#drawing it all on one layer almost killed me

[sonotpattismith]

while i'm here writing songs for you

pairing: musician!choso x childhood friend!reader word count: 10.6k content: childhood friends to lovers, everyone knows they're in love except them, jealousy, mentions of virginity loss, dying on the grunge choso hill, lil angst, fluff, smut, 18+ inspired by: bless the telephone by labi siffre

“Hah! Your old man’s gonna kill me.” 

Through shut eyes, a freshly eighteen-year-old Choso bit back an amused grin as best he could as to avoid disrupting his uncle’s work against his face. 

“Nah, he caught Yuji at a casino this week, so I’m the golden boy for the foreseeable future while he’s grounded.” The boy muttered with a small smirk. He did feel for his little brother, often sneaking into his room with his console to entertain him for at least a short while in the midst of his prison sentence. Still, he had to admit that his timing was impeccable— giving the older sibling the perfect cushion to fall back to when Jin sees what his son had done to celebrate his birthday. 

“Shit, yeah, I almost forgot.” Sukuna mumbled with a tickled shake of his head as he gripped at his nephew’s forehead in concentration. “Let the brat know I’ve still got his money whenever my boring ass brother lets him off house arrest.” 

“Choso!” 

The boy was eternally grateful that his uncle wasn’t as jumpy as he was, the man tightening his grip around his head in preparation for his jolt of surprise at the sudden shout. 

“Ohhh, I’d be more scared of your girl than your dad, punk.” 

You had burst through the doors of the tattoo parlor like a bat out of hell, your breath heaving slightly with the expended effort of hauling ass all the way over here from the restaurant you worked part time at. After receiving a cryptic picture from your best friend of him sat in his uncle’s tattoo chair with that deceivingly sheepish smile on his face, you could barely concentrate on taking orders correctly the remainder of your shift. Huffing out a sigh, you spotted those familiar, black combat boots hanging off the end of one of the leather seats. 

Choso didn’t bother to correct Sukuna’s labeling of you as his girl, as it was proven a wasted effort after years of telling him that wasn’t the case. It also didn’t hurt that the title made his stomach flip excitedly each time he heard it. 

“Oh my god.” You gaped once you finally reached the chair he was laid at. Half of the deep burgundy, nearly black mark that was being tattooed across his nose was already finished, and you could already picture the crash out Jin Itadori would have when he laid his eyes on his eldest son. 

Cracking one eye open, the birthday boy took in the sight of you, cheeks still red and puffing from the run you took to get to him. Underneath that first layer of shock though, he could see the barely disguised wonder in your eyes as you assessed the situation at hand. Sukuna paused his ministrations to give his nephew a break, and so that you could see the progress. 

“What the fuck! Your dad is gonna kill you.” You laughed incredulously, stepping closer to get a better look. Choso was just glad that his face was already tinged red from the irritation of the needle so you wouldn’t notice how he flushed insecurely under your gaze. 

It was his main reasoning behind the oddly placed tattoo, actually. Since he was little he could remember his face growing noticeably hot over the tiniest of compliments, looks, or touches. Maybe it was far-fetched, but he hoped the imposing mark across his nose and cheeks would draw the attention away from that little quirk of his. It also didn’t hurt that the stencil looked cool as fuck. 

“Not if you’re with me, he won’t.” Choso suggested with a sly, hopeful smile on his face, and you quickly shook your head at him. His face fell into that pout he had mastered to use specifically on you. “C’mon, he’ll take it easy on me if you’re there, please!”

“It was bad enough having to be your human shield when you got your nose pierced, Cho— no way.” 

“I’ll let you check my back for blackheads.” 

It fell silent for a moment as you contemplated his offer.

“You two are fuckin’ freaks.” Sukuna scoffed in disgust beside you before dragging his nephew’s chin back to face forward to continue working. You winced watching the needle begin to pierce at his already irritated skin, and you found yourself instinctively slipping your hand into his to squeeze it. 

“Does it hurt?” You grimaced, leaning a bit closer to watch. 

Choso almost said no, because, truthfully, he had gotten used to the pain about half an hour ago, but he took note of the way you clutched at his hand to comfort him. His lips twitched nervously at the feeling as he closed his eyes once again. 

“Uh— yeah, kind of.” He mumbled, taking the opportunity to lace his fingers through yours under the guise of having something to squeeze onto when he was in pain. His uncle watched the interaction with a deadpan expression, knowing full well that the kid hadn’t so much as flinched once since he’d sat down. Shaking his head with a quiet tut, he barely tried to conceal his amused smirk. 

“What about you, birthday girl, huh? You getting some celebratory ink too?” Sukuna questioned, wiping at the side of Choso’s nose that he’d just filled in. You cringed as you watched the tiniest amount of blood trickle at the bridge of his nose. 

“Don’t know, I think Cho took all the balls in this friendship.” You admitted with a defeated smile.

“Don’t be such a wimp.” Your best friend teased with a careful smile as he stretched his lower half against the stiff chair. The black sweater he was wearing rode up a bit, practically commanding the attention of your wandering eyes. There was a barely noticeable trail of dark hair leading down into the band of his joggers, and your lips parted as you tried to recall when the fuck that had happened.

The last couple of months in your friendship with Choso had been… getting a little difficult. You two had been practically joined at the hip since you were six years old and yelled at a group of first graders for not singing happy birthday to him as well after having overheard his dad wishing him a happy birthday that morning during drop off. For a while, the two of you would tell people at school that you were twins even though it was so clearly not the case, but six-year-old you and Cho were sure that you had everyone convinced. 

He had always been a bit of an introvert, so you had been the greatest birthday gift he could have ever hoped for. So, the awkward boy stuck to your side from that day on. Wherever one was, the other was never too far behind, and this would now be the twelfth birthday you two would be spending together. 

Choso had certainly been… changing though from that lanky little boy who would sniffle and cry each time you two parted for the day (as if you didn’t attend the same school). He had grown taller, his voice had dropped a few octaves, and these days you were finding yourself worrying about the timeline of your best friend’s happy trail. For a while you blamed it on the raging hormones that came along with puberty, but you were eighteen now and weren’t sure how much longer that excuse would hold up in your denial-filled brain. 

This was just one more way he was changing, you convinced yourself as you anxiously waited for him to unlock the front door of his house, his nose and cheeks still glistening with the antibiotic ointment Sukuna had slathered onto his fresh tattoo. He would have never had the courage to do something so bold even just a couple years ago. You had to admit though, the odd choice of tattoo did suit him, emphasizing those tired, chocolate eyes of his so nicely. 

It was silent in the Itadori house as you two crept in, scanning the area apprehensively with each step you took. You clutched at the back of his shirt, tugging him to lean down as you whispered into his black-studded ear. 

“I don’t think anyone’s—”

“Happy birthday you—” Poor, sweet Jin Itadori’s shout of celebration got stuck right in the back of his throat as his eyes fell upon his eldest son, a lit up birthday cake still clutched in his hands. He blinked a few times as though there was possibly just something in his eyes, but the wide-eyed expression of anxiety on the boy’s face gave him away. “What in god’s name did you do to your face? Was this your uncle? Did he tell you this was a good idea because I—”

“It was my idea.” Choso corrected, not-so-subtly attempting to nudge you forward as if you would soften the blow of his father’s wrath, who’s honey eyes fell frantically upon you. 

“Did you know about this? Please tell me you two are punking me or something.”

“She didn’t know.” He quickly defended despite the fact that it would have been a lot easier to share the blame. Rubbing at the back of his neck, he attempted a light-hearted smile. “C’mon, don’t I look—”

“You look like you’re about to be stuck working in that tattoo shop with your uncle the rest of your life because no one is going to hire you with that thing!” The man had begun pacing the length of the kitchen with the cake still in tow, shaking his head in disbelief before stopping to gape at his son in horror once again. “You couldn’t have at least waited until after prom? Graduation? All your photos— ruined! Oh god, I think I’m going to pass out—”

“Calm down, it’s not that big a deal— not like I did anything illegal, y’know like sneaking into a casino while underaged.” Choso attempted to distract him with a sheepish smile, stepping forward to take the cake out of his hands lest he really pass out. With his now free hands, Jin was tearing at the roots of his hair as he continued his frantic pacing, mumbling about not reminding him of Yuji’s recent run in with the law. “Besides, I’m not going to prom anyway.”

Now it was your turn to gape at the freshly-tattooed birthday boy. 

“You’re not?” You questioned, desperately trying not to sound as dejected as you felt. Though you two had never talked about it, you had just assumed that you’d be going to prom together given all the other important milestone events that you had completed hand in hand. Hell, you had even been putting off an offer from a fellow classmate of yours with the impression that Choso would be asking you to be his date— platonically, of course.

“You’re not?” Jin echoed in horror, finally looking up from where his face had been shoved into his hands. The man didn’t miss the disheartened expression that flashed across your face despite your best efforts to conceal it. “Why not? You’re only a high-schooler once, Choso, don’t be silly.”

Perhaps his nervous convincing was a bit overkill, but damn it how he was tired of watching his clearly love-sick son grow older and older without growing any wits about him on what was going on right under his nose. After hosting years worth of playdates for you two as mere children, to encouraging his son to be a little gentler with you as you began going through those awkward years that plagued every pre-teen girl, all the way to having to watch with barely concealed frustration at the way you two fell into one another’s ebb and flow so gracefully without any semblance of self-awareness— Jin was sure that he was more excited than the actual seniors for prom to come around, eager to force you two into the most obvious of couple’s poses for photos before sending you off for the night. 

“Why would I go to prom? You know I hate that kind of stuff.” He explained obviously before turning to see the settling shock lingering on your face. It made him blink a few times, brows furrowing in confusion. “I-I mean, are you going?”

“Um…” You stammered over your words, trying to suppress the flush of embarrassment that you felt creeping up your neck for having assumed that Choso would ask you to prom. He felt his heart in his throat, breath hitching in slight anticipation, because he was sure he wouldn’t have too terrible of a time if it was you he was going with, but the last thing he wanted to do was make things weird by asking you to be his date. “Y-Yeah, I was planning to go. Geto had asked me a few days ago, so—”

“You’re going with Geto?” It felt like his heart had fallen straight through his ass, and it took every inch of restraint in him to not begin banging his head against the dry-wall in a bitter rage, because why did he not think to ask you first? “I didn’t know you two talked like that.”

Jin wasn’t sure how much more of this he could stand to watch before he wrung his son’s neck out. He cleared his throat in an attempt to subtly get Choso’s attention and hopefully send some sort of telepathic communication to him, but he was far too focused on this Geto character that you had mentioned to get his head out of his own ass. 

“We don’t really, but… he asked me, and I wanted to go.”

My god, does she have to spell it out for him? Did I fail somewhere along the way as a father that my son turned out such an oblivious hard head? Just ask her— ask her!

“Oh. Well… that’s good, I guess.” 

Jin hoped to god that as Choso blew out half the candles on you two’s shared birthday cake that he was wishing for some common sense. 

You two did the best you could to shake off the sudden awkwardness following the conversation about prom. At the very least, you two still had to give each other your gifts, so you figured that would cushion the tension. You followed him up the familiar path to his room where you had had Yuji drop off his gift for you so it’d be here when you two got back, biting down an excited smile. 

“No way.” Choso gaped just seconds after opening the door. Stepping in to get a closer look, he quickly turned on his heels to stare incredulously at you. “No way— this is too much. I-I can’t take this.”

There leaned upon the side of his bed was a sleek black electric guitar— one he’d been keening over since the acoustic guitar his dad had gotten him damn near nine years ago now had mysteriously snapped at the neck. Okay, maybe it wasn’t so mysterious because you did tell Choso that climbing up onto his shoulders to get the spider that had been terrorizing his ceiling wasn’t a good idea, because sure enough as soon as the wretched thing moved an inch, you jolted back, sending both of you tumbling to the ground with only his poor guitar to break the fall. 

“After all the fake flirting I had to do to rack up enough tip money for it? You sure as hell can take it.” 

“Please, I can’t—”

“You can, and you will.” 

His face was burning with the guilt of how much you had spent on him, but the glimmering shine of the fresh guitar in his peripheral was helping to soften the blow a bit. The boy’s fingers were practically twitching with the anticipation of getting his hands on the thing, but he stopped himself. With a shy smile shot your way, he crouched down to pull out a box that had since been hiding under his bed. You smiled eagerly before sinking down to sit criss-crossed straight across from him, your present filling the small gap left between you. 

He laughed affectionately as he watched you struggle to pry the box open, deciding to put you out of your misery after a minute or so and tearing the cardboard apart for you. The first thing that caught your eye was a vinyl record— your favorite album that you had introduced Choso to a few years back. It held a tender spot in both of your hearts for that very reason, and its lead single had consequently been the first song he learned to play on his guitar all those years ago. 

Even all these years later he could still feel the sting in his fingers that had yet to callous protectively against the instrument’s strings as he stayed up until the sun rose that next morning trying to perfect each chord so that he could play it for you when you came over. It was choppy at best, what with all the scrapes on his irritated fingers and the lack of sleep, but the dewey eyed look on your face made him feel like he was Jimi fucking Hendrix, only fueling his motivation to get better— to impress you. So, despite how his fingers began to bleed, he played it for you over and over again until you were satisfied.

The sight of the nostalgic album nearly made you tear up pathetially, but you pulled yourself together to beam up at him with all the light of a thousand suns. He flushed under your gaze, quickly looking down to push the box toward you again with a jut of his chin. 

“There’s still something in there.”

Tearing your eyes from him, you pushed back the flaps of the box to get a better look, finding a far too expensive looking record player sitting at the bottom of the large box that he’d definitely been begging neighbors to let him clean their car or mow their lawn in order to afford. Gasping softly, an incredulous laugh bubbled up your chest as you shifted onto your knees. 

“Cho, this is so cool!” You guffawed, fingers struggling to wrangle the turntable out of the damned box to no avail. Unable to fight back his smile, he moved to brush your hands away and grab it for you, setting it down atop his black comforter. Running your fingers down the glossy box, you looked up at him with raised brows. “You’re gonna come back to my house to help me set it up, right?”

“You putting me to work on my birthday?” He quipped with a smirk as he fell back against the bed, hoisting up his new guitar to rest on his stomach. 

“I’ll give you the day.” You caved in mock resignation as you laid beside him, head shifted to observe the way he fiddled with the tuners. “New face tattoo, new guitar— your rockstar look is really coming together.”

“Yeah?”

“For sure— just missing some guyliner.”

His nimble fingers paused against the strings, lips pursing as he peered over at you. It was dead silent as a slow smile spread across your face— because you could practically hear the wheels turning in his head. It was only a mere five minutes later that you found yourself digging your fingers into his jaw to stop him from flinching away each time the eyeliner pencil drew a little too close to his iris. 

“Sit still, dude.” You grumbled, stepping closer between his spread legs as he sat impatiently in his desk chair. 

Huffing out a sigh, he tried not to squirm at your burning proximity. Your tongue was creeping out the corner of your mouth in concentration, and the hand that had since been on his jaw moved to brush the hair away from his forehead. He could feel the warm puffs of your breath fanning against his face, driving his legs to squirm against the floor, which seemed to be the final straw for your patience. 

Choso thought his heart would leap out of his chest when you planted yourself firmly on his lap, your legs hanging over the side of his chair. His arms quickly fell to his sides as though weighed down by bricks, dangling limply as his fingers flexed  apprehensively. Gulping anxiously, he tried not to focus on the way the fat of your thighs squished against him. 

“Close your eyes, Cho.” You murmured quietly as you began working on his lids. He did so swiftly, eager to not have to worry about where to place his gaze.

“So, um…” The boy cleared his throat, trying desperately to get his mind anywhere else before he created a problem that would be embarrassing for the both of you. “You’re really going to prom with Geto?”

“Mhm.” You hummed simply, chewing on your bottom lip as you smudged the freshly placed liner with the edge of your thumb. Perhaps you should have said more, but you weren’t sure that you trusted your voice if you were to speak right now. 

“Do you… I mean are you—” 

“Look up for me.” 

Cursing himself mentally to just get it the fuck together, he tried again as he did as he was told, warm eyes glancing up at the ceiling. 

“I just didn’t know you liked him is all.” He finally got out as his pulse pounded against the fingers you had pressed against his jaw and neck once again. “You’ve always told me about stuff like that.”

With a tickled smile, you leaned back in his lap to narrow your eyes knowingly at him. Upon noting your silence paired with the way you had stopped your work against his eyes, he finally looked back down, and you had to bite back the delighted gasp from seeing the way the smudged, dark liner paired so beautifully with the rest of him, making his already mysteriously dark eyes that much more sultry. 

“You’re jealous, Choso!” 

“What? N-No, I was just—”

“You are so jealous that I didn’t tell you about Geto.”

“I’m not jealous!”

“You are!”

“Am not!”

He was so jealous, Choso determined as he stared up at his ceiling the dreaded night of prom. His fingers idly strummed at the new guitar that laid across his stomach, trying to get his mind off of the fact that you hadn’t even bothered to send him a picture of your dress. It had always been him that was the first to see your new haircuts, fresh manicures, and imaginative outfits, and it was eating him alive that for the first time in twelve years, another guy was going to get to witness that little spin of display you did each time you wore something you felt particularly pretty in. 

It didn’t help that he’d already gotten an earful from his dad when he got home from school that day about the fact that he still hadn’t righted his wrong and asked you instead. Jin must have gone on for at least an hour about what a shame it was that of all the experiences you two had shared, one as important to you as this one would be hand in hand with someone else. For the first time since the start of your long-winded friendship, he was sharing you with someone, and Choso was quickly realizing that he was selfish— and unashamedly so. 

The event had already been going on for about two hours now, and he was coming to terms with the fact that he wouldn’t hear from you tonight. The familiar notes of that favorite song of yours that he had learned all those years ago filled his ears as he began absentmindedly plucking at the strings under his fingertips. Ever so slowly, the melody began shifting into one he’d never heard before, taking its own shape as it filled his melancholy room with feelings of you, and how much he’d taken it for granted all those times he had you laying beside him as he toyed with the notes, telling him what sounded nice and what he needed to work on.

The notes suddenly screeched awkwardly as his phone began buzzing in his back pocket, yanking him from his pensive sulking with its imposing tune. Blinking a few times, he frantically tossed his hips up to wrangle his phone out from behind him, the head of his guitar smacking him in the face with the sudden movements. 

He shot up out of bed pathetically upon seeing your name lighting up his screen along with a picture he’d taken of the two of you in the mirror a few months ago when you tried to give him red highlights. There was dye nearly everywhere except where it was supposed to be, yet you still beamed up at the mirror despite the red streaks covering your face and arms, gloved hands still tangled into his hair. 

Clearing his throat, he quickly swiped to answer the call before it went to voicemail. 

“Did someone spike the punch or—”

“Choso?” Your voice sounded hushed, but it still wavered ever-so-slightly against the sound of music blaring in the distance. The smile quickly fell from his face. “Do you think you could… come get me?”

“Y-Yeah, yeah, I’m coming. What’s going on?” He was barrelling through his hectic room to find any pair of shoes to shove on, nearly tripping over himself as he hopped toward the front door on one foot. 

“Um… nothing, I just… really wanna go home.” 

There wasn’t even the tiniest part of him that was convinced, but that would just have to be a conversation for later because there was a timid vulnerability and tremor in your sweet voice that he’d never heard before. Snatching his dad’s keys from the hook by the door, he was requesting your location before racing down the street. There was a slight possibility that he had run more than a few red lights on his way to the hotel that was hosting your school’s prom in the banquet hall. The car had barely come to a stop when he was flinging the door open to rush toward the bench you were sitting at out front. 

“What are you doing out here by yourself? Where’s Geto?” 

But your eyes were fluttering around you cautiously, scoping the surrounding area with a shake of your head as your best friend pulled you up by your arm. 

“Please, can we just go? I don’t—”

“Right— yeah, okay, come on.”

It was silent on the ride home save for your hushed request that he take you back to his house for the night instead. Cautionary side long glances were continuously tossed your way throughout the drive, and you could practically feel the concerned curiosity eating alive at him as your body faced the passenger side door. You were eternally grateful for the fact that the other two residents of the Itadori household had already turned in for the night when you two arrived. 

