#it makes the entire place seem awfully flat

[moonsidesong]

fair ways into magical turnabout. hate nahyuta a lot more than i remembered

[deafsignifcantother]

the baby

♥ summary: almost loosely based off of this by @ukor02. This is really just a small little writing thing I did at 4am. ♥ relationship: no direct romance really, just some cute stuff between Lucifer and reader. ♥ word count: 1.6k ♥ notes: no childbirth mentioning and this is written like just as summaries of the situation tbh, almost like a bullet point format without the bullet points, the entire cast are characters, hospital scene, I made Alastor a main character and her main bestie because of course I did, reader is happy to be a mother

You wanted to give your baby a chance to get into Heaven, even if it meant they'd leave without you. Hell is no place for a child. Both you and Charlie knew that.

.

"What a pleasant surprise," you sign to Alastor when you see that damn smiling demon right outside your hotel room.

He laughs; aw, you're describing his arrival as pleasant. Did he make a good impression on you when you saw him last when he introduced himself in person in Pride Sign Language? You never seemed to have paid any mind to him, giving one motion signs as responses whenever he tried starting a conversation. But even when you interacted with him like that, he couldn't help but wonder why you always looked at him with your sweet, shy gaze. It's not on purpose, which is the worst part.

Pleasant, you called it a pleasant surprise.

"It's good to see you too, my dear!" He signs, bowing a bit and pushing past you into your room. "What have you been up to?"

What an obnoxious question.

You close the door, squeezing the doorknob tightly. This is going to be a long evening. When you turn back to Alastor, he's in your living room examining the decor, your random art pieces taped to the walls and organized together, though not concisely.

He waves his hands. "I love what you've done with the place."

"I've been bored." You sign with a slight nod to yourself. It's awfully isolating, which is obvious. Still, it has never hit you as hard as it does now as you watch another person walk through your chambers.

"I'm glad I can be in your company then." His smile widens, and the static he emits gets heavier. His ear twitched a bit, which you noticed but tried not to directly look at. Was it a good or bad thing?

"But it's often relieving to be alone," you start and look him up and down.

"You're quite used to being alone, aren't you?"

Your lips tighten, your hands stiff, and you are unable to finish your sentence. Absentmindedly, you rest them on your plump, pregnant belly. Alastor does his best not to let his eyes draw down to analyze it. Still, his head tilts, even just a little. He hates looking at your hands when you touch your stomach. Did his mother hold her belly like that when he was inside of hers?

"Don't you have others to talk to?"

"They're out on their little journeys, you know them."

"Of course."

Alas, he lets his eyes trail down to your stomach. It's not quite full, but it's obvious enough to gain attention from others. Charlie will put her hands on it every day, waiting for the baby to show its presence. She can feel the heartbeat, and so can you and Vaggie, though everybody else can't feel a thing. Alastor refuses to put a hand on your stomach. Life is precious and loud, and the few who were never human understand that differently than the others.

"I wanted to check in on the baby."

A twitch of your eyebrow makes his smile widen.

"Why?"

.

The day before, Lucifer arrived.

You try on your best clothes, laying them flat against your front, looking at your belly in the mirror. For the king, should you try to hide it or show it proudly? He has a daughter, but does that affect his thoughts about Hellborn pregnancies? Gosh, what do you have to worry about? So stupid.

With the other people, your new friends, you stood with your head proud.

He swirled with the dragons and hugged his daughter as if he hadn't seen her for years. What a kind man, unusually kind. His eyes... Those soft, precious eyes. And when they landed on you, your heart almost stopped. He looked at you as if you were an angel. When his lips started to move, the smile you didn't even know you wore faded.

Charlie put her hand on his shoulder and whispered something to him. And there came Alastor, saving the day.

"The idiotic king was just telling you how happy he is for you." With the signs came the grinding of his teeth.

Lucifer approached, his cheeks flushed pink with embarrassment. He addressed Alastor with aggressive hesitance. 'Tell her...' he said.

Charlie smiled excitedly, Nifty kept nodding, and Sir Pentious's eyes started tearing up.

Alastor grimaced. "He's asking if he could feel your stomach."

As always, you've put a thorn in the flow of interactions.

Still, you put on a smile. "Of course."

And there you stood, the King of Hell's hands gently holding you. You could feel the cold of his touch even through the fabric of your shirt. The heartbeat vibrated through both your body and his. The baby was alive and well; you could tell through the pure glee that spread across his face. Beyond your tiny ounce of worry, you knew he'd find hope within your baby.

Alastor watched with a terribly strained smile.

.

"Why?" You ask again when he doesn't answer. "What's with the sudden worry?"

"Worry? No, no." Alastor waves you off. "More like..."

You watch with interest as he trails off, a vulnerability you love.

He squints his eyes and clenches his fists, but only for a moment. His lack of vocabulary kills him. "...Intrigue."

You crack a smirk. "Are you finally gonna feel my stomach?"

Another pause. Alastor considers it, but all he can imagine is his claws accidentally drawing blood.

"No."

"That's okay." Again, your hands rest on your stomach.

.

Alastor has been watching it grow, but so has Lucifer. Charlie's father scarcely visits, and you've convinced yourself it's to see you. Every time he enters the hotel, he asks how you are. He tries to lift his hands to sign but finds no words forming. A language was created in his world, and he has yet to learn how to learn it.

Whenever he presses his hands against your belly, he can feel the liveliness of the soul forming inside you, and he can feel your appreciation at his care.

Begrudgingly, he always has to ask Alastor for advice on communicating with you. Alastor always has a cocky smirk when he teaches.

Charlie has to ask Alastor for help, too, but more willingly. Alastor raises his chin and squares shoulders when people ask him for help. Charlie went to him for help on a conversation you knew she was going to start with you:

"You're not going to stay here for the battle."

"I know." There was no argument on your behalf. Charlie's cheeks still went pink.

"But I have to figure out where it's safest for you. Alastor told me Cannibal Town, but uhh... Maybe not."

"They'll all be here anyway. Maybe they'll distract the angels from going over there."

Her bright eyes widen a bit. "Do you think so?"

"I can stay over there, even if they try to eat me." They won't, and even if they try, they know Alastor would end their lives, don't they?

She fiddles with her fingers before lifting them up again. "I suppose..."

She's so quickly convinced it's cute. You're right, though, of course. Cannibal Town might be the safest place, specifically under the hands of Rosie, who Alastor had previously told you would be more than willing to help you. You can imagine her smile at seeing your belly, twice the size as when Alastor first told you about her. Unbeknownst to Charlie, he's been planning this for a while.

Your stress for their safety irks you more than you expected.

You place a hand on Charlie's, lifting your other one. "I'll be okay."

Before you left for Cannibal Town, you met Lucifer once again, a more loving side of him. He cradled your head and held the back of your neck as he did. His cold body felt like warmth to you. He whispered things to you; you could only tell from how his breath constantly brushed against your ear in sing-songy waves. Was he singing to you? A lullaby? He pulled away and finally signed to you. "You're going to be a great mom."

A moment before, Alastor finally put his hands on your belly. His hands were warm. Like Lucifer, he was whispering to himself, holding silent words from you. In another life, you'd imagine they were prayers. At that moment, only an instinct, you put your hands on his, and he allowed it.

The stress of their safety worsened when they were left alone in Cannibal Town without a word of winning or losing.

The winning of Hell was all you wanted to focus on when you noticed the contractions getting worse, spaced out in purposeful ways. Oh goodness, you found yourself thinking, oh my God.

What if Lucifer dies on the same day your child is born?

But after the battle, he was right there to cradle the baby in his arms, his heavenly grasp relaxing the tiny baby. The rest of the group sat in your room, Sir Pentious absent, tears in their eyes at both the birth and the death.

Beyond Lucifer's cradling, Husk was the only one who touched your child that day. He placed his furry paw against the baby, feeling the body heat that they admitted. Life could be beautiful, he decided.

Vaggie's sense of revenge deepened. She sacrificed Heaven to save a child, and now she's even more than willing to kill her sisters to save yours.

While Charlie stares at your baby with tears, Alastor smiles warmly at you. He knew you could do it: birth something beautiful and worth protecting.

Your eyes are locked on Lucifer. He's an amazing, supportive dad to Charlie, and your heart begins to swell. Your heartbeat increases, and a blush weakly forms on your already flushed face. His rough hands hold a forgiving softness. He's beautiful.

[toxintouch]

how do you think the lis would respond if mc sheepishly asked if they could fondle their tiddies? (even mhin, even though i KNOW they'd shank a bitch.)

Here ya go, Anon!! :3 They pronouns & non-specific language/MC used. Suggestive, but no other warnings.

AIS:

Pretends he doesn’t hear them.

“Hmm?”  He holds a hand to his ear, a toothy little smirk on his face, his scarred eyebrow raised.  The way he’s making direct eye contact is an unmistakable challenge.

“You wanna what now, Sparrow?” 

He knows exactly what MC said and they can tell.  He just wants to see if they'll say it again.  They didn’t sound so sure about whatever that request was just now…

His smirk grows when– (if?? But c’mon he’s so clearly saying yes, please) –

His smirk grows when they don’t back down.  He spreads his arms out in invitation, haori splaying open.

He’s patient for as long as he can stand once they get their hands on him but it isn’t long before he finds himself grabbing them by the wrists, pulling them closer.  Pressing his palms against the back of their hands to encourage them to make full, firm contact.  Haven’t they been warned?  He’s awfully greedy.

(And: if he purposely presses their touch against his heart for a moment, no one needs to know but him.)

VERE:

He gives them a blank look– a look unsettlingly similar to his hungry, flat eyed stare.  Though, it’s gone in an instant–so quick they might even be able to convince themself that they imagined it.  One blink and his entire expression is different, his tail swishing elegantly and with a flourish that can only be described as pleased.

“Well,” he purrs, “aren’t you just adorable?  I did tell you to ask next time you wanted to touch…  Very well then.  I’ll reward your ability to follow simple instructions.���  He relaxes luxuriously into the cushions of the divan that he’s resting on.  “Come along, then.  Fondle to your heart's content.  Don’t leave me waiting.”  He beckons to them with a crooked finger, tempting them closer, a haunting echo of their first meeting. 

Survival instincts be damned…he did give them permission…

He breathes a chuckle out as they touch him, his mouth hot against their ear as he buries a grin into their neck.

In the space of another breath, he’s flipped the two of them, leaving them pinned against the divan.

“You didn't think you were getting a single thing for free from me anymore, did you?  Tut tut.  After you treated my generosity so callously before?  From now on, I’ll be expecting payment in kind.  Quid pro quo, darling.”

KURAS:

He looks at them, eyes crinkled with amusement.  “Am I to take it that your interest is academic?  Studying anatomy, perhaps?  I do have a few select texts I could offer you which you might find quite beneficial.”

The embarrassed look on their face seems to amuse him further, the corners of his lips tugging up as he takes in their expression.

“Of course, the benefits of a more hands-on method of scholarship should not be overlooked.”  He takes pity on them, beckoning them over as he takes a seat on the doctor’s stool, right next to the cot where they first met him.  He neatly removes his coat, folding it and laying it to rest beside him.  Despite their fears, he doesn’t start listing out the anatomical names for things as they lay their hands on him.  His eyes slip shut as they rest their hands on his  shoulders–he’s still so tall, even sitting on the low stool–sliding their hands down, admiring the sturdy form and shape of him.

His own hands come up, clutching around their waist with surprising strength.  His eyes are bright and intense as he looks up at them.  They expect him to say something but he merely squeezes them–Possessively?–

Like he might be able to trap them in this moment with him forever, through will alone.

He closes his eyes again; his grip loosens. His self-control back is back in its necessary place, and he finds himself repentant.

“Forgive me.  You are quite endearing.  I simply find you…difficult to resist.”  He admits.

MHIN:

You are so correct anon.  Shanked immediately.  But MC bonks their head into Mhin’s chest on their way to the ground, so…  Achievement Unlocked? Or, for MC’s sake, I’ll assume that they have earned a level of trust/intimacy with Mhin that makes Mhin a lil' less likely to get stabby.

Mhin’s eyebrows furrow as Mhin crosses their arms, physically creating distance between MC and their…

Mhin’s cheeks go a little red as they realize how obvious their body language is, their pale eyes darting to the side as they worry about what other things they’ve accidentally telegraphed to MC. How many of Mhin's true thoughts and feelings are they privy to...?  Shaking themself mentally, they quickly snap out of it, pinning MC with a pointed glare.

“If you value your life at all, you’ll never ask me that again.”  Mhin marches away.  “Staying at the Wet Wick–around Leander–has ruined your brain.  You need to get out of that place while you still have some grey matter left.”

. . .

Later, escorting MC back to said Wet Wick, ducking through the lesser known and narrower streets after a long day of following dead ends together, Mhin finds the thought ruining their own brain.  It must be the heat of MC pressed against them in the alleyway, the comforting, all-consuming scent of them, the memory of MC’s flushed face while they were asking Mhin’s permission...  MC’s much braver than them, Mhin thinks bitterly, so much more willing to let themself have what they want, despite their cursed hands.  Mhin sighs, stopping abruptly.  Turning.  Pinching the bridge of their nose.

“Look–you can–”

Mhin feels themself blushing all the way down to their chest.  They open their mouth and close it a couple of times, attempting to articulate what they want.  They make a noise of aggravated frustration.  Carefully–very carefully, and very slowly, so that MC knows exactly what they are doing, they reach for the bandaged hands at MC’s side.  They rest MC’s hands lightly on their chest, shivering as they feel the brush of fingers against their clothed ribs, thumbs pressing into their sternum.  They bite down a noise that would surely make them perish where they stand.  Stars above, how long since–

“...Does your heart always beat this fast, Mhin?”

“Quiet.”  They snap.

Wow Mhin.  Right there in the alleyway huh?  Well ok then. I see what ur about.

LEANDER:

The two of them are alone in the room at the Wet Wick, just sitting together innocently on the bed when MC asks.

Well–they try to ask.

He hears them start the question and his coat and shirt (and tiddie belt) are coming off before they can even finish.  He gives them a quiet chuckle, blushing as his shirt(s) get caught at his shoulders. 

Though the perfect way it frames his boobs might convince them he did it on purpose…

“You meant skin to skin, right?”  He laughs again, leaning back on his hands and looking entirely too appetizing–is he arching his back a little more than necessary? 

“I don’t mind at all! Though, if you could help me with…”  His eyes crinkle as he smiles at them, head tilted like a puppy, waiting expectantly.

They get up from the bed to help him discard his remaining topmost layers of clothing, standing above him in order to better assist.  His eyes are pinned to theirs the moment the fabric barrier is fully cast aside.  “I…can’t say this is a bad view,” he admits, eyes roving along their form, tongue darting out to wet his lips.  Then, more sincerely: “I’m glad that you asked me for this.  Don’t be afraid to touch, all right?  Nothing bad will happen to me, promise. Remember: whatever you want.”

They find themself feeling along the edges of his scar, tracing the line of it across his pectoral…  His breath catching when they accidentally scratch him a little with their nails (MC is just a little clumsy–that was completely unintentionally, really) is dangerously addictive.

“Ah... Anywhere else you’d like to touch?  It would be a shame to waste this opportunity…”

If they're feeling shy, he could offer a few suggestions.  He really, really wants to help in any way he can. :)

BONUS!ELYON:   “You can, but I will have to charge.”

[mrsackermannx]

BAD DREAMS .ೃ࿐

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x Geto Suguru

Summary: Gojo knows he shouldn’t. But when he wakes up calling out his name he can’t resist—he needs him.

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings/Tags: Smut, Degradation, Rougher Sex, Face-fucking, Multiple Positions, Switch Dynamics, Mirror Sex, Feelings, Hurt/Angst, Emotional/Comfort (this is them in their early 20’s), Not Beta Read, little OOC (wrote this for some fun).

Author’s Note: I’ve never written character x character much but I got inspired and wrote this for my angels. I love the headcanon that they saw each other secretly as the years went by.

Satosugu playlist here

Gojo Satoru’s apartment is sort of like you’d expect, endlessly and stupidly lavish but extremely cold and maybe a little empty. 

One might wander through it and see that its very interior was still waiting for someone to come home, much like the penthouse’s owner. 

The kitchen is modern and sleek, it all blends together cohesively, lights that turn on just by sensing movement. But it’s awfully large to cook in alone, it’s large enough you could envision one lover sat upon the counter with their legs swinging back and forth, whilst the other was clad in a novelty apron and stood at the stove.

