#but like i already said in my previous tags

[atenea585]

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Female Reader

Tags/Warnings: +18, fingering, pussy slapping, degradation, language, dirty talk.

It was common to find yourself in this position, but even so the sensations were still as strong as the first time

“Yeah, that’s it, honey. Be a good little slut for me.” He continued to thrust his fingers in and out of you, your hands holding tightly to his knees as your ass rubbed against his clothed cock from the movement. “Do you want to be a good fucking girl for me? Start by taking this.”

You moaned as you watched his fingers move quickly, trying hard not to roll your eyes as you held on to him as best you could.

“Ben-”

“Tsk, tsk, honey. You know what to call me.”

You nodded your head. You felt stupid for forgetting, but let’s be honest… You were stupid, and you could thank him and his magical fingers for that.

“Soldier Boy.”

“Atta girl.” He placed a wet kiss on your cheek as his movements didn’t stop.

His fingers going in and out of your pussy made you feel dizzy. Rubbing against your folds over and over again at incredible speed and at a pace that made you think you might explode.

“You should see yourself now. So fucking high on my fingers that you look like a fucking zombie.”

His words only made you clench around him more often, something you suspected he already knew, because he just couldn’t close his big fucking mouth.

“Bet you’d do anything I asked, huh?” He spread two fingers inside you like scissors, causing you to mewl his superhero name (you wouldn’t forget it again). “If I asked you to get on your fucking knees on the rough floor and choke on my cock you would do it, right?” When he didn’t get a response he removed his fingers from you and hit your clit with two of them. “Answer me, slut!”

“Y-yes!” You grabbed his wrist, wanting him to put his fat fingers inside your pussy again.

“So stupid ‘cause my fingers, huh?” He mumbled into your hair. “But this is nothing compared to what I’ll do to you with my thick cock.” He said before shoving four fingers inside you at once and returning to his previous pace.

“Oh, fu-” He was right. You were so stupid for him and his fucking fingers that you couldn’t even finish talking.

Your eyes rolled back, your arousal running down the inside of your thighs as his pace didn’t stop. The thought that he could calmly kill you with his actions crossed your mind, but was quickly dismissed when he pulled his fingers out of you and brought them to his mouth. Your heart stopped as you saw a glimpse of his tongue wrap around his fingers before he closed his mouth around them.

He hummed at your taste and withdrew his fingers, a thread of saliva that connecting his mouth to them.

“And to think that some time ago I had thought about murdering you. And here we are, the taste of you on my tongue and your fucking brain melted by my fingers.” He murmured mockingly without taking his eyes off his fingers, almost as if he were analyzing your taste as if it were wine.

You licked your lips, feeling dry, and shifted uncomfortably. The position you two were in might have been comfortable if it weren’t for what you were doing.

“What’s wrong, baby?” He returned his gaze to you. “Do you need to have my thick, wet fingers inside you again?”

He slowly moved his fingers down your body (too slow for your liking) and began to rub your clit gently.

“You got it, doll.”

He put his fingers inside you again and slowly returned to his previous rhythm as your pussy pulsed around his fingers and sucked them like you would his cock.

“As soon as you come like the little dirty slut you are, you’ll return the fucking favor.”

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[novaursa]

To Win a Princess (the war)

- Summary: Once you come of age, the realm seeks to curry the King's favor once more by seeking a hand of his younger daughter. You. 

- Paring: targ!reader/Tyland Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: the king is dead

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @your-favorite-god

The news came in the form of a shaken raven, its wings tattered from the storm it had flown through to reach Casterly Rock. The missive it carried was brief, but the words scrawled in haste burned into your mind as you read them.

Luke is dead. Storm’s End. Aemond. Vhagar.

The parchment fell from your hands, fluttering to the stone floor like a fallen leaf. You couldn’t breathe, the weight of the words crushing your chest as tears welled in your eyes. The room seemed to blur around you, and the faint sound of your youngest daughter’s voice pulled you back to the present.

“Mama?” Alysanne’s soft, trembling voice brought you out of your haze. She stood in the doorway, her wide violet eyes filled with concern. “Mama, what’s wrong?”

You couldn’t speak. Instead, you opened your arms, and she rushed into them, burying her face against your shoulder. She was only nine, far too young to bear the grief that now settled over her small frame as you clutched her tightly.

“It’s Luke,” you managed to choke out, your voice barely above a whisper. “He’s gone, my sweet girl.”

Her body stiffened, and then she began to sob, her small hands clutching at your gown as if holding on to you would keep the world from crumbling further. “No,” she whimpered, her voice breaking. “Not Luke. He… he promised he’d visit soon. He said we’d play again.”

You stroked her hair, your tears falling freely as you tried to soothe her. “I know,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I know, my love. He was so brave, so kind. He loved you so much.”

Alysanne pulled back slightly, her tear-streaked face looking up at you. “What happened, Mama? Why is he gone?”

Before you could answer, the door opened again, and Tyland entered. His usually composed face was tight with grief, his green eyes filled with sorrow as they flicked from you to Alysanne. He moved quickly, kneeling beside you and pulling both of you into his arms.

“Luke is gone,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “Aemond… Vhagar… it was Storm’s End.”

Tyland’s arms tightened around you, his face grim. “I heard,” he said softly, his voice steady but filled with pain. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I’m so sorry.”

Alysanne’s sobs continued, muffled against his chest as he held her close. “Why would Aemond do this?” she cried, her small voice filled with heartbreak. “He was our cousin. Why would he hurt Luke?”

Tyland’s jaw tightened, his voice low but gentle as he answered. “Sometimes, people let anger and hatred consume them. Aemond made a terrible choice, one he can never take back.”

“It’s not fair,” Alysanne whimpered, her tears soaking into Tyland’s tunic. “Luke didn’t deserve this. He didn’t do anything wrong.”

“No, he didn’t,” you agreed, your voice trembling as you stroked her hair. “Luke was innocent, Alysanne. He was kind and brave and so full of life. None of this is fair.”

Tyland pulled back slightly, cupping Alysanne’s tear-streaked face with one hand. “But you know what Luke would want?” he asked gently, waiting until she looked at him. “He’d want you to remember him with love, to be strong and kind like he was. That’s how we honor him.”

Alysanne sniffled, her little hands wiping at her red, swollen eyes. “I’ll try,” she whispered. “But I miss him so much already.”

“We all do,” you said, pulling her close again. “But we’ll carry him with us in our hearts, always.”

You fell silent for a moment, your thoughts shifting to Rhaenyra. The grief that threatened to consume you must have already swallowed her whole. She had lost their father, her strength in the shadows, and now her son—her sweet Luke. “Rhaenyra,” you whispered, your voice breaking with sorrow. “How is she to bear this?”

Tyland’s gaze softened, his hand finding yours as he pulled you closer. “She’s stronger than most, Y/N. But no one should have to endure what she has.”

Tears spilled freely down your cheeks as you shook your head. “She’s lost so much, Tyland. And for what? A crown that will only bring more death? I fear this will destroy her.”

Tyland’s voice was quiet but steady as he replied, “We’ll support her. Whatever she needs, we’ll be there. But you mustn’t let your fear consume you. The children need you, and so does she.”

You nodded, though the ache in your heart remained. “I’ll write to her,” you said, your voice trembling. “She needs to know she’s not alone.”

“She knows,” Tyland assured you. “But hearing it from you will remind her. She’ll find strength in that, just as I find strength in you.”

For a long moment, the three of you stayed there, clinging to each other as the weight of Luke’s loss settled over you. The grief was raw, a wound that would never fully heal, but in the warmth of Tyland’s embrace and Alysanne’s quiet sniffles, you found a flicker of resolve. Rhaenyra might be far away, but you would do whatever it took to support her—even from a distance.

The storm raged on outside, the winds howling as if the gods themselves mourned the loss of the boy who had once brought so much light to your family. And though the world seemed darker now, you vowed to carry that light forward—for Luke, for Rhaenyra, and for the family you still had to protect.

The skies over Casterly Rock darkened as the blood-red shadow of Caraxes descended from the heavens. His serpentine form was unmistakable, his wings slicing through the air with powerful strokes as he let out a guttural roar that echoed off the cliffs. The fortress below erupted in commotion as soldiers and servants rushed to secure the grounds, their nerves frayed at the arrival of the fearsome dragon.

You stood at one of the balconies overlooking the landing courtyard, your children gathered around you, their gazes alight with a mixture of awe and trepidation. Loren and Rhaelle exchanged a glance, the silent bond of twins evident as they seemed to assess the situation in unison.

“It’s him,” Loren murmured, gripping the edge of the stone railing. “Prince Daemon.”

“And Caraxes,” Rhaelle added, her voice tinged with nervous excitement. “There is no other dragon like that.”

You placed a steadying hand on Rhaelle’s shoulder, your gaze fixed on the landing courtyard below. “Stay here,” you instructed your children, your voice firm but calm. “Your father and I will handle this.”

Tyland was already descending the steps to meet the arriving prince, his golden hair gleaming in the afternoon light. His stride was purposeful, but you could see the stiffness in his shoulders, the set of his jaw. The animosity between him and Daemon had never truly faded, and this meeting was bound to be fraught with old wounds and new challenges.

Caraxes landed with a resounding thud, his wings folding neatly against his body as he let out another low, rumbling growl. Daemon dismounted with practiced ease, his silver hair tousled by the wind, his dark armor glinting with a faint crimson hue. He strode forward with the confidence of a man who expected the world to bow before him, his sharp gaze sweeping over the gathered Lannister soldiers before settling on Tyland.

“Lord Tyland,” Daemon greeted, his voice smooth but laced with an edge. “Or should I say, the lion who stole my prize?”

Tyland’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he inclined his head with measured civility. “Prince Daemon. You honor us with your presence.”

Daemon’s smirk widened, his violet eyes gleaming with amusement as he stepped closer. “I wasn’t aware your family had taken to hosting dragons. Or was that your wife’s doing?”

Tyland met his gaze evenly, refusing to rise to the bait. “The dragons are here to protect my family and our lands. You’ll find Casterly Rock has much to offer—both in loyalty and strength.”

“Loyalty,” Daemon repeated, his smirk fading as he stopped a mere step away. “A word I’d not readily associate with the Lannisters.”

Tyland’s eyes narrowed, but his tone remained calm. “House Lannister has always acted in the interest of its people and its allies. I trust you’re here to discuss how we can further those interests.”

Before Daemon could respond, you descended the stairs, your gown billowing behind you as you approached. His gaze flicked to you, and for a moment, the tension in his posture eased.

“Y/N,” Daemon greeted, his tone softer but still tinged with something unspoken. “It’s been some time.”

“It has,” you replied, your voice steady as you came to stand beside Tyland. “Welcome to Casterly Rock, Uncle. I trust your journey was uneventful?”

He chuckled, the sound low and amused. “As uneventful as a flight on Caraxes can be. I see your family is thriving.” His gaze lingered on you for a beat longer than necessary before shifting back to Tyland. “Though I imagine your husband doesn’t think much of my arrival.”

Tyland’s hand brushed yours briefly, a subtle show of unity. “The Westerlands have a role to play in this war,” he said evenly. “If you’re here to discuss strategy, you’ll find us more than willing to listen.”

Daemon’s smirk returned, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Strategy, yes. And perhaps a reminder of where loyalty truly lies.”

“Loyalty lies with my sister,” you interjected firmly, your voice cutting through the charged air. “And you’ll find no wavering here, Daemon.”

For a moment, the three of you stood in a silence, the weight of history and unspoken words pressing heavily around you. Finally, Daemon inclined his head slightly, though his smirk never wavered.

“Very well,” he said, his tone light but edged with steel. “Let’s see what the lions of Casterly Rock have to offer the realm.”

Tyland gestured toward the keep, his expression impassive. “Shall we discuss this further in private?”

Daemon didn’t answer immediately, his gaze flicking back to you. “Lead the way,” he said finally, his smirk widening as he fell into step beside you and Tyland.

Jason Lannister sat at the head of the polished oak table, his golden cloak draped casually over his chair. His expression was guarded, his fingers drumming against the armrest as he listened to Prince Daemon Targaryen.

Daemon stood at the far end of the table, his presence commanding as his sharp violet eyes scanned the room. He wore his dark armor, a faint glimmer of crimson catching the firelight, and his posture spoke of urgency restrained only by necessity. Beside him, Tyland sat, his demeanor calm but watchful, while you remained at his side, your expression neutral as you observed the exchange.

“The Riverlands are key,” Daemon began, his voice low but brimming with conviction. “If we secure Harrenhal, we cut off Aegon’s forces from the North. The Riverlords will rally to Rhaenyra’s cause if they see we have the strength to protect them.”

Jason leaned back in his chair, his lips curving into a faint smirk. “Harrenhal,” he repeated, his tone laced with skepticism. “A cursed ruin surrounded by swamps and ghosts. And you want me to march my men there?”

Daemon’s smirk mirrored Jason’s, though his eyes darkened. “A cursed ruin that commands a strategic position. If you march with me, we secure the Riverlands and bring more lords to our side. Aegon won’t stand a chance.”

Jason let out a humorless laugh, gesturing around him. “You think it’s that simple, Targaryen? Marching an army isn’t just a matter of pointing and walking. It requires provisions, planning, and trust. You’ve brought dragons, yes, but you’ve also brought war to my gates. You’ll have to offer more than vague promises of alliances to convince me.”

Tyland leaned forward, his green eyes fixed on his brother. “Jason, securing Harrenhal isn’t just about the Riverlands. It’s about showing strength. If we let Aegon’s forces control the heart of the realm, it will weaken our position everywhere.”

Jason scoffed, waving a hand dismissively. “Easy for you to say, Tyland. You’re not the one who’ll have to explain to our bannermen why they’re marching toward a swamp to fight a war that should’ve stayed in the Crownlands.”

“Because it won’t stay there,” you interjected, your voice calm but firm. “This war will touch every corner of Westeros, Jason. The Westerlands may seem secure now, but if we do nothing, we’ll find ourselves surrounded by enemies. Supporting Rhaenyra isn’t just about family—it’s about ensuring our survival.”

Daemon tilted his head slightly, his gaze flicking to you with something like approval. “Your sister-in-law speaks sense, Jason. Perhaps you should listen.”

Jason shot Daemon a sharp look, his jaw tightening. “Don’t think flattery will sway me, Prince. I’m not so easily charmed.”

“Good,” Daemon replied, his smirk returning. “Because I’m not here to charm you. I’m here to remind you of the stakes. If Aegon wins, what do you think happens to the Westerlands? Do you think Otto Hightower will forget Tyland’s ‘insubordination’? Do you think they’ll let your family’s dragons remain unchecked?”

Jason’s fingers stopped drumming, his expression hardening as he considered Daemon’s words. The room fell silent for a moment, the weight of the question hanging heavily in the air.

“And what guarantee do I have that Rhaenyra will honor our sacrifices?” Jason asked finally, his tone measured. “If I commit my forces, I need to know it’s not for nothing.”

Daemon stepped closer, his violet eyes narrowing. “You’ll have my word, and Rhaenyra’s. And when this war is over, you’ll have the gratitude of the Queen and the future of your House secured.”

Jason met Daemon’s gaze evenly, his expression unreadable. “Your word is worth little to me, Daemon. But my brother and his family—” He glanced at you and Tyland briefly before continuing, “—they have put their faith in you. That carries weight.”

Tyland’s shoulders relaxed slightly, though his voice remained cautious as he said, “Jason, we need this alliance. The Riverlands are a stepping stone, not just for Rhaenyra, but for the safety of the Westerlands.”

Jason sighed, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table. “Fine. I’ll march with you to Harrenhal. But I expect results, Daemon. No reckless gambits, no half-baked plans. If my men are risking their lives, I want guarantees.”

Daemon’s smirk widened, though it carried a sharper edge. “You’ll have them. Harrenhal will be ours, Jason. And when it is, you’ll see the wisdom in this choice.”

Jason grunted, reaching for his goblet and raising it slightly. “To wisdom, then. And to victory, I hope.”

Daemon inclined his head, his smirk softening into something more genuine. “To victory.”