Choso flipped the lights on in his room, carefully inching the door of his room closed so as not to wake anyone up. When he turned, he was finally able to get his first good look at you, and he was absolutely bursting at the seams to know what Geto must have done to fuck up a night with you as his date looking as ethereal as you did standing in the middle of his room. 

You were sighing dejectedly as you tugged open his drawers to fish out something to change into, but Choso was still stuck by the door, eyes taking in each detail of your glittering makeup and intricately lined lips. 

“You…” His words drifted as you turned your back toward him so he’d undo your zipper. “You look beautiful.”

You paused, head slowly turning to look over your shoulder at him with misty eyes. 

“Thanks, Cho.”

Quickly working your zipper down, he turned to face the door as you stepped out of your dress to shrug on a pair of his sweatpants and a crewneck. His leg swayed anxiously while he listened to the gentle rustling of clothes behind him. 

“Did… did something happen?”

Upon hearing the subtle creak of his bed as you sank down onto it, he carefully turned around. The bed dipped by your head where he sat himself, and you felt him absentmindedly begin pulling the myriad of pins from your hair. Flushing red, you covered your face with your hands as you recalled how your night had progressed, not caring how you were smudging your makeup against your hands. 

“He… he just wanted to have sex with me.”

Choso felt his heart crack at your shaky explanation, the guilt he had been experiencing for not having asked you to prom himself returning tenfold. The bobby pin in his grasp bent between his fingers as he thought about how Geto had ruined what was meant to be a special night for you. 

“That guy’s a loser, he’ll probably die a virgin anyway.” He attempted to lighten the mood with a hesitant, breathy laugh, but it died in his throat when you slowly sat up to look at him, your now loose hair falling messily in your face and tears brimming your eyes. His stomach dropped at the mortified expression scrunching up your typically cheerful face, and he gulped down the bile rising in his throat. “Oh.”

A sob racked your body as you moved to curl into a tight ball, your head resting against his tense thighs. His hands hovered over you uncertainly before slowly coming down to brush at the hair invading your face.

“So, you…” He couldn’t even bring himself to say it, the words tasting bitter on his tongue.

“I feel like an idiot.” You cried, fisting at his pajama pants. “I stopped him right after he— he put it… in, but—”

“It’s okay.” Choso cut off your embarrassed rambles, pulling you up to wrap you in a tight embrace. He wasn’t sure if he could handle listening to the details. “Did he stop when you asked him to?”

A heavy sigh of relief left him when you nodded against his shoulder. It was silent for a few minutes, your soft cries soaking into the fabric of his tattered, band t-shirt.  

“I’m sorry.” He whispered dejectedly, trying desperately to get the image out of his head of you underneath of Geto with your makeup done up so prettily for someone who didn’t deserve it. He thought about how none of it would have happened had he just grown a pair. “I’m sorry I didn’t ask you to prom. I should’ve taken you, none of this would have—”

“It’s not your fault.” You interrupted, finally lifting your head from where it had burrowed into his neck to look up at him, your lip still trembling as your once pristine makeup smeared down your red cheeks. 

As you stared into his dewey, warm eyes, you allowed your thoughts to wander to how your night might have ended had Choso been your date, how you had stopped Geto after the gruelling realization hit you that no hands felt as right against your skin without the gruffness of guitar-string callouses. Your stomach churned nervously, and you laid back down against his lap, unable to face him as the words came tumbling from your lips. 

“I wish it would have been you, Cho.”

Choso’s heart sputtered to an abrupt halt— at least that’s what it felt like as your words sunk in. Slowly, he laid back against his pillow, careful not to jostle you in your spot against his thighs. Staring up at the ceiling, his mouth opened and closed a few times. 

“Y-You mean as a prom date, right?” The question came out apprehensively, because, deep down, you both already knew the answer. You closed your eyes nonetheless, a final tear slipping down your cheek. 

“Yeah, as a prom date.” Your lie came out barely a whisper as he chewed on his bottom lip.

“I wish it would’ve been me too. Y’know, your… prom date.”

It was the first time both of you knew that something had shifted in your relationship, though neither of you were brave enough to mention it the next morning when you woke. 

That fateful night was two years ago now, and you had had ample time to come to the realization that perhaps you should have been more upfront with him, because Choso was now hundreds of miles away at an arts school with only a telephone keeping you two together. 

It had been a difficult conversation with shifting eyes and unnecessarily guilty frowns, but when your best friend had broken the news to you that he’d been accepted into a different university than the one you’d be attending, you couldn’t have been happier that he was pursuing his passion for music. When he dropped the bomb that it was nearly six hours away— that was a tougher pill to swallow.

You two had been doing the best you could though— calling each other every other night and texting in between to make sure to keep up to date on everything university life had to offer you. Still, things would get busy sometimes, what with Choso’s occasional shows that he’d been playing with a local band in his college town, and your downright diabolical class and exam schedule. Things certainly weren’t the same anymore, but you desperately tried to cling onto him.

Additionally, in your absence Choso was reminded of just how much of a clutch you had been for him. He had never been the best at talking to others, relating to the types of casual niceties that seemed to connect people, but he had never had to until now because you had always been just enough for him. Sure, he had warmed up enough to his bandmates, but it was never the same— not when he sat alone in his room at night strumming melodies he only wished he would have played for you earlier when he still had the chance to do something about these things he was feeling.

On your end of the world, it certainly didn’t help that his band had grown a modest following, and it seemed that for the first time, the rest of the world was also beginning to notice Choso. 

Choso, the one boys and girls alike used to veer away from in the halls at school because of his terrifyingly blunt, resting bitch face. 

Choso, the one who spent the majority of highschool with limbs that seemed too long for his body until he grew into his own. 

Choso, the one who, unless you were beside him, often took jokes too literally and ended up embarrassing himself each time he opened his mouth. 

Choso, the one who you had stuck beside throughout each awkward phase and experimental hairstyle until he landed on the shag cut that suited him so nicely. 

Choso, the one who had been receiving the nastiest of thirst comments under each of his band’s social media posts as the rest of the world caught onto what you had known all along.

And, god, how it stung to scroll through each one, but it was like you couldn’t look away, wondering with each username if he was enjoying all the new attention he was getting. You wondered how far he had leaned into this rockstar persona he had been dreaming of his whole life, if he snuck girls backstage and pocketed their bras as evidence of his conquests.

 I mean, the guy had gone damn near his entire life without so much as a second glance from any girl he’d come in contact with— except for you, of course, and you underestimated just how deep his loyalty ran and how much he remembered who it was that had been with him through it all.

So, to hell with every creatively intricate thirst comment under photos that even had you contemplating starting a burner account to appreciate with the masses, none of them mattered despite all the nights you’d spent chewing at your fingernails with thoughts of what he might be up to. Each fan account could burn in hell though—  because it was you he called as soon as he’d received the news that his band would be touring, opening for an indie band that you two had actually been fans of for quite some time. 

“I wanna fly you out.” Choso insisted breathlessly, still winded from the sheer velocity at which he raced for his phone upon hearing the news. It made your heart stutter, because it had been now going on three years since you last saw him, your schedules never having seemed to line up just right. There were a few times when you had contemplated flying out to surprise him at one of his local, bar shows, but with your building mountain of school work, you’d had little to no time to get a job that could afford you the extra change at the end of each month to buy a plane ticket. At your silence, he huffed, and you could practically hear that damned pout from over the phone. “C’mon, our birthday is coming up. We used to spend all our birthdays together.”

Smiling wistfully at the memories of how easy you two once had it, you shook your head. 

“Well that was before you became some heart-throb rock star, Cho.” You teased, fiddling with the hem of your shirt as you wondered if he still blushed so easily at little comments like that, and, if so, what shade his cheeks were at the moment. 

“How am I supposed to be a rock star with no groupies? That’s just lame.” 

“Oh, trust me, I’m sure you have a long list of contenders waiting in line. Have you been checking your instagram comments lately?”

This made him pause, the tiniest of knowing smiles creeping onto his face. 

“No, but it sounds like you have.” 

For once, it was you flushing that burning shade of red that once graced his cheeks so frequently, and you wondered when he’d begun reciprocating your teasing banter instead of just stammering through his responses while trying not to look you in the eyes. Shaking his head with a nearly silent chuckle, he decided to put you out of your misery, clutching his phone tighter against his ears. 

“Let me fly you out, please? I know you’ve gotta break coming up. I wanna see you.” 

So just three months later, though truthfully it felt like a year as you and Choso counted down the days until you would see each other again, you were on a flight courtesy of his now modest earnings from his band. And sure, it was no fancy seat with the luxury accommodations he just knew you deserved, but he felt so proud to know that he was able to do something for you. He had been waiting at the airport nearly two hours before your flight was actually supposed to land, flowers clutched in his clammy hands as he checked the time repeatedly. 

Much to his frustration, your flight kept getting delayed, and, after the third push back, he had to begrudgingly resign himself to the fact that he wouldn’t get to be there when you landed, having to get back for sound check for the show tonight. After sending a long winded explanation text, he insisted that you text him as soon as you land as well as as soon as you got to the hotel and as soon as you made it to the venue, and— well, you got the point. 

With all the sudden delays, you only had time to drop your luggage off at the front desk of the hotel, who assured you they’d get it to your room for you before you had to haul ass to the venue before you missed any second of Choso’s band opening. He had given your name to security, who had your pass waiting for you when you arrived and quickly led you toward a less crowded section reserved for the talents’ guests. 

You were slightly winded from the nonstop moving you had been doing since you woke up this morning, but even with how spent you felt, you weren’t sure anything could have woken you up faster than the sight of your best friend on that stage after three years of not seeing him. Sure, the two of you had been keeping up with pictures and the occasional video call, but none of it did him justice— not with the way the boy you once knew had grown into such a… man.

The once lanky limbs that hung awkwardly at his sides had certainly filled out, emphasized nicely by the gaping muscle shirt he currently had on. His biceps flexed with each rip of his guitar as his grown out hair fell into his chiseled face. To your surprise, he had a mic situated in front of him and was occasionally offering back-up vocals that you were straining with everything in you to pinpoint amongst the rest of the music.

His eyes swept across the designated guest area, and you and your poor, weak heart nearly gave out upon realizing that he had begun lining them just as you did for him all those years ago, smudged out across his lids and adding a spine-tingling depth as they spotted you in the crowd. That earth-shattering smile lit up his face as he took in the sight of you looking up at him, because none of this success and fulfillment of lifelong dreams felt nearly as sweet without you being in the audience for him to impress.

Choso was breath-taking on that stage, commanding it with a confidence you had never seen on him before. It was a blur as the set went on, your shouting out the lyrics to the songs of theirs that you’d kept up with over the year, your already spent body expending the fumes of energy it had left to thrash around to the eardrum-crushing beat.

 You found yourself anxiously checking your phone when his band finished their set and disappeared backstage, not knowing if you were going to have to wait until the end of the show to see him. Thinking back to the phone conversation you two had had months prior, and how you really were starting to feel like his groupie. The thought made you smile in amusement, shoving your phone back into your pocket as the main band came out on stage. 

Your questions were answered just one song in when a pair of nearly steaming, sweat clung arms wrapped around your shoulders and chest from behind, squeezing you into an equally sweaty chest. 

“Ew, Cho, get off! You’re soaked!” You tried to sound disgusted, but your delighted laugh deceived you, because you were sure that he could have been covered head to toe in blood right now and you’d still allow him to latch onto you as he was doing so ardently.

“What happened to being my groupie?” He shouted over the blasting music, surprising you when his lips met your cheek in a sloppy kiss. Even he wasn’t sure where he’d worked up the gall to kiss you, but maybe it was the fact that he’d spent the last three years regretting his inaction, and he’d be damned if he was going to let you board that flight back home without at least trying. 

Hoping he didn’t see the way your cheeks flushed at the little stunt, you took note of the fact that he had yet to release you. 

“Your groupie is gonna need a few drinks if she has to deal with your stench for the next hour.”

In typical Choso fashion, he quickly obliged your request, planting yet another kiss against your temple before disappearing in the blur of security and venue workers to find you something to drink. You felt like your head was spinning with his sudden forward shift in behavior, but you chalked it up to the fact that you two hadn’t seen each other in so long.

 So, you didn’t question it when he came back with two vodka Red Bulls and continued to cling onto you the remainder of the show. He hoisted you up on his back when the crowd around you began to grow so you could get a better view of the band and didn’t care that you were screaming along to the songs right into his ear because you were finally here with him, and he could buy you drinks and give you front row seats to one of your favorite bands, and for once he thought that maybe he was brave enough to admit that he wanted something more with you after all these years of convincing himself that there was nothing he could offer you that’d be worth your while.

He was riding on the high of your giddy smile the entire taxi ride back to the hotel, unable to wipe that lovesick grin off of his face even when you asked him if there was something on your face that was warranting all the staring.

“I’m just gonna shower really quick, and then I’ll come to your room so we can order some food, ‘kay?” You explained while fishing out the room key that you’d received from the front desk earlier that day.

Choso’s brows furrowed as he pushed the respective button on the elevator and adjusted his guitar case over his shoulder. 

“What do you mean? We’re going to the same room.” 

Looking up from the inside of your bag, you stared at him with a slightly dumbfounded expression. 

“You only booked one room?” You questioned with a fluttering gaze. 

“We’ve always shared a room.” He explained obviously, making his way down the hall once the elevator doors opened. You could hardly argue with him on that logic, because you two had been sharing a room, hell— sharing a bed since you were kids. As you followed close behind him, butterflies churning in your stomach, you came to the conclusion that Choso had neglected to account for the fact that you two weren’t kids anymore.

Still, he had flown you all this way, and you had missed the endless nights you two would spend together watching horror movies until Jin would stumble into the room, exasperated as he asked you two to please turn down the volume or, better yet, watch anything else that didn’t have him jolting awake from the incessant sounds of blood-curdling screams emanating from his son’s room at ungodly hours of the night. Bonus points if you two had snuck Yuji in to watch them with you and had to shove him under the bed until their dad left the room lest he find out his youngest was watching movies far too mature for his age.

Yuji and Jin weren’t there to interrupt though, and you were currently hyping yourself up in the bathroom mirror to go out and spend the night with the man you’d known for fifteen years now. Looking down at yourself, you cursed at your choice of sleep wear that you’d clearly chosen before you knew Choso would be sleeping beside you. His old Metallica t-shirt had tiny holes in the shoulders and was discolored from so many years of wash cycles, but it was just so perfectly worn in, and it was a little reminder of him each time you went to sleep. 

The tattered hem fell just above your mid-thigh, and you were once again punching yourself in the leg because why would you not pack any pajama shorts? Pants? A longer shirt? Literally anything other than your fucking jeans that you’d rather bear the humiliation for than wear to bed? Huffing out a final sigh, you hung up your towel before exiting the steam-filled bathroom outwardly displaying far more confidence than was actually present in your muddled mind at the moment. 

“Shower’s open, Cho.” You informed with your eyes cast downward, shoving your dirty clothes into the respective section of your suitcase. 

He looked up from the room service menu he’d been studying for the past few minutes, his heart nearly leaping out of his chest at the sight of your bare thighs that still glistened from whatever lotion you had slathered on after your shower, and oh god was that his shirt? His brain was short-circuiting on the spot, and he was so grateful that he was jumping into the shower now, knowing that knob was about to be turned to the coldest setting he could manage. 

You sighed in quiet relief when the bathroom door shut behind him, thanking your lucky stars that he hadn’t mentioned anything about your choice of sleepwear— or lack thereof, hoping it meant that he didn’t notice.

 Finally allowing some of the tension to fall from your shoulders, you looked around the slightly bougie hotel room, smiling at the sight of his guitar leaning against the wall. Taking the opportunity to be a little nosy for nostalgia’s sake, you unzipped the case and carefully pulled the beloved instrument out. It was hardly recognizable now, what with all the decals and stickers he’d adorned it with over the years, but it was that same electric guitar you had scraped up all your tip money to buy for him.

Humming fondly, you sat crisscrossed in the middle of the plush bed to fiddle with the strings, recalling all the nights Choso had spent desperately trying to teach you how to play, but you never could make good on his diligent efforts. You could only vaguely recall the chords to that first song he’d ever learned to play, the one you’d watched him strum what must have been hundreds of times for you. Pursing your lip, you tried to angle your fingers just right along the neck as you dug into the far corners of your memory. 

“Your hand is too far up the neck.” 

In your fierce concentration, you hadn’t even heard Choso exiting the bathroom. Not looking up at him lest you break your focus, you shifted your hand as he’d instructed.

“Here?” 

He tutted softly, though you could practically hear the fond amusement oozing from him. After a moment, you felt the bed dip behind you, and your breath hitched as you felt his chest press against your back, and you suddenly didn’t feel as embarrassed at your lack of clothing since he hadn’t bothered to put a shirt on following his shower. His hands soon came up to close around yours, guiding them to the proper placement.

“Try now.” He instructed softly, tucking his chin over your shoulder to watch your movements. 

Trying to control the way your fingers trembled with the feeling of the muscles he never used to have pressed right up against you, you tried again. When he let out a quiet hum of disapproval, you didn’t have the chance to ask what you had done wrong before he was scooching you back to sit in his lap for better access to the instrument. 

“You’ve gotta spread out your fingers a little more.” Choso’s tips were falling on deaf ears, because his scent was enveloping you like a warm blanket, he was so warm pressed right up against you, and his cheek was brushing against yours as he adjusted your fingers. 

As he had been telling himself since he saw you in the audience earlier for the first time in three years, he wasn’t that awkward boy anymore who was too scared to be honest with himself, and he knew better than to believe that the flush in your cheeks right now was from your shower. Smiling softly, he eased up his hands as you began to get the hang of it, only occasionally reaching up to correct your placements. You gradually allowed yourself to relax against him, your shoulders drifting back to fall along his broad chest. 

“Do you ever think about that night of prom?” Out of all the ways he could have eased into this conversation, he wasn’t sure why that was what had come out of his mouth, but he was relieved when you scoffed out a light laugh. 

“You mean the night I lost my virginity to Suguru Geto?” You shook your head at the once damn near traumatic memory, a bitter smile gracing your lips. “I try not to.” 

It was silent for a moment, and just as he thought you had all but forgotten what you had said to him that night, you spoke up hesitantly.

“Do you? Y’know— think about it?”

“All the time.” 

Your fingers paused against the strings, but a hushed whisper in your ear to keep playing had you jolting back into action, but your subtle squirming against his lap gave you away. 

“Why the hell would you be thinking about that?” You mumbled, keeping your voice low as you desperately tried to maintain your composure.

“Because I can’t stop thinking about what would’ve happened if it was me instead.”

His hand came up to tighten your grip around the neck of the guitar that had loosened with the implications of his words, and you heard those familiar words falling from your lips just as they had from his three years ago. 

“You mean as my prom date, right, Cho?” 

His head shifted ever so slightly, and you shivered as his nose grazed against your temple. The hand that had been guiding your fingers over the strings drifted down to ghost over your bare thigh. 

“Yeah, as your prom date.” He lied, just as you had that night. The pads of his fingers dug into the fat of your thigh momentarily, giving you the opportunity to push him away should he have been reading all the signs wrong. You didn’t though, you only held back the softest of whimpers when the metaphorical green light prompted him to run his hand further up, brushing back your already maddeningly ridden up shirt. “I think about how much of an idiot he was, what I would’ve done different.” 

The way your comparably smaller frame was expanding and deflating against him in tandem with your labored breaths was making it hard for him to think, and he was sure his body was acting purely on autopilot. 

“Like what?” You dared to whisper, not even quite sure that you were ready to hear his answer, but oh was he willing to give it to you. 

“I would’ve told you how pretty you looked that night— because you did. You looked like an angel.” Choso rasped out against your ear, and his fingers were curling around the warmth of your inner thigh, just barely grazing against your rapidly heating core. Your fingers stuttered once again against the strings, and his other hand quickly came up to grip at the column of your neck, pressing you back against him. “Keep playing for me, angel.”

