#just a tad deranged

[wwooyology]

if y'all need me I will be at the bottom of a canyon 🤞

[the-writing-mobster]

| TMDG Meme | Charans craziness at it again Poor Papyrus caught in the middle | 💙 🔪 💔 |

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[imissthembutitwasntadisaster]

So I've been thinking like an insane person and my point is The Artful Dodger is almost the archetype in English literature for a cheat, he exemplifies the character type in a way that transcends his novel and has entered public consciousness. So when we meet Jack at the start of tad with him being cheated, it's not signifying that he's lost his ability for crime, he clearly hasn't, he's still got a lot of the offbeat charm and showmanship which makes the original character so compelling, he's still engaging in what the Victorians would call dissolute behaviour (gambling), he's still very much a similar character and him being cheated isn't removing that, but it is removing his inherent identity as The Cheater - on an extra-textual level that archetypical identity is stripped from him, he still has the same skills and at times the same inclinations but in being introduced to him in a way that removes that household name core identity it indicates that no matter how similar he may seem, no matter how much Fagin says he's the same, something very fundamental has changed and won't change back.

And this is of course indicated by his running - the Artful Dodger runs as he blames his theft on Oliver, he runs from trouble to save his own skin. Jack runs from trouble to save someone else (and later, of course, he runs from trouble to make sure Belle survives, even if it means he's arrested again). You get it right you see the impies.

[suguru-getos]

sometimes you come across fics which have such deranged and disgustingly ooc gojo characterization like wdym his world doesn’t revolve around me and he’s an asshole? (me with bully gojo except his world does revolve around us later) 😔

[triglycercule]

putting on mtt offical themes and fanmade theme songs and group songs when i sleep all so when i fall asleep and dream i can see them and see what theyll be like and then i wont have to think of them 24/7 through my day when i can just think of them during night. this possibility could either end up in me getting killed by them so gruesomely that i wake up traumatized or i wake up happy and satisfied from a restful night of trio dream time

[silksworn]

"You will live as you live in any world...with difficulty, and grief."

OH PATHETIC, UNSEEMLY THING —

The drow allows the creature its mad ramblings, studying it all the while with dispassionate eyes. The sight of it inspires thoughts of the only sort of mercy Iraestra knows: a swift death. She considers granting it such; it trembles before her, vulnerable and clearly injured already. Blackened blood gleams like jet underneath the glow of the Moonlantern it clutches. She wonders if it truly understands the gift of what it holds, or if, like an insect, it is simply drawn to the light. Instinct to crave that which will always elude it.

She would not be surprised if it was simply the latter. Who truly knows how much of their minds any drider still possesses? Lolth's vile rancor touches no two alike. They are only equal in the bitterness of their fates, curse giving mortal form to the deepest depths of the Spider Bitch's cruelty.

"They would kill you in Menzoberranzan, wretched one," voice uncharacteristically soft, velvet folded upon velvet. A call to a child seeking comfort, the tender cup of hands around a bird with a broken wing. She does not say this as a cruelty, but as kindness. A reminder of what it must already understand "They would tear your remaining limbs from their sockets so all that would be left to you is the ability to crawl. They would blind each of your eyes with fire, and then maybe, if they were kind, end your misery by slitting you open from belly to breast to harvest what little is still of you inside you that may be of value. You know this."

Mistress: does the beast remember subservience, or does it speak of idols she cannot see? What madness holds its ruined ear?

Either way, the title whispers of opportunity to Iraestra. Weakness to be carefully plucked, an unforeseen bond to be nurtured. Perhaps she could have use of such a creature in her service.

"Is this not the second time you have been forsaken by a goddess you could not see or touch?" she asks. "Such fickle things, their favor. They call from on-high and do not heed when you are in need. As you bleed out in their service, only ever a faithful servant. Do they see how you toil, how you suffer? I ask you, is that love, dothka?"

She dare not creep closer yet, aware both of the stunning speed of the monster and the capricious nature of their ruined minds. "They are not here, but I am. I see you. I hear you. Now hear my voice, as you would theirs. You will not die today because I do not will it. My word is my vow to you, creature. Let me aid you so that you may serve again."

@verecundiara

[pinkkittysaw]

yuuta okkotsu is definitely an enabler of your weirdgirl (gn) behavior

[teamfortresstwo]

Okay so what if Vox is like - what if he has a mental link to the cameras ? To the point where strong shows of power at or before them can affect him- not entirely physically but y’know how the mind and body connect . Usually it’s not noticeable, even Alastor has only ever managed to give him the occasional headache.

…But oh, someone like, say, Lucifer? Pissed off and out for blood? That hurts . He immediately shuts the camera off and deletes all footage, of course he does, his processors can’t handle that type of thing - fuck! The normal human would probably have gone mad just looking at it!

But he is sane . He is unscathed, for the most part.

Though he may come to regret making this weakness known .

[dilftaroooo]

Being perverted strikes naturally within Gojo, so when the idea of being a step brother comes to mind during sex he can’t help but act upon the roleplay. You think he’s gross for it, but his questionable passion for it keeps you engaged (oddly enough).

☆word count: 6.3k+

★tags/tw(18+): dark content + stepc*st roleplay + foot f*tish + toe sucking (f!recieving) + dubcon (because reader is unsure at first) + reader is college-aged/gojo is 28 + squirting + age gap + vanilla sex + pubic hairs + scent kink + implied ass eating + hesitancy + reader is afab using she/her pronouns + mentioned latex kink + use of 'satoru-nii' + established relationship + gojo is a lil' mean + and sassy + lots of kissing + nipple play + creampie + getting caught having s*x + exploring kinks + praise kink + pet names + skull fucking + gag reflex + snot + we're talkin' 'big beefy whore with black compression shirt' gojo here + reader is a bit inexperienced + questions of certain kinks.

☆a/n: hey alexa, play 'poundtown by sexyy red' ayyye come suck a bitch's toooes. enjoy y'all, this shit nasty af.

You’re not a kink shamer.

You understand the sexual thrills of getting off to something that turns one on to the point of fulfilled ecstasy–weighted breaths and skin coated with a sheen of sweat from the unorthodox fantasies that provoke the human mind and manipulate the human body, keeping them bound to the shackles of pleasure as their perversion engulfs them whole. It feels beautiful–ethereal, dare you say, and you get that. Who wouldn’t want to feel blissfully satisfied just by mere thought alone? 

Now, exclusive of the deranged fetishes involving children, scat, or whatever fucked up shit out there that's befitting for a lowlife, you would say that you're a pretty open-minded individual. Always tolerating the naughty anecdotes told by your friends’ concerning their past hookups, distinctively remembering the giggles you all shared when reciting one of the stories from a particular friend that had them clad in a latex suit, lips decorated with ruby red, and three-inched heels coming into contact with the cheek of their previous partner as they squirmed in shameless arousal.

‘It was pathetic to see, but I’d be a liar if I said it didn’t get me going…’ And that mutuality between both parties is what makes it even more fun. They both get a kick out of something they enjoyed, so what’s to hate about it?

You’re not a kink shamer–not at all.

You and your boyfriend of a year and four months, Satoru Gojo, always carried the qualities of a couple depicted in unrealistic romance movies: the nuzzle of the nose that tickled your cheek before delving in for a peck, the surprise hugs he’d startle you with as you prepared an early morning breakfast, as well as the intertwined fingers while you both make your way to his favorite bakery (his kisses are even more sugared after scarfing down the kikufuku he’d order no more than a minute ago).

You always felt like the princess to his prince, stumbling over your gown to keep up with his hurried footsteps as you both venture through the gracious evergreen of a mythical forest. You have no time to remove the pastel violet and pink petals slotting themselves in your locks since your hand remains occupied with Satoru’s, moving exquisitely to the melodic song of the nightingales. It was a dream from a childhood storybook.

Moreover, what was revealed in public was, undoubtedly, the same in the comfort of your bedroom, living at your university’s on-campus apartment that you shared with two indifferent roommates. He would frequently stop by after work to spoil you with his affection. Always asking how your day was and whether or not you finished your assignments.

He was a tad bit older than you–twenty-eight and going, but you didn’t mind the age gap, it gives you all the more reason to tease him for his ‘old’ age, to which he responds with a pout and furrowed eyebrows, ‘Oh, how mean! Who would’ve ever thought that my darling angel could be such a devil…?!’ He’d say with faux anguish. He knows you’re only playing around–such the jokester.

Though, he couldn’t say the same for you in bed. Protected by the warmth of your sheets, you relished at how accustomed your body and soul were to his heartfelt transactions, vanilla-flavored sex, so sweet and tasteful on your tongue as he kissed you with want. Tongues twirling a sensual dance as your lips combine in rhythmic harmony. You also loved it when he coos in your ear, reminding you of how you’re so good to him before wrapping his lips around puffy areolas in a way that makes you writhe.

He’s so gentle with you. Handling a fine china cabinet with the utmost care, he makes sure he touches you in ways that wouldn’t break your fragile body. And when your nude skin presses against his as a result of his thrusts to your core, he reminds himself to get you moaning in his ear and get your hands gripping against the muscular curvature of his back.

It feels good. It always feels good. So, why does a part of you feel…bored?

The love is there, you won’t question that. When you come, you feel as though you’re one with the stars. And above all, he praises you. It’s nothing new, but in this context, you like to be his ‘pretty girl’ whenever the tip of his nose pushes against your wet clit. So, why do you feel like something is missing? You don’t know.

You haven’t been in many relationships. The last one you remember was in high school, dating a boy who only loved you out of teenage fever, and you shamefully admit that you reciprocated his confession. You were both young and unknowing of what the aspects of ‘love’ really meant. You never went past the boundary of hand-holding and cheek-kissing, so it remained stagnant until the moment you both broke up.

None of it was mutual, however. You can recall how distraught you were as you bawled in your mother’s arms, asking her what you did wrong while she soothed you with maternal pets to the crown of your head. That being said, it’s safe to say that you really don’t know what’s missing from you and your boyfriend’s intercourse–like, really.

But, thankfully, Satoru makes up for what you lack, telling you not to fret since he knows a lot and letting you know how much he’s been wanting to get to this point of intimacy with you–wanting to whisk his girlfriend away from the comfort zone that you’ve grown so attached to.

