#i have a discord but i hardly use it

[killerandhealerqueen]

On another note, to my friends/mutuals who have a discord, do y'all use it?

[icewindandboringhorror]

I occasionally wish to reach out to old friends/acquaintances I haven't spoken to since high school/some other even earlier time in my life, but I have SOOO little social energy even for required tasks (like making dr phone calls or etc), I never have any leftover for extra ones, and it would be very odd to message someone I haven't spoken to in like 5 years out of the blue but then take 4 entire months to respond back lol.. My natural curiosity with nostalgia/collecting details of the past/etc. (literally if I were born a little earlier I would definitely do scrapbooking or something lol) is very strong, but, alas, not strong enough to beat out the Social Issues Demons apparently

[zombiesama]

would kill for a functional and up to date version of those flip phones w/ touch screens from Samsung 😭

[angered-box]

and now i am stuck at school yayyy yayyyy

[hetalia-club]

Maybe one day tumblr will let me upload audios again

until then head to the discord to listen to the new Ai character covers. This website is just such hot garbage.

no strings attached you don't have to chat or do anything, you can just go, listen to teh covers, downloads what you want and leave lol

that is all this discord is for. Just for me to post and for you to listen to the covers.

[plant-dad-sulu]

not to be sentimental on main (sideblog) but i would kill to live near my friends and get to hang out with them every day sitcom style

[readychilledwine]

Extramarital Escape pt 2

Rhysand Week Day 7 Free Day

Summary - Being Nyx's nanny came with many perks. You just didn't expect an affair to be one of them.

Warnings - affairs, reader using Azriel with his consent, manipulation, power dynamics, fxmxf, yearning, choking, mental foreplay

A/n - happy day 7 of @officialrhysandweek! I am going to apologize now, I promised smut and while this original did have smut the idea of reader falling into bed with Feyre without Rhysand before the big 3some popped into my mind and there was just *something* about it. I'm weighing it. Be prepared discord friends.

Part 1

✨️Rhysand Week Masterlist✨️Rhys Masterlist✨️Master Masterlist✨️

You were playing a dangerous game and Rhysand, had he not had some semblance of self control, would have killed Azriel for what he walked upstairs to.

Azriel had you against the wall. One of his hands rested on your hip, his other forearm against the wall. His face was far too close to yours. Smirk far too playful as he whispered something that had you blushing and nodding with wide eyes.

You had been avoiding Rhysand. Avoiding Feyre. Only showing up to handle your duties as Nyx's nanny, then leaving for the night in the arms of whichever of Rhysand's brothers arrived to fly you back to the House of Wind. Lately, it has been Azriel. Consistently Azriel.

Rhysand wasn't a controlling male. You could have friends, be free if you so made the choice to be, but avoiding him all together? That's where a line was crossed.

“Don't you two have work to be doing?” You and Azriel jumped apart and the spymaster simply kissed your palm before disappearing. Before you could so much as move, Rhysand had you, arms held behind your back as he walked you into his study and warded it.

The tension between you two was thick. It seemed to have a life of it's own, choking you, straining him. “You have been avoiding me,” his tone had grown soft. “Why are you avoiding me?”

“I told you I didn't want to do this anymore-”

“And I told you the expectations of your job,” he stated. “This one was non-negotiable.” He hated the way you set your jaw so firm. The way you glared at him. He hated that you couldn't feel the strained bond. The way he and Feyre ached for you.

This situation was rare in their world. Practically unheard of. He'd searched every book, every legend, hell, he had gone through children's stories. Nothing explained this bond. This rarity he and Feyre had been blessed with.

“You have also been avoiding Feyre,” he moved closer to you, taking in the soft scent that clinged to your skin. “I understand your anger with me, but my mate has done nothing wrong.”

Honey and roses. Soft, feminine. He missed your scent. How it added a layer of complexity to the scent of lilac and sea salt that followed him and Feyre.

You crossed your arms, “How am I supposed to look her unt he eye when her husband has been fucking me behind her back?”

“Fucking you,” Rhysand thought to himself. He would hardly describe what you two did as strictly fucking. He spent hours licking every inch of you. He'd spend days between your legs if you let him, savoring every noise, every kiss, every whimper of his name. He'd been rough with you at times, taking you the way Feyre enjoyed the most, but predominantly, he made love to you. Slow, gentle, talking you through as you fell apart. He felt the way that made your soul glow. He felt the way being held so tenderly made your mind fall silent.

He'd only realized he had yet to respond to you when the door opened, Feyre walking in with several sets of earring in her hands.

It was girls night and you immediately clocked how she looked absolutely exquisite. Her flowy two piece outfit highlighted how perfect she was, the shade of powder blue complimenting her skin tone every way. The top ended just above her belly button, the sweetheart neckline dipping to preview just enough of her chest. The pants were baggy but tight around the ankles with the slit running from ankle to the waistband. “Ah perfect, two of my favorite fae to pick my earrings,” she held both options up to you and Rhysand. “I really like the idea of super simple silver.”

You moved to her, brushing the hair from her neck “How did you plan to wear your hair? Because down means simple studs, up is an excuse to wear those really pretty dangly ones.”

Rhysand watched the two of you so closely, hiding his realization that he and Feyre had made an error in their game plan. You two fit. The subtle flirtation, the touches that lingered for longer than they needed to. They had calculated for you to be easily seduced by him, that'd you'd fall for him.

It should have been a blow to his self-esteem when he watched as you helped her put the diamond studs in, hand lingering in her hair for just a moment. “How truly blessed we are to have such a beautiful High Lady,” you hand lingered in that strand of hair before you walked away, a blushing Feyre standing there in your absence.

“We made a miscalculation, Feyre Darling,” Rhysand purred as he took in his mate, looking her up and down as if she was his next meal. “She wants you.”

Feyre glanced at him before looking away. She was hiding something from him and not succeeding. He only had to give her a look, a brush against her mental shields as he did. “Nesta saw her and Azriel whispering very.. intimately last night in the House of Wind. She couldn't get close enough to hear what it was about, but she heard our names and Azriel telling y/n to calm down and that something was working.”

Rhysand cocked his head before laughing, “The little..” He glared towards the door you'd just left out of. “Leave her to me,” he moved to Feyre, kissing her temple. “I think I've figured out this little game.”

It was the first night in almost a month you were alone with Rhysand and would be throughout the night. You tried to focus on your current task, mindlessly folding Nyx's laundry while you hummed to yourself. Rhysand was silent as he moved behind you, hand coming to rest on your throat, “I wasn't done speaking with you earlier.”

You couldn't stop the way your eyes fluttered shut if you had wanted to, couldn't stop the way your skin broke out in chills as he held you so possessively. “You will tell me what is going on between you and Azriel. Now.”

Your breathing betrayed the even tone of your voice, “We are just close friends.” You emphasized close on purpose, earning a soft squeeze that made you gasp as your mind began to float away.

“You're lying to me, darling? So bold of you to assume you could manage that.”

His breath was by your ear, tickling your skin. You were lying to yourself pretending you didn't yearn for him. For both of them. Azriel was kind to allow you to use him the way he was. To play this game of chess with you. The problem was your version of chess was one children with no experience played. Rhysand, though, Rhysand could play with his eyes closed.

Your very pulse was enough for him to know he was winning. Enough for him to feel the very aching setting in your core. “I saw how you looked at Feyre today,” his low deep voice made you whimper, offering weakness to him like a present. “I saw how you touched her. I can give you that. Give you the ability to experience her the way you want. The way you wish.”

His hand grew a little tighter on your throat allowing that feeling of euphoria setting in as he did.

Rhysand smirked behind you, letting you enjoy the little high he was giving you before walking away leaving you suddenly.

“Rhys,” you began to protest as he ignored you. “You can't just-”

“I can,” the tone was firm and left no room for question. “I only give my affections to the very best of girls, and you, y/n have not been a good girl lately.”

That sentence would haunt you and he knew it. He knew your need to please, to be the picture perfect example of manners and politeness. Your lip trembled at the thought alone, a final sign of his power over you. “I want to be a good girl.”

“Then tomorrow night, you won't go to the House of Wind,” he moved closer again. His hand slowly trailing up your fingers and across your collarbones. “You will come to my bed tomorrow night, with Feyre, and she and I will discuss what to do with you.”

“But you.. I-”

Your stumbling was almost adorable to him, the way your eyes were wide. He grabbed your chin, pulling you into the first kiss he'd had in far too long from you. Your lips were as sweet as he remembered, a soft hint of lemon lingering from the liquor you had picked to sip for the night. “I only give my affections to good girls,” he purred against your lips again. “Are you my good girl?”

“I want to be,” you whispered back, eyes meeting his. “I'm sorry.”

“Your apology means nothing unless you fix what you've done. I've told you how you can make it up to me. To Feyre. I know you'd hate to disappoint your High Lady, wouldn't you?”

He made you nod wanting to cave to his desires and take you. He left you with one more soft kiss, “Be my good girl tomorrow night and I will give you everything you ever wanted.”

He left you then. Truly left you. Feeling alone, anxious, needy. How unfair of him to leave you like this? Longing for him. For her. You thought you could play this game as well as he did. Master the mental chess board with little issue. The idea of prolonging this, of continuing to push him, it appealed to you in the sick twisted sense of needing to know where that line was.

It didn't appeal to you the way being satisfied did. The way his hands touching you did. And his offer? To lay with him and Feyre?

Images flashed through you mind, need building more and more until it felt as though you were suffocated by your own self made frustrations. You took deep breaths, hand resting on your pounding Heart.

Your mind was made.

Tomorrow you'll be a good girl.

The best girl.

All day, you'd torture both of them by being so good they'd struggle the way you currently were, and that was one game you could always win.

General Taglist:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanagers @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho @mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @loneliestluvr @eternallyelvish @azrielsmate3 @daughterofthemoons-stuff @meritxellao @aria-chikage @hungryforbatboys @lilah-asteria @fandomrejects @sleepybesson @tayswhp @itsswritten @milswrites @littlest-w01f @yeonalie

Extramarital escape taglist

@wickedfelinaxo @sh4nn @justdreamstars @jesssicapaniagua @harrystylesfan2686 @slytherinindisguise @fxckmiup @saltedcoffeescotch @sarawritestories @sinarainbows @justaboredbookworm @xcarrotxs-blog @paleidiot @nayaniasworld @fyfy-world @seasonallyapril @alhaithmss @Ilovelydove @nebarious @helloevilmuffins @fantanbietsson

[nyoomerr]

Normally, the community of Proud Immortal Demon Way can hardly be called as such. To call PIDW readers a ‘fandom’ would be akin to calling everyone who visited the same porn site a family. PeerlessCucumber is a loud exception, but in the end he’s still only an exception - by and large, people reading PIDW know exactly what they’re there for, and it certainly isn’t for any sense of shared enjoyment or community.

The community of people following PeerlessCucumber himself, however, is a whole different story.

PeerlessCucumber is the asshole single handedly responsible for at least seven different copypastas, the rich bastard that will pay an artist’s rent for a single picture of Luo Binghe if only the artist can tolerate his demands for constant revisions, the dictionary definition of an anti-fan.

He is also blissfully unaware of the absolute glee in which people take in riling him up. And in the age of the modern internet, nothing brings a group of strangers together like the opportunity to poke fun of a guy like that.

“How do I look?” HualingsWife whispers to her companions. They take a moment to scrutinize her, gaze lingering around her chest.

“I don’t know,” SwordsOfCultivators says, “I think the guy ahead of you let his robes drape open further.”

HualingsWife rolls her eyes. “If I let my robes drape open that far, I’d be disqualified - you know the rules are different for men.”

“It’s not like you’re looking to win, though,” XuanyuMeat says. “And the open chest is clearly effective.”

The three of them pause, turning to look at the stage from their spot in the wings. The competitor that came before HualingsWife is running through a series of poses that are slowly but surely allowing his robes to slip ever wider. 

Two of the judges are watching with thinly veiled amusement - after several years of this tradition, they’ve gotten used to the chaos that PeerlessCucumber’s fans bring to these cosplay competitions. 

The third judge is PeerlessCucumber himself, and he looks like he might be experiencing a serious health condition. A serious mental health condition, to be clear.

“- robes of inferior make! Binghe’s exposure is always purposeful, and artful, and it wouldn’t be because he was wearing robes that didn’t fit him! If you don’t care about dressing true to his character -!”

“Hm,” SwordsOfCultivators hums. “Is it just me, or is Peerless not being as harsh as he usually is? Do you think he’s finally losing some of his obsession with Luo Binghe?”

“He better not!” HualingsWife cries. “I’ve put way too much time and money into working on a cosplay for that awful porn book for him to lose interest right when I get my chance to join the torturing-Peerless-fun!”

“No, no,” XuanyuMeat says, shaking their head. “You heard his rants for the Luo Binghe cosplayers one through four - he was especially cruel to them! Look at his face now, that isn’t the face of someone losing interest!”

They turn back to the stage. Luo Binghe cosplayer number five - likely DickBiggerThanBinghe, if HualingsWife were to guess based on her limited interactions with him in the PeerlessWatchers discord chat - looks unbearably smug. His robes have fallen completely off his shoulders by now.

PeerlessCucumber, on the other hand, looks so red HualingsWife wouldn’t be surprised if she started seeing steam pouring out of his ears.