And you tried, hands trembling as they fumbled to find the right chords again. 

“Did he touch you like this before he ruined your night?”

“No!” You gasped out desperately, arching against him as he pushed your panties to the side to collect the pooling slick at your entrance, using it to aid in the tentative circles he began working against your clit. “H-He didn’t touch me at all— ah!”

With a vexed tut of disapproval, Choso’s fingers dipped down to plunge into your sopping heat. His movements were choppy, and it was clear that he wasn’t sure what exactly you would like, but his focused gaze on your side profile as he studied each of your reactions told you that he was going to figure it the fuck out.

“I would have taken the time for you— I would’ve made sure you were ready.” His regrets were spilling past his frantic lips in a manner teetering on a whine as your head fell back against his shoulder. “Keep playing.”

“I can’t— I can’t, Cho.” You cried deliriously as his fingers began curling up in response to your frantic reaction. You were soaking through the underwear that had been pushed haphazardly to the side, and if you were more lucid you would have been embarrassed at the way it pooled onto the sheets below you. 

At once, he had released the firm grip he had on your neck to push his guitar off the bed. 

“Then come up here and let me show you how I would have taken care of you.”

Choso, with his eagerness to please and this newfound Herculean strength of his, didn’t give you the chance to comply with his request, because he was ripping at your flimsy underwear and shifting you around to face him. It was enough to give you whiplash, but the bruising grip he had around your waist assured that your balance wouldn’t fail you as he laid back against the unsuspecting hotel sheets and yanked you up to hover over his crazed face. 

“Choso, y-you don’t have to—” 

“I want to.” He pleaded, his lips glistening with an anticipatory drool as those puppy-dog eyes of his locked onto your core, and he was once again reminded of the fact that Suguru Geto had to be the dumbest man on this fucking planet. Craning his neck up, he couldn’t help himself as he dragged his hot tongue up the length of your folds, his strangled moan vibrating against you. “Mmph, sit— please.”

Leave it to Choso to not forget about his manners as he begged you to suffocate him between your trembling thighs. You complied, moving ever-so-slowly to lower yourself against him before he dug his fingers into your thighs and made you sit. Hunching forward, your forehead fell against the plush headboard with a choked cry as he all but unhinged his jaw around your core. 

He watched through dazed eyes at the way your face crumpled with each symphony of pleasure that slipped past your bitten lips. There was no sense in dwelling on the past now, but he couldn’t help but feel so utterly idiotic for having been so blind all this time. It had always been there— in the lingering touches and the intimacy of trust that had forged between you two over fifteen years of falling back on one another.

Choso’s eyes rolled back as you rolled your hips against his tongue, momentarily blocking any passage of air through his mouth and nose, but, even with the clenching in his lungs that told him that he needed to breathe paired with the ringing in his ears, he thought he’d much rather have your weeping pleasure as the cause of death on his obituary, because any life where he hindered that impending high you were cravenly grinding toward wasn’t a life worth living.

His tongue dipped into your entrance for an exasperatingly brief tour before its pointed tip was dancing up to swoop under the hood of your already painfully sensitive clit. You squeaked out a pitched moan, nearly tumbling down if one of his hands hadn’t shot up to press against your sternum to keep you upright. A choked sob of pleasure shook your shoulders, and your hand flew down to tangle into the very haircut he maintained for so long just because you said it looked cute on him.

There was a sharp sting on his scalp as you yanked at the roots, the subtle pain at the hands of you nearly sending him to an early grave as his hips bucked up against the air. He was only met by the infuriatingly gentle friction of his sweatpants brushing against his leaking tip, but you were crying out his name and using him so sweetly with every craven thrust of your hips, and it was enough for him after all the sleepless nights he’d spent wishing he could have changed the past. 

Evidence of you was dripping grotesquely down his face, dragging as far up as his nose that glistened proudly in the wake of your sloppy thrusts against him. His eyes were barely open by the time you timidly glanced down at him, half-lidded to match the dopey smile you felt morphing against your folds. 

“Stop looking at me like that.” You murmured through burning cheeks as he leaned you back to sit on his chest. 

“I’ve waited fifteen years to look at you like this.” His words were damn near slurred, but the sentiment remained the same. Brushing the dishevled hair from his forehead, you slid down slowly to straddle his waist, gasping tenderly at the feeling of his abs brushing against your sensitive clit, though your eyes never once left his. 

With wanton eyes drifting down his pink-tinted face, his eyes drifted shut as he leaned up to meet the kiss he was sure he was finally about to get, but it instead landed tenderly on his forehead. A warmth spread down his spine, making his fingers curl tighter around your waist. 

“Put me out of my misery already.” Choso whispered, but his actions deceived him as he reached up to keep you pressed against his forehead. Just as you slipped out of his grasp, lips dragging down the bridge of his nose until they ghosted over his. With a clouded gaze, he whispered against your lips, “Did he tell you he loved you?”

With a delirious shake of your head, you crashed through the tiniest of barriers that had been left between you.  

“I love you.” He mumbled desperately against your kiss, hands sneaking up under your baggy shirt to graze along your spine. “More than just a— ah— a prom date. I love you.”

“I love you, too— more than just a friend.” You confirmed as you snuck your hand down between you to creep into his waistband. 

He flinched away from you with a quick, hissing breath, reaching down to grip at your hand in record timing. Pulling away from him with a start, you blinked down owlishly at him. 

“Oh— I-I’m sorry, I just thought you wanted to…”

“I do!” He sat up faster than you could blink to miss it. With that signature flush of his cheeks, he cast his gaze to the side. “Just… give me a little bit, okay?”

Raising a brow at his sudden timidness, you decided not to make it known that you had already felt the tacky wet splotch currently making a mess of his sweatpants. Saving him the wallowing self-pity you just knew he’d fall into for the rest of the night, you opted to lay beside him, tracing the tattoo that lined his nose absentmindedly as he looked anywhere but you. With a soft laugh, he finally turned his head to face you again after a moment of silence, smiling sheepishly down at you. 

“Happy birthday, angel.”

Glancing over at the bedside clock, you noted with a cacooning warmth that it read 12:02 AM.

“Happy birthday, Cho.”

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[dog1teeth]

what drawing on discord whiteboard with a sonic fan does to a mf

[cloudwisp]

𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐲 · 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐬, 𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐬

contents: fluff. established relationship. mildly suggestive. wriothesley finds your lips irresistible in the color red. 1.1k wc.

“You look absolutely stunning, sweetheart.”

The soft curve of your lips spreads into a smile at the sound of Wriothesley’s voice followed by your gaze flickering to his pensive appearance from the reflection in the looking glass. There he casually leans against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest with a fond smile of his own settled over his face. He’s perfectly dressed in a dark-tone tailored suit and his usual loose tie around his neck, and with the way he’s posing it makes you think he wants to draw your attention to the outline of his muscular biceps under all those layers.

“You look quite handsome yourself. I’m almost ready, just need the last final touch…” You drawl, as you continue where you left off to smear the pigment of the bold lipstick over your bottom lip and you don’t notice the way the innocent act itself seems to have enamored him. Your ring finger then lightly taps the plush of your lips to blend the color seamlessly until you hum in approval with a nod of your head after doing a once over of yourself. Your legs swing over the side of the chair to bring yourself upright and after smoothing the wrinkles of your dress you chime, “All ready now!”

“New dress? Looks lovely on you, darling.” You could feel the heat of Wriothesley’s gaze roam over your body, taking in your features and the exquisite outfit that you spent hours getting ready for the gala tonight. He pushes himself from the threshold and with a few short strides, he gently grabs your waist reeling you into him while his other hand brushes against the expensive fabric that he spent good money on before resting on your hip.

“And you’re just a vision in red right now.” There’s a hint of primal desire behind his eyes as he glances down to your beautifully painted lips. He feels himself inching closer and closer to revel in its softness when suddenly he finds your index finger pressed to his lips instead.

“Sorry Wrio, I don’t want to ruin my lipstick.”

He blinks once and twice, and a chuckle escapes him when he registers that you denied his advances to save yourself from a little lipstick smear. That’s fine by him, so he just needs to work a bit harder for your sweet loving affections. He takes your hand that’s between you both in his much larger one and peppers several quick kisses over your knuckles, his thumb brushing over your skin as he moves to hold your hand simply down by your side. “Not even going to give me a taste? Just one wouldn’t hurt. Enough to tide me over for the night.”

“We played that song before, and we were almost an hour late the last time.” Your hands reach up to adjust his tie and he gives a low groan when you tighten it to properly fit around his neck. He knows that you’re right with the way his smirk broadens at you. A sweet taste from you is only going to make him want more of you, and now he’s thinking about how much he wants to ruin that lipstick just to see your messy lips. He’d even let you leave lipstick stains in the shape of your gorgeous lips all over him if that’s what you wanted. And that stunning dress he can’t wait to take off later…

“Ah. You’re killing me here, sweetheart.” His eyes wander down to your lips for a moment once again before slowly drifting back up to meet your gaze. He presses himself against you and you can feel his warm breath against your lips, “Fine, fine. But I could use a little color on me. I’m so monochrome. How about right here?” He taps his cheek, looking at you with mock innocence.

You feel like you could see right through him, but you don’t want to be a complete spoilsport and ruin all the fun so after much contemplation you finally relent because a fleeting kiss on the cheek should be harmless. And it wouldn’t be too much trouble getting him all cleaned up and appearing presentable again with the few minutes that you both have to spare before it’s time to make your departure.

“Okay, I suppose that’s fine. Just a kiss on the cheek.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” A cheeky grin tugs at the corners of his mouth and he doesn’t hide his eagerness to turn his cheek toward you to receive your love. You laugh quietly to yourself with a small shake of your head in amusement as you gently take his face in both your hands, one resting on his cheek and the other on the nape of his neck. On your tippy toes, you crane your neck to plant a soft peck on him but much to your surprise you kiss him fully on the lips when he does a quick movement at the very last second. “See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“No. no, it wasn’t.” You’re nothing but soft giggles and adoring smiles despite being outsmarted by your boyfriend, and you feel him slip his arms loosely around your waist locking his fingers together at your lower back. Your thumb goes to wipe away the transferred smudge from his lips, and you always feel so seen when he looks at you with such tenderness behind his eyes after he was much too pleased with himself for stealing a brief kiss from you. “Was that everything you hoped for?”

“For now? Yes. But I won’t be able to stop thinking about your lips, or wanting to pull you off into some secluded room during tonight’s event.” He says almost teasingly, but it sounds more like a tempting offer if you somehow decide the festivities aren’t meeting your expectations or you need a moment away for some quiet time with him. And you suppose, the same thoughts have surfaced in your mind when you first saw his delectable get-up in the mirror but you couldn’t bear the embarrassment of explaining your late arrival to Monsieur Neuvillette with frenzied excuses again.

“That’s quite the imagination you have there.” Wriothesley notices that you’re not outright denying him of such tasteful fantasies, and he knows that it’s only a matter of time before you eventually cave into his enticing seduction. “We should head out now if we want to make it there on time.”

[genacity]

DAY TWO. PRINCESS TREATMENT

ft. rengoku kyojurou — kimetsu no yaiba (鬼滅の刃)

when a clueless hashira wanders into your layer of operations, you can’t help but put up a fight— and admire his fat tits through the inconvenient tear in his uniform you inflict.

ruling. nsfw — mature content

content warnings. demon! reader, masochist? rengoku, feminization, body worship, praise, nipple play, impact play, reader refers to rengoku using feminine nicknames / anatomy (girl, princess, pussy, tits)

an. meow i was so excited to write for rengoku. i love beefy men being treated like bimbos! woohooo!

kinktober 2023 masterlist

“slow down, pretty girl. stop squirming so much.”

“mm— haah! please stop teasing me!”

the man in your lap writhed at your touch. careful hands gliding down his chest, drawing circles around his nipples as he thrashed between your legs.

how’d you even get here? you don’t remember. well, you do. but you aren’t focused on remembering. not when the flame hashira is at your disposal. burning, sticky skin and sweet-sounding whimpers from his lips a stunning combination of reactions to your touch.

you’re a demon under kibutsuji. one of the latest recruits to the twelve kizuki. being an upper rank is tiring. always lounging about in the manor you’ve made for yourself, waiting to get this damned job over with and kill those little brats they called the demon corps.

but this one… this one may be spared.

rengoku kyojurou, that’s what his name is — the thundering flame hashira that it seems the whole of japan has been talking about.

and he’s wandered straight into your lair, ready to slay you.

yes, that’s what he had planned — until while during your fight, your claws tore a less than convenient rip in his uniform. straight through the chest to reveal the space between his muscular pecs that you just had to stop and stare at.

and now you’re here. the hashira sat between your legs as you toyed with his chest and body.

hey, you couldn’t help it; not when his tits — pecs — were practically begging to be touched and fucked. and he was, too. not like he denied it at all. you may be a demon, but that definitely did not take away from your temptation. and looks.

“relax, baby. you’re stressing too much.” you cooed to the whining rengoku as you pinched his nipple between your fingers. he jolted, shaking his head as your free hand held his hands behind his back.

you sighed and looked at his swollen nipple between your pointer and thumb fingers. “look at you,” you feigned a pout. “your tits are all red. is that what you wanted, flame hashira? to make your big tits all red and sore?”

“they are not — tits.” rengoku whimpered, his voice lowering to almost a whisper at his last word. “what was that?” you asked into his ear, pulling at his sore nipple and letting it go, watching it bounce back as he let out a long wail.

rengoku’s hips bucked up as you fondled his pecs, tracing round his right bud with your sharp, manicured claws. “i — i can’t believe you’re doing this to me,” he whined. “a demon using and teasing my body.”

“oh, how shameful.” you chuckled and flicked his sore nipple, making him jump. you switched hands to hold his wrists, off to pay more attention to his neglected side as you immediately began to knead his left breast. “a demon having their way with you. how will you explain to your beloved corp that you’ve come back sore with no victory?”

rengoku went silent. pressing his raw lips together to muffle his grunts and whines. dissatisfied by his lack of response, you pinched his left nipple and leaned in to whisper into his neck. “answer me, flame hashira.”

his lips parted to speak, but all that came out was a shaky breath from the tip of his tongue. you began to grow increasingly agitated by his silence, and so you took it upon yourself to force the answer from him.

you rose your hand and brought it down onto his chest with some force. the hashira flinched in your hold; whining out as the sting along his chest and sore nipple left him squirming. “are you going to answer me?” you snarled just beneath his ear, breathing against rengoku’s neck and making him shiver.

“i — i don’t know.” he stammered and swallowed harshly. you laughed at his response and shook your head. “aw. pretty girl can’t think. i can’t imagine what your co-workers will think of you when you return.”

rengoku couldn’t imagine it either. he was afraid, honestly; unknowing of what his fellow hashira will think of him if he admitted to returning to them with no victory, all for a few moments of pleasure. but at that point, he didn’t care. it felt too good to give up. never had he felt this way before.

all of his thoughts immediately dissipated once he felt your cold hands pinch at his hot nipples once more. rengoku yelped, not noticing you had let his wrists go and was now using both of your hands to knead his chest.

“ah! please…” he sniffled, watching your hands press his chest muscles together and trace his burning buds with your freezing fingertips “your hands… they’re so cold.”

kyojurou felt his cock strain against his pants. the sight of you toying with his pecs made his mind go numb. at that point, he was melting into you. nodding mindlessly whenever you commented something about his fat tits or his hard nipples. the way he reacted to you was addictive.

a few more times did you strike rengoku’s chest; making him wail and writhe more in your arms. whenever he seemed too lost in watching you press his breasts together while you were asking a question would you remind him with a sharp smack straight onto his flaming nipple. then he would recoil and slowly answer your question — too invested on how red and sore his chest was growing. but he loved the burning feeling.

“can’t imagine how wet you must be for me, flame hashira.” you purred. “your pussy is probably drenched. it must be, considering how you’re reacting to just me touching your boobs.” and you laughed, lips twitching up into a grin.

“d-don’t — haah… don’t say those things.” rengoku whimpered, squirming in your hold as one of your hands massaged his right breast while the other began to trail down his body. fingers ghosting over the evident bulge in his pants as he panted and gasped for air. the hashira felt his cock twitch pathetically in his pants as you laughed.

your sly smile grew with each mewl rengoku let slip. “aw, is my girl embarrassed. don’t wanna admit how wet ‘n excited i got you, princess?” you purred into the shell of his ear as he trembled. “i’m not… wet.” he grumbled, and you just had to laugh again.

“show me then.” you insisted. your hands trailed down to his belt as your fingers slowly began to undo it. “show me you’re not leaking from my touch.” the flame hashira swallowed thickly as you leaned in to murmur to him.

“don’t be shy, princess. show me all of you.”

[candycandy00]

Forest Guide - A Toji x Reader Fanfic

Smut. 18+. Toji x Fem Reader. Rough sex. Virgin reader. Size difference. Breeding. Monster fucking. Non-con! Dividers by @benkeibear!

Part of CandyCandy’s 2k Followers Event! Any feedback whatsoever would be adored! For @idk1375.

When you heard the rumors of a werewolf stalking the woods in the next town over, you figured it would be a great topic for your supernatural themed podcast. So you packed up your gear and headed on over. You put a post on a local forum asking for a guide to take you into the forest, explaining that you were investigating the werewolf rumors, and a man named Toji volunteered. He didn’t even ask to be paid. 

So now you find yourself standing in front of the man as he introduces himself. The first thing you notice is that he’s huge, so much taller than you that you have to crane your neck to look up at his face. He’s ruggedly handsome, with dark hair and the kind of physique men spend years in the gym trying to obtain. All of this combined with his deep voice makes him the kind of man you want to call “Daddy”.

You follow him into the woods, thinking to yourself that he could probably fight off a werewolf with his bare hands. He makes friendly conversation along the way, telling you about some of the rumors you’ve heard, but seeming to have more information about each incident than you read online. Probably because he’s a local. 

He leads you so deeply into the forest that the sun is almost completely blotted out by the trees, making it seem much later and darker than it actually is. It looks like night has fallen, though you know it’s only the afternoon. 

Toji stops in a clearing, surrounded on all sides by towering trees, and turns to look at you. 

“This is the werewolf’s favorite spot to take his victims and feed,” he tells you, a lazy smile on his lips. 

Huh? How does he know that? Wait…

You turn to run back out the way you came, not wanting to wait and find out if your terrible assumption is correct. Either he’s a serial killer pretending to be a werewolf, or…

An ear splitting howl assaults your ears as you reach the tree line, and you hear the sound of fabric ripping. You can’t resist. Two years of running a podcast dedicated to exactly this sort of thing has made you too curious, so you find yourself looking back, even though the logical part of your brain is telling you not to. 

Charging straight for you is Toji, his shirt completely ripped off and his pants shredded. He’s at least nine feet tall now, and the outer edges of his body are covered in a thin layer of black shiny fur. His chest and abdomen, trailing down until his pants cover the rest, are bare, like the reverse of a normal hairy man. 

He catches you in an instant, forcing you to the forest floor on your back, the claws on his hands digging into your shoulders and drawing blood. He leans over you, and you can see that his face has remained nearly unchanged, except for glowing red eyes and a full set of razor sharp teeth.

“You were lookin’ for a werewolf,” he says, his voice even deeper than before, “well you found one, girlie!”

You shriek in terror, thrashing about wildly beneath him. But it’s no use. He’s far too big, too heavy, too strong, for you to budge even an inch. 

“Please don’t kill me!” you cry pitifully, tears streaming down your face as your body goes limp. 

He grins, showing off his teeth. “Now why would I do that to a cute little thing like you?”

With that, he rips off your T-shirt with one swipe, as if it’s made of tissue paper. Next go your shorts, and even your panties, leaving you stunned and completely exposed. 

You scream again, clamping your legs shut, a renewed vigor in your struggle as you realize what he intends to do. 

“I could smell it on you the moment we met,” he says, pinning your bare arms above your head. “You’re untouched by a man.”

You freeze, your eyes widening and your skin burning with embarrassment. He knows you’re a virgin, from scent alone?

