#coat glasses hair im in love

[darinsa]

Isabelle Adjani on the movie set of "Le Locataire", 1976

[spagheddiesquash]

oooh theyre looking at u… furrowing their brows…. im sorry that expression is like my own dreamworks face its just really fun to draw. drew this bc i wanted to test out these cool free procreate brushes that i found on pinterest.

EDIT. reblogs >>> likes!! if u like it pls reblog so more ppl see it tyyyy

[not-equippedforthis]

finally nailed down what my clothing aesthetic (or aimed style) is.

fantastic mr fox

[queenerdloser]

triguns stampede is so so so beautifully animated but wow they came right out of the gate with the fucked up storylines huh. trigun og at least let us pretend we were in a silly western with a weirdo lameguy protag for like two seconds, but stampede say nah actually we’re getting all the weird fucked up familial shit out there right out of the gate!!!! i respect them for that!!!!

[swytdoll]

glasses. thinking about loser! choso who begsssss you to ride his face while he wears his glasses. nsfw bc im a freak, face ridin’, bj, public sex, sub!choso. drabble. minors do not interact!

loser!choso whom everyone labeled as weird. he often exhibited awkwardness, frequently stumbling over his words and never truly finding his place among his peers. the students on the rather small campus often speculated about how he had managed to win your affection, ultimately attributing it to financial means. they found it difficult to believe that someone like choso kamo could be with someone like you without some form of concealed advantage.

choso’s awkwardness was often the subject of whispers and jokes, but you saw past all of that. you saw the kindness in his heart, the way he would go out of his way to help others, even if it meant making a fool of himself. you appreciated his genuine nature, his ability to make you laugh, and the way he looked at you as if you were the most precious thing in the world.

choso was also great in bed. shockingly so. at first you could barely believe how great it was, how great he was. you didn't know how to explain it, but you couldn't get enough of it.

“oh cho,” soft moans continuously bubble from your raw throat, hands shakily pulling against dark roots as you glide swollen lips across his face. clammy fingers grip into your plush thighs, pulling you harder against his mouth as he sucks on your clit, his nose digging into your slick folds, tongue hungrily lapping. “feels so good,” your head hangs low as you bite your lips, a poor attempt to stifle your whines in the back of the library.

he loves the way the rims press into the sides of his face and dig into the bridge of his nose with each roll of your thick hips. his face soaked, your wetness covering his chin. his glasses foggy, yet his eyes never leave yours. he watches you come undone above him, his cock achingly hard. his mouth watering as he licks his lips clean of you.

still quivering, you slide off of him, kneeling on the floor. effortlessly your fingers pull him through the zipper of his jeans. he gasps when you grab his base, and begin stroking him. his breaths are ragged, back arching, hand fisting his backpack beside him as he bucks his hips into your warm palm. “m’not gonna last i-i-fuckkkk.” you’ve barely touched the man and he’s already falling apart. sweat beading down his forehead despite the temperature in the old building being a cool seventy.

he pulsates, pre cum oozing out of his slit and dribbling down his pretty shaft, coating your fingers. “it’s okay baby boy.” you hum softly pressing a kiss to the tip, swiping your tongue along the head, tasting him. a long drawn out whine has him clamping his hands over his mouth, hips stuttering.

“oh my god, oh my god.” he’s an incoherent mess as you slowly take him in your mouth, inch by inch, until you can feel him hitting the back of your throat. choso is huge, the thickest you had ever had and it was always a struggle to take him fully.

he grunts as you start bobbing your head up and down, his head thrown back and his toes curling in his vans. you hollow your cheeks, sucking him, stroking his base, using your spit as lube to slick him up. he’s close, you can tell by the way his hips are thrusting lazily into your mouth. his thighs tense and his balls tightening. you continued your ministrations, your free hand cupping and rolling his heavy sack, squeezing him.

“love you s’much!” his hands pull gently on your hair, tugging you off him as his release spurts all over his chest. you pant, your glossy eyes wide and your pupils blown, hand steadily pumping him through his orgasm. “that’s it sweet boy, let it out.”

he’s seeing white as his head tilts forward. he watches with a gulp as you run your finger along his cum covered chest, scooping some of his release and pushing it past your lips, licking it off your fingers. he can’t help the blush that paints his cheek and you chuckle, tucking him back into his pants with a forehead kiss.

loser!choso, who really loves his girlfriend and also really needs a new shirt.

𝑅𝒮𝐸𝒫𝐸𝒯𝒜𝐿𝒮 all rights reserved. comments, reblogs and likes are highly appreciated ♡︎

[shotmrmiller]

ps!ghost x of!f!reader au :)

It hadn't even been him who found you. It'd been Kyle.

Look at this lush little doll fuckin' herself on your cock.

Simon's chilled glass clinked on the marble tabletop of the bar as he placed it down, brows furrowed in response. He hadn't even gotten the chance to ask what the fuck Kyle was doing watching porn in public because he slid the phone over in a flash, and as soon as Simon's gaze shifted to the phone, his words instantly lodged into his throat.

You really were fucking yourself on his cock. Well, a replica of his cock. Simon found himself unable to look away. You were riding it, puffy lips spread wide as your cunt took every thick inch of the toy. The way you undulated your hips with every rise and fall had a familiar hunger gnawing at his insides, your fingers— so much smaller than his own— circling your bundle of nerves stoked the fire in his lower belly.

His tongue felt thick and heavy in his mouth when he noticed your soft thighs begin to tremble, the pace of your hand, glistening with your slick— oh, he'd pay for a little taste— quickening as you reached your climax. His teeth sunk into his bottom lip the same way he knows yours did too (it's a shame you're hiding that face of yours, he'd love to see if your eyes cross as you peak), and before the video got to his favorite part, Kyle quickly swiped his phone back.

Johnny's here. Wave 'im down.

Bastard. Good thing he took note of your name.

He'd signed up that same night and tugged his cock to that same video, this time with volume. You keened so prettily, a voice like honey and milk. Gasps when you lifted yourself until just the tip of it remained inside, mewls when you lowered yourself until your lips were flush against the silicone balls (those were inaccurate, he had a full, heavy set thank you very much). Simon stroked himself at your pace, a muted groan escaping him when you gave the toy a pointed thrust, cunt squelching as you did.

The sound you'd made as you climaxed was exactly like he'd thought it'd be, a hiccupped noise that came from the back of your throat, so real, genuine. It'd easily tossed him over his own edge, muscles taut and stomach tight as he spurts thick ropes of warm spend on himself, coating his dark trail of coarse hair under his navel and pubic area.

His cock had barely begun to soften, the loud ringing in his ears starting to fade when he came to a startling realization.

You'd whimpered his name— his stage name— as you hit your peak.

Simon quickly rewinds the video back a couple of seconds and watches intently as your hand stutters, frothy white desire at the base dribbling down in viscous drops (seriously, just a taste), your breath hitches, and—

There.

A warbled, slurred Ghost.

Well, well. Lucky him. He sends you a hefty tip, (for your service, pet) and turns on notifications for your profile. He'd hate to miss a live video of yours.

(His mind is already whirring with the thought of fucking you on his bed, just to see for himself if you really can take him the way you did the replica.)

[comatosebunny09]

carpe noctem [ climax ] | sylus

— summary: sylus drags you onto a mission with him for old time’s sake. and you slide into familiarity, almost like there isn’t a wedge in the form of a beautiful young hunter driving you apart. — cw: explicit sexual content, reader is not mc, reader implied to be femme, assassin!reader, mentions of blood, profanity, mentions of pedophilia, mentions of human trafficking, minor character death, men with guns, reader has a shitty past, self-destructive behavior, reader doing her assassin duties, a little romance sprinkled in between, mdni — notes: inspired by mr. & mrs. smith. thank you so much for reading, lovely! [ part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 5 | part 6 ] — now playing: cariño - the marías — obligatory tags: @withering-dream @an-ever-angry-bi @midiplier @abbylee0710 @picnicthegarden @karespocketboyfriends @chrissy26 @delulusimps @glamouroki @midiplier @celestemcbrim @everywherenothere @ari-shipping-stuff @beewilko @alexhenituse @nim-rose @moonlight-inthe-sea @sunnyf4lls @himiko-omikami @inkonparchment @sillyfreakfanparty @regandoesthings @im-in-different-universe @ravensheart18 @alyyylog @corvid007 (sorry if i missed anyone.)

He wanted to make love. You wanted to fuck.

He wanted you, all tender and pliant beneath him, his name hinged in your throat. He wanted to worship you, to uncover the erogenous zones of your body piece by piece, and to expose you like forgotten treasure buried deep beneath rotting ruins. 

But you reasoned you didn’t have time. You were in a hurry—a hurry for what, exactly, you couldn’t pinpoint. 

Perhaps you were rushing to feel something, in a hurry to please and to feel useful as you tore his shirt from his shoulders, his body rigid and searing between the thick of your thighs. Pleasing is all you know, serving embedded in your chemical makeup, no room to pursue your own desires. 

Your mouths came together so abruptly that your teeth clashed. The counter of his kitchen island was glacial and tacky beneath your thighs. You’d barely divested yourself of your coat before you drew him into an ardent dance of tongues, his abs twitching beneath the artful crawl of your fingers. You tugged at the give of his pants, quietly yet vehemently demanding he take them off. He drew back, wild-eyed and hair mussed, eyes drowsy with want.

“We should slow down,” he sighed, hot and open-mouthed where your shoulder met neck. Blistered down to your collarbone where he nipped, hands roosted on your hips, thumbs soothingly cruising over juts of bone. 

It made you sick, his tenderness. You weren’t glass and didn’t deserve to be handled like it. 

You chuckled something husky and bitter, tossing your thoughts to the wolves. Your fingers raked through his hair. Grabbing the scruff of his neck, you brought his mouth back to yours, trapping any further words of protest in his throat. 

You didn’t want to think. Didn’t want complications. Just wanted to be driven by sensation, tucking your inhibitions into the darkest hulls of your mind. 

You’re a bit of a masochist. You enjoy punishing yourself for misdeeds you’ve constructed in your mind—having feelings for your boss, secretly envying your friend. Your use is slowly running its course, and you’ll one day be thrown to the wayside. 

You figure you don’t deserve kindness. Sensitivity. You don’t deserve a slow love, the steady creep of an orgasm bubbling in your stomach, evoked by the sluggish grind of hips, words of affirmation whispered like the sweetest supplication into your ear.

No.

You deserve to be used, lusted after. You’ve spent most of your adult life with that mentality, your past having engraved that under your skin. You’ve been a weapon for as long as you can remember. A tool. Loveless. Which is why, when the gentleman who’d frequented Lux wanted to take his time with you, you declined, opting for something more ragged and intense. 

He took you hard and rough on his counter at your behest. Left you open, bare, laughing, battling to get your breath under control. You stayed the night to humor him. Let him hold you as he stroked the sweetest compliments of all with ghostly fingers into your skin as the stars in the sky gave way to the gentle spill of sun rays. 

You crept out of his arms and apartment once he sank below the misty shawl of sleep. He’d inquire about your whereabouts later—ask why you didn’t stay. You rarely did. Tonight, you felt weak. 

You’d ignore him until you next needed him. When the urge to forget sunk its talons into your chest, curling around your heart and squeezing. 

You had a mission to prepare for. Sylus’ name lit up your notifications, cryptic as ever with minimal words. You’d deal with your feelings later. 

There was work to be done.

Besides, you didn’t even remember his name. 

How could you face him when you’d uttered someone else’s name while he was deep inside you?

—

You pay for your escapades in the form of pretty petals of blue and green blooming on your neck the following night. Bite marks. 

You rub at the raw skin for the nth time, a hiss forced through grit teeth. Maybe he was a little too rough. Concealer works wonders, coupled with your glamor. Still doesn’t take away the sting, but you suppose the pain is your punishment for being weak.

You stretch, yawning. Shift until the leather of the car’s backseat squeaks. You sense his eyes on you in your periphery, boring down to the marrow. The fine hairs littering your body stand on end. You maneuver again, leant against the door, cheek propped on your knuckles, avoidant as ever.

