#is a glorious maniac

[psychotomy]

I’m sorry but just hear me out. Carnival yaoi

[teamhawkeye]

this round was not great overall, but the ending made me feel powerful lmfao

[white-cishet-snail]

Calvin's most based moments

"Calvin's Most Unhinged Statements" (A Collection)

[read-marx-and-lenin]

I'm asking this in good faith, but this is something I'm genuinely confused about. Regarding the Holodomor, or the Soviet famine of 1930 in general, why does it matter if it was a genocide or not? At best it seems to be a natural famine exacerbated by poor decision making, and while that is far different from a genocide, I don't understand why that specification matters, because it was still made worse by Soviet intervention, unless I'm getting the facts wrong which I probably am.

It matters to the Western propagandists who were insistent for decades despite zero evidence that the famine was used to commit atrocities against the people of Ukraine. The refrain the whole time was that once the Soviet archives were made public, they'd finally have the proof they needed. The archives are eventually opened, and surprise surprise, there's not only no evidence of the deliberate withholding of grain, there's evidence of significant amounts of food aid being sent to help alleviate the famine. The myth of a Ukrainian genocide began as Nazi propaganda and was adopted as part of the "double genocide" narrative by Western reactionaries after WW2 to downplay the crimes of the Nazis and to maintain a narrative about liberal opposition to "authoritarianism", painting Western capitalists as the "free world" fighting against both fascism and communism. (Don't ask them why they stopped fighting fascism after WW2 though.)

As for the human elements of the famine, it is also part of the typical Western narrative, even among those who admit the Holodomor was not a targeted anti-Ukrainian genocide and who admit that there were environmental factors, to try and put substantial amounts of blame on the Soviet collectivization of agriculture. I am not going to lie and say collectivization went smoothly with no issues, but you cannot ignore the factors of reactionary sabotage by kulaks (including the destruction of animals and grain and the outright murder of party officials) and the effects of Western sanctions and sabotage on the economic development of the USSR.

While some have argued that there was a complete "gold blockade" on the USSR during the famine and so the Soviet Union was forced to export grain to facilitate international trade, the blockade was never enforced by all Western nations at the same time and the Soviets were still able to export gold and silver at various times throughout the 1920s. It is true, however, that gold reserves were stretched thin at the time and the Soviets simply didn't have enough gold to cover their international debts. Soviet gold mines had never been extraordinarily productive and the rest of the Soviet economy was still developing at the time, so grain was one of the few things that they expected to have in surplus. In addition, there were various other sanctions in place by 1930 that did limit who they could trade with and what they could trade with, but the export of grain was almost never restricted. The famine caught them off guard at a very bad time.

While international grain exports were restricted during the famine as grain was diverted to famine-stricken regions of the country (and grain imports were increased as well), the problems with hoarding only worsened as in the panic of the famine, kulaks sought to exploit the people and create a profitable black market on grain. A struggle against the kulaks coincided with worsening environmental effects and the spread of disease among both crops and humans.

The famine was not man-made, it was not entirely natural, and it was not the inevitable outcome of collectivization. It was a perfect storm of a variety of factors. Stalin was not some heartless monster condemning millions of Ukrainians to death for daring to defy the glorious Soviet Union. He was not some idiot who had no idea what he was doing, plunging the nation into famine out of ineptitude. He was not a stubborn maniac who refused to abandon failing economic policies even at the cost of human lives. He was a human being, one of many in charge of the Soviet Union, dealing with concurrent disasters as best as they could.

[viridescentelf]

Yeah uhh can you make yandere fae and yn female nsfw??

hiii! :) i wasn't too sure what you meant by "fae", but i just made him an elf with wings haha.

Warning: 18+, nsfw, non-con, touching in sleep, obsessive behavior

-----

You were wandering through the forest as a sunset slowly formed. The orange rays enveloped the trees with a sense of wonder, the small specks of dust and flower seeds snowing in the light.

You loved coming here at this time of day, sometimes you got lucky and met fascinating creatures. More often than you’d like to admit, you were unlucky and had to run like a maniac back home to avoid the clutching fangs of an angry predator.  

Not knowing what today’s excursion would bring, you trailed through your usual route, foraging some mushrooms and fruits you found along the way. It was fun to experiment with new ingredients you discovered here. Although you had regretted finding that green looking one a while back. It had made you convulse and hallucinate all night long.

Sliding down by the roots of the big tree you visited often, you examined your findings. What a lucky harvest this was: so many precious berries and meaty shrooms. You couldn’t wait to test them out. Listening to the gentle whistle of the wind through the large trees, you felt your body yearn for a brief respite. You had been hiking for hours today and with more vigor than your previous visits. You had barely slept the night before, so your body was exhausted. A short nap would help you get back home safely. Surely this area was safe enough.

Burying yourself in your coat and leaning back against the mossy trunk, you felt yourself slowly drift away into the kind embrace of sleep. The air in this forest was odd, as if weaved with sprites of calm or surrounding by a strange bubble that made everything feel so breezy. The soft wind bristled across your face, providing the comfort of coldness.

You didn’t know it, but you were always followed when you entered the woods. Not just by predators or curious little animals, but by something you only believed existed in old tales. He had been watching you behind a nearby tree, blushing excessively when you bent over to pick up any items you were collecting.

He had discovered you a while back, while he was attending to a group of withered trees that cried for attention. His ears had picked up on something stumbling. As he turned, he saw you had plopped over a large root, the interior of your little basket had spilled on the ground and you were carefully picking your findings back up. His keen fae eyes could see quite a long way, but even from the distance he was completely enamored with you. He had tolerated humans walking around this forest for eons: he loved scaring them when they were being disrespectful. But you…the way your face lit up when you found something that sparked your interest. You were the first visitor to make his nascent wings jitter.

You were asleep. This hadn’t happened before. He was normally so distraught when he saw you make your way home, not being able to follow you further. He needed to stay in his realm and couldn’t enter yours.

He felt his body move closer towards you. He needed to look at you up close, a chance he may never get again. The fae had never interacted with a human before, unless it was to taunt them out of his home. Your bodies were much different from his kinds, it was truly a marvel to him.

Your face was tilted slightly to the side, breathing deeply in and out, your arms hanging loosely in your lap. He crouched down and stared at you, examining your features. How glorious your face was, so different from his. The glittering lips seemed to call him forward. He hadn’t seen a human like you before. Normally, they disgusted him. You made him feel dizzy.

With a shaky hand, he stretched his arm towards you, gently brushing your cheek. Your skin was so soft and chilled due to the evening air. You were completely still, the rest direly needed, except the gently lifting of your chest as you breathed in and out. His eyes wandered down to your neck, rippling down to your slow-moving breasts that created little mountains in your coat.

Without thinking, the hand on your cheek drifted down your neck and glided over the peaks on your chest. Noticing you didn’t seem to feel his touch in your slumber, he dared to squeeze slightly. His body felt hot, how soft they were. His other hand joined and cupped your other breast, pushing them together. He clasped them a bit harder, letting out involuntary raspy moans at how amazing this felt. He wanted to see what they felt like without your garment, but he was too afraid you’d wake and run if he attempted to remove it. You let out a soft, breathy, moan at his touch, but remained still. His body was shaking, wanting to relieve himself all over you.

Still squishing your breasts intensely in his hands, he rocked himself forward. His face was now so close to yours and he inhaled your unique scent. You smelled so amazing; it made him want to taste you. He felt your calm breath on his ethereal skin, it made his wings flutter in anticipation. Did you have body parts for pleasure? Was that something he could even do with you?

He was so close; his breath was intermingling with yours. One more short movement and he would taste you.

His lips grazed yours. He felt his lower half explode with excitement.

Your eyes were fluttering and panic joined in with his pleasure. You stirred. Your eyes barely opened and you saw a divine visage before you, bright and starry eyes peering into yours. Before you could fully open them and decide if this was still a dream or reality, the fae had fled. Flying frantically through the dense foliage, he settled on a high branch obscured by the fading light and dark branches, still able to see you from afar. Did you see him? Did he scare you?

You rubbed your eyes and looked around you. There was no sign of anyone. You let out a big yawn and decided that you probably hadn’t finished dreaming yet, seeing that beautiful face before you.

Standing up and brushing the dirt off your backside, you picked up your basket and satchel to make your way home.

The fae’s breath halted seeing you leave. He wanted you to stay. He had been so close to tasting you, he would never get that chance again.

He looked around frantically. What could he do to prevent you from leaving?

You were walking swiftly. The sun was almost completely gone and you didn’t want to be in the woods at night. Folk warned that the faeries would get you, perhaps an old wives’ tale, but you never knew. Plus, there were predators here anyway.

Suddenly, you heard a crash and a whimper. Turning to the noise, you thought you saw large, translucent wings, flapping weakly behind a bush. The sounds seemed pitiful. Hurt.

You approached carefully and pushed the branches aside.

Before you, lay a creature you had only seen illustrated in fantasy novels.

He looked up at you, unable to stop his face from blushing again, pretending to have hurt himself from a fall.

This plan had to work.

[bahablastplz]

Resident Advisor: Changbin x Reader

Changbin is your R.A. and also your friend that you’ve been in the talking stage with for weeks. When he has to do room checks and he finds alcohol in your dorm, you tell him you’ll do anything for him not to snitch on you. 

content: smut, fluff, angst (reader is distressed) warnings: mention of bugs, college AU, kissing, oral (f! and m! receiving), alcohol, changbin has a huge coke can cock WC: 2700 A/N: happy birthday Changbin! I know it's a week late but I think he would find it in his heart to forgive me. also slightly ironic i was wine-drunk when i wrote this <3

Seo Changbin is beautiful. 

This, of course, has been an undeniable fact of life that you have been aware of since the first day of your sophomore year, your second year in college when you moved into your dorm room. 

The earth tilted on its axis when Changbin, your resident advisor, peeked his head into your room and introduced himself to you. He was a junior, a year above you, but as previously mentioned, a beautiful man with broad set shoulders and hair a color that fell between some shade of blue and purple. Your first thought when the R.A. had introduced himself to you was ‘damn, I need to spend more time with this man and get him to fall in love with me.’ But the glorious thing about him being your resident advisor was that he a.) lived in your dorm building on your floor, and b.) you had a free pass to bother him whenever you so pleased. 

And you did, shamelessly. Anytime you found any sort of reason to complain or bother Changbin, you could just knock on his door or even shoot him a text, as he had shared his number with every resident on your floor. And while anybody else might have been annoyed by the constant pestering, Changbin always seemed happy to help, no matter how small the issue. If there was a leak in your bathroom, you couldn’t remember the number to reach out to maintenance, or your neighbors were too loud, you were likely bothering him about it, to which he would greet you with a smile every time. 

One night in particular there was a cockroach in your room. The dorm building was a million years old and crustier than what was likely allowed by safety regulations, but you definitely had no qualms about bothering Changbin for this. 

“Queencard, I’m the top, I’m twerkin’ on the runway, I am a queencard you wanna be the queencard!” You heard from behind his closed doors the sounds of a fast and catchy girl group song, Changbin’s voice loud as he sang along with the lyrics. It made you pause a moment and giggle, knowing if he weren’t the R.A. he definitely would have received some noise complaints himself. 

Raising your hand you knocked on his door and the music came to a halt, Changbin opening the door while slightly out of breath. You realized that he must have been practicing the choreography or something, which made you grin a bit more before you remembered the situation at hand. 

“Y/N!” he smiled. “What can I help you with?”

“Changbin, hi,” you said to him, slightly teary-eyed. “Roach. There’s a roach in my room. I’m just– can you help?” 

He blinked at you for a moment, grabbing his keys and phone immediately before wordlessly ushering you out the door. He knew his way to your room already–as previously mentioned, this was not the first time you’ve bothered him–and he’s the one that bravely opened your door, grabbing one of your shoes from your shoe rack and holding it as if it were a weapon. 

Needless to say, that night ended in girly shrieks from the both of you, maniacal thumping and stomping that likely irritated your downstairs neighbors, and, thankfully, a dead roach. He was just as disturbed by the situation as you were, and you couldn’t help the fit of giggles once the bug was dead that escaped from your lips. He was just so dramatic and loud after the fact, recounting how gross and evil the creature was. You must have thanked him at least a million times, but that night you went to sleep with a smile. 

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

You texted Changbin all the time now, about the most menial of things. At some point, you weren’t sure when the line had crossed from ‘R.A. down the hall’ to ‘someone you text about food hall chicken nuggets and professors that refused to round up your grades,’ but you weren’t complaining. Fast forward to now, soon to be fall break, when you (and you’re entire floor) get an email from Changbin about room checks. 

You recall disregarding the email since you weren’t going home for fall break anyway. You’re staying on campus to get caught up on your assignments after midterms, plus a professor specifically requested your help in their lab over break for extra credit. Who were you to say no to that? You had already filled out the break contract, letting the school know that you were to be staying in your dorm over your break, so you had nothing to even worry about. Or so you thought. 

It’s 6 p.m. on the first day of break. You’re being very studious, just as you had planned (scrolling through tiktok on your phone with your assignments pulled up on your laptop), when you hear a knock at your door. You only slightly jump out of your skin, not expecting anybody else to even be in your dorm hall at this time. You peek through the peephole and let out an excited gasp. 

“Hi, Changbin!” you say excitedly, cracking the door open enough to slide out and greet him in the hall. “What are you still doing here?” 

You should have made the assumption that he’s ‘on duty,’ but you clearly weren’t thinking. Here he stands, wearing a polo that says ‘Resident Advisor’ in your school colors, his name tag adorned on his right side. He also clearly wasn’t expecting to see you, however, eyebrows quirked and a playful expression gleaming in his features. 

“Y/N,” he smiles as he addresses you. “I’m doing room checks, don’t you remember?” 

“Oh, that’s right,” you say, mentally kicking yourself. Of course it was just room checks. Part of you wishes he was just here for you, to spend time over break, but you know that’s a silly notion. He has a job to do, after all. “Well, I’ll be here all break, so you don’t need to check my room. Good luck, though! Hope you don’t find anything too crazy.”

You go to turn and head back into your room when he starts to speak again. “Yah! Doesn’t anybody ever read my emails?” You glance at him sideways, unsure what he’s talking about. “Everyone needs to have their room checked, if they’re staying on campus or not!” 

“What? Seriously?” you stammer. You really should have read that email. “Shit okay, give me like, 10 minutes to clean, okay? I gotta make sure there’s no roaches or anything.” 

You attempt to crack a joke and he does smile, even lets out a little giggle at your words. But when he explains to you that he’s not supposed to give you time to organize your room, just in case you’re hiding anything you’re not supposed to, you blanche. You’re not even really sure what to say as Changbin opens your door and starts his room check, you standing awkwardly behind him. 

You notice your mistake before he does, the large gallon-sized container of vodka on your dresser that you’re definitely not supposed to have. You really can’t even defend yourself there. You subtly shuffle to stand in front of the opposing object, staring down at your phone to feign disinterest. 

“Y/N?” you hear Changbin call. 

“Mhmm?”

“What’s behind you?” Shit. He totally knows. 

“Um. Nothing?” He walks to stand closer to you, a wide but slightly sad smile splayed on his face. 

“Please, please, don’t make me be the bad guy here.” 

“Fine. Can’t you seriously just like, close your eyes for one second? I’ll hide it and you won’t have to do a ridiculously long report, and I won’t tell anybody, please,” you beg. 

“Move, let me see what we’re working with.” With a sigh, you step to the side, revealing the extra large bottle of straight-up hard liquor. 

He picks it up, giving you a side-eye with an exasperated sigh. “Seriously? Why?” he practically whines. “You’re really gonna make me get you in trouble?” 

Fuck. The tears that prick at your eyes threaten to drop out and your face heats up. There seriously can’t be a worse situation that your crush having to write you up and get you into disciplinary trouble, all because you couldn’t be bothered to read a fucking email. 

“Changbin, please, I’ll do anything,” you beg, dropping to your knees in front of him, your hands clasped together. You don’t even look him in the eye. “I can’t afford to get in trouble over this, you don’t understand. What if I lose my scholarship? Fuck, my parents will kill me. I’ll do anything, I really mean it. I’ll never drink again. I’ll pay for your laundry for the year. I’ll even suck your dick–” 

“Woah woah, Y/N, it’s okay, I was just kidding–wait, what?” he freezes, your words finally catching up to him. What he thought was an attempt at teasing you, who had finally started to become his friend, had obviously gone a step too far. 

“You were joking?” you ask, finally getting the courage to look at him. You swipe your arm over your face, using it to wipe away your tears. You look up at him with these innocent doe eyes that go straight to his cock, especially after what you just said to him. 

“Yes, babygirl, I was just kidding. I’m not going to tell on you,” he says, staring down at you, the picture of perfection on your knees beneath him. “About… about what you said, Did you just say that because you were trying not to get in trouble, or… do you actually like me?”

“About sucking your dick?” He almost chokes on the saliva in his mouth. He nods timidly. “I meant it,” you confess. “I’ve liked you for a long time.” 

He blushes, moving forward to run his fingers through your hair. You notice the bulge in his jeans quite literally staring you in the face and you almost can’t believe your luck. You’re really going to get the opportunity to get with Changbin just because of an (almost) accidental confession? 

“You’re sure?” he asks, pushing back his own beautiful, purple-hued hair as he looks at you with lips slightly parted. You nod at him, moving to help him unbutton his jeans and he hisses at the contact of your hands against his clothed cock. “Fuck, baby,” he groans as you push his pants down just past his thighs, mouthing at him through his boxers. “Will you at least let me take you out on a date after this? This is really not the way I thought this would go,” he sighs, but his head is thrown back in pleasure nonetheless. 

“Yes, Binnie, I would really like that.” You notice him grin at your use of the nickname, losing his resolve at your response as he pushes down his boxers and lets you get a good look at his hardened length. He’s huge–you can’t help but blink at him for a moment, his cock just so girthy that you have a hard time wrapping your hand around it fully. His length is definitely longer than average but nothing to blink an eye at once you’ve gotten used to just how much girth he’s got. You do take a moment to appreciate his large, toned thighs, running your hands up and down the muscles before you wrap your lips around his tip. 