As Jason drank deeply, you exchanged a glance with Tyland, the faintest flicker of relief passing between you. The decision had been made, but the road ahead was fraught with uncertainty. For now, however, you could only hope that this alliance would bring the strength needed to weather the storm.

The faint glow of torches flickered against the stone walls of Casterly Rock’s lower courtyard as Loren approached Prince Daemon Targaryen. The evening was cool, the breeze carrying the faint scent of salt from the nearby cliffs. Daemon stood near the edge of the training grounds, inspecting the hilt of Dark Sister as the moonlight glinted off its polished blade.

Loren hesitated for a moment, his heart pounding in his chest, but his resolve hardened. The young lion stepped forward, his boots crunching softly on the gravel, drawing Daemon’s attention.

Daemon turned his head, his violet eyes narrowing slightly as he spotted the boy. His lips curved into a faint, knowing smirk. “Well, this is unexpected,” he drawled, sheathing Dark Sister with a practiced motion. “What brings you here, young Lannister? Shouldn’t you be in bed, dreaming of glory?”

Loren squared his shoulders, his hair catching the faint light. He looked every inch a Lannister—proud, determined, and unyielding. “I came to speak with you, Prince Daemon.”

Daemon raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued. “Did you now? And what does the lion cub wish to discuss with the Rogue Prince?”

“I want to join the war,” Loren said, his voice steady but filled with youthful determination. “I want to fight.”

Daemon’s smirk widened, his amusement evident as he stepped closer, studying the boy intently. “Do you, now? And does your mother know you’re here, making such bold declarations?”

Loren hesitated, his jaw tightening slightly. “Not yet,” he admitted, his tone defiant. “But I’ll tell her. She’ll understand.”

Daemon chuckled, shaking his head. “Will she? Y/N is many things, but a fool is not one of them. She knows the cost of war better than you ever could.”

“I’m not a child,” Loren shot back, his cheeks flushing. “I’m old enough to make my own decisions.”

Daemon tilted his head, his smirk fading slightly as he regarded the boy. “Old enough to wield a sword, perhaps. But war isn’t just about swords, boy. It’s about blood, loss, and sacrifices you can’t begin to imagine. Do you truly understand what you’re asking for?”

“I understand enough,” Loren said firmly, his gaze unwavering. “Luke is dead. Aemond killed him. I can’t sit here while others fight for justice. I want to do my part.”

Daemon’s expression grew darker at the mention of Luke, the faintest flicker of grief passing over his face before it was replaced by his usual cool demeanor. He studied Loren for a long moment, his sharp gaze piercing.

“You’re brave,” Daemon said finally, his voice low and measured. “But bravery alone doesn’t win wars. Tell me, Loren, why should I let you march with us? What makes you think you’re ready for this?”

Loren lifted his chin, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “Because I’ve trained for this my whole life. My father taught me strategy, and I’ve been learning to fight since I could hold a sword. I’m ready, Prince Daemon.”

“Are you?” Daemon asked, stepping closer until he towered over the boy. “Because the battlefield doesn’t care about your training or your name. When you’re staring down an enemy twice your size, when you see your friends fall beside you—will you still be ready then?”

Loren didn’t falter, his gaze steady despite the weight of Daemon’s words. “Yes,” he said simply. “Because I’m fighting for something that matters.”

Daemon regarded him in silence for a moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “You’re your mother’s son, all right. Stubborn as a mule and twice as bold.”

Loren’s lips twitched into a faint smile at the comment, but his resolve didn’t waver. “Does that mean you’ll let me join?”

Daemon exhaled sharply, running a hand through his silver hair. “Not yet,” he said, his tone firm. “I’ll speak to your mother first. If she agrees, I’ll consider it. But don’t get your hopes up, boy. Y/N has a sharper tongue than I do, and I don’t envy the conversation you’ll have when she finds out you came to me.”

Loren’s confidence faltered slightly at that, but he nodded. “Thank you, Prince Daemon.”

Daemon smirked again, his hand resting on the hilt of Dark Sister. “Don’t thank me yet. And next time, try not to sneak around like a thief. It’s unbecoming of a Lannister.”

As Loren turned to leave, Daemon called after him, his voice laced with amusement. “And tell your dragon to stay out of trouble. We’ll need him in one piece.”

Loren glanced back, his cheeks flushing slightly as he nodded. “Yes, my prince.”

Daemon watched the boy disappear into the shadows, his smirk fading as his expression grew thoughtful. The lion cub had fire, no doubt about that. But fire alone wasn’t enough to survive the inferno of war.

The solar was quiet, the soft crackle of the hearth filling the space as you sat at the writing desk, your quill moving steadily over parchment. The warmth of the fire and the scent of ink should have been calming, but your mind was far from settled. The anxiety in Casterly Rock had been high since Daemon’s arrival, his presence stirring emotions and memories you had long tried to bury.

The knock on the door was firm but not aggressive, breaking your focus. You set the quill down, glancing toward the door. “Enter,” you called, your voice steady despite the flutter in your chest.

Daemon stepped inside, his frame silhouetted by the light from the hall. His silver hair shimmered in the firelight, and his violet eyes were sharp as they locked onto yours. He closed the door behind him, the faint creak of the hinges the only sound as he took a step forward.

“Daemon,” you greeted, your tone guarded but polite. “To what do I owe this visit?”

He smirked faintly, though there was a weight behind it. “You always were direct, niece. It’s one of the things I admired about you.”

You leaned back in your chair, folding your hands neatly in your lap. “And yet, you’ve come to speak with me, not my husband. That’s rarely a good sign.”

His smirk widened, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Tyland has his uses, but this… this is a matter that concerns you more directly.”

Your brow furrowed slightly, but you nodded toward a chair by the hearth. “Sit, then. Let’s not waste time.”

Daemon strode across the room, his movements deliberate and controlled. He settled into the chair, resting an arm on the armrest and studying you for a moment before he spoke.

“It’s about Loren,” he said, his tone quieter than you expected. “Your son approached me earlier.”

Your heart sank slightly, though you kept your expression neutral. “What did he say?”

Daemon’s lips twitched, not quite a smile. “He wants to join the war. He’s eager to fight, to prove himself. I told him I’d speak to you before making any decisions.”

You exhaled slowly, your fingers tightening slightly on your lap. “Loren is brave, but he’s still a boy. He doesn’t understand what war truly means.”

“Perhaps not,” Daemon agreed, leaning forward slightly. “But he has fire in him, Y/N. The kind that could make a difference on the battlefield.”

You narrowed your eyes, your voice sharpening. “And what happens when that fire is snuffed out, Daemon? He’s my son. I won’t risk him for your ambitions.”

Daemon’s smirk faded, replaced by a seriousness that was rare for him. “This isn’t just about my ambitions. It’s about Rhaenyra’s claim, about the future of the realm. If Aegon wins, the Westerlands won’t be safe—your family won’t be safe. You know that.”

You stood, crossing the room to stand near the hearth. The flickering flames reflected in your eyes as you turned back to him. “I know what’s at stake, but I’ve already given everything to this war. My children are my line in the sand, Daemon.”

He rose from his chair, his gaze steady as he approached you. “I understand your fear, Y/N. Truly, I do. But this war isn’t something we can sit out. It’s coming for all of us, whether we want it to or not.”

For a moment, the room was silent, the tension between you crackling like the fire behind you. Finally, you sighed, your voice softer. “You said this wasn’t just about Loren. What else is on your mind, Daemon?”

His expression shifted, a flicker of something unguarded crossing his face. “You’ve always been perceptive,” he murmured, stepping closer. “Perhaps too perceptive for your own good.”

“Daemon,” you warned, your tone firm. “Don’t play games with me.”

He stopped just a step away, his gaze locked onto yours. “I came here because I needed to see you,” he admitted, his voice quieter. “Not as a prince or a general, but as the man I was before all of this.”

Your breath hitched slightly, but you held his gaze. “And who was that man, Daemon? Because I don’t think I’ve known him for a very long time.”

His lips twisted into a faint, rueful smile. “Perhaps not. But that doesn’t change what I feel—or what I’ve always felt.”

You shook your head, stepping back slightly. “Daemon, whatever you think you feel—”

“I’m not asking for anything,” he interrupted, his voice sharper. “I know where you stand, Y/N. I know who you chose. But that doesn’t erase the past, and it doesn’t stop me from caring.”

For a moment, you couldn’t find the words. The weight of his confession hung heavily in the air, mingling with the memories you had worked so hard to suppress. Finally, you exhaled, your voice steady but strained. “You care, Daemon? Then respect my choices. Respect my family.”

He inclined his head slightly, his smirk returning but softer this time. “As you wish, niece. But don’t expect me to stop watching over you. Or your son.”

With that, he turned and strode toward the door, his boots echoing against the stone floor. As the door closed behind him, you sank into the chair by the hearth, your mind racing. Daemon had always been a force of nature—unpredictable, relentless, and utterly unyielding. And while his words left you unsettled, you couldn’t deny the truth in them. The storm of war was coming, and whether you liked it or not, your family was already caught in its path.

[jeankluv]

Birdie - Satoru Gojo | Chapter 22

words: 3,5k

summary: While everyone adored him, you stood apart in your feelings. It wouldn't be accurate to say you hated him, as " hate " was a strong word, rather, you harbored a profound dislike towards him. The problem was he knew that and his irritating presence seemed to persistently cling to you whenever he crossed your paths. Now, you found yourself paired with him for your semester project, and the thought made you wish to hurl yourself out of the third-floor window. Three months of working alongside him loomed ahead. Adding to the discomfort, you were currently under the scrutiny of hundreds of eyes, each gaze feeling like a murder attempt. It seemed everyone coveted the opportunity to collaborate with Gojo Satoru, except for you.

tags: modern au, college au, fem!reader, academic rivals, he fell first, fluff, old money Gojo Satoru, abusive parents, slight slow burn, Satoru is a softy, secondary couple (Geto Suguru x oc), a bit of angst, no use of y/n, hurt/comfort, eventual smut, Gojo plays basketball, Gojo needs a hug

notes: it’s embarrassing to come here after almost a month, but with everything in my life I don’t find time to write anything 😭 but even if it takes me a lot I will give an ending to this story, I promise.

The urls are not working, so until then there won’t be url link. But a link for the materialist would be at the end.

materialist | previous chapter | next chapter

Satoru rarely left the Gojo family home and when he did, he was always accompanied by his nanny. But to little Satoru, at the age of five, the mere fact of going beyond the stone walls that prevented him from seeing further, seemed like an adventure, a great adventure. For being only five years old, he had already tried to go out on more than one occasion but had obviously failed miserably. But Satoru did not give up, he wanted to see more, he did not want to be locked up like a bird.

So that day Satoru was thrilled when his nanny told him they were going on a little adventure. Little Satoru had his blue jacket on and moved his little fits around while looking through the window of the car.

Next to him his nanny was sitting and in the front seat the family chofer was driving in silence, with his eyes covered by those black glasses. But little Satoru was just too focused on the city that he barely got to see, the cars passing, the skyscrapers, everything was amazing for the five year old boy.

“We have arrived.” The chofer said as the car stopped in front of a white building.

Satoru looked at the building curious wondering what that place was, his nanny thanked the chofer and they both got out of the car. Satoru held his nanny’s hand as they both entered the building.

“Where are we?” Satoru asked, looking at her with his big blue eyes.

“This is a planetarium, you know what it is?” Satoru shook his head not knowing what it was. “Well it’s a place where people can learn about planets and the stars.”

“The ones in the sky?” Satoru asked as he looked around and up.

“Yeah, the ones you see at night.” She explained.

His nanny, who had been with him for over a year, was called Fumiko and was the person Satoru spent the most time with and the person little Satoru loved the most. He barely saw his parents and every time he was with them, the relationship was cold as winter, but with Fumiko he felt the love he didn't feel with them.

He walked across the hallway observing everything, his blue eyes discovering new things he didn’t know about, vibrant colors and lights all over the place.

“Little Gojo.” Fumiko called him.

Satoru clenched his cheeks and glared at Fumiko. “Don’t call me Gojo.” He said as he crossed his arms.

“Why?” Fumiko tilted her head.

“I don’t like it.” Satoru looked at the ground and began to play with his feet.

“Why don’t you like it?” Fumiko knelt before him.

“Because… because it’s the same name as dad and him…” Satoru’s words trailed off, but Fumiko quickly picked up on the boy’s message.

“Okay, how about I call you… little Satoru?”

Satoru’s gaze lit up. “But I’m not little!” He protested again.

“Oh of course you are!” Fumiko replied mockingly. “You are so little!”

“No I am not!” Satoru replied.

“But only little boys get to have dessert later.” Fulminó said, knowing too well that Satoru couldn’t deny having dessert.

Satoru felt silent and then hugged Fumiko. “I’m little.” He said.

“Yes you are.” She said, hugging his little body back. “Now let’s go inside, the show is about to start.” She smiled. “You know my best friend is the one presenting.” Fumiko mentioned.

Satoru looked at her. “Can we meet her?”

“Of course, after she is done showing everyone about the planets we can.” Fumiko said. “And you know… she has a daughter who is your age, maybe next time you can meet her too.”

“And maybe I could have a friend!” Satoru excitedly said.

“Or a girlfriend! She is really cute.” Fumiko mentioned.

“No! I don’t want that!” Satoru protested. “Love is bad.”

“No, little Satoru.” Fumiko took him in her arms as they walked inside the room. “Love is good, and you will see it once you find it.”

“And how will I find it?” He said, moving on the chair that he was now sitting.

“It will happen, and with your good heart I’m sure it will be beautiful.” Fumiko pinched his cheek. “Now look…” She whispered, pointing out to the ceiling, which was beginning to light up with stars as the light faded.

Satoru’s eyes shined when he saw all the constellations there. It was exciting, it was magical. Little Satoru didn’t feel like that moment was real.

A woman appeared on stage and she started talking, causing Satoru's attention to increase, the colors that illuminated the space were reflected on her face. The woman spoke softly as she moved around the stage and showed different images and holograms. Satoru became more and more excited.

His attention never left the environment, enjoying every single moment of it. He wanted to do that too, he wanted to study the stars, the planets, he wanted to be like her.

“Fumiko…” He whispered. “I want to be like her.”

“For real?” Fumiko asked with a bright smile. “You can ask her what she studied so you can be like her.” Satoru nodded, determined to do it.

The conversation went by in a flash, or so Satoru thought, wanting to learn more. Grabbing Fumiko's hand, they approached the stage, where Fumiko's friend was saying goodbye to some people.

Satoru's grip on her hand tightened, nervous about getting close to her. Fumiko and her friend exchanged greetings and then the woman's eyes landed on Satoru. The woman bowed and smiled.

“Hello!” She said with a great smile. “I’m Ren, what’s your name?”

“Satoru.” He said.

“Oh… and how old are you Satoru?” She asked him.

“I’m five… but I will be six in December!”

“So you are the same age as my daughter.” She smiled. “Maybe one day you can meet her and play with her.” Satoru nodded.

“Little Satoru, you don’t have something to ask Ren?” Fumiko spoke.

“Oh… I… I really liked what you said…” Satoru moved his hands. “I want to be like you!”

“Oh for real?” Ren smiled. “Well then you will have to study a lot!”

“I will!” Satoru responded.

“And love what you do a lot!”

“I will too! I will be the best and be like you!”

“I will be looking forward to that Satoru.” Ren touched his hair with a smile.

As soon as they left the place, Satoru asked Fumiko for books about space and the stars. He wanted to become someone like Ren, he wanted to be able to study the stars, study the night sky.

The next day Fumiko appeared in his room with a book in her hands, the first of many about the universe. Little by little Satoru found in this new world an escape and a relaxation to ignore the screams he received from his parents.

Luckily Fumiko was always there for him, together they walked to a lake and spent hours playing or reading one of the new astronomy books that Fumiko had bought him.

But that peace for Satoru soon ended, specifically on the day of his 6th birthday.

He ran through the entire house of the Gojo clan, as fast as his body allowed him and barefoot he went out into the cold Tokyo winter. His feet touched the cold snow and with tears in his eyes he shouted Fumiko's name, hoping that she would turn around and that what she had heard was not true.

Fumiko couldn't leave, she had to stay there, she was the only person who truly loved and cared for him. And now she was leaving.

