#oh and also Vertebrae is there..

[ballpit-bakery]

Introducing Atlas! A disgraced Alpha because he just could not stop being fucked up and selling his research to phantoms despite that being the opposite of his job.

[wasyago]

kakashi and bull 🥺🤲

[gravehags]

happy new years’ eve it’s day drinking time 🥂

[inkykeiji]

me telling my boyfriend he has to be extra nice to me because i’m sick and him responding with ‘sorry baby, i don’t know how to be nice’ is peak dabi

[girls-and-honey]

wait the 'oh cool you collect bones' to 'oh cool you collect bones 😳' pipeline might be real...

[h1ghtechl0wlife]

zoning out breaking down a chicken for our dog, running my thumbnails down the neck to get the meat off and all i can think is god i need someone 2 do this 2 me

[raeathnos]

.

[g-xix]

🔞☁️Spiderman!W2s au

Inspo: Harry as Spiderman in the come dine w me sidemen video, and the "chocolate house" scene in TASM

Summary: When studying for an exam, your spider boyfriend interrupts your session with the incessant want to distract you...

CWs: oral (female recieving), parents being home, praise

Notes: In this AU Spiderman Harry and reader are both 18+ student inters at Oscorp Labs (the whole timline is a bit askew but allow me x)

Headphones in and exam material spread out on the desk in front of you, you closed your eyes and relaxed a moment. Thunder rumbled and rain thudded against the window outside, the sky still grey outside, yet not enough light for the studying you had, to prepare you for the next exam in a couple weeks. Your spiced cookies candle still burned strong and illuminated your pages with a warm glow, but weren't enough to prevent your eyes from straining in the darkness.

You picked yourself up from the desk, allowing yourself a full body stretch - cracking each vertebrae until your fingertips tingled and head felt filled with fuzz to contrast the diagrams and data that swam in your prefrontal.

The tea you'd made was running short, and you equally needed a shower. Both of those required going to the kitchen - to turn the boiler on as well as the kettle - which also meant a break from your much needed cramming.

You brought your phone to your pocket, slipping it in so that your headphones still played instrumental tracks into your ears whilst you went across the room to flick the light-switch, illuminating your room and letting you lie back against the bed for a moment, just closing your eyes and pushing one earmuff to the side so that you could indulge in both the music and the heavy thuds against the window. Rainpour outside glum and dreary, and yet the most beautiful noise you could think of to accompany your evening revision session. 

The thuds became heavier, more frantic, and you opened your eyes to look out and see the fat bullets that'd hit and drain down your window - creating the outside world into a real-life oil painting - splattered and swashed with haphazard reds and yellows from the traffic lights and cars that honked and buzzed so far away from your flat.

Though the idyllic painting you had expected to see was not what you were met with, as you saw the blurred silhouette of a red and blue suit, and brunette head of hair resting on your windowsill so many floors up from the ground. A gasp fell from your lips, followed by an almost panicked "HARRY!" - rushing to the window to fight the locks and open the window so that your boyfriend could push himself through the window frame and into your room - grinning sheepishly up at your panicked face as you assessed your boyfriend from head to toe - hair spiked and dampened by the rain, and body still kitted in that skintight spidersuit that hugged all of the muscles you knew he possessed beneath.

Although your assessment was cut short as you heard your name called from the end of the corridor outside your room, footsteps drawing nearer too.

Your eyes snapped from the door to the boyfriend that hadn't announced his presence to your parents, having entered through the window, your wide-eyed look of fear and panic showing that you were too stunned to do anything. Which left Harry no option but to dart under the bed himself - slipping his body between the thin slit of space between the hardwood bed frame and carpet floor, tugging the duvet down to cover the shadow of his body, beneath the bed.

The knock that sounded against the door was what unparalysed you and caused you to shoot towards the door - opening it and smiling unsuspectingly at your dad who was on the other side of the door.

"You alright, little miss?" Your dad asked, before looking back at the bedroom behind you. "I thought I heard you saying that Harry kiddo's name, just checking you're all alright..."

"Oh yeah I'm fine," You quickly responded, nodding to affirm it. "I just... I just thought I saw him down on the roadside from the window - I don't think it was him though... I must just be having hallucinations from studying too hard or something, right...?"

Your dad looked at you blankly for a moment. Like you were absolutely insane. Before a chuckle fell from his lips and he looked down, shaking his head at your insanity warmly. "Absolutely insane, you are."

You shrugged with a slight smile on your face.

