#i do NOT need to hear my own voice SPEAK BACK TO ME

[astrcmoni]

ᯓ☆ star’s midnight caller ☆ᯓ

MASTERLIST

pairing: billie eilish x sex-hotline-operator!fem!reader

genre: fluff, smut(kinda)

synopsis: in the quiet of the night, you answer a call that pulls you into a world of mystery and intrigue. what starts as a simple conversation with a stranger turns into a connection you never expected, leaving you craving more with each ring.

wc: 2.4k

warnings: light cussing here and there

authors note: let me know what you guys think, i really liked writing this and i want to make a part two. also there’s no smut in this part but the concept of the hotline is sexual (idk if that made sense) anyways imma stop rambling byeee ☆

phone call style story — reader is in bold italics, billie is in blue italics.

————

wednesday 12:43 am — incoming call from +1 (980) 598-7201 (charlotte, NC)

“thanks so much, babygirl,” richard says from the other side of the phone, his voice soft, tinged with something like gratitude. “you always know what i need.”

richard is one of your regulars, calling at least twice a week. he likes to imagine that you’re his long-lost girlfriend, reaching out from some parallel universe. you let him ramble, your voice smooth and coaxing, playing into his fantasy like a script you know by heart. a light laugh here, a soft hum there, the occasional breathy moan when it fits the moment.

“anytime, boo,” you reply, fingers already grazing the disconnect button. “take care of yourself, okay?”

the line clicks off, leaving a brief silence that feels heavier than it should. you exhale, stretching your arms above your head as you try to shake off the remnants of his voice. just another call. just another night.

soft light spills through the corners of your room, golden and warm against the pale lavender of your walls. the curtains billow lazily, carried by a breeze that whispers through the cracked window. outside, the city hums—a distant siren wailing, cars rolling down the street below, someone leaning on their horn too long, too loud.

at your desk, you lean forward, catching your reflection in the mirror perched precariously against a stack of books. sticky lip gloss catches the lamplight, glinting like glass. your lashes look decent—lifted enough to remind you of your own femininity. normally, you wouldn’t bother. no one can see you, after all. but it helps, this small ritual. it’s armor in a way, a mask you slip behind before stepping into this role.

“alright,” you mutter, rolling your neck to release the tension settling in your shoulders. “one more call and i’m done.”

the surface beneath your elbows is cluttered—textbooks splayed open, scribbled lab reports fighting for space with overdue bills. it’s not glamorous, but it pays. and it’s enough, for now.

you adjust your headset, letting the padded cups press comfortably against your ears, and clear your throat. the practiced warmth creeps back into your voice as the phone chimes again, flashing another number across the screen.

wednesday 12:49 am — incoming call from +1 (213) 597-3492 (los angeles, california)

“hello, and thank you for calling the pulse network. this is star speaking.” your voice drops an octave, soft and inviting, the words sliding out like honey. “who do i have the pleasure of speaking with tonight?”

there’s a pause on the other end—static filling the silence like a breath held too long. then, a voice cuts through, low, smooth, and distinctly feminine.

“uh…hi?” she sounds hesitant, her voice fraying at the edges like she’s second-guessing herself. “is this…is this a-uh…hotline for…you know?”

your brows knit for a moment before relaxing. most callers know exactly what they want, their voices heavy with intent. but her hesitation feels different. delicate, almost.

“that depends,” you say, leaning forward slightly, your tone light and playful. “what are you looking for, my love?”

she exhales sharply, and you can hear the faint sound of movement—like she’s pacing, the rhythm of her footsteps soft and uneven.

“honestly?” she says after a beat, her voice quieter now. “i don’t even know why i called. jus’ bored, i guess. curious. didn’t think this would even work.”

a smile tugs at your lips, though you bite it back. calls like these are rare, but you don’t mind them. there’s something refreshing about the uncertainty, the lack of pretense.

“well,” you murmur, letting your voice wrap around the words like a velvet ribbon, “we’re here now. go ahead, tell me whatever’s on your mind. no pressure.”

there’s a pause, long enough that you glance at the timer on the screen, wondering if she’s about to hang up. but then she sighs again, the sound softer this time, like she’s giving in.

“is it weird that i’m calling?” she asks, her voice dipping into the quiet like it’s unsure of its place.

“no judgment here, love. everyone has their reasons.” your response is soft, easy, laced with practiced charm. but something about her feels different.

“i don’t even know mine.”

the line falls into silence again, thick and heavy, broken only by the sound of her breathing—steady, almost meditative. it’s the kind of silence that feels like it’s waiting for you to fill it, but instead, you let it linger, listening.

“what’s your name?”

you blink, caught off guard. most callers don’t ask that unless it’s part of the fantasy they’re crafting. most don’t care to know.

“well, what do you want it to be?” you counter, your voice tipping into something playful.

she laughs softly, the sound low and throaty, curling through the line like smoke. “no, that’s not what i asked. i wanna know your name.”

there’s a pause as you weigh her words, the sincerity behind them.

“star,” you say finally, keeping it professional, your tone steady. “you can call me star.”

“what’s your real name?”

her question lands heavier than it should. it’s not forceful, not even intrusive. just curious. like she’s asking for a story rather than a fact.

you hesitate, fingers tracing the edge of your desk absentmindedly. something about her voice makes you want to give in, but you push the temptation aside, slipping easily into deflection.

“you know, most people don’t ask me that,” you murmur. “they usually want to know what i look like, what i’m wearing. things like that.”

“guess i’m not most people, then.”

“come on, you’re telling me you’re not even a little curious?”

she chuckles, warm and low, the kind of laugh that sticks in your chest. “okay, i’ll bite. what are you wearing, star?”

you smirk, leaning back in your chair as the city hums faintly through the open window.

“blue and black pajamas” you reply, your tone light. “lace trim. very cute, if i do say so myself.”

“where’d you get it?”

“some victoria’s secret around my city. they were having a sale.”

“cute.” her voice dips, carrying a hint of a smile. “now, back to my question.”

you roll your eyes, though there’s no edge to it. she’s persistent, you’ll give her that.

“you’re just gonna have to call me star. can’t give you my name. not tonight, sorry sweetheart.”

“no, it’s okay.” she pauses, then repeats it, like she’s trying it on. “well, star.” there’s something deliberate about the way she says it, slow and careful, testing its weight. “i’m billie.”

her name sits soft and sure in the air, settling between you like it belongs.

“you seem like a billie.”

“do i?”

“mhm,” you hum, leaning forward against the desk. “so, billie. what do you want to talk about?”

“hmm.” she draws the sound out thoughtfully, the silence stretching just long enough to make you wonder if she’ll answer. “why do you do this?”

the question hits you in a way you don’t expect, cutting through the usual rhythm of calls. most people don’t ask—don’t even think to ask.

you consider lying, giving her something easy, but the weight of her question lingers, tugging at the edges of your honesty.

“it pays the bills,” you admit finally, your voice soft. “and it’s not as bad as people think. i meet some…very…interesting people.”

“like me?”

the corner of your mouth quirks up, her words pulling at something playful in you.

“you tell me. are you interesting?”

“guess that depends.” she pauses, her voice curling with quiet amusement. “you think i’m interesting so far?”

“so far? i’ll give you a solid maybe.”

her laughter spills through the line, warm and unexpected, and it lingers in your room long after it fades.

“oh really? how long have you been doing this?”

“for about…” you pause, eyes flicking up to the ceiling like the answer might be scrawled there. “for about a little over a year now.”

“damn. that’s a long ass time.”

you chuckle, the sound warm and easy. “it is, isn’t it? i don’t know, i don’t mind it though. all i do is answer the phone. sometimes i do schoolwork, cook—small things like that. not like i necessarily have to be fully present for it, as long as i’m paying attention, you know?”

“you’re in school? just exactly how old are you?”

“wait—before we continue, you’re aware it’s a dollar seventy-five per minute, right?”

“uhh, i wasn’t, but i don’t mind it.”

“ooh, so you’re rich then?”

she laughs, a low, honeyed sound that settles in your chest. “i wouldn’t say that. i’d say i’m… comfortable.”

“only rich people say they’re comfortable. but to answer your question, i’m twenty, in my junior year. babe, you?”

“okay, not bad. i’m twenty-three. though i did think you were much older.”

you snort, rolling your eyes even though she can’t see it. “not bad? we’re practically the same age.”

“mm, i got about three years on you, so… no,” she laughs, her voice carrying a teasing lilt. “what are you majoring in?”

“criminology. mainly forensics and things like that.”

“that’s so fucking cool. so you’re like those people on tv who examine bodies and shit?”

“yeah, but doing it in real life is way different than it looks on tv.” you close your eyes, the memory of your first dissection flashing briefly. “especially lab work. but you get used to it after a while.”

“still, that’s badass. you must be super smart.”

the compliment catches you off guard, heat crawling up your neck. “i guess you could say that,” you mutter, a quiet smile tugging at your lips.

the conversation flows easier after that, like water finding its way downhill. you don’t even realize when you’ve moved to your bed, your headset cast aside as her voice fills your room through the speaker.

she asks you everything—your favorite movies, the hobbies that keep you up at night, the kind of music that makes your soul hum. the questions are simple but intimate, slipping past your usual defenses like she’s known you for years.

and you answer her. honestly, without hesitation. there’s something about her voice, warm and unhurried, that pulls the truth out of you.

you find yourself smiling, more than you have in days, fingers absentmindedly playing with your hair as you lean into the sound of her. it feels oddly intimate—like a late-night call with someone who’s already carved out a space in your life.

“so,” she asks after a lull, her voice soft but curious, “what’s your favorite movie?”

you grin, closing your eyes as you let the answer roll off your tongue. “pulp fiction. it’s a classic, don’t judge me.”

“no judgment. i respect it. but you gotta admit, it’s a little basic.”

“oh, and you’re not basic? let me guess—you’re gonna say something artsy like ‘a clockwork orange’ or whatever.”

“wrong. mine’s ‘the shining.’”

“oh, so you’re a horror girl. noted.”

she laughs, the sound warm and easy, and you realize you don’t want the conversation to end. not yet. not with her voice lingering in your room like this.

“what about you?” you murmur, breaking the soft rhythm of silence that had settled between you.

“hm? what about me?” her voice lilts, curious but guarded.

“what do you do? like for work?”

there’s a pause, long enough that you wonder if she’s going to sidestep the question entirely. but then she exhales, the sound quiet, like she’s carefully letting something go.

“i’m a musician,” she says finally, her words tentative, like they might break if handled too roughly. “or i guess i was… i teach music now.”

her admission catches you off guard, a flicker of something vulnerable passing through the connection. but you don’t press her, sensing that whatever she’s offering is enough for now. instead, you let the conversation drift, carried by the quiet ebb and flow of her voice.

the hours blur like watercolors, the world outside fading until there’s only her.

eventually, her tone softens, the edges of her words rounding with sleep. “it’s getting late. i should let you go,” she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper.

you glance at the alarm clock on the wall, the soft red digits blinking 3:35 a.m. back at you. exhaustion tugs at you, but the thought of ending the call feels heavier than it should.

“but…” her hesitation pulls you back to her. “can i call you again? i had a really good time.”

your heart stumbles over itself, a small hitch in your chest. “yeah, of course you can.” your voice dips into something softer, something closer to truth. “i had a good time too.”

“great. goodnight, star.” there’s a smile in her voice, light and unguarded, and it lingers in the air even after she’s gone.

“goodnight, billie.”

the line goes quiet, and for a moment, you sit there, the warmth of her voice still brushing against you like an afterglow.

you slip off your bed, padding into the bathroom to wash your face and brush your teeth. the cool water shocks your skin, but it doesn’t chase away the heat curling low in your stomach.

when you return to your room, the lamp clicks off with a soft snap, plunging the space into shadows broken only by the shifting colors of your tv. you slide under the covers, the faint hum of a late-night rerun filling the silence. the images blur on the screen, but all you can think about is her voice, the way it clung to the edges of the night, soft and sure.

a ding pulls you from your thoughts. your phone glows faintly on the nightstand, and you reach for it, the sudden brightness making you blink.

new transactions — 4:03 a.m.

+1 (254) 783-0184 (dallas, TX) - $26.25

+1 (980) 598-7201 (charlotte, NC) - $43.75

+1 (213) 597-3492 (los angeles, CA) - $315.62

you smile, the corners of your lips twitching up involuntarily. it’s nothing unusual, but tonight it feels different, lighter somehow. you turn the screen off and set the phone back down, a quiet sense of contentment settling over you.

for the first time in a long time, you find yourself looking forward to your next call.

inspired by @whore-era

astrc’s tag list: @zendayasredbottoms @bilsdillldough @billiesrighthand @watercolorskyy @bilssturns ; hit my asks saying “add to taglist” if you want to be on my regular taglist for all billie content!

[hoshifighting]

hi, lyla! saw that requests are open and i literally have this in my drafts lol

could u write about chan and the reader having phone sex since chan is currently on a tour. he had his fleshlight with him and they exchange dirty talks with each other ><

thank u in advance and pls be safe and healthy always! also, love the new theme, i got shocked when i saw u in my notifs lmao

phone sex with chan as he uses a fleshlight (sex toy)

WARNINGS: smut, sex toy (fleshlight), masturbation [m.& f.], dirty talk, chan moaning loud, chan being NEEDY!!!!!!

chan’s voice is crackly but clear over the line, the telltale hotel-room TV buzz in the background. he’s panting already, his breaths uneven, and you can hear the faint, unmistakable wet schlick-schlick sound of his fleshlight in motion. the moment you catch it, you grin wickedly.

“really, chan?” you tease sultry. “you couldn’t even wait for me to pick up?”

“fuck—don’t start,” he groans, it was clear he was frustrated at the same time. “you weren’t answering. i’m desperate, okay?”

you bite your lip, your hand already sliding beneath the waistband of your shorts. “you miss me that much, baby?”

“you have no fucking idea,” he breathes out, the sound of the fleshlight’s wet squelches picking up pace. “this thing—it’s not even close. doesn’t feel like you at all.”

you hum, your fingers dipping lower. “that’s because it’s not me, channie. i’m the only one who knows exactly how to ride you.”

he whines at your words, a high, desperate sound that makes you clench around nothing. “you’re so mean,” he mutters, his voice laced with need, all whiny.

“oh, am i?” you taunt, your tone mockingly sweet. “you’re the one fucking a piece of rubber while i’m over here, all wet and needy for you. but go ahead, channie—tell me how good it feels. is it tight enough for you?”

“it’s—it’s tight,” he stammers, his voice cracking slightly. “but it’s not the same. fuck, it’s not even close.”

“of course it’s not,” you purr, your fingers circling your clit. “it doesn’t squeeze you like i do, doesn’t pull you in and milk you dry. poor baby, having to settle for that cheap little toy.”

his moans grow louder, the wet, rubbery sounds filling your ears as he starts to lose control. “fuck, i need you,” he pants, his words tumbling out in a rush. “need your hands, your mouth, your pussy—need all of you.”

you smirk, your own breathing growing heavier. “you’re so needy, channie. moaning like a little slut—what would your members think if they heard you?”

“shut up,” he gasps, his voice breaking on a whimper. “they’re—they’re not gonna hear me. fuck, you’re so mean.”

“mean?” you echo, your tone dripping with mock innocence. “i’m not the one whining and moaning like a bitch right now, am i?”

“fuck—fuck,” he groans, his voice shaking. “please, baby, talk to me. tell me what you’re doing.”

“i’m touching myself,” you admit, your fingers moving faster. “thinking about how much better i’d feel than that stupid toy. bet it doesn’t even grip you right, huh?”

“it doesn’t,” he whimpers, his movements growing frantic. “doesn’t feel like you at all. i need you so bad, baby—please.”

“aw, poor channie,” you coo, your voice softening just a little. “don’t worry, baby. when you get back, i’ll make sure you don’t even think about that dumb little toy ever again.”

his moans reach a new pitch, his breaths ragged and broken. “i’m close,” he gasps desperated. “fuck, i’m so close.”

“then cum for me,” you urge, your voice dropping into a husky whisper. “cum and think about how much better it’ll feel when it’s me.”

with a choked cry, he falls over the edge, his moans loud and unrestrained as he spills into the toy. the wet, messy sounds of his climax make your own orgasm rush through you, leaving you gasping and trembling. as the two of you catch your breath, the line goes quiet for a moment, save for the soft sound of his breathing. finally, he speaks, his voice hoarse but satisfied.

“that…was so much better than this stupid thing,” he mutters, and you can’t help but laugh.

“told you,” you tease. “but don’t throw it away just yet. you’ve still got a few more weeks of tour left, and we’re not done having fun.”

his groan of protest makes you smile, and you can practically hear the blush in his voice as he mumbles, “you’re gonna kill me, baby.”

[novaursa]

Legacy (drawing the lines)

- Summary: Tywin was the man who saved you from Robert's wrath. He was also the man who doomed you.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Tywin Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: sisters

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @luniaxifics @alkadri-layal @butterflygxril

The chambers within Dragonstone were cloaked in the warm glow of a roaring hearth. Tywin Lannister sat at a finely carved wooden desk, stacks of correspondence and reports spread out before him. His eyes scanned the parchments with the meticulous attention to detail that had made him the most formidable political force in Westeros. Yet tonight, his focus wavered, his mind caught between strategies and the persistent presence of Daenerys Targaryen within his keep.

The door creaked open, and you stepped inside, your footsteps soft against the stone floor. Tywin didn’t look up immediately, though his shoulders relaxed slightly at the sound of your arrival.

“You’re working late again,” you observed, approaching him with an affectionate tone. A faint smile playing on your lips as you set a hand gently on his shoulder.

He glanced up, his expression softening just slightly as he met your gaze. “There is much to consider. Your sister’s arrival complicates matters.”

You leaned against the edge of the desk, folding your arms as you watched him. “She doesn’t need to be a complication.”

Tywin set down the quill he’d been holding and leaned back in his chair, his gaze locking onto yours. “She is a Targaryen with two dragons and a foreign army. Whether or not you see her as a threat, the realm will.”

“She’s my sister,” you countered, your voice calm but firm. “She’s family.”

“Family,” Tywin repeated, his tone edged with skepticism. “Family can be as dangerous as any enemy, as you well know.”

You sighed, your fingers brushing against the edge of the desk. “I want to speak with her again. Alone this time.”

Tywin’s eyes narrowed slightly. “And what do you hope to achieve by that? She has made her intentions clear—she seeks the Iron Throne.”

“She’s not our father,” you replied softly, your gaze steady. “She doesn’t understand Westeros, not truly. She grew up in exile, hearing only the stories Viserys told her. If I can make her see reason, show her that the path she’s chosen will only bring ruin…”

“Then what?” Tywin interjected, his tone sharp. “Do you believe you can dissuade her from her ambitions with a conversation?”

You leaned forward slightly, your voice dropping. “I believe I can remind her what it means to be a sister. To show her that there are other ways to restore what was lost without burning it all to the ground.”

Tywin studied you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he let out a quiet sigh, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the desk. “If she cannot be reasoned with?”

“Then we will deal with that when the time comes,” you said simply. “But I need to try.”

Tywin’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he didn’t argue further. Instead, he reached out, his hand covering yours where it rested on the desk. “You are too softhearted,” he said quietly, though there was no reproach in his tone. “It is both your strength and your weakness.”

A faint smile tugged at your lips. “And you, my lord husband, are too pragmatic for your own good. It is both your strength and your weakness.”

He gave a low hum of acknowledgment, his fingers tightening slightly around yours. “Pragmatism has kept me alive, and it has kept you safe.”

“And I love you for it,” you said softly, leaning closer to press a kiss to his forehead. “But let me handle this.”

For a moment, Tywin said nothing, his gaze searching your face as though weighing the risk of what you proposed. Then, finally, he nodded. “Very well. Speak with her. But do not forget who she is and what she represents.”

“I won’t,” you promised, your voice steady. “And thank you.”

Tywin rose from his chair, his imposing presence filling the room as he stepped closer to you. His hands came to rest lightly on your waist, his expression softening in a way few had ever seen. “You’re insufferable when you think you’re right.”

You laughed softly, your arms looping around his neck. “And you’re unbearable when you think you know better.”

“Which is always,” he replied dryly, though his lips quirked into a faint smirk.

You leaned in, brushing your lips against his, the kiss deepening as his hands tightened around your waist. For a moment, the weight of the realm and its many complications faded, replaced by the quiet intimacy you shared.

When you finally pulled back, you rested your forehead against his, your voice a whisper. “We’ll get through this.”

Tywin’s reply was quiet but resolute. “We always do.”