Satoru is without exception, enthusiastic to portray more during times of intercourse, yearning to teach you more than just the fluffy, domestic sex you both indulge in. It’s lovely and all, bleh bleh, whatever, Satoru gets it, but, man, what he wouldn’t do to see you on your knees, between his sinewy thighs parted for your form as he hovers above you, your head tilted upwards to take in his thick shaft through wet lips.

He’d make sure his red, throbbing tip hits the back of your throat so he can hear that sickening gag scurry out your mouth paired with the sloppy froth of your saliva slapping against his heavy balls with each quick thrust. He’d be too occupied to find the snot dribbling from your nose revolting because you’d be taking him in so deep.

That’s forever been his little fantasy–that amongst the vast amount of others. And to try each and every one of them with you would be a delight.

After you confessed to Satoru, you couldn’t help but notice how peculiar his ministrations started to get. It was gradual–starting with spanks on your ass to eating said ass. You’ll even bring up the time he used your feet to get off. It caught you off guard, you’d admit.

That day he had you pliable–on your knees with the left apple of your cheek flushed in the pillow beneath you and arms resting idly on your sides as you allowed your enthralled boyfriend to take the lead.

You assumed he was just gonna spit on your already-soaked pussy before massaging your puffy clit in the teasing, clockwise motions he likes to test you with, cock oozing with leakage before languidly gliding upwards to push in-between your cunt lips, but what you didn’t assume he’d do was trace his slimy precum against the soft skin of your toes to then rub his tip across your soles.

You tried to retract your feet away from him (toes wiggling in the process which had them accidentally graze across his balls. You could’ve sworn you heard him hiss) and protest his weird behavior but Satoru was already three steps ahead, firmly gripping both feet and nearly squishing them together if it wasn’t for the thick base of his cock preventing them from touching.

Each thrust he made ached with raw fervor and fuck him from being incapable of suppressing his passion because he couldn’t help but look down and see your cute pussy pucker and asshole twitch. What a sight for sore, cerulean eyes. Just as sore as your ass after he slapped it with an ever-so-firm hand, silently thanking his calluses for the rough impact.

He found it adorable how your shimmering entrance craved for insertion, winking rhythmically at him as though it’s saying, ‘Please fill me up, ‘toru! ‘M so lonely without you…’ (he chuckles to himself at the personification when done in a high-pitched tone).

But your pussy always gets his attention. You have another hole too, ya’ know–one that sits right above it, unused and virginal. Just imagine his excitement as he leans forward, cock still buried at the innermost part of your feet, to take a closer look. He’d smile at your coyness when you felt his hot breath blow on your skin, unsure of his next move.

In this new position, he can trace the faint smell of sweat emerging from you, and God, does that turn him on. More than it already does. So of course he had to steal a taste, trailing a fat strip of saliva against the rim, you squeal at the warm and wet feel of his tongue touching a place it had never been before,

“S-Satoru…what the fuck!” You jolted before moving from your position, migrating to any spot as long as it's far from your lover. You’ll never forget the sleazy look on Satoru’s face as both corners of his rosy lips tilt upwards for a cocky grin–yuck.

It grossed you the fuck out.

Not in a way that antagonizes your boyfriend, you love him too dearly to feel as such, but in a way that questions his morals. Why on earth would someone like Satoru want to be minimized to using the bottom of your soles for pleasure or savor the briny taste of sweat that builds up around the tight ring of your ass? I-I mean, you excrete from there, for God’s sake! That’s gross, especially in a place where the sun doesn’t shine.

You understand that he likes doing it, but why? How could something so perverse and dirty get him hard so quickly? Where’s his shame? His humiliation? His guilt? Were they not present whenever he sneaks a lick at your toes?

Perhaps you are trying to understand–who wouldn’t want to indulge in their lover’s feet, to caress the tough surface of their heels, and lead up their toes, to draw soft lines against them with plush lips as their medium before dipping them inside the wet cavern of their mouth and sucking the small digits before swirling their tongue and–ugh!–no! No, no, no, that’s sick! How can one do such a thing with ease? You can’t possibly imagine that.

But you’re not a kink shamer…right?

Your question remains unanswered, though, as you’re interrupted by Satoru’s moistened kisses trailing down the curve of your neck. You must’ve been in your daze for quite some time considering that the camisole top and loose shorts you lounge in took their positions on your bedroom floor. 

“Come back to me, baby.” You hear your boyfriend murmur and you deliberately oblige by running your digits through the white sea of his mane, wild and free as your fingers feather against his roots. He hums with love before leaving a kiss that's sloppier than the previous one. It starts with your usual routine, with soft and tenderhearted sex.

He pecks at your clavicle and you whimper in return as silvery lashes tickle the most sensitive areas of your skin. The passionate atmosphere continues to flow within the four walls of your room–containing your moans and your kisses and your touches, reverberating them in your heated figures while filling you both with distinct pleasure. It was good so far.

“Have any ideas in mind for tonight, sweetheart?” His voice is muffled as he joyfully sucks at the skin between the valley of your breasts, teeth clasping over the hot flesh to induce a mark darker than what your skin tone provides. You hold onto the fabric of his black shirt, soundlessly wondering why he is still garbed in unbreathable polyester while you remain bare save from your panties.

Lolling your head to the side in thought, you dwell on his question. Should you have something in mind? This isn’t the same as getting asked where to eat for dinner, per se. And owning to your inexperience with sex and fetishes, you’re incapable of bringing anything to the table in this sense.

You open your jaw, mouth filled with saliva due to the raunchy actions performed by your boyfriend onto your supple body, ready to speak your retort as you lick your chapped lips in preparation, but, Satoru knows you better than you know yourself.

“Yeah, I know you don’t,” It’s like he was born to study you. Your eyes travel to his person again, orbs resting upon Satoru’s scalp as you wait for him to finish. “Nothing in that gorgeous head of yours. It’s okay, though. I don’t blame you. I know an amateur like you wouldn’t have anything planned.” 

As might be expected, your brow raises at his comments slightly glazed with a patronizing drip, it’s gotten your attention, all right, as you turn your head to glare down at him. He’s sucking on your nipples this time and you forge a jerk but don’t falter, perked up by this newfound attitude from your loving partner.

“Oh?” You start and it carries the same uppity weight as his tone. “And I suppose you have it all figured out?”

He nods right after gazing up at you with arctic globes saturated with a heavy rush of sincerity and you can already feel the dreamy sigh materializing in your throat but never emerging. Satoru immediately sniffed out the indignance behind your words like a trained bloodhound. He rises from his spot upon your heaving chest to travel his way to the swoll of your chin, apologizing with a quaint kiss. 

“I do,” His smile is affectionate. “You know I always do, sunshine.” You gasp once something hard nudges against your squishy thighs before poking the outermost part of your panties.

“-Always think of something for that little cunt.” It isn’t long before it's cast to the side for clear access to your glimmering slit, doused in slick because your boyfriend had a remarkable way of handling you. He didn’t miss the embarrassed mewl of his name when he used filthy words.

He also didn’t miss the pull of air you took in as his thick finger swept up your bodily remnants, coating the fingertips of his middle and ring finger. You voluntarily buck your feeble hips in desire for him to push through your entrance but you know he wasn’t going to give it to you that easily. “You know, it gets me going when we do stuff like this when others aren’t around–when we do something so forbidden.” 

What–?

“Forbidden…?” Each syllable muddles your tongue as you ponder on its meaning: something that typically isn’t allowed or accepted–you’re not unaware, it’s a simple word, but is that the word he meant to say? “Why would it be forbidden? You’re my boyfriend, are you not?” Unless there’s something you’re unknowing of.

Perhaps he has a wife that he kept hidden in the shadows of his past. What if one wife turned into several wives? Maybe he’s a bloodthirsty murderer, ready to indulge in his next killing after getting you to trust his charming blue eyes and pink-liped smile. You don’t exactly know what the forbidden aspect of it all that he’s keeping from telling you-

You hear him ‘tsk’ and you assume it was meant to be taken seriously but it seems covered in mockery.

“Hah, Boyfriend? Have you no shame?” And he chuckles deep and grimy. “Don’t act like don’t know, dear.” You honestly don’t. “What would our parents think if they saw you, my sweet, little sister, grinding her greedy pussy against her older brother’s fingers?”

Oh.

Oh God.

Gritting your teeth for an evident cringe, you hurriedly toss your head to the side to break eye contact (how did he even manage to hold it for that long despite what he just said?!). There’s no way he’s doing this. Out of all kinks…

“For the love- Satoru. Stop, that’s fucking-” A sharp whine halts your sentence, stressed to the point of exaggeration. You don’t bother looking back up at him, already imagining his brows creasing with complaint at your disgusted remark.

“Ehh, what happened to ‘Satoru-nii’?” You almost would’ve forgotten the fingers sketching light circles on your sensitive button, going in for a pinch before tapping it aimlessly due to its slippery surface.

You clench your thighs together but Satoru’s heaping form prevents you from doing so. He’s a big mass of muscle reminiscent of a bull–broad shoulders along with thickened veins peeking through tough skin in the forms of streams, carrying the pulsing blood flow of adrenaline and transporting through each significant section of the body to energize his raging carnality.

“Are my fingers dwindling your vocabulary already? I just started using this pussy, sugar plum.”

A part of you wanted to believe he was joking–trolling like he usually does on literally every occasion. He knows how acquiescent you were in situations like these. So easily obedient to follow his golden rule when clinging to his hip, taking full advantage of your attributes to get you to do the perverted shit that spoiled his brain to corruption.

Of course, there’d be times when you’d retaliate, shouting out a brief ‘no’ before leaving the conversation unfinished, but it’s okay because he can butter you up to your good side. Use his words and his hands to do the convincing. Satoru has attributes of his own too.

But gazing into his eyes and seeing how aquatic blue dissolves into crimson red, only driven by lust, tells you he’s serious.

You look off to the side once more because staring at your nightstand is more soothing than staring at your deviant boyfriend. Out of all kinks, why this one?

“I don’t,” You close your eyes in an attempt to rid yourself free from his piercing glare. “I have no clue what you’re talking about.” You weren’t about to do this. You weren’t about to play into his wicked fantasies of being a relative of any sort. That doesn’t sound appealing at all.

“Don’t be like that, babe.” He mutters softly as if other people were in the room, prying with open ears to catch whatever dialogue is being transmitted between the two of you. A fingertip taunts at your sloppy entrance, just barely shoving past its tight grip. Sexual anticipation surged through your core at his ministration (his giggles at your hopelessness didn’t help you any). “You won’t know unless you try. Come on, do it for me?”