You try to focus on the scenery unfolding beyond the car’s windshield. Powdery stars spilled over a deep violet canvas. The red glare of brake lights every so often as you approach another vehicle. Try to focus on the driver’s fingers readjusting on the steering wheel, on the fixed hum of the engine, and how it intermingles with the gentle bumps on the road. Home in on your breathing and the thunderous drum of your heart. He’s been watching you like this since you eased into the car—Sylus. 

You get this creeping suspicion he wants to say something. Like he knows all your secrets, having perused through them like they’re the yellowed pages of a book. Nah. He wouldn’t know what kind of night you had. He wouldn’t care. You’re a grown woman, capable of making your own mistakes and reaping the repercussions of them. He has other things on his mind—other people. 

Another yawn escapes you. You curse yourself for not grabbing coffee on your way out. Too busy pouring yourself into your dress, painting your face with makeup, and meticulously tucking your weapons away. 

“Long day?” says Sylus. You jolt the slightest bit at the grit of his voice. How it breaks up the silence and sets your stomach alight with dragonflies. Fabric shifts. His exhale is weighted beside you, thigh brushing yours as he spreads his legs, so very big in comparison to the backseat. 

You force a smile, smoothing out the wrinkles of your dress. “You could say that.”

You feel the shift in his gaze. There’s a whisper of bitterness in his tone when he next speaks. “Maybe you should spend less time pursuing your hobbies at night and more time sleeping.”

This time, you do turn. Cut your eyes to him, mouth tugged up with confusion. His expression reads passivity. Mouth scrawled into a rigid line, scarlet eyes fixed to yours, unrelenting. Something’s off about him tonight. You sensed it in the brevity of his call when he phoned you to outline your mission—you’d be accompanying him tonight to a banquet. A glittering, amenable doll on his arm, smiling pretty like murder wasn’t rotting your mind. You’d lure your target away to be snuffed out like a candle’s flame. Slip out without drawing suspicion, and the world would be rid of another shit stain. 

He quirks a brow, wordlessly challenging you. No customary smirk comes this time. Just the air weighted with something tense. Your throat clicks when you swallow. You opt for obliviousness, laughing it off despite the gnarling feeling in your gut worming its way up your throat. Despite every synapse in your brain screaming for you to fire back. You’re reading too much into things. He’s being his usual, detached self, and not because he knows you were up to no good last night.

Right?

“Maybe I should.” 

The tendons in Sylus’ neck pull, jaw tensing. For a moment, he looks like he wants to keep prodding. But he instead averts his gaze when the driver chimes in, announcing you’ve arrived at your destination. 

The venue’s tawny spotlights dance over the windshield as the car crawls to a stop. People donned in expensive formalwear line the sidewalk, animatedly chatting as they await entry. You take some time to admire the historic, art deco architecture before your door opens, the crisp evening air spilling in and fanning over your skin. 

You look up when Sylus offers you his arm. His expression softens considerably, contrasting the wet cat he was moments ago. There’s a hint of a smile twitching his lips. He almost looks boyish, and you can’t help taking him in. He’s dressed to the nines, tucked in a three-piece tux, bow tie meticulously tied, hair swept up into a pretty, alabaster coif.

Your lips spasm. You peel yourself from the seat, gathering up the trail of your dress. Twine your arm with his, allowing him to shepherd you through the throng of people. It almost feels like old times, their voices petering to a hush when they catch sight of you. They part like a school of fish as the pair of you make your way up the steps leading to the venue’s doors.

“Stay frosty,” you joke to dispel your nerves, standing before the heavy, double doors, waiting for the attendees to open them. 

Sylus snorts, his arm flexing beneath the possessive clutch of your fingers. He pinches the bridge of his nose. And the exasperation in his voice makes your eyes crinkle with mirth. “Please, never say that again.”

You slide into familiarity thereafter, almost like there wasn’t a wedge in the form of a beautiful young hunter driven between you.

—

She said something curious to you when you arrived at the airport earlier—Ms. Hunter. You had the time to spare. You wanted to ask why she requested you drive her instead of Sylus. But you didn’t push it, figuring she had her reasons. Maybe she didn’t have the energy for his nagging, his fretting. She should be so lucky. 

She’d be gone for a couple of weeks, swept up in the grueling task of protecting researchers in the mountains from Wanderers. A part of you felt sorry for her. Worried. But she was a big girl. If she could smack Sylus around in Kitty Cards, she could dodge a few teeth and claws, no problem. 

“Need help?” you asked over your shoulder, the SUV’s engine humming idly at the airport’s drop-off point. 

She smiled at you from the backseat. “I got it!” she chirped as she fetched her oversized suitcase from the floor. 

She rounded the vehicle, bowing to your level at the window. Up close, her smile looked more mischievous than usual. Smile lines bracketed her honey-dipped eyes as she murmured, “Be nice to Sylus. He’s trying, ya know?” 

You pinned her with a quizzical look, your mouth working around a retort. She left before you could get a word out. You watched her slip through the crowd of travelers milling about before she was out of sight, leaving you to mull over what the hell that meant.

—

It starts to make sense as time passes what she meant. 

When you’ve gorged yourself on conversation and champagne, nestled between politicians, CEOs, socialites, and people of the like. Fickle, spewing gossip you can’t be bothered to keep up with. 

Sylus rarely leaves your side, only slipping away to chat up old colleagues or to procure you more bubbly. Always has a hand, scorching and possessive, at the small of your back, or an arm slung about your waist, drawing you into the safety his body exudes. He doesn’t correct anyone when they address you as his, giving you a subdued, amused look when you work your mouth into amending them.

You titter shyly, toying with your necklace. Maybe this is a part of your cover—pretending to be his significant other, all pretty and docile at his side. You won’t complain. It’s nice being this close, feeling wanted, and being envied in a different way. Not for your body, but for the man wrapped so willingly around your finger. 

It’s felt like ages since you’ve last done a gig together, so you’ll enjoy his attention, even if it’s all a ploy, while you can.

The evening slides by in a blur of twinkling chandeliers and laughter. 

Sylus draws you into a dance, and the pair of you are swallowed up by the mass of swaying couples and the string orchestra. Your cheeks ache with a smile, your limbs and inhibitions loosened by the champagne. He holds you to him as you waltz, his body rigid and devastating against yours, languorous fingers curled around your nape. He hasn’t stopped smiling, a boyish dimple cratering his cheek. Hasn’t released you from the scarlet stir of his eyes since, and you smoosh your face against pectoral muscle, hiding the warmth splotching your cheeks.  

His heart thrums something steady beneath your ear. Beneath the expensive pleat of his tux. Breaths even, his bewitching scent furling in your chest like smoke. You let him lead you about the glittering marble tiles of the dance floor, feeling like you’re in a dream. Perhaps it’s the bubbly that’s got you toddling through a dreamlike fog, but a fraction of you starts to think, just for a second, you’re more than a cover, and your boss isn’t so detached, shoving you to the back burner in favor of someone else. 

Your breath is sharp when he suddenly peels away, expertly twirling you. You laugh as your dress flutters around your ankles, nearly tripping you up. He dips you as the music dampens, the beautiful scenery tilting and blurring. Swathed in the tawny lighting of the banquet hall, you make out his features, something akin to affection loosening his expression, and the smile slips from your face. 

The world fades away, and only the pair of you seem to exist in this moment. He pulls you closer until your vision fills with red, fringed by dark, wispy lashes sweeping over cheeks mottled pink. His lips purse as his gaze slides to your mouth, breath stirring your baby hairs. You hold your breath as he eases in, appearing like he’ll kiss you, and you’re stricken by something hot. Your mouths but a hairsbreadth apart, he whispers something that makes your heart sink to your feet.

“It’s showtime.”

The magic of the moment falls away as he steadies you. A pout worms its way onto your face as Sylus tangles your fingers together, a chuckle swelling in his chest. He leads you back to your table, still holding your hand, even long after you’ve returned to your seats and the event’s host takes to the stage to introduce a guest speaker.

—

Nikolai is easy to manipulate. To bend to your will. Of course, he is. All men are if you know how to approach them. 

It helps that your glamor erases a few years off your face, giving you the appearance of a young woman barely experiencing the world. His favorite. It only takes you fluttering your lashes, laughing pretty, and flattering him to get him to take you back to his hotel room.

On the surface, he’s a passive, middle-aged man who looks like he wouldn’t harm a fly. But beneath that facade, he’s a scourge waiting to be wiped out. He’s as despicable as everyone else you’ve bumped off, auctioning off girls to nefarious men under the guise of selling “harmless little dolls.” Moonlighting as a franchise owner, using his stores as a ruse to smuggle young girls through the channels of the underworld. 

You take that personally, having once been on the auctioning floor yourself. Memories of a past painted red flood your mind, and it makes your stomach churn with disgust. You were lucky then, having been turned into a murderous tool rather than a fucktoy. So, it makes sense why Sylus was so eager to get you on this mission. Like he knew you’d take pleasure in watching Nikolai’s life drain from his eyes, his blood caked up under your nails. 

Your smile twitches, threatening to screw up into a grimace as you walk at Nikolai’s side, arm in arm. He’s red-faced and cheery, having gorged himself on champagne and merriment at the banquet. You would’ve snuffed him out if four bodyguards didn’t flank you. Not like you can’t take them, but you’d rather complete your mission as quietly as possible without rousing suspicion.

You just have to keep up the act long enough to isolate him so you can make your move. He’s been ruffling Onychinus’ feathers, claiming to be in cahoots with its notorious leader. Sylus, of course, doesn’t like that, not wanting to be associated with the likes of him. This is where you come into play, his ever-faithful watchdog, ready to kill at the drop of a hat.

Nikolai ushers you into his hotel room, where three more guards stand in good form in the living area. You acknowledge them with a seductive smile, allowing one to frisk you. Your smile grows tenfold when he finds nothing, clearing his throat and straightening his tie as if he’s fallen prey to your charm. Someone should be fired.

Nikolai leads you into his room thereafter, the double doors shutting and locking with finality. You offer him a massage, to which the portly man happily accepts, stripping down to his boxers and plopping onto the king-sized bed. He has a thing for pretty, young girls barely scraping the surface of legality. You’ll see to it he’s ushered into the afterlife by one.

Your hair waterfalls from its updo, warm as it spills onto your shoulders when you pull your hairpin free. You ruck up your gown, climbing over his body to roost yourself on his backside, legs bracketing either side of his waist, heels digging waning moons into your thighs. You’re sultry as you ensnare him in small talk, fingers kneading over layers of fat and muscle. Nikolai hums appreciatively, seemingly thrilled to have your company. Just the way you want him.

Your fingers tip-toe up his spine, thumbs smoothing over the notches of bone there. He exhales beneath your ministrations, remarking how magical your hands are. You huff a laugh as your fingers curl around his jaw, the opposing set burying themselves in his hair. 

“Massaging isn’t the only thing my hands are good at.”

With a fluent twitch of your wrists, his neck snaps, the sound barely heard above the gentle croon of the jazz music he queued up beforehand, accompanied by the exhale of a life dying out like a flame. 

You pull his eyelids down, easing off his lifeless body. Stare at his corpse with a faraway look in your eyes, smoothing some hair away from his face. Like he’s a sacrifice to the little girl inside, screaming for revenge. You straighten your dress when the bedroom doors rattle, Nikolai’s men frantically calling his name. Shit. Maybe you weren’t as meticulous as you thought. 

Quickly, you survey your surroundings for a way out. Spot the sliding doors leading to the balcony, and you dart between them, the wispy curtains grazing over your fevered skin. A wintry kiss of wind greets you as you lean over the rail, hair ruffling, and you take in the bokeh of lights glittering on the street below. 

You’re at least eight stories from the ground, so jumping is out of the question. You could very well fight your way out, but Nikolai’s guards are heavily armed. There’s no guarantee you’ll make it out of the fray unscathed. 

