#d-pad studio

[blacktiger666]

If you're wondering why, yes, Alba's outfit (the little one next to Nora) is dark blue instead of white : it's on purpose.

There's a very particular context in the story ^^

Sketch :

Nora and Alba (with her white outfit, for the context of this post) :

[unofficialowlboydub]

The penultimate episode of the Unofficial Owlboy Fandub is almost here!

We're almost to the end... Apologies for the wait, but Episode 17 of the Unofficial Owlboy Fandub is premiering on Tuesday, March 18th at 8:00 PM EDT / 12:00 AM UTC.

After this... The finale awaits!

[ryanmoody]

Video Games of 2024:

A record of games I have beaten in 2024.

Game number 12: Owlboy (Nintendo Switch - 2018)

[an-aussie-button-masher]

Independent Imagination - Five Hidden Gems of Gaming

   Generic shooters, gacha RPGs, the same sports games re-published over and over - many of those big triple-A gaming titles can often feel a bit repetitive, can’t they? Often focused more on making money and retaining engagement, they sometimes lose that spark of creativity and originality that make video games truly fun and memorable. Meanwhile, small-time indie devs across the world are putting in all the passion and imagination they can muster into some genuinely unique gaming experiences that all too often fly under the radar. Fresh new concepts, fascinating narratives, endearing characters, interesting worlds - take a look at some of the best examples of what independent creators can bring to the table. Show them your support and give these hidden gems a go!

OneShot    Little Nico is trapped in a strange, dying world and burdened with the only way to save it: a new sun, in the form of a large lightbulb they must carry around. Your job is only to get Nico safely back home…or at least, that��s what the eerily-aware game insists. Guide Nico across the world in this story-driven puzzle game, from the bleak outlands to the anxious inner city, meeting friendly new faces amidst the fear and discovering new puzzles and mysteries along the way. Why is Nico here? What has caused the slow decay of this world? Is it even possible to save the world and get Nico home at the same time? Possibly the most pressing question of all is…just who is this mysterious entity communicating to you - yes, you, the actual player - and what is their true motive?

Sable    It’s just you, your trusty hoverbike, and the vast open desert in this wide-open-world sandbox adventure. Embark on a rite-of-passage pilgrimage across the sands, enjoying the atmospheric scenery and helping out new friends where you can while you decide who you really want to be in life. Once the initial tutorial is done, the game stops holding your hand entirely - pick a direction that seems interesting and just go! No objective markers, no plotted lines, no railroading whatsoever in Sable; just a journey of your own making. Desert environments in games can often be a bit boring, but Sable breaks it up with varied aesthetics and colourful, distinctive areas full of all sorts of things to find and explore. As you climb, glide, drift and zoom across the dunes and strange structures, you’ll find Sable to be a highly relaxing game to play when you just want to chill out and ride around a while.

Wavetale    Switching climates to an open watery world, Wavetale takes us to a flooded shanty city surrounded by ominous fog that threatens to consume what’s left of the land. Sigrid, a young girl surviving with her grandmother in the remains of Strandville, meets a mysterious shadowy figure beneath the waves that allows her to not only walk on the surface of the water, but to skate across it at breakneck speeds as she investigates the source of the fog. Wavetale’s biggest strength is its’ exhilarating movement tech, combining the high-speed skating with dives, dashes, grapples and swings that make the map a blast to explore. The endearing sketchy artstyle, charming cast of characters, and genuinely intriguing mystery plot all make you want to uncover every single possible little detail you can find, but even just the fun mobility mechanics are enough reason on their own to keep playing.

Owlboy    A sprawling metroidvania with a nostalgic retro artstyle, Owlboy stars the mute young owl Otus and his friends on an adventure to save the floating sky village of Vellie from vicious pirates. Master the art of flight as you rise up through the maze of hovering islands and ancient ruins, carrying your allies around to help fight foes and navigate traps and puzzles, and discovering the secrets of the past that will decide the future! The game features classic metroidvania staples of exploration, unlocking new abilities, backtracking to previous zones to reveal new paths, and - of course - plenty of scattered collectables for the true completionists. The flying and combat mechanics might take a little getting used to, but the engaging narrative and lovable cast will be more than enough to keep you playing all the way to the end.

Planet of Lana    Returning to a more linear puzzler, Planet of Lana sees strange, unsettling robots invade your peaceful world and kidnap countless inhabitants - including your sister. Play as Lana as she embarks on a grand rescue mission, aided by an absolutely adorable little critter named Mui that helps Lana solve puzzles and navigate her dangerous homeworld. Some of the puzzles you’ll encounter are surprisingly difficult, but never frustrating; there’s always a sense of overcoming great odds and overwhelming danger as this tiny girl and her loyal fuzzy friend sneak past the deadly robotic invaders. A short and sweet game, this journey might only take two or three afternoons of playing to finish, but the simple gameplay, gorgeous hand-painted artstyle and fascinating story all make this an adventure to remember.

   This is just a small taste of the limitless creativity you can find in indie games; which one seems the most intriguing to you? Have you tried any of these games, or do you have any recommendations yourself that could fit this list? Let me know! Feedback, reblogs and likes are all much appreciated!   Thanks for reading!

An Aussie Button-Masher

[b3crew]

TOKYO GAME SHOW 2024 | "Vikings on Trampolines" | B3crew.com

Will you land on your feet, or will you be given a one-way ticket to Valhalla? Read our Tokyo Game Show preview of Vikings on Trampolines!

[savingcontent]

Savant - Ascent Anniversary Edition is now Savant - Ascent REMIX, and the shmup platformer is releasing September 15th

Continue reading Untitled

[dpadstudio]

It's almost that time again! This November 1st, join us for our Owlboy Anniversary Livestream Special! There will be our annual QnA, our continued Owlboy playthrough, special announcements and more at the 8th Anniversary Celebration!

[miraworksstuff]

Added this PS4 game.

[owlbites]

SOLUS APPRECIATORS RISE UP 🙌🙌🙌🫡

I missed drawing him :')

[blacktiger666]

After Halloween, something cute and sweet today ^^

I'm sure you'll melt in front of the adorable face of little Nora and her friend Alba (the little mixed-race owl) :3

Because, yes, on this November 1st, it's the anniversary of the video game Owlboy 🦉🥳🎉 so it's the opportunity to present Alba, the little OC of the Wakfu X Owlboy crossover ^^

Since season 4 of Wakfu, the eliatropes are quite similar to the owls of Owlboy with their cloak x)

[unofficialowlboydub]

Episode 16 of the Unofficial Owlboy Fandub is coming soon!

Episode 16 will be premiering on Sunday, February 2nd at 3PM EST!

[shaiyasstuff]

delayed beginnings | sylus | epilogue

synopsis : Your husband, once a stranger in your marriage has grown to be a loving man who stays by your side like a quiet anchor. A visit to his family’s estate brings that change into sharper focus, revealing the man beneath the distance, and the quiet ways he chooses you without ever needing to say it. What once felt impossible softens into something steady and deeply personal—a love built not on fireworks, but on the quiet comfort of staying.

content : arranged marriage au, non-cannon!au, sylus x non-mc, artist!reader, fluff, just married life i guess?

writer’s note : okay, i just, had an idea. Married life, in-laws, shouldn’t go wrong, right? Gonna mention @blessdunrest because I know they will love this :D

“It’s been almost four months!” you groan, dropping your head into your arms, voice muffled by frustration—and longing.

A familiar laugh crackles through your phone speaker. “It’ll be over before you know it,” Sylus drawls, his tone as casual as ever.

You lift your head just enough to peer at the screen, where his face fills the frame—messy hair, that signature lazy smirk, and eyes that somehow still manage to look like home.

“I miss you,” you murmur, pouting, your voice cracking ever so slightly as your eyes begin to water.

His smirk softens just a little, the corners of his mouth twitching with something gentler. “Just another three months, sweetie,” he says. “And I’ll be there before you can even blink.”

You sigh, a little dramatically. “Fine. But you owe me. For emotional distress.”

That earns a quiet chuckle. “Whatever you want, kitten.”

You finally crack a smile, blinking back the sting in your eyes. Just hearing his voice has a way of grounding you.

You’re in your music studio, hunched over your editing board, headphones askew and one foot tucked under your chair. You’d been in the middle of fine-tuning a new track when his call came in, and you hadn’t hesitated to answer.

It’s been almost four months since his last visit.

And it had only lasted three days.

He hadn’t warned you. Just showed up.

You still remember the way your breath caught when the doorbell rang. You opened it to find him standing there in his dark coat, suitcase at his feet, eyes tired but warm. Mephisto had padded around your legs, mewling up at him like he recognized him too.

“I only have three days,” he’d said with that crooked smirk. “Make them count.”

You had pulled him into a hug before he could say anything else.

The days passed in a quiet blur.

You stayed in—no grand plans, no flashy outings. Just time.

He’d sprawled across your couch, catching up on work, grumbling about investors while you listened with quiet amusement.

You talked about your upcoming project—a new art museum, something you’d been dreaming of with a group of fellow artists.

He didn’t interrupt.

Just watched you talk, his fingers absently brushing over your sketchbook as you flipped through designs.

One evening, he cooked.

You teased him relentlessly about the over-seasoned pasta and undercooked bread.

He only smirked and told you to be grateful he didn’t burn your kitchen down.

“You’re still going to make me cook when you’re around,” you said.

“Of course,” he replied without missing a beat, “but at least now I can pretend to help.”

You laughed until your stomach hurt.

The night before he left, he surprised you again.

A small, velvet box—held out without a word.

Inside, a delicate diamond necklace, the pendant engraved with your initials in cursive.

You’d stared at it, stunned into silence, until he gently reached around and clasped it behind your neck himself.

“I figured,” he said, brushing a strand of hair from your shoulder, “it was about time I bought you something meaningful.”

“Everything you give me is meaningful.” You smiled—eyes glossy, heart full—while he just looked at you, that familiar smirk still on his lips but his gaze soft, unguarded.

And on the day he left, he kissed your temple and whispered something soft—something you barely heard over the sound of your own heart tightening in your chest.

Now, months later, despite the distance, the bond between you has only deepened.

The texts, the nightly calls, the little packages he sends when he knows you’re working too hard—it’s not just routine.

It’s presence.

It’s him, still finding a way to be part of your days even when he’s half a world away.

“Say,” you begin, lifting your phone as you walk out of the studio, “you’re really lounging around today. Not much going on over there?”

The camera shifts, showing Sylus reclining on his couch, one arm behind his head, the other holding his phone lazily. His expression is relaxed, almost smug.