"What was it you were talking about at dinner last week - wanting to live in a chocolate house," He laughed fondly at the fresh memory, and you felt the colour drawing from your cheeks as you remembered Harry was underneath your bed and could undeniably hear every embarrassing word your father spoke. "You were doing up a real court case there - I mean - you designed a whole electricity system using the sugar in gummy bears to power the lights and -"

"OKAY, okay! I get it, I'm insane!" You cut him short as you felt the redness building heat to your cheeks. Your dad only found it even funnier, and laughed at your embarrassed demeanour.

"Alright, alright.." He stopped himself with a large smile over his face. "I like that Harry kid - your boyfriend - he isn't half bad. You know you're allowed to have him over whenever you want, you don't need to be secretive about none of that. He does the same Uni course as you, yeah? He's a good kid, Y/n, you could have him over for dinner tonight if he's available - your Mum's cooking up a roast, y'know...?"

"I think he's busy tonight," You said unsurely, and your Dad just nodded though. "Thanks Dad - could you put the boiler on as well? I wanna have a shower in a few."

Your dad agreed, shouting a half hour until food's ready! before leaving you to close the door with a sigh of relief, turning around and seeing Harry - already made comfy on top of your bed and smirking up at you. "Chocolate house?" He repeated with a grin, and you rolled your eyes as you flopped down besides him, tugging at his sleeve. "The clothes you left are in a that drawer there - go put them on, sewer rat... And I think you need a shower, too."

"Shower with you?" He looked over at you with a mischievous grin, and you had to thud him with a pillow to get some sense into him. ("Guess that's a no then.")

You watched Harry as he got up from the bed, stretching to hit the spot on his back that loosened his spidersuit and wincing as he did so. You noticed how he let out a huff, wincing once more as he bent over to take his shirt out from the lower drawer, your brows furrowing. 

"Harry, turn around." You commanded, because there's been times where Harry had been injured and refused to tell you until he'd been healed or gotten professional help. He'd said that his special abilities would allow him to heal up without really needing attention... But you still feared that he could get infected, or have an injury worsen due to his neglect for it. And with him wincing and huffing with every movement, you couldn't help but fear he'd done something to his body which he was now trying to hide.

"...Why?" He froze up, not turning around.

"Why are you so uneasy sounding right now?" You narrowed your eyes.

"I asked the question first so you have to answer first-"

"I literally asked you to turn around first, if anything you should have to do that first-"

"Well there's nothing that you need to worry about, Y/n," Harry huffed again, this time out of his begrudging nature - rolling his eyes and quickly slipping his shirt over his top half (and even though you felt unhappy with him, you didn't miss the opportunity to ogle your boyfriend's back muscles), letting the man get himself into something more comfy before turning around with a regretful expression as he got next to you on the bed. "Sorry for getting angry, I -uhm- shouldn't have..."

You exhaled a deep breath as his fingers found the back of your head, his hand tentatively massaging your scalp. Your own fingers traced the bottom of his shirt before your head tilted up to him, his hand moving with your head and bringing his attention down to you - meeting for eye contact.

"Harry, you know I'm just lookin' out for you.." Your fingers went beneath his top, feeling out the muscle of his lower abs and the trail that lead upwards to his belly, palm flattening over the skin and making his breathing hitch slightly. "I know you say that it doesn't matter because you got some spider immunity - or whatever the hell it is - but you're human beneath it all... and that doesn't mean that you're not immune to an infection. Or some sort'a vector creating disease that'll wipe you and your entire spider-species out."

Harry chuckled slightly at your words, but his hands still went under his shirt to lie on top of yours, his fingers interweaving between yours and clasping over yours as a non-verbal show of connection. 

His breathing hitched and you felt the edge of your finger brush over something rougher. Like the skin surrounding a wound. You knew you'd hit a sensitive spot - some sort of injury, and you looked up to meet Harry's eye contact. "...Can I look..?"

Harry took a deep breath but nodded shakily. 

And tentatively pulling his shirt up, you squeezed your lips together to stop yourself from gasping at the horrifying dark red gash that ran from just below his chest and over his abdomen - raw and ripped, reddened and smudged with blood that was darkened and dried lower down - his quickened healing already forming a scab over the cut that had a width almost as long as your finger.

"It's not that bad is it?" Harry's voice came our quiet and sheepish - as if guilty for having not wanting you to see it.

Your own voice had a high and breathy quality as you internalised all the shock and horror and emotion you felt for your boyfriend, hurt with the massive cut across his body. "...It's... there." 