You lean back against the rail, adrenaline spuming through you, watching the bedroom doors pulse as his guards kick and shove against them. Fuck! Tugging a knife from the garter belt tucked beneath the slit of your dress, you prepare for a fight, body taut, nerves flaring. 

Just when you’ve resolved to get your hands dirty, something feathery touches your bare shoulder. Gentle and curious in its embrace, and you whip your head around to its source. You’re met with a smoky tendril, speckled with claret orbs of energy, swirling ominously before you. You peer over the railing, a familiar shock of white blurring into frame. There’s no mistaking the upward cant of his lips, and the crinkle of scarlet-spun eyes from this height. He motions to you with two fingers from the sidewalk, wordlessly beseeching you to come down.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you mutter, a nervous expression stretching your features. Heights have never been your forte, but you suppose beggars can’t be choosers. “Fuck it,” you relent, gathering some courage and climbing onto the rail. 

Nikolai’s men finally break through, and as they dart in, spraying the room in a hail of bullets upon seeing Nikolai’s corpse, you fall into the feathery cradle of Sylus’ Evol, a yip ripped from your throat. 

You float to the ground like a feather, falling into Sylus’ arms. He looks down at you with something unguarded shining in his eyes, using his Evol as a shield when Nikolai’s men pelt the pair of you with a barrage of bullets.

You lose yourself in the moment. Your lips part, lids heavy with something you can’t quite place. 

“Took you long enough,” you chide to dispel the tension brewing between you, trying to catch your breath.

“I’ll be more punctual next time,” Sylus answers with a chuckle, voice rumbling against your body as he casually walks away from the scene, refusing to put you down, even long after he’s warped you to safety. 

rising action | masterlist | climax 2.0

[vmlnrzmp4]

𝘣𝘭𝘶𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘤𝘬 𝘥𝘢𝘥𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘥𝘰𝘤𝘵𝘰𝘳 𝘸𝘪𝘧𝘦.

requested by: @illyria2004

itoshi sae

"tadaima~" you say tiredly and quietly, hoping that your family is asleep. instead you were greeted with with little natsuki running up to you and hugging your waist before you could even enter the house, "you're awake princess," tho tired, you pick her up, showering her face with kissys to make it up for not being there for her for the day.

"welcome home," sae said nonchalantly—tho there was a hint of annoyance—as he takes natsuki from your tired self, "you're late."

"duty calls," you take your shoes off and enter the house. natsuki wiggles out of her papa's hold and runs to bring you a glass of cold water, "thank you, princess~"

"ma, play dolls with me!" she says enthusiastically but a yawn betrays her, "i waited the whole day for you!"

"tomorrow," sae says, "ma is tired now. and so are you," his words were firm but it was also an excuse that said: its my turn to spend time with your ma.

you knelt to her level, holding her chubby face in your hands as you promise that you'd play barbie dolls with her all day tomorrow. you pinky promise. and give her millions of kissys—ok not millions—all of them on her chubby little face. "off to bed now. go go go~"

she yawns again, getting a kissy from her papa as well before she runs off to her bed.

"you spoil her so much with your kissys."

"she deserves them," you say, getting up as you smile up at him which gets him so so annoyed because then that makes him hug you from behind, kissing your nape as he whispers:

"spoil me too."

itoshi rin

"oh no," a message dings up your phone, "i've to go," you say, getting up as you rush to grab your coat.

"...but you just got back." rin looks at you, pausing the horror movie that both him and sakura were watching on the couch.

"i know but," you hastily wear the coat, "duty calls."

both of them get up, rin almost glaring at you, "you always do this..." he mumbles, "always leaving us behind."

"itoshi rin, are you sulking?" you tease—trying to lighten up the mood but failing. sakura runs up to you, hugging your waist, telling you not to leave.

you crouch to her level, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, "i'll be back before you know it," to make it up—you place so many kissys on her face, making her pout disappear as she bursts into little giggles.

you hear a small 'hmph' from your husband. standing up, you make your way towards your him, "riiiin~" you tilt your head, teasing him with a smile but he simply looks away. "i'll be back soon hmn?"

"you always say that."

"it's not that, rin. it's just—"

"i get it. you've to save lives." he sulks, "go."

you grin, placing a quick kissy on his cheek, making his cheeks go pink, "be home soon."

"i will," you pick up your bag, ruffling sakura's hair, "ma loves you."

"sakura loves you too ma!"

you give her a small smile before heading towards the door. you turn to your husband one last time. i love you. you whisper, making his cheeks heat up more as he runs a hand across his face.

isagi yoichi

"papa! look what i learnt!" little yuki says as she runs to her papa who was watching a soccer match on the tv—now attention fully on his princess.

"whatcha learnt, yuki?"

yuki wore your lab coat, along with fake stethoscope and a doctor's cap, "first, im gonna treat teddy chan's booboo."

"oh no," her papa says, turning the tv off, "what happened to teddy chan?"

"wound," she says, "while playing soccer. but is okie! 'm here!" yuki tends to teddy chan's booboo on his leg, "ma said to wrap it tight, but not too tight."

yoichi chuckles, "all done?"

"not yet!" yuki says, placing teddy chan down, "now i'll show you cpr."

"cpr?" yoichi says, amused, "you know cpr?"

"mhm!" yuki hums, checking teddy chan if he's breathing or not. not breathing, "i'll show you now..." yuki places both her hands on teddy chan's chest, pressing down with her strength, "one, two, three..."

after performing cpr, she pats teddy chan's head, "all done! he can play soccer now!"

yoichi claps, genuinely impressed, "wah~ the operation was successful."

"tadaima~"

"ma!" yuki calls excitedly as you immediately rush to her to shower her with kissys, kissing your husband's cheek too so he doesn't feel neglected.

"doctor yuki tend to teddy chan's booboo," he says, "and performed cpr."

"mhm!" yuki cheers, "im gonna be like ma when i grow up! and play soccer like papa!"

"perfect," yoichi picks up his daughter, "best or both worlds."

michael kaiser

"papa...papa wake up," anne's little arms shake her papa's sleeping form, desperatly trying to wake him up. michael stirs, his arm reaching out to the side of the bed which was unfortunately empty.

he rubs his eyes, turning to face his daughter, "what is it princess?"

"mama still working," she pouts, "kitchen table."

michael sits up, looking at anne whos bottom lip was jutted out, "'m worried, papa."

michael gets up, putting on a robe as he picks his daughter up, making way to the kitchen where he sees you working on the medical charts in the dim light.

"angel," he calls, making you look up, "come to bed."

"just 10 minutes more," you say, going back to the charts, "i need to finish this."

michael places anne down as she immediately runs to you, pulling on your sleeve, "i miss you ma. wanna eep with you and papa today please."

you exhale, flashing her a small smile, "count 10 minutes, ma promises she'll be there. me and papa will give you lots of cuddles."

"you've been saying that," michael interrupts, "it's never 10 minutes."

"michael, please understand—"

"10 minutes," he halts you, "and that's final. c'mon anne."

while you work, your daughter and husband wait in the living room.

"papa," anne calls, pointing at the clock, "10 minutes done," she says sleepily as he hums.

both of them make way to the kitchen, seeing you already asleep uncomfortablebly by the table, "y/n..." he runs his hand through his hair.

"papa," anne tugs on his robe, "ma fall asleep."

"ma works too much," he says, making his way towards you, "she's too hard on herself." he says, placing a kissy on your temple, he couldn't help it.

you lightly stir, "i fell asleep...on no..."

"no more of it angel," michael picks you up with ease, "no more work."

"mihya no—"

"mihya yes," he says carrying you.

"papa strong!" anne giggles as she follows, "ma promised cuddles!"

"that right, she did," he carries you to bed, "and im gonna make sure she keeps her promise."

you exhale, knowing you can't win against them.

michael carefully places you on the bed, anne crawling between the two of you as her papa pulls blanket over the three of you. michael places a kissy on his daughter's forehead as well as yours as the three of you cuddle.

"love you papa, love you ma."

"love you my princess, my angel."

taglist: @anuverse @luciddre @kongkhoi @illyria2004 [open]

[snoopychris]

lunch date

warnings: sexual activities in a public place, orgasm denial, matt is a Freak with a capitol F.

in which... well you'll see.

this was so…

dirty. wrong. dangerous. risky. fun.

five different words running through your mind. the only other thing you could think of was matt.

your science teacher had so much trust in the both of you. he was so hopeful that if he left the room to go to his meeting everything would be just fine. everything was not fine. it started out innocent. it was supposed to be innocent.

it was supposed to be a simple game of “doctor.” the lab coat was right there! how were you supposed to go on with your day without slipping it on over your outfit and doing a check up on matt?

if anyone walked in right now, they’d see the way that you were hoisted up on one of the black science lab counters, desperately gripping onto matt’s hair. the scrunchie you previously had on your wrist stuffed in your mouth at an attempts to keep you quiet. it was not working.

for someone who had no sexual experience, his tongue sure was working magic. his grip on your thighs was tight, not tight enough to leave marks, but tight enough to hold you close. one finger was consistently pushing in and out of you, an unusual sensation, but not an unwelcome one. if you were being quite honest, the added fear of being caught almost made you more aroused. matt, who you barely felt was breathing, could definitely feel it.

“matt… matt… matt…” you whimpered, your name slipping through your lips like it was your favorite song. he simply hums in response. he glances up at you for a moment but then goes back to his previous actions, this time taking your clit into his mouth. you gasp at the feeling, further tugging on his hair. “y-you gotta… you gotta breathe baby.” you manage to speak, trying your best to pull him away.

despite your best efforts, matt continues eating like a starved man and his grip on your thighs only tightens.

“can breathe just fine.” his words send a shiver to your core. you should tell him to stop. that lunch is almost over. but you know he’ll tell you how he’s not done eating. not yet anyway.

and then just when you’re on the brink of getting pushed over the edge. just when you’re about to experience the release you’ve been so desperately waiting for… the bell rings. your mouth drops open in shock, the scrunchie touching the floor. matt chuckles when you speak. “matty please don’t stop.” and then he does. he pulls away like nothing even happened. he wipes his lips smoothly and adjusts his hair and glasses, sitting down at his desk. youre in nothing but utter disbelief. you want to strut over and tell him to just do it. that you don’t care if lunch is over. you only care when Mr. Harrison walks back into the room after his meeting.

“you guys okay? didn’t miss anything too interesting did i?” he asks. and matt can do nothing but chuckle and smirk.

dividers by: @issysh3ll

tags!: @ifwdominicfike @frankoceanfanpage @mattssslutbby @sophand4n4 @matthewsturnsgf @izzylovesmatt @m11rx @chris-hallelujah @sturniolotoast @mattsbrat @wastelandzella @le4hsblog @mattsd0llfac3 @st7rnioioss @isabellewhatt @sturnslutz @chrisscoraline @m4ttg1rl @princessesgarden @ikyoudreamofme @allylovescody

a/n: you guys r SLUTS holyyyy shit. i love u all so dearly thank you all for 400. when i get home im gonna make my blog so cute trust.

[beloveds-embrace]

PLEASE,….,, im begging you give me a break from the duchy au angst PLEASE GIVE ME SOME FLUFF

We all need a break 🙂‍↕️ here you go, anon! 💗

Dukedom au masterlist (not yet fully updated)

The first snow of the season finally fell and blanketed the grounds of Price manor, transforming the estate into a true winter wonderland. You stood by the frosted window in the sitting room, wrapped in a warm shawl, watching the flurry outside with a soft smile. The warmth of the fire behind you offered a comforting contrast to the icy world beyond the glass panes, the crackle of burning wood a soothing ambience that eased the mind.

It was a rare moment of stillness in the manor, with no pressing duties or social engagements demanding your attention. Your fingers traced absent patterns on the windowpane, thoughts wandering here and there until the sound of a throat clearing drew your attention.