The private chambers prepared for Daenerys Targaryen in Dragonstone were richly appointed, a clear indication of the respect—or perhaps calculation—with which she was being treated. The ancient stone walls, illuminated by the soft glow of dragonfire sconces, whispered of her family’s legacy. Yet the banners that adorned them were not Targaryen but Lannister, a stark reminder of who held dominion here.

Daenerys stood near the window, her gaze fixed on the dark waters of the Blackwater Bay. Missandei stood quietly at her side, her calm presence a source of strength, while Tyrion Lannister leaned against a nearby table, his expression contemplative.

“I didn’t expect this,” Daenerys admitted, her voice carrying a mix of frustration and bewilderment.

Missandei tilted her head slightly, her voice gentle as always. “What did you expect, Your Grace?”

Daenerys sighed, her fingers brushing against the edge of the windowsill. “A sister. An ally. Someone who would understand what I’ve been through, who would stand with me to reclaim what is ours.”

Tyrion gave a dry chuckle, shaking his head. “Family reunions rarely go as planned, Your Grace. Trust me on that.”

Daenerys shot him a frustrated look, but the irritation faded quickly. “She is not what I imagined. She’s… cautious, guarded. And her loyalty to Tywin Lannister—of all people—is baffling.”

Tyrion straightened slightly, crossing his arms. “It’s not as baffling as you might think. Your sister has lived through far more than most, and Tywin has ensured her survival, likely more than once. Loyalty is not always about love, Your Grace. Sometimes it’s about what is convenient.”

Missandei hesitated before speaking, her tone soft. “She did not seem hostile toward you, though. Perhaps there is a chance to build a connection.”

Daenerys let out a quiet laugh, though it was devoid of humor. “A connection? She told me the Iron Throne is cursed and not worth claiming. She practically dismissed my birthright.”

Tyrion’s brow rose at that. “And was she wrong?”

Daenerys turned to him, her eyes narrowing. “Do you side with her, Tyrion? Do you think my claim is worthless?”

Tyrion held up his hands in a placating gesture. “I’m not saying that, Your Grace. I’m merely pointing out that she has a perspective you might want to consider. She’s lived in Westeros. She’s seen the devastation wrought by your father, by the Baratheons, and by the wars that followed. Perhaps she’s trying to protect you from repeating the mistakes of the past.”

Daenerys’s shoulders sagged slightly, her expression softening as she considered his words. “She spoke of the throne as if it were a poison. As if it had taken everything from her.”

Missandei stepped forward, her voice filled with quiet empathy. “Perhaps it has, Your Grace. But that doesn’t mean she won’t listen to you. You are both daughters of House Targaryen. That bond cannot be erased.”

Daenerys nodded slowly, her gaze returning to the dark waters beyond the window. “She’s more than I expected. Wiser, stronger. And yet… she feels distant, as though she has already made her decision.”

Tyrion approached, his tone lighter but still measured. “Your sister is no fool. She’s weighing her options, testing the waters. Give her time. Show her that you’re not here to burn everything down.”

Daenerys let out a soft sigh, her hand coming to rest on the windowsill. “Time… something we may not have much of.”

Tyrion tilted his head, his voice turning thoughtful. “Perhaps. But if you truly want her on your side, Your Grace, you’ll have to prove that you’re worth standing beside.”

Daenerys’s lips pressed into a thin line, her resolve hardening. “Then I will. She’s my sister, and I will not give up on her.”

Missandei smiled faintly, her quiet encouragement bolstering Daenerys’s determination. Tyrion, however, gave a small, almost imperceptible sigh, his mind already turning to the challenges ahead.

The room fell into silence as the three of them stood there, the weight of the reunion and its implications pressing heavily on them all. Daenerys Targaryen had come to reclaim her birthright, but the path forward was proving more treacherous than she had imagined. Yet she was not one to back down, not when her dreams of a united realm were so close—and so complicated by the very blood that connected her to this place.

The early morning sun bathed Dragonstone in hues of late autumn. Standing on the balcony of the Great Hall, Daenerys Targaryen gazed out over the courtyard below. The cool sea breeze tugged at her hair as her violet eyes lingered on the sight before her.

In the courtyard, a young boy no older than three was running about, his silver-blond hair catching the sunlight like a crown of molten light. His laughter echoed softly, a sweet, carefree sound that contrasted with the heavy atmosphere of the castle. Around him, a handful of servants and Lannister guards watched closely, their postures alert but non-threatening. The boy clutched a small wooden dragon in one hand, its painted wings flapping uselessly as he darted around.

For a moment, Daenerys’s gaze softened, the sight stirring something deep within her. The boy, with his unmistakable Targaryen features, reminded her of the stories Viserys used to tell—of what their family had been before everything fell apart.

“You’ve noticed him,” came a calm, familiar voice from behind.

Daenerys turned to see you stepping onto the balcony. You wore a simple gown, but the grace with which you moved made even the plainest attire seem regal. Your expression was warm but tinged with a cautious curiosity as you approached her.

“He’s your son,” Daenerys said softly, turning her gaze back to the boy.

You stepped beside her, leaning lightly on the stone railing. “Yes, that’s Damon. My eldest.”

Daenerys’s lips curved faintly, though her tone was measured. “He looks so much like you. So much like us.”

A brief smile touched your lips as you watched Damon chase after a servant who was playfully pretending to flee. “He does. Though his spirit… that’s his father’s.”

At the mention of Tywin, Daenerys’s expression flickered, her gaze sharpening slightly. “He’s a Lannister, then. And yet… a dragon too.”

You turned to her, your eyes steady but kind. “Bloodlines are complicated, Daenerys. He is both. And he is neither.”

Daenerys hesitated before speaking again, her voice quieter now. “He’s beautiful. He could have been one of us—growing up with dragons, knowing our history, our traditions.”

You let out a soft sigh, your gaze drifting back to Damon. “I’ve tried to give him as much of that as I can. But the world is not kind to children born of fire and blood.”

Daenerys’s brows furrowed slightly, her tone carrying a note of sadness. “It’s strange. To see him here, in this castle that was ours. And yet, it feels so different.”

“It is different,” you replied softly. “This place has seen so much history—ours and others’. It bears the weight of every decision made within its walls.”

Daenerys turned to face you fully, her expression serious. “Do you ever wonder if he’ll carry that weight? If he’ll face the same struggles we did?”

You looked at her, your eyes filled with quiet determination. “I hope not. But if he does, I will make sure he’s prepared. I will do everything in my power to shield him from the worst of it.”

For a moment, the two of you stood in silence, the sound of Damon’s laughter drifting up from the courtyard. Then Daenerys spoke again, her voice laced with a hint of vulnerability. “I never thought I’d meet you. Growing up, you were a ghost—a name Viserys clung to, a hope he never let go of.”

Your gaze softened, a faint shadow crossing your face at the mention of your brother. “Viserys… He was so young when everything fell apart. He clung to the past because it was all he had.”

Daenerys nodded slowly, her expression wistful. “He used to say you were the strongest of us. That you survived because you were willing to do whatever it took.”

You smiled faintly, though there was a sadness in your eyes. “Surviving isn’t strength, Daenerys. It’s endurance. Strength is knowing what to do once you’ve survived.”

Daenerys considered your words for a moment, her gaze returning to the boy in the courtyard. “And what will you teach him? Your son?”

You followed her gaze, your expression softening as you watched Damon pick up his wooden dragon and show it to a servant with unbridled enthusiasm. “I’ll teach him to choose his battles wisely. To understand the cost of power. And to never forget that he is loved.”

Daenerys glanced at you, her voice quiet. “And what about us? What about what we’ve lost?”

You turned to her, your gaze steady but filled with a quiet intensity. “We’ve both lost much, Daenerys. But loss doesn’t define us. What we do with what remains—that’s what matters.”

For a moment, Daenerys said nothing, her thoughts swirling as she processed your words. Then, with a small nod, she stepped back from the railing. “I hope you’re right.”

You reached out, placing a gentle hand on her arm. “Give it time. The world is changing, and we’re a part of that change. But for now, perhaps it’s enough to simply be here. To start again.”

Daenerys’s lips curved into a faint smile, though her eyes remained guarded. “Perhaps.”

As she turned to leave, you remained at the railing, your gaze following Damon as he ran toward the guards, his laughter echoing in the morning air. A faint smile lingered on your lips, though your thoughts were far from simple.

The bonds of family, forged and broken, were not easily mended. But in that moment, with the sun rising over Dragonstone, there was a flicker of hope—fragile but undeniable.

The air in Dragonstone’s study was heavy with unspoken tension, the quiet crackle of the fire in the hearth doing little to dispel the chill that settled over the room. Tywin Lannister sat at a large, meticulously arranged desk, a quill in hand as he reviewed correspondence. His green eyes scanned the parchment with precision, but the slight tightening of his jaw betrayed his awareness of the man standing just inside the doorway.

Tyrion Lannister, dressed in his usual traveling attire, lingered there, his mismatched eyes glinting with a mix of defiance and curiosity. He’d been summoned, though not directly. Tywin’s silent request had come through an intermediary, leaving Tyrion wondering whether the meeting was a trap, an opportunity, or simply a confrontation long overdue.

“You summoned me, Father,” Tyrion said, his tone light but laced with caution. He stepped further into the room, his limp barely noticeable.

Tywin didn’t look up immediately, taking his time to finish reading the document before setting it aside with deliberate precision. When he finally met Tyrion’s gaze, his expression was as cold and unreadable as ever. “Sit.”

Tyrion arched a brow, but he complied, settling into a chair opposite the desk. “Straight to business, I see. How very Lannister of you.”

Tywin ignored the remark, leaning back in his chair as he studied his youngest son. “I imagine you know why I’ve called you here.”

Tyrion smirked, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Oh, I could hazard a guess. Perhaps you want to reminisce about the time you sentenced me to death? Or is this about Daenerys and her dragons? Do tell—I’m on the edge of my seat.”

Tywin’s expression didn’t change, though his voice carried a cutting edge. “You betrayed your family, Tyrion. Fled Westeros like a common criminal after what happened.”

Tyrion’s smirk faded, replaced by a flicker of bitterness. “Ah, yes. I almost forgot. Shall we recount the reasons I might have had for such actions, or is this simply a scolding?”

Tywin’s lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes narrowing slightly. “You’ve allied yourself with Daenerys Targaryen, a foreign invader intent on claiming a throne that does not belong to her. Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”

Tyrion leaned back in his chair, his gaze unwavering. “And what would you have me do, Father? Remain in a dungeon until my execution? Daenerys offered me a chance to use my wits rather than rot away, and I took it.”

“She offered you survival,” Tywin corrected coldly. “Do not mistake desperation for opportunity.”

Tyrion’s fingers drummed lightly against the armrest of his chair, his tone turning thoughtful. “Perhaps. But survival is something I’ve grown quite good at, thanks in no small part to you.”

The silence between them stretched, heavy and fraught with unspoken history. Tywin broke it first, his voice steady but menacing. “You’ve aligned yourself with a woman who believes herself entitled to the Iron Throne simply because of her name. She brings with her foreign savages, armies of Unsullied, and two dragons. You know as well as I do that she is a threat.”

Tyrion tilted his head, his expression contemplative. “She is a threat. But so is your wife, sitting here with her own dragon, wearing the blood of the same family you once sought to extinguish. Tell me, Father, do you find it easier to sleep at night knowing one dragon obeys the woman you married?”

For the first time, Tywin’s composure cracked, his eyes narrowing dangerously. “You tread dangerously, Tyrion.”

“And yet I live,” Tyrion countered, his tone turning wry. “Curious, isn’t it?”

The tension in the room felt like a taut wire, ready to snap. Tywin leaned forward slightly, his voice lowering. “Daenerys will not succeed. Her ambitions will burn out as they all do, leaving nothing but ash in her wake.”

Tyrion leaned forward to meet his father’s gaze, his voice quiet but firm. “Perhaps. But you underestimate her, Father. You underestimate her determination, her ability to inspire. She’s not just a girl with dragons—she’s a force. And whether you like it or not, she’s coming.”

Tywin’s expression didn’t waver, though his fingers drummed once against the desk before stilling. “Then we will deal with her when the time comes. I do not need your warnings, Tyrion. I need to know where your loyalties lie.”

Tyrion let out a soft laugh, though there was no humor in it. “Loyalties? That’s rich, coming from you. My loyalties lie where they always have—with myself.”

“Then you are a fool,” Tywin said sharply, his voice cold. “The game we play is not one of survival alone. It is one of legacy, of power. You have none of those things.”

Tyrion’s gaze turned somber, though his tone remained light. “No, I suppose I don’t. But I do have something you’ll never understand, Father.”

Tywin raised a brow, his tone edged with skepticism. “And what is that?”

Tyrion’s smirk returned, faint but defiant. “Freedom.”

The silence that followed was deafening, the weight of their fractured relationship hanging heavy in the air. Finally, Tywin sat back, his expression as unreadable as ever.

“This conversation is over,” he said curtly. “You may go.”

Tyrion stood slowly, inclining his head in mock deference. “As always, Father, it’s been enlightening.”

As Tyrion turned to leave, Tywin’s voice stopped him at the door. “Tyrion.”

Tyrion paused, glancing back over his shoulder. “Yes?”

Tywin’s gaze was piercing, his tone low and deliberate. “Do not forget where you come from. Or what it means to bear the name Lannister.”

Tyrion’s lips quirked into a bittersweet smile. “Oh, I never could. Good night, Father.”

With that, he stepped out into the dimly lit corridor, the sound of the door closing behind him echoing like the final note of a long and bitter song.

Tywin Lannister sat at the Painted Table, a symbol of Targaryen legacy now serving as the epicenter of delicate negotiations. You stood beside him, a calm but resolute presence that softened the stern edges of his authority.

Moments earlier, Tywin had dismissed one of his trusted men, instructing him to secure the terms demanded by the North. The gesture was a necessary one to ensure that his promises to Jon Snow held firm, though the act of concession left a bitter taste in Tywin’s mouth. Now, the doors of the hall opened once more, revealing Daenerys Targaryen and her entourage.

Daenerys walked at the head of her group, her silver hair gleaming in the firelight, her violet eyes unyielding. Behind her were Tyrion Lannister, Missandei, and Grey Worm, each a reflection of her strength and purpose. Soldiers flanked the hall to ensure their safety, though it was clear from the subtle tension in their postures that this was more than a precaution—it was a necessity.

Tywin’s gaze flickered to Daenerys as she entered, his expression cold and calculated. He gestured to the seats opposite him, his voice clipped. “Take your places.”

Daenerys paused briefly, her gaze sweeping over the room before stepping forward. “I would say it’s good to see you again, Lord Tywin, but that would be a lie.”

Tyrion coughed lightly, muttering, “Charming start.”

Daenerys ignored him, her focus entirely on Tywin as she and her entourage settled into their seats. You remained standing beside Tywin, your presence a quiet but undeniable reminder of the complicated ties that bound this gathering together.

Tywin leaned back slightly, his fingers steepled. “You’ve traveled far, Daenerys Targaryen, only to find yourself on a shore that would prefer you’d stayed in Essos.”

Daenerys’s jaw tightened, but she kept her composure. “I have come to reclaim what is mine. The Iron Throne—my birthright.”

Tywin’s lips curled into a faint smirk at her circling rhetoric, though his gaze was icy. “The world has moved on without you. Your throne is an illusion, a relic of a time long passed. The lords of Westeros will not bow to a foreign invader who brings an army of savages to their shores.”

Grey Worm stiffened at the word savages, his hand instinctively moving toward the hilt of his sword. Missandei placed a calming hand on his arm, her expression unreadable.

Daenerys leaned forward, her voice steady but firm. “You mistake strength for savagery, Lord Tywin. My Unsullied are disciplined, my Dothraki loyal. And my dragons… well, they speak for themselves.”

Tywin’s gaze darkened slightly, but he remained composed. “Your dragons, impressive as they may be, are not enough to hold a kingdom. Power is not about fire and blood—it is about stability, order, and alliances. Things you lack.”

“You speak of alliances,” Daenerys countered, “yet here I stand, speaking with my sister, the blood of my blood. Are we not allies by birthright?”

Tywin’s gaze flickered toward you for a moment before returning to Daenerys. “Your sister,” he said evenly, “is no fool. She understands what you fail to grasp: the Iron Throne is not worth the cost. It is a poisoned seat, a pyre waiting to consume those who fight for it.”

Daenerys’s eyes narrowed, her tone hardening. “Is that why you put your grandson on it? Because you believe it to be worthless?”

Tywin’s smirk returned, faint but cutting. “My grandson sits the throne because I ensure that the realm remains intact. Not because of some foolish belief in destiny or entitlement.”

You glanced at Tywin, your hand lightly brushing against his shoulder. “Perhaps we should hear her out fully before dismissing her intentions.”

Daenerys seized the opportunity, her tone softening slightly as she turned her gaze to you. “Sister, I came here not to fight but to seek your counsel. You are the bridge between our family and the realm. Surely you see the need for change—for justice.”

You held her gaze for a moment, your expression calm but guarded. “Justice is not won with fire and steel alone, Daenerys. It must be tempered with wisdom and understanding.”

Tywin interjected, his voice firm. “Justice? Is that what you call sailing here with dragons and foreign armies? You seek to impose your will on a realm that does not want you. I suggest you return to Essos, where your conquests may still hold meaning.”

Daenerys’s eyes burned with defiance. “I will not return to Essos. Westeros is my home, and I will not be cast aside like some unwanted relic.”

Tywin’s expression turned cold, his words measured and menacing. “Westeros is not your home. You left as a child, and what you return to now is a land that no longer remembers you. You are not the heir you believe yourself to be. Turn back while you still can.”

Tyrion, sensing the rising tension, spoke up quickly. “Perhaps we should focus less on turning back and more on finding common ground. Surely there is a way to avoid bloodshed.”

Tywin’s gaze flicked to his son, his tone sharp. “The only way to avoid bloodshed is for her to abandon this foolish endeavor.”

Daenerys rose from her seat, her expression resolute. “I will not abandon what is mine. If you cannot see the value of standing with me, then I will find those who can.”

Tywin’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing, his silence more damning than any retort.

You stepped forward, your voice calm but firm. “Enough. We are family, whether we like it or not. Let us not make decisions in anger. We will reconvene tomorrow and continue these discussions with clearer heads.”

Daenerys hesitated before nodding curtly. “Very well. Tomorrow.”

She turned and swept from the room, her entourage following close behind. Tywin remained seated, his expression unreadable as he watched her go.

Once the room had cleared, he let out a quiet sigh, his gaze turning to you. “She’s more stubborn than I anticipated.”

You offered a faint smile. “She’s a Targaryen. Were you expecting anything less?”

The darkened skies over Dragonstone was brilliant with faint starlight as Daenerys Targaryen made her way toward the looming shadow of Dragonmont. The wind carried the faint cries of dragons from above, their echoes bouncing off the jagged rocks. Drogon and Rhaegal circled high, their massive forms silhouetted against the moonlight, keeping a wary distance from the lair below.

Ahead, the flickering glow of fire illuminated the entrance to the cavern. Viserion, her sister’s dragon, stood perched atop a jagged outcropping. Her presence was imposing, but it was her posture—head held high, wings partially unfurled, and golden eyes sharp with alertness—that reminded Daenerys this was no ordinary dragon. This was a guardian, and she was on guard.

Daenerys paused at the mouth of the cavern, her eyes scanning the space carefully. The sound of quiet murmuring drifted out, carried on the wind. She stepped forward cautiously, her boots crunching against the gravel.

“Viserion,” she called softly, her voice steady but laced with uncertainty.

The great she-dragon’s head turned sharply toward her, nostrils flaring as she exhaled a plume of smoke. Her eyes locked onto Daenerys, acknowledging her presence but offering no welcome. The dragon’s tail swished against the stone with a low rumble that seemed both a warning and an assertion of dominance.

“Daenerys.”

The familiar voice of her sister, calm and steady, emerged from deeper within the cavern. You stepped into view. You approached slowly, your hand resting gently on Viserion’s neck, the she-dragon leaning into the touch with a low purr.

Daenerys hesitated, her gaze flickering between you and the dragon. “She knows me,” she said, her tone carrying a faint trace of hope.

“She knows of you,” you corrected gently, your expression soft but guarded. “There’s a difference.”

Daenerys stepped closer, her hands outstretched slightly, though she kept her movements deliberate. “Viserion… she is one of mine. I hatched her. I nurtured her. She should remember that.”

Viserion rumbled again, a low, guttural sound that sent a faint tremor through the ground beneath their feet. Her eyes never left Daenerys, watching every step as though weighing her intent.