He’s too cute to refuse when your peripherals pick up his bottom lip raising upwards for a pout and feather-like lashes fluttering over glossy, blue orbs. Practically, begging you to follow through with this look alone–if only he wasn’t so handsome and used his charm against you in every way possible. God damn it-

“You’re sick, you know that?”

“Then you’re my antidote.”

You exhale in defeat since you unfortunately realize there’s no way out of this. Satoru’s too adamant to get you to play along with him, it’s insane. Turning your head to fully face him, which feels like the one-millionth time you’ve done so, you look him in the eye before aiming at the button of his nose, upturned and perky. Mentally getting ready to produce the God-forsaken words you are about to utter.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” You start and the way Satoru’s face lights up like a kid on Christmas irks you. 

You still feel mortification swirl in your skull like second nature. Your cheeks feel hot and it hurts–were you really about to do this?

Satoru was still teasing you to no end. Teasing that doubtlessly wet pussy with expertise. He was killing you by not giving you what you craved, only remaining on the surface as he waited for your verdict. Just one more push, one more shove and you’ll get there.

“And why is that?” He inquires.

Your bottom lip quivers with hesitation before an erotic groan escapes you. He’s so close to putting them inside. “Because you’re-” You pause to wait for a sliver of courage to finish your sentence. You’re not sure if you can-

“...I’m?” He continues.

You both catch on to the shaky breaths you’re letting out, two separate bodies feeling two separate emotions, one agitated and the other electrified.

“You’re my,” You tense but Satoru loosens. “-my b-brother.” He’s the Cheshire cat as of now. You wail once two fingers invade your thirsty hole, entering with a mushy squelch.

“And what is it that we’re doing, huh? What is it that we’re doing that would be so revolting to the public eye, hm? Tell me.” Can he stop pushing you already, for crying out loud?

“You fingering my, my,”

“You got it, keep going.”

“...fingering my p-pussy.”

Satoru cherishes your hesitance and rewards you, his obedient puppy. 

Digits curl upwards in search of that sensitive g-spot resting amongst your gushy insides. If applied enough pleasure, he’d be able to see how your back arches off your cotton sheets. Your mouth opens for a silent scream as the force of his fingers supports the buildup of liquid passion, pounding the area in addition to his palm rubbing your stiff clit the deeper he goes.

“There you go, my sweet girl, my gorgeous, little sister.” He fingers you harder and sucks at your erect nipples–when did they get so hard? As a matter of fact, when did your body feel so hot and needy? As though you’re deprived of something. 

Your boyfriend sucks at your tit before biting the small nub, grazing his teeth along sensitive skin for a chomp, causing your hands to fly to his head and grip the fur of his undercut, all while wincing in pain. He retracts his head with your nipple still in his mouth, giving it a stern tug like an elastic rubber band. You would have cursed him out if it wasn’t for the fingers still beating at your nether regions.

“Ah, S-Satoru!” He bites harder and you remember his request from earlier. “Satoru-nii.”

As if you hear a winner's buzzer, he hums in approval and releases before gorging his lips around the other one, gently guzzling it this time, skillfully whirling his wet appendage around the nub in combination with hungry sucks. He unloosens with an obnoxious, wet pop!

“M’so glad your mom married my dad. If it wasn’t for that, I wouldn’t be able to take care of my little sister’s pussy like how I’m doing now. Wouldn’t that be so sad?!” He inquires gleefully. “I’d be so miserable–jerking myself off to meaningless porn when I could be stuffing my big dick deep inside your aching cunt. Hearing you moan out how much you love your older brother for making you squirt your sticky juices all over me. You even got your hairs trimmed in the way you know I love.”

The sound of fabric grinding against fabric fills your ears as he maneuvers his head to reach down to your pelvis, stuffing his nose on top of the shortened pubes, his mouth hangs dangerously over your clitoris.

He takes in a deep breath like he’s smelling the fresh air of healthy trees and freshly cut grass, basking in your heady scent while feeling his cock go rigid in the plush of your mattress. 

Too aroused to feel embarrassed, you buck your hips so you can finally get his mouth on your itching button and he finally compels, switching between sucking in your clitoral hood and tonguing your labia. Satoru moves his fingers faster in hopes of provoking your climax. He knows your proximity by noting the way your thighs tremble and toes spread across your sheets.

You finally get to the stage you’ve been craving since the beginning of this session. Releasing your fluids onto your awaiting boyfriend, the grip at the nape of his neck more powerful than before, you squeal a brief ‘Satoru-nii!’ as he proceeds to lap at your overstimulated pussy. He’s now sparkling with your juices. Satoru sits up on his knees after wrapping his buff arm around the width of your shoulders to hoist you up and get you closer to his thighs, your figure remains seated as you process what he wants you to do–he wants you to suck him off.

So you lean your sweat-stained face over his clothed member and unwrap it like a Christmas present you’d save for last because it's so big. His cock springs up rudely and smacks at his now naked abdomen (when did he take off his shirt?) with a loud clap. His abs are so detailed and his pecks puff out in pride while he looks down on you, like his little servant.

He controls the length of his cock with a stern hand and traces ivory white lipstick over the plump of your mouth, a hazy web of precum connecting to your upper lip.

“Wrap those beautiful lips over my cock, darling angel. You know it makes me happy to see you stuffed full with my dick, no matter the hole.” He cheeses when he hears a quick scoff come out of you.

You listen anyhow, swallowing the tip of your big brother’s rod, hallowing your cheeks like a skeleton to circling your tongue around its rosy circumference. You feel your remaining cum dribble onto your bed when you hear him make a guttural moan from above. Clenching his ass cheeks as fingers place themselves on top of your head like an armrest, laying idly as of now.

“Oh shit, baby, yeah, just like that. Keep sucking me off juuust like that.” He bucks his hips impatiently once you decide to devour him up to the mid-base, continuing the actions of sucking in your cheeks to tighten around his cock. “Fuck!” He mewls before chuckling humorlessly.

He stares down and you look up. Your eyelids roll back til they’re just below your brow ridge to catch sight of azure undertones. You were just about to wonder why he was tittering until pressure made its way to both sides of your head. When his pearly white smirk twinkled under dim lighting, that's when you knew-

“Hmphh,” The noise was pitiful when subdued by the heavy weight of Satoru’s cock.

“Hold still, pretty girl.” He coos before pushing his hips back and applying the same manner to your head as he controlled you effortlessly and then thrusting forward and forcing your head to do the same. His balls slap on impact with your chin when he buries himself deep into the hot cavern of your throat, you have your nostrils planted on the silvery wisps of his pubes, reeking of potent masculinity. He leaves you in that position, powerless as he ignores the smacks to his meaty thighs.

“Hold it,” He warns. His voice is pitched below the Earth’s surface. “Gotta teach you how to please big bro properly.” You fight hard as his tip keeps irritating the thing that hangs at the back of your throat, trying to oppose your body from naturally activating your gag reflex but it ends up being fruitless. Your throat convulses as it bulges with his cock print and you cough out an ugly sound. Your vision blurs once you feel your eyes start to water up. You want him to move back already!

“Good.” It’s like he heard your thoughts because he finally retracts from his perfect spot lodged in your gullet. His swollen tip tickles the surface of your lips as you gasp several breaths of air. Just what was he thinking? You could’ve puked!

“What the hell was- mmph!” Halted by another intrusion of his cock burying itself in the pits of your throat, you muffle out a sound of surprise. You couldn’t believe it.

Satoru starts, “Less talking from you, sunshine. I wanna hear you slobber on my dick. Think you can do that for me?” He quickens up the pace of his thrust, going at the speed of someone walking. You gag disgustingly at each thrust and you can feel snot starting to leisurely slip from your nose (just what he wanted to see).

“That’s a messy girl, my messy sister. Got you, hah, so worked up you even got snot dripping from your nose and your spit running down my balls. Oh, you don’t know how much I longed for this.” He resumes his praises and tips back his head for a howl, feeling himself approaching his end as he hears you glurg, glurg, glurg on his veiny member.

“Oh shit, shiiit…!” Suddenly, you’re abruptly pushed off of him, freeing your esophagus from the restraint. Your back lands on the bed with a thud, your landing protected by your doughy comforter. Satoru stands motionless as he recovers from edging himself to oblivion. Biting his lip, his cock twitches up and down before it gradually remains unmoving.

You don’t even remember it happening, but you’re already restricted underneath Satoru’s panting body, thighs folded backward for a mating press, squeezing your squishy tits together, and feet perched on top of his shoulders. He takes his infamous spot between your legs, his overworked hands, decorated in calluses and scars, cuff around the underside of your knees.

He gifts you a heated kiss on your lips. “‘Toru-nii-” You say while struggling to keep up with his tongue. He breaks away from you and the string of saliva snaps into two.

“I hear you, baby, want me inside you already, I know, hear you loud ‘n’ clear.” His tip finds your entrance and it's sopping wet tenfold. He’s never seen you so needy in his life. He pushes in slowly and smoothly. Relishing your moans as he delves within you inch by inch, his thick cock stretching you out deliciously. You squirm in lascivious desire each time he enters you.

“I know, sugar, I know…” He soothes you upon hearing your sobs go up an octave. His head rests at the empty spot next to your neck and his hair tickles the crevice. “Almost there.”

As soon as he sinks deep in your warm cunt, he pecks your cheek with a softness that resembles duck feathers in a pillow before plummeting into you. A pornographic squelch resounds through your room.

“Hnn, T-Toru-nii is, so deep, ah, in my pussy!” You yelp. He’s so glad you’re still following his gross footsteps. So dazed by his cock hitting every ridge nestled within you.

“Yes, that’s right, little sis. And you’re gonna be a good girl and take it for me, right?”

You give a nod, “Yes, I will. I always will. Just f-for you.”

“Mmm, that’s right. That’s what I like to hear.” 

He inclines his torso backward, finding his attention on the feet placed at each side of his shoulders, more specifically, the one to his left as he grabs your ankle with ease, stroking the bone and putting your pedicured toe between wanting lips, your french tips hitting the roof of his mouth while lapping at your salty skin.

His pelvis hammers into you at a steady rate in combination with the gushes emerging from both sexes, it's so damn loud, you’re quite sure your Resident Assistant will come banging at your door frantically, telling you to lower it down because of the noise complaints that lead to your room.

You giggle, not just at the thought but at how much it tickles to feel Satoru’s tongue swirl around each toe.