Johnny stood in the doorway, a handsome grin tugging at his lips. His cheeks were flushed from the cold, and a hint of snow dusted his dark hair. He stepped towards you, grin softening into something fond. “Lass, ye look far too peaceful. Fancy a bit of fun in the snow?”

You raised an eyebrow, amused. “Fun in the snow? Johnny, I hardly think-”

Before you could finish, Kyle appeared beside him, a resigned but equally amused expression on his face. “He’s already dragged the stablehands into a snowball fight. You’d best join, my lady, before he wreaks havoc on the entire household.”

Your laughter bubbled out before you could stop it. Kyle had snow all over his shoulders. “And you? Did he rope you into this as well, Kyle?”

Kyle’s lips twitched, his tone as dry as ever. “I’m merely here to ensure no one ends up with frostbite. Or worse, Johnny getting pelted by a snowball with rocks in it again.”

“That happened one time!”

It was then that Simon strolled in, adjusting his coat. He cast a critical look at Johnny, and then shook his head. “You’re dragging the Duchess outside in this cold? She’ll catch her death.”

“Not if she bundles up properly,” Johnny huffed, grabbing your hand and pulling you towards the coat rack. “C’mon, love, live a little!”

Your protests were half-hearted as he helped you into your newest winter cloak, his enthusiasm infectious. Kyle and Simon waited, and even helped bundle you up further until the warmth on your cheeks were more from kisses than being fully covered.

Within moments, you were outside, your boots crunching against the fresh snow. The air was crisp, the sky a pale gray, and the laughter of the staff echoed from the gardens. They greeted you as you passed, smiles and excitement clear on them.

John stood on the veranda, his hands in his pockets, watching the chaos with an indulgent smile. His sharp eyes softened immediately as they landed on you, snow dusting over your cheek already, giggling as Johnny aimed a snowball at Simon and missed spectacularly.

And then Johnny and Simon both turned their focus on you.

“You’re enjoying this far too much,” John called as you ducked behind a hedge for cover, joining a maid who grinned and helped you begin preparing snowballs.

“Come join us, Your Grace!” you called back, cupping your hands around your mouth.

His smirk widened, but he shook his head. “I’m better as a referee, my love.”

Kyle, ever practical, soon found himself roped into the game despite his earlier protests. You shrieked as he launched a surprisingly, scarily accurate snowball your way, only for Johnny to step in and shield you with his body, dramatically flopping into the snow as if mortally wounded.

“Go on without me, lass,” he groaned, sprawled on the ground. You and the maid watched him, giggling. “Tell my story… tell my bairns not to forget me…”

Your laughter rang out, bright and unrestrained, and you offered him a hand. “You’re ridiculous, Johnny.”

“Aye, but ye love it.” He replied with a wink, and checking that everyone else was sufficiently distracted and the maid has left, tugging you down into the snow beside him just for a few moments.

Simon joined soon after, his usual composed demeanor giving way to competitiveness as he and Kyle teamed up against Johnny. Even John eventually relented by your insistence and a little pleading pout, stepping off the veranda to orchestrate a proper snow fort building contest.

Hours passed in a blur of laughter and play just like that, the biting cold forgotten in the warmth of shared joy. By the time everyone slowly returned indoors, cheeks ruddy and clothes damp, the sitting room felt like a haven. You beloved, ever-attentive Kyle was the first to fetch a warm blanket for you, draping it over your shoulders with a small smile.

Johnny disappeared into the kitchen, reappearing a while later with steaming mugs of cocoa for everyone. “Best remedy for cold fingers, bonnie.” he declared, pressing a mug into your hands and then a kiss over your temple.

Simon settled beside you, his arm draped casually along the back of the settee, along your back, and you lean into him with a soft sigh. “You’ve got snow in your hair, darling,” he murmured, gently brushing it away.

John watched the scene from his armchair, chest warm and content. The sight of you, nestled among the men he trusted and loved most, your laughter lingering in the air, was enough to make him feel like the luckiest man alive.

As the fire crackled and the snow continued to fall outside, you leaned back, your heart full. Your eyes fluttered shut, dozing in and out of the river of dreams, and though the conversations around you continued they made sure to lower their voices. You could feel a familiar hand, gentle and careful and wholly Kyle, caress your cheek.

And with joy still lingering in your veins, warmth curling your chest, you fell asleep safe and happy.

[somepsychopomp]

Not an ask but I absolutely adore your Vampire au! After the whole ep with The Star, I was just constantly imagining of a scenario where Simon is alive and well, and joins the VK's court alongside Marcy.

I was waiting for someone to make a fic about that or just an au in general (I'm not the best at writing but I do consume a lot of fics lol), and then I stumbled on your blog and I found exactly what i've been looking for!!!

I just rlly like all the little tidbits you shared already, so I made some fanart for it, if you don't mind. It's mostly just V!Simon though :>

FANTASTIC OMG IM ACTUALLY DYING TY TY TY ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

I love all the outfits you made for him, I feel like they'd go really well with the ones we see Star!Marcy wearing! My favorite has to be the red one, its so regal and beautiful especially with those gloves and those ruffled cravat/sleeves/coat!

(That middle look in the second pic looks more like a survival outfit, me thinks Simon might don it during an escape attempt from the hive or maybe in the rare times he's out doing work for the king)

I also love the big fluffy braid but his BUN tho 🙏🏻. I've seen pics of Simon in the AT comics with his hair up but him w/ that & the white hair is just something else, its sooo good

I also really like his half moon glasses, a small shake up from his ordinary round ones. Its such a small difference but I really like the way they look on him!

Thank u so much for sharing your art!!

[muneca-lemon-steppa]

Alfie noticing that guys who are way younger than him (like Michael? John?) having a thing for reader, who is close to age to these young gentlemen but has only eyes for ol' man Alfie? Thoughts?

Near Deadly Sin

Alfie Solomons x F!Reader; fluff

AN: IM BAAAAACCCCKKK hello my loves it’s taking me forever to write again but I’m glad to be back. I miss you all and hope you all are doing well!!! MUAH - Mo

No. No this acidic flame burning between his ribs is not jealousy.

Not at all.

The embers stoked in his chest. The flames licking up his neck and around his ears. These are normal… manly… sensible reactions.

Alfie had been invited for ‘drinks’ with the Shelbys. He had refused adamantly, and was only coerced upon your promise to accompany him and to never. leave. his. sight. As if you would ever be far from him or out of his thunderous gaze. But as he is sitting across from Thomas and Arthur and Polly, he is regretting ever bringing you near this nonsense. This den of wolves and snakes. The murmurs of Thomas faded like the crackle of a radio as he focused in on John Shelby’s lustful gaze over you. With every sweep of his young and unbridled eyes and suck of his teeth, Alfie became more and more enraged. Not that you noticed. You didn’t notice John’s roving eyes or the quickening pulse of your husband next to you. You were content sipping the tea Polly served, making quiet conversation with Ada in the corner, holding a babbling Karl.

Alfie knew there was supposed to be a deal or something tonight. Or maybe an update on a job. Or something. It didn’t matter. Fuck the business. Fuck the Shelbys. Fuck John Shelby. Fuck it all. Standing quickly, pushing through the screaming pain of his back, Alfie grunts, “Darling get your coat. We’re done here.”

Your head spun, “Meyn Likht?”

“Up. Coat. Now. Cyril needs us.”

You press your lips in a firm line. Holding back your tongue from lashing at him for his impromptu exit. You knew what he actually meant. Thinking of Cyril was his code for indicating murderous intent that needed to be snuffed out immediately. You watch Alfie as you slip on your coat, going to Thomas to whisper something just out of your reach. Had you heard him, you would have heard the volcanic timber of his voice promise, “You control that little brother of yours Tommy yeah? It’s against holy law to look at another man’s wife like he been doing. Will have to go back to Mosaic law if he don’t shape up.”

With heavy stomps he approaches John, who is trying yet failing to keep a stone expression. “You keep them eyes to yourself little boy. Or someone may just take ‘em from you.”

“Darling? Cyril needs to be let out and will not wait for you!”

With a firm pat on the cheek Alfie turned away, gripping your waist firmly, hand as hot as a brand on the skin under your dress.

-

It’s late now, Alfie is fuming under the crisp sheets and thick quilts layered living on the soft bed. He’s pretending to read. Putting on his glasses and taking them back off again to stare at the ceiling. You emerge from the bathroom, face flush from the hot water, and hair pulled away from your bare shoulders. Arms crossed across your chest, you sit on Alfie’s side of the bed, “You want to talk about it like a grown up now?”

He huffs and shifts lower into the bed, as if to hide from you. With a shrug you walk back to your side, shuffling your sock feet across. You crawl back in bed, back to Alfie to let him fume. It was better than fighting with him to get him to share his feelings.

“He was looking at you.”

“Well Karl is a baby darling.”

“Not Karl! John fucking Shelby! Little bastard was undressing you with his eyes! And you said nothing!”

Ah… there it was.

You let yourself sit up to look at your husband’s face. Folded up into himself, glasses precariously balanced on his nose, cheeks ruddy from rage. Jealousy was his greatest sin and vice. Bigger than rage. Bigger than his love of rum. He was an only child and as such he grew into a man who did not like to share. Not even your image. You curled up next to him, like a cat preening for attention. “Meyn Likht… I didn’t even see him. You shouldn’t be jealous of a figure of vapor.”

“What you don’t notice the… the young men just staring at you? Gapped mouths like dead fish?”

“Those children?” You hum, gently kissing his scruffy jaw and temple.

“Those… men closer in age… to you.”

With that you crawl into his lap, looping your arms around his broad shoulders. “Darling… what could I do with those men? I’d break them.”

“Break them?” He chuckles, gripping you tighter.

“They’re too soft. Too pretty. No. I like my men… rougher… more sturdy… someone who can stand strong and not worry about their pretty face getting dirty. I like my old man.”

“Do you now?”

“Love him even. Deliriously in love with him. Couldn’t live without him.”

Before you could take another breath, he was on you, kissing all over your face, tickling you with his rough beard and mustache. “Good Lord woman you make me feel 20 again.”

[awearywritersworld]

the three times gojo thinks he might be in love and the time he knows for sure

gojo satoru x reader summary: title says it all w/c: 1k tags/warnings: ft baby megumi. fluff, then some more fluff. gumi refers to reader as mom. one curse word. brief reference to canon typical violence. a/n: i am ridiculously soft for this man. he needs a hug masterlist check out my latest work for gojo here

the first time it happens, it's the dead of winter and you're both still teenagers. it's the year before the star plasma vessel mission, when everything in gojo's life feels like it's falling into place. he has friends, real friends, for the first time in his life.

you drag him, kicking and screaming (it's all for show, he'd go anywhere with you), out to a snow covered field. you innocently beg him to turn off limitless, and of course he acquiesces, only to be pelted in the face with a snowball.

he throws himself into the snow upon impact, arms flailing dramatically. "i'm dead! you've killed me!"

you join him on the ground, arms out stretched and nudging the fabric of his coat. "hm, then i guess i'll have to drink all the hot chocolate by myself-"

"i have returned to the living realm!!" he shouts, shooting up into a sitting position. "had to fight god for it, told 'im i couldn't bear to leave my (y/n)-chan!"

"oh, you are so full of shit," you accuse with an amused smile.

you gaze at one another as the snow falls around you silently, both somehow feeling warm despite the frigidness of the air. his glasses have slipped down his nose, giving you a glimpse at his eyes. you're thinking about how the flakes blend in with his lashes before melting away entirely. he's thinking that he might be in love with you.

~~~

some time passes before the second instance, which takes place in the spring. gojo makes his way around campus, looking for wherever you and megumi ran off to. the small boy has been attached to your hip ever since gojo brought him home two years ago.

when he finds you, you're both splayed out in the grass and pointing up at the clouds.

"that one looks like a dog!" megumi exclaims excitedly.

"and that one looks like it might be his ball, don't you think?" you question. he agrees wholeheartedly with an enthusiastic nod.

after awhile, megumi sits up, rubbing at his eyes. "can we go inside now, mom?"

there's a split second he doesn't realize what he's said, but when it dawns on him, he looks down right scared. "'m sorry!"

your features soften and your heart soars before you're gathering him up in your arms.

"oh, my sweet boy," you coo.

rocking him back and forth, you hold him for a few passing moments. he hides his face in your chest, his hands gripping onto your shirt as if it's his life line.

you pull away just enough to see his face. you'd do anything to stop the tears swimming in his eyes, just like any mother would. "you can call me whatever you like 'gumi."

"p-promise?"

"yup!" you assure, bopping his nose with your pointer finger. it earns a small giggle.

gojo watches as you rise from the ground, megumi's head now resting on your shoulder and his arms around your neck. you're humming as you walk back toward the buildings.

gojo's legs are like lead and his heart feels as if it's shifted up into his throat. for the first time, he thinks about getting married, about having a family. your face is at the forefront of every image that forces itself into his mind.