A stupid one that said “kiss the chef” or something, Gojo always wanted to get Geto one of those when they moved in together one day. But it never happened.

Shoko brought him a bunch of ornate glass jars to store his candy, decoratively. But all those pretty jars lined up on the counter like that, in some kind of defensive line. They simply seemed to remind Gojo that there was no one to scold him for eating too much of it and not a real home cooked meal. 

No wonder Megumi couldn’t cook, he clearly couldn’t either. 

The large l-shaped sofa was so comfy Gojo slept on it more than his own bed, every corner of it was swimming in blankets and pillows. That way he doesn’t have to feel the empty space between him and the soft plump grey cushion. He doesn’t have to remember the chest he should have his cheek pressed against when he’s watching movies on the flat screen—alone.

Geto told him once that he hated the couch he had back home. Gojo wanted to give him all the space to breathe and be, he wanted their long legs to intertwine and enjoy the expanses of plush cushion together.

One time he even drunkenly said he’d have rather sat on milk crates, rather than his shoulders jutting into his fathers, or his mothers while he sat. He was always tall and broad, feeling like he took up too much space. He always wanted his own space although his room at Jujutsu High with Gojo felt like heaven on earth. They slotted their beds together most nights. 

The bathroom was probably the worst reminder. The shower itself was a room. Geto loved spending time just letting the water cascade down his back. Making that beautiful black hair of his heavy with water as the steam that rose danced before his spine and kissed the muscles of his back. 

The bath was large too, circular and deep enough for four people let alone two. It overlooked Tokyo, perfect for the placing of candles just beside it. Dark and slick and romantic. 

The bedroom featured a king sized bed in which the tall white haired sorcerer slept alone. 

But if the walls could speak, they’d reveal that the apartment and the owner were indeed waiting for a special someone to come home, but not in a final sense. In a sense that meant they were never finished with each other, that the bathtub had housed them both many a night, that sometimes Gojo clung to Geto as he used the stove. That most of the time they never made it to the bed, that the sofa really did do just fine.

It hadn’t even been a month, but the entire penthouse was waiting with bated breath. Tokyo’s landscape waited for the two lovers to feast their eyes upon it as they pinned one another against the glass, and as they watched at the lights of Shibuya with half-lidded eyes after, bodies entwined in the tub. 

Gojo was waiting, whether he knew it or not.

He clutched his pillow so tight the cotton burned the tips of his fingers, as he did everything to catch up to the person who was slipping from his fingers in his mind. “Suguru, don't! Please, just—don't leave me, you promised me,” he blurted out, his voice small.

It was always the same rotten dream, though it was because these feelings never went away. The emptiness never ceased, Gojo put black holes through curses without even blinking, whilst the black hole where his heart used to be enabled him to be as apathetic as was socially acceptable. 

Not that this applied to his beloved students, or even Nanami, either and especially not his first love. If anything it applied the most to himself. 

He tried to run but his legs were captured by low-level curses, they wound around his calves until the blood there ceased to flow. Until he fell and his teeth took the blow as they crashed into the concrete. He could make out wisps of long black hair, the familiar shuffle of Geto’s walk, the way his fists bunched at his sides. They bunched like that that day too.

Gojo always teased him about it when they were teenagers, it always ended up with Geto setting of Jujutsu High’s barrier with his cursed energy. Years later it also ended with Gojo pinning Geto to his bed, his smirk ghosting Geto’s lips. “Don't hide anything from me, Suguru. You don't need to—ever.”

He jolted out of his nightmare so quickly he instinctively shot out his arms to clutch the one person who could comfort him. But he wasn't there.

Instead he clutched the pillow to his chest, wincing at the familiar roughness of the cotton. Geto always told him to switch to silk, his hair would stop sticking up so much, he told him.

He ran his fingers through his hair, smoothing down the strands and stroking his undercut just like Geto used to. “This—again.” He exhaled deeply, “No one knows about this but you,” he spoke softly to the darkness.

“No one knows about us either.” 

He caved in minutes. The false bottom of his nightstand drawer clattering as he groggily searched for the second phone he kept there. He held his breath as he turned it on and dialled the one and only contact.

It only needed to ring twice before the silky voice that crackled through the receiver sent shivers down his spine. He imagined this was what it felt like to call home, until Geto he never knew. 

“Dreamt of me, didn’t you, Satoru?”

He squeezed the deflated pillow in his lap. Geto always made his name sound like something so holy and special. He sighed in defeat, "Just—come."

“Okay. But first, you’re gonna tell me the part of me you’re craving the most?'

Following his obnoxious huff he opened his mouth to speak but Geto knew better, “No, no pointless ranting about the semantics. You know what I mean, don't you? You called me which means you want me, right now."

Gojo doesn’t bite his tongue like this with anyone else, instead he carefully nods in the dark. “That much is obvious, Suguru.”

Suguru swallowed at the suggestive lilt that overtook Gojo’s voice, his teeth burying into his lower lip. He inhaled so deeply it sounded like he was biting back a moan. Gojo grew hard in seconds. 

“So, my mind? My body? My soul? My touch?”

Gojo pinched the bridge of his nose, phone tucked between his shoulder as he gazed at the city before his window. “I didn't call for a philosophical conversation. I called to fuck, Suguru,” he bit, snappy as his cock throbbed in his baggy sweats. 

Geto clicked his tongue, “You still can't get off without me, huh?" He chuckled, a little mirthless. “Can’t, can you?”

He didn't need reminding.

“You…you know I can't,” he hissed. 

Geto’s eyes flickered shut, his head reclined against his pillow, imagining Gojo on his cock, perfect like he always was. He couldn't fuck anyone else, either. They were both cursed.

“Suguru?”

“Mm, yeah. I’m coming, okay." His voice was impossibly soft. Sending a lovesick herd of butterflies to attack Gojo’s usually composed stomach. “Don’t fall asleep on me.”

“Okay,” he mumbled, feeling his cheeks heat. “I won’t.”

He laughed, his voice sweeter than sugar. “I know you won’t, I’ll see you soon, okay?" 

Gojo tsked at the fact he could hear Geto smiling, he didn't even need to see it. “Okay.”  

He showered, and then turned the lights down through the apartment so they wouldn’t be in complete darkness. Like they were a normal couple and not two lovers sneaking around behind closed doors. Just like in the beginning of all of this when they were too afraid to even touch each other again.

It feels like hours pass as he stares up at his ceiling, but it’s barely been one before Geto is knocking softly at his door. 

As soon as he opens it, Geto’s presence overwhelms his own, telling Gojo all he needs to know about where the night is going.

He’s barely cocked his brow before Geto murmurs, “Yeah? I need you too, did you forget?” 

He closes the door with a soft click, one large hand handling the sharp yet soft lines of Satoru’s pretty jaw. His lips work to slow Gojo down, to disarm him, to allow him to melt into his mouth like a soft centred candy.

“That's it,” Geto hums when he finally does, Gojo’s hands no longer clenched but wrapping loosely in Geto’s hair. “Let’s get you off the door, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Gojo whimpers softly, letting Geto push him down onto the couch. His hands scour every part of Gojo’s chest and torso like a sculptor admiring his work. 

Then he grips his waist and pulls him in, kissing him like it's the first time in forever. It leaves them both breathless. When he pulls away he smoothes away the frown on Gojo’s lips with his thumb.

“Stop thinking,” Geto pants, “You don't need to when I'm here. I’m gonna give you what you want, yeah?”

He trails his finger down Gojo’s bare chest, kissing along his throat and teasing his teeth against his pulse point until he hisses. “Just wanna appreciate what’s in front of me a little,” Geto whispers, voice pitched dangerously low.

His fingers reach Gojo’s the throbbing erection visible in his sweatpants, his breath hitches until he inevitably moans out Geto’s name, breathy and needy. Geto daintily takes his chin between two fingers, smiling against his mouth. “I’m here to give you what you clearly need.”

“Shut up," Gojo rasps, tugging off Geto’s sweater and lurching to press his lips everywhere he can reach. His eyes flutter shut when he finally makes work of tugging all of Geto’s hair loose. The long feathery hair falls around his face and cages him in, tickling his throat. Geto laughs as he tries to bat it away, but his mouth goes dry when he sees the way his cerulean eyes are shining at him.

The sensation is so familiar—so like home it makes Gojo’s eyes prickle with tears. “Suguru,” he whispers, leaning close for a kiss. Geto indulges him immediately, their arms wrapping around each other, impossibly tight. “I wanted to see you,” he mewls.

Geto bucks his hips against Gojo’s experimentally, rutting his erection against Gojo’s until they break their kiss and Gojo’s tugging down both of their waistbands. He grins at the sight as he makes work of their pants.

 “What am I gonna do with you, huh? Not even a month and you’re this desperate.”

Gojo laughs, deep and elated. High on whatever Suguru’s saliva is made of. “Don’t act like you’ve ever ignored my call, Sugu,” he coos, grinning. 

Geto quickly closes the space, sliding his thumb into Gojo’s mouth. Shifting his hair to kiss his temple when he sucks obediently. “I won't, because I know I can't, Satoru.”

Gojo grins, continuing to tug away the clothing obstructing the access they want to each other the most. Geto cups his cheek as he does so, his eyes are tender but his voice is laid bare, filled with thick unfiltered lust. “Face of an angel, mouth of a I don't even know what…unfair is what it is,” he whispers.

“Unfair that I can't get enough of you, Satoru. No matter how much I try.” He sighs, “I was about to call you myself, tonight.”

Gojo smirks, throwing aside their remaining clothing. “Liar.” 

He switches their positions, and makes his way down Geto’s centre, kissing and licking without breaking from his eyes. “I’ll teach you something, about lying to me.” 

“Yeah, yeah. Go on then pretty thing,” Geto coos, watching Gojo’s cheeks flush violently at his words.

“Don’t act like I can’t take you, I am stronger, y’know.” He kisses and nips until Geto’s hands finally lay to rest at the nape of his neck. 

“I know you can take me. I’ve seen it. Not that it ever gets old. So give in and do what you’re dying to do.”

Gojo blushes even more ferociously, gripping the thick base of him. His tongue eagerly catches the sweet beads of arousal racing along the veins. Geto’s cock was so long and thick that only 

Gojo’s large hands managed to dwarf it.

He worked on him, carefully, licking and sucking and kissing on his cock, Geto cooed praises to him when he finally took him in his mouth. Gojo always managed to take his entire length, he was the best after all.

“Fuck Satoru, let me fuck you—dying to fuck you. Don’t let me cum!” He moaned, pulling Gojo’s mouth off his cock and delighting in the lewd strings of arousal and spit that broke and shone against his chin. 

“Already?”

“Satoru, you have no idea how fucking hot you look sucking me like that, it’s dangerous,” he purred, tugging him close. “You take it all like the good boy you really are.”

You’re nothing like me.

Gojo nodded, completely entranced and holding onto every word. Caging Geto below him with a lazy smile on his lips. This brief window was always so dangerous, the moment when Satoru’s eyes were glassy and half-lidded from arousal.

Their laughs rang through the apartment as they tripped over each other scrambling to Gojo’s bedroom. Grabbing for lube whilst their tongues practically probed the back of the others throats. 

It’s a quick working and arranging of their bodies, learnt and done so many times before.

It’s almost primal. The way Geto grunts, and Gojo moans just seconds behind, hips pulled up and arched impossibly. Geto’s large handprints leave indelible marks as he pumps his thick fingers in and out until Gojo’s whimpering incomprehensible nonsense. 

“Sugu, I’m ready, just fuckin~now, need it. Fuck me.” 

Geto tilts his face just to press a fond kiss to his forehead, pushing the hair out of his eyes just so he can enjoy every inch of his face. “I’m so lucky to get you like this, don’t think I don't know it.”

He presses another kiss to his cheek and he moans this time, simultaneously pressing the tip of himself at his entrance. “Make it up to me by fucking me,” Gojo chuckles, soon groaning at the stretch.

“God—fuck, you feel so good,” he drawls, turning to kiss Geto himself.

“Does it hurt?” Geto stammers, his voice too shaky to even speak. 

“No!”

Geto starts to move, rolling his hips as he sets a steady pace. “Y’know why? Because I’d never hurt you, Satoru.”

“Don’t,” he moans back, fists twisting the sheets under him as drool pools down the corners of his mouth. “Don’t, Sugu.”

“Y’know why?” He kisses his nape, fucking him even harder, his tip nudging that spot deliciously.

“Stop, Sugu,” he whimpers.

He drives himself deeper, gripping Gojo’s waist so much harder that he growls, “Stop this?”

“No, but, don’t.”

“I won’t, because I—I love you.”

It’s magical how Gojo comes all over the sheets from the words. Just like that. 

Geto stops, his cheeks burning so badly he hides his face with the back of his hand. Gojo shoves his face into his pillow, refusing to meet his eyes. 

He grins at the red tips of Gojo’s ears, grinding his hips against his until he moans once more. Passionate and loving. “That's what you needed to hear to feel good, Satoru? That I love you, because I do. I really do, you feel that, yeah?”

Gojo’s incapable of words, he can't think. He can’t even talk when Geto is fucking him like this. 

Geto moans, his lips against the shell of Gojo’s air as he threads their hands together. “I've always loved you, no one loves you like I do.” 

“No one ever has,” Gojo hisses. “But you, but you…” 

You just had to betray me.

“Next time m’ gonna fuck you till you cry for what you just—did!”

Geto grips the base of Gojo’s cock, jerking as he fills him impossibly full, until he touches the spot again that has tears of pleasure streaming down Gojo’s cheeks.

“Who’s crying now?”

He suddenly pulls out, missing the garbled sounds of his white-haired lover he tugs him, manhandling him until he’s pliant and on his lap like a tamed cat. “Watch yourself, or me. Watch me make the strongest crumble, give yourself to me Satoru.”

“I already give you everything,” Gojo groans, his hips quickly meeting Geto’s thrusts. 

“Give yourself to me until there's nothing left.”

Gojo doesn't even recognise himself, so he hides his erotic expressions in Geto’s neck, kissing and biting as Geto thrusts inside him until he’s shooting his cum all over the mirror this time.

Geto’s hands just look so perfectly placed when they’re tightened on his waist and pulling him off and on his cock like this. 

“Let it out, let it out. You’ve always been insatiable huh? How much more do you have in you? I know I could fuck you all night and you’d still want more.”

“I fucking hate you,” Gojo groans, repositioning them both so he can ride him. Geto moans as he watches Gojo eagerly stuff him back inside in their reflection.

“So you think you can face me?” Geto grins, cupping the backs of his thighs and fucking him even harder. Gojo can't even keep his eyes open, his lips parted, his cheeks no longer pink but instead replaced with an aggressive red. 

“No one takes me like you, Satoru. Always so fucking good for me, so perfect. You were made for me.”

We were made for each other.

Gojo fights back his moans until he can’t, not when Geto is saying all of the things that make him tick. “I was,” he whines back. “Wasn’t I?”

“You feel so fuckin good on my cock, no one feels like you, fuuck.” His voice cracks, his teeth drawing blood from his lower lip. “I’m gonna cum in you, fuck!”

“Sugu!” 

“Toru! My, my, my—love.” He shakes, groaning with his lips messily clashing with Gojo’s as he fills him deep.

Gojo whimpers into the corner of his mouth, the pet name making his entire body burn. “My love, my one and only. Satoru I wish, I wish…”

He’s breathless and spent but he’s pinning Gojo down again. Pushing him until his back meets his pillows as he slides in again. “I love you, Satoru. Tell me. Tell me you love me too.”

Gojo’s eyes well up, his teeth gritting as Geto fucks them both into overstimulation. “I won’t, I won't, don't you dare. Can’t ask me that.”

“No,” Geto leans in until their noses are touching, 

his hair caging Gojo in, luring him under his siren-like spell.

“Tell me, you used to tell me all the time.” 

“I used to say a lot of things.” Gojo moans, kissing him fiercely. “But I won’t say that, Sugu.”

“Then I’ll never see you again.” 

He yanks Gojo upright until he’s straddling him once more, gripping his hips in place and pounding into him until he falls wordlessly into his chest. Clawing and moaning from the overload of pleasure. “Fuck you, saying that shit,” he groans. “And then fucking me like this.” 

“You like to be fucked like this, you fucking slut.”