You tilted your head, your tone thoughtful as you spoke. “Dragons do not think as we do. They are creatures of fire and instinct, drawn to strength and loyalty. Yes, you hatched her, but that does not mean she is yours. Not anymore.”

Daenerys’s brows furrowed, a flicker of frustration crossing her face. “She was mine. She should remember that.”

You shook your head gently, your hand stroking along Viserion’s scales. “Dragons bond with one rider, Daenerys. That bond is unshakable. No matter who hatched them, no matter who raised them, they choose who they will follow.”

Daenerys’s lips pressed into a thin line as she regarded the she-dragon, who had settled slightly but remained alert, her head turning to follow every move Daenerys made. “And she chose you.”

“She did,” you said simply, your voice quiet but firm.

Daenerys’s gaze turned sharp, her tone carrying a hint of bitterness. “Do you think I wanted this? To lose what I created? To be cast aside by my own dragons?”

You stepped closer, your expression softening. “This isn’t about want, Daenerys. Dragons are not weapons or symbols to be wielded at our convenience. They are their own beings, and they choose their paths just as we choose ours.”

For a moment, silence fell between you, the distant cries of Drogon and Rhaegal the only sound. Daenerys turned her gaze skyward, watching her other two dragons circling high above, their massive forms majestic and untouchable. She let out a quiet sigh, her voice softening. “I thought she would remember me. That she would come to me.”

“She remembers you,” you said gently. “But her loyalty is here now. She sees me as her rider, just as Drogon sees you as his.”

Viserion shifted slightly, lowering her head to rest on the stone, though her golden eyes remained locked on Daenerys. The stiffness in her body eased, but there was no mistaking the silent warning in her gaze.

Daenerys took a deep breath, her shoulders sagging slightly. “And what of us, then? Sisters divided by blood, by dragons, by the choices we’ve made?”

You stepped forward, placing a hand lightly on her arm. “We are sisters still. But trust and loyalty, like dragons, must be earned.”

Daenerys’s gaze lingered on you, her expression conflicted. “And what will it take to earn yours?”

You smiled faintly, though there was a sadness in your eyes. “Patience. Understanding. And the willingness to see the world as it is, not as we wish it to be.”

For a moment, Daenerys said nothing, her thoughts a storm of emotions as she processed your words. Then, with a quiet nod, she turned and stepped away, her figure framed by the moonlight as she left the cavern.

Viserion let out a low rumble, her body relaxing fully as you continued to stroke her neck. “It will take time,” you murmured softly, more to yourself than anyone else. “But perhaps there’s hope yet.”

Above, the cries of Drogon and Rhaegal echoed across the night sky, a reminder that the bonds of blood, like dragons, were both powerful and unpredictable.

[b3ach-bunn7]

NONSENSE

You're horrible at technology, and find yourself fliriting with you university's IT customer service.

University!au, noquirk!au, fluff

(side note i love shinsou hitoshi)

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You’re sure your stupid shitty laptop could break world records with how useless and slow it is.

You don’t think you’re much better. You study veterinary medicine so you can name every bone in a cat's ass but it would take you ten years to figure out how to send a Word document to somebody. The only up to being so horrible at technology, is your university has an IT customer service. 

It’s weird and you don’t really understand how it works, but according to the front page, you can call anytime from 10am to 3am. With the clock ticking minutes before your submission date, and with an essay due tomorrow, you decide it will be less embarrassing to confess you have no idea how to work the university’s submission system, than not submit at all. You dial the number quickly, biting your thumbnail as it rings a couple times before it picks up. The person on the other line barely said their hellos before you started rambling.

“Okay, I know this is really stupid, but I cannot figure out how to attach my submission to this stupid fucking- I mean, this stupid system. And I have like, twenty minutes before my submission date, so I’d really appreciate any help you can give me.”

“Why would you leave your submission so last minute?” 

You frown. You’re unaware that customer support could be so sassy. And also attractive. At least his voice is. It’s smooth and soft, and you press your phone closer to your ear to hear him better. 

“Uhm. I don’t need the sass, thank you, I need the help.” You drawl, clicking at your laptop aggressively.

There’s a little chuckle of amusement on the other end of the line. “Apologies, ma’am.”

“Ma’am?”

“Would you prefer sir?”

Your face twists in annoyance. “I’d prefer you to help me.”

“Alright, alright. Okay, so enter the module the work is for, scroll to the bottom.” He pauses slightly so you can follow his instructions.

“Okay.”

“Then click the three dots on the top left. Where it says enter, click that and select your file, then submit.”

“Oh. Why doesn’t the button say submit. Instead of fucking enter.” You grumble, quickly attaching your work and handing it in.

“Not sure. I’ll let the university know.” He says, faux sympathy coating his voice.

“That’d be nice.” You glanced at your phone. You’re not sure what exactly happens now.

“So. Is that it?”

“Is what it?”

“Do I just. Hang up? Now that you’ve helped me?”

You can hear the smirk in his voice when he speaks again. “Unless you wanna keep me company for the rest of my shift?”

“Yeah, I’m good.”

You hang up, trying to ignore the small smile on your own face as you do it. You don't have to miss him for long though, because you find yourself calling them back only a few days later after the wifi in your room refuses to work. 

You turn it off, then on. You carry your laptop all around your flat and hold it up to the ceiling knowing it won’t make a single difference. You ask your roommate and she is having no issue. It’s only when you’re about two seconds from snapping your laptop in half before you realise you’re not even connected. And after you find out your roommate is fine once more, you find yourself scrolling through your call history to find the IT number.

“UA University IT Services, how can I help?”

 You gape. “It’s you again!”

“Hey, it’s submission girl.” He grins. “You forget it’s called enter again?”

You roll your eyes. “Ha ha. I’m not calling for your horrible comedy, I'm calling because my WiFi isn’t working. You can help me with that, right?”

He groans into the phone. “Do I have to?”

“Yes you have to. It’s your job, IT guy.”

“I suppose. Since you asked me so nicely.”

You sit up in your bed. “Okay. What should I do?”

“Are you sure it’s not just the WiFi being shitty?” He asks.

You hum questionably. “No, I don’t think so. I asked my roommate and she said that hers is fine. And it’s also saying disconnected.”

You pause for a minute. “Wait, how do you know the WiFi is shitty?”

He snorts a laugh. “I’m a student too, idiot. I have to deal with shitty wifi as well.”

“Oh.”

You’re not shocked per say. He certainly doesn’t sound like a middle aged man you’d imagine working in IT. It’s nice to confirm though. And the fact that he is probably around your age means you can keep finding his voice hot.

“What, do I sound that old?”

Definitely not. “Yeah.”

“Shut up. You sound worse.” He mumbles and you tut. 

“Horrible customer service. I’m filing a complaint.”

A small laugh is heard from the other line. “I’d rather you didn’t. Rent is not cheap here.”

You lay back on your bed, dragging your laptop up on your knees. “You live in the student dorms?”

“Well, duh. I am a student, after all.” 

You roll your eyes. “What year are you?” “Second.”

“Hey, me too! How old are you?” “Should I be concerned by these questions?”

“Not if you answer.”

He replies that he’s nineteen, just like you. You wonder if you’ve seen him around before. Maybe he’s even in the same course as you. You could ask for his name, but you think that might be a little weird. That, and you sort of love the mystery around the man. Who knew being so useless at technology would lead to such great things?

Your laptop flickers off, and it’s only then you remember that you called him for a reason. You tap the keyboard and it lights back up, and your anger flares up once more. You huff, and IT guy seems to remember why you called too.

“Right, your wifi. You said it’s working for your roommate?” He asks.

“Yeah. And it’s working on my phone, it’s just my laptop.”

He hums, and you can hear the faint sound of clicking on the other line. “What building are you in?” You raise an eyebrow. “Should I be concerned by these questions?”

“Not if you answer.”

You smile. “I’m in 4A.”

He takes another few seconds, and you lean your head back on your bed as you wait for him to say something. 

“Alright. Your password should be, ‘uab4a’. You wanna try type that in?”

You groan, sitting up again. “I have, like six hundred times. But okay.” You huff, doing it once more.

Nothing. You sigh, defeated. All you want to do is watch some Netflix. 

It takes about five tries before IT guy finally starts to get stressed out with you. He tells you to click different things, turn your laptop on and off, restart it. You follow all his instructions to no avail, and you shake your head.

“You know what, maybe I’ll just watch Netflix on my phone.” You sigh, said phone now on speaker and thrown on your bedsheets.

IT guy tuts. “None of that talk. I just don’t understand. We’ve tried literally everything. The only way I-”

Suddenly the other line goes quiet. You grab your phone to check he didn’t hang up and you see that it’s now been 18 minutes of you two on the phone together. 

“Why have you gone all quiet?”

“Is your caps lock on?”

You bark a laugh. “Right. Like I’m that stupid to-”

You look down. The little light next to your capslock button is flashing, and your face heats red and IT guy starts cackling down the other line. You write the password once more, in lower case this time, and you let your face fall in your hands at the sign of four wifi bars flashing back at you.

“Oh my god.” You mumble, and IT guy just keeps laughing.

“Oh- Oh my god, you idiot.”

“Shut up! I dont- How did I not realise?” You cry, slamming your laptop shut.

IT guy takes a deep breath. “I really don’t know.”

You shake your head, putting the phone back up to your ear. “I’m sorry for wasting your time.” You mumble.

“Aw, don’t worry about it, sweetheart. I think you’re the only person that calls this line, anyway.”

You decide to ignore the nickname, and the tingle it leaves in your gut, and nod. “Good, then. I’m keeping your job for you.”

“So kind. Alright, go watch your show.”

“Night, IT guy.”

“Goodnight.”

Over the next two weeks, you end up calling a handful of times. Your password needs resetting, you accidentally deleted a file. Each inane task ends up with the two of you sitting on the phone for ages afterwards. You learn that he’s an insomniac, and that’s why he always works the night shift. He also lives in building 5B, which is about a ten minute walk from your place. The fact he’s so close, that you could go see him right now, taunts you in the back of your mind everyday. The fact that he was in your university, that he could be your classmate or someone walking around campus. 

But, like all things, your horrible internet habits mellow out. After a few days of no problems, you find yourself missing him. You’ve only spoken a handful of times, but he’s funny. He’s sarcastic and a little mean, but in a good way, a way that makes you a little giddy. And of course, now that you want issues, it’s so much harder for you to find some.

Over wine poured in mugs and reruns of you confess to your roommate your situation. She’s a little skeptical of the lack of identity, but she thinks you should just call him again. It couldn’t hurt, right? Worse case scenario, you hang up and the two of you never have to speak again. But best case scenario, you can have a conversation that’s actually about something meaningful. And you can get called sweetheart again.

It takes another two days for you to build up the courage, despite your friend’s support. You wait until it’s late, remembering that he told you he works the night shift, and anxiously dial the number.

“UA University IT Services, how can I help?” His voice sounds bored, automated, but you recognise it immediately.

“Hey, IT guy.” 

You hear a shuffle on the other end. “Hey, it’s my favourite customer.”

“It’s me.” You say nervously.

“So, what is it today? WiFi on the fritz again?” He teases. 

It takes a second for the words to get out. “Uh, no, I. I actually don’t need help with anything today.”

“Okay. So what’s the call for?”

“I just wanted to talk to you.”

Silence. Oh god. You immediately cringe, and you are never listening to your roommate again, because she’s always wrong and stupid.

“Really?” He says quietly.

You swallow. “Really really. Don’t sound too excited.” You joke and he laughs.

“Trust me, I am. I wanted to talk to you again too, but I had no way to. The numbers on our end don’t get saved after every call, so. I was waiting for you.”

You perk up at his words. “Really?” “Really really. I also couldn't ask around. I doubt you go by submission girl in your everyday.”

You walk into your room, hopping into bed. You lay down on your stomach, and place your phone in front of you, resting your face on your arms.

“No, not particularly. Wouldn’t it be weird, though? If we actually knew each other in person this whole time and we never knew?” “Nah, I doubt it. Think I’d remember a pretty voice like yours.”

Your face flushes. “Shut up. ” You say, pressing your palms to your cheeks to cool you down.

He snorts a laugh. “What do you study?”

“Veterinary medicine.”

“Wait, that’s sick. Do you get to see cats?”

You grin. “Yes! I volunteered at a shelter last summer, they were so cute.” 

He hums. “I love cats. I have one, you know.”

You eyebrows furrow in confusion. “Here? On campus? Isn’t that against the rules?”

“Nobody knows about her. We won’t get caught/ She's a good girl, she isn't loud or anything. And my roommate in under sworn secrecy.” He says.

Good girl. There's no way he isn’t talking like that on purpose. You nod your head even though he can’t see you.

“Okay, and what if she came to live with me?” You ponder, and he scoffs.

“I’m not co-parenting my cat with you.”

You’re lucky enough that your room faces the setting sun and now, a soft orange glow covers your room. It’s just cold enough that you’re wearing a hoodie and your fluffiest socks, but your window is still open to freshen the air. There’s a vanilla scented candle on its last life on your bedside table, and you prop your phone up against it and lean back in your bed.

“I could report you, you know. They’ll kick you out the uni.”

IT guy pouts. “You don’t want that to happen. Then you’ll never see how beautiful I am in real life.”

You snort a laugh. “Well, what do you look like? So I know what to avoid on campus.”

He hums thoughtfully for a moment. You yourself have spent countless minutes wondering. Is he tall? Short? Blonde, or brunette, or maybe he’s bald. You have no idea. 

“Well. I’m like, 6’1.”

“Yum.”

“Shut up.” He chides, but you can hear the smile in his voice. “And I have like. Kind of long hair. And I always look sleep-deprived, 24/7.”

“Night shifts will do that to you. What colours your hair?”

“Hm. No.”

You protest. “What do you mean no?”

“It’s a dead giveaway! I want to keep some of my mystery.”

He asks you what you look like. You give him the same cryptic descriptions he gave you. 

“Wow. I can find you easily now.” He drawls and you grin.

“No matter. We’ll meet one day.” You say.

The two of you end up staying on the phone for hours. It’s unfair how easily you find things to talk about. He tells you about his course, Psychology, and you listen as he rambles in your ear about studies and experiments. As it gets later his voice gets deeper, lacing deliciously with sleep as his voice rumbles in your ears. The time wears on and your eyes start to blink heavily. You look at the time and it’s been three hours.  Unfortunately, you are not like IT guy, and not only do you have classes tomorrow, but you need sleep to function. 

You yawn heavily. “Look, I hate to be a buzzkill but I gotta sleep. I’ve got a ten am tomorrow.” 

“Boring. But fine. I’ll, uh. Talk to you later.”

You nod sleepily. “Night.”

You reach your phone over to hang up but IT guy’s voice rings out, scratchy through the speaker.

“Wait! I- Can I give you my number?”

That’s enough to wake you up.

You sit up on one elbow, rubbing at your eyes. “Your what?”

“Phone number? It’s those numbers you dial in when you wanna call me.”

“It’s too late for sarcasm.” You scowl.

“Sorry, sweetheart. It’s just I’d like to have a way to communicate with you. And call you. And text, or whatever.”

You smile slightly. “Okay. Yeah, of course you can.”

He reads out his number and you jot it down. He hangs up soon after and you send him a quick text.

September 17th 

01:20 am

You: goodnight IT guy 😁

IT guy: Goodnight  💜

Life gets much easier with his phone number. Now you can text him during your lectures, during the walk to and from your work. He calls you during his shifts and you keep him company for as long as you can before you fall asleep. Which you have embarrassingly done a few times.

He sends you pictures of his cat. A cute black one called Pesto. You ask for the meaning behind that and he said he was eating pesto pasta when he got her. There’s one picture where you can see his hands in the corner, fingers long and slender and you have to stop looking before your thoughts take a dangerous turn.

Theres a time, maybe a week in, that things between you shift. The playful flirting is upped, and the conversations between you become more meaningful. You start anxiously awaiting a text back, face flushing at the stuff he says sometimes. Maybe it isn’t the smartest idea to fall for a guy who you don’t really know, but you don't care.

He knows Denki, for one. You’d mentioned the name and he’d perked up. Denki was an energetic guy you met at a house party once. And if IT guy is friends with him then that's more than enough confirmation for you that he isn’t a freak.

You tell him more about what you look like. You haven’t sent a picture, but you think he might know enough to catch you on campus. He still hasn’t told you much else, and he confesses to you one night that he’s nervous about it.

IT guy: I don’t wanna be a buzz kill but I’m scared ur gonna be disappointed

You: literlaly shut up

You: idc if u look like a troll

IT guy: right

You: or an ogre

IT guy: is this supposed to make me feel better

You: YES

You: look what im trying to say that i genuinely don’t care because i like u regardless of all that

You: ur smart and ur funny and ur mean but ina good way

You: and u hace a cute cat called pesto

IT guy: so ur using me for my cat?

You: duh..

It’s been two days since that conversation, and IT guy has been much more active ever since. You’d like to think you’ve given him a little boost of confidence, but you don’t care why it’s happening. You’re just happy that it is. 

You wish you could reply to whatever he’s sent you right now, but your boss might fire you if he catches you on your phone again.

You like the coffee shop you work at. It’s a quaint little hippy spot that’s a ten minute walk from your place. The pay is good enough, and you like your coworkers. Specifically Tokoyami. He’s quiet and keeps to himself, but he lets you chatter away to him every time you’re on shift together, and he always has good music recommendations for you.

Today, it’s the both of you on shift. You’re wiping down the coffee machines in the back and you can see him talking to someone at the counter. You can’t hear what they’re saying, but it’s rare you see him talking so animatedly. So you try to get a closer look. And wow.

You don’t know who he’s talking to but you’d like to. His hair is purple. That’s the first thing you notice. It’s a lavender and it looks so soft and fluffy you want to reach out and touch it. His eyes are a deep brown, and there’s heavy bags under them, but they somehow make him look even more beautiful. He’s got a lazy smirk on his face as he says something to Tokoyami and you’re itching to reach forward and eavesdrop. But you can’t. You’re on cleaning duty. Of course you are when a cute guy comes in.

You feel a pang of guilt suddenly, when you remember IT guy. You don’t think you should be thinking about any other guys. Even really cute ones. You get your head down and keep wiping. It’s only a moment later when you hear a crash and your head shoots up. Something happened out in the shop, and a moment later Tokoyami pops his head in the kitchen.

“Someone spilled some shit on the floor. Can you take Shinsou?” 

Shinsou. Tokoyamis told you about him before. A friend from university, or something like that.

“The purple haired guy?”

“Yep.”

“Gosh, the famous friend I’ve heard so much about. You never mentioned he’s so cute.” You wiggle your eyebrows and he rolls his eyes at you.

“Yeah, sorry but. He’s got a little girlfriend texting thing going on.”

You tell him you were only joking and he just pushes you out to the front. You peek a look at Shinsou and he’s looking off into the distance. Deliciously so.

You check his order and it’s just a black coffee. Simple enough. You make quick work of the drink, humming something under your breath as the machine whirls to life. You write his name on the cup in sharpie, and fill it up, pressing the lid and slipping on a cover so he doesn’t burn his hands.

You walk up to the counter. “Hiya. You’re Shinsou? Tokoyami’s friend? He’s mentioned you before. All good things.” You smile as you slide the drink over.

And Shinsou looks back at you like you’ve got two heads. Or like you’re the most shocking thing he’s ever seen in your life. You step back a bit, slightly nervous at the shocked expression on his face.

“Is everything okay?” You ask, your smile falling a little.

“No. I mean yes! It’s-“ 

And it’s as he’s stuttering through his words you hear it. That voice. That same deep, smooth voice you’ve been flirting with over the phone. And you’re sure your face now looks like Shinsou is the most shocking thing you’ve ever seen in your life. Your face heats up and he doesn’t look shocked for much longer because that same unfairly attractive smirk graces his face.

He leans forward slightly. “Is this submission girl in the flesh?”

“Oh my god. IT guy?” 

His smirk widens into a grin. “I go by Shinsou, but. You can call me that too.” 

You roll your eyes to the side but you can’t help but keep them on him, an incredulous look on your face. “You were worried for us to meet? You’re fucking hot.” You say.

And he looks even better when the tops of his cheeks dust the slightest red. You smile, leaning forward on the counter. 

“Thank you. And you’re beautiful.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Even in my gross work apron?”

“Especially in your gross apron, sweetheart.” 

You feel like giggling like you’re fourteen with a crush again. You brush a lock of hair behind your ear. 

“You’re not working tonight, right?” You ask.

He shakes his head and purple locks of hair dance around his face. Slender fingers grab the cup and take a sip. 

“Perfect. We’re going out.”