“Satoru, that tickles.” You quip and the aforementioned man stares at you with knowing lids, purposely tasting your soles which have you trying to take your foot away, but the position you’re in makes it impossible.  

You feel as though hours go by as your older brother pushes on with fucking you silly and having a makeout session with your foot. His v-line collides with your poor pussy on every steady beat and you can’t help but let your earlier accusations fall from your mind like slippery soap.

The revulsion, the distaste, the discomfort–all of which were confined in a silk-woven case, trapped and compacted hitherto its evolution of approval. Although tentativeness plagues its cycle, the result remains beauteous as a cherry red butterfly protrudes through the rotten surface of the cocoon. The successful escapee finally swarms the sky with a setting sun.

It feels good. You feel good. Your pussy feels good as your step brother pounds it with intent–with purpose. You wiggle like a fearful worm ready to be eaten once the need to release creeps up slowly.

“My little sister always manages to feel so good. This pussy is just gripping me so fucking tightly and-” He stops abruptly and so do your moans as you hear your front door creak open.

The sound of jiggling keys and the chaotic trembling of plastic bags alert both your ears as you hear the door slam shut accompanied by a relieved sigh. You glance at the digital clock on your nightstand–‘10:35 PM’. One of your roommates is back from work. Coming home to rest easy from their enervating shift, she wants nothing more than to take a scalding hot shower, laze in her bed, and listen to nothing but silence as she drifts off to sleep.

But before those temptations come into play, she first wants to check up on you to see if you’re still in your room. Walking up sluggishly to your door, she raises a hand to prepare a few knocks while you and Satoru both stare wide-eyed at the shadow that occupies the crevice beneath your bedroom door–still like Michelangelo's statues.

“Hey, (Name), you in there?” The pause is long as you look up to Satoru and see his gaping mouth transform into a smirk before turning your attention to the door.

“Uh, yeah, I’m here. What’s up?” You ask, slightly hoping that your answer will satisfy her queries on your safety before retreating to her room.

“After work, I took a quick trip to the store for some wings and frozen pizza if you’d like some. Even got honey-barbeque-” You smile at her gentle antics. She remembered your favorite flavor.

“Oh, thanks, I really appreciate th-oh!” You’re stopped once Satoru resumes pounding your sloppy pussy. You cover your mouth in an attempt to conceal your yap but a strong hand grabs both wrists to cuff them above your head.

“Keep talkin', sis. Can’t leave mom pondering, now can we?” He whispered with precaution. That devious little-

“H-Hey? Are you okay?” The squishy slaps of both Satoru’s precum and your wet fluids compose a cacophonic symphony. Shit, if he keeps going, you’ll- 

“Yeah, m-mhm. I-I’m, fuuuck, fine.” Satoru grins maniacally above you his hot breath pasts your cheek and into your ear. The tip of his cock abuses your cervix as he compacts you tightly under giant muscle, arms littered with bulging purple and blue veins as he keeps you steady. His pubes tickle your clit whenever his hips kissed yours. Both breaths were getting heavy.

“Are you sure, you sound…sick.” Her words were laced with worry as she stood there, unmoving. “Do you need for me to come in?”

Satoru finds her naivety hilarious but decides it's time to break the barrier. He does so by raising his hips to an exaggerated extent before hammering back into you, the sound much louder than before as clapping fills the atmosphere. He guarantees your roommate will pick it up. Which she does.

“Wait, are you-” She gasps when she hears your sobbing moans echo in her ears. “Oh my God.” You’re too fucked stupid to give a reply when she blurts out an embarrassed ‘sorry!’ before taking hurried footsteps away from your door.

“Guess we scared her off, huh?” Knowing damn well he was the one who only made the effort to let your roommate know you were being pounded to oblivion. “Think she’s gonna tell everyone about this? Tell everyone how her son and daughter ruin the family name because we were caught fucking each other in your room?” He’s quick to pick up in your roleplay.

“Hnngh, I don’t know, ‘Toru.”

“I’m quite sure she will. What do you say, sweet girl, how about we both give a real reason to soil the family name and let me come in this pussy?” His thrusts start to stutter with each filthy word–cream drips from your cunt and down to the tight rim of your ass. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you groan quietly.

“Answer me now, sweetheart, or Satoru-nii is gonna-”

“Yes, Satoru, fuck. Please come inside me, please, ‘don’t care about anyone in this family but you! Come inside me, Satoru-nii!”

With that being said, he fulfills your wish by giving you one, big thrust and stilling his cock deep in his little sister’s pussy to pump his hot seed in increments. Whimpering loudly as he does so. His face contorts in the cutest grimace that you wish you could smooch. You heavily breathe in unison until he pulls out of you (fingering his remaining cum back into your fluttering hole).

He kisses your cheek, then your forehead, and lastly your lips before saying, “You did so well for me.”

And it’s after this session that have you thinking–‘perhaps you do get it’.

[starlessea2]

That It Is (Astarion)

Pairing: Astarion x Reader [Baldur's Gate 3]

Summary: After a long day trudging through the sunlit wetlands, you discover your bedroll is waterlogged, and that Astarion has lost his in the swamp... AKA, the classic: ‘oh no, there’s one bed, whatever shall we do, darling?’ (Act 1 spoilers).

A/N This one has a tad more enemies-to-lovers vibe to it, but sweetness nonetheless. 

Masterlist

Night was creeping over Faerûn.

After a day of toiling through the deep murk of the sunlit wetlands, your party had found refuge: an abandoned shack a little ways inland from the swamp. It was unassuming enough through the fog that Gale had tripped over its porch, and even Astarion’s darkvision had missed the contours of the old building tucked away. 

But once scoped, you found that the place was empty. Shadowheart deemed it safe enough for you to unpack your bedrolls and dry your waterlogged boots. So you did just that—even managing to rouse a fire with an ignis and a few pieces of damp wood. 

The flames took a few moments to blaze to life, but once they did, the warmth was heavenly on your skin. One by one, you started to shed your wet outer garments, laying them out by the fire.

“Oh, bloody hells!”

A voice rang out over the crackling hearth. You turned to find Astarion on his knees, rummaging through his supply pack half-deranged.  

He flung the contents out onto the floor: some soggy books, a cask of water, pristinely-folded clothes. Then he promptly turned the pack upside down, seemingly devestated to find nothing else inside.

The rogue threw his hands up. “Gone,” he declared, with a dejected sort of laugh. “Be it just my luck after trudging through this gods forsaken waste—”

From the corner of the room, Shadowheart stopped wringing out her gloves. She gave you a look. Deal with him, she said through the shared connection. 

With a sigh, you conceded. “What’s wrong, Astarion?” You stood over the pale elf, hand on hip, “Broken a nail?” 

Irritation painted his face, but his demeanour remained playful.“Ha! Hilarious as always, my dear,” he replied, without sparing you so much as a glance. “Alas, I’m afraid my situation is a tad more dire.” 

You clicked your tongue. “Go on.”

Astarion stood up, taking a moment to dust himself off. “It seems I’ve lost my bedroll somewhere in that bloody marsh,” he finally admitted. 

Somewhere across the room, Shadowheart’s snort was quickly covered up by a faux cough from Gale. “Oh?” you said, “I thought elves didn’t need to sleep.” 

Astarion shot you a glare. “And do you need to dry your clothes by the fire? Need to eat tonight or, gods forbid, drive us half mad with your infernal singing sometime tomorrow?” 

He stalked the cabin, pointing vivaciously at your drying garments, and menial rations you’d hoped wouldn’t spoil. 

You felt your brow furrow at his display. “No need to be rude,” you said shortly. “Today’s been hard on all of us.” Pushing past him, you quickly retrieved your own pack from its place near the door. “Here—just take mine.”

Fishing around the bag, you searched for your own bedroll before producing it for him. Astarion let out a sound of disgust. 

“You could at least try to be grateful, Astarion,” you started. Then you felt it; your trusted bedroll squelched in your hand. It was pasted with a layer of thick algae, and some other mysteries you couldn’t discern. “Son of a—” you cursed. How had you forgotten when it rolled into the marsh earlier in the day?

A hand found your shoulder. “Thanks for the generous offer, my dear, but I think I’ll pass,” Astarion said, proudly. He then flicked a rather large leech off your bedroll, causing Gale to shriek when it landed at his feet. “I’d like to remain the only bloodsucker around here.”

You were about to quip back, when Astarion stepped closer—enough so that his breath dusted your cheek when he spoke. “And I think I spy a bed in the other room. That should do me just fine.” 

It took you a moment to unravel his words. By the time you did, he’d already traipsed halfway across the cabin. “Hang on a moment,” you called after him,“I already staked my claim on that earlier!”

“Hmm?” the elf hummed, feigning ignorance.

The audacity. You shot a glance back at the wizard, who immediately threw his hands up in surrender. “Oh no, you don’t,” warned Gale, “I’m staying out of this one.”

To his left, Shadowheart looked equally unbothered by your plight. You scowled at them both. 

It was going to be a long night.

—

The cabin was quiet. It had been some time since you had rested in a place with a roof and four walls. There were no beasties lurking near your camp, or dangers beyond the trees. The only threat to your person was Gale’s snores coming from the main living space. He’d taken refuge on the floor, whilst Shadowheart seized the chaise lounge. 

It was a comfortable night. So in principle, you should have had no problem falling into a dreamless sleep. Especially given the feather bed at your back. 

“You know, my dear,” Astarion whispered, “I might have agreed to this arrangement, but that was under the condition that you get some sleep.”

You tried not to startle, but his words sounded so close to your ear. It made your skin prickle with anticipation—despite doing your utmost not to show it. 

“I think you’ll find I was the one who was forced to agree,” you countered, “and I’m trying. You just—” 

Shifting in the bed, you turned around to face the elf beside you. He was leaning on one arm, gazing up at the wooden ceiling as though he were watching the stars. His eyes found yours. “I what?” he asked. 

You could hear his grin; he was teasing you. But you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of backing down now. “You make me nervous,” you answered bluntly. 

He did not reply. Each second of silence that passed made you more and more uneasy. You couldn’t see him well in the dark. And as much as you tried to make out the contours of his face, you knew for sure discern every line on yours—every expression you hoped to conceal. “And why’s that?” he finally asked.

You let out a huff before falling onto your back. “You know why. Stop acting so smug—It doesn’t suit you."

Astarion’s laugh made its way to you. “Everything suits me, darling.” 