“Well,” he drawls, “my assistant just informed me that all meetings are pushed back due to a storm. So…” He flashes a half-smile. “I’m free to call you for the next two days.”

You hum in response, setting your phone on the kitchen counter and opening the fridge. “That’s great,” you reply lightly, grabbing a bottle of water. “You get to witness me becoming best friends with Mephisto.”

Right on cue, a soft mewl echoes from somewhere nearby. The little black cat pads into view, red eyes gleaming with curiosity as he hops onto a nearby stool.

Sylus chuckles. “That cat is going to be my undoing.”

You glance at the screen over your shoulder, amusement tugging at your lips. “Maybe don’t be so jealous of a kitten.”

He scoffs. “He gets more cuddles than I do.”

You roll your eyes. “You live in Madrid.”

“Still,” he mutters. “The betrayal.”

You laugh as you twist open the water bottle and take a sip.

The quiet domesticity of it all—the banter, the warmth, the soft hum of your home—settles in your chest like a weight you didn’t know you’d been craving.

Then, a moment later, his tone shifts slightly.

“Oh, by the way,” he says. “Mother called.”

You glance at the phone. “Oh?”

“She wants you to visit,” he adds casually, but his eyes flick to yours on the screen. “Says it’s been too long.”

You blink. “Me? Alone?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Yeah? I can’t exactly fly back right now. Not with the storm.”

You stare at him for a beat, water bottle paused halfway to your lips. “You know your family’s estate is terrifying, right? It’s like walking into a palace haunted by elegance.”

He grins. “You’ll be fine. Mother likes you.”

“That makes one of us.”

Sylus laughs again, but the look he gives you is gentler than before. “She just wants to see you. Talk. Probably show off your last exhibition photos to her garden club or whatever it is she does.”

You groan. “I swear if your father so much as raises an eyebrow at me—”

“I’ll call you,” Sylus says smoothly. “Every second. Every hour. I’ll be your lifeline.”

You glance at him again.

And despite your complaints, despite the nerves curling in your stomach… a part of you is already considering it.

Because this—whatever this is—feels real now.

Storm or not, Madrid or not… he’s still right there.

And maybe that’s enough.

“Fine,” you sigh, though a small smile betrays you. “I guess I’ll pick up a few gifts before heading there. Wouldn’t want to show up empty-handed and risk offending the queen of elegance.”

Sylus chuckles. “She’ll pretend not to expect it, but she’ll be delighted.”

You roll your eyes, moving around the kitchen as you speak. “It’s not generosity. It’s a tactical bribe. Just in case your father decides to interrogate me again.”

“Oh, he definitely will,” he says casually. “But you’ll charm him. You always do.”

You glance at your phone and find him reclining back on his couch, his expression relaxed, gaze soft.

There’s something steadying about the way he’s looking at you—like despite the distance, you’re still here together.

“I’ll arrange the jet to bring you,” he adds, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world.

You blink, a little taken aback. “Of course you will.”

“Only the best,” he murmurs, “for my favorite person currently being emotionally blackmailed into visiting my family.”

You snort. “How generous of you.”

He grins, but then his voice dips just a little. “I wish I could come with you.”

The softness in his tone is unexpected—quiet, real.

You glance at the screen again, heart giving a small twist. “I know. But… it’s okay. I’ll survive.”

“Take Mephisto,” he says suddenly, like it just occurred to him. “He’ll protect you from ancestral ghost paintings and stares that last too long.”

You glance down at the kitten curled near your feet, fast asleep, clearly not up for the job.

“I think you overestimate his courage,” you murmur with a smile.

“Well then, I’ll just have to call you every night to make sure you’re still alive.”

You shake your head, but your chest feels a little lighter. “You better.”

There’s a pause, gentle and full, before he adds quietly, “Safe travels, sweetie.”

You nod, voice low. “I’ll let you know when I land.”

He gives you one final look—fond, almost reluctant. “I’ll be waiting.”

And even though you’re the one going away this time, somehow, you feel like you’re still being held.

The jet door opened with a soft hiss, revealing a muted sky dusted in silver clouds. The kind of weather that felt like it belonged to old family homes and quiet memories.

You stepped onto the stairs slowly, the chill brushing against your coat as your heels clicked lightly down each step. The estate came into view beyond the tarmac—grand, familiar, and still somehow a little distant.

A small, uncertain mewl came from the carrier in your hand.

You glanced down.

Mephisto’s red eyes peered up at you through the mesh, wide and wary. His tiny body tensed in the unfamiliar space, ears twitching as the wind tousled your coat.

You softened.

“It’s alright, little guy,” you whispered, kneeling slightly to press your fingers gently to the side of the carrier. “New places are hard. But we’ll be okay.”

He let out a quieter sound, still grumpy, but comforted.

By the time you stood again, one of the estate staff had approached—a woman dressed in neat black, posture crisp, face unreadable in that perfectly trained way.

“Good afternoon,” she said with a slight bow. “Mrs. Qin has arranged everything. May I?”

You hesitated, glancing down at Mephisto again. He let out a soft growl that almost sounded like protest.

“I’ll be right behind him,” you said, your voice gentler now. You passed the carrier to her carefully, fingers brushing the handle for a second longer than necessary.

She gave a small nod and turned toward the sleek black car waiting nearby, Mephisto quietly peering out the window of his temporary prison as he was carried away.

You stood for a moment on the tarmac, your hand drifting instinctively to the base of your neck where the necklace rested, cool and solid against your skin. Your initials were etched into the pendant—a weight you hadn’t expected to miss as much as you had.

The wind picked up slightly, brushing through your hair as your gaze drifted toward the winding road ahead.

You sighed.

Then followed.

—•

The car moved smoothly down the winding road, the estate drawing closer with every turn. The trees lining the path stood tall and still, their branches swaying ever so slightly in the breeze, like they were watching you pass.

Mephisto had finally settled in his carrier beside you, his tiny body curled into a wary little ball. His breathing was soft and even now, lulled by the motion of the car.

You stared out the window for a while, one hand resting lightly on the carrier, the other hovering over your phone.

And then—almost without thinking—you tapped his name.

The call rang once. Twice.

Then connected.

“Well,” Sylus said, his voice smooth and a little smug, “you’re alive. That’s promising.”

You exhaled, the tension in your shoulders softening instantly. “Barely,” you murmured. “Your estate still feels like it could swallow a person whole.”

His low chuckle rumbled through the speaker. “It does have that effect.”

You smiled faintly, your fingers absentmindedly stroking the edge of Mephisto’s carrier. “He finally stopped mewling,” you said softly. “But I think he hates your family already.”

“He has good instincts.”

That made you laugh under your breath.

There was a small pause.

“You nervous?” he asked, voice quieter now.

You hesitated. “A little.”

Another beat passed before he spoke again, gentler this time. “You’ll be fine. Mother already adores you. Probably more than she likes me.”

“She stares at me like she’s cataloging my entire soul.”

“She probably is,” he admitted with amusement. “But if it makes you feel any better, she’s done that to everyone since birth.”

You leaned your head against the window, watching the iron gates grow larger in the distance. “I wish you were here.”

A quiet inhale. “I know.”

Your eyes flicked to the iron gates as they swung open before the car. “The last time I was here, we had dinner. Remember?”

There was a pause on the other end. Then, “Of course I do.”

You could still see it—the long dining table, his mother’s knowing smiles, his father’s unreadable glances, the tension of formality stitched into every fork and glass.

But you also remembered Sylus nudging your knee under the table, brushing his thumb across your hand without a word. The unspoken truce forming between you.

It had been the beginning of something. Quiet. Unassuming.

But real.

“I don’t think I realized back then how different you were with them,” you murmured.

“Different?”

You nodded. “You always feel like a storm when you’re near me. But with them, you were… composed. Guarded.”

He was silent for a moment.

“They don’t get to see all of me,” he said finally. “Not like you do.”

Your heart fluttered at that. Subtle, but undeniable.

“I wish you were here,” you whispered.

“I know,” he replied. And for once, there was no smirk in his voice.

Just softness. Honesty.

You pressed the phone a little closer to your ear, as the car rolled to a stop beneath the grand stone archway.

“I’ll call tonight,” he added, quieter now. “When things settle. Just… let me know how she is.”

“I will,” you promised.

You lingered a moment longer, phone still warm in your hand.

Then the driver stepped out, and the door opened.

The wind swept against your coat, and the estate stretched out before you—familiar, imposing, and not nearly as intimidating as it used to be.

Because this time, you weren’t walking into it alone.

Not really.

—•

You’d just finished unpacking when the knock came.

The room they’d given you—Sylus’s old bedroom—still held traces of the boy he must have been. Tall bookshelves lined with outdated science manuals and worn novels.

A collection of antique model ships, perfectly preserved behind glass. A fencing trophy perched proudly on the windowsill.

It was strange, being surrounded by versions of him you’d never known, and yet… oddly comforting.

You paused at his desk, fingers brushing over a faded photograph half-tucked into a frame—he couldn’t have been more than fifteen, all sharp edges and guarded eyes, standing beside his mother in that very garden.

The knock came again, gentle but expectant.

“Mrs. Qin is waiting for you in the garden,” the attendant said politely.

You followed them down the long, polished hallway, passing tall windows that poured golden light onto the marble.

The estate was as grand as ever, but this time, it didn’t feel as cold.

Not with memories trailing behind you and Mephisto snoozing safely in the corner of Sylus’s room.

The garden looked just like the photo—elegant and wild in all the right ways.

Wisteria hung in soft lavender blooms above a marble table nestled beneath a trellis, sunlight filtering through the leaves.

She stood when she saw you.

“Sylus didn’t tell me he married someone who could disappear for months at a time,” she teased gently, though her smile was wide and real as she opened her arms.

You hesitated only a beat before stepping into the hug, your own smile tugging at your lips. “Apologies. I got lost in the studio.”

“Then it must’ve been worth it,” she said warmly, and you could tell she meant it.

She motioned for you to sit, her hands graceful as she poured the tea.

The table was already set with delicate pastries and fresh fruit, the scent of roses heavy in the spring air.

“So,” she said, reclining slightly with her teacup in hand, “tell me everything. I’ve seen some of your recent pieces. That last gallery installation in Paris—it was breathtaking.”

You blinked, surprised. “You saw that?”

She lifted a brow. “Darling, I have eyes. And a very efficient art advisor.”

That made you laugh, a soft and genuine sound.

“Things are going well. I’ve been working with a few friends to start a new collaborative space. It’s more intimate. More emotional. I think I’m finally learning to let people see the work behind the polish.”