You set an almost brutal pace, eager to please him with your mouth as you use your free hands to help you cover what you can’t reach. You think about how much you would kill to take the time to properly worship him, every inch of skin and muscle that he has been working on, but your carnal desire and need for the man standing above you heavily outweighs that. He’s properly enjoying it too, a hand woven through your hair and breathy pants and moans let out at your actions, even something along the lines of praise whenever you suck him just right, and that just fuels your desire to do even better for him. 

You move your hands to cup his balls, heavy and tense with the need to spill, and you can tell he isn’t going to last long. You barely notice his hips as they grind forward into your mouth, meeting you halfway with every movement of your head along his length. When you look up and blink at him through your lashes he explodes, finally spilling into your mouth with a loud groan. You help him through his high, making sure you get every last drop of him before you swallow, smiling sweetly at the man.

He helps you off of the floor then, hoisting you up and off of your knees. You didn’t even notice the pain radiating through them from their spot on the hardwood, far too focused on pleasing the man in front of you. He checks on you though, scanning your body for any insight that you might not be okay before pulling you into a tight hug. You smile against him a moment, pulling away to speak before he crashes his lips hard into yours. It takes you by surprise, not expecting him to still be so eager and filled with desire after you helped him get his release, but the kiss is both full of thanks and an unsaid desire from his part as well. 

“Changbin–” you finally say, pulling away from the kiss in an attempt to catch your breath. 

“You’re stunning,” he tells you, his hands falling onto your hips before gazing intensely, almost scrutinizingly at your body in a way that would make you self-conscious if it were any man besides Changbin. “I was really hoping you liked me too. I don’t text every girl on this floor, you know. Just you. I’ll only kill roaches for you, do it all for you. Can I? Make you feel good too?” He asks, still somehow out of breath and full of lust at the sight of you. 

“You want to?” The words are barely out of your mouth before Changbin lifts you up effortlessly. You want to be surprised by this fact but you feel like that would be an insult to him, to his biceps that flex and bulge at the action, his muscles that he’s been working on very hard for this exact moment. Your legs wrap around his waist and he lays you against your bed, grabbing a pillow so that he’s now on his knees at the edge of your bed. 

He wastes no time slipping your shorts and panties off in one swift motion, taking the time to properly admire your glistening core. You want to be shy but you can’t, not before he’s eagerly diving in and lapping at your pussy like it’s his final meal. You both let out a moan and some string of words that sounds like, ‘oh my god,’ and he’s taking care of you with the same vigor and innate desire that you showed him just moments ago. 

He works you up quite quickly, his hands roaming all over your body in appreciation as his tongue flicks against your clit. Your hands occasionally fist at his hair and he takes a moment to stare at you with dark and hazy eyes before continuing his ministrations. When you get close to your release and your hips start to buck up he holds you down so effortlessly that it’s hot. You barely realize the way that he stares at your face once you reach your release, cumming all over his face as he laps at your core. He pays attention to every expression, every furrowed brow and sound you make, and he knows just when to stop before the stimulation becomes painful. 

Sitting up in bed to stare at him, you watch as he licks his lips, savoring your taste. He pulls you in for one final kiss and you can even taste the way your flavors combine, moaning into his mouth at the sweet and simple action. He helps you to pull your pants back up and even crawls into your bed for a few moments, stroking your hair as you lay upon his chest. Neither of you speak for a moment, relishing in the post-orgasmic bliss. 

He laughs. “Really? Tito’s? Is that worth getting into trouble over?” 

You smack his chest playfully. Something along the lines of “Shush,” is all you can come up with. 

“So, about that date?” 

You might be in love with Seo Changbin. 

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

[severinageto]

TOXIC (and I love what you do) PART TWO

Suguru found himself getting ready for that night as if it were the red carpet. As had been the tenor of the day, he understood almost nothing of what was happening, except for an intuitive desire to look good. He wore a violet shirt that highlighted his skin and eyes. Tight pants hugged his hips. His nails were impeccably done in black polish. His hair, should it be loose or tied back? He thought about his school days. Satoru seemed to have no preference for how he styled it, only a near-maniacal urge to touch it. To run his fingers through the fine black strands, from the roots to the tips. To comb it before bed, smell it upon waking. To tug it nearly to the point of tearing when he penetrated him, and then to wash it with the delicacy of someone embroidering the details of a wedding dress.

He looked in the mirror. A half ponytail. An intermission. He smiled. He looked really good. He grabbed his bag, called a taxi, and headed down to the lobby.

***

"Shit, this is hard,” Satoru exclaimed, as he looked at the store's ample supply of lubricants. He was ashamed to admit it even to himself, but he had never bought one. That had always been Suguru's job. And that half year without him he hadn't needed to. His sexual encounters with men had been nonexistent.

Another thing that embarrassed him, since he had it on good authority that Suguru had had many, many lovers. Well, if that gossipy Shoko could be called a good source.

He sighed and picked up one of the brand he remembered using. He paid and left the place. He was nervous, too nervous, as if he was ill-prepared for an important mission. Even for his first time he didn't feel like this.

Sure, his first time was spontaneous. Neither of them knew quite what they were doing. They were just two teenagers driven by desire and love.

Love. That was what was missing. No, that was what should be missing. Satoru had been trying to convince himself all afternoon that he didn't love Suguru and that this evening would be pure sex. He had written down all the reasons why he couldn't love the man: he was a jerk, a complete idiot, depraved, a racist, a fascist, he liked curry too much, his adopted daughters were probably biological daughters of Satan, and so on. However, the reason he could love him was as simple as it was corny: it was him. That haughty guy, with that crooked smile and those lukewarm hands that seduced him a couple of hours ago was not Geto Sama, the leader of the Star Vessel. It was Suguru. He knew how mawkish he sounded, but he had seen it in his eyes. Those violet orbs had smiled at him the same way they had years ago, when he'd told him about Digimon or the goodness of psychic-type Pokemon. The same glow, the same shape. An arched eyebrow that seemed to say, “Satoru, you're a jerk,” contrasted with a tender smile that said, “Satoru, even though you're an otaku, I love you,”.

"But he doesn't love you anymore, stupid,” he muttered as he strolled through the mall. Suddenly, he spotted a Nintendo store. He leaned his nose against the display case and looked at the items for sale. A television was showing a game of Mario Kart. He smiled, reddened.

How many times had they fought because of that game?

“You're horrible with Toad, why do you insist, Suguru?”; ‘Because I want to show you that I can beat you with anyone, because it's not about the character, it's about knowing how to drift and using the items well’; ‘It's all that you said plus the character, you'll be stupid, Suguru’; ‘Very well, then beat me once and for all’; ‘How about you shut up?’; ‘Then you shut up, stupid’; ‘Shut me up’; ‘Ha, you know how I'll shut you up’; ‘Do it’.

No, it was better to put it this way: how many times had they fucked thanks to that game?

***

Suguru took a breath before knocking on the door. When he came out of his hotel he felt glorious, self-confident like never before. Yet there, about to meet Satoru again on a date plan, he felt small, tiny. And vulnerable, as vulnerable as he had been before breaking up with him. He swallowed. Maybe being there wasn't such a good idea, maybe the best thing was to turn around and....

"Suguru, come in before we both regret it."

Satoru had opened the door. He was looking at him, leaning on the landing with his arms crossed. He had smelled her scent ever since he entered the hotel. And not only that. Also his insecurity. A short time near him was enough for his six eyes to transform the kind of energy Geto emanated into information. It was like a kind of synchronization. Because of that kind of thing, Satoru sometimes thought he was born to be with him. That and the way he was looking at him at that moment, as if reading his mind.

Suguru, for his part, was extremely annoyed that Gojo had this notion of some sort of predestination over them. All that was nothing but garbage. Sure, he had thought so too, especially after kissing him for the first time, but he had put that foolish belief aside after meeting Toji Fushiguro. If he really was Satoru's destiny, then why had he abandoned him?

He shook his head and felt Gojo's hand. The albino, sensing what the black-haired man was thinking, had grabbed him by the wrist to make him enter his room.

Geto didn't say anything to him. He only looked at him with surprise after seeing that on the table there was a magnificent dinner for two.

"I thought we could eat,” said Gojo, embarrassed.

"Satoru, I came here to get fucked, not to talk."

The albino smiled at him, flirtatiously. The curse handler's frankness had turned him on. However, he was starving.

"I know." He moved closer to Geto's face and, delicately, ran his fingers through his hair. Fuck, how beautiful he was. He put his mouth next to his ear. "Believe me when I tell you that you'll need the energy,” he whispered.

Suguru didn't say anything. He was probably right. He sat down at the table and looked at the dishes.

"Where do I sit?"

"It doesn't matter. They're both the same plates."

Geto had no reason to be upset, because Satoru had no way of knowing that he had become a vegetarian. However, he felt angry.

"Your six eyes didn't notice the kind of proteins my body is synthesizing?” the black-haired man asked wryly.

"What?"

"I've been a vegetarian for over a year."

Satoru felt jaded. So that was Suguru's mood. Behaving like an idiot. He took Geto's plate and removed all the meat from it, leaving only the rice and vegetables. Suguru watched him intently, as he lit a cigarette.

"Well, my six eyes have no way of knowing that, especially considering that the body doesn't make any difference in the type of protein,” said Gojo, lightly. "I'm surprised at you, Geto Sama, that you don't know something so basic."

The curse handler took a deep drag on his cigarette, trying to hide the embarrassment he felt. It was probably the first time Satoru had ever caught him at something like this. How could he have been so stupid? No, not stupid. Impulsive. Even though he didn't want to, the grudge he held against the albino was surfacing. It wasn't the idea. He had gone all the way to that place to be fucked until he couldn't move. Although, Suguru sensed, perhaps fucking from hate could be much better than from love.

Satoru watched him smoke, feeling that dangerous mix of anger and excitement he was dangerously getting used to. He hadn't seen much of Suguru’s unpleasant side. He had left before Suguru turned into the diva sitting across from him. A wave of embarrassment washed over him as he remembered that. Suguru had left him. Not just that, but in front of hundreds of strangers. And, of course, everyone found out—there’s no keeping secrets in the world of sorcery. It was pretty humiliating walking around school knowing that the strongest guy didn’t just have a weak spot, but that weak spot decided to kill his own parents and, worse, was a man. He’d had enough trouble accepting his sexuality without being figuratively pointed at in the halls. All thanks to Suguru, who decided to break his heart like that.

The two sorcerers stared at each other, each secretly furious with the other. Suddenly, Satoru stood up, took the cigarette out of Suguru’s mouth, and put it out.

"I’m not interested in fucking with a chimney, even if it’s a vegetarian chimney."

Suguru was stunned. That was weird. When they were together, he’d never cared if Satoru smoked before sex. In fact, he never cared about anything. Suguru could go five days without showering, and Satoru would still take him with the same desire and intensity. Which, in fact, had happened during Suguru’s worst depressive state. Wow, how wrong. That was kind of taking advantage. He smiled, realizing he was turned on. That was wrong. So damn wrong.

He started eating his veggies in silence while watching Satoru, who was doing the same, both wondering what the hell was going through the other idiot’s head.

For Gojo, that he needed to fuck that idiot until he couldn’t breathe.

For Geto, that he needed that imbecile to fuck him into unconsciousness.

"I need a drink". Suguru said, opening the wine. He looked at the label and smiled. "Excellent choice, even for someone who doesn’t drink, Satoru."

Gojo pointed to his glass while swallowing his food.

"Well, today I’m going to have a glass."

Suguru looked at him, surprised.

"Are you sure? You might regret it tomorrow."

"I’ll probably regret it tomorrow, yeah, but not the wine."

“Ouch. Satoru is on a roll,” thought the curse manipulator while filling the albino’s glass.

Gojo downed it in one gulp, and due to his unique brain and the speed at which his neurons made and unmade connections, he got drunk instantly. As a result, he impulsively said:

"Seems like I can’t fucking stand you anymore, Suguru."

Geto looked at him impassively, one hand swirling the wine and the other resting his gorgeous head. Did he expect to feel that? Yeah. Did it hurt to confirm it? Also, yeah. Would he react in any way? No. The wine was delicious, and Satoru being a jerk made it taste even better.

"I’ll leave if you want" he said, making a show of standing up.

"Doesn’t mean I don’t want to fuck you and…"

"So what are you waiting for?"he interrupted with a flirtatious smile, though he was starting to get nervous. He didn’t like the tone Satoru’s rant was taking.

"…doesn’t mean I don’t miss you every fucking second". The albino took a deep breath. "Suguru, I…"

"No, please. Don’t say it. Anything but that."

Gojo took off his bandage slowly. He was drunk and felt that gave him the courage he needed, which he only lacked when it came to Suguru. Maybe he’d never see him again. He needed to get this off his chest, now or never.

"…I don’t think I’ll ever stop loving you."

"Satoru! I asked you not to say that!"

"Why don’t you want to hear it, huh?"

Suguru downed the rest of his wine and refilled his glass. His heart was pounding hard. He didn’t expect that, especially not for him to say it. He felt a strange urge to cry. He missed him too. No one understood him like he did, no one saw him like he did, and above all, no one would ever match up to him. Only Satoru.

Yeah, he still loved him too. But he didn’t want to say it. Verbalizing it meant truly feeling it, and Suguru couldn’t handle that at this point in his life.

"You could join me, you know?". He surprised himself by saying, in a very low voice. “Yeah, maybe it’s not such a bad idea. It would actually be beautiful to build the new world together,” he thought, as a sincere smile formed on his face.

Satoru snorted. That wasn’t the answer he was expecting. No, it wasn’t the answer he wanted. He was sure (or almost sure) that Geto also loved him. He wouldn’t have bothered being there otherwise.

Or would he? Maybe it was all part of a plan to seduce him and bring him to his side. After all, together they could be invincible, and Suguru knew that better than anyone. If he was on his side, no one would dare lay a finger on him, and the sorcery schools would have no choice but to step aside.

Thinking this made the albino’s blood boil. So he just wanted him for his power, just like the rest of the world. Well, screw that.

He put the bandage back on and said coldly:

"Your utopia? No, it’s not a utopia. Let’s call it a delusional fantasy."

Suguru stared at him for a couple of seconds, blinking slowly. Was he really responding to that nonsense? Didn’t he realize what an honor that was? No, not just that. He was practically asking to get back together. After everything they’d both been through, all the resentment and rage they felt, he, Geto Sama, was willing to give in. Of course, it was always the same with the albino. Suguru had always been the reasonable one, the one who managed to cool Gojo’s passions so he wouldn’t end up smashing someone’s face in or reflecting on a mistake he’d made. And it wasn’t easy. Not even his meditation sessions were as challenging for his patience. Yet, he was willing to take him back. Even after all he hadn’t done. Who the hell did he think he was? Oh right. The magnificent Gojo Satoru.

"Me, delusional? You tried to kill me!" Geto exclaimed, pouring himself more wine. "And I’m sure no big shot was pressuring you at that moment."

Satoru’s anger turned into nervousness. The fact that he had gotten into a fighting stance at that moment was something that haunted him constantly. Yes, he had really considered, for more than a second, killing Suguru before it became an order. He knew Suguru had noticed it, in fact, he had even dared him to do it. But like a kid caught doing his worst prank, he chose to deny it.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Suguru raised an eyebrow and laughed with sarcasm. He couldn’t believe Satoru was pretending not to remember.

"Are you serious? When we broke up. No, when I LEFT you."

Gojo, more nervous than before and knowing it was a bad idea, poured himself more wine. He downed it in one go and then threw the glass on the floor. He really didn’t know how to act. No one, absolutely no one else made him act so erratically.

"YOU’RE LYING! YOU’RE STILL A LIAR, GETO SUGURU!"

Geto stood up, furious. He got very close to him, their faces just inches apart.

"Do you dare call me a liar? What was it, huh? Red? Or…purple?"

"YOU WERE TURNED AWAY!". Rage and guilt clouded Satoru’s judgment, and he was no longer keeping track of his volume. "YOU’RE CRAZY!"

"YOU JUST CONTRADICTED YOURSELF! HAVE YOU ALWAYS BEEN THIS STUPID? I PRACTICALLY BEGGED YOU TO KILL ME!". Geto started pacing around the room, trying to calm down but failing miserably. The urge to hurt the albino at that moment outweighed everything else.

"When have I ever lied to you? Huh?" he continued, in a calm voice. "Or is it that the fact that I stopped loving you hurt your ego so much that you see it as a lie? It was just what I felt. When I loved you, I said it, and it was true every time. Then it stopped being true. That’s all."

Gojo’s heart skipped a beat. This day was turning out to be one of the worst and most unpredictable of his life. The swings with Suguru were too much. He felt he couldn’t take it anymore and walked toward the door.

Suguru glared at him with anger. Even though he was having a terrible time, he didn’t want, for anything in the world, for the albino to leave.

"So, your ego is infinite too", he said with irony.

Satoru had opened the door but slammed it shut again.

"You’re calling me egotistical? It was your ego that couldn’t handle the objective fact that I’M the strongest, and that’s why you always resented me! It’s pathetic!". Gojo had never felt so angry. He got into a fighting stance, ready to cast a spell. "Do you want me to do it now? Because you know I CAN AND HAVE TO do it! I’m so superior to you that there’s no chance of me being wrong!"

Suguru yawned dramatically, pretending to be calm when he wasn’t. He was drunk, angry, and confused. Nothing seemed to make sense.

"Do whatever you want. Honestly, I don’t give a fuck."

They stared at each other, both agitated. Gojo remained in his fighting stance. Suddenly, he lowered his guard. He sat back down and covered his face with both hands, distressed.

"Don’t you know everything I’m risking, every second that I let you live?"

"Yes. And I don’t care. After all, it’s your decision."

That was too much for Gojo. He yanked at his bandage with such fury and force that he ended up ripping it.