~~~

the third time happens in the dead of night. megumi is asleep and the two of you decide to watch a movie, but you're yawning before he even presses play.

you sit so close to him that you can feel the warmth radiate from his body and although you fight to keep your eyes open, you can't help but be lulled to sleep.

he tenses for a moment when your head lands squarely on his shoulder. it seems as if you're both frozen, but then you let out a soft snore as your body shifts and your hand moves to his stomach. he finally relaxes.

your hair had fallen across your face and he pushes it back behind your ear so that he can see you. he tries to ignore the urge to brush his fingers across your cheekbone, or over your bottom lip. he fails.

gojo remains still for hours, and it feels strange to the usually hyperactive man, but he's terrified of disturbing you. terrified that you'll pull away from him and he'll never get to feel like this again.

he lets that stupid movie play through twice, but he spends most of the time stealing glances at you. he does eventually turn the tv off and the only sounds that remain are the trill of summer crickets outside his window and your soft, slow breaths.

he has no idea what time it is when he falls asleep, but when he finally does, he dreams about that day in the snow.

~~~

leaves fall at your feet as the two of you make your way down the sidewalk. every now and then, your fingers brush against his and it makes his heart skip a beat. he wonders (hopes?) if anyone has mistaken you for a couple.

you come across a familiar mansion, one that the two of you exorcised together as teenagers. it feels like a lifetime ago. you stop at the gate, a bronze glint on the ground catching your eye.

crouching down, you brush away shades of orange and red to reveal a memorial for all the people who had died on the once cursed property.

"for the lives that were taken here, and for the lost soul who took them... may they rest now in the afterlife."

gojo scrunches his nose, about to make some comment about how pitiful it was to commemorate a cursed spirit, but the words die in his throat when you look up at him with watery eyes.

"this is so beautiful," you remark, turning back to the engraved words.

he shoves his hands in his pockets, peering down to read over the words once more. maybe he'd missed something?

"this community was so fearful, remember? people lost friends and family here." he nods even though you aren't looking at him, watching how your fingertips move across the words as if you're considering them further. "the spirit scared them and it stole from them, but they still regard it with sympathy and kindness.. it takes strength to do that, you know?"

he feels his chest tighten as he registers your words. for a fleeting instance, he feels like an asshole for ever finding it pitiful, but that was the thing. you have such an easy way about you, a sort of gentleness he had yet to find in anyone else. the time he spends in your company seems like the only respite he ever gets from the horrors of the world.

he hasn't answered you yet, so you look back to him expectantly. "don't you think it's beautiful, 'toru?"

god, he could fall to his knees right then and there. he could roll over and die on the chilly concrete and he'd consider it a privilege to have died by your side.

i love you. i love you. i love you. those are the only three words his brain can muster.

"yeah," he finally chokes out. "it really is."

[itneverendshere]

Just saw the new popular movie ’’This ends with us’’ and I beg of you to draw from the actual beautiful love story, so pure! So same concept of the love story: Pouge!Rafe has been kicked out by his mom and her abusive boyfriend, Kook!Reader sees him homeless & hiding. Reader does small acts of kindness, which builds up to a romance but they separate for whatever reason (could be because they get discovered, he joins the military, like the movie, or something different). It could also be reversed with Pouge!Reader instead being homeless, you pick! Years go by, Reader meets an abusive partner, she bumps into a now grown up Rafe. Lots of angst, lingering feelings and longing, he sees the signs of abusive and gets protective. But without the movie plots of reader getting pregnant and married) I adore and worship your writing skills, truly have a gift to make you feel all the emotions!! <3333333

INVISIBLE STRING - r.c series (one)

i loooove this request because pogue!rafe so i decided to turn into a mini series (two or three parts). im personally not a fan of it ends with us, but i love your requests bc it's still very different from the original plot.

pairing: pogue!rafe x sweetheart!kook reader. chapter warnings: domestic violence; absent parents; angst; fluff.

Rafe was born rough around the edges.

There was never any sugar-coating about it; with his hair always messy, sun-bleached and salty, and his hands perpetually stained with the grime of whatever job he'd taken up that week, Rafe Cameron had never known peace. He moved like a stray dog that had learned to fend for itself, his eyes always scanning for trouble. 

Most people kept their distance, and he liked it that way.

There wasn’t much softness in his life. His mom tried her best, he supposed, but that wasn’t saying much. She had a new boyfriend every few months, and they were all the same — mean, drunk, and looking for a fight. Rafe learned early on that if you couldn’t fight back, you were nothing. So he fought. A lot.

He fought the men who walked into their house at night, stinking of cheap whiskey and cigarettes. He fought the kids at school who called him trash, who mocked the way his clothes never quite fit or how he always seemed a little too hungry. But mostly, he fought himself — every time he looked in the mirror and saw his father’s eyes staring back at him. The man who left and never looked back. 

Another piece of shit. 

He kept his head down, kept his hands busy, and kept his mouth shut unless he had something to say. He wasn’t nice. Nice got you nowhere; nice got you used, broken, and left behind. He had seen it too many times to believe otherwise. The world wasn’t a kind place, and he wasn’t a kind guy. 

Most days, he’d finish work covered in sweat and salt, with just enough money in his pocket to get by. He'd dropped out of school years ago and head to the docks, sit on the edge, and smoke a cigarette while the sun dipped below the horizon.

The only real moment of peace he had.

Rafe took what work he could find — fixing up old fishing boats for the few Kooks who’d dare come down his side of the Cut, pulling shrimp nets in the dead hours of the morning, his back aching and his muscles screaming at such a young age, but at least it was better than being home. If he could call it that.

Home, where his mom was probably passed out again, where the latest loser she'd dragged in might be passed out on the couch or looking for a fight.

He could hear them shouting before he even got to the door. His mom’s voice screaming her throat out, and he could hear something crashing inside — a glass, maybe, or a plate. Then came the matching scream of the new boyfriend, Tony or Tommy or something — they all blurred together after a while. Rafe paused on the porch, his hand hovering over the door handle, debating whether it was worth going in at all.

Inside, she was standing in the middle of the living room, her face flushed, her blonde hair a mess. Tony stood over her, fists clenched, his face red and veins bulging in his neck. 

Rafe knew that look. 

He’d seen it before — seen it in a dozen men who thought they could push their weight around, thought they could break whatever they wanted.

“What the hell’s going on?” 

Tony turned, eyes narrowing. “None of your damn business, boy.”

Rafe took a step forward, his fists balling up instinctively. “If it’s in my house, it’s my business.”

His mom spun around to face him, her eyes wild and desperate. “Just stay out of it, Rafe. You always have to make things worse!”

He felt the sting of her words. He should be used to it by now. “I’m not the one who brought this piece of shit in here.”

That was all it took. Tony lunged at him, shoving him hard against the wall. Rafe felt the air rush out of his lungs as pain flared in his back. “You watch your mouth, punk,” Tony hissed, his face inches from his, his breath a disgusting mix of beer and god knows what.

“Or what?” Rafe shot back. If there was one thing he’d learned, it was how to keep his anger in check — at least most of the time.

Tony’s eyes flicked to his mom, like he was making a point, and she just stood there, watching. He’d lost his faith in her a long time ago but it still blew him away how she never lifted a finger to help him. 

“Get out,” she said finally, hand moving to point towards the bust-up wooden door.

“What?” Rafe blinked, caught off guard. He must’ve heard her wrong.

“You heard me. Get out!” She was shouting now, her voice high-pitched and desperate. “I can’t have you here, always stirring things up! You make everything worse!”

It had to be a fucking joke. He was the only one bringing in money to pay the rent, the only one who kept the house clean enough so it wouldn’t look or smell like someone died in there. Paid the hospital bills when they hit her too hard. He did everything, always. 

Tony shoved him again, harder this time, toward the open door. “You heard her. Get the hell out.”

Rafe stumbled backward, catching himself before he fell. He looked at his mom, his chest tightening in a way he hadn’t felt since he was a kid. “You’re really gonna choose him over your own son?”

She wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Just go, Rafe. I can’t do this anymore.”

He forced himself to nod. He almost wanted to laugh. “Fine,” he muttered, pushing past Tony and heading for the door. “Don’t call me when he sends you to the hospital again.”

He didn’t look back. He couldn’t. The moment he stepped outside, the wind hit his face like a slap, the kind that made his eyes sting and his heart pound. Things had never gotten to this point before. He would’ve rather taken a beating then get kicked out. 

He walked, hands stuffed into his pockets. He didn’t know where he was going, just that he couldn’t go back. Not now. Not ever. He’d die before he begged his mother or Tony to let him in that shithole again. His feet took him along the edge of town, past the marina and the fishing docks, and eventually, he found himself in the wealthy part of town, near Figure 8.

It was ironic, almost funny.

The Kooks lived here, the ones who wouldn’t give him the time of day if they saw him on their streets. And here he was, a beat-up pogue, walking right through their territory, angry and suddenly so damn tired.

He spotted an old, abandoned house, sitting at the end of a street where the mansions stood tall and proud. He had walked by it a few times before and noticed it had been empty for years, the paint peeling off in strips, the windows boarded up, and the grass overgrown. He crossed the street, glancing around to make sure no one was watching, and pushed the broken gate open. The hinges squeaked loudly, proving just how long it had been since someone had been there.

The front door was unlocked; it opened with the slightest push. Inside, it smelled of dust and mold, but it was dry, and it was quiet. It was enough. He made his way to a small room in the back, what must have once been a kitchen. There was an old sofa left behind, covered in a dirty sheet. He pulled the sheet off, threw it in a corner, and sank onto the sofá, finally breathing properly. 

He stayed there, staring at the cracked ceiling and the empty walls, wondering how the fuck he was going to get himself out of this one. 

For the two next days, he moved carefully, quietly, in and out of the house. He didn’t want anyone to know he was staying there. He wasn’t getting his ass thrown into jail again. He found a way in through the back window, kept to the dimly lighted areas, and avoided the main roads. He didn't have much — a few changes of clothes, some cash from odd jobs, and his dad’s old pocketknife, the only thing he had left of the bastard.

It was on the third day that he saw you.

He was sitting on the front steps, having a cigarette, when he heard the sound of a bike chain clicking. He glanced up, and there you were — riding a yellow bike, hair pulled back, and eyes glued to him as you pedaled down the street.

He stiffened, quickly stubbing out the cigarette, his heart rate picking up. You were one of them, a Kook, from one of the mansions just a block away. He’d seen you before, always biking around town, sometimes with friends, sometimes alone.

He didn’t know you, didn’t even know your name, but he knew the type.

You saw him, too, and slowed your bike. His first thought was to get up and disappear back into the house, but he knew that would look suspicious. So he stayed put, trying to look casual, as if he belonged there.

You stopped a few feet away, still on your stupid bike, one foot on the ground to steady yourself.

“You live here?” You asked, not in a mean way, just curious.

Rafe’s jaw tightened. “Yeah,” he lied, “Why?”

You shrugged, “Just… didn’t think anyone did. Looks pretty empty.”

He tensed, waiting for you to say something like, “I’m going to tell someone,” or worse, to start asking more questions. But instead, you just gave him another curious look, nodded, and biked away.

Weird girl.

The next day, you were back. This time, you had a bag with you. He watched you approach, wary. You stopped in front of the house and took something out of the bag — a sandwich, wrapped in paper, and a bottle of water.

You held them out to him, a gentle smile on your face, “Figured you might be hungry.”

He thought maybe you were just trying to make yourself feel better, some Kook guilt thing, like feeding the stray cat in the alley so you could pat yourself on the back for being such a nice person.

And he hated that. Hated you for even thinking he needed your stupid charity. So he gave you every reason to leave him alone.

When you handed him that sandwich, he barely even looked at you.