“Ah,” she says, understanding. “You think he’s recently finally realized his obsession with Luo Binghe isn’t that of a straight man’s?”

“I wouldn’t put it past him to get this flustered over a man’s exposed chest and still think it was caused purely by the outrage of seeing one of our ‘poorly done’ cosplays,” XuanyuMeat says wryly. They send HaulingsWife a pointed side eye. “So…”

“Oh yeah, I’m on it,” HualingsWife says, already loosening her robes further. “Just make sure to have the cameras ready to get the direct comparison of his reaction to a woman’s nip-slip versus the absolute conniption he’s going through now.”

“Please, he probably won’t even see it - he’ll probably get all awkward and look away like he does with any female cosplayer dressed in anything but a full body suit.”

“I think he’ll peek through his fingers anyway,” SwordsOfCultivators says gleefully. “He wouldn’t dare miss the chance to oggle another Luo Binghe cosplayer.”

On stage, DickBiggerThanBinghe finally waltzes off, having received his scoring from all three judges and a score from the back of the room where the group of PeerlessWatchers are sitting. 

After all, none of them are really here for the actual cosplay competition. They only care about one thing: whoever can get the highest scoring Peerless rant about their cosplay will pay for dinner for everyone that night. 

“Ohh, seven out of ten!” HualingsWife says, as the group PeerlessWatchers wave their scorecard around with glee. “The last time someone got scored that highly was when TofuBuns dared to cosplay as a half-dead Luo Binghe covered in wounds!”

“TofuBuns still has their display name set to ‘faithless mongrel undeserving of witnessing Binghes success’ in the discord server,” SwordsOfCultivators sighs. “I can only hope to one day trigger a Peerless rant so iconic.”

On stage, one of the judges glances down at the score sheet, sees that another Luo Binghe cosplayer is scheduled to come out next, and stifles a laugh before gesturing for HualingsWife to come on.

“No way I’m getting something that iconic my first try,” HualingsWife says, “but if I can get Peerless to make that hilarious choking noise he made the last time he saw a female-presenting Luo Binghe, I’ll count it as a win.”

[meyhew]

“WHAT WE MOURN FOR THE DEAD IS THE LOSS OF THEIR HOPES.”

I never thought I’d make this post. Any time I imagined a One Direction member dying, I pictured myself weathered and grey. This was an eventuality that wasn’t supposed to be actualized until the boys and I had lived full lives. To have to come to terms with Liam’s death—his perpetual absence moving forward—in my mid twenties feels absurd. I wrote a long thing the day after I found out, so I’ve already gotten some thoughts out. I’m going to try and keep this short. I likely won’t succeed.

Liam was kind. If he’s remembered for anything, I hope it’s that. I know he helped out with food banks in London during lockdown because there were photos of him packing boxes, but I didn’t know until now how much money he gave them. £80,000 without any publicity. And it wasn’t a one-time donation. He kept working with various orgs to help food insecure people. In the week leading up to that unfortunate Wednesday, he gave away thousands to fundraisers—primarily set up to help people with severe illnesses. He’d been part of Soccer Aid for years. He was involved with anti-bullying campaigns. He worked with Rays of Sunshine to make hundreds of sick children happy. Over the years, he also donated to nonprofits that help children in Gaza and other places. The T-shirt he designed for Choose Love has garnered nearly £200,000; Choose Love has been working with the Palestine Children’s Relief Fund and Medical Aid for Palestinians to provide desperately needed aid in Gaza. Liam understood the value of his wealth, and what his social responsibility was. He did his part to make this world better.

All that without taking into account everything Liam did for us. The youtube videos he started during quarantine because it was a way to distract people, give them something to look forward to. His comedic timing was something special. The discord server where he talked to fans and highlighted their creative endeavors. His livestreams, the endless culture-defining tweets he made. I still see people laughing about his tweets. We all remember Mrs. Horan, yes? I mean, go all the way back to TwitCams. Just google the phrase and one of the first videos you get will be Liam’s. From day one, he took it upon himself to make sure the fans were happy. That we felt seen, heard. And he kept One Direction alive for us, on occasion at a great personal cost. He performed deep cuts we’d never seen sung live, he was always so enthusiastic about everyone else’s projects, he never shied away from talking about the band—because it made us happy. He knew what the band meant to us, the blend of hope and nostalgia many of us clung to, and he held on with us. For us. The masses ridiculed him for his clinginess, and he didn’t let go—for us. I’m sure he knew there are those of us for whom the name One Direction still means everything. And how right he was. Look at the global charts for the past two weeks. We’ve made history again. Because of Liam. He had been the glue holding a lot of the fandom together, whether people realized it or not. He brought us all together again in the most heartbreaking of ways.

One Direction came into my life at a time when I was becoming lonelier by the day. I had moved to a new country two years prior, and I didn’t yet have many friends because I knew only enough English to get by at school. Outside of school, I had no friends. They were all back home in the place I’d left. All I had was my two siblings—and when you’re 13 years old, your 14 yr old sister is hardly the person you want to spend all your time with. I didn’t have space for me, to do and to be something that was just mine.

Then I found 1d through a girl at school and they became that something for me. I bettered my English by watching them talk. I found this community because of them, and I have learned so much from being a part of it. So many wonderful people have touched my life because of them over the years, some I’ve fallen out of touch with and some I hung out with just this month. They—and, by extension, Liam—have made me wealthy in friendship.

Claudia, Ingrid, Mery; Thank you for putting up with my insanely specific demands and making headers for me. Ingrid, you’ve been so patient about teaching me how to gif. Mery, I still have your rec list for learning Spanish saved in my notes app. The TPWK print you gifted me hangs on my wall. Cloudy, do you remember that lineart you made of me? I still have it. You’ve all been so kind to me.

Rafa; You have no idea how much you’ve helped build my confidence as a writer. Lyab is a thing of the past now, but those hours you spent fleshing out the details of that fic are priceless to me. I’d never written anything so ambitious before. And, frankly, I don’t think I would’ve attempted a novel if I hadn’t written a 100k fic—which I couldn’t have done without your encouragement. I think this is my first time telling you I finished the first draft of my novel in September. Thank you <3

Yas; Beloved you are so dear to me. You have shown me such kindness over the years, at times I wondered what I had done to deserve it. Not many people check in with me the way you do. I value your presence in my life beyond words. You have so much love and affection to give, and I’m glad I get to receive so much of it.

If I wrote a personal note to everyone who’s in my life because of Liam we’d be here for hours and hours. Jess, Bella, Alex, Jack, Hayley, Hope, Soni, Kayla, Sara, Arsh, Tina, Ola, Cristal, Kylee, Hana, Ali, Antonise, Clare, Abby, Nina, fnh, mert, people I don’t follow anymore, everyone who’s come into my life because of liam—I love you. Literally every single person I follow should be named here because I wouldn’t even be on this website if it weren’t for 1d. You’re all so special to me.

I still can’t believe Liam is gone. I was at the grocery store and it hit me that it’s real, and I thought, no, there’s no way. It feels so fucking weird having this invisible hole in my life that’s never going to go away. But I’ll always be grateful for everything Liam brought into my life. I know I’ll grow old with a whole bunch of you in my life—I’ve already spent a decade with some of you in my life—and I wish Liam got to grow old and weathered with us all.

This is such an inadequate goodbye. I think I’ll keep coming up with things I wish I could tell Liam, or things I want to say to you all. There’s so much history here, so much to reminisce about. He took a piece of my adolescence with him. I’ll miss him forever. Too many of my memories are intertwined with him and I’ll miss him forever.

Sleep easy, Liam. I hope, in time, you’re remembered for your limitless capacity for love and your desire to do better, be better. You deserved more. 🤍

—————

tagging 1d people here because i know many blogs aren’t active on a regular basis. apologies if i missed someone (i’m sure i did). hugs for everyone

@1dclowns @hrrytomlinson @sandiazucar @fookinfreezin @hoeranghae @wlwmermald @tomlinsun @epubgf @heyangel @fireproofs @90sgrungelouis @lirry @iconichalo @itsnotreal @aquickstart @roguecurls @harryscuddles @hoteyelinerguy @babyy-honey @goldencereza @kindathoughtprovoking @kindofsharethat @fuchsiasea @queerbloodyangel @tofiveohfive @aboutmetamorphosis @wastelandbabyblue @delicatepointofview @twentybiqueen @girlcrushau @chaoticsue @chimnation @akasakasads @icouldbeluckyagain @alloutshirt @half-lightl @halohamilton @willowfey @meltedwings @softandslow @loustyles @onedirectiom @pop-punklouis @pridesobright @finexbright @femstyles @baawree @iamnathanscott @avocadolouie @userautumn @niallerer @itsnothesameasitwas @usignedupforthis @svpportive @svncourt

[ayyy-pee]

𝔼ℙ𝕀𝕊𝕆𝔻𝔼 𝟙 - 𝕀ℕ𝕋ℝ𝕆𝔻𝕌ℂ𝕋𝕀𝕆ℕ𝕊 ℙ𝕋. 𝕆ℕ𝔼

Discord 18+ - Twitter - Last Episode - Next Episode - Masterlist

Pairing: JJK Men x Female Reader

Episode Summary: The season has begun! Which one of these contestants will be the first to make an impression on your heart?

STORY TWIST: READERS WILL VOTE AFTER CERTAIN CHAPTERS TO CHOOSE WHO GETS A ROSE AND MAKES IT TO THE NEXT WEEK. KEEP A LOOKOUT FOR THE VOTING LINK AT THE END OF CHAPTERS

Story Warning: DRAMA, lying and scheming, REVERSE HAREM, profanity bc I can only be me, arguments, fights probably, heartbreak and tears, (more to come)

Artist Credit: momoya348, Umbra3terna, ilameys,maoyaoyao519, _0_0219 Divider Credit: Cafekitsune (Tumblr)

A/N: sorry it took so long! i said it would be up the next day but yall know i lie

Apparently, you were the perfect pick for the show. At least, that’s what the producers had told you as they spent weeks screening you for this and prepping you for what was to be expected. 

“She’s not heavily involved in society, but can still see curses,” they’d said.

“And none of the Sorcerers would know her either since she’s practically nobody in society,” they’d note.

“No expectations from someone like her,” they’d comment.

And all the while, you sat there, letting them pick apart your life.

A window – hardly useful, new to Kyoto so the chances were slim that you had met any of the men who had signed up for the show, a nobody, just…there. Unimpressive, plain, hardly a step above the non-gifted. And somehow, you were supposed to win the heart of one of these men.

- - - - - - 

Jesse stands before you, a wide smile on his face when he asks, “Feeling nervous?”

“Just a little.” That feels like an understatement

“Anything you’re looking for in one of these Sorcerers?” Jesse pushes. You’ve honestly got to give it to Jesse. He’s a great host. You’ve gotten more comfortable with him in the short time you’ve been speaking. You think he’s a nice person. At least while the cameras are on.

“Nothing in particular, Jesse,” you respond. “You know, I’m pretty open right now. Just looking to find someone who speaks to my heart.”

Now you’re just pulling things out of your ass, because where did that come from?

“Good, good.” Jesse pauses briefly, taking a dramatic inhale of breath before he speaks your name. “Alright, listen. The first man who will be competing for your heart should be pulling up here shortly. Best of luck. But, I have a strong feeling there’s going to be someone out here for you that will end up sweeping you off your feet…” He leans forward and embraces you once more. Then he turns and speaks directly into the camera, where all the viewers at home can see. “Remember, this is a very special season in more ways than one. While our Bachelorette tries to find her soulmate, you, the viewers at home, are in charge of choosing who will not be receiving a rose for eliminations.”

Your head snaps to the camera and you see the cameraman swivel the large machine so that Jesse’s head blocks your wide eyed, open mouthed stare.

“Hopefully these men know how to make an impression, because that will greatly sway you viewers. Be sure to tune in…” He claps his hands together. “And with that…let the journey begin.”

Jesse is off before you can even call after him, not sparing you a glance as his assistants swarm around him out of view of the camera. There’s a lot of movement that follows as Jesse leaves you standing outside of the Bachelorette mansion in what now feels like the frigid cold. Was it always this freezing? Was your dress always so tight, so suffocating? You feel like you can’t breathe.

The viewers. That’s what Jesse had said on live television. The viewers would be deciding who moved forward?! That was not what was advertised! This was not what you were told would be happening! You were supposed to be choosing for yourself!

How could you possibly find the love of your life among a group of Sorcerers you’d be meeting for the first time in your life. Not to mention, you had to depend on the viewers of the world to decide who was your soulmate?! They didn’t even know you! How could you trust them with your heart? How would they know who would be the one best suited to take care of it?

Hell, you don’t even know who would be the one best suited for that. But the only thing you are certain of is that this is a mistake. A very big, very stupid mistake.

How could you have let Utahime talk you into this? Let this be the last time you’re swayed by that drunkard!

Your eyes dart around, trying not to catch the attention of the many people surrounding you at the moment. The crew is busy fiddling with the lighting. The sound team is checking and adjusting mics. The cameramen are moving into position to catch every possible angle. And suddenly you feel more exposed, more vulnerable than ever. You need to get out of here, quickly. 

