#he can summon it at will but its literally made of himself

[pictured-as-perfect]

forgot to tack this on

sorry for the art spam. i've decided that schedules are for nerds and i'll upload what i want

[gojonanami]

❝ 𝐈 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 ! ❞

❝ I HEARD FROM A FRIEND OF A FRIEND, THAT DICK WAS A TEN OUT OF TEN !! ❞

✧ pairing: jjk au sorcerer! suguru geto x sorcerer! reader

✧ summary: geto's routine after a mission -- ingest the curses that he collects before his shower. but after he does, his body begins to burn and ache with lust to the point of pain -- and he can't get rid of the feeling alone. so what else can he do when you show up at his doorstep offering to help but accept it (aka a sex pollen / aphrodisiac curse fic).

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, so much smut, jjk compliant au, geto stayed a sorcerer and didn't defect, reader is one year younger than geto, (set during jjk s1), aphrodisiac curse (sex pollen), multiple orgasms, multiple positions (missionary, doggy, riding, other positions mentioned: standing, against the wall, spooning from behind, against the wall), masturbation (m), soft dom! geto, oral (m +f), handjob (m! receiving), fingering (f! receiving), sex (p in v), creampie, cervix fucking, panty stealing, squirting, mutual pining, a little angst (discussion of star vessel / premature death arc), but a lot of comfort, cuddling, gojo hijinks

✧ wc: 8,180

Suguru was only sure of one thing, as he stared at himself in the mirror — cheeks flushed red, sweat nearly soaking through his black t-shirt, and a painful and glaring problem in his boxers—

This was a curse — literally. 

Curses were made up of different negative human emotions — from loneliness to grief to anger, these negative feelings would pool and create a curse. Sorcerers were made to exorcise these curses, and Suguru did so — but in a different way than the others. He had to consume them as part of his technique. And even with the hundreds of curses he’s swallowed over the years, he would never get used to the taste — a shit soaked rag used to clean up vomit was how he could best describe it, but even then, that didn’t come close to the indescribable act of swallowing the manifestation of the worst negative human emotions — at least for most of them. 

The one he had swallowed today was different — he was sent to exorcise a grade 1 curse in the heart of Tokyo that dwelled in an abandoned building — from the inside, he could tell that it was used as a strip club and possibly a bathhouse-turned-brothel, from the seedy mattresses left behind with dirty sheets and mussed covers, with rusting incense burners placed around the room, and the gaudy, fake jewelry that laid strewn about the place — assumedly any real jewelry picked clean. He swore he could have even smelt the ever lingering scent of cheap perfume in the walls and vents. 

But the greater concern was the curse he had found himself with — a grotesque creature that stared back at him — its body a deep maroon, many eyes dotting its back with a large pair of black lips that Suguru didn’t care to draw any closer to. It was more humanoid than most — its form showing a more sophistication than many curses did, muscles of its many arms contracted as it finally spotted Suguru, its many eyes settled their gaze on him. 

It was far too easy for him to take down the curse in hindsight — far too easy — and it seemed to watch him summon curses — and he swore it almost had seen a glimmer of recognition in its eyes and then it allowed him to deal the final blow. 

He had kept the curse on hand — he could swallow it later, when he was near a toilet and perhaps some mouthwash — though that barely did much to remove the taste from his mouth. He had returned to Jujutsu Tech to do his reports, and hopefully head back early — Satoru was out on another overseas mission and Shoko was busy tending to patients and bodies as always, but you— 

He wasn’t sure what you were doing, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to text you. Not after what Satoru said. 

“When are you guys gonna fuck already?” the strongest sorcerer asked, making Suguru choke on his Sprite  — strong in ability, but not in tact, “you and her have been eye fucking for weeks and you had such a thing for her before she decided to move to Kyoto—” 

“That was years ago—” 

“She has a key to your apartment—“ 

“So do you!” he glares. 

“Then what about last night at the bar?” Satoru leans back in his chair, lifting the front legs off the ground, as he pulled his sunglasses down, “you could have murdered the guy that was hitting on her with your look alone — and I think you did when you stuck yourself to her side with your arm around her waist, until he ran with his tail between his legs,” 

If looks could kill, Suguru would have surely murdered his best friend — infinity be damned, “She looked uncomfortable, what was I going to do—” 

“Well, she certainly didn’t look uncomfortable with you hanging all over her, now did she?” He raises an eyebrow, as he leans forward again, the front legs of his chair landing with a thunk, “what are you gonna do if a guy comes along that she falls for? You’re telling me you’re not gonna regret it, Suguru?” Suguru says nothing, unable to meet Satoru’s gaze, as Satoru crushes his own can into a ball, before tossing at Suguru, “You guys just got to hurry up and fuck,” 

Suguru swats the crushed can away, “You’re disgusting,” 

He grins, as his words seemingly only confirm what he assumes, “Disgusting, but correct, and if I’m right, you’re taking some of my missions off my hands,” he grins. 

And Satoru’s words had been running around in Suguru’s head — just like any annoying song on the radio — but he couldn’t let Satoru’s words stop from hanging out with you. He had just gotten you back in his life again — he couldn’t lose you, not again. 

Geto: Are you free to watch a movie and have takeout? 

You: sounds good - did you get back from your mission alright? No injuries I need to yell at you about? 

He snorts, as he types his reply: no, not this time. 

You: Let’s keep it that way! :) 

He bites back his smile as the two of you decide to have you head over in an hour to his place — you preferred it that way since you were still settling into your place, boxes still unwittingly everywhere there should be actual furniture. Last time he came by to pick a report up, he found you eating your meal on a packed box, instead of a table. 

And he catches himself smiling, before his face sours at the thought of Satoru again. 

Satoru was right — and he hated to admit it, his knuckles pressed to his lips. A year under him, you had spent days with him, along with everyone else — you always waited for  him with his favorite snacks when he would return from a mission. You sat with him sometimes when he would get sick from swallowing curses, helping him swallow some water and saltines after he turned his stomach inside out. You were the one that pushed him when he hid his disillusionment from everyone else — even from Satoru. You wouldn’t leave him alone, you wouldn’t stop dogging his every step with snacks and comfort and company, hounding him to sleep, to eat, to say something, anything. 

Until he did — one late night you spent up together — he didn’t sleep much those days anyway.  And he told you everything — the poison seeping from his body, and leeching onto yours, your frown and hurt was the whole reason he hadn’t wanted to tell anyone to begin with. But the frown wasn’t yourself — it was for him, as your arms only curled around him, and he let you hold him the entire night. 

“You don’t always have to pretend to be strong, Suguru. You’re allowed to be upset, you’re allowed to be angry, you’re allowed to grieve — but don’t bottle it up,” your fingers raked through his wet hair, undoing the tangles gently before running the comb through it, “don’t let it kill you from the inside out,” 

“I feel like I did die — along with Amanai,” and you pause, your arms curled around his shoulders, chin resting on his head before you pinched his cheek and he flinched. 

“There, you’re definitely not dead,” you say, “so don’t act like you are. And don’t act like you’re alone — because you’re not. You have me, you have Satoru and Shoko — even Nanami and—“ you voice cuts off at the thought of Haibara — “Haibara wouldn’t want you to hide from us, he looked up to you — more than anyone else, even Satoru,” 

“I don’t know why,” he mutters with a sigh. 

“I do,” your fingers guide his face to meet your gaze, your face an inch or two from his, “because you’re kind, you’re intelligent, and you’re strong,” 

He scoffs, “Satoru is the strongest,” 

“And you think Satoru thinks any differently of you? That any of us feel differently? You’re the only person who can understand him — and he’s the only one who understands you,” 

He gives a small chuckle, “not the only one,” and he tears his eyes away, hoping you don’t see the way his cheeks burned. 

And when he found those two sorcerer girls locked up — you were the one who called. The rage and anger had built into murderous intent, but he could hear your words ringing in his ears and before he knew it, he had called you to come to him. 

You saved them together — Nanako and Mimiko had fallen asleep in your respective laps after all was said and done on the ride back — without much bloodshed (not that the blood that was shed was worth much, in his opinion) — and with Gojo and you smoothing things over with the higher ups (mostly with veiled threats and petty remarks), you managed to allow the twins to grow up safe, under Geto’s care, and your own. 

At least for a time. After you graduated, Nanami left — and you were the only one of your class left — and the absence of your best friends weighed on you, even if you didn’t show it. 

“I’m leaving for Kyoto,” you told him one afternoon the two of you spent lazing around his dorm, you sat against the bottom of his bed, as he lounged on the mattress, his gaze snapping to you, only able to see the back of your head, “this place holds too many memories — i need perspective, I need space from all of this,” 

He wants to ask if you have to, ask you if he could convince you to stay, if he could do something, anything to make you stay — ask if he wasn’t enough to make you stay. But he doesn’t, because it’s the best decision for you. So he instead slips off the bed, sitting beside you, his hand ruffling your hair, “You’ll come to visit right?” 

He knows you’re blinking back tears, but he pretends not to notice, your lip quivering, and god, he knows he wants nothing more than to tilt your gaze toward him by your chin and brush his lips against yours, until every sad thought has evaporated under his touch. 

But he knows that would only be one more thought that would make things far more difficult — for the both of you. It was better this way. And it was. Years had passed, the two of you had become teachers at the Tokyo and Kyoto schools respectively — but as the years had passed, your relationship grew more distant, as it always seemed to with time and distance. 

But then you decided to come back to Tokyo, transferred over — Yaga explaining it was due to all the happenings in Tokyo with the special grades and emergence of Yuji as Sukuna’s vessel — and he found himself in your presence again. And it was as if no time had passed — your days off spent in his apartment — as yours had become a haven of unpacked boxes. And he couldn’t help but wonder — when he’d glance at you in the dark of his living room, the only illumination was the TV that played some shitty horror movie (your words not his) you had put on — if the special grades were the only reason you’d come back. Your fingers were so close to each other’s on the couch, but an inch felt like a ravine. 

One he couldn’t dare to cross. 

But It was fine, just as he told Satoru — you were just friends, until both of you decided otherwise. Not that it would ever happen — no, he thought that ship had sailed, even if his heart had stubbornly said that it hadn’t. 

Until he decided to consume the curse — and his heart was no longer the problem. 

Or at least, not his main problem. 

He sat in his bathroom, towel in the shower rack, ready to shower after he dealt with this. He had discarded his uniform jacket and pants — only in a black t-shirt and boxers. He stood by the toilet — as he learned his lesson the first few months swallowing curses — he never knows when one will turn his stomach inside out. 

He holds the balled curse in his palm — he could feel it squirm just underneath of his cursed energy — the thing keeping it contained at all, itching to be freed from his grasp — though it never would. He pressed the ball to his lips, bracing himself as he opened his mouth, nearly having to unhinge his jaw for how large this curse was and pressing it past his lips and into his mouth. His palms pressed against his mouth, as he swallowed, eyes squeezed shut. 

It…wasn’t as bad as he thought. He frowned, brow knit as he stared at his empty palm — it was still appalling to consume, but it was….sweet? But it burned as it went down, heat remaining in the pit of his stomach, even as it should have faded. 

That should have been his first clue. 

Either way, he turned on the shower before he shed the rest of his clothes, and stepped in. The water felt warmer than usual, as he washed his body first, letting his hair grow wet under the shower head. His fingers reached for the shower handle, turning it even colder, but his body barely reacted to the water — was it even cold? 

Even under the water, he felt like his body was burning — a slow fire that lingered under the surface of his skin, burning and aching, the frigid water barely doing enough to soothe it. Running his hands over his body seemingly helped, a shiver running down his spine as he washed himself, but he knew it would have felt even better if it was you. 

….what? He tried to shake that thought from his head — it wasn’t the first time he had thought of you like this. There were many times where his mind would drift to you at night, the warmth of your touch from a few hours ago still lingered, as his hard-on pleaded for his touch. Guilty gnawed at his conscious when he indulged, the first time being after a particularly vivid dream of you pinning him down while training — your mouth kissing down his body, eager fingers tugging at his shorts until that smirk met—

This wasn’t helping. 

The burning had traveled southward, as his blood did, and he glanced down at his raging hard-on. 

Fuck. 

No, he couldn’t. 

But his fingers were possessed, already reaching for his aching cock, large beads of pre-cum leaving his slit just as hand closed around it. He hisses when he does, a gasp ripped from his throat, as he braces himself against the shower wall with his other hand. 

He palms his erection, swallowing thickly, as he grunts, as he begins to pump his cock from base to tip, smearing his pre along his length. But his mind wanders to you, how pretty you’d look pressed against the wall of his shower, his hard cock dragging between your ass. Lovely moans parting your lips as his fingers would reach around to rub at your puffy clit. 

“Suguru, please—“ 

“Tell me what you want baby, gotta use your words,” he’d murmur, teasing your slick entrance with the tip of his cock. 

“Need your cock — need you to fuck me,” you would whine, words nearly enough to make him bust there and then. And he would sink into you just as he does his fist, but your sweet cunt would feel so much better than his hand does. 

Fucking wet and tight and just for him, as he works his dick deeper and deeper, until his tip is nudging your cervix. And he’d fuck you hard, just like he’s fucking his fist now, skin slapping each time his hips met your ass. 

You’d cum before he would, he would make sure of it — one hand rubbing harshly at your clit, the other toying with one of your nipples between his thumb and forefinger. And your walls would squeeze and wring him dry, just as he squeezed his own dick now. 

He spilled all over the wall of his shower, white spurts kept coming, as he grunted, imagining he was painting your walls instead. He panted, but as the afterglow ebbed away, the heat only came back tenfold. 

He panted, as his fingers left his cock, only to find it still hard — the tip red and angry, twitching as he stared back at it. 

What the fuck is going on? 

He finally left the shower, pulling on his shirt and boxers delicately — every inch of his body felt feverish and sensitive, even the rubbing of his clothes against his skin was almost too much for him. 

He stood in front of the sink, knuckles white against the porcelain as he tried to will his erection away, but each thought was only chased away with thoughts of you — of the dress you loved to wear riding up, of your legs spreading for him, of the wet patch on your panties— 

He was so fucked. Sweat dripped into the sink, as he glanced at himself in the mirror — skin a ruddy red flush, lips impossibly dry, pupils blown out with need — he was so fucked. 

He called Shoko — the embarrassment of this situation far gone at this point fading into plain need of wanting this situation to be over. One ring, two rings — finally five rings and she picks up. 

“It’s not like you to call—“ 

“I need your help,” he cuts her off, biting back the groan from his cock rubbing against his boxers the wrong way — “I don’t know what’s happening to me,” 

Her voice shifts from curiosity to concern, “Slow down, Suguru, tell me what’s going on,” and he tells her his symptoms — and she’s silent on the other line for a moment, “you have been a teenage boy before right? You’re not really calling me because you’re horny and you don’t know what to do—“ 

“It’s not that—“ he hisses, running a slow hand down his face, “I already tried…solving the problem myself but it didn’t work. And I feel weird — it only made it worse. I can’t stop sweating or thinking about—“ he cuts off — he couldn’t stop lewd thoughts of you from springing before his eyes, the thoughts of your moans, how soft your flesh would be under his fingers, how you’d look when he— “what is this, Shoko?” 