"YOU’RE A SNAKE! A MONSTER! HOW ARE YOU ANY DIFFERENT FROM THE REST? YOU BROKE ALL YOUR PROMISES! YOU SWORE YOU WOULDN’T LEAVE ME, THAT YOU’D LIVE YOUR LIFE WITH ME! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW HARD IT’S BEEN TO START SMILING AGAIN AFTER THAT DISAPPOINTMENT?"

"HA! SHALL WE BE FRANK? FINE! YOU PROMISED ME YOU’D PROTECT ME, THAT YOU’D ALWAYS BE BY MY SIDE! BUT WHEN I NEEDED YOU, WHAT DID YOU DO? YOU ABANDONED ME! YOU DIDN’T EVEN ASK! YOU JUST DECIDED I WASN’T THAT BAD OFF AND LEFT ME ALONE!"

Geto clenched his fists tighter and was breathing heavily. He moved towards Gojo with the intention of hitting him but hesitated when he heard him sobbing. He couldn’t help but remember the last time he saw him like this, alone, in his room, shortly after Haibara’s death. It felt like his soul was melting. He couldn’t stand seeing him like this because, on the rare occasions Satoru cried, he did so with sobs that seemed to come from the darkest place within him.

“I’m tired. I don’t want to keep hurting him,” Suguru thought. He sat down beside him and gently took his hands away from his eyes. He wiped the tears with the sleeve of his shirt.

Gojo smiled. “I should push him away, but this feels… so good.”

"Gross. Your shirt smells like cigarretes."

Geto pushed him away with a laugh and then rested his head on his shoulder. He took one of his hands and began to stroke it.

"You're right. I’m no different from the rest. I’m probably a worse person than you, Satoru". He sighed."Listen. You’re not stupid. You never were. I’m sorry I said that. I don’t believe it at all. You know that, right?"

Satoru smiled warmly.

"I know. And you’re not a monster. I’ve never really thought that."

Suguru snuggled into the six eyes' arms, resting against his chest. Gojo kissed his forehead and then started twirling his finger in Geto’s bangs, just like he used to when they were together.

"We’re a mess, Suguru. There are forces that don’t want us together. You know the bigwigs are hell-bent on me killing you, right? They want to make sure you don’t reincarnate."

"Yeah. I’ve known that since I decided to leave. It’s textbook material, Satoru. I’m not surprised you didn’t know until you had to live through it. You’re all experience, no theory. Some would say you’re lazy", Suguru laughed.

"I’m not lazy! It’s just that studying sorcery never made sense to me. And you know I’m good at everything by default, so what’s the point in studying? Look, the only thing that’s true in our world is that everyone’s a bunch of treacherous rats, hungry for money and whatever other crap."

"And you’re not ? Because I am."

"Yeah, you are. And me? Well, I’m just into eating sweets, remember?"

Geto laughed. He sat up and rested his hands on Satoru’s knees. He stayed like that for a while, thoughtful. Talking about Satoru, or anyone, eventually killing him had brought to mind something he’d been reflecting on for a while.

"Listen. I’m sure this is the last time we’ll see each other without one of us ending up dead. I need to ask you something. And I need you to swear you’ll do it."

"Suguru…"

"When I’m executed…my body, my corpse…give it to Nanako and Mimiko, my girls. I’m all they have."

Gojo turned pale. The way Suguru talked about his death made it feel real, something he didn’t want to happen for anything in the world. Let alone be the one responsible. And, on top of that, what he was asking was completely out of the ordinary.

"Suguru, no. That’s impossible and you know it."

"I need to be taken to a place that only they and I know about. Or I’ll never rest. I’ll be doomed to wander in some subway station or something, trapped for all eternity."

"That’s not even part of your religion; you just made it up."

"No, it’s like that for sorcerers like me. There’s little information, but it’s true. I swear, Satoru. It’s really important to me."

Satoru sighed sadly. He didn’t want to keep talking about this.

"That also means getting involved with Shoko’s work. I can’t do that to her."

"Shoko will understand. Believe me."

"Ieiri is my friend."

"And me? Am I not your friend?"

Gojo suddenly remembered everything Suguru had said that day and felt angry again. He pushed Suguru’s hands off his knees and stood up.

"Are we even something? Do you feel anything for me now?"

Suguru walked over to the table, grabbed the wine bottle, and chugged what was left. He was fed up with Satoru's insecurities. Nothing was ever enough for him. What did he expect? For him to crawl and say he loved him? Hell no. Angry, he threw the bottle at Satoru, who dodged it.

"Enough! Why the hell do you always need so much affirmation from me? You’re Gojo Satoru! Or are you going to deny it? You’re the strongest, you’re basically Anakin Skywalker, the one who brings balance. What do you need? For me to sign my feelings for you in blood? Isn’t it enough that I’m here, risking my life?"

The dark-haired man sat back down, agitated. The truth was, he hated losing his temper like this, but it only happened with Satoru. He was the only one who made him want to hurt someone. He knew it was wrong, but damn it, that’s how it was. Complicated. The only reason he said all that was because he knew Suguru’s approval was the only one that mattered. And that stressed him out. He didn’t want to have that responsibility on his shoulders. All he wanted when he decided to visit him in his room was a moment of peace. To be with him, have sex, and then sleep, even if just for a few minutes, on his chest. Was that too much to ask?

He looked at Gojo, who was staring off into the distance. For a moment, he remembered his girls. He saw the three of them on the beach in Sendai. Hell, he could even put up with Fushiguro’s kid. Playing, happy, like siblings. And the two of them watching, hugging. Like nothing ever happened.

On the other hand, Gojo was hurt but didn’t want to keep crying in front of him. He felt weak, small, something he literally only felt in the aspects of his life related to Suguru. And he hated feeling that way because, in those moments, the finiteness of his existence became tangible. Suguru was right. He was insecure and a hypocrite. He promised he’d protect him, and he couldn’t even help him when he needed it. But what could he do at that moment? They were there driven by desire. Or at least that was the case at first, as now they seemed like a couple that’s been married for forty years and on the verge of divorce.

He wanted to leave Sendai, wanted to break everything. But at the same time, he knew that once he closed that door, he wouldn’t see Geto again. Not like this. Not with the open possibility of touching him, talking to him, and playing with his bangs. So he held back his feelings, because the pain of his absence was far worse than the pain from his wounds.

Geto snapped out of his fantasy. He looked at Gojo and saw him more vulnerable than ever. He felt terrible. He never said it, but he hated seeing him like this. Part of it embarrassed him, and part of it felt like it was his own pain, or even worse.

He felt overheated. It was the alcohol, combined with the coast and the excitement of being there with him. He went to the bathroom and turned on the shower. Yes, that was just what he needed.

The albino, seeing this and not knowing why, followed him.

"Satoru...” he muttered, ”I'm exhausted. I don't want to argue anymore. The truth is, I really thought there was a chance I could take you with me. I miss you. Every fucking day, I miss you."

"Suguru, you have no idea how much I think about you. Look." He took something out of his pocket. "Look what I have."

Geto looked at it curiously and then smiled tenderly, on the verge of tears. It was a small Toad keychain.

"I bought it this afternoon. I don't know if you really remember, but..."

Gojo didn't get to finish speaking, as Suguru silenced him with a kiss. Satoru kissed him back, and then grabbed his hair and loosened his bun. Then he took off the top of his clothes and pushed him into the shower. Geto just let him do it. He didn't want to resist. Satoru got in with him and cornered him against the wall with his arms.

"Let's get this shit off our backs, Suguru. Since it's the last time, let's make it count."

He kissed him, first on the mouth, then on the neck.

Suddenly, Suguru grabbed Satoru by the arms and pinned him down. He pulled down his pants. He licked his neck and, slowly, began to stick the tips of his long fingers into his anus.

"Suguru...” Satoru smiled, excited. "You're a cheater."

"We didn't do it so much like that, huh? But I seem to remember you enjoyed it like the bitch you are."

Satoru, his penis hard as a rock, tried to get loose, but he couldn't. He didn't want to, rather.

"Are you going to talk to me like that?"

"Are you going to let me talk to you like that? Tell me: aren't you a bitch?"

Gojo laughed and again tried to turn around. Suguru stuck his tongue in his ear. Then he ran it over his lips. Gojo stuck out his to kiss him, but Geto pulled away.

"Suguru...you've changed."

"Oh, honey. You have no idea."

Geto pressed him harder against the wall; he kept fingering him. He smiled as he spotted the lube on the bathroom cabinet.

Satoru began to wiggle his ass backwards, searching for the black-haired man's penis.

"Are you ready? Do you want me to stick it in you?"

"Oh...Suguru...don't be an idiot. Do it, quick."

Suguru pulled his fingers out and pulled away.

"You're not going to order me around,” he grabbed him by the white hair and forcefully pulled him toward him. ”Or are you?"

Satoru was literally on fire. He felt drunk, not only because of the alcohol, but Suguru's smell electrified his whole body.

"No... put it in me. Just... put it in me."

Suguru moved closer again. He put his penis close to Satoru's ass, making sure he felt it in all its greatness, and began to put lube on it. He turned on the shower more, letting the hot water soak him. Then, he whispered in his ear.

"Say please."

Gojo could hardly speak anymore from excitement. All that came out of him were moans.

"Put it in me...please, Suguru. Put it in me. I beg you."

"You're such a bitch, Satoru."

Geto grabbed him by the waist and thrust in, hard. Satoru, dizzy with pleasure, didn't moan, but screamed. He couldn't even tell him to stop or go on, no. His body could not generate a sound other than those howls that could easily have been of suffering.

But they weren't. Rarely did Satoru let himself be penetrated, but not because he disliked it. In fact, only Suguru had that privilege, only the black-haired man was able to achieve that craving, so he had not felt that glory in his prostate for a year and a half. The heat of the shower, with that of his body and his sweat kept him in a perpetual hot flash that felt devilishly good. After a couple of minutes, he couldn't hold it in any longer. His back arched and his cum painted the wall.

Suguru stroked his back delicately and Satoru turned around. He looked for a couple of seconds into his purple eyes and, seeing them smiling back at him, smothered him with a passionate kiss.

“Wow, Satoru...I still...” said Suguru, indicating his erect penis.

"Do you think that after all this time that's going to be all?"

The albino took Suguru in his arms and carried him back to the room. He laid the curse handler's body on the table where they had eaten dinner, throwing everything away. Suguru laughed, as his penis hardened even more. Satoru, without any warning, shoved two of his full fingers into the black-haired man's hole.

"Ouch", whispered Geto, playfully.

"You're ready. And I'm going to fuck you like an animal."

"Tsk...Satoru...you don't have to warn..."

Gojo lifted Suguru's warm, wet hips and penetrated him, as deep as their hyperlax bodies would allow.

"Satoru...you're...you're a fucker", Suguru laughed, as he stuck his tongue out at him.

Gojo slipped his into his mouth. Then he bit his neck, taking the opportunity to inhale his scent. Suguru did the same, drowning his nose in his white hair. Synesthesia was a privilege of few and, in general, all colors smelled good, but Satoru's simply had no comparison. Suguru felt able to go to war over the scent of purple emanating from the albino's skull. He took a lock of the white hair, which glowed purplish in the dark, and pulled it out. Satoru laughed, like a madman and began to lick his nipples, while he penetrated him with perfect rhythm and smiled mischievously at him.

My god, how beautiful he was, how had he left that wonderful creature? Nothing compared to the white hair clinging to his skin, his cheeks flushed with sweat, and those light blue eyes watering with pure pleasure.

And that penis. That glorious penis.

"Do you want it?" Satoru said, sensing what was going through the black-haired man's head.

"Yes."

"Me first."

Gojo, quickly and with the same contradictory mix of strength and gentleness that drove him crazy, sat Suguru down and took his wet, veiny penis into his mouth. Suguru, weak from the surprise and excitement he had been feeling, couldn't hold anything in. A couple of flicks of the albino's deft tongue were all it took for the curse-handler to expel, along with the most melodic moan Gojo had ever heard, all of his semen into the six-eyed man's mouth.

Satoru dug his nails into his hips and grinned at him, still holding Suguru's magnificent cock in his mouth. Some of the liquid was trickling out of the corner of his lips.

"You're not going to swallow it?"

Satoru gladly swallowed Geto's semen. It tasted as good as ever.

He grabbed Suguru's face tightly and kissed him, choking him with his long tongue in his slick throat.

"I'm a crazy little bitch, don't you remember?"

Suguru laughed out loud.

"Of course I remember. I'll never forget. I haven't stopped thinking about you like that, even when I've been with other people."

Satoru looked at him in surprise. What a day. He hadn't expected to be the image Suguru used to fuck other people.

Suguru arched an eyebrow.

"Have you been all this time without...?"

"Of course not. But...". He pulled the black-haired man back to him and squeezed his hardened nipples. "...no one turns me on like you do, Suguru. There's no one as sexy. So I haven't been particularly interested in anyone else, see?"

Satoru grabbed Suguru's member and began to fiddle with it.

"Hard again. Looks like I'm not the only little bitch,” the albino added.

"No. You're not the only bitch,” Suguru said as he put his hands on Gojo's crotch and began to masturbate him. "I warn you: I could go on all night."

Satoru was breathing heavily, as he stroked the back of the curse handler. He fixed his eyes on those manly shoulders, wet with sweat and dyed black by his jet-black hair. He could go on all night, too. In fact, he could keep fucking Suguru all his fucking life.

"Is it a competition?"

"I always liked playing with you, Satoru. And against you,” Suguru replied as he put his face between the six-eyed man's legs.

Gojo grabbed him by the hair and pulled him hard, pulling him away from his cock. That was his favorite game.

"I could fuck you 'till I die."

Suguru laughed, with pleasure. No one else would pull his hair. No one would even dare to ask, but Satoru....

Satoru could do anything he wanted to him.

"This...ha. It's my weak spot. You know that. You're the cheater...oh, you damn albino."

Satoru grinned and pulled his hair harder, to the point of arching his back. He licked his lips at the sight of the beautiful curve the black-haired man's body formed.

"Now you beg."

Suguru stuck his tongue out at him, mischievous.

"No. Never."

Satoru pulled his hair again.

"Beg me or I won't feed you."

Suguru thought he was going to cum on his own because he was so turned on by Satoru pulling his hair, but he wasn't going to give in.

"I...I told you that...oh, Satoru. I told you no."

"I'll punish you, then."

Gojo pulled his hair violently and held a small lock in his hand. Suguru, feeling it, cried out, in a mixture of pain and pleasure. For the second time in the evening he realized that Satoru mistreating him unlocked pleasures he had never felt before.

The curse manipulator rejoined him, pushed the albino onto the bed and sat on top of him.

"Hey, It hurt,” he said as he tied his hair back.

"So?"

"Do you want to know how it feels?"

Satoru looked at him piercingly. Suddenly, his countenance darkened. He had come back to reality for an instant.

"You hurt me already, Suguru. Always."

Hearing that, Suguru's expression changed as well.

"Don't think It doesn't hurt me too, Satoru."

"You're so beautiful, Suguru."

Gojo caressed his cheeks. Geto took his hands and left them on his face for a moment. He closed his eyes and inhaled, deeply. He wanted to remember that moment forever.

Suddenly, Gojo kissed him passionately.

"Let's not think about that now. Just...". He buried his nails in the black-haired man's buttocks again, and then spanked him with a spank that would leave his big hand scarred"...Make me suffer in another way, honey."

Suguru laughed and then bit his neck, drawing blood. He licked at this one, running his tongue over his elegant lips. Then, he put both hands around the albino's neck, and began to ride him slowly.

"Like this?"

"Take...take my breath away."

Satoru was overcome with a pleasure almost impossible to describe, which tensed his muscles like never before. He felt adrenaline building in his chest and at the base of his penis. Suguru clenched his hands tighter and the albino's half-closed eyes, along with a grimace begging for air, brought him closer and closer to his zenith. Suddenly, Satoru scratched the black-haired man's buttocks so hard that a small trickle of blood came out of them. Suguru, feeling the burning that the albino's scratch brought with it, became even more aroused and continued to ride him with a speed and eagerness to feel Satoru's member that could only be compared to that of a thirsty man looking at a cold pitcher of water.

Suddenly, Satoru pulled out of him and ejaculated like never before, leaving Suguru's chest and stomach covered with his liquid. Gojo, seeing that his partner still wasn't cuming, came over and kissed him passionately while masturbating him. They stayed like that, lost in the sound of moaning and their skin rubbing against each other, until the violent grip of Suguru's hand on the albino's shoulder made him realize that the black-haired man had reached orgasm.

They both remained sitting on the floor, looking at each other and breathing hard. At the same time, they realized the mess they had left in the room and, also at the same time, laughed.

"We're pigs,” said Suguru.

"Bah, how else could the strongest fuck, huh?", said the albino throwing a pillow at him.

They laughed again. They looked at each other, complicit. Satoru approached Geto and kissed him on the cheek.

"What did I tell you? 'Till I die,” he said as he put the black-haired man's hands on his crotch, so Suguru could feel his new erection. "What about you?"

"Always."

***

Many hours later, when it was almost dawn, Gojo watched Geto sleep. He stroked his hair, gently. Suddenly, he looked at the time and rubbed his eyes. He sighed and sat on the balcony, watching the sea. His mind was blank, focused only on feeling that moment. A small tear peeked out of his left eye.

He stood up resolutely and took out a sheet of paper and a pencil from his bag. He began to write. Once he finished, he watched him sleep for a while longer. He caressed a lock of his hair delicately and, in the same way, left what he had written on his pillow. He picked up his torn bandage, his purse and walked to the door. He stopped, hesitantly, and returned to the bed. He kissed Suguru on the forehead, deposited what was left of his bandage on the bedside table and left.

No sooner had Satoru gotten into the academy car than Suguru awoke. He was disconcerted to realize that the albino was gone, and felt like vomiting when he saw the envelope with the letter.

With his heart pounding, he began to read.