Spinning on your heel, you take a single step forward in an attempt to dart past all of the commotion, hopefully unnoticed. But the moment you turn around, you hit a wall. At least what feels like a wall. But the only thing standing between you and your escape is one very tall man dressed in a nice and clearly incredibly expensive suit. 

Your gaze climbs up this man’s body and you’re met with a pair of the most insanely (and downright terrifying) pair of blue eyes you’ve ever seen in your life. They sit behind a pair of sunglasses (it’s nighttime?) so dark, you can’t see a thing through them. And atop this man’s head sits a head full of stark white hair. He’s so…unnatural looking. Almost alien-like, but beautiful nonetheless.

Still. It doesn’t change the fact that less than two seconds ago, you’re absolutely positive that this man was not here.

“Hey there,” he says, a lopsided grin on his face. 

It’s then that reality crashes down on you. That this strange-looking man appearing out of thin air feels real. And you let out a blood-curdling, earsplitting shriek that has the staff gasping and screaming along with you. You quickly stagger backwards. And because you seem to be blessed with nothing but bad luck tonight, your heel of course catches in the ridges of the outdoor tile. You’re sure to be tumbling to the ground soon and you can only pray the cameras aren’t trained on you when you inevitably hit the floor. You squeeze your eyes shut and wait for the impact to come.

But it never does. You’re sort of just…floating there. You hesitantly peek through one eye, aware that you’re now in the arms of the man who had appeared out of nowhere. His eyes stare down at you, a hint of amusement behind them as he holds you to his chest. Well, you think it’s his chest? It feels like you’re touching him…but not? It’s such a strange sensation. Is this his cursed technique? It has you reaching up and almost pressing your hand to the man’s chest. That is, until you realize what you’re about to do. Aghast, you scramble out of his hold and straighten yourself up. 

What was it the producers had told you in preparation? Stand tall and confidently. Even if you don’t feel confident, you’ll at least be able to look confident.

Well, you definitely don’t feel confident, and you doubt you look confident either. But you clear your throat quietly anyway, folding your hands in front of you and offer this man a polite smile. 

“Thank you,” you mutter.

He chuckles, slipping his hands into his pockets as he peers at you from over the rim of his glasses. He purses his lips together, taking you in. Then that grin from earlier is back, like he approves of what he sees. “Any time.”

You’re not sure who the hell this man is. If he’s a contestant on the show, he shouldn’t be here yet. He’s supposed to be pulling up in a stretch limo and let out in front of you so that introductions can be done properly. You wait for him to introduce himself, but instead he just stands there, a shit eating grin sitting on his lips. Like you’re just supposed to know who he is.

Should you? Maybe you should.

He waits there…staring, annoyingly if you’re being honest.

So you wait, too. Because isn’t he supposed to be impressing you? Not the other way around. He’s clearly a sorcerer. You can feel the light airiness his cursed energy exudes, but you can’t for the life of you pinpoint who he is. Maybe it’s your nerves. Maybe you’re still on edge from this entire experience. Or maybe it’s the way your heart is still racing from him scaring the absolute shit out of you fifteen seconds ago. Either way, this guy seems awfully sure of himself and his expectation for you to show him some sort of reaction to his presence. 

But you can’t place who he is. Mentally, you want to kick yourself for the way you always checked out, daydreaming about cheese fries instead of listening to Utahime give you the 411 on all of the sorcerers she knew. It would probably come in handy right about now.

When you don’t give this stranger the reaction he’s waiting for, you watch as his brows slowly knit together behind those glasses of his and his mouth turns down with a scowl.

“I thought a sorcerer would be more…” He waves his hand in the air lazily. “...excited about this.”

You fix him with a deadpan look. “You popped up out of nowhere, then almost knocked me on my a��”, you glance over to one of the cameras quickly. It stares back at you, one of many giant eyes suddenly hovering to catch every expression and word from you and televise it to the world. So really, you should be more careful about what you say. “I mean…you came out of nowhere and scared the crap out of me!”

You toss in a laugh to lighten up the mood, and let the man know you’re not upset even though deep down your heart is still hammering against your ribcage from his annoying little stunt. 

Annoying…

…Stunt

Suddenly it hits you. Through the fog of cheese fry filled memories, you can hear Utahime’s drunken slurring come through.

“Everything’s a fucking joke to him. He takes nothing seriously. I hate that guy so much! Him and that dumbass blindfold and that damn forcefield he keeps up around him. Gojo Satoru can kiss my ass.”

And because he’s Gojo fucking Satoru, he can see the instant you realize he’s him written all over your face.

“Looks like you finally figured it out.” He’s as cocky as Utahime told you he was.

Even still, you hadn’t paid it any mind because you hadn’t expected the strongest sorcerer in a thousand fucking years to be standing in front of you on a damn dating show.

He saunters over to you, long legs quickly closing the distance. Then he’s taking your hand in his and bringing it up to his shiny pink lips. And you must look like a deer in the headlights, staring up at him with wide eyes, mouth open slightly as The Strongest, places a soft kiss to the back of your hand.

“I’m Satoru,” he breathes against your skin, and from your peripheral, you see the cameras move closer to catch this gesture.

They’re so close, you can even hear the staff whispering worriedly behind you: “Wait, wasn’t everyone’s montage supposed to be in black and white?” and “Why are his photos in color?” and “Something about his eyes? I don’t know.” and “Management’s gonna kill us.”

When Satoru pulls away, he’s smiling down at you. You don’t know if you’ll ever get used to his height. “You’re…stunning,” he speaks with an air of disbelief. And you can’t help it. You swoon for him immediately. It’s kind of pathetic, really. “As The Strongest, I think I’m the only one here capable of taking care of your heart.”

Again, you hear the staff behind you, men and women alike sighing and quietly squealing. You respond with a sweet smile and a genuine laugh because, although a little cheesy, that was definitely a good line. “Maybe so.”

You think he likes your cheekiness, because he’s beaming now. “Definitely so. And I can’t wait to prove it.” He kisses your hand again. “It’s so nice to finally meet you. I’m looking forward to getting to know you.” Satoru gives you his most radiant smile and you can’t help but return it. “I’ll see you inside.”

And with that, he’s gone in an instant, like he was never there. It’s just you, with your hand still in the air and the impression of Satoru’s cursed energy before you…and the impression he’s already left on your heart.

You turn to the camera, pressing your hand to your rapidly beating heart. “He’s so charming.” It comes out as more of a sigh and you think you can hear Utahime groaning, see her rolling her eyes all the way from her couch. But you can’t help it! You just met the Satoru Gojo!

Unfortunately, you don’t have time to dwell too much on Satoru’s unique entrance because shortly after he poofs out of sight, you hear the sounds of tires approaching. With a wide grin to the camera and the audience watching, you spin back around and try to calm your nerves for the next arrival. 

“We’re already off to a good start.” The cameras move into position, ready to capture everything. “Looks like the next contestant’s coming. Wonder what he’ll be like.”

Just as you finish speaking, a long, black and luxurious limousine rounds the corner and pulls into the lengthy driveway. You steady yourself, feeling optimistic after your first meeting. It’s as though all the nerves and apprehension you’d felt earlier were washed away. You can’t help but feel giddy now, eager to meet this next contestant as the limousine comes to a stop.

But as the driver exits the vehicle – a small, sweaty and almost sickly looking man – he comes around to the back of the limo and opens the door...only to see that the backseat is empty. He peers inside, then whips around when he finally sees there truly is no one in there. You can see his face begin to go almost green, his black rimmed glasses fogging as he stutters out, “H-has Gojo-san a-already arrived?”

He’s trembling, this poor man, and you simply give him a nod. Was he supposed to be bringing Satoru to you? If so, he failed miserably at his task.

The driver looks like he’s about two seconds away from passing out and the camera crew pick up on it, scurrying forward to catch his expression. He’s panic-stricken, murmuring to himself and it’s just loud enough for you to make out a “I hope Gojo-san doesn’t hit me when he’s back. How did I not notice he wasn’t there anymore? It was so quiet in the backseat. I must have simply enjoyed the rare peace I was given and didn’t question it...Oh, I’m so dead–”

He hurries back around to the drivers side without sparing a glance back, quickly hopping inside and taking off. The tires smoke and screech as he speeds around the corner, driving far too fast for any limousine to be moving.

The cameras pan back to you, and you smile uncomfortably, an equally uncomfortable laugh bubbling up from your chest. You shrug to the audience because what can you even say to that?

Dealing directly with sorcerers is already proving to be more chaotic than you imagined.

The next limo pulls forward not long after Satoru’s and the nervous pale man, and one of the most striking men you’ve ever seen steps out easily. He makes eye contact with you immediately, confidently. And it sends chills up your spine. He’s just barely shorter than Satoru, with a face carved by the gods, shiny blonde hair that looks so soft and probably smells incredible, and deep brown eyes that have definitely seen some shit in his line of work. They house deep bags under them. You wonder when the last time he got a good night’s rest was. 

The man strolls across the driveway, so handsome in his khaki suit. You take that time to let your eyes rake over his form. Utahime didn’t tell you that these sorcerers were so damn big. If you had been given a warning, you’re sure you wouldn’t look like an idiot drooling over only the second guy you’ve seen tonight. 

When he’s about arms length away from you, he stops suddenly and bows. It’s a perfect 90 degree formal greeting and you return it politely. This man must really care about customs and tradition. Surprisingly, you find that quite attractive.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he greets when he stands. His voice ignites goosebumps along your skin. It’s deep, rough and if you’re being honest, fucking sexy. “I’m Kento Nanami.” 

“For now, you can simply refer to me as Nanami until we become more familiar.” 

His words confirm your first impression of him. This man carries an air of confidence that makes you feel like you can trust him with your life. You know that sounds dramatic, but it’s a trait that is highly valued in the Sorcerer world. You’ve never seen a battlefield in your life, but you think that if you had a cursed technique, you’d want to go head to head against a curse with Nanami.

The cameras have moved forward again, just in time to catch you grinning like a goofy idiot. Nanami is the polar opposite of Satoru, in a good way. He’s far more serious and stoic than Satoru, but for some reason, you have a feeling that there’s more to him beneath the surface. You’re willing to bet he’s a lot more sensitive and caring than he lets on. You’re hoping you get to see that side of him soon.

“It’s so nice to meet you too, Nanami. You can call me by my first name. No need to be formal with me.”

Nanami presses his lips into a thin line. Like he doesn’t want to agree to that, but he doesn’t argue about it. And though brief, you see his eyes quickly snap up and down your form, taking you in so fast you almost miss it. “You look beautiful,” he tells you. And while his voice gives nothing away, you see the tips of his ears grow a little more crimson.

‘Cute.’ You can’t help but think. Yep, he’s so clearly adorably soft and shy underneath that hard exterior. Interesting. It gives you a small boost in confidence for a second. Someone as attractive as Nanami finds you beautiful. Of course you feel good about yourself.

“You’re very…”

‘Very what? Sexy? Ripped? Built like a fucking house?’

“...good looking yourself.”

‘Yeah, reel in the horny, please.’

Nanami gives you what looks to be the smallest smile you’ve ever seen and much like how you reacted to Satoru, you swoon for him too, heart racing in your chest. You can't help it. He’s just so cute!

“I’m happy to be here. Really lovely meeting you. I'll be seeing you again soon.”

With that, he gives you another bow and that shy smile that you can’t wait to see again. Then he’s moving past you and into the mansion to join Satoru. The cameras face you now and you mouth “wow” into the lens. When you turn back around to ready yourself for the next contestant, you hear the mansion’s door swing open behind you and what you swear is the faint sound of Satoru screaming, “NANAMIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII”.

You hope to know more about Nanami soon. He really seems as though he has a lot to offer once he opens up. You’d love to be the one he opens up for.

Just like after Satoru, the next person arrives shortly after Nanami and the cameras move into position quickly. The limo has barely parked when several people who are definitely not contestants (how did they all fit in there?!) jump out from the vehicle and swiftly form a line along the pathway to you.

There’s a shirtless man with heart-shaped nipples that opens the door and after one very long minute has passed, a man exits the vehicle.

Right away, you’re taken aback by how breathtaking this man is. His long black hair is lustrous, voluminous and hangs freely down his back with half of it tied up in a top knot. He’s as beautiful as the two men before him, standing tall in a dark blue form-fitted suit.

His deep violet eyes scan along his surroundings until they land on you at the end of the path, waiting for him. He meets you with a smile so sweet, it almost scares you. And as he strolls towards you, you see why. Every person who had lined the path previously falls forward as the man passes, bowing at an even more perfect 90 degrees than Nanami did just moments before. They offer him praise as he goes.

It’s freaky, downright strange. It’s almost like they worship him.

Now, while everyone in the Jujutsu world knows who Satoru Gojo is because of his reputation, he was actually quite a rare sight. Always busy, always out and about keeping Japan from being wiped from the earth. It wasn’t easy to catch sight of Satoru unless he wanted you to see him, you were a student or staff at the Tokyo campus, or unless you were an unfortunate curse coming face-to-face with him. And so, a little small town Window like yourself had no idea what he looked like in person and a brief description from Utahime hadn’t helped much.