She pauses on the line for a moment, “When did it start?” 

“Right before my shower I think,” his mind foggy with need, he could barely even comprehend a coherent thought. 

“And what did you do before your shower? Anything different?” he’s swallowing the lump in his throat, as he resists the urge to brush his hand over his hard-on. 

He’s barely hearing Shoko at this point — “I took off my clothes, I got my towel, and then I—“ and the realization struck him — the curse, “I consumed the curse I collected today from my mission,” he mutters, “fuck—“ 

And then there’s a knock at the door, “Suguru?” He heard you call through the door. His dick throbs at the sound of your voice. 

Shoko’s voice cuts through the white noise, “Suguru, the curse you ate — was there something different about it?” 

“It was a grade one — it seemed a little too easy to defeat — it formed in—“ he swallows thickly, “in a brothel,” 

“I’ve heard of curses being lustful, but not of them becoming a stimulant,” she murmurs, and he can hear her sigh, “you could try extracting the curse from your body — I doubt that would be effective at this point. I assume the effects will linger until the symptoms pass — just as it does when you become nauseous or sick from swallowing other curses,” 

His phone buzzed with texts from you: 

You: I’m outside, I grabbed takeout for us this time since you always treat me! 

You: are you home? 

His mind swam, it wasn’t the takeout he was craving — it was you. But no, no — he couldn’t. Not like this, but he was fighting a losing battle and he just about lost the war along with it. 

“I don’t know, how do I get it to pass?” he was desperate, the sounds of your knocks and messages ringing in his ear, along with your sweet voice — why do you sound so good with his name on your lips? So sweet — his boxers grow even tighter — bet you even taste even sweeter. 

“If dealing with it yourself didn’t work, then,” she sighs, “you’re going to need a partner,” 

Another knock. 

“Shoko, I have to go,” and he hangs up before she can get another word — a thought to thank her and apologize shoved to the back of his mind, as he stumbles to his door, a thunk as he nearly tumbled into it, wood and hinges groaning under the force and weight. 

“Suguru?” you’re so worried yet his name on your tongue was nearly enough to have him cumming in his boxers then, the wet patch of his boxers nearly making the fabric translucent, “are you okay?” 

He says your name, “You should go home, I’m not feeling well—“ 

“What’s wrong? Do you need help?” And he’s biting his lip, teeth digging into his bottom lip, nearly drawing blood, “let me in,” 

“I can’t—I can’t let you help with this,” he’s shaking his head, “please, sweetheart, you have to go—“ And he hears the clink of your key going into the door — fuck, that goddamn key he gave you, and the door pulls open, just as he braces himself against the doorframe. 

Your brow furrowed in concern, takeout bag in hand, as your eyes examined him, until they found their way to his boxers. 

“Suguru—“ 

“You should leave — I can’t explain, there’s a curse inside me—“ 

Your eyebrows knit together, “Suguru, a curse did this to you? What happened?” And he’s shaking his head, mind far too gone, as he forces himself away, “let me help—“ 

“You can’t help. I have to get out of my system but the only way is—“ he cuts off, as he groans again, body and mind railing against each other, as his body just seemingly burns from even being near you. 

“There must be something—“ and you step closer, and he can barely hold back from grabbing you, fingers twitching to wrap around your waist, the other holding your neck, lips finding yours, as he fucking rips his own clothes off— “I want to help—“ 

He’s tugging at the collar of his shirt incessantly, as you step closer, closing the gap between your bodies, and he can only focus on the way your pretty lips part, the way your chest curves under your shirt, and the far too short shorts you choose to wear — fuck. 

He was so fucked. 

He can’t hold back, as he’s drawing close to you in a moment, his mind clouded with lust, the hitch of your breath only making him want you more — but he forced every muscle in his body to stop.  He couldn’t. Not until you agreed. 

“If you don’t want me to fuck you right now,” he says lowly, his lips nearly brushing your ear, “I want you — regardless of this, I’ve wanted you for so long,” the confession tumbles from his lips because he needs you to know, needs you know so you can either leave him to his fate or help him get through this, “but if you don’t feel the same—“ 

But to his surprise, you lean closer, breath warming his skin until it was left scalding, “who said I didn’t?” 

And he can’t hold back. 

His lips crash to yours, his hands holding your cheeks, as he grasps desperately to you, takeout boxes spilling from the plastic bag and your purse spilling your things when you drop it, your fingers grasping at his damp t-shirt. 

And your touch alone even through the fabric is nearly enough to make him bust a nut there and then — and his mind hadn’t even felt so clear until he felt your touch. He could notice every little detail about you — the way your breath caught when his fingers ghosted down your sides, the way your lips parted for his tongue without hesitation, and the way your knees shook when he squeezed your hips. 

“So pliant for me,” he murmurs, eager to touch more, to taste more, “such a good fucking girl, aren’t you?” 

And you’re nodding wordlessly — lips kiss ruined and red, saliva clinging to your lips when he parted from your lips — and he wonders which one of you swallowed a glorified sex curse. 

“Know how long I wanted to do this?” words said pressed with heated kisses down your neck — he was right, you tasted so sweet, he bet another part of you tasted even sweeter — “how many times I thought about this?” He nibbled at the juncture of your neck and shoulder, rewarded with a pretty gasp, “wanted to mark you up so many times — when that fucker tried to hit on you — I wanted to do more than just wrap my arm around you. Wanted to show him how he could never please you,” and he’s sucking a mark there, teeth grazing and pinching your skin before he soothes it with his tongue. He smiles against your skin, as he admires his handiwork. 

You whine when he drags a thumb down your puffy lips, “Sugu, please, more,” and his lips find yours again, swallowing your complaints and moans eagerly, as his large palms slide down your back to rest on your ass, squeezing as he presses you flush to his body, hard on pressed against your body. 

“Need my touch that much, Princess? Should’ve just fucked you in that club, huh? Let them see that you’re mine,”  And he’s walking you backwards towards his room, as he pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it onto the floor of his living room. Your fingers running over his exposed flesh, thumbs teasing his sensitive nipples, pretty little lips pressing teasing kisses to both sides. 

Fuck, the need to bury his cock in you grew by the second. But he wanted to feel good first — been waiting too long. He had all night to fuck you — but he only had one time to do it right the first time. 

He’s walking you into the edge of his bed, as you both tumble onto the bed, his hands sliding under your shirt, tugging at the hem, and you help him take it off — and he hissed at the sight of nothing underneath. 

“Were you always coming to my place with no bra on?” his lips curl, as your eyes look away, embarrassment painted on your expression, “wanted this as long as I did, Princess? Don’t get so shy now — you’re the one who insisted on helping me, so aren’t you going to fulfill your promise?” His lips brush against your earlobe, lips wrapping around it and sucking lightly. 

You shiver, biting your lip, before you’re tugging him fully onto the bed, before slinking off of it and onto your knees for him, “Then let me help you,”

When your fingers toy with the elastic of his boxers, he’s ready to cum right there — he’s so sensitive still, he’s sure he won��t last long, but fuck, he doesn’t care with how pretty you look between his legs. 

“Don’t be a tease, Princess, or I’ll pay you back later,” but your lips only curl, as you lean forward and press a kiss through the drenched fabric, tip of your tongue teasing his slit through his boxers.

“Oh I expect you to,” and you’re pulling his boxers down painfully slowly, letting the fabric of his boxers rub against his hard-on teasingly, a low hiss leaving the thin line of his lips, his balls aching with his release as his cock slaps against his stomach, “fuck, Sugu,” you murmur in almost reverence — he was thick, the tip flushed red with lovely beads of pre-cum already dripping down his length, your fingers already eager to trace those pretty veins, and feel the slight curve of his cock in your aching cunt, “how am I gonna fit you all in me?” 

And his cock twitches at your words, as you pity him with a chaste kiss to the top, “Please,” he swallows, adam’s apple bobbing, fingers knuckles white as they fisted the now creased sheets, “fuck—“ as you blow air along his length, “I’ll cum all over your face at this rate,” 

“Oh I think you’d like that, wouldn’t you, Sugu?” your point finger lightly follows the trail of his vein, as your lips continue to press butterfly kisses along his length, “paint my face with your cum,” 

And his fingers thread themselves in your hair, pressing his length to your lips, and you smirk, looking up at him with half lidded gaze, as your lips part and his length slides in — that’s all it takes. 

The coil in his stomach snaps, as he cums down your throat, hot seed spilling into your mouth, as his hips jerk against your mouth, his groans of your name sending a hot stripe of heat down to your cunt. 

Despite that, his cock only seems to grow larger, twitching against your tongue, as you part for a moment, a trail of saliva and cum dripping from your lips, “Taste so good, Sugu — gotta have you one more time—“ you envelop him with your lips again — and he’s a mess of moans, head thrown back, thick haze of lust as his eyes finally meet yours. You swallow around him, tongue wrapped around his length, as your sinful fingers touch whatever can’t fit in your mouth. 

“S’good baby, should’ve fucked this mouth a long time ago,” and he’s gone, as his hips begin to slowly roll against you, watching as you don’t resist, the tip of his cock brushing against your throat, “good fucking girl, never gonna go a day without these lips around my cock,” and god, he’s so close — twitching in your mouth, but what sends him over the edge is when he feels you moan, and spots your hand down your shorts. 

Fuck, he’s pulling out, “can I—“ and you pump him in response, a grunt of your name as you let him cum all over your face and chest, the sight enough to make him hard all over again — his thick release slipping down your lips, as your tongue darts out to taste it again. 

And he’s pulling you into a bruising kiss, tasting his own cum on your lips, before grabbing his discarded shirt to clean you off. His hand grabs your wrist and eases it from inside your cunt, tongue darting out to lick the release from your fingers, cleaning each of them. 

In an instant, he’s got you spread on his bed, legs parted for him, “where’s that attitude now, pretty?” And his lithe fingers sneak under the elastic of your panties and snaps it against your skin, making you squirm, “seems like all those words fell out of your head just from sucking my cock,” 

He’s slowly dragging your underwear down, before pulling at his bedside drawer to stuff your panties in, “for later use,” and you can’t managed a reply before his lips are pressing butterfly kisses up your thighs, before his teeth graze the soft flesh of your inner thigh, drawing a gasp from your lips, before sucking and soothing it with his tongue, “mine, all mine,” he’s already hard again — the feel of your soft skin under his lips was enough to have him cumming again like a virgin — the burning in the pit of his stomach only burned brighter for you — god, would he ever work his way out of this state? But as his gaze was met with your lovely dripping cunt with your puffy clit begging him for attention, he couldn’t seem to care. 

You hiss when his fingers slowly spread your folds, “So fucking tight, baby, how am I gonna fit in you?” he clicks his tongue, inhaling, as his nose brushes against your clit, making your hips jump, “patience, gotta take my time with this princess cunt, gotta make sure you’re ready for me,” his dick twitching at his next sentence, “because I sink my cock in here, we’re not stopping at one round,” 

Your cunt squeezes around nothing at his words, his breath warming your sensitive pussy, until he finally drags a stripe up your needy folds. 

“Sugu, fuck,” his arms brace your thighs and hips down, as the tip of his tongue drags teasing circles around your clit, your slick gathering on his tongue, as he tastes it with a groan. 

“Fucking, the best thing I’ve tasted,” and as much as he wants to bury his dick in you, he could live with his face between your thighs, “so perfect f’me,” and his tongue trails in tight circles around your clit, while his finger toys with your entrance, gathering your pre on his finger, teasing your entrance and delighting in the way your breath hitches. 

He looks up at your face between half lidded eyes, you’re too fucking pretty — your hair a mess from, a sheen of sweat on your body, the lovely way your nipples were erect, and your eyes — pupils lost to lust and need. And all for him. 

Fuck, he knows he won’t last long at this rate, he can already feel the urge to palm his raging cock, but he wants you to cum first, and he’s sinking a finger into your sweet cunt. He can almost imagine how your walls would feel fluttering around his cock — but he doubts his engorged tip would be even fit right now. 

No, he needed to make this good for you — he slowly starts to finger fuck you as his tongue circles your clit in tighter circles, even sucking on it, and by the way your fingers grasped at the sheets, crumpling under your touch — you liked it. 

Pretty moans left your lips, as your fingers found their way to his dark locks, still slightly damp from his shower — as he added a second finger inside. His name said between pants, as his fingers drag against your molten insides — the wet squelch rang in his ears as he fucked your cunt open. Knuckle deep in your sweet pussy, he knows he’s addicted — to the feeling of your molasses insides — warm and soft for him, his digits curling against your walls, looking for that one place that would make you fall apart. 

“Sugu, please, please ‘m close—,” and he knows you need a little more, and he’s obliging with a chuckle, a third finger joining the other two, and he’s fucking you in earnest now — lips closing around your clit and sucking mercilessly, as his fingers find that spongy spot that has you seeing stars. Your back arches, as your nails dig into his scalp, as you cum around his fingers — walls fluttering as he eats you out through your high, his name leaving your lips again and again, as you slowly come down from your high, thighs twitching and chest heaving as you do. 

As he finally pulls away, his chin and mouth glossy and drenched in a mixture of your cum and his spit — that he licks clean from where his tongue can reach, fingers collecting the rest, as he looks at your sticky cum gathered on his fingers. 

Fuck, he could live in your cunt. Your sweet taste was the only thing he’d crave now after consuming curses — he wondered if you’d let him eat you out for hours after the curses he ate — he was sure your taste was the only thing that would erase that disgusting like nothing else ever would. 

He’s giving you soft kisses after, dotting them up your body, murmuring praises, but you’re pulling him into a kiss, your fingers resting against the back of his neck, as your other hand finds his aching erection, swallowing his gasp with pleasure. 

“Want you, Sugu, please,” and your words are enough to make him cum right there, as he tugs your hand away, “Sugu—” 

“Won’t last long if you keep touching me and whining like that, Princess,” the heat only seems to lick at his skin like flames, engulfing him with every touch, and his cock was the epicenter of the wildfire, while you were the fuel that only made it consume you both to ash, “but I know it won’t be long until I’m fucking you again anyway,” Your cunt throbs at his words, as he draws close, dragging his weeping tip against your folds, watching his pre-cum smear against your slick with a grunt, “feels like you’re already trying to swallow me up, princess — you want this cock that bad?” fuck, he can’t hold back anymore, as he’s lining up himself up, and he’s sliding right into you with a groan, “know how long been waiting to do that?” his skin meeting yours as he bottoms out deliciously, stretching your walls out with his girth, pleasure ripping up your spine, “wanted to do this since the moment you walked through the door, but needed to do this right — when nothing about this was right,” he had so many things to say, while your mind had left you with not even a syllable, his cock twitched and pulsed inside your walls, dragging against it deliciously, “wish our first time wasn’t like this — but I’m so glad it’s finally happened, sweetheart,” 

And you can’t help but smile up at him, lips parted with a small moan, as tears burned at your eyes from his size, “Me too, Sugu, wanted you for so long, needed you—” and he’s kissing your tears and words away with his lips, 

Then he begins to fuck you — hard, the slapping of your skin and the wet squelch of your sex filling up most of the silence of the room, while both of your moans and grunts took up the rest. Your cunt was heaven to him — warm, wet walls wrapped around his aching cock — the slightest bit of relief was overcome with waves and waves of need — he needed to fuck you, needed to make you cum, needed to cum inside — he just needed you. 