She smiled as if pleased with your answer.

“Art and honesty have always gone hand in hand. It just takes most people a lifetime to figure it out.”

There was a comfortable silence as you sipped your tea, the breeze playing through the vines overhead.

Then she leaned in slightly, a glint of mischief in her eyes.

“You know, Sylus once tried to sneak out through that hedge over there—swore he could scale the side wall with a rope he’d braided out of his school ties.”

You blinked. “Please tell me he didn’t succeed.”

“Oh, he succeeded,” she said, laughing. “And landed straight in a thorn bush. Took five stitches and refused to admit he cried.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “That… actually tracks.”

“I kept the ties. They’re in one of those drawers in his old room. I thought about turning them into a ridiculous quilt.”

You both laughed, the kind that made your chest feel light.

It was easy, sitting there with her—like sharing something sacred. Not just stories, but pieces of Sylus you wouldn’t have found on your own.

And somehow, that made this place feel a little less intimidating.

A little more like something that might, someday, feel like home.

The laughter faded, but the warmth remained. You leaned back in your chair, the delicate porcelain teacup cradled between your hands, the floral scent of the garden settling gently into your lungs. Somewhere nearby, a fountain burbled softly, blending into the sound of leaves shifting in the breeze.

She smiled over the rim of her cup, her eyes thoughtful now. “It’s good to hear you laugh,” she said. “I was worried, you know.”

You looked up at her. “Worried?”

She nodded slowly. “When you two first married… well, Sylus always had a way of keeping people at arm’s length. Even me. I wasn’t sure if he’d ever let someone in.”

Your fingers tightened slightly around the cup.

She noticed.

“I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” she said gently. “I just… I’ve never seen him soften for anyone before. Not until you.”

You looked down at the steam curling up from your tea. “It wasn’t easy at first.”

“No, I don’t imagine it was,” she said with a light, knowing smile. “He was always so composed as a boy—brilliant, distant, a bit too sharp for his own good. But underneath all that… he’s softer than he wants the world to believe.”

You met her gaze again, caught off guard by how much she seemed to know.

“I think,” you said slowly, “he’s starting to let me see that part of him.”

She reached across the table and placed her hand lightly over yours. “And I think he’s glad you do.”

You didn’t speak for a moment. Just breathed in the quiet of the garden. The peace of it.

“Has he ever brought anyone else home?” you asked before you could stop yourself.

She laughed softly, almost fondly. “No, dear. Only you.”

You blinked, heart giving a small, startled flutter.

“He always told me marriage was transactional,” she went on. “A matter of logic. Strategy. But then he married you, and now he sends me photos of your paintings and videos of that little cat as if he doesn’t realize what he’s doing.”

You smiled despite yourself.

“I think he loves you,” she said gently. “Not that he’d ever say it in so many words.”

You swallowed, eyes stinging a little more than you’d like to admit.

“I don’t need him to say it,” you whispered.

“No,” she said softly. “But one day, he will.”

The breeze picked up, stirring the wisteria. You sat there for a long moment, just you and her and the ghosts of the boy he used to be.

And for the first time, this house didn’t feel like something to endure.

It felt like something to return to.

Dinner arrived sooner than you would’ve liked.

The sun had dipped low behind the estate walls, casting long shadows across the stone floors as you were led back inside, through gilded halls and hushed corridors.

The dining room was just as you remembered—long table, flickering candlelight, polished silverware gleaming like a warning.

You inhaled slowly as you stepped in.

And there he was.

Your father-in-law stood as you entered, offering a polite nod, not a smile. He always carried himself like a figure carved from granite—stern, unreadable, with eyes that missed nothing.

The kind of man who didn’t need to raise his voice to make you feel small.

You offered a quiet greeting, took your seat.

Right beside him.

Just as you’d dreaded.

Across the table, Sylus’s mother gave you a warm smile, as if sensing your tension and silently assuring you.

At first, it wasn’t so bad.

The food was beautifully prepared, the conversation polite. You answered questions about your recent projects, about the studio and the museum plans.

His mother asked with genuine interest, while his father listened with that usual air of cold curiosity.

Then, halfway through the main course, came the comment.

“Well,” his father said mildly, eyes not quite meeting yours, “at least Sylus had the sense to marry someone with some practical ambition. Not all artists can claim that.”

The words were smooth. Polished.

But they cut just the same.

You blinked, fork paused halfway to your mouth, unsure if you’d imagined the sharpness under his tone. His expression remained perfectly neutral, as if he’d just complimented the weather.

You swallowed back a thousand replies, each one more defensive than the last.

Instead, you reached for your phone beneath the table and typed quickly.

Your father is charming as always.

Remind me why I agreed to this again?

You hit send and placed the phone on your lap, trying to keep your smile in place.

Across the table, his mother’s brow creased slightly—as if she, too, heard the edge in her husband’s words but had long since learned to smooth over the damage.

A second later, your phone buzzed quietly.

Do I need to FaceTime into dinner and cause a scene?

You nearly laughed.

You bit your lip to keep it in, glancing down at the screen.

Please do. Dramatically, with wine.

And shirtless, if you really want to upset him.

Another buzz.

Tempting. But I’d rather save that for your return.

Hang in there, sweetie. You’ve got this.

Your shoulders relaxed just a fraction, the tension bleeding out as you let out a silent breath.

You typed one more message.

I miss you.

And I’m stealing one of your old books from the shelf before I leave.

The reply came quick, like he’d been waiting for it.

You can steal whatever you want.

You’ve already stolen my heart.

You smiled—before you could stop yourself.

A little too fondly. A little too real.

Your fingers lingered on your phone, the screen dimming with Sylus’s last message still fresh in your mind. The warmth in your chest hadn’t faded. It felt like he was right there.

But the moment didn’t go unnoticed.

A quiet cough came from beside you. Sharp. Intentional.

You glanced up and met your father-in-law’s gaze. His eyes were narrowed, unreadable, but the message was clear.

That smile had crossed some invisible line.

He shifted in his seat, posture straightening with the kind of presence that didn’t need to raise its voice to be felt. You knew that look. It was the same one you’d seen across many long, silent dinners.

A warning in polished restraint.

He opened his mouth—likely to comment, to correct.

But before a single word could land, his wife reached across the table and placed her hand gently over his.

“Not now,” she said. Her voice was calm, unwavering.

She didn’t even look at him.

The silence that followed was heavier than any argument.

His mouth closed, jaw tightening. He picked up his glass instead, taking a slow sip as if nothing had happened.

You looked down again, lips pressed together, unsure whether to feel relieved or guilty. Maybe a little of both.

When you glanced up, she was already looking at you. That quiet, knowing smile on her face again.

She didn’t have to say anything. You understood what it meant.

You throw back a small, grateful smile before looking down at your plate, fingers absentmindedly tracing the edge of the tablecloth.

The food lost its taste somewhere between silence and formality, each course arriving with delicate precision, untouched more than it was eaten.

You nodded politely when spoken to, offered brief replies, but your mind drifted—back to the message still waiting on your phone, to the man who somehow made you feel steadier from miles away.

Dinner went on, as it always did in this house—measured, proper, and just slightly too quiet.

—•

“You should’ve seen your father’s face,” you groaned into your pillow, voice muffled as your phone sat propped up on the nightstand.

From the screen, Sylus offered you an apologetic smile, one corner of his mouth tilted, “I knew it would be bad…but not that bad.”

After dinner, you hadn’t lingered.

The moment dessert had been cleared, you’d stood with a polite excuse and slipped away.

His mother had met you in the hallway, offering a kind smile and a gentle pat on the shoulder—something wordlessly saying, you did well. It’s alright now.

Now, tucked into the oversized guest bed in his old room, you buried your face deeper into the pillow, letting out another muffled groan.

“At least your mother was gracious,” you muttered. “She always is.”

Sylus huffed softly. “She likes you.”

“Too bad your father looks at me like I personally offended his legacy.”

He didn’t argue.

You peeked up from your pillow and caught his expression again.

Still watching you.

Still trying to make this feel easier than it was.

“How am I gonna survive another four days here…” you sighed, flopping onto your back with dramatic flair.

There was a pause.

“Want me to call every night?” he offered.

You turned your head toward the screen, lips pulling into a reluctant smile. “You better.”

His eyes softened.

“I will.”

And somehow, the room didn’t feel quite so cold anymore.

You yawned, the exhaustion settling into your bones as your eyes began to flutter shut.

From the nightstand, Sylus’s voice came through the screen, quiet and warm.

“Go to sleep,” he murmured. “I’ll stay with you for a while.”

You turned your head slightly on the pillow, catching a blurry glimpse of him through the dim glow.

He looked relaxed, but his gaze stayed on you—steadfast, unblinking.

“You don’t have to,” you whispered, words slurred with sleep.

“I know,” he replied. “But I want to.”

A small, sleepy smile tugged at your lips as your eyes finally closed. The silence between you was soft and full, the kind that didn’t need filling.

You let go, knowing he was still there.

Watching. Listening.

Staying.

Warmth spread through your chest at the quiet realisation—how far things had come, how much had changed.

You hadn’t expected this.

Not the comfort. Not the safety.

And certainly not the ever-growing affection blooming gently in your heart for the man who once felt like a stranger in your home.

Your once-so-distant husband.

Now the one who stayed on the line just to watch you fall asleep.

The next morning, your phone was dead.

You plugged it in right away, watching the screen flicker back to life with a low hum.

The first thing you saw was his message.

You’re very adorable when you sleep.

A smile pulled at your lips—soft, sleepy, silly.

You typed back,

Aren’t you glad you married me?

Setting the phone down, you headed toward the bathroom.

Not long after you disappeared down the hall,

your screen lit up again.

Ever the luckiest man.

—•

Sunlight spilled through the tall windows, stretching in soft golden stripes across the hallway as you made your way past.

Your pace slowed as you reached the staircase, the quiet of the estate broken only by the faint click of your heels against the marble.

At the bottom, a member of the staff stood waiting, hands folded neatly in front of her.

“This way, please,” she said with a courteous nod. “Mrs. Qin has requested your presence on the terrace.”

You paused mid-step, a flicker of nerves rising in your chest.

“Did she mention why?”

The staff member gave a gentle smile.

“She did not. But I do know Mr. Qin is there as well.”

You swallowed.

Of course he was.

You gave a quiet nod and followed her through the winding halls of the manor, the soft echo of footsteps filling the stillness between you.

After a moment, you glanced her way, attempting to lighten the air.