A witty remark alluded you, so you opted to stay quiet. Sleep was what you needed right now. The gods only know how deprived you were of it.

So you plumped your pillow and made yourself comfortable. Then you gathered some blankets to yourself. A yawn left you, but your mind felt anything but relaxed. You readjusted again, this time your body pressing into Astarion's. He moved to accomodate you; you stiffened in response.

“Will you stop wriggling around? I can’t so much as move without you flinching."

At his words, your breath hitched. You were midway through an apology before he interrupted.

“Look at me,” he said.

Despite the darkness, his thumb perfectly traced your jaw until it found the space just under your chin. Gently, he coaxed your head up.

“You know I’ve drank from you, right?” You gasped at his candidness. “I've felt your pulse on my tongue and your blood coat my teeth,” he went on. “Hells, I have your thoughts swimming in my head far more often than you probably realise.”

He paused for a moment, and in that time you breathed twice as fast as you ought to.

“You’ve allowed me that much, so sleeping beside me like this?” he said, with a lightness to his voice, “that shouldn’t matter, now should it.”

You couldn't reply. His words were likely meant to comfort, but they had only the opposite effect. As his fingers brushed your cheek, you immediately pulled back—hoping he did not feel the way you burned for him.

“No. I guess not?” you stuttered.

“Good,” came his reply. “Now sleep. I promise I won’t bite” 

He returned to his side of the bed, not overstepping the invisible boundary you'd drawn earlier that evening.

And on your side, you were left to press down whatever feelings threatened to bubble to the surface. You weren’t quite ready to let them out yet—not when you couldn’t see clearly the face he would make in response.

Right now, you just needed to sleep.

So you focused on the snores echoing from the other room, the rain pattering the windows, Astarion's breaths and your heart—which, without realising, had recently started to beat for him.

“Goodnight, Astarion,” you whispered into the dark.

“Yes, my dear," he said softly. "That it is."

[moodymisty]

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 | 𝕬𝖔3 ]

Author's note: For the bukakke/cum facial pole, Sanguinius won so here he is. Enjoy, Alpharius/Omegon is up next.

Relationships: Sanguinius/Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, Bukakke/cum facial, Deep throating, Rough sex/oral, He abuses the hell out of your mouth lol, Gagging/choking, Dubcon if you squint

The room is silent other than the sloppy sounds of a filled mouth, and the ragged, deep breaths of Sanguinius' breathing.

"I despise them, they should've been cast into deep space when we had the chance,"

Sanguinius is furious.

He had come into the your shared quarters aboard The Red Tear with his face flushed red, feathers tight to his wings, his angelic visage for the first time in your remembering marred by anger.

Now your jaw aches, stretched to it's limit and farther beyond, struggling to fit the girth of his cock into your mouth.

He keeps forcing it deeper and deeper, hands wrapped around your head and messing your hair. Each time he pulls your head back enough that his tip rests on your tongue you frantically try to take a breath through your nose, teetering close to the edge of panicking from the lack of air.

But then moments later he pulls your mouth onto him again, the head of his cock bumping against the soft palette at the back of your mouth. Your throat makes an odd, gagging sound as you struggle not to choke on him, while he ruthlessly fucks your mouth.

His wings partly shadow you, as if wanting to hide the ruthlessness of his treatment from everyone but himself. And so the air that stays stagnant around you is humid, heavy with the scent of sweat and cock.

"Good girl, good girl, you can- just a bit more,"

He keeps pushing it, trying to shove his way down your throat seemingly to your stomach itself. Your nails dig so tightly into his thighs you feel like your going to snap your own fingers in half, tears streaming down your face. Your mouth waters the same way it does when you're about to gag, spilling from the open corners of your mouth. The skin of your lips there has stretched and split just a tad, the lightest hint of red blood mixing with the drool pouring from your mouth and down your chin.

Sanguinius pulls out for a moment, hearing the way you cough and strings of spit spill from your mouth, mixed with his precum. The side of his cock still pushes against your face as you try and desperately fight the spasms of your own throat for air, his tip digging into the hollow of your cheek. He slides around tears mixed with spit, precum leaking and smearing onto your skin.

"Please, please sl-"

He pulls your head away just enough to press his the slit of his cock against your lips, forcing it through the moment you tried to plead to him to slow down.

"Open up again. Give me that throat of yours."

Your jaw, shaking from how sore it is slowly opens, swallowing the spit that pools at the back of your mouth. He places his tip against your tongue, uncaring of the feeling of your bottom teeth raking against the underside vein of his cock. You feel some of his feather as they brush against your skin, causing a shiver to run through you.

"And I have to fight beside them, those deranged, mindless beasts-" He lets out sharp exhale through his teeth as he pushes himself deeper and you whimper, mouth too full to even cry. "Swallow, my love, swallow, By the Emperor’s light you feel-" Tears keep pouring down your face as you swallow, feeling the way his cock forces his way to your throat. The knot of your throat bobs and you know he can feel your muscles flex around him as he moans.

"You're such a good girl for me, you can fit a bit more, can't you?"

You can't, you want to say- you can't you can't you can't - but he doesn't listen- pushing deeper. He groans, you feel your nose press against the skin just above the base of his cock. He hears the wet sound of your throat clenching, swallowing to try and avoid gagging.

"You are my good girl, aren't you. I am so glad to have you to come to instead of dealing with those un-leashed, bloodthirsty dogs on my own,"

You don't have any say in the matter since your mouth and throat is currently overwhelmed and stretched around his cock, but if you could, you would find it a bit humorous that he talks as if you're emotionally comforting him, and not currently holding onto his thighs for dear life as he uses your throat as little more than another tight hole of yours to please himself with.

He abruptly pulls from your mouth, your chest instantly filling with air that you've be denied for so long. One hand still against your head he holds it tight, keeping you firmly in place right in front of his cock. His other hand wraps around it tight, sliding up and down his length as he barks at you.

"Keep your mouth open, my love, keep it-"

You can't help the way your eyes squeeze shut as he suddenly cums, and you find yourself glad the instinct was there; As ribbons of cum hit your face. It begins to slide down but more just replaces it, coating your face. You just accept it, mindlessly holding your mouth open and waiting for him to finish. His wings twitch while he cums, the feathers sliding against eachother making a soft noise.

Some of it did land on your tongue and into your open mouth, but only some. If anything, only a fraction of it. The brunt of it landed on the bridge of your nose, sliding down the sides of your nostrils. It also lands on your collarbone, your chest, and when he yanks your head closer to put your lips against his balls, it starts to get into your hair.

You feel disgusting. Sticky and slimy; You knew that he always came a lot, but it was always inside of you, not covering your face and chest, staining your clothes. Your dare to open your eyes before you suddenly close your left eye, a thick string of cum sliding over the bone of your brow and threatening to get into your eye.

Once he's finally finished, milked dry and his breath starts to calm, he pulls your mouth away from his balls and looks down at you.

"Are you alright, my love?"

You try to say something, but your voice instantly cracks and no noise leaves no matter how hard you try. Your throat feels like it's on fire, raw and sore from being stretched and abused to fit the massive cock of a primarch. As gentle as he is, you often feel like each time he fucks you, he ruins you just that bit more, shapes your body to fit him and only him. Your cunt, your ass, and now your throat. You don’t think there’s a single thing of yours that he hasn’t taken.

But how will explain to anyone now that the Angel bullied your throat so much with his cock that it took your voice?

Sanguinius sighs, his face less tense than it was. He reaches a hand out and cups your jaw, thumb against your cheek. You feel the sticky, gross slide of cum across your skin, as he moves it. You feeling disgusting, you must look disgusting; Covered in cum and spit, eyes red from tears.

"When I am finished with this business," He avoid saying their name but you know who he means; The World Eaters. "I promise to repay you for letting me abuse you so."

[shogunish]

you: "nsfw is very much allowed"

me: 🫡

I bet we all NEED your take on Satoru, Suguru, and Megumi caught reader taking care of herself and moaning their name.

imagine all three walking in on you..👁️👄👁️

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contents. aged up! megumi, usage of toys, female masturbation, pillow humping, written with sweet suguru in mind not the deranged version lmao, male masturbation, megumi and suguru listen to reader, mentioned period

g. satoru

↠ satoru was abroad for a mission for several weeks on end, somewhere in china, he said.

↠ of course, he kept in touch with you, calling you whenever he had the time to do so, calling all night long until one of you fell asleep and going on facetime when he went souvenir shopping for you.

↠ phone sex played a huge role as well. satoru who jacked off to your pretty pussy on his phone's display. nudes that you'd send him whenever you missed him a tad bit too much and videos that you'd send each other.

↠ sometimes, satoru even sent you an audio of his moans and groans when he thought about you - a surprise for you to wake up to.

↠ one evening, the door finally creeks open and satoru is relieved to be back home, but also deflates like a balloon when you don't come crashing into his arms like you usually do.

↠ in the end, satoru finds you in your shared bedroom. delicate hands groping your tits, moans spilling from your lips and a little pillow squished between your thighs for you to ride it.

↠ "mhh, toru..~" you moan, imagining you were humping his bulge, his thigh, anything that belonged to satoru. "ngh..ah..yeah, just like that.."

↠ his cock immediately hardens in his pants.

↠ removing the blindfold from his eyes, satoru drinks your lustful state in, how much you missed him that it led to you humping a pillow like you were in heat.

↠ your cunt drags back and forth against the covers, leaving behind damp spots as you leaked all over the fabric. satoru could only imagine how needy your little pussy is.

↠ "mhh, someone missed me, it seems." satoru suddenly appeared right behind you, his large hands fondling your tits and soft lips peppering kisses across your neck.

↠ you jumped, but your surprise quickly dies down when you realize..he's home.

↠ "welcome home, baby.." lolling your head back onto satoru's shoulder, you exchanged kisses, tongues intertwined and hands busy with each other.

↠ that night, all your neighbors knew that satoru had come back home.

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g. suguru

↠ as your roommate, suguru had taken it upon himself to go grocery shopping while you were doing the laundry. he was calling with satoru, talking about the latest digimon cards that came out when he heard muffled moans spilling from your lips.

↠ "i've got to hang up." suguru said.

↠ "ohhh, someone's gonna get all down n' dirty with–"

↠ he hangs up on satoru.

↠ suguru stands in front of the door to your bedroom just to make sure that those weren't moans of pain. or so, he liked to tell himself.