He draws back slightly and lets his red eyes roam over your nude body, settling on the spot you’re trying to hard to protect with your pressed thighs. 

“I could smell something else too,” he adds, a low rumbling chuckle escaping his wide mouth. 

He leaves one large hand to hold your wrists together, and lets the other slide down, effortlessly parting your thighs despite your best efforts to keep them closed. You flinch as you feel a clawed finger glide up your slit, then he holds the finger up so that you can see the sticky, glistening fluid dripping off it. 

“I could smell this.”

You close your eyes and turn your face away, too humiliated and horrified to look at him. But he grips your face and turns it back to him. “Don’t go closin’ your eyes, girlie. You’ll wanna see what’s coming.”

You open your eyes and watch, petrified, as he rips the shredded remains of his pants off. And there, between his muscular, fur-covered legs, is a gigantic erection. You’ve heard the term “monster cock” before, but you never imagined even a real, literal monster cock would be this huge. You scream, trying again to close your legs, but he’s already positioned himself between them. 

“Please, no! That thing will kill me!”

He leans his face down close to yours. “I think you can take it,” he says. Then he closes his mouth over yours, plunging his tongue into you, just as he shoves his entire, giant cock into your virgin pussy. 

You scream into his mouth, the sound muffled by his lips, as your body jerks with pain. He gives a few deep, ripping thrusts before he breaks the kiss, grinning down at your sobbing face. “Don’t pass out,” he tells you as your vision starts to go fuzzy. He releases your wrists, knowing there’s nothing you can do regardless, and slowly rakes his claws down your chest. It’s not enough pressure to draw blood, but enough to make you snap to attention at the possibility. 

He fucks into you, so hard and deep that you have no idea how you’re still alive and not bleeding out. He watches your face, making sure you’re awake and aware, eventually moving one hand down to where your bodies meet. Again, you feel a clawed finger in your slick folds, but this time he finds your clit, stroking it and then gently scraping his claw across it. 

You jolt, the unexpected pleasure hitting you like a truck. And then his mouth is on yours again, absorbing the pitiful moans you can’t suppress. 

When you cum, even you are shocked, staring up at him with a stunned, tear-streaked face as your body trembles. 

He laughs again. “Look at you! Cummin’ on my cock even though it’s your first time gettin’ fucked! This little pussy feels so good, I might just put a pup in you!”

You shake your head frantically. “No no no!”

But it’s too late. He shoves in as deeply as he can, and you feel his thick, hot cum filling your womb all the way up. 

He stays that way, buried completely inside you, until he’s sure he’s emptied himself. Then he pulls out. You look down, see that his cock is covered in blood and cum, and you fall back against the ground, exhausted. 

He stands up, and as he does so, reverts to his handsome human form. “If you survive, I’m gonna make you my bride,” he says. You don’t have the energy to respond. He bends down and picks your sore, twitching body up from the ground. “But first, let me take you back to my place and lick your wounds.”

Heat floods your face at those words. You reflexively curl against his strong chest, wondering if you’re now living a nightmare, or a dream. 

[tackykachowch]

Jinx's appearance in s2 ep9 is a tragedy for her character. The writing throughout the season already tried its best to destroy absolutely everything meaningful to her and who she is at her core, and now we get the chance to see it visually.

I'll get this out of the way so nobody bothers me about it later: yes, I personally hate the design overall. But despite that if it was truthful to her character and reflected her journey well I wouldn't even squeak. Well, maybe one tiny time, but not make a whole post about it.

Alright, so right now I'm going to lign up all 3 of her designs and compare them in a sense how they represent Jinx as a character. I apologize for using The Wild Rift model because it's actual hell to find her s2 ep9 look in good quality and with a good view of the details.

There's a pretty stark difference between Powder and Jinx. The only element they share is gloves, but on Jinx they are modified and have a different color. There are however also similiar "motifs"(?), like purple stripes on clothes, Jinx's belts are positioned in a way that mirrors Powder's blue...thing on her pants; also Powder has a small braid on the side of her head, as well as golden hairpins, while Jinx has two braids that are waaay longer, but she still has golden elements that support her braids.

Now, the differences. Powder's clothes are layered and are made from different fabrics, covering almost her entire body. This represents that she's a shy, frightly girl with very low self-esteem. Jinx, on the other hand, has waaay more open skin, even to a somewhat inappropriate degree. This shows us that she became confident and doesn't care what others think of her, maybe even to a fault. Her boots in some way resemble jester's shoes, showing us her more light-hearted attitude, especially towards violence.

Also, unlike Powder, who only ever shot from a toy gun and made bombs that didn't work, Jinx is a prodigy bomb maker and a master shooter with (what seems like) a hand-made pistol, and on top of that has an also self-made machine gun. So from all of this we can pick up that this is the same person, but she changed in a huge way, hence why even her name is different.

Now, onto the Jinx we see in s2 ep9. She cut off her braids, colored streaks of her hair, especially on the bang, replaced her pants, top, and belts, made herself a hood, painted over her tattoos with x-es and Ekko's symbols, fused her machine gun with Fishbones, her recently made rocket launcher (ignore the wild rift picture for this part), and completely remade her pistol. The only things that carry over from her previous outfit are gloves, boots (which are now fully laced), her necklace aaaand yeah that's it. Motifs are left the same, except for her hair of course.

Now, I want to talk about a couple of elements in detail. Her hood is made from unknown material, and resembles some kind of monster, rather than a monkey, raven or shark, her previously established symbols. Like someone pointed out, it probably resembles drawings on Isha's helmet.

Also Jinx has pink markings under her eyes, just like Powder from Ekko's vision in season 1 ep7.

The bandages that replace her top are the same ones Vi has.

So, with all of that information, what can we tell about Jinx at the end of her journey? The obvious answer is that she decided to move on, but in what way? Accepting both "Powder" and "Jinx" parts of her? But then why did she paint over her tattoos? Something permanent, that shows how irreversibly she changed over the years, and will never become the same girl again? Moreover, why didn't she make the new tattoos, pink bullets? Yes yes, pink bullets. Both LoL Jinx and even s2 ep9 skin for Jinx in The Wild Rift have pink bullets tattoos, but arcane Jinx doesn't. Why tho? Well, of course, it's our good ol' pal Silco erasure. Because, you see, Jinx killed Silco with her Pow-Pow, and when she shoots with it, the bullets are seen as pink projectiles. So, not only does Jinx figuratively want to "paint over" her past with Silco, she also in no way wants to capture what she did to him and that in the very same night she finally accepted herself as Jinx. Of course we know that s2 writers didn't want to follow up on this decision, but adding a couple of effects onto her model isn't that big of a job. Anyway

Why did she go back to covering her legs entirely? Is she more careful now, orrr perhaps she seeks protection from someone? No. Why does she have paint all over her, and Ekko's symbols in particular? Is she a part of the Firelights now? Even if that's the case, it was never confirmed on screen. Why did she completely change her haircut, only leaving a bang? I guess hair holds the memories or whatever, so to start a new life you shouldn't have any memories of the previous one? Idk. Why did she replace her top with bandages like Vi's, if the last time they saw each other Jinx told Vi to let her go and forget about her? Idk. Why did she fuse Pow-Pow and Fishbones together? Idk.

The only things I more or less don't question are the hood and markings, but then again, I'm not really happy with the fact that we see Jinx in them in her "last" moments either. That's the part of my biggest problem with all of this, actually. It took around 10 years for Jinx to have such a big difference in how she looks, but the latest change happened literally overnight. No matter how you try to explain this, this is objectively terrible writing. In less than one episode the main character of the series drastically changed her appearance in ways that should tell us about a big character development, but we didn't get a chance to see any of it. Not the process, nor the development itself, because Jinx behaves in ep9 the same way she behaves in the rest of s2.

So, what was that all about? I guess they wanted to fill out the quota of a minimum of two outfit changes per season, but it's in no way justified within the show. And that's why this is a tragedy. Jinx went from the most well-written character in the show with incredible design and conflict to the writer's toy which only function is to be sacrificed.

[anachronismstellar]

Hear me out;

For your SQH with tattoos post, what if he implemented tattoo spells or smthn into PIDW bcs he was a fan of FMA or smthn. It is a vry Airplane thing to do, trust.

Anon I'm listening loud and clear and I need this ASAP because I bet he did exactly that, he slapped some poor wanna be villain with talismans tattoos or some shit to make the villain look edgy and I bet the villain got his tattoo from a demon clan in the south or something, the point- THE POINT IS.

(oh God this is becoming a filet God save me-)

Mu Qingfang is the only one who knows about the tattoos and he doesn't approve not because he doesn't like the vibe (he kinda thinks is hot as fuck) he doesn't approve because "Heavens knows what they put in the ink and which needle they used, Shixiong!"

But with the amount of layers a peak lord has to wear, no one finds our for a long loooooong time.

Hell, Mobei that has walked into Shang Qinghua doing the weirdest shit didn't know about the damn tattoos.

Until. UNTIL.

Wife plot 397.

What is wife plot 397? No idea, Airplane doesn't know either, but the think is that it ends up with him soaked to the bone and the water has poison because of course it does so he has to strip all his robes and he has to do it fast or he can say bye bye to his skin and bones which makes him naked in front of Mobei with only Cucumber's fan (that is going to be burned later urgh Airplane you will pay for this!) saving the last dignity that he might have-

Uh. It should be more yelling. Why is everyone so quiet?

"What?"

"What?! What happened to your arms?!" Because of course Cucumber is the one who snaps out faster, but without his fan to cover his face his blush is there to anyone to see. "Are those tattoos?! Airplane what did you do- what are they for?!"

Binghe is drinking vinegar and doesn't know if he will have to kill his shishu because he had to dirty Shizun's eyes with by being shamelessly naked like that or if he should stare at Shizun's face and see if he likes the tattoos- should he get tattoos? WHAT IF HE GOT SHIZUN'S NAME IT WOULD BE SO ROMANTIC-

Meanwhile Mobei. Oh poor Mobei.

Mobei-Jun's brain has left the building, struggling between wanting to hide Qinghua's body from everyone's eyes but also wanting to take him and pin him down and lick all the drawings and bite them until Qinghua begged for mercy or-

"Oh, yea, I forgot about these uh. They are to help me with strength? Also they help to circulation of qi, and another things" and he won't anything else because if Cucumber finds out he got a FMA Scar wanna be tattoo he will be dead, he will be murdered by Cucumber-bro fan somehow.

..... and that's what I have for now because is almost 4 am DJSBAKDBSKDJSK

But feel free to take the idea and run with it!! I just want more BAMF!SQH fics in the world ;; he deserves it poor little meow meow

Thank you for the ask anon <3

[chososrightnipple]

❝𝐣𝐣𝐤 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 + 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬 (𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞)❞

: ̗̀➛ overview: matching jjk boys to lyrics from 'one of the girls' by the weeknd, this is part one of a five part mini series.

: ̗̀➛ tw; afab!reader w/no gendered language. seriously nasty writing, the lyrics posted before the blurb indicate what kinks will be included. intentional lowercase.

: ̗̀➛ a/n: this was entirely self indulgent like i was replaying that song on repeat and something not worthy of seeing heaven hatched inside of me. so, was born this series. it will include choso, geto, yuta, toji, and gojo!

── დ ──

. *. ⋆ CHOSO KAMO { heavy biting, sadism, blood kink, praise }

"i love when you're submissive / love it when i break skin / you feel pain without flinchin' / so say it"

choso stares down at the body splayed below him. eyes tracing curves, dips, edges. all the way up from thighs to hips to waist, and up and up until he's making his way back down again. marveling at the way your skin is flushed, at the artwork displaying proudly.

his artwork.

a mirage of pinks and purples blotching at your neck, your collarbones, you inner thighs. handprints reddening the sensitive skin of your ass, crest shaped impressions where his nails dug in a bit too hard.

and then the bite marks. littering almost every inch of your body where choso has travelled. imprints of his canines carving themselves into you, fangs creating divets, saliva glistening from where he’s licked his apology for being so cruel. the sight of you like this is utterly delectable. so marked up, so his.

choso hums and lowers his head down again, this time at an empty spot on your collarbone, just above your heart.

he wraps his teeth around the sinfully soft skin and bites. harsh, until he can feel his jaw locking under the pressure.

you whine so beautifully for him. body so pliant after three rounds of mindnumbing orgasms- yet, to his amusement, you still somehow find the energy to squirm under his heavy hands. “c-cho, s’too hard, gonna make me bleed,” you cry softly.

and choso is no better than the lust that courses through him at that moment. the mere ideas pulling a strained moan past his lips. bleed. he can make you bleed for him.

“s’alright, hun, i’ll clean ya up after. promise,” he speaks the words through gritted teeth.

choso kitten licks at a spot on your neck. once, then twice, sucking on the skin gently. testing the elasticity, savoring in the warmth. if he focuses hard enough, he thinks he can feel your blood pumping beneath his lips. his fingers thump, thump, thump, in time with every faux beat of your heart.

then, choso scrapes his teeth. a warning, giving you only a second to prepare before he's snaking his jaw open and biting. mouth clamping down around you, harsh and unforgiving and painful. your back arches under him with a gasp. one of his hands traverse around your waist and cusps at the dip.

holding you close, pulling you in further, almost comforting despite the burning sensation at your neck. choso hums out in pleasure. the vibrations travel through you, right to the fire-y pit in your lower tummy.

only a bit more pressure, and choso is feeling the layers of skin tear beneath his teeth. blood pricks out from the freshly opened wound, dripping down into the space between his lips. it hits his tongue and almost on instinct, he laps at it. sucking on his bite and drawing more and more blood out, until it's coating his tongue and he can taste you.

choso moans, loud and unabashed. you're fucking killing him, tasting so good. so sweet.

he pulls himself away a few seconds later, teeth extracting from your skin with a wet pop!, and looks down at the new bite mark. a mixture of his saliva and your blood lewdly drips from the wound down to your collarbone. he takes the invitation gladly, tongue darting out to clean up the mess he's made of you.

you whine from below him once again, tone shaky, "choso,"

he nods knowingly, the hand on your back massaging gently. "i know, i know. doing so good for me, sweetheart. taste so good,"

he blindly reaches toward the nightstand next to your tangled bodies. his hand finds the warm washcloth he had set out beforehand and uses it to dab at your aching skin.

"want me to go run a bath, hm?" he whispers as he presses chaste kisses to your face. he knows he can be so much sometimes, too much, but you always take it so well. take him so well. the least he can do is take care of your fragile body afterward.

so, when you nod, he gladly untangles his limbs from yours, and sets off to run a warm bath.

all the while, choso can still taste the remnants of you on his tongue.

[vaguely-concerned]

another really interesting thing in our man bashir to me is that I think this is the point where garak finally mostly relinquishes his self-appointed role as bashir's teacher. he seems to have taken it upon himself early on, for inscrutable but probably partially horny, partially cultivating a promising (and lovely) contact reasons of his own, to imbue julian bashir with some spysmarts and basic bastard thinking literacy skills, in the hopes that he won't go get his bright beautiful excitable ass killed at the first opportunity. there's a lot of mentor/protege undertone there in the early years. (if you want to get into asit stuff, very much in the same vein as palandine and garak's relationship in the beginning.)

but in omb garak really only has one of his little lectures, and it's basically about The thing about being a spy (and a person) that has most shaped his life: That's something else you've yet to learn, Doctor. A real intelligence agent has no ego, no conscience, no remorse. Only a sense of professionalism. There is no joy, no magic, no real delight to this, no winning, no recognition, and most importantly no connection; the reward for work well done is only ever the work itself. You don’t kiss the girl, get the key — you simply get on with turning yourself into nothing as best you can. and julian, who had just been trying to momentarily imagine a world where secrets can be cool and glamorous and for good, meaningful reasons that empower him to help the world rather than shameful and isolating and alienating and like a damocles sword hanging over him and everything he cares about, shoots back with 'well, but what if not that, though? that's the whole point of this game! this is my story not yours, trust me to know it better than you do. (I have more things to teach you too, if you’d just listen. And once he gets shot a little bit, garak does listen.)'

(somewhere beneath all this is almost exactly the same debate they will have explicitly later on -- "Sentiment is the greatest weakness of all"/"If that's true, that's one lesson I never want to learn". Something something the freedom to imagine and play around with different worlds in your head, no matter how cringefail james bond LARP nonsense that world is as long as it brings you hope and joy and new perspectives, kill the part of you that cringes etc. Garak you're allowed to get out of the closet in your head now, Tain is gone, you can imagine different things than what has been and no one will turn it against you. Im… sad)

through most of this episode garak is observing, and when he's not simply bitching about everything from the sidelines (<3), he's tentatively trying to throw in comments to play along, to figure out how the flow goes like he's learning a different language, and he's BAD at it hahaha. he barged in there to put himself in a position to learn something about julian bashir's ~*hidden inner psyche*~, but UH-OH spiritual uno reverse card time he's having to face some shit about his own psyche and the immense barrenness it's been forced to operate under for so long.

The learning between them has of course always been two-way (that’s partially what the whole relationship is built on), but in giving up the more ‘formal’ role — mask — of teacher, garak is also opening up space for realer emotional intimacy, letting one layer of artificiality fall and allowing more realness to shine through. even so he doesn’t let go of control completely until he’s faced with irrefutable (horny) proof that julian’s sentiments and ideals are backed by real conviction — julian knows (possibly better than garak does) what is a game, and what is real, and where he draws the line between frivolous and deeply necessary is different from where garak would and by the end of the ep I think garak trusts julian more, enough to leave the story in julian’s hands without trying to steer or form him even indirectly/sneakily. And to top it all off, the way julian uses his last dramatic speech to signal that he did also listen to what garak told him… augh.  

the teacher role, along with the lies (ever his swiss army knife god bless), has helped garak keep a sort of fine-tuned control of the level of emotional intimacy possible between them, stay in control of what narratives are even on the table. and I think finally letting that fade more into the background transforms their relationship in ways that can pay off big time down the line, for all that it leaves things a bit strange and tentative in the meantime. by garak standards he’s being positively transparent in this episode. for the first time he talks about his time in the order without any coy prevarication, he states his hunger for knowing julian better right down to his ~*hidden inner psyche*~ almost pathetically openly (<3<3<3<3). And this is just my headcanon and definitely not what was meant at the time of airing, the unplanned nature of the augment reveal being what it is, but in context of the whole show as it became it feels a lot like garak offering some of his own authenticity to signal that julian could trust him with his. It feels like garak has figured out at least the rough outlines of what julian has uh got going on and tried to make this gambit, having… perhaps underestimated the extent of the defenses julian has internally/psychologically against Being Known, quite aside from the practical real world consequences of his secret getting out. Anyway. Lots in this episode. Many thoughts.

[belovedmusings]

Sugar-coated, lies unfolded.

Choso Kamo x You x Suguru Geto

Explicit Themes 18+ (🚫Minors DNI🚫)

Part nine of the 'Two + One' story. Click for story masterlist.

Guitarist! Choso Kamo is your boyfriend, and he recently just found out that you have feelings for his bandmate, Suguru, and that Suguru reciprocates. He's allowing you to explore that with Suguru...but could you actually do that to him? Sleep with another man?

Relevant tags: sexual tension, thoughts of infidelity, characters with questionable morals, Choso is sweet and loyal, Suguru is charming and sexy, slow burn, no "y/n" for immersion, 2nd POV, reader has no defining characteristics, explicit smut, nipple play (male receiving), oral sex (fem receiving), bathroom sex, love bites, cunnilingus, fingering, squirting, handjob

Recommended songs to listen to while reading: Candy (Doja Cat), I Want It All (Cameron Grey), High Enough (K.Flay, RAC)

A/N: I think satan himself came over me when i wrote this chapter so...enjoy ;)

Read on Ao3 if you prefer!

Or read below cut:

The next morning had gone completely normally. You had woken up with Choso, shared your usual morning kiss, then got ready for the day beside him. You’d had breakfast, your normal conversations, and when he had to go to meet with the band, you had kissed him goodbye and exchanged your ‘I love you’s with him.

It’s when you’re going about your normal day just after you’ve had lunch that you receive a phone call.

