some of your new friends, an extra drink appearing in his left hand. His dark hair covered his forehead, dipping just past his brow bone. Eyes twinkling, lips full and plump as they turn into a smile. 

When he reaches you and your friends, his gaze linger on you as he introduces himself to everyone, leaving you for last. “Hi, I’m Yuta.” it’s simple the way he says it, but you can’t help but feel there’s something lying beneath it. You pay it no mind, however, introducing yourself to him. People around you start mumbling, even those caught up in… introductions, stop their activities to peer at your group. 

You can’t help but to feel shy, their unwanted attention making your eyes cast down as you try to become as unnoticeable as possible. Yuta leans in closer to you, “Don’t mind them.” And that’s when you knew he was the one you wanted to do it with. There was something about him that made you feel like he was safe and knew what he was doing. 

On the cab back to Lucy’s place she turns to you as soon as the doors shut. “Oh my god, y/n, you don’t know how big that just was.” her tone is one of disbelief and excitement but you’re absolutely confused. “What do you mean?” 

She grabs your wrist, “Yuta Nakamoto, the one who had his eyes glued to you?” you nod your head, unsure why she’s asking you a question about a guy you met two hours ago. How're you supposed to know who he is? Her eyes widened, “shit, I never told you about Yuta.” she sits back in thought and you begin to panic. Well that was ominous, what the fuck is it supposed to mean? Sure doesn’t sound good. 

She angles her face back, ready to explain while your mind reels thinking you’ve met someone who’s way past your level of expertise. “Yuta doesn’t take interest in a lot of people.” is all she says before pausing again. A frustrated look passes your face, “Lucy, what the hell is with this guy?” She nods her head. 

“Don’t worry, he can’t be bad for you.” She concludes and you give her a very unimpressed look. “What’s that supposed to mean?” She lifts her shoulders, as if in some sort of defeat. “Well, I’ll put it like this,” her eyes pierce yours with a slight look of worry passing through them. “Who better to teach you the art of Japanese rope bondage than Yuta Nakamoto?” 

After that you were cautious, how could you not be? But when Yuta, somehow, got ahold of your number and invited you out for coffee, you didn’t have it in you to say no. From there you learnt what his intentions were with you. He wanted you to be his next ‘muse’. Yuta said he only picks a select few people to teach and participate in his activities, and he wanted you. 

You were hesitant, but your need to be tied surpassed your fear of the unknown. When you were discussing your inexperience with Yuta and his with you, it came up. The fact that you would do almost anything to feel the weight of rope on your skin. Yuta’s reaction was a slow nod, but you saw the look that passed through his irises. It was lust, laced with approval and it made you feel proud. 

After these few meetups, you began to be much more confident around Yuta, unafraid to say the things you wanted and him the same with you. On your last meetup, Yuta asked the question you knew was coming; “Do you want to actually do it next time?” You gulp, a lump forming in your throat. “Of course.” You nod, your eyes reassuring him that you want to do this. Besides, you refused to see Ethan for over three weeks while you’ve been talking to Yuta, and you need this. He smiles, his approval making you happy. 

That brings you to the present moment. You stand outside the address Yuta gave you to meet at. It seems like some sort of club, you think as you observe the outside of the building. Big, bold letters read on the front, ‘The Black Cat”. Spooky, you think to yourself before double checking the address, pulling your coat closer to your shivering body. 

Confirming it is the place, you tame your wildly beating heart by taking in deep breaths as you walk up to the entrance. Your stilettos click on the pavement as you do, and you can’t help but feel overdressed and underdressed at the same time. Not to mention cold, the chilly Autumn air biting at your skin. 

You hear the thumping of slow and sensual RnB resonating from within the building as you get closer, eventually only a foot from the door. Thoughts of regret rush through your mind. What the hell are you doing here? This isn’t you.

Before you get the chance to turn and hurry back to your car, a throuple pushes through the doors, startling you, as they giggle and laugh. The two girls sloppily lie kisses on the guys neck and face as they disappear into the night and you’re envious. They look like they’re having pure, carefree fun. You want that too, and right now your key to that life is waiting for you inside this building. 