"Suguru:

When you read this, I'll be back in Tokyo, and I hope you'll understand that I can't be with you. Not just because I shouldn't, but because I don't want to. Our paths aren't the same. Our ideals aren't either. Maybe they never were. Remember how we used to argue about that? That's why you broke up with me. It was the right thing to do, and I respect it.

I want you to know that I know you go to that place every now and then. Your trace is basically the same, but sometimes something changes. When I figured that out, I started visiting that station more. It was like seeing you, in a way. I know you’ve seen me there. I’ve seen you too. It was our way of reconnecting, of knowing we thought of each other. Believe me, the thought of you often kept me going. But I can't do it anymore. I have a kid to take care of, and due to circumstances beyond my control, he knows who you are and what you've done. If he found out about what we were... no, what we still are to each other, he'd never trust me again. And I can't do that to him. I know you understand. So, please, don’t do anything like what happened these past days. Don’t come after curses that I’ll have to exorcise, because I can’t see you again. It was horrible and beautiful at the same time, but going from saying we never loved each other, to trying to kill each other, to almost sleeping together, to hating each other again, and then spending the whole night together… it’s a rollercoaster I can’t handle. And I don’t want to. It’s truly impossible for us to be together again; those years are gone. Saying goodbye today is as painful as it was that day.

I need to focus on what I want to do with my life, and for that, I need to try living without the painful longing to find you. I need us to leave each other in peace."

Suguru crumpled the letter and threw it in the trash. He kicked the furniture around, making an even bigger mess. He grabbed his bag, put on his Gojo kesa, and stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

However, in his rage and pain, Suguru didn’t notice that the letter continued on another page, and there was something else in the envelope. Three polaroid photos of the two of them: one in a field, taken by Haibara; one at school, taken by Shoko; and one in Okinawa, taken by Riko. In each one, they were looking at each other like fools, in love. Immersed in each other, as if there was nothing and no one else around.

The letter continued:

"I want you to have these photos of us. No, they’re not the only ones I have, but they’re the ones I always carry with me. Because that’s how I like to remember us: in love. No matter how much crap we said last night, we both know the truth: I was born to find you, and you were born to find me. Life threw us some bad breaks. We got through most of them, but the final one is unbeatable.

I’ll take care of what you asked me because I love you, Suguru. I said it a thousand times, and it was always real; today it still is. I love you from the first moment I saw you, with your bangs. And I’ll never love anyone else. Not like this. You’re my only special person. No matter what anyone says: there will never be anything more than your love. No memory compares to your touch, your look, your voice calling me by my name.

Forgive me for leaving like this.

Forgive me for not being the partner you needed.

Forgive me, already, for killing you.

Yours, always.

Satoru.

PS: If I could, I’d go with you after that eclipse. I’d stay with you until death came for us.

You’re beautiful, Suguru."

————————————————————-

(Tysm if you read it all! It means a lot!)

If someone knows the artist please tell me so I can give credit 🙏🏻

[chimivx]

Im so happy that you are accepting vegas scenarios. Thank you so much 💗

Can it be like a lazy fluffy family day, just them enjoying their day with Dae.

Actually, am ok with whatever you write lol I just miss them. They are my comfort place 💕

Have a great day ✨️

...dads and their toddlers -> vegas!yoongi/vegas!couple <3

moms and their infants, dads and their toddlers… i enjoyed writing this. i miss them with all of my heart. trust they are happy & taken care of.

wc: 2.5k. warnings: f l u f f. vegas masterlist.

“No, no, no!”

Feet thundered on the hardwood floor, startling you where you stood at the counter slicing up fruits, tossing the pieces into a little pink bowl. Pressing a hand to the stretchy cotton wrapped around your front, your shoulders and your back, you curled a finger over the fabric and peeked inside, hoping tiny fluffy eyelashes were still laying over round, chubby cheeks. Taking the smallest breath without disturbing the little one, though she was used to everything by now, you cover her back up and finish chopping up the apple your three year old asked for ten minutes ago.

“No!”

Yoongi’s shout carried through the living room, echoed into the hall and found you in the kitchen. The sound of his voice alone, though he seemed like he was fighting a battle, brought you comfort. His voice and Dae’s maniacal giggles. Inseparable, the two of them, since Yoongi’s been able to live back at home with the three of you. Your girl, your Dae, an exact replica of her father, she adored him.

And she had him wrapped around her finger.

Wherever Dae went, Yoongi was behind her. Whatever Dae wanted, Yoongi gave her. All it took was a little pout and the blinking of her lashes and he melted into a puddle on the floor. The subtlest slouch of her shoulders and he would give in, even if he’s said no many times before. So many times you’ve mumbled what trouble she got him in, but with one tip of his chin, glare of his eyes and smirk of his lips, he told you she got this from you.

Truthfully, Dae’s fixation with her father made it easy to bring her sister into the family. Though you sometimes wished she’d ask to lay with you at night instead of Yoongi, or that she wanted you to read her a book instead of Yoongi humming her songs, you were burdened with glorious purpose.

Hyejin came into your lives around the end of August, right when things flipped upside for you and Yoongi for a bit like life normally would. Everything happened at once, that’s how things went around here, new baby, private life media breach, something of a public scandal that you’ll fight till your last breath defending- Nine months pregnant, heavily exhausted from mothering a two year old at the same time, every reporter, every nonsense human being who came around looking for their fifteen minutes, they didn’t stand a chance.

Not Yoongi nor Jin could stop you. If you caught someone's ear, if they dared to step up to the woman in sweatpants with her belly popping out of a cropped sweater, that was their own fault. Neither man could tell you to lay down, eat something, or sleep. It was your second rodeo and you knew what you were doing. Pregnant with Hyejin, you could take on the fucking world, you were invincible, you were fearless. Every worry you had the first time around with Dae, gone. Every precaution you’d take, every cautious step, every jump at every single subtle sound, gone.

You weren’t sick like you had been throughout your first pregnancy, you weren’t drowsy and fatigued, you didn’t have the need to lie down or sit down often- You were exhausted, yes, but not because of Hyejin. Dae kept you on your toes, especially on days when Yoongi had to work, or Sunny had to fly to LA, or Jin had to also work. When it was just you and her, she ran the show, but as she should. You soaked in as much time as possible with her, your first baby, the girl who changed your life for the better.

Time spent with Dae healed you in more ways than one. You worked hard to be the best mother you could be for her, and Yoongi the best father. A promise you kept with one another, for your children.

The two of you went on mother daughter dates appropriate for a two year old. Getting your nails painted, shopping for clothes and toys, letting Sunny cut and style your hair together, making art with her, dancing around her bedroom with her. It’d been your favorite time with her, the best time, and now with a baby strapped to your front, it was Yoongi’s turn.

The nights he’d lay with Dae were nights you spent nursing Hyejin, something you never go to experience with your first born. She was an entirely different child, but that didn’t mean you loved either one any less. It’d been scary the first time around, a lot of things did not go how they were supposed to, how you and Yoongi wanted them to go. After Hyejin’s birth it felt as though you both needed to relearn how to be a new parent.

She grew quickly, she ate when she was supposed to, she made it past the one month and two month old check up without having to be readmitted to the hospital. Getting her to sleep was a breeze, but she was sure to let you know when she was awake and ready to be fed. Hyejin became the boss in the sweetest way, and you and Yoongi both know that Dae had paved the way.

Where your first born was kind, charming and gentle, Hyejin was already fearless, confident and headstrong. The day she starts walking is the day Dae’s life changes. You couldn’t wait for the two of them to grow up together, two tiny best friends.

“Min Dae,” you called out, turning your chin out the archway into the hall so your voice would carry to the little one probably pinning her father to the rugs in the living room. Slicing another apple for you and Yoongi you tossed it into another bowl and slid it onto the island counter behind you. Grabbing the already full bowl of grapes and tangerines, you slid that over as well. Spinning around, you grabbed onto Hyejin and gasped aloud.

“Hey, D, can- Oh my god!”

Dae sat on top of his shoulders, her pink pajama pants bringing a pink tinge to Yoongi’s cheeks. Holding onto her ankles, Dae holding onto the top of his head, they both wore the same tight lipped smile and broke into the same fit of giggles when they successfully scared you. They snuck in while you were situating the snacks, Yoongi still standing on bent knees he tiptoed into the kitchen with.

“I told you we’d get her,” Yoongi looked up at Dae who gave him an upside down smile as her dad shook her where she sat.

“We scared you,” Dae said, proud as ever, hands gripping at the dark strands of her fathers hair.

“Yes,” you breathed, giving her a smile. “You scared me,” you said, giving Yoongi a look, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he crooned, coming to your side with a kiss for you. Taking a hand to his cheek you pulled at it and curled your lip.

“Almost peed,” you mumbled, and Dae thought it was the funniest thing in the world. Falling forward over her fathers head her hands dropped to his shoulders and she almost slid off his back. Reaching his hands backward he grabbed her under her arms and maneuvered her around to prop her on his hip. “You think it’s funny Dae-sy!?”

“Yes, Mommy,” she giggled, “Don’t pee your pants!” Yoongi clenched his jaw, his smile unmatched, trying to withhold his laughter.

Leaning in toward her, you tapped the tip of her nose and said, “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Snacks in hand, everyone acquiring a bowl, your little family ventured back into the living room, taking to the floor, the fruits living on the wooden coffee table between the couches. Dae, to your surprise, cozied up on your lap, or one of your thighs rather, her sister took up most of the room.

“What do we say to Mama?” Yoongi asked Dae from your left, raising his brows into the hair that was slowly starting to grow longer over his forehead.

Your three year old looked over her shoulder with a mouthful of grapes and smiled. “Tank you,” she said quietly, not every letter quite making it out with the words.

Pressing a kiss to the top of her head, you said, “You’re welcome, my baby.”

Yoongi danced a hand over your back, scooting even closer to you on the rug. His legs pressed into your hips, if they were stretched out they’d be able to wrap around you and you’d fit perfectly between his hips. Sliding his fingers down your arm reaching for a tangerine, he took it, tossed it into his other hand, laced his fingers with yours and pressed his lips to your ear. “How’s my baby doing?”

Warmth burned in your cheeks as you smiled back at him, catching his lips in the quickest kiss. “Good,” you whispered. He leaned forward and laid his head on your shoulder, both of his hands wrapping around your front, just over where Hyejin slept. “She’s tired today.”

“You’ve got her all warm and snuggly, I’d be tired too,” he said quietly. His hands held her, his fingers smoothing over her back through the fabric of the wrap around you. “Wish we had this with Dae.”

“She would’ve hated it, D,” you half laughed. “She’s so nosey, imagine trying to keep her in here.”

He pursed his lips and nodded, looking down at his first born watching the two of you intently with her cheeks puffed out, full of fruit. “That’s why you’re so smart.”

You poked her nose and she giggled. “‘Cause you’re so curious.”

“Yeaaah,” she tried to sing, and the two of you laughed aloud. Dae grinned wide, proud of herself.

“I told Jimin she’s a Shawol, he didn’t believe me,” Yoongi said. “We have to get that in a video.”

Taking Dae’s cheeks between a finger and your thumb, you squished them, turning her smile silly. “One of her dancing, too. Taemin can take her on tour.”

Yoongi furrowed his brow. “She could probably handle that, put Guilty on the TV.”

“Gui-tee!” Dae leapt to her feet, stomped in place, eyes wide, then rushed for the flat screen on the wall.

Scrambling to find the remote, Yoongi shot you a look. “You tell Kook she’s no longer obsessed with his song anymore?” Pressing the power button the TV lit up and Dae shrieked, making Hyejin stir.

Placing a hand over her back, you pouted. “I don’t have the heart, D, what the hell am I supposed to say?”

Yoongi, now leaning over the coffee table, his eyes fixated on the TV like his daughters, searched up Taemin’s music video, and the moment Dae saw the thumbnail she babbled something neither you nor Yoongi could make out.

“That she likes this shirtless guy now instead of him,” he joked, snickering as he clicked play, giving you a smile.

The music started and you couldn’t help it as your eyes slid over to the screen. The beat of the song, the sound of his voice, the artistry of the entire piece, you longed to know what went through his head when he came up with these concepts. Helping the guys with theirs before their enlistment, keeping the spark alive while they did their mandatory service, it was exciting- but nothing quite like this. Taemin had a creative brain you yearned to pick. The choreography, the music, the passion…

“See, you like him, too,” Yoongi teased, pulling you from the daze as Taemin pulled his hand out of his shirt.

Nearly breaking your neck you shot him a glare, the smile evident on your lips.

“For your information, I was admiring the art,” you said.

He raised an eyebrow. “Mhm,” he smirked. “If he released this a few months earlier he’d be responsible for that one,” he mumbled, glancing down at Hyejin.

Clicking your tongue, you slouched over defeated, smile playing at your lips, arms wrapping over Hyejin who made some noise. “Is it so horrible it’s a tragically sexy song?” Supporting your baby you began to maneuver yourself out of the wrap. Yoongi moved to your side and helped, one hand beneath yours to keep Hyejin safe, the other untangling you from the fabric.

“It is tragically sexy,” he whispered, taking the wrap from you, smiling down at Hyejin who had opened her eyes. Free from her cocoon of warmth she stretched out her arms and wiggled her head, her legs kicking forward one by one. Her fluff of dark hair was cradled in your elbow. “I like the video too,” he whispered, meeting your eyes with the tiniest smile, “Don’t worry.”

“Oh, I know you do,” you whispered back, kissing him when he tilted his head. Twirling behind the two of you, Dae sang along, or tried, and danced to the rhythm, following Taemin and his team of talented dancers. Hyejin let out one whine and you laughed against his lips. “Our kids don’t let us kiss.”

Yoongi rolled his eyes and looked down at Hyejin and her pastel purple long sleeved footed pajamas. “It’s a wonder we were able to have her.” Catching his eyes for two seconds, heart sinking a smidge, he placed a hand to your cheek, his thumb dragging beneath your lashes. It wasn’t what he meant, he was adding to the joke, not making light of what you both went through last winter. Almost a month away from the date.

Hyejin whined once more, her arms and legs going astray, pulling your attention toward her.

“Are you hungry?” you asked softly, reaching between you and the baby to set her up for her own lunch. Yoongi moved behind you, helping you situate yourself, your shirt, the baby, giving you a place to rest while you fed her.

Taemin ended, and autoplay gave your daughter the greatest gift ever. The BigHit intro played, and she froze. She knew this intro. It was either her father, or BTS themselves, or someones solo stuff. You’ve given her a taste of Tomorrow X Together, some days she’d beg for Chasing That Feeling. The scream that rung through the air when Jungkook appeared, tattoos on display in his sleeveless vest, hair hanging over his forehead, it made you and your husband laugh.

“Kookie, Kookie, Kookie!” she shouted again, and again, and again, running in circles as she did.

Leaning your head back on Yoongi’s shoulder, you looked up at him and gave him a tight lipped smile. “She’s still obsessed.”

“Of course she is,” he mumbled. The smell of fresh, sweet citrus filled the air. He pressed a small tangerine slice to your lips and slipped it inside your mouth when you parted them. “Uncle Kookie gives her whatever she wants.” Kissing you any way he could, he smiled and fed you another piece of tangerine, making sure you were taken care of while you took care of his daughter, your daughter.

“She misses him,” you whispered.

Yoongi bobbed his head. “Yeah,” he sighed, looking at Dae twirling to the music, then at you with a pout forming on both your faces. “We all do.”

you do not have permission to copy or translate my works.

[heavenlydevine]

𝐓𝐈𝐄 𝐌𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍 || 𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎.

╰┈➤ ❝Darling, if you consider the brutal fucking I just gave you an act of jealousy, then you have another thing coming. You won't be able to fucking walk.❞

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐖𝐎 𝐎𝐅 𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐌𝐄 𝐔𝐏!

❛ ━━･❪ © heavenlydevine, 2023❫ ･━━ ❜

𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎 was burning, burning in a cesspool of molten lava with nothing and no one to blame but you, your wanton little moans and pleas of mercy nothing but sweet melodies to his ears, "Hush, or should I gag you, too?"

He is met with desperate gasps and incoherent babbles, his mouth returning to their earlier ministrations, suckling and nipping at your overstimulated clit, tongue running up and down your folds like a man starved.

𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎 is a man of his word, this he knows you understand when he hooks his left arm up and over your knees, pulling you closer to the edge, his tongue now delving deeper into your aching hole as his nose presses against your throbbing clit.

Two fingers worked into you, your eyes rolling back into your head as Nanami began a steady rhythm, his tongue flicking over your clit, hips rising to meet his thrusts. Oh God, you were riding his hand, smothering his face with your sex, something you had thought about doing, yet never truly having the confidence to do so.

Your body was coiled tighter, gasping as his fingers continued to pound into you, the slippery sounds every time he drove back into you echoing through the bedroom.

You were quite an instrument to play, so finely tuned, and if he touched you right, you made the most glorious sounds — raw, intense, absolutely delicious noises of pleasure as he plundered you with his tongue.

You scream for him in such a way that makes his cock harden further, pressing against his pants with a sinister demand to sink into your heat and never leave.

He could feel your walls tighten, your peak nearing, and yet for a moment he indulges in the selfish want to leave you broken and begging for more. He couldn’t make either of them wait any longer. Slowly pulling his head back, aware of the shattered mewl of utter confusion that ripped from your chest, Nanami released his hold on your legs and leaned back, bringing his middle finger down, sliding it gently over your folds with a maniacal grin.

You threw your head back in frustration, lips tugging your bottom lip with barely contained fury. "God, yes. Keep going."

He did it again, this time his fingertip slipping between and gathering your wetness, parting the puffy folds with two fingers, silent and gouging your reaction as he found your clit, engorged and overstimulated, rubbing it in small circles.

𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎 who drowns in the way you cry out, arms straining against the patterned necktie that binds them against the headboard, lips tugging fondly as he recalls your surprised expression upon watching him approach you like a predator stalking it's prey, bulging forearms on prominent display as he loosened the tie, imbueing it with enough cursed energy to ensure no ammount of struggling would unravel his work.