Satoru cried for hours as the snow fell, waiting for Fumiko to return. But she never did.

At the time Satoru didn't understand why Fumiko left without saying goodbye, without explanation. It wasn't until he was 17 that one of the workers confessed to him that Fumiko had been fired by his parents for putting ideas in Satoru's head.

Even though his parents tried for years to get Satoru to continue and become a lawyer, Satoru refused and after learning the truth he was even less likely to give in to it.

That’s why he enrolled himself secretly on the degree he wanted so badly.

“Stop giving me such a hard time!” Satoru shouted to the phone while he walked across the campus. “This is my life so just let me!”

Satoru rubbed his eyes in frustration as he listened to his father speaking on the other side. He felt his backpack bump into something, or rather someone. “Sor—…”

“Son, you really disappointed me.” He heard.

“Just leave me!” He scream.

“All of this is that nanny’s fault…”

“Don’t bring Fumiko into this and now get lost!” He said before hanging off.

Satoru turned to see if the person who crashed into him was still there. But it wasn’t, he only saw a figure of a girl far away from where he was. Frustrated, he ruffled his hair and walked to his classroom.

Everyone turned to look at him, talked about him or directly approached him, because they knew who he was and he hated it so much.

He entered the class and made himself comfortable in one of the seats. The rest of his classmates started to enter, Satoru was not really paying too much attention, not until he saw you.

You entered the classroom, your backpack hanging from your shoulder, as you looked at a paper you held in your hands. Satoru knew it in that instant and the memory of when he was little started to pass through his head. You were that girl he had met at the lake, you were you, right? Satoru was convinced that you were.

He tried to move to another seat, but the people next to him prevented him from doing so, so he could only watch you from behind. Sitting by the window, occasionally looking through it.

When the class ended, Satoru jumped out of his seat and approached you, but your cold gaze and small snort left him with his feet planted on the floor.

After that Satoru only received blank stares and ignorance from you, but he still wanted to find you, get to know you, watch you and your friend, like that for two years.

“Teacher, I was wondering if in the next pair assignment you could put me with…” Satoru named you.

“And why is that Gojo?” Professor Tanaka looked at him.

“Well…” Satoru scratched the back of his neck. “We’re the best in the class, we could work well and also, no one would take advantage of us, you know, there are people who end up never doing anything.”

Tanaka thought about it for a moment and then nodded. “Okay.”

“Thank you.” Satoru bowed. “But please don’t comment on this.”

“Sure, now leave Gojo.”

Satoru walked out of the classroom with a smile on his face, he could finally interact with you, he wouldn't have to watch you from afar. Even though your reaction was what he expected from Satoru, he didn't give up.

He never did. Especially when he got to know you better, he was sure that he was never going to give up on you and what you had.

But then everything was black and only constant beeps were everything he could hear. Satoru mind was racing, he was in the middle of the match and then… then he had the ball and…

Oh yeah, Sukuna… he fell and hit his head on the floor. That happened?

He wasn’t sure.

“You came to the party with our son right?” He heard a voice, it was distant but he knew who it was, it was his mother. “It was not difficult for us to track you down…No family, works in a grocery store and you are on scholarship.”

“I have a family…” And that voice, he knew that voice too well. He loved that voice.

“Dead…”

Satoru started to hear the voices more clearly, he was coming back, he felt his hand moving and his anger rising.

“You think he will thank you for this someday? For being the reason why he is wasting his potential.” His father said.

Satoru’s blue eyes slowly opened, he saw you, holding his hand, while your gaze was away from him and it looked sad. Satoru wanted to move and held you closer to him, taking away the sadness that you had in your eyes.

His eyes then moved to see them, his parents were there, standing tall feeling like they were superior to you.

“Leave…” Satoru murmured, he felt his ribs killing him as he spoke.

“Satoru…” You said, getting closer to him.

“Hey.” He smiled, trying to calm you down. “I’m back.”

“Son.” His father said.

Satoru’s eyes got darker as he turned to look at them. “Why are you still here?”

“We came to see you son.” His mother spoke.

“Well, you can leave because you are not welcome here.

Satoru’s voice was firm, each word cutting through the tension in the room like a blade.

“Son.” His father said, his tone cutting, clearly not used to being dismissed. “We came all this way to check on you, and this is the thanks we get? You’ve always been ungrateful.”

“Ungrateful?” Satoru’s laugh was dry and humorless as he leaned lightly against his pillows. “I’ve spent my entire life trying to live up to your impossible expectations. And the one time I decide to do something for myself, you have the audacity to call me ungrateful?”

His mother stepped forward, her face a mask of cold composure. “We only want the best for you, son. Do you think this… childish rebellion will get you anywhere? Look at you now.”

“No.” Satoru replied, his voice firm. “I’m here because I put my heart into something I love. Something you’ll never understand because you only care about control and appearances. I’m sick of letting you dictate my life.”

“You’re being a fool.” His father snapped. “You’re throwing away a future we worked so hard to build for you. And for what? To pursue a fleeting passion? Or worse.” He stared at you, his expression hardening. “To follow someone who is clearly beneath you?”

The words hit you like a slap, but before you could respond, Satoru’s voice rang out, cold and sharp. “Don’t you dare speak of her like that.”

His father blinked, surprised by the venom in Satoru’s tone. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Satoru said, his blue eyes shining despite his weakened state. You can insult me ​​all you want, criticize my decisions, my career, whatever. But you can’t disrespect them. They support you more than you ever have.

His mother’s lips thinned. “Satoru, we’re just trying to protect you. From yourself and from… people who don’t understand what it means to be part of our family.”

“Enough.” Satoru interrupted, his voice rising slightly. “I’m sick of hearing you tear me down. I’ve spent my entire life trying to fit into the mold you wanted, and it’s never been enough. I’ve found something that makes me happy, someone that makes me happy, and if you can’t respect that, then maybe it’s best if you don’t come around anymore.”

The room fell into a heavy silence. His parents exchanged a glance, their expressions unreadable, but you could feel the tension radiating off of them.

“Okay.” His father said after a long pause, his voice cold. “If this is the path you insist on taking, don’t come crying to us when it breaks down.”

His mother turned around without another word, her heels clicking loudly against the tile floor as she walked to the door. His father followed, stopping only to cast one last disdainful glance in your direction before leaving.

The door closed with a click and the silence that followed was echoing. Satoru let out a long sigh, his body sinking back against the pillows.

You took his hand, your fingers shaking slightly. “Satoru…”

“I’m fine…” He said quietly, though his voice was thick with emotion. He turned to you, his eyes softening. “I’m sorry you had to see that. They… they’ve always been like that.”

You shook your head. “Don’t apologize. You stood up for yourself, for us. I’m proud of you.”

He gave you a slight smile, squeezing your hand. “They don’t define me. And they don’t define us. I’m not going to let them get in the way of what I want.”

You leaned forward and gently rested your forehead against his. “Good...”

He closed his eyes, the tension in his body started to fade away as he held your hand. “As long as you’re here, I can handle anything.”

“And I’m not going anywhere.” You whispered.

“I know…” Satoru whispered, leaving a tender kiss on your head.

“I should call the doctor.” You broke your distance. “For them to check you.”

“Stay, let’s stay like this a bit more.” He hugged, even though he felt pain he didn’t want to let your warm go from his side. “I’m a bad person if I say I don’t want to see them again?”

Satoru got nervous as your silence grew more, but his heart soon relaxed when your calm tone reached his ears. “No… no you are not. They are the bad ones, not them. They have only looked out for the benefit of the family, never for you, and you have wanted to seek your happiness. And that happiness is not with them.” You pulled away and held his face carefully. “Don’t blame yourself, because it is not your fault at all.”

Satoru softly smiled. “I love you.”

You smiled back. “I love you too… but don’t scared me like that again.” You said. “You know how terrified I was when Nanami and Haibara appeared on the store and told me something happened?”

“Birdie… I’m so sorry…”

“I’m killing that guy.” You said with a firm tone.

“Who Sukuna?” You nodded. “He is quite big you know?”

“You doubt me? I was black belt in taekwondo and if he hurt you I won’t hesitate.” You looked at him and Satoru smiled.

“I’m sure that will be handled… don’t worry, okay?” He kissed you.

“I will always worry about you…” You said. “Because I care about you.”

The room fell quiet again, the only sound the steady beeping of the heart monitor. Not much time passed before a nurse came to the room, getting surprised by the fact that Satoru was awake. Soon enough the doctor came in, wanting to make sure Satoru was in perfect conditions.

“You have a broken rib and fortunately the hit on your head wasn’t serious.” The doctor said checking the pages on his hands. “But you will have headaches for a week and the broken rib, it will take around six or eight weeks to be fully recovered.” Satoru nodded while listening to those words. “So no activities during that time, you need to rest.” Then he looked at you. “Make sure he follows...”

“Doctor, I’m right here.” Satoru protested.

“Well that’s it then, I will see you before sending you home.” The doctor said leaving the room.

Satoru smirked and looked at you. “So my beautiful girlfriend will be taking care of me?”

“Yeah, and I will make sure you properly rest Satoru Gojo.” You said. “Don’t look at me like that, you need to recover.”

“I promise I will be nice.” He smiled. “You know… you could stay with me, in my apartment.” He held your hand. “It would be a good way to start seeing how well we get along living together before moving…”

You looked at him. “Satoru… are you indirectly asking me to move in together?”

Satoru chuckled, kissing your hand. “Would it be a bad idea? I plan on moving from that apartment once I've recovered, now that my relationship with my parents it’s broken, I want to start living completely for myself.” He looked at you without blinking. “And I don’t know birdie, starting that chapter with you warms my heart completely.” The distance between the two of you started to be shorter. “So tell me birdie, would you live with me?”

You scanned his face and a soft and shy smile broke into your face. “Sounds good… I would love to be there ‘Toru.”

🏷️: @lavender-hvze , @crybabytoru , @sanriosatoru , @norvacaine , @sadmonke , @faetoraa , @hexipessimistic , @gojoful , @kitzusune , @sh0jun , @manyno , @ropickle , @anniegojo , @milk3evee , @crunchypotatoooooooooo , @catobsessedlady , @zoeyflower , @starlostwish , @tinydonkeysforlife , @mimisq11341 , @n1vi , @olanii1019 , @vtrulvamp , @yjuisu

[itsamenickname]

So I have a thought.

I'm sure you all have seen at least one idea/AU where Luigi marries Bowser and becomes king or king consort of Bowser's Kingdom.

But what about vice versa? Do you think that Bowser would ever consider the thought of handing the crown over to Kamek, Kammy, or Bowser Jr. (assuming that he's old enough to rule over the kingdom) so that he could have a normal-ish life with Luigi?

[partystoragechest]

A story of romance, drama, and politics which neither Trevelyan nor Cullen wish to be in.

Canon divergent fic in which Josephine solves the matter of post-Wicked Hearts attention by inviting invites four noblewomen to compete for Cullen's affections. In this chapter, Trevelyan has someone she'd like to impress.

(Masterpost. Beginning. Previous entry. Next entry. Words: 3,848. Rating: all audiences, bar a few swears.)

Chapter 42: The Ball

The Great Hall was adorned in its finest, the banners of the Inquisition unfurled. A quartet played upon the dais, the floor before them awaiting its dancers. Attendees of every strata—advisors, digintaries, mages, soldiers—exhibited their most exquisite attire, anticipating the arrival of their guests of honour.

The door thundered open. A herald announced their names:

“Presenting! Lady Erridge of West Coldon, Lady Samient of Samient, Baroness Touledy of Val Misrenne, and Lady Trevelyan, of Ostwick!”

The Ladies strode in, none finer than they. Lady Erridge wore her pinkest, most ruffliest dress yet; Lady Samient wore her tightest, of dark, snakish leather; the Baroness wore her most glamorous, a gown in deep and passionate red—with a mahogany cane to match, of course.

Trevelyan entered last of all. The ballgown she wore? Unrecognisable.

The black brocade was gone, the lace ripped from its seams with wicked delight. All that remained was perfect canvas of purest navy, onto which it could be painted—with shining, silvery thread.

Her mother would’ve fumed at the very idea. But what good was learning embroidery, if one did not use it in defiance? Each Lady had taken up a quadrant of her own, yet the stitches they had sewed were all the same: dozens upon dozens of tiny, shimmering, stars.

Trevelyan sparkled with every step. Diamonds glittered around her neck, lent eagerly by the Baroness. Every candle’s flame glistened upon her. Even the night sky could not compare.

Were it not for the musicians, the room would have been stunned to silence. Whispers of admiration made their circuit. Trevelyan drank in the praise, striding through the parting crowds. They led her to the foot of the dais, where the Ladies had gathered, and where an elegant figure—clothed in blue and gold—stood tall. With little more than a smile and a gesture, Lady Montilyet brought the room to a hush.

“Friends of the Inquisition!” she proclaimed. “Thank you for attending! If I may, I wish to propose a small toast, to some of our departing guests.”

She raised her glass. “A toast to Lady Erridge and Lady Orroat, to the union of your families and of Coldon! A toast to the Baroness Touledy, for victory in Val Misrenne! And a toast to Lady Samient, for her safe journey home!”

Glasses and steins clinked together, accompanied by a hearty cheer.

“But to Lady Trevelyan of Ostwick,” Montilyet continued, “we do not say farewell. Gathered friends, may I please introduce you, to our new Arcanist!”

Applause went up, echoing off the walls, and filling the room with joy. Trevelyan laughed in delight, and caught glimpses of her friends amongst the crowd. Varric clapped, Dorian hollered, and even Sera cheered—though none were as enthusiastic as Dagna herself!

Still, there was one face she could not quite find.

“Tonight, we celebrate!” Montilyet declared. “So please, enjoy!”

The band launched into triumphant fanfare; good humour and good company were the orders of the evening. The Ladies, all aflutter, went about these goals with giddiness and verve.

“Won’t you come dance?” asked Erridge, having already recruited Lady Orroat to her cause.

Trevelyan startled, her attention elsewhere. She stumbled and stammered over her excuses. “Oh! Later, perhaps? There’s something, I, um...”

Lady Samient picked up on her meaning, and picked up her slack. “Come, Lady Erridge! I’ll dance with you.”

Appeased, Lady Erridge escorted her away. Trevelyan withdrew from the dancefloor.

She could dance another time. She did not wish to muss her hair or catch her skirt. Her eyes scanned the party. Her fingers trembled. The moment he saw her had to be perfect.

A hand caught her shoulder. The Baroness, apparently having already procured a drink, leant over, and tilted it forward.

“There,” she whispered.

The crowd parted, as if by her will. True to her word, at the other end of the room, there he stood. The man she’d been searching for.

The Commander.

Maker, he had only become more handsome the longer she had known him. That rough-hewn jaw of his, and the dishevelment of stubble upon it; the subtle waves in his hair, hints of his rebellious curls; those dimples upon his cheeks—the thumb-prints of the divine, left where the Maker’s scultping hand had gone astray.

And his weary eyes, whose gentle gaze found her, and drew her closer.

Trevelyan admired, as she approached, the coincidence of the navy blue doublet that Lady Montilyet had undoubtedly advised him to wear. Hm. She liked him better in red. Suited him more, perhaps—though it mattered little. There was nothing that could dull the shine of him; true gold, after all, did never rust.

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, as he straightened to greet her. And he would have done so, perhaps warmly, perhaps sweetly—had a scout, uniformed and on duty, not appeared at his side.

Ah, fuck.

They whispered something to him beneath the hubbub of the ball, which sharpened back into focus. Though Trevelyan heard nothing of the Commander’s reply, when his attention returned to her, his smile was gone.

“Arcanist,” he said, with a bow. “I’m afraid you’ll have to excuse me. There is urgent business to which I must attend.”

Bloody typical.

“Of course,” she told him, magnanimously. “Duty calls.”

“At inconvenient times,” he muttered.

“No duty is ever convenient,” she commented. That seemed to amuse him, at least.

“I will return as soon as I am able, I assure you.”

“Yes, Commander.”

She curtsied to him, and allowed him to depart. The scout lingered by the rotunda door; the Commander followed them through.

Gone.