Holding your breath, you push through the doors into the warm and sensual atmosphere of the club. Your eyes are greeted with dark furniture and bodies moving together as everyone minds their own business with the people they’re with. You try not to show your shock, as you walk past couches and tables where people are kissing and groping, making your way to the bar at the far end of the room. 

You grasp the surface of the bar with both hands as you roll into it. The air feels heavy in your lungs as the bartender comes over to you. “Need anything, love?” He asks, a heavy English accent lacing his voice. You go to shake your head before someone calls from behind you, “A cosmopolitan for the lady, thanks.” 

You turn around, hoping to see Yuta but instead it’s some other guy. His shirt is off, which isn’t surprising, though it’s not the way you’d introduce yourself to someone. He takes a seat beside you as you prop yourself onto the bar stool. “What’re you doing here, pretty?” He asks, a slur in his voice indicating he’s had a lot to drink. 

“Waiting for someone.” you reply, a coldness lingering in your tone. He either doesn’t notice, or doesn’t care because he keeps talking. “You sure? Don’t see anyone running to claim you.” His voice is suggestive and you start to feel slimy while he eyes you up. You only hum in response, hoping he gets the hint to fuck off. 

“Pretty things that don’t get claimed around here, are taken by others.” He says, obviously thinking that you’ll jump into his arms if Yuta doesn’t show up. Luckily, you don’t have to reply as the bartender steps in, “Piss off, Tyler. She’s with Yuta.” his tone is low, like a warning and you begin to wonder just how much power Yuta has within these communities. 

“Like I give a fuck if she’s Yuta’s or not.” He laughs, swinging an arm around your shoulder and you grimace, the smell of sweat and alcohol radiating from him. “You should be.” The bartender replies, who’s name tag reads, Jordan.

The guy harassing you, Tyler laughs louder and more obnoxiously. “And where is big bad Yuta, right now, huh?” You scowl, as he shakes around you. You honestly feel like you could punch him at any second. 

Thankfully, you won’t have to, as an angry sounding voice emits from behind you and Tyler. “Get your hands off of her, Tyler, or I swear to god you’ll loose them.” It sends shivers up your spine and you smirk as it clearly scares the absolute shit out of Tyler. His arm quickly leaves your shoulders as he whips around, his arms in the air in mock surrender. 

“H-Hey man, I was just kidding. No hard feelings.” he stutters, every ounce of his confidence leaving his body as Yuta watches him with stalking eyes. “If you touch her again-” he begins to threaten, but catches the look of fear and uncertainty flash through your eyes and stops himself. He takes a deep breath, “You are never to be anywhere near her again, do you understand?” 

Tyler nods and disappears as fast as he appeared. Yuta gives an appreciative nod to Jordan, the bartender, before grabbing your hand. Tingles shoot up your fingertips as he gently tugs you behind him. “Let’s go somewhere quiet.” you nod in response, trailing after him as he leads you down a long, dark hallway beside the bar. 

You pass doors, each of which have names on them, like offices. Except you know they’re probably not offices. At least not in the traditional sense. He stops close to the end of the hallway when he pulls out a key. You’ve stopped in front of the door labelled, Yuta.N. He gestures with a smile for you to go in first as he cracks open the door. 

You walk in, one hesitant step after the other as he follows you quietly. You’re taking aback when your eyes adjust to the dark atmosphere of the room. The only light being some LED’s scattered around. A four poster bed acts as the centrepiece of the room, and god does it attract your eyes. What catches your attention the most are the hardpoints attached to the posts all around and above the bed, not to mention other odd ones in different corners of the room. 

“They’re for suspension.” Yuta says softly from behind you, patiently letting you take in everything you need to. You nod in reply, casting your eyes to the ones above the couch and the bed to the few that’re just in the middle of the room. It’s daunting you can’t lie. 

There’s a dark chest that is situated near the couch and you can only imagine what’s inside it. This is some fucking fifty shades of grey shit, you think to yourself, a laugh of disbelief almost leaving your mouth. 

“You okay?” He asks, his voice still timid. Truth be told, Yuta's nervous about how you’ll react to everything. He knows you’ve never really delved into more accurate BDSM, and he wants nothing more than for you to want this. He’s been itching to get you into this room, all of his favourite things are in here and now you are too. 