But this man heading your way? Everyone, even Windows, knew who he was and what he looked like. His reputation preceded him, and not in a good way. His air is a lot more intimidating, menacing even. And he’s just as pretty in real life than in any picture you had seen. They did not do him justice. So you were ill-prepared when you realized that heading towards you, with the most stomach churning aura was none other than the worst Curse User of all time, Suguru Geto.

When he reaches you, without a word, he waves a hand and those kneeling behind him shoot up to standing position immediately. They chant “Thank you, Master Geto” in unison, bowing once more before they all pile into the vehicle and leave the vicinity.

It’s creepy…and intriguing all at the same time. You’d never seen anything like that before. So all intel given to Sorcerers and Windows alike weren’t exaggerating. This man really was operating as some strange cult leader. And now the show has captured all of that live on camera.

How was he even able to get on the show anyway? He’s a curse user, not a Sorcerer.

He peers down at you, brows knitted together as he takes you in. He’s quiet for quite some time. Even the crew is on edge, the tension palpable.

When Suguru meets your gaze, it’s almost as though he’s not looking at you at all. More like he’s looking past you. He raises a hand, reaching towards the side of your head, and your eyes drift shut, only for a brief second before you hear a soft whirring right behind your head, and can just make out a soft blue glow highlighting the man’s features.

It’s over as quickly as it began, and when Suguru brings his hand back, he holds a small black and gold ball in front of your face. You peer up at him again, and his eyes are closed in a pretty crescent shape as he beams down at you.

“There must be some mon– humans on staff if there are little flyheads buzzing around freely like this.” He’s making a face, like he’s holding down vomit just having to utter the word humans and for some reason this makes you laugh. Out of finding it genuinely funny? Out of fear? Out of nerves? Who knows? But, your laughter dies down after a few seconds and your eyes fall to the ball in his hand again. 

“Did you just…absorb a curse?” You’d heard of his cursed technique, but obviously hadn’t seen it in action before. Until now.

Suguru chuckles softly, the sound making you shiver. You’re not sure if it’s in a good way or not. “I would need to swallow it later to truly absorb it, but I’ll spare you the sight for now.”He tucks the curse into his pocket, then he’s taking your hand in his and bringing it up to his chest where he presses his lips to the back of your hand sweetly.  

Right. Him and Satoru used to be the best of friends. You’re sure they’ve used the same pick up lines on other people that they’ll probably end up using on you. You’re only hoping they’re here for genuine reasons. But more than that, you just hope that they’ll be able to coexist with each other.

“Absolutely breathtaking,” Suguru purrs, his lips curling into a bright smile. “More than I was expecting.”

You’re not sure what he means by the last part, but who cares? You’re fucking swooning again.

No wonder he and that blue eyed bastard were so close at one point. Two beautiful men that know how to say all the right things. It makes you feel shy, like a child trying to talk to her schoolyard crush and the cameras are quick to capture your expressions and broadcast them to the world.

“Thank you so much. You are, too.”

And because he’s Suguru Geto – charismatic, playful, manipulative – he leans forward and presses a gentle kiss to your cheek. It’s your first kiss of the night from any of the men so far, and this one has your stomach doing flips, has your heart crawling up your throat.

You give him a wide smile and he shakes his head like he’s just in disbelief. “Beautiful.”

“Thank you,” you acknowledge again.

“I’m so glad to be here. Can’t wait to get to know you more.”

“Likewise.”

Suguru kisses your cheek again before he waves goodbye and heads towards the mansion. You watch as he retreats, and for a second you think he doesn’t seem that bad. Except…he’s a fucking mass murderer. 

You really need to pull yourself together.

There are still four more people to meet, but so far, you’re enjoying this experience. You don’t think you’ll mind meeting the others and you’re definitely looking forward to spending more time with the men already inside.

At least, you think so. Because just as the director calls “CUT” for commercial break, the hairs on the back of your neck stand high as you feel the telltale rush of two very opposite sources of cursed energy flare from inside the mansion. Those in the crew with even a smidge of cursed energy feel it too, because their heads snap over towards the building the men will reside in as well.

IN THE MANSION

“And then Yuji was like– what if we just put Panda in the exhibit? How much do you think it will freak everyone out when he stands up and just starts talking?!” Gojo speaks to Nanami enthusiastically. He’s waving his arms retelling the story, bursting into raucous laughter. “I swear that kid is hilarious!”

Nanami stares patiently at the wall ahead of him. In all honesty, he hasn’t heard a word Gojo has said. That’s usually how things go between them. Gojo rambles, Nanami grunts with feigned interest and eventually, Gojo gets bored and leaves to bother someone else. Unfortunately for him, with none of the students around or Principal Yaga, Nanami is now his sole target. 

But Nanami doesn’t care about that right now. He’s thinking about you, and how he should have said more, made more of an impression. Now he’s inwardly beating himself up since he stepped into the house and was greeted by his colleague. He wonders if he’ll stand out among the other contestants. He should have put himself out there with you instead of scurrying off as soon as he had the chance.

It’s just that…you’re a lot more stunning than Nanami had anticipated and the moment he saw you, he’d reverted into formalities and awkwardness. It reminded him of how he was in high school.

Nanami is drowning out Gojo with thoughts of you and how he could possibly get more one-on-one time with you later tonight when he hears Gojo suddenly shut up. He peers up briefly, catching sight of Gojo’s scowl, brows furrowed harshly as he stares hard at the entryway. Another contestant must be here, one that Gojo isn’t particularly fond of. 

And Nanami knew exactly who that would be.

The moment those soft steps carry in Curse User, Suguru Geto, Nanami instantly finds himself in the center of a pissing match of their cursed energies fighting for dominance in the room. Unlike most Sorcerers and curses, Suguru doesn’t fear Gojo in the slightest. Most people would cower away, move to the other side of the room and take a seat. But not Suguru. In fact, he strides right over to where his two old classmates sit on the sofa – Gojo on the end, Nanami in the center and now, Suguru on the other end of the sofa.

He grins tauntingly at Gojo, who holds his stare. “Nanami,” he greets, not even bothering to look at the blonde. His eyes are locked on his target. “Satoru…”

“Geto-san,” Nanami nods curtly. “Didn’t think we’d be seeing you here.”

Suguru hums cheerily. “Well, I suddenly found myself in the market for love.”

Satoru snorts, rolling his eyes. “You? Like you’d know how to love anyone besides yourself.”

Nanami sighs between the two men, already feeling his annoyance begin to build up. He had not missed these petty arguments.

“Oh, you know I’m capable of loving more than just myself,” Suguru purrs and Nanami can feel Gojo’s cursed energy waver slightly. Beside him, Suguru chuckles happily. Probably because he got the reaction he was looking for and so easily, too. “Anyway, Nanami, I’m truly surprised to see you here. You don’t strike me as someone interested in romantic relationships.”

Nanami doesn’t reply. Instead, he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, feeling a headache already coming on. There were days where he had hoped to have Geto and Gojo be able to coexist in the same space again, as chaotic as they were together. But if it was going to be like this, they may need to get sent home quickly.

Wait–

Nanami’s eyes shoot open, scanning the room until his gaze falls on the bar across the massive living area. This is the perfect chance to get some time alone with his thoughts. 

“Excuse me,” he interjects, pardoning himself from whatever was going on with the two men beside him.

It was time to think about how he can make a better impression, get some time with you after the others have arrived. Maybe even secure a rose tonight. He’s only interested in moving forward with you. And while Gojo and Geto are too busy taking sly digs at each other on the sofa, Nanami’s thoughts are cooking up a petty scheme to get rid of those two as soon as he can.

“You’re lucky I don’t blow a hole through your head right now, Suguru,” Satoru threatens, scowl deepening if possible.

But Suguru just smirks, leaning back against the sofa. “Well, you always were good at blowing my head, weren’t you?” He closes his eyes, smiling wide, like he’s reminiscing on some sweet memory. 

It makes Satoru…feel weird. Suguru knows just how to get under his skin in ways that remind him of the old Suguru. But he’s not him anymore. Outside of this, he’s his enemy. In this house, he’s just his competition.

Satoru is here for you. He hasn’t seen his ex…friend in years and it’s bringing up all of these strange feelings that he hasn’t had to face in so long. And to make matters worse, Suguru is here for you, too. Now there’s just another person in the way of him winning your heart. Suguru was always popular with women and men.

Nanami? Satoru could absolutely win against him. Don’t get him wrong, he loves Nanami, thinks he’s great and respectable and maybe he’d be a great fit for you. But Satoru would be an even better fit for you. Perfect, even.

But with Suguru here now, there was real competition. And now The Strongest was beginning to doubt himself.

BACK OUTSIDE

“When’s the next contestant supposed to show?” The director calls to someone in the cast.

You’ve been waiting for a while now, and you’re pretty sure you should have been on commercial break twenty minutes ago.

“They’re having car issues,” someone calls back, a phone pressed to their ear.

Great, more waiting. Not that you have anywhere to be. You’re simply here to look pretty and smile when a Sorcerer shows up.

The mansion seems to have calmed down, those cursed energies dissipating and you hope that wasn’t the result of the guys killing each other in there. You don’t know all the gory details of Satoru and Suguru’s relationship. You just know they’re the strongest modern day Sorcerers at the moment, that they used to be extremely close when they were kids and then when Suguru snapped, their friendship quickly went up in flames.

If they had any contact after Suguru’s defection, you’d have no clue. But with the way those cursed energies went into overdrive the moment Suguru entered the mansion, you’re concerned with how their history will affect their time on the show.

You can’t say that you’d hate to be stuck between the middle of those two. How could you? You’re literally on a reality show about being the center of attention for multiple men! And so far, everyone is sexy and charismatic and–

The intense screech of metal scraping along the concrete disrupts your thoughts, and the cameras pan around just in time to catch a limousine rounding the corner and approaching the driveway. The rear tires are completely blown out, the metal wheels barely carrying the vehicle forward. The sounds make you want to cover your ears and hide. The car’s bumper hangs from the back, dragging and knocking loudly along the road as the car moves along. Sparks fly haphazardly across the ground and the smell of burning rubber almost has your eyes watering.

From the corner of your eye, you see another camera swinging around to catch your reaction which is that of astonishment. 

“Who is this?!” You speak into the lens, eyes wide like saucers.

The sudden noise of the engine popping and sputtering, surely giving out, pulls your gaze back to the vehicle. It’s stopped for all of three seconds before one enormous fist bursts through the blacked out windows and sends shattered glass flying. Behind you, several people on the crew gasp. That same hand pats around the outside of the car, tattooed muscles flexing until it finally lands on the handle of the door. The chauffeur exits the limo and backs away as quickly and quietly as possible, abandoning their passenger.

And it isn’t until that large hand tears the entire car door from its hinges with little to no effort and tosses it aside carelessly that you see why. Out climbs the largest being you’ve ever seen in your life. No shirt – because how could you dress the four tattooed arms he possesses?! And surely wearing a shirt has to be quite uncomfortable when you have a mouth on your stomach! 

It’s clear who this is, because everyone in the Jujutsu world is educated on the strongest curse to have ever existed. And yet you still can’t believe what you’re seeing with your eyes. You need someone else to confirm it for you. And so you turn your head towards the camera, staring straight into it as you shakily ask the audience…

“Is that **BLEEP** Ryoumen Sukuna?!”

[bloodybobbysawyer]

ꜰʟᴇꜱʜʟɪɢʜᴛ: ᴛʜᴏᴍᴀꜱ ʜᴇᴡɪᴛᴛ x ᴀꜰᴀʙ! ᴘᴏᴄ! ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ꜱᴍᴜᴛ

This was a request from my Discord, shout out to ya! (You know who you are). Not proofread, by the way. And yes, I take free requests.

Breeding kink, DIY fleshlight, soloboy, size kink

It was a hot summer day in Texas, and the piercing stare of the sun coated Thomas’ already sweat ridden arms. The coarse hair dotting his arms became slick with the fluids of work. The air wasn’t any help either, it was stiff and stale. You could see dust particles mingling amongst each other before they fell onto the floorboards of the Hewitt house. The only interruption these bits of dust had was from the feverish slapping, and exhales of pure desire from behind the mask of the large man.

But none of this would have happened if he hadn’t met her.

The girl.

(Y/N) was her name. The girl who's been clouding the mind of Thomas Hewitt ever since she had knocked on the family’s door, to the point of which he could hardly get any work done. He thought that God proved himself to be a proper artist when he sculpted her from the pieces of caramel-colored holy flesh amongst his studio. (Y/N) was a beautiful girl, he’d always thought so. Truth be told, he had always been nervous around her. Which made his current actions all the more shameful to him.

He had a Polaroid picture of her, where her curls were being highlighted by the same sun that was practically encouraging his godless activities. Thomas was raised in a traditional household, therefore he could hardly bring himself to look into the brown eyes staring unknowingly into his own baby blues beyond his loose curls shading them. His large hands gripped tighter onto his work table, the burly knuckles of his turning almost white as he tried to push himself past the shame - and the fear of being caught in such an intimate moment.

Earlier that morning, the 6’5 man had taken his mothers discarded tea bags and hastily stuffed the two of them into their own respective hand towels. The hand towels that were currently being used to fulfill Thomas’ current intimate fantasies. Thomas shoved his plump cock in between the towels, making a sort of flesh light by tying a leather strap around them to ensure that they envelope his wide length.