Trevelyan looked down at her pretty, sparkly skirt, and fluffed it up, pointlessly. Not quite the moment she’d been hoping for.

Oh, well. She would have ample opportunity for such moments with him in the coming days. If he didn’t get called away by something or other during those, too.

Stowing her frustration, Trevelyan returned to the party. There was plenty there to distract her, anyway. She watched the Ladies dance together; she enthused with Dagna about their work; she spoke to Lady Montilyet about her new quarters (ready tomorrow!); and she gossiped with Dorian about absolutely nothing of note—though he was, as always, terribly good conversation.

Yet still no Commander.

The noise of the music and the chatter and the stomps of the dancing were beginning to blur in her brain. Dorian noted her change in temperament, as she attempted to peer through the garden door from afar. Too many in attendance; the party had spilled out into it. It was no less busy out there than it was in here.

“Try up there,” Dorian suggested, indicating the mezzanine above. It seemed Sera had been banned from it today, as there was no skulking to be seen. “It has a balcony, if you need some air.”

“Thank you,” said Trevelyan. She’d had little cause to ever stray up there before—but this seemed as good a reason as any. She bid him farewell, and escaped up the stairs.

The moment she reached their peak, her troubled mind calmed. Mere feet above the chaos, the music came quieter, the conversation nothing more than ambience. Thank the Maker.

Besides, this mezzanine was well-furnished for a somewhat hidden space, with a luxurious chaise and portraits of figures Trevelyan did not quite recognise. The candelabrum here were not lit, leaving all illumination to that of the moons, whose glow trickled through a pair of glass doors—beyond which, as promised, was a balcony.

But Trevelyan felt enough at ease to stay inside—and she found the view of the party below to be quite of interest. The dancers weaved such wonderful patterns; outfits, in all colours, were arrayed like a painter’s palette. She could watch, as those she knew flitted from one group, to another. An enjoyable pict—

The rotunda door opened, drawing her eye. The Commander entered the hall. He strode into the party with such determination, it was as if it did not exist around him. Trevelyan traced his path as it led him, direct, to the Baroness.

They huddled against a wall. He whispered something. Urgent business? Oh, no.

But the Baroness smiled. Wider and wider. She asked him a question; he replied with nod. She placed a hand over her heart, and sighed. Trevelyan did the same.

If the news they shared was what she hoped, then she was rather glad she hadn’t kicked up a fuss at the Commander’s departure. Because if it was what she hoped, then he could have left all night, and still she would smile.

Maker, she had to see the Baroness—and she would have, if not for the feet hurrying up the stairs. The Baroness? No cane. Then—!

The Commander sprang onto the landing, startling himself as much as he startled her, determination abandoning him in an instant. “Arcanist!” he stammered, attempting to bow. “Forgive me—Dorian told me you were here.”

That crafty bastard. Trevelyan put his schemes aside, and asked, “Is everything all right, Commander? What was your urgent business?”

Before he’d even said a word, he smiled. That alone brought her relief. “There was a message from the Inquisitor,” he told her. “The battle is won. Val Misrenne is safe.”

Trevelyan could scarcely believe it. She clasped a hand over her mouth, a beaming smile beneath it. She shook her head, out of sheer incredulity. By Andraste. She could not fathom how dear Touledy felt.

“Thank the Maker,” she breathed. “Or, I suppose—thank you, Commander.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I think it is the Inquisitor’s party and the guard of Val Misrenne who ought to have the credit of it.”

“Of course, but you may take a little as well, Commander. Your handling of the situation was… impressive, to say the least.”

Such a compliment did not seem to sit well with him, for he stuttered as if he had not the words to form a reply. Awkwardness prevailed, until his fortunes changed, and his eyes chanced upon the balcony doors.

“Forgive me, I didn’t meant to disturb you. Were you… headed outside?”

Trevelyan smiled. She looked at them, then at him. “Preferably not alone.”

“Oh. I could...”

She backed into the doors, her eyes beckoning him to follow. He trailed after her as if in a trance, stepping through, to the tranquil night beyond.

The stars above shone in greeting, illuminating the finely-carved stone of the balcony balustrade. Trevelyan rested herself upon it, gazing out. The Commander’s presence, a warmth in the absence of the sun, settled beside her.

“It’s... a nice night,” he said.

She quite agreed. The entire courtyard was laid out before them, from the tavern—as lively as the party they’d left behind—to the stables—quiet, at this time of day. Moonlit stone, punctuated by glowing torchlight, encircled the fortress, and banished the darkness from its embrace.

“I, ah, have something for you,” he said, hand fumbling within his jacket. “I believe this is yours.”

He managed to locate this ‘something’, and freed it from its concealment. A white cloth, that flashed in the moonlight, embroidered with leaves Trevelyan recognised. It was far more pristine than the last time she’d seen it.

The napkin slipped pleasantly from the Commander’s fingers into her own. She noted the warmth of his proximity, still lingering within the weave, and the sweet, earthy scent that had been left by his possession.

“Technically,” she teased, “I believe it is Lady Montilyet’s.”

“I hardly think she’ll miss it.”

“I certainly hope so.” She tucked it away—safe. “Thank you, Commander.”

“Thank you for the use of it,” he said. “Though, speaking of Lady Montilyet—you, ah, took the offer. To become Arcanist.”

“I did.”

“Good.”

“Good?”

The Commander stammered, “For you—I mean. I mean, I am glad. That—despite how you came to be here—you have found enough reason to stay.”

Trevelyan shook her head, and smiled. “I know that I ought to have left, and truly have started my life afresh… but that would have been dishonest, to what I truly want.”

“May I ask… what is it?”

“What?”

The Commander met her eye. “That you… want?”

She bit back the smile that threatened to betray her. “Well… I suppose there is one thing—”

Feet clattered up the stairs. Trevelyan stopped herself. As if she were summoned by these precise circumstances, Lady Erridge stumbled out onto the mezzanine.

“Lady Trevelyan!” she called. “Oh, Commander, there you are! Sorry to disrupt, but I came to see if you should like to dance!”

The Commander shook his head. “No, thank you. I don’t dance.”

Erridge giggled. “I know! I wasn’t speaking to you, Commander! Come, Lady Trevelyan! The Commander shall have plenty of time to whisper with you when we are gone!”

Though the interruption was not exactly ideal, Trevelyan could not deny the sentiment. She curtsied to the Commander, somewhat apologetically.

“It seems I am summoned away. Urgent business, I believe they call it.”

His mouth tilted into a smirk; it made her skin tingle. “Another time, then.”

“Of course.”

Raucous music caught their ears, and Erridge perked. “Come along!” she said, snatching up Trevelyan’s hand. She threw a hasty farewell to the Commander over her shoulder, and whisked Trevelyan away. They tumbled down the stairs together, bursting onto the main floor of the hall—as the band cued a jig.

“Over here!” called Samient and Orroat, from the dancefloor. In the absence of Lady Erridge, they had partnered together—but saved a spot beside them, just in case.

Trevelyan and Erridge squeezed past the other dancers, and hurried to take it. They joined hands—properly, this time—and waited for the song to start, giggling all the while.

Strings and wind erupted into a prancing melody of alternating highs and lows, and caught them quite off-guard. But Lady Erridge sprang to action, and Trevelyan followed her lead. They bounced around the floor with zest and zeal, clapping their hands, kicking their legs into the air. Skirts clashed and flew, an explosion of fabric and colour.

It burst apart, into an exchange of dancers. Trevelyan sailed into the arms of Lady Orroat, who cut as fine a form as one could expect.

“So this is what you were all up to yesterday?” she said, of Trevelyan’s dress. “Maker, it’s beautiful!”

Though the compliment was quite routine, a look of panic struck the passing Lady Erridge. “Look, dear Orroat!” she called, loosing a hand from Samient’s, to jab her finger at some collection of stars. “I sewed those ones!”

Dancers parted again, to what must have been Erridge’s utmost relief. Trevelyan swapped Orroat for Samient, the latter of whom smiled as if amused.

“It seems dear Erridge has quite reversed her position on your knowing Lady Orroat,” she whispered.

Trevelyan giggled. “Good, for I could hardly say we should make such a handsome couple as they!”

Nor one so well-suited. It seemed the touch of her dear Orroat’s hand had quelled Lady Erridge’s worry in an instant, and the pair twirled and danced so pleasantly to the eye, it made Trevelyan miss a step. Samient ably accounted for the fumble. It was a wonder how she danced so well, in a dress so constricting. Then again, it was a wonder how this was Trevelyan’s first stumble, in a dress so grand.

Though their jig came to an end, another began—and Lady Erridge would not be satisfied with just the one! Trevelyan was made to dance the next three complete, until—quite exhausted—she formulated an excuse, and made her exit.

The sight of the Baroness at the edge of the dancefloor was quite welcome, as if safety and anchor in a storm. Trevelyan hurried towards her, and greeted her with a smile and an embrace—for which they both knew the reason.

“I’ve heard the news,” she said, as she recovered her breath. “How do you feel?”

The Baroness sighed. “Relieved. When I leave for my home tomorrow, I shall return to find it at peace—but that peace has not come without sacrifice. And yet, I know it could have been so much more. That Val Misrenne and its people still stand is worth celebrating.”

“It is. And I hope that it brings you peace, as well.”

Trevelyan hugged her again—but the music’s sudden and effervescent return caused her to jump. Laughing at herself, Trevelyan glanced back at the dancefloor.

“You know, I am surprised Lady Erridge has not called you up for a jig!”

The Baroness chuckled. “No, no, my leg is far too frail for that.”

“Really?” Trevelyan raised an eyebrow. “I remember you saying that you still dance.”

“I do.” She grinned. “But the leg is an excellent excuse.”

Trevelyan caught her meaning. “Lady Erridge’s enthusiasm is quite difficult to match.”

“Indeed. She has the stamina of a demon. Though I’m sure Lady Orroat could find some use for that.”

Trevelyan laughed. “Your Ladyship! Please, I feel so terrible teasing her!”

“Then you should not like to hear what we say about you and him.”

The Baroness winked, as if to point. Trevelyan, utterly confused by who ‘him’ was, heeded the suggestion. She turned, laid her eyes upon the man in question, and groaned. Weaving past the dancers was—she ought to have guessed it—the Commander.

“Oh, Maker! You all have far too much—” She halted, realising the Baroness’s mouth was half-open, her cane being raised in the air. “No, no—!”

“Commander!”

He heard the call. His head whipped round. No stopping it now—he was coming towards them.

“Baroness!” Trevelyan hissed.

Touledy smiled, gave a suggestive flick of her brow, and said nothing more. Though Trevelyan was almost glad of this—the Commander ought not hear anything she was thinking.

“Ladies,” he greeted, upon arrival. “Is there something you need?”

“Why, yes,” said Touledy, all too confidently. What was she up to? “Lady Trevelyan here wishes another dance, but I am afraid I am unable to”—she flashed her cane—“would you be able to dance with her Ladyship, in my stead?”

“Oh.” The Commander softened. "Are you all right?”

Trevelyan noted, rather indignantly, that the Commander asked this question with the same sort of gentle voice that he often put on for her. This was a concept which, she suddenly discovered, she did not like. Why, oh why, did she have to make him befriend the other Ladies? Fool.

“Yes, thank you,” the Baroness answered, “but her Ladyship must have a dance.”

Trevelyan rolled her eyes. “But Baroness, the Commander does not like to dance, and I—”

“I could try,” he said.

Trevelyan stared at him. She thought of a thousand questions in response to this. But somehow, the only one she could quite manage was:

“What?”

“If you would like to.”

Oh. Well, there was little chance of her saying anything other than, “Yes.”

The Baroness grinned, relishing in her triumph. “Go on, then,” she said, “enjoy.”

Easier said than done. At least Trevelyan had danced enough jigs with Lady Erridge to know what she was to do with them, now. In her mind, as they walked to the floor, she went over the steps. Left, left, kick, clap. Switch. Then to the right? But—

The music grew in volume. Yet it sounded like no jig she’d ever heard. Trevelyan realised that the musicians had betrayed her. Not a jig. Not at all.

Sweet, slow strings floated across the hall. A… romantic melody, that had couples approaching the floor. Dear Maker fucking Andraste shitting Void. People linked hands and put them on waists and Trevelyan realised that she was in the midst of it, surrounded, and there was no escape, and she would have to do those things herself.

She faced the Commander. Maker, why did he have to look so pretty and be so sweet? This sort of thing was far simpler with unimportant suitors that one could so easily discard after, even if one did step on their toes.

He offered a hand. Trevelyan’s shook.

But still, they met.

Her fingers slid into his palm, sensing the warmth that emanated from beneath the leather of his glove. The feeling of his skin, however rugged or tender, was cruelly left to the imagination. She savoured it regardless.

Her other hand gathered up her skirts, like the rest of the dress-wearers were doing. Almost in position. There was simply one last thing to emulate—

The Commander’s hand moved for her waist, hesitant in its approach. The first touches of his fingertips—gentler even than that of cotton or down—caused her body to tense. She did not know how she was to bear his entire hand.

But his hand stopped short. It instead hovered over the fabric of her dress, as if afraid to press any further. Disappointing.

Nevertheless, the gentle strings of anticipation harmonised into a symphony. Dancing commenced, and the Commander’s feet shifted. Trevelyan mirrored his steps. Her nerves hit a peak.

And then, began to fade.

Because dancing with him was unlike dancing with anyone she had danced with before. It felt different. Gentler. Warmer. Safer. No pressure for extravagance, or flourish. It almost did not matter if she was dancing well or not. It was only him that mattered.

“You should dance more often,” she whispered to him. “You do it well.”

He smiled, softly, and said, “All right.”

Her words must have emboldened him, for his grip around her hand firmed and strengthened, and he drew her closer by its pull. His other hand slipped around her back, fitting perfectly into the mold of her body. The gap between them was more indistinct than ever.

Yet in that closeness was comfort. Her head, laid on his shoulder. The warmth of his chest, felt within her own. That gentle, soothing sway they shared. She let her eyes fall shut, the dancers fall away, and listened only to the beat of his heart. Trevelyan could have stayed like that for an eternity.

But the music slowly, gradually, dulled to quiet. The other dancers reappeared around them, the party audible once more. It was over.

They came to a standstill. Trevelyan’s hand reluctantly left his grasp; his trailed away from her waist. Yet still, she smiled, for nothing could take it from her lips.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Of course,” he replied.

“I shan’t make you dance another.”

“That’s… all right.” He rubbed his neck. “Will you, ah, be stargazing tonight?”

She played with her dress. “Most likely.”

“Ah. Good.”

She curtsied, he bowed. He left, she stayed. Her feet still wobbled, a little.

But she would have to recover quickly. For she turned to her side, and saw complete what had, until now, been only a disruption in her periphery: the Ladies, huddled together, in keen observance.

Trevelyan shook her head, and, before they could open their mouths, told them firm:

“Not one word.”

[yuusakuhanazawashole]

[4giorno]

okay im enjoying getting these dialogues i previously missed so much. literally astarion when you ask what? will you miss me: "HA!

why not!!!"

[vraska-theunseen]

girl help my mini fridge doesn't have space for all the beverage im accumulating through campus meal loophole

[sailoryooons]

yea sex is great but have you ever had your favorite fanfic be updated after months of silence.

[killjoy-prince]

Huh, I've reached a point where I'm in the mood to play star rail

[dogmasquerade]

How you come out a game like Disco Elysium and think to yourself hm yes addicts should be left for dead and abandoned because "they're shit at they're job and leave a mess" when the game emphasizes Harry was like an inch away from fucking suicide. He obviously needed help. A LOT.

But oh yeah it's ok for him to be abandoned because the car was expensive and he wasn't in the right mind to do his duties (Jean could have also stepped the fuck up too but sat on his ass whining) I'm not tryna be that person because fiction is fiction but I hope to God you never come in contact with someone who is gravely disabled because of their mental health.

do we get a first anon badge is that a thing. can i get one.

[sanatomis]

⋆౨ৎ˚ ──── 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐔𝐒𝐄.

it's been on your mind for a while now. and, even though he's a little confused at first, it takes satoru very little time to warm up to your enticing offer.