Gojo silences his obscene sounds into Geto’s shoulder. Moaning even more when Geto chuckles at how much of a mess he’s become.

“Give and take, we’ve always been give and take. You can fuck me like this next time, I’ll be anything and everything for you whenever you want. Just say it.”

“I can’t!”

Gojo can’t take this anymore, it’s too much, it all feels too good. He overpowers Geto with little effort, but Geto lets him do it anyway.

He shoves him onto the floor, and grips his cock, his smirk mischievous when Geto readies his tongue for it. He lets him slap it against his mouth before he finally takes it. Grinning around his cock as he takes the entire length of it.

“There’s the real Suguru, the exemplary student. The good boy who’s about to shut up and suck me.”

Despite his harsh tone he cups Geto’s face, ignoring the way his chest is heaving and still clawing for breath. No one makes his heart beat like this. He hates how he finds his heart going into a frenzy at anyone with long black hair until he realises it's not his precious Suguru. Not that he'd even tell him that.

“You always did look better with my cock down your throat.”

Geto hums amusedly, choking on Gojo’s cock as he does so.

“I know you love it too, helps you remember your place, doesn’t it? Thats it, fuck!” 

He grips Geto’s hair with abandon, fucking his face until ropes of his come spurt down his throat. “Take it all, had to shut you the fuck up, l hate you, I hate you, I hate you!”

As soon as his breaths calm, Geto pins the cocky man below him once more. He has other plans. He straddles his chest, thumb running across his lip. He’s breathless too, voice spent from being fucked so mercilessly. 

“Could have tapped out,” Gojo speaks softly, that raptured submission returning as he gazes in awe at the beautiful man above him.

He coughs before he speaks, “I’d never do that, but you are going to pay for it. This pretty face will, anyway.” He slaps his cheek gently before he starts to jerk himself above his face. 

Gojo tries to feign frustration but he's turned on beyond belief, cock hard again. It’s so filthy, but it always was, they only ever did this when they were drunk or so horny for each other it turned them into animals.

Geto always touched himself so beautifully, so erotically. 

“Because I love seeing your perfect fucking face, painted with my cum. Makes you remember your place.” 

Gojo’s hands smoothed along his thighs, in wordless appreciation for the beauty before him.

“That the only man to do this will only ever be me, your one and only, yeah?”

His breath stutters as his orgasm approaches. Gojo finally nods, mouthing a feeble ‘I love you’ before offering his tongue. He groans as Geto’s come practically drowns him and soaks his tongue.

Gojo tries to swallow every drop, but before he knows it Geto’s dragging him toward the damned mirror again. He attempts to fight his grasp for a matter of seconds but he gives up, he doesn't care anymore. 

“The fucking strongest belongs to me. The only one that can handle you—is me. Look at yourself.”

He knows he's right even if he hates it.

“You see us? We’re yin, and yang. Me and you, we’re perfect together,” Geto pants, shifting the hair from Gojo’s eyes as if to emphasise his point, his own hair falling over Gojo’s shoulders.

The city lights shine through Gojo’s white hair, and over Geto’s illuminating the thick black silk falling over his shoulders 

“You’re mine, Satoru, and I love you. I will forever.”

Gojo cocks his brow but he leans closer, “You’re so vocal today, the good sex got you this sentimental.” He sighs, his grin full of play. “Might have to kick you out man.”

They find themselves wrestling until Geto is kissing Gojo’s forehead once more, his arms pinned and a stupid lovesick grin on his face.

“Listen, okay? I told you, I was about to call you too tonight. I missed you.”

Gojo laughs softly, leaning up to press a kiss to Geto’s cheek before speaking into his ear, “God, you’re embarrassing, aren’t ya?”

Geto glares at him before giving in. He pulls Gojo against his chest, grinning when he doesn’t resist. He curls around him like a cat, and Geto wraps them into a cocoon of blankets. 

Gojo falls asleep, fast. White lashes fluttering ever so often, lulled by the warmth and safety of Geto’s embrace. “Please don’t leave me,” he mutters, twitching in some kind of bad dream. 

Geto leans and kisses his nose, reaching for his phone to send a text home. 

Won’t be home for a few days. Only call if it’s an emergency.

“I wish I didnt ever have to, my love.” he nuzzles himself into Gojo’s neck and kisses, sucking until he whines in his sleep. He grins against the mark that flushes in its wake and he squeezes him that little bit tighter until Gojo can't help but whimper softly, even in his deep sleep. 

And then finally, he mutters the words. “Suguruu? Finally,” his mouth forms a little smile, “welcome home…I love you.”

“I love you too.”

©mrsackermannx: do not repost, plagiarise, translate or modify my works.

[stvnszlr]

HEYYYYYY i was wondering if you could write some fluff for Steven pls :33🫶 luv your blog btw

um …. so i got absolutely completely carried away with this one … and may or may not have written an entire 1.7k words ……

apologies in advance if this isn’t what you were intending with this ask 😭 i’m primarily a gen fic writer , so i turned this into a completely solo steven adventure !

even still , i hope you enjoy steven befriending a lost dog :) typical poppy !

The rumble of rubber wheels on uneven concrete thundered down the sidewalk…

…interrupted by loud, rhythmic clacking over each gap in the walkway. Steven took a foot off his board to give himself a good push, speeding faster past the chattering school kids with shopping bags under their arms and businessmen in suits wearily making their way home. 

The breeze whipped through his long hair, lifting the wavy, blond strands and twirling them around behind his head. A flat-brimmed hat smashed over the messy curls kept them slightly at bay, but not by much. The California sun beat down heavily on his back, his cheeks and shoulders already going rosy from its heat. 

Down the sidewalk he rolled, gaining speed with each thrust against the ground. He grinned as the buildings and people he passed turned to a blur, only a fleeting second in his vision before they were gone, already meters behind him.

He began to crouch lower, really leaning into the speed. His smile grew wider, his gaze narrowing as his focus intensified— but suddenly…

“AHHH!” Steven hollered, eyes flying open wide as he frantically swerved to avoid the sudden obstacle that had darted out in front of him. His board wobbled underneath him, and the drastic change in direction threw him from the sidewalk. He landed heavily on the curb, crying out in pain as his eyes squeezed shut tightly with a wince.

“Fuck…” he whined, arm reaching out to tenderly touch his side, where he’d hit the edge of the concrete. His other hand scratched at the back of his head, trying to center himself before easing his aching eyes open. “What the hell?” he grumbled, turning to look back at where his board had landed. What he didn’t expect to see instead, though, was a scruffy, underfed street dog staring right back at him with a wide, terrified gaze.

Steven’s own pain melted away in an instant as he took in the poor sight of the mutt in front of him. The dog was trembling, obviously quite shocked by the loud disturbance that had just taken place in front of it. Steven’s blue eyes widened with sympathy, and he began to sit up slowly as his mouth drooped into a pout. 

“Hey, puppy,” he murmured softly, turning his body to face the shuddering animal. “Good puppy… it’s okay,” he reassured softly. The dog didn’t move, but continued to stare at Steven, doubt and distress evident in its stance.

By now his skateboard was forgotten. Steven was completely concerned about the homeless pup he’d stumbled upon. He’d been in that position once, too— and a helpless dog deserved to suffer even less than he did.

He slowly eased himself into a crouching position, wincing a bit at the ache in his side but ignoring it for the time being. He took a small, hesitant step toward the terrified creature, but it quickly backed up as he tried to approach. Steven frowned, but stayed determined. Holding a hand out, he inched forward once again, trying his best to appear trustworthy.

“C’mon, man,” he pleaded desperately. He felt responsible for this dog, now! Especially after spooking it with his crash. Unfortunately, the dog wouldn’t be won over so easily. It seemed that its time on the streets had made it awfully skittish around people, and no matter how friendly Steven seemed, he’d need something more.

His face fell, the eagerness in his gaze crumbling. What else could he do if the pup wouldn’t even come near him?

Food! It’ll like food, won’t it? he pondered, the idea suddenly springing to mind. He stood from the ground, quickly jamming a hand in his pockets to dig around for spare change. Amidst the lint balls, wrappers, and occasional spare gumdrop… a quarter! One shiny, silver quarter. Steven held it up with glee, smiling at the sudden discovery.

He glanced back down at the dog, his brow furrowing. Pointing a finger, he commanded: “Stay.” The mutt tilted its head, appearing unsure and skeptical. “Stay here!�� He begged, hoping somehow the dog would understand his intentions.

With one last forlorn glance at the pup, he scooped up his skateboard and turned to scan the street for the nearest convenience store. Only a few buildings down, a bright neon light flashed advertising cold beer, ice cream, and the like. His eyes lit up, and Steven took off down the sidewalk towards the shop, glancing back occasionally to make sure the dog hadn’t moved.

He ducked through the door, immediately relishing in the noisy rattle of the A-C that enveloped his sweat-soaked body with a rush of cool air. He swallowed, mouth suddenly feeling very dry out of the hot sun. No… he had to focus. What would a hungry stray like to eat?

He walked through the short aisles, contemplating cheap bags of candy and chips, but none of it sounded easy on a starving stomach. Probably wouldn’t smell too enticing, either. Scratching at the back of his neck, he continued to wander until he reached the dingy, dim corner at the very back.

Then, something caught his eye. A dented can of tuna— the last on the shelf— for only twenty cents. Perfect! His face lit up, and his cheeks spread into a proud smile as he snatched it from the rack. 

Rushing back up to the counter, Steven quickly set his item down in front of the disinterested cashier. The man turned to him, an eyebrow raised as he took in the disheveled appearance of the young kid in front of him, and his peculiar purchase.

Steven gave him a hesitant smile, not quite reaching his eyes. He glanced at the wall of cigarettes behind him, scanning the logos for a moment before turning back to the cashier.

“Um… how much for a pack of reds?” He asked shakily, placing his hands on the counter.

“Buck-ten,” the man grunted out, swiping the can of tuna off the counter and ringing it up for his total.

Steven cringed at the price. Spare change wouldn’t cover that— and the tuna was more important, anyway. “Uh— just this, then,” he mumbled sheepishly, looking down at his hands. He held out the quarter, and the man exchanged it for the can. “Thanks,” Steven muttered, his cheeks flushed as he turned tail and quickly raced back out the door.

He hurried down the street again, making long strides back toward where he’d left the dog. For a moment, he thought it had wandered away— but then he spotted it, hiding in the shadow of an overflowing trash can.

Steven crouched down again, a few feet away as to not scare it off. “Hey, bud,” he greeted cheerfully, setting the can of tuna down on the ground in front of him, and his skateboard to the side. “I got somethin’ for you, see?”

He glanced up at the pup, who continued to stare at him with wide, uncertain eyes. He slowly popped the tab on the can, peeling off the lid to reveal the fish inside. “Mmm… yummy, huh?” He said, attempting to sound enticing.

The dog perked up as the smell of the tuna wafted over, and it took a few hesitant steps forward. “Yeah, there you go!” Steven cheered, grinning as he watched the pup slowly crawl towards him.

As it reached the can, the mutt looked up at Steven before taking a careful bite. Quickly, the dog began scarfing down the food, and Steven sat back with a content grin. It was obvious the dog was really hungry, and he was happy to have satiated it for now. It didn’t take long for the pup to polish off the tuna, then lifting its head while licking its lips, staring at Steven full-on.

Cautiously, the drummer decided to hold out his hand again, inviting the dog to greet him. This time, rather than backing away, the dog came forward for a wary sniff. Steven watched with bated breath, trying to stay as still as he could to reassure the nervous pup.

Tentatively, it gave him a gentle lick across the palm. Then another, and another. Soon, it was nuzzling right into his hand, and Steven’s smile grew even wider. “You’re so sweet, aren’t you?” He cooed, feeling confident enough to scratch under its chin. The dog began to wag its tail, a slow back-and-forth at first before it was nearly whipping with enthusiasm.

Steven laughed, a bright, bursting chuckle of joy as the pup rubbed itself up against his leg. “Shit, you gotta have a name!” He exclaimed with glee, now fully stroking back the fur on the dog’s head. “How about…” he hummed to himself thoughtfully, watching as the pup nearly vibrated with excitement as Steven became more familiar.

“Buzz!” He cried out, his laughter doubling over. “You’re fuckin’ buzzing!”

He reached out his other hand, pulling the dog into his lap. Buzz happily complied, standing up on hind legs and balancing with paws on Steven’s chest to give him broad licks across his smiling cheeks. The blond grinned even wider, happily scratching Buzz all over while dodging the wet kisses.

“Geez!” Steven exclaimed between giggles, nearly overwhelmed by the sudden energy and acceptance from the previously shy dog. “Not shy now, are you?” Buzz responded with a sharp yip, and Steven’s eyebrows raised in surprise. Buzz seemed absolutely open to him now, and Steven felt himself becoming attached too.

“Alright. C’mon, buddy,” he laughed, pushing the pup down as he got to his feet. He reached down, scooping up Buzz under one arm and his skateboard in the other. Buzz wagged happily, curling into Steven’s warm, safe grasp. Steven looked down with an adoring gaze, a fuzzy, comforting feeling growing in his chest. He squeezed Buzz a bit tighter, wanting to hold the pup as close as he could. “Let’s go home.” 

[robo-writing]

Always think about if reader is some researcher in old magic or something and get hit a spill turning them younger like teen or 10yr old kid mind you reader would be losing memory along with the years means they don’t know them I’d see Clive being awkward but secretly inside he’s panicking and wants to make sure you’re alright and try hard to make talk. maybe Cidolfus could be annoying the hell out of them Joshua would be fascinated and try to have a cute moment l with them like taking reader to a flower field and taking torgal with you gav would flat out be the fun silly uncle mood I know he is

So what do you think?

+ I’ll leave barnabas to you there so many ways to think what he would react

Different reactions to the ff16 men having their s/o turn into a child temporarily!

Clive Rosfield

Where the hell has his girlfriend gone, and who is this child on the ship?

He almost leaves to find their parents when Jill tells him that this young one is in fact, his own girlfriend

He’s shocked to say the least, and as Jill explains what’s happened he looks to your small form and realizes you do look awfully familiar

In any case, you don’t remember him, it’s as if you’ve truly aged backwards. He doesn’t know what to do

He wouldn’t say he’s bad with children, just that he doesn’t quite know what to do with them

Jill suggests that you two go to one of Tomes’s lessons to pass the time, and so you do

He’s got to admit, even as a child you’re still as thirsty for knowledge as before, the very same reason you’re in this predicament in the first place.

Torgal sits by you as you speak, and when you tire yourself out, he lets you use him as a pillow

When your spell finally reverses itself, you wake up with a mouthful of fur and questions as to why there’s a sudden gap in your memory

Joshua Rosfield

He was there when the spell went awry, a puff of smoke and seconds later you were replaced with a much shorter, much younger version of yourself

He’s almost frantic trying to figure out what went wrong, even blames himself a bit for encouraging you to try it in the first place

Luckily for him it seems to be temporary, but still

You’re currently exploring his room, playing with his things curiously, it’s almost odd to have to answer questions that he knows you know the answer to

Or rather, what your adult self knows

In the end he takes you to Gav, who advises that he give you a hot meal and wait for this to blow over

You eat to your hearts content, and when you offer him carrots off your plate he nearly gags

Gav is entertained by this little pint-sized version of you—he can see how you grew up to be the talented magician he knows

The same goes for Joshua

Cidolfus Telamon

Oh no, the hells have happened here?

He walks into the scene of the crime to see Joshua’s feathers ruffled something fierce, and a child clutching onto his legs

He recognizes you immediately, or rather the younger version of you

You look lost, confused, and after a while you walk up to him and tug on his pants, arms stretched out

He’s raised Mid long enough to know what that means, so without thinking he’s picked you up with one hand, your small body in his arms as he walks down the hallway

You’re certainly an energetic child, asking questions about everything you see as you pass

“Is this a ship? Where are we? How aren’t we sinking?”

At the very least, he knows that you were born with your thirst for knowledge

You remind him of a certain blonde haired inventor he knows

Maybe he aught to introduce you, Mid would be interested in having a temporary younger sibling

Barnabas Tharmr

He was there to witness your blunder, a crystal too many and suddenly you became a young one again

To be entirely honest, for the first time in years he had no idea what to do

He knew how to handle a sword, not a child

He even called Sleipnir for advice, but he was of little help

“If the spell is temporary, take her outside and have her play. Exercise is good for a growing child.”