Shinsou tilts his head to the side. “Shouldn’t I be asking you out? Seems much more traditional that way.”

“We met on our uni's customer service number. I don’t think anything about this is traditional.”

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

guys i LAAAAUUUVVVVV shinsou and like he does not get enough attention or love or fics....... it makes me wanna scream

also this nearly took a steamy turn... with that cellular device.... but i did not because i cba

also i noticed that jason todd fics do so wel compared to my other stuff?? maybe cause hes not as popular but i will keep that in mind my people.

i hope u all enjoyed this! <3

[secretl1fe0fm3]

can’t take it back once it’s been set in motion ~ matty healy

this is slightly inspired by my favorite ovulation song; oxytocin by billie eilish :P (also this is my first one shot so please be nice!!)

warnings: smut, inexperienced!reader, service top!matty, slight power imbalance, excessive use of the word ‘love’, matty going down soft sound, aftercare, soft(ish) dom!matty, sub!reader.

18+ minors dni!!!

3k+ words

You sigh lightly as your phone lights up your pitch black room, mocking your current state of insomnia. You had set it down over an hour ago to try and force yourself to sleep, but even with a lack of the blue light, you were still wide awake. Sitting up, you reach for your phone and notice an unknown number calling you. Already being unable to sleep, you decide to entertain whoever could possibly be calling you at this hour. Ultimately, deciding to answer.

“Hello?” You speak slowly and softly, still somewhat tired despite being unable to sleep.

“Thank god you answered.” Said the voice, relieved, on the other end of the line.

“Matty?” You could recognize that voice anywhere, even though you were seventy percent sure you were hallucinating right now.

“Im sorry to bother you at this hour, love. I need your help.” Matty breathes out, his voice sounding rushed. You groan to yourself, barely audible. You and Matty had been friends for years, meeting through a mutual friend, but you haven’t heard from him in almost two years until now. He practically ghosted your friendship when he found himself in a new, yet toxic relationship. But, based on the headlines you had read the other day scrolling twitter, they had finally called it quits.

Sitting up, you put your phone on speaker, and sit it in your lap. “Matty, what the fuck do you need?” You’re pissed, but your voice not showing any more than a slight annoyance.

“I need you to come pick me up, take me back to mine. My buddies dragged me out with them to get over, well, you know. Long story short, they are all shit-faced, none of them fucking coherent, and my god damn car service app isn’t working.” He sounds genuinely stressed. “My phones about to die as well, which is bloody fucking fantastic.” Matty grumbles into the phone.

You sit there, momentarily debating your options. You could leave him there, make him figure his shit out on his own. But you also have a soft spot for him after everything, knowing, if anything, he’s not the same person who deserted your friendship a few years ago. A deliberate exhale leaves your mouth, choosing the latter.

“Yeah, okay. Just text me your location before your phone dies. I’ll be there soon.” You hear him start to thank you, but you hang up quickly, not letting him get another word out. Deciding to keep your satin pajama shorts and bra on, you throw a hoodie over and slide on your sneakers. Groaning while grabbing your car keys off the kitchen island, you set off to your car, driving to Matty’s current location.

As you pull up to the bar, you recognize Matty leaning up against the wall, taking a long drag of his cigarette. Nothing has changed. You also notice none of his friends are anywhere to be seen. Odd. Driving up next to where Matty is standing, you roll down your window and his eyes catch yours.

“Long time no see, love.” Matty’s lips twist up into a smirk. Nothing. Has. Fucking. Changed. You watch him stub out his cigarette on the brick wall and toss it into the trash can by him. He climbs into your car shortly after. “Missed your face, thanks for coming to get me.”

Letting out an immediate scoff at his nonchalant behavior, you decide to ignore his comment. “So, Im taking you back to yours, right?”

You feel Matty’s eyes rake over your body, burning into your skin. You can smell some alcohol on him, though you know he’s not a big drinker, only having a glass or two of wine usually, and choosing to stick to his cigarettes or weed. He’s not drunk, so why is he looking at you like that.

“Of course, love.” He speaks lowly, eyes still stuck on you. You decide to disregard his use of the pet name and put your car into drive, pulling off onto the main road.

The drive to Matty’s house was maybe fifteen minutes at most, and yet it felt like an eternity with his eyes fixed on you. It’s almost like he couldn’t believe you actually came to pick him up, not being able to come to terms that you were finally seeing each other after two years.

Pulling up to Matty’s house brought back so many memories, and important moments you two had shared over the years of your friendship. His driveway led you to his front door, as you put your car in park, you finally glance over at Matty, who’s staring attentively. Under the glow of the exterior lights on his house, you notice he’s wearing tight black jeans, a dark belt, blank tank top, and a satin dress shirt. His long curly hair is slicked back slightly, with his sunglasses sitting on top of his head.

“Like what you see?” Matty implies cockily, eyes never leaving yours.

“It’s a fucking Monday.” You glare at him. “Why were you out on a fucking Monday, don’t you think you’re too old for this bullshit?” Continuing to ignore his playful comments, you squint your eyes at him, crossing your arms over your chest. You slightly feel bad for picking arguments with him, but his remarks are starting to make you feel some type of way.

Matty laughs out loud at your comment, the sudden deep laugh makes you jump a bit. “Lighten up a bit, love.” He nudges his elbow into your arm. You continue to frown at him, clearly not finding anything amusing. Matty falls silent, realizing how upset you actually are. “Look, why don’t you come inside? I can make you some tea, and we could watch a movie like old times?” He wiggles his eyebrows at you, waiting on an answer.

Your eyes bore into his. “Fine.” Turning off your car, you and Matty step out, walking up to his front door. He unlocks his door and steps to the side, motioning for you to come in. You take off your sneakers and set them on the mat, walking over to his living room and sitting down on his massive couch. He joins you promptly, sitting right next to you, a little too close for the amount of spots he could’ve picked from.

“Still a little bratty? Huh?” He asks casually, not once looking up at you as he turns on his TV.

“Excuse me?” Your eyes widen at his sudden judgement.

“Bratty. You’ve always been a little brat, love. It’s cute, though. Never minded it. Some things just never change.” He chuckles to himself, shaking his head.

Can’t take it back once it’s been set in motion

Your mouth is agape, taken aback by his words, struggling to make a counter remark.

“I see no one’s ever tried putting you in your place yet.” Matty hums absentmindedly, setting the remote down and glancing over at your shocked face.

You know I love to rub it in like lotion.

Pink flushes on your cheeks and neck as you stare at him with wide eyes, unsure of what to say next. "I- what?" You stumble over your words, mouth suddenly dry.

Matty moves closer, invading any personal space you were clinging onto. His hand falls on your thigh, squeezing as he keeps his eyes locked on yours. "Oh, you heard me loud and clear, love. Don't play stupid now." He whispers, eyes flickering to your lips momentarily.

You lose the ability to speak, eyes unable to leave his. "Matty-" He cuts you off.

"C'mon darling, I saw how you were looking at me in the car, and how eager you were to come pick me up tonight, even after all this time"

I can see it clear as day.

The blush on your cheeks deepens as you feel his hot breath fan across your skin, creating goosebumps up your arms. You grab onto his forearm, putting your other hand on his chest, trying to keep a small distance between you two. Matty was very attractive, you couldn't deny it. But your inexperience was making you hesitate, unsure of how to handle his advances.

Before you could react, Matty reached his hand out and placed it on your cheek, the other still resting on your thigh, squeezing tighter than before. His face was only centimeters away from yours as he breathes out, "Tell me to stop and I will. But you don't want me too, do you, love?"

You don't really need a break.

You close your eyes tightly, feeling flustered at his words. A warmth growing in your stomach, an unfamiliar feeling. You think about pushing him off, but your body ached for him, not wanting to stop this. Without any more hesitation, you look back up at him, shaking your head slowly, an invitation for him to continue.

Wanna see what you can take.

At your permission, Matty crashes his lips against yours, moving the hand that was on your cheek down to your neck. You let out a small gasp at the contact. He takes this as a chance to deepen the kiss, taking up every part of your mouth with his. The grip on your thigh moves up, closer to your heat. His fingers play with the hem of your pajama shorts, pushing them up slightly, almost exposing your underwear. You let out a pathetic whine as he breaks the heated kiss.

"God, Ive wanted to do this for years, you have no idea." Matty grumbles out as he pulls off your hoodie swiftly, pushing you down to lay back against the arm rest. He hovers over you, pulling down your satin shorts slowly, eyes never breaking contact from yours. "You're so fucking pretty baby, my perfect girl." You blush at his words, letting out a soft groan. Feeling like a prey under the gaze of a predator, you fix your eyes on the ceiling, unable to look at him.

You should really run away.

Matty notices this, and reaches his hand out to grab at your chin, directing your attention back to him. "Don't you dare look away, keep your eyes on me, yeah?"

Your eyes meet his again, his pupils blown with lust. He looks at you with a stern look, asserting his dominance as you nod silently. Matty smirks at your obedience, and starts rubbing small circles on your heat. You moan louder this time at the friction, pushing your hips up against his hand.

Other people wouldn't stay. Other people don't obey.

"That's right, love. Does that feel good? Do you want more?" Matty's eyes stay trained on yours. You feel small under his gaze, yet enjoying how he towers over you, his chain dangling in front of your face. You clench your legs together as his fingers rub at your clit, growing wetter by the second.

Your stomach starts to tighten, already close to an orgasm. "Im close, please, I can't." You cry out, throwing your head back on the arm rest.

His fingers suddenly disappear from your clit, and you cry out from the sudden loss.

"Do I need to repeat myself? I told you to keep your eyes on me, yeah? Be a good girl for me, darling." Matty reiterates, moving his other hand up to your neck again, applying pressure but not fully cutting off your airway.

You nod feverishly, not wanting him to stop again. Your eyes pleading for forgiveness. Matty chuckles and reaches his hand back down, his fingers barely grazing your clit again as he pulls your underwear down your thighs, exposing your wet cunt to him. The cold air against your core makes you shudder, the contrast in temperature sending a wave of pleasure up your spine.

Matty watches your reaction intently, reveling in how it doesn't take much to get you worked up. He releases your neck from his grip and places his lips against your neck, searching for your pulse point. You expose your neck more, giving him silent permission to continue.

I wanna do bad things to you.

"God, you really are a desperate thing, aren't you love? Tell me where you want me." He murmurs into your neck, planting kisses and bites around the sensitive area as he rubs tight circles on your clit. You flush at his words, letting out a whimper.

"Anywhere, please." You beg him, jerking your hips up to create more friction again. He lets out a soft chuckle into your neck at this.

"Your wish is my command, darling." Matty smirks and pulls away from your neck. He begins to move down your body, trailing kisses until he reaches your cunt. He breathes out onto your heat, then swiftly attaches his lips to your clit, sucking hard. You cry out from the new feeling, body squirming with pleasure.

Matty hums against your pussy at the cry you let out, creating a vibrating sensation. Your hands grip at his head, your fingers curling into his hair and pulling. You keep your eyes on him as he flicks his tongue against your clit repeatedly, mouth hanging open in a silent moan.

"So fucking perfect for me." He mumbles, wrapping his hands around your legs, keeping them wide open for him. His tongue teases your tight hole, licking thick stripes wherever he could reach before his attention is drawn back to your clit, sucking persistently.

Your back arches off the couch, fingers gripping at his hair and pulling hard. "Matty, fuck, Im gonna come, fuck-" You stumble over your words, feeling your stomach tighten at his continued abuse against your cunt.

Matty pulls away momentarily, "Go ahead, darling. Be a good girl for me and come on my tongue, yeah?" He picks up speed, mercilessly sucking and circling his tongue on your pussy.

I wanna make you yell.

Your legs clench together, affectively trapping him against your core as your body tenses up. You throw your head back, letting out an obscenely loud moan as you feel your orgasm wash over your body. Your hips buck up into his mouth, feeling even more wetness pool where his mouth is. Matty moans against your cunt, sending aftershocks from your orgasm straight to your heat again.

"You taste fucking unbelievable, love." He grunts out, making sure to swallow every last bit of your orgasm. Your body twitches from overstimulation as he finishes cleaning you up with his tongue.

Matty pulls away, his lips soaked with your fluids. You look at him with heavy eyes, feeling almost drunk from your orgasm. He looks almost as wrecked as you. You are about to sit up and reach for him when you glance down and realize he's still hard, but he stops you.

"I know you're tired. You don't have to finish me off. Another time, okay?" Matty speaks lowly, keeping eye contact with you as he stands up and grabs a blanket from the basket near the coffee table. He sits on the edge of the couch next to you, wrapping you up in the fluffy blanket. You blink up at him, exhaustion washing over your body.

Matty stares down at you, giving you a look filled with an emotion you couldn't quite pinpoint. You sigh out, feeling his body press up next to yours. He pulls you into his arms tightly, brushing his fingers through your hair.

"Thank you for that." You admit your appreciation shyly, a content smile on your lips.

Matty grins down at you, "Of course, love. Anything for you." He runs his fingers through your hair, brushing the strands out of your face. Your eyes flutter shut, unable to fight the sleep coming over you this time.

[stars4noah]

HALLEY'S COMET- five.

{WARNINGS}: smutty smut smut smut, so much fluff its insane, swearing

w.c- 2,017

a.n- thank you all for the recent love and support, it means more than you know. this is by far my favorite chapter! hope you enjoy <3

{TAGLIST}: @lacy1986 @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard @chey-h @rumoured-whispers @oobleoob @dontwantthemoney @n0n3xsisting

"you're her, princess. you're the woman i was in love with. the woman i'm still in love with. fuck, i thought taking time would make these stupid feelings go away but the moment i saw you in this fucking dress i couldn't take it anymore. i need you, [y/n]. will you have me?"

she was quiet for a moment before she nodded slowly. "yes."

READER'S POV.

as soon as the words left my mouth, noah wasted no time on pressing his lips to mine once more. this time, i reciprocated. he picked me up by the back of my thighs before gently laying me down on the bed behind us, his kisses moving down my neck.

"noah..." i breathed.

"what do you need, sweetheart?"

i whimpered softly. "you. i need you." he smiled. "you have me, baby."

i huffed, my hands moving to tangle in his hair. "you know what i mean."

"do i?"

"shut up and kiss me."

our next kiss was rougher than the last. full of passion and lust. his hands moved to my waist before lowering to my hips and tugging my dress up to my waist.

"fuck... just for me?" he said, groaning at the sight of my lacy black thong. i bit my lip.

"all for you."

he pulled the thong inside before ducking down, his lips working expertly at my core as i tugged on his hair, a stream of moans slipping past my lips.

"fuck.. oh my, fuck."

i could feel his lips shift into a grin as he continued, my thighs keeping his head locked in place. he couldn't move even if he wanted to.

which he definitely didn't.

the feeling of his mouth added to his fingers curling inside of me made that rope in my tummy snap, my release coating his nose, mouth and chin as i breathed heavily.

he moved back up my body, his lips leaving a trail a heat in it's wake before he kissed me again, this time moving to take off his own pants. i helped him get them off and throw them somewhere in the room, desperate to feel him.

this was all i ever wanted. all i ever needed. i could die a happy woman knowing i had sex with the noah sebastian. the man who may or may not just be the love of my life. but that was something we could figure out later.

he gave one last kiss on my lips, lining himself up with my hole. "you ready?" he asked softly, and i nodded.

with that, he pushed in, making me let out a quiet moan of pain and pleasure as he soon bottomed out.

the moment he started moving, it wasn't gentle. this wasn't him wanting to make love. this was him wanting to fuck me until i couldn't speak. and i was more than okay with that.

i moaned loudly as the headboard banged against the wall in rhythm to his thrusts, arching my back as he hit that one spot inside that made me see stars. if people downstairs didn't know what we were doing before, they sure as hell did now.

"shh, you gotta be quiet." he said. "don't want your little guests hearing you, do you?"

i shook my head, causing him to leave a small smack on the outside of my thigh. "words, baby."

"n-no. oh god, noah!" i moaned.

he growled, pulling out and flipping me over with my ass in the air before going right back in, pushing my head into the pillow as i let out a constant string of moans that were honestly almost screams.

i felt that cord in my stomach getting tighter again, and i knew my release was close.

"n-noah, fuck, please. 'm gonna cum." i whined, my voice slightly muffled by the pillows.

"yeah? you gonna cum for me? make a fuckin' mess?" he grunted into my ear, his thrusts growing sloppy and i knew he was close too. "cum for me, baby. c'mon." he said, and that was all it took. i let go, my legs shaking and almost giving out on me as i came. i swore for a second i almost saw god.

in my blissed out state, my mind didn't even register that he had fleed to the bathroom for a moment before i felt something warm and damp between my legs, making me whimper softly.

"shh, sweetheart. it's okay. just cleanin' you up." noah said softly lowering me down onto the bed and flipping me over. he threw the cloth somewhere before moving beside me to take off my dress.

"c'mon, arms up." he said, and i complied, moving my arms up so he could take it off of me before giving me an oversized shirt, putting it on over me.

"there ya go. comfy?" he asked, laying me down with my head on his chest. "mhm" i hummed.

"you sleepy?"

"yeah."

"go to sleep then, baby. i'll be right here. i won't leave. not this time." he said softly, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead.

i closed my eyes and attempted to fall asleep, but after about ten minutes i knew i couldn't.

"noah?" i asked softly.

"yeah?"

"will you sing to me?"

he smiled softly. "yeah."

my eyes remained closed as he hummed a soft, unfamiliar tune. i wasn't sure what it was, but it was soothing enough to lull me into sleep.

i woke up the next morning to a familiar warmth next to me, my eyes slowly fluttering open. it took a moment for my mind to catch up, but when i realized that he really did stay, i smiled. i gently brushed the hair out of his eyes, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead and then his shoulder before carefully getting out of bed. as much as i wanted to stay and cuddle, i was hungry as fuck.

i crept downstairs, noticing a couple people crashed on my couch. i rolled my eyes, a fond smile on my face. that was okay, they were friends. i'd rather have a million people stay over at my house after a long night of partying and drinking than drive home drunk and endanger themselves and others.

i carefully pulled a blanket over nicholas, noticing he was curled up a bit as if he was cold. i always kept my a/c on a fairly low temperature, as i got hot really easy. it didn't bother me, but it did others.

i continued my main task and went to the kitchen to cook up some breakfast. while i was cooking, i felt a large pair of hands wrap themselves around my waist, pressing kiss after kiss to my neck.

"morning." i smiled softly, turning to face him.

"g'morning, princess." he said, his voice still a little hoarse from just waking up. "what're you cookin' up in here?" he asked.

i turned back around to flip the bacon, mot wanting it to burn. "just some breakfast. eggs and bacon. that good with you?"

"perfect." he said

there was a beat of silence before he spoke again.

"hey, what do you say we go out today? let me take you on a proper date. you deserve it."

i smiled softly. "i'd like that. maybe we could stop by that little restaurant that just opened up a couple blocks away. oh, and we could go see the christmas lights!"

"baby, it's the middle of november." he raised an eyebrow.

"so? the lights are up, and i wanna see them."

he shook his head, laughing softly. "okay. well, you make breakfast. i'll go take a shower, and then we can hang out all day. deal?"

i nodded, giving him one last kiss before finishing up breakfast as he went to go shower.

later in the day, noah and i went out for our little date. we settled for the restaurant i suggested earlier. it wasn't too fancy, but it was cute and i liked it. the waitress sat us down at a table, taking our orders before walking off, leaving the two of us be.

we were sat beside one of the large windows, a beautiful view of the outside city and a small tree. i smiled softly as i watched the little critters roam around. birds and squirrels.

"what're you looking at?" noah asked softly, following my gaze.

"the birds."

he smiled. "you really are a nature nerd, aren't you?"

i laughed softly. "not a nerd. i just like to watch the birds. sometimes i wish i could fly. i bed it would give some sense of freedom. it seems like so much fun." i said, not noticing how he looked at me with that soft smile. that smile that anyone could take one look at and instantly tell that a man was in love.

"you look really beautiful." he said, taking my hand in his. i averted my gaze, looking back at him with a smile. "thank you, baby. you look very handsome."

he laughed softly at the compliment, his cheeks flushing with the faintest hint of pink on them.

even though he was a big burly man on the outside, he was still a person with feelings. he would get shy when someone complimented him, or nervous in stressful situations. tough on the outside, sweetheart on the inside.

"are you excited for the lights?" he asked, and that brought a huge smile on my face.

"oh, yeah. i'm so excited. i love looking at christmas lights, they're just so fun and bright and festive and it makes me feel all warm and fuzzy on the inside and- sorry, i'm rambling." i laughed, and laughed too.