"Good girls get to cum," He focuses on your mouth, then back to your eyes again, then back to your mouth, never once slowing the quick strokes of his fingers. He says your name so softly you are not even sure if his mouth moves. You, still gasping for breath, don’t have time to respond. His hand leaves your aching bundle of nerves, your flushed skin and parted lips threatening to become his undoing.

Now he took the time to rid himself of his clothing, watching you with rapt fascination. "I don't think you deserve this," and with that said and done, Nanami took out his hard, eager cock, and mounted you, hovering above you as he parts your legs with his own, settling between your thighs with a hiss, "but perhaps if you show me you can take it, then I'll reward you by releasing those binds."

𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎 who adored the way you twisted from one side to the other, nipples looking as hard as if they were tiny stones. He could not resist them, for he had yet to lavish them with attention.

He bit at them with his teeth, playfully, not hurting you, licking and suckling them with a gentleness that made you whine, "Nanami, please."

He can no longer deny that he needs you just as much as you need him, a singular flick of the wrist undoing the binds that hold you into place, and though he watches you roll your wrists to soothe the aching muscles, he does not intend for you to take back control.

"Nanami," is the only word he allows you to murmur before he slips a firm hand beneath your back, flipping you over before his fingers thread through your hair, gripping the back of your head, whilst the other arm occupies itself by adjusting your position. "Hold on tight, darling."

𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎 who is an animal, gripping the base of his cock before alligning it against your tight hole, and with a hiss and a singular thrust, buries himself deeper than ever before, setting a pace that is both brutal and fast, your fingers curling into the soft silken sheets, mouth agape.

"Fuck," he hisses through clenched teeth, hips pistoning in and out of your tight heat, face twisted into something truly animallistic, "that's a good fucking girl. Taking me so fucking well."

His hands take their place against the slight dip in your waist, grinding you and fucking into you with reckless abandon. Heart pounding, he grunts like a feral animal gone berserk, perspiration clinging to his skin as the gummy walls of your cunt suckle and squeeze at him.

"Mine," he knows you are close, his own peak quickly approaching, a heat unlike anything he had ever felt before blossoming between his thighs, he cannot think straight, "gonna cum inside you."

You nod frantically, eyes crossed and babbling nonsense, "Give it to me."

𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎 who releases a guttural cry of pleasure as he spends his creamy white load into your womb, coating the insides of your pussy in his semen, forehead resting against the back of your head as he folds himself over you.

You mumble something, his ears still ringing, "What was that?"

"If making you jealous turns you into this, then sign me the fuck up."

He grins in amusement, landing a smack against your ass, "Darling, if you consider the brutal fucking I just gave you an act of jealousy, then you have another thing coming. You won't be able to fucking walk," another smack, "besides, who said I am done with you?"

𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎 was a man insatiable when it came to you.

❛ ━━･❪ © heavenlydevine, 2023❫ ･━━ ❜ I do not give permission for my work to be reposted, translated or used in any way without my expressed approval.

[himbodruid]

In celebration of the Sylus banner releasing, here’s the first part to my Sylus fic!

Sylus x named!mc | Touch her and 💀 vibes | Possessive Sylus

Intended for 18+ readers, MINORS DNI

Read on Ao3

Part 2 | Part 3 (coming soon)

A Kitten and A Crow

His irritation was nearly palpable as negotiations dragged on and on. Sylus let his crimson gaze flick around the men sitting at the table around him, trying to bargain for their safety in his territory while they do some bogus business deal. Really, the whole thing was boring, and that itself is what irritated him the most.

His phone began to buzz in his pocket, which brought a welcomed distraction. A slight smirk played at the corner of his mouth as the name ‘kitten’ flashed across the screen as the incoming call. She always seemed to know when he was bored.

“Gentlemen, I am afraid we will have to continue these negotiations another time,” was all the explanation he gave before rising and walking from the table. He reached the other room, thumbing the answer button and holding the phone to his ear. Before he could even greet her, a scuffle sounded and the call disconnected.

“Mephisto,” was all he had to say before the crow flew through the window with a croaking call in the night. He tapped her name in the call log to dial her phone, pushing down the anxiety that threatened to crack the iron hold he had on his composure.

“Kitten?” He questioned when the call connected.

“S-Sy,” came her labored breathing. A pained whine escaped from her and he growled.

“Where are you?” His query came as a sharp demand, grateful that he had already sent Mephisto to find her.

“Sylus, d-don’t-“ her words ended in a cry as the sharp crack of flesh connecting with flesh came across the line. Rage pulsed through Sylus at the sound of a struggle, the phone being kicked away, before the line went dead.

The deep crimson-streaked shadows shrouded him without a second thought, transporting him to the rooftops for some sort of vantage point. He couldn’t feel her aether core anymore, the ever present hum that had become a source of comfort, but he somehow knew she was still within the N109 Zone. Within his territory.

There. A signal from Mephisto and the copper stench of fresh blood flooded his senses as he followed the crow’s direction in his signature shadowy cloak.

He arrived in the alleyway that Mephisto hovered over, mere blocks away from his own base. A man held her limp form by the throat, gloating to her unconscious figure.

“Once we get that Onychinus bastard out here, he’s done for!” Maniacal laughter followed his statement as he tossed her haphazardly to the side.

“Ah. So, you intended for a trap, then,” Sylus said with a deadly calm, dropping into the mouth of the alleyway from the cloud of darkness.

“Hah! It’s true! The hunter is your weakness after all,” said the man as he turned his wild gaze on the newcomer. Sylus didn’t recognize him, but figured the idiot must be from an opposing faction.

“Do you know what happens when you touch what is mine,” he said with a voice full of venom, striding into the alley. But the man only grinned, lifting a pistol to aim at Sylus. A threat that Sylus pointedly ignored as he continued forward.

Mephisto landed next to Helene, giving his observation. Bruised and battered, and a deep gash in her side that was cause for concern. She was alive, but didn’t have the luxury of time.

“Lets end this quickly,” Sylus said, disappearing into that crimson darkness and reappearing right before the man.

“Your evol is useless against me, crow,” the man cackled, aiming the pistol right for Sylus’ head. “I’ve been given a glorious chance to take down the biggest threat to our company. These bullets have been specially manufactured with your evol in mind.”

The man pulled the trigger, fully trusting that his employers had told him correct information. What they didn’t tell him, however, is the ethereal speed at with Sylus could use his evol. The bullet ripped through empty air while Sylus rematerialized behind him.

“I’m going to enjoy this,” he growled into the man’s ear before an onyx blade appeared in his hand. His arm thrust forward. A strangled gurgle was the final sound the man made as Sylus plunged that blade into his heart from behind. He twisted it for good measure, lamenting that he couldn’t do what he really wanted to.

Sylus dropped to a knee by Helene’s side before the stranger’s corpse even hit the pavement. He brushed her blood-streaked hair from her frighteningly pale face before lifting her in his arms. It still amazed him how light she was, considering how much she ate at any given meal.

A vehicle pulled into the mouth of the alley, giving Sylus a brief pause before he realized it was his own car and the twins sat in the front.

Luke hopped out from the passenger seat and opened the door for him, Sylus carrying her frighteningly limp form forward. A hand reached out to help steady her as he shuffled into the back, but he felt a growl rumble in his chest and he clutched her tighter to himself. Luke backed off without a word, hands held up to placate the boss.

It had only taken minutes to find her, but each second that had ticked by since the call first disconnected felt like a lifetime.

[wuffgang-ameowdeus-moozart]

Alethi is a country of war. It was forged out of death and flames and grief, and they are proud of their history. Of course they are. If the memories of murder and destruction didn't fill them with pride, they would be simply unbearable.

"You don't need to be a soldier", the perhaps most feared general in a country made up of war-obsessed maniacs says. And the funny thing is, he really means it.

"Military isn't all there is", says the man who spilled the blood that will be staining this country until its dying breath. And he really means it, as he says it. With the glazed-over dull gaze that only grows alive after a hard-fought battle. With impatience in his tone, knowing he is made to do something more, something better.

The thing is, Renarin has never been particularly keen on fighting. He watches as Adolin repeats the forms until they become second nature, the glorious blade glowing in his capable hands. He watches as other nobles scuttle away from his father when his hand grips the knife. Dalinar doesn't even notice, of course, completely enraptured in his steak.

It would be nice to have the option, though.

In truth, Alethkar is weak. It is a country forged in war and bloodlust, and thus that is the only thing it has to offer. "There are other vital positions that don't involve killing", Dalinar says. And he really means it, though he must also know that that is a lie.

When Adolin first got his blade, Renarin asked him to hold it. He'd been surprised, he remembers. Everyone spoke about how shardblades were weightless, but Renarin could clearly feel the sword in the straining of his muscles. Then he started trembling.

"What about the ardentia?", Adolin asks, genuinely kind about it. "Wouldn't that maybe be a....better choice? For you? I mean." A choice, Renarin thinks. Yes, that would be nice, he doesn't say. To be able to choose.

This is not the last time he asks to swing Adolin's sword.

[amethystfairy1]

Will the profile picture for our local maniac council man become relevant? Or is it just a play on words "black" (silhouette) "well" (waterpump/literal well)

Also also- all jokes aside. This Side blog is like. Amazing. Genuinely so fucking funny and also, very, VERY well done. Much love to the Tinted Glass team!! Yall are amazing <3

Mmmmmm as far as the relevancy of artistic symbolism ask @khoirkid but I think you're on the right track!

I'm so glad you're enjoying the side blog! It's been so much fun for the Tinted Glass crew and we've been absolutely LOVING all the asks that have been coming in, they're fantastic and it's exactly the kind of engagement we were hoping for when we started this little thing up!

So please, if you have any burning questions for our brave and glorious city leader Head Councilman Blackwell, @preston-blackwell-official is there for you to send them too! 😆

[50cal-fullauto-astarion]

hot in sarajevo ii

[ part one ]

könig x f!reader operator (no use of “y/n”) / 7.3k words / NSFW

cw: body modifications in the form of könig's split tongue, references to monsterfucking, cunnilingus, vaginal sex, actually pretty sweet all things considered. a.n.: this literally kicked my ass during the two months it took to write it, and i sincerely hope you enjoy! sweet to the first half's sour, with a little surprise at the end if you read between the lines. ETERNAL thanks to @dotcie for beta-ing this for me, it wouldn't have been half as lovely without you, and to @parttimeprophet for helping me with my german so i wasn't making silly mistakes <3

The safehouse is a two-story, narrow shed shoved between two other, significantly older, significantly more robust stone buildings. A shithole that looks like it was made of tinder and afterthoughts, but it’s as glorious as an oasis after ten miles of hiking east over craggy, stony hills under a searing sun-fall. 

The fading light cooks your back, and there is an uneasy, but needy tension between you and König in the aftermath of a successful and gruesome assassination. Neither were strangers to such orders handed down by KorTac, but you were both experts in carrying them out with bloodthirsty perfection. 

When you’d left the campsite staging area in the center of the forest–where König taken you into his lap and fucked you senseless–he hucked you up on his back and hauled you through the forest without asking.

He was not a difficult man to read, at times; he’d felt bad for making your cunt sore. 

The thirteen hours of broiling under the harsh Adriatic sun in full-body ghillie suits didn’t ensure an easy or pleasant slog into the city proper. After the maniacal fuck that König required to jailbreak his emotional regulation, you were lucky you were walking at all. 

It seems to your eye that, sometimes, he views the world as an iPhone in the hands of an angry fourteen-year-old, and all his ailments are caused by wanting to watch porn outside of their parents’ childlocks. He could do that, and easily, if only he could aim his destruction at the proper target. Holding that thought, you have to remind yourself that König didn’t have any kind of a phone until he was eighteen. 

His parents had been of an older generation and had little interest in advancing technology, and no interest in throwing their scant money toward any of it. They’d continued to stagnate in the past–rotting in a poverty-burdened, filthy hoard house, amongst kennels of well-bred Doberman dogs that were better loved than he–while König had moved into the city and the modern era. But he still enjoys jailbreaking his iPhones, if only because he can. 

Maybe because he hates restrictions and authority. Maybe because they are the only concepts he understands, even as he struggles against them–though he always ultimately succumbs. 

Well. He hates restrictions and authority that doesn’t make him cum. 

You’re both dressed down to hiking civvies, and he’s got a black cotton gaiter pulled up his face. You’re sweating in sheets that cascade down your breasts, stomach, and back. Your thighs soak the legs of your pants, and every stride renews the raw, dull ache of chafing skin. There is not a stitch of clothes on your body that does not cling disgustingly to your overheated skin, making you feel beastly. 

By looking at König, and his sweat-blackened shirt and narrowed eyes, you can tell he feels the same. A shower cannot come soon enough. 

The exfil vehicle that had been waiting after the hike has done well enough of a job, but the closer you got to the safehouse, the narrower the roads became. Ultimately, it has to be abandoned several streets down. Left in a back alley, you pull yourselves out and pop the back hatch, where he pulls the strap of a surplus rucksack over his shoulder. He also  takes yours without asking, and adds it to the weight.

“What the fuck are you doing,” you say, not even allowing the end-pitch of a question.

“You can carry the case,” he replies. What an utter gentleman, allowing you to slug your own equipment, like you hadn’t spent years and years humping full packs across the hottest hellholes on the planet under active fire. You’re too tired, and too close to heatsick to argue it too much. The streets around here are mostly dark, quiet and full of Bosnians that mind their business. 

Baščaršija is a beautiful place. The old town is full of ancient mosques and minarets on stone-paved streets, some narrow, some wide. There’s one slim street in particular that you pass down, by far older than the necessity of wide paths for motor traffic, where the shops lining it are all broad, tall windows, the lights from within warm and softening the darkness fading into the city. 

You pass antique stores, bistros, couples and gaggles of friends crowding around each other, listening to music from their phones, smoking cigarettes, laughing. It’s nothing like home, a completely different animal, but it pulls you in. No one in this city knows that you and the man you walk beside are the cause of four monstrous deaths in the hills. 

You are two strangers, finding solace in hands reaching for hands, a moment of exhaled relief when contact is made by the tentative and exploratory brush of fingers. For a brief moment, you let yourself buy into the thought that you are just a backpacker, finding your way to lodgings with your boyfriend, carrying an odd case that could be anything. 

König’s grip becomes more insistent, a thick layer of dependence in its tight hold, and he looks dead ahead, head lowered, shoulders bunched. You give him three quick squeezes–I love you–and he answers it back with four–I love you, too. You now turn your attention to getting a read on him.

Normally, he is amped after a successful mission, but he was already needy. His jaw is set hard, and his eyes are flat and flinty. He’s looking, but not seeing. You know that he’s turned against himself.

The pair of you had fallen together in a frenzy. To call your fall for one another an orbital strike would be an understatement. Yours was a crash site made home, and the months of settling under the strange, but welcome and cherished atmosphere of a relationship had begun to peel away the dermis, revealing the sensitive nerves and muscle below.

There lives a hatred in König’s soul that often turns inward. Would that he could rip himself to shreds like a sheet of paper folded and twisted under nervous hands. And he does. You still haven’t found a way to break through those walls–hell, you don’t think he even knows how he erected them, because he would also see them crumbled and turned into utter wreckage. 

If you were going to pull logic out of the chaos that’s occupied his body since he was thirteen, you would have to admit to yourself that there isn’t anything you can do. That he’s the one that has to somehow find away to break apart and rebuild the way he thinks, nearly on a molecular level. 

With no other help to offer, feeling weak and useless in the face of his battle, you hold his hand, and you walk beside him.

“I’m sorry,” he says after two blocks of walking. Spits it out sudden-like, not meeting your eyes. His posture is fucked, slumping him forward. 

“Stop that shit.” No heat, you never use heat with him; the man’s been burned enough. “Wouldn’t I tell you if I didn’t like the way you handled me?”

There is a telling pause, you can feel the lie he’s building on his tongue become too big to swallow or spit. He grinds it down between his molars, and his hand grows tighter around yours in desperation. 

“I think you would lie to make me feel better.” 

It’s an earnest and brave bit of truth–the man developed a frightening skill with white lies through his life to survive all of the shit hands he was dealt, and his skin crawls under the admission. But your love is dissection, vivisection: it has given you months of slow, thorough study, and an understanding of what patterns his thoughts led him down to land on that conclusion. 

It is what he would do to make you feel better.

“Lee,” you say, using the part of his real name that he finds acceptable, and only from you, “you know I give more of a fuck about your security than your comfort when it comes to shit like this.”

The blunt admission makes him stifle a wince, but he holds tight when you slip out of his hand to wrap your arm around his waist, his arm around your shoulders.

The moment you’re through the threshold of the safehouse, the Steyr’s case hits the floor, along with your packs, and out come the sidearms. You and König slide right into formation, clearing the building room by room, call and response in flight like crows. 

He takes the lead, and you follow–as much as he might not like the designation dumped in his lap, he is good at it, running hot with his jaw ticking, eyes engaged and unblinking. It was a barb during the fuck, calling him an insertion specialist, but there is not another soul at KorTac that you would trust with your safety on the ground the way you put your life in his hands.

After the building is confirmed clear, it comes time for your speciality. Both of you are experts in urban warfare, but where his skill lies in blunt force, yours burns brightest in paranoia. 

Paratrooper by training, guerilla tactics by experience, tearing apart the house in search of bugs or aberrations. Anything wrong, anything out of place. It takes longer than the clearing, König helps, and at the end, the safehouse is as spotless as it can be from a tactical standpoint. 

Standing in the attic bedroom, you stretch your back. “I’m radioing in. You hit the shower.”

He shakes his head and makes an argumentative noise. “Nah. Give me your pieces, I’m breaking down and cleaning everything,” he says, holding his hand out expectantly. 

He presents his .50 GS–a literal hand cannon, and a fraternal twin to your own–without asking, and holds it out to you by the barrel. You do not like the way your hand feels wrapping around the checkering on the grip. You do not like that it’s aimed at his stomach. 