დ content. fr3e use kink, cursing, female!reader, fingering, vaginal sex, creampie, consensual somnophilia, deepthroating, cum-swallowing, mentions of satoru eating it from the back <3

დ notes. second attempt at posting this on tumblr, don't mind me. it's crossposted on ao3 bc my previous attempts at posting all failed miserably (it never showed in the tags ://)

Satoru is confused. It doesn’t take you much time to notice that your softly spoken words have him quite rattled, as the results of them can so clearly be observed on his face. There’s his nose that scrunches up cutely, and a little tilt of his head to the left which comes accompanied by a few snowy strands of hair shifting across his forehead. A small furrow of his brows, the soft gnawing on his bottom lip. He’s thinking about it; mulling over your offer. 

Three times, he tries to say something. His mouth opens once, twice, and it’s futile. Not a word escapes, and he takes a sharp intake of breath. You almost believe that, if you weren’t currently seated opposite him, he’d smack the side of his head a few times to make sure it’s still screwed on right. 

“So, I just. . .” The third time really is the charm, it seems. Though, he never quite manages to finish what he was going to say. 

“Just put it in, yeah.” 

You finish it for him, you’re sweet like that. It does really seem as if he could use the help.

“Wh—whenever I. . .” 

There’s a little voice in your head, chiming and chattering about how all of this is weird. It makes you nervous, and your fingers itch to play with your necklace to fight it. 

“Whenever you want,” you confirm. It’s as if your heart has suddenly moved to your throat. 

“Wha—what if you’re asleep?”

“I said whenever you want, didn’t I?” 

He almost lets out a little squeak at the words you so casually give him. They surprise him, as they do you. Your last sentence wasn’t one spoken by your mind, and you shift in your seat as if it’d shush the part of you that did. 

It’s as if you’re telling him what you’d eaten for breakfast this morning, not giving him permission to slip, bully and sheat his cock into your needy cunt at any given time of the day. Without needing to ask, too. Satoru can fill you up, stuff you full, and dump so much of his cum into you until you’re overflowing, and he can do it whenever he feels the need to—because he’s Satoru, and you love your Satoru.

“Are you sure?” He asks, a hint of apprehension laces his voice. Your heart almost swells at his concern, at his hesitancy and need to confirm your wishes; even if you’ve vocalised them so bluntly. “Maybe, think about it for a little long—” 

“I have,” you interrupt him. As gentlemanly as he’s being, there’s no mistaking the darkening of his eyes. The pretty, baby-blues making way for something sinister. You suddenly don’t feel so nervous anymore. “I have thought about it. Way too much, and for way too long.” 

A string of curse words tumble past his lips. They’re hushed, and quick, and from the way he, too, shifts in his seat you gather that he’s hard. Painfully so, if the bulge forming in his pants is anything to go by. Your relationship has existed long enough for you to know that drops of his pre-cum are staining the fabric of his boxers already—always so messy, your Satoru. The mere thought has you wanting to take him out, to put him in your mouth and lap at the sticky, white beads falling down his length. 

“Please,” you plead softly, and watch how he stifles a groan at the needy, saccharine sound of it. You want more, more of that sound. Right next to your ear, preferably. “Use me, Satoru.” 

There’s little you want more than that, little that arouses you more than that. The thought of Satoru taking you whenever he wishes, abiding by his whims and allowing him free-reign over your body—it instils a heat into your stomach, into your core. It makes you feel filthy, like a cheap whore picked up from the street; but you’d be his whore, and suddenly it all starts to feel like a dream. It’s Satoru. Satoru, Satoru, Satoru. He’ll be gentle, and he’ll be kind, and he’ll stop as soon as you utter your safeword, and he’ll love you so much, even if he fucks you as if he doesn’t. 

You have half a mind to ask him again, to plead, to beg for it again, as it almost feels as if he didn’t quite hear you. But, as soon as you open your mouth to do so, he immediately latches his lips onto yours. It’s messy, and sloppy, and entirely fueled by the frantic state his mind is currently in—but you don’t complain, and never will. 

His hands are everywhere and nowhere all at the same time, and you feel him almost buzzing with excitement. Your teeth clash against one another at the force of the kiss, your tongues greedily seek the other out, and saliva gets swapped from your mouth to his, and vice versa. It’s dirty, and sticky, and almost brings you back to your high-school years, when he’d been all clumsy hands and feigned confidence on the night you’d lost your virginity to each other. 

Satoru pulls back from your kiss first, and a small smile falls over his lips when he notices you chasing him. “Wait a minute, sweets,” he murmurs, forehead against yours. His breathing is heavy, as is yours, and you don’t want to wait a minute—you want him, now, tomorrow, and each day after that. “Are you. . .” He chuckles when you kiss him again, and again, and again. You only stop when he holds your head in place. “Are you completely sure about this?” 

You blink up at him, eyes wide and lips swollen. “Mhm,” you hum, and caress his cheekbone with one of your thumbs. Satoru melts in your hold, as he always seems to do. “‘S you, ‘Toru. I’m completely sure when it’s you.” 

He lets out a shaky breath. There’s a storm of emotion behind his eyes, but all of them point to the same conclusion—he loves you. So much, you might even get sick of it one day; he’d told you as a joke, one born out of fear. But you won’t. You never will. And you think he’s starting to realise it, finally. 

“Okay,” he whispers, and kisses your forehead. 

It’s delicate, and loving, and so opposite from the way he buries himself into you over, and over, and over again a mere five minutes after that. Satoru’s needy, and impatient, and so pent-up from your previous conversation that foreplay gets thrown out of the window. 

He bends you over the couch first, that cute little ass of yours jiggling right in front of his face as he mounts you from behind. He slips in easily, with a pussy as wet as yours, and a cock as leaky and hard as his—the lack of foreplay almost goes unnoticed. Almost, of course, as the sheer size of him never fails to elicit a hint of a burn as he stretches you out. Nevermind that you take his cock daily, or that your walls are bound to carry his shape after the many years you spend with him. 

The sounds that decorate your apartment are filthy, lewd, and borderline obscene, but you’re thoroughly obsessed with them. The slapping of his balls against your ass, the squelching with each passing thrust, the deep groans and choked whimpers Satoru releases next to your ear just like you wanted. Even your own moans, your own babbles, and your own whines add to the experience; the combination of sounds. And you love it, because it’s you, and it’s Satoru—and it’s the two of you together. 

It doesn’t end after Satoru cums, nor does it after you do. The agreement between the two of you that was made tonight seems to have done a number on him, and he takes you a second time. On the balcony, where he puts you on display for the world to see as he fills you over and over again. And a third time, in your shared bed that’s never been safe from his affection and blatant desire towards you. And a fourth time, in the shower that was initially meant to clean you up, he decides to dirty you even further. 

If this is the reaction he gives to the mere idea of using you whenever he pleases, you long for the time that he actually does.

It’s well past midnight when Satoru finally decides he’s done with you. You’re curled into his side, a shirt that’s way too large for you (but one that you swore you didn’t steal from him) covers your figure. You’re asleep. Tired, exhausted, and completely knocked out. He smiles. You’re so cute. A love-sick expression is stuck to his face, and it may very well become permanent if he stays looking at you. 

One of his fingers reaches in-between your thighs, gently scooping up the remnants of his release. Satoru almost coos at the way your nose scrunches up cutely when he starts to finger it back into your pussy. It allows his digits to slip easily through your folds, and she sucks them in as soon as he reaches your hole. His cum doesn’t leak out this time. Not yet, anyway, but even if it does, he’s more than willing to repeat the process. 

He sighs. Mind full of thoughts, but at least his balls are empty now. There’s a little huff escaping his lips, and he’s amused at his own comment. Satoru shakes his head, but the small smile remains nonetheless. Strong, yet gentle arms pull your body tighter against him. 

You’re delicate, and sweet, and so precious to him; and he will do his best to take care of you. Use me, use me, use me. He kisses your forehead, his own eyes falling shut. 

He will most certainly try to. 

The very first time Satoru entertains the idea of indulging in your offer, is on a day where you’ve decided to wear his favourite lipgloss. It’s so shiny, such a cute shade, and makes you look so beautiful, but above all—it’s sticky. It’s sticky, and easily smudged, and he knows from experience that everything feels so much filthier when he steals a kiss from you with it on. 

Without meaning to, thoughts of you wrapping those glossed lips around his dick, creating a mess made-up of spit, cum, tears, and thus that delightful stickiness from your lipgloss, enters his mind. The coloured shade will leave a perfect ring around his length, there’s no doubt in his mind. Your pretty face will be all dirty, smudged stains near the corners of your mouth courtesy of his fat cock. You will be a sight for sore eyes. 

You’re talking to him, but Satoru can’t seem to listen. He’s enamoured by your lips, your soft-looking, plumb, and very glossed lips. He briefly feels pathetic, knowing that a mere make-up item has the ability to make his head spin to such a degree—but he doesn’t, as he quickly realises it only does so because it’s you that’s wearing it. 

Fuck, he really wants to stuff his cock into your mouth. 

Five, six, almost seven seconds pass before the realisation kicks in. If he wants to put his cock in your mouth, then he can. Satoru’s body moves on its own before he gets a chance to think about his actions, as is often the case with him, and it's not long before his large hand finds its new home on the back of your head. He falters briefly, watching how you quiet down, how your eyes widen slightly, but continues as he’s doing when you make absolutely no move to stop him when he gently guides your head down, and down, and down—until you’re right where he wants you. 

A small gasp leaves your lips when he puts you on eye-level with his crotch. It’s quiet, and he almost didn’t hear it, but it makes him pause nonetheless. The hand on your head loosens its grip, and he hesitates as he looks down at you. 

“Is this oka—” 

The sentence never gets finished, forever interrupted by a sharp hiss as you take his cock out of his pants with such unabashed eagerness. It slaps against his abdomen, leaky tip staining the fabric of his shirt. Your previous conversation is all but forgotten, it seems, as you don’t waste a second in taking his hard, aching length almost entirely into your mouth. It all happens so quickly, and Satoru’s mind almost can’t keep up. All he did was think about filling your mouth, and now he’s actually doing it; the fat tip prodding near the back of your throat. 

His hands are shaky, he notices, and so is his breathing as a small whine escapes when one of your hands goes downwards to play with his balls. “Fuck!” he curses, caught by surprise at the boldness with which you reached for that part of him. In his startle, his hands return to the back of your head, and your words make their impromptu return to the very front of his mind. 

Use me. 

He will, then. 

Satoru isn’t at all gentle when he does. His fingers tangle into your hair, and he pushes you down onto his cock until your nose brushes against the soft, white hairs near his pelvis. Your poor little mouth is struggling, he can see, but he can’t seem to pay much mind to it; the sounds of you gagging around his thick length are too much of a pleasure to hear. The way he pushes you up-and-down nears the realm of brute force, and still you eagerly suck, and suck, and suck. 

A particularly loud groan echoes through the room when he steals a glance at your small form kneeling between his legs. It seems he knows you well; you are a sight for sore eyes like this. There are tears in your eyes, and some of them have already fallen down your hollowed cheeks; hollowed, to make space for him. Your mouth is filled to the brim with his cock, and even though he can see you fighting for breath, you never make an attempt at catching it—as if you wouldn’t dare to deprive him of the please your throat gives him. 

Satoru catches himself falling in love all over again. 

He fucks your face harder, and harder, and harder the closer he gets to the edge. Deep groans, and slurred curse words join your symphony of muffled moans, and his hold on your head slowly starts to falter. 

“‘M close, princess,” he mumbles, but that’s about all the warning he gives you. A few seconds later, he cums down your throat. He doesn’t ask, he doesn’t need to. Not because you’d given him permission to use you as he sees fit, but simply because he knows you’re utterly obsessed with him doing so. “Fuck, f—fuck, look a’you, hm? Gonna take all of it like a good girl? Don’t waste it, m’kay? S’all for, fuck, for you.” 

It’s something he’s done countless times before, but Satoru swears that each time he spills his cum down your throat feels better than the last. Thick, sticky ropes fill your mouth, and you hum around him when it keeps going, and going, and going. You’re struggling to take it all, and he huffs in amusement when bits of it start to drip down your chin. His thumb catches it, and he quickly places it back in your mouth, forcing you to open it wider to accommodate both the digit and his slowly softening cock. You happily do so. 

He pulls out of you shortly after, with his chest heaving as he recuperates. His entire focus is on you, you, and you as he watches you wipe your mouth and swallow the last of his seed. There’s a smile on your face. It’s kind, and gentle, and innocent; almost as if he hadn’t just fucked your mouth and dumped his release down your throat. Satoru is utterly bewitched as he watches you, captivated by all and every little thing you do, and he cooperates as you tuck him back into his pants. 

And then, as if nothing at all happened, you sit down next to him again—and you speak, you continue talking, finishing the story he’d interrupted with his need to be sucked off. Your voice is hoarse, and your cheeks are still stained with dried tears, but you pay neither of those facts any mind. It makes all of this look so. . . mundane. You were speaking, and then you were between his legs, and now you’re speaking again. 

Satoru’s heart starts to beat even faster for you. Fuck, that’s so hot. This time, he decides to try his very best to listen to your tale about some co-worker of yours that pissed you off this week. He pitches in every-now-and-then, adding a low ‘huh,’ or ‘mhm’ to keep you occupied, and he almost feels guilty—guilty, because all his adrenaline-filled mind can think about are the future possibilities of using you.

“And, wanna know what’s the worst thing about the situation? It was my idea to get donuts for everybody! That harlot didn’t even want them initially.” 

Satoru’s downward spiral is inevitable, and he finds himself falling victim to it more times than one would consider healthy in a mere seven days. He very quickly learns that he’s thoroughly obsessed with the notion that allows him to fill you up anywhere, and at any time. To him, it’s one of the highest honours. 

There’s such confidence, such unwavering faith encompassed in your view of him. There has to be, if you’re willing to allow him such a thing. Thinking about it almost causes a cute pink hue to colour his cheek. . .you really do trust him a lot, huh?

He’s never been able to tell you ‘no’ before, and he certainly isn’t about to start. So, he dutifully listens to you and abides by your delectable request. To satisfy you, of course. There’s absolutely no other reason for his actions, and the way he breaches your dripping cunt with his leaky tip, all while soft breaths leave your lips, and your pretty eyes are peacefully shut, is simply to indulge you. 

Use me. Use me. Use me. 

Satoru curses, the crude words that tumble past his lips being plenty colourful. One of his hands settles on your hip whilst the other hikes your (or rather his) shirt up to provide him with better access. It’s your fault, really, that he’s currently sporting one of the hardest boners of the century. You were waiting for him, weren’t you? Waiting for him to return and bury himself to the hilt in that sweet, sobbing pussy of yours. 

There’s no other reason for you to fall asleep with nothing but his shirt on. Not even panties covered your cute little cunt, your sticky folds fully on display and welcoming him home. Satoru wants to bury himself in it—in a multitude of ways if he’s being truly honest with himself. For now, though, he’ll stick to simply one. 

“Shh,” he coos into your ear, delicately rubbing soft circles into your upper thigh with his thumb. You whine faintly, feeling his cock fight its way past your walls. He splits you open, stretching you just wide enough to slip inside. Your nose scrunches up cutely, and he almost rouses you from your slumber.  “‘S me, really need you, baby.” 

And that’s all he has to say. It’s me. It’s your Satoru. A gentle whisper of those words, and he gets to use you as he pleases. All of his previous worries, all of the near-boiling anger he felt at his previous meeting with the higher-ups washes away as soon as he sinks himself balls-deep into your pussy. Satoru groans deeply at the feeling, and gentle, stuttered declarations of love are babbled into your ear with each slow drag of his cock along your walls. 

The garbled mesh of words that he deems too important not to say, even despite their poor enunciation, only ceases to exist a few minutes later—when he spills his heavy load into that sweet, sweet cunt of yours. No, into that sweet cunt of his. Because, that’s who it truly belongs to, no? It’s his, to use, to spoil, to worship. You’d offered it to him so kindly, after all. And, well, Satoru has never been the type of person to turn down a gift. 

. . . You unknowingly create a monster. It seems that even the mere idea of being allowed to use you as he pleases has him tip-toeing around the line of borderline insanity. As each time he sees you, he wants you. . .and each time he wants you, you let him. 