Suguru. 

He’s never called you before. Choso should be with him–did something happen?

Hurriedly, you accept the call. “Hello?”

“Hey,” Suguru’s buttery voice comes through the speaker casually, and it disarms you from any immediate threats.

“Hey,” You reply, sitting back. “Is everything okay?”

“What, I can’t just call you?” Suguru chuckles on the other end, the sound rattling around inside of you like a marble in a glass jar. You hear a sigh. “Well, I did call you for a reason.”

“Yeah? What is it?”

“He told me about everything,” Suguru says, and your suspicions are confirmed. “He told me about that dream you had of me–which we’ll come back to–then the conversation you had afterwards. You told him all about us, it seems.”

You draw in a breath. “Yes, I-I did…”

“And he told me he wasn’t as upset as he thought he’d be. He felt a little uncomfortable, but then because it’s me, he said it didn’t bother him. Apparently the two of us showing restraint is what let him come to the conclusion to trust us…and let us explore things together.”

You’re worrying your lip so hard between your teeth as you listen that a layer of skin is peeling off. “Yeah…he…he did say that.”

“So…he’s given us his permission,” Suguru states slowly. “On his conditions, of course.”

You know what Suguru is getting at, but there’s just something inside of you reluctant to lean into it. Maybe it’s Choso’s reaction, his patience and unconditional love, or the way the two of you made love the night before. But guilt is killing you. 

“I…” You begin, “Suguru…I don’t think I can do it.”

A beat. Then, a sigh. “...it’s because you feel like you’re taking advantage of him, right?”

“Well, yes…it just doesn’t feel right. He said we could, but what kind of loving girlfriend sleeps with her boyfriend’s bandmate?”

“I understand,” replies Suguru, “I feel the same. It’s like exploiting his kindness, isn’t it?”

“Y-yeah, exactly…”

“So, we won’t, then.”

It sounds like a question, even though it’s a statement. “We shouldn’t.”

An unanswer. The two of you are pushing and pulling again.

“Hey, my smoke break is almost over, so I have to go back in. I’ll text you later.”

A part of you is disappointed when he says it. You don’t want to say goodbye yet. You like having him there on the phone.

“Okay,” You respond softly.

“Okay.” 

The call ends, and you put your head in your hands.

What on Earth is your life?

_

Nothing happens for the next four weeks. You don’t see him at all, but he does make it a point to call and text you consistently. Despite not acting on your desires, you grow closer with Suguru over text and phone calls, and if nothing else, he becomes a good friend of yours. 

You and Choso have no issues, and life continues on. You don’t sleep with Suguru, you force yourself not to think of him in any sort of sexual way, and you make peace with it.

Everything is fine up until the release party for the album they had been working on, and recently just completed.

You got done up in makeup, styled your hair, put on a dress suited for the occasion, and went with Choso to Suguru’s place where he’s holding it.

On the way there, you tell yourself nothing will happen. You haven’t reached out to him, asking to see him, you haven’t had another dream, and your thoughts of him have remained innocent. You have your mind in order.

All of that goes to hell immediately when you lay your gaze on Suguru, the moment after you set foot in the house.

He’s there in black jeans and an equally black tank-top, sinfully tight and leaving nothing to the imagination. It’s like he wore that just to remind you of everything that you’ve been lusting after; his bulging muscles, the piercings adorning the centers of his two pecs, the tattoos undulating over his pale skin…and that’s just his body. His face…god, his face.

His inky midnight hair falls in thick tresses down his shoulders, framing a face painters would vy for. Piercings and thick liner rimming his eyes, he’s the closest thing to a rock god you have ever seen.

“Hey,” He greets you, and you think maybe he’s already said ‘hello’ to Choso but you aren’t sure. You muster up a smile, trying your best to salvage your resolve.

“Hi.”

His gaze lingers on you for a moment as Choso moves in to set his guitar up with the rest of the band’s cozy set-up in Suguru’s spacious living room.

“You look breathtaking,” He tells you, a softness in his eyes that only serves to complicate you. 

“So do you,” You say, gesturing to him. He just shrugs, and it seems like his golden gaze pierces through you. You both know what you decided on, but right now the air between you is electric.

All it takes is a glance at the opposite corner of the living room to see Choso’s eyes on you, and you suddenly feel as if you’ve been caught doing something wrong. You flit your gaze back to Suguru for a second, apologetic, before making your way into the house.

After that, it’s sweet, sweet torture. 

You feel like you’re on high alert the entire soundcheck. You participate as well as you can in assisting with providing the audience perspective, but you’re so focused on acting normal that you can barely remember anything. 

The same goes for the actual release performance. You’d greeted all of Choso’s brothers when they’d arrived, then found your seat at the front of the small folding-chair arrangement, and then fought your way through normal reactions to each song.

You’d heard them all before, as Choso had both played them for you on his phone and practiced them with his guitar, but watching them all put together live with mood lighting, the band all dressed-up…it’s electric.

Between Choso and Suguru, your eyes are feasting. Two gorgeous men, performing, letting their lined gazes gravitate towards you, twin spotlights.

When the set finishes, the after party starts, and you stand up, Choso welcoming you into his arms and giving you a deep kiss as Larue begins to spin the first round of music. 

“You did amazing,” You tell your boyfriend, smiling up at him. “This album is gonna be so successful.”

He smiles down at you, leaning in to press another kiss to your lips. “You’ve supported me this whole time. I’m so grateful to you.”

Your hand moves to cup his cheek, and you sigh appreciatively. His chocolate locks pulled up into his signature spiky buns, eyes smoked out with purple and lined with unique markings that touch his nose bridge tattoo, the gentle tenderness in his stare…you just adore him.

“You’re precious to me,” You tell him, speaking from the heart, and you can see the light inside of him brighten a bit.

“I love you.”

He gets your heart to pound even now. “I love you too.”

“Choso!”

The sound of his youngest brother’s voice calling out to him pulls you two out of your little bubble, and you turn to see Yuji walking towards you, his other brothers in tow. 

“That was awesome, man!” Yuji says, clapping him on the back. “You gotta introduce us to the band!”

Choso looks at you, unsure to leave you alone at a party full of strangers. You know how important his brothers are to him, so you simply shake your head with a smile. “Go ahead. I’ll be fine, baby.”

He gives you a thankful grin, kissing your cheek before leading the mob of his brothers off to Larue first since he’s the closest.

Bass heavy music fills the mood-lit space of his living room, music executives, other artists, models, whoever Suguru and the rest of the band know fill it with their intoxicated, sweaty bodies. You move to the bar of Suguru’s kitchen, overlooking the living room, deciding to fix yourself a drink to pass the time.

You’ve drunk exactly half of your solo cup when it happens.

Your eyes are dusting over the crowd uninterestedly until they catch on a familiar frame.

Suguru. He’s talking with a woman, a slender, tall figure that must be a model he knows somehow. His hand is on the wall beside her, leaning over her, a loose grin on her flawless face–and immediately an unbridled jealousy wells up inside of you without your permission.

As soon as the sharp negativity registers, Suguru chooses that exact moment to find your gaze with his own. The charming smile he had on his face fades, and you don’t know why, but you feel enraged.

It’s a muddy, red feeling, completely unfounded, shame tinging it dark. But it’s yours, and the longer you stare at him the heavier it feels.

Unable to look at him with another woman any longer, you turn on your heel and head straight for the only place you know you can be alone in this big house–the bathroom.

You’ve just pushed the door open to the empty room when you hear him call to you.

You whirl around, and that’s when he backs you in, shutting the door behind you. The only light in the small room is reflecting from the frosted window at the other end, streetlight outside and the Moon casting a dim glow.

“You’re upset,” Suguru says, hand on your cheek. You avert your eyes, pushing his hand off of you.

“You’re not mine, I have no right to be,” it comes out cold and uneven. “Go back, she’s probably wondering where you went.”

“Forget her, I don’t want her,” He forces your gaze back to him. “I want you.”

The dense air is ripe with stillness. You can’t even hear the loud music outside anymore. Your eyes are locked with Suguru’s, and you know you’re screwed.

He pulls you in and ducks down, beginning to leave feverish kisses over your neck.

“I want you so fucking much,” He breathes, heat fanning over your skin and making you shiver. He looks up at you and leans in real close, the tips of your noses touching. “It’s taking everything in my power not to kiss you right now.”

Involuntarily, your eyes flit down to his lips, and he exhales shakily, closing his eyes and brushing them faintly against yours. You turn your face away.

“We can’t.”

He makes a noise in the back of his throat and tightens his hold on you, dragging his teeth over the skin just under your ear. 

“I know we said we wouldn’t,” He replies, “But I can’t do it, I can’t resist you knowing that I can have you like this…”

“I don’t want to hurt him. I love him.” Your resolve is wavering.

“I know,” Suguru murmurs, “He knows, too. Just let yourself have this. Let me do this.”

You swallow hard, a sigh leaving your lips as he trails wet kisses down to your collarbone. 

“Let me,” He says, “You want this. You want me.”

You lean back against the counter, hands on the edge as he keeps going further down, this time undeterred by your dress and its neckline.

His lips find the top of your breast, and he looks up at you.

“Tell me to stop.”

Those words can’t even begin to take form on your tongue.

This time, he repeats it in a whisper. “Tell me to stop.”

Fuck it. You can’t stand this anymore.

“No.”

“Then I won’t.”

He pushes the top of your dress unimportantly out of the way, exposing the rest of the soft flesh of your chest. 

He eyes your breasts with desire before looking up at you, making sure you’re watching him before parting his lips and swiping his tongue out, letting the bead of his piercing catch on your stiff peak. 

You gasp, and his lips turn up at the corners. Then he does it again. His thumb rubs the one not getting worked by his mouth, and you watch as he flutters his tongue over the bud, closing his lips around it and sucking.

“Ah,” You moan, head falling back. “Suguru…”

“Yes,” He breathes, “I’ve waited so long to hear that, fuck, you are so beautiful.”

You bite your lip as he praises you, arching your back as he continues to devour you. It’s a sinful scene, something so hazy you feel like if you move a certain way you’ll wake from a dream. The little shocks of pleasure undulating down from your peaks start to build heat in your core, wetness pooling in the lace underneath the skirt of your dress.

The bumping of the music outside of the bathroom only adds to the heavy atmosphere, so loud it vibrates the counter behind you, and you have to actually take a moment to realize that Suguru’s lips have started traveling further down your body. Right over the fabric of your dress, he kisses a line as he gets to his knees, leveling himself with your thighs. He looks up at you with those pretty, golden eyes, a translucent midnight in the dim lighting of the moon, rimmed with eyeliner, and he presses a peck to your knee, palms caressing the skin at the hem of your dress.

You can only watch him do it, watch him start littering your skin with kisses, taking your left leg and hiking it over his shoulder to get further up your thighs.

Each brush of his metal-adorned lips has you moving closer to insanity. Little flowers of pleasure bloom every time he sucks a mark and pulls away, the skin tenderized and wet with saliva. The feeling of his hot mouth getting closer and closer to the spot that hungers the most for him intensifies, and soon enough, he pushes your dress up far enough to get it around your hips and out of his way. Panties on display, he locks eyes with you and rubs the skin of your inner thigh slowly, pressing his lips to the dip right beside your apex. You tense, and he grins, flicking his tongue out to run it over the skin there. 

“I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” He murmurs, eyes flitting down, then up again. “Right here is where I want to be…”

You swear your heart may give out. You’ve fantasized so much about this moment, and now that it’s happening, you don’t know what to do with yourself. You’re sure any second you’re going to combust. 

“I wish you could see your face,” He grins, looking at you with an amused smile. “You want it bad…”

Taking a breath, you try to get a grip to respond. The best you can manage is, “I’m not the only one.”

He chuckles low in his throat, syrupy and rich, and then parts his lips to drag his tongue over the front of your panties.

“Ah!” You gasp, the unexpected movement catching you by surprise. All Suguru does is do it again, this time drawing circles into the fabric with the stud in his tongue, your clothed clit throbbing in delight.

He closes his lips around it, sucking before tilting his head down, rubbing the tip of his nose against the bud.

You shiver, a hand threading into his hair. “Suguru…”

“Keep making those noises for me,” He breathes, kissing the front of your panties a few times, then swirling his tongue around your clothed pearl again. The added friction of the fabric heightens your pleasure, and you feel it getting soaked, a combination of your arousal and his spit. The thought alone furthers your desire.

He adds more pressure on his next lick, and it has you twitching, a soft whimper leaving your lips. He repeats the movement over and over and over again until your breath is hitched and uneven, little moans tumbling freely from your voice.

“Suguru,” You finally warn, “I’m gonna cum…”

“Cum,” He replies, “Cum on my tongue, baby.”

“Ah!” You cry out, the pet name hitting your senses right in their vital points, orgasm sweeping through you like a vengeful spirit claiming its latest victim. He helps you ride it out, keeping his tongue on you until your body begins to relax.

“You’re gorgeous when you cum,” He compliments breathlessly, and you huff in embarrassment. 

“Am I really?”

“Yeah,” He nods, gazing at you with blown pupils. “I want to see it again.”

Faster than you can comprehend, he’s hooking your sopping panties out of the way, taking your bare cunt into his mouth.

The sensitivity overwhelms you and you gasp, biting your lip. “Suguru…I-I already came…”

“You can do it again,” He replies, flicking his tongue over the swollen bud at the top of your folds. “Come on, just focus on the feeling…”

It’s a dull yet sharp sort of pain, a kind you discover you like, and you moan as he relentlessly pursues your pleasure, squirming in the vice grip he has on your hips, no doubt destined to bruise. The thought of the shape of his hands branded into your skin tomorrow, ingrained in a phantom ache…it makes your core pulse with need.

He groans, dragging his right hand down your leg, the cool, hard sensation of his rings making you suck your lip between your teeth. 

Then, you feel two thick, rough fingers entering you, jewelry and all.

“Oh god,” it comes out desperate and sort of broken, because Suguru is fingering you now, using the beautiful hand he strokes his bass guitar with, and for fuck’s sake he really knows how to use them.

He’s folded the three fingers he’s not using to aim better with the two inside, curling them upwards to prod at the magic spot within you as he sucks hard on your clit.

Your head falls back and you suppress what would have been a pornstar-worthy cry, yet your effort is wasted when on the next thrust of his digits, the sound of your ecstasy is forced out of you as he wriggles his fingers slightly on your g-spot.

“Suguru!”

“Beautiful,” He breathes against your folds, eyes still trained on you as if he was a spectator beholding an art exhibit. 

When he says it, it clatters around inside of you like a china plate shattering on a kitchen floor. He must know what it does to you, because he dives right back in, eating you out like his life depends on it, complete with noises generated at the back of his throat like a starved man finally allowed food.

All too soon, as he’d predicted, your second orgasm approaches. It fades in like the start of your favorite Curse Manipulator song, building, building, building—

Something that has never happened before happens.

You feel this release of pressure, an overwhelming rush of heat, the sound of your own wanton scream sounding far away as you soak Suguru’s fingers and chin. He made you squirt. For the first time in your life.

You can barely remember where you are by the time he stands up, licking your juices off of his rings and wrapping his arm back around your waist to get close to you.

Like this, you feel the press of his hard cock straining against his jeans on your thigh and you shiver, meeting his eyes. 

“Did you like that?” He asks in a sort of whisper, and you nod mindlessly, leaning forward to kiss him.

Then you remember yourself and the rules, and pull away. He makes a disappointed noise and cups your face with his left hand.

“I wish you could taste yourself on my tongue,” He whispers, touching his nose to yours. “I want to kiss you so badly right now.”

Your eyes meet his, and though you just came twice, you still feel a raging fire inside of you for him. 

You don’t answer verbally; you just tilt your head to the side and lay a kiss on his cheek. He sighs, eyes fluttering shut, and you get more bold, kissing a line all the way down his neck. Your hands travel from his shoulders down his chest, over the taut fabric of his black tank top, ghosting over the piercings on each of his pecs on their way down.

You make it to the edge of his shirt and you suddenly become all-too-aware of the fact that you get to touch him. You get to do whatever the fuck you want to him, after all of these months of dreaming about it, he’s finally putty in your hands.

Like a kid in a candy store, your lips latch onto his neck as you push his shirt up, only pulling back to help him take it off and toss it unimportantly to the floor. Your eyes feast on his bare, muscular torso, pale skin seeming to glow in the lavender moonlight. The tattoos on his skin decorate him beautifully, and your vision catches on the twin silver barbels in each of his nipples, mouth salivating. It only worsens when you see the bulge in his black jeans, fiending for release. 

How is he this gorgeous?

“Keep looking at me like that and I’m not gonna obey the rules,” He warns softly, hands on your waist, and you meet his eyes, dangerously close to wanting to break them yourself. 

“You’re just…” You trail off, laying a hand on his chest and running it down slowly, watching his breath hitch. “God you’re just…”

He smiles slightly, amused, and you just shake your head and lean forward, mouth landing on his collarbone.

Your lips busy sucking marks into his chest, your hands need something new to touch, so you find the buckle of his belt, starting to tug on it.

You can feel the uptick in his heart rate because it’s beating right beneath your kiss, and the knowledge that you’re affecting him so much goes straight to your head.

His hands have moved up to your breasts, kneading them gently as you work his pants open, satisfaction filling you the second you feel the button release.

In search of what you yearn for, you drag the zipper down and dip your hand underneath the waistband of his boxers, at last coming into contact with the smooth, hard heat of his cock. He gasps, breath fluttering, and the moment you wrap your hand around it and pull it free from the confines of his clothing, he groans. It’s music to your ears.

The touches he’s been giving to you intensify as you begin to stroke him, his shaft thick and lengthy in your grasp. 

Except for the small amount of precum you spread down his length, there’s nothing to help the glide, but he remedies that by canting his hips forward and raising your knee, cock bumping against your soaked mound. You jolt, thinking he means to slip inside, and he shakes his head.

“I don’t have condoms,” He murmurs, “But you can still get me wet.”

A slight tinge of disappointment fills you—there won’t be that final push tonight, but you’re here and you’re so turned on you can’t think straight, so you do as he says and rub his tip against your folds.

“Oh, fuck,” He breathes out, head falling back. He inhales sharply, starting to rock his hips to rut against you. “Fuck, you feel so soft…”

Your composure utterly gives out beneath you and you fall forward, letting your forehead rest against his chest as he continues fucking against your clit. It’s over-sensitive and puffy, but god damn is it determined to keep up?

Unable to help yourself, you drag your teeth over one of his tattoos, and he grunts, hand winding behind your waist to pull you closer. Spurred on and suddenly level with his pec, you part your lips and allow your tongue to swipe over the pierced nipple beneath it, and he shudders.

“Fuck, baby.”

If he keeps calling you that, you’re going to need to be admitted. 

Of course, it only impassions you, and your strokes quicken, hand tightening every time you get to the tip and loosening on the way down. 

“Yes,” He sighs out, taking your face in his hand and guiding it up. He looks at you in the eyes for a second, then moves in, planting a kiss left of your mouth. Your eyes close, and he keeps going, giving you desperate pecks as he keeps fucking your hand, getting himself sloppy with your essence, precum mixing in with it. 

His mouth finds your ear and he bites at the shell, low groans sending vibrations down your spine. 

“I wanna fuck you,” He sounds winded in a way you’ve never heard before, strained, and it’s so fucking sexy. “I wanna be inside of you so badly…I wanna feel every detail.”

“Oh god,” You shudder, eyes squeezing shut, feeling lightheaded.

“If I could, I’d grab you and turn you around,” He tells you, “I’d make you take it all until you’re stuffed with my cum.”

Jesus Christ, that’s the dirtiest thing anyone has ever said to you. Your body trembles involuntarily, clenching on nothing, and you pull him closer, wrapping your legs around his hips. All you can do now is hold his cock down while he ruts against you, friction mutually beneficial, completely losing your mind. 

“Would you like that?” He asks, voice sultry like brown sugar, sweet and bad for you. 

Still, you nod, long gone, clutching onto him for dear life. “Yes…”

“Yes? Yes, who?” He asks, a dangerous little tinge in his voice, “Who is it that you want to get fucked by right now?”