There was a first aid kit in your downstairs bathroom, and pressing Harry's abdomen down into the bed, telling him to just stay - crawling over Harry's body to the door (placing the lightest of kisses on his stomach) before hurrying to grab the antiseptic, cloth, cotton, bandage and more - running back up the stairs of your family apartment and entering the room - your hand only just managed to touch the door handle briefly before the breath was taken from your lungs-

A thud sounded from the bed as you watched your boyfriend roll frantically to hide - raising an arm to shoot a web at the door handle which your hand was still attached to.

"Oh fuck, it's just you.." You heard a groan from your boyfriend who'd rolled himself onto the side of the bed. "Uhm - sorry about the web.."

You laughed and tugged your hand to escape the sticky web that had attached you to the door, but... "Harry, why can't I move my hand..?"

"Uhm, you said you got some anti septic - that's got alcohol - just douse your hand with some of that, that might melt the web a bit..."

The web became like thick sugar syrup on your hand - melting - but still sticky all over the back of your hand and your fingers, although Harry promised it was completely safe as you washed it off and shot him dirty looks as he stood in the bathroom doorway with your room now locked.

"Okay big boy, squeeze my hand when you feel pain just don't scream," You chastised for the final time, and your Harry nodded with pursed lips - squeezed shut to prevent a single noise leaving his mouth as you lowered the alcohol drenched cotton swab to his wound.

You forgot that his spider abilities made him stronger than he was before though, and you were the one to let out a yelp as you felt your fingers almost getting crushed by his own digits, wrapped around yours. Instantly however, he let go and had gotten up to press his lips to your hand, pressing kisses to the back of it and apologising profusely, his thumb now tracing over each phalange whilst he left delicate kisses over each one in an apology.

You managed, in the end. Harry decided to bite down on the face of a pillow instead, as you wiped alcohol over his wound and sterilized it - bandaging the cut to prevent entry of any pathogens and receiving kisses all over your "Miracle hands" in payment. 

Although as you realised you had been set a topic behind, according to your time schedule - Harry only allowed you fifteen minutes more of peaceful revision, before he had decided that he was finished with looking out of your window and playing with your newton's cradle - and wanted to pester you instead.

"You're so pretty when you're studying." Harry leant back against the glass of your window to observe you - pencil in hand - poised and trailing over the words which you digested from a textbook and traced onto your own separate notes.

"Yeah, you should be studying too y'know.." Your gaze didn't move from the page you read whilst you spoke, and thus you didn't see Harry cross the room to stand behind your chair.

You were so absorbed, in fact, that you didn't even notice his presence behind you until he wrapped his arms around your shoulders and let his chin rest of the top of your head, the weight of his head on top of your making you grumble even whilst you liked the pressure of him around your body.

"God, how do you always manage such good grades even when you spend all day in the city and acting hero," You let your eyes close and body untense, leaning back into your boyfriend who hummed at your resignation to the studying- indulging in your boyfriend's hold instead. He laughed, and the sound ricocheted in his chest and vibrated against your body in the most pleasant way.

"I think you need a break," Harry's hand delicately took those strands that had fallen from your ponytail and tucked them one by one behind your ear ever so lovingly. And whilst the warmth of his body against your back betrayed you and had you wanting to indulge in his sweet loving, your rationale caused a whine to fall from your throat as you betrayed your wants to protest him.

"Noooo.." You did your best to protest with your words, because your body was absolute fool to Harry's touch, and didn't protest one bit as he wrapped his arm slowly and tentatively beneath your thigh to pick you up bridal style. Testing the waters as he gently chastised you with a "Oh yes," as he brought you to the bed , slowly and carefully setting you down against the pillows as though you were delicate china before crawling up onto the bed himself. "Breaks are important - you gotta give your brain rest time so you can come back more refreshed. You need a distraction, Y/n..."

You'd been keen to notice his much stronger Harry had gotten since being bit by that spider. Though his physical frame didn't look awfully different, his strength, reflexes and grip had most definitely had a drastic increase in sensitivity and effect. And once again, you noticed Harry's strength as he held himself up on top of you on just his forearms - lowering himself to the exposed skin of your collarbone - brushing the cardigan aside to reveal the soft, untouched skin.

He looked up with a smile, through thick lashes and boyish charm that had you wrap your legs and squeeze around his body. And taking a hint, he gently pressed his lips to the flesh - feeling the hard bone beneath the surface and letting his tongue scale it before nipping with his teeth and listening to your body's physical reaction as you back arched ever so slightly whilst he pulled away with a grin.

"Y'know another thing?" You spoke, letting a hand thread through his locks before trailing down to his cheek. He looked up at you, giving you eye contact to listen to your hypothesis. "I think your canines have gotten sharper since you got bitten."