“Yeah. It’s just a lot.” You mutter and Yuta nods even though you can’t see him. You turn around and he takes a moment to watch your expressions. “Just remember we’re not doing that tonight,” he lifts a hand to rub a thumb over your cheek and you sigh. “unless you want to.” he adds. “Okay.” you agree.

“Alright then, why don’t we get to the part you’ve been craving then?” He questions, and you nod your head. “y/n I really want you to speak up and talk to me okay?” he asks and your eyes widen. “That might’ve been how you did it with your ex, but for this to work for us, we need to communicate.” 

He’s right, with Ethan communication wasn’t really a thought. Verbal conversation didn’t matter as long as he got what he wanted, and you obviously never picked up that that’s not how this is supposed to work. It’s refreshing to be doing this with someone who knows what he's doing and wants to make sure you’re okay with it every step of the way. 

Though, it does little to calm you on the fact that Yuta is much more experienced than you. The only person that you ever participated in rope bondage with was Ethan, and you never paired it with suspension. Despite the nerves you have to admit that the thought makes your pussy clench embarrassingly. 

“Yes, Yuta. I want you to tie me up.” you try to say with confidence, your eyes holding contact with him. He smiles, relief flooding you. “Perfect. Let’s begin then.” He clasps his hands together, guiding you by your elbow to the centre of the room. 

You’ve talked about how he would tie you up for the first time, but he still talks you through it as he begins by pulling a few bunches of hemp rope from the dark chest. He unravels the first bunch, laying it in his palms before gesturing to you. “Take off your clothes, y/n. Did you wear what I told you to?” Your breath hitches, as it actually dawns on you. You’re doing this, and by the look on Yuta’s face, you’re gonna love it. 

“Yes, I did.” you reply, surely removing your woollen trench coat. The material falls to the ground, you only being left in the black bondage harness and heels he sent to you. It seems that now you’re without the coat, you’re feeling hot but when it was the only thing covering you, you were cold. It’s strange how your body reacts to him, a practical stranger. 

“Good girl.” he purrs, looking you up and down. You shudder at the compliment, satisfied to have pleased him. He steps close to you, picking up the coat and gesturing for you to take of the heels. You do and he walkd to the corner of the room before placing them on the coat and shoe rack. Your eyes track him as he does and when he comes back to stand in front of you, you find yourself wanting to kiss him. Yet, it feels forbidden.

His breath falls on your lips as yours is held in your throat, not wanting to ruin the moment by breathing. “On your knees, now.” is all he says and you’re falling to the ground before the sentence is finished. When your knees meet the hardwood your eyes peer up at him through your lashes. He pulls the rope through his fist, your attention shifting to his hands. They’re large and veiny, and you want them on you but you sit quietly and wait for his request, eager to please. 

“We’re gonna start today with something simple and pretty.” he starts fighting the urge to coo at the way you look up at him. “Shibari is a form of decorative tying as you probably know, but it’s also used for pleasure. That’s what we’ll be doing too.” he explains and your head becomes light with the thought of the ropes wrapped around you, all pretty and confined. 

Now, my little rope bunny,” he says, a tinge of admiration following the pet name. “I’m going to first start by doing ‘shinju’, which is a traditional breast bondage technique.” he adds nonchalantly, and it sends more wetness to your pussy, a throbbing ache already burying itself deep in your abdomen and he hasn’t even touched you yet. 

You nod, a weak ‘uh huh’ leaving your lips. He grins, kneeling down to your level where he starts to gently glide the rope across your skin. An involuntary groan escapes you and Yuta freezes. “Jesus, never had anyone react that quick.” He mutters, more to himself than to you. You nod, deciding whether or not to just say what you want to, in the end you bite the bullet, wanting to see how he reacts. “Was wet before it even touched me.” You let out breathily. 

Your eyes close in bliss as he continues, making the first knot. You hear a curse slip from his lips and you internally smile in glee, glad you’re having an impact on him like he does on you. True to the name ‘shinju’ the rope goes around your waist, under your breasts before wrapping around your shoulder and beneath your armpit. Circling around your neck creating a halter. It then goes between your breasts before looping under the rope beneath them. Yuta takes his time with the rope, truly enjoying the art he’s making. Finally, the end of the rope is wrapped the whole way around both of your breasts, forcing them to bulge outwards. 