“S’big, Sugu, too big,” you whine, he was almost too much for you, the way his dick fucked places you only could imagine reaching, as his mouth leaned down to take a pert nipple between his lips — sucking and licking, as he couldn’t have enough of you, while his hand toyed with the other, “feels too good,” 

“I know baby, gonna fuck your princess cunt so good — make sure its made just for me,” he’s murmuring, as his teeth graze your tit, as he pistons into you again and again, the tip of his cock brushing your cervix with each thrust, “all mine, baby, fuck — such a good girl for me,” and the praise has you keening against him, the knowing flutter of your cunt that tells him you’re all too close to the edge, as his hand reaches between your bodies to rub at your clit, “cum for me, pretty, need to feel your pretty little cunt squeeze me,” 

And you do, falling apart as he fucks you through your orgasm, again and again — fuck, you felt so good, as he watched his cock slip in and out of you, a white ring of your release forming around his base. He’s fucking close too — can feel his balls tense, eager to blow his load, “where—” 

You’re still moaning, eyes blown out in pleasure, as you watch him fuck you again and again, “Inside, Sugu, fill me up,” and that’s it, he’s gone — spurting his hot release, painting your walls, as he does, fucking it inside you — deeper, deeper, until he stills for a moment. And you’re twitching, eyes fluttering shut, when he pulls out, a groan parting his lips as he watches his seed spill from your cunt. 

But then silence for several moments, the soft pants of your breathing only, before you hear him swearing and grunting, as your eyes open, and your pussy twitches at the sight before you. Suguru’s hand slid up and down his still erect cock, his eyes squeezed shut, as he groaned, “Suguru—” 

“Wasn’t enough, need more,” he’s shaking his head, as his fingers squeeze around the base of his cock, “thought it would be enough to cum with you, but I can still feel it—” and he’s groaning, as you sit up, watching your mixed releases drip from you, “baby—” 

And your lips kiss the tip of his weeping cock, “I told I’d help you,” and you ease his hand away, as you lick up his length, your eyes fixed on his, “just because we fucked, doesn’t mean we’re done,” 

And in a moment, he’s got you flipped onto your hands and knees, as his cock slaps against your ass, his fingers squeezing the flesh, as he leans over to kiss your back, “Then I guess we’re gonna be up all night, sweetheart, because if you’re okay with this — I don’t think I’ll be satisfied with just a blowjob,” his tip drags against your messy cunt, “gonna need something a little tighter than your mouth,” and he’s sinking his thick cock into you again, balls slapping against your ass as he begins to fuck you, “better cancel any plans you have, pretty — because we’re not leaving this bed for a while.” 

“Don’t fall asleep on me, baby,” his fingers grab your chin, and force you to meet his gaze, as he fucks into you, as you sit on his lap, your hands finding purchase on his shoulders, “almost gonna cum, and don’t want you to be asleep for it,” 

How many times had you fucked? You had lost count — but you knew you had done it in far too many positions — on your hands and knees, standing up, against the wall, from behind with his hand gripping your leg up, and far too many others — and now you were spread in his lap, cock deep in your pulsing pussy, his lips kissing your neck, as he fucked into you, his dick reaching a deeper angle from this position, easily able to hit the furthest parts of you. 

He had cum in you more than you thought was humanly possible — and you supposed it wasn’t — it was only the curse that enabled this — it was animalistic even, the way he rutted into you desperately. He grabbed a water bottle only to take a swig, and find your lips again, forcing you to swallow the water. 

“Good girl,” he’s grunting, his hips beginning to stutter, “I’m close baby, are you?” You hadn’t thought it was still possible to feel pleasure at this point, but it was — his cock dragged against your walls, his dark gaze finding yours, “tell me you wanna cum,” and your pussy twitches at his order, “use your words, pretty, or have I fucked them all out?” 

“Please, Suguru, I wanna cum on your cock,” and you’re so fucking close again — the all too familiar knot in your stomach ready to snap any moment. 

“Fuck, greedy pussy hasn’t enough of me? We’ve been fucking until the daylight now,” as his hand grabs your chin to make you see the first rays of light peaking over the horizon, and he’s making you bounce on him with each thrust of his dick — your orgasm building and building with every brush of his tip against your g-spot, “fuck, s’good for me, baby — been so good — just need one more and we can stop,” and tears stream down your cheek that only make him groan, his lips finding yours in a messy, sloppy kiss, his tongue sliding into your mouth right as his cock hits at the deepest part of you— 

And you squirt all over him, drenching his cock and lap as you cum, your lips parting from him, as your head is thrown back, boneless, as he fucks into you, your spasming walls pulling him over the edge as he paints your insides with his release, fucking it into you, until he finally slows, your body draped on his, head resting on his shoulder. Bodies sticky with sweat and cum, his cock finally softens inside you, the heat finally beginning to dull, as he presses soft kisses and gentle caresses to every inch of your skin, as he lays you down carefully, pulling himself from you. 

“Thank you, princess, thank you,” and you’re burying your face in the crook of his neck, soft breaths cooling the sheen of sweat on his skin, “did so good for me,” and he slowly rises, grabbing his shirt and running it under water to clean you off, if only a little. 

You’re already half asleep, eyes only fluttering half open to watch him, and he can’t help but bite his lip,  “Sugu?” 

“Yes, princess?” And you nod, fingers twitching for him, and his lips curl as he obliges, wrapping you up in his body, “know it was rough on you baby, I’ll make it up to you — don’t worry, just rest,” he grabs a water bottle, and lifts your head ever so slightly and helps you drink some water. 

“I know you want to ask me something,” and he pauses, as he pulls the bottle away, “I can see the gears grinding in your head — you can ask me anything, y’know,” you had quite the way of embarrassing him, didn’t you? 

“I know, I just,” he swallowed, “was there any other reason you came back to Tokyo, aside from the threats, did you come back for anything else?” 

And your lips curl, raising an eyebrow knowingly, “Anything or anyone you mean?” and you chuckle when his eyes can’t meet yours, your fingers finding his again, “baby,” and your hand brushes against his cheek, tracing the cut of his jaw, making his breath catch, “I did come back for someone — a very particular someone,” and he smiles, as your lips lean up to press a chaste kiss to your lips, “and my friends, of course,” you add, “I love Utahime, but I missed Shoko and Satoru, and you,” 

“You did?” he murmurs, and you giggle, kissing him again, melting into his touch again, as your foreheads brushed against the other’s, “Sugu?” and it’s your turn to ask something now, chewing on your bottom lip, “can we do this again?” you murmur, before adding, “not like this but—“ 

And he laughs, pulling you impossibly closer, lips finding your leaping pulse, “Yes, we can, if you want to — because I know I do, because,” his thumb brushing the length of your cheek, “but I want all of you — want your body, your thoughts, your time, your heart and soul—“ and his lips quirk at the sight of your eyes widening ever so slightly, “is that okay?” 

And your lips find his own as an answer, sweet kisses turn languid, heat stealing any doubts from either of your minds, “As long I have yours as well,” and the two of you share only a few more kisses, before you both finally drift off. 

“If he’s fine, and I’m checking on him, I’m kicking his ass,” Satoru grumbled, as he held his phone between his cheek and his shoulder, Shoko sighing as he rooted through his pockets for his keys. 

Shoko chewed her lip, she hadn’t heard from him in hours, “He was in bad shape, I can't find the time to go check and you were on your way home anyway,” Shoko says, wiping her brow, twisting a strand of her hair between her fingers. 

“Yeah, on my way home back from a mission,” he finally finds his keys, sticking Suguru’s spare key into the lock and turning it, “If I have jet lag, and all I find is him jerked off and sleeping, you owe me,” 

He twists the knob, and looks — he doesn’t see Suguru in the living room or kitchen — but he does see takeout containers spilled on the floor, along with a very familiar bag, and he blinks, before his lips curl. He asks if she’s heard from you, to which she says no, 

He walks silently to Suguru’s bedroom, opening the door a crack to see you and Suguru curled up against each other, your head on his chest, his arm wrapped around you, the comforter strewn about and covering the rest of your bodies. 

Satoru only grins, before he pulls his phone from his ear and switches to the camera. 

“Never mind, Shoko, I owe you one,” and he snaps a picture of the two of you, wondering how many missions he could pawn off to Suguru now, “I’ll treat you to lunch.” 

✧ a/n: so this turned out way longer than i thought (story of my life). i had so much fun writing this - i've been writing this in conjunction with prof geto part 3 and its been funny darting back and forth between these two -- although the scenes i've been writing

✧ taglist: @peachyminx, @garfunklefield, @unicornqueen05, @hiyori-ii, @equikaz, @unoriginalidea, @forest-fruits-jam, @torusinfinity, @hellkaiserinphoenix, @loonimae, @gojoedd, @sugurufic, @glaceliy, @telvess, @kentocalls, @nayasch, @iluvvreze, @yamaguccitadashi, @faeismism, @hanxyy, @catsgomurp, @sukaibg, @sugurusdiscordmoderator, @gojorgeous, @getos-slvtt, @sirencholia, @teatreeoilll, @dewdropdive, @appysauc, @kobycetacean, @missroki, @fushitoru, @pricetagofficial, @that-goth-bisexual, @shoyosdoll, @regrettinglifechoices, @mostinsanegirl, @roseybean, @fayyyrieee, @gojobbg, @strangehuman101, @saccharine-nectarine, @i-belong-in-a-retirement-home, @spider-fan72

[fumifooms]

I don’t like minimizing the importance and gravity of Laios and Toshiro’s fight into just being a childish squabble, even if to a degree it is framed that way, because to both of them it has a lot of personal significance and emotional weight and runs very deep to their characters… The fight isn’t nothing it’s a LOT, they made up but it’s not something easy to express and to get over for either of them which makes it all the more meaningful! I’m on both sides but there very much are sides, there’s no "they’re both having a ball, Toshiro and Laios hand in hand yay" side to the fight, that comes after

The fight with Toshiro WAS very scary to Laios, almost existentially so, but it’s moreso the "I thought I’d made a friend!!" bit and my god. My god actually

Like it’s not "just" about oh his friend liking him less than he thought, THAT IS SO MUCH. It’s a bond he thought he had being a lie it’s all the time and moments spent together either being a lie from his perspective or marred now looking back. It’s not only being upset at Toshiro for lying but upset at himself that he’s so easy to fool, it’s being upset that there’s something so wrong with you that you can’t even tell if your "close buddy" even actually likes you or not, it’s like. Holding my head. He can’t trust his own vision of events that happened do you see. There’s always this film of distrust that it could be a lie that should be there when he interacts with people there’s always this sense of cloak and dagger to expect backstabs out of nowhere because you CAN’T see it coming you CAN’T you CAN’T there’s something about you which makes it impossible so you CAN’T-

He’s so scared of not being able to read people. He knows it’s a weak spot he has, he’s always known. All of these bits are centered around social expectations and betrayals, the assumption that he doesn’t belong either in society or with other humans.

And Laios’ level of awareness is actually sort of complex to analyze, but it’s there, there’s how out of him and Falin he was the one sensitive to the ~aura of hatred~ he felt from the townspeople, there’s of course his nightmares whispering to him about the mocking looks, and how yeah actually he realizes that his gold stripper coworker was taking advantage of him. There’s of course the Winged Lion speech about his trauma and how he fundamentally mistrusts/dislikes humans to some deep seated degree, this distrust that he still keeps under control always. There’s how pre-canon he often wanted to suggest eating monsters but never worked up the courage to bring it up with the others. There’s how he gets across as stoic when he isn’t being enthusiastic…… We don’t know how aware and wary he is exactly in the moment but we do know he has some anxiety around social stuff, and looking back he does notice and aughh augh, the sense you have to hide yourself to not get hurt and be on your guard and shit and.

When you don’t know what to look out for and when to look out for it, the general ‘common sense’ of not always trusting people or noticing when someone’s messing with you becomes hypervigilance in social settings

"Man they really know what you hate huh". Being socially unaware literally plagues him, he knows, he knows it so well.

It’s so quick that it’s almost hard to digest how literal and blatant Laios summoning his monster to crush all the people who’ve hurt him is. His literal go-to coping mechanism for comfort in his literal monster-induced emotionally intense nightmares, saving him by taking away the upsetting element (the humans)

"Monsters are his coping fantasy, where they can whisk him away from humanity, all the hurt it’s caused him and its arbitrary rules" with the subtlety of a brick. Monsters are his comfort safe zone "because they kill humans" yes but no it’s because he pits them as the guardians against humans who to him are in the role of the agressors. To him they represent freedom from the shackles of what it means to be part of humanity, a fundamentally social species

[manikas-whims]

Hi hi!💕 can i request headcanons of sth like "What if we, reader, find a kitten in the rain (& the lads men reactions)" if possible n tyyyy😊

omg this is such a cute idea 🥹 thanks for requesting this ♡ and i hope you like these!

LADS men react to you taking in a kitten

ZAYNE

❄️ Zayne’s eyes are literally sparkling when he walks into your house and sees the kitten. From the way he balls his palms into fists, you can tell just how much he wants to approach it but the kitten hisses at him and hides behind the sofa.

❄️ As usual, the kitten is afraid of him. And it saddens you because his evol aside, Zayne is such a warm person, and deserves nothing but affection.

❄️ You bring out some snacks and feed the kitten. Then encourage Zayne to try it too.

❄️ He is hesitant but tries. Yet the kitten doesn't approach him like it does when you're feeding it.

❄️ Next he tries tossing it near him. The kitten is cautious, waiting for a while before running on its tiny, shaky feet towards the treat, and eating it. This isn't a big leap but it's better than nothing, and Zayne can't help but smile at this small victory.

❄️ Few more hours in, you pick up the kitten from your own lap and drop it into Zayne’s. He's fidgeting, unsure of where to put his hands. “I don't think this will work.” He says.

❄️ “Just stay calm.” You tell him. “Animals tend to read emotions. If you're scared, it'll be scared too.”

❄️ Its funny watching the usually calm and collected doctor struggling with something so small it can fit in his coat’s pocket.

❄️ Tentatively he runs a finger over the kitten’s lil head. It flinches initially, then relaxes. Stunned, Zayne stares at you.

❄️ You giggle at the disbelief on his face and encourage him to go on.

❄️ “Okay.” He nods like an obedient child and tries again. This time he scratches behind its ears, and to his immense surprise and exhilaration, the kitten mewls and purrs.

❄️ Zayne looks up at you as if you to say “look! i did it!”

❄️ You pat his back with pride and smile.