↠ "mhh..ah, fuck!" you called out, breathlessly. "right there, suguru! ah..yeah.."

↠ suguru found himself listening in to your moans, his strong hand palming his cock over his boxers. he shouldn't invade your privacy like this and maybe make himself known by making some noise to keep your decency, but fuck..

↠ who would've thought that his pretty roommate fucks herself to the thought of him?

↠ if the buzzing sound is anything to go by, then you're using that cute clit vibrator on yourself (he had accepted the package for you back then).

↠ suguru wondered..

↠ how wet is your pussy? is it leaking or more creamy? would your cunt suck his cock back in and take on his shape? he knows that your little pussy needed to be fucked by a real man who'd treat you right.

↠ suguru can't help himself anymore.

↠ he absolutely has to take a cold shower before he'd barge in on you and pop his cock inside your little hole.

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f. megumi

↠ megumi is a sweet, caring boyfriend who never crosses your boundaries and respects them just as much as he loves you.

↠ he knows that your period is about to arrive in the next couple of days and wanted to surprise you by bringing over some snacks, ice-cream and emergency pads as well as a hot water bottle since yours got lost.

↠ "[name], i've brought you some–"

↠ "oh, megumi!~"

↠ megumi immediately knows that the way you call him is odd..he doesn't mean to pry, but in case you're feeling funny or anything, he decides to follow your noise.

↠ he freezes the moment he hears your moans and whines and the squelching of your pussy when you drive your purple dildo in and out, in and out. thighs are shaking, cunt clenches around your fingers while your free hand is playing with your hard nipples.

↠ "shit..feels so good.." your pussy lips spread obscenely around the toy he didn't know you have. "mhh, megumi..wanna cum for you.."

↠ megumi doesn't need to look down to know that his cock jumps in his pants.

↠ undoing his zipper quietly, megumi whips out his cock and begins stroking himself to the sounds you're making and the peeks he takes at your squirming body.

↠ he knows that he's being a pervert by touching himself to your unknowing self, but what is he supposed to do with a leaking and twitching cock?

↠ megumi has to clamp his hand over his mouth when he cums all over his fist while you're making a mess all over that silicone dick, pretending it was..him.

[eldritch-nightmare]

Liu and sully dating headcanond please 🥺👉👈

thank u anon i'm giving u a lil fist bump for sending this in <3 it might b a little short. just a tad. i hope u enjoy it nonetheless. <33 i was going to make a separate poly section but like. then i didn't. anyways i wrote this in one sitting. uhhh requests are opened also btw if anyone wants to send smth in <3

warnings: me being silly and deranged over liu and sully, mentions of guns, mentions of fire, mentions of religion, blasphemy???, blood, mentions of cannibalism, mentions of murder, i swear it's not dark sully is just. sully.

Liu.

dating?????? he knows nothing about it. no experience at all. a few crushes here and there when he was younger but... his priorities have been more-so dedicated to trying to kill his brother than being the next bachelor.

he probably doesn't even realize when he's developed feelings for someone, if we're being honest. there are only like... three sure-fire ways for him to realize he's got feelings for someone.

option a) sully. this is the most likely way, because sully is a solid(ly aggressive) wingman and would get fuckin annoyed seeing liu oblivious to his own feelings and would probably leave a note for liu to find that says something along the lines of 'ask them out before i do it for you'. that's certainly one way to make the man confront his feelings.

option b) you approach him first. be honest with your feelings, he's a really good listener. tell him how you want to go out on a date with him, or that you want him to be your boyfriend, whatever, it'll hit him in the face.

option c) patience. he'll figure it out one day on his own, just... it'll take time. and a lot of it.

anyways, using one of these three options laid out for you, you're sure to score a boyfriend! i hope you're not scared of fire. or guns. or... religion. those three things are pretty much a big part of him as a person, so.

but no yeah he's head over heels in love with you btw. the man would gift you the heavens itself if he could, but all he can give you are cute little trinkets that remind him of you.

he's so fucking romantic and he doesn't even try like. trust me. trust me on this guys please please you gotta believe me when i say this dude okay just like. trust me please.

he looks at you like you hung the stars in the sky. he'd probably be admiring you, resting his head on your lap while you play with his hair, your attention so focused on the show or movie playing. it's such a simple moment, but it's the one that makes him realize that he's in deep. like... wow. he's so in love with you.

he's a little hesitant to admit it, but you've become home. not because he hates it or anything like that, god, not at all. he's just... the last home he had was mercilessly ripped away from him. so pardon him for being a little scared. but you make him feel safe, and that's not something he's been able to feel in a long, long time.

liu doesn't murder without a reason. he actively avoids murdering people if he can. but he'd kill for you. whether or not that's something he's ready or willing to admit yet is up for debate but he would murder someone for you without any ounce of hesitation.

he's so willing to go out on dates w you btw. if you want to take a walk in the park, go see a movie, or whatever people do on dates then go ahead. he's legally dead in the eyes of the law. got a grave and everything, so he's not worried about being seen in public.

under the assumption that you know nothing about who he is, or his past, he's never going to tell you. all you'll ever know is that his parents were brutally murdered, he has a little brother that you... you think his brother is dead?? he talks about him as though he's dead. he almost died the same night his parents died, and his house burnt to the ground after. he's... really vague when he talks about his past. you'll never know the full extent, not unless the truth is forced upon you.

god i have so much more i want to add but i dont want this to get too long okay just. he's so in love with you. you've brought light back into his life, and he'll do everything in his power to keep you safe. he cannot lose you. yes we will ignore the thoughts i have of how he'd react if you did die lol. for now.

anyways he's the perfect boyfriend honestly <3

Sully.

also has no dating experience but he's not oblivious to his own feelings. the moment he decides that he cares about you a little more than he typically cares for another person, he's telling you.

he's so casual about it too, like. sir. how can you say 'yeah i think i could fall in love with you' with such a straight face?? you ask him that and he just shrugs.

i really hope you're comfortable with the sight of blood because trust the moment the two of you become an official couple, he's showing up at your place with injuries. nothing too bad, he'd hate to scare you like that, but just little things. like a gash of a knife on the palm of his hand. he has a really high pain tolerance but he'll act like the pain is utterly unbearable if it means having you help him treat it and kiss it better.

it's not like he actually needs you to take care of him. but he likes watching you. he likes watching the way you focus, carefully tending to his wounds, scared that you'll hurt him more if you're not careful. he likes watching the way his blood smears on your skin (totally by accident and not at all on purpose).

definitely the type to bite your lip just a little too hard when kissing you just so he can taste your blood. he thinks it's romantic idk the guy is kind of a freak (affectionately)

he'd probably eat you if he could but then he'd miss you too much so :( no cannibalism. but he thinks cannibalism is romantic guys. feel like i need to state that. he says 'i would eat you' but in a loving, romantic, affectionate way.

he never really understood religion, nor did he care much for it. he understood that it was a big part of liu's life, and therefore something he encounters often, but it wasn't until he started dating you that he understood. there must be some god or deity out there because heaven is wherever you're at.

you must be an angel, because how else could you love someone like him? he'd never pray to god, but god, he could pray to you all day.

and fuck, he thinks about corrupting you, dragging an angel like you down to his hell.

he can picture it now, tears streaming down your face, shaking in fear as you kill someone for the first time. their blood staining your hands and clothes as you drop the knife, horrified by what you've done while sully pulls you into a hug and tells you that you did such a good job.

i've already said this but sully likes watching you. you could be doing nothing at all, or someone could be talking to him. doesn't matter. the moment you're in the same room as him, he's staring at you.

you don't know why he does it, and he never gives you an answer when you ask. he just smiles.

you'd never think this, but sully is scared of you dying. people are so fragile, it doesn't take much to kill them. he's... he's never been scared before, and it... excites him. of course you're the one to make him feel this way. it could never be anyone else. anyways don't die. he'll be sad if you do.

was actually shocked when it clicked that he loved you. like... yeah, he said he could fall in love with you but. fucking wow it actually happened. holy shit.

anyways he tells you like .5 seconds after. he adapts to his emotions very quickly. the guy just casually says, 'hey, i'm in love with you.' and just stares until you respond with 'i'm in love with you too' and then he just has this small smile on his face for like... the rest of the day.

would also murder for you btw. no hesitation, no questions asked. if you want someone dead, he's killing them for you. clearly, they deserve to be dead if you hated them enough to wish for it.

solid boyfriend material but only if you're okay with. him. as a person.

[ashton-sano]

HxH: Feitan w/ a Strong! S/o Pt.1(?)

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`>When I say strong, the reader, in this case, would be as physically capable and have nen and/or abilities comparable to Feitan. I see a lot of headcanons but not many like this

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`>Getting back into the HXH fandom slowly so while I'm working on some more Food Wars! Content, have these since this gremlin has been plaguing my mind lol. If this gets enough love, ill make a part 2 so tell me what you all think :3

Warning: Murder, Stalking and Strong language

So if you a minor, beware.

.

-To start, he might be a tad put off

-It's pretty rare to find someone with such prowess, especially ones that don't have less than-savory intentions

-Id assume you met on a battlefield of some kind or while he was on one of his missions with the troupe

-Just like him, you aren't exactly the upstanding citizen type and are committing crimes of some sort when you encounter

-Whether stealing the same things or killing the same people, you two have similar goals, regardless of the reason

-To be fair, he didn't think much of you when you first appeared

  "How. Troublesome...."

-An annoying obstacle, someone to dispatch quickly

-However, after a rather tedious fight and a good amount of bruises, he realized it might not be that simple

-Your moves were calculated and precise, and your battle iq no doubt honed over years of experience with nen abilities that even he found difficult to handle

-His interest was certainly piqued, as much as it can for Feitan anyway

-You’ll hand it to him; its been a while since you've seen his level of strength

-A true master of his craft, no doubt

-Regardless, that isn't why you were here

-You came to rid of a target and with your mission accomplished, there was no reason to stay, no matter how curious you were about the extent of his ability

-You were swift at your exit, swift enough that Feitan only caught your figure leaving from the corner of his eye

-Admittedly you've sparked more than enough of his interest

-something about your very being itched him in a way he couldn't describe and lingered his thoughts for moments too long

-Like it or not, your existence loomed his mind awkwardly and gave his chest a tighten

-Indescribably annoying

'Must. know. about. Her. Get rid of stupid feeling.”