"Is that so?" He cocked his head to the side, letting his cheek fall into your palm - and you trailed your hand over his face so that you could push your thumb into his mouth - pulling his upper lip up and holding it there with a grin as you looked down at his teeth. Sharp canines protruding from the ordered and equal-lengthed incisors. The pad of your finger pressed into the points and let the points create little indents onto the soft skin. Definitely sharper.

"Without a doubt," You smiled up at him, admiring the mossy green nestled within the oceanic blues of his irises, delicate wave pattern threaded through the circumference that circled the dark pupils. God, you felt as though you could drown in those. "C'mon Harry, tell me; how'd you do so well constantly in class when you're always out saving the city or just enjoying life.."

He laughed again, giving you another show of the attractively sharp canines before lowering himself down - pressing his chest into yours whilst still effortlessly holding his weight up - leaning into you so that his breath fanned over the hard outer shell of your ear as he gave his hush response.

"I don't sleep. I'm revising instead; because spiders never truly sleep - they just slow down and take some down time, before they're back in action.."

His voice was low and husky with the words you delivered, and you could feel something sinful setting alight in your stomach. "Harry - this is the weirdest sexy talk you've ever done."

"I think it's working though-" His hips were already flush with your core - and reaching a hand below the hem of your skirt, he pressed the material of your panties down against your slit until he could feel the arousal that had formed between your legs from everything to do with Harry. A gasp fell from your lips at the sudden intimate touch, and your hand jumped to his wrist to stop his movements. Because the grin that he wore told you that he was absolutely going to take this further if you didn't stop him. 

"Harry!" You hissed his name in horror. "My Mum and Dad are still home! We can't do anything..."

"Why not..?" Harry's fingers had resorted to tracing patterns over your thigh which was awfully seductive alongside his confident smile and eye contact. "I can tell that you want to..."

"But you should know that we can't." You spoke firmly, and as if to consolidate your words, you both heard a shout from your dad downstairs: "THREE MINUTES UNTIL DINNER'S READY, KID!"

"See?" You stressed to Harry. "We can't do anything because we only have three minutes - PLUS my doorlock is already faulty - really Harry, anyone could walk in anytime-!"

Harry grumbled and shifted his weight onto one arm so that he could lift the other to point to the door, jetting a web to cement the door shut and flush with the wall. "There - now no-one's coming in - we can have some privacy for three minutes... I can work with three minutes, Y/n - all you gotta do is say the word..."

You took your lip between your teeth as you contemplated... Because you knew that you really did want Harry - and with the door webbed shut, you really could spend those three minutes with no interruptions... But you had a family dinner straight after, and even if your parents wouldn't be able to see you - there was always a change theyd be able to hear you instead... Your contemplation was futile as you realised that each moment you spent weighing pros and cons only reduced the very short time window you had to actually do anything with Harry if you decided to. You had to make a decision now.

"Fine," You sighed and looked up. "Let's do something then."

"C'mon, you can actually sound like you want it, y'know.." Harry teased and you rolled your eyes. "C'mon, tell me what you want - d'you want me to fuck you? Or d'you want my fingers? Or I can have you cum all over my face-"

"OhmygodHARRY!" You flushed at the lack of filter he had, covering your reddened cheeks in horror. 

"C'mon, make your mind up princess, time's ticking."

You felt a blush rising to your cheeks as you took your lip between your teeth, knowing exactly what you wanted but being shy to say it. "Can you-uhm-use y-your mouth-"

His touch trailed further up your thigh as the request left your lips, and an almost proud smile lit up over Harry's lips as he looked up at you. "See, that wasn't too hard, was it?"

His eyes flickered away from yours to the clock besides you on the bedside table. "Two minutes," he mumbled, "I can work with that."

Harry didn't bother to remove your panties. Instead, he just moved them to the side and returned his mouth to between your legs - his head covered by the material of your skirt that fell over his head and ended mid-neck. 

Which meant you were absolutely clueless to his touch. You couldn't see the glint he had in his eyes, nor expect any of his touch - every touch of his hands, his tongue, his lips was all completely unexpected. And that meant that when you felt Harry's teeth gently closing around your labia just as a teasing nip at your core, a gasp fell from your lips which you had to cover with a hand to prevent yourself from being too loud. 

You could hear the low chuckle that fell from your boyfriend's lips, muttering a "Sorry, couldn't help myself," before he pressed his tongue flat to your clit and moaned, tasting you all over your delicate bud and channeling vibrations that stimulated every nerve ending in your heat and sent pleasure coursing through your veins - making your eyes roll to the back of your head even with the littlest touch that Harry had provided. 