You take it anyway, holding it loose in one hand with your finger on the trigger guard, and pass him your P99 and matching .50 from the holsters under your arms. There is sore white all around his eyes, and he is not blinking. 

“Where are you setting up?” he asks, voice tense like a wire-plucked.

Your initial report runs smoothly, getting in contact with Majka on a secure, encrypted line on the tablet usually kept in König’s possession. For this operation, your call signs are Schakals. Jackals. Wild things, unafraid of humanity. Wandering far too close, with teeth too ready to reveal under peeled chops.

König stays close, breaking down your guns a mere cushion away on the couch where you’ve planted your ass, hips aching and thighs tight now that the aftershocks of sex have long, long faded. His head remains bowed, and his gaiter remains in place. Every few minutes, he rolls his shoulders back. Forcing the blades of bone together, trying to release tension that will not let go.

When your report closes out, and you move to sit forward reaching for your cigarettes and lighter, König jerks as he turns to you. “Where’re you going?” His question is brittle, and keyed-up, eyes darting over your body as you settle back a bit.

“Nowhere, calm down,” you tell him, lighting two cigarettes. “Can I pull down your mask so I can give you this?”

He responds in a subtle nod, and you reach for his trappings to tuck the cigarette into the corner of his scarred mouth. König tries to follow your hand when you pull away, a nigh-unconscious tell that gives away his endless desire to be near you, always. It’s a level of wantedness you still grapple to understand–and it’s gut-turning fear mixed with crushing want that makes you pull your hand away instead of cupping his jaw.

You were never told what to do with the parts of yourself that somehow remained soft through the abuse of years. You’re stuck having to teach yourself, and it is not an easy process, though König has helped break an innumerable amount of those barriers. 

He looks kicked when you sink back into the armrest of the couch, until you shove your feet under his thigh, flicking your eyes toward the neatly disassembled handguns on the trunk-cum-coffee table before him, a silent nudge of keep going. 

Some peace washes over him as he cleans the broken-down guns, heeding your urging. 

His eyes don’t ever soften, not that you’ve ever really seen–except for rare moments, when he looks at you, and you wonder what visual information his brain is processing from his retinas. It puts you in a wondering state: curious if he thinks of you in the poetry of weapons engineering, or nuclear physics, or the black shine of blood spilled at night–but his gaze isn’t dagger-edged in concentration. 

Neither would you call it contentment. You know König is only content when he’s burned through all of his bad energy, and all the screaming in his head has died down to guttering, airless moans.

“Do you want to go out and get food later?” you pose to him, thinking back on the smell of kebabs roasting over burning coals overwhelming your memory and empty gut, and he nods again. Neither of you speak Bosnian or Serbian, but his Croatian is conversational, and passable enough. 

“Saw a couple booths doing Turkish coffee on the way. You’ve ever had that?” he asks half-mumbled, his attention unevenly divided. 

“You can do it on a stove, but it’s not the same as…,” he says, drifting, and your mouth twitches toward a smile when you realize he’s moved past the other half of his sentence. A good half inch of ash clings to the end of his cigarette, and it falls on his thigh, utterly unnoticed as he slides the guns back together slow as syrup. 

It’s a bit fun to watch as he pours his attention into the flow of his hands. On the field you’ve seen him breakdown and rebuild these same guns in seconds when demanded. There’s some measure of novelty in watching him take his time.

Your guns are handed back to you, cleaned first and checked over for defects. You slide them back into your holsters, just like coming home as you silently observe him moving onto the Steyr. 

The god-killing gun falls apart in his hands–pulled piece by piece in diagrammatic sequence from the molded foam from a case twice as expensive as your monthly rent–as if waiting for his attention, spread across the coffee table in a way that seems almost indecent to your eye. 

Maybe it’s a situation of projection–identifying with the horrendous and heavy weapon that, just today, took four lives in one of the most brutal ways imaginable. Thinking of yourself in precision machined pieces, willing and eager to disassemble under König’s hands, because you know he will dedicate himself fully to your continued existence and function. 

The Steyr’s all spread out before him like you often are, a pile of components unmade at his hands: unscrewed barrel, its bipod assembly, its scope and sights and grips, its magazine and receiver.You feel yourself pulse, clit throbbing in time with your increasing heartbeat. 

Maybe you should be more open and honest during your next psych eval, if you’re getting this wet over thinking of yourself as similar in nature to a rifle.

This process takes longer, but when König is finished, handing you the cigarette butt to put out, he puts the pieces back into the appropriate slots in the case. He stretches back, smelling like the slick, oily residue of DW-40 and the metallic odor of the faintly acidic oils on his skin reacting with the weapon’s metal. It clings to and pinches your soft palate like the sting of a sweat bee, something you can feel just under your eyes. 

His spine cracks, releasing a hard, meaty sound as the joints give, and he grunts in relief, turning his head toward you. He looks like he’s about to say something, but stops right before the words can gather behind his teeth.

Shit, you must be obvious. Can’t help the pull on your lips as you look up at him, shifting your legs, your thighs pressing together, amplifying the thump of your blood. “Hey.” Stupid thing to say really, but your come-on lines have never been all that stellar. But he’s always excited you, made you feel giddy and frivolously young and unburdened. Like you’re finally able to have all the things were denied as you grew into adulthood, shoved aside in favor of trauma that demanded the attention more.

“Hey,” he says, laughing a bit. He pulls what he can of his scarred lips between his teeth, wetting them, his brow furrowing. “I’m going to wash my hands. I’ll be back in a moment.”

Briefly, there is a twitch in your stomach, watching him go, and the anticipation and giddiness twist for a moment toward sickness. Sometimes, you worry he will leave and not come back. That he’ll have decided that he’s had enough, even with his threshold as high as it is, and he will simply be gone.

But, true to his word, he’s not gone long at all, just gone to the kitchen on the other side of the room, and you are bad off all over again. Watching him bow his head and hunch slightly to fit his hands under the stream of steaming water, soap foaming clear up his wrists, is making your mouth flood and your throat clicking dry. Big bastard, he’s doing it on purpose, hitting all of your buttons.

And the way he maintains eye contact with you all the way back, his hips loose and rocking, his pants already beginning to tent. His deep breathing gives him away, nevermind the fact that he hasn’t pulled his gaiter back up.

He sits back down, turned toward you, and pushes his hands under the hem of your shirt, his palms warm and soft from the wash and scrub. His thumbs knead into your skin, and his lids droop as his fingers tuck into the waistband of your pants. The pressure in his fingertips is possessive, greedy, starved like a street dog. He savors your skin, tracing patterns where he knows your tattoos live beneath your skin, pressing the heels of his hands into your hips.

Your tongue feel like lead. Everytime he touches you like this, it reads loud and clear that he’s holding onto something–someone he considers his. He’s surveying the scope of his lands, his dominion, and, dear god, does he love this country he calls home. 

“Bitte, Schatzi,” he mumbles, leaning forward so minimally anyone else in the world would need a micrometer to measure the distance moved, “let me have your cunt. I’m starved, and you look like you’re having fits.” A wicked smirk flickers over the corner of his mouth as his eyes darken, and his hands grip tighter where they’ve slid to your waist. “I’m probably the world’s biggest asshole, but I can’t stand to just watch you suffer because of me.”

You pull your tongue along the bottom edge of your teeth, thinking of how he was in the woods earlier–sharp-edged and demanding, unrelenting, holding you in place over his cock as he rammed into you over and over, until you literally saw stars and couldn’t breathe. Aggression, all claws, borderline unfit for human companionship, all under a soft gold sunset. And, here, you still would not say the man before you is a different man at all. He’s just König. He’s just Leopold Königsbacher, from Schladming, Austria, who juggles kitchen knives to make you laugh.

“You just wanna sink down there til you grow gills or something?” you ask, a bedroom, sliding your leg into his lap, soaking up the look of relief on his face. His hands slide farther down, cradling the swell of your hips, as you undo your belt and zipper, pushing your pants and boxers down. 

He helps pull them down as far as either of you can, looking fucking ridiculous as your clothes can’t go farther than your boots. Doesn’t pay to take them off, no matter how long you’re going to be here, you might have to run, and it’s easier to keep everything within pulling distance. 

Flicking his eyes over your body, a small, caught-out smirk touches his lips. “Hah. Yeah, jawohl. Would live between your fucking legs, if I could.” His hips roll against nothing, rubbing his hard cock against the strain of his pants. You know there’s an anxiety in him that screams to fuck and to fuck now, and it’s raising its head. 

König has the sort of anxiousness where if the things he desires do not happen immediately, they will not happen at all. His mind works in such a way that even small things become so desperately escalated into needs, he can hardly function without answering those demands.

On the best of days, you’re not much for words, and he has no natural talent for them–he can talk at screeching speeds, expelling high levels ideas that are baffling or frightening with ease, but his delivery is lacking, and leaves his listeners shifting uncomfortably or looking for exits. You, on the other hand, are simply not good at them. Too cold, too strange. Too blunt, or removed. But König understands you as you understand him, and he coaxes sweet nothings out of you more than anyone else has ever managed.

Despite the sweetness that spills from your lips being an understood language between you,  none of your words are the soft, looping things most would like to hear muttered into their skin. In the bedroom-dark safety of bodies-meeting-bodies, you and König still snap out the sounds of predators, and anyone scenting as prey would fail to find the beauty in your phrases as he does. 

And, beyond that, you’re not sure you could even find words. Not with him towering over you between your legs, though he bows lower. Not with the light from the kitchen behind his head hitting the wheat-colored curls escaping from his hair tie, illuminating him like a saint. Lord, he looks like dreams you used to have. 

You reach for his neck, and you tug him down, permission passed without even parting your lips, and the relief that relaxes his eyes is colossal. Like he’s walking his way home in the dark on a path he would know blind and numb, he finds his way to your cunt with the ease of muscle memory. 

But König is still König, and his anxiety will always outweigh his softness tenfold. He lets out this nervous, pitchy hyena laugh of excitement. Not waiting for permission and not giving a second of preamble, he licks you from asshole to clit in a broad, wet swipe with his long, split tongue.  

Electricity shoots straight up your spine. Almost immediately, he buries back in, massaging the halves of his tongue around your clit like he’s painting in brush strokes. 

He ropes an arm around your leg and over your pelvis, weighing you down, and fits his free hand into the crease where your thigh meets your hip. Using that as extra leverage, he pulls himself further in, and pushes your legs further back–hobbled as they are by your clothing around your ankles. Your skin burns like an oil derrick in flames every spot you’re touched, and his mouth is volcanic; you only just this moment realizes how badly you needed to thaw.

You were a barracks bunny before König and your mutual, supermassive possessive streaks; always easy to put out, wet on your own command, perpetually bored and looking for fun stolen minutes at a time. You can easily say sex is a sorely jaded topic in your roster. 

But, holy fuck, every time he hits his knees to devour you feels new, and alien, and strange. 

Not only his tongue—practiced, clever thing it is now that he’s been able to take his natural talent for it to use with you, drawing figure eights and pinching and pulling at you, teasing your hole and your clit at once—but his utter, sustained greed pitched against his plain desire to serve. How he gets more focused and desperate, sucking on your lips, groaning into you, sounds become wetter by the second. 

“Pretty, fuck, your pussy’s so pretty,” he mutters, panting, pausing to kiss your seam. Between your cunt and thigh, your perineum, making you squirm and whine. His dogmatic fervor has always been borderline chilling–you’ve never been handled with this level of desire, or needed so fiercely you function akin to air that is needed to live. 

No one has ever loved you this way–no one before him. If you could wrap the threads of fate around your forearms like the reins of horses, to exert your horrid and steely control over them, he will never have a successor. 

It will always be only him.

You reach down and grab him by the hair at his temples, which you’ve never ceased to be charmed to find is gray before his years. “Fuck me—with your tongue, right now,” you command him, and he complies, only reaching up to hook his thumb in your shirt and bra to ruck them up over your breasts. 

The instant stretch makes you dizzy, squeezing your thighs tight around his head. Don’t his cheekbones just cut right into your muscle, and doesn’t he just moan and heave a whole body shudder under you?  Greedy fucking man, pushing his tongue deeper, scissoring the halves of it wide in all directions, curling against your walls as he finds an angle for his neck that fits him to thrust in and out of you. Feasting, feasting, feasting.

It’s a fullness you’ve only recently gotten used to with him–too much dexterity, too fluid and swirling, and it reminds you shamefully of all the times you’ve masturbated to the point of wrist-aches with tentacles, and aliens, and monsters on your mind. Fevered, otherworldly, inhuman beasts dying of desire, with the sparkling-sharp sentience to know exactly how to slake their thirst and sate their hunger. 

His hands grip tighter, nails digging into your flesh, and you know it’s going to leave bruises, but you don't care. It only gets better when he cracks his eyes, a picture of anguish and ecstasy, moaning deep and rumbling in his chest. 

It seems he brings himself under some form of control. His mouth turns pliant, and the way he tastes you turns indulgent, slow. The only man you’ve ever met who could self-soothe by eating pussy. And, shit. Doesn’t that work out perfectly for you.

Your hands soften, brushing over his tied-back hair, playing with loose ringlets. Staring down at him, watching the creases fade from his forehead and from around his scars, he looks satisfied, and at peace. It’s a look you’ve seen only rarely, not even in his sleep. 

He sighs and groans, kneading your thighs, when he makes you come on his tongue, sliding it in and out of you as lazy as late, humid afternoons; rumbling deep in his throat when you arch off the cushions, groaning and clenching your thighs to keep them from squeezing around his head again.

“Aw, fuck, Kö—,” you half-whine, making him hum a nasal laugh, pulling out of you agonizingly slow. The lower half of his face is a mess with your slick, shining under the light, and his pupils are dilated to the size of fucking 10-cent pieces. 

There’s a proud, giddy cut to his expression, his scarred-crooked mouth pulling into a lopsided grin, chest heaving. 

“Did you like that, Schatzi? Did it make you feel good?” he pushes, his hands coming to your knees, fingers pressing firmly into your flesh. 

“Yeah,” your voice drags as you speak, laughter raspy. Your racing heartbeat is only just starting to slow, and the whole of your body pulses in time. There is delight in being rocked by ground-shaking tectonics of pleasure. There is divinity in the way he looks down at you–starving, an acolyte wanting to worship. “Have a condom on you?”

A quick nod is your answer, and he starts to pull up your body, dropping your legs. It’s ridiculous and hurried, and the laugh that bursts out of you is huge, taking on a life uniquely its own when he starts climbing in between your legs and your pulled-down pants, “What are you fucking doing?”

“Path of least resistance, even though it looks like the path of most resistance!” he barks in return, laughing too loudly and frenetically, filling the room. He hikes your pants up over his ass and onto back, yanking you further down the couch, and deeper into his lap. As simple as if you were just a jump harness he had to wrestle into. “I’m thinking on that fifth dimension shit right now! You have to catch up, Schatzi,” he says, giving you a maniac, you get it? grin. 

“You’re a fucking idiot,” you accuse him, but you’re beaming and cackling all the same, unfastening a chain from around your neck with zero thought, working a fully blind impulse. 

“No, you’re fucking an idiot,” he shoots right back, “really, Liebe, you have to at least try to keep up.”

Oh, and what the fuck. This is König–the one that you dream about, the one you go looking for when the world wants to crush you in its titanic fucking grip. Thinks himself so dog-ugly, dog-tired. Distempered, foul, and unworthy of anything but beating. 

He’d probably sneer, roll his eyes, and insult you if you compared him to the sun, but the thought remains firmly anchored in your head as your hands slide the thin, cheap chain around his neck twice, fixing the clasp at his nape. König’s too distracted to notice much more than lifting his chin to afford you access, as he pulls out his cock and rolls the rubber down it.

When he lines himself up with your cunt, looking too eager, the two fingers you keep tucked between a strand of the chain and his neck tug, tightening the links around his skin. At once, you’ve got his full attention, his chest heaving as he holds himself above you.

“What’s that?” he asks, licking his lips, beginning to tremble, leaning into the pull of pressure. “What’re you doing?”

“I was thinking about playing with your air a little bit. That okay?” you purr, giving the chain another small tug. “Nothing big. I won’t cut your breathing off completely. But I thought you might like it.”

“Oh, fuck.” He starts up laughing again, but it’s dripping with a rotten core of sudden need. “Bitte–think you have to, now. Can’t just tease me with that shit and not deliver.”

It was in your head to pull him down over you, but your breath catches in your throat looking at him. With half your body bound to him by tangled clothing and your own greedy legs anchoring tight to his sides, each of you flush with laughter and arousal, your heart is a bleeding stone on your tongue. Instead of staining your teeth as the blood rolls out of your mouth, it spills in reverse, and you can hardly drink your fill of it before you begin to choke. 

“I love you—” It snaps out of your mouth and dies, the harsh need to hide away your face makes you pull him down, moaning as he slides deeper, and, fuck, it hurts. You’re still so tender, and bruised, and god knows what else from this taking just barely managing to handle the way he’d fucked you that afternoon that anything but slow, sweet, and shallow was going to be an agony endured. 

His hips buck and jag, entire throat filling with the moan of your real name. He tries so hard not to fuck into you fully, planting his hands on either side of your arms as if he’ll bar himself from giving into his own body. 

“Don’t do that, don’t do that, don’t do that,” he begs and rambles, shuddering, breathing in shallow, clipped laps as if freezing. His hips and legs shift, nearly nervous–a horse spooked and dying to run. “Oh, fuck, don’t do that,” he pleads, hanging his head, trying hard to catch his breath.

The chain is so easy to use, and he listens to the summon of pressure, sucking in a breath to hold it tight. His body sways, buffeted by arousal as if he is a ship on deep-rolling seas, and his head ends up sunken within whispering distance of your lips. So close you can smell the sweat cooling through his curls. So close you can taste the copper-tinged scent of his skin without ever licking him.

“You’re so good, Schatz,” you say, tapping on a name you rarely call him, borrowing his language. “Such a good boy. Such a loving boy.” The pain dulls to a throbbing ache that can be enjoyed, his hips slowing as he rocks into you. Already, he runs ragged, but his rhythm is bursting with devotion and slow-melting sweetness. 