-now we all know Feitan is no short of deranged and sadistic so it is no telling if he wanted to know for devious reasons or other

-Whatever the case, it led to him talking Shalnark into researching deep (and I mean very deep) into you

-Playing it off as a simple inquiry, he found you, a picture attached to your profile albeit a very blurry one

-All that he could get was your name and Age

"Y/n. Interesting. Name."

Shalnark is confused

-That's how he got here, peeping from your window as you rest

-Even with such little information, finding you was trivially easy

-Your apartment was small, compact he’d say

-Nothing compared to the places he’s layed his head: cold, dark, and filthy on a good day

-He spent the night watching you sleep, noticing every ministration, every time you got up abruptly and checked your surroundings, nearly certain something was amiss

-He didn't expect peeping on you to be so trepidatious

-That didn't stop him from stopping by every time he wasn't busy to check up and watch you

-Days became weeks and months flew by as he kept this cycle going

-It eventually got to the point that he'd follow you to and from your house

-He was searching and, surprisingly, unsure of what for

-He's never felt any particular connection to people outside of the spiders so it was usually easy to write it off as mindless curiosity

-He just wants to know why you interest him so much, and nothing more

-That's how he ended up in your house when you left for your 8 am morning run, which took you approx. 30 minutes to finish as of this week

-He was just checking your clothes because he wished to know where you frequented, perhaps he could lie in waiting as you shopped, snatching your jugular and relenting this pounding in his chest that paces just a few beats quicker

-He only checks the food you eat to see what your diet consists of, perhaps to poison you as your gaze falters from your plate, even if just for a second, permanently killing the heat that rises against his skin at the thought of you

-He doesn't care about you; he just wants to know your weaknesses to exploit, that’s all

-If that were true, then why was he in your room when you weren't? Taking in your scent as if an attached dog 

-Surely he could've killed you thousands of times over in the dead of your sleep; a slit to your throat would've ended this and yet he feels pulled to let you live 

“Just. one. More day.”

 -If it didn't matter, if you didn't matter, why did he effectively remove any potential romantic partner from your life?

-It's just to make you easier to kill; it's just to make you easier to kill, it's just to make you easier to take. No! Kill...not take...

-What was once curiosity became more of a crippling obsession.

-He had to know everything—what you were doing, who you spoke to, and what you ate in the morning

-You captivated him and even if he couldn't understand it, you had him wrapped around your finger without so much as a word 

-Ever since your mission 4 months ago, a certain feeling has lingered your consciousness and kept you on edge with no clue as to the source

-Things went missing, your associates became distant—well, more distant than you kept them—and your kills have become suspiciously easier.

-To the average person, such a prospect would strike fear and cause for trepidation

-Did you think I wasn't aware that he'd been watching me?

-All credit goes to him, spotting him was the hardest part

-He only let his presence be known through peeks of his bloodlust spilling before he vanished in the same motion, which gave away how seasoned he was

It was hard to tell if he wanted me to find him with how obvious his actions became; no, the word would be bold. His actions have gone from stealing articles from the back of my closet to lacing food when he was sure I hadn't seen him 

-Playing dumb was the easy part; actually avoiding his kidnapping attempt(s) was certainly a challenge 

-Before long, you could see the desperation in his nen

“You're getting sloppy, Stalker.”

-I suppose you've worked hard, stalker, I’ll let you win just this once

[metalomagnetic]

if you don’t mind my asking, i was wondering whether the dynamic between voldemort and harry in either must die is what you generally envision for the two of them as characters regardless of the circumstances — like v treating and considering harry just a prisoner, never getting truly attached, taking advantage of him with every opportunity, etc, while harry seems to genuinely care — or if this is just one facet of the possible relationships they could develop over time?

just curious, since your voldemort in iritb is so much different from harry’s voldemort, and i couldn’t quite make out whether it was a conscious choice for the different characters you decided to pair him with, or if you’re just exploring different facets of the same person (v).

I think I write the same Voldemort most everywhere, with only slight variations in his environment. For example, in Ouroboros he is raised by Voldemort, in other fic by Merope, in others he stays in Wool's; in some of my stories he is bisexual, in others gay; in some he's young, in others middle aged, in others very old. However, even if I alter his circumstances, I do try to keep some core traits of him that are the same across all my stories.

Now, Either must Die Voldemort is older than It runs in the blood one; he has lost 2 wars, and is defeated and a captive; he has a daughter. In It runs, he begins the story at the height of his power, where he feels invincible. He is 50 something as opposed to 80.

Because of this alone, he would be at different stages of his life, and in different mental places.

Yet I don't see them that different from each other- it's only his circumstances that change drastically.

That aside, we are looking at him through different POV characters. We have a terribly depressed, very lonely Harry who barely survived a war but lost almost everyone he cared for in the process only to find out their sacrifices were for nothing, because Voldemort still lives. We have a man isolated by his own hero status, and he further isolates himself, trapping himself in a house he hates. A good man, one that is willing to sacrifice himself for the world, to help any stranger, to do the right thing.

On the other, we have Sirius, a tormented young man, trying to find himself, struggling between two identities; a man that holds great privilege, involved in an active war, with friends or family on both sides. A man that is also willing to sacrifice himself, but only for those who he loves- the rest of the world can go to hell, though. Sirius' moral code is nowhere near as rigid as Harry's. All the mentors in his life had been horrible people (Orion, Arcturs) while Harry's mentor was Dumbledore. Fairly soon in the story, Sirius also gains the protection of the Blacks back- a shield Voldemort cannot easily break.

And I think that makes the very big difference in how the reader perceives Voldemort; he truly isn't *that* different, only Harry and Sirius perceive him completely differently.

EMD V is also in survival mood- his goal is to get out of captivity, he doesn't have the luxury to care about anything else.

It runs V has the war under control- he can take the time to indulge in other comforts- as EMD V did, during the first war, when he started his affair with Bellatrix.

Harry wants Voldemort to be better; he wants to 'fix' him. He always hopes there's more to V, deep down, and he cannot love V as he is.

Sirius falls in love with V precisely because he's a deranged, power hungry maniac.

Voldemort still manipulates them both, only he uses different methods, knowing what works best with each. Yet he responds differently to Harry and Sirius, because of how they treat him in kind.

It runs V also has Horcruxes, and his brains are a tad scrambled, while EMD V, has his shit together, mentally.

I think Voldemort will always respond better to a partner that doesn't try to make him a more decent person. I think Bella (or Sirius) are much better fits for him, because they aren't troubled by his non existent moral code.

Harry in EMD feels nauseous when he sees V slaughter the men who kidnapped Harry and Andromeda. Harry fees nauseous when he thinks V killed Slughorn.

Sirius is *awed* when he sees V commit mass murder against the aurors. He eats dinner with V even after he knows he just killed the Prewet brothers, men Sirius used to hang out with. He has sex with V after V killed a bunch of dark wizards in Norway.

Harry is giving in his relationships with everyone. He gives, and makes compromises.

Sirius is aggressive in his relationship with V.

That being said, I don't think any story with V and Harry would be like EMD. It truly depends on the circumstances. Harry starts the story in a position of power over Voldemort- he keeps Voldemort captive, keeps him from his magic and freedom. Harry is also the boy that destroyed him, so many times, since he was 1 year old. Simply because of that, V could never truly love Harry. And when he does gain power, he gains absolute power over Harry; that, too, prevents V from ever looking at Harry as a partner. Their dynamics have always been extreme.

You can see (if you read my other Voldemort/Harry fic) that in Prison Blues, Voldemort is much more receptive and appreciative of Harry, simply because of different circumstance.

With Sirius, he starts by being in a position of superiority, yet Sirius is never truly defenceless. But we can see V still has the instinct to make Sirius his prisoner. If V would have survived Halloween night, he would have taken Sirius captive, and that would have ruined all that was between them, on both ends.

Sorry if I rambled too much! I hope it answered your questions! I truly like to keep my characters more or less the same in all my story, but just explore how they'd behave in different circumstances.

[delicrieux]

𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝 | endless drabble series (autumn edition)

pairing—james potter x reader genre—very light enemies to lovers in the span of 5 mins xx summary—someone comes to annoy you as you read your book on the pier word count—2.7k

author's note: i've been on james potter spiral. won't elaborate

masterlist. ☕. reqs are open!

there’s absolutely nothing romantic about the way james looks at you – gaping maw and all, glasses crooked on the bridge of his nose because he smacked his hand to the thin, wiry edge to lift them up and did it quickly and clumsily and for no reason – and if you assume otherwise, you’re an idiot. but you don’t assume otherwise, nor are you all the curious about the tangle of mush that could, perhaps, in a mind more evolved, be considered a thought. james can, you suppose, have decency, and he can, given the benefit of the doubt, appear thoughtful and tactful and, based on the information that came to dorcas in a dream, be serious about his affections. which he has none for you, just to be clear. in case the scene might paint otherwise.

what a curious sight it is on the rickety pier of the boathouse. the weather’s grown cold, near frosty, and the sky had long turned into something grey and woolen. the wind scratches at your ears, and at your lips, and james’ nose has gone red and so have his cheeks, and he looks ridiculous in his coat and burgundy sweater peeking underneath that you almost take pity on him. almost. though, if any of your friends inquired what was so ridiculous about him in that moment, you wouldn’t be able to form an answer that would appease them. james potter is simply too much – is that not fact? why should there be a trial to scrutinize your claim when the words are truth? yes, he’s ridiculous, and he’s stupid, and his hair is all a mess, and—

“i didn’t expect to find anyone here, to be honest,” he says after the long pause of nothing but glances and an understanding you haven’t figured out yet. when you’ll go to bed tonight and toss and turn, perhaps you’ll pick up the magnifying glass and recognize it as interest and be tremendously distressed and nauseous of that knowledge. now, you only worry for a heartbeat that’s just a tad too quick, “’s a bit odd, innit?”

“what?” your voice could’ve been like a whip in the air if only it wasn’t so hushed. pillowed by the cold that had frozen the strings of your syllables.

“you are.” he explains, a hint of teeth showing from his smile.

if you swung with all of your weight, perhaps he’d fall into the freezing waters beneath your feet and be so shocked that he would never resurface. no one would suspect you as culprit, since no one would see you escaping the boathouse, and you could, with great smugness, mourn with the rest when his disappearance is declared as demise. how positively villainous. he’s sitting close enough, you could try, but you know that, while a valiant attempt, he would grab you quicker than you could blink and drag you down to the depths laughing, like some deranged grindylow. a mirror-image in appearance, too.