"You taste so fucking good-" His words were cut short as he pressed himself back to your cunt like an addict, his tongue now pressing to your dripping hole and drawing a line from there up to your clit - mixing his saliva with your arousal and spreading it over your pussy so that he could lap blindly between your folds and still taste you regardless of where he placed his tongue.

And you were a wreck with what Harry did.

Your thighs were clenching around his head and core convulsing, your body spasming with a hand over your mouth as you squeezed your eyes shut and did your best to not let out any loud noise that'd have anyone else in the house knowing that your boyfriend had secretly snuck in and what now tongue-fucking you into oblivion...

An un-disguisable gasp slipped from your mouth as you felt a panging in your core, your orgasm barrelling closer and closer as Harry's thumb pressed to your clit - using your slick to lubricate his movements as he pressed circles into the sensitive organ in syncopation with the rhythm of his tongue which lapped between your folds and dived between your walls, the skilled muscle making your breathing come heavier and heat spread across your cheeks and the whole of your body.

"H-Harry, I'm so close-I'm gonn'-I'm-"

"Please~" He begged your release with such sincerity that with his admission you couldn't hold back - your thighs squeezing around his head with enough pressure to crush it - throwing your head back and letting your back arch off from the bed as you felt the pleasure in your core spread through every vein and flood your body with enough oxytocin to fry every neurone in your body, feeling yourself come undone on Harry's tongue in the most lewd and filthy way possible as he lapped up every ounce of praise your body gave him.

"My god, if I could live between your thighs the world would be such a better place," Harry groaned, and you saw his pussy-drunk face as he withdrew from beneath your skirt with slick lips and such a sexed-out expression that you could feel a blush drawing to your cheeks, knowing that was all for you.

He brought himself to your face and joined his lips with yours, his tongue caressing your lower lip and causing the taste that Harry had gotten drunk off of to linger over your lips whilst he made out with you - slowly - sensually - and appreciatively, regardless of the sloppiness of the kiss that had sparks relighting in your core and almost beckoning for a second round with Harry. Yout thoughts were prevented however, as a shout from your dad echoed up the staircase and through the wall: "DINNER'S READY, COME LAY THE TABLE!"

Your lips detached from Harry's with a smile, giggle exiting your lips as you felt Harry's lashes tickling your cheek before he rest his forehead against yours.

"I think you gotta go, sweet thing," Harry spoke with a hushed voice, but you made no move to leave.

"I don't want to," You whined and did your best to wrap a hand around Harry's forearm to keep him with you - though he could sense your plan and had to move back before he was persuaded to stay any longer. "Won't you come have dinner with us - dad said you could-"

"He said I could on the conditions that you invited me and probably came through the front door - not through his daughter's bedroom - besides, I can't go making him hate me when he just admit he thinks I'm a decent guy," Harry grinned as he reflected on the words your dad had used to describe your boyfriend, though as he caught the frown on your face he shortened the gap between you to console you with a kiss to the forehead. "C'mon sweet, you gotta go get your dinner, I'll see you tomorrow in the labs anyways, right?"

"B-but I haven't even given you anything in return for..." You gestured to allude to the head he'd given and he laughed.

"You don't need to worry about me - I already got something to think of when I sort myself out at home," Harry cheekily spoke, and pulled his mask over his face - decided to stay in his cosy clothes.

"You going home, then?" You made the assumption, trying not to be downcasted as the boy nodded. "Web safely then, and text me when you get home - I don't wanna get a heart attack seeing you on the telly for getting into a fight with some bad guy."

Harry laughed and nodded in agreement. "Sure thing. You enjoy your dinner and keep studying hard. I'll still beat you in the next test, though."

You rolled your eyes, hearing another shout from your dad on the floor below.

"Alright, I'll see you tomorrow - love you!"

"Love you!" You managed to return just in time as Harry opened the window and slipped himself through, casting a web along the main road before swinging away from your apartment and leaving you to walk down the stairs to dinner where your Mum placed roast potatoes in a fancy platter, and you dad laid table mats out.

"Who were you talking to?" Your mum cast a glance over her shoulder at you as you went to retrieve the knives and forks from a drawer to lay the table.

"Just on a call," You shrugged, the lie coming all to easily.

"You ought to be revising instead of spending your time being social, Y/n." Your mum gave a pointed look, and you bit down on your lip to avoid saying something witty in response to her well-meaning scolding. You smiled as you remembered Harry's words instead. 