It doesn’t matter what you’re doing at that moment. Even if you’re speaking, and he suddenly feels the need, no, the simple want for a blowjob. And even if you’re asleep, resting after what must have been a long day, you still allow him to slip his aching cock into you to satisfy the craving he’s had for hours. 

Even if you’re busy setting the table, you don’t push him away, and you still allow him to bend you over the wooden surface, to sink to his knees and lick, suck, and kiss around his pretty pussy with his tongue. Simply because he wants to do it, and you really do so, too. 

. . .And even now, when you’re cooking dinner. 

There’s a certain cuteness about the way your brows scrunch in concentration, about the way you gently bite on your bottom lip as you prepare the food for the two of you; it nearly makes him feel guilty for feeling the secret desire to ruin such a lovely, innocent view. The word nearly is important, however, as he’s acutely aware of your need for him to do exactly that—and so, any sense of wrongdoing melts away, similar to snow underneath the sun.

He’s not quite sure what it is that you’re cooking, but it smells delectable. There’s an array of spices, herbs, and vegetables strewn around the counter, and Satoru knows he’ll be eating like a King in a few minutes. As for right now, though, there’s a different craving, a different type of hunger slowly making its way forward. He fears it won’t be one that’ll be sated by your lovely culinary skills. 

“Smells good, baby,” he mumbles. It doesn’t take him long to settle himself behind you, large hands gently coming to rest on your hips. He sighs in the crook of your neck, and nudges the skin with his nose. “What’cha making?” 

You answer. He knows you do, as he feels the vibrations of your voice underneath his lips, the soft hum feeling quite soothing as he kisses along the column of your throat, but Satoru can’t find it in himself to focus on the words you give him. His ever-loose hands roam eagerly down your body, and the previous loving, and delicate kisses along your neck turn sloppy, wet, almost, as Satoru dips one of his hands underneath the waistband of your panties. There’s a grin forming on his lips, one entirely too big and full of confidence. 

“‘M startin’ to think you’re just always wet for me, pretty girl,” he mumbles against the shell of your ear, fingers entirely coated in your slick the second he’d sunk them into your dripping cunt. 

Your cheeks heat up, and you try to stifle a moan when he, so very, very slowly starts to move his fingers in-and-out of you. “I—I am,” you admit, and clench around his digits just as he’s about to take them out; as if it’s a last resort to keep them inside. “F’you, Satoru. Just for you.” 

“Hm?” He hums, and almost huffs in amusement as he sees you trying to continue what you were doing so desperately, as if you weren’t being fucked on your husband’s fingers. Just for that—he rapidly thrusts his fingers back into you, harsher, deeper, and so much quicker. “Just for me, yeah, princess?” 

“Y—Ah! Yes, yes,” you squeak, one of your hands seeking out some semblance of support from the kitchen counter.  “Only for you.” 

There’s an embarrassing sound hitting your ears, as each thrust of his absurdly long fingers is accompanied by your wetness squelching around them. You struggle to speak, to breathe almost, as he fucks you on his fingers. Satoru stretches you out, curling his fingers to find the spot he knows will leave you with those pretty tears falling down your cheeks, and to hit it over, and over, and over again. 

There’s such a heat gathered between your legs, such a pleasurable source of warmth, and Satoru suppresses a groan as he’s once again made very aware of that fact when your walls clench around his digits. His cock twitches, and he lets out a shaky sigh as he grinds it against your ass. “You are, aren’t you? Hm? C’mon, baby, don’t be shy. . .be a little louder.”

You aren’t shy. You haven’t been for a while now. There’s a certain hotness in the way you moan so unabashedly, so utterly shamelessly whenever Satoru gets his hands on you in such a way—it’s as if you can’t ever get enough of him. It never fails to harden his cock even more, to make his balls feel achingly heavy until he ultimately empties them inside your tight little cunt. And you know so, which is exactly why you do it. 

“‘M not,” you rasp out, one of your hands coming to rest on his wrist. The back of your head falls against his shoulder as you choke on a moan, seeking some very necessary aid to stay upright. “Please, I. . .’Toru, please.”

In all honesty, Satoru isn’t quite sure what you’re begging for. He knows it’s one of two options: either to cum on his fingers, or for him to push his thick cock inside your pussy already. There’s no desire to ask, however—he’d much rather make that decision himself. The hand that wasn’t currently burying three of its digits knuckle-deep into your pussy busies itself with his belt-buckle. 

There’s a pitiful whine falling from your lips, one that’s released immediately upon the removal of his fingers from your cunt. “Shh,” he coos in your ear, instantly soothing your upcoming tantrum. You stifle the complaint you’d prepared for him, the feeling of his fat tip prodding near your too-eager hole quickly puts an end to it. “S’okay, pretty girl, just wanna feel you cum around my cock, s’all. . .Think you can do that for me?” 

You nod, and rapidly so. “Mhm,” you hum, and open your mouth when he presents it with his soiled fingers. You clean them, suckling around them until each bit of your sweetness is gone. “Want to—really wanna cum around your cock, ‘Toru.”

“Of course, you do,” he breathes, and captures a quick kiss. And another. And another. And one more. It makes you smile, and that, in turn, makes him smile. When he does pull back, there’s as much love as there is lust dancing in his eyes. “Wouldn’t have expected anything less of you, princess.”

Satoru is often greedy. There’s no such thing as savouring something with him—if he’s enjoying himself, he’ll be as gluttonous as he wishes. The exception is you, of course, as you always are to him. There’s no greater feeling than savouring you. It’s why he, more often than not, decides to fill you up slowly. To let his cock drag along your walls, to let your soothing warmth engulf him inch, by inch, by inch, until his firm balls press up against your ass. He does so this time, too. 

Your long, drawn-out moan as he fills you up slowly sounds as if it were gifted to him by the Heavens, and Satoru’s cock twitches inside when he hears you mutter a soft fuck as you struggle to adjust to him. It’s certainly not the first time you’ve taken his cock, but the sheer girth of him still stretches you out—as it always does. Your husband loves you dearly, however, and waits. . .one second, two seconds, three seconds, and he doesn’t get any further before his self-restraint falters. 

Satoru nearly pulls himself out of your cunt completely, only for him to fuck himself back inside so deeply—it has you place both palms of your hands on the counter to steady yourself. It startles you, as he hears you choke on a moan, but he continues. His movements are quick and rough, animalistic even, as he pounds into your cunt. 

“Sa—ngh, Satoru, wait, I. . .” You interrupt yourself with a moan, the feeling of his tip near your cervix too sharp for you to properly finish a sentence. He’s so deep. It feels as if he’s in your womb, in your stomach—it feels as if he’s everywhere. “Fuck, I. . .f—fuck, ‘Toru. . .”

 “Hm?” He breathes out, a groan slipping past his lips. “Want me to, fuck, you. . .” His rapid movements dial down. The self-control needed for it is enormous, but you’d asked him to wait—so he will. Some beads of pre-cum drip into your cunt, as if his cock was upset that he’d suddenly slowed down. “Wan’me to go slower, baby?”

“No,” There’s a small whine near the end of your sentence. It’s the absolute last thing you wanted him to do, even if you originally asked him to wait. “No, don’t, please, keep going. Need—need more.” You feel Satoru wrap both hands around your hips, as if he’s preparing for something. “Harder, please. . .”

“Harder?” He asks, and you don’t need to see him to know there’s currently a sense of smugness ruining his pretty face.  “How hard do you want it, huh, sweets?” 

Little more than the tip remains inside you, and there’s not a moment for you to mourn the loss of his entire girth—as all air leaves your lungs when he immediately thrusts back into you with a newfound vigour, with such force that it has you bend over the kitchen counter. 

“Like, ah, like this, huh? That how you want it, angel?”

You don’t answer—you’re not able to, as Satoru uses the entirety of his thick length to steal your ability to speak coherently. Once again, you’re acutely aware of the sheer size of your husband. Satoru is tall, and big, and he likely isn’t even aware of it. It certainly doesn’t seem so, as he heads no mind to the way your feet are starting to lift off the floor. Each deep thrust has you inching further up the counter; his hands on your hips nearly holding you up and off the floor as he rocks into you from behind. 

There’s little you can do, except take it. 

The kitchen is filled with sounds that definitely do not belong there. Your wetness is prominent, the sound of it borderline embarrassing, and Satoru’s balls slap against your skin with each thrust. He’s relentless, and you want to cry. The good kind of crying; the kind that often comes accompanied with mind-numbing pleasure. You hiccup, and sniff, and try your best to stabilise yourself against the counter. 

Though, your efforts prove futile once Satoru brings one of his hands to your front. You choke on a whimper as he cruelly pinches your clit, toying with it, flicking and rubbing it in the way he knows will get you off. 

“T—Toru,” you warn him. “I—I’m. . .”

“Mhm,” he hums in acknowledgement, not letting up even for a second. There’s a featherlight kiss pressed to your shoulder. “Me too, princess. S’okay, let, shit, let go for me, yeah?”

And because he’s Satoru—your Satoru, you comply. It hits you all at once, and you’re suddenly very grateful for both your husband holding you upright, and your expensive kitchen counter for adding some extra support. You’re still breathing heavily, coming down from your high, when Satoru hits his own. It’s a familiar feeling, but one you’ll never grow tired of nonetheless. 

You sigh in content. His cum fills you up rapidly, and to the brim. It’s hot, and thick, and trickles out of you even with him still inside—simply because there’s so much of it. The both of you are out of breath, and because of it, choose to stay within each other’s hold for just a little while longer. 

Satoru could—and would—stay in this position for the rest of his life. . .but he’s quite sure that you’ve put a lot of effort in today’s dinner and he doesn’t want it to be for naught. With a deep sigh and a quick kiss to your cheek, he goes against every fibre of his being, and pulls out of you. 

A shiver trails down your spine when he does so, and you let out a soft sigh in content. You’re still recovering, he notices. There’s a trail of his cum dripping out of you, though he wastes little time to push it back inside. Satoru takes matters into his own hands, and decides to place your panties back into place for you, too. It gets soiled by his seed rather quickly, but that’s a problem for later. 

After smoothing down your skirt, he tucks himself back into his pants, as well. He’s by your side as quick as he can, and presses a sweet, lingering kiss to your temple. 

It’s only then that he properly takes notice of all the stuff that’s been thrown around the kitchen. Pots, pans, vegetables, spices. It seems you really were busy.

And, as if he hadn’t just finished fucking you silly, he smiles. 

“So, what are you making?”

© MADE BY SANATOMIS — please, refrain from stealing, copying, or reposting any of my works.

[sleepypanda27]

Bucky's Crush

Bucky x reader

Summary: Sam is tired of Bucky not doing anything to get the girl he likes. So he helps out a bit.

Words: 710

Warnings: Cute and nervous Bucky

It was an early morning in the compound. Sam was telling Bucky some story of his adventures, but that turned into white noise when he saw you walking into the kitchen. Still in your pajama and unbrushed, messy hair. You walked to the mug cupboard and stretched, yawning.

"Want some coffee?" Bucky asked with a smile in his voice.

"Yes, please." You leaned against the kitchen island, watching Bucky intently as he made you coffee. Who knew that making coffee could be so sexy?

"Good morning, by the way." He said in a little raspy voice from sleep.

"Hi, good morning." You blushed, tucking hair behind your ear, and smiled awkwardly, hoping he didn't notice you staring at him.

"There you go." His eyes were locked with yours as he gave you a cup with steam coming from it.

"Thank you, Bucky." Inhaling the delicious scent, you thanked him.

"You're welcome, doll." He folded his arms over his chest and leaned against the counter. Subtly, his eyes traveled up and down your body, making you blush again. You went back to your room, thinking you should try to blush less in Bucky's presence.

Bucky shook his head with a smile and looked at Sam, who was staring at him. "What?"

"Seriously?"

"What?" Bucky didn't understand what was his problem.

"I was talking to you, dude."

"I heard you."

"Okay then. What was the last thing you heard?"

"Ummm...that you like seeds and breadcrumbs." Bucky shrugged.

"Ugh, just ask her out already." Sam rolled his eyes, annoyed.

"I will..." Bucky looked into the hallway you went to just seconds ago. "Someday."

Sam had arranged a movie night, making you and Bucky sit together. It was all highly suspicious because you three were the only people there.

Bucky's musky cologne mixed with the faded scent of the leather jacket he had worn earlier, lingered on his hoodie. You had to fight against the urge to just melt into your seat.

He pretended to yawn, stretching his arms in the air, and placing his arm around your shoulders, gauging your reaction. Naturally, you moved closer to his side. He had to bite his cheeks to stop the smile from turning too big.

Sam bailed pretty early, knowing that if you two were left alone, you would feel more free and open up.

After a while, you stood up, and Bucky thought 'Well, this is it, he went too far too soon.' But you only took a blanket and then returned to your seat by his side. This time, snuggling even closer to him.

His mind reeled with all kinds of different thoughts. All of them included you. He wondered did he remembered how to kiss. Can you even forget something like that? Now, he went too far and was overthinking.

You could feel and hear his relentless heartbeat, or maybe it was yours you couldn't quite tell.

You couldn't take the tension anymore. You spun around so fast that you startled both of you. Placing your hand softly on his nape, you slowly leaned closer, giving him a chance to stop this, but instead, he closed the distance. As soon as your lips met, it was like he forgot all of his previous worries.

Bucky couldn't hide the smile anymore and he didn't want to. Feeling the dog tags around his neck, you wrapped the silver chain around your fingers, tugging him to you while lying back on the couch. Which he gladly followed.

After a while, Bucky pulled away from you, looking to the side, where Sam was slowly and carefully creeping to the place where he was sitting earlier.

Noticing that he's caught, Sam stopped. "Don't mind me, I just forgot my phone. He quickly run after the phone. "Carry on." He shot you both a smile and left.

Laughing, you hid your face in your palms from embarrassment. Bucky chuckled, gently taking your hands off your face. "You are so damn cute, doll."

Now you were blushing even harder.

Bucky turned off the TV and, easily picked you up, wrapping your legs around his waist. Your squeal turned into giggles. "Where are we going?"

"To my room." He smiled, "So we can watch the movie and make out without interruption."

[simpjaes]

heeseung taking out all his anger during sex drabble pls ❤️

MDNI.

this was originally written for jeno on my other blog but it fits so well [i rewrote it/reworded a lot of things. it's much better now lol] wc: 2.3k

tags: Heeseung hate fucks reader when he has a bad day, unprepped penetration, reader basically loses her ability to feel anything other than his cock lmao (cock drunk)

It doesn't always hurt when Heeseung has his hands on you. Really, most of the time it’s blissful. There were those nights though, when he would be rough, careless, and borderline worrisome with you. Oftentimes humiliating you in the way you can barely even mutter his name, weak and quivering under him. 

It doesn’t happen happen, but when it does, you know how much you always end up…kind of loving it.

Really, even if in the moment you’re in pain, sometimes even scared, you had to tell him after the fact to keep doing it. That it’s okay. That you fucking love it. 

Naturally, tonight is another one of those nights. 

Heeseung, first, had you against the counter with his strong arms pressing you back until your head hit the cabinets. You were, essentially, pinned there between his frustrated eyes and the counter top with him slotting himself between your legs. Not a single word is said to you, not a single explanation, and arguably, you know better than to ask. 

You already know. He’s had a bad day.

So, you just let him. Feeling his lips go from a grimace to biting and nipping against your skin. You can only imagine how bad his day went for him to be so silent, still, you let him do as he pleases because you don’t exactly want to make it worse for him. If anything, you’re fine with being an outlet. You get plenty out of this too, after all.

And there is a part of him that knows he’s doing this with you rather than at you, based on your previous pleads to be his outlet. He’s forever in love with the fact that you let him be this rough, with his bruising grip and harsh teeth. There’s nothing more in this world he could need to unwind aside from you and you alone. Solely because you let him.

When he drags you to the bedroom without a word, you simply let him. Internally bubbling with all sort of emotions. Fear, excitement, concern, arousal. He appears to be more angry tonight though, solely because his fingers gripping your wrist hurts much more than usual. You can feel your skin under them, pulling and stretching under his grip as he takes you to where he wants you. 