“Is Mr. Qin always so… brooding?”

The staff—an older woman, kind-eyed and composed—let out a faint, knowing chuckle.

“Well,” she said, “he wasn’t always that way.”

Her smile deepened just a little.

“Otherwise, he wouldn’t have married the Mrs.”

You blinked, surprised by the softness in her tone.

And for a moment, the silence that followed felt less heavy.

You pressed on, curiosity outweighing caution.

Something about the way she said it lingered in your mind.

“So… what was he like before?” you asked gently, keeping pace beside her.

The woman hummed, as if dusting off old memories.

“Quiet, yes. But not cold. He was sharp, impatient at times, but he had warmth. Especially around her.”

You tilted your head. “Mrs. Qin?”

She smiled again, a touch more wistful now.

“He was different with her. Softer. Not many people saw it, but we did. That boy followed her like she hung the moon. Still does, in his own way.”

You looked ahead, heart tugging unexpectedly.

Somehow, that sounded painfully familiar.

You fell silent for a moment, her words settling deeper than you expected.

Softer. Not many people saw it.

There was something about the way she said it—like she was letting you in on a secret no one dared speak aloud.

You glanced at her again. “He doesn’t seem like someone who wears his heart so easily.”

The woman gave a quiet chuckle, fond and laced with something like sympathy.

“No, he never has. But it’s not about how loudly he shows it. It’s in the way he stays. Listens. Remembers.”

You looked down, your hands brushing along the hem of your sleeve as you walked.

That did sound familiar.

As you neared the terrace doors, she slowed beside you, her voice softer now.

“This house has a way of swallowing people,” she said. “But he’s never brought anyone here without reason. If you’re here, you matter more than you think.”

You looked at her, unsure what to say.

Instead, you nodded. “Thank you.”

She returned the nod, then stepped aside and opened the door for you.

Sunlight poured through the glass, bathing the terrace in gold.

And there he was.

Mr. Qin, your father-in-law.

Standing at the edge, his back to you, hands tucked behind him in quiet thought.

Waiting.

Mrs. Qin approached with a bright smile, her arms opening to gently guide you forward onto the terrace.

“I’m glad you’re up,” she said kindly, her voice warm with quiet delight.

Just beyond her, Mr. Qin turned at the sound of your footsteps. He met your gaze with a curt nod—formal, restrained, the same unreadable expression he always wore.

You returned the gesture with a small, polite dip of your head, saying nothing.

Then your eyes drifted past him.

There, near the far edge of the terrace, stood an easel.

A fresh canvas was perched in place, untouched and glowing beneath the soft morning sun.

Beside it, a wooden tray held brushes, neatly arranged, and several familiar tubes of paint you recognized by name.

Your steps slowed.

It was quiet. Simple. But unmistakably intentional.

Your fingers curled slightly at your side, drawn to the invitation it offered without words.

It wasn’t just a setup.

It was a gesture. A space made for you.

Mrs. Qin followed your gaze and let out a soft chuckle, her eyes crinkling with amusement.

“He wanted to see you in action,” she said, voice light, teasing. “Your father-in-law, that is.”

You blinked, turning slightly toward her.

She smiled knowingly. “He’d never admit it, of course. But he’s curious. Wanted to understand what you do—what Sylus admires so much.”

You glanced back at the easel, a flutter of nerves stirring in your chest.

Mr. Qin said nothing, standing a few steps away with his hands clasped behind his back, gaze fixed on the horizon as if he hadn’t heard a word.

But somehow, that made the gesture feel even more deliberate.

Even more sincere.

“Ah…”

The sound slipped out before you could stop it, quiet and uncertain.

You glanced at the canvas again, then back toward Mr. Qin—stoic as ever, his expression unreadable.

He hadn’t moved, hadn’t looked your way, but the meaning lingered in the space between you.

It wasn’t just curiosity.

It was effort.

And coming from him, that meant something.

You turned back to Mrs. Qin, offering a small, sheepish smile.

“I suppose I’d better make it worth his time, then.”

She grinned, clearly pleased. “I think you already have.”

You settled in front of the easel, the wooden chair cool beneath you as you adjusted your posture and took in the view.

It was stunning. The kind of beauty that didn’t ask to be captured—only waited patiently until someone finally tried.

Golden sunlight filtered through the terrace arches, spilling across the stone floor and out toward the gardens below.

Trees swayed gently in the breeze, their leaves catching the light like silk. The horizon stretched in soft pastels, blurring where the sky met distant hills.

Something inside you stirred.

Familiar. Restless. Inspired.

Your fingers moved instinctively, reaching for a brush, then hovering over the palette as color choices began to form without words.

You hadn’t planned to paint today.

But the moment asked for it.

And you answered.

They watched quietly from behind.

Neither said a word.

You could sense them there—Mr. Qin’s calm, unreadable presence, and Mrs. Qin’s quiet, reassuring stillness.

They didn’t interrupt.

They didn’t need to.

There was something unspoken in the way they stood, as if they knew this wasn’t just painting to you.

It was expression. Memory.

A piece of yourself offered without words.

So they simply watched, letting you exist in that quiet space between thought and motion, between the rise of color and the sweep of a brush.

And you painted, unhurried, letting the silence hold you.

You finished not long after, laying the paintbrush and palette gently on the small table beside you.

The breeze had quieted, the morning sun now high enough to warm your shoulders.

Turning slightly in your seat, you glanced back at them—at the stillness in their posture, the quiet attention that hadn’t wavered.

A small smile tugged at your lips.

“You finally got to see me in action,” you said, the words light and playful, directed at Mrs. Qin.

She let out a soft, delighted laugh. “I did. And it was even more mesmerizing than I imagined.”

Beside her, Mr. Qin gave a small nod.

And though his expression remained as composed as ever, you didn’t miss the faint shift in his gaze.

It was approval—unspoken, but there.

You held his gaze for a moment longer, surprised by how much that small nod meant.

He didn’t offer compliments. He didn’t need to.

But in his stillness, in the way he remained there without turning away, something had shifted.

Mrs. Qin stepped closer, eyes drifting to the canvas behind you. “May I?”

You nodded, rising from your seat as she approached the painting. She studied it quietly, fingers folded loosely in front of her.

“It’s beautiful,” she said, voice soft with sincerity. “You captured more than just the view.”

You stood beside her, brushing a faint streak of paint from your wrist. “Sometimes it’s not about what I see. It’s about what I feel when I’m seeing it.”

She looked at you then, something knowing in her eyes. “That’s why he brought you here.”

You blinked. “Sylus?”

She smiled. “No. My husband.”

Behind you, Mr. Qin remained by the terrace rail, his eyes turned toward the horizon—but he was listening.

“I think he wanted to understand,” Mrs. Qin continued. “To see for himself what Sylus saw in you.”

Your breath caught just slightly.

“And now?” you asked, barely above a whisper.

Mrs. Qin gave the faintest smile, folding her arms loosely. “Now, I think he sees it.”

You didn’t speak.

You just stood there, the scent of paint and garden roses drifting around you, the canvas behind you still drying in the sun.

And for once, the silence didn’t feel like a wall.

It felt like a beginning.

Mrs. Qin stepped back, giving the painting one final glance before turning to you with that same gentle warmth. “Would you mind leaving it here? I think the terrace suits it.”

You blinked, surprised by the request, but nodded. “Of course.”

She touched your arm lightly, then turned to join her husband, leaving you by the easel.

Mr. Qin didn’t say a word, but as she reached his side, he leaned in, murmuring something only she could hear.

She smiled faintly, gave the smallest nod, and they began to walk back toward the house together.

You watched them go, the way their steps fell in quiet rhythm, how she glanced up at him as if they’d been having the same silent conversation for years.

You wondered if you and Sylus would look like that someday. If you already did, in some unspoken way.

The breeze moved again, catching your hair, your sleeve, the edge of the drying canvas.

You turned back to the painting, eyes scanning the strokes you’d made. There was something different in it. Lighter. Unfiltered. You’d given it more than just color.

And somehow, you felt like the house had given something back.

Acceptance, maybe. Or something close.

You stepped away from the easel, gaze soft as you looked out over the garden one more time, then turned and followed the path back inside.

The terrace, for the first time, felt like yours too.

—•

“I think… your father might be warming up to me.”

You said it gently, unsure, your eyes flicking toward Sylus on the screen as you tucked your knees closer to your chest.

He didn’t speak at first. Just looked at you.

You couldn’t quite read his expression—it was somewhere between thoughtful and amused.

Then, slowly, a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Miracles do happen,” he said, tone light but not unkind.

You let out a soft breath, half a laugh. “He didn’t say much… but he stayed. Watched.”

Sylus tilted his head, watching you a little more closely now. “That’s more than most get.”

You looked down at your fingers, fidgeting slightly. “It felt like… I don’t know. Like he saw me, finally. Not just as someone you married.”

His voice dropped, quieter now. “He did.”

You looked up at him, caught off guard by how certain he sounded.

“He sees it,” Sylus said. “What you’re capable of. Who you are.”

You blinked, heart catching just a little.

“You think so?”

He didn’t smirk this time.

He just nodded. “I know so.”

You raised a brow, a grin tugging at your lips. “Wow. That’s almost a compliment. From both of you.”

Sylus leaned back, his expression lazy as ever. “Don’t get used to it. I have a reputation to uphold.”

You snorted. “Of being emotionally repressed?”

He narrowed his eyes, mock offended. “Of being mysterious and refined, actually. But thanks.”

You laughed, stretching out across the bed. “Sure, let’s go with that. Mysterious. Right. That’s definitely what people say after watching you burn toast twice in one morning.”

“That was experimental cooking,” he shot back. “And the toaster was clearly defective.”

“Mm-hmm,” you hummed, clearly unconvinced. “Just admit it. You’re lucky I didn’t run for the hills after that breakfast.”

Sylus smirked. “Lucky, yes. But I’m also charming. You stayed for the charm.”

You rolled your eyes, smiling despite yourself. “No, I stayed because of Mephisto. You’re just a bonus.”

He pressed a hand to his chest in mock betrayal. “That cat has replaced me in my marriage.”

You shrugged, biting back a grin. “Don’t worry. You’re still in the top three.”

He huffed, but his smile lingered. “You’ll regret that when I steal Mephisto and disappear into the Spanish countryside.”

“Joke’s on you,” you said sweetly. “He’d come right back for the snacks.”

Sylus leaned in a little closer to the camera, his voice dropping just slightly. “And you?”

You blinked, caught off guard for just a second.

Then you smiled, soft and certain. “Always.”