It wasn’t the best advice, but it was certainly better than nothing

So Barnabas sat in the grass as you played with the flowers, admiring silently as you rolled around and enjoyed the sun on your skin

Dare he say it, it was very cute

At some point you ran up to him and presented him with a gift: a flower crown

The faintest chuckle leaves him, immediately sitting on his haunches to accept it

“A crown for me? You should not have.”

As you ran around for a bit, the petal adornment still on his head, he decides to use this as a learning experience

For when you two have your own children, of course.

[unhingedselfships]

He knew something had to be wrong when Ophelia called him.

That woman hated him.

It was entertaining.

"I don't know what you did, but get your ass over here and fix it!"

"What exactly have you decided is my fault?"

"Mande? Are you serious? Tu crees muy muy?! Kimi isnt eating! Barely moves! I dont know what the fuck you did and I dont want to know--vales verga, Just fix it!"

He scoffed, "I don't see how it's my fault or problem that you can't take care of her properly." 

He hung up on her inarticulate screech of rage.

He almost didn't check the follow up text, but noticed it was from Daikichi.

With a put upon sigh, he opened the message.

: Sorry about Auntie Phe. Can you please check on Mom? She isn't responding to us.

He tried to rub away the forming headache.

And changed course for Kimi's apartment.

—

He was brisk up the stairs, and didn't even bother with his key.

It wouldn't be locked, stupid girl never locked it.

Oh look at that, he was right.

He tried, and failed, to not let it add to his irritation.

Looking around the entry and sitting room, no one else was there.

Had they cleared out when they thought he was on the way?

Had they just left her there?!

A noise caught his attention, and her eldest, a teen now, those kids needed to stop growing, appeared in the kitchen entrance.

"Phe was here too. She took off when I told her you were on the way."

"Awfully presumptuous of both of you."

The boy smiled at him, tired, but sincere, "I know you Uncle Tenshi. Not as well as Mom does but… You don't want to lose her either."

The man bristled at the words and their weight. The insinuations. The truth. 

"I'm going to head out too. I won't go far. But you two… probably need space."

Pinching his nose, he waved the kid off.

All but storming back into her room, he shoved the door open, maybe a little more forcefully than needed.

Sue him, he was displeased with this whole ordeal.

"I'm not going to break Kenshi," he mocked, "How's that working out for you?"

He was ready to berate her, to absolutely tear into her over the mess she'd caused, when he really looked at her. 

She looked… so much less. Small and… withering. Like a flower left too long in too much sun. 

Wilted and fragile.

Steeling himself again, ignoring any discomfort churning his own stomach, he again found himself losing the thread, as she finally looked at him. 

She seemed dazed. Not entirely there. 

Yet there was a spark, slowly growing.

She let out a deep sigh, and smiled, just barely.

"You came? You're really here?"

"Yeah well. Your family was annoyingly insistent. Do you have to be such a drama queen about it? You did this to yourself. I have other other things, obligations, going in my life that are hard enough without you adding to it."

A wet laugh, and the tears started, quiet but steady.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I know I make things difficult. On you. On everyone. I don't mean to be such a burden. Seems like that's all I'm really good at," she huffed a shuddering laugh, "You don't have to do this you know? I don't know why you put up with me. It would… It would hurt, so much, but I'd understand if you- If you decided to go. That I wasn't worth the trouble anymore."

She scrubbed at her eyes, "I know I'm. A lot. Sorry. I'll do better. I will. I promise. I'm sorry."

Her voice barely raised above a whisper, slightly rough from disuse.

Dripping in self loathing and resignation.

Kadokura stared at her a moment, before he scoffed and rolled his eyes.

"Yeah? Gonna change your ways? Gonna 'do better'?" he placed sarcastic air quotes over the last two words.

He huffed in irritation, "Start by not being so hard on yourself maybe. It's annoying as hell."

She shrank a bit, curled smaller, before looking up at him again, a small watery smile.

"So about that black market therapist?"

He huffed again, this one a faintly annoyed amusement.

They fell into a quiet, not quite tense, but not quite peaceful.

She held a hand up, flat in front of her eyes, and watched it tremble for a moment.

"I need to eat. I think I have the stuff for muffins here," she looked up at him, "Will you stay?"

Heaving an exaggerated sigh, "I already cleared my schedule for the day," he agreed.

—

They sat at the small breakfast table, warm muffins in the center, drinks within reach.

She seemed tired. Better, by a mile, but worn.

And yet.

Something about her seemed more at ease. 

"I think…"

She trailed off, and he raised a brow at her, gesturing for her to continue.

"I think I'm going to be ok. Now. Going forward."

He snorted, "Forgive me if I don't believe you."

Huffing a laugh she smiled at him softly, "I understand. But. I really think so this time. Something… I, feel different."

She hummed, staring down into the glass of milk in her hands.

"I think something in me broke. The tension was too much. It finally snapped."

Fidgeting a bit, she looked up at him, "That probably sounds like a bad thing. But I think it's. I think it's for the best. I dunno what's gonna change. If I'm gonna change. But. Maybe it's about time."

She glanced away, eyes distant, gazing out the window.

"I'll never be worthy of y-" she cut herself off and hummed discontentedly, "I'll never be on your level. Able to keep up. But maybe I'll be a little less of a burden now."

Looking back at him, she gave him a soft smile. Acceptance, care, devotion, trust.

"I love you Kenshi. Thank you. For…" she trailed off, "Staying."

It felt like there was so much more in that word than what it was.

She laughed lightly, a little brighter than before.

"I really don't deserve you."

[apoptoses]

4 with Blood Sanation

21 with When Half Won't Do

4. What detail in Blood Sanation are you really proud of?

I'm proud that I put them in some unexpected and unnatural places and pulled it off. That was the original concept for the fic- how many situations that seem entirely out of line with the vampire chronicles can I put Armand and Daniel into and make it work?

A road trip in a rental car? Waffle House? A weird, dingy honeymoon hotel with a themed room somewhere in the middle of nowhere Appalachia? A mountain road? None of it is glamorous, none of it is 'exciting' in a way that 1970s Armand would have been drawn to. But that was the whole point. The only way to get them to do the uncomfortable act of airing their grievances and making up was to put them in uncomfortable places. Anything else would have just been a distraction.

And I'm happy that it all worked out and they could get the reward of staying (and making a wreck of) Louis and Lestat's old place, the flat where the VC really kicked off ♥

21. If you wrote a “missing scene” in When Half Won't Do, what would it be?

I really tried hard to include the party Armand and Daniel were at before their pivotal conversation but it just didn't work. No important conversation happened, it was just a lot of Daniel sitting and being resentful in the corner with a beer and so it got scrapped.

If I had to add a scene I would love to do Daniel's POV of being in the house alone. How eerie it would be after years of hotel rooms where staff were always present, you could always see fellow guests if you went outside, you could hear your neighbor's door opening and shutting. Where you could get room service at all hours.

Going from that to a flat all of the sudden with no connections in the area, no friendly concierge to help out- it had be jarring. And lonely. I think Daniel was struck by how in living with Armand he was now more alone in the world that he'd ever been, and he must have been awfully bored waiting for the sun to go down. He has Armand as his lover but doesn't really 'have' him at all for 2/3 of the day and I think that hit him hard.

[maristellarium]

(my fave pgr artist has been doodling little comics of their oc skk but in one of those "turned into a little kid again" trope scenarios, and its making me think about how yully would be like if that happened to her...............)

bc you can have two flavors of her in that case: one where she's regressed to her childhood state post-reincarnation (in which case she seems exactly the same, just lacking factual knowledge of her time as a commandant) - or her actual-actual childhood state, pre-reincarnation

in which case, she'll probably be deemed to have lost more than just her future memories but also any memories she would be expected to have at her younger age, like basic knowledge about babylonia and the punishing virus, as well as crucially, communication/language skills

since i hc that both pre- and post-reincarnation, there is a dominant international language (i.e. english) in addition to numerous other national/regional languages/dialects - but an actual child-aged yully would still be learning how to read/write/speak the former, while being mostly fluent in the latter only (which in her case is some made-up future amalgamation of cantonese w/ hakka and mandarin; god probably only kcc charas like qu would be able to actually communicate successfully with her, at least initially.................)

and of course, her personality/demeanor/thinking is rather different as an actual child vs post-reincarnation.

as an actual child, yully was very.............. well, she seemed intuitively off-putting.

she had a basic understanding of societal norms (i.e. don't stare at people bc it's considered rude, always say please and thank you bc it's polite, etc), and she did dutifully follow them - but there would be plenty of moments where she would simply stop and question the things she's doing or seeing, internally or openly, with other people possibly.

she would just sit or stand there, almost unblinking, questioning why things are the way they are: why can't she stare at people? because it unnerves them. why does it unnerve them? psychological and physiological response mechanisms. what is the actual problem with unnerving people though? psychological stress, leading to individual mental breakdown and negative interpersonal and societal consequences - so on and so forth.

—yes, she was already like some kinda scientist, trying to break down and analyze everything around her. and because of this, she always had a persistent tendency to just sit on the sides and watch everything, questioning the entire world - a constant outsider and a very, very rare participant, if ever.

in general, child yully was always quiet, introspective, inquisitive, and did not really act like a child. at least, she wasn't hitting the typical benchmarks for her development stage - seeming way ahead of the curve in some places, and was nowhere near following the typical development process for others.

depending on who you asked, she had an awfully stoic or completely emotionless demeanor, being blank-faced and flat-toned constantly. she would randomly ask questions that could give a regular adult an existential crisis, and had a bad habit of staring dead straight at things because she was too busy chaining lines of logic and analysis in her head and either couldn't be bothered to care about things like courtesy or wasn't fast enough to not be caught staring. she also hardly interacted with people, not even classmates, didn't have any friends in her neighborhood, and mostly only ever spoke with her mother (who herself was often busy and out of the house from work, so like. the no-socialization aspect here is dire).

even so, despite her troubling unchildlike behavior, you could probably find an innocent thread to her - even if it's just from a lack of worldly experience.

she might ask a lot of troubling philosophical questions, but it stems from a simple lack of understanding of things we all take for granted, and in a way, she's simply trying to understand in the way any child might want to when faced with common mature topics like.......... idk, politics. or something. and sure, she has a bad habit of staring at things when it's impolite to do so, but every curious child technically does that, and she just particularly doesn't see the point of adhering to politeness when she does so (in fact, manners and politeness would probably be among her numerous ridiculous questions).

she's really just a very curious child, in a sense. it's just that she's curious about literally everything - and not in a delighted childish sense. she just questions everything, from concepts to behaviors to people themselves. she's a child with literally all her stats in intellect but no worldly wisdom or experience (and definitely not in emotional awareness!!), meaning she factually and theoretically understands things, but doesn't really know-know anything for shit, hence why she wonders so much, but bc she's too smart for her own hecking good, her "wondering" takes the form of rigid scientific inquiry, essentially.

.

anyway i think super-smol yully would be both an easy and difficult child to babysit. bc you have a 50-50 chance she will just obediently listen to everything you say and do or just abruptly ask you whether reality is a dream or she's dreaming of reality right now. and that's on top of any communication difficulties lol

which might seem......... potentially not Too different from regular yully, actual. but the difference is that child yully is both still learning about all the ways living in a Society(TM) works and doesn't really get why she Really should live in a society to begin with, and has no reservations about suddenly ignoring societal norms when on her trails of inquiries. she can be composed if she wants, but has more moments of impulsiveness (aka wanting to Know(TM)) than not.

meanwhile, regular yully has a general but tightknit grasp on how living in a Society(TM) is like, has already exhausted most inquiries as to why she should or shouldn't live by such norms - thus having no reason to go "off the rails" at random - and is well-practiced in working around said norms by now as well. this also means that she's more knowledgeable about people, including being able to reflect or dissect them to some extent, which has resulted in her being able to compose herself in a more........ neurotypical sense, i guess. lol

[imagine-darksiders]

EDIT - I've added Strife's. Sorry it's late, Anon. Also that it's bad. I wrote this in 20 minutes without proof-reading. Still, enjoy a little humour at Strife's expense.

This is set during a later point in my fic Exposure Therapy, where Strife hasn't quite grasped the concept of privacy just yet. :)

---

The Horseman is getting much better at understanding human social cues. Ever since you agreed to 'show him the ropes,' so to speak, he's learned that you generally prefer it when he knocks before entering your home, and that typically, he's supposed to wait for you to invite him in.

Inviting himself in before you can answer the door has lead to all sorts of trouble.

Case in point...

The big, city building you've claimed as your home has a lot of incredible features, but by far, Strife's favourite has to be the handy, metal fire escape that leads him right up to the window of your flat.

It definitely makes for easy-access into your home, and the pair of you agreed unanimously that it's better than causing a block-wide panic if the Horseman ever tries to use the building's front entrance again, stuffing himself into the lift alongside a number of your unwitting and highly unimpressed neighbours.

A chuckle tumbles out from behind Strife's visor at that particular memory as he shoves your window open and hoists himself into your empty bedroom.

Man, you'd been so angry with him after your elderly neighbour came banging on your door to complain about the Nephilim almost giving her a heart-attack.

Strife's boots clunk down on top of the bristly doormat you'd placed underneath your window in anticipation of another impromptu visit, and he dutifully takes a moment to wipe the soles of his dirt-caked shoes across the rough texture, casting an inquisitive eye about your bedroom.

Empty...

But the lights are on, and the air smells sweet with a gentle aroma that wafts through the open door leading out into your adjoining hallway.

Curious, the Horseman begins to traipse out of your cozy little nest and into the corridor, coming upon a door on his immediate left that stands slightly ajar. Through the gap, steam rolls lazily out into the hall, carrying with it the same delicate scent he'd caught a whiff of in your bedroom.

He sucks down a long, slow breath, nostrils flaring behind his helm as he approaches the door.

He recalls you bypassing this room entirely during the initial tour of your domicile, how you'd seemed awfully reluctant to explain its function beyond labelling it your 'bathroom,' and swiftly moving on.

But what are you doing in there now?

The Horseman's ears perk towards the sound of you moving around inside. Cocking his helm, he places his fingertips on the edge of the door and gives it a gentle push.

Silently, it swings open, allowing him to take a decisive step inside a steam-filled room, but any subsequent exploring is swiftly aborted and a rushing pulse of warmth nearly sweeps the breath from his lungs as his eyes fall upon the very reason for his visit.

The very naked reason for his visit.

Creator... He can't move! It's as if his boots have been rooted to the tiles underfoot.

Through a haze of steam and half-hidden beneath a layer of soft, soapy bubbles, you stand before him under a cascade of localised rainfall, bare as the day you were born, from your pretty, little head down to the tips of your toes.

The intimacy of seeing a human naked isn't lost on Strife.

According to what he's observed so far of your species, it usually indicates a show of trust.

It means something to humans.

It's certainly meaning something to him right now.

Your eyes are slipped shut, hands in your hair as you work a flowery concoction into a lather with your fingertips.

Strife's golden gaze trail after the white suds that roll gracefully down the column of your neck, over your collar bone and travel onwards over the swell of your chest.

Beneath his mask, the Horseman's lips begin to twitch into a disbelieving little grin.

Glistening skin, a dainty smile on your lips, eyelashes sparkling with droplets of warm water that cascades from a device fitted into the ceiling... The overhead lights shine down from above you like a beacon drawing him in.

You look so... unfathomably tranquil.

You don't look a thing like the human he sees when you know he's in the room with you. When he's around, there's always an air of hesitancy, of fear about you, no matter what he tries to do to reassure you that you're in no danger from him. No matter how hard you try to hide yourself.

A wall goes up when Strife is around.

There's no wall here now.

The lines between your brows are nonexistent, the rigidity in your limbs has vanished, leaving them relaxed and limber. Tipping your head back, you begin to rinse the suds from your hair. You're content here in your most vulnerable state.

This is what you look like when you're not afraid, and for the first time, he's lucky enough to see it.

You're...

“Beautiful...” he breathes, blinking dopily through the condensation that's starting to fog up his visor.

One day, he'll learn to keep his big mouth shut.

Your eyes pop open in a snap and you jolt violently at the sight of the hulking, silver mass looming in the door to your bathroom.

Suddenly, the warmth that had been caressing the Horseman's cheeks drains away and he's overtaken by an icy, spine-chilling dread, recognising the thunderous glare that falls across your face like a dark storm cloud.