XAVIER

⭐ Like usual, Xavier stops by your home one evening because he's run out of food, and you are generous enough to share your amazing cooking with him.

⭐ Only this time, he finds a little kitten wreaking havoc around your living room. Toppling things from the tables, sharpening its claws on the couch, biting your slippers..you name it!

⭐ You look at him with what you believe is your most convincing pleading expression. He chuckles in response and decides to help out.

⭐ Within minutes he has captured the feline outlaw and to your utter disbelief, the kitten is now seated peacefully in Xavier's lap, making biscuits in the fabric of his sweatpants.

⭐ He did say that little animals love to flock around him but seeing is believing. And no matter how many times you see it happen, you're still a little shocked at how easy it is for him. He's like a disney princess who can sing songs and summon animals into doing his bidding.

⭐ You are used to Xavier showing up at your door for food, so you already had extra prepared. You made sure to add in some meat dishes since Xavier loves those.

⭐ Now as Xavier eats his share, he occasionally offers the kitten small, mashed chunks of meat. And looking at the two side by side, you can't distinguish between them. It's as if you have two cats in your life, except one of them is bigger, stronger and loves fighting wanderers.

⭐ Xavier takes note of your smile and blinks at you. “What is it?”

⭐ “Nothing.” You simply giggle and teasingly rub his head.

RAFAYEL

🌊 Rafayel is merely passing by the area and so he decides to check up on you. He has brought you food from the finest of places in Linkon. But the moment you let him in, he almost jumps at the sight of a kitten rolling on the floor.

🌊 “Why would you feed this little demon?” He is curling his lips in disgust, standing behind you to shield himself from the so-called “demon”.

🌊 His dislike and anxious behaviour spurs the kitten as well, and it hisses at him. Of course Rafayel hisses back.

🌊 It takes a lot of patience and breathing exercises for you to separate them and make them understand they aren't a threat to one another.

🌊 Surprisingly, the kitten is the first one to make peace. That, and it kinda likes Rafayel’s perfume. It meows and tries rubbing its tiny body against his white pants. And for a moment, Rafayel seems to be accepting the gesture. Then he realises his white pants might get dirty and steps away.

🌊 He won't admit it out loud but he's starting to warm his heart to the tiny feline. The kitten is basically his baby now.

🌊 “I got some toys for the demon!” He announces as he randomly shows up at your house with a variety of toys. If you point it out he'll tell you otherwise but he definitely has a happy grin when he sees the kitten playing with the toys. However, he’ll get equally annoyed if the kitten doesn’t play with them after all the money and time he spent on buying them.

🌊 “You’ve grown quite close.” You comment airily.

🌊 “You’re sorely mistaken.” He’s immediately scooting away from the small being but also waving a bell around it. “We are natural enemies.”

SEND ME REQUESTS FOR LOVE & DEEPSPACE HEADCANONS VIA ASKS.

» MASTERLIST «

[ew-selfish-art]

Dp x Dc wherein learning magic is similar to learning how to play music. 

So basically, the creation of a summoning spell is like a full composition/song made of smaller components or ‘notes’ for things like gravity shifting, and geolocation, and transportation etc. which is why Magic can be taught and spells can be man-made. 

Danny, however, is the equivalent of having Perfect Pitch. He can compose entire songs of spells without really thinking about it due to his royal titles (ambassador/king/high prince) but doesn’t really know how to be specific which lands him in some trouble with Clockwork. His portals are coming along a lot better with the help of Wulf but its critical that Danny learns how to control the range of his magic *something something, for the timestream something* *blah blah according to the will of the ancients blah blah*. 

So put on the course to learn Magic, Danny decides to hunt down the House of Mystery and study up by himself. He’s doing community college online, what could a little bit of Magic self study really do to his schedule? This place has literally every magic resource he could need! 

Turns out he has a roommate in the House of Mystery- John Constantine does not take well to the fact that half of the spells Danny is creating are causing him issues with the JL. Random shit appearing, random shit disappearing, portals everywhere and don’t get him started on the fucking ICE present on every bloody thing the magic reaches. Not to mention there is no reason a normal human kid should be able to have this much power behind his spells. 

John attempts to teach Danny the basics like a little kid gets stickers placed on the keys of a piano. The problem is Danny has the ability to compose entire scores of Magic all on his own, and absolutely abhors the training wheels John is putting on him. 

Danny: You’re patronizing me! 

John: You deserve to be patronized. 

Just like, Danny learning Magic in various ways that you might teach kids to play musical instruments from the various Magic users in the JLD. Causing chaos along the way, found family, the whole nine. Stickers on the instruments for notes, taking away guitar strings that are ‘more advanced’ and replaying Twinkle, Twinkle little star over and over again. 

Danny can play the Magic equivalent of Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake but cannot play Chopsticks. 

[stxrysnow]

its me again!! For this one can it be megumi x reader, the reader is a bubbly, adventurous, curious and silly person but their extremely kind and witty. [also smart, and sassy at times] The scenario can be just them doing stuff together like baking, going to a playground, coffee date, its your choice!

— a taste of your love.

synopsis. megumi’s had his fair share of having people who’re energetic, loud and annoying— much to his distaste— though deep down, he knows he loves them; no matter how much he tries to deny it.

although, he just can't help but want a taste of you— a taste of your love.

genres/themes. megumi fushiguro x reader, fluff, golden retriever and black cat dynamic, baking with megumi!, megumi silently admiring reader LMAO, two idiots in love, megumi is learning to love the reader (precious boy omg)

jiah’s notes. hello! senkyu for making this request ! < 3 i wanna feed shiro and kuro the best dog biscuits that ever exist, just wait till i summon them. (/j

... unless? LMAOO)

word count. 1.3k

megumi was still in the process of understanding you.

now, now— don’t blame him, that poor guy has been surrounded by highly energetic people all his life— be it tsumiki, his oh so nice sister— though, sometimes too sweet for her own good— or his friend yuuji— simply a ball of sunshine, that guy was; although he was a bit… naïve at times, or satoru— his ‘benefactor’ (also the guy he didn’t like to admit was his father figure) — often regarding him as an annoying, loud idiot.

but strangely enough, megumi had learnt to love them all the same— something that came from deep within, something that was hidden under his aloof demeanour.

and oh he simply despised to admit it to himself— to admit that he actually cared.

“ ’gumi, hand me the chocolate chips, will ya?” your voice said, drawing him out of his reverie— a simple blink and he was reaching up for the ingredient in the cabinet, hands strangely having a mind of their own.

dark green eyes searching your own as he placed the container on the kitchen counter, lips slightly parted as if he wanted to say something—

yet no words came out. you always rendered him speechless, both literally and emotionally.

“aw, thanks!” watching your eyes light up in the way it always did whenever he did even the bare minimum— megumi didn’t try to notice how his heart skipped a beat, didn’t try to notice how he swallowed a lump in his throat that had formed without him realising.

didn’t try to admit how much he craved your attention— didn’t try to admit how much craved you.

“did you get the cakes for shiro and kuro? poor things, i can’t eat this infront of them,” you tut, stirring the brownie batter with practiced precision, and megumi didn’t miss how your eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly when you did so; how your teeth habitually dug into your bottom lip whenever you were focused— oh how he couldn’t help but notice every damn thing about you.

it almost annoyed him.

you turned your head to face him, the hint of a smile that was always there with you still playing at your lips— “oi, earth to fushiguro. what’re you thinkin’ ?”

keyword: almost.

“i have,” megumi answered, trying to sound stoic but even he didn’t miss the slightly hoarse undertone of his voice— making his ears turn a delicate shade of red. “don’t worry ’bout it.”

“ooo-kay, okay,” you chirped, letting out a small laugh— god, why were you even laughing?— now you’ve made his cheeks pink.

and yet, the boy wanted nothing but to hear the sound of your laughter again and again— until it would be embedded into his very soul, like some forbidden memory only he could reach.

“hm.”

slender fingers of his rested against the cool tiles of the kitchen counter as he turned his head in your direction as you worked, and for a moment, he couldn’t help but just stare— eyelashes fluttering so delicately against his pale skin that one might just think that he didn’t want to close his eyes.

and so he didn’t.

how could he? you were there. before his very eyes.

you and your pretty eyes which seemed to shine no matter how dark the world got, you and your kindness that stood out like a sore thumb against the crowd— you and your insufferable self—

you.

megumi’s gaze lingered on your form, eyes skimming over the smallest of details— every little scar, every little movement of your hand that caused a vein to twitch, every little, though barely visible, freckle or mole.

and for a moment, he wanted nothing but to just step over and bury his nose into his your hair and breathe in your scent, pull you into his arms and never, ever let go—

“you’re staring.”

and oh how he turned red— his breath catching in his throat whilst he blinked, looking at you with almost a comically bewildered expression— cheeks flushing such a pretty shade of red that you secretly vowed to yourself to do anything in your wits to make him blush like that again, and again.

“i— . . . uh,” megumi stuttered, mentally cursing himself for even falling for your unintentional charms— how he loathed, yet relished in that cheshire grin of yours, “ ’m not.”

“yeahh, sure you aren’t, ’gumi,” you cooed, a small snicker escaping your lips, and ah how the boy’s ears turned a deeper shade of red as he found himself growing more and more flustered by the passing seconds.

“don’t call me that.”

he tried to ignore the way your eyes lit up even more at his half-mumbled reply— grin widening even more in a way that almost made you look so dumb with how much you were smiling— but then again, that was one of the reasons why megumi was so hopelessly in love with you.

“oh? you don’t like it, hm?” snickering, you dipped a finger of yours into the rich brownie batter— holding it out to him in a silent invitation to taste it, all the while you held that damn smile on your face.

how he wanted to roll his eyes— like he usually did whenever someone else tried to pull a similar stunt— oh how he wanted to respond with a blunt retort that was somehow always oh the tip of his tongue, how he wanted to be annoyed by your teasing.

so, of course, he quietly stepped forward— gently bringing your finger up to his lips to taste the batter— of course he wanted to feel your touch on his lips for a little while longer.

it was always different with you.

“i have a name,” megumi grumbled, eyes looking anywhere but your face— fingers reluctantly letting go of your own, his free hand coming up to scratch the back of his neck. “the batter’s alright, by the way.”

“of course you have a name,” you huffed out a small laugh, transferring the brown liquid into a container, “though, i do distinctly remember you acting all grumpy when i called you megumi instead of ’gumi the last time we had a sleepov—”

“shut up,” he said in a slightly harsh tone, but you knew better than to take it seriously— partly because you were just too much of a light-hearted person to do so and partly because you knew that megumi needed time to process his feelings.

“mhm, okay,” you tittered, shaking your head as that smile never left your face— letting out a small gasp as you felt strong yet hesitant arms wrap around your waist from behind, and oh how your heart skipped a beat whilst you turned back to glance at him over your shoulder.

megumi nuzzled into the crook of your neck; dark locks spiking up in the same way which you adored so much whilst obscuring the view of his eyes in such a pretty manner that made your heart swell— arms wrapped in a tender yet firm grip, as if he was afraid to break you if he held on too tight— yet too frightened by the possibility that you might disappear the moment he let go.

“you’re so . . . annoying,” he mumbled against your skin, still refusing to meet your gaze, earning a hum from you in response.

“d’you hate it, though?” a small smile tugged at the corner of your lips whilst you tapped the container against the countertop, making the batter even out.

“yes,” he replied, but you knew better— of course you did, you always did— a pause of his movements, hands around your waist tensing up for a second before he spoke up again— “ . . . no.”

you could only let out a small chuckle in response.

“as i thought.”

understanding you and himself would take some time, he knew that.

but for once, megumi wanted to understand— wanted to know you, wanted to have a taste of you— a taste of your love.

☆ @dontcarehowlongittakes on tumblr. do not copy or post any of my works without my permission.

[peachdues]

HALL OF GILDED BONES — NSFW TEASER

Yandere Seelie!Kyojuro x Reader • Victorian AU

A/N: a little teaser of the absolute psychological fuckery that will be my next monster-fucking fic. Not proof read in the slightest.

Be warned: this is a yandere fic. Very dark themes ahead.

CW: READ THE FUCKING WARNINGS • Dead dove, do not eat • yandere!Kyojuro •reader is asleep the entire time • non-consensual oral (F!receiving) • non-consensual somnophilia • masturbation • non-consensual fingering

this is all thanks to @kentohours

It is hot, even for late summer. The air is thick and humid, and it seems no one can escape the constant sheen of sweat that clings to everything and everyone like a second skin.

The night offers little relief. And so, even those who make up London’s high society risk leaving their windows unlatched, desperate for air to circulate through their stuffy homes.

Kyojuro smirks to himself as he silently floats down to Y/N’s small balcony from the spired roof of her family’s magnificent townhouse. Never before has he been so grateful for such an unprecedented heat wave to strike the city, for he is able to stride into his beloved dove’s bedroom with ease, for once not having to use his magick to push her window open and allow him entry.

The moon hangs fat and silvery in the sky, and its watery light illuminates his way as he crosses over the threshold into Y/N’s bedroom. Kyojuro summons a silent wind to push the doors of her window shut, a silent click of the latch confirming that his nightly visit with her will not be disturbed.

He’s as quiet as a mouse as he steps down from the small ledge of the windowsill. His ochre eyes glow in the dark as they scan the room for her, narrowing when they find her sprawled out across her mattress, atop her blankets.

The poor thing; even she, too, seems to be struggling with the abnormal heatwave that’s befallen the city.

He already finds himself growing hard with each step as he draws closer to her sleeping form. His mind is wild with options for the night — shall he take his cock out of his trousers and hold it to her lips like last time, or shall he tease both her and himself by ghosting his fingers over the sumptuous planes of her body, never allowing himself to fully touch her, yet still giving himself a sinful taste of her skin?

His nostrils flare, eager to scent out her intoxicating perfume, but then his eyes widen, and he swears he feels his pupils blow wide.

The heat has made her scent all the more potent, and Kyojuro feels drunk as he approaches the edge of her lavish bed.

A simmering fire courses through his blood at the sight of her legs, parted and open, and the papery linen sheath she’d worn as a nightgown that has ridden up her hips. A thin sheen of sweat coats her skin, making it shine in the moonlight, and her cheeks are flushed from the heat.

Devilish girl, he thinks as he perches one knee carefully at the foot of her bed. How can she expect him to be restrained when she has quite literally spread herself out for him, in offering?

The mattress dips slightly below his weight but his love does not stir, too lost in the deep throes of sleep to sense his presence in her chamber — in her bed. Carefully, so carefully, he climbs onto her bed, mindful to keep his weight off her, though everything within him screams at him to lay out atop her and take her once and for all.

But he won’t; not yet, not when the sight of her maiden’s blood on her fine sheets might give rise to alarm among her servants. He will not risk her being sent away before he has properly seeded her, and so, Kyojuro will be patient, even if it kills him.

Besides, he thinks as he settles at her feet, his nose skimming along the length of her calf. He wants to know her body thoroughly before he gives her his cock — he wants to know every sensitive spot, to know how to make her gasp and twitch and beg for him to gift her release.