He just grabbed it and then turned his back, heading into the house without another word. But the next day, you were there again. And the next.

He started making it obvious he didn’t want you around. He’d grunt when you said hello, roll his eyes when you tried to make small talk.

One time, you offered him an apple, and he snatched it out of your hand without a word, just to see if you’d get annoyed enough to leave. You didn’t. Like some fucking saint.

Instead, you kept coming back, like some sort of annoying, persistent fly he couldn’t swat away. Every time, your smile was a little nicer, your eyes a little more curious.

He didn't get it. Why the hell were you still trying? Didn’t you get it? He didn’t want you here. Didn’t want to talk to you. Didn’t need shit from a Kook.

“What’s your problem?” he muttered one day when you showed up with a bag of groceries.

You blinked, “What do you mean?”

“You keep coming back here like I asked you to. I didn’t. I don’t need your charity.”

You raised an unimpressed eyebrow, still not leaving. “I’m not doing charity. I jut figured you could use a little help.”

He scoffed, turning his back on you again. “I don’t need anything from you, princess.”

You hesitated, then placed the bag on the steps anyway. “Well, it’s here if you do.”

He snorted, rolling his eyes again. “Great. Another pity gift from the rich kid. Thank you so much,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

You clenched your jaw, but still didn’t leave. He expected you to finally get the hint, but you just shook your head and walked away.

The next day, you there you were. And the day after that. Always bringing something, always with that same annoying, stubborn smile.

By the end of the week, he was done. You rolled up with another bag, and before you could even open your mouth, he let out a loud groan, throwing his head back. 

"For fuck’s sake, don’t you have anything better to do than bother me every damn day?”

That was it — you snapped.

Your eyes flared, and you stepped in closer, voice getting louder. "Will you just eat the damn food before I throw it in your face?" You shouted, cheeks going red with frustration.

He blinked, caught off guard. He didn’t expect you to clap back.

You’d been silent and too sweet for his liking. Most Kooks would’ve run back to their fancy houses by now, but you were still standing your ground, fists clenched, breathing heavy. Cute.

He almost laughed. Almost. “What’s your deal? You think you’re some kind of hero bringing food to the poor pogue? You think you're gon' save me or something?”

You glared at him “I’m not trying to save you, jerk! I’m just trying to be a decent human! Maybe you should try it sometime!”

He stared at you, face set in a deadpan, but he felt something— something he hadn’t felt in a while. Respect, maybe? But for some reason, he didn’t tell you to get lost.

Instead, he snatched the bag out of your dainty small hand. “Fine. I’ll eat your stupid food. But don’t think this changes anything,” he muttered.

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms. “Oh, trust me, I don’t.”

You both stood there in this weird silence for a minute, glaring at each other. Then you shook your head, and smiled like you hadn’t read him to filth ten seconds ago. “See you tomorrow, Rafe.”

What? You knew his name?

He watched as you rode away and he realized he was grinning, just a bit. For the first time in weeks, he didn’t feel completely alone.

And somehow, that pissed him off even more.

Days turned into weeks, and you kept showing up, like a plague.

No matter how much Rafe grumbled, no matter how many times he rolled his eyes or muttered under his breath, you just kept coming back. It was always something small — fruit, a bottle of water, a warm meal in a container. Every time you showed up, you had that same stubborn look in your eyes, like you weren’t going to back down no matter how much he pushed you away.

He hated to admit it, but he started to look forward to your little visits. He hated even more that he noticed things about you. Like how your hair fell in your face when you leaned over to hand him something or how your laugh sounded when he said something sarcastic. He noticed the way you seemed to care, even when he made it clear he didn’t want you to.

One day, you showed up with a duffel bag. Rafe looked at you suspiciously as you parked your bike and slung the bag over your shoulder.

“What now?” he grunted, eyeing the bag like it might bite him.

He could tell you were nervous and that weirded him out even more. Since when could he read your mind? 

“I was thinking… maybe you’d want to come to my house. Just to shower and get some real rest. My parents are out of town, and y’know, you could use it.”

He stared at you like you’d grown another head. “You want me to come to your house?”

You nodded, looking a little unsure now, hands tightening around the bag’s strap, “Yeah. Just for a bit. I thought you might like a break from this place.”

He scoffed. “And why the hell would I want to do that? You think I’m gonna be some charity case you can parade around to make yourself feel good?”

You sighed, clearly getting frustrated. “No, Rafe. I just thought… I just thought you might want a hot shower. But if you don’t, that’s fine.”

He usually cleaned himself up near the docks, but the water was freezing during this time of the year. Every time it felt like his balls were going to drop to the floor. So yeah, a hot shower in a big mansion sounded tempting.

Even if he didn’t want to give you that satisfaction.

A hot shower… a real bed, even for a little while. He hadn’t had that in what felt like forever. He looked at you again, trying to figure out if this was some kind of sick twisted plan, but all he saw were those stupid glowing eyes staring him down like he’d be dumb to refuse you. 

“Fine,” he muttered, standing up. “But just for a shower. And if you try anything weird, ’m outta there.”

Your nose scrunched up, “As if.”

Your house was everything he expected from a Kook — big, clean, and way too fancy. He felt out of place the moment he stepped through the gigantic door, like he was tracking mud on a white carpet. You led him upstairs, pointing out the bathroom.

“You can use this one. Towels are in the cabinet, and I’ll leave some clothes outside if you want them.”

Rafe grunted in response, still unsure why he was even there. He went into the bathroom and locked the door, leaning against it for a moment. The place smelled like lavender or some other fancy soap he couldn’t name. He turned on the shower, and the hot water poured out instantly, filling the room with steam.

He stripped off his dirty clothes and stepped under the water, hissing as the heat hit his skin. But then he relaxed, letting the water wash away the grime, the salt, the exhaustion he’d been carrying for so long. He stayed under the spray longer than he should have, almost losing track of time.

When he finally got out, he saw the clothes you’d left outside the door — a plain t-shirt and sweatpants, nothing flashy, but clean. He put them on and headed back downstairs, finding you in the kitchen, making coffee.

You looked up when he entered, “Feel better?”

He shrugged. “I guess.”

You handed him a cup of coffee, and he took it reluctantly, still waiting for the catch. But you just sat across from him at the kitchen island, sipping your own cup, not saying anything.

He found himself watching you, noticing the little things again.

The way you tucked your hair behind your ear, the way your fingers tapped against the mug when you were thinking. He hated that he was noticing, hated that he found any of it interesting. He took a sip of the coffee and scowled when it tasted good, because of course it did.

“You do this shit for everyone?” he asked, breaking the silence.

You looked at him, “What do you mean?”

“This.” He gestured around. “Invite random guys to your house, make them coffee, act like you care.”

You laughed, a light sound that made his chest feel weird. “No. Just you.”

He didn’t know what to say to that, so he just looked away, taking another sip of coffee. He didn’t do nice. He wasn’t used to nice. This was weird.

You kept doing these little things for him — small acts of kindness he didn’t ask for and definitely didn’t deserve. You’d leave extra food by the house when you knew he’d be there, sometimes even a blanket or a pillow you said you didn’t need. You’d offer to let him use the house again, and every once in a while, he’d accept, hating how much he craved the simple comfort of a shower or a bed.

And all the while, he stayed the same — gruff, sarcastic, always trying to push you away with his attitude. But you didn’t go. You took his crap and came back.

One night, after a particularly rough day where everything seemed to go wrong, he found himself standing outside your house again. Your parents were out of town again, and he didn’t have anywhere else to go. He hated that he was here, hated that he needed this, but he knocked anyway.

You opened the door, your face lit up with that familiar smile. “Rafe,” you said, voice warm. “Come in.”

He liked the way his name sounded on your lips.

He hesitated, but he did. You led him to the living room, and he noticed a few things this time — the family photos on the walls, a vase of flowers on the table, the soft throw blanket on the couch.

Your home was nothing like his, but it felt… safe.

They sat in silence for a while, and he noticed how you didn’t bother him with questions, didn’t try to fix anything. You just sat there, close but not too close, letting him breathe. He found himself looking at you more, catching the way your lips curled up at the corners, how your eyes seemed to soften whenever they landed on him. He felt something strange, something he hadn’t felt in a long time.

He sat on that big couch, staring at his busted-up hands, trying to ignore the way his heart pounded in his chest. You were just a few feet away, eyes flicking over to him now and then, like you were waiting for him to speak. But he didn’t know what to say.

He felt… uncomfortable. Not because of the place, or you. No, never because of you. But because of this strange feeling that kept crawling up his spine, making him feel restless.

You were sitting on the arm of the chair, legs tucked under you, looking at him with that familiar, gentle expression that made him feel like maybe he wasn’t such a screw-up. He didn’t know what to do with that. You were the kind of girl who should have nothing to do with him. Yet here you were, again and again, showing up, like you didn’t know any better.

He cleared his throat, trying to push back whatever weird tension was building between you. “So… your parents,” he muttered. “They’re out of town a lot?”

You nodded, sighing, “Yeah. They travel for work. I’m used to it.”

“Must be nice,” he said, but his voice came out rougher than what he was going for. He didn’t know how to do gentle and he was still half-convinced you were going to kick him out or tell him you had enough of his crap.

“Sometimes,” you replied, “But it gets lonely, too.”

He wasn’t expecting that. He glanced at you trying to read you. He knew you weren’t looking for sympathy; you were just stating a fact.

He wasn’t sure what made him ask, but he did anyway. “Why do you keep helping me?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “I— I don’t know. I guess… I just see something in you. Something good.”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “There’s nothin' good in me.”

“There is,” you insisted. “I see it. Even if you don’t.”

He felt his chest tighten, and he had to look away. “You’re wrong.”

“Maybe,” you said quietly, “but I don’t think so.”

He feel your eyes on him, could feel the way his pulse was racing under his skin. He hated it. Hated that he wanted to believe you, wanted to feel whatever it was you seemed to see in him.

“You’re too good,” he muttered. “Too good for someone like me.”

You laughed softly. “You don’t know me as well as you think, Rafe.”

He glanced up, surprised by the boldness in you. You were so soft most days it always threw him off when you took the reins. You were closer now, leaning forward just slightly, eyes fixed on his. He felt that breathtaking tension tightening again.

Before he could think better of it, he spoke, voice coming out meeker than what he was going for, “You really think there’s somethin' good in me?”

You nodded, not taking your eyes off of him for a second, “Yeah, I do.”

He swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry. He didn’t know what he was doing, didn’t know what possessed him, but before he could stop himself, he reached out, his hand finding yours. You didn’t pull away. Didn’t flinch in fear or scrunched up your nose in disgust.

Instead, your fingers tightened around his, and his breath caught in his throat.

“Why?” he asked again, desperate.

 “Because I just do.”

Something snapped in him then, something he’d been holding back for too long. He moved closer, his other hand reaching up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing against your delicate skin. You didn’t pull away again, only leaning into his touch. 

He hesitated, just for a moment. “I’m not— I-I’m not a good guy,” he murmured.

You smiled again, softer this time, the way he hoped you only did for him, “I don’t need you to be.”

He didn’t get it, but he didn’t have time to figure it out.

He leaned in and kissed you. It was clumsy at first — just a touch of lips, a bit hesitant. But then you kissed him back and suddenly he understood those stupid cliché novels his mom used to read when he was younger. He’d never kissed anyone before. 

He was too aware of how inexperienced they both were, of the way his lips barely brushed against yours. He felt stiff and unsure, like he didn’t know if he was doing it right. But it felt right. It wasn’t smooth or perfect — there was hesitancy and uncertainty, but it was real. He felt your hand touch his cheek, your fingers warm and trembling just a little.