His smirk lingered for a second longer before it softened into something more subtle.

Something only you ever got to see.

“Yeah,” he said, voice lower now. “Me too.”

You could hear the faint hum of the city behind him, but he was still—focused entirely on you.

“I wish you were here,” you said, barely above a whisper.

A pause.

Then that familiar glint flickered in his eyes. “If I were there, you wouldn’t get any sleep.”

You rolled your eyes, smiling despite yourself. “Sylus.”

His grin eased, eyes never leaving yours. “I mean it. I’d rather be there than anywhere else right now.”

That pulled something warm and heavy in your chest.

“I’m glad you called,” you murmured.

He leaned back slightly, gaze relaxed. “Of course I called. You think I’m letting you survive that house without backup?”

You laughed quietly, sinking deeper into the pillows.

“I’ll call again tomorrow,” he added, casually—like it was a given.

Like he didn’t even need to promise it.

“Good,” you said, letting your eyes slip shut. “You’re kind of the only thing keeping me sane.”

“I know,” he said. “Rest well, sweetie.”

You didn’t reply. You didn’t need to.

You just smiled, closing your eyes.

And as your breathing slowed, you heard him exhale, low and steady.

Still there.

Still yours.

The days passed in a quiet blur—early mornings on the terrace, soft conversations, brushes dipped in color and silence that no longer felt cold.

And now, it was time to leave.

The car waited near the front steps, bags already packed, Mephisto curled up lazily in his carrier, half-asleep and unimpressed by the movement.

Your in-laws stood just outside the entrance, the breeze gently tugging at Mrs. Qin’s coat, Mr. Qin’s hands folded neatly behind his back.

You stepped forward, wrapping your arms around her in a final hug. She held you just as warmly as before, her touch both graceful and grounding.

When you pulled back, you offered her a small, genuine smile.

“Thanks for having me,” you said softly.

Mrs. Qin’s smile deepened. “You’re always welcome here.”

Beside her, Mr. Qin gave a quiet nod. Not a word spoken, but something in his eyes had changed—less sharp, less guarded.

And somehow, that was enough.

You turned to offer one last smile, your hand already on the car door.

“Thank you again,” you said softly. “Truly.”

You were just about to slide into the seat when a quiet voice stopped you.

“Wait.”

You turned, surprised to see Mr. Qin stepping forward, something deliberate in his movements.

He didn’t say anything right away. Just reached into his coat and pulled out a small, timeworn sketchbook. The edges were slightly frayed, the leather cover aged and softened by years of use.

“This belonged to Sylus,” he said, holding it out to you. “He used to draw in it constantly when he was younger. Never let anyone touch it.”

You looked down at the book in his hand, hesitating for just a second before accepting it carefully.

It was heavier than you expected—not in weight, but in meaning.

“I thought you should have it,” he said simply. “He wouldn’t mind.”

Your fingers brushed the edge of the cover, a quiet awe settling into your chest.

“Thank you,” you said, voice low but steady.

He gave a brief nod, almost a bow, then stepped back beside his wife.

No further words, no grand display.

But as you sat down and closed the car door, the sketchbook resting in your lap, you realized this wasn’t just a goodbye.

It was a quiet welcome.

—•

“You never told me you used to draw,” you said, a teasing lilt in your voice as you flipped another page of the sketchbook resting in your lap.

Sylus’s voice came through the speaker, dry as ever. “Because I’ve seen them.”

You let out a small laugh, glancing at the sketch currently staring back at you—a very abstract attempt at what might’ve once been a horse. Or a dragon. Possibly both.

“These are… something,” you said, trying to hold back your grin. “Bold lines. Strong confusion.”

“I was eleven and angry at perspective,” he deadpanned.

You snorted. “This one looks like it personally wronged you.”

“It probably did.”

You turned another page and found a portrait so dramatically shaded, it looked like the subject lived exclusively under a streetlamp. You tried to keep your expression neutral and failed completely.

“This one feels… intense,” you offered diplomatically.

“Ah yes,” he said. “My tortured soul phase.”

You burst into laughter, curling further into your couch. “I can’t believe you kept this.”

“I didn’t. My mother did. Probably as blackmail.”

“Well, it worked. I’m thoroughly humbled.”

There was a beat of silence, his voice softer now. “And yet, you’re still going through it.”

You smiled to yourself. “Because it’s you. Even the bad sketches.”

“Especially the bad ones,” he chuckles.

You closed the book gently, resting your hand over the worn leather cover.

“It’s good to be home,” you murmured.

“Not for long,” he replied. “You’ll be in Madrid before you know it.”

You smiled, the sound of his voice settling something in you.

“Promise?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Always.”

And just like that, the marriage that once felt impossible—fragile, distant, built more on circumstance than choice—had shifted into something quieter.

Steadier.

Real.

Not overnight. Not with grand declarations.

But with late-night calls.

With paint-stained fingers.

With laughter tucked between silence and the way he always stayed on the line just a little longer than necessary.

You glanced down at your phone, still warm in your hand. His voice had gone quiet for a while now, comfortable in the stillness.

“Say,” you asked, softer than before, almost like a memory brushing against your lips, “how long has it been since you arrived on my doorstep?”

There was a pause—then the faintest sound of a smile in his voice.

“Nine months,” Sylus said. “Two days. Around midnight.”

You blinked, breath catching slightly at the certainty in his tone. “You remember that?”

“I remember everything about that night,” he replied, lower now. “The way you looked at me like I didn’t belong. The way I didn’t know what to say to make you trust me. And the way I wanted to stay anyway.”

You didn’t speak right away. The weight of those words settled gently between you.

“…That’s when it started, didn’t it?”

He let out a quiet breath. “That’s when everything started.”

And somehow, all the time you thought you’d lost—had really been building toward this.

Toward him. Toward home.

You closed the sketchbook gently, fingers brushing over the worn leather cover one last time before setting it down on the coffee table.

A fond smile tugged at your lips, but you masked it with a familiar lilt in your voice.

“Okay, lover boy,” you teased, rising from the couch, “don’t get all emotional on me now.”

From the phone speaker, Sylus let out a quiet scoff, equal parts amused and unamused. “Says the one who cried over a cat video yesterday.”

You paused mid-step, turning toward the phone with mock offense. “It was heartfelt.”

“It was a raccoon hugging a kitten.”

“Exactly. A hug, Sylus.”

He chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Go to bed, dramatic woman.”

You grinned, already heading down the hall. “Goodnight, emotionally repressed man.”

“Sweet dreams, kitten.”

And even as you slipped beneath the covers, your heart carried the echo of his voice—calm, constant, and undeniably yours.

You wouldn’t have imagined married life to be like this.

This soft. This steady.

Not when it started with distance and silence, with unsure glances and conversations that felt more like negotiations.

But now, with his voice lingering in your ear, with an old sketchbook resting on your coffee table, and the quiet warmth of your home wrapping around you like a familiar coat.

It felt easy.

Not effortless. But easy, in the way breathing becomes when you stop realizing you’re doing it.

He made space for you.

And somewhere along the way, you made space for him too.

And maybe this was what it meant to grow into love, not by falling.

But by staying.

[sleepingdeath-light]

comforting his s/o during their period hcs ; haku

requested by ; anonymous (23/02/23)

fandom(s) ; spirited away / studio ghibli films

fandom masterlist(s) ; here

character(s) ; haku

outline ; “hii! im a new blog on tumblr, and i really love studio ghibli! :D this is my first request- and so could i request howl, haku, and san comforting reader who's on her period ! ty <3”

note ; changed this from a fem reader to a gender neutral reader so that anyone who has periods can read this

warning(s) ; none, just fluff!

despite his youthful appearance, haku is an incredibly old spirit who has undoubtedly seen and known plenty of mortals in his time — which, naturally, includes passively gaining a decent understanding of periods, symptoms, and what the humans who lived locally to his river did to soothe those symptoms

all of that to say, he’s more than willing and prepared to help take care of you during the roughest part of your cycle — just say the word and he’ll fetch whatever you need (or, if he’s too busy to skip his duties under yubaba, he’ll ask one of the women he works with to go and look after you on his behalf)

of course he asks you personally what you know helps you cope with your period — he’s not the type of guy who is put off or embarrassed by that sort of thing — but he’ll also ask around the maids and female attendants to figure out what sort of remedies are actually available in the bathhouse and what he can use as a substitute for your usual methods from back in the mortal world

if your blood ends up leaking out and onto your shared bedding, your clothing, or his, he won’t make a big deal out of it: politely and privately pointing it out, sending you off to clean up, and taking the stained items off to be cleaned either by himself or by someone else at the bathhouse if, again, he’s too busy to properly tend to you

and he won’t hear a word about you being embarrassed or apologising to him, instead just giving you that smile of his as he laughs and insists that it really isn’t a bother and you have nothing to worry about — it’s a natural process, after all, and if you have to suffer through all of those symptoms then it’s the least he can do to make everything else easier for you

and on top of that he’s more than happy to offer more direct help with your pain: massaging away any aches or pains, offering reassurances and affection whenever hormone-fuelled doubt slips in, making sure you’re fully stocked with whatever you use to contain your bleeding (e.g. pads, tampons, etc.), bringing you teas and potions to help soothe any pain, cuddling with you until you fall asleep, and fetching you any foods you might be craving

he also leverages his position and reputation at the bathhouse to make sure you’re not being worked too hard or stressed out during your period — he knows you’re more than capable of handling yourself, but he does tend to become something of a ‘mother-hen’ whenever you’re even slightly unwell, and your period and the symptoms surrounding it activate that side of him far more than he would care to admit

[bts-princess7]

Size Kink

Pairing: Dom!Namjoon x Small!reader

Summary: After a long day in the studio,

Warnings: Smut, fluff (if you squint), size kink, smoking, big d!ck Namjoon, oral (m receiving), unprotected sex (wrap it b4 u tap it girls), manhandling, fingering (just a tad), stomach bulge, dirty talk, (lmk if i missed any).

Word count: (HOW DO U CHECK THE WORD COUNT ON TUMBLR PLS HELP)

A/N: I wrote this in one day and it’s the first one, there’s gonna be improvement I swear. What do y’all think ab song based one-shots??? Give me any suggestions, anything at all!

22 minutes left of the workday, just 22 minutes until your beloved boyfriend got home. It was approaching fall and the weather kept getting cooler, so much so that you helped yourself to Namjoon’s hoodie collection. You loved his hoodies, they were warm and huge and always smelt like him. Of course they weren’t as good as him, but they would do. You opened a pack of cigarettes and took one out, making your way out the front door. You settled onto one of the comfy chairs and lit your cigarette, taking a deep breath.