“Uh oh," he utters.

All at once, you twist your body away as if you can hide what he's already seen, opening your mouth and unleashing a cry of scandalised outrage. “STRIFE!”

Oh yeah. You're mad all right.

“WHAT THE HELL?! GET OUT!”

If ever there was a bad time for his body to freeze like a block of useless ice, it'd be right at this moment. But freeze he does.

Peeling his tongue from the roof of his mouth, the Nephilim feels his brain start to chug back into gear. “Uh, I... uh...”

Numbly, he fumbles over his words, blinking at you in a trance as you bend down and snatch up a hefty bottle from the smooth, white floor of your personal waterfall.

“STOP LOOKING!?” you squawk indignantly, and without further ado, you pitch the bottle forwards at him. It sails through the air and smacks against the Horseman's chest, spattering water-droplets and soap suds up his front.

That, at last, seems to snap him out of his stupor.

Strife's gauntlets fly up and he splays his fingers out wide, as if to placate a wild animal. “Hey! Wait, I'm sorr-”

'THWACK!'

This time, a bar of soap clonks him on the chin of his helm - a direct hit. He'd be proud if he weren't so alarmed.

Strife opens his mouth to try and apologise again, failing to pick up on the very obvious solution to this problem – to simply leave the room.

However, before he can utter a single word, he suddenly finds himself coming under fire.

All manner of strange concoctions hurtle across the room at him. Bottles and pots and brushes, so many that he has to wonder where they're all coming from.

“Ow, hey! Stop!” he protests, back-peddling through the door until his armoured spine hits the wall behind him with a thud.

He isn't given reprieve to dive for cover. A sud-laden loofer bounces off his forehead in what would be an ultimately harmless attack, were it not for the flecks of soap that dribble through the open socket of his helm and slip straight into his eyes.

Typical of Strife, his reaction, of course, is appropriately dramatic.

Reeling back so hard that his skull cracks against the wall, he throws his hands up to his face and begins to frenetically swipe at his stinging eyeballs. “ARGH! Goddamn! What the Hell is that!?”

“Serves you right!” he hears you bleat over the squeak of a tap, "Can't a person have a little privacy without some peeping-tom getting fresh!?"

Seconds later, he's nearly deafened by your bathroom door slamming shut with enough force to rattle the paintings that hang on your walls.

Scrubbing the sting from his eyes, Strife blinks them open and squints at the now firmly-closed door.

Compelled to repair the damage he'd unwittingly done, the Horseman sighs roughly and steps back up to the barricade, wary of any more projectiles that might come hurtling through it.

“Doll?” he calls, rubbing a palm over the base of his neck, underneath his spiked, black hair, “Ah... m'sorry. I didn't-”

Your muffled voice is quick to cut him off. “What is wrong with you!? Who the Hell just walks into someone's bathroom while they're naked in the shower!?”

“I didn't know you were naked in there,” he murmurs back, pressing a palm to the door as if he can soothe you through its wood.

Flatly, you retort, “... You didn't know I'd be naked.... in the bathroom.”

“Well! You never told me what a bathroom is used for!” he argues.

“It's heavily implied in the name, Strife! Good god, you wanna guess what goes on in a bedroom!?”

.... Fair enough.

“Sorry,” he mutters again, “Wasn't thinking. I was just excited.”

“Excited about what!?” you snap, incredulous.

Without missing a beat, the Horseman softly replies, “About seein' you.”

There's silence on the other side of the door for a time before he hears you heave an aggravated sigh. “Ugh, just... just give me a minute, okay?”

And obediently, the Horseman retreats into the relative safety of your bedroom.

Here's a request, how would Strife and Samael react to accidentally seeing s/o naked for the first time? Like they are getting ready to bathe or something and thought they were alone. They didn't know anyone would be there, and when Strife/Sam do see them, s/o is oblivious. Like they realize very quickly "aw shit, s/o is cute...", Inner monologue stuff about s/o and their new feelings. I have a thing for pining. Real romance fluff with a suggestive hint. Nothing happens, this doesn't have to be nsfw if you don't want it to be. I just want your take on their reactions cause I think they would both range very differently. I chose those two cause they are my favorite. If you don't wanna do this one, that's ok too. I just really like your writing and how you interpret things. Thank you again.

Samael:

It's a common assumption among those who don't know him personally, that the Demon Prince, Samael, is a debauched and lascivious snake who would only relish in the chance to catch a human unawares.

It's a common assumption. But so often common is confused with correct.

He's a prince. Be that of Hell or Heaven or any realm in-between, he knows how to behave like a gentleman when needs be.

To his own surprise, he's found himself falling more and more into that courtly conduct ever since he managed to get his claws on the Horsemen's little human, swiped by his own claws right from underneath their noses.

'Nothing personal,' he'd told you while you thrashed and beat at the vast, scaly fingers wrapped around your torso, 'This is all tactics, you understand.'

With the Horsemen focusing all of their efforts into tracking you down – they've yet to work out that he's behind your disappearance – Samael is free to move his players across an unguarded chess board. A classic – if risky – slight of hand.

Oh, he imagines they'll try to kill him once they discover you hidden here in his fortress at Shadow's Edge, but that's hardly of any concern to a Prince of Hell. If he thought the Horsemen were a genuine threat, he wouldn't have provoked them by taking their precious, little human.

They won't be able to deny, when they eventually find you, that he's been nothing if not a most gracious host. You aren't a political enemy, after all, you're an innocent bystander in his game of cat and mouse.

He's placed you in one of the Eastern towers - under guard and lock and key, of course – where every amenity has been made available to you. A spacious chamber, adorned by a luxurious bed with silken, ruby-red sheets. An adjacent nook that boasts a king-sized bathing pool for you to maintain your hygiene....

If anything, you're less of a prisoner, and more of an unusual guest, though such 'special treatment' has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that your affinity for story-telling far surpasses the talents of his own subjects.

All you have to do is recite Earthen fairy-tales to him, plots of films you can still remember, stories from the books you used to read at school, and every single one of them is eagerly eaten up by the demon Prince, specifically those that have happier endings.

Those very stories are the reason Samael finds himself striding down the corridor to your chambers now, with his hands clasped loosely behind his back, the impressive claws at the end of each of his toes clicking sharply against a black-stone floor.

Last night, you'd half-finished a tale of a caterpillar with an absolutely voracious appetite, but you'd fallen asleep just before the most crucial climax. He'd half a mind to shake you conscious again and demand you tell him how the gluttonous little insect earns his downfall through hubris and greed, but in the end, he permitted you your scant few hours of fitful sleep.

Perhaps the ending you have in store will have been worth the wait...

The phantom guards posted outside your room snap to attention as he passes them by, though their master doesn't spare either of them so much as a fleeting glance, stepping leisurely up to the tattered, scarlet curtain that separates your chambers from the corridor outside.

And that's when he hears it - a sound so seldom heard in Hell, it actually startles the Prince into slowing his gait as his scowl comes undone, softening the deep-set creases carved between his brows.

He pauses at the curtain and twists an ear towards the noise...

... Music?

Slowly, he eases his crooked knuckles beneath the curtain and lifts it aside, hesitating for another moment to discern that his ears really aren't deceiving him. That's music he's hearing. More specifically, it's singing.

You are singing.

He's spoken with you enough times by now to recognise your voice in spite of the melodious notes of a song that drift into his ears from somewhere beyond the bed chamber.

But then, he supposes he shouldn't be surprised. Of all the denizens residing in his fortress, who among them is the most likely to burst into song other than the human?

Eyes of liquid fire scan the room and find it devoid of his prisoner, until they land upon the arched entrance that leads into the adjacent bathing quarters.

He recalls how you'd been stunned almost speechless the first time he showed you the enormous pool cut out of an obsidian floor.

He'd taken the liberty to drain it of lava before filling it up again with clean, un-poisoned water – a rare commodity in Hell, given the rate of its evaporation.

“Why?” you'd asked, squinting up at him dubiously.

Samael's face had remained perfectly set like the stone underfoot as he hummed his reply, “I assumed humans preferred to bathe in water. Not molten lava.”

That wasn't what you'd meant, and he knew it, but you'd been sensible enough not to look a gift demon in the mouth, as it were.

Lifting his nose to take a whiff of the air, Samael pads like a graceful predator across the chamber, following the sound of your voice.

Until the day comes when he no longer sits on the throne, he'll staunchly deny that his footsteps fall just a little more softly against the stone in his endeavour to remain unnoticed by the room's occupant.

Deftly, he manoeuvres around a scattering of garments that have been strewn haphazardly about the chamber, quirking one solid, scaly brow at them as he passes. 'Odd,' is all he muses.

Under normal circumstances, you're never seen without your flimsy attire.

Finding his curiosity piqued, Samael ducks his crooked horns and steals into the dark doorway, casting an eye languidly across the baths, only to freeze in his tracks, his whole body going utterly still from the horns on his head to the tip of his long, sweeping tail.

As if the singing weren't enough of a shock, you suddenly come dancing into view, swinging your hips to and fro like a pendulum. You're facing away from the doorway, thank the Void, but that's hardly what the demon Prince is focused on.

Standing there on the first step of the bath, bobbing your hips to the tune of your own song, he sees you.

All of you.

There isn't a shred of clothing present to preserve your modesty, no undergarments, nor a single strip of cloth, not a thread to your name.

Samael's silvery pupils dilate, expanding out of slits until they sit soft and round in his yellow eyes.

Rather perplexingly, he doesn't wheel himself backwards out of the entryway as soon as he registers your state of undress, though he chalks this up to being struck with simple, scientific curiosity at having stumbled upon a human in their most natural state.

Why, any second now, he's sure he'll feel that familiar wave of disgust surge up like bile and turn his stomach, because what is the human body if not a small, featureless sack of squelching meat?

Any second now...

Surely...?

Despite the weak-willed voice in the back of his head trying to convince him to turn away, the demon's eyes remain firmly adhered to you, and his ears twitch and flick towards the sound of your voice, anxious to catch every note you sing.

What is the human body...?

It's very.... gentle, he observes through a sudden haze that knocks him ever so slightly off-kilter.

A golden stare roll up the length of your legs, tracing the path of your spine and lingering on the back of your fragile neck.

There isn't a single, sharp edge to your body. No jagged horns or spines jutting through your skin, no tough and unforgiving scales to protect you from the elements, no natural weapons in the form of fangs or claws.

A body like yours was never intended to cause hurt.

What a flawed design.

What a brave design.

Before he can keep it at bay, a memory of Lilith pushes to the forefront of his mind – of her cruel lips that twist into a smirk and her hateful glares that try to poison his heart as she lays underneath him on their shared bed, claws like knives cutting into his scaly forearms to draw as much pain from him as she can, all in the name of 'making love.'

But what if....?

As the demon Prince gazes down at you, transfixed, the image of your naked body slips seamlessly in to replace Lilith's in his mind's eye. Her feral snarl gives way to something kinder, something sweeter, welcoming.

And suddenly, there you are, spread out in his Queen's place on the red, silken sheets, surrounded by the treasures he's draped you in during a wild and scandalous courtship. For the first time in his life, he doesn't want to ravage the body under his, though maybe he'd remind you that he could, if you'd only ask him to.

No. Perhaps, instead, you'll prop yourself up against the mountain of pillows he'd given you to nest in, and you'll cradle his head in your lap, your clawless fingers stroking gently up and down the space between his impressive horns as you tell him stories well into the night, listening to the crackle of the wall sconces together.

'Is that what it must be like?' he wonders, 'to take a lover who has no interest in power or status?' That must be what the stories mean, when they talk of love for love's sake.

Ah... But that kind of love has no place in Hell. The selfless kind. Altruistic. Here, one either loves to gain power, respect, and to rise through the social ranks, or one simply doesn't love at all.

In all the years he's sat on the throne of Hell, never once did he think he'd find himself so captivated by the sight of a human with no clothes on.

The leathery membrane folded between his wings starts to creak as they gradually spread open, driven by an ancient and well-buried instinct to appear bigger, stronger, more suitable than any other demon in the fortress...

He doesn't even notice that his tail has begun to sweep silently from side to side in perfect tandem with the swing of your hips.

Regardless of his imposing presence lurking just behind you in the doorway, you still don't seem to have noticed that you have an audience, and you likely would have gone on with your oblivious dance had the demon Prince not sabotaged himself moments later.

He never meant to do it. He's certainly never been caught doing it before, not even when he was trying to court an impassive Lilith.

Somewhere deep inside his almighty chest, the demon's muscles begin to quiver, pulsing together as they work to push a strange sound up through his throat - something between a contented hum and an unmistakable, mortifying purr.

You notice the sound before he does, but his reactions are sharper than your own.

Your song trails into uncertain silence, there's a whoosh of air and an enormous shadow flits backwards through the doorway just as you turn around to investigate, curling your arms around yourself in anticipation of finding a peeping-tom.

… The entrance is empty.

The Phantom guards scramble to attention when their master suddenly comes storming out of your chambers, his tail lashing like a whip and his mighty chest heaving in and out as if he's trying to stoke a fire in his lungs.

Gleaming fangs crush themselves together as he thunders aimlessly down the corridor, his only concern in distancing himself from the room of his prisoner.

What was that?

What the Hell was that!?

Of all the ridiculous, humiliating, puerile things for a Prince to do.

A purr...

A purr!

At his age! And one directed at a human no less.

He's Samael! Accuser, Seducer. Prince of Demons and Lord of Darkness. He's well above the feeble allure of the flesh.

... But it wasn't just your flesh that tempted him, was it?

Samael's lips curl to bare his teeth as he viciously swipes the thought away with another lash of his tail.

It doesn't matter, he tells himself resolutely. You hadn't seen him, nobody witnessed the event, you'll carry on none-the-wiser while he strikes the whole mishap from his memory.

The Horsemen will come and take you away, as he intended.

Yes... Just as he intended.

EDIT: Holy shift I just realised I got so caught up in Samael's story, I never wrote Strife's!!!!!!! I'm so sorry!!!!

[tired-biscuit]

Point

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugou/fem!reader

Warnings: 18+ content [minors dni!!], established relationship, aged up, jealous!bakugou, degrading, unprotected sex.

Word count: 2.8k

---

BAKUGOU had never quite been a man prone to jealousy.

But god fucking damn it, as he watches the way you dance and twirl in your little party dress; your spine flushing further and further against the chest of the stupid phone charger of a man that he dares call one of his closest friends, it’s enough to make Katsuki outright fume with envy.

Staring at you like this, the bitter emotion he rarely experiences gives the ash blond a desire to tear his sly friend, who he’s known since his UA days, right to fucking shreds. With every smooth movement you make amongst the mass of sweat-coated bodies, he catches himself fantasizing about picking up those same shreds of his dumb, electric friend, chucking them all into a nice, tidy pile and setting them right on fire until they're gone, gone, gone.

Katsuki isn't entirely sure why he's feeling like this. Sure, it might be because of the lewd way your hips are swaying right against Kaminari’s goddamn crotch without stop, like they've been doing for the last three songs - yes he's counted each and every one, or perhaps how a kitty-like smirk graces your features when you see him glowering right at you across the room, but whatever the reason may be, it is enough to send him stomping towards you in quick, merciless strides that make him seem like he’s a determined soldier heading out to face the wrath of war instead of his tricksy girlfriend.

He can still taste the oaky, dry tang of the whiskey that he’s consumed in a singular swing of hand right on the flat of his tongue as he pushes past the crowd of hot, swaying bodies - vermilion eyes hard as stone. They fixate on you like you’re a little mouse he’s planning on cornering. Like you're a sad excuse for a girlfriend that he’s willing to crush into a pulp with that cruel fist of his.

What was supposed to be a fun night out is cut short by the way his hand firmly wraps around your waist as soon as he’s close enough that you can smell the sweet caramel that is his scent. It wraps around you now just like his body does; firm muscle and heavy bones surrounding you like a shield designed to protect. Or a cage meant to entrap; whichever you prefer.

Your boyfriend is in a mood - the discovery is made the moment you look up at him. He wears that frustrated, signature scowl on his face that you sometimes see whenever he loses at his silly PlayStation game: the one that makes him want to smash his controller right against the wall in a fit of rage.

Luckily for you, you’re used to his quirks by now, and thus know how to handle them even when they're angered. However, before your gloss-coated lips can even part properly to voice a witty retort, he tugs you off the dance floor with a prominent click of his jaw.