His hand slid from your cheek down to your neck, pulling you closer, fingers curling into your hair. He couldn’t get enough. It was messy, frantic, his heart racing like it was trying to break out of his chest, and for once, he didn’t care. He felt your breath hitch against his lips, the warmth of you pressing into him, and all the walls he’d built up, all the reasons he’d given himself to push you away, disappeared. 

Your hands found their way to his chest, fingers gripping the fabric of his old shirt like you didn’t want to let go, and that did something to him. Made him feel more alive than he had in a long time. Every time he kissed you, it was like he was drowning in you, like nothing else mattered except for this — your lips, your skin, the way your body pressed against his.

He pulled away, just for a second, eyes wide and breathing heavy, like he couldn’t believe what had just happened.

He looked at you, cheeks flushed, lips swollen and wet from the kiss, and damn, you looked beautiful. More beautiful than he ever let himself admit before.

But then you smiled, that same heart-shattering smile, and it was like you were pulling him back in, “You don’t have to be afraid,” you whispered.

“I’m not…” he started, but even he didn’t believe it. Because he was. He was terrified as hell of this, of you, of the way you made him feel like he wasn’t a complete mess. But before he could say more, you kissed him again, and this time, he didn’t hold back.

He didn’t think about what he should or shouldn’t be doing, didn’t overanalyze the way his hands moved from your waist to your back, pulling you closer until there wasn’t any space left between you. You melted into him, your body warm and soft, like you belonged there and he felt like he was burning up from the inside out.

His hands roamed, exploring, memorizing the curve of your waist, the way your body fit so perfectly against his. Every little sound you made, every breathless gasp, made him feel like he was on fire.

You broke apart again, both of you panting, and he rested his forehead against yours, eyes closed, trying to catch his breath.

“This is crazy,” he muttered, his voice all shaky.

You giggled, the sound making his chest tighten in the best way.

“Maybe. But I don’t care.”

He opened his eyes, staring into yours, and he knew you meant it.

You didn’t care about the Kook vs. Pogue thing, about the stupid rules that had been drilled into them from birth. You just cared about him. He didn’t know how to let himself want something good, something real. But he wanted you. God, did he want you.

From that night on, everything changed. 

You started seeing each other in secret, meeting up when your parents were out of town or sneaking off to some hidden spot by the beach at night where no one would find you. Every time he saw you, it was like a high he couldn’t get enough of. You’d kiss, talk, hold each other like you were the only two people in the world, and he’d forget about all the shit in his life. Forget about the fact that he was supposed to be a screw-up who didn’t deserve someone like you.

You sat side by side at the dock, feet dangling just above the water, the tips of your shoes barely touching the surface. Something was calming about the sound of the gentle waves lapping against the dock, the world feeling small and distant for once, like it was just the two of you.

He leaned back on his hands, staring out at the horizon, not saying much. He’d been quiet today, more so than usual. You nudged him lightly with your shoulder.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

He snorted, shaking his head slightly. “You don’t want ‘em. They’re not worth much.”

You rolled your eyes, nudging him again. “C’mon. You’ve been quiet all day. What’s going on in that head of yours?”

He hesitated, glancing down at the water, his fingers curling into the wood of the dock. He was biting back whatever was eating at him. He wasn’t the type to open up easily, you knew that, but he wanted to, for you. You wanted to know him, all of him, not just the fake exterior he put up for everyone else to see.

“You ever think about… like, how different your life would be if shit didn’t go so sideways?” he asked, his voice low, almost like he wasn’t sure he wanted to say it out loud.

You frowned, turning to face him, “What do you mean?”

He exhaled sharply through his nose, running a hand through his hair.

“My mom, she… she used to date these losers. Real pieces of shit, y’know? Guys who’d roll through, thinking they owned the place, treating me like I was some kind of burden just because I was around.”

It wasn’t easy for him to say it, but he was doing it anyway, like the words had been stuck inside him for years.

“She didn’t really care what they did. As long as they paid for her booze, she was cool with whatever. They’d knock me around sometimes, tell me I wasn’t worth shit. But she never did anything about it.” He paused, swallowing hard, his gaze fixed on the water because he couldn’t look at you. “One of ‘em got real bad. Fucker hit me so hard one night, I thought I was gonna pass out. And when I told her… she didn’t care. Told me I was a liar. Said I probably deserved it.”

“Rafe…” you whispered, reaching out to take his hand. He didn’t pull away this time, just let you hold it, his fingers squeezing yours a little too tightly.

“I tried to stick it out,” he continued, his voice quieter now. “Tried to stay for as long as I could. But one day, she kicked me out. Told me I was too much trouble, and she didn’t need me around anymore.” He laughed, but it was hollow, bitter. “I guess I wasn’t worth the space I took up.”

You were quiet. He liked that about you, that you didn’t try and get his thoughts out of his head, just let him do his thing, on his own time. There was nothing that could make up for the kind of pain he’d been through. You just squeezed his hand tighter, and he just knew you wished you could take some weight off his shoulders.

“That’s why you were in that house?” You brushed your lips against his shoulder.

“Yeah.”

It was hard for him to talk about this stuff. Hell, it was hard for him to talk at all when it came to anything real. You just sat there, holding his hand, being there. That was what made you different. Most people didn’t wait for him. They’d get frustrated, give up, move on.

You just... stayed. And that scared him almost as much as it comforted him.

“You didn’t deserve that.”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “Doesn’t matter. Deserve’s got nothin’ to do with it.”

You shifted closer, your knees touching his now. “It matters to me.”

He didn’t understand how you could look at him like that, like he was worth something.

“You knew my name.”

You nodded, “You delivered fresh seafood to the house once.”

His eyes nearly popped out from their sockets, “I was fourteen.”

“Yeah?”

“And you remembered that?”

Your brows shot up like he’d said the dumbest thing ever. “Obviously.”

His breath caught, and before he could stop himself, he reached out, pulling you into his lap. His hands found your waist, desperate, almost frantic, holding onto you like you were the only thing keeping him grounded.

"You shouldn’t—" he started, but the words died on his lips because you were already kissing him, and it was like everything stopped. The world, his thoughts, all the shit that weighed him down. It was just you, your lips, the way your hands tangled in his hair, and the soft sounds you made against his mouth.

He kissed you harder, more urgently, like he was trying to prove something to himself — that he could have this, that he could deserve this. His hands slid up your back, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. His lips moved against yours and he felt like he was falling apart and putting himself back together all at once.

When he pulled back, just enough to look at you, his chest was heaving, and you were looking at him with that same softness that made his stomach twist.

"How—How the hell did I get this lucky?" His voice cracked, just a little. He hadn’t meant to say it, but the words spilled out anyway. 

You smiled, brushing your thumb across his cheek, and he realized then that his face was wet. He hadn’t even noticed the tears slipping down, hadn’t noticed the way he was trembling.

"You deserve this" you whispered. 

That was it.

That was the breaking point. A choked sob escaped him, and before he could stop himself, he crashed his lips against yours again, kissing you so hard it hurt, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t get enough of you, couldn’t hold back the way he felt like he’d been waiting his whole life for this moment. For you.

His hands cupped your face, fingers trembling as he kissed you again and again, like he was afraid you’d disappear if he stopped. 

And as his tears mixed with your kiss, he realized that for the first time in his life, he wasn’t running.

He wasn’t pushing you away. He was falling, hard and fast, and he didn’t care. Because for once, he was exactly where he wanted to be.

[vincinnamontoast]

HIII OMG IDK IF UR TAKING REQUESTS (OR IF THIS COUNTS AS ONE??) BUT I CANT WAIT FOR ANY OF YOUR VI FICS 🙏 LIKE OK IM SAT 🪑 YOURE GONNA SLAY!!

sweet consumption ꒰ა♡໒꒱

goddess vi! x fem! reader

SYNOPSIS: honestly not really much of a plot besides vi and reader being in love and obsessed with each other.

WORD COUNT: 2.8k

CONTAINS: smut!, cannibalism as a form of expression, consensual choking, mentions of blood and slight violent actions, religious overtones. p.s I always try to keep clothing and reader’s physical descriptions out of my stories, so readers can resonate with it more. but for this story, reader wears a dress. kind of proofread ? act 3 vi!

AUTHORS NOTE: ^^ omg thank you so much love <3! you’re so sweet, that does mean sm! MINORS/MEN DNI PLS!!

∴.·:*¨¨*:·. ☙.·:*¨ ¨*:·.♡ .·:*¨ ¨*:·. ❧.¨*:·.∴

the soft piano traveled throughout the corridors as you sat toying with the edge of your silky, sage dress - eagerly waiting for your presence to be requested. the smooth, dark marble beneath your feet caught your attention. you swore it swirled in little patterns right before your eyes. the walls of her quarters were coated with various meaningful art pieces and the pillars stood tall where beautiful women were chiseled into the top and bottom. her love and respect for women —for her community, was so admirable. before your mind could wander farther, you were interrupted.

“our goddess, violet, requests you.” a fellow angel proclaims as they seep into your view.

'our goddess?' your mind repeats. It was true. she was a goddess of the people and of the angels. she portrayed that in the most genuine way. however, you still couldn't fight the slight nerve to be a bit possessive. you nodded and smiled to the woman dressed in a silky emerald gown, their wings slightly curled around their hips. taking a deep yet staggered breath, you walk down the corridor that lead to violet's chamber. soon enough, you stood before her arched door. It was vast and encased in fuschia and black jewels. gems and crystals in their purest form blended perfectly above, as gold curled around the edges of the large door frame. before you could even bring your fist up to grab at her door chime, it swings open gently. she sensed you.

It was dark in her chambers. your eyes waited to adjust to it as the fireplace was the only source of light. the soft gothic piano contrasted the crackling of the fireplace. this genre of piano soothed vi’s nerves. your eyes averted as slight movement was caught in your peripheral. and then...you are met with her. she stood right before her large windowsill - it portraying a perfect view of the nightlife that was her domain and the beautiful river encompassing it. she was beyond alluring, truly. words could not describe violet's beauty. for she was the prettiest and the strongest goddess there was. the handsomest soldier that would ever fight on the battle field.

her pinkish red hair peppered with streaks of black, like fire and ash, rested over her right side. her blue eyes like stained glass that always outed her every emotion never failed to capture you. her freckles kissed upon her nose and cheeks like a field of wildflowers in april. oh how cute she was when she scrunched her nose when upset or angry. violet was revered in her looks by the other celestial beings, but they doubted her ideals. violet. sweet violet. her heart so gentle but her face stern. she stood for peace—for equality. but she tended to get too passionate in protecting others and standing for what she believed in. the other goddess's teased her about her name. vi for violence. some pretty butch brute with too much power they'd say. she wished they'd respect her name. and how you wished they would know her. violet. sweet violet. vi.

“you're staring again. hmmm and nor did you acknowledge me when you came into my quarters." she pouts, inching closer to your still being. her hips swayed gently as she walked down the little steps, fists at her side. so ready to protect, like she always was. her beauty put you in a trance as your eyes adjust to the glow of her bronzed freckled skin.

"I'm sorry, my love. It's darker in here than usual." the words jumbled out nervously as the luminescence of her eyes consumed you.

she gently drug her fingertips against the apple of your cheeks. "mmm I am in a mood of sorts today. what do you have for me, beautiful?"

your words caught in your throat and your body shivered. angel's were only allowed to see their goddess' once a month to report to them. you were violet's trusted designated angel that gave her updates of information that she needed to rule her domain, so naturally you saw her a bit more often. the lack of her presence made your yearning beyond intense. the only angel and being that vi had ever touched and she made that clear constantly. but why were you so special? you doubt you'd ever ask. to even be breathing the same air as her was a blessing so you never dare question her.

"I brought all angel reports for last month as well as letters from the goddess's. they seem to have important news to share with you." you nodded, too nervous to glance into her eyes. she loved how nervous she made you.

"so obedient, my sweet girl. I will have to get to it all later." she curls her fingers under your chin. "come.”