One puff warmed you up and you let out a sigh, feeling the nicotine course through your veins. You pulled out your phone, scrolling mindlessly when you heard a car pull in the driveway. You recognized the car immediately, Joon was home early. You took a last drag of your cigarette, and watched him get out of his car.

He got out with a big smile, gracefully hopping up the steps. “Hey baby,” he leaned down, pressing his lips against yours. You passed him the cigarette and let him finish it.

“How was work?” You asked, standing up next to him. You looked up at him, you were just about eye level with his chest. He looked down at you, watching you scan his body. Your hands tugged on the hem of his shirt, which was so deliciously shaped around his body.

“Let’s not talk about that, right now.” Namjoon put out the cigarette in the ashtray on the table, letting his hands fall to your waist. His big hands were warm on your body, even through his sweater. He dipped down, grabbing your legs and hoisting you over his shoulder.

“Joon!” You cried, holding onto the back of his neck. He held onto you with one arm, carrying you into the house and then your shared bedroom. He set you down on the bed, kneeling over you on his hands and knees. “Oh my god, Joon,” you sighed, his lips meeting your neck.

His plump lips peppered your neck with kisses, as he moved down your neck, he opened his mouth slightly. He left bright red blotches that would soon turn purple, you let out a low moan. “I’ve been waiting all day for this,” his voice was hoarse. Perhaps from being in the studio, or because of the need in his voice. “All day I’ve been thinking about my little princess, so fragile.”

You let out a squeak when he squeezed your hip, it excited you, the fact that he could crush you in a second if he really wanted to. His hand slid up underneath his sweater, all the way up to your chest and back down. “Take it off, Joon, please,” you tugged at the collar and he pulled his sweater off of you.

“So beautiful, so perfect for me, just for me.” He squished his head between your chest, leaving sloppy kisses as he inched farther down. His strong hands lifted you from the mattress just enough to undo your bra, his left hand moved up to cup your tits, right holding you up against him.

Namjoon pressed his lips against yours with passion, nibbling your bottom lip and rolling his tongue around yours. You let out a small moan when he flicked your nipple, the pad of his thumb rubbing intensely. You reached up to the hem of his shirt, tugging it up his torso. Namjoon leaned back slightly, pulled his shirt over his head before coming back.

You ran your hands over his body, his muscles felt especially promenant today. He pushed you back further into the centre of the bed, he covered you as if he were a blanket. His hand snaked up between your bodies and pressed against your core, you moaned into his mouth, moving your hips against his hand.

“You’re so wet, baby. So wet for me,” he pulled on your shorts and moved your underwear to the side. As gently as he could, he ran a finger through your folds with a smirk.

“Joon, please there,” you moaned, he ran his fingers back down again, then back up and stopped when he reached your clit. He rubbed his skillful fingers onto your pearl.

“Yeah? You like that? Like my big hands playing with your tiny pussy?” He made small, quick circles, paying careful attention. You clenched around nothing as he continued down to your hole, his middle finger prodding your hole. Namjoon pushed it in gently, “So tight, gonna squeeze me good, baby? Gonna be able to take my cock?” He teased, grabbing himself through his pants.

“Yes, yes, I’ll take you good,” you moaned, desperate to feel him. He added another finger, moving one of your legs onto his strong shoulders, being able to reach a better angle.

You reached down, pulling on the button of his jeans, then the zipper. Keeping his fingers in you, Namjoon stood and discarded his pants, his boxers hung loosely on his hips. He was so godly, standing above you with his fingers between your legs and his toned chest on full display, what a catch.

Namjoon curled his fingers, forcing a lewd moan out of you. He could feel you clenching around his fingers and pulled back, you looked up at him with those big eyes he couldn’t resist. “Not yet, princess,” he leaned down to give you a sloppy kiss. “I wanna know what that mouth can do,” at this, your eyes widened, but you agreed willingly.

He sat down on the bed and you knelt on the floor, once you removed his boxers, his cock sprang up and hit his stomach. He hissed and you licked your lips. You grabbed his length in your hand, rubbing his sensitive slit with your thumb. “Oh fuck, y/n,” Namjoon moaned your name, rolling his hips into your hand.

You licked a stripe up his cock, shaky breaths escaping his throat and you sunk down as far as you could. You wrapped your hand around the part you couldn’t reach with your mouth and started moving, you gagged around him but kept going anyway. Namjoon looked down at you, your eyes looked up at him with an innocence he couldn’t believe.

He reached around your head, grabbing your hair in a ponytail and pulling your head off of his cock. A trail of spit and pre cum attaching you to his tip, you stayed still with your mouth open and tongue hanging out. “You look so gorgeous on my cock, making sure you know you’re mine, huh?” He grabbed the base of his cock, slapping it against your tongue.

Namjoon sighed, reaching down to grab your waist, he pulled you up onto the bed. He rolled you on your back, pulling you against his pelvis and holding your legs open. “Oh Joon,” you moaned, he knew exactly what got you going.

He smirked, lining himself up with your entrance. Without warning, he pushed past your walls, making you let out a cry. He pulled back and thrust back in again, you moaned in unison and he picked up his pace. “Joon, ugh big!” You rambled, he grunted as you clenched around him.

“You’re so tight, so wet.” He mumbled, pressing his thumbs harder into your hips. “Look at that, so big it’s poking out,” he ran one of his hands over the small bulge that poked your stomach each time he thrust his hips. You let out a guttural moan when Namjoon moved one of your hands over your stomach, you could feel his tip poke you every so often.

Namjoon sped up his pace, his hips hitting the back of your thighs with a brutal force. You could feel the bed rock beneath you and the knot that tightened in your stomach, “Please, please I’m gonna cum!” You cried, holding onto his forearms as best you could.

“That’s it, princess. Let go, show me what I do to you.” He moaned, biting his lip. Your brows narrowed, mouth falling open slightly as he pushed his hips farther. His hand slunk down to your clit, making rough circles as you shivered.

“Yes, yes Joon, ughhhh” you moaned, feeling pleasure hit you like a wave of relief. Namjoon took his hand away from your clit, he puts his hands back on your thighs, holding them open once again as he chased his high.

“That’s right, good girl. Letting me use you like a fuck doll,” he groaned. You could feel his cock twitch inside you, ready to burst. You were way past overstimulated, eyes going blurry while your boyfriend fucked you into oblivion. His arms wrapped you in a strong comforting hug, his hips stopped deep inside you as he finally let go. “Fuck, y/n. You’re fucking amazing.”

You stayed in that position for a few minutes, him covering your body like a blanket and holding you tightly in his arms. You smiled down at him, running your fingers through his hair. “I love you so much princess, so fucking much.”

“I love you too, Joonie.”

[kenslilove]

᯽⸱៰ ͘ ࣭⸰ 𖥔 ͙ࣳ  BEEG BEEFY MEN—

A.N. this is a repost (wiff some much needed editing) from my old blog, plus i added in mister souf terano and mister miguel o'hara <33 they deserve to be in a post all about the biggest n the beefiest <3

FT. Bokuto, Taiju, Tengen, Toji, Osamu, Draken, South, Miguel

W. nsfw, MINORS DNI, fem bodied reader, size kink, manhandling, ptv, d/s dynamics, daddy kink, overstimulation, edging, implied age gap for toji’s part, mentions of creampie, slight exhibitionism for Osamu, drool, cute pet names like baby, princess, etc, titles used: daddy, papa, sir, papi

Bokuto: 

Bokuto who works out 6 days a week and still runs on the 7th 😔 he’s always working on his muscles, making sure he’s physically fit and always up to par for volleyball. Iwaizumi keeps him on a strict workout regime and he doesn’t mind that, considering it shows results and makes him feel good. You honestly don’t mind the schedule either, because you get to watch him pump bars over his head, muscles contracting and rippling, sweat dripping in beads along his toned chest. He’s a god really, with a build like that, and your eyes can’t help but stayed glued to him. It’s only when he clears his throat that you realize you’ve been caught, cheeks suddenly starting to burn as you snap your eyes away from his abs and up to his face. That smug look of his doesn’t help your embarrassment, making you bite your lip sheepishly. “Enjoyin the view, birdy?” He asks through a grin, and you don’t bother lying, you’ve been caught away so you nod, heart doing a little flip in your chest when he holds a hand out to you. You don’t hesitate to go to his side, allowing his hand to guide your own over the plane of his abs. Your fingertips trace the defined muscles there, despite how they still contract and sweat and you sigh softly, pupils basically in little heart shapes when you look back up at him. “You look so good, Koutarou….” 

He’s got you laid out flat on his workout bench, clothes were haphazardly thrown across the padded flooring. Your slips hang open in a silent cry as he looms over you again, chest pressed right up to your back as his cock bullies its way to the hilt back into your gummy walls. His groan right next to your ear is almost overwhelming, his body swallowing you up and taking over all your senses as his hips hump up against your ass, pushing and pulling his cock shallowly in and out of you. When you let out a hiccuping sigh against the leather of the bench he chuckles softly, teeth grazing against your ear. “Liked bein stuffed like this, huh baby? Wanna be stuffed with cum too, don’t you?” You nod because the words don’t form, becoming lost on your tongue and replaced with whines as soon as Bokuto starts rotating his hips. One thick arm manages to slip underneath you and his palm rests open on your tummy, uncaring of the sweat and slick that makes everything a little messier. “Cum f’me.” His words vibrate against your back, his index finger managing to find your clit to add a steady pressure to the pulsing bud. You would have  jolted, but you’re trapped beneath him, so all you can do is let out a shaky sob. “Cum f’papa and I’ll give you exactly what you want~” 

Taiju: 

Taiju is a busy man, running his successful restaurant was a full-time job that took up a lot of his time. And yet despite this, he always made time for his baby. He’d take you along to special events, and business meetings, but especially to suit fittings. You were the one that made him rekindle his relationship with Mitsuya, knowing that he would be the best person for the job in terms of making a suit that would actually fit Taiju’s size and stature. You claimed you went to talk to Mitsuya, which may have been part of the reason, but Taiju knew why you went along to every fitting. You got to see him almost naked, arms outstretched and shoulder blades contracting as Mitsuya took his proper measurements. He watched you through the full-length mirrors that covered the studio walls. How you’d press your thighs together, squirming in the chair you sat in. How your eyes would get glossy when he’d slip the brand new suit jacket on, testing the fit and how it would look perfect on his frame. The best is when he’d pull the suit pants on for the first time and your eyes were literally glued to his butt, lip bitten between your lips almost swollen. Mitsuya would leave the room as Taiju undressed into his normal clothes, and it’s only then that he’d scoff softly, eyes a bit narrowed as he finally catches your attention. “You’re so obvious.” He states, only making you fiddle with the hem of your skirt a bit more as you try to play innocent. “Staring at me like a piece of meat. Bet your panties are soaked through.” 