Your nipples perk towards him, his fingertips brushing them making you moan again. God, the feeling of the rope tight on your skin is alike to nothing else. The way you sense you’re constricted is blissful. Yuta watches the way you react like a hawk. No one he’s ever done this with has reacted like you do and it's fascinating.

Goosebumps follow every part of your skin he touches, the rope making you gasp and breathe heavier every time he places it across a bare area. When he ties each knot with careful precision, you can’t help the way you feel like a piece of art. 

When he finishes the ‘shinju’, he sits back on his heels, admiring his work. A smile graces his gorgeous face and you can’t help the way your face mirrors his. “How does that feel?” he asks, tugging at the knots to make sure they are all firm but not too constricting. 

“Feels good.” You reply, surprising you both as your voice is cracked and strained like you’re already wrecked. He nods, keeping an eye on you. “Do you want to try ‘koutou ushiro te shibari’? It’s just a hands behind the head tie.” You know you’ve hardly gone deep into what Yuta knows, really only skimming the easiest methods from his knowledge. It’s just the way he sounds so confident about these different ties. Ethan was never like that, always unsure of himself and constantly hurting you. 

You nod, a small noise of agreement leaving you. He strokes your cheek adoringly and you shift slightly on your knees, the rope around your breasts tightening eliciting a moan from between your lips. Yuta chuckles, “you really are enjoying this aren’t you, bunny?” The pet name causes you to only moan in response. 

He stands and walks behind you. “Hands above your head.” He instructs and you obey. He never has to ask twice with you and he loves it. Grabbing your wrists he wraps a new piece of rope around your left one a few times before pulling it tight and doing the same with the other wrist, effectively binding them together. 

You grunt as he pulls them firmly before looping around the connective piece of rope between your wrists. He then brings the ends down your spine till it reaches your waist. Wrapping his arms around you he curls it around your waist, making a pretty knot at the back that sits in the curve of your spine. 

“There.” he sighs, admiring the way your arms are now restricted, folded towards your neck. You whimper, the soft rope tight around your waist making you wiggle against the delicious pressure. “Ok bunny, how would you feel about being attached to that hardpoint there.” He points to the metal ring hanging above you and you nod, a sound of compliance coming from your chest. 

“Alright, stand up then.” He says watching to make sure you’re okay. Your knees wobble, weak from being on your knees for so long but you manage to stand in a stable position. Shibari is beautiful but all beautiful things take time. Yuta probably spent over 30 minutes tying these knots on you, each pretty piece of rope accentuating your body features. 

Yuta turns around, going back to the dark chest and pulling out a longer piece of rope. Reaching above you, he loops the rope through the ring. Pulling it down tight, he walks behind you and ties it to your arm tie. He laces it into the knots, focusing on making it museum worthy. 

This is part of the reason you love rope bondage. The attention to detail and goal of perfection makes you feel like a art piece to be worshipped, like the Mona Lisa. It’s also very intimate, the time you spend together, both parties enjoying their role. The last aspect you love is the build up to the intimate part. Sometimes it takes hours to tie someone how they want and it’s all so exhilarating. 

You gasp as Yuta pulls the rope tight, not quite suspending you but your feet are only just still on the ground. You whine in disappointment, wanting to be fully suspended. Yuta laughs, “there’s gonna be other times, bunny. We can work up to it.” he says, dragging a finger around your waist as he walks to your front. 

His fingers catch the rope around your waist, pulling you toward him, effectively lifting your toes from the ground. Your weight pulls down on your arms’ muscles, the burn delicious but not enough to sustain for more than a few seconds.  “See.” he whispers into your ear, sending a chill through your body. Yuta’s right, you need to get stronger to be able to hold your own weight comfortably.

“I’m not going to tie your legs today either, I don’t think you could handle it to be honest.” he smirks as your face twists. He turns to go somewhere behind you, not being able to see him you whine out loud. “Be patient, bunny.” he scoffs as you hear what you presume to be a fridge door open and shut. He rummages around with a few different things where you can’t see him before he comes into your vision again. 