"It was just a short break. My brain was already fried so I just needed a short social break so that then I could come back refreshed." You smiled to yourself, parroting Harry's words and watching how quickly your Mum changed her stance and agreed with you, taking her words back and becoming more lenient.

You could almost feel Harry there, stirring the gravy and sneaking you a smirk as he watched you repeat the words you'd been so indignant to agree with only fifteen minutes prior. And even all the way through dinner, you couldn't stop yourself from smiling down at your plate as the thought of Harry crossed your mind - the way he'd entered, the tenderness as he'd let you clean his wound, the sharp canines and the love-drunk smile he'd cast you...

Truly, you were head over heels. And when you checked your phone just before studying - opening the picture Harry had sent you - in the darkness of his room having arrived home safely - his spidey mask still on and hand clutching at a quite clearly outlined semi beneath the sweatpants he wore, the accompanying text: thinking of you <3  making your heart flip and core burn up once more - your found yourself realising that one of the other reasons that Harry consistently scored higher grades than you in class was because he was always somehow always on your mind and able to distract you

Did u mfs enjoy this, bc i lowkey wouldn't mind making this a fulll-time au i write more fics on... 👀👀 i already got spiderman!w2s anon (ty for requesting this btw i had SO MUCH fun writing this) already sending in another idea which i like... do we continue this au?!!?

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[little-cereal-draws]

If Ghosts had a more mature rating and was able to do more creepy ghost powers/death side effects:

Pat, Humphrey, and Thomas are eternally bleeding. Their clothes are wet, their hand gets wet from touching it, they'll leave trails of blood down the hall, etc. The blood on their hand or the floor disappears pretty quickly as their ghost powers make them reset but their clothes are always soaked

Thomas's whole stomach and the top of his pants are bloodstained. Pat's is all located on his shoulders/necktie and has the most obvious stains due to the color difference of his clothes. There are a few drops here and there down his sleeves and chest. It's pretty heavy because of the major arteries the neck that would've been punctured. Humphrey's is by fair the heaviest and is all over the front of his torso. Like the whole thing. When he died he fell face down into the growing puddle of blood that would've been pooling from his stump

Fanny can turn her head frighteningly far. There's a sick crunching sound that happens when she does this and it always sends shivers down Alison's spine even after years of hearing it. The other ghosts have joked and compared Fanny to an owl because of this and she chews them out every time

Pat coughs a lot because he's got blood stuck in his throat. He'll randomly have a huge coughing fit, cough a bunch of blood into his hand and then go "Oh no. Anyways..." He also has trouble breathing and has to take breaks to sit down during physical activities like dancing or running. It annoying but not too much of a hindrance to his daily life; it's like having asthma or allergies. The blood can make his voice sound a little weird sometimes too, like he's gurgling smth while he talks. He just clears his throat and keeps going

The plague ghosts vomit up bile every once in a while. It's black, steaming, and putrid but disappears almost instantly

Kitty also throws up when she's excited... which is a lot. She also gets chills, lightheadedness, fevers, and uncontrollable shaking. There's not much the other ghosts or Alison can do to help her besides sitting with her/trying to distract her. She'll lay down and try to breathe through it while Alison reads her a story or the Captain infodumps abt smth or Robin holds her hand. Sometimes she falls asleep, sometimes she doesn't. She's always better after a few hours tho

Fanny gets really bad migraines. Alison's theory is that they're caused by her broken vertebra. Fanny doesn't particularly care why they happen. When they happen, she's in an even worse mood than usual so it's best to steer clear of her. She doesn't have the energy to yell at ppl but will remember the slightest fault and wait until she's better to go on a lecture. Again, there's not much Alison or the other ghosts can do to help besides let her lay down and try to be quiet

Mary and Robin's skin peels off. It's white and flaky and leaves raw red spots underneath. The dead skin disappears once it leaves them but the skin underneath is never healthy and flakes off too

Both Robin and Mary smell like burning flesh but only Mary is detectable by living people. Robin only smells when he uses his powers. It really puts a lot of the ghosts off, especially newer ones

Robin's body also gets affected by his powers in other ways. If it's something small like flickering a light, his hair will stand on end. Something bigger like turning a light on/off or flickering a more powerful light will cause him to spasm. It's usually just his arms and wears off after a minute. Smth really big like redirecting that lightning bolt for Mike will be the equivalent of him actually getting hit w the lightning. His body seizes up, falls over unresponsive and twitching for several minutes, but he's always ok in the end. Alison and the other ghosts get very worried but he walks it off