she steps away from you to sit on her velvet claudette chaise lounge. she gazes at you intently - waiting. her eyes were warning you as she was often impatient. you walk towards her gently on the tip of your toes. you could never seem to get used to her intensity. she just stares at you often. it's a bit creepy, but you know she is just curious and expressive. reading vi through her eyes was easy for you. she was intrigued.

you kneeled before her as her leg peers out from the slit in her grey throw over dress. she nudges it out to you gently as invitation for you to touch her. as they open, it exposes a delicious amount of her skin that you wanted to just devour. slowly, you bring your hands to glide up her leg. her soft skin feels electric and you swear every muscle in your body relaxed after you touched her. closing your eyes, you nudge your cheek into her skin. you locked eyes as you kiss up her leg, lifting yourself to make your pecks to the inside of her thigh. the feeling of her smooth creamy skin was enticing, the smell of her. vanilla, musk, firewood —brown sugar. the way she was lent back, looking down at you with her legs spread wide was so seductive and sensuous. her arm hung over the couch and the other gently grazed your hair as you nipped at her inner thigh. she had stretch marks on her hips and a bit on her inner thigh. you kissed at them gently. the soft chuckle she let out made your ears ring. goodness. she made you weak.

your breathing got heavier as you inched closer between her dress and to her core. your fingers snake through and move it aside. no underwear. looking up at her, she slightly smiles and blushes. "I was waiting for you — I always do." she breathes out like a whisper.

your cheeks turn a fiery shade of pink. you were then blessed with the sight of her beautiful flower. the heat and scent of her core was close to sending you into a frenzy. tufts of pink hair and puffy lips. you were addicted to her. to her taste. your mouth started to salivate. she bit at her lip and opened her legs wide as if inviting you to enjoy her delicacy. your arms curled around her thick thighs as you grip the soft skin. you press your lips to her clit and suckle. like sweet butter, she melts in your mouth. the sweet but salty taste of her made your toes curl. she was glowing. she threw her head back and her hair flowed over the soft velvet couch. gentle wisps of her hair danced over her lips from her desperate panting. she lets out a gentle moan and entangled her fingers writhin your hair. the feeling of her pussy tangled around your tongue was enough to send you into psychosis. you dug your face into her gently as you could not seem to get close enough. curling and twisting your tongue around her, she panted and whimpered little praises.

her moans increasingly got louder. she was always so vocal. and to say you loved it was an understatement. soft as a harp, her moans flowed through your ears like a gentle river. like a song that soothed your soul. shoving your face into her cunt, your mission was to devour. the feeling of her on your tongue — on your finger tips. her moans, her voice. you were made for her, to please her. to give her the love that she deserved as your goddess. she was under appreciated. you are so deep in thought you failed to realize how tight your grip had become on her shaking thighs. she was overstimulated, yelping and arching her back. she attempted to gently move you. pulling away from her gasp, you muster out, “my goddess. please forgive me. I got carried away. I-“

gripping your cheeks softly, she shoved you back on your knees. her face followed yours closely. "oh how i missed you." she growled.

hearts swam in your eyes. drool and her sweet slick coated your lips and the area surrounding. you look dumbed out. her body was a drug. she was your drug. sweet violet. without the hold she had on your face, you'd fall. she licked at your throat as her calloused fingertips drug your dress down your body. she softly grazed her tongue over the edge of her teeth. she gripped your hips and drug her hands all over your body. the need she had for you was insatiable. untamed, disgusting, and full of teeth. she would kill and stain her hands with blood of the innocent for you. and that was a lot to put down as a goddess for her people. but the way she needed you was vile. the yearn she had for you made her sick. sick and rotted with desire. need. you. a mere angel. nothing compared to her. oh but you were.

her lips captured yours quickly. immediately her tongue swallows yours. her lips were succulent like ripe grapes. to kiss vi was to be refreshed, replenished. revived. crawling down to your level, on the floor, she kneeled with you. not once did she slow her pace and stop the movement of her lips on yours. a kiss was the beginning to her cannabilism. she was kneeling with you. someone as gorgeous and high being as her sat on the dirty floor tangled in front of you. your saliva mixing and tainting her own. she didn't care. your differences didn't make her ill. she was a goddess who could love who she pleased, but she could tell this made you uneasy.

"my love. the floor." you pulled away from the kiss, gently cupping her flushed freckled cheeks. her eyes shone such a radiant blue. she was content.

"I am not above sitting on a dirty floor. I've been in worse. and for you — I would lick the filth from your skin with the blade of my tongue." she whispered, licking the shell of your ear. her cool breath sent shivers down your spine and your heart sunk.

both of her hands held your cheeks, as she curled her tongue over your lips. she pecks them gently and then again, glides her tongue over the plump of your lips. your mouth slightly parted with the pressure and need for her mouth on yours. before you could give into her kiss, she pulls away swiftly. nodding her head in the direction of her sleeping quarters. "on the bed."

you sway your naked body away from her, making your way to her giant canopy. sitting on the edge of the bed, you softly grip her black silky sheets. vi sashays towards the edge where you were and pushes you softly into the middle. standing tall, she drops her dress off of her shoulder. all you could do was stare at her awe. her biceps tensed slightly with her breathing. her subtle abs shone in the light covered in minimal sweat. her tits sat perfectly and exposed. her collar bone, sharp and tempting. the scars painted on her body. her pussy on display and so enticing. again. you could happily die between her legs. everything she did had your pussy melting and pulsating. she crawls towards you and kisses up your body slowly. not breaking eye contact once. she drags her canines against your calf and presses gently, making her way up to your lips.

she’s perfectly above you now, stopping at your face. your eyes are captured in hers and you can’t look away. you smacked your lips onto hers and she burst into a giggle as you peck her lips over and over. pulling away, you let her catch her breath and rub your fingers against her face. you press a kiss to her forehead, her nose, the apple of her cheeks, her eyelids, chin, and then her lips again. then you kiss her hands again, and again, and again. she didn’t like her hands. you knew that. but every sliver of her was perfect to you. she presses her forehead to yours as she gnaws at her lip.

"I want to feel you. to let go with you.”

before you can process a single thought, she eagerly parts your legs wide and squats herself above your cunt. you can feel everything. like her soul and her bones were intertwining with yours. her pussy slid against yours. gripping your legs, she quickens her pace. every touch of her hands on your skin sent your body into shivers. you craved her. you wanted vi to use her calisoused fingers to pry your ribs open and lick your heart and your bones. to live inside of you to protect herself. to connect your organs and become one. to be loved by vi was to be consumed by her. you’re snatched back into reality at the loud sounds of the both of your moans blending together like symphony. she gripped at you like she could not live without her claws and bare teeth sunken into your skin. you chant her name like a prayer, her eyes rolling into her head as all she can think about is you. the sound of you. your skin. your flesh. you. she attempted to cage you in so you couldn't move away from her.

"oh baby i know." she groans into your ear as you whimper closer to your release.

the primal desire for you was unquenchable. she can feel you pulsating against her, she knew you were close. so was she. her right hand tangles around your throat as she begins to squeeze. your eyes rolled so far into your head and all circulation began to cut off. and by the goddess's near, this was the most amazing feeling. to die by violet’s hands. the way she is touching you and staring into your soul. it wasn’t pain. it felt like freedom.

"you belong to me, say it. please." her eyes turn soft and tear up. they were like a gentle void, a void of so much emotion. your vision started to turn white and you could only feel her engulfing you. your orgasms overtaking the both of you like wildfire. you could feel the electricity from her fingertips coursing through your veins and your blood. she loosens her grip as you gasp for air. every touch of hers on your body like a cold breeze. the beautiful pit that was her eyes enveloped you. you both stare at each other in a pant.

"we are all yours, vi." you giggle, referring to the angels and her terrain. gently, she collapses on your chest. you graze your fingers against her back, tracing her tattoos.

she hums, "mmm but they are not." she looks up at you, curling your hair between her fingers. "you are. and for you, i am my rawest form. the yearn I have for you is too much. It hurts." she pauses, and takes a deep breath. "I hate when you walk out that door."

her eyes are entangled in yours. the other celestial’s would say that the love between an angel and a goddess was unruly and dangerous. that didn't matter to you. nor did it matter to vi. they don't know what it was like to kneel at her alter. to be loved and wanted by her. they have not heard her gentle giggles and murmurs throughout every kiss. they haven’t seen her wide set grin and the smile lines surrounding her heart shaped lips. nor have they tasted her divine fruit. they haven't gazed into her eyes and seen right through her heart. to be loved by vi was to be consumed by her.

“my love and loyalty has always lied with you, my sweet violet.” and into her lips, you collide. underneath the fiery touch of vi’s fingertips, you become poetry.

AUTHORS NOTE: ugh yes…cannibalism as symbolism for lesbian love and obsession again>>> of course, it’s literally my favorite and if you get it, you get it :3 anyways, caitvi scene made me scream as hell. everything made me scream and cry omfg. so many thoughts. If you’re reading this, have a great day, night or evening! mwuahhh <33 hope you liked !

[eatingoutmen]

MDNI. - 18+ content. random afternoon posting and just thinking about inexperienced yet needy!Sergio Marquina giving you head for the first time.

just the thought of Sergio Marquina being so needy for you yet he doesn’t have that much experience when it comes to sex is such a turn on im gonna be honest. like in that one episode where he told Tokyo that he’s not a virgin; but he isn’t the type of person that “sleeps around”. so when he met you, it all pretty much altered his brain chemistry. in his head he really wanted you to fuck him and leave him breathless and wanting more, but with his poor lack of experiences when it came to sex. it made it hard for him, but Sergio was very determined to learn, and by ‘very’ i mean very determined to please and satisfy you with such eagerness and neediness in his eyes. and here he was now, on his knees and giving you a sloppy yet pleasurable blowjob while you guided him and telling him what to do.

“teeth, love. watch your teeth… don’t think too hard.” you groaned softly and grunted feeling his teeth grazing on your cock slightly, your fingers tangled his hair slightly while making him bob his head and guided his movements as he responded eagerly, a smirk curled into your lips hearing him let out choked moans and gags while his tongue swirled around and tasted every inch of you and coating your cock with saliva. the sight of Sergio on his knees what such an alluring and beautiful scenery. his dark brown eyes behind those signature glasses were filled with a mix of emotions - lust, desire, and raw need made you chuckle huskily while your head fell back slightly in blissful surrender and let out more husky groans and soft moans as your cock twitched inside his mouth and leaked pre-cum while his wet tongue worked its magic as he continued his skilled and expertise ministrations; making your noises of pleasure grow louder and your body arch.

“fuckkk… shit- ahh, fuck- ‘m close.” you moaned out, your grip on his hair tightened and that drove him over the edge. Sergio swirled his tongue around your cock and gagged feeling your hips thrusting into his mouth as you chased your orgasm, his eyes widened in surprise and arousal hearing your guttural moan of satisfaction, he let out a choked moan feeling your cock twitch as you came inside his mouth, he eagerly swallowed down every last drop of your cum, your grip on his hair loosened and watched him quickly pull out from your cock and let out ragged gasps and tried to regain his composure, a mixture of your cum and his saliva glistened down his chin while he watched you wrap your hand around cock and stroking it with urgency and moaning breathlessly, his breath hitched and quickly opened his mouth without hesitation. his breath caught on his throat as your cock squirted its last drop of cum into his mouth and while some landed on his face and glasses, his cheeks blushed furiously in a mix of arousal and embarrassment, your low and husky chuckle adding to it sent shivers of pleasure and excitement down his spine and made him more vulnerable. “Good boy, you did so well,” you praised softly and smirking playfully while adjusting his cum-smeared glasses.

“Now, let me teach you how to ride me, my love.”