On a small tray he has an assortment of objects. A dark blindfold sits neatly next to a ball gag and a small bowl of ice cubes. The last object on the tray is something you’ve never seen before, it's not large and sorta egg shaped. Seeing your confusion at the object, Yuta picks it up, showing you closer. “It’s a vibrating egg, this goes into your sweet little pussy.” 

You suck in a breath, an innocent ‘oh’ leaving your parted lips and it takes everything in him to not kiss you. That’s what the gag is for. He gets close to you, the ball gag in hand before he brings it to your lips. “Open.” he demands and of course, you comply. He places the ball part in your mouth, tying it behind your head. It’s a comfortable size, you note, especially since you have a rather small mouth. 

Next he picks up the blind fold, navigating around your body so he’e behind you again. Bringing it over your eyes, you groan into the gag. He makes sure you can’t see before securing it and you must admit you’ve never been gagged and blinded before. Ethan usually wanted you mouth free and eyes open so you could suck him off. You can tell with Yuta though, that this is more about pleasuring you for him. 

Without your sight, everything immediately becomes more sensual. The only thing you can really count on is the hearing, due to your loss of touch as well. You listen closely as he shuffles around you, when suddenly he’s pressed against your back. You can feel all of him on you like this and you can’t help the noise that emits from you, muffled around the gag. 

His fingertips dance around your waist, moving to the front of your body before he reaches between your closed legs. “Part them.” he mutters deeply into your ear and you groan, complying instantly. Brushing over your pubic bone you begin to pant around the gag. The increase in the rise and fall of your chest causes the ropes around your breasts to tighten and loosen periodically. 

He finally tickles your clit with his fingers, only ghosting over it in a teasing manner. You shiver in his hold, body vibrating and he makes a noise of approval. “Such a good little bunny. So responsive.” he murmurs in your ear, flicking your clit harshly. Almost painfully, but you couldn’t give a fuck, a strangled moan slipping around the gag. Your hips buck, looking for his fingers and the fact you can’t see them, makes you drip. 

“Okay, no more teasing. Just know I’m being extra nice since it’s your first time.” He confirms in your ear. Oh, you know he would tease you for hours and not get sick of it. But you’re happy he’s serving it to you on a silver platter this time. You moan out in response, it being the only noise that gets past the gag in your mouth as drool begins to dribble from the corners of your lips. 

He runs his fingers through your folds, another moan leaving from deep within your chest. “So wet.” He muses to himself and you begin to blush. “Oh, don’t be embarrassed, bunny.” He’s coos into your ear. “It’s so sexy that I barely have to touch you and you’re ready to go for me.” You’re always ready, is what you want to say, but the gag would make that near impossible. 

His fingers dip into your soaking pussy, beginning to slowly pump in and out of you. You can’t help the string of muffled curses that you grumble out, nearly choking on your saliva as you do. “Careful, bunny. As much as I’d love to see you choke, it won’t be on your own accord.” Your eyes roll back at his words, your pussy squeezing around his fingers as he chuckles at the reaction he gets from you. 

Suddenly he slips something inside of you and you’re guessing it’s the egg toy. It feels foreign. Smooth and round, snug deep in your pussy. His fingers leave you and you whine, the noise pitiful as he pats your hair soothingly. You hear the sound of sucking and your heart rate increases. “Mhm, you taste good, little bunny.” he moans into your ear as he licks his fingers and you wish more than anything right now, that you could see him. 

You wiggle against your ropes, groaning as they tighten on your skin. You hear him laugh at you as you embarrass yourself. It only turns you on more. “Right. Are you ready to see just exactly what this little toy can do?” He asks. You nod in response, thinking he wouldn’t expect you to answer verbally. You were wrong. 

He slaps your thigh. Not as hard as you’d like, but hard enough to hurt a little. It makes your back arch against the ropes as you throw your head back, a deep, primal sound emitting from deep within your chest. “Answer me.” he demands and you try your best to be good and answer. A barely understandable ‘yes’ is filtered from your mouth, drool now running down your chin like a stream. 