As soon as the two of you got back to your shared home he’d have you pinned against a wall. If you had it your way you would’ve done it in the car, but Taiju wanted to make you wait and teased you the whole drive. Reminder you that only whores get that hot and bothered so easily, held your thigh in his big hand cause he knew it made you melt seeing how he could so easily grip the fat there. He picked you up at this point, your skirt bunched up at your waist and your panties ripped clean off. His hands gripped harshly to the fat of thighs, holding you up against the wall with nothing but strength as he used the force of gravity to fuck up into you. The slap of his hips was wet from how much you were dribbling, his eyes wide and feral as he watched your head lull back against the wall, a bit of drool leaving your lips that were stuck hung in a silent scream. He grins, lips littering sloppy kisses along your neck, uncaring of the marks he left behind. “Pretty lil dumb thing…” he murmurs, grinding his hips so his cock could thoroughly stir your insides. “This is all you think about, isn’t it? Getting fucked open by my big cock?” That caught your attention, nodding your head as your nails leave crescents into his shoulder. You’re mumbling “yes sir, yes Taiju” as his speed suddenly picks up, loving the feeling of your breasts bouncing against his chest. “Such a good girl.” 

Tengen: 

Tengen knows he’s attractive, he has 4 wives who all adore him, of course, he’s attractive. He also knows very that he’s built like a god, with muscles that bulge just right, flex and make him look even better. Sure, he got this way from hard work and dedication, but it helps too that he’s naturally flashy, with a good style and personality to go with his looks. He knows that people watch him, he knows that people flirt with him, and rather openly. Most of his wives have gotten used to this, but you? You’re a little newer, can’t help but be a bit protective and a lil insecure when it comes to your partner. So when you see two women flirting with him at a festival, something like jealousy flames within your belly. You can’t even help the way you get upset, lips twisting into a pout. It’s when one of the random women has the audacity to put her hand onto his bicep, giving it a squeeze that you lose it. You cling onto him, basically prying him away from their grimy hands and sending them a death glare in the process. The girls got the memo instantly, slinking away with grumbles and pouts of their own. To make matters worse Tengen is oblivious to it all. He was used to this, people hitting on him, but you acting like this? “What’s wrong?” He asks, the amusement in his tone only making you ten times angrier. Rather than explaining yourself you flip him off, an action that only fuels him further to get an answer out of you. 

Your back is trembling up against his chest, his fingers so lazily petting at your clit driving you absolutely wild but you can’t do anything about it. Your hands are trapped behind you between your bodies, bound by the silky material of the cord that usually holds his robe together. His cock somehow looks even bigger right now, stuffed within your quivering pussy and stretching it open. His base is covered already in a layer of your sheen that’s been steadily leaking out of you and yet he still hasn’t let you cum. You Yelp from the sudden impact of his finger tips against your swollen numb, fat tears finally spilling from your lashes and onto your hot cheeks. “Why would you ever need to be jealous, pretty? Ever?” He questions you again, fingers going back to slowly rolling your clit. You let out a soft sob, head lulling back into his broad chest as you try to buck your hips along his cock, only for his free hand to keep you firmly in place. “Don’t you know I picked you for a reason? Don’t you know I love you so, so much that I wanted you and only you to join me and the girls in our marriage?” His voice lowers as you start to flutter around his cock again, and his fingers start to speed up, finally. “Won’t ask ya again, tell me, do you know I love you?” You cry out, lips bitten swollen as you tilted your head back enough to meet his gaze. He flashes you a smile, the first one you’ve gotten since the start of this punishment and you whimper, nodding dumbly. “I-I know, I-I know daddy, m’sorry, was bein dumb—“ He shushes you with his lips, finally moving his hips. He bucks them up into you, making your whole body bounce in his lap from the sheer size difference. “Not dumb, never dumb darlin.. ya just forget sometimes…” The knot in your stomach finally snaps as he circles your clit, the squeeze of your pussy making his groan into your open mouth. “Just forget how perfect ya are f’me, that’s all.” 

Toji: 

Toji, big big Toji who knows very well that most ladies are attracted to him for his size. He likes to go for the little shy ones. The ones that stare at him with innocent eyes, look at him a little longer than they should and always manage to get caught. He’ll send you a wink, sometimes even wave playfully just to get you all the more embarrassed. His favourite type to go for though, as horrible as it is, are the girls his son is always bringing home. It’s a little fucked up, isn’t it? But Toji knows, knows that his son may try his best, but he can’t please a woman like he can, not yet anyway. So as his father, it’s his job to keep Megumi’s girls pleased when he can’t do so himself. He sees it as helping of course, surely the girl will stick with his son longer if she knows she’ll get a treat every time she comes over…

“Skirts shorter than usual…” Toji muses, his eyes lit up in amusement as his fingers brush over the soft pleats found the fabric. His hips are snapping back into your ass again just so your lips hang open, the start of a yelp about to escape had he not shoved the hem of the skirt between your lips. You muffle a whine into the material, fingers curling up against the wall you were currently pressed up against. “Musta wanted me to notice, isn’t that right dollface?” He says between a chuckle, grin getting bigger as he gets a better grip on your hips, making you stick your ass out a bit more and arch your back for him. This angle allows his cock head to smack into your cervix, kissing it with the tip and threatening and to break through. His balls are heavy as they slap against your skin, only adding to the lewd, wet slaps that echo from your cute pussy. He leans closer to your ear, whispering up against the soft flesh when you let out a string of sobs about how you’re gunna cum. “Yea? Gunna cum for daddy are ya?” He laughs when you nod, teeth sinking into your shoulder as one thick hand slides over your hips to tease on your clit, helping you reach your high faster. “Go on, make sure you’re loud enough that your boyfriend knows his daddy is fuckinh you this good.” 

Osamu:

Osamu has always been the bulkier of the two twins. His muscles weren’t as lean as Atsumu’, even in their volleyball days. He was built bigger, shoulders more broad, the baby fat on his cheeks remaining longer. Now as an adult his muscles didn’t go away, oh no, he needs them to lift the heavy bags of rice to and from the restaurant, but he has certainly filled out. Shoulders spreading, biceps bulging. A light layer of fat forms over his chest, the muscles underneath just making him look bigger. The tshirts he always wears shows these off, and although he takes no mind to how his body has changed, you certainly have. It makes you drool, when his arms flex as he quickly cuts up vegetables, when he grunts as he lifts a rice bag on his shoulder. The best is when he ties his apron around him, Accentuating just how small his waist still is despite how he’s broadened out. He doesn’t even realize how attractive he is, honestly. You can’t even help yourself when you gawk at him at work, and you certainly can’t help how heat pools between your legs. He starts to really notice when you pout up at him, pretty legs rubbing together in the stool you sit at…

“Couldn’t even wait until we got home.” He’s grumbling his words against your lips, as if he’s not happy to have his tongue exploring every inch of your mouth. “Too fuckin spoiled too wait.” He added, his reprimanding turning into a grunt when your nails run through his hair, scratching lightly over his scalp just the way he likes it. He latches onto your lower lip, suckling it like his favourite treat as his big hands grab at your thighs. He tenderly squeezes the flesh he loves before gripping it, easily hauling you up onto the counter top he was previously making food on. He’s thankful you’re wearing a skirt today, because all it takes is one good tug and your panties are ripped clean off, exposing your dampened lower lips to him and making goosebumps rise on your lips. He clicks his tongue when you start to complain about how those were your favourite pair, one of his palms pressing into your tummy to easily push you back into the cold countertop. “Quit yer bitchin, I’ll get a new pair.” You were about to shoot back, but all your words get lost on your tongue when he spits onto your pussy, two thick fingers locked in and rubbing on your clit. A smirk twitches on his lips, shaking his head as he watches just how easily you come undone for him. He presses a kiss to your hip bone. “That’s it, be a good girl and take what you want, gunna fuck ya real good.” 

Draken:

we all know I could go on for hours about draken 😔 I mean do you blame me? He’s huge, the biggest of all his friends in both height and build. He’s always been naturally big, the width of his shoulders sometimes making it hard for him to find proper attire that fits him comfortably. Hence why he settles for tank tops a lot, gives him more space to breath. Would never admit it out loud but he 100% is very aware when you’re checking him out and he LOVES it. Draken doesn’t like to flaunt himself but when you do it it’s different. Makes his cheeks heat up a bit and his cock twitch knowing how damn lucky he is to have someone as pretty as you obessed with him like that. So he’ll let you stare, whether it be while he’s working at the shop, working out, or simply when the two of you are out. He’ll let your eyes linger on him, sometimes he’ll even flex on purpose, holding back laughter when you suck in a sharper breath. He will tease you about it, sometimes of course cause he can’t even help himself. He’ll turn and smirk at you, “like what you see, princess?” Or “my eyes are up here, goofy.” But comments like that always leave you in a huff and he’ll have to chase you after to make up for it. Which is fine, but sometimes, he lets you linger, lets you really stare and get yourself worked up, cause that’s when you’ll pounce him. You have such little patience, and it’s so so amusing to your big boyfriend when you try to drag his ass around to get what you desire from him. 