The muscle just underneath his sharp cheekbone flutters with irritation at the yelp you let out in response to the force he uses; disturbing the otherwise faux, shiver-inducing calm he portrays on the norm. It’s like a ripple in water: gone as quickly as it shows up.

Looking up at his side profile again, you wonder how such a hot-headed person can possibly wear an expression this icy, however he gives you no time to dwell on it much further. After all, the thought sizzles into nothing as soon as his hand moves from tug to shove.

Your tongue feels awfully hefty from the booze coursing your veins when you attempt to say his name, “Kat-”

“Keep walkin’,” is all he grits out with that gruff voice that makes your heart rage with absolute adoration as he places his palm right onto the small of your back. His touch makes your very insides squirm from delight. He’s rarely this affectionate in public.

“Katsuki, please,” you giggle out, attempting to stop in your tracks.

“I thought I’ve told ya to keep walkin’, y/n,” he grunts, pushing you forward again. He's clearly in no mood for your jokes.

That same calloused palm rests on the curve of your ass, now; thick fingers digging into your dress with evident possessiveness and urging you to do as he says as your aggravated boyfriend leads you out of the stuffy building. He promptly ignores Kaminari’s protests of a lost dance partner, and you wonder if it might just be because he doesn’t trust himself enough to not punch the honey right off of that sweet face of his.

Denki doesn’t seem to mind whatever he’s provoked, though. You catch his wink as he waves at you before his sniggering gradually fades away into the rhythmic, thundering beat of bass and melody that once again overtakes your sense of hearing with every step you take. You can still feel its buzz inside your very core; even as Bakugou tugs you out the heavy double door of the building with a firm nod to the bouncer.

By the time he waves for a cab, you’re clinging onto him like a little bimbo; shivering in your high heels and yearning for his body heat, despite that you’ve just spent the last three hours completely disregarding him by having fun with Kaminari instead.

Christ, just the memory of you nearly grinding against that dunce makes Bakugou want to blow up the entire building to fucking smithereens. He’s supposed to be a hero - a pro one, at that - and yet he can’t bring himself to care if the people inside that godforsaken club burned to fucking ash from how furious he is with you in that exact moment.

Katsuki doesn’t say anything when you whine his name into the cool evening air, testing and provoking his already thin line of patience. In fact, he doesn’t seem to be paying you any heed whatsoever when the cab arrives either. No, he just shoves you into the backseat; that big, rough hand of his landing to clutch your thigh as soon as he follows into the vehicle right after.

His grip is tenacious. He’s holding you so harshly that crescent markings of his nails are beginning to bite into the plush fat of your leg. You swear that you can feel sparks and heat emitting from the tips of his fingers whenever his thumb strokes the inside of your thigh. Swear that you can feel it burning your skin.

The fever you start to feel from somewhere deep inside you makes you want to rub your legs together. A small grunt leaves your lips at the barrier his hand provides, albeit it seems to land on deaf ears, because Katsuki doesn’t even acknowledge the sound of need. He just stares straight ahead; giving the driver directions that’ll lead you to your final destination with a voice so bland that it makes your brow quirk in fascination.

It seems that you’re spending the night at his place.

And it seems that your guesses were correct, because as soon as the cab pulls in front of his driveway; he’s tugging you out of the car without as much as a stiff goodbye to your driver. The way he holds your hand is greedy; scarred digits entwine with your own more delicate ones, making them burn with heat as you stumble along and attempt to catch step with him.

“Kat, baby,” you try again, “slow down, please. I can’t-”

“Quiet,” is all he says, the single word honed like the most parlous blade before he adds, “you danced in those fuckin’ heels just fine while dry humping Kaminari like a goddamn bitch in heat, so I'm assuming you can walk just as good with me, too.”

Oh.

The stern tone he uses with you is enough to clamp your lips shut like a good girl. Come to think of it, it’s the least you can do. If you look at the situation through his perspective, you’ve been nothing but naughty the entire night.

A naughty, misbehaving girl, indeed. One that's in need of a lesson.

And as soon as the door closes behind you and that dreadful click! of the lock resonates as it slips into place; he’s ready to teach it to you.

Actually, he's going to drill the lesson into you right here and right now, because it seems that he isn’t even patient enough to reach the bedroom.

You let out a girlish squeak of satisfaction at the feeling of his hands touching you literally everywhere. He’s cupping your cheeks harshly, squeezing them to the point where the touch makes your lips purse before his hot mouth latches upon them in laggard, needy kisses that make his teeth clash against your own and for your sugary saliva to mix with the hint of liquor you can taste on him.

He bites into your plump bottom lip: sucking on it and stroking it with his warm tongue as he tugs on your hair by pulling it at the roots harshly, making you whine from the throbbing, pulsating sensation to appear between your legs as soon as his incisor strikes home on your lip in a delicious pang of ache.

You’re wet as a whistle in a matter of seconds, the damp patch on your pretty panties growing more profound with each passing moment he spends spoiling you like this. He knows which places to touch to get you going; knows which spots to stroke to make you squirm and writhe and moan underneath him like the neediest little thing.

“Kat,” you whisper, your voice trembling as you try to slur out some sense of apology into the shaky sentence, “I-I'm sorry, baby. About Kami.”

“Stop sayin' that idiot's name,” he rasps out, his eyes blazing like a forge when he looks down at you, “‘cause if you don’t, Imma have to fuck my own right into that dumb, little brain of yours instead. I swear to god I will.”

"But Kam-" your lips part again to question what he means with it, but he shows you the answer before you can even fully finish asking for it.

His mouth is right next to your ear, his exhales warm and heavy to brush your earlobe as he turns you around and slams your front against the door in one swift movement of force. Both of your palms produce a smacking noise when they hit against the wood, making you wince as he uses his knee to push your legs apart.

“Fuckin’ slut,” he mumbles tiredly - the tone he’s using making you feel like a goddamn chore as he hikes up the hem of your dress up to your waist and slips his hand between your legs. His tongue clicks against his teeth in bitter disapproval when his rough finger pads trace the arousal that’s soaking the lace of your panties, “Are you drenched ‘cause of me, or ‘cause of that fuckin’ moron?”

He’s clearly upset from cursing this much. You know that he owns a foul tongue and a rich vocabulary when it comes to curses, but it still makes some twisted part of you that’s hidden deep, deep inside your heart writhe and grin in absolute delight. Like a satisfied little kitty that’s succeeded in getting the cream, you turn to look at him over your shoulder.

“Mm, ‘cause of you, Kat,” you purr softly, pushing your hips further against his hand with a cute, little wiggle, “always ‘cause of you, baby.”

He looses a sigh at your mischievous behaviour, but nonetheless complies to your silent plea by tugging your panties down your legs. Your entire body is aching to be filled up by him as soon as the lace hits the ground; to feel the rage that’s coursing his veins and to experience it becoming unleashed upon you in the form of rough, brutal slamming.

You just want him so bad. Need him just as bad, too.

And your wish might just become a reality, because now you can hear his belt buckle becoming undone right behind you as he curses again quietly under his breath.

It feels like torturous aeons as you wait for him to do something, and then bliss hits as soon as he presses the tip of his cock against your sticky, slick-glimmering slit; nudging your puffy lips apart like he’s trying to make you beg for it. You can hear him spit into his palm. Can hear the lewd squelching noise as he lubes up his dick with his own saliva.

Honestly, you just might give him a plea or two, because the tiny bit of friction that happens whenever he pushes against you makes you want to slam your head right into the door he’s pressing you against. All until you’d be able to taste the splinters on your tongue and feel his cock bullying your womb.

“Ka-Katsuki…!” You cry out, hips bucking, body temperature rising, “Lemme have it, plea-ah, fuck…!”

He doesn’t even let you finish as he rams himself right between your unstretched walls that are eager to accept him, despite the lack of foreplay. He hisses from how tight you are as you claw against the door, toes curling within your pretty high heels as you attempt to stabilize yourself.

The alcohol that’s riddling your blood numbs the pain by the smallest fraction, but you can still feel the burn of the stretch with every inch he pushes inside your sticky warmth, now. You’re outright trembling at the sensation of being so full; can practically feel his cock throbbing inside your belly.

“Holy fuck, you’re tight as shit,” he groans out, the sound like a low rumble of a waking beast, “it’s like you’re fightin’ me on it.”

“I-I’d never, Kat,” you mewl out, your voice hoarse from the sob that’s bubbling up your throat. He can see your nose scrunch up from equal amounts of pain and pleasure as you turn to look at him. Your eyes seem to have gone glossy from the upcoming tears as you murmur a meek, “I love you.”

“Yeah, baby?” His lips find the crook of your neck as he whispers, “You love me? Only me?”

“Yes…!” you say as you bend further for him now, pressing your ass against his abdomen with that perfect arch of spine. He can see your curves sway and jiggle with the motion; can see the gleam of sweat on your skin as you add, “I love you s’much, Kat. Only you.”

Your voice is nothing but a smooth whimper. It‘s messing with his head, making him unable to fully comprehend the way you’re nearly melting against him as he at long last bottoms out.

Katsuki looks down as soon as you jump a bit and he realizes he’s balls deep inside you. He can see your smooth, clean-shaven pussy wrapping around his achingly hot girth. It's nearly eating him up as it attempts to start milking him right from the start.

His rosy lips purse, rough palms caressing your cute booty as he spits on the spot you connect and pushes the skirt of your dress even higher, so that he can get a better view.

The sleek sheen of his drool is practically mesmerizing on your skin. It mixes with your excitement before it starts to drip onto the wooden floorboards. Drip, drip, drip - you're leaking from how turned on you are. The curl of his smile is hard to repress from how pleased he feels about it.

“Pretty,” he mumbles, seemingly in somewhat of a trance at the ring of milky slick to gather and spurt down his dick, “my pretty girl… Takin' my cock so well. Gonna fuck you, now. Gonna slam you so fuckin’ good, baby.”

And before you can even reply, Katsuki starts to pound.

Your moans sound broken from how fast he gets harsher, sloppier - angrier. How his pace is so agonizingly slow, but he still manages to reach deep inside you with it as his hand finds your hip. So deep, in fact, that he’s kissing your cervix and branding your fucking soul with his name. Owning that soft, gushy spot within you that makes you want to lose your mind whenever he abuses it.

“Ka-Katsu... Mmph...!”

“Hah... That's it, baby. Show me how much you love me.”

And as he begins to unleash that fury of jealousy upon you; fucking you like a wild animal in heat and making you cry out his name and cream on his dick with such intensity that it makes your legs weak and your knees buck from exhaustion, you realize one thing:

He wants to prove a point.

And he won't stop until you accept it.

[lowkeyorloki]

Gentle

Your fellow chambermaids have often spoken about their experiences in the dark haired prince of Asgard’s sheets, but when you finally meet Loki in that way, it isn’t what you expected

fingering. 18+. reader is a virgin in this fic. enjoy!

Read the second part to this fic, ‘Harsh’ here.

~

It happens differently than you thought it would. 

It begins with a simple proposition; a brush of Loki’s fingertips on your hip in the long hallways of the palace. He catches your eye as well, his glinting with excitement. It makes your stomach jump in anticipation. 

The maids you’re walking with notice. Asta in particular seems the most interested. She is, after all, Prince Loki’s latest conquest. 

“How will he make me feel?” You ask her later in the kitchens. Your hands smell of meat as you scrub the pots and pans from tonight’s feast. Night is approaching, and you know you’re expected at Loki’s door soon. 

“Full,” Asta answers. “His fingers alone were more filling than any cock.” You flinch, the language she uses uncomfortable to you. The maids knew of your inexperience. You weren’t privy to conversations like this. 

“He leaned me over a table in the library,” Brenna says from across the kitchen. “The one by the staircase. I still get dizzy when I think about it.” She’s smiling at the memory. Smirking, more like. 

“Oh,” you answer. You wonder if Brenna was left with splinters. 

“You ought to go now,” Asta advises you. “You don’t have to know Loki intimately to remember he is lacking in patience.”

~

Loki’s room is dark and heavy. The feeling isn’t all in your head - there are three candles lit in addition to the glowing fire place. You’re shocked to see there isn’t a bead of sweat on Loki’s brow. 

He gives you a small smile as he presses you against the door, wrapping a lock of hair around his finger. Then he pulls away. 

“Here,” Loki walks over to the table by the bed and takes a goblet. He gestures for you to follow him. You obey, and he hands the cup to you. “Drink.”

“What-?” Loki’s gaze fall towards your stomach, and then travels back up your body to give you a knowing look. You feel your face burn. Of course. A potion to prevent motherhood. You tip your head back as your drink, draining the cup in its entirety. Loki watches you the whole time. A bead of liquid escapes the corner of your lips and slides down your neck. Without warning, Loki pulls you towards him and licks it. 

You gasp, dropping the goblet on the floor. Loki’s tongue is warm and wet as it travels down your neck. He scrapes his teeth over the muscle, and it makes you shake beneath him. Your hands have found Loki’s waist, and they clutch at it. Loki hums in turn. 

“What’s your name?” He asks, peppering kisses down your jawline. You tell him in a breathy voice. The prince smirks against your skin. “It suits you,” he murmurs. Loki guides you towards the bed, and you sit on the edge of it. He laughs, a charming noise, and shakes his head. “You’ll have to lay down, sweetheart,” he tells you. You swallow. That’s an awfully kind title from someone so scrutinized. 

You begin to lay back, your shoes falling from your feet, but Loki stops you once again. You begin to feel even more self conscious. You’re not good at this. You don’t know what you’re doing. 

“Take off your dress,” he commands softly. You tense. You knew this was coming - but you already feel exposed. And Loki will be the first to see you like this. 

He smiles at your uncertainty. “Fine,” he says. “I’ll go first.” 

Loki strips silently, efficiently. His beauty becomes more obvious with every garment he discards. His skin is flawless, which you don’t quite understand. You often hear Thor regaling any willing audience with tales of battles, and you’re more than certain Loki is present at them. But his skin has no scars, no marks. It’s pristine. 

You want to touch it. 

You know Loki is strong, which might be why his smallness catches you off guard. As he grows closer, you can see his muscles moving. They’re prominent, but not in the same way Thor’s are. Loki’s muscles are lithe, for movement and use. Thor’s are for decimation and show. 

You can’t help but reach out to run a hand over Loki’s milky chest. Your thumb catches his nipple, and the prince’s breath hitches. Your head shoots up, like you’ve done something wrong, but Loki says nothing. He puts his hand over yours, guiding it over his sternum and toned abdomen until it’s nestled in the coarse black curls of his groin. Your heartbeat quickens. 

Loki’s... cock is turning towards you. It doesn’t seem to be fully erect yet, but then you wouldn’t know. You marvel at it, the reddened tip and heavy balls. You swallow. 

“What do I... do to it?” You ask. Loki looks confused, just for a moment. 

“You kiss it,” he explains, pressing your hand against it. You jerk as his cock grows under your touch, but Loki’s grip keeps you with him. “Stroke it. Take it into your body, if you’ll allow me.” Loki’s brow pinches together slightly. “Darling, have you never been with a man?”

Your face burns. You want to exclaim that yes, of course you have, how dare he suggest otherwise, but Loki is the god of lies. He’ll spot yours in a heartbeat. 

“No,” you answer, looking away. This is humiliating. Even worse is the arousal growing between your legs, the wetness coating your thighs. You want this. 

“Woman?” You shake your head. No one. You’ve been with no one. “Alright.” Loki says. “There’s nothing the matter,” he tells you. Loki releases your hand, tilting your chin so you look at him. “So long as you want it, that is.”

“Yes,” your answer is immediate. Desperate, even. Loki smirks. 

“Then take off your dress,” he tells you. 

You sit up straight, reaching behind yourself to untie the lace of your bodice. Carefully, you peel the article of clothing over your head, leaving you bare aside from your soaked panties. 

Loki pulls you towards him. Your legs falls around his hips, his hardened self pressing against your clothed core. You cry out at the sensation - it feels electric. You like it. 

“Shh,” Loki shushes you, then places his mouth on the curve of your breast. You let out a small oh. Goosebumps form all over your body, and you reach up to thread your fingers through Loki’s hair. He bites down on your nipple unexpectedly, and you yelp, harshly pulling on his curls. Loki grunts, then pushes you flat on the bed.

“Careful, girl.” He says mischievously. “You don’t know what you’re getting into with that.” Excitement thrums through your body. Maybe you’ll know someday. 