And yet again, like on many nights like these, he doesn’t offer a single bit of foreplay. He does little more than getting his cock out with that same frustrated face, flicking his head down as if he has an expectation of you. That, he does. You know it very well, and you do as you’re directed. Rolling your pajamas down your leg and easily spreading your legs and pussy for him. 

Unprepped, still mostly dry. You know it’s going to hurt, and he knows it’s going to hurt too. The understanding is mutual but the act is much needed on more ends than just Heeseung’s. 

The drag of his immediate, forced, plunge is uncomfortable for both of you, but something about the feeling of getting you wet while he’s inside of you is something that grounds Heeseung beyond belief. The feeling pulls him out of his red thoughts and turns them a shade darker. 

It’s always you who can distract him. 

And, of course, he only goes faster and harder at that point, chasing the moment for when you’ll slick up for him nice and wet. Gripping onto your body in such a harsh way that all you can do for him is whimper and cry. Your eyes always force the tears, especially when he hasn’t kissed you yet. But even if he had kissed you, you’d be unable to kiss him back at this point. Not until the discomfort subsides anyway.

Thankfully, and like always, it doesn’t take long for your body to want it. What was once the sound of dry and slapping skin turns to that of wet, squelching sounds as you drip out and around him. The drag hurts no more, and by this point you need him to go harder, faster, fucking deeper. After all, if he’s going to hate-fuck you when you’re not even the point of his anger, if he’s not even going to kiss you, he better find a way to make it hurt more. 

Heeseung does come back to himself when he feels the slide though, loving that he can come home from his awful day and have you present yourself in such a way for him. He loves you more than anything, for so many fucking reasons that don’t include that, but still. This is what you do for him, and it brings his softness back tenfold as he reaches out for your face, eyes softening for you in concern. 

Fuck, he swears he learns something new about you every day too. After all the years the two of you have been together, he’s shocked when you turn your face away from him. He’s a bit defeated at the act, partially wondering if he’s really pushed it too far in terms of using you. It’s not often he doesn’t at least give you some praise as he does this, but really, he was so, so upset. His brain just….he needed this before saying anything. 

And so, at that motion of you turning your face away from him and his softer hands, he only slams his hips harder. He tips himself back a bit now, using one hand to tug at your clit as if it’s a form of retaliation from your rejection.

It would be retaliation anyway, but Heeseung knows well enough how much you love to hurt. You love when he tugs and pinches against your pretty, swollen clit. The sharp pains always make you cry in a way that fucks your brain up. As if you don’t know whether to plead for him to stop or to ask for more. 

Still, he’s frustrated that you won’t let him love on you now that he’s grounded himself a bit. His whole fucking day has been a disaster, and now you’re pulling away? Not making eye contact? Not letting him kiss you?

“Baby, look at me.” He says, now nearly demanding that you do as he says. 

And, of course, you do. 

“You want it to hurt more?” He continues when you still shift your eyes away from him, but he’s a bit amused in the way you nod to him. So out of it for him that he feels almost silly for being upset at you in the first place. 

“Yeah?” He nods with a half chuckle, slowing his hips but now driving in with intent and harsh plunges. “Just like that?” 

You yelp as you urge him with a nod, loving the sear and feeling of your boyfriend tearing you open. And while you know he’s being rough, he’s not quite giving you his all now that he’s softened up.

You want him to give it his ass by this point now, if the sound of your pussy is anything to go by. You want him to fucking hurt you, to the point you can’t moan, to the point you can’t breathe. 

“More,” You manage to get out for him in another yelped whimper. “You’re being soft.”

“Yeah?” He asks for confirmation with his hand reaching for you cheek again, burying his leaking cock in so deep, so painfully deep. “Look at me.”

You do, showing him your blown out pupils and mess of hair on top of you head. You nod frantically, wanting him to push further than he ever has. Wondering if he’ll ever surpass his own limit for you. 

It goes like this for a while longer than usual. More pain, more pleasure, and your heart rate higher than you thought possible. 

He’s using you so well and you couldn’t be more proud to be this for him. An outlet, his girlfriend, his sex doll. And fuck, he bites, he bruises, he drags his hips so painfully into you that you feel like you genuinely could be split in half at any moment if he truly wanted to. 

So full, you can feel it so deeply inside of you that all you can do is cry.

You lose yourself to that feeling, basking in the sensation of your walls clenching every inch of him and moaning out with each second that passes. To the point your throat is sore and your eyes are swollen from the tears. 

He pulls against your hair now, holding his hips in place and burying himself just as deep as before inside of you. Instantly, you see tunnel vision now. Like you could burst, both physically and emotionally, all for him. 

Him, him, him. 

And he only holds himself like that to the point that you can feel your cervix bruise. He only pushes harder now, trying to inch in more of his cock despite having no more to give. He lifts your leg over his shoulder just to get a different angle at the failure, only to find a way to make you feel him deeper than you thought was possible. 

God, it hurts so good and he loves it. Your pained face paired with the image of your pussy taking the entirety of him. You’re everything to him. 

And now? His grunts are that of focus rather than pleasure. He wants to ruin you, he is trying to ruin you to the fucking core just to see if you’ll unravel in a new sort of way. 

It’s the fact that he’s talking to you through it too. You can’t make out a single word though, tunnel vision is tunnel hearing, and all you can focus on is the feeling of his cock bruising the deepest part of you. Being torn apart by the man you love is…something you’ll never forget. 

And when you do manage to catch a smirk on his face before his hips start sliding back and forth again, you realize he loves this as much as you do. Of course he does, who wouldn’t love a girl willing to let her man surpass his own limits? 

Out of respect, no less. 

“Are you with me?” His voice echoes through your eyes, and while he’s fully aware that you’re absolutely fucking gone with the way he’s fucking you right now, he takes your distant nod as confirmation. 

Despite how far aware he seems in your head, you know that every sensation your body is feeling right now is because of him. You can’t help the quivering. The uncontrollable shaking.

It feels so good, to the point you are nearly numb to everything else around you. The swollen feeling of your body being abused is too, too fucking good. You can’t even comprehend that he’s kissing against your slack mouth, but you do your best to kiss him back. 

Goddamn does he love the way you drool all over yourself and him. Good. Fucking good girl. 

“Try again,” He chuckles against your tongue, waiting, just to see if you can manage to kiss him properly. Though he suspects you’re completely lost in your head right now. 

After all, he’s giving you exactly what you asked for. 

And all you can do in return is blink up at him with a dazed smile. Your body is moving up with each of his thrusts just to make it that much more painful, and his lips continue to lay against yours. He’s truly waiting for you to kiss him back like you have the ability to do it. Like you can truly think of anything else rather than what he’s doing between your legs. 

Hah. 

“You’re so gone, baby.” He smiles in a breath at your failure to do anything more than leave your mouth open for him. He’s fucking floored by how much you love this, and how you truly embrace the inability to think at this moment. “You’re loving this, hm?”

You can’t even not for him this time, feeling pangs of pain and pleasure shoot through your body with each sharp thrust. 

“Try again, pretty girl.” He encourages you when he licks against your bottom lip again, gripping your hair with his other hand and craning your neck back. 

”You can do it, come on.” He adds, biting against your neck and licking the mark. 

You once again, can’t even try, because he accentuates each word with a drag of his pulsing cock and a sharp pressure against your clit with his abdomen. So, you stop trying, falling into the depths of the sensations and allowing yourself to lose your grasp on reality entirely. 

Fucking hell, he loves it. The way you come undone, the way your entire body goes clack before shaking uncontrollably with a wet spurt of your pussy trying to push him out. He can feel you clench around him, your body acting on instinct to push, push, push, the pleasure out and all over him. 

He has to hold back his own impressed moan at the way he stays buried into you as you squirt around him with that pretty, pained look on your face. 

“Fuck, that feels good, doesn’t it?” He grunts out, slowing his pace to feel you clench around him fully, enough to where he needs to brace himself to pull out slightly just to shove his cock right back into that quivering mess. “So out of it too, god–” He moans now, leaning back just to look down fully. Noting how you’ve left a mess all over him. 

And you still continue to quiver, your pussy still clenches and grips him. All the way until you’re slack, still clenching, and he’s now pumping his cum into you with such a relieved moan that it almost brings you back to reality. 

By the time he’s done shaking on top of you, out of breath, and pulling out, your ears are ringing save for his soft voice. 

“Baby?” You hear him say as he dips down beside your head. “I got you.” 

You manage to nod to him and smile in a drunken kind of daze as he lifts you from the bed for the proper clean up from a boyfriend who very much loves you. 

[dizzysinner]

RAHHHHH I HATE TWITTER

[oepionie]

—"PRINCE CHARMING'S KISS" dormleaders

💭masterlist | 💬ao3 link

synopsis: a potionology accident involving the adeuce duo leads to the prefect falling into a deep sleep. only an act of true love's kiss can save them and it seems that ace and deuce picked a certain boy to play prince charming.

⊹ [ cw ] — none◞

⊹ [ tags ] — FLUFF.GN! READER | papa crewel doesn't seem too happy, cauldrons, tomato riddle, azul tries to get engaged, kalim bawling his eyes out, soft vil, idia is about to pop a vein, malleus throws a lamp at lilia and it's deserved◞

⊹ [ w.c ] — 4k+◞

"I SUMMON THEE, CAULDRON!"

"Deuce! No! I asked you to grab one not-" Before you could stop him, the cauldron already smashed against the pot atop your desk, flinging all the contents of the pink bubbling potion all over you.

"You dumbass! They said grab one, not summon one!" Ace hissed, throwing a towel over your soaked form. "Shit. We need to get them to Professor Crewel and — Oi, Prefect!?"

You fell forward, falling limp in Ace's arms as you both tumbled to the floor. Panicked, Ace was quick to push you onto your back, slapping your cheek and shaking you furiously. "Wake up!"

"W-What happened?" Deuce ran towards you two, guilt pooling in his stomach. His blood ran cold with fear once he saw just how pale and cold your face had turned. "Are they dead?!"

"No. It's not that strong of a potion." Crewel sighed, striding towards the two morons with a venomous scowl on his lips.

Leaning down, your adoptive-father gingerly tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. All previous ire he exhibited seemingly melting away. "Oh darling, I have no idea why you chose these two strays as friends…"

"Once again, you've brought my pup to harm with your incompetence." The professor stood up straight once again, his stern gaze fixed on the two youngsters.

"Nonetheless, I think this will be a valuable learning experience for the two of you." Crewel said, grabbing a thick aged book from a nearby shelf and thrusting it into Ace's arms.

"That book there contains the instructions to brew the cure."

"D-Do we have to make the- uff-" Deuce coughed, unintentionally breathing in a cloud of dust released by the old book. "-cure ourselves?"

Crewel drew his eyebrows up to his hairline, jaw dropped in disbelief. "Seven's no! I'll be making the cure myself; I have zero faith in you two."

"You two are to write a 10,000 word long report about the potion and I expect it on my desk by tomorrow." The professor pressed a boney finger against the cover, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

"Oh, and I trust that you'll keep my pup safe. You know the consequences if I find even a single hair missing from their head." The two watched helplessly as Crewel walked away, his sharp heels clicking against the floor.

"Man. What's with him." Ace grumbled, flinging the book at Deuce who easily caught it with one hand.

"Deuce, what'cha say we just head to Ramshackle?" Ace hummed, nudging your unconscious form with his foot. He hadn't even bothered with picking you up. Opting to just leave you sprawled out on the cold tiles.

Ace was truly the most friend ever.

"Interesting…" Deuce muttered, clasping a hand around his chin. Ace raised his brow, peeking over his friend's shoulder to read the text on the yellowed pages.

"One of the cures listed here is…"

✩—RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS:

"A True Love's Kiss…?" Riddle trailed off before scowling at his two dorm members. Just what sort of shenanigans were they pulling now?

He lowered his teacup slowly while frowning and blinking incoherently. "Could this be another one of your pitiful attempts at a joke?"

"Why the hell would we joke about his?" Ace whined.

Riddle shook his head, walking over to your unconscious form draped over Deuce's shoulder like a stack of potatoes. Checking your temperature, he pressed his hand against your forehead and tsk'd at the heat.

For a split second, his eyes briefly wandered over to your lips.

What if…

Snapping out of it, Riddle stepped back with his burning pink cheeks.

"What utter nonsense. Hand me that book, I can brew the potion myself." Riddle said, pulling his gloves off before he then motioned for Deuce to pass him the book.

"Ah yeah…about that-" Ace chuckled, folding his arms behind his head. "Crewel didn't allow any of us to make the cure…so you're kinda our only hope."

The part where Crewel promised to produce the cure was purposefully left out by Ace. In truth, there really was no reason for Riddle to kiss you other than to serve as Ace's entertainment but hush now Riddle didn't have to know that.

"Well them, pray tell, what makes you think I should take the role of Prince Charming? "

"You get that disgusting dopey look on your face when you see them." Ace smirked.

"I-I do not!" Riddle shouted, face turning a deep cherry-red. Ace laughed, pointing at Riddle's flushed cheeks. "See?! You're turning into a tomato!"

"How are we certain that they even like me back?!"

"Ugh! Stop being a coward! You'll never know if you don't try!"

They began arguing anew, flinging insult after insult at one other. Deuce sighs and places you down on the couch in the lounge. He knew that if they continued their screaming, nothing would be done. It's was time he took things into his own hands.

Deuce grabs Riddle by the arm, dragging him towards you. The redhead turns to him, demanding the first-year to let go but Deuce only shakes his head. "I'm sorry house warden, I'll bear the brunt of your punishment later but I need to fix what I did."

"No-! W-Wait-" Riddle sputters, digging his feet into the ground. "I-I can't possibly-How unconsensual!-"

"Whoops!" Ace seizes the opportunity to shove the redhead forward, causing his lips to meet with yours.

"?!" Riddle stills for a few seconds, his calloused palms resting on your cheeks. Peering at you through shaky lashes, Riddle snaps out of his lovesick stupor and jolts back. His face blooming into an even deeper red than thought possible.

"R..iddle…?" His heart hammers against his ribcage as you flutter your eyes open, blinking up at him. The press and warmth of your lips still remained and a million of thoughts raced through his head. One of them seemed to echo louder than the rest.

At his lips’ touch you blossomed like a rose and the cure was complete, bringing the enchantment to an end. He was your 'True Love'?

Riddle hesitantly cradled your body, assisting you in sitting up. He coughed, averting his eyes to the ground, unable to meet yours.

"I apologize for the unsolicited kiss however, seeing as how my feelings are returned." He turned to you, clasping your hand tight in his. "I would like to court you properly. H-How does lunch tomorrow at noon sound?"

✩— LEONA KINGSCHOLAR:

"…so that's why I dumped them onto ya' bed." Ruggie yawned, extending his arms over his head.

There you were, curled up against Leona's king-sized bed, clutching one of his pillows tight in your arms. Blissfully oblivious to the fact that your friends abandoned you, placing you in the clutches of a hyena and at the mercy of a lion.

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"So, since Leona's a prince and all, that 'True Love Kiss' stuff could totally work with him, right?" Ace grinned, placing his hands on his hips. "I've read 'bout it in fairy tales all the time! The prince kisses the girl and boom!"

"How'd desperate are ya' to go running to Leona for help?" Ruggie sniggered, grabbing a handful of dry clothes off of the clothesline.

Really, it was both pitiful and humorous at the same time. The two chose to cast the irritable, hot-headed lion as the Prince Charming in their decrepit fairy tale.

Let's be honest, when you hear the term "charming," the first thing that came to mind was not Leona Kingscholar.

Adjusting the laundry basket, he propped it against his hip, Ruggie tapped his chin and pondered. "I can help but it'll come with a price…"

Deuce rushed forward, shoving a box of donuts into Ruggie's free hand. "Will this cover it?!"

Whistling, Ruggie flicked the box open. His eyes gleamed seeing all the tooth-rotting pastries heaped atop each other.

A sly grin stretched across his face.

"Deal."

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After Ace and Deuce handed you over to Ruggie, the hyena unceremoniously barged into Leona's room and all but threw you onto the bed.