Julian and the Captain both feel remnants of their heart attacks. Shortness of breath, tingling/numbness in the arms, dizziness, heart palpitations, etc. They both choose to keep it a secret from the others and cover it up but if they're particularly stressed abt smth, they'll start getting chest pains which is harder to cover up. The Captain has excused himself from many social situations to go sit on the floor and try to breathe through the pain and calm his heart. Robin's the only one who knows about Julian's because it happened once while they were hanging out. Logically, they both know they can't die again but it's still scary

Mary likes to sit in the lake because even tho she can't feel it like she would if she was alive, the cold water is soothing on her burns

All the ghosts have days where they just lay abt bc the pain is too much to move. From who does it the most to who does it the least it goes Mary, Humphrey, Pat, Fanny, Thomas, Kitty, Robin, the Captain, Julian

[symbiomancy]

MASSAGE —ryomen sukuna

summary: Step-brother Sukuna is good with his hands. Why not take advantage of it when no one's home? It's just an innocent massage, after all.

cw: stepbrother!sukuna, stepcest, grinding/thigh riding, pet names

wc: ~1,1k

also on ao3

“You’re good with your hands,” you say one afternoon when it’s just you and him. Your mother and his father are at work, Yūji is meeting up with friends to go to a movie, hell, even the neighbors might have left town—it’s just you and him.

Sukuna looks up from his phone, face impassive.

“My back hurts. You’re good with your hands. Simple math.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen how you sleep; how do you even bend like that? It’s unnatural.”

“I’m very flexible.” You hold out the bottle of massage oil to him and shake it impatiently. “Please?”

He considers it for a moment, then rolls his eyes and places his phone on the small table next to the couch armrest. You grin, bright and wide as he accepts the bottle.

“Sit,” he says, spreading his legs, half-expecting you to pull out the ottoman underneath the coffee table. Instead, you straddle his thigh, facing away from him. He jostles his leg for good measure and you almost tip over, latching onto the thigh you’re sitting on to not fall. A laugh bubbles from his chest, low and smooth and rich.

“Dickhead,” you mutter, sitting up straight again.

“I can refuse service if you’re not nice to me, you know.”

You sigh, long and drawn out. “I’m sorry. Please, can I get a massage?” Though you don’t wait for his reply and hike your flimsy shirt over your head, draping it over his other thigh.

Sukuna allows his fingers to skim the length of your spine, from your tailbone up to the base of your skull, feeling the grooves and dips of the vertebrae under his fingertips. He maps out the beauty marks littering the expanse of your skin, tries to commit it to memory.

“Where?” He tips a small amount of massage oil onto the palm of his hand and rubs it around his palms. It smells like vanilla.

You place your hands on your waist and press your thumbs on either side of your spine. Sukuna makes a sound of confirmation in the back of his throat and pushes your hands away, placing his thumbs where yours just were. He presses down, hard, and you make a sound, somewhere caught between a hiss and a moan, hands clamped around his thigh again for stability.

He begins working the knots in your lower back and then you moan, actually, audibly moan—it slips from your lips so freely and he likes it, he wants to hear more of it, drawn out and loud. He needs to hear it again like he needs water. The sound sends a jolt straight to his cock. It twitches beneath the layers that separate it from your pretty pussy. Oh, it’s pretty, he just knows it.

His hands slowly glide up your sides until his fingertips ghost the curve of your breast. He hears the hitch in your breathing—like music to his ears, he wants to hear it over and over and over again until it's committed to his memory—but he doesn’t withdraw his hand. Instead, he lets his hand explore further, cupping your breast from below, a finger swiping over the nipple. You buck against his thigh with a low whine.

“You like that, baby?”

“Y-yeah.” Your voice cracks and you hastily clear your throat.

His other hand finds your other breast and he swipes a thumb around and then over each nipple. A small, broken gasp escapes your lips. Your back arches, grinding your covered pussy against his thigh. Sukuna stills, flexes his thigh muscles, and eyes the not-so-subtle circling motions of your hips.

“Yeah?” He palms your tits, pinches the nipple between his thumb and forefinger. You recoil, back arching even more, pussy dragging against his thigh, nails clamping into his flesh so hard Sukuna sees white for a fraction of a second. He can feel the damp patch on your panties and he breathes in slowly to keep his composure from slipping, from pouncing on you like an animal in heat.

He repeats the motion and he’s rewarded with another gasp, this one half a whine, and you fall back, resting against his shoulder.

Sukuna adjusts himself and leans his chin on your shoulder. His mouth rests at the shell of your ear now.