He doesn’t even think before he leans in close to you, using his tongue to lick up the mess you’ve made of yourself. You let out a high pitched moan as your mind races. He’s so fucking dirty and you love it. He gets to the corner of your lips, where he flicks his tongue into your mouth briefly, before pulling away. A noise of disagreement leaves you and he looks on, amused and intrigued by you. 

He grips the little remote in his hand, pressing the on button. You immediately react. Your body jolts as the little toy vibrates to life and so it starts. You officially can’t keep the noises in and Yuta only encourages you with his sweet and filthy words. 

The feeling of the toy vibrating deep in your pussy is ecstacy. With both your sight and will to string together a sentence evaporated, you are left to only focus on your impending orgasm. Wanting to participate Yuta picks up an almost melted ice cube, running it across your already hardened nipple. 

The sting of the cold makes you hiss, the feeling a painful pleasure. He creates a process of making your abused nipple freeze, before defrosting it in his mouth then switching to the other. The sensations make your head loll to the side and Yuta notes that next time he should tie you so that your neck gets more support. 

Your toes still on the ground begin to tingle as you feel an orgasm rise in you. Your chest rises and falls more rapidly and Yuta notices. Nipping and pinching at your sensitive nipples brings you to the edge quicker. A final bite to your chest pushing you into your orgasm. 

However, Yuta doesn’t turn the toy off. You try to argue your disagreement around the gag as a couple moments pass. When he still makes no move to turn the little buzzing toy off, you wiggle in your restraints. “Shush, bunny. It’s alright, do you trust me.” He mumbles against your chest. Luckily a nod is enough to satisfy him this time as he replies, “Good girl.”

Quickly you’re brought to another orgasm, but before you can cum, Yuta is on his knees sucking your clit between his lips. When the cold touches your sensitive nerves you all but scream into the gag, thrashing as he loops his arms around your thighs to stop you from moving. Definitely tying your legs next time, he thinks to himself. 

You cum hard, but he still doesn’t stop. Tears begin to fall down your cheeks as you sob into the gag. “Aww, is my little bunny ready to throw in the towel already?” He asks, a degrading tone in his voice. You shake your head, a muffled ‘no’ crying from your sobbing mouth. 

“Just one more for me, bunny. I promise.” You nod your head, only wanting to please him so bad. Even though he makes every nerve in your body burn, he’s a flame you’d gladly walk into every time. “Good girl.”, he praises stroking your thigh adoringly. You’re absolutely perfect for him. 

He pops an ice cube in his mouth, ghosting over your poor, swollen clit once again as you sob harder, feeling his breath on you. He attaches his lips around it, a broken moan turning into a weak scream as he places the ice cube directly on your clit. With the egg still vibrating inside you, his lips sucking your clit and the damned ice cube making it throb, you stand absolutely no chance. 

You cry out loud as you cum again. At this point a mix of your tears and drool stream down your face and neck, while cum dribbles down your thighs. Yuta wastes none of it, sucking your sticky thighs clean of the substance, caressing your skin as he does. 

After a few moments he’s quick to stand up. You hear him behind you before he loosens the rope holding you up, the slack causing your knees to collapse as you try to hold your own weight again. He catches you, arm securely wrapped around your waist as he guides you to the bed where he swiftly removes all the rope from your body.

When he removes your blindfold and gag, you begin to hiccup as your eyes adjust to the dim room before landing on him. He’s looking at you proudly with a hint of worry showing on his features. “You okay, y/n?” he asks softly. You nod, a quiet ‘yeah’ forming as your jaw adjusts to being closed again. 

Every muscle in your body burns, and this is the last part of rope bondage you love. The way you can always feel it long after you’re finished. He grabs a damp towel and begins to gently wipe the sweat, cum and drool from your body before you collapse into him. He hugs you close to him and you feel completely safe and satisfied. 

“That was amazing.” you sigh into him, and you swear you almost feel him deflate around you. “That’s good, I’m glad you did.” He mumbles into the top of your head. 

“Next time we should stretch first though.” you grumble and he laughs, his whole body vibrating and you can’t help but laugh lightly too. 

“Okay.” he replies, obeying you for the first time tonight.