His hairy arms bent as he leaned further over the metal table as he gazed hungrily at the photo of (Y/N). He needed her, like a predator to a piece of raw meat. Now, Thomas was aware that intercourse would result in childbirth (and the other crude things Sheriff Hoyt had mentioned in passing) but he would be lying if he said that it wasn’t the goal. If he had it his way, she would be in place of his makeshift pleasure device, being pounded relentlessly. It was all Thomas could think of, from entangling his filthy fingers into her curls as her tongue swirled around the mushroomed tip of his cock to the thought of her laying down as his heavy breeding balls slapped against her ass - the same way they were slapping against the edge of the table.

The grunts and groans erupting from his chest were almost animalistic as his pace quickened. This was his first time he had used his creative wit to pleasure himself, sure, but this was not the first time that Thomas had used this simple photograph of (Y/N) to bring him to release.

With each pulse of his cock bringing him closer to his finish, the shame Thomas had felt was beginning to wash away. A guttural moan left his chapped lips as he imagined the tan flesh of her ass gripped in his huge fingers, chasing after his own orgasm as he pounded into her. Thomas was raised to be a gentleman (that of which he was, for the most part) but her pleas for mercy had fallen on deaf ears as he humped deep against her cervix - (Y/N) was strapped down, all to be impregnated by him properly. Luda Mae always spoke about how she wanted grandchildren, of course.

But now wasn’t the time for family. His veiny, chubby cock pulsed causing his voice to ring out in delight. His tongue practically hung from his mouth as he gazed at the innocent photo of (Y/N), his slick sweat falling down his lowbrow and down his reddened face. Thomas frantically peeled his soaked button up off of his hairy chest, freeing himself of the restrictions the shirt was giving his breathing. He panted as his dick twitched at the next thrust he made, the table rocked as he continued to thrust forcefully into the thought of her pretty little wet cunt around him. His dark, sweaty curls bounced as he pounded mercilessly, fucking desperately to release. .

It didn’t take long before his seed was spewing out of him, glazing the Polaroid of his potential sweetheart. The thick globs of salty goo slowly dripped down her face, her sweet smile barely visible under his semen. His size-able girth twitched wildly at the sight in front of him. Thomas grunted through the brown mask, his slick, hairy chest rising and falling as he brushed his hair back with his hand. He picked up his fleshlight and placed it into one of the cluttered drawers. His mask not once moved from his face. Thomas hurried hastily upstairs, and once he reached the laundry room, he looked through the closest hamper for a new shirt, deciding to pay his new sweetheart a visit.

[iamnotoriginalphil]

The Halloween Party (Lydia Deetz x f!Reader)

Synopsis: Your friend abandons you at a Halloween party. Luckily for you, you find someone far more interesting to spend the night with.

Words: 4k

Warnings: biting, blood, marking, smut, drug use mentioned, hair pulling, rough sex, mentions of alcohol

The lights and the music were overwhelming. With the tight corset binding your waist and the heels on your feet, you were trying not to look as uncomfortable as you felt. You should have never let your friend convince you to come to the party. You certainly shouldn’t have let her dress you up in something she deemed sexy before abandoning you with to a bunch of strangers.

You didn’t even know whose house you were in.

You perused the snack table, chuckling at the plastic spiders scattered over the bright orange table cloth. Snatching up a handful of chips, you turned, taking in the crowd. Bodies writhed together in time to the music, flashing lights illuminating flashes of skin here, groping hands there. Your cup of red liquid sloshed in your hand as you pushed to the edges of the room, looking for somewhere quieter to perch until you could leave.

The garden was quieter, although hardly empty. Someone had started a small fire, the scent of burning sugar making its way to your nose. Lingering on the outskirts, you curled around it, shivering in the cool air. You were too far for the light and heat to find you, watching the flames flicker between shoulders pressed together and cigarettes being passed from hand to hand. Cloves and smoke and weed, all mixing together with the sharp sweetness of marshmallows burning as they slid off sticks under inattentive cooks.

You lent back against a tree, keeping to the shadows, enjoying the sting of cold air on your bare skin. You tilted your chin up, taking a deep breath that burned your lungs, the stars twinkling high above you, the moon almost new.

“Not your crowd?”

You tried not to show how startled you were. You’d wrongly assumed you were the only one skulking in the shadows, leaving the revelry for the people who had wanted to be at the party. Turning your head, glancing down, you found a pale face full of flickering shadow, the light from the fire playing over it, still staring at the group of people laughing. Dark hair and darker clothes, if anyone belonged to the night, it was this woman.

“Not particularly,” you replied, keeping your voice steady.

“Why are you here then?” she asked.

“A friend needed moral support,” you replied, “is this the moment when you tell me this is your party?”

“Fuck no,” she laughed, “my ex thought I needed to get out more.”

“Your ex dragged you to a party?” you asked.

“No. He agreed to take our daughter for the night so I could come. It’s my producer’s party,” she replied.

You considered her a moment. She tipped her head back, leaning it against the rough bark of the tree. A flicker of familiarity went through you but you couldn’t place from where. Like a half remembered dream you’d had once many years ago.

“So why are you hiding from everyone?” you asked.

With face half in shadow, her dark eyes found you, leaving you a little breathless. You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, the ache of the heels pinching at your toes more a nuisance than anything else. Even in dark she was undoubtably beautiful.

“Who said I’m hiding?” she asked.

“You’re skulking in the shadows. Is there another reason if you’re not hiding?” you asked.

“I suppose not,” she said, her gaze drifting away from you again.

You kept looking down at her, wanting to catch another glimpse of pale skin, dark eyes, lips curling in a scornful smile. She was still staring out at the group by the fire, a guitar having been pulled from seemingly nowhere, the soft chords so discordant with each other. Her nose wrinkled and you had to bite back a laugh. Even her disgruntled expression was compelling.

“Why aren’t you with your friend?” she asked after a few moments of silence.

“What?” you asked, blinking back to the moment.

“You said you came with a friend who needed moral support but now you’re here on your own. What happened?” she asked.

“Oh.” You perked up, “the moral support worked and uh, she abandoned me to go talk to Rick.”

“Rick? Why would she want to talk to Rick?” she asked.

“She called it networking but… I dunno. Do you ever get the feeling that someone is speaking the same language as you but with different meanings?”

You shifted your body, turning it towards her, shoulder resting against the tree. Her head rolled towards you, finally looking at you again. It sent a shiver down your spine that had nothing to do with the chilled night air.

“She’s fucking Rick to increase her chances of being in one of his projects,” she said.

“Yeah, which is not how I network but then.” You shrugged, “I don’t work in this industry.”

“You don’t?” Her interest in you seemed to increase.

“I’m in tech,” you replied.

Her interest immediately retreated again. A pang of disappointment went through you.

“I write a lot of code. I test firewalls for companies. Like a contractor. I get to hack into people’s websites,” you said.

That usually impressed people. Usually being the operative word. She couldn’t have cared less.

“So, I guess I just have to wait around until she’s done,” you said, hoping that would get a response.

“Shouldn’t take long,” she snorted.

“Do you… do you know that from personal experience?” you asked.

The look she gave you was so full of disgust you reared back. She didn’t bother trying to school her features, those eyes sweeping over you with a judgemental eye.

“Why are you wearing that?” she asked, derision dripping from every word, “I would have expected your friend was hoping you’d be the honey pot in her plan looking like that.”

“Oh, uh, I didn’t really come with a costume so… she dressed me in her clothes for the party,” you said, looking down at your body.

The tight corset nipping in your waist, the short skirt, the lace showing off your skin more than you were used to, you could understand what she meant. Wrapped up so pretty, and without a bow. You’d had plenty of interested looks as you’d lingered on the outskirts of the crowd. Too bad none of them had enticed you.

And the only one you had was looking at you like you were…

“What are you meant to be?” she asked.

“I’m told I’m a witch, but we didn’t have the hat so I guess it’s a pretty bad costume,” you said, “why? What are you meant to be?”

Your eyes lingered on her. She was hardly in anything you recognised.

“Nothing. I didn’t bother with the costume. My ex is the whiz at all that. I only promised to leave the house for something other than work,” she waved off.

“So this is just how you normally dress?” you asked, eyes doing another sweep over her body.

“Why?” she asked in response.

“It’s cool,” you said.

She seemed to not have an answer to that. She settled back against the trunk of the tree, staring out at the group that had moved on to singing off key but enthusiastically. You sighed, slowly sinking down until you were sitting too. Taking the pressure off your toes, you groaned, tugging the shoes off to massage the sole of your foot.

“Those things are death traps,” she said.

“I’m not exactly enjoying any element of this outfit,” you said.

Her low chuckle was only audible because you were sitting right by her.

“At least it looks good on you,” she said.

“Oh.” It appears as if you were forgiven for your misstep, “thanks.”

“I’m sure Rick would prefer I dress more like that,” she said, “I had to compromise in the end.”

“Why? You look good in what you’re wearing now,” you said.

She turned to look at you, a slow drag of eyes that made you shiver again.

“Call it the misogyny of the entertainment industry, or the creeps who need to want to fuck the woman to pay attention to them, but sex sells,” she said, “I put on the costume and I do the work and I thank them for the opportunity.”

“It doesn’t sound like you like your job that much,” you said.

“It has its upsides,” she said, offering you a small smile, “I get to be on television.”

“I wouldn’t want that. I’ve always felt awkward when a camera is pointed at me,” you said.

She hummed but didn’t give you more of an answer. Her eyes were studying you and you let her, giving her the space to stare at you to her heart’s content. You liked the thought of being looked at by this woman.

“You really don’t know who I am, do you?” she eventually said.

“Nope.” You popped the p obnoxiously, but smiled to let her know you weren’t making fun of her.

“Lydia.”

She offered you her hand. You took it, the warmth of her skin almost burning yours. Your name fell from your lips, almost breathless from the feeling of her palm against yours. Her lips quirked up, not quite a smirk, but something approaching it. You couldn’t get a read on her, so aloof from the rest of the gathering and yet you had to wonder if she kept away for another reason. People pushing you to go socialise usually meant one of two things. Either you were some kind of hermit who refused to leave the house, or you didn’t like going to social gatherings. Which spoke to something else usually. The moment spun out for longer than you’d been expecting.

“You don’t know Ghost House?” she asked, finally letting your hand go.

“Sorry,” you said, shrugging, “I’m not much of a television person.”

She made a soft sound and lent back again, slightly closer than you were expecting, her shoulder brushing yours. You tucked your feet underneath you, letting yourself gently tip towards her, wanting more of her touch. With both of your faces turned towards the fire, it was easy to pretend like it was purely a coincidence. That you didn’t feel like she was a black hole, drawing you in with little more than a moment of her attention, dark eyes assessing you. Why did you want it to be a positive assessment?

“Do you think they understand how tragic they are?” she asked.

“I think they’re drunk and high,” you replied.

Her laugh was throaty, raspy, like a ghostly finger stroked along the length of your spine. She rose, not quite as elegant as you’d imagined, and yet your stomach dropped with disappointment.

“Are you coming?” she asked, turning to look at you over her shoulder.

“Oh, yeah, sure,” you said, scrabbling to your feet.

You followed her on bare feet, past the tree, further into the shadows of the garden. It opened up farther, more expansive than you’d first thought. She seemed confident in the direction she’d chosen, striding through the darkness.

“Rick likes to think he’s sophisticated because he buys art but he has no eye. After all, he has one of Delia’s pieces around here somewhere,” she said.

“Delia?” you asked.

“Delia Deetz,” she said, pausing for a moment to let you catch up, “you really don’t know anything about me or my family.”

She seemed pleased by that. You offered her a small smile, feeling better about where this was going now. Any misstep had been passed over, leaving a warmth growing in your stomach.

“I’ll show it to you,” she said, reaching out to grasp your hand and tug you behind her.

She wound her way past one statue after another, growing further and further from the lights and sound of the party. The cool night air and the silence was appreciated, exactly what you’d been looking for when you’d slipped outside. Her hand was warm in yours, chasing away the chill that threatened to sink into your bones.

“Isn’t it just horrific?” she asked, coming to a stop in front of something you couldn’t conceptualise.

It was spiky and abstract and not like anything you’d ever willingly seek out to look at. You titled your head, trying to understand what you were looking at. Nose wrinkling, you shook your head, giving up on trying.

“I know art is subjective but I really don’t get this,” you said, “I wouldn’t pay money for it.”

A warm hand landed on your cheek, turning your head, chapped lips landing on yours. You gasped, startled, not sure if that was what she’d meant to do. She pressed closer, more insistent, teeth nipping at your lip until you kissed her back.

Her hands were gripping your cheeks while yours slid around her waist. She was so warm under your touch, so soft, so supple. The way she kissed you was like she was trying to possess you, to own you, and you were willing to give her what she wanted. You hadn’t expected this turn of events, your hope nothing but a pipe dream, or so you’d thought.

Her tongue was in your mouth, fingers digging in, rough and harsh and so perfect it made your head spin. You were making small noises, muffled by her mouth, almost begging her for more. It only made her kiss you harder. She tasted of cigarette smoke and sugar, dreams of something dark and dangerous at the edge of the moment.