There is a monster that lives in your chest, cradling, always, the molar-cracking force with which you love König. The beast beneath that calls your ribcage a prison and a home does not know a single way to handle things in half-measures. There are no lengths you would hesitate to go for the man above and inside you, head bent and buried into your shoulder in supplication.

Your pillow-talk starts to spill out, eyes sliding closed, as you revel in the breath making your skin humid, “I couldn’t stand seeing you with anyone else, Schatz. If you ever left me–ever started fucking another person–think I’d kill ‘em. I’d lose my shit, not being the last person you ever took to bed.”

“I wouldn’t–oh, sheiße–Schatzi, I would never,” König vows in a moan, the sound filling the dip above your collarbone like collected sweat or blood pooled from a spilling neck wound. 

He loses sense of his rhythm, rutting like an animal in heat. It becomes difficult to ride it out with him, timing his peaks with the pull on the chain, forcing him higher and higher. You’re too sore to cum like this again today, but his mouth had seen to it that you were finished. Now it is a matter of making him match as he rides you, pressing more and more of his weight down.

“Cum. God dammit, König, you need to cum,” you command him, breathless, pulling the chain taut now. It’s been entirely too long now that he’s been keyed up, desperate for your cunt, gripping you to his body like he needs the touch to simply survive. The way he breathes, when you allow him, is the heavy heaving of brittle-dry sobs. His skin burns against yours, sliding with the sheer amount of sweat pouring from his body. 

It’s almost enough to make your eyes roll back, listening to him whimper, “I’m trying, I’m trying, bitte, Liebes, I promise,” his voice unraveling into an escalating, hysterical, almost panicked moaning. 

“I know–I know you are, honey. Christ–fuck–you’re killing me. Love how you fuck me. Love how hard you get when you kill people. How you act all fucked up, and vile, and need to cut loose,” you gasp, more of the vulgarity breaking out of you as your ragged pants barely manage to pull air into your lungs. “Know this isn’t that. I know you’re–being gentle on purpose. Fucking me like you need me, ‘cause you do. You couldn’t move on from me–there is no one else, is there?”

There is one last ruthless constriction of chains against his throat, holding him tight. This time you really do cut his air, metal biting into your fingers. The last stretch of his desperation draws longer–long enough you wonder if it was a mistake–as every roll of his hips slides him deeper. 

A sound chokes in his throat, and he holds himself rigid, his shoulders quaking with suppressed trembling as his wrapped cock kicks inside you. He’s not even breathing, obeying the constriction around his neck, and he rocks the longer it draws out. For a stupid moment, you wonder if he’s somehow blacked the fuck out in his frozen state, until the links holding the chain’s clasp give, the necklace snapping.

He pulls in a huge gust of air and collapses on top of you, forcing your chin to slot over his shoulder as his weight crashes down, pushing the wind out of you.

“Shit–damn, baby, was it that good?” you ask, relieved and shaking in time to match his. You didn’t cum, but you didn’t need nor want to. You find yourself perfectly satisfied, the heady, filthy contact of skin sticking together its own prize.

“Shh,” he admonishes you, taking a huge breath, sloppily kissing your neck. 

“We didn’t even shower.”

“Shh,” he now insists, lazily lifting a hand to cup it over your mouth, and he rumbles with contentment as you place your teeth on the web of skin between his thumb and forefinger.

After an indecently thorough shower, you both dress in the small cubby of a bathroom afforded to you. It’s a slow process, König seemingly spending more time kissing you and touching you than actually dressing. The sadness and desperation had gone out of him with the sex–it could even be called lovemaking, but. Well. You’re both on the far side of skittishness when it comes to naming something so gently.

But, in turn, you are softer. Kinder. Thawed. When his hands slide into yours, you massage his palms and the heel of his thumb. You squeeze his fingers, and brush the soft veins of his wrist with your fingertips. 

Your love is dissection, vivisection, but there is a reason that flesh is cut and dermis, fascia, and muscle are pulled apart. 

It is to learn the body beneath your hands, and you are so acutely learned in König. When you kiss his palms, he breathes in tightly. When you put a hand over his chest, as if to hold his oversized heart, you swear he would let you cradle it to calm the slamming it produces.

“I love you,” you say to him, sliding your eyes up to his, liquid-smooth, flowing. This time it is said with intent. It is not a burst of confession in the midst of blistering heat, where it feels guilty and fraudulent. This is a surety. This is your heart speaking with a projected voice.

He takes your hand off his chest, his face softened with a weak expression and glittering eyes, and he presses his lips to your knuckles. After the kiss, he holds you there, simply nuzzling your skin. “Ich liebe dich, auch, mein Liebe,” he murmurs, lids sitting heavy over that blue you know so well.

Baščaršija had awoken as you two had hidden in one another’s bodies. The sky is dark as pitch, and the light pollution from the bazaar blots out the stars, but the air smells spiced and warm, with a faint tinge of sweat-touched skin leftover on the locals who had spent their days under the sun.

While waiting in line for the coffee König had mentioned as he’d broken down and cleaned your guns, he examines the snapped length of your necklace. “It’d be an easy fix. Might have to wait until we’re home, but–no, yeah–two minutes, tops,” he says, pinching the stretched-out link that had caused the failure below the free edge of his thumb nail.

You lift a shoulder in a shrug, looking down at his hands. “It’s cheap, I’m not worried about it. I have to have a dozen and a half just like that in my junk jewelry box,” you snort. It’s an easy let-go. It’s garbage silver over copper, and it’s not worth the money that made the tag that once hung from it. 

“Always with the shitty jewelry,” he sighs, bemused, but it’s not a real jab. He still winds the chain around two of his fingers to make a little bundle, and stuffs it in his pocket. He’s not going to let it remain broken, simply because it’s yours. He’s quiet for a moment, though he hums warmly when you turn around and press your back into his chest, your boots between his boots while you wait in the queue. But he starts, “You know…”

You press back into him, humming, “Hm?” in answer.

“I could buy you jewelry, if you want. Real jewelry,” he begins to venture, tone a completely different animal than you’re used to meeting eyes with. It’s almost hesitant, and isn’t that just so massively strange when it comes to this man. “Or…a diamond.”

The word lands like an anomalous warhead–something gargantuan and frightening, that does not detonate on impact. It’s still a terrifying occurrence, but not an instant death as should be feared. Your back straightens against him, and you fall into a controlled breathing pattern in the same way you’d fall into a plummet when running off the back of a cargo plane. Good god, you hope your chute opens.

“Do you like diamonds?” he queries further, soft and anxious. He begins to shift and fidget. He’d hoped for a faster answer to this question-beneath-a-question.

Reaching behind you, you draw your hand down the length of his arms, until he pulls out of his hoodie pocket. Relaxation floods his body the moment you lace fingers with him, squeezing him tight, three times, I love you, and his four beat answer comes quickly. 

“Diamonds are pretty,” you start, slow and careful in navigation of the thoughts ricocheting around your racing heart. Exhilaration? Dread? Hope? You can’t possibly tell, but you know exactly what he’s asking. “I’d want a lab grown one, though. Think we have enough blood on our hands without jumping for something mined,” you further, in small beats. “What about a, uhm. What do you think of a sapphire? Maybe…something heirloom.”

Callused fingers brush your knuckles, and a scarred mouth hidden by a black cotton gaiter lowers to your ear, nuzzling your hair. “I’d love how you look wearing a sapphire,” he murmurs in utter reverence. It makes you scoff a little under your breath–he holds you in higher esteem than he’d ever held any god–but you reach up and offer benediction in the form of your free fingers sliding into his freshly washed curls.

“Maybe that’s something we’ll talk about more coming up, huh?” you ask and assure. It is not a no, you are not putting out his flame completely, but this is something that should not be spoken of while clocking hours with kills. You’d rather not have anything between you and König defined in a setting where blood could shower at any moment. You’d like neither blood diamonds, nor blood proposals. “But, yeah, Schatz. I’d wear your jewelry.”

He presses a kiss to the spot in front of your ear, and quickly pinches your ass, laughing hyena-pitched once again. “Good. You wouldn’t get to take it off, you know. I’m going to put it on you, and a mortician is going to have to remove it.”

You rub the spot he’d pinched, giving him an eye roll over your shoulder. “Ah, I see, so you’re also telling me that you get to die, first,” you deadpan, though you can’t stop the smirk that curls your mouth.

“Of course. Why would I want to hang around any fucking place you’re not?” he throws your way, and in the pit of your heart, you know he means it.

tag-list: @alittleposhtoad @bitchoftoji @jaredhopworthsknickers @kastlequill @miyabilicious @moths569 @pssytrux <3

[bumblekastclips]

KYLE CROUSE: Alright, we got one last question. It’s from JediPony. [chuckles] Love that name, I don’t know why. It makes me laugh. [reading question] “How would you write an 06 adaptation in Sonic X?” Here’s the question, would you write the 06 adaptation in Sonic X the show, or Sonic X the comic?

IAN FLYNN: [laughs] KYLE: It’s very— two very different things. IAN:Very different things. I don’t know, if we’re gonna be true to the source material, then Elise doesn’t really have a role, and Chris is the one who has the Flames of Disaster sealed inside him. KYLE: [laughing] Oh no! Oh! IAN: “Chris, whatever you do, you can’t cry!” [as Chris, weepily] “But why?!” [Iblis roar] KYLE: It’s all he does! [laughs] No! IAN: Oh, man, now I’m imagining Mephiles with, like, that really bad early 2000s CG effect. All these awful filters flyin’ around. KYLE: Oh, God, no! [laughing] This would be awful. IAN: You’d have, like, the budget episodes where Soleanna and New City are just, like, these flat, grey urban textures that have like, no depth, but then you get to the final episode where they’re doing the Super fight against Solaris, and the animation bump goes through the roof, and it’s glorious. And you forgive the last 26 episodes of your life that you’ve wasted watching it so far. KYLE: Mhm. IAN: [choking the words out through high pitched, wheezing laughter] This means Chris is the one that kisses Sonic back to life! [fit of maniacal laughter] KYLE: [frantic, horrified laughter] No! No! No! No! Ian, no! Ian! No! IAN: [prolonged cackling laughter] KYLE: The worst timeline! Oh, no! IAN: Oh, and Eggman has to be as close as they can get him to photorealistic Eggman in the Sonic X style. KYLE: No! IAN: Which does not work at all! KYLE: No, no, no! No! This is not going on the thumbnail! No! IAN: [wheezing laugh] KYLE: No, do not put this on the thumbnail! [laughing] IAN: Oh, my goodness, just imagine the art errors for Silver’s head alone… KYLE: Oh… no… oh, no… at least Dan Green could still be the voice of Mephiles. IAN: Oh, yeah, that’d be fantastic. [microphone glitches] That’s the only reason to do this. KYLE: That would be— yeah. Oh… IAN: Oh, would they try to hand-animate Omega? Or would he be like, early 2000s CG? KYLE: Just crappy CG, no! IAN: That you just composite into each shot… oh, man, it’d be awful! KYLE: [pained sound not unlike he is receiving a fully conscious appendectomy] Oh! IAN: Wait! [microphone glitches again] They did the weird thing with Sonic and Shadow’s spines when they would turn their heads. What would Silver look like?! KYLE: [resigned groan] IAN: Would it just be like, one giant spine, depending on the angle? [bursts into laughter] KYLE: [groans as if he is dying] Ian… what are you doing… why are you— IAN: [microphone glitches again as if resisting] The Iblis monsters would have the terrible CG effects, too! KYLE: Why am— why am I the reasonable one!

IAN: [laughs] KYLE: Why am I the one who’s being… [gives up on finishing this sentence] IAN: Forget the comic, the comic can’t hold a candle to this idea! KYLE: Oh, no… IAN: [in awe] What a glorious trainwreck! KYLE: What’s even funnier is that your mic is trying to stop you. IAN: [cackles] KYLE: It’s not working. [laughs] So cursed! IAN: The whole thing would be so awful… KYLE: Yeah? IAN: But then there would be, like, this incredibly well-written and poignant subplot about Elise dealing with her emotional trauma, and how Soleanna as a country even works. And it’s like, maybe an episode, maybe two that really gets into it and fleshes out this world in a meaningful and robust manner. KYLE: [chuckles] Yeah. IAN: And that’s it. That’s like— that and Dan Green are the only redeeming things out of this season. KYLE: [sigh, reading chat] Ian, in the chat… IAN: Yeah. KYLE: In the Bumblekast Discord server, open it up. There’s a little piece of art there. Someone has, uh, sketched Silver. [chuckles] IAN: [seeing it, delighted, evil] Yes! KYLE: [laughing] IAN: Cursed Toucan Sam! KYLE: [cackles] Oh no! Why do you…? No! Awful! Toucan— IAN: [as Silver] “Just follow my nose, wherever it goes!” KYLE: [horrified, amused] Toucan Silver! No! [emits the world’s most drawn-out, pained cry of defeat] IAN: Psycho-beak-nesis! KYLE: [laughing] Bumblekast was a mistake! IAN: [laughs] It was, but at least we’re over with it for today. KYLE: [laughing] Oh… I guess so.[outro music fades in]

EPISODE THUMBNAIL by the incredible @nintendoni-art

—— TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE: Please remember that nothing that is said on BumbleKast is canon! It’s just some guys and their opinions occasionally spitballing ideas. If you don’t like an answer, you don’t have to take it as Word of God or anything like that. It’s all just for fun!

[misguidedasgardian]

The Winter Sun (20)

20. The march ahead

MASTERLIST

Summary: Cregan marches south, but something keeps you in Winterfell 

Pairing: Cregan Stark x Fem!Targaryen Reader 

Warnings: Cursing, medieval and asoiaf customs, AGE GAP, Cregan is 12 years OLDER than reader), arranged marriage, talk about killing, war and all that comes with it, SMUT, breast milk involved, kind of body worship, teasing, talk about pregnancy, period blood (unrelated to the smut), might miss some warnings

+18, MINORS DNI

Wordcount: 3.4 k

Notes:I will pick up the pace a bit from here

Sara did not had premonitions, but she had nightmares every night

She dreamt of a sea of fire, and clouds of ash, she dreamt of a red sky and a howling wolf, that wasn't Cregan, nor you, she only hear it howling, and it sounded like he was mourning 

She woke up sweating and panting every morning, worried, concerned, with a bitter taste in her mouth and unshed tears in her eyes

You in turn, were besieged by worries and concerns. The snow had melted, an army was gathering, and you knew it was a matter of days until Cregan marched south to help Rhaenyra’s claim

You caressed your husband’s dark locks as he opened his beautiful eyes and looks at you

“Good morning my love”, he greeted, leaning in and kissing your lips swiftly 

After you recuperated, he had wasted no time in taking you whenever he could, not that you’d complain, you loved it, you loved him

When you separated, he looked deep into your eyes

“I bet you are with child again”, he whispered, a smile creeping on his lips

“Cregan…”, you warned, but a smile of your own was forming in your face, “is the timing right?”, you asked, and his face turned serious

“I need you to stay here in Winterfell”, he whispered then, and anger took a hold on you

“That is why you have been taking me so often?”, you asked, indignant, “so you’ll trap me with a baby? so I won’t go to war?”, you asked then, and Cregan sighed

“No”

“Don’t lie Cregan”, you whined, and he grunted, admitting defeat

“That is not the only reason but yes, I can’t have you go into battle with me”

“I have a dragon!”, you said, sitting on the bed, “I can burn enemies and cities to the ground and you will have me stay here?”, you asked, angry

“There is danger in war!”, he said again, “besides, we don’t know if the war will turn nasty, if it will even come to that”

“Of course it will!”, you said

“Rhaenyra won’t have us burning anything”, he admitted then, “she will not be the Queen of ashes!”

”Her son was killed!”, you said then, “armies will fight each other but dragons will fight other dragons”

“More reason for you not to go”, he said then, and you whined, “Dragons can fly from one point of the continent to the next one, if they come here you will be here to stop them”, he said then

And you were conflicted

“I don’t want you marching alone, when dragons fly the skies”, you said then, “it is dangerous, specially with that maniac”

“the Vale is for Queen Rhaenyra”, he said then, “danger will come when we reach the Riverlands and only then”, he was certain, convinced, “and that will be a month for now” 

“Cregan”, you called, as a plea

“I will be with the more seasoned captain of the North”

“Old men”, you complain

“Wise, strong men, Northerners”., he said then

Winter had been tough, Winterfell and Winter’s Town had fared well, but only because of months of preparations, other towns and castles didn’t, people were hungry and tired, and when Cregan called his banners to war, only some answered

And the Winter wolves gathered

An army of old, seasoned men, who seeked a glorious death in battle, they said it was their time, to defend their young and their people from bloodshed, and protect the North. They were old, wild, fearless, experienced, and with a desire for death.

They were probably the best army to be formed in Westeros.

“I will keep you safe”, he said then, seating by your side and taking your hands in his

“Maybe I can keep you safe”, you tried, and he looked back at you with pity in his eyes

“Yes, you will be staying here”, he said certainly, “making me another child, protecting the North, keeping them warm, all the lords know you are here, they know their lady is keeping Winterfell safe”, how could you refuse his eyes? those beautiful eyes?, “for the Northerners it is important”, he continued, “there must always be a Stark in Winterfell”

“I’m not a Stark”, you said then

“But the beautiful son you gave me is”, he said, “he needs his mother, and the North needs their Lady”

“Promise me that you will call for me”, you demanded, and he looked into your eyes, “if you face something difficult, promise you will send a raven, for me to come to you”, you demanded again, he sighed, but relented

“I promise my love”, he said then 

You started your day, Cregan got dressed and left the room to keep preparing his army, and you prepared yourself and your son, RIckon

He opened his huge eyes and the purple in them settled even more, he looked at everyone and everything now with wonder, and he had grown much, chubbier and healthier, sometimes you looked at him and you couldn’t believe he was here in your arms.