[usmsgutterson]

Kaz Brekker x Shy! Fem! Reader Headcanons

All right! This one was requested by @whitejxsmine​ and, in an effort to keep the note short and sweet, I’m going to apologize for how short this set of headcanons is, given how long it took me to see the ask she’d originally sent, and also, raine, if or when you see this, I am so sorry again for how long these took! 

Fic type- this is entirely fluff!

Warnings- one singular mention of death

Kaz is exactly the type of person who literally won’t notice if you don’t talk or are a generally shy person for a few weeks, I would think

He definitely gets lost in his own thoughts a lot and is never really one for words himself so when others are ALSO not talking, it’s not something he picks up on as quickly as someone like Jesper or Nina might 

Even after it gets pointed out to him he’s just like “she’s not one for words. What does it matter?” and that’s kind of just it

he’s also like, super observant so he learns to read your body language pretty quickly, and you end up learning to read the one man who everyone in the Barrel always claims to be unreadable as a result

A lot of your relationship is that, actually. Knowing and understanding each others limits and managing to find good communication even when you’re not in the mood to communicate verbally. 

It’s also a lot of give and take, a lot of “you hurt her, you die” and even more I will glower at you in silence while you threaten his life until you finally get the fucking point

Kaz doesn’t mind that you’re shy and not really outgoing, either. He’s more content at home planning heists as it were and after a while, he literally just expects to find you on the windowsill in his office reading a book. 

Speaking of books, though? Jesper makes fun of him for it but he goes to the bookstore every few weeks and leaves his findings on the bookshelves in his office. 

His goal is ALWAYS to find books he thinks you’ll enjoy because he’s trying to be subtle about wanting you to spend more time with him and he also just can’t really find the words to express it.

SPEAKING OF HIS OFFICE (I know we weren’t but backtracking is a thing that we do from time to time so shhhhh)

Kaz has a coffeemaker in his office. That is established in literally EVERY SINGLE ONE OF MY FICS because why would he spend kruge on coffee everyday when a coffeemaker is a one time purchase and coffee grounds are a bi-weekly purchase or a monthly purchase if you buy enough in one go? Kazzle Dazzle is smart about his finances and coffee is how he’s capable to run off of so little sleep so of course he’s going to have a coffeemaker

I’m getting sidetracked and before I do, he has a coffeemaker but a few weeks into your relationship he buys an electric kettle (I have no idea if they’d exist in the era that the grishaverse is set in but we’re going to pretend they do) a box of the tea you like, and a mug

If you’re a coffee person rather than a tea person, though, he makes note of what blend you like best and the additives you use for it and buys them whenever he restocks his own

He also gets you a mug if you’re a coffee person (and they say chivalry is dead, but it’s not)

generally, though, your relationship is just really sweet and not one people pick up on a lot because the ways that you show affection as a shy person with an introverted partner aren’t usually grounded in verbalities like “I love you” but more so looks and simple understanding.

[vintagesimstress]

Victorian robes for infants - long and short version

The outfit which was originally intended as a default replacement for babies/newborns, then (after Nifty Knitting made the og plan impossible) converted for toddlers, now brought back (almost) to it's original form!

Just as the toddler version, it comes in 2 lengths: almost floor-length, as seen in the preview picture, and a shorter one - let's say, knee-length. Same 10 swatches as back then.

Please keep in mind that as originally it was supposed to be a default replacement, keeping the polycount low had a higher priority than making the outfit extra pretty. Therefore, it's of a lower quality than my usual pieces, at least in my own eyes. Maybe one day, if time allows, I'll make a fancier version too. You know, with lace, frills and all that Victorian stuff... But for now we have this simple yet universal infant gown.

Tagged as everyday, sleep and hot weather, unisex. Custom thumbnails. Disabled for random. Polycount: ca. 4-4,5K.

Comes with some imperfections, unfortunately, because it's extremely hard (at least for me) to imitate infant movements/poses in Blender and make sure the outfit looks perfect all the time. Those creatures are WIGGLY! Still, I think I managed to get to the point when both versions look ok most of the time.

Hope you like them, enjoy :)

DOWNLOAD (free on Patreon, no ads or EA)

[catiecat1320]

Participating in Sonadowtober this year!! Really excited and probably gonna fail but we ball

Prompt 1: “I Found You, Faker!”