His hand ghosts up the inside of her right leg, pushing it gently. It falls to the side, bent at her knee, and she is now spread for him, ready for him to feast.

His mouth waters at the sight of the thatch of curls sitting at the apex of her thighs. With a shaky exhale he surges forward and presses his nose right against his center. The scent of her sweet musk sends his eyes rolling back in his head, and he feels a slight dribble of saliva escape his lips before he can stop it.

His hands curl under her thighs, holding them wide open as Kyojuro exhales softly against her, allowing the moisture of his breath to dampen her skin. He runs his nose along her center one more time, and then, with the tip of his tongue peeking out from between his lips, he traces up her slit in a single, tender stroke.

One hand leaves her thigh to fist at her sheets. His skin stretches taut over his knuckles as he fights to keep his moan locked tight in his chest, lest he risk waking the entire household. Beneath him, Y/N twitches, something like a whimper vibrating in her throat.

His eyes flick up to her face, wide in disbelief. Even in sleep, her eyebrows are furrowed, and her pretty lips are turned into a pout as her body spasms again.

Quickly, he brings his mouth back against her and repeats the movement, licking up her seam with more pressure before he lets his tongue circle the small pearl he knows lies right at the very top of her beautiful sex.

This time, Y/N’s hips jolt, almost as though in demand. Below the diaphanous fabric of her nightdress, her breasts pebble, and a soft moan slips out of her mouth as she bucks again.

He can hardly contain his excitement. Very well, my dove, he thinks with a soft chuckle. I shall give you what you desire.

His golden eyes lower to her center and his nostrils flare wide. There, mixed in with his own saliva, is a wetness of her own.

The scent is unmistakable; her pleasure.

A low growl hums in his throat as he surges forward and latches his mouth against her. He pushes her thighs over his shoulders, one by one, and when his hands are free they join his mouth, parting the lips of her cunt, spreading her wide for him to feast.

And feast he does; every lap of his tongue, every movement of his jaw and his lips fills his mouth with more of her honey. His tongue sinks into her entrance and Kyojuro nearly comes apart right then; her muscles instantly close around him, sucking him into her heat and the thought of her walls clenching and tightening around his cock sends him into a frenzy. His hips grind hard against her mattress in time with the fierce movements of his tongue. Above his mouth, his thumb swirls around Y/N’s sensitive little bead, gathering and spreading more of her wetness with each fevered rotation.

Y/N’a breathing gradually becomes labored as he works, until she is panting and writhing against her bed. Distantly, his ears pick up on the increased tempo of her heart as it flutters like a bird against her sternum.

Rationally, Kyojuro knows he should tread carefully — that if he continues this impassioned frenzy of his mouth against her cunt, he risks forcing her awake and will reveal himself far earlier than he intends.

His greedy hands begin roaming her body, groping and smoothing over her soft curves. As one palm flattens against her stomach, he can feel her muscles clench and flex as the movements of his mouth and tongue intensify. Soon, she is vibrating beneath his hands, and as taut as a bowstring.

Blissfully, she remains asleep despite how her body draws closer to its release. He’s thankful; he’d always known that one could dream vividly of pleasure and feel its effects in reality, but he’d always assumed there was a limit; a point at which the brain would force the body awake, to realize that the intense pleasure it was experiencing was not, in fact, real but a trick of the mind.

But this lovely little human was living proof that his theory had been wrong; for she remained steadfastly asleep, her eyes moving quickly behind her lids as she dreams even as her body bucks and twists under his ministrations.

Besides, he thinks as he presses the tip of his nose flush against her sensitive nub, his mouth continues to work steadily at her. Her pleasure was not mere fantasy — it was real, and it was because of him.

The slick walls of her heat begin to flutter and pulse wildly around his tongue, and Kyojuro knows she is only seconds from release. He drags one hand to her lower abdomen, his palm resting flat and pressing down as he rocks his face harder against her, the other resting on her hip to keep her locked against him. Between his own legs, his cock has grown painfully hard, and the Seelie prince cannot stop himself from grinding into her mattress, desperate for friction and relief.

The thumb of the hand on her abdomen stretches and presses sharply down on the little pearl at the top of her sex. With one, muted grunt, Kyojuro plunges his tongue as deep as it will go into Y/N’s cunt and curls it, and it’s over.

His darling little dove arcs sharply away from her mattress, a faint cry falling from her lips as Kyojuro feels her release slam into her. The walls of her cunt seize around his tongue and pulse, and he greedily laps up every drop of her sweet wetness that gushes into his mouth.

Her climax is his heaven; his eyes roll back into his skull as he loses himself in the heady scent of her, mouth noshing away between her legs in an effort to make it last as long as he can afford. He fights the urge to sink his teeth into the meat of her thigh, desperate to mark her, but unwilling to drag his mouth away from paradise that is her sex.

Finally, the last wave of her climax rolls through her, and Y/N collapses back against her bed, limp. Kyojuro tears his mouth away from her center with a ragged pant, his eyes round and full of awe as he gazes upon her sleeping face.

Magnificent; she is utterly magnificent. The sweetest little creature in all the realms, and utterly and completely his.

Shakily, he rises to his knees, a storm of devotion and adoration churning violently within him. His eyes drop to the seat of his trousers where his own desire for her stands painfully proud. He grimaces; now is not the time for him to take her, but neither can he go back to fucking his own hand as he stands beside her; not after experiencing the euphoria of her sweet sex.

His gaze lowers to the sacred place between her thighs, and his cock throbs. Before he can think the better of it, his hands are fumbling with the fastening of his trousers and he pulls himself free, his length springing against the taut muscles of his stomach. A bead of wetness has already gathered at his tip, and he hissed as his thumb swipes over it, sensitive and desperate.

He gives himself a gentle pump and shifts, positioning his knees on the outside of either of her thighs, still spread against her bed. With a shaky breath, he lowers his cock to her center, and nearly swears at the heat that pulses off of her, practically singing for him to cast aside all reason and plunge himself into her.

A curse burns in his throat as his teeth sink into his lower lip, a metallic tang coating his tongue. No, Kyojuro will hold back — he must.

Below him, his beloved’s breathing has evened, signaling that she has slipped back into her oblivion once more, and her lack of awareness only makes him harder, makes his balls feel heavier and fuller.

Slowly, he traces the aching, swollen head of his cock up and down her cunt, her wetness gathering at his tip. With a shudder, he begins working his cock, his hand spreading her slick along his length until he, too, is covered in her release.

Kyojuro presses the tip of his great length flush against her nub and grinds. Instantly, Y/N’s legs twitch once more, and another surge of her wetness gushes forth and coats him as he continues fisting at his cock. The added lubricant results in a dull schlicking sound that joins his quiet pants he pumps away at himself, his eyes steadily trained on his sleeping dove’s face.

The devil in his mind whispers how it would be easy, so very easy to slip inside her. The thought of her warm, tight, dripping heat clenching around him makes the muscles of his abdomen flex, the knot deep within his stomach seizing painfully tight.

His eyes drop down to his cock, aching and shiny with Y/N’s wetness. Just a little, that tricky voice urges, just enough to sate his own curiosity, to know how her body would feel parting around him —

But the question of whether he’d have the self-restraint not to sheathe himself inside her enticing heat, goes unanswered for now. For it takes only two, hard pumps of his hand to make the coil in his gut unwind.

His free hand flies to his mouth just in time for Kyojuro to quiet his own, deep groan. His teeth sink hard into the flesh of his knuckles as his release barrels through him. Hastily, he presses the tip of his cock flush against his sleeping lover’s entrance just as thick, hot ropes of his seed spurt forth, coating both his hand and her cunt in white.

The vision of her face fades to black for a moment, replaced by stars as bright as those which had dotted the sky the very night the universe had gifted her to him. In the back of his hazy mind, Kyojuro remembers to clench his jaw shut, to keep his lascivious moans and curses locked within him as he pumps himself through his climax.

Every muscle in his body is tight, his limbs rigid as he continues to spill over his fist and against Y/N’s slick heat. When the last, dizzying echo of his release finishes reverberating through him, Kyojuro nearly crumples against his love’s plush mattress. He manages to catch himself at the last second, a hand shooting to grip at her blankets as he pitches himself to the side, narrowly avoiding disturbing her body with his own.

He curls into the bed, smothering his shuddering breaths against her sheets. A long moment passes as Kyojuro regains control over himself, and then he pushes himself to his knees, cheeks flushed and chest heaving, to survey his work. Something prideful and smug roars in his chest as he beheld the mess of white left between Y/N’s supple thighs.

As he admires the sight of his mess dribbling down Y/N’s sex, an idea, a wickedly mischievous idea, took form. Though he would remain committed to restraining himself from claiming her until the time was right, that did not mean he had to let his seed go to waste.

His heart thrums wildly as he brings his fingers against his little dove’s beautiful cunt, gathering his own spend around his digits. Her cunt parts easily around him as he pushes it into her, swirling his fingers inside her to ensure his seed thoroughly coats her walls. He repeats his movements again and again until he is satisfied that all of him is inside of her, with nothing remaining on her thighs or the bed below her.

Though asleep, Y/N’s thighs flex around him as he withdraws his hand from her cunt, her body subconsciously wanting to cling onto him, keep him there, between her legs where he belonged.

He huffs a quiet laugh. Precious, he thinks as he runs an affectionate hand over her stomach. Such a precious little thing, his dove is.

“Do not fret, my love,” he murmurs as he lowers himself to impart one, final kiss against her dampened flesh. The combined scent of her pleasure mixed with his nearly catapults him back into a frenzy, but Kyojuro forces himself away.

He stands and tucks himself back into his trousers. Just outside her great window, the sky has begun to lighten, and soon, dawn will spill over the spires roofs of London, and a new day will commence.

And he will return to her, his darling human, wearing the mask of a courtly suitor once more.

He leaps to her windowsill and unlatches the great glass doors, letting them swing wide. He pauses, turning back to cast one last look at Y/N, still fast asleep in her bed and no wiser to his presence than she’d been when he’d first arrived.

He smiles, content. “I shall see you soon.”

banner from @ benkeibear!

[katoobee]

I HAVE. MY OWN DREAMTALE HEADCANON THAT HAS GOTTEN A BIT. LARGE.

so i wanna put it into a big post!

i like the ideas for Nightmare that Passive and Corrupted are separate beings, as its implied (or iirc, outwardly stated) in the story that Nightmare isnt a worse version of himself, its literally just a really evil entity possesing him.

so with toying with the set ideas for Nightmare (different person, negativity, shapeshifting) i came up with this!!

-

the general idea for this version of Nightmare is that his Evil Schemes and Dastardly Deeds have been resoundingly successful, much to the dismay of literally everyone

his power becomes abundant due to the amount of negativity in the Multiverse, and he changes his form more and more. (my HC height of Nightmare is related to this!)

his minions (ie Killer Dust Horror) slowly get more and more beat down by Nightmare and look more exhausted, due to more prevalent abuse in the gang

Nightmare loses the need to manipulate other AUs by appearing as Sans. his body starts to look,,, saggy. with the more power he gains, his features more long and "incorrect" (like he's not respecting anatomy). the teeth in his mouth are the only thing that moves when he speaks.

his minions notice this around (i guess i can call it stages?) stage 3, and theyve started feeling like theyre not respecting Nightmare's orders anymore, and that they're respecting someone elses orders.

all this leads to this image which also introduces

NIGHT TERROR

Night Terror i imagine, is quite literally the Human that killed Nim and was imbued into the Tree of Feelings, once again given form. the driving force that started everything

he no longer hides in the costume of Nightmare nor sans, as he shows himself for what he truly is. (quite literally tore off his skin and stepped out of it like a costume, i might draw this later)

he knows fully what his presence entails, and he plans to uphold himself to that no matter what. he will stop at nothing to cause as much death, destruction, and suffering as possible.

he's freakishly powerful, a step above how Nightmare already was.

Dream is the only thing that can stop him completely, with the help of weakening him by other sanses and other powerful bodies.

calls Dream and Nightmare "Nim-Child/Children"

his body is still goopy, but its smoother and not runny. akin to surface tension in water.

his eyes glow when he speaks.

he can summon knives, mimics of the actual knife that killed Nim. he can also summon a LOT more tentacles. these are all lot stronger than his relatively "weaker" form

he can single out one person in an AT-Lich like manner (uses this to talk to Dream directly, and also generally uses few-line commands)

his hands can become coated in pure toxicity, acting like agonizing acid that isnt just exclusive to Dream. his fingers can also become sharp like razors when coated in the toxicity.

where everyone else speaks in the sound-font, noise for each letter, he has his own voice. like fully, audible voice

he still is going for Dream's golden apple, but is more forceful about it due to his mask basically being dropped

(visuals made here with lyrics from a song by Chonny Jash, yes i know its a LOZ song IT JUST FITS THE VIBE)

i imagine "killing" Night Terror restores the real Nightmare to what he was once was. "killing" Night Terror doesn't actually kill him, but makes him go into dormancy, keeping himself inside of Nightmare's soul, like a worm burrowed into an apple.

the only feasible way to save Nightmare is for Dream to severely hurt himself, since negativity is like acid to him,,,

arms go byebye!

i also believe that reverting Nightmare back to normal would mean he'd still be his young age, like when Dream was encased in stone

ok thats all i have to say about this if anyones curious feel free to ask about it :]

[slytherinshua]

MISSION: CHEER UP MY BOYFRIEND

genre. fluff. kinda angsty cause seunghan is sad :( warnings. kinda implied that this is abt the seunghan situation so its angsty :( but a lot of kissing <3 pairing. seunghan x fem!reader. wc. 602. request. no. a/n. im so sick and tired of this i love seunghan sm i miss him sm i cannot stand this skdjksdjks literally seeing cb stuff is breaking me im not gonna be watching any of it but ill probably be writing a lot of seunghan fics so feel free to req other briizes who miss him like me </3

“That’s it. We’re not doing this anymore.” You announced suddenly, your voice laced with a determination that Seunghan knew meant that you absolutely could not be persuaded away from whatever your mind had come up with.

He hummed a little quietly, waiting for you to continue your thought. To be honest, today was not the best day for him to match your energetic energy. He loved having fun and spending time with you, but maybe it was one particular twitter comment that stuck with him, or the meeting he had been in yesterday that kept dwelling on his mind, his mood had been down since the day started.

You didn’t continue your thought however, and instead snatched Seunghan’s phone right out of his hands. He looked up at you with confused eyes and fallen eyebrows.

“Give it back.” Seunghan pleaded. He didn’t have energy to try and wrestle you for it. Even forming words was challenging at the moment. He felt like he could break down in tears at any second, but he wouldn’t. He didn’t want to show you how much it was all affecting him. 

“Give it back so you can continue doom-scrolling under your hashtag? Not gonna happen, Hani.” You shook your head firmly. Taking your own phone from your back pocket, you placed both phones in the drawer of the bedside table and shut it. Seunghan watched silently, sinking further into the sheets with a frown on his face.