"True Love's Kiss? Do those things even exist?" Leona scoffed, tossing a blanket over your form. Ruggie shrugged, heading out of Leona's room. "Dunno but since you two like each other, I figured you would wanna help."

Leona rolled his eyes, glancing at you. Your face was shoved against the pillow, a leg hooked over it. Well, by the looks of it, you seemed pretty comfortable. There was no harm in letting you stay for a bit.

"Shihshishi good luck on your love life." Ruggie grinned, sending Leona a thumbs up before slamming the door close.

"Damn hyena…" Leona grumbled, plopping down next to your sleeping body. His gaze poured over your skin, gliding across the contour of your jawline before settling on your lips. Leona softly pushed down on your lips with his thumb, parting them ever so slightly.

"So, you need a True Love's Kiss…" Leona whispered, leaning in, eyes fluttering close. "I better be the only one, herbivore."

His lips pressed firmly against yours, a hand propped under your chin to keep your head up. The kiss was unusually delicate and tender for someone of his nature, such a stark contrast to his gruff personality. Leona moved closer and his hair fell over his shoulders, chestnut locks draping across your chest. Within a few minutes, Leona drew back to see if you had awakened.

You stirred, bleary eyes blinking open and he smirked. Pride swelled in his chest as he leaned down to kiss you again, his tail curling around your waist.

"You're all mine, huh?"

✩— AZUL ASHENGROTTO:

"Man, just how strong are you eels?!" Ace growled, banging his fists against Floyd's back. Both of the Heartslabyul boys were slung over Floyd's shoulder, his grip on them tight and unfaltering.

Beside him, Deuce was kicking around, trying (and failing) to get the merman's grip on him to loosen. Suddenly, one of Deuce's kicks hit Floyd square in the jaw and the eel growled.

"Neh~ Squirm around some more and I'll snap both of your legs off." Floyd grinned, his bright sharp teeth on full display. Although hesitant, the threat seemed to work as the two boys stilled, not wishing to lose their ability to walk any time soon.

"Now, Floyd, there's no need for such aggression." Jade chuckled as he approached the group with you in his arms. Unlike Floyd's manhandling, you were carried in a firm bridal carry, treated as if you were a precious piece of china or rather…an offering.

"We just got word on the prefect's condition." Jade shut his eyes, placing a hand against his chest in faux sympathy. "How unfortunate that they've succumbed to such a fate. However, lucky for you we found a solution."

"Ya need a Prince Charming right~? Well, let's have Azul do it!" Floyd cheered, slamming the two boys down onto the ground. Ace groaned, cradling his back and squinting at the tweels. "You think you can drag me into another one of those contracts?! I'm not stupid!"

"Oh, you're mistaken. This one is free of charge, no strings attached." Jade chuckled.

"Yeah…I don't really believe that." Deuce muttered.

"Why're you so damn stubborn?! Can't we just hand shrimpy to Azul? I'm sick of seeing him makin' those dumb goo goo eyes." Floyd whined.

The eel yanked you from Jade's arms and stomped up to Azul's office. He kicked the door down, nearly knocking it off its hinges.

Jolting, Azul accidentally spilled ink all over his papers. The delicate fine print he spent hours painstakingy writing by hand dissolved into large blots of ink. His eye twitched as he grit his teeth, snapping his head up to meet Floyd's gaze.

"Floyd. What in the great seven's are you—?!" Azul was cut off when the eel plopped your dozing body onto his lap. It took the octo-mer a few seconds before he registered just what happened, cheeks burning a bright crimson when he realized you were pressed up snug against his chest.

"It's your lucky day, Azul~! You get to play Prince Charming!" Floyd sang as he made his way to the door. "Shrimpy here got cursed because of Mackerel and Crab so now you have to kiss them!"

Kiss…? Azul's mind went haywire but before he could speak any further, Floyd slithered out of the room and slammed the door shut.

It's not that he doesn't believe in the cure; love is a strong thing, and he's read that it can break even the most powerful curses. Even so, how could he promise that you'd wake up?

Azul pressed a hand behind your head, trying to calm his beating heart. Did you even acknowledge his feelings?

"True Love's kiss…Well, it wouldn't hurt to try." He murmurs, raising a trembling hand to rest against your cheek. He leans down and lightly presses his lips against yours, ever so clumsy, before checking for any reactions.

Azul stares down on your drowsy body as your eyes flicker open. He stares at you owlishly before breaking into a giddy grin.

"Prefect, s-seeing as how I'm your True Love-" Azul hastily unlocked his top desk drawer, pulling out a fancy piece of paper and handing it to you. "Let's make it official with a contract."

"..."

Blinking, you looked down and read the text on the paper. Azul smiled at you expectantly, nudging a pen towards your direction.

"Azul, this is an engagement contract…?"

"Precisely."

✩— KALIM AL ASIM:

Jamil peered at Kalim through a crack in the slightly-ajar door. Seeing the poster boy for the golden-retriever personality sulking was truly a rare sight. Kalim had his head buried in his hands, kneeling by his bed which had your sleeping form atop it.

"What did you tell him?!" Jamil hissed, whipping his head around to glare at both Ace and Deuce.

"W-We just told him how we needed a Prince Charming's kiss to break the spell…" Deuce trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck. "…we figured since he was related to royalty, he could break it."

"He must have misunderstood it then." Jamil sighed, slipping into the dark room. So dark in fact that he could barely make out the silhouette of his dorm leader. Kalim had shut the drapes so tightly that not a single ray of sunshine could strike through his bedroom. How…dramatic.

"Kalim, what's the matter…?" Jamil approached the young boy, placing his hand atop Kalim's shoulder. He didn't miss the sight of the pure gold jewelry hastily draped across your neck or the iris bouquet in your hands. Well…it was evident who all those were from. You looked like you came straight out of a Scarabian version of Snow White.

"J-Jamil!" Kalim wailed, screwing his eyes shut as thick globs of tears ran down his flushed puffy face. The vice dorm leader sighed and reached for a tissue box, which he handed to the distraught boy. Kalim snatched a fistful of tissues and blew his nose loudly.

"The prefect is cursed to sleep forever-! A-And I couldn't find the cure!" He cried out in anguish. Jamil squinted his eyes. "Kalim, in case you forgot, the cure is-"

"I know! Prince Charming's kiss!" Kalim interrupted, wiping away his tears with the back of his arm making Jamil grimace. "I sent out hundreds of search parties but he hasn't been found!"

Jamil paused.

Ah. In foresight, he really should have seen this coming…

Jamil pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath to get his irritation under control. He reached for the hood of Kalim's shirt and yanked him back. Hissing into his ear, the snake spat. "Kalim, the Prince Charming is you."

"Wh-Whgat?" Kalim sniffed, his voice muffled and hoarse from his crying.

"You. You're the prince charming." Jamil groaned, running a hand over his face.

Kalim started at Jamil for a minute or two, processing what his friend just said. Eventually, he broke out into a wide smile and happy laughter.

Wasting no time, he was quick to swoop you into his arms, drawing you into a clumsy yet endearing kiss. It only took a few seconds before your eyes blinked open. He pulled away but not before pressing another quick peck on your cheek.

"So, I'm your prince charming, huh?" Kalim beamed, sending a you a silly toothy grin. He leaned down and peppered your flushed face with kisses once more, making you feel like your head was about to explode.

"Y-Yeah-" You shot him a bashful yet thankful smile.

Filled with happiness, the teen jumped to his feet and drew you into his arms. He lifted you up by the waist and spun you around, his loud laughter echoing out through the room.

"I'm so glad! Ah! But I still have to cancel all those search parties though…"

✩—VIL SCHOENHEIT:

"Tsk. This is what I said about hanging out with those hooligans potato." Vil scowled, seething in rage and looking as if he was just about to hex both Ace and Deuce for this accident. "It'll only bring you trouble."

After he was informed of the incident by Rook, he wasted no time in whisking you away from your two incompetent friends and claiming he would care for you himself. Like hell he was letting you stay in that shabby dorm of yours.

Vil eased you into a luxurious bed in one of Pomefiore's spare rooms, draping a delicate lilac blanket around your torso. His palms brushed up against your brow, softly smoothing out the creases along your brow line.

Dspite the color vanishing from your cheeks and the once bright visage that made you look so vibrant losing it's glow, Vil believed you to be ethereal.

"True Love's Kiss can wake her from the spell." Vil murmured, reading off of a page in the book Deuce handed to him.

"Hmph, if I had a Madol for everytime that was listed as a cure." This wasn't the first time he'd heard of such a thing. Vil has spend hours pouring over potionology books and you'd be surprised at just how many spells and curses have it mentioned. A tad bit overrated if you asked him.

"Though there will be no need for a Prince Charming, potato." Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small vial filled with a glimmering silver liquid.

The liquid swished around in the bottle, sparkling brightly. As you've probably guessed, this was the cure. Vil wasn't appointed Pomefiore's dorm leader for nothing. If he could make one of the most potent poisons this campus has ever seen then he surely knew how to make a cure as simple as this. It was mere child's play.

"The potion will suffice. Even a single drop is enough to wake you." He twisted the bottle open, gently grabbing a hold of your jaw to part your lips. He leaned down, holding the bottle over your face before pausing.

"As if I'd need True Love's Kiss to prove myself." Vil scoffed, eyes latching onto your face, his gaze intense yet warm. He tipped the bottle down, allowing a single drop to fall into your mouth before capturing your lips with his in a tender yet feverish kiss.

Vil eventually pulled away and hummed seeing the color and flush return to your skin. His fingers combed through your disheveled hair, undoing any knots. Your eyes fluttered open and Vil huffed, gliding his fingers along your flushed cheeks.

"Your skin is far too puffy, an unfortunate side effect of the cure. Worry not, I'll go grab a facemask for you." Vil pushed himself off of the bed, heels clicking against the floor as he marched out of the room. "A spa day is just what you need after another incident, potato."

It was all thanks to his potion that were you able to wake, he tells himself. Vil Schoenheit was not one for fairytales or wishing. He knew that he didn't need some magical curse or wish to win you over. No, he was confident he could accomplish it on his own.

As Vil eases the translucent mask onto your face, you smile brightly at him and his chest blooms in a sudden warmth.

Yes, it was definitely the potion.

✩—IDIA SHROUD:

"S-seriously, w-wh-hy me? Do I look like a Prince Charming to y-you?" Idia groaned, trying to shut the door but Ace stuck his foot through the opening. "Knock it off with the grin, geez… Weirdo…"

"We know you both have romantic feelings for each other!" Deuce shouted, holding you in his arms. "We really need your help!"

Idia shrieked, hair burning up slightly. He could barely hold eye contact with you for 3 seconds, what makes these two think that he could even survive kissing you? The poor boy would end up melting into a puddle of sad gooey awkwardness.

"J-Just wait until C-Crewel finishes the potion!" Idia shouted, shoving Ace away and slamming the door shut. His chest heaved up and down as he pressed his back against the door, arms awkwardly splayed to his sides, scrambling to keep the door shut.

His eyes ripped wide in panic when Ace continued to pound at the door, calling his name. "C'mon, Idia! Most people would take this as a great opportunity to win their crush over you know!"

"NOPE, NOPE, NOPE. COUNT ME OUT. I'M NOT GOING DOWN THE ROMANCE ROUTE." Idia vehemently shook his head, burying his face into the fabric of his shirt.

Ortho laughed silently, heading over to his distressed brother who looked like he was about to pop a vein. Scratch that, he probably already has.

"Big brother, didn't you and the prefect already go on a date?" Orthro said, tilting his head up to meet Idia's shaky gaze. "Why the big deal? It's just a small kiss."

"Th-That was different! I-I-It was a gaming session through a screen!" Idia sinked to the floor, curling up into a ball. He sobbed pathetically. "I could barely even keep my composure-No way am I surviving IRL."

"Yeah but they need you right now. You may not be Prince Charming but I'm sure the prefect would prefer you over any other." Ortho whispered, placing a hand atop Idia's own. The dorm leader's lip quivered, newfound courage blooming in his chest. He shakily stood up, knees wobbling from his nerves.

"…They need me."

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"I'm telling you Deuce, this guy's hopeless." Ace sighed, lips drawn into a thin line as he casually leaned against the door. Deuce frowned, lightly kicking Ace's shin. "Don't say such things about our senior!"

"Oh yeah? But he's-Argh! " Ace yelped falling backwards as the door abruptly opened. With a grunt, he landed on his back and found himself staring up at Idia's flushed face.

"Alright, n-normies. I-I-I'll d-d-do it."

Idia stepped aside and let Deuce enter his room. Anxiously fiddling with his hands, Idia watched the first-year carefully set you on his bed before stepping out of the room.

"We'll leave everything to you!" The two scurried away and Ortho also excused himself, leaving to give you two privacy. Idia stood in the middle of his room, a great distance away from you.

Alright, he could do this. It was just a simple little kiss, no biggie.

Hovering his shaky hands over your cheeks, Idia leaned over your form. His breath fanning across your face as he moved in, delicately brushing his lips against yours.

Your hands snaked around his neck, drawing him in deeper making the boy squeak. Pulling away, Idia averted his gaze, voice small and meek.

"H-Hey you. You're finally awake…"

✩—MALLEUS DRACONIA:

In a tall tower atop Diasomnia, an ominious green glow was emanating from an open window. Thick towering brambles, thorns, and vines wrapped itself around the brooding dorm. In the sky, claps of lightning and thunder flashed amongst the darkening clouds.

"Ah…we lost the prefect." Deuce deadpanned, his gaze fixed on the overgrown thick shrubs in front of them. Ace reached for a thorn, hissing as the tip of his finger was cut.

"Yeah..it's best if we leave them to Malleus, I don't think we can even get past all of…this."

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Lilia stood in the corner watching as Malleus tenderly placed you onto the bed, the dragon fae handling you as if you were a delicate piece of glass that could break at any second.

"Ah~ Are you going to be their Prince Charming? Khee hee, how ador—"

"Lillia, we need more pillows. There's hardly enough here." Malleus abruptly cut in, a stern look on his face.

Lilia blinked, gaze drawn over to the bed already filled to the brim with pillows of all shapes and sizes, so much so that some of them began pooling around the floor. All evidence of Malleus' nesting instinct.

"What a tragedy. There is to be a pillow scarcity in Diasomnia because of the devastation lay upon the prefect." Lilia replied, a dramatic theatrical sigh leaving his lips. He hurried out the door to meet Malleus' requests before the storm outside worsened. The dragon fae was already aggrevated, there was no need to make things worse.

Malleus' gaze was drawn to your serene expression, his aching heart plummeting to his stomach. Bending down, he softly cradled you in his arms. "Oh, my treasure, if only I could have prevented this."

He buried his face into the crook of your neck, pressing kisses amongst your skin before trailing them up to your lips. Fluttering his eyes shut, Malleus wrapped his arms around your waist, lifting you off the bed as he pressed his lips firmly against yours.

Malleus drew back to see you ogle at him with with wide eyes, your fingers having immediately shot up touch your tingling lips. Chuckling, he bent down once more to press his lips against yours. You two exchanged kisses for what seemed like hours, the press of his lips against yours leaving your lungs burning and heaving for air. At some point he slipped into bed with you, holding himself above your body with his elbows.

"Khee hee, You two know it's supposed to be a 'True Love's Kiss' not 'Kisses', right?" Lilia barged into the room, a comically large pile of pillows in his arms. Malleus growled and tossed a lamp his way, one which Lillia dodged easily. The lamp shattered against the wall behind him, scattering into fragments across the floor.

"Ah ah, there's no need to be so furious. Let me just drop these off and I'll be on my merry way." Lilia cheered, dropping the pillows by the foot of the bed. He reached into his pocket and pulled out an old bulky camera. "Might as well take pictures!"

Snarling, Malleus drew his hand back to reach for the large painting sitting above the bed. You snaked a hand around his wrist, silently begging him to not hurl another object at his bat-dad.

"My baby boy is in love-OW!"

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✩— EXTRA:

"What did I say about keeping them out of harms way." Crewel snarled through clenched teeth, sitting in the detention room with both Ace and Deuce. Ace chuckled awkwardly, shrugging his shoulders.

"Well if you look on the bright side, your kid finally has a love life, so there's that!"

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