"no, love. ramble all you want. i'm listening."

and that was pretty much all we did all night. after we ate, we went to go see the christmas lights, even taking a few pictures.

when we got home, we settled down, slipping into our pajamas with a fire in the fireplace and a movie on the tv. i could tell noah had been thinking about something all night, and it worried me a bit.

"hey." i said after a few minutes. "what's on your mind?"

he snapped himself out of his thoughts, releasing his bottom lip from his teeth. "i have something to ask you. don't freak out." i nodded, though it was hard not to be anxious when you're told not to freak out.

"how would you feel about going public? with our relationship, i mean."

i froze for a moment. we had only gotten together literally a day ago. going public so soon? i knew it was a bad idea, but another part of me wanted the world to know. i wanted everybody to know that he was mine, and i was his.

"i.. i don't know. what if everything goes wrong? like, people might freak out and hate us and our careers could spiral downhill and-"

he cut me off, gently cupping my face in his hands. "hey. we don't have to if you don't want to. i'm just making a suggestion. i want everybody to know i'm yours. that i've got this lucky woman by my side every single day of my life. that i love you. and who cares what they think? they're just a bunch of people on the internet that have nothing else to do but make others' lives miserable. us? we can decide to make our relationship public or private. i promise either is okay with me. nothing will ever change the way i feel for you." he reassured.

i nodded slowly. "okay."

"are you sure? i don't want to pressure you into something you don't want to do."

"i'm sure. i want them to know. so then we can post all of our cute pictures and videos and stuff." i smiled, something that he returned in full before pressing a soft miss to my forehead.

"i'll love you forever." he said softly.

"and always?" i asked

he laughed softly, nuzzling his face in my hair.

"and always, my love."

[dreamingofawhiteswan]

Yandere Boombox x Reader who resists and exposes

WARNING: Yandere themes, violence and murder, stalking mention, gaslighting.

Notes: This was fun to write. I hope I have characterised him well.

You are going to take that stupid visor off his face and beat him to death with it. Honestly, you will.

Every single time he comes into view, this unescapable hatred fills your very soul. That smile and little hearts showing up on the screen make you want to pummel it into pieces.

He slings his arm around your shoulder, artificially winking at you. "Hey! Glad you could make it." He threatens you. "Wouldn't be complete without my sweetie!" You wish he would choke in those words.

Had you not been blind, you wouldn't be in this situation in the first place. You've made countless requests to stop dating, to make Boombox not refer to you as if things were normal, but he just keeps doing it. Any attempts to correct him are laughed off, his relaxed demeanor almost like a drug that prevents others from thinking properly.

You remember when this vile hatred began to flood your systems.

It was a day you spent with another one of your friends, one-on-one. You'd lived a normal life up until then, but a hand shot out from the alley you were walking by. It grabbed him, practically at the throat.

You rushed into the alley, trying to find your friend. But then you heard an ugly snap. You didn't know what it was, but it made your blood turn to ice. Your entire body, inside and outside, went rigid.

And then, you made eye contact with him. He was still wearing that visor, even though nothing showed on the screen. He dropped your friend on the ground, revealing through the gap between his feet that your friend's neck had been twisted into an impossible angle.

And he turns his body to you. You recognise who it is immediately.

Neither of you speak a word. Your tongue has gone dry, the way his neck looked imprinting itself into your mind, as if it was your own corpse you had seen. The creak in your bones almost audible.

And your blood which had frozen began to defrost. In fact, you could hear it begin to boil.

You ran towards him, the one you had once called a friend and lover, and slammed your fist right into his face. A crack, almost identical to the one you had heard, screamed through the air. And the vile beast fell down.

You stared at the body, unsure what to do. You feel your legs moving in an unknown direction, only for the rest of you to move along with it. You close your eyes, feeling cool air brush past you as each step reverberates through you. And then you open your eyes as you feel your hand touch the cold of a door handle.

Ever since that day, you loathed Boombox.

He showed up at your door the next day, not even a bruise on where you had punched him. "Bad vibes" he claimed, stating his visit was just from a horrendous gut feeling that something went wrong. You glare at him, standing up and screaming at him to cut the act out.

He acted terrified, that visor lighting up with a panicked expression. You're certain that if you saw through it, it would expose his inner glee. He acts, speaking as if he's done no wrong.

Eventually, he spares you by leaving, keeping that perfectly pitiful expression on his face. You almost slammed the door on his back, only stopping yourself out of fear of bothering the neighbours.

And now, back in the present, he's been putting up his little picture perfect front. All snuggles and love and it makes you want to vomit. But you hold back, only stating a small "Don't call me that...".

Boombox laughs off your comment, pushing himself closer as the song from his gear floods your ears. It's always on, and you've tuned it out in your hatred.

It doesn't matter what this conversation is about. It doesn't matter who you're with, or what he's talking about. You need to get out of here. His grip grows tighter as he nuzzles you, and you can feel pinpricks wherever he touches you.

Suddenly, a voice, your saviour, directly addresses you. It's a simple question, just a check-up. You don't even recognise who it is, but you shove Boombox away, grab their hand, and drag them off.

Perhaps, in their shock, they didn't resist you as you two enter an alleyway. Looking back at the person and seeing one of the Skateboards, they absolutely could have thrown off your grip.

This one, Greenboard, starts with a "Hey! What gives?". If they noticed, that means they'll believe you. They aren't being controlled by that stupid song or whatever, you can finally throw up all the things you've had brewing inside you, and they'll listen because they know it's true.

All of it. The murders that he always makes sure you witness, the constant staring from the strangest locations, the incessant knocking at your door, the way he stares you in the eye as he puts something into his gifts...

...And the duality. How in front if everyone, he acts as he always has. Any bruise you inflict vanishes when he wants them to. The way he visits you, acting all concerned and normal.

"Well gee, certainly sounds like you got a bad case of the stalks..." They begin. It's almost funny. It would be funny if they didn't follow it up with "But are you sure they're the same guy? I mean, there's gotta be more than one Boombox, it's not impossible to think that one's a bad apple..."

They don't understand. They don't understand. You've been going through hell and they don't understand. They heard all you said and they don't understand. You want to ask them why, scream at them why, until the voice you dread comes by.

"Sugar? Greenboard? You two okay?"

Your eyes darken as Greenboard's lighten up. "Oh, BB! Good timing, I think your hunny boo's got a stalker."

"Wait, seriously?!" Boombox exclaims, as if this stalker and him were not one in the same. "That's... Horrible!"

"Yeah, yeah! What's even worse, it seems another Boombox is doing it." Greenboard pats you on the back, pushing you towards your tormentor. "Go on! Just say what you said to me, and we can sort this right out!"

"Greenboard, have some tact." Boombox interrupts before you can spit out your truth. His visor closes in an annoyed expression, everything forcefully unreadable, "They're probably shaken up from saying everything."

Boombox's visor turns into his thinking animation, one you know he doesn't need to use. "I have an idea. If what you say about a stalker is true, then why don't you live with me for a while?"

You start protesting. You deny that offer, as harshly as you can. All you want is for him to drop the act and admit it's him, but your outburst only puts Greenboard more on edge. Sure, Boombox changes to a shocked expression, but you both know it's a lie.

"Oh Swords, this is worse than I thought..." Boombox begins. Those lips of his prepare to seal the deal, to doom you to listening. "I think I really should keep you safe..."

You turn to Greenboard. You beg with your eyes that they don't let you go with this monster, that they see the obvious lies he spouts, that the gaze behind the visor is one of pure joy, but to your horror...

... All Greenboard replies is "Yeah, who better than you? You're their boyfriend."

[frozenjokes]

please go back to doing your job. wait no not that job

convex week day 2 - lost/found - prev/next

these prompts are about to be followed. extremely loosely. flying by the seat of my pants here. @convexweek

Much like many lifeforms on Earth, Scar had made a habit of screaming when he wanted the sun’s attention. The sun was not interested, however, so Cub took to hiding away instead; not that Cub actually had to hide. Scar had walked right past him three times by now.

“Cub! Cuuuuub! Cub, where are you!? Are you okay? Cuuuuuuuuub???”

Certainly one of the more persistent moons in Cub’s system, that was for sure. Cub was getting real tired of it real fast. At the point where the Earth had made two full rotations on its axis, Cub was beyond irritation, and given the blatant disregard of Scar’s own duties so recently after his promotion, Cub was ready to rip him a new one for all this wasted time.

“Scar.” The moon yelped when Cub growled his name, but Cub expected as much and he did not stop, “You’ve been around far too little time to excuse this amount of criminal negligence from your post, a position of great honor, must you be reminded, since clearly you do not value it. Does your position need to be suspended to make you realize how lucky you are to witness a planet’s life, or do you just not care.”

Scar was taller than Cub, but he may as well have been looking up at him with that terror-struck expression, eyes wide and stunned and fearful- good! He should be!

“I.. How much..” Scar looked back into the vast expanse of space, like he might see his Earth from here, when of course he could not.

“Go on. Do you have an excuse for me? Lost track of time? Is your moon self-sufficient, does it not need you? I’ve heard it all, but please, let’s hear it again.”

“Are you okay?”

That made Cub stop completely short. “What? Yes- Of course I’m okay, what’s your problem?”

“I thought- You just didn’t show up when I arrived, I really.. I thought something was wrong. I thought you were hurt or- or you’d gotten lost and I didn’t- I didn’t know who to contact if the sun just disappeared, you know??”

Cub gaped at him. He had met few people who were truly this stupid. “You. Thought I was lost. On my sun? Do you get lost on your moon?”

“Well- No, not really, but I have landmarks, and the moon is so much smaller, isn’t it? You blend in so well, if something had happened to you and no one could find you-“

“What, did you think I got assassinated? I can’t just die, Scar! You’ve been spending too much time watching the Earth.”

“I was worried.”

“I’ve been a sun likely longer than you’ve existed, I don’t need to be coddled, and I certainly don’t need any lonely moons howling at my door every time they need a little company. You have closer neighbors, bother them. If anything’s wrong with your moon or any other moons are acting up, that’s when you come and bother me. I can’t imagine how you stumbled into one of the most prestigious positions in the galaxy when you clearly care so little for it. Perhaps you should savor the time you get to experience Earth before you aren’t allowed to return to it.”

Scar didn’t seem to have any more words to speak, a refreshing change from previous nuisance visits. Good. Good! Maybe he’d finally wake up and get back to his damn job.

“If you hate being here so much, why do you do it?” Scar’s voice was hoarse, a familiar anger burning beneath it. Earth-watching was a privilege everyone in the system was allowed, and most took forms that mirrored the life on the planet they were all so proud to be in such close proximity to. Scar had clearly seen much of Earth, his human body reacting so realistically to his emotions. Cub cared very little for this display, and even less for the question.

“Don’t be benign with me.”

“I think it’s a perfectly fair question! You hate the sun. You hate the moons! Do you even like Earth, or have you just kept this position for so long just so no other star could snag it? Are you so bitter and miserable that bringing everyone else to your level is the only way you manage to sleep at night?”

“Neither of us sleep.”

“That’s not the point!”

“You heard your fair share of rumors about how this position would be, you decided they weren’t true, and now you’re learning it the hard way. Grow up.”

“I gave you a fair chance.”

“I don’t need to prove myself, I think I’ve made it very clear to the entire fucking galaxy that I just want to be left alone.”

Scar’s expression grew stony, and he shook his head, sliding a hand across his silver face. The places he touched seemed to shimmer and darken, the light Cub radiated no longer reflecting back, which may have been a relief if Cub wasn’t so confused. What the hell was this moon doing? What was wrong with his face? Similar holes and cracks of inky darkness appeared across his neck and forearms, but Cub didn’t get the chance to ask what was with the dramatics before Scar spoke.

“Far from done, sir. In fact, I think you’ll find yourself wishing you were a little nicer to your residing moons, since you’ll be seeing more than a few of them in the stands.”

Cub blinked, slow. He blinked again. “What are you talking about.”

“I- Seriously? You don’t recognize me?”

“Am I supposed to know you.”

“I- I’m Scar! The Scar, for goodness’s sakes, stars and moons and planets alike have been naming themselves after me for centuries!”

Good god, this moon seriously had an ego problem, Cub really didn’t want this guy around any longer than necessary. Did he have enough evidence of negligence to file a complaint? “That’s great..” Cub trailed, absently thinking of ways he could escape this conversation. “Get going now, you’re skating on thin ice each second you linger.”

“I’m not- I’m not a moon! I mean- I was a moon until- You have no place to talk here, I’m hauling your ass to space court!”

Cub stared, blank. “No you’re not.”

“What do you mean ‘No I’m not,’ this isn’t- What do you think is happening right now?”

“On what grounds? ‘I hurt your feelings’ is not going to cut it.” Any style points this moon had gained in Cub’s book for being easier to look at and having cool black eyes were quickly vanishing; what was his fucking problem?

“Abuse of power! Poor treatment of the moons under your jurisdiction for nearly all the time you’ve held this post! There are cases upon cases of misconduct that I pioneered, and I’ve been trying to conduct an investigation on you for ages, but it’s so fucking difficult to get near this place by your own design that-“

“It’s not my fault you were an annoying pest and also not doing your job.”

“I am not the Earth moon!”

“I didn’t know that.”

“I have thousands of accounts of your mistreatment! You are famously a piece of shit to suns, moons, and planets alike! No one is on your side!”

Cub rolled his eyes. Unbelievable. “I’ve done nothing punishable in court. Being curt with moons and harsh with the incompetent ones isn’t a crime. If they left me alone, they wouldn’t have a problem, and 95% of them leave me alone. Congratulations, you riled me up enough to prove to yourself you have a case against me in space court, good luck. If the moon that got their face exploded by that crazy sun couldn’t scrape a win out in the jury’s eyes all those centuries ago, I highly doubt anything will come of this.”

Cub looked up at the heavy silence from the not-moon or whatever he called himself, cold pulsing off him in stark waves, the part of his mouth that wasn’t gone showing gritted teeth, goodness, Cub had never seen a moon so angry. Oh.

“For what it’s worth, I thought more of your face would be gone. Sorry about that. I was kinda shocked that sun got off so easy.”

“I am going to fucking ruin you.”

[enthblaze]

NAH WHOS THIS BRITISH ASS MOTHERFUCKER WHAT THE FCUK

"innit" GET OUT OF MY HEAD!!!!!

[satorena]

#BUILD-A-BLOB !?

bad ☆ summary. good news? your nephew’s birthday gift to you definitely works. bad news? turns out to be a cranky four armed creature that nags at everything you do. good / bad news? he’s smokin’ hot and you wanna fuck him nasty. seriously, what the fuck.

cw. explicit content. foul language. monsterfūcking. blobkuna to true form!kuna. double penetration. anāl. deepthroăting. cunningūlus. pūssy slapping. bāckshots. belly bulge. creāmpie. degradation (he calls you mean things) overstimulation. dumbification. mentions of drug usage. sukuna speaks like he has a stick up his ass. pōrn without plot. 4.4k words.

rena’s ☆ note. guys i’m giggling so hard at the gif HELP

“the fuck are ya starin’ at?”

technically speaking, you think you’re looking at a seven foot monster with more arms than you can count, more mouths than necessary and much more tattoos than you can see. just a minute ago, this entity had been an ugly formless blob with a singular eye and bucked teeth that sat against your window, forming incoherent sentences as “me want water”, “me need light” or your personal favorite, “me want you to fuck off”.

you’d left to check on your plants momentarily, coming back to your living space to find that the blob had transformed into a . . . human? something along the word that you use very loosely.

he stands tall and proud and very naked— though unimpressed, toned arms crossed and ass cheeks facing the world outside. you can see the reflection of his clenched buns through the glass and— is that a fucking tramp stamp?

“i’m thinking. . . what used to be my birthday gift,” you answer slowly, brows pinched in confusion as your head tilts. it’s below you, sure, but you can’t help staring at what’s below him. surely it’s the weed catching up to you because there’s no way that, “is that— holy shit, is that two dicks?”

“perverted woman,” the man (question mark) clicks his tongue, as if he isn’t the one dressed in his birthday suit, asshole bearing for pedestrians outside to file public indecency on you. “your reaction suggests you’ve never witnessed the presence of two at once.”

“well. . . no,” he stares at you as if you’re the one with four arms and abnormally long legs. you crouch down, index finger scratching at the corner of your mouth to analyze it some more. you were curious, nothing more! you feel the multitude of his eyes trailing your movements, daring you to proceed forward. he truly doesn’t know you.

they stack atop one another, though both sizes are nothing to scoff at. packing in both girth and length, they stand tall and semi hardened, with curves to the right. he’s got prominent veins running all over his skin, mushroom tips an angry shade of reddish brown. frowning, you peek your head lower to confirm following suspicions,

his tone is rough along the edges, “i do not possess four testicles.” damn it.

“boo, you suck,” you sigh, indeed disappointed by the confirmation. you’d think a monster with monstrous limbs and monstrous cocks would own monstrous balls. “whatever.” you stand back up on your feet, though you’re met with hard ripples of glistening abs.

“so like,” you pause, now shamelessly staring at his torso with shimmering eyes. he’s ripped with an eight pack, waist snatched like a motherfucker and skin inked like a colouring book. “what do i call you?”

you think you hear him chuckle, “how foolish,” a mouth then appears on his stomach, to which you jerk back from how sudden it was. your brows jump to your hairline, eyes widening as teeth bare at you menacingly. “it is common decency to introduce yourself firsthand. have you no manners in the presence of a king?”

“a who?” you squawk, overwhelmed by the intensity of the situation. this four-armed freak was a king? from where exactly? you shake your head, as if to turn off your inner monologues and quiet the voices down, “right, right. erm, you can call me y/n.”

he repeats your name slowly, followed by a deep chuckle. the rumble of your name against his voice sends a weird tingle down your gut, as you crane your neck upwards to finally look him in the face.

you gulp. damn it, he was attractive all around. though morally questionable, you found his features dashing. sure, there was the weird thing stuck in the side of his face that resembled a mixture of flesh and wood. and yeah, he had an additional set of slender eyes. however, his facial harmony somehow blended perfectly. his facial structure was sharp all around, from his nose bridge to his jawline, and his ears with pierced.

what more could anybody want?

blame it on the sativa or the fact you hadn’t been fucked in a while, but it was your birthday and you want your birthday gift, damn it. there shouldn’t be anything wrong with that— the pulsing at your core had your thighs rubbing together subtly (you hoped) (he smirked when he noticed your legs shifting) (fuck, he already knows).

“you will address me as sukuna, mortal.” he says instead, one of his arms mounting to grasp at a piece of your hair. he’s beefy, big biceps surrounding your peripherals as they flex hard. he twirls your hair between his fingers, and shit, you’re gonna need his nail technician’s reference.

“you talk like you have a stick up your ass,” your voice sounds distant, as distracted as you are, perverted eyes trailing to follow the bulging of his muscles. even his forearm is sexy, a large vein running course beneath his skin amongst others. “you ask for my name and choose to call me mortal? corny.”

“i am not a product of this time,” he riddles, tugging at the strand in his hold. the searing pain of his tug at your hair has you moaning— in agony or pleasure, who truly knows— and before you know it, he spreads the rest of his large fingers at your scalp, “you say i speak as if i have a stick up my ass,” shivers run down your spine when his fingernails scratch at your head, “but really it is you who wants my stick up yours, huh?”

you blink. how the fuck did he know? “th-that’s not even remotely true—”

“do not lie,” another arm lifts to cup at your face. his index rests beneath your jaw as his thumb sits at your chin. you feel the sharp edges of his nails grazing at your skin, “your scent is rather . . . pungent.”

you feel heat quickly spread to your cheeks and your panties effortlessly dampening. he smirks, dipping his thumb into your parted mouth, before scrunching his nose into a whiff, “ah, there it is again.”

the pad of his thumb swipes against your bottom lip, skin collecting your saliva before rubbing the fluid all over your mouth. you feel the tip of his nail poking into the flesh, and your brows furrow, “and you called me the perverted one.”

“that remains true.” another— jeez, how many more— arm snakes at your waist. it creeps below your shirt and sits at your bare skin, a touch so warm it sends jolts of electricity across your limbs. his hand rests at your lower belly, and when a wet tongue drags itself across your sensitive skin, you clamp your lips down around his thumb in a whimper, “you’re an obedient one. i think i’ll have fun with you.”

your brows furrow as your cunt clenches. his smirk deepens and, fuck you really need to stop doing that, “have fun with me?”