“sod off,” you mumble, and seldom have you spoken words more genuine. you flip a page of an inconspicuous book borrowed from the forbidden section, intended to be returned, of course, once you had absorbed all it has to offer. not much, so far.

“there’s a library you can read in,” james says, scooting closer, because your personal space must be shared and perhaps he’s curious of the text that has commanded so much of your attention. he nudges your shoulder, and nudges it again when you don’t look up, “not sure you knew that.”

“was terrified you might find me too quick,” and there is some truth to that, but more so you were dissuaded by the idea of the librarian catching you. the book supposedly reveals archaic jinxes that went out of fashion – either too impractical or too dangerous – and the long-withstanding mythos about the book implies it discloses only when the shift in temperature is great. so you sit here, and freeze, and if you were honest enough you would tell him, and you would add that you like it here, even when cold, because it’s tranquil and the castle looks trapped in a snowglobe under the dome of the sky.

he snorts, “found you anyway.”

“have you nothing better to do?”

“not really. you upset?”

“hard not to be, around you.”

“flattered. and thankful. for, you know, the stature that comes with such an accomplishment—”

there you go, taking the bait and reeling in close. if your teeth chatter a bit as you speak, well, you were already blaming the chill, no? so let him think what he wants – a smirk tugging at his lips and eyes all lit up and giddy – and his face could warm you a bit. but then, it was your temper all aflame that might solve the problem entirely. and all you can think is, ridiculous.

perhaps his conversation isn't stimulating. perhaps the cold numbs your thoughts. or perhaps he is a pretty sight against this miserable, clouded backdrop, and so are you. a hand comes to the cover of the book, still flipped, and the skin brushing against the page is frigid to touch.

"you're freezing," he says, eyes trained on the book, and perhaps he really is talking to the cover. you wouldn't put it past him, "fancy warming up a bit? back inside, near the fire place in the common room. with company, for once. bet that'd be better."

"with your company, i take it?" you chime smartly.

"didn't i just say that?"

"hmm," is a reply given with a hum, and he only speaks again when his stare hasn't caused your skin to peel away.

"c'mon, then. there's nothing for you here but a bloody draft. come up now and we can steal butterbeers from the kitchen, if you'd like." there are an unnatural many suggestions, like he's grappling for a hook even when his expression shows nothing. he's usually less scattered than this, and he never considers your feelings in his very many attempts: 'come to the three broomsticks with me,' and you ask, 'why?' and he replies 'cuz i wanna drink.'

"no." you say.

"stubborn."

"willfully," and the emphasis is drawn out so maybe it sticks. you've dealt with him enough that his ramblings can hardly deter you, though, no matter how charming the prospect might sound, because you hate him. you've practiced saying these exact words in the mirror only to make them sound more potent. train your expression not to wobble, because no matter how unassuming james can appear at times, he strikes the moment he notices a slight hesitation.

he doesn't, because if he had, your hand wouldn't be clasping his so tight.

"fine," he nods his head, a huff of white cloud billowing from his mouth as he says so. his hand is equally as cold, like ice against your palm, but then his fingers wiggle a bit and lace through the empty spaces to properly intertwine.

"james?"

"they say sharing body heat is the quickest, y'know."

"unnecessary," you hiss.

"warm," is his only answer, and he inches closer so it's no wonder his face flushes like that. he's got his other arm around your shoulders, knee knocked with yours, "how long, you recon," he mutters, "before frostbite starts?"

"soon," you drawl, and if there's a small shiver running up your spine, then that's all the cold. nothing to do with the person beside you and how unabashed he is at his own closeness, and how warm he could be in this circumstance – when he was offered no objections, "if lucky."

a subtle lean in your direction, a nose buried in a scarf that smells faintly of cinnamon, is, at this rate, your ultimate surrender. how painful it is to do so, when pride swells like a bruise deep in your chest and the pain lingers. perhaps you can hide behind the flimsy veil of not caring and listen to the pace of his breath under your ear where his chin rests on your shoulder. if you were to look, you'd see a vague pout on his lips – chapped, but red, maybe even lovely.

"what are you reading, anyway?" he mumbles.

"history," is the quick and clipped answer. he doesn't deserve the details.

"not quite my subject. boring as all, i take it. does it at least mention me? history? dunno how anything goes without the noble house of potter contributions."

"noble? hardly," you state, "absolutely vain, though, obviously."

"begrudge me my blessings, but you love them," he chuckles and if you were feeling nice, you would say that it was warm enough that it chipped a tiny sliver of ice away. just a little. you settle for pinching his wrist, and are entertained to hear him wail a little.

he is the worst thing that's ever happened. the most tragic accident, and you just happen to have the most unfortunate timing. did he take a specialty class to master the art of pestering people? his eyes are big and hazel, and maybe it's because they are trained on that they seem a bit darker. absolutely repugnant. you'd rather die, and that is the truth. a death by looking. a tragic fate, a complete misfortune, an absolute bloody mess.

"you're blushing," he says, and if he had to bring it up, at least his voice is soft. no amusement, and he sounds just as fond as he is mystified, "thinking dirty thoughts? and on school grounds, no doubt. i am positively scandalized."

"piss off," the hiss is made venomous on purpose, and maybe you mean it. maybe.

"hope you aren't thinking too many about anyone else," this is the closest he has been to sounding thoughtful in any conversation, "that'd make me all sorts of bitter. wouldn't like that."

"of course you wouldn't, not when the possibility exists to bully me with the information," a huff, a quick exhale that clouds the air like his smile had before, and maybe he'd be charming, if only his intent wasn't as devious as it is.

"or i really just wouldn't like it," and how he dares to sound wounded with such a tender sentiment, and perhaps your insistence upon finding his ways less than humble could have come with a greater reluctance. as if you were dragged out of this, kicking and screaming. how utterly sickening his lips might taste, and your want has to be damned, so you don't look. and instead, his head comes to nuzzle on a shoulder with a knit scarf tickling his cheek, "wouldn't like it."

how utterly horrid.

there is no solution, really, and if you had looked, his eyes would've been heavy and his mind more so. it doesn't bother him, even if you are so silent – silent as stone – and his voice comes a bit thick, but he's smiling and he's always smiling like the imbecile he is. that you know he is. no one could fake the joy so pure that is beaming across his face. and what's worse, what is infinitely worse, is that he sees what must look like something far gentler in your expression.

"you're sweet," and if he is smug, you'd hardly noticed. a press of his lips at your temple, a warm chuckle against your neck, "and bloody adorable, too," because if there's anything that you couldn't handle right now, it's a heartfelt conversation. a damsel-worthy declaration, because, knowing him, he'd embarrass the both of you enough to melt a few inches of frost, and that just won't do.

"don't push it."

"or what? afraid you might lose the resolve to your no-nonsense-pretend-to-loathe-everyone act? and it was so brilliant, too."

"please stop talking," the whine could've been unbecoming if you weren't so desperate for him to silence himself, but, lucky you, "seriously."

"so hard not to when you are. how are you real?"

"questionable," you mumble, and this must be torture, except the prick hasn't pushed you, or grabbed you, or anything beyond holding your hand and wedging a cold nose into your scarf, "at the moment, i'm not entirely sure."

"miserable, aren't we? c'mon," and the only solution is to knock his head with yours, hard enough to make a noise that's audible over your hammering heart, and this time you give him the courtesy of seeing a brief flash of pain. and if you give him the curtsy of pressing your lips into his, well, he takes advantage of it and gets your hands. warm hands around cold, pale fingers, and a hum sounds into your throat and might vibrate all the way to the ends of your hair.

he's the bloody worst, isn't he? and somehow you're fated to know how terribly true the statement is.

"no, really, your hands are cold," he says softly, and the weather hasn't affected him. his words are sluggish and slow, like the pace of his palms on yours, rubbing and trying to warm them, and he might have a point, but he won't have the satisfaction of knowing that. the confirmation only came with another kiss, and how is that a deterrent? it really shouldn't be, "adorable, but i see frost on your fingers."

you roll your eyes, but for what it's worth, his kisses have an aftertaste of warmth, "my savior," your murmurs, and the irony is evident in how unamused the words are, "thanks."

"always at your beck and call."

"have i called?"

"many times," he presses a kiss to a wrist and another to your palm, and if his breathing warms the space between your hands then the problem's almost solved.

"in your dreams, perhaps."

"quite vividly," james has always had a glint to his eyes – an ambition, maybe, that shines brilliantly every time he's truly serious, but it's an intensity you had only seen a handful of times in him. so many wasted words, and how ridiculous he could be, how aggravating, and stupid, and wonderful, and in that instant, you think you could see stars, "but they don't last much."

"nice to know you've figured your issue."

"oh, hush." and the lips are on yours, and he smiles while doing so and you might melt away if only because the frost were forced into it. he doesn't open his mouth or let his hands do more than touch your cheek, your neck, with such gentility and no wonder your face grows warmer. it must glow in the evening air and you could be seen miles away, looking like an absolute prat, being adored so thoroughly. a long inhale before pulling away, but he rests his forehead against yours, "see? better, isn't it?"

"dreadful."

"sure, love." and it must be the first time the petname sounds endearing rather than mocking, or perhaps the frost in your limbs has really started to settle and the chill has worked into your bones, or perhaps his skin looks so bright under this awful dome and no one ever talks about the way his hair frames his face. maybe his voice has warmed you more than his hands. or perhaps he is softer and gentle with his affections and he isn't as mean as he claims to be or you insist. maybe, just maybe, you are secretly, obviously, terribly fond the brat and the starry eyed fool sitting next to you. more, or just as much, as he's fond with you.

"can we go back to the castle now?"

"no."

"cold out here," he reminds.

"so i've heard."

"i could help you with that, though."

"thought you already are."

"amazing," a new kiss, quick and chaste on a corner of your lips, "this has got to be a new record of no arguing. good. i can't believe, for once, that all it took was a kiss and some, like, a minute or three of talking, and i would've done it earlier, too. probably."

"don't think too much of it."

"i will. warm-up?"

"what?"

 "kiss me," is that impatience in his voice or the beginning of a tantrum? either way, when a something isn't instantly granted, it prompts a series of groans and complaints that surely rival the level of insufferability james has attained through the years. his head rolls onto your shoulder and you feel his voice against your neck. a hum, "you really, absolutely, one hundred percent have to."

 "i never signed up for such a deal."

 "you did. c'mere."

thank u for reading &lt;3