Loki settles himself between your legs. You lift your hips, taking off your panties and tossing them aside. Loki sucks on the softness of your thigh in response.

“Good girl,” he praises you. You keen under the title. 

Loki looks at the juncture between your legs with an intensity. He reaches out, stroking your puffy lips to see how you’ll respond. You jump at the touch. 

“Relax,” he coaxes you. His fingers begin to slide over your slit, then circle your entrance. You whimper. “You’re fine. Your body wants this, sweet. Look.” He holds up his two fingers, shiny with your slick. You squirm. 

Without warning, Loki thrusts his index finger into you, and you let out a cry. You grip the sheets between your fingers, squeezing your eyes shut. The feeling is overwhelming. 

Loki says your name a few times, keeping his finger entirely still. You don’t move at all, or at least, you don’t think you do. Loki lays a heavy hand over your belly, moving it in soothing circles around your navel. 

“Tell me how it feels,” he says. A second finger begins prodding at your entrance. You clench. 

“I- I don’t know,” you manage. It’s new. 

“Does it hurt?” You can hear something new in Loki’s voice. Concern.

“Yes.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“I...”

“I have to move it to make it feel better,” Loki tells you gently. You look at him nervously. 

“Okay.”

Loki places a small kiss on your hip, then slides another finger in. Your face contorts at it, but you will yourself to relax. Slowly, Loki’s fingers begin to move, obscene sounds filling the air. Loki was right - with each thrust of his fingers, the feeling becomes less foreign. You can feel Loki’s steady breath on your clit as well, and it all soon becomes more pleasure than pain. 

“How does it feel now?” You blink hazily. 

“Not - Not what I thought.”

“Not what you thought?” Loki asks amusedly. “You just told me you were untouched.” 

“The other maids,” you say, forgetting the possible insult of your words. Loki slows. 

“And what did they have to say?”

You freeze. You’ve offended him. Palace gossip has no place in bedsheets.

“Just that... your fingers made them full.” You stumble over your words. 

“And my fingers don’t make you feel that way?”

“No. Yes! I...” you try to straighten your thoughts. “That’s not the right word.”

“Then what is?”

“I'm not sure,” this is too new for you to describe. “They’re... long. Nimble. It’s like you already know me. I feel like you’re reaching inside my entire body, not just my... my...”

“Pussy?” Loki finishes for you. Your cheeks burn. 

“Yes.”

“Hmm,” you tilt your head, looking over Loki’s face. He’s pensive. “Sit up.” He commands suddenly. You do so with effort. Loki free hand snakes around you, resting on the small of your back to keep you steady. “Look at that, sweet.” 

Your eyes drop towards your wet sex. You whimper at the sight. You can’t even see Loki’s fingers. They’re buried to the knuckle, disappearing deep inside you. His thumb flicks over your clitoris, and you let out a breath.

“Do you want that to be my cock?” He asks you. You nod, reaching forward to clutch his shoulders. “It’s going to hurt more than my fingers. You’re so tight, sweet, and I might be too big for you.”

“Try,” you rasp, looking your prince in the eye. “We can try.”

Loki brushes a few hairs from your face, and then leans forward to press his lips against yours. His tongue is wet and heavy, massaging your own. You moan. 

“Well then,” he says, drawing his fingers out. They’re wet, and just barely tinged with blood. Loki brings them to his mouth, licking them clean. “Lay back.”

[shunsuiken]

CUDDLE CLOSER.

pairing. gojo satoru x gn!reader

genre. fluff + highschool!au + gojo is clingy (and we love that)

synopsis. satoru’s inheritance of the six eyes has given him a name within the jujutsu world. but this world does not know of the consequences that come along with it. or, satoru experiences the overstimulation of his six eyes jujutsu firsthand and you are a jujutsu sorcerer who manipulates temperature.

wc. 0.7k

an. i just think . this hc is neat. was inspired by a fanart on twitter ! also thanks to the ppl (@oikadori i remember seeing ur user on the post thank u bestie muah) that helped me w discussing the idea of a sorcerer who can control temperatures !! i can’t rmbr all the blog usernames but u all are very appreciated <33

“satoru?” you called out, knocking on his door softly. “is everything alright? yaga’s looking for you.”

“y/n, is that you?” you heard his voice and you could immediately tell that something was wrong.

his voice was muffled, like he was face-flat on his pillow. thankfully you could still make out what he said. “you sound sick, have you not recovered from your cold?”

“c- come in first,” you heard him say, then you pushed down on the handle to enter his room.

it was dark. not a single light was on. not even the silly night lamp he bought for himself as a joke (to make you laugh about it because he loved how you laughed) was lit on. you could only see gojo’s legs lying on the bed from the light that shone in from the afternoon sun.

you closed the door behind you with a ‘click’. with the sound of your footsteps, gojo’s head turned to the entrance of his room. “y/n?”

if it weren’t for how his hands were keeping an iron grip on the pillow to his face, he would look awfully cute. well—he still looked cute, his white hair was pointing in all corners of the universe but with the atmosphere in the room… you had a feeling that gojo wasn’t just sick because of a cold.

your brows furrowed in concern and curiosity. you sat next to his body that was lying on his stomach, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “satoru, what’s wrong?”

“my e- eyes, they hurt,” he was able to say through gritted teeth.

his eyes… hurted? what was that supposed to mean?

your hand on his shoulder moved, caressing him. “when did it start hurting?”

“i dunno,” gojo huffed in annoyance—not at you but at the stifling pain in his eye sockets. from what you’ve witnessed so far, his way of alleviating some of the pain was stuffing his entire face into his pillow. “it hurts.”

“what can i do for you? since i’m here,” you asked.

gojo lifted his head, eyelids carefully opening to reveal his electric azure eyes.

“woah,” you blinked. it took you a moment to realise that his eyes were an extra shade of blue today. it seemed like his eyes were experiencing a snowstorm, chaotic spears of sapphire just whizzing around his dark, black pupil.

you decided to move spots while figuring out what you could do. so you laid down on the bed too, inviting the giant man-baby into your arms so he could feel the coolness of your skin. he hummed, face finding a home in the space between your neck and shoulder blade.

you felt it just then. the heat radiating off his eye area; it was feverish. you’re not entirely sure how that was possible. but maybe that was why gojo’s eyes were shut tight.

all things aside though, you were a sorcerer. and you were a sorcerer who could use their cursed energy to manipulate temperature.

on the battlefield you had your cursed tool to aid you in manipulating temperatures for larger areas. but for a situation like right now, your cursed tool wasn’t needed.

your hand made its way to gojo’s eye area, with cursed energy flowing through your hand you planted your cool palm onto his eyes.

gojo sank into your form like a baby. his shoulders untensed, and there was also a relieved sigh. your work may be temporary but it was much better than nothing—much better than stuffing a whole pillow to the face at least.

your boyfriend made himself comfortable, motioning you to lean on the bed frame while he laid his head on your lap so your hand wouldn’t be in an awkward angle. “you comfy?”

“i should be asking you that,” you chuckled lightly, your free hand running through his messy locks of hair.

“well if you wanna know,” gojo teased, “i am very comfortable.”

your heart eased with his words. you understood the pressure on his shoulders, and you understood why he had to lie to yaga about having a ‘cold.’ if word got out that one of the strongest jujutsu sorcerers was in a weak state it would’ve caused an outburst in the number of curses.

but for now, you both rested in the comfortable silence. you listened to his breathing patterns, making sure nothing was out of the ordinary while your cursed energy prevented the overstimulation in his eyes from raising in temperature.

[iwannabangchan]

Take Care.

Pairing: Changbin (solo) x fem reader

Word count: 1.09k

Content Warnings: Smut (minors dni); Masturbation (m); Getting Caught; Dirty Talk; Angst? (not really); Chanbin’s just really horny   

A/N: Hey everyone! This is my first time writing smut so I hope I did a good job. I used my very limited knowledge about music production to write a studio scene, so I hope it makes sense and isn't all over the place :D Constructive criticism is always welcome, so lemme know what you think~ 

Also I’m accepting requests so please, do your ting <3 

~ ♥ Li ♥

It was likely for 3racha to spend several hours in the studio after dark, and tonight was one of those nights. Except, this evening was a little different.

Tonight, Chan planned to introduce you to Jisung and Changbin as a fellow music producer and a close friend of his. You had been there for hours helping them produce their comeback song as Chan thought it would be a good idea to get a second opinion of expertise to help them with a couple of hurdles they couldn't seem to overcome. 

"Well, it sounds a little flat right here. I was thinking..." 

Changbin wanted to pay attention to what you were saying, but he completely zoned out. Your subtle cleavage revealed itself as you reached over to grab the mouse. He couldn't help but wonder what your bra size was and how your gorgeous tits would probably fit perfectly in his hands. 

"They're probably so soft," he thought to himself.

His eyes continued to scan all the way up to your exposed neck: you wore your hair in a high ponytail to keep it out of your face while you worked, completely oblivious to the fact that you were being eye fucked by him from across the studio. He remembered the sweet-smelling fragrance from your neck when you greeted him with a hug as you stepped through the door. 

Your displayed neckline only invited more dirty images in his head. Maybe you’d like it if he gently bit and sucked your neck while you scream his name.

" ...then add some ambiance to the tonic note, maybe that'll help, right Changbin?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah" he quickly answered, not registering a single thing you just said. 

"Well, I'd love to stay longer but it's getting pretty late. Thanks for having me guys," you said picking up your stuff. 

"Thanks for coming, Y/N! I'll drop you off" Chan sprung up from his seat to grab his keys and walk you out. 

"Jisung, Changbin, take care!" you waved followed by Chan and leaving them saying their goodbyes in unison.

Jisung knew something was off from how awfully quiet Changbin had been the entire evening, which was unlike him. However, he also didn't want to put him on the spot in your presence. But now that you had left he took the opportunity to turn to him.

 "Hyung, are you good? You've been kinda...off?"

"Yeah" He answered hesitantly "I just need a quick break, I'll be back" standing up from his seat and leaving abruptly to go to the practice room.  

Changbin wasted no time in whipping his phone from his pocket and looking up your Instagram out of curiosity while biting his lips in anticipation of what's about to come (no pun intended).

And sure enough, a few scrolls down is a professional nude photoshoot you did a couple of weeks ago. A black and white silhouette: not enough to see you, but more than enough to make his imagination run wild. 

The portrait allowed him to imagine dirty things about your body in ways he knows he shouldn't.

 How would you look on your knees? On your back, legs spread out for him? 

Fuck- his heart was beating out of his chest and he knew what he wanted to do was so wrong. But he didn't want to stop. He deserved it right? He had spent hours holding in the urge to touch himself which resulted in the painfully hard bulge that was now in his pants. 

Changbin's nerves wouldn't let him relax. His eyes kept glancing at the door and back at you on his screen. 

"Now would be a great time to have a lock on that door," he thought to himself. 

Changbin wished you could be here, taking care of him, instead of him being left here like he spends most of his nights...alone.

He really shouldn't- you've just met for the first time a mere 2 hours ago and you're Chan's friend for christ's sake! 

And he's positive if you were here, you'd look at him with utter disgust- like the pervert he is. But all dignity and decorum as flown out of the window already. He'll worry about his morals another time, right now his focus is entirely on you. 

Bucking his hips up and pushing his pants down to his ankles felt like muscle memory. His hard dick sprung up and hit his stomach with a thud as he unleashed it from its confinement. He doesn't even hesitate to start stroking his cock while analyzing your beautiful curves on his screen. Immediately thinking of which ways he'd want to have you.

Your thighs wrapped around his waist? How about your face in his pillows and your ass up in the air? 

He has to bite his lips to stop himself from moaning, but he quietly whispers your name.

Eyebrows furrowed and his mouth agape, as he whispers your name again. Loud moans threaten to rip through his lips as he feels himself getting closer to his desired orgasm.

 In an attempt to edge himself, his hand flies away from his cock when he feels he's beginning to spiral out of control. Changbin lifts his right hand up to his mouth and spits into his palm, ready to go for Round 2. His wet palm grasps his sensitive tip as he moves in a slow, circular, teasing motion. More precum seeping from his hole makes his eyes roll to the back of his head.  

How would you look with your wet pussy spread so he can- 

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

 "Hyung, you in there?" Jisung questions, standing inches from the door with his laptop in hand.

"WAIT!" 

"Uh, I need help saving the track, can I come in?" already pushing the door open a crack to welcome himself. 

"NO!- no, Bro now's not a good time, okay? Come back later" Changbin said while frantically pulling up his sweats. 

"What are you even doi- you know what? I don't wanna know." And he shuts the door, staring at it briefly before turning around, slowly clocking onto what Changbin was getting up to behind the closed door. The thought alone made him shudder.  

Changbin kicked his head back on the chair and looked up at the ceiling, gripping his phone tightly.   

"You fucking idiot. Why... why?!?" he questioned himself, suddenly feeling a wave of regret.

"Sorry, I'm not sure I understa-" Unknowingly, Changbin's hard grip on his phone activated Siri.

"SHUT UP" He yelped, tossing his phone on the couch, now feeling guilty for acting like a horny teenager with no self-control. 

  ♥ Thank you for reading  ♥  

Taglist

I’d love to start a taglist for my future work! If you like to be tagged please comment or send me a request! I also accept tags for specific memebers :)

[ragingbookdragon]

Batsis & Green Lantern, Sittin’ In A Tree. K-I-S-S-I-N–Wait, Is That Our Sister? PT. 2

Kyle Rayner x Batsis One-Shot

Word Count: 3.3K Warnings: NSFW (Slightly), Explicit Language Tags: @starflyer-104

Author's Note: Hi I finished this! Enjoy! -Thorne

**********************************************************************

Oddly enough, she didn’t make Kyle do anything other than design the first month he was at Wayne Manor. And she was true to her word. He had an entire room to himself, and the room was as big as his whole apartment, bigger if he was honest; and that wasn’t all—he had every instrument an artist could ever want, even some of the newest drawing tablets and pens that hadn’t even come out yet. Limited edition first pick that only someone like her could get her hands on by merely flashing that pretty smile and her last name of “Wayne”. It was a graphic artists dream come alive, and Kyle was afraid that he was going to wake up from it that he never once tried to pinch himself to see if it was a dream or not.

Surprisingly enough though, (Y/N) was being awfully nice to him too. She’d taken him shopping a bunch of times, a whole new wardrobe and even thrown in a new phone and laptop. Of course, Kyle wasn’t a fool and immediately confronted her about using her purchases to hold it over him. That was the one instance in which she wasn’t awfully nice because she sucker-punched him and told him to never call her a manipulator ever again. That she had never once used a purchase to force someone into something—she was a bitch but she wasn’t that kind of bitch.

He even questioned Jason about it once they got back to the manor and his friend cackled at the nice shiner he’d received. (Y/N) doesn’t buy things for people to make them do what she wants. She buys things for people because that’s how she shows she’s fond of them. Honestly, if she buys you what you want, especially if you ask for it, that’s how you know she thinks you’re a friend of hers. Just let her spoil you for a while, Rayner. You’ll miss it when you have to go back to NYC.

Kyle relented then, instead of fighting her on paying for everything, he watched her. Watched her when he asked for something. Just for a split second she’d get a look of honest surprise in her eyes before that smirk crossed her lips and she’d toss it in the basket before picking up her own needs. He found it almost endearing, the way she acted, like she wasn’t expecting him to ask for anything. And Kyle especially liked that look in her eyes. It made his heart beat a little faster when she gazed at him with those big eyes.

And while he did love that look, it only lasted for one month. Hell had come to the manor, and Kyle was smack in the middle of it.

***

“Good morning family!” she greeted cheerfully, placing her hands on Kyle’s shoulders. She received various replies, some happy, some tired, and Kyle gave his own.

“Morning, (Y/N). You seem happy.” He cut into the buttery waffle and started bringing the fork to his mouth when she grabbed his hand and gently but firmly, took the utensil into her mouth. Kyle couldn’t help but go slack jawed as she chewed and swallowed, offering him a smirk.

“I’m sorry,” she purred. “Did you want that?” His mouth opened and closed, and she pushed the plate forward, replacing it with a tall smoothie shaker that was a bright, sickly green.

“Uh…” he started, looking between the shaker and her. “What’s that?”