She dragged you down to the grass, ignoring the damp collecting on the blades in the cold night. She straddled your body, knees either side of your hips, pressing in to keep you pinned underneath her. You whimpered when she trailed her lips over your skin, teeth scraping before sinking in at the junction of your shoulder and your neck. The noise you made was embarrassing in its wantonness. Her tongue soothed over it but you knew there would be a bruise there tomorrow. Or maybe later today. You’d lost track of time.

Her hands shoved under the skirt of the dress you’d been forced into, nails dragging over the vulnerable skin of your inner thigh. Your legs parted, falling open to give her more access. Her teeth were still making a home on your skin, lips trailing over whatever bare skin they could find. Sinking in at the soft skin over your heart, the flesh of one breast pushed up from the tight corset digging into your ribs. Her name was a gasp before it devolved into a filthy moan.

She shifted, fingers pressing at the throbbing between your legs. Your hips rose, meeting her touch, asking for more. Pushing your underwear to the side, you sighed at the feeling of her hand on you, no barriers in place, nothing but skin against your slick heat.

Pinned in the damp grass, skirt hiked up around your waist, beautiful woman on top of you, your night had significantly improved. Your fingers had found their way into the hair at the nape of her neck, tugging on it as her fingers swept through your folds. Wetness gathered on her fingertip, she was rough on your clit. The high whine from the back of your throat only seemed to spur her on. Her teeth sunk in deeper, right over your heart, a soft growl coming from her.

When her fingers plunged into you, you cried out, arching up into her mouth. She wasn’t soft with you, no longer exploring as her fingers thrust into you. Your hips met her hand, a strangled noise coming from your lips when her palm ground against your clit. You were panting, the electricity in your bloodstream all consuming. You’d never felt more alive than you did, there in the grass, abstract statue looming over the shoulder of the woman with her mouth on your body and her fingers inside you. Clutching at her, you rode her hand as hard as you could.

When your orgasm hit, it rushed over you. Your inner muscles clenched around her fingers, almost strangling them while your fingers tightening in her hair until you were pulling on it. Your hips were pressing up into her, seeking out every drop of pleasure you could find. It had never felt this intense before, this good. You wanted more of it.

“Fuck,” she growled into the skin of your neck.

Her hand retracted from between your legs, glistening with your arousal in what little light there was. Her tongue dragged over her skin, cleaning herself up. It was the single hottest thing you’d ever seen, which was saying a lot given what you’d been doing only moments before. Her dark eyes watched you with every lap of her tongue. You felt boneless and fucked and so turned on. Whoever this woman was, whatever her damage was, you wanted more.

Her leg swung around and she sat beside your splayed body. Wiping her hand on her skirt, she stared up at the statue in front of her, menacing in the shadows.

“Sorry about that,” she said, “I’m sort of going through something.”

“Hey, I’m not complaining,” you replied, slowly sitting too.

She looked over at you, a smile flirting with her lips.

“I suppose you’re not.”

Her eyes dipped down and something on her face changed. Her hand reached over, hovering before it made contact with your skin.

“Sorry about that.”

You looked down, finding a stark bite mark on the skin of your breast. Your thumb wiped away a drop of blood from the wound.

“Don’t worry about it,” you said, “it was kind of hot, actually.”

“You’re being surprisingly calm about this,” she said.

“A beautiful woman just ravished me in a garden. It’s the stuff dreams are made of,” you said with a small shrug and a smile.

She shook her head but didn’t disagree with you. The cool night air washed over you. You shivered. She shuffled closer, arm pressing to yours, her warmth seeping into you. You lent against her.

“So who is Delia?” you asked, staring at the statue.

“My step mother,” she replied.

“You don’t like her?” you asked.

“It’s complicated,” she said, “I don’t hate her. It’s just…”

“Complicated,” you said, nodding.

You sat in silence for a while longer. You wanted to reach out, to taste her, to know what she sounded like as she came. You thought she might not want that. She’d been so quick to put space between the two of you after your earth shattering orgasm. Even leaning on her, you weren’t sure she was completely comfortable with the casual touch.

“You are alive, right?” she asked after the silence had settled over you.

“What?” you laughed.

“Just tell if you’re actually alive or not,” she demanded turning to look at you.

“I’m not like a zombie or a ghost,” you said, still laughing.

The way she was looking at you had the laughter die on your lips. She was serious. Deadly so. You blinked. Her gaze was lingering, open and wide and vulnerable. Your heart clenched.

You grasped her hand, pressing it to your heart. Her palm moulded to the curve of your body as she pressed down. The sting of pain was worth it when her shoulders relaxed at the feeling of your heartbeat.

“See?” you murmured, “alive.”

She sat there, her hand on your chest, dark eyes watching as your chest expanded with every inhale. You let her, not sure what she was going through but letting yourself be there.

“Sorry,” she said, “sometimes it can get…”

“Get?” you prompted when you weren’t sure she was going to continue.

“Overwhelming,” she said, “that’s why I have a show. I can talk to ghosts.”

“Oh,” you said, not sure what to make of that, “cool.”

“You’re not going to tell me I’m crazy?” she asked.

You considered her for a moment.

“Nah. There’s enough out there we can’t explain that I’m not willing to dismiss anything yet,” you replied, “it’s not crazy to experience the world differently from me.”

Her hand tightened on your skin, the pain causing a hiss to fall from your lips. She looked down, flipping her palm to find your blood smeared over her skin. She brought it to her mouth, licking your blood away, holding eye contact with you.

A shot of pleasure went right between your thighs.

“You should probably go find your friend,” she said, ignoring how breathless you were.

“If she’s not still busy with Rick,” you said.

“She won’t be,” she said.

“She definitely won’t have had as good a time at this party as I have,” you said, smirking over at her.

“Come on.”

She stood, holding out a hand to you. You let her pull you to your feet, staggering into her body. Her fingertips were soft as they brushed over the apple of your cheek, lingering for a moment before putting more space between your bodies.

You followed her back to the party. The singing had only grown louder, the words slurred and indistinct, a wall of noise you weren’t interested in. You paused for a moment, scooping up the heels abandoned at the foot of the tree, Lydia lingering with you.

“I think I’ll return home now,” she said, almost absentmindedly, “Richard left candy when he picked up Astrid.”

“Pop on a horror movie and relax,” you said with a small laugh.

“Exactly.”

Looking at her, you could imagine she would be the exact kind of woman to relax to a good slasher movie. Something about her spoke to the darker side of things, the strange, the unusual. You liked it.

Your friend was in the doorway, staring out at the backyard, eyes searching. They alighted on you, relaxing before a look of surprise passed over her face. As you stepped into the circle of light spilling out of the house, her mouth fell open.

“What happened to you?” she asked.

“You mean after you abandoned me?” you replied, “I made a friend.”

Her eyes dragged from you to Lydia, still at your side for reasons you hadn’t yet worked out. Your friend’s eyes widened and she seemed speechless. Not an easy feat, if you were being honest.

“Are you done? Can we go now?” you asked her.

“Uh… yeah, sure,” she said, still looking to Lydia.

“Great.” You turned to Lydia, “if you need to work through more shit, come find me.”

“I might just take you up on that,” she said, the corner of her lips curling up in a smile.

You reached out, brushing your fingertips over the apple of her cheek, a mirror image of the softness she’d shown you earlier. Her hand caught yours, pressing her lips to the centre of your palm before she let you go.

You grasped your friend’s elbow and steered her towards the front door. The house spat you onto a dark driveway, empty and long, the perfect setting for a horror movie ending to the night. After all, you’d sex. That was, like, horror movie 101.

“Did you seriously fuck Lydia Deetz?” your friend asked in a hiss of a whisper.

“Well…” you said, thinking over it.

“You know she’s a total con artist, right? She tells people she talks to ghosts,” she said, a judgemental edge to her tone.

“She told me,” you said.

“And you still fucked her?” she asked.

“Yeah, I did.” You jutted out your chin, crossing your arms over your chest as you stared at her.

“Didn’t know you were into that freaky shit,” she said, eyes trailing down to the wound on your chest.

“Hey, I don’t judge you for sleeping with some slimy producer. Don’t judge me for what I get up to,” you said.

“Fine,” she said, “but you’re not really going to see her again, are you?”

“I hope I do,” you said.

And when the phone rang, you jumped at the chance to help her work through more of her shit.

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Yandere Manager

Managers can teeter on the edge of being the most helpful and supportive authorities in your life or the worst. More often leaning toward the latter, it isn’t bizarre to feel helpless when they put a strain on your paycheck or your general health during and outside the work day. It’s infuriating and downright despairful when they use the power of management to make you miserable. But you can always file a report to HR or the branch head. Sometimes it’ll work but not always. More likely than not there’s more support for them further down the line which makes it even harder to contest. 

“(Y/n) didn’t I tell you to smile when you’re at the front? S-M-I-L-E!”

But there’s something just as alarming about the manager who doesn’t have that. No favor from directors, open to the reprimands of human resources, and even a criminal record to boot. There’s something that compels you to listen when you look for an ounce of sympathy in those amber eyes to find a tempest of unhinged madness. You can only begin to visualize in a fever-driven nightmare. 

That’s your manager. 

The lovely, awful, and disastrous manager that fills you with helplessness like no other. 

Yandere Manager is just so naggy. Not only to you but your coworkers as well because there’s always something to comment on. Even when it’s not insulting or condescending it just rubs everyone the wrong way. 

“The way the uniform looks on you makes it look like we dragged you off the street.”

“....”

“....You’re the one who gave her a uniform that isn’t her size.”

“Yeah, but she’s the one who looks homeless. (Y/n) how about you mind your business and actually do your job. Thanks!” 

Yandere Manager is especially unpredictable in his support of you. Sometimes joining unruly customers when they blame you for something you messed up on. While also defending you over something small that didn’t require anyone’s input let alone his. Situations with entitled customers is a coin toss with him.

“Miss I’ll just remake the drink for you.”

“No no, you don’t have to I just want to know what was used instead of oat milk.”

“Oh okay then it's…Mr. Manager?”

“....YOU!?”

“Me?”

“Oh no.”

“NEVER WALK INTO MY ESTABLISHMENT AGAIN!”

“What why? I didn’t–”

“IF YOU REFUSE TO LEAVE I’LL HAVE TO REMOVE YOU BY FORCE.”

“Ahhh!”

“Wait! You don’t need the crossbow! Put it down!”

“DON’T EVER SPEAK TO MY EMPLOYEE EVER AGAIN!”

You can hardly pinpoint a pattern to his discord even after his honest confession when you catch him rifling through your things. But he won’t explain why he steals your lunch or makes fun of you in front of your coworkers. Or why he slashes your tires and breaks the windows of your home. It gets so bad you’re starting to think he uses this supposed obsession as an excuse for his behavior.

“Will you please explain why you broke into my car…for the fourth time?”

“Hmmm no.”

“...fine don’t. Now get out.”

“No I don’t think I will.”

“I have pepper spray and a tasor.”

“I can handle pepper spray.”

~Kzzt~

“Okay fine, you win this time.”

But despite your suspicions, he’s very much obsessed. Convinced he’s owed your affections he doesn’t mind breaking into your home, invading your personal space, and making light fun-as lovers do. No, his more sporadic actions happen to be something like knee-jerk reactions of his love for you. Similar to cuteness aggression. Because in his mind he’d prefer to break another window of yours than murder the family next door for looking at you too long. 

“This will have to do for now. I mean they can’t pin me for their carelessness when driving into a ditch, right?”

Usually, he doesn’t mind just doing whatever he feels like but since you’ve caught and called the police on him he’s on a tight leash. Not because he’s at all afraid of the police. Not at all. It’s because then he’ll be breaking the hold he has on you. Let me explain.

The minute he did the slightest thing out of line you called the higher-ups who threatened him and assured you he’d be fired. Great. But when he cornered you in your own home with the possibility that this wouldn’t stop when he was fired you had to pause.

“Sure you might get rid of me at work but then you’ll never know where I am. Instead of staying at work with you, I might just be in your room or at your friend’s house, or in your car!”

“T-t-then I’ll call the police on you!”

“After I’ve already left? Well sure they can serve an order and arrest me if I’m too close but when I break out–and trust me I will–you’ll have no idea when or where I’ll be coming from. I’ll be a constant boogeyman over your life if you kick me out now.”

“.....”

“So don’t get me fired, kay?”

Yandere Manager who is only given a warning by his employers and police before you stop attempting to get others involved. As much as you hate to admit it, he’s completely right. For all the times you find him breaking in, already broken in, or stealing something of yours he’s never lied to you. The same can’t be said for others but even when he’s doing something wrong he’ll always be honest with you. 

“Mister Manager? Did you do something to my lunch?”

“No! How dare you accuse me of such a deplorable thing! I should write you up.”

“....(Y/n)?”

“Clyde.”

“What?”

“Did you mess with his food?”

“Yes.”

“Dude are you serious?!” 

Life with Yandere Manager isn’t going to be easy at first but when has it ever been for an employee like yourself? It’s best that you get used to your Manager’s obsession, heck it might help make your grueling shift a little bit better.