One hand dips from your chest, travels down towards your navel, dragging the massage oil along. He can feel the stutter in your breathing in the still and tacky summer air. He doesn’t stop, goes lower, lower, lower, stops where your skirt begins.

His hand finds purchase on the plush of your thigh, fingers sliding up, under the fabric, and stop just shy of your underwear. You buck your hips again, desperate for any friction.

“What?” He teases, his hot breath caressing the side of your cheek. “Need something?”

“Please.” You nod rapidly. “Please.” Your breaths are heavy, eyes bleary, mid fuzzy with desire.

“Good girl,” he murmurs against the shell of your ear.

Your cheeks warm at his words—so warm and so close he can feel the warmth radiating from your skin. His fingertips ghost over your clothed pussy, just barely applying any force, then over the hem of your skirt, up your body, dragging along the grooves, leaving goosebumps in their wake. His hand finds its place on your breast again, so soft and plush and he breathes in the sweet scent of your strawberry body wash, nose pressed into the junction between your neck and shoulder. Fuck, you’re intoxicating. His cock twitches in his pants, throbbing like he’s about to cum in his shorts—

Voices.

Strange voices draw him from his reprieve. They filter in through the open windows, a female voice arguing with Yuji’s.

Then there’s a key jiggling in the lock on the front door.

Sukuna snatches your top from his thigh, presses it to your chest, and gently pushes you upright. You stand on shaking legs for a moment before the click of the front door’s lock sends you dashing towards the stairs across the room. You reach them just as the door swings open, three voices filtering inside.

“Dickhead!” You shout before you disappear up the stairs and slam your bedroom door.

Yūji pauses as the door falls shut behind him, Nobara, and Megumi, and crosses the few steps from the hallway into the living room. He looks at Sukuna, lying on his stomach on the couch, scrolling through his phone. “What did you say this time?”

Sukuna scowls and grabs a decorative pillow to chuck at Yuji’s head. “Mind your own business, brat.”

banners from @/cafekitsune

[dreamwatch]

STWG daily drabble

prompt: forehead kisses

(I’m trying some prompts out, and also - I wrote fluff! I actually did it! My cold, angsty heart is conflicted by this development.)

****

Wayne’s back feels like it’s splitting in two, muscles spasming, discs crunching. Years of hard labour and a car wreck after he came back from Korea (a little bit angry, a little bit reckless) and what else could he really expect? He was old, and all his chickens had come home to roost right in his lower vertebrae.

He hears the van before he sees it, wheels spitting up grit on the shitty excuse for a road, and then the bassy rumbling of loud music. Iron Maiden, if he’s not mistaken, and Jesus H Christ, he should not know that.

Eddie throws himself out of the van, and practically skips up the stairs, and oh to be fucking young. 

“Hey old man, what are you doing out here?”

“Drowning my sorrows,” he says, waving the beer and Eddie frowns, tilts his head.

“Why, what’s going on?”

“Just my back.”

“Bad?”

“Hmm.”

“Okay, give me a second.”

“Eddie, I’m fine, got a beer, I’m good.”

Eddie scoffs, “sure”, before he heads inside.

Trailers aren’t sound proofed. Every cough, every fart, your neighbour hears it and you hear them. So listening to Eddie on the phone just the other side of the door isn’t prying, it just can’t be helped.

“Hey man… yeah I’m good but Wayne’s not so I can’t make practice tonight… no, it’s his back so I want to be here incase he needs me…”

Wayne shakes his head. The shit people say about that kid, they have no idea who he is. He listens as Eddie hangs up then potters around the kitchen, drawers clattering, kettle screeching. His boy is so many things, but quiet sure isn’t one of them.

“Heads up, old man.”

Eddie takes a seat beside him on the porch, painkillers in one hand, glass of water in the other and a hot water bottle tucked under his arm. Wayne smiles, takes his pills while Eddie places the hot water bottle behind his back.

“That okay?”

And he can’t help it, but it strikes him how fucking proud he is of this kid, and alright, it’s a little thing, but still. He hears it all day long from the guys at work, complaining about their kids, how they’re selfish, how they don’t listen, and you know Eddie’s not an angel, and he’s not perfect, but he’s good, and he cares and he’s not afraid to show it if you let him.

Wayne gingerly raises his arm and pulls him in, hears him squeal “don’t kiss me!” He pulls him close, and lays an exaggerated kiss on Eddie’s forehead, and gets a “not in public, Jesus Christ,” for his efforts.

“You’re a good kid.”

“I know. You’re lucky to have me.”

He laughs, despite the pain in his back