(Y/N) nodded at it. “That’s your breakfast for this morning.” She flipped the cap open. “It’s got spinach, kale, bananas, vanilla flavored protein powder, pineapple, mint leaves and spirulina.” She grinned. “It’s got all the protein and greens you need for the start of this wonderful day.”

“I don’t even know what spirulina is.” Kyle remarked.

“Blue-green algae super-food.” (Y/N) nodded at it. “From now on you’re going to drink smoothies every morning and then we’re going to weight train and run every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.”

Her family started snickering around the table and Kyle swallowed thickly daring to ask, “And Tuesdays and Thursdays?”

She grinned wickedly at him. “Combat, Rayner.” Handing him the shake, she quipped, “Drink up me hearties.”

“Yo ho.” Kyle whimpered when he sniffed it and gagged.

***

“C’mon weakling,” she nagged. “You’ve barely gotten through the second set. Don’t tell me you’re already tired.”

Kyle groaned as he pushed the weighted bar up, holding it for a second before letting it fall. “I told you I can bench press one-hundred. You put one-twenty on this bar,” he griped through gritted teeth.

(Y/N) smirked. “Feel that pain though? It’s weakness leaving your body.” She grabbed the bar with one hand, pulling it up and onto the hold; she grinned as Kyle panted, chest heaving up and down with every sharp intake of breath.

“I—don’t know—how you do this—everyday.” He gasped and she snorted.

“No pain, no gain, Rayner.” She walked around him, and Kyle was too weak to keep his eyes off her as she did. “Oh, I can’t wait for tomorrow,” she cooed, throwing a leg over his hips, lowering onto his thighs.

Kyle’s throat tightened and he gazed at her as she leaned forward, propping her elbows on his chest, staring into his eyes. “Pretty close there,” he panted and (Y/N) smiled.

“Closer the better in my opinion.” Her eyes narrowed bemusedly. “From here I can get a good view of your form.” She pulled away. “You’re using your lower back to push strength into your arms. This time, use your chest and shoulders. Deep breath when you push up, breathe out when you lower, okay?”

He nodded, grabbing the bar again. “What set now?”

“Three. Five reps.” (Y/N) pressed a hand to his abdomen. “Core muscles tight. Glutes tight. Keep the stability and use your upper body muscles alright?”

“Got it.” He said, pulling the bar off and she felt his pelvis start to push upwards and she splayed her fingers.

“Chest, Kyle. Not your hips.” He grunted, trying harder, and she put all her weight onto his hips, keeping them pressed down to the bench. It showed in his form as he improved almost instantaneously. “Nice job,” she murmured. “Keep going.”

He got to the fifth rep, starting to go up, when she purred, “Your arms are very strong, Kyle. I wonder just how strong.”

Something in her voice made his heart stutter and he forgot momentarily what he was doing. The bar shifted downwards, and he gasped as it came down at him; (Y/N) reached out, quick as lightning and grabbed it with both hands, standing from his legs to put the bar back.

She looked down at him, concern in her eyes. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” he breathed. “Sorry…lost my grip.” (Y/N) nodded and shimmied away, holding out a hand to him. “Thanks,” he said, letting her pull him up.

“Take five and go get some water, alright?”

He wanted to shake his head, tell her no, that he could keep going, but he thought against it and started for the water fountain in the corner. As he bent over, he happened to look back at her, seeing her bent over, stretching her legs. Heat pooled low in his gut, and he groaned, turning his eyes away.

“Jesus Christ,” he hissed. “Get a grip.”

“Let’s go, Rayner!” she called out behind him. “We’ve got two miles to run!”

Kyle let his head hand and he groaned again.

***

Compared to the day before, getting his ass kicked wasn’t as bad as it had seemed. That being said, (Y/N) wasn’t pulling her punches with him and he hadn’t managed to lay a single hit on her an hour in.

He gasped as she dropped him onto his back and he laid flat, gazing at the ceiling before him; she leaned over him, a cocky smirk on her face. “Need a break?”

“I’m not a novice in hand to hand. I trained with J’onn J’onnz for a while.” He countered with a glare and surprisingly, she nodded, rather impressed.

“I can tell in your form. You counter like he does.” (Y/N) bent down and gently swept away the sweaty hair from his forehead. “You’re learning pretty quick though, if I do say so myself.”

Kyle’s face lit up. “Really? You think—”

“But I can see that it takes you getting your ass handed to you over and over again before the lesson sinks in.”

His face pinched and he griped, “I should’ve seen that coming.”

(Y/N) snorted and patted his head, mocking, “You’re learning.” She smiled. “Now get up. You’ve rested long enough.”

“UGHHH!” he groaned, climbing to his feet.

***

On the third month and final month of the project, Kyle noticed a major improvement in himself. Not only had he lost a few of those extra pounds from snacking, toning all over his body, he’d also managed to expand his stamina a great deal. (Y/N) had congratulated him when he managed to run the various miles without even breaking a sweat.

The designs had come in well too, and Kyle honestly had more money than he knew what to do with. Well, rent and utilities were his most prominent factor, but even then, the money he’d have left over would last him a long time. He almost felt sad when they got to the final week of the project, no longer needing drawings, he was mostly there to make sure the designs were made correctly and with good materials.

(Y/N)’d even given him one of the first sets they produced and even if he was used to seeing his drawings published, it was another thing to see his name on the tag with it. It made him giddy, and he didn’t know how to rope that in with the continued nagging in the back of his brain. That it was all ending in a week. No more breakfast being made, no more laundry done, no more seeing his friends all the time and patrolling with them…and no more (Y/N) constantly.

When he thought about that, Kyle’s chest started to tighten, heart starting to hurt a lot more than he wanted to admit. And he knew why—somewhere along the lines of (Y/N)’s continual ass-kicking and training, he’d fallen in love with her. With her crude attitude and cocky smirks, her proud demeanor and skill, her beauty and the occasional kindness she showed to people, but most importantly, the love she showed for her family.

Most people saw an arrogant bitch who could school people six ways from Sunday both verbally and physically, but what they didn’t see, was the care she paid to those she loved most. To Dick’s anger issues, to Jason’s frequent regrets, to Tim’s consistent depression, to Cassandra’s ever-evolving education, to Damian’s rapid growth, to her father’s hurting soul—she cared so deeply for them, would give anything for them, even her life if it meant. And that made Kyle want to fall at her feet and worship her.

That this beautiful woman who allowed people to talk about her and never cared to correct, was the greatest woman alive, the most loving, the most caring. And she was hard, she was, but her love was tough and those that received it, her siblings and her closest friends, they knew she loved them completely. Kyle knew she cared for him. He only hoped that she wanted more.

***

The production party had been held in France and Kyle had never seen so many elites in one spot that he wasn’t sure how to even drink from his champagne chute correctly. Luckily, (Y/N) had stayed with him all night, tucking herself in his side and covering when he faltered in front of someone who didn’t speak English. And God, there was something very sexy about the way her lips moved when she spoke fluent French.

The party lasted well into the night and by the time they got back to the penthouse, he was dead on his feet. The siblings had dispersed to their rooms and (Y/N) stayed up a bit to speak with Alfred and Bruce over the phone. Kyle lingered around the kitchen with her and when she hung up, she sighed heavily, pulling out the dangling golden earrings and removing the chunky diamond necklace that probably costed more than Kyle did.

Her eyes met his and she smiled tiredly. “Did you have fun tonight?”

“I did,” he said happily. “It was…interesting to see what your life is like.” He chuckled. “Well, your day life that is.”

(Y/N) huffed a laugh and he wandered around the island, daring enough to reach up and grab her shoulders, digging his thumbs into her muscles. She groaned and hung her head a bit.

“Feel good?” he questioned, and she nodded.

“I don’t typically wear heels unless it’s for a party and I remember why.” Sighing, she pulled away from his arms and he just barely managed to keep the sadness from crossing his face as she turned. “What about you? Are you okay?”

Kyle shrugged. “Feel like I could sleep for a few days straight, but isn’t that how we all work?”

(Y/N) snorted, then sighed wistfully. “I almost don’t want this night to end.”

“How come?” he asked, and she met his gaze.

“I like seeing you flounder like a fish in front of socialites.” He rolled his eyes and she laughed, shoving him lightly. “I’m joking.” She rested her hand on his shoulder. “It’s been fun having around the manor. I know Dick and Jason have enjoyed hanging out with you.” She smiled and pulled away. “You should come back around after tomorrow.”

(Y/N) bypassed him and started towards her room when he spun and called her. “(Y/N).” she stopped and looked at him, waiting, expecting, and Kyle decided to lay his cards to her, letting her decide. “Spend the night with me.”

For a moment, she was surprised, honest to God surprised, then she smiled sweetly, something he wasn’t really used to, and she murmured, “Come with me.”

And Kyle barely managed to keep himself from tripping over his own feet as he hurried after her.

***

“Shut the door behind you,” she said, and he knew that just from the tone of her voice that she was the one who held the power—not that he cared, all he wanted was her. He felt his heart lurch as the door closed and she motioned him to come behind her. “Mind unzipping me?”

Kyle swallowed thickly as he reached up and grasped the gold zipper, gently tugging it down to where it stopped just above her rear. He also happened to notice that she wasn’t wearing any undergarments and he cursed under his breath. “Fuck, (Y/N).”

She grinned and with one hand undid the buttons behind her neck, then reached back, pulling his hands until his palms were pressed to her bare skin. “Be a dear and slip my dress off for me, hmm?” she leaned back into his hands. “Shouldn’t be too hard now.”

Before Kyle knew what he was doing, his hands were moving underneath the fabric of her dress, around her waist and up her chest, gently grabbing at the flesh of her breasts. (Y/N) gasped, a sound so saccharine in his ears, and leaned her head back on his shoulder.

“Kyle,” she whispered and with his pointer fingers, circled her nipples. Another gasp escaped her as she arched into his touch and she turned her head to the underside of his jaw, sucking the skin at his neck.

“(Y/N),” he groaned, rubbing up against her rear. “Baby...”

She was pushing away from him then, much to his dismay and she spun around, grasping at his suit. “Take your clothes off. All of them. Now.”

All that commanding she was doing was shooting straight to his cock and he obeyed immediately, not even caring about the dress shirt as he ripped it open, the buttons scattering across the carpet. He’d just gotten to his belt when he saw (Y/N) pull down her dress and he almost collapsed on his weak knees when her body came into full view.

For three whole months he’d been slowly driven insane by her tight clothes, guiltily imagining what she looked like underneath during the night, more often than not, relieving the urge.

She smirked and walked up to him, digging her fingers into the top of his pants and turned, pulling him along. They reached the beg and she yanked, sending him backwards onto the bed with a grunt, and then she was climbing atop him.

“I thought you wanted—” he gasped when she grabbed him through his pants. “I thought you wanted me to be naked.”

(Y/N) winked and squeezed him. “I changed my mind.” Leaning close, she let her lips hover above his. “I wanna see how needy I can get you.”

Kyle glared at her and surged forward, sealing her lips in a kiss before he wrapped an arm around her waist, tipping them over. She groaned into their kiss and wrapped her legs around waist. He let his free hand roam her body, caressing her side, squeezing her hip, slipping beneath her leg to grab at the flesh of her thigh. Each grasp, each pinch, each touch had her gasping and Kyle rocked against her, moaning under his breath.

Her fingers busied themselves with his belt and when she got it open, she unbuttoned his pants, and pushed them down a bit. Kyle pulled back to help but the second his hands left her body, he knew he made a mistake because she locked her ankles and placed her hands on his shoulders, shoving back. His back hit the bed and she was on top of him again, this time pinning his hands beside his head.

“Bad boy,” she admonished. “You weren’t supposed to move.”

“Sorry,” he retorted, but he wasn’t. Not in the slightest. “Couldn’t help myself.” He accentuated his point with a deep roll of his hips, and she grip briefly weakened as she ground herself down on him.

“You’re going to help yourself.” She warned, eyes devouring him where he lay. “Every movement is fifteen minutes added to how long I’m going to tease you.”

Kyle grinned. “Yes ma’am.”

(Y/N) matched his grin and before he could even see her move, she had a pillow from the top of the bed placed on his chest, long side up, enough to cover her from sight.

“What are you—” The door opened, and he tipped his head back on the mattress, seeing Dick and Jason gaping at them from the doorway.

For a solid moment, they all stared at one another, too shocked to say a word, then Dick and Jason were letting out the girliest screams Kyle had ever heard them make and they slammed the door shut.

(Y/N) sighed heavily and pressed her face into the pillow. “Lovely. Now we’re going to be all over the group chats.”

Kyle blinked, looking up at her. “You think so?”

“I know so.” She looked at him. “I knew I should’ve booked a penthouse across from this one.” (Y/N) started crawling off him when he reached out and grabbed her hips, keeping her in place; she cocked a brow. “Really? Your mood’s not killed?”

A flash of green appeared in her vision, then the door locked, and he smirked at her. “Nothing can kill my mood for you.” He squeezed her tightly. “Is yours?”

“Not in the slightest.” She reached down and traced the smirk on his lips. “Do me a favor though.”

“Anything,” Kyle agreed, and she grinned wickedly.

“Call me ma’am again.”

[amitieos]

The bed she wakes up on is hard and lumpy, so much so that she wonders how she fell asleep on it. Goodness, she must have been absolutely exhausted! The place looks like an infirmary of sorts, a little run down but she wouldn’t complain about that. People have to make do with what they have sometimes. It’s the swords and daggers dangling from the rafters that make her uneasy. They seem awfully out of a place in a room filled with clerics and priestesses tending to the injured and infirm. As she sits up she has to carefully dodge one placed above her bed.

Elincia stays silent for a little while, watching the scene just across from her. Edward, sweet and kind, interacting with a girl. A child come to aid them. He’s as gentle and warm with her as Elincia expected but she notices that the girl does not answer.

"Are you alright? There's no need to be shy," Elincia address the young girl quietly, patting the space next to her on the infirmary cot. Brown eyes watch her carefully, eager for a response. It occurs to her suddenly that perhaps the girl can't speak rather than won't. Regardless, there's no harm in trying to make the child feel at ease around then. "Thank you for bringing us breakfast, that's very kind of you. If I may be so bold, is there anything other than oatmeal on the menu?" Glancing at the bowl Edward seems to happily be munching away at, Elincia tries to picture herself eating it cold and feels a shiver run down her back. No, thank you very much. Perhaps heated with sugar and jam or honey it would be more palatable. Maybe she could ask for some fruit to accompany the meal.

She doesn't react to Elincia's questions. What she does react to are her movements--patting the cot, trying to look at what Edward is eating--the girl sees these from the corner of her eye. She turns to Elincia with surprise on her face, like she wasn't expecting her to be up and awake. She holds up the spoon and bowl and makes some gestures, first bringing the spoon close to her mouth, then extending it over to Elincia. She tilts her head for good measure, trying to punctuate the question.

"Oh, uh--" Despite being flustered Elincia would hate to be rude. It seems as though the girl truly cannot speak, or perhaps even hear them. With a gentle smile, Elincia pats her stomach twice and rubs it, hoping to indicate she's too full to eat. Which isn't entirely true, but she certainly isn't hungry enough to force down cold oatmeal yet. "Thank you." Elincia's mouth moves in exaggerated movements, hoping that perhaps if the girl is deaf she can lip read.

Her gaze raises to Edward, knowing he can sign. "Edward, how do I thank her?"

It takes him a second to respond. He’s really enjoying the oatmeal.

"Oh!" Oh so that's how it is! This, he can say even with his mouth full! Isn't that convenient. Grey meets brown halfway, full of enthusiasm, putting the fingertips of a flat hand to his chin, before letting his hand fall outwards. 'Thank you!'

The sight of Edward trying to speak with a mouthful of food elicits a few giggles from Elincia but she watches him sternly, analysing the gesture he performs in thanks. Tries her best to commit that to memory before doing her best to replicate it to the girl in front of her. To her surprise and delight, the girl’s face breaks into a radiant smile rivalling the sun when she sees both Edward and Elincia sign to her. It seems she’s comfortable around them now, at least. Elincia turns her attention to the rest of the room, attention falling upon a familar face near by.

“Sir Matthew! I did not know you were travelling with us. I’m afraid I have nothing of interest for you to swipe today,” Elincia smiles coyly, voice light and teasing. Her head inclines slightly as she regards him mirthfully. “Would you care to sit with us? I’m sure none of us bite and we’d be grateful for the company.”

pogchamp and oated // rigel normal gang :)