[youlookkindadead]

positivity post for unrepresented systems online!!! systems who want final fusion. systems who haven't had a host in years. systems who aren't introject heavy. systems who's littles and middles all act mature and like the body's age despite their insys age. systems who don't use any proxy bots on discord. systems who have osdd1a. systems who hardly ever know who's fronting. systems who found out about their system thru an official diagnosis. systems who have lots of parts that are very similar. systems who still call their parts "personalities" because it's the language that was used back when they were diagnosed. systems who will need accommodations for their disorder for their entire life. systems who don't want accommodations, ever.

i hear and see each and every one of you, and you're beautiful and amazing even if you don't fit the stereotypical system people talk about online. mwah <3

[bump1nthen1ght]

Silver and Gold (M!Siren!Reader x M!Pirate Captain)

Pairing: Male!Flirty!Siren!Reader x Male!Pirate Captain

Genre: Pirates, Flirting, First Meetings

Word Count: 2570 words

Warnings: N/A

Summary: For living a life in a sailor’s death trap, you think you’d be used to handsome pirate captains, rushing headlong into adventure. But something about today’s quarry seems different.

Request May I request a flirty male! siren! reader with a male gruff pirate captain? I'll leave the details up to you! Love your works by the way, take all the dang time you need. :3

A/N: Alright now THIS one should be accurate to the request lolol. You guys get a two for one special!

Life in the Dragon’s Teeth was shockingly boring.

Its reputation is infamous, the majority of sailors being sensible enough to leave it well enough alone. Of the people who dared to enter most were young and braggadocious sailors looking to prove their worth, who often made for quite boring sport. They always thought they were somehow better than siren magic, that pure belief could beat an enchantment powerful enough to literally make men wantonly fall to their deaths.

Bo-ring.

You think, watching one such ship entering into the gorge, men lined up the sides like pigs ready for slaughter. Your ravenous siblings all leap for the chances, hiding behind treacherous rocks or laying alluringly on outcrops, all ready for a taste. Despite the ship you all sank just one week ago, their bellies never seem to fill.

You however, have grown tired of this. Too easy, too monotonous. Maybe it’s time you finally spread your fins and leave the gorge, head into open water and explore the seas. Would be much more interesting than this, that's for sure.

You roll back over on your fins as the siren’s begin to sing, a haunting chorus bouncing off the chasm as the ship deftly avoids the rocks. Rolling your eyes, you daydream about the Great Barrier Reef, wondering if it’s as magnificent as they say.

But then-

“Ugh, come on!” A particularly voracious sister of yours hum to a tune of discontent, harshing her usually sweet melody. “I’m hungry! Why is this taking so long?”

“I don’t know.” A more rational brother of yours whispers, just loud enough for you to hear from your outcrop. “They should be overboard by now.”

That’s enough to have you turning over, eyes lazily sweeping over the ship, now deep in the Dragon’s Teeth. To your surprise, every sailor still seems hard at work, keeping mindful of the edges of the ships, but fulfilling their duties. Even the watchman at the crow’s nest, isolated as they are, stays perched and at the ready, looking over at your beckoning family with nervous yet un-enchanted eyes.

Now this is new.

You slide down a mossy outcrop, slipping in between the confused masses of your siblings, whose songs grow more and more discordant. Some have even swam up to the sides, clawing at the bows and preening like young pups. Still, the sailors ignore them, not paying any mind.

For a whole ship to be free of a whole horde of siren’s is a shocking thing, a terrifying thing, a wonderful new thing. You have to know more, so you crawl along the rocks, exploring the entire hull with watching eyes. 

Is there some boon they’ve brought with them? Did they find a witch and ask for safe passage? Has Poseidon himself blessed their voyage?

You wander from man to man, trying to find a hint of any wills breaking. But while curious eyes occasionally steal a glance at your siblings, curiosity is its reason, not compulsion. Any who dare get a sharp retort from the man at the helm, though they hardly deem to notice.

It’s then you realize, all these men are deadly silent. Not a peep between them, not even shouting orders. Except the helmsman, all the others silently following a preapproved pattern, a routine.

Oh, and what a helmsman he is.

It's easy to see how much better dressed he is than his men, a crimson coat that falls to his knees, closed by several belts and buckles over a ruffle white shirt. Gold studs decorate up and down his ears yet he is sparsely decorated elsewhere. Long black hair peppered with gray is tied in a low ponytail, healthy and silky despite a life at sea. His beard is less maintained, more scraggly, split apart by the occasional scar across his jaw. His boots are polished leath, not a scratch or stain on them, and his trousers are well fitted. Especially across his buttocks, which you take the time to appreciate.

The other thing that catches your eyes are his hands. Hands which swiftly attend to the wheel, in fact are tied to the rudders. His breathing is labored slightly, his cheeks darkened from focused exertion. Still, he keeps his eyes straight, shouting loudly to a young third mate who dares to ean over the side of the ship. The man ignores him, up until the captain kicks at a nearby can into the man's leg, shocking him to attention.

Oh, I see.

Seems you’ve found yourself an interesting prey.

—

Royce felt like a fool.

All his life he’s been a pragmatic man. Where other Captains gambled, brawled, and squandered their lives in stupid feats of bravado, he had always kept a level head. Sure, he’s a pirate and knew to have some fun, but he always did so with care.

He had weighed his options heavily before deciding on the Dragon’s Keep. It wasn’t easy, nor without risk, but the quickness of the route and the assurances of his men had convinced him. His plan would allow them to reach their next port in half the time, beating out any other rival crews to what was rumored to be an excellent bounty. He had even concocted a plan to ensure casualties would be at a minimum, scrounging for texts and stories about the fabled place to be best prepared.

But he had just been so goddamned curious.

“Cotton in the ears, huh?” 

A melodic voice knocks Royce out of his focus, thanking the gods for his resilience and not flinching at the site of the siren, now hoisted up the side of his ship. He thanks his foresight in tying his hands to the wheel, knowing that even without a song, the siren could easily lure him to his death.

“It’s a good plan, surprised you’re the first to think of it. There’s always a risk of course, that we’d be louder, but it seems they’ve packed those eardrums full.” The siren drags a clawed hand across the railing. The siren has a more human disguise, fins and teeth and scales all out to show. It does not make him any less alluring. 

Glowing yellow-green eyes dance up and down the captain’s form, a black tongue wetting the siren’s lips.

“So why not you, Captain?” The title drips out of the siren’s mouth like honey, his beck arching as he relaxes along the railing, precariously balancing his weight yet not a care in the world. “Is it supposed to be a challenge, a test of your willpower?” Sharp eyes dart to his tied hands “Or just plain ego?”

Royce takes a deep breath, meeting the beast’s gaze. He is a proud man, maybe too proud, but he’s not stupid.

“I am an example for my men, siren. I cannot be bested by a simple song.”

“Hmm, a likely story.” The siren sits upright, tail now swung over and onto the ship. He leans forward, a gleeful look in his eyes. “You are doing rather well. Most men would have torn their arms clean off by now.” A heat lingers over Royce’s arms, the siren’s gaze covetous. “It would’ve been a shame, they seem like very nice arms indeed.”

Royce tries not to feel flattered. These are games, that is all.

“I have faced many challenges in my life. None of them have claimed me yet.”

Royce keeps the details to a minimum. He’s content that he’s able to keep his composure this much, the siren testing his strength.

The siren’s laugh is as frightening as it is charming.

“Ah, so ego it is. Though you seem smarter than other idiots who have tried it before.” The siren goes back to his tied hands, to his tense posture. “And far more handsome. Awfully bold, coming into a territory like this looking like that.”

Royce scoffs. 

“Are you here only to play with you food, beast? Or do you find joy in plying me with compliments instead of singing?”

“Ooh, some sass! Good to know your words are as sharp as your sword, Captain.” The siren licks his lips. “And that jawline. My, my, I think you put even my kind to shame.”

Royce rolls his eyes, only making the siren laugh more. It seems that this Siren is less interested in eating him and more in entertaining himself.

“I have to ask, most others who pass through here are looking for a fight. A chance to prove themselves. You seem rather content on passing through, your men as well. Why come through this place?”

Royce stays quiet, thinking over any potential danger in revealing his plans to siren. If anything, nothing could be more dangerous than the position he is in now.

“It’s the quickest route. My men seemed up to the challenge, and so was I. We’re pirates, it’d be unbefitting for us to cower away from the riskier route.”

The siren nods. “True, true. Still, quite a risk indeed.” The siren flashes a smile full of glittering fangs.

The ship rocks, several of his men thrown to their knees as a stray rock scrapes against its side. The siren rocks with the waves, easily keeping his balance.

Royce grits his teeth. Is that what this was? A distraction? But the siren seems disquieted, slightly annoyed.

“Gah, fucking ridiculous that lot. So gluttonous.” The siren leans over, hissing an angry song. Royce almost wishes for the cotton, but finds no compulsing rhythm.

The ship stops rocking, the sound of rushing water as sirens fall to the wayside. The cacophonous songs fall to the side, though some still linger, waiting for a fortunate accident to occur.

“This place you're going to, will it have adventure?”

Royce raises his eyebrow.

“One would hope. Treasure too.”

The Siren’s smile is giddy, almost like a child.

“Then it’d be a shame if you got stuck here, then.”

The siren leans over the side, raising his hand, pointing to the portside.

“You’ll want to turn 20 degrees. There's a hidden outcrop that will cut through your hull.”

Royce grits his teeth, but follows the siren’s instructions. The ship sails smoothly, barely rocking.

“Now 10 degrees.”

  Royce turns again, just missing another jagged set of rocks. Sirens hiss in the water, Royce’s companion hissing back.

“Seems dangerous, betraying your own kind like this.”

“Bah, they’ll survive. They’re not even hungry, just peckish.”

The siren eyes him up and down again.

“Though you have me absolutely ravenous, Captain.”

Royce focuses on the wheel, hoping the siren doesn’t see his ears tips turn red.

—

This is definitely the most fun you’ve had in the while.

The Captains is as cunning as he is handsome, deft hands talented with the wheel. He peppers in anecdotes from his times at sea, a casual tone for such riveting stories.

In between instructions you take the time to eye him up more, those thick thighs and that strong back. You weren’t lying, he does put some sirens to shame.

“You’ll want to avoid those.” You point toward a deceptive spot of calm water. “The area alone sank an entire Navy Ship once. We feasted for weeks, though the meat was less than exemplary.”

“With only military rations, I’d imagine they aren’t very tasty.”

“Exactly! Gods, you’d think I’d be the only siren with taste around here.”

You see the faintest of a smirk from The Captain, which he quickly stomps away. He shares your dark sense of humor, quite fitting. You’ll get a laugh out of him yet. “15 degrees, starboard-side.”

The Captain follows with ease, your directions trustworthy by now. The crew still seem wary, unaware of the conversation due to the cotton in their ears, but they continue their work. Either their trust in their captain is strong, or they're too terrified to disobey in such treacherous waters.

The sun has begun to peak through, the end of the gorge insight. Your mind is slightly conflicted. A sadness, that the most interesting person you’ve met will soon be on his way. A glee, that this might be your best chance to leave the Teeth and explore the world.

The Captain clears his throat.

“It’s got its ups and downs, pirate life. Plenty of boring days, plenty of dangerous ones, plenty in betweens.” The Captain’s eyes stay on the horizon, safety so close for him and his crew. You smile.

“Would this be one of the ups, or one of the downs?” You wave to the jagged rocks, to the hungry eyes that linger from the water.

“I’m still undecided.”

You and your arm on the railing, watching the tides front the gorge clash with the ones outside.

“Still, it’s better than the same thing everyday. I think that's why most men go to sea, for the adventure, the undiscovered.”

Your eyes must be sparkling, minds filled with whales, sea turtles, with sunken ships and glorious battles.

The sun now speckles the hull of the ship, men visibly relaxing as the bow breaches the Dragon’s Teeth and splashes into safe waters. No one removes the cotton from their ears, however, still aware of your presence.

“I must thank you for your service, siren. I do not think we would’ve made it through unscathed if not for you.”

“____, It’s ____.” You say, eyes still on the wide ocean, on all the possibilities.

The Captain smiles, a familiar longing in your eyes.

“And it’s no problem. I think you’ve helped me more than you know.”

You whisper, heart thrumming. 

“You could join us, you know.” That has you whipping around, eyes wide. “I think you’ve proven yourself more than trustworthy. Besides, it would be helpful to have someone as powerful as you aboard.”

Your heart rises, bubbling up with excitement. But the fearful gaze of the rest of the crew still stings on your back, hackles raised.

“I think I’m gonna go out on my own for a while.” You hum, tapping your claws against wood. “See the world, really prove myself.”

The Captain keeps the quiet, nodding along silently. 

You sigh. Just a couple of hours with this man and you’re already melancholy to leave. For shame, ___, don’t you know better?

“Well, it’s a big ocean, Captain. But I’m sure we’ll see each other again.” You ready yourself on the rail, sitting upright and pivoting your tail to the outside of the ship. “Who knows, maybe I’ll be especially hungry next time.”

The Captain smirks, clicking his teeth.

“I’ll put up a hell of a fight, ___.”

“Oh, I’m sure you will-”

“Royce, the name’s Royce. Captain Royce.”

You smile, scaly cheeks glittering like diamonds in the sun.

“Until we meet again, Captain Royce.”

You give him a wink, eyeing up that gorgeous body of his one last time, and jump tail first into the ocean.