As soon as the two of you had returned home from your date you had dragged Draken to the couch, not even bothering to bring him to the bedroom because it had been far too long and you were craving him already. He had worn that tank top you love so much, with the low-cut arm holes that show off his toned sides and arms. You just couldn’t take it. You needed to have him. Which is how you ended up straddling his lap, needy whines leaving your lips as your fingers desperately tried to unbuckle his belt, simply settling for pawing at his crotch when you couldn’t seem to get it. He’s grinning, holding back little strings of laughter. “Eager huh?” Normally you would have snapped back at a comment like that, but when his fingers finally freed his cock, you simply sighed in contentment, licking your lips at how it stood at attention, leaking so pretty just for you to sit on. You had already discarded your bottoms, lifting yourself on your hunches and easing yourself easily onto his cock. The stretch was always mind-numbing, back arching and goosebumps forming on your thighs as you slowly worked your way over him. The little whimpers, whines, needy noises you made was a melody to Draken’s ears, his hands massaging the supple skin of your thighs as you moved at your own pace. He groaned softly when your pussy started to flutter around him already, your walls being stubborn as usual when first taking him in. “Fuck—“ he gritted out, pupils dilating when you looked at him with teary eyes, lips puffy as you huffed. “Help me, Ken, want all of you.” His hands slid from your thighs to your waist, bearing his teeth in an amused grin as he lifted you up with ease, just enough that his head sat between your walls. He didn’t hesitate when he slammed you back down on his cock, sheathing all the way on his cock, the knock of it up against your cervix making your breath leave you in a gasp. He doesn’t let up from there, using the bruising grip he has on your love handles to bounce you up and down on his cock. “So. Fucking. Needy— and you can’t even take what you want on your own? Really are just a dumb lil baby aren’t you, princess?” You’re sobbing from the brutal pace, head lulling onto his shoulder as he bounces you like you’re nothing. And to him, it’s a simple task, the pleasure of the pretty tight walls milking his cock only making it easier for him to manhandle you. “Fuck—“ he grins, planting his feet so his hips can fuck up into you, further jolting you along his cock. “You just sit pretty, daddy will do all the work—“

Miguel:

Oh Miguel. Mister broody, frustrated Miguel. This man is constantly under pressure, believing he’s carrying the weight of the spiderverse on his shoulders. And ofc he’s doing good (most of the time), but due to his tormented nature Miguel constantly has a weight on his already enormous shoulders. Sometimes he works it off with physical work outs, but his absolute favourite stress reliever is you and your pretty little body. He easy looms over you, has you pinned up against his monitor with both hands planted on it. He reminds Lyla that he’s about to be very busy, and the AI actually can’t help but feel a little bad for you because with all that tension and that 6’9 body…

“M-Miguel!” You squeak, the sound being easily drowned out by the sound of squelching. The wet slaps are emitting from your pussy, that Miguel still hasn’t been able to fit into. He’s worked four orgasms out of you already, two with his fingers and two with his mouth, and yet his cock still gets stuck in your tight, wet walls. He growls low in his throat, sharpened nails popping from his finger tips as he grips your hip even tighter, his other hand hoisting your pudgy thigh up even higher in an attempt at getting a better angle. “Cmon amor, lemme in, hm? Quit being so shy.” His tone is condescending and bordering stern as his hips buck again, another inch or two pushing past tight muscles and making your body jolt in the process. Tears sit fat in your lashes as you look over at him over your shoulder, lower lip wobbling and cheeks a bit bloated in a pout. “S’too big— s’not gunna fit—“ sympathy crosses his features only a moment. You were his baby after all, and despite how horribly he wanted to feel the fluttering of your walls around his whole cock, he also knew just how large he was, and how it wasn’t just a mere stretch. He was practically splitting you open. He bends, chest pressed right up against your back, and he coos against your lips, letting you peck and whimper against the soft flesh. “I know amor, I know corazoncito.. it’s so big.” He grips your jaw, pressing a kiss thats more firm against your lips as a means of grounding you. “But you’re gonna take it, hm? You’re gonna take the whole thing, because daddy’s telling you too.”

South:

MISTER SOUTH 7 FEET TALL TERANO‼️ oh this man is huge in every sense of the word. Bulging muscles, thick veins, huge calves. This man has to get his dress pants custom tailored to fit his legs I just know it! And the same can be said for his piano. We all saw that sketch of South’s room right? He has a grand piano! And baby, he had to get the piano adjusted slightly bc when he sat at it, he didn’t have enough space for his legs!! He’d want to tap down on the peddles and his knees would hit the poor piano! Once it was adjusted though, South played as much as he could. And luckily for him, his pretty little thing loved the sound of his piano just as much as he did. His favourite was when he had you laid across the piano, resting on your side, looking at him with those doe eyes and humming along to whatever tune he played. Yea, how was he supposed to resist?

The sweet melody had turned into something broken, keys slamming and screeching along with your cries of pleasure. “P-Papi!” South’s eyes were lit up with desire, thick hands holding your thighs up and leaving them trembling in the air. South wasn’t cornered with the way your ass was pressing into the keys, he was much more concerned with the way your sweet cunt looked swollen, stretched and splitting as he sheathed his cock within it for the nth time. His dick was coated in your milky white essence, a hefty ring of white frothing at his base and leaky onto the piano keys. Surely it would leave a puddle behind, one that dripped down sleek white keys and onto the black glossy piano legs. South made sure somewhere deep in his pleasure-filled mind he’d remember to take a picture of it. “Gata~” he purrs himself, easily manhandling over thighs over his shoulders. Your legs dangled there, only jolting with the force of his hips slapping up against your ass cheeks. “Taking Papi so well, Porra.. I’ll never get used to how perfect this cunt is, bela menina.” You nod and squeal in response because words can’t seem to form in your mind right now. No no, all you can think of right now is the sweet sting of his length stretching you open much past your limits. He leans down and peppers kisses along your sweet, hardened nipples, while his pace never lets up. He needs to have you squirting all over him and the piano. “Make a mess, pequeno amor, cmon, fazer uma bagunça…” His voice rumbles throughout your chest, and you don’t even realize you’ve reached the peek of euphoria until you soak his abs and the keys in your arousal <33

[dewdropdinosaur]

Falling for You

VOX x READER Summary: You are Vox's assistant and maybe tripping isn't so bad in the work place. Warnings: None. Just Vox being egotistical(I tried to keep it canon but I am sorry if it's not exactly) and lots of pining. Keep in mind that REQUESTS are OPEN!!

Vox stepped out of a black limo and stood up, revealing his seven foot figure as a crowd of demons rushed over to either take pictures, ask questions, or get an autograph…which he had completely ignored all their attempts to try with a disgusted look on his face. Stepping out of the limo along with him, clutching your pen-pad you strode beside him as he walked into the large VoxTech building. 

You knew he had secretly enjoyed the attention he was getting very much from the crowd. It made him feel powerful. You swore you could have seen him flash a light blue toothy grin at times.

“Sir, Zestial, your 3 o’clock is waiting in the 10th floor lounge to discuss recent sales and advertisements on 666. And your 4 o’clock canceled so your 6 pm is now moved to that slot. Valentino wants you to visit his studio apparently he is pissed and oh Velvette is having none of it—”

“Relax darling, I’ve got it handled.” Vox smirked down at you, cupping your chin in his hand in dominance. You breathe out a heavy sigh once he removes his hand, hiding a small blush that graces your cheeks hoping he didn’t notice. He does though, always has. The way your eyes light up when you look at him, the small tint of color that reaches your nose when he compliments you, he sees it all. And he loves it. 

Entering the elevator, you press the button for the 10th floor; relaxing as the metal doors close shut and you are away from the loud crowd. It continued like this for the rest of the day. Meetings, interviews, coffee break(that was more like a coffee second than the actual 30 minute lunch session), writing reports, adding to Vox’s calendar, writing more reports, making sure Valentino doesn’t blow up another employee…and so on and so forth. 15 hour days were now your specialty after working with Vox for so many years and yet some days still drug on longer than one would have appreciated. 

Sitting at your desk outside Vox’s office, the small light of the lamp illuminated the darkened area. You rub your eyes in exhaustion, peeking at the monitor to see it read ‘1:26 AM’. Deciding that five hours of sleep was better than none, you switch off your monitor and stack your paper reports neatly on your desk for later that day. Flicking off the lamp, you knock softly on Vox’s office door and allow yourself in. 

“Sir, I just finished up. I’ll see you at 7 AM.”

“Mhmm, another late night?”

“Could say the same for yourself boss.”

“Y/N, it’s past work hours. You know how I hate paying your overtime.” 

“And yet, without fail, I see that nifty little add on each week.”

“Well, you are one of the few competent assholes in this place”

“Was that a compliment sir?” 

“Don’t push your luck darling.”

Vox turns his chair around to face you, a large cup of coffee steaming in his hand as he sips it with a smirk. Crossing your arms with the chuckle, you liked this banter. You and Vox had always had a good working relationship, sassing each other back and forth while still toeing the line between professionalism and flirting. Taking a step forward, you stop right in front of his desk.

“You know me Vox, I am always pushing the envelope. So, was it a compliment?”

“Ah yes, always so pushy. Really shouldn’t be a quality you brag about.”

“But it’s why you like me~. The pushing, always getting what I want to know.”

“I will neither confirm nor deny the fact that you may have more tact than most in this shithole.” 

Biting back a laugh at his playful attempt at professional language ruined by the vulgarity, you place a hip on the desk; sitting casually. The large aquarium was a nice backdrop and you could see why Vox spent a lot of time here. Other than working himself to the bone to maintain his image/the company or hunting down the Radio Demon on any available CV camera, looking into the aquarium was a nice activity you assumed he might partake in. 

“Something on your mind Y/N?” 

Snapping your head back to his and reality, you offer a sheepish smile and a shake of your head. 

“No, no. Just admiring the aquarium.”

“It is pretty nice, I built it myself. Should have seen it, it didn't take more than a week.”

“Truly humble boss, truly humble.” 

“Now is that any way to speak to your employer?”

“My apologies. I didn't realize stroking your ego was in my job responsibilities.” 

Standing up from the desk, you accidentally catch your foot on the wires underneath. Bracing for the impact, it doesn’t come. Instead, you are caught as a small yelp leaves your mouth. Looking up, Vox has caught you with one hand; holding you in a dip. The world freezes for a few seconds as you take a moment to look at his face, the feeling of his hands on your hips, it all felt…right for some reason. 

Clearing his throat, Vox pulls you up and removes his hand. You could have sworn you saw a small flush on his screened face before he spoke. 

“Tch, women. Always falling for me.”

“Again…really humble boss.”

Heat still crept onto your cheeks as you long for the feeling of his hands on your waist, how warm they felt, how safe it made you feel. Adjusting your blouse, you excuse yourself and walk home; mind running with all the possibilities and recounting every second of the encounter. 

Little did you know, Vox was doing the very same. Replaying the event on his monitors, reviewing every second and every flush of your skin. The way your eyes widened and looked up at him with such hope, it made his circuits buzz a little. He wouldn’t deny it, he had always found you attractive. Definitely helped in meetings with other Overlords to have a pretty face moderating. But he would be wrong to say that was the only reason. You were hardworking, almost as driven as him and that is saying something. You flowed effortlessly around the office, directing everything to its natural and needed space. And the way you smiled for the camera, gosh he wished you would smile at him like that. That pretty pearly white smile. 

Looks like this might not be the professional relationship it had started out to be. Neither of you wanted to keep it professional anyway.