Fuck, “You…”

His thrusts are turning erratic and you can feel him getting close, muscles tensing up, urgency increasing.

“What’s my name?” He asks you, a soft demand.

Oh god, “Suguru.”

“That’s right,” He murmurs, hissing as he teeters over the edge. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum, baby…”

As if commanded by him, your body seizes up and your third orgasm of the night hits you, nails digging into his shoulder. That’s all it takes for him to follow—he seethes air through his teeth, voice catching in a guttural grunt, and you feel hot semen spilling onto the tender flesh of your mound, staining the fabric of your ruined panties. 

“God,” He breathes, trying to calm down, eyes unfocused. 

They land on your face, and all he does is look at you for a moment before leaning in, kissing your forehead. 

“I won’t see anyone else,” He murmurs to you, firm and breathless.

You shake your head automatically. “I didn’t ask you to do that.”

“I know.”

Such a violent tenderness erupts inside of you, endorphins and oxytocin swirling around like a hurricane, making a mess of your psyche. He really doesn’t want anyone but you, and that knowledge is sharp like a knife. Despite the danger of it, you don’t want to leave.

If Suguru’s desire for you is destined to swallow you whole, you are royally fucked.

__

a/n: the way my fingers flew writing this

Please don't copy or repost, but feel free to reblog and share!

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[gideonisms]

modern au meet-cute where gideon calls harrow her nicknames because she doesn't know harrow's name and is too afraid to ask

all right so I struggled to come up with nicknames, but hopefully the meet-cute bit makes up for it. This one also got kind of long

The girl is sitting cross-legged on Gideon’s favorite dryer in the laundry room when Gideon first sees her. Her first thought is: what the hell, now how am I supposed to dry my clothing? It’s not that they don’t have other dryers here. It’s just that the others either leave her clothing too damp, or smell extensively of wet dog. And Gideon has things to do.

Her next thought is: what the hell, she’s perfect.

Because the girl is perfect. Before this, Gideon couldn’t say she had one particular type, but as she looks at the miniature thrift-store goth in front of her, with her five different layers of black clothing, huge fuckoff boots, and grown-out buzz cut, she has to admit that the effect is both intimidating and extremely cool. That it’s working for the girl in a way it never worked for Gideon back when she’d had a brief goth phase.

The girl’s eyes are closed, body still. As though she’s waiting for something. Her lashes are dark against her cheeks.

“Um,” Gideon says eloquently. The girl does not respond. “Hello?” Nothing. Does she have earbuds in?

Gideon steps closer, and that’s when the girl’s body sways forwards, right into Gideon’s waiting chest. She smells kind of sweaty, and she’s warm as a fever. Gideon’s heart starts pounding. Is the girl dying? Gideon doesn’t know how to fix that.

“Hello, Morticia? Can you wake up for me?”

The girl’s eyes blink open. They’re extremely large and dark, and that’s probably why Gideon just stares down at her stupidly. But then they focus on Gideon. The girl’s eyebrows draw down immediately, and she shoves Gideon back, almost toppling off the dryer in her haste to get down on her own.

“Leave me alone!” she says.

“Okay. Sorry, it just seemed like you were having some kind of cri—”

“I am fine,” the girl says very definitely. She grabs her phone, which is lying on the table in the middle of the room, and hastily exits before Gideon can even ask her name. She leaves a bunch of cheap, badly-dyed black jeans in Gideon’s favorite dryer, too. Well, damp clothing it is.

At the coffee shop where Gideon works, she’s having a normal one. She greets the usual crowd from the university—there’s a twinge of pain in her knee whenever she thinks about the soccer scholarship she’ll never get there now. Anyway, the girls from the university are always very nice to Gideon. They ask her about herself, how long she’s worked here, what she likes to do on the weekends. Sometimes they look at her askance but later slide their numbers to her on a napkin. One even tried to get Gideon to come to a church function; Gideon thinks she would have killed it at the potluck, but she had a workout scheduled with Cam that afternoon. The guys either call her “dude” or don’t speak to her except to order.

This is the type of day Gideon has come to expect, and everything runs along the same well-worn track, with a brief appearance from Pyrrha, who turns on cheesy love songs on the store radio and shamelessly flirts with every mom who comes in until Gideon can only roll her eyes and tell her to stop stealing all the tips.

Even then, Gideon’s heart isn’t really in it. She has the vague sense that she’s running through the motions, living the life of the person named Gideon Nav because that’s the one she knows how to live.

Until around six PM, when The Girl walks in. Gideon had been starting to wonder if she’d dreamed the whole encounter, if her mind had conjured a beautiful goth girl out of sheer boredom. But no, there she is in the flesh.

She doesn’t look like she’s doing any better than last time, if Gideon’s being honest. Her boots are caked in mud, and she struggles to open the door. As she approaches the counter, she shivers even though the day is barely chilly. This time she is wearing headphones, big boxy ones with a visible wire that she keeps twisting through her fingers. She takes them off when she steps up in front of Gideon, distracted.

“Oh hey! You’re that goth bitch from before! The one on my dryer.”

The girl’s gaze immediately sharpens. Gideon could swear that she flushes darker.

“What are you doing here?” she snaps.

“Uh.” Gideon looks around. “I work here?”

“It’s not your dryer. It belongs to the complex.”

“Yes it is! It’s the one I always use. It’s my dryer.”

Gideon is beginning to think this whole conversation was a mistake.

“Well,” says the girl slowly. She’s staring Gideon down like she might kill and eat her, which is kind of doing it for Gideon. “When I’m sitting on it, it is in fact, my dryer. You can find your own.”

“Whatever you say, dryer despot.”

“Do you normally talk to customers like this?”

“Lord of the laundry.”

At that, the girl gives her one more withering glare, which suggests that not only is Gideon beneath her, but that she can’t even deign to continue a conversation with such an imbecile, then sweeps away. But not out the door, as Gideon expects. Instead, she sits down at a table.

For about ten minutes, she glares at the table like she wants it dead too. Or maybe she’s spacing out?

Gideon starts to ask her if she’s going to order anything, because at this point, she’s a bit worried the girl might pass out again, but then the girl pulls out her phone and starts typing rapidly. After about thirty minutes of this mysterious typing, she stands up and exits the building without fanfare.

Gideon doesn’t know what her problem is. But more importantly, she still doesn’t know her name.

“No, hang on,” Gideon says. “You’ve lost me again. I’m seeing an ashwaganda and I’m seeing a thething, but I’m not seeing them both together.”

“L-Theanine,” Palamedes says over the phone. “It’s a supplement meant to improve focus. Your grocery store might not have it, I just thought I’d ask.”

“No, I’ll keep looking,” Gideon says, although it’s late enough the people at the store might kick her out soon. “How is Dulcie doing, anyway? Does she need some soup too? Some chicken nuggets? I don’t know what people like when they’re sick.”

Palamedes might be laughing. “Perks of being Gideon Nav,” he says drily. “Anyway, it’s just the flu this time. She had it all checked. But you know how she is. She’ll want to keep working on the dissertation through it. Says she knows what being at death’s door feels like, and it isn’t this.”

Gideon hums sympathetically. She doesn’t really know what to say. She doesn’t have a lot of experience either being sick, dying, or caring for people who are sick. Recent events notwithstanding.

Gideon did almost die once, as a baby, but she hardly thinks that counts. What’s a little carbon monoxide poisoning when faced with a future strong, handsome lesbian? Although sometimes, she thinks it might be the reason she wakes sad for no reason in the early hours of the morning, as though her body is remembering the time everything almost ended.

“Oh, Cam wants me to relay a message. She says she’s going to, and I quote ‘kick your ass at Scrabble this weekend.’”

“I have work,” Gideon says absently. “I switched shifts with the new girl. She had to take off to take her weird dog to the vet.”

Palamedes is saying something about future plans, a topic Gideon has always struggled with, and Gideon gets this feeling again, like she’s gone missing in her own life.

And there in front of her, like an omen, The Girl appears. She just rounds the corner with a boxcutter in hand, running her finger along the catch over and over rhythmically. Her eyes are huge and dark and unfocused. Somehow, she looks more real than everything around her, like a dark ink blot over an aging photo.

In her other hand is a small box of cosmetics. They’re not in the aisle for cosmetics.

“Oh,” Gideon says, “It’s you.”

And then she stares stupidly. The girl seriously doesn’t look good—she’s had an air of malnourishment any time Gideon has seen her, but today, she’s practically swaying on her feet. On one side, her eyeliner is jagged. Gideon can’t tell if it was intentional.

“Yes,” Palamedes says on the other end of the line, baffled. “It’s still me. Does Thursday work, because Cam has clinicals on—”

“Look, I’m going to have to call you back, Sex Pal,” she says, and hangs up.

“Sex Pal?” the girl says in apparent disgust. “Is that really what you call your hookups?”

“Hang on—it’s not like that!” But Gideon’s protests are futile. In front of her, the strangest person Gideon knows, this unlikely bit of theatre in a world that has largely abandoned the stage, tips gently into a shelf of protein powders—and then she passes out.

When the girl comes to, it hasn’t been more than ten seconds. Gideon caught her before she could do any real damage. She wonders if she should call an ambulance. She’s halfway to shifting the girl’s weight so she can reach for her phone again, looking around for any other employees, when she feels a surprisingly strong grip on her arm.

The girl’s gaze snaps up to Gideon’s face, then to her arms, then to the tank top she’s wearing, which says #shredicated underneath the slogan for Gideon’s gym.

She narrows her eyes in confusion. “What does that even mean?”

“I’m dedicated to shredding. Why else would you keep passing out in my arms?”

The girl immediately tries to sit up, but loses her battle with gravity.

“Okay, seriously,” Gideon says. “I’m calling the ambulance. You don’t seem okay.”

The girl’s grip tightens, her short, black-painted nails digging into Gideon’s forearm.

“You will not call the ambulance, moron. Why do you think I’m working here? Does it look like I can afford to miss the rest of my shift?”

“Not really,” Gideon admits. “But it kind of seems like you’re about to miss the rest of your life, so.”

She digs the phone out of the pocket of her shorts. On her lap, the girl twitches in a futile attempt to grab it from her. Gideon puts her hand around the girl’s wrist to hold her back, and holy shit, it’s so easy to wrap her fingers around the whole thing. The girl’s pulse pounds. Her wrist is way too warm. But she stops struggling. She just looks up at Gideon.

“All right, my discount duchess. We’re gonna get you taken care of.”

For a second, Gideon thinks the girl is going to protest again. But she just says, nonsensically,

“Harrow.”

“What?” Gideon pauses in the act of dialing.

“That’s my name. Harrow.” She points to her nametag, which actually says Harrowhark in a slanting, hurried script.

Gideon forgets to dial. She forgets everything about their surroundings. Because now the girl, Harrow, is blinking up at her with something like trust. It makes Gideon stupid. She feels like she’s holding the life of some very small, very helpless baby bird in her hands, and she’s terrified she’s going to fuck it all up.

“Don’t call the ambulance. Please. Just—I know what this is. I need—” She looks away to glare at the side of a protein powder cannister as though it’s personally offended her. Gideon falls a little bit in love. “I need sleep,” she finally says. “And water. Probably food.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Gideon says.

The girl sits up slowly and glares at Gideon too. “Well? Are you going to bring me water? Please,” she tacks on again reluctantly at the end.

“Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

Gideon brings Harrow water. She brings her a box of saltine crackers. And she brings her a protein shake which she doubts Harrow will actually drink, but she can hope. As Harrow nibbles on the crackers, she seems to gain vitality. At least, she goes from looking like roadkill to looking like someone who would take roadkill home and examine the skeleton.

Finally, Harrow looks up at Gideon in sincerity. “Thank you,” she says, only once.

“Gideon,” Gideon blurts out.

“What?”

“My name is Gideon.”

Harrow blinks slowly. “Thank you, Gideon.”

Gideon’s whole chest constricts like she’s in some kind of melodrama. She feels like she’d go slay dragons if Harrow wanted her to. Maybe it is just her need to be useful to someone, like Cam once said when they were both drunk, but Gideon thinks she wants to maybe pledge herself to Harrow forever.

“Mhmm,” she says.

“Now,” says Harrow, “I need you to help me up. I’m going to take an early lunch. We’re avoiding a nondescript man in a grey button-up, by the way,” she informs Gideon as Gideon helps her to her feet and walks with her to the back. “He’ll only start telling me stories about his troubled youth as a struggling freelancer. I don’t have the time. I need to study.”

“Noted. Avoiding guys who look like freelancers.”

When they reach the double doors to the back room, Gideon almost follows Harrow in, but Harrow stops her with a hand.

“You. Stay here,” she commands, which does funny things to Gideon’s stomach? Oh hell, Gideon might as well find out some more new things about herself tonight.

“Like, until you’re done with lunch break?”

“No.” Harrow looks at her as though she’s an idiot. “I mean, I am going to go about my evening. And you should go back home. I’ve troubled you enough.”

“It’s no trouble. I mean, gotta make sure you don’t faint on me again. It doesn’t really seem like your coworkers give a shit. Harrow, are you studying during the day and working here at night?”

Harrow’s expression tightens. “It is none of your business.”

“It’s my business when you faint into my arms.”

At this, Harrow does actually blush, Gideon is sure of it. She gets all annoyed about it too, scrunching her face up in outrage. “I didn’t purposefully faint into your arms! Yours were just the arms that were there at the times I fainted.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

Harrow makes to turn around and leave Gideon behind.

“Wait, I—look.” She holds out her hand. “Give me your phone.”

To Gideon’s astonishment, Harrow gives her the phone. Gideon quickly opens up the contacts app and types her number in.

“I’m going to leave now. But you’re gonna text me when you get back home safe.”

Harrow raises an eyebrow. “Why should I text you? We live at the same complex. Come see for yourself. Building nine, number nine. Nine AM.”

“Are you inviting me over?”

Harrow looks her up and down. The look is brief, but comprehensive. Gideon can feel it in her spine.

“Your choice,” Harrow says.

Later, when Gideon is lying awake in bed, she’ll wonder about choice, about coincidence, about the unlikeliness of anyone ever meeting anyone, about why she lived long enough to become herself instead of dying before she could ever keep beautiful girls from hitting their heads.

But in the earliest hours of the morning, she receives a text from an unknown number. The text is a single word.

Home.

Yeah, Gideon thinks. Maybe she is, after all.

[the-raindeer-king]

SELKIE👏SOAP👏 big brain stuff. Don't get me wrong, the Dullahan is my favorite of all mythological creature. I have a whole figurine a foot tall of one on my shelf. But Selkie Soap hits so hard. He'd so be the type to leave his coat out at your house all the time after dating and knowing you're his person. 'Oh, whoops Soap left his weirdly heavy and thick coat here again', 'Oh look, he's calling asking if you can bring him his coat' after a while he gives up and just throws it on you tbh. Let him be yours, damnit!

If selkies are always cold without the pelt, I wonder how important warmth is so Soap. You cuddled up and comment how warm he is, or how warm and cozy it is under the blanket(and pelt cause ofc) with you? Absolute heart eyes. You probably just said the equivalent of something so serious and loving and he's fawning

Big brain shit

AND BEAR SHIFTER PRICE the rumbles the RUMBLESSS takes 'bear hug' to a whole new meaning. Yes he adds honey to his tea, he will bite if you comment on it (if you're not one of the very few he really trusts and cares for that is. If it's say, his wonderful partner, they'll get smothered with a kiss an' a cuddle and maybe a nip at most. Gotta take care of his lil' love after all.) Supreme den to sleep in. Dark room, probably painted like a dark brown or something so it's really dark dark once the sun goes down. California King size bed, so many blankets, heavy ones he can shift around into certain ways. Pillows everywhere, AC cranked LOW low so he can cuddle his sweet partner so so close without them overheating, leaving them clinging to him in their sleep bc he's so warm. Probably loves smelling your scent, and scenting you so others smell him and know to leave you be

ELDRITCH GHOST THO!

He's always there. Haunting those he hunts and those he loves and it's such a rare thing to be so vehemently focused on tbh. As his enemy, it's an endless looking sense. The dark is too dark in certain spaces but not all of them. The quiet is too quiet when they step into a specific spot but take two steps away and they can hear their brain thinking again. On the flip side, you never feel like you're alone. There's always something right around the corner, right behind you that you can't see. Yes, Ghost is there physically, and his body almost feels like there's soft layers and hollow inside. But when hes not there, it's like he is still. A drink on the counter when you wake, a towel on the sink when you shower, the blankets moving and being tucked around you as you settle to sleep, even if you not moving, especially when it's dark.

And 100% I don't see Gaz as a harpy. I think you're on with a Naga though. Notoriously hard to kill (as we've seen with all the shit Gaz gets into (cough cough, helicopter, cough cough)) ruthless on the job but Amicable unless disrespected off the job (usually used as guards in mythology) and I'd go a step farther and say I could see him as either a Boomslang(one of the 10 fastest snakes, cause Gaz isn't super bulky but he's light and quick and snaps to where he needs to go yk?) also a beautiful black/green combo and slimmer species that I feel would fit him well, highly venomous and hang out in trees, idk if that's fitting just a fun fact.

Oooh just imagine going to pick him up after a rough mission. He's still on guard, alert, serious, and once he sees you he's snapping to you, already holding you close, the midsection of his tail winding up to press against the back of your legs, pressing you closer. Mumbling quiet words with a light hiss to them as he draws you in, seeping up your warmth. He's a cold blooded creature, can't you help him warm back up? 🥺

Anon, you and I are on the same wavelength and I love you (platonic).

[sunflowersandsapphires]

Not in this Alone (part 1)

pairing: Frank Castle x Matt Murdock x fem!reader (Fratt x fem!reader)

summary: After a week of stressful, lonely days, your boyfriends take the time to comfort you.

warnings: swearing, brief descriptions of stressful events (items breaking, period symptoms, sickness, etc)

a/n: This is the first half of a comfort fic that I wrote for my love @madschiavelique when she was having a terrible week a bit ago. I hope that you all find comfort in its softness!

w/c: 2.6k

Dropping your bag on the floor, you yanked your shoes off and plodded directly to your bed, planting face down into the mattress with a groan. A floorboard creaked behind you, signaling another presence, but your fatigue outweighed the anxiety you felt. 

“If you’re here to kill me, can you do it in the bathtub? This is a new mattress.” Your words were muffled by the layers of fabric over your face. 

The intruder chuckled deeply, “Not here to kill ya, sweetheart.” 

“Frankie?” You turned your face towards his gravelly voice, keeping the rest of your body pinned to the bed. It had been over a week since you’d seen him—and you weren’t expecting him to be home this soon—but there he was, in all his broad-shouldered glory. Dressed in sweats and a t-shirt, that was definitely not his given the way it stretched over his sculpted abdomen. He looked cozy and soft—clearly having been home for a few hours. 

“Hiya, doll. Your day was that good, huh?” He nodded down to your horizontal position, making you groan and turn your face back into the mattress. Huffing a laugh, he sat down beside you, stroking a large hand over your back. “Today’s your long day, ain’t that right?” 

Nodding tiredly, you hummed in appreciation as he rubbed circles into your tense shoulders. Frank pursed his lips, thinking for a moment before poking you in the side gently. “Get up for a sec, sweet girl. Let’s get ya into some comfier clothes.” 

Gluing your arms around your sides protectively, you whined, not lifting your torso from the bed. Undeterred, Frank pinched your hip before sliding his hand around your smaller figure and flipping you upright into his lap. Pressing a kiss to your cheek, he smirked at your exaggerated pout, “There’s my girl.” 

Shuffling out from underneath you, Frank planted another kiss on your cheek before standing to grab you a sweatshirt rather than the more presentable clothes you had on. Collapsing backward against the pillows, you stared blankly at the ceiling as you waited for Frank to return. After a grueling 11 hour day of traveling to and from your various art classes, you didn’t have the energy to do much else. On top of the sheer amount of time you’d been in public today, you’d been balancing a slew of intense bad luck–from your computer breaking to coming down with a cold. It had not been your week, and you’d been on your own to deal with most of it.