His ship fades into the sun as you swim away, hopeful that you’ll bump into it again one day. A day when you’re more worldly, have more adventurous stories to share.

You eye up the reef, several sirens slinking away, discontent with their food stolen. Whatever, they’ll get over it.

Your older sister might be a little upset about your abrupt departure, but she’ll get over that too. After all, she often leaves to visit that pirate paramour of hers, so what's the big difference?

Hell, maybe next time, you’ll come back with one of your own.

[anomalyaly]

Illicit Spell Practice

The spicy version of my oneshot 'Crossed Wands.' Some parts are the same, most of it is changed to make it NSFW. Written for the OHL discord server NSFW event: The Truman Show.

AO3/Wattpad

ALL CHARACTERS ARE 18+, NSFW, MINORS DNI

Tags: Exhibitionism (sort of), public sex, unprotected p in v sex, disregard for period-accurate undergarments because I just don't care, Sebastian made me break my rule which is unsurprising, Sebastian no longer has blue balls (if you read my oneshot 'Nut Cracked', you know), Silencing charm? What's that?

2.6k words

“You’re doing it wrong.”

Sebastian grinned as Elsie let out a huff and cast the spell at the dummy again, earning her another disappointed tut.

“You’re still doing it wrong.”

She threw her arms up in exasperation. “Just because you repeat yourself doesn’t mean I can figure out what it is I’m doing wrong!”

Sebastian laughed as the Ravenclaw girl scrunched up her face — one of his favorite expressions she wore. Somehow, she managed to make frustration look incredibly adorable. “Your casting looks like you memorized your form from a textbook.”

“Maybe,” she clicked her tongue at him, “that’s because I did memorize my form from a textbook.”

That didn’t come as a surprise to him. Elsie was constantly working on improving her skill set, whether by absorbing information from a book or studying someone else's techniques. It was as if once she had been given the task of "catching up to the other students her year", she didn't quite know how to stop.

"Your wand is an extension of you," he said, demonstrating a more fluid movement, then gently grabbing her arms and guiding her the same way. She had rolled up her sleeves after complaining that she was too hot from all the practicing she had been doing, and the sight of the loosened buttons on her collar along with the feel of the bare skin of her arms were a bit distracting to him. He forced himself to stay focused on the mechanics of spell-casting instead. "Think of it as a dance — one move drifts into the next."

"Are you insinuating you're a good dancer?" Her face was still scrunched, but he saw her eyes flicker tauntingly, and he was tempted to say fuck it and whisk her away to a hidden corridor.

Instead, he smirked at her, and he didn't miss the gooseflesh that prickled on her arm as he brushed his fingertips along it before he reluctantly pulled away. If��only she wasn't so adamant about practicing.

"I can't go around telling you all my secrets, now, can I?" he teased. She responded with an amused snort.

"Alright," she sighed, raising her wand at the dummy again. "Once more."

It was the hundredth time she had said it, but Sebastian knew better than to insist that she take a break. She was stubborn, he had learned early on, and she wouldn't quit until she was confident she'd gotten it right. He took a step back to give her the appropriate amount of space to cast her spell.

He watched from the unfortunately respectable distance as Elsie took in a deep breath and pursed her luscious, pink lips in concentration, and all he could think about was that there were a million other things he'd rather she be doing with them instead. Had she not been so persistent in asking him to teach her his dueling techniques, he would have suggested a better way they could make use of their spare time.

His lascivious thoughts were interrupted by the sound of her spell striking the dummy dead center, knocking it backward and slamming it against the far wall. Her face lit up in a wide grin.

"I did it!" Elsie bounced on her toes excitedly and spun in place as she congratulated herself on a job well done. Sebastian thought he may have heard her rambling about how she told him so and something else about practice making perfect, but he couldn't pick out most of what she was saying as his mind wandered once again.

She hardly ever showed excitement like this — completely unrestrained elation that she only ever allowed a select few to see. He should be so honored to be at the top of that list, witnessing a side of her that she kept hidden away for rare moments such as these. The sight of her unbridled joy simultaneously sent a surge of affection and a rush of arousal through him.

So, he did the only thing that seemed logical and grabbed her arm mid-twirl, pulling her body flush against his and cutting off her chatter as he hungrily pressed his lips to hers.

He didn't fully realize or care about what he was doing or who could be watching as he ran his hands along her sides before wrapping his arms fully around her waist, desperate to feel every soft curve of hers against him. One hand found the hem of her blouse, the other threaded in her hair as he groaned against her mouth. He nipped at her lower lip, which elicited a soft whimper from her; or perhaps a half-hearted protest — he wasn't certain. It only served to fuel him further as he tugged the material free from her skirt and lightly skimmed the warm, silky flesh beneath it.

“I want you.”

“Sebastian,” she managed, her voice breathy and pleading — a stark contrast to the bubbly attitude she had exhibited only moments ago, “not here…”

Without breaking away from her, he guided both of them to the nearby storage room, his heart pounding with the thrill of potentially getting caught and wanting to take her immediately. Pressing his back against the door, he turned the handle and pulled her inside the small space, his lips never straying too far from hers before closing it behind them again.

The room held a small array of what could be considered junk—covered statues and other centuries-old nonsense that no one could be bothered with — but it wasn’t completely isolated. Two small, slitted windows along one wall opened up to the Clock Tower courtyard. If anyone was to pass by, they would easily see and hear everything.

It wasn’t relevant information to him. All he knew was that Elsie was wrapped around him, and he needed to have her now.

“Sebastian!” she whisper-scolded him as he greedily nibbled his way down her neck. “This isn’t — what if someone— ”

“Guess you’ll have to be quiet, then,” he murmured. He traced his tongue along the column of her throat, grinning as he earned a submissive whimper from her. Too easy. She may act proper and modest in public, but he knew exactly how to make her melt for him.

He proceeded to pick up where he had left off, slipping a hand underneath her blouse and pulling her flush against him. He ground his hips against her, letting her know exactly how needy he felt — how much her enthusiasm and deft spell-work had truly affected him.

Fumbling with the buttons on her blouse, he gave a soft chuckle when she let out a gasp at the feel of him. “You’re already so — bloody hell, does dueling practice always make you so— ” A soft moan slipped past her lips as he kissed along the curve of her breast, tugging her blouse lower and pausing to swirl his tongue around her one exposed nipple.

“Only for you,” he smirked and resumed his ministrations as he hiked her skirt up past her thigh, high enough that he could slip his hand underneath. He didn’t bother with teasing — clandestine meetings like this were meant to be fast, hot, and heavy, and Sebastian knew there would be plenty of time to take her slowly later if he wanted to. And oh, would he want to. He pushed her undergarments to the side and ran his fingers along her slit, groaning satisfactorily against her breast when he was easily able to slip a digit inside.

Elsie sighed and threw her head back, grinding herself against his hand as he worked away at her. His thumb circled her clit, and he lifted his head to watch her face — flushed and wanton, lips slightly parted, desperate for him. He curled his fingers inside of her and grinned as she responded by bucking her hips roughly and digging her nails into his biceps.

“That’s it, my lovely girl,” he said softly, leaning forward to brush kisses along her neck and jaw. She reached up to thread her fingers in his hair, tugging gently as she held on tightly while the rest of her body turned to jelly under his touch. “So beautiful.”

He used his other hand to free himself from his trousers and stroked his already thick and throbbing erection — if they were going to make this quick, he wasn’t going to let her cum until it was around his cock. He let out a small laugh as she whined when his fingers ceased their pumping, though he hardly allowed a second to pass before he settled himself between her legs.

“What is it you want?” He asked quietly, not that he was particularly concerned if anyone should hear them. “You want me to fuck you thoroughly, right here?”

“Yes,” she groaned raggedly, “please.”

He grazed his teeth along her earlobe. “Still afraid someone will hear?”

“I don’t care.” She arched against him, pushing the head of his cock into her slick heat. “I — please. I need you. I need you to — to— ”

“To…?” He lazily traced circles along her pulse point with his tongue, teasing himself equally as much as he was teasing her. His self-control was limited when it came to Elsie, but if it meant spending an extra moment to get her to say what he really wanted to hear, he would make himself wait.

“Fuck me.”

Thankfully, she didn’t make him wait long.

At her request, he buried himself to the hilt inside of her, biting back his own whimpers as he did. Elsie was pressed against the covered statue, her hands raised behind her head, both to support herself and to take him deeper. His eyes grazed over her exposed breasts, memorizing each marking and freckle on her before meeting her desperate gaze.

“Fuck— ” he gasped, “never gets — fuck — never get — tired of that— ”

He hooked a hand around her thigh and brought her leg up and around him, angling himself to hit just the right spot as he moved roughly against her, too frenzied already to slow down. He pulled back only slightly to look at her, her eyes heavy-lidded as she bit her lip, trying to hold back even as her moans and sighs slipped out. Fuck, how he loved hearing the little noises she made.

He rolled his hips against hers, and her hands flew up to cover her mouth as she cried out behind them. Sebastian grabbed her wrists and pinned them above her head.

“No,” he growled. “I want — need to hear you— ”

“But— ”

His lips crashed against hers messily, silencing any argument she might have had, and he moved steadily against her in long, languid thrusts. He tucked his head in the crook of her neck, breathing her in, one hand still holding her wrists, the other slipping between them right to her core.

“I — don’t — care,” he said, snapping his hips to the rhythm of each word for emphasis. “Let them hear — let them — fuck — let everyone know how — how I— ” He let out another long groan against her shoulder. “— make you come undone.”

It started to become too much for him, his words eliciting as much of a response from himself as it did from Elsie. She reacted emphatically by letting out a cry that echoed in the small chamber they were hidden away in. Sebastian felt a surge of pride that, had anyone been nearby, they would have known that he was the one who was bringing those sounds from her — the only one who could. No one else.

“There’s a — good girl,” he murmured his praises as his fingers circled her center in tandem with his quickening movements, and he nearly laughed with joy as he felt her tighten around him. As desperate as he was to chase his completion, the thrill it gave him to watch her reach her peak was more addicting than that of any spell book in the Restricted Section.

This was tangible and real and perfect. Because she was his, and she wanted him, too.

“Sebastian!” She squealed, and his heart swelled in his chest at the sound of his name on her lips.

“There you go, sweetheart,” he moaned, his words turning breathy as he, too, began to near his climax. “Don’t — don’t hold back— ”

At his command, Elsie arched into him one last time and gave herself completely to the moment of pure ecstasy. Skin slapped against skin, his rhythm turned jagged, and he found himself unable to hold back any longer, groaning as his release tumbled quickly after hers. Their bodies trembled from the aftershocks, her leg still wrapped around his waist, their breaths mingling as they panted against one another.

After a moment, Sebastian tilted his head slightly, pushing the hair away from her sweat-slicked forehead. He smiled down at her, his legs feeling weak as they basked in the afterglow of their union. “Perfect, as always.”

Her eyes fluttered open and she looked at him, bliss-faced and grinning. “As perfect as my dueling?”

“Hm…” He hummed as he traced the freckles along her pinkened cheeks with the tip of his nose. “Dunno. Perhaps more practice is in order.”

“Oh, really?” Her grin widened. “I suppose we’ll have to— ”

To their utter misfortune, the door to the storage room burst open. Poor Charlotte Morrison, looking for an extra practice dummy for Crossed Wands, quickly averted her gaze from the still intertwined couple tucked in the corner.

“MERLIN’S HAIRY PLONKER!”

Elsie and Sebastian jolted apart from each other, turning away from the quickly gathering curious stares at Charlotte’s exclamation. Sebastian fumbled with his trousers while Elsie yanked her skirt down and quickly did up the buttons on her shirt.

“What in bloody blazes is going on?” They heard Lucan Brattleby shout from outside the room. “Are those two snogging in there again?!”

“Not just snogging,” Charlotte muttered, pointedly avoiding looking at either of them, “Shagging is more like it.”

Sebastian couldn’t help the smarmy grin that grew on his face at the chorus of grumbled irritation. He wrapped his arm around a still-disheveled, red-faced Elsie and led her out of the room.

“No need to be jealous,” he snarked. “After all, when two people care about each other very much — oof!”

He was cut off by his girlfriend’s aggressive elbow to his ribcage.

“Need I remind you,” Lucan gritted his teeth, “that the Clock Tower is meant for dueling practice. Not — whatever it is you two were doing!”

Sebastian only offered a light smirk at the scandalized glances of the other Crossed Wands members.

"R-right, sorry, Lucan," Elsie muttered, flustered. Sebastian couldn't stop feeling a sense of pride at her disheveled appearance, her usual elegant plait in disarray, her lips swollen, bruises along her neck, and her blouse crumpled and crooked, knowing that he had been the cause of it. "Sebastian was just— "

Lucan held up a hand, cutting her off, his face going red as he tried to ignore whatever it was that he and the group had walked in on. "I have the next match set up, so if you two are quite finished here, I'd like to get started."

"Actually," Sebastian pushed his curled locks from his face as he glanced at Elsie, "we're going to continue our...practice session elsewhere. But thanks for the offer."

He took her hand and ran out of the Clock Tower, his roguish laughter echoing in the corridors at her mortified expression and the cacophony of gagging and groaned complaints far behind them. He expected an earful from her once they were alone, but he wasn't concerned — he knew how to tame her.

Practice session indeed.