“it has been a while since i’ve fooled around with a mortal,” he hums, slipping his thumb out of your mouth. there’s a thin string of saliva connecting from your lips to his fingertip, and you hate how you already crave the salty flesh back in your mouth. “let us see just how weak the human body truly is.”

somewhere along the lines, you find yourself on your knees in your living room, carpet digging into your kneecaps as your fingers interlock at your back. your jaw aches, to the point of snapping as two fat cocks shove themselves down your throat. you breathe through your nostrils as your mouth is clearly occupied, fat tears dotting at your lash line and dribbles of saliva slipping past your lips and down his cocks.

two of his hands grasp at your head as leverage, hips thrusting up and down your throat. the gags that escape you are pornographic, throat muscles clenching around the intrusion. fuck, the strong musk of his pubic hairs cloud your senses and overwhelm your mind— driving you dizzy in arousal.

“loosen up yer throat,” sukuna commands, though you find it contradictory as another one of his abnormally large hands wrap themselves around your throat. he presses just lightly, as if to trace over the bulge of his dicks inside of you, but the lack of oxygen has your body liquifying in heat. you think you see stars, and your pupils start to dilate. “c’mon mortal, don’t pass out on me now— we’ve only just begun.”

easy for you to say, you roll your eyes, though complying to his orders. shit, it’s really hard to breathe but you can’t deny you love how objectifying all of this feels. bounding your own hands back, kneeled in front of this king, hair grouped up in one hand to tug onto. he was using you as if you were merely a toy for his own pleasure, mushroom tips repeatedly abusing the walls of your throat.

your cunt clenches around air, gushing more of your essence against the flimsy material of your panties. his stomach clenches tightly, as do his thigh muscles, the embodiment of man in front of you, destroying your throat.

fuck, your clit throbs.

the king coos at you degradingly, ruby eyes narrowing down at your figure, “awnn, ‘s it too much for ya?” you feel a wad of spit land on your cheek, and despite the nastiness of the actions, the filthiness has you clenching your thighs together. of course he finds pleasure in your desperation, leaning back further into the couch to cock his head at you, “humpin’ on yerself like a desperate slut beggin’ for a proper dicking. how pathetic,”

you nod your head eagerly, as your mouth fails to express just how badly you do want him. he’s so deep down your throat, you swear you feel him near your heart. the sting at your scalp plus the lack of oxygen and your need to have him stuff you full drives you wild with want— so desperate that tears leak through your eyes, stream down your cheeks and land right at his dicks.

“mhm, i’ll take care of ya,” sukuna cuts himself off with a deep groan, sliding further down into his seat. he shifts his hips deeper down your throat, and you gag terribly loud, “you hungry, mortal? open wide and, fuck, take what i give ya—” another grunt leaves him, and as does thick ropes of cum do.

your eyes widen as you’re greeted with hot cum shooting down your throat. it’s creamy, thick and so, so much of it that you’re certain swallowing it all would be impossible. your cheeks hollow as you attempt in your best efforts to gulp him down, the flavour of salty semen bursting at your taste buds.

“greedy bitch,” he chuckles through a moan, grinding his hips in rotations as he rides down the high. sweat dribbles down the crevices of his abs, stomach clenching hard as he empties his balls in you. “thaaat’s it—shit, not fuckin’ bad.”

when he finally pulls out, you gasp loudly for the sweet air you had been deprived of. your body trembles as you release your own hold, hands flying up to grasp at his thick thighs. your fingernails scrape at his skin as your chest heaves.

“y’re so,” you pant, and you can barely register how broken your voice sounds. did his cocks destroy your vocal chords already? “y’re so fuckin’. . . mean.”

“too much?” sukuna cackles, though he’s nowhere near sounding apologetic. his fingers cupping your face swipe at fallen tears on your cheeks. at the feel of a wet tongue licking at your damp skin, you pout in retaliation, brows furrowed and swollen lips puckered, “better get it together, ‘m gonna stretch that pussy out.”

damn it— he had such a way with words. you subconsciously lean your cheek further into his touch, and the grin he gives you is barbaric, “face down, ass up.”

so yeah, you find yourself with your cheek pressed into the softness of your couch, hips pulled up and thighs spread as sukuna feasts. the panties you once wore stuffed in your mouth, they muffle the wanton sounds that rip out your abused throat.

you feel his tongue lap at your folds hungrily, fingers spreading your pussy lips apart for better access. he tongue fucks into your hole, lips sucking and nibbling at your clit with precision. wet heat intrudes your insides and have your stomach tightening.

fingernails scratching at the couch, your back arches as you grasp at anything for support. having multiple mouths should be illegal— you feel tongues trailing all over your thighs and the dip in your back, you feel them rimming at your backside. you even think you feel one diving into your ass.

“mmph, m‘kunaaa!” you wail, toes curling as you push your hips further into his face. you’d never been eaten out as good as he is, nose deep in your cunt as your insides get devoured. you’re so overwhelmed— your puffy clit secreting essence as a slick tongue flicks at the bean.

a hand slaps once, twice at your ass as another pair of hands grip at your plush flesh. “shut th’fuck up,” he speaks into you, the vibrations of his voice sending shivers up your spine. you roll your eyes to the back of your skull, foot shaking uncontrollably. when the hands cupping at your breast begin tugging at your nipples, tongues flicking the stiff bud, you feel your dam erupt.

“mmfuuuuckkk!” you whine, as your cunt gushes in his face. he never lets up, tongue repeatedly scissoring your hole as he swallows your juices. you’re squirting so much it drips all over his face and down the suede couch, down your thighs. you think your soul had been taken by this damn near succubus with how long it takes for you to come back to your senses.

he pulls back with a nasty smack from his lips to your lower ones, using the back of his hand to wipe at any excess fluids, “sweet cunt,” he praises you, and you weakly whine, body drained of energy as you fall limp into the soaked couch. you’re out of it, bottom lip quivering as your limbs tingle in bliss— you feel your lids growing heavier by the second but sukuna is having none of that, “aht aht— where the fuck d’you think yer goin’?”

you feel pair of hands pull your hips back up and another grab a handful of your hair in a steady hold. you’re immediately pulled up on all fours, and you whimper at the firm blows he lands yet again on your ass.

he lifts himself on his knees, and you feel his hardnesses rub against the curve of your booty, “told you i was gon’ stretch this pussy out— ‘m a man of my fuckin’ word.” and shit, you think you push your ass back against his leaking cocks, dragging the beady fluids all over the softness of your skin.

your back arches sinfully as you spit out the soaked panties from your mouth and onto the floor. the slide of his dicks in between your thighs has your stomach heating in lust, the drags of his tips at your clit reenergizing you faster than you’d like to admit.

“mmhm, that’s it,” he grumbles into the supple skin at your neck, grazing his fangs teasingly at the flesh and his warm breath further dampening your skin. the large hands that cupped at your waist now lean you forwards against the arm of the couch, and you suddenly feel a lot of blood rushing to your brain. your arms feel weak as they support your body weight, your back arches like a cat and legs stretched out—

holy shit, are you hanging off the fucking couch?

“give up and you fall face first onto the damn floor,” the king cackles, as if the funniest joke in the world, as if your cunt wasn’t gushing your essence— begging to be filled and tore apart. your eyes widen comically as your knees buckle just slightly at the feel of his cock rubbing at your clenching hole, “try and keep up, mortal.”

sukuna grips at the base of his first dick, aligning it to your entrance. you hear him hiss as he collects your cum around the circumference of his tip, fingernails digging deep into your waist. fuck, that hurts so good. any further deeper and you’re certain he’d draw blood.

now, you were definitely no athlete the way he took his sweet time teasing you both. you had barely finished coming down from your previous orgasm, and with the excessive blood seeping into your brain, you felt yourself dizzying quicker than you’d anticipated, “kunaaa— hurry, i can’t hold out any longer— ngh fuuuck!”

your nails claw at the wooden floor when you felt him finally bottom out. holy fuck— how many inches was he packing? you could physically feel your pussy stretching out to his size, to accommodate to the intrusion of his ruthless cock into your tight hole. the sudden penetration hurt in a way that had your clit tingling, walls clamping down as if to seize him from moving any further.

“mortal,” he groans deeply, and there goes another spank at your ass. naturally, you clamp down harder. “quit— fuck, squeezin’ so tight. how the fuck am i s’posed to dick you down when you’re grippin’ me like a damn vice?”

“‘s too much!” you argue, though your hips roll around as if to adjust to his unreasonable size. you feel more tears flooding your eyes, and your core aches for a mean pounding. “just. . . gimme a minute,”

“a minute?” he repeats, though his tone is far from understanding. there’s a hint of mischievous dripping from words, and shit, he’s already pulling out. your cunt negates your words, desperately latching onto his length as if to reprimand him from exiting any more. he notices your contradiction, “doesn’t seem like yer pussy needs a minute. gotta tell you baby, i don’t like liars.”

your toes curl as he fucks himself back into you. the moan that rips from your throat is far beneath your ability to stop, and you squeeze your eyes shut. he repeatedly pounds into your cunt, the more the strokes, the deeper it goes. he may as well create an indent in your guts with how intense his thrusts are.

“hnng, ohmyfuckkk,” your back only arches further, the delicious burn of his dick stretching your velvet walls driving your mind delirious. his pace is insane— with every meet of his hips at your ass, you jerk forward, tits jiggling in the process. you feel hands spreading your cheeks for better access, alongside a wad of spit land at your cunt, sealed by a nice slap on your reddened ass.

he’s crushing your cervix. it hurts but you don’t want him to stop. it’s all too overwhelming— the repetitive slaps of his heavy balls at your sensitive clit, the way he digs himself deep into you, rolling his hips to reach all sensitive spots inside your spongy self. god, you can hear how sinful the point of contact between both your bodies as it echoes in the living room.

“creamy fuckin’ pussy,” sukuna grunts, tone so low you assumed he was more so speaking to himself. your wetness had submerged into a thick essence of cream around the base of his shaft, further easing the ruthless slides of his dick into your cunt. you don’t ignore how his second cock twitches against your asshole. “you tryna snatch my damn soul? tsk, greedy slut.”

your arms are giving out. your thighs burn and furthermore— your cunt aches, badly. he’s giving and giving, pounding so mercilessly into your pussy it was as if he were mad at you. you’d never been fucked so profoundly, his tip bullying into you so meanly with the additional mix of blood rushing into your head— fuck, you need a break.

still, sukuna seems two steps ahead of you, slithering an extra arm to your nape and gripping at your hair. two other hands drag your hips backwards in place, simultaneously pushing himself back where he’d once been— snug in the comfort of your warm pussy. “nah, nah, don’t you fuckin’ run away. fuckin’ take what i give you—” he holds you by the hips and lifts you up and down on his cock. you feel your feet leave the couch as a majority of the weight you held onto your palms were lifted. “this is what you wanted. mhm, be a good bitch and own up to your consequences.”

you’re babbling, the idea of you being a toy again for his use, the new angle of his cock protruding inside has drool dribbling down your chin and your eyes rolling to the back of your skull. “too d-deep, feel you in my— nghhh, h-heart.”

“‘s that so?” he chuckles heartily, and your mind is too numb to register the weird sting that grows at your forbidden zone. you’re too fucked out to notice what he has in store for you, “let’s double that shit. pierce right through yer mortal heart and mark it my territory.”

a sharp wail erupts, as you’re now filled to the brim with two girthy cocks. it’s an uncomfortable stretch in an area you were far from accustomed to, but in your current position, you’re nowhere near able to stop him. you’re not too sure you want him too— his cocks rubbing against the thin linen that separates your cunt to your ass.

holy fuck, your brain is turning into mush. he’s fucking into you like a madman— both your holes abused by the same pair of hips diving deep into your insides. your limbs feel numb, despite now being lifted into the air. he’s fucking manhandling you, hands holding all regions of your body still as he grinds his cocks in. what an out of body experience— head and tits jerking to the rhythm his hips set.

your guts are on fire, and you recognize this feeling all too well. the same one that has your eyes crossing to the centre of your face and your wet tongue lolling out of your mouth. your breaths are cut short, your tummy bulging into the shape of the king that’s taken control of your entire being.

holy shit.

“atta girl,” sukuna whistles when you spray him unexpectedly. your muscles clench as does your cunt and ass around his dicks, body trembling from an outwardly orgasm racking over you. sukuna never lets up, your crying only spurring him on more, “oh yeahhh, now that’s an ugly face. hah! turns me on.”

you’re snivelling, and you think you feel snot dripping down your nose. through the window where this creature was once an ugly form on nothingness, you watch your reflection. my goodness— how is he not stopping? you feel like you’re gonna die, your soul getting snatched from various regions, the repetitive strokes of his dicks at your most sensitive areas. holy shit, you’re gonna die.

“c’mon, entertain me some more,” he accentuates each word with powerful thrusts, and in return, receives splutters of more juices. you’re leaking like a damn faucet, dripping down your thighs and soaking your soiled couch. your fluids leak down to meet his pair of balls, now lubricated as they slap more intensely at your abused clit.

you’re left wordless. seriously, arms as limp as noodles as they hang to your side, head lolled forward. your mind feels so empty yet so full, the familiar pain of overstimulation now taking over your body. your muscles spasm violently around him, uncontrollably as sukuna takes and takes more of you.

“thankyouthankyouthankyou,” although not entirely sure what you’re thanking him for, the words slip past your kiss-bitten lips and into the thick air. you feel him press his own mouth at the column of your sweaty back, and your chants continue, “thankyouthankyou—”

“what an obedient lil thing,” sukuna coos, and you feel an extra tongue flick greedily at your tight bundle of nerve. your body begins to seize, stomach caving deeply in as you succumb to the pressure, “who’s my good bitch, hmm?”

“m-me.” you answer so weakly that it unsatisfies him. the tongue torturing your clit now bites down onto the bud and you cry out loudly. shit, you’re squirting again.

“i said,” he repeats himself with more finality. the wet squelching sounds of his cocks bullying at your holes overpower his own voice, and you can’t stop the shaking of your body. and with every pause, his cocks slam further and further in, “who’s. my. good. bitch.”

“meeee!” you hic, drool be damned as it seeps past parted mouth and down your throat. god, this was so above you and yet, here you were, getting fucked like your life depended on it. it hurts, hurts so good that you simultaneously want to push and pull from his embrace.

he holds you up higher, and your legs wrap around his waist with your back tucked into his chest. his hands slide from your waist to your inner thighs, now holding you tight against him. your head falls back onto his shoulder and in the midst of your daze, you feel a fingernail trailing down the slope of your neck.

“yeahhh,” he chuckles darkly, eyes narrowing onto your fucked out figure. his eyes then flick to the imprint of his cock penetrating at your belly, followed by the inconsistent tremors of your body. “‘s what i fuckin’ thought.”

somewhere along the line, you’re left boneless in his strong hold as he fucks and fucks and fucks. he’s everywhere at once, a presence so dominating that you’re left as if you have no other choice but to surrender. but that’s exactly all there is to it, no? a king using his pussy to his satisfaction.

“‘m gonna breed this slutty body full of my cum, make you mine. cause that’s all yer good for— ain’t that right baby?” you nod, because of course you do. he’s pounding some more and more, and the warmth that fills your belly to the brim is anything but surprising. he’s grunting in your ear, a string of profanities flowing into the air. he’s cumming so much from both cocks that it leaks past your bruised holes.

his hips roll some more, and both your cunt and ass clench around him greedily, milking him out for every drop he’s worth. he hums against your damp face, dragging the tip of nose through a multitude of fluids. you have a weak smile gracing your lips, and his arms tighten possessively around your tinier frame, “happy birthday indeed, mortal.”

oh my god, you’re gonna die.

. . .what the fuck did i just write.

[sttoru]

⠀ 𝝑𝑒 ⠀⠀ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: your boyfriend comes to pick you after a long day at uni. sensing your jealousy about the attention he’s getting from your classmates, he makes it up to you in his own way.

tags. olderbf!gojo x female reader. fluff, tiny bit of angst, suggestive [make out sesh]. age gap — reader above 20, gojo early 30’s. jealousy. reader gets called ‘princess, baby, beautiful.’ not proof read !

satoru’s arrival, as per usual, serves as pure entertainment for many students. it’s not often that they get to see such a tall and handsome man around campus after all.

you patiently stand there, waiting for that said man to come and get you. the increase in giggles and whispers around you can only mean one thing: he’s nearby.

your boyfriend’s car comes to a stop in the distance. satoru steps out of the driver’s seat a second later, one of his hands running through his fluffy, snowy hair.

‘. . damn, he’s fucking hot,’ ‘yep. heard he’s in a relationship though. sucks,’ ‘girl— do i look like i care? need him so baaaaddd.’

it’s infuriating to hear those words while you - his girlfriend - are standing close to them. you decide not to give those girls any attention nor do you try to speak up. it’s not worth the effort.

satoru closes the car door behind him, his hands in the pockets of his slacks while he strolls up to where you’re standing. it’s as if he’s walking down a runway - graceful, confident, every step executed with perfect balance.

he can hear the murmurs from the students around, but he simply does not care. his steady gaze has been fixed on you the moment he spotted your figure from across campus.

“cute,” satoru mutters under his breath with a small smile, blue eyes taking in the sight of you standing there against a wall. the way you’re fiddling with the strap of your bag while pretending not to have noticed him is quite endearing.

you look down at the ground until a pair of black oxfords come into view, stopping right in front of yours. you slowly tilt your head back until you’re face to face with the man himself.

“hey, beautiful,” satoru greets, his voice smooth and slightly deep, a faint smirk playing on his lips. his knuckles brush against your cheek whilst he admires your every feature, acting as if he hasn’t seen you in days.

you nod in response, whispering a small ‘hi’ before your eyes dart around campus again. your bottom lip pushes forward just a tiny bit to form a small pout.

. . and there it is; satoru knows that look in your eyes like the back of his hand. he’s seen that same pout before, along with the hint of jealousy lurking behind your gaze that you try so hard to hide.

he understands why you’re feeling that way.

the other girls on campus, the way they ogle him and whisper, it would make any woman insecure. but to him, there was no need for that. satoru is yours, and he’s made that known to every single soul around you a million times before.

perhaps they need to be reminded once more.

satoru wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you close, his touch gentle and possessive. he can see how you’re trying to act normal, though he knows you way better than that.

the pad of his thumb rubs small circles into your hip as your lover leans in and speaks in a low yet intimate voice that only you get to hear, “oh? look at you, acting all tough with your little pout.”

“tell me. what’s up, princess?” satoru whispers, his breath warm against your ticklish skin. he lowers his head to your face and plants a small kiss on your nose, gaining a mix of delighted yet irritated whispers of the people around you.

“usually you jump right into my arms after seeing me— y’know, like a lil’ bunny,” the white-haired man starts sulking as well, pressing your body flush against his. “where’s my cute ‘n clingy babyyyy?”

satoru’s over-exaggerated whine makes your nose scrunch up, though you can’t deny the truth. he knows you better than you know yourself. he can see right through your attempt to disguise your jealousy, yet you’re still too stubborn to admit anything.

“whatever. come on,” you roll your eyes before grabbing his arm and tugging him forward. you want nothing more than to escape your surroundings. you’re getting tired of the continuous and unwanted attention satoru is getting.

it’s irksome. you know satoru doesn’t give them the attention they so desire - he never will - yet you still feel this pang in your chest whenever you see those girls shamelessly ogling your boyfriend.

satoru, being naturally observant, notices your sudden eagerness to leave campus. he can tell that your jealousy is growing worse because of the other students that keep on eyeing him. while he is used to the attention, he hates seeing it affect you.

the whispers and giggles from the other women are like white noise, insignificant background fodder that barely warranted his notice. you’re all he sees and listens to— no matter what.

your presence, your voice, your body, your soul. . . you’re the only one he cares about. he just wishes you’d realise that.

satoru wordlessly allows himself to be dragged off. his gaze is fixated on the back of your head, a mixture of amusement and worry glinting in those blue eyes of his. he can’t help but feel guilty. even if he didn’t really do anything wrong.

he wants to make it up to you, somehow.

once you reach the car, satoru gently shoos your hand away from the door handle the moment he catches you try to get in yourself. he reaches around you and pulls it open with a soft ‘click’.

satoru then surprises you by kissing your forehead— his free hand coming up to cup the back of your head. his fingers bury themselves in your hair. a subtle smirk tugs at his glossy lips as he senses the envious glares from the other, irrelevant onlookers.

that’s exactly what he’s trying to accomplish. to make it known to the world that he’s your man. he’ll gladly do it over and over again, until all of them finally take the hint.

“ladies first,” satoru gestures, his voice gentle and loving. he pulls back and smiles at you with his dimples showing. you’re slightly taken aback by the smooth gesture before thanking him in a small murmur.