The constant noise coming from the courtyard set your nerves on edge, and you cradled your baby to keep calm, but it wasn’t working

You didn't want to admit it to Cregan, but it was true, your bloodmoon didn’t even returned after you gave birth and you were starting to feel nauseous, but that might be the nerves for the coming war, and not that you were expecting… Your breasts were still very sensible, but because you were still feeding Rickon…

It was too soon

And you didn’t want to admit that Cregan might have trapped you here, to “protect you”

You understood that he was afraid of you in the battlefield, but you would be with Vhaelar, what can anyone do to her? one of the biggest dragons? she had grown much since you had bonded with her. 

And then you trembled when you thought of Vhagar

She was the biggest dragon in the world, and Aemond was heartless, a monster, who just used her to destroy Arrax and Lucerys… babies in comparison, he was going to use her to turn armies to dust and burn cities to the ground. You had no doubt about it.

You could only pray, the the old gods and the new that she was not going to face Cregan and his army

Cregan, at the same time, was meeting with Roderick Dustin, the brave man who had gathered the Winter Wolves, and was going to lead them into battle

“You should stay here, Lord”, he said firmly

“What kind of leader would I be if I do not lead my army into battle?”, he said, bitterly

“When we formed the Winter Wolves, we said it was to protect the young men and women, that included you as well”, he said. The man looked like a bear, Cregan thought, big, tall, broad, dressed in dark brown furs, his hair white but plentiful, just as his beard and mustache.

“I will lead the army”, he said

“Think of the lady of Winterfell, and your son, Lord, he had yet to see his first name day”

“The future of my house is secure”, he said, “the Lady and my son will stay here with the dragon, and we will march, I believe she is with child again”

“Much more reason to…”, but Cregan looked at him with severity, but he didn’t stop, “There is no shame if you stay Lord, we will give our lives for our Queen, but you don’t have to…”

“I will lead the army to Harrenhal”, Cregan said, “as we march South we will meet with the forces of Torrhen’s Square and the Cerwyn’s”, he continued, “I will see that the army is assembled, and then we will see, more forces are leaving White Harbor as we speak”, to the old man, this battle was lost, “I will always remember this, Lord Roderick, your family will be secured and protected”

“Thank you Lord”, he said

“Are we ready to march?”

“Tomorrow at first light”, he assured, and Cregan nodded

The want and need to stay was great, but he couldn’t. He needed to lead his men, he needed to avenge the usurpation of the crown, just as they usurped him of Winterfell, this could not go unpunished, he was sworn to Rhaenyra, and he needed… he had to avenge you, protect you of the greens, he could not send someone else to fight for his beliefs and his honor.

If the Gods willed him to die… he would have done so happily, having met you, had married you, and given you a child, maybe two, knowing he was doing his best to protect you from harm. You were secured, here in the North, nobody could touch you here 

Sara came into your room when you were finishing feeding Rickon, he was asleep in your arms.

“Sleep evaded you again?”, you asked her, and she nodded, she sat by your side and leaned into you, you cuddled with her, “Nightmares again?”, she only nodded, “I’m sure everything will be fine”

“I dreamed of you before you arrived, I knew you were coming, I dreamt about Rickon… and he came to be as well”

“What did you dream about this time?”, you asked

“War and death”

“Cregan?”, you asked, and she shook her head

“I’m not sure”

“What can we do?”, you asked then

“Nothing”, she whispered, “only care for the North in the absence of the men”, And you sighed loudly, “if that is what is needed”

“Did you saw me?”, you asked, “on the battlefield?”

“I did not”, she said back

“What if I take Vhaelar, and…?”

“I haven’t seen it”, she continued, but as you looked down at your sleeping son, you knew you couldn’t leave here, you couldn’t leave him alone, even if he was with Sara.

You saw Cregan again at night, when he returned to your chambers, he had forbidden you from participating in the preparations for the march, and even know when you could hear the courtyard had turned into some sort of festivity, you could hear men celebrating, cheering, drinking, even a bard had started playing.

“Men are celebrating before we march”, he muttered, and you smile softly

“Don’t you want to join them?”, you asked, but as you asked him, he smiled and the door to your chambers was opened, and a group of servants entered, two of them bringing a huge copper tub, which they left in the middle of the room, and the others brought buckets filled with almost boiling water. 

They set up the bath and then they left, as Cregan lit candles all over the room, and one of the maids took Rickon and left, giggling as the pups followed her and your baby. And you were alone with your husband

“I want to spend my last night here with my beautiful wife”, he said, turning to you, you raised from where you were seating and ,et him in the middle, right by the bath

“Please come back to me”, you whispered

“Always”, he leaned down and took your lips in his, his hand cradled your face as his other took your waist to keep you even close, your hands went to play with his wild hair

But his hands and himself grew hungry, he undid the lace at your back, keeping your dress in place, and you let it fall down your arms, and in a second you were naked in front of him. And then you undressed him slowly, deliciously, enjoying every second of it.

He help you to get in the tub, and then he entered the warm water and placed himself behind you, you in between his legs and you felt his manhood in your ass

You moaned, enjoying the warm water and him behind you, he surrounded you with his arms and you leaned, until your back was all laid against his chest 

He kissed your shoulder

“My beautiful silver haired princess”, he purred

“My handsome winter lord”, you answered

“I will come back for you”, he said softly, “I promise you”

“I know you will”, you said back, “I really believe it”

“Good”, he dropped wet, open mouth kisses from your shoulder and up your neck, you shook between him, moaning wantonly, his hand did not stand idle and he cupped your full breasts 

“Cregan”, you moaned, he pinched your swollen nipples between his index fingers and thumbs, and make you twist and turn on his hold, a little milk dripped and you whined, embarrassed, you leaned forwards wanting to shield from him but he didn’t release you

“What are you doing, woman?”, he asked, amused, “I am in the middle of something”

“Cregan”, you whined

“Come back”, he whispered in your ear, and you let yourself fall back onto him, he continued massaging your breasts, “you are such a good mother”, he whispered, and you moaned, “you are such a good wife, and Lady Stark”, he purred 

“Cregan”, you were a wanting mess, the only thing you could do was saying his name, one of his hands left your breast to go down your body and tease your clit, you whimpered in need, you had been so horny this past days

“My sweet Lady”, he whispered, two of his fingers entered you so easily… you spread your legs until for him to enter you deeper, “my sweet wife”, he kissed your ear, and the side of your face

You cummed on his fingers when his thumb grazed your clit , and you came undone with his touch

“You are so receptive”, he admire, chuckling darkly

“My Lord HUsband”, you begged

“Tell me my love, what do you need?”, he teased

“You”

“You already have me”, he mocked

“I need you inside me”

“My fingers are inside you”

“Cregan”, you whined

“What do you need? you needy little lady?”

“Your cock”, you relented, and he chuckled, he placed both his hands on your hips to raise you, and accommodated you over his hard cock, you grabbed him under the water and you placed him in your entrance as he lowered you into him.

You moaned and your hips buckled when he was deep inside you, the water overflowed the tub and landed on the stone floor, making you both chuckle finding amusement in the middle of your pleasure

“When i come back, I hope we can welcome another member to our little family”, he said in your ear

“I hope so too”, you whispered

It was a great final night before you departed, Cregan took you in the bath, and then when you recuperated he help you dry and dress on your night dress, and then he went to fetch Rickon, he brought it back to you, and then he cuddled his son on his chest and you by his side, and you slept like that, together

“I will come back to you”, he promised sweetly in your ear, “I will come back for our son, I promise, by the Old Gods”

“And if you don’t… I will go find you on dragonback”, you warned, and he chuckled darkly, “I promise you that”

“I know you will”

You barely slept, and you barely let Cregan move if you were not touching him, he find it endearing, you grabbing his arm all morning while he talked to the men and prepared for the long journey ahead

Sara just followed you both around with Rickon in her arms, she was going to miss her brother too, as her concern grew every night when nightmares visited her chambers and wouldn’t leave, but she knew she couldn’t do anything, destiny could not be changed

But as promised, the army was ready, the horses were saddled, the carts were prepared, and Cregan had to march

“As soon as you reach Castle Cerwyn you will send a raven”, you told him, “and another in Moat Cailin, and then another when you take Harrenhal��”, he shushed you, cradling your face in his hands and quiet you with a kiss

“I will, I promise”, he said firmly, and then he turned to his son and Sara, Cregan took Rickon in his arms, your baby smiled at his father, and looked at him with those big magical eyes of him, he was so beautiful. 

To the small group in the entrance of Winterfell, joined Lord Roderick Dustin, who had traveled from Barrowtown just to command the army right from Winterfell

“I will keep him safe, my lady”, said Lord Roderik, bowing to you, “and I will make sure he returns back to you, this i swear”

“You are most kind and loyal My Lord, my husband is lucky to have you by his side”, you said with a smile, he could see the sadness in your eyes, so he just nodded firmly

“I beg of you to protect the North in our absence”, he said gently

“With my life”, you answered, “and with fire and blood”, he seemed pleased, and almost proud as he smiled at you

“Protect Winterfell, please don’t burn it to the ground”, said Cregan, and you knew him enough to realize he dropped silly jokes to prevent you from seeing how sad and worried he was, so you just played along

“I can make no promises regarding fire”, you said with a silly smile, “but you can rest assured the people will be protected”, he laughed shortly, and then he engulfed you in a warm tight hug

When you separated, he looked into your eyes, and then his hand landed briefly in your belly

“I will return within the year”, he promised to you and to Sara

“I know you will”, Sara said, and that made you feel relieved, you three shared a significant hug, holding Rickon amongst you, and then Cregan departed from you. You took your son in your arms and Sara hugged your side as you saw Cregan saddle his horse. 

He looked so tall and commanding atop his stallion, all the men around the courtyard stopped whatever they were doing to look at him

“Today, we march South”, he started, “We march for our Queen but make no mistake!” he shouted, “we will fight for the glory of our country! we will show these Southerners, we don’t take kindly to usurpers and drunks!”, people cheered for his words, “we do not take kindly to accept the rule of Aegon the usurper!”

“Queen Rhaenyra!”, they shouted,

“We march for our Queen, we march for the glory of the North! we march to save our families from the tyranny of the hIghtowers!”

“Yeah!”, they shouted back, and your eyes filled with tears and your chest filled with pride

“For the North!”, he shouted

“For the North!”, they responded

“For our Queen!”, he said then, and the people repeated it, “and for the Ladies of Winterfell!”, he said then, looking at you both

“FOR OUR LADIES!”, the Winter Wolves chanted then. 

After the energetic speech, the Winter Wolves, atop their shaggy horses who had yet to shed the Winter fur, started to leave the safety of Winterfell’s walls, and soon with a last yearning look, Cregan followed them, leaving the grounds of the castle. 

You waved your husband goodbye, and you stood in the doors of Winterfell until you couldn’t see him anymore, and you whimpered when you couldn’t, feeling like your heart has left with him

“Please come back to me”, you whispered to the wind. And as you were turning to get back to the castle, you felt something…

You passed Rickon to Sara quickly, and you ran back to your quarters, fearing the worst, and you lowered your undergarments, only to find…

“No no no please!”, you cried, eyes filled with tears when you realized your blood moon was upon you, it meant that Cregan’s seed did not take root, and he had left for war. 

And suddenly, you felt like the promises you made to each other were not going to be so easy to keep.

taglist! ❤️

@severewobblerlightdragon @missusnora @stargaryenx @poppyreader @chainsawsangel @court-jester-stuff @batprincess1013 @eddiepicker 

@lyannesworld @arujee @kamisunshine @​​mss-nthng @partypoison00 @grimistangel @elleclairez @may-machin @prettykinkysoul @justagurlwithships @champomiel 

@laura-naruto-fan1998 @zoleea-exultant @devotedlythoughtfulanchor @zoleea-exultant @llleon666 @dark-night-sky-99 @bitchigoteverythingissues @harrypotteranna23-blog

@esposadomd @ajanauia @phantomtea19 @let-love-bleeds-red @kishie8 @dreamingofyourmoons @esposadomd @sandronebabyy @kemillyfreitas @​​trifoliumviridi @dreamingofyourmoons @darling-jace @biblichorr @ivvypg @mendes-bae @borikenlove @tssf-imagines @praline357 @alitaar @prettykinkysoul @aelora-a @a-mexican-waffle @ateliefloresdaprimavera @alexa4040 @lrboyd

[olasketches]

So the fight is really over...my glorious four armed giant spider is gone. Yuji really was foreshadowing about the slime thingy heh. I'm so happy to see the trio back and together again like you tell me this a year ago this is what was going to happen and I'd just give you a maniacal laugh. But I still don't know how to feel about Sukuna's end like we all knew he was going to die and in perspective it does feels satisfying. Sukuna being ripped apart from Megumi and his little convo with Megumi...yeah dude really is walking contradiction. Always saying he's living to die but actually doesn't want to die. Indirectly answering Kashimo's question. But his end just seems...eh? Like at first Kenjaku's end seemed like that to me too but it made sense later on. Kenjaku came in silence and went like that but Sukuna he was never like Kenjaku or Mahito so his ending being parallel to Mahito didn't really sit right with me and i actually wanted him to get anything but a glorious death but this feels...stale somehow? Idk he's still the same untrue to himself. Wish we could get more of his thought process. Or maybe this was it to show Sukuna's denial became his defeat. I just hoped for more emotionally charged defeat of his..but it's GeGe story I'm happy they're telling it like they want to.

Also Uraume and Hakari was funny too they fought all this time bonded, praised and just dipped. Makes me think if they had a binding vow with Sukuna too? Sorry for all the yap and incoherence. I'm just feeling underwhelmed? Overwhelmed? what are your thoughts regarding this chapter and Suku's end?

"my glorious four armed giant spider is gone" took me out sksksksk he's really just a bug when you think about it lol.

anyway thank you for sending me your ask. I really liked reading your thoughts and how you called suku out for being contradictory and a hypocrite till the very end AS YOU SHOULD THANK YOU!! honestly, this fact alone makes the whole chapter all the more special to me but on this in a sec cause I'm guessing the reaction to his demise is quite... well I guess ppl are not really happy with it..??? I mean some of them probably are and by "some" I mean *cough, cough* the haters *cough, cough* but well... I wouldn't know cause ONE I'm actually (and maybe surprisingly) super pleased and satisfied with this chapter and TWO, I didn't go and check others reaction to it lol I'm planning to keep it that way for now. I'm really not a big fan of twt fandoms spaces in fact I can't stand them... too much negativity and toxicity *shudders*.

so my thoughts... to put it simply, I loved it more than loved it actually. and yeah yeah sure he turned into a slimy lil bug which probably put many people off but hey let's not forget sukuna was basically like a parasite possessing megumi's body, so it makes sense that once peeled off only curse-like residues would remain... but I can understand why some stans didn't like that part. I personally found funny but that's just me lol.

and yeah the final seemed quite underwhelming, but I think that's what makes it so good. I didn't want sukuna's death to be the most interesting thing about his character and well it's not. rather than having a big an "after life" moment like jogo, gojo or kashimo, he spent his last moments with the only person who cared about the human sukuna so stubbornly tried to burry inside him.

I actually found his conclusion to be quite beautiful and moving, cause instead of being looked down upon by yuuji as many stans thought would be the case, he was offered something else entirely. something no one ever gave him - kindness and love. yes, I'm using the "L" word here cause in the end that's what it was... yuuji showed sukuna the true value of love. he accepted him and ask him to live with him despite everything sukuna has put him through. despite all the chaos chaos and distraction he caused him, yuuji still accepted him. he not only showed sukuna genuine empathy and compassion but also recognised that sukuna is really... just like him. when yuuji looked into (blop) sukuna's eyes (my beloved) he could only see himself. he realised that under different circumstances, he could've turned out like sukuna if he didn't have his grandpa by his side. he realised that if he could have turned out like sukuna then sukuna could've turned out like him too, that if only sukuna had someone who loved him and guided him and accepted him, he most likely wouldn't have turned into a curse, which is another thing I loved and cry about in this chapter.

sukuna only saw himself as a curse :")). he acknowledged yuuji and finally called him by his full name but in the end he still only think of himself as a "curse" not as human, not even as a god or king of curses but only a curse :")).

the reason why I loved just how "underwhelming" his death felt like is because instead of framing and defining his entire character by his his final moments, gege made the rest of his moments in the manga stand out EVEN MORE. instead of having a moment of reflection and introspection in this chapter as well as in chapter 265 or 266... and oh well entire shinjiku showdown basically, his character started to trip and reveal just how contradictory he is. sukuna claimed he was satisfied with his life and doesn't care about dying, he also claimed he doesn't care about ideals and even despised them, he also claimed he doesn't feel anything and he doesn't need others to satisfy him and then you have all those small moments when you realise "wait, that is not right" and you look back and rethink everything. sukuna does feel and he NEEDS others to satisfy him, cause that's what his entire "philosophy" hinges on.

"Every human has a unique and fleeting taste... which makes devouring them a perfect way to pass time until death"

he DID get excited when maki became the first person to ever give him a role

This is a first. You're the only one who ever forced a role upon me. (while grinning like a maniac)

and then megumi lied his bs out in the open and revealed that sukuna was afraid of death too, despite believing otherwise

Even something like you fears death...

this only goes to show that sukuna convinced himself (and many other readers) that he is not human, that he is above that, that he doesn't care about the things they do... but if even "something like him" feared death, got excited to be given a role, praised and encouraged others for their talents and skills and connected to them in one way another only to "pass time" or knew about flowers and caught a crayfish then that means... he must be human too.

and even if sukuna and the rest of the world couldn't and didn't want to accept that, there was one person who did. someone sukuna hurt the most, someone who saw him at his worst and at his weakest. someone who in the end still decided to show him love, because he belived sukuna is still worthy of love, despite everyone and maybe even sukuna himself, believing that he no longer is worthy of such thing.

"Even if no one else will accept you... I'll live with you" "Itadori Yuuji... don't underestimate me. I'm... a "curse"!