You brushed off your hands after completing your phone-snatching task, seemingly very pleased with yourself. Seunghan didn’t want to admit it, but seeing you with so much energy despite everything that was going wrong made him feel a little better. A tiny warm feeling in his chest started to bloom, but it wasn’t quite enough to lift his mood completely.

“Now— mission: cheer up my boyfriend, is a go!” You declared, and climbed onto the bed again. Seunghan’s lip twitched, fighting to grow into a smile, but he didn’t let it. He laid still, hands crossed over his chest until you grabbed one of his hands and pulled him closer. He didn’t fight back; he had already decided in his mind that that would just make the situation more miserable, even if he had no energy to match your cheerfulness. 

You pulled him until his head was in your lap, smiling happily that he didn’t protest. He turned so he faced up, looking at you with those dark eyes, waiting for what your next move would be. You simply let your lips curve into a smile before diving down to press a kiss to his nose.

He scrunched it up, his eyes closed from the suddenness of your movement, “What was that for?” He breathed out. He waited for the answer which you never gave, already pressing your lips to his skin again. His forehead, temple, cheek, chin, nose, lips— anywhere you could reach. It felt slightly ticklish to Seunghan, simultaneously summoning butterflies in his stomach. He couldn’t stop the laugh that surfaced when your kisses moved closer to his ear.

You smiled against his skin, “There it is. I missed your laugh so much.” You whispered, pulling back with a fond smile on your face. Seunghan’s eyes widened a little, gazing up with an even fonder look than you. He pulled himself up, one hand on your cheek as he returned your kiss. 

You smiled gleefully, the success of your cheer-up mission being more than you could have expected. All it took was a few simple kisses to bring Seunghan’s smile back— at least for a little while.

↳ riize taglist: @eternalgyu,, @kangtaehyunzzz,, @weird-bookworm,, @haecien,, @seolboba,, @cyberpunksunwo,, @cosmicwintr,, @chiiyuuvv,, @evalevaeva,, @lecheugo,, @wccycc,, @seunghancore

[mediumgayitalian]

What are some of your Will headcanons?

Any angsty ones?

hair style:

will's hair has a Mind Of Its Own. it is impossible. brushing it? keep dreaming. styling it? dude just give up

he can, however, wrangle it into two french braid pigtails. those are fun.

in the august after the giant war, the aphrodite cabin take it upon themselves to 'style' nico, including giving him these little elastics with a skull charm (like this but with skulls), but he doesn't like tying his hair back very much (too tight) so he gives them to will as a joke.

will LOVES them.

he literally wears them almost every day. the next time they go out on a supply run, nico sees these little elastic charms and buys them for will. he can't summon the courage to give them to him face to face but he leaves them on his bed. will adores them, too, and it starts something of a tradition of people giving will charm elastics as a small thank-you.

he has a collection of them and wears them whenever he wears his hair in braids.

his favourites are the skull charms, though.

artistic ability:

will really doesn't have many musical talents. he's hard of hearing and while hephaestus-made hearing aids definitely work better than mortal ones, it's not really something that can be cured, so he has a lot of trouble staying on key/making music himself.

however! apollo is the god of poetry and art in general -- that is more than just visual!!

will is a really good writer, poetry especially. he's very articulate and verbose and writes with startling clarity. he's written a lot of songs and a lot of poems, although he hasn't shown anybody in years.

he used to share them with his older brothers and sisters and sibling, but...well. obviously that's no longer an option.

he's never stopped writing, though. he may keep it to himself, but it's kind of an open secret. he's scribbling in his notebooks all the time -- it's impossible not to notice.

his friends and siblings, however, are the only ones who know that he writes creatively. they've peeked over his shoulder here and there (and also kayla is a huge huge snoop, like, badly, and austin is easily convinced to be complacent in her crimes), and sometimes he says things that are just kind of poetic.

no one else knows, though. he's deliberately obnoxious about it -- every once in a while, at campfire open mics, he'll clear his throat loudly and grin as people groan and recite something so bad apollo might have written it. most people think will's quite bad at writing, actually.

another thing he's really good at is drama, which is a surprise to absolutely no one. although beyond his regular histrionics, chiron had shakespeare as part of his curriculum, and will could play puck like nobody's business. he recited a mercutio so good once lee actually cried with laughter (so did everyone else). on a hauntingly beautiful february in 2004, he played ophelia by the creek so beautifully that it was silent for a good four minutes after he finished.

there are very, very few people at camp who remember that. will hasn't recited anything in a while.

an unexpected bonus of his medical knowledge, actually, is a really good understanding of depth, space, and anatomy.

he's a surprisingly good artist.

it started pretty normal -- he was having trouble articulating a question to michael one time, and in a fit of frustration drew a diagram to try and explain himself. it was really good, even as rushed as it was, so michael used to give him 'homework' that was hand-drawing posters of various body systems to hang in the infirmary.

it was kind of spooky how will could do it without looking it up. just close his eyes and start sketching an accurate nervous system. cool though.

his older sister, cass, encouraged him to branch out of anatomy diagrams and create whatever he liked. she made the unfortunate mistake of giving him several cans of paint and free reigns on blank infirmary walls (they're freaky and boring) to a nerdy eight-year-old -- that's why r2d2 and c3po are chilling on the wall by the mortal medicine cabinet.

he doesn't paint a lot now, 'cause he doesn't have the damn time, but when rachel finds out who painted the infirmary walls she hounds him until he takes a morning to paint with her. they have a lot of fun. they end up with more paint on each other and their clothes than their canvases, predictably.

siblings:

when will was a kid, he had twelve older siblings.

apollo tends to have kids in brackets. he is, as everyone knows, a hoe, so he'll be busy on olympus or with artemis and go a while without having any kids, and then he'll be on earth for like three years and have a litter. so a lot of his kids end up the same age.

before the war, in the same cabin, there was: cass, the oldest, 18, somewhat year-long; diana, 18, year-long; lee, 16, somewhat year-long; michael, 16, somewhat year-long; gabriel, 15, summer-only; leanna, 15, summer-only; mercury, 15, summer-only; kate & phoebe, 14, summer-only; laurel, 13, summer-only; amir, 13, summer-only; melody, 12, summer-only; and will, 8, year-long (for now).

their abilites were pretty vast and well-rounded, and they came from all over the continent.

there was a time when the infirmary wasn't understaffed at all.

will doesn't like to think about it.

style:

on their birthdays, apollo leaves them all a gift on their bunks (or their beds at home, if their birthdays aren't in the summer).

each of them gets a piece of blessed gold jewelry when they're ten. will got a pair of threader earrings with thin blue sapphires that he loves. he can't wear them often because they're a genuine hazard in the infirmary (yes, more than flip-flops) and he doesn't want them ruined. but he wears them on the rare days he has off.

he actually has quite a lot of jewelry! because he is a sappy nerd, he has two watches: a hephaestus-made one, totally waterproof, weatherproof, and monsterproof, because it helps quell the anxiety when so many people are counting on him (he has to know when people will be better and how long he can be away from his patients, also used to tell people to fuck off when he's on break lol); and his mother's much nicer watch that she gave to him when she dropped him off at camp for the first time -- it's not changed for the time zone. he knows what time it is for her, and it makes him feel better about being so far away from her.

he wears both watches on the same wrist, ala chad danforth.

he has a third watch. it was lee's. it's got r2d2 on the face. will got it for him with his own money when he was nine years old, for his birthday. it lives in a box under his bunk. it's cracked and broken and never tells the right time except on 1:52 p.m. on june 30th, although the year gets farther and farther off every time will checks it.

contrary to popular belief, will does not actually wear the same pair of cargo shorts every day.

...because he has seven pairs of the same shorts.

he does have other shorts through. namely swim trunks and a pair of tighter shorts he wears specifically to kick ass in volleyball. he didn't try for this or anything, he got the shorts at the thrift store, but he's pretty sure they might be designer. he gets a lot of compliments from the aphrodite cabin when he wears them.

he also has a collection of nerdy t-shirts (his anakin sand-rant t-shirt is worn to threads), novelty pajama pants, hoodies, and flannel.

he has more than one tattoo. he has several, actually; constellations, lines from freckle to freckle so faint you can barely see them: the seer, the drummer, the archer, the tiny lion, the archangel, the maiden, the lyre, the twins, the boat stern, the hearth, and the singer.

just plain will:

he's slightly red-green colourblind.

when he gets mad, his cheeks puff up and he gets all red in the face before erupting. his older siblings used to call him tinkerbell.

he gets teased for being so dramatic that he was named for the most dramatic apollo kid who ever lived -- shakespeare. but his actual, legal name is just plain will solace. when pregnant, his mom used to mutter 'it's you, me, and sheer fucking force of will, baby' to herself a lot, as a kind of mantra, and then will was born and she thought it would be kind of funny to name him will (she was right). lee invented william andrew solace so he'd have something to yell when will got in trouble lol.

he has the climbing wall record. this is because he climbs a lot of trees. he has no explanation and no one is going to stop him.

when he was a kid, and the whole mythology thing was explained to him, he misnderstood michael's explanation of food sacrifice as one to be done to all theoi/mythical beings. he worked his way to praying through the entire pantheon, a horde of minor gods, hestia, chiron, argus, and half the nymphs before someone caught wind and explained to him properly. it is the main reason all the nymphs and dryads are so endeared by him. he used to go around asking their names and very seriously writing it down in his little notebook to pray to them properly.

he carries around notebooks constantly. at first, diana gave them to him because he was driving everyone bonkers with his endless questions and she needed Five Minutes, Will, Gods, Please of silence, but he really took to it and wrote everything in there. he keeps them all as a sort of diary. kayla reads them any time he has his back turned.

it is really, really hard for him to talk about his siblings. but he knows kayla and austin feel kind of left out and hurt about it, since they didn't get the chance to know them like will did (the kids never met them), so sometimes, late at night, he calls them softly over to his bunk and they curl up, one under each arm, and he tells them stories until his voice goes hoarse and they're long asleep.

[thedemonofcat]

Jaskier never makes promises. He literally never says the word “promise”, and he swears no oaths.

It’s a subtle quirk. It takes Geralt years to notice. When he points it out, Jaskier says with false levity, “I guess I don’t.”

From the bard’s body language, Geralt can see he doesn’t want to talk about it, so the topic is dropped.

Years later—after Geralt screams his fury at Jaskier—the bard says in a broken voice, “Don’t worry, Geralt. I promise not to bother you anymore.”

The promise sears itself onto Geralt’s soul like a brand. One made of chaos, and he can feel it become binding.

Geralt whips around, but Jaskier was gone.

There are a few moments of confusion before Geralt realizes what just happened. Jaskier had promised, and that promise was sealed with chaos. Only the Fae had such an ability.

Twilight had begun to settle over the sky, casting the world in soft hues of purple and blue. Just beyond the edge of the trees, Geralt stood watching a ring of mushrooms, a small bowl of berries already set nearby.

"Spirits of earth and air, fae folk so fair, I call upon you with kindness and care. From meadow and wood, from twilight’s dim light, I invite you—come forth if it feels right," Geralt spoke softly, his words carried only by the wind.

But soon, the wind responded. Before he could prepare himself, a Fae materialized before him, radiating an ethereal glow.

"Hello there, white-haired one," the Fae greeted, a smile playing on its lips—eerily reminiscent of Jaskier's.

"Good evening," Geralt replied with calm politeness.

"May I know your name before we begin our little chat?" the Fae asked, amusement lacing every word.

"You may know it, but it’s not yours to keep," Geralt said, waiting for the Fae’s acknowledgment. "It’s Geralt."

"And why have you called upon me, Geralt?" the Fae asked, its tone playful yet curious.

"I made a promise to one of your kind," Geralt explained, the name weighed heavy in his mouth. "Jaskier."

The Fae let out a light, tinkling laugh. "Ah, yes, we remember. So tragic, but a deal is a deal."

"It wasn’t a true promise. I wish to see it undone," Geralt said, his voice firm.

"And what, may I ask, will you offer in return for such a promise to be broken?" the Fae inquired. The bowl of berries was nearly empty now—time was slipping away.

"My trade is with Jaskier, not with you," Geralt responded, resolute. "All I ask is that you tell him I wish to speak."

The last berry vanished, and Geralt knew the Fae would soon be gone.

"I could tell you how to summon Jaskier," the Fae offered, its form flickering as it prepared to disappear.

[esamastation]

Part forty-nine of Shizuroth, aka, the SOLDIER General's Self Saving Shizun.

Ao3 link.

Previous parts: thirty-three, thirty-four, thirty-five, thirty-six, thirty-seven, thirty-eight, thirty-nine, forty, forty-one, forty-two, forty-three, forty-four, forty-five, forty-six, forty-seven forty-eight

-

There are certain things you can expect to happen when warriors from opposing factions meet. Some of those things don't make it into the reports.

Truth rarely accepted by higher-ups at Shinra is that no one wants to die. It would be obvious to anyone with sense, but it isn't. Because even when they acknowledge that, sure, no one wants to die, they rarely draw the next conclusion. Which is that no one willingly charges into a hopeless battle, knowing they wouldn't make it out alive.

And that includes Wutai troops.

SOLDIERs have been around for years, and they've reshaped the nature of the war being fought in Wutai. That's not only on the side of Shinra either - the Wutai warriors have adapted too. They've learned. And they never, if they were to help it, to try to take SOLDIER head on anymore.

And there are SOLDIERs, not all of them but some, who take full advantage of it whenever they can. Angeal most certainly does. Because there's another truth, rarely acknowledged.

Most people don't want to kill other people.

On a report it looks something like this:

"Shortly after the engagement began, the Wutai troops deployed a diversion in order to make their escape. Unfortunately, this made following them impossible."

In reality it looks like this:

Angeal walks down the path, making himself loud and obvious. The Wutai troops spot him. There's about a dozen of them, armoured men and women armed with gunspears. They aren't expecting him, but they can recognise his uniform. It makes them wary. 

They take a few warning shots at him, which Angeal quickly deflects with the Buster Sword. Then he's left with a dilemma quite literally in his hands.

He doesn't usually draw his sword on people. It was easy not to, before, he wasn't really able to use it. Now he can use it, but, uh… if he takes the Buster Sword on a person…

The two sides size each other up. There's a moment of posturing.

"What are you doing here, Shinra?" demands the warrior in lead, wearing captain's colours.

"I'm sorry, but I can't answer that," Angeal says, feeling a little awkward with the sword now. "Shinra business. I'm going to have to ask you to go back the same way you came from."

"You want us to leave, from our home? You have some nerve! Who are you, SOLDIER, what is your name?"

"I am Angeal Hewley - and you are?"

His name might not be as known as that of Sephiroth, but it's known enough. SOLDIER Firsts carry a similar level of recognition as Wutai generals, and his name is usually enough.

He isn't usually holding a huge sword, though, and the Wutai troops look somewhat alarmed now.

Angeal clears his throat and rests the Buster Sword on his shoulder, trying for casual rather than… excessively forceful. "Your name, sir?"