You knew that it wasn’t either of your partners’ faults, just incredibly terrible timing, but Matt had been sleeping at his own apartment all week after late nights at the office, and Frank had been out of town. The past few days had pushed you almost to your breaking point, but nothing actually terrible had happened, so you didn’t feel comfortable asking either of them to come to your aid. You’d been living a cycle of dosing up on medicine, going to class, coming home, and passing out–which was what you planned on doing before Frank interrupted you. 

As if your thoughts had summoned him, he padded back over with two garments in hand. He held up one of his own sweaters and Matt’s favorite Columbia crewneck. “Ok, doll, I wasn’t sure which you’d want, but…hey, what’s wrong?” 

A drop of moisture trailed down your cheek and you hastily wiped it away. Overly preoccupied with your own thoughts, you hadn’t even noticed the familiar prickle of tears in your eyes. “Nothing, Frank, just tired.” You sniffled, giving him an unconvincingly tiny smile.

Narrowing his eyes, Frank set the clothes aside, drawing you closer to him as if you weighed nothing. Draping you over his lap and holding you close, he studied you for a moment before cradling your cheek in one of his massive, calloused hands. “You sure?”

You shrugged, nuzzling into the cool touch. “It's just been a rough week, nothing to worry you or Matt about.” A part of you felt relieved that it was Frank in front of you rather than Matt, who would have surely called you out for lying. Though your treacherous emotions might have given you away regardless, given that salty tears continued to roll down your cheeks as Frank gently stroked the droplets off of your face. 

“I know I ain't a genius, but I can tell when you're hurtin’, doll. Talk to me?” His voice was as gravelly as ever, but his deep brown eyes pleaded with you, encouraging you to be honest about your woes. 

With another half-hearted shrug, you averted your gaze, focusing on your lap rather than your concerned boyfriend. “I dunno, it's been a long week, Frankie. I started my classes again, which is fine, but my PC broke when I was trying to finish up my assignments so I had to frantically email my professors to make arrangements. And then I started my period, and then I got sick, and then all these little things started piling up like the printer not working or my backpack breaking or my train being delayed and I just—” Your voice cut out as Frank pulled you into a tight embrace, pressing kisses against your hairline as more tears formed along your waterline. 

“Sweetheart, you shoulda called me. Or Red. You been dealin' with all this on your own?” His lips brushed over your forehead as he spoke. At your lack of response, he sighed. “Honey, we've talked about this.”

“I know, I know, but I didn't want to bother either of you with something so small.” You murmured against him, shivering as he rubbed your lower back. 

“You're not a bother, doll. Not now, not ever.” Frank tenderly rested his forehead against yours, touching your lips to his as he cradled the back of your head. “Here, why don't you put on my sweater?” 

Pulling back from the embrace, Frank tapped your arms, waiting patiently for you to lift your arms so he could remove your top and bra. After placing a soft kiss to your chest, he slipped the soft fleece over your head and arms, nodding in satisfaction at his handiwork.

“Better?” He held your chin between his pointer finger and thumb, lips quirked up in his signature barely-there smile. 

With a nod, you snuggled back into his embrace, sighing appreciatively when his fingers carded through your hair. 

“Glad to hear it, sweet girl. Let’s get you bundled up and we can order somethin’ to eat, yah?” 

Nodding again, you let him peel back the duvet before crawling off his lap and underneath the covers with trembling limbs. Sinking into the pillowy mattress, you sighed in relief—the exhaustion and stress of the past week sparking a deep ache in your bones. 

“Where do ya want me, babygirl?” Frank’s voice broke through your sleepy haze and you smiled despite your foul mood. Flopping onto your back, you made a grabby gesture at him. 

Chuckling quietly, Frank raised an eyebrow. “On top of ya? You’ll suffocate.” 

Pouting, you repeated the hand motions. Your throat was aflame after crying because of the stupid virus you’d picked up, leaving you hesitant to open your mouth again—but you wanted a Frank-shaped weighted blanket immediately to soothe your aches and pains. 

“Ok, doll, I won’t argue with ya after the shit week you’ve had. But promise me you’ll tap out if ya can’t breathe.” He waited for your eager nod before clambering on top of you and clumsily settling down. 

His body was tense as he held himself a few millimeters above your body, clearly still worried about crushing you. That simply wouldn’t do. Bringing your hands around his waist, you began kneading his back and shoulders in the way you knew he loved. 

Frank was fairly easy to please. A few well-placed touches to his upper back and he was putty in your hands. Running a single nail up his spine beneath his shirt, your lips broke into a grin at his deep, satisfied rumble. “Thought I was s’posed to be takin’ care of you.” He murmured, mashing his face against your neck. 

“You are. Just wanted you to relax.” You murmured, sleep tugging at your consciousness after the immense amount of energy you’d spent during your day of classes. Your voice must have revealed how desperately you needed a nap because Frank’s body shuddered with a laugh. 

“Sleep, sweetheart. I gotcha now.” 

Sandwiched between the mattress and the warm weight of your boyfriend, you let sleep drag you under. 

A thundering rumble sounded in your stomach, the vibrations breaking you out of a peaceful slumber. Groaning, you clenched your arms around your waist, hoping the pressure would cause the intense hunger pangs to fade. During your impromptu nap, your delightfully warm, boyfriend-shaped weighted blanket had been replaced by the duvet. Eyes still closed, you reached across the bed, groping the sheets in an attempt to find your partner and drag him closer to you, but you were unsuccessful. Whining miserably, you opened one eye, wincing at the bright rays of the setting sun temporarily blinded you. 

The room was, upsettingly, empty. No grumpy-yet-adorable man to be found. Coughing pitifully, you whimpered, hands clenching around the blankets, as if they would bring you comfort like Frank had. Had your interaction this afternoon been a dream? Were you alone all along?

A drop of saline rolled down your face and splashed onto the pillow, the moisture cool against your warm skin. Sniffling feebly, you shut your eyes again, praying that sleep would take you before you could wallow in your loneliness for too long. 

“Sweetheart?” Wiping your eyes, you glanced to the doorway to find the source of the voice, spirits lifting when you saw two beautiful men staring back at you, brows puckered in concern. 

They were by your side in an instant; Matt sat at the edge of the bed next to your pillows and Frank crawled into bed beside you, kissing your forehead when you immediately latched onto him. Matt frowned, running a hand over your arm before sliding into a horizontal position at your back. 

Their warmth was divine. Four burly arms wrapped around you, tangling you between your two partners. Matt’s nose brushed your nape as Frank hooked his chin over your head, guiding your face into the junction of his neck and shoulder. Your entire body sagged in relief, so grateful to be surrounded by the two men who loved you more than you could comprehend, so happy that you weren’t alone in your anguish any longer. 

“You ok, my love?” Matt’s gentle, unexpected question pushed your delicate constitution into emotional turmoil. 

A choked cry ran through your body with a tremor. Barrier broken, your body was suddenly wracked with vicious sobs, interspersed with weak coughs and sniffles. 

The muscular walls around you compressed as your partners pressed impossibly closer, cooing in sympathy as you bawled. 

“Hey, you’re ok, doll. You’re ok.” Frank’s dulcet rumble shook his chest beneath your ear. 

“That’s it, darling. We’re here now.” Matt spoke quietly, kissing the shell of your ear when he finished. His large hand splayed over your stomach, rubbing gentle circles as you trembled. Frank’s hand mirrored the motion along your back. 

The pair of them continued caressing you tenderly as your cries gradually halted. Drawing in a deep, hiccuping breath, you wiped your eyes, a rush of embarrassment flooding your body. 

“‘M sorry.” You whispered, blinking back a new wave of ashamed tears. 

“Nothin’ to be sorry for, babygirl.” Frank promised. 

“After the week you had, I don’t blame you.” Matt sighed, placing a line of kisses down your neck. “Next time you’re this miserable, pretty girl, give me a call, ok? I’ll come check up on you at the very least. I don’t want you at home alone when you’re this upset.” 

“I didn’t know if I could ask you to come over.” You explained shakily. 

“Oh, love,” Matt sounded almost mournful, hugging you tightly from behind. “Always. I’ll always come for you.” 

You nodded, a few lingering tears slipping down your cheeks. 

“You’re a bit feverish, darling. Are you feeling ok?” Matt’s voice was tight with worry. 

Shrugging timidly, you sighed, burrowing further into the cocoon of limbs you were wrapped in. “‘M ok. Better now.” 

Frank huffed out a laugh, kissing the crown of your head. “Forgot to mention, she’s got a cold.” 

“On top of everything else? You poor thing.” Matt crooned, running a knuckle over your cheek comfortingly. 

“It’s nothing.” You assured them, because it really was the least of your worries right now, with all of your impending assignments and broken equipment. 

Your loves seemed unconvinced, but they didn’t say anything more on the subject. Instead, Frank switched gears. “I’m sorry I left ya, doll. I ran to pick up dinner and got stuck talking to this one,” He gave Matt’s arm a shove, “In the living room.” 

“You started talking to me!” Matt argued with a bright chuckle.

“You wish, Red. I was tryin’ to get back to my girl and you were blabberin’ on about court.”

”YOU asked ME how my day was!“

”Out of politeness, and you went way beyond the one word answer I was hoping for.“ 

”Well, excuse ME for thinking my partner wanted to hear about my day.“

The two continued bickering, their dramatic inhales expanding their chests, pushing you around like the bellows of an accordion. It could have been annoying, being jostled by their argument, but each swell of muscle reminded you of their presence, soothing your nerves. 

You let your limbs go slack, your body bouncing between the two sturdy frames surrounding you as if you were a ping pong ball. Smiling happily, you let their rising voices wash over you as you began to nod off again. 

”You alright, sweetheart?“ Frank's question startled you awake and you were unsure of how much time had passed. ”Ya got quiet on us.“

”'M fine. Sleepy.“ You responded, basking in the soft touches that you were once again bombarded with. 

Matt chuckled against your neck. “That makes sense, my darling girl. You can rest here with me while Frank gets the pizza.” 

You could practically hear Frank's resounding eye roll at Matt's demanding tone, but you were more interested in the promise of food. “Pizza?” You asked, hopefully.

“Yah, doll. Pizza. From your favorite place. Thought you deserved somethin' tasty after everythin' you had to deal with this week.” Frank kissed the tip of your nose, sliding out of your embrace and off the bed. “I'll be right back with it, ok?” 

“Mmmkay.” You yawned, making both men smile. Matt carefully maneuvered your body so that you were propped against his chest, sitting up ever so slightly. 

“There we go, pretty girl. How's that?” His lips tickled your forehead as he spoke and you giggled.

“Tickling me, Matty.” You whispered, tilting into his grasp with a sigh. 

“Thought you were s'posed to be helpin' her rest.” Frank remarked from the doorway, pizza box balanced precariously as he wolfed down a slice. 

Matt scoffed, “And I thought that pizza was for her.”

Shrugging, Frank smirked at his boyfriend. ”It's my tip. For the delivery.“ 

Matt snorted in response, taking the box from Frank so he could sit behind you. 

”Let's get some food into ya, doll. Then you can sleep as much as ya want, ok?“

The rest of the night was spent laying on a firm chest as the boys fed you slices of your favorite pizza, eventually falling asleep blanketed by their embrace. 

Admiring your beautiful face, your expression lax with sleep, Frank spoke as lowly as possible to avoid waking you. 

”We have some work to do, Red. You ok handlin' things here if I go out tomorrow?“ 

”Absolutely,“ Matt confirmed. ”It shouldn't take us long.“ 

”Nah, but it'll make her day.“

”And that's what's important.“ Matt smiled, kissing Frank's arm that was draped across the 3 of you. 

[finchly-tintinnabulation]

- Andromeda -

Roboute Guilliman x M!OC (Finch)

Tags: Arranged marriage, AU shenanigans, crossdressing and gender fuckery

Plot bunny AU set during 30k, Great Crusade era after the Fall of the Eldar but before the Horus Heresy, I was stewing about how they would interact before becoming tired old men. Guilliman is more confident/self-important, and Finch is more insecure. Very much inspired by @cosmic-cryptid-from-beyond drawing 30k and 40k Guilliman side by side, as well as some wives of the Primarchs content. Big thanks to @daily-shenanigans784 for the beta read. Pls help unmedicated ADHD is cooking my braincells

The Chorus: @thisuserislilsilly

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Guilliman resisted the urge to glance around, but he knew that the voice— soft, sonorous, masculine— came from his new “bride”, the pile of gauzy fabric sitting beside him as revelry surrounded them. “You could have bargained for a better deal, you know.” It was the first time his new fiancee had decided to speak, most of the talking and the offering having been done by her (their?) father while the veiled figure had sat silent and stately on one of the mounts favored by the humans on the surface of this planet.

Lounging at the head of a table hosting a great feast for his legion, the chatter seemed to dim to Guilliman’s ears as this strange little secret unfurled before him, his focus drawn away from the impromptu celebration of his engagement to the xenos beside him. “There was no blood shed, no ammunition used, and I have returned another world to the Imperium. Enlighten me.”

“As in, you could have asked to see more selection.” Amongst the countless layers of bone white silk, accented with cold blue like winter fog and studded with dark rubies, a pair of delicate gloved hands folded upon the table. “My people may be licking their wounds, but they are ever prideful. Did you not think to appraise your sacrifice?”

Sacrifice. The concept of a defeated enemy offering tributes was not a foreign one, but the easy and almost dry acknowledgement was odd and discomforting. His crusade was a righteous one, he was not some drake resting upon its horde. “Theoretical: the Imperium wishes for me to find a wife, while accepting the offer of a bride may appear to snub other allies. Practical: this is an opportunity that has dropped right into my lap.”

“That was on purpose.” His fiancee sighed.

“What are you trying to tell me?” Guilliman’s voice was casual, but made it obvious that his question was not to be ignored.

“That your desires were foreseen, and my Craftworld has retreated with only a single casualty. It is as if you have been offered cuts of meat, accepting sweet fat hiding bones rather than sinew hiding flesh.” A white gloved finger trailed the rim of a fine porcelain dish before it, food untouched and veil unmoved.

Jaw ticking, the Primarch was not exactly pleased by the prospect of having been manipulated, his thoughts and motives sifted through by xenos he had fought quite regularly in the Emperor’s name. “Why say anything, my dear? Depreciating your own value isn’t quite the strategy I would employ.”

To his surprise, the figure sighed. Defeat. “...My role has been played. If you decide to kill me, there is little difference in the outcome the Farseer sought. Besides, you didn’t seem to be all that interested in my value before.” They listlessly waved a hand, almost mocking.

Guilliman hadn’t been raised with an absence of women in his life, unlike what he had discovered of many of his brothers. Tarasha Euten was one of his most trusted advisors and loved ones, and he held no illusions of masculine superiority. However, he had found that he couldn’t quite picture marriage to a woman. 

His enthusiastic legion had been delighted by the prospect of their genesire having a wife at his side, but somehow the xenos had seen and exploited a disinterest he thought he hid so well. That they had known he wouldn’t concern himself with a bride beyond appeasing the Emperor and choosing with only a political goal in mind.

“Who are you, then?”

“Not a princess, that’s for certain.” His bride scoffed. “We have no monarchy... I’m an artisan.”

That would have been amusing if it didn’t fill him with silent irritation. Such a flimsy lie, one that his new fiancee seemed almost eager to tear through like tissue paper. “A ploy to make their gift seem more enticing?”

“One of many to appeal to your human customs. The white garb is another, as is the veil. The one escorting me was a Seer, but apparently the father of a bride is charged with giving her away at the altar.” Not a drake upon its horde. Suddenly the phrasing of giving a bride at an altar brought to mind more myths of young women being left to be eaten by monsters from his youth on Macragge, making him internally shudder.

“I suppose your true father might have had objections.” Guilliman mused.

“Maybe.” They muttered dismissively. No family, a flippant attitude to the prospect of being executed for their betters’ deception, and a sense of honesty that felt like a slap to the face. Not to mention the fact he was having some suspicions as to certain details that were hidden behind those many layers of fabric. 

What was this feeling? Pity, perhaps? Intrigue? If nothing else he was curious.

“...I have little use for beauty, there would be no harm in showing your face.”

“That’s good, as I have none.” A soft laugh, like the chime of a bell, inexplicably warming him far more than any of the alcohol he had consumed alongside the feast. Guilliman’s bride searched for the hem of their veil, delicately resting the fabric upon their fingertips as they seemed to become bashful, turning to face him. “Just, ah… I assure you I have been genuine, and… I hope you are too.”

It took him a moment to recognize that his bride was holding their veil for him to lift, making his hearts jump strangely, torn between unwrapping them to uncover the mysteries hidden within the fabric and a desire to reveal them slowly like opening a gift. He felt as if this was a sight he wished to save for himself, rather than share with the rest of his legion.

Cautious, Guilliman bent down and carefully slipped his hands beneath the obscuring fabric, lifting it as he leaned in to study the face of the Eldar he’d been speaking to. 

One cheek was marred by a pockmarked array of scars, extending back over a ruined ear, a series of rough splits undoubtedly caused by blunt force to the side of the head. A gently sloped nose and sharp jaw, full mousy brown brows and freckles from time in the sun. Most arrestingly were his eyes. A deep viridian green flecked with sage, sharp and discerning, glittering with intelligence and… resignation. 

“…The Farseer hoped I would accept my place if I found a mate… she said it would make me happy.” A bitter little smile thinned his lips, looking ashamed as if this was a true admittance, rather than another deception to punch through. 

The Eldar seemed to expect him to respond, perhaps admonishing the fact that the gender of his bride was unsuitable for a man of his station. The thought crossed his mind briefly, the will of the Emperor ever on his heels, but fascination was leading him on. He claimed to lack beauty, but the story and wit he found on the Eldar’s face drew him in like the sublime expanse of the galaxy. With a hand he realized was large enough to splay across his fiancée’s entire face, he gingerly reached out to brush fingertips over the scarring on his cheek. 

“Uh, I seized and had a fall early in my training…” He muttered by way of explanation, dark eyes flitting to avoid Guilliman’s gaze, obviously bewildered. 

”Worried about battle scars with someone at the head of a legion.” The Primarch teased. “What would you like me to call you?”

The Eldar flushed, pursing his lips. “The envoy told you my given name.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“…Finch. Consider me to be… your future left hand man.”

[demonslayedher]

Well... after spending most of my day languidly sighing about having to wait for more content but how much that content is gonna hurt, I did my rewatch with a friend and we spent about an hour pouring over every detail of it and how good it was, as well as our apprehension about the pacing of combining other content into movies. As much as we'd love to see a return to a 60 episode anime arc for the sake of momentum, we come to Ufotable expecting quality, and they wouldn't decide to do this unless they had a plan for how to make it quality. Try though I might to guess how and where they'll split this into three movies, it's all guesswork (heck, maybe they'll even switch the order of things around so that Douma's defeat comes before Akaza's for the sake of a more complete-feeling movie.

But the thing that makes me most sad about the announcement, now that it is official and not just a rumor, is that I don't know how long I have to wait.

And what will I get at the end of this wait? The death I fear watching the most, and they're gonna make me go through that in the theater, and not even at the end of the movie. That's gonna be almost right at the start.

Phew. Anyway. We really did gush and gush and gush and gush about everything that was so good in this episode, and it's because of this that I trust Ufotable (mostly). There is SO MUCH to gush about it, and it doesn't just come down to the slow-mo explosion and use of color to show how healthy Muzan is in comparison to Kagaya and the layering and timing of images and sound, but also just what the editorial decisions did to take Gotouge's characterization and make it unmistakable.