“thank you.”

it’s silent for a good couple seconds after satoru gets into the driver’s seat. he settles his keys into the ignition switch, though doesn’t turn them. instead, he faces you with a small sigh.

your lover already recognises what’s up. you probably won’t talk to him until the jealousy subsides. but that isn’t how he wants to fix this situation— he wants you to communicate with him.

“hey,” satoru tries to get you to look at him. your body is slightly turned away, your eyes looking out of the car window. it’s painfully obvious that you’re upset with him, even when it isn’t specifically his fault.

“don’t hide from me, c’mon,” he chuckles and tries to make you feel better by bringing your hand up to his lips. satoru leaves small kisses on your palm, eyes peering over the rims of his sunglasses to gauge your reaction.

you still don’t turn to face him. you’re too caught up in your own feelings— too stubborn to talk about the jealousy and insecurities that are bugging you. you know it’s unfair to your partner, but you currently can’t fix your own emotions.

sensing your insistent reluctance to face him, satoru places his hand gently under your chin. his fingers curl around your jaw and gently guide your gaze to meet his. the sight of your downcast expression - plagued with insecurity - tugs on his heartstrings.

“oh, my sweet little baby,” the white-haired man sighs once more.

without another word, the gap between you quickly closes as satoru leans in, his lips meeting yours in a firm but soft kiss. a soft gasp escapes your lips at the suddenness of his kiss, but the tension in your shoulders slowly starts to dissappear as you melt into his embrace.

the touch of his calloused fingers on your jaw is a wordless command you cannot resist. the kiss is a silent form of reassurance, a way for him to remind you of his feelings for you.

his want and need for you.

satoru can nearly taste the jealousy etched into your initial resistance, which he seeks to silence with his touch. thus, he deepens the kiss with renewed vigor. his free hand cups the back of your head and gently tilts it upwards to gain a better angle.

“mh. sweet,” satoru’s tongue swipes over your bottom lip. he eagerly swallows the faint taste of candy that you had eaten earlier. his tongue delves into your mouth the moment your lips make way, memorising every part of it.

he doesn’t let go of you until you’re both breathless. the sorcerer pulls back, though keeps the distance between your lips at a minimum. his cheeks are painted a soft pink, eyes half lidded and lips even glossier with your saliva now coating them.

“haah— fuck,” satoru catches his breath while his free hand rubs up and down your waist. he resists the urge to pull you into his lap and ravage you right then and there. he’ll leave that for when you’re home.

his gaze is on your parted lips once more. he simply cannot hold himself back from leaning in. his body moves closer to yours, caging you in between him and the passenger seat.

“i’m all yours,” satoru murmurs against your soft lips. he cups your face as he places a quick peck on your mouth. “only yours,” another chaste kiss causes your smile to find its way back onto your face. “don’t you forget,” and a third kiss finally makes you giggle.

your lover hums in satisfaction. he nuzzles his nose against yours, grinning widely as he successfully managed to coax the jealousy away— to gain his beautiful, happy girlfriend back. “there she is,” satoru coos and squeezes your cheeks together.

you huff at the feeling of your lips forced into a deformed ‘o’ shape, yet the bright smile tugging at your lips doesn’t disappear. “sorry for acting so childish,” you apologise for your own behavior. if it wasn’t for satoru taking the initiative to make it up to you, you would have given him the silent treatment.

the white-haired man shakes his head. he ruffles your hair affectionately while his lips settle on your cheek. he tenderly nibbles on the plush flesh, “no need to apologise. ‘t was cute,” he replies in a muffled voice.

satoru pulls back and his thumb brushes over the subtle mark that his teeth left on your skin. “besides,” he pinches your cheek before cocking his head to the right. your eyes follow the direction he’s looking at— which is your car window.

“i think everyone finally realised that y’re the one ‘n only girl for me.”

your heart drops as you only then remember that satoru’s car windows aren’t tinted. that means that everyone on campus probably has seen the little make out session you had with your boyfriend just now.

your eyes quickly dart around the crowded area. the way your fellow students are glancing at you - some with envy and others with embarrassment - tells you more than enough. . .

you clear your throat and try to hide your face with the sleeves of your top. you don’t know how you’re going back to university after today without facing the humiliating consequences of your (satoru’s) actions.

your shameless boyfriend sits there and grins from ear to ear, proud of his accomplishment and oblivious to your embarrassed state until you speak up again;

“. . satoru, please drive away as fast as you can.”

[dollfacefantasy]

kinktober day 20 - size kink jason todd x fem!reader cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, size kink, tummy bulge

"That's it, baby. Take it all. Oh, look at you go. Being so brave for me."

On the surface the words are soothing, but the tone of Jason's voice fills each syllable with condescension. Not in a bad way. The sickly sweet lilt strikes the perfect chord that has you wetter than any body of water on this earth.

Your hips rise and fall in measure rolls, your cunt embracing his thick cock with every motion. You have to take it slow. Otherwise, you feel like you'll tear yourself in half.

"Jay…" you whimper, lip wobbling and eyes gleaming with the need for him to coddle you, "You're so…"

A sharp whine from your throat cuts off your own words. Your head tilts back and then hangs forward. His tip brushes your sweet spot every time you sink down on him. It makes it nearly impossible to remain coherent. You'd never met somebody who could make you malfunction like this.

"I'm so what?" he coos, prompting you to finish your statement. He already knew the words on the tip of your tongue, but he still wanted to hear them spoken into the drafty air of your apartment.

"You're so big," you choke out.

Another moan falls from your lips before you grit your teeth. Your face scrunches up in tandem with your walls clenching around his length. Vaguely, you hear him chuckle. He then pulls you close and cradles you against his chest.

"And you like that, don't you?" he whispers.

He slumps further down on the couch. His feet press hard against the smooth wooden floor beneath the two of you. The muscles in his thighs flex as he begins to pump his hips up and down. You whine and clutch at his meaty bicep, melting against his warm skin and letting him do all the work right now.

You nearly forget he asked a question at all until he continues speaking.

"I know you do, doll. You like that when you're with me, you're helpless. Don't have to think. Don't have to move. Don't have to do anything but let me use this sweet, little pussy till I'm satisfied," he says.

Your toes curl, your thighs clamping around his own. The pressure doesn't stop him from moving though, not in the slightest. You inhale sharply before nodding against his neck. Of course, you like this. You love it.

You could never get enough of Jason's body. You'd study it forever if he let you. Your pupils felt magnetized whenever they had the chance to drift along his chiseled torso or mentally map the pathways of his scars. Adoration wasn't a strong enough word for how you felt in regards to his figure. Obsession seemed more appropriate.

Fortunately for you, Jason behaved much the same about your body.

In the mornings when he thought sleep still had a strong hold on you, he'd run his fingers over every curve he could find. He'd knead the swell of your ass and press tender kisses between your shoulder blades. As you'd start to wake, he'd wrap his hands around your waist and nearly pop a boner right then and there from how large they looked in comparison.

His favorite thing in the world after a long grueling patrol fast became coming home to you. Not even thirty minutes with your delicate body washed away all the stress caused by hard and rough people he dealt with beyond these walls. Some nights he'd prop your dainty legs over his broad shoulders and dive into your slippery cunt. Other nights he'd get right down to it, shoving his fat cock inside you and watching your belly bulge with the intrusion.

Tonight hadn't been either of those. He'd been home for a change. But having you curled up to his side and pressed against him while he read a book got him worked up pretty fast. It wasn't his fault the two of you just seemed to fit so naturally together.

"My good girl. Soft and sweet all for me," he praises as he continues fucking up into you. His heavy balls lightly slap against your ass with each thrust.

Your nails dig into his shoulder as the repetitive strokes start to build on one another. Small, whimpered expletives drip from your lips like a leaky faucet. He knows you're getting there. All he has to do is ramp up his efforts a little.

His hands lock around your waist like they do on hazy mornings. Just like then, he's obsessed with the way your skin dimples beneath his digits now. He boosts you back and starts bouncing you up and down in addition to his thrusts.

Your eyes roll back at the sensation and you take your bottom lip between your teeth. You don't have to do anything in this position still. He's strong enough to hold you upright all by himself. The only thing you had to do was like he said - stay still and let yourself be used.

"Can never get enough of you, baby, fuck," he grunts. His head falls back against the sagging cushion as he keeps working himself into you over and over. He glances back up at you slightly. "Is it feeling good?"

"Mhm," you whine, "So fuckin' good. So deep. All the way inside."

Your head bobbles around with the way he jerks you up and down on his lap. He smirks at your words and the airy way you say them.

"I know. I can see it," he responds, eyes flitting down to that faint and familiar bump. Evidence of his place inside you.

You only whimper in response. He drops you back down against his chest so one of his hands can slot against your center and rub your clit in fast, tight circles. The flickering feeling draws even more noises of pleasure from you.

The edge sneaks up on the both of you fast. You fall over it first. Your body spasms and seizes between his hands, but his strong grip is enough to keep you in place. For him, it explodes in a muted burst of ecstasy before burning into a brighter one. He wraps his arms around your smaller frame and keeps you flush against his sweaty skin as he fucks his load deep inside.

The both of you stay there while you come down. His chest puffs up and down with deep breaths. Even with all his exertion, his hand rubs soothing stripes along the column of your spine. You lie against him completely motionless, limp against the muscles of his chest. A little pleasure doll all for him to play with.

[chuulyssa]

smut nsfw mdni

boyfriend!toji who is immediately concerned when you call him crying. he’s asking all sorts of questions to you, bombarding you while not letting you speak a single word. “what happened”, “is something wrong”, “do i need to kill someone”, “do you just miss me” or “do i need to come back right now”, but he can’t help it! he gets upset on your behalf, even when you tell him it’s your period making you so unhappy right now, all he wants to do is fight the little aches in your tummy.

boyfriend!toji who does not know the reason you’re crying right now isn’t because of the cramps or the lack of chocolate in the fridge. it’s the pool of warmth in your belly that you’re feeling, because you’re so wet and needy right now, but you can’t do anything about it because you’re on your period! he immediately sighs in relief, but gets serious again just as quick. “we’ll need to do something about it,” you whine, but what could you, or he, do?

boyfriend!toji who knows that for a few days from now, you can only whine and cry to him either in person or on the phone about how much you want to take his dick inside of you, or how much you want him to eat you out, or how you want his fingers to pulse inside you. in, out, in, out, he can’t help but zone out as you cry to him, begging to take his cock for the fifth time since your period started, and he knows he can’t do anything just yet. it angers him because he’s not able to help you in any way.

so boyfriend!toji tries to control himself. he tries to forget how good it feels when you clench around his big cock. he tries to forget how much he wants your soaking cunt on his face too. he tries to ignore the calls from you at work, knowing that hearing you babble on and on about what you want him to do to you will only make him grow needier, and he’ll just have to solve the problem by himself.

boyfriend!toji who soon after gets cornered in a room by you, and you’re so emotional; you think he’s upset at you because he’s been ignoring your calls so often. but he can’t help it. he does not want to burden you with his pleasure, especially when he can’t help you chase yours. but then you hug him so tightly and cling to his body like a koala, and he has to reassure you in this vulnerable state. so he kisses the top of your head and takes a day or two off work to take care of you. he tries to ignore the dull ache in his own cock for as long as he can when he is around you, and fixes the problem when he showers.

boyfriend!toji who snaps when you walk in on him jerking off to older pictures and videos and audios of you. he’s still listening to all those voice recordings you had sent of you talking about how much you want to please him and his big cock. so he slowly guides you inside and makes you suck on his pretty cock. he pulls your hair back and tugs you by your shirt harshly to wrap your lips around him properly or bob your head properly. making you do all the work, promising to return the favour as soon as you “get well”.

boyfriend!toji who keeps his promise, and does fuck you like he hasn’t for years, and eats you out like he’s been starved for decades after your period passes by. he lays you down on his bed and lets you take all of him at once, grinning evilly when you cry out. “you wanted this, didn’t you, baby? or do i need to remind you? see, i still have those lovely recordings you sent me…” see, you can’t blame him! he’s been trying to control himself all this time too, so he needs it just as bad.

“quit complaining now, or would ya like me to make that period disappear for a year? mm, i think i’d like that, these few days have been fucking horrible without your sweet, sweet cunt, darl’”

© chuulyssa 2024 - do not copy, plagiarize or repost my works on any platforms. do not translate.

[nebulaafterdark]

The Rats

Aegon ii Targaryen x Velaryon(Strong)!Reader

Summary: Aegon attempts to make peace with Rhaenyra after being forced to usurp her throne. Lucerys’ death complicates things.

18+ ONLY, MDNI. Targcest, smut, angst, violence. S2 SPOILERS

“I can’t be ‘Aegon the Magnanimous.’ No one knows what Magnanimous means.” Aegon drawls, slumped over in his throne. The hour is late and there are many places he’d rather be. Namely with his beloved wife, who he’s scarcely seen, since taking on his duties. Their children will already be asleep, but if they wrap things up here soon, he may have a few moments with Y/N before bed.

“Aegon the dragon cock.” One of the piss drunk men raises his cup to the king.

“That’s more like it,” Aegon claps his hands together.

The men hoot and holler at the name. Dissolving into laughter.

“Speaking of,” Aegon rises to his feet, “I must get back to my wife. I did not wed her to admire from afar.” Aegon tosses back the remainder of his wine, throwing his gauntlet down beside the throne. “Good evening, gentlemen.”

He wastes no time, taking the stairs two at a time up to his chambers. His queen is already abed, waiting up for him with a bit of light reading. “What story is that now, my dearest love?” Aegon asks, pulling off his boots.

“It’s a book about the plague.” Y/N bends it open at the spine, setting the bound pages on the bedside table.

“Seems a bit morbid.” Aegon frowns, “especially in these times, wouldn’t you say?”

“Do you have something better in mind, your grace?”

Aegon doesn’t miss the bitterness in her voice. “You are my equal, here of all places. Don’t do this to me, please. Do not ice me out, I cannot bear it.”

Y/N sighs, crossing both arms over her chest. “Helaena is frightened of the rats. I’ve been looking into their behaviors and customs.”

Aegon flops onto the mattress, unceremoniously. “The rats?”

Y/N nods, “to be honest, I’m not particularly fond of them either. Although, they are interesting.”

“No vermin shall touch you so long as I live, darling girl. The only thing nibbling your toes will be me.” He wiggles his foot against hers for emphasis.

Y/N huffs a laugh. Allowing the silence between them to hang heavy.

“I am sorry about your brother.” Aegon says, despite ordering his own brother, Aemond, away at the news and holding her through sobs, he’s yet to say the words. “I cannot stand your suffering. It’s made it nearly impossible to be away from you to perform my duties.”

Y/N brings his hand to her lips, kissing the knuckles.

“I want you to attend the petitions,” he decides. “At my side, in my lap, seated directly on my cock; whatever suits you.”

“Directly on your cock?” Y/N chortles, “your mother would have my head.”

“She will do no such thing, you are queen. You may do as you wish.”

“You spoil me,” that’s what everyone says anyway.

“You’re mine to spoil. They’re jealous is all.”

“Shall we practice then? For the hearings?”

“If you wish.” Aegon rolls onto his back, sliding both arms behind his head.

Y/N grins, devilishly as she slides off his clothes, allowing his cock to spring free. Her own nightgown and small clothes follow before she swings a leg over his hips and slides down his length.

“Seven hells,” Aegon groans.

His wife leans forward, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips.

“A tenth of my flock has been taken, your grace.” Aegon tells her, repeating one of the smallfolk’s concerns.

“Your what?” Y/N blinks at him.

“Sheep,” he continues, “a tenth of them gone, taken by your guard, just before winter. What say you, my queen?”

“Give them back.” Y/N sighs as his hands finally land on her hips, guiding her movements.

“That’s what I said,” Aegon hums, thrusting up to meet her.

“Did they listen?”

“No.” Aegon purses his lips, “they might need them to feed the dragons.”

“It’s much harder to concentrate this way, my king.”

“I know,” he coos, “but you’re doing so well.”

“The dragons,” Y/N pants, “have never required sheep from the smallfolk before.”

“We have never been to war.” Aegon says, through gritted teeth as she clenches around him.

“My mother will want revenge for Lucerys.”

“And I want this matter resolved peacefully.” Aegon assures her, “still I cannot give my brother up for the slaughter.”

“I don’t see how this can end peacefully now,” Y/N laments, feeling the coil in her belly tighten. “It will end in fire and blood.”

“What would you have me do?”

Y/N shakes her head, “We must stop Aemond from claiming Harrenhal at the least.”

“Consider it done.” Aegon beckons her down for a kiss.

The clatter of metal against the floor breaks them apart, “what was that?” Y/N’s eyes search the room.

“Twas only the wind, my dearest love.” Aegon smiles up at his wife.

The hairs on the back of her neck stand at attention. “No. Something is wrong.”

“I agree,” Aegon takes her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, rolling it to a taut peak. “You stopped moving.”

“Aegon,” she warns, “please.”

“Shhh,” he gentles her back to a steady grind. “I’m here. You are safe.”

Y/N offers a shaky smile. Still something seems amiss, though she can’t think much more about it with Aegon’s free hand toying with her pearl.

“Cum on my cock, then we will look into it, if you feel so inclined.”

Y/N nods, bouncing faster, harder. Trying to ignore the worry twisting at her gut.

Aegon’s bottom lip is caught between his teeth. “Fuck, I love you.”

“I love you.”

“More than anyone or anything, save for our children. I want you to remember that…always.”

Y/N nods, feeling herself teetering on the precipice. “I-” she wants to say it back, only her brain doesn’t seem to be working.

“Hush, sweetheart.” Aegon groans, because he knows. Rubbing his fingers harshly against her pearl to push her over the edge. Shaking and crying her release as she milks his cock. “Good girl.” Aegon fills her pulsing cunt with his spend.

She leans toward her husband, capturing his lips as they ride out their high. Once she has caught her breath Y/N rolls away, off of the bed, shuffling back into her nightgown.

Aegon follows her lead, redressing in his tunic and trousers. “Head to the children’s room, wait for me there. I’ll have the guards help me search the floor for any sign of…rats.”

Y/N wrings her hands, knowing how silly it sounds. “Thank you, Aegon.”

He closes the distance between them, pressing his lips to her forehead and cheek. “You’re more than welcome.” He watches her leave the room before heading in the opposite direction. Where is everyone? The keep is never so quiet, even at night.

Y/N scampers down the hallway to the nursery, it takes a moment for her mind to make sense of the scene before her. Helaena with a knife held to her throat by a strange man. His counterpart hovering over the children’s beds with a blade at the ready.

“What are you doing?” Y/N breathes, clutching a hand to her chest.

The man holding Helaena shoves her aside.

Y/N catches the woman in her arms, smoothing down her white tresses. Helaena clings to her. “It’s ok.”

The children sleep better together, they always have. Besides the maids prefer Aegon and Y/N’s children close to Aemond and Helaena’s for practical reasons, until they are older.

“Which of them are yours?” The first man demands.

“All of them,” Y/N lies. “All of them are mine.”

“You have but four children,” Cheese insists. “Here lie six, tell me which are yours and I will spare them.”

“If I don’t tell you and you’re wrong, my mother will have your head.” Y/N clenches her jaw. “For all I know of our true queen, this was not her request. So who’s was it?”

“A son for a son, that’s what’s fair.” Blood insists.

“What did they offer you? Gold?” Y/N wonders, “I’ll double it if you leave now.”

The men look to each other, undecided.

“Or you could take me instead. I’m worth more to my mother than any bounty.” Rhaenyra’s eldest child offers.

————————————————————————-

Aegon completes his sweep of their chambers, along with the rest of the royal floor. Nothing is amiss. He moves to the children’s quarters and finds Helaena, curled up on the floor. “What’s happened?”

Helaena takes her brother’s outstretched hand. “They wanted to kill the boy.”

The boy? “My boy?”

Helaena shakes her head, “mine.”

Aegon looks to his nephew, still sleeping soundly. “Where is Y/N?”

“They took her instead.”

“Where the hell is Cole?” Aegon demands. “Where in the seven hells is anyone?”

“I don’t know,” Helaena sobs.

Part 2

[areislol]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤhow they react to a child wooing you

pairings. various (hsr + genshin impact) x gn! reader

warnings. fluff, mentions of jealousy, established relationship

a/n. i find men getting jealous over a little kid so funny, never fails to crack me up.

wordcount. 2.4k

synopsis. how they react to seeing you getting wooed by a child

you’re casually minding your business when a bold little kid struts up to you with a flower they picked from who-knows-where. "you’re the most beautiful person i’ve ever seen!" they declare, face as bright as their words.

"awww, thank you sweetie!"