The Wutai squad looks to their captain, who makes a decision. "I am captain Deng Yuto. It is my honour to face commander Hewley in battle." He bows and then grabs his spear and shouts to his squad, "Get ready!"

For a moment it looks like they might actually rush at him - then one of them throws something. It cracks on the dirt road between them, and there's an explosion of smoke, footsteps, confusion. 

And then the Wutai Captain murmurs a quiet mantra and brings out a Summon, lighting the acrid smoke in a vivid red glow.

"Here we go," Angeal murmurs, looking up. Before him looms a fiery demon, with flames dancing on its back, behind its impressive horns. Smiling slightly, he tightens his grip on the Buster Sword. "Ifrit, huh? Great - I have been wanting to try these new tricks I've been learning!"

It's not the first time he's been left facing a Summon rather than people, and quite honestly, he prefers it. There's not much honour in fighting people who can't truly meet him at his level. A man's honour can only take so much, fighting against weaker opponents.

But a Summon is something very different.

Angeal waits standing still until the Ifrit attacks, and then ducks out of the way - and then back closer, to get a few hits in, using the Buster Sword to its full advantage. And damn if it's not gratifying, to put his recent lessons to the test!

Ifrit isn't the strongest of Summons, but it's formidable enough and far above the usual monsters of Wutai. This one is a higher level one too - someone put a lot of effort into maturing it. It's one hell of a workout. Being able to swing his sword and feel it do real damage…

"Whoa, what the hell -"

"On guard! Stay alert!"

Angeal falters, realising that the Wutai troops hadn't run away - they'd moved back, but stayed to watch, and now they're watching out for someone else. Quickly Angeal jumps away from the Ifrit's blow and looks where they're looking - up in the trees?

It's… Sephiroth. Who is - what?

"Uh?" Angeal manages, confused - and then Ifrit is upon him, trying to blow him away with a fiery fist. Angeal drags his attention back to the fight and goes about finishing it as quickly as he can. He must've seen it wrong.

Whatever he saw isn't as important as the fact that Sephiroth is here at all. He was supposed to be doing his Alignment practice - why is he here? And… how would he react to all this?

Before he lost his memories, Sephiroth never humoured the Summons - and he too has a reputation. One far worse than Angeal's.

Angeal whittles the Ifrit's HP to zero as quick as he can, and the Summon breaks. Breathing hard, Angeal checks the Wutai troops - still there, frozen in place - and then he looks at Sephiroth.

Who lands, light as a feather, not far from him.

"... What are you doing here?" Angeal manages.

"I was told there was going to be trouble," Sephiroth says, a complicated look on his face, and apparently not thinking there was anything unusual about his own ability to, what, fly? He looks at the Wutai troops instead, eyes narrowed.

"I've got this handled," Angeal says slowly, worried it might turn into a bloodbath after all. "You didn't need to come."

Sephiroth glances at him, and his expression goes cold and inscrutable. "You're worried," he says, sounding somewhere between confused and offended. "Why?"

Because Angeal wasn't planning to fight, really, and he wasn't planning to kill. There wasn't any reason for it. The Wutai squad were just checking out the unusual activity in a place they knew to be abandoned - they weren't geared for an assault. Certainly there might be a full assault later, after they'd confirmed who had taken residence in the abandoned house they might choose to attack them, but that is different. If the enemy planned and executed an attack, even knowing who they were, then of course there would be a fight, but…

Killing these people here and now, when there's no mission and no orders and no point other than to keep them from passing information on… information that would be passed on regardless…

These men aren't a threat to us, Angeal wants to say. But Sephiroth didn't get his moniker for being understanding or merciful. And Angeal isn't sure how he will react now.

Angeal opens his mouth, but before he can speak, the Wutai Captain steps forward. "My name is Deng Yuto," the captain says bravely and brandishes his gunspear at Sephiroth. "I challenge you, Demon of Wutai, for the lives of my men."

Angeal's heart aches for him. The man's spear point doesn't even quiver. Angeal looks at Sephiroth, who probably doesn't even understand the custom he's witnessing. "You don't have to do this. Please. Let me handle this."

Sephiroth looks at him and hums, thoughtful. For a moment, Angeal dares to hope…

And then Sephiroth draws his sword and turns away.

"I accept your challenge."

-

So, not my favourite chapter ever...

[betterfettered]

Bruh can I be honest and say your Yan! Leviathan kinda scares me because Levi already lives rent free in my head and I kinda don’t wanna know what would happen if he figured it out?

I’m literally not joking about leviathan straight up living inside my brain rent free, like he actively takes up a shit ton of my thoughts enough for me to get the Tetris effect when I sleep.

And idk why but something tells me that if he knew that I’m practically obsessed with him, I wouldn’t be touching grass or seeing anyone else ever again for my entire existence.

Hey anon!! I am sorry this took so long, it got really long (3k words!!) and kind of went in its own direction hahaha. I hope you like it!! It turns out that you were right, and no one will ever find you in his clutches LOLL Let me know what you think?

(AFAB!reader x AMAB!yandere)(Plus size reader💖🫡)(noncon)(stalking)(18+ readers only please, mdni)(sort of kind of an AU but not really?)[This is fetish content and rape and stalking are disgusting and inexcusable in real life.]

Your reaction was strange to Leviathan because he'd imagined it over and over again in his head no less than a thousand times but had not been able to divine what you actually reacted like. In his mind when he'd intentionally spilled his drink on himself you'd make a little surprised noise or say "oh no!" or laugh, but in reality you just frowned, your eyebrows lifting in shock.

The important part, however, you still did: you turned to your bag, rifling through it for some napkins, and offered them to him like it was nothing, like making his heart jackrabbit to the point of nearly shattering was nothing. He snatched them quickly so that you wouldn’t see how his hands shook in anticipation.

Okay, next say thank you, he said to himself and tried his hardest but was unable to pry his lips open or make eye contact with you or even breathe. When the elevator reached the floor that the both of you lived on, he sprinted from the elevator to get to his door, spilling plenty more cherry slushy on himself in the process. He could barely get his hands steady enough to get the key into his door, but the second he was inside and had slammed the door behind him he tossed his soiled jacket and the half empty slushy to the ground and hurried into his bedroom, dropping on his knees in front of his shrine of you.

Well, it wasn’t a shrine just yet. It was too small – he had only the things he could salvage from your trash, like an empty lipstick tube, a plastic fork from some takeout, a debit card statement listing all of your purchases six months ago. This was the first thing you had ever given to him, though, the first gift with your scent and blessing on it. He shut his eyes and held the napkins up to his nose, inhaling deeply and summoning the image of you to his mind.

Leviathan focused on your eyes, thinking about how your gaze meeting his meant that you were not looking at anyone else and, he imagined, not thinking about anyone else. It didn’t take long for the memory to become a fantasy: he imagined you looking at him still, but now with your bottom lip caught between your teeth out of sheer lust for him. Reaching into his nightstand for lube, he imagined your outfit, which was the standard button down and pencil skirt combination that was something of a uniform for office workers. It was unremarkable but for the way it hugged the soft protrusions of fat on your body. He liked to imagine that your larger size made you unpopular on the dating market, so he would (in his fantasies and occasionally dreams, when he was lucky) be the first to touch and squeeze and lick you – he’d be the only one that you granted such access to, because he and only he was that special to you.

He placed the stack of napkins on his bed and pushed his face down into them to free both hands to undo his belt and slather his cock with lube. Even just touching his shaft made him shiver and clench his jaw, but he didn’t start pumping just yet because his fantasy was still incomplete. First, he needed you to turn to him in his mind, walking towards him until you had sandwiched him up against the wall, every plump part of you pressing up against him like a full bodied hug. Then, when he nearly collapsed with desire both in reality and in his mind, you reached a hand down to his pants, running your hand back and forth over his cock and looking up at him and only him. Only then did he begin stroking, murmuring your name to himself and clutching his bed. It was only a minute or two before he reached his peak and came so hard into his other hand that he became incoherent, his own moans shoving your name out of his mouth to take its place.

Once he caught his breath and the immense pleasure receded, he was filled with a longing that made his eyes begin to tear, his mouth pressing together as he tried to hold himself together. He needed you. At this point, his fantasies were almost as torturous as they were alluring. Just imagining was not enough and never could be, because while he was here with you, you were off thinking about or talking to someone else. He needed the entirety of you and he needed to show you with his body just how much he worshipped you, the same way he did in his mind every night before sleeping.

His hands were slick with cum and lube, so he shut his eyes for a moment once more and rubbed two fingers into the other palm, imagining that it was your tummy covered in his cum instead, but could only tolerate the fantasy for a few seconds before climbing to his feet to go clean up both himself and the mess he’d made in the entryway. He spent the rest of the night hugging a pillow on his couch and watching the old Ruri-chan OVAs from his favorite season and trying to hold back the tears pressing against the backs of his eyes.

Leviathan did not see you again for another week – perhaps you had been working early or late. When you once again met in front of the elevator, he felt downright giddy and reflexively covered his face with the back of his hand, but the glee turned to pure shock when you turned to him and said “Oh, happy birthday, Levi!”

What he did not know was that the day before, a pair of gentlemen (one ginger, one with hair graying only at the tips) had mistakenly knocked on your door. The shorter one pointed and released a party popper right at your face, and the taller one held out a cake that had bites taken directly out of it. Surprise! They had said, and then the three of you were surprised indeed, because you were not who they were expecting and you had not been expecting anything but still could never have imagined this would happen. They asked for a Leviathan, you pointed them next door, and the one with the frosting on his face apologized around another bite he had taken right out of the cake. The other apologized, too, but distractedly, as he was preoccupied with sadness that he had wasted his only party popper on you instead of his brother.

No, Leviathan was not aware of any of that, because Beelzebub couldn’t control himself around the cake and Belphegor wanted a new party popper, so they gave up and planned to come back tomorrow, the actual day of, without saying a word to him. If Leviathan could have spoken in that moment, he would have asked you how you knew, but he could not, so instead he stared at the ground and tried to figure out how you knew. He didn’t generally think of himself as disposed to illogical thinking, so when it occurred to him that maybe, just maybe, you had been just as taken with him as he was with you, he figured it was the most obvious conclusion.

He imagined that you had gone home after giving him the napkin and touched yourself, too.

Maybe you also had a shrine for him in your home, and one of the things in it told you when he was born.

“Have I said something wrong…?” you asked, eyeing his stunned expression.

It was all he could do to shake his head, because you had actually said the best possible thing that you could have. Was he dreaming?

When the elevator arrived to the right floor, he allowed you to get off first and then trailed behind you, not even noticing the antlers starting to sprout out of his head and the scales started to spread across his skin. It was as though he was mesmerized by you and couldn’t do anything but follow.

You got to your door, opened it, and then cried out when you felt his full weight against your back, pinning you to the ground. His tailed whipped out and slammed the door shut behind the two of you, and he pressed his nose into your hair, inhaling and shivering a little, feeling his common sense melting away to be replaced with only intoxicating lust.

“What are you doing?!” You demanded, your voice wavering with fear. “Get off of me right now!”

He didn’t reply, only focusing on how the way you were struggling was rubbing your ass up against his cock and making him pant. Was it really possible that you were here beneath him, all his for the rest of your lives together? Distantly he wondered why you were struggling if you were obsessed with him, but brushed it away as not important.

“Please, just get off of me and leave,” you said, your voice becoming thick with the tears starting to pour down your face.

He got to his knees, putting one hand on your shoulder and one beneath your tummy, pulling both upwards to flip you onto your back. You only resisted for a few seconds before allowing him to turn you over onto your back, your shimmering wet eyes meeting his crazed ones and drawing another sob out of you. This did not seem to stop him, as he almost immediately rested back on top of you and pressed his lips to yours, jamming his long tongue into your mouth before you had a chance to clench your jaw. You gagged a little at the length of it, long enough to reach the back of your tongue, and tried to push him off of you, which he merely ignored until you stopped.

He only pulled away and sat up when he noticed your elbow working against your side, at which point he wanted to observe what you were doing with your hand. You were holding your cell phone and trying to type something into it, but as soon as you saw him notice it you pulled it closer to your face, typing as quickly as possible. He felt his heart sink: even though you were in love with him, you were thinking of someone else while he was kissing you. Despair settled over him until it gave way to a sort of panicked jealousy: would you ever unlearn this? Could he trust you to commit to only him? You were going to be his first (and already had been his first kiss)…was he really ready for this? This would be your first fight with each other as a couple.

While he was thinking, he snatched the phone from you and crushed it in his hand, tossing the broken bits aside and pouting.

“Who were you going to call?”

“N-no one.”

“O-okay, well then! Who were you g-gonna text?!” he asked, being able to hear how pathetic he sounded himself.

Try to sound like Lucifer! He told himself, and sat up a little straighter. You can do this, you can do this.

“Th-that…was cheating,” he said, and then tried making his voice a little deeper. “Don’t think of any one else. Ever again….uh, d-do I make m-myself c-clear?”

Complete fail, uggghhhh

It took a moment for you to calm yourself enough to speak.

“Please just let me go,” you repeated around sobs. “I won’t call the police or anything. I won’t even mention it to my friends. Just…please don’t....”

He climbed to his feet at that, though he didn’t leave you even a moment to think your pleas had worked on him before he wrapped you up in his tail, lifting you off of the ground and above his head. You cried out and struggled, kicking him with your feet a few times until he held you further away, but he paid no mind and instead locked and deadbolted the door behind the two of you, then walked deeper into your apartment, checking all of the doors in his path until he found your bedroom. He wanted to pause to look around and examine every last bit of you that the room contained, but he was so hard that it was starting to hurt, so he darted over to your bed and slammed you down onto your back, unwrapping his tail so he could sit down, push your legs up and put them on either side of his waist.

Unfortunately, you still had not learned your lesson about struggling, so he clamped his tail down on your neck to hold you still, tightening it when you started to move around too much, and grabbed both of your wrists to hold them beside your head where the end of his tail could wrap around them, too.

You were talking, or maybe just crying, but he couldn’t focus on that. His attention was completely absorbed by his cock pressing into the heat of your core and your writhing body.

He reached out with shaking hands and undid the buttons of your shirt, taking a while not because he was savoring it but rather because he was trying to undo them too impatiently with his uncoordinated fingers and not being that successful to the point that he ripped the last few buttons open in his haste. His hands pressed down into your plush stomach and then, after a moment of enjoying your inviting softness, he ran them upwards until he held your tits in both hands, squeezing them in a circular motion the way he had seen in a few hentai movies and then pushing his fingers into your bra to touch your bare skin and catch your nipples between his fingers, pinching them until you gave a short whimper that made his cock twitch. He slid his hands out and yanked the bra down to reveal them, then leaned down into your chest and shoved his face right in the center of it, squishing your tits against either side of his head while his hips started to buck against yours, greedily craving the friction between you. His face felt so hot at this point, and yet was no match for the warmth of lying there against your heart.