Read Below 🔽

Of course it had to rain.

It was as if some higher force had cursed him with terrible luck. It might as well suddenly start thunderstorming now.

The original plan had been simple enough, but things rarely ever turn out as expected. For once Sonic wished everything would go smoothly. But no, there was a faker using his face, running around and getting him accused of unspeakable acts.

Heh. Sounds familiar…

He absentmindedly played with the device on his wrist, hoping to trigger something that could help him. An umbrella, maybe. He was getting drenched.

Stupid imposter and their stupid tricks. Although he wasn’t exactly playing hero here, he wouldn’t ever go out of his way to hurt someone purely for the sake of an act. But the few that had spotted his face probably didn’t believe that, and so he’d rather keep anyone else ignorant of his true identity. 

Hard to do when his face is uncovered.

Sonic smacked the device and sighed. Standing up, he wiped the rain from his eyes and looked up at the whole procession of vehicles, hoping to find a relatively clear path. He needed to keep up. Man, it’d been so long since he’d been chased like this, he was getting out of practice. Let’s see…

“Found you.”

A sharp PING of metal on metal, and the next thing Sonic knows, he’s falling, the gear knocked out from right under him. Managing to snag his perpetrator’s board just barely, he sighs a short lived breath of relief as an all too familiar voice whispers, “...Sonic?”

Ruby eyes bore holes in him as he looks up. Protected by a hood, they seem to glow in the dark. A bit too menacing for his liking. “Hey, Shadow! Fancy seeing you here!” Sonic laughs, flashing the best smile he could muster while dangling what was likely thousands of feet above ground. “New fit?”

His rival scowled, tugging his brown cloak tighter. “I should be asking you that.”

“It’s… not what it looks like, I swear.”

“Then explain. Now.” 

“Could I at least get my gear back first?” Sonic eyes the board floating away in the wind, silently willing it to return. It didn’t work.

“I said now.”

“Alright, alright! Long story short, something fishy’s going on with Cleansweep. Tails and Amy are in the big shuttle right now, investigating it. I was supposed to create a distraction with this fancy getup, which worked pretty well until someone copied my whole schtick and made it worse. And now my thingy’s broken—” he shakes the malfunctioning device for emphasis “—and everyone who saw me thinks I’m the bad guy. Crazy, I know. But you gotta believe me—”

“I do.”

“I…! Uh… wait what?”

“I believe you.” Shadow grabs his wrist and pulls him onto the board. “You do many things, but you’d never hurt anyone without cause. That whole act was unlike you.”

“Gee, thanks I guess.” That saved a lot of talking. Sonic supposed he underestimated his rival’s understanding of him. He couldn’t help the grin that tugged at his mouth as Shadow flew him over to his drifting Eggstreme Gear. Of all people… Shadow might have been the best one to run into, ironically.

“Stop smiling like that. You look stupid.” Shadow undoes his cloak and tosses it at Sonic, who fumbles with it in surprise.

“What’s… this for?”

“You are stupid.”

“What—!” Then it clicks. “Ohhhh. Oh yeah, I knew that. Cloak. Disguise. Duh. But uh… don’t you need it?”

Shadow shakes his head. “I brought it along for the rain. It’d be of more use to you. I can handle getting wet.”

“...Thanks, dude.” Sonic smiles as he puts it on. Unfortunately, his rival immediately ruins their nice moment with a glare.

“Don’t ‘dude’ me.”

“Sorry, sorry.” He rolled his eyes. Typical Shadow. He can’t say he was surprised. “Didya have to ruin the moment?”

Shadow doesn’t answer his question, instead turning his board around to leave. He doesn’t get far before Sonic calls after him. “Wait… where are you going?”

“You’re handling this just fine on your own.”

“But… That doesn’t answer my question.”

“I have faith in you. You don’t need me to hold your hand any more than I want to. Do your part, and I’ll do mine.”

Shadow’s expression is the perfect blend of unreadable and untouchable. Crimson eyes lock onto emerald with a look that makes Sonic glad he’s no longer on the opposing side.

“If you’re really curious… I’ve got a faker to find.”