"...."

the jealous one (despite their big age)

the moment the child runs up to you with wide eyes and a flower clutched in their tiny hand, you can practically feel the temperature shift around you.

whether he's subtle about it or blatantly obvious, as they watch this scene unfold, he is most definitely NOT thrilled. he can not believe his eyes right now.

he doesn’t mean to react the way he does—it’s not like a child could ever be serious competition—but something about the moment sends a spark of possessiveness through him. his entire demeanor changes. his arms cross over his chest, his jaw tightens, and his eyes narrow slightly as he watches the scene unfold.

just what in tarnation is this stupid kid doing?!!?!?

he’s not angry at the child, but the audacity of it throws him off. really? even kids are lining up now? he thinks to himself, feeling his pride take an unexpected hit. as you crouch down to accept the flower with that sweet smile of yours, he can’t help but bristle. there’s a tug at the corner of his mouth that he tries to suppress, but the faint scowl is hard to miss

he crosses his arms, as if the whole situation is beneath their concern, but his sharp eyes never leave the child. he visibly stiffen, his body going tense as they quietly seethe.

when the child boldly proclaims their affection for you, offering their flower with the confidence only a child could muster, you suddenly hear a quiet scoff under his breath, muttering something like, “ridiculous,” before he speaks up, eyes trained on the poor child.

“a bold move, kid, but maybe aim for someone your own size next time.” his tone is teasing (is it really??), but there’s an unmistakable edge to his words, his presence looming protectively by your side.

after the child scurries off, his chest puffed up with pride at his bravery, the jealous one steps in almost immediately, closing the distance between you as if to reclaim his territory.

“so,” he starts, his tone casual but laced with pointed sarcasm, “should i be worried? do i need to watch my back now?” his eyes search yours, and though he’s trying to play it cool, there’s a hint of vulnerability in his gaze—a silent plea for reassurance.

if you laugh and tease him about being jealous, his cheeks darken slightly, and he huffs, looking away. “i’m not jealous,” he insists, though the way his arms cross tighter over his chest says otherwise.

“it’s just… what kind of guy lets someone else give his girl flowers without saying something?” his voice trails off, grumbly and defensive, but you can tell he’s mostly embarrassed by his own reaction.

later, he finds ways to reassert his place by your side, subtle but deliberate. maybe it’s the way he holds your hand a little tighter or slings an arm around your shoulders when you’re out together. he doesn’t need to say it outright, but his actions make it clear: you’re mine.

there’s a faint air of possessiveness to their actions, whether it’s the way they guide you away from the scene with a hand on the small of your back or the way they glance over their shoulder to make sure the child is gone.

if you call him out on their jealousy, the reactions are just as varied. he will deny it outright, scoffing, “jealous? of a kid? don’t flatter yourself.” but their lingering glances and subtle protectiveness give them away.

he simply shrugs, his calm voices betraying none of his innerturmoil: “it’s only natural. beauty like yours is bound to attract attention, even if it’s… unconventional.”

for the rest of the day, you’ll notice small shifts in his behaviour. he'll stand closer, touch you more often—whether it’s a hand on your arm, your waist, or your shoulder—and find little ways to remind you of their presence.

his jealousy, as amusing as it is, only serves to highlight one thing: he want you to know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he's the only one who deserves your attention.

— CHILDE, SAMPO, WANDERER, BLADE, aventurine, MOZE, DR. RATIO, jiaoqiu, gorou, lyney, XIAO

the (soft) supporter

when the child shyly approaches you, clutching a flower with trembling hands and nervously stammering out a confession, his reaction is immediate but far from possessive. instead of jealousy or annoyance, he watches with a warm smile, his eyes softening as he takes in the innocence of the moment.

his first thought isn’t to interrupt or overshadow but to appreciate the sincerity of the child’s feelings and your gentle response to it.

he watches the scene unfold with quiet amusement, his heart swelling as he takes in the sweetness of the moment. he doesn’t see the child as a rival or a nuisance—far from it. instead, he’s struck by how earnest and brave the little boy is for approaching you with such sincerity.

he knows how kind and patient you are, and seeing you respond with such gentle affection only reminds him of why he adores you.

as you crouch down to accept the flower, thanking the child with a kind smile, he can’t help but admire you even more. there’s a tenderness in the way you interact with the child that makes his heart ache in the best way possible.

he doesn’t feel threatened by the situation—in fact, he finds it endearing. if anything, it reminds him of how natural it is for people to be drawn to you, no matter their age.

standing just a step behind you, he chuckles softly to himself, murmuring under his breath, “well, that’s brave of him.” his voice carries a note of amused admiration, but he doesn’t feel the need to insert himself into the moment.

instead, he stands by as a quiet presence, ready to step in if the child needs a little encouragement but content to let you handle it.

if the child looks nervous or unsure, he might step closer and kneel down to meet the boy’s eye level, his tone kind and reassuring. “that’s a beautiful flower you’ve got there,” he’d say with a small smile. “you chose well.” he has no intention of stealing the spotlight or intimidating the child; he just wants to make the situation feel a little easier for everyone.

his gentle demeanor leaves no room for misunderstanding—he’s here to support you, not compete for attention.

after the child scampers off, cheeks flushed with pride and excitement, he turns to you with a soft laugh. “you’ve got quite the admirer,” he says, his tone light and teasing but laced with genuine affection. there’s no jealousy in his voice, just quiet amusement and warmth.

he even suggests preserving the flower as a keepsake, offering to press it in a book or find a small vase for it later. to him, it’s a sweet moment worth cherishing.

you thank him for being so calm about the situation, he simply shrugs, his smile soft and unassuming. “he’s just a kid,” he says, his voice full of understanding. “and honestly, it’s sweet. how could anyone not fall for you?” the sincerity in his words is undeniable, and the way his gaze lingers on you for just a second too long tells you everything you need to know about how he feels.

later, he might bring it up again in passing, unable to resist a little playful teasing. “so, should i be worried?” he asks with a grin, the corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement. “seems like you’ve got admirers lining up these days.”

despite the joke, his actions remain steady and reassuring—he never leaves your side for long and finds subtle ways to remind you of how much you mean to him. whether it’s brushing his hand against yours, standing a little closer than usual, or simply looking at you with that soft, adoring expression, his quiet support is unwavering.

for him, the moment wasn’t about competition or insecurity. it was just another reminder of how incredible you are, and how lucky he feels to be the one by your side.

— KAZUHA, ZHONGLI, WELT, GEPARD, ARGENTI, LUKA, SUNDAY, LUOCHA, JING YUAN, tighnari, THOMA, DILUC, BAIZHU

the dramatic ones

when the child approaches you, holding out a flower with all the sincerity in the world, the dramatic one immediately acts as if the universe itself has betrayed him. his eyes widen in exaggerated shock, a hand flying to his chest as if struck by an invisible arrow.

“oh, you’ve got to be kidding me!” he exclaims, his voice dripping with mock offense. he takes a step back, looking between you and the child with theatrical disbelief, as though he’s stumbled into the climax of some tragic love story.

as the child nervously stammers out his confession, the dramatic one groans, running a hand through his hair as if trying to collect himself. “really? really? even kids now?” he mutters under his breath, though loud enough for you to hear. his tone is less genuine frustration and more exaggerated exasperation, the kind that begs for your attention.

when you smile at the child and crouch down to accept the flower, his reaction shifts into full-blown melodrama. “a flower? oh no, not a flower!” he gasps, pretending to stagger backward as if this tiny gesture has dealt him a mortal wound.

“this is how it starts! next thing i know, he’ll be writing you love letters and stealing your heart!” he places a hand on his forehead, tilting his head back with a long-suffering sigh, as though the betrayal is simply too much to bear.

if the child dares to glance his way, he leans in slightly, crossing his arms with a mock-serious expression. “you’re bold, kid. i’ll give you that,” he says, narrowing his eyes playfully. “but do you have what it takes to keep them happy? hmm? flowers are just the beginning, you know.” despite his words, there’s no real malice—he’s just playing up the moment, reveling in the absurdity of the situation.

when the child finally scampers off, proud of his bravery, the dramatic one steps closer to you, shaking his head with a heavy sigh. “unbelievable. i leave you alone for one second, and this is what happens?” he grumbles, though the grin tugging at his lips betrays his amusement. “what’s next? a line of admirers waiting around the corner?”

if you laugh at his antics, it only fuels his performance. “don’t laugh! this is serious!” he says, though his voice is far from convincing. he leans in closer, his tone dropping to a mock whisper. “tell me the truth—did he win you over? do i have competition now? should i be worried?” his eyes glimmer with playful mischief, his entire demeanor practically begging you to reassure him.

later, he won’t let you forget it. “do you remember earlier? that kid? yeah, i’m still recovering,” he teases, his voice full of faux indignation. “i mean, who does that? confessing right in front of me? bold move, i’ll give him that.” he’ll recount the story to anyone willing to listen, embellishing every detail to make it sound even more dramatic.

“i had to stand there and watch my partner get swept off their feet by a four-foot-tall rival. you have no idea the pain i endured.”

despite all the dramatics, his actions make it clear that it’s all in good fun. he doesn’t actually feel threatened—in fact, he enjoys watching you smile and laugh at his antics. the entire situation only gives him another excuse to shower you with playful affection and remind you in his own ridiculous way just how much you mean to him.

— KAVEH, SAMPO, venti, luka, BOOTHILL, JING YUAN, ITTO, CYNO, kaeya, lyney, BAIZHU, MR. RECA, wriothesley

the quiet ones

when the child approaches you, holding out a flower with trembling hands and a nervous confession, he is instantly at a loss. his breath catches, and he freezes in place, wide-eyed as he tries to process what’s happening. for a moment, he just stands there, completely still, as though moving might draw attention to himself. his hands awkwardly hover near his sides, unsure whether to intervene or stay back.

his gaze darts between you and the child, his face rapidly turning pink as he realizes how sweetly you’re smiling at the little boy. the warmth and gentleness in your voice as you thank the child make his heart ache in the best way possible. he swallows hard, suddenly hyperaware of how soft and kind you are, and it only makes his cheeks burn hotter.

as you crouch down to accept the flower, he glances away, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve or brushing through his hair in a nervous attempt to compose himself. it’s not that he’s jealous—no, he wouldn’t even know how to be jealous in this situation—it’s just that seeing someone else, even a child, shower you with admiration leaves him tongue-tied and painfully aware of his own feelings.

he mumbles something under his breath, barely audible, like, “that’s… bold of him.” but the moment the words leave his mouth, he cringes internally, wondering why he couldn’t come up with something better. instead of saying more, he stays rooted in place, trying to appear calm even as the tips of his ears betray him with their deep blush.

when the child looks at him, perhaps seeking approval, he manages a small, awkward smile and a quiet, “good choice.” his voice is soft, almost shy, and there’s a hesitant nod to go along with it. he wants to be encouraging after all, this is a child.

still, he’s not upset—he’s impressed by the child’s courage and, more than anything, endeared by how naturally you handle the situation.

after the child runs off, proud of his brave confession, the flustered quiet one exhales a shaky breath, his shoulders sagging slightly as he finally allows himself to relax. he hesitates before speaking, his voice low and slightly uneven. “that was… something,” he murmurs, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he dares to meet your eyes.

if you tease him, his blush deepens, and he looks away, rubbing the back of his neck. “i’m not flustered,” he insists, though his tone is far from convincing. he might even add, “it’s just… surprising, that’s all.” his attempt to downplay his reaction only makes him seem more endearing, his bashful demeanor a clear giveaway of how much the moment affected him.

for the rest of the day, he’s quieter than usual, replaying the scene in his mind and feeling his heart skip all over again. when he finally gathers the courage to bring it up, it’s in the form of a shy, almost hesitant comment.

“he was pretty brave, you know,” he says softly, his gaze flickering to you before quickly looking away. “but, uh… i hope you know that… well, i admire you too. a lot.”

his words are sincere, even if his voice is barely above a whisper. while he may not be as bold as the child who approached you, his quiet admiration and the way he lingers close to you for the rest of the day speak volumes.

— CAELUS, IMBIBITOR LUNAE/DAN HENG, gallagher, GEPARD, XIAO, DILUC, DAINSLEIF, ALBEDO, ALHAITHAM, NEUVILLETTE

note: got hit w baby fever sadly

taglist: @tomansimp @one-offmind @miitchiji @dainsleif-when-playable @momoewn @stygianoir @irethepotato @v4an @imetsk @fiannee @sunnyf4lls if im missing anyone please tell me because i have an inkling feeling i missed a few..

liking + following + reblogs are very much appreciated!!!

another note: not proof read so if you found any spelling/grammar mistakes PLEASE tell me

[taintandviolent]

sin creeps in ; Nosferatu x Reader

summary: You're plagued by heinous nightmares of a mysterious monster, but you can't help but feel drawn to he who plagues you.

word count & w a r n i n g s: 1.5K | female reader, monster fucking, vampires, vampire sex, bloodplay, biting, drinking blood / blood loss, mentions of death, making out, smut, unprotected sex, mentions of accents, shadow play (fingering)????.

a/n: MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS FOR NOSFERATU 2024! this is just.... listen, I'm not even going to try to justisfy myself. rack up yet another hear me out moment for me. you either understand or you don't. shorter than I wanted it to be, but I needed to get this out and sate my hunger. banner by @/strangergraphics!

↓ full fic under cut! ↓ / playlist here / ao3 link here! / I don’t have a taglist anymore, but please turn on post notifications if you’d like to be notified of future fics!

You awake with a strangled gasp, your hands flying to your throat as your breath gradually returns. The nightmares had roused you, as they had every night, but this time, something lingered. Your room was frigid; the gauzy curtains fluttered in front of the open window like misplaced ghosts, allowing the chill of the night to penetrate your quarters. Everything looks terrifying at night; familiar shapes are transformed into horrible spectres, and your very room feels unknown. Unsafe. 

He is here. For the first time in several nights, you weren’t dreaming – he has come for you.

“I know that you are here with me,” you bravely whisper into the emptiness of your own bedroom. The wind whistled, a familiar sound, but something growled – growled in a language you didn’t speak, but understood. The voice was low, gravelly, and heavily accented. 

Hurriedly, you kick the sheets from your legs. The moonlight pales your skin, washing you in its blanch, bluish tone. Gripping your gown with both hands, you gather it up your thighs, exposing them to the cold. The chill of the wind hits your center, and you hiss through your teeth. Your head drops to your chest, and so does your gaze, watching patiently. At the edge of your bed, a large, slender shadow manifests. Him. 

You dare not look up. The feeling of his presence petrifies you, but also arouses you – letting a slick warmth pool deeply between your legs. 

The shadows continue to creep further up your bed, until they reach your feet, which twitch in response. Up, up, up… along your shins. Your skin prickles, and you shiver, doing your best to remain calm. Though he doesn’t touch you, you feel him. You feel every pass of his large hand as it makes its way up your body. His shadow glides over your hip, to your stomach and finally between your plump breasts, coming to a stop over your beating heart. It thumps away like a rabbit’s heart underneath the blackness of his form, and you hear a ragged, strained groan.

Then, with no warning, it moves down, leaving a cold, lifeless chill in its path like a gust of winter wind. You pant, desperately clinging to what breath you have. All at once, the shadow envelopes the soft, warm mound between your legs and your hands fall to the bed, bracing yourself. You have felt his ghostly touches for countless nights, tasting your body as a lover would, but each time your body climbed the peak, the sensations disappeared.  He comes to you in dreams, always leaving you unsatisfied. Your chest heaves in the night, cold droplets of sweat peppering your decollete and breasts. Your hands claw the sheets while you dream, but never reach euphoria.

Tonight, there are new sensations. The phantom wisp of his middle finger runs along the length of your slit. Grazing it. Somehow, you feel his finger part your wet folds, toying with your most sensitive areas. The nonexistent pads of his fingers sweep back and forth over your swelling clit, bringing a spasmodic twitch from each of your muscles. Wanting. Craving. While the sensation lacks the familiar warmth of a living man, it is bountiful with pleasurable feelings – your body responds embarrassingly; your shoulders shudder violently. 

He inhales, a deeply hollow sound. “You desire this… thine own body craves it….” 

The accent seems to fill his entire mouth, rumbling in his throat as he speaks slowly, drawing out each word like an incantation. You let out a plaintive moan, throwing your head back against the pillows, the down feathers crackling underneath you. As though he’s still pleasuring you, your hips writhe back and forth, practically convulsing with need. The shadow of his hand is gone from your body, replaced by the looming darkness of his physical form. After a moment of trepidation, you finally lift your head, and stare into the dark, terrifying eyes that watch you. 

You swallow hard. “I do.” 

A moment passes before you continue. “Take me as you will, for I am yours.” You consent again, desperate to convey your own insatiable hunger, your unimaginable need. 

Another intake of breath from him – it almost sounds labored, painful. His footsteps are dreadful as he moves around to the side of your bed. He’s tall, his form stretching towards the ceilings and towering over you, consuming your atmosphere as he had in your nightmares. His silhouette is large; enhanced by the countless furs he has on.

Weightlessly, his lithe, ghastly fingers reach for you and make contact with your form. They are cold, and the icy feeling of them penetrate the thin fabric of your nightgown. He moves gradually, but hungrily, feeling the curves of your body beneath the cotton. As he moves southward, his fingers skim over the peak of your breast, a nail catching on the swollen nipple. It hurts, but your chest jerks forward still, craving more of his touch. 

Pulling a breathy moan from deep within your throat, his long, sharp nails rake across the tender flesh of your thigh. It’s bathed in the silvery moonlight, which casts horrible, elongated shadows of his fingers down towards your center. He scrapes downward, his middle finger digging into the flesh enough to leave a reddened streak behind, but not so much to break the skin.

“P-please…” you mewl, looking up into his horrifying visage. The sight of him fills you with dread and disgust, but like a single drop of blood in water, it’s tainted with something else, something else that has been lingering in your system for days. 

He’s above you now, though you don’t remember seeing him move atop of you. Still, he’s there. The bed creaks as you push yourself into the mattress, whimpering underneath him. He lowers himself down onto you, the brush of his mustache tickles your face as he lingers above you. A second passes and his waiting mouth envelops yours. He tastes damp and cold, faintly of ash and earth. His tongue slips out and it too is cold, slipping wetly along your own and along your bottom lip. His kiss is dreadful, but possessive, and he inhales each time you exhale, as though he’s trying to suck the very warmth out of you. No man has kissed you the way Count Orlok kisses you, and the chill of the room disappears, snuffed out by the fire that rages in your lower abdomen. 

Your tongues collide with each other; you tasting his lifelessness, and him tasting your utterly intoxicating, vibrant liveliness. For a moment, the two of you stay intertwined at the mouth until he separates himself, smearing his mouth over the warmth of your neck. He hovers, pausing over your pulse. It thrums under his lips, and his hips urge into yours, indicating his hunger.

There is a shuffle, a rustling of clothing. You try to lift your head up to gaze between your bodies, but his hand holds you fast, pressing you against the pillow. The size of his hand is staggering; his palm underneath your chin, while the fingertips extend past your hairline, into the strands. You shudder again and whisper his name. He inhales as though he plans to speak, but doesn’t. 

The front of your nightgown falls apart, revealing your chest to him. With one hand covetously clutching your breast, his mouth opens between your breasts, the slithery coolness of his tongue gliding down along the length of your sternum. As the teeth puncture your flesh, your hands make fists on either side of your body, pulling the sheets into the confines of your palms. He enters you, in more ways than one, and you feel the steady tug of his mouth as he sucks the blood from your veins. Warmth pools in the cave of your stomach.

The fingers of his other hand crawl up your shoulder, and like a quill in ink, he dips the pads of his fingers into the hollow of your chest, coating them in your crimson essence. He smears the blood along your decollete, along the hem of your nightgown, tugging it harshly over your shoulder. The blood coats you in a flash of warmth, and then chill as it meets the cold air. 

His hips rut against yours as he drinks, the pulse of your blood matching the thrust of his hips. An ache starts in your neck, a slow pulling sensation that has your eyelids fluttering. He moves within you, his length penetrating as deeply as his sharpened teeth have. Your release is found amongst blood and groans and that same language which you understand, but do not speak. His tongue scrubs at your soft skin, lapping up the blood as it comes… as you do. 

The darkness is ever-looming, and as your aching cunt ebbs its throbbing, it settles down upon you. You let yourself fall backwards into the abyss, freely. It takes you, wrapping its arms around your tiny frame which is dwarfed by his stature. His mouth breaks free of your bloodied skin with a slick pop.  Into the softness of your skin, you hear him growl, ‘Mine.’ The feeling vibrates against your neck, and your lids flutter shut.