While he’d had plans to lick and suck your tits and maybe bite them a little to see if he could get you to make noise again, he didn’t think he could wait any longer to penetrate you, he sat up and shoved your skirt upwards around your waist until he could reach your panties, then pushed your legs together in front of him with his arms so he could pull them off of you (and stash them in his pocket). He felt so relieved that he’d only worn joggers today and didn’t need to bother with a belt or a zipper, so there was only a second between your panties being removed and the head of his cock pressed right into the folds of your pussy.

“Don’t! I’m begging, please don’t!” you wailed.

“But y-you’re wet,” he observed, rubbing his cock up and down your slit to spread your juices.

You didn’t reply fast enough; he lost patience and shoved into you with a desperate whine. It felt even better than he had imagined day after day all of this time, so he didn’t move at first to try and avoid cumming immediately. Instead, he reached for your hands, freeing them from his tail so he could weave his fingers into yours and press them into your sheets on either side of your head.

“L-look at me,” he panted, tightening his tail around your neck when you didn’t obey. “I s-said to look at me.”

It took a few seconds for you to run out of air and begin struggling to breathe, but you did eventually look at him, instantly making his heart pound. Suddenly, he felt unbearably shy, so he buried his face in your neck as he started to fuck you, slowly but insistently, his pelvis grinding up against yours like he couldn’t get deep enough inside of you, his moans muffled beside your face. Feeling your breasts jolt against him with each thrust he couldn’t help but start to fuck you a little harder, too, just to feel them bouncing beneath him.

He didn’t think to tell you when he was about to cum, since his mind was completely whiting out from the pleasure and his moans sounded frantic and irregular because he couldn’t quite control the sounds he was making, so you only knew that he was filling you when he stopped suddenly, releasing your hands to grab your hips hard enough to hurt and pull you as close into him as possible. His entire body shook against yours for a while. Once he relaxed, still panting but not digging his fingers into your flesh as hard any more, his entire frame draped over yours with exhaustion.

Ten minutes later, he finally sat up to address you, lovingly stroking your hair and cheek.

"That was so much better than in my head. I don't think I've ever been this happy in my life.

“Um, I don’t think you finished, right? S-sorry, I’m…anyway, I’ll read a little more about how to satisfy you on reddit! Then I’ll show you what I learned. We have a lot of time for me to practice until I get it right. I'll definitely make you feel as good as you make me feel.”

“Just let me go,” you murmured, out of tears.

“I never will,” he answered, his voice so resolute that it grew steady even if for only a moment as he promised that. “I’m in l-love with you, a-and you’re going to love me. And only me, no one else. If you think of anyone else, I’ll…I’ll hurt them. And you, too.”

Perhaps you weren’t out of tears after all, as the words made you start to cry again.

This time, he pulled you upwards and wrapped you in his arms while still inside you, grateful for the opportunity to feel as though he was taking care of you. His mind was already starting to wander to plans of where you both would live, how he could punish you to make sure you never spoke to any one else again, and what he would tell his brothers and closest gaming buddies about the best thing that had ever happened to him.

Dreams really did come true. The two of you only had happily ever after in store for you.

[malk1ns]

october 20 2024 @ jets, 6-3 loss

spooky season is upon us—let's get in the halloween mood.

Sid looks possessed out there.

Zhenya forgets sometimes that he’s supposed to be scared of Sid.

He had been at first. The horror stories of what the NHL does to its first overall draft picks had run rampant in the Superleague, especially in a small, backwoods little city steeped in old-world superstition like Magnitogorsk. The older guys, the veterans who had played with more international teammates, who’d met more North American superstars at Worlds and the Olympics, liked to tell exaggerated tales to the rookies to freak them out and keep them sharp whenever they went abroad.

Beneath the grisly stories the players would spin up, though, was a kernel of truth. The year after Zhenya got drafted, Metallurg brought in a coach from America, one who’d coached Mario Lemieux at World Juniors once. Everyone had clamored for details, of course, Lemieux was a living legend, but he’d shied away from giving any details, and the look in his eyes when he’d met Zhenya and put two and two together, who he was and where he’d been drafted… Well, it’s not something Zhenya could forget in a hurry.

When the time came, though, nothing—not his emails with Sasha going strange and alarming as his rookie year in Washington wore on, not Zhenya’s future team being owned by one first overall with another waiting in the wings to assume captaincy—was going to keep Zhenya from taking his chance and running off to America to prove himself. Nothing. That certainty carried him through the days of hiding in Finland, the weeks waiting in Los Angeles, all the way up to Mario Lemieux’s front door.

“You’re fine,” Seryozha had muttered under his breath when Zhenya froze as the door swung open. “Neither of them are that bad as long as they don’t get angry. And they’ll want to impress you. Relax.”

So Zhenya had taken a deep breath, pasted on a fake smile that hopefully wasn’t too wobbly, and stepped over the threshold, extending his hand to the demons that run the Pittsburgh Penguins.

Seryozha had been right. They did want to impress him, Sid especially, and settling into his new life in this foreign land was easier than Zhenya had feared those nights he stayed up tossing and turning in the uncomfortable Los Angeles hotel bed. Sid was intense, yes, and gifted on ice in a way that was almost off-putting, and sometimes he’d say something in a voice that a boy his age had no business sounding like, but…he was also funny, and quick to laugh along with jokes even when they were at his expense, and kind. He was kind and thoughtful and easy to befriend.

As the years went on, even the things that made him odd, made him different and marked, smoothed out, became more normal. Or maybe Zhenya just stopped noticing them. They say that demons can be charming when they want, after all, silver-tongued and persuasive in order to get their way. 

Nowadays, Zhenya doesn’t spend much time thinking about it. He’s seen Sid angry, literally incandescent with rage as he shouts at a ref or another player. He’s seen Sid bleeding, crying, magnetically happy, and so drunk he couldn’t walk or do much of anything but sit there and smile so big his eyes practically disappeared. It’s hard to find a guy you’ve shared a toilet with to vomit very intimidating, after all.

Sometimes, though, Sid does something and Zhenya remembers, oh right. The Sid he knows, the Sid he’s friends with—that’s a facade, a mask that hides the lurking sentience that the NHL insists on summoning into its stars.

The way Sid’s screaming down practically half the Winnipeg Jets roster tonight, the way he’d had to be manhandled off the ice against Carolina on Friday, sends a primal shiver down Zhenya’s spine. There’s something behind Sid’s eyes that’s far beyond human tonight, and for the first time since that first dinner, Zhenya is frightened.

The game fizzles into a loss the way they do all-too-frequently these days, and Sid’s practically the first one down the tunnel, shattering his stick as he goes and practically sparking with rage. Zhenya seeks out Kris, who meets his eyes and shrugs; it was a loss, yes, but nothing like their flat, lifeless effort on Friday. They have actionable things to work on after this one, real steps they can take to improve.

The team picks their way into the visitor’s locker room, practically holding their breath en masse, but Sid isn’t there. His gear is in a pile by his stall and his bag is open, its contents scattered on the floor, but he’s nowhere to be seen. Zhenya crosses his fingers that someone with some expertise in dealing with this sort of thing intercepted Sid and ferried him off to the trainer’s, or at least to the gym so he can spend some of his anger on an exercise bike or something.

Zhenya takes time to stop and talk to everyone before he hits the shower himself. Ned is remarkably calm considering, accepting Zhenya’s compliments with a mellow grin, and the mish-mosh of wingers that have been rotating around the top nine for the last few games all listen to his encouragements solemnly, nodding along to the platitudes he pulls out about keeping up the effort. Kris is managing Jarry and the rest of the d-corps, so after Zhenya’s done talking to Bunts, he makes for the showers, shrugging off his sweaty gear with a sigh.

He has the shower room to himself. Karl is a few stalls down rinsing off, but once he leaves, Zhenya’s alone and can lean into the spray, letting the heat and the shockingly good water pressure soothe his sore muscles.

His eyes fly open when a sizzling sound echoes off the tile.

Sid’s standing at the entrance to the room. He’s totally nude, and his skin has taken on a ruddy red hue that Zhenya knows isn’t caused by the heat of the showers. As he steps onto the tile, the water at his feet evaporates with every step, hissing off into steam and fogging the room even further.

“G,” Sid mangles, and when he licks his lips, his tongue doesn’t look right. “You should leave. I’m not…” He swallows, eyes running over Zhenya’s body. Zhenya can feel his gaze like fingers on his skin.

Zhenya very briefly considers running. He’s not a coward, though, and for all Sid is something else, something other, he’s also Zhenya’s friend. And Zhenya had promised himself that he’d be more of a leader this season, would step up and support Sid when he needed it instead of shirking off the hard stuff.

He hasn’t seen Sid more in need of support in over a decade.

So, instead of doing the smart thing, Zhenya stands his ground and tilts up his neck, letting his body go soft and non-threatening. “You’re okay, Sid,” he says, and before he’s even finished speaking Sid is on him.

“Geno,” Sid moans, “you smell so good.” His voice is hissing and sibilant, and when he licks down Zhenya’s neck, Zhenya shudders at the absolute wrongness of his forked tongue.

It’s not entirely disgust. Not even mostly, if Zhenya’s being honest.

The water around them boils, but somehow Zhenya’s skin doesn’t burn. The tile at his back is warm when Sid pushes him into the wall, and when his hands slide down Zhenya’s side, nails digging in so sharply that Zhenya wonders if he’s bleeding, Zhenya closes his eyes and lets him.

Anything to help Sid. It’s what he committed to nineteen years ago. Anything.

[gatoraid]

As someone who loves ghosts and hauntings as a metaphor, the ghost imagery around Ouyang is just sooo out of this world to me. As if the first layer of the ghosts following him as a literal manifestation of his past haunting him and his own inability to let go of his revenge wasn’t enough, there is also the other layer of presenting Ouyang himself as a ghost.

Like when he feels as if he has become a living ghost after killing Esen and subsequently his old self:

His Mongol self was dead, but there was no other to take its place, only a hungry ghost containing the singular purpose of revenge, and the inevitability of its own death. —She Who Became the Sun ch 22

Sometimes he had the idea that, at the moment of Esen’s death, he’d followed him across the barrier between worlds, and the only reason Zhu could see him now was because he could see ghosts. —He Who Drowned The World ch 12

I think the image that Zhu alone would be able to see Ouyang even if he was a ghost is so powerful, bc it’s another way of showing how Zhu can truly see Ouyang for who he really is and how connected they are.

It becomes even more powerful at the end of the story where Zhu meets Ouyang's ghost, when he has literally become the hungry ghost he had felt himself to be for a long time. And how he is then summoned back to resemble his human self by Zhu bc she reaches out a hand to him both verbally and literally, offering him salvation and comfort that he is finally able to accept.

She let her right hand flicker back into being. As she reached for the ghost, he finally raised his head. For an instant she saw that hungry, nightmare face, but then the light touched him and made it once again that beautiful, pale, terrible face she had known. His eyes weren’t black emptiness, but a human’s, as if she had summoned him back—the true essence of him—by speaking to him. —He Who Drowned The World ch 24

Sooo yeah……. Ouyang becoming like a ghost when he was alive because of his pain, and then Ouyang's ghost becoming like a living person because Zhu gave him what he really needed instead of more revenge.......

[sinner-sunflower]

A HH Lucifer-centric AU 14/?

PART 1, PART 2, PART 3, PART 4, PART 5, PART 6, PART 7, PART 8, PART 9, PART 10, PART 11, PART 12, PART 13, PART 15, PART 16, PART 17, PART 18, PART 19, PART 20, PART 21, PART 22

The next part might be a pov from the hotel with Charlie and co.

----------------------------------------------------

It's not going well.

Everyone is close to their breaking points. Lucifer curses under his breath as another overlord and a Goetia pass out.

They've been performing the ritual for 4 hours straight and every time they manage to possibly succeed, a stronger wave comes out- the worsening poison of the miasma sure isn't making things easier.

His infection throbs.

Paimon: My Lord! Another Goetia has fallen!

Asmodeus: We're losing numbers, Luci! We should retreat for now!

Lucifer: No! We can't afford to lose a Ring.

Shit! Even with Goodie's powers, it's not enough. Lucifer begins to think that maybe he should've tried with Heaven- No. He shakes his head. Heaven would rather sacrifice humanity if it would mean destroying all of Hell.

Lucifer: Goodie!

Goodie: I cannot give more of something I do not have, angel. I warned you that my support alone will most likely not stop this.

Lucifer: We should at least be denting it!

At that moment, the sea of flowers let out piercing howls bringing everyone to a stop, hands flying up to their ears to block the noise. Lucifer himself felt his own ears bleed from the sound.

Dark roots began to move upward, carrying the screaming flowers to the skies. It went up until it reached the giant pentagram in the sky, essentially forming a giant tree. Some sort of whole then opened itself up at the bottom- like it's giving way. Like it's-

Lucifer: A door.

Someone beside Lucifer yelled for him.

Leviathan: Luci! Your marks!

When he gave the Sin of Envy a confused look, Alastor summoned a mirror for him to use. The radio demon's smile never leaves his face but Lucifer can see it strained.

Alastor: Sire, it seems that I have lost in being the first to devour you in your entirety.

Lucifer ignores the TV guy's indignant 'what the fuck?!!' in the background, instead he focuses on his reflection. It looks like Alastor was talking literally and not making a weird innuendo.

The infection he got from touching Roo's remnants has now reached his face. His right eye has turned black from the infection, and it's slowly making its way to the left.

The King doesn't feel it until he sees it. He vaguely hears Belphegor's cries, noises of disbelief, and the pained groans of the demons around him.

There's still a way.

Lucifer: Goodie. What do I need to do?

The Good of Humanity produces a piece of paper and blows it in Lucifer's direction. It melted to his skin as soon as it made contact.

Goodie: This might be the only way to stop my sister. That is an ancient seal from before the Nothing- strong enough to render God and beings like Roo weak.

Satan: Huh?! Then why didn't you just let us use that from the start??

Goodie: Because there is a condition.

Lucifer: And what's that?

He asks but he has a feeling he already knows.

Goodie: It must be performed from the inside. It needs to be as close as possible to the one you are sealing. The hold will be stronger with proximity. And with you being the highest power here...

Belphegor: Then that means-!

Lucifer: I need to be the one to go in there.

Immediately after he said it out loud, multiple protests erupted. The Sins are trying to talk him out of it while Paimon and a few Goetia are yelling at Goodie.

Mammon: Mate, this is fucked-

Satan: I'll go to Heaven myself if I have-

Belphegor: There must be another way-

Asmodeus: We'll save our strength. Lust can handle-

Beelzebub: You're crazy! You're gonna die-

Leviathan: I am not letting you go on this suicide mission, Luci!-

All the while, he and Goodie never broke eye contact. Lucifer stares, looking for something he doesn't really know in her expression. He raises his hands and everyone quiets.

Lucifer: Are you sure this will stop her?

Goodie: You are the key, angel. It must be you.

Lucifer finally looks at the camera in the sky. It had been there the whole time, probably by the TV demon. He thinks of his little girl who is probably watching with worry at the safety of the hotel. He can only hope that his next course of action won't hurt her in the long run.

----------------------------------------------------

that's suspicious.

that's weird.