It's such a good reminder than what has kept me so deeply in this is the characters themselves, the layers going on between what we're given. Like, Kagaya only being able to trust Himejima with this mission, knowing there is a possibility Himejima will have to hold his own against Muzan, for who knows how long, and how is touched by Kagaya's faith in him, and how the unsurprising realization settles that this will indeed be a fight until sunrise, and the relief as well as the pride he feels when the other Hashira assemble so quickly, and the way his voice cracks when he announces who they are looking at? And nobody else made that connection except for Tanjiro, for their thoughts were so wrapped up in either holding out some desperate hope that their master might respond to them calling out his name like Mitsuri and Iguro, or like Sanemi consumed with the thought this demon, whoever he is, killed their master, for again, only Tanjiro who smelled the explosives seems to realize right away that this was on purpose? And the fact that Kagaya thought through every one of those five Hashira, and decided one by one that he couldn't tell them his plan? Even Shinobu, who herself has the very same plan and has discussed it with Kagaya, cannot be entrusted with the knowledge that he plans to use himself as bait. And that Kagaya, for every word he said, he was very consciously stretching that out, second by second, knowing that any extra innocuous thing he can get Muzan to listen to, whether it be prattling about tigers and dragons or asking Amane what he looks like, is going to save his children precious seconds of having to keep an onslaught going until sunrise. The little touches of characterization, like drawing us in to wonder if Zenitsu is sleeping and then revealing that no, indeed he is not, and the fact that Nichika and Hinaki had to choose to go outside, to a courtyard where a stranger was already standing, to start playing and do their best to play up their innocence for the sake of adding seconds more of distraction, and the way Kagaya turns toward Amane in the very last second, and Giyuu looking for Tanjiro as they fall, and despite everyone else stuck in free fall or smacking into things, Tanjiro, the only one who has seen Muzan before, is the only one to find his footing, is such a good main character moment.

And the "people's feelings are inextinguishable" moment among candlelit graves? Thank you. I had been thinking about those graves ever since we didn't see them in any of Muzan's strut through the previous episode.

Okay, speaking of linking images with sounds and lines, the fact that Kagaya brings up how Muzan hasn't been forgiven for ruthlessly taking away others' lives, and how it focuses especially on Hinaki and Nichika, whom Kagaya has already chosen to do the same to? And the hot linger of slaughters innocents represented by all those toy balls? AND HOW EVERY MOMENT MADE US MANGA READERS FLINCH AND THINK "NOW IT BLOWS UP"? Yeah, that was good.

Also, Japanese Netflix did not include the Taisho Secret. I don't know if this extra-secret Taisho Secret was only available on FujiTV or something, but when it comes to the mood this episode set me into, I'm glad I didn't initially see it. While I'm generally happy it exists (and I've been hoping for this kind of content ever since the previous season), I wish they would have had a little more restraint to make it sweeter. But hey, it was still sweet and I bought a sweet potato today for obvious reasons.

[yaut-jaknowit]

hi there! first off I'd like to say how much I love your stories! rare to see F/F in the Yautja fandom so l can't tell you how much I appreciate reading your Gawtin x femreader stories.

may I request an ask? a smutty one specifically ? I recall in one of your stories that Gawtin and reader mention having a strap on. Could we see Gawtin use it on the reader? Maybe the reader is ovulating (horny) and that really brings out the dominance/ service top in Gawtin. Especially with so many other male Yautja around it'd be so hot to see possessive Gawtin. Well, more than she usually is 😏

Cared For

Pairing: Gawtin (Female Yautja) x AFAB Reader

Warnings: very possessive Gawtin, protective Gawtin, light fighting between two Yautjas, biting, slightly pain kind (if you squint) because of biting, marking kink, use of strap on dildo, WLW, lesbian couple, blood licking, squirting, fingering, choking, multiple orgasms, size difference, size kink, overstimulation, cunnilingus, light aftercare.

Word Count: 3604

Summary: Yautja's have a keen sense of smell. It can be used to aid them in most terms, or to embarrass you. You don't know why it didn't hit you earlier when you're ovulating and everyone is staring at you. Someone decided to have the balls to approach you... he'll come to learn his lesson by a towering force.

Author Note: I love when people request for her. I wish there were more out there with female yautjas. But like my cousin once told me, if there's nothing out there, write about it. And that I did. Thank you for the ask as well. This fits her so well too!

Masterlist

Ao3

This was probably a mistake. Almost every pair of eyes were stuck to your form, watching you sitting underneath a tree. The leaves and trunk offered you protection from the bearing, blazing sun that hung in Yautja Prime’s sky. It was the only way to be outside with your Yautja without being burnt to a crisp. Well, you could wear a protective layer of UV blocking clothing. It wouldn’t be the sun killing you then.

To ignore them the best you could, you bared down on the sketch book in your lap. The pencil you had twirled around your fingers as you tried to fix whatever was wrong with this drawing. Something didn’t look right, but you didn’t know what.

A dull pain twinged deep inside of your lower abdomen. You silently groaned and clenched your teeth in quiet protest. For one day, you wanted to enjoy the good weather. Though, everyone else in the town had the same thoughts as well.  That wasn’t going to stop you. Nor would these stupid ovulating cramps. They were rare to occur, didn’t stop them though.

While all this happened in your little bubble, a male broke off from the group he had been in. Sweat and a thick layer of humidity clung to his scales as he made his way over to you. He couldn’t believe everyone else was just ignoring the sweet scent you were producing. If no one was going to try to gain your hand, then he would.

Oh, how oblivious he was as a newly blooded.

Before he had the chance to get into the shadow of the tree of you sat underneath of, something grasped the back of his shoulder straps and yanked him backwards. With the sudden move, the Yautja was forced to tumble and fall onto his rear. He still wasn’t given a movement to collect himself when a Bo staff shoved into his throat. A heavy foot landed on his chest and pushed what air he had left out.

The blazing sun was blocked out by a female he’s seen before around town. The light haloed her head, giving her a deadly look any female had. He gulped thickly and laid perfectly still on the ground. Nothing was going to make him move unless it was her.

Her weapon was further pressed into a vulnerable spot. It made him gag and choke for air that she barely allowed him to get. She leaned down. Long, thick, red tipped tresses tickling his chest when they touched. A predatory, throaty snarl ripped out of her with a claim.

If he didn’t feel as terrified of dying in this moment from her, he would’ve been so incredibly horny then. Instead, he watched her closely as she stayed above him, seconds away from either killing him or just teaching him a lesson.

One of her massive hands that dwarfed his own, snatched a mandible. The female pulled him up and forced his neck at an awkward, strained angle. “Ooman is mine!” she snapped and tugged on the mandible. For a moment, he believed she was going to break it off. The Yautja released her hold on him and stepped away. He finally was able to breath in a lungful of air.

The female walked over to the ooman and left him to his storm of thoughts. If all females were like this, he’ll need some time to prepare for the upcoming mating season. Paya, bless him.

After the first sound of commotion, you had watched the whole thing through. By God, she didn’t help your situation at all. The dirty thoughts that plagued your mind were an indication of what Gawtin does to you. She made it worse as she strode over to you, plucked you from the ground, and forced you to wrap your legs around her. Well, the best you could with how wide they were.

Gawtin threaded her fingers through your hair and pulled on the strands. Your throat was left to be completely exposed to her. Sharp teeth mindfully pierced the fragile skin that lined the column of your throat. The muscles that lined your legs clenched around you, hips accidentally jutting against her. Pleasure sparking to life.

Curse words were swirling inside of your head, unable to escape. Blood pooled into drops from the newly created wound. A pink, spilt tongue was quick to lick it up. Gawtin purred heavily at the taste and kept you exposed for her to steal more. As she did, her purple eyes found the male she had pinned earlier watching. Not a sound or a move was made as she just stared. The Yautja’s eyes darted away. He had learned his lesson.

This was her ooman.

.

A massive hand shoved you firmly against the edge of the counter. In reaction, you yelped at the sudden movement. Then, a sturdy body pressed into your backside and kept you trapped. Immediately, you knew who it was, felt the familiar heat roll of her form, heard a husky growl filling your ear.

It hadn’t been long after the two of you arrived back home. Gawtin had made a pit stop to good ol’ Bziut-ty’s and little Qui-oky had been dropped off. Bziut-ty had said something to her sister in Yautja. It was far too hush-hush for you to understand. You were also high strung after her display earlier. That hadn’t gone away as you stayed still for Gawtin as she had you pinned.

Embarrassingly enough, you felt yourself clench around nothing. More slick drenched your underwear. You felt the predator behind you tense, chest expanding to take in more air to smell you. Gawtin hunched over you and forced your body further up the counter.

The floor left the bottom of your feet. The edge of the tile counter bit into your waist yet not in an uncomfortable way.

Fingers curled into your waist band and pulled. One simple move tore your clothing from your body. They were thrown off to the side. That same hand grasped the back of your knee and tugged up that leg. Gawtin had your thigh pressed into your side, cunt more exposed for her.

Before continuing with you, she stood up. Barely a second passed and you were turning your head to see her undress herself. Every piece of clothing removed to expose her perfectly formed frame that has borne many children. A feat that had you swooning for her even more. So breathtaking.

A new thought entered your mind. It had you acting it out before Gawtin could pin you back down. Yet, the moment you started to shift around, a mighty hand was placed on your spine and had you restrained. “Gawtin, I want to see you,” you explained with a pathetic whine, filled with hunger for her. She was hesitant before removing her palm, fingers featherlight as they traveled down. They skimmed over the swell of your butt cheeks and fell away.

Now, with a new opportunity, you were able to twist around on the counter. Gawtin’s naked body stood before you in all of her glory, muscles twitching as she eyed you. Your eyes drifted down, admiring every mark and scar that decorated her. Until you noticed something that wasn’t part of her. You bit at your bottom lip and almost tore at the skin there.

Her bottom mandibles twitched before she lunged.

You groaned at the added weight she carefully placed upon your small frame. Gawtin was fit snug between your legs. The feel of something hard rubbed between your slick folds, coating itself for your benefit. Gawtin distracted you and nibbled on your shoulder. Scratches were created, red and irritated looking. You moaned and tilted your head back, exposing more to her in hopes she do more.

The move pulled on the newly clotted bite that she had created. You couldn’t help but squeeze your thighs around her waist.

“I will mark you up. So, no male will even think about getting close to you. You are my ooman. Mine to begin with. Mine to pauk. Mine to please. Mine to mark,” she stated with no room for arguing. Not that you would. What she had said was the truth. Gawtin licked a stripe up from the crook of your neck towards your chin. That’s where she let a lower mandible pressed into the sensitive skin there. Not yet piercing there.

“He could smell you. Smell your honeyed scent fill the air around you.” It took you a moment to process what she said and even longer to connect the dots. She had wanted you to go with her out there. Of course, you were more than willing to go.

She nipped particularly hard at the back of your neck. “Ah! Fuck… you wanted to t-tease them. DI-hm. Didn’t you?” you questioned but already knew the answer. An easy read about her.

A hand shimmed its way between your two bodies and cupped your breast. “What I wanted was to pin you down in front of that male and mate you. No one would dare get close to you again.” God, she was so hot when she talked like that. Your cunt throbbed emptily. In the moment, you would’ve probably let her. But you would have to test that when sober and horny.

Sharp nails teased your nipples. With Gawtin pressing her body into you, you couldn’t arch your back. You couldn’t handle it anymore. “Stop teasing me, Gawtin. I need you inside of me,” you demanded and squirmed underneath her.

Talons bit into the flesh around your breast. This time, her teeth sunk into your flesh and drew a pitiful cry from your lips. Both of your hands came to scratch down her back, leaving nothing in their wake.

Gawtin pulled back to admire her work and watched as red blood pooled at the new wound and dripped down on to the counter. The Yautja leaned back down licked along the marks. Iron met her tongue. She groaned from deep in her chest, eyes hooded over.

Your hands slid down to her hips where the harness rested and pulled. The predator didn’t more an inch. Yet, Gawtin’s gaze snapped to you, eyes pinned down on you. You knew she wouldn’t feel this. It didn’t stop you from grasping the thick, textured, long dildo attached to the harness. The silicone like material was slippery as you stroked it.

“You are a needy little ooman, are you not?” she whispered into your ear, tongue licking the shell. Gawtin let her right hand drift down the length of torso; nails scratching along the way, making you wiggle and writhe. She moved your hand out of the way before letting her two middle fingers tease your entrance. Your back muscles tensed as you tried to arch off of the tile counter with little luck.

With those same two digits, she pushed into you. The sound it made had you burying your face into her neck. She let you. Her fingers – claws dull – curled once about two inches in. The pleasure that sprung to life had you gasping harshly and biting more at your lip. Gawtin started up a sawing motion, slow and mindful. Every three thrusts, she would stop to press her fingertips into that spot. The coordination and speed had you whimpering and keening, hips jutting to meet her. With a simple shift of her body, she had you trapped. You had to turn to different methods.

“Faster,” you begged and forcefully clenched your muscles around her digits. Gawtin listened. Her speed doubled yet she still took time to play with your g-spot.

It took you some time to finally feel the pressure building inside of you. It almost felt like an orgasm but not. At this point, it was far too late to warn her of the enviable as it hit you full force. You tried to curl in on yourself and buried your face into her neck. Gawtin didn’t stop, she refused to. Her fingers solely focused on your g-spot now until you begged her to stop. She did.

You sagged into the counter, legs falling away from her sides and head resting on the tiles. Your eyes were heavily hooded over as you took a moment to breathe and gather your thoughts once more.

The Yautja above you pulled her hand from between your legs and lapped away at the sticky fluid that coated her fingers. You couldn’t help the whine that built up in your throat before biting once more at your lips. Gawtin leaned back down and placed her elbow back next to your head. “I know you smell divine when you are in heat but the taste… Paya, can’t save you from me.”

With that stated, Gawtin shifted her hips back. Her free arm snaked between your two bodies. The tip of the dildo pressed against your entrance for a moment. Then, she sinks it into you.

An overwhelming wave of emotions crashed into you. Your hands clawed at her back, not creating a mark. That didn’t stop Gawtin from pushing further and further into you. “You can take it, you’ve done it before,” Gawtin cooed softly into your ear. She went slow, careful. Every time she felt resistance, she pulled back to the tip and started all over again. Your eyes were rolling into the back of your head as you panted heavily with whines and moans.

“Just a little more.” Then, Gawtin’s hips met yours in a soft clash. With that same free hand, she placed her palm below where your uterus would be and pushed with a bare fraction of her strength. Your muscles rippled down the length of the textured dildo pressing into your cervix. You couldn’t stop the gasp from escaping again. “How does that feel? Can you feel me deep inside of you?” she asked if you could coherently answer.

One look down at you was enough for Gawtin to pull her hips back, to the tip of the dildo and shoving it deep. You desperate, filthy noise released from your throat, echoing back down at you. And she didn’t stop. Deep, fast, and punishing.

Each slap of her hips created ripples down your thighs. Red skin appeared instantaneously with each stinging thrust. Gawtin, the goddess herself, had you singing her name in broken syllables. “Good! So good. Shit, I- You’re so deep!” you sobbed and babbled.

The texture was dragging across your g-spot with each move. Gawtin moved her hand to have a thumb resting on the hood of your clit. The pressure alone had your muscles throbbing. Then, she started to softly rub the callous pad of her thumb.

Fireworks exploding inside of you without warning. A scream entered the air and bared back down on you. But you were already deaf, white noise filling your ears. Nothing blocked your view of Gawtin hunched over you, mandibles twitching with unspoken words. Her tongue darting out quickly tasting the air. The next moment, her head darted down out of the corner of your sight. Pain pulsed in heady waves. Her hips still pounding into you without any indication of stopping, even as your high started to faded.

You weren’t given a moment to rest as Gawtin straightened her back to tower over you. Red coated her inner teeth. This freed up her other hand which was quick to wrap around your throat. It was the only thing keeping you from crashing into the wall behind you.

She continued to rub at your clit, keeping the same pace as before. Every few swipes though, she would press down hard. It sent a shockwave of pleasure up your spine and to the tips of your fingers and toes. You mewled, toes curling and knuckles turning white.

All you could see through the tears beginning to pool was someone passionate about you. Every slap of her hips had you blabbering for either more or for her to stop. In the moment, you couldn’t tell. And it didn’t matter. She was all you needed right now.

Your pussy was still throbbing from the earthshattering orgasm earlier when you felt the tall tale signs of another one. Words fumbled from your loose lips, unable to form anything worth listening to. In all honesty, she looked to be smirking down at you. Your hands – unable to reach for her – claws pathetically at the tiles underneath you. Nothing gave you purchase for what was soon to hit you worse than a planet.

The noises that pierced because of you grew in pitch again. Your chest heaved quicker and quicker, the air whistling from your nose. You were switching from breathing through your nose and mouth. Anyway to quiet your sounds just hare. Gawtin wasn’t having any of that. Why else would the window close by open?

The Yautja’s hand pinched the side of your neck tighter, restricting blood flow to your brain. All thoughts of staying a minute of modesty were thrown out and forgotten. Your sounds grew and grew with each pound of her powerful hips. She could feel how wet you were as it coated her waist and thighs thickly. She softly trilled at the knowledge she and the kitchen will smell like you for the days to come.

With all the signs of your end nearing, the massive alien leaned back down. “You are mine, ooman. Mine!” She emphasize with a few particularly hard and deep thrusts that rubbed perfectly against your g-spot. “Mine to pauk. Mine play with. Mine to care for! All. Pauk-de. Mine!”

As she saw your eyes permanently roll into the back of your head, she lunged once more. Her teeth harshly sink into your soft, malleable flesh. The sharp talons on the hand around your throat scratched and drew more blood. A mess to be cleaned up later.

You screamed out again, voice hoarser this time, cracking at times. All of your muscles contracting as you were hit with a breath taking, shockwave filled orgasm that touch you to your soul. Your hands were desperately claws at tough scales, doing little to even cause discomfort. The muscles that made up your cunt pulsed with each beat of your heart. So strong, it felt like you were on the verge of pushing her out of you. Or trying to pull her impossibly deeper inside of you.

Once the fall began to happen, your body went completely lax in her hold. Your arms were strewn out to your sides, legs hanging helplessly over the edge of the counter. It was only her keeping you up, from slipping to the floor in bile of a boneless body.

Gawtin kept snug inside of you and let the last of the aftershocks faded away. Afterwards, the soaked dildo was pulled free. You keened, body trembling. It dripped heavily with your sticky, thick fluids. Your goddess pulled at the harness until it became loose and tossed into the skin nearby. It would be cleaned, but she had more important things to worry about now.

Two strong, firm arms scooped up your thighs and threw them over her shoulders. You didn’t have even the energy to make a noise of question on what she was doing. Until her long tongue lick up between your rubbed raw folds. You cried out. A hand shaking as you reached out to claws desperately at her. You didn’t have enough strength and let it fall away, boneless.

That same tongue drifted over your clit and sent an overstimulation wave of pleasure throughout your body. Your hips squirmed. Gawtin kept a steel hold on your thighs and started to feast upon you.

Each swipe of her tongue had you pathetically crying out with tears staining your face. “This pussy is mine.” Lick. “Your ass is mine.” Another lick. “Your heart is mine.” Her tongue pushed into your soaked cunt to scoop out what she could get. “Your body is mine.” She dove into you again. The muscle rolled against your g-spot.

Fluid squirted out to cover the dome of her head. Gawtin snarled and plunged back into you with a passion you’ve never seen before. You continuous sobbed out incoherent words. She didn’t stop until you were licked clean.

She scooped you off of the counter and held you to her body protectively. One arm underneath your knees while the other was across your back. In this position, she carried you to the bedroom and set you down in the sea of pelts and blankets. All collected by her. For you.

Fingers danced over the cuts and bites that marred the skin on your shoulders and neck. You drew in a sharp breath with your eyes closed. Some of Gawtin’s tresses rested on your chest or rolled off of your body as she leaned down. Her tongue cleaned over the wounds before she pulled away a couple of minutes later.

Your eyes finally opened. A knowing look thrown carelessly up at her. Gawtin caressed your cheek with a thumb. “I won’t apologize for marking you up, everyone should know you’re taken,” she determined.

An airy snort escaped you. You couldn’t your eyes rolling because of her. “I-I won’t ex-pect you to, love,” your voice cracked, dried and scratched from screaming. You attempted to swallow any saliva down to help.

“Good.” Gawtin stood up gracefully, as if she didn’t just pound you into next week. Her hips swayed as she strode away from you. Your eyes fully watching that naked ass jiggle with each step. God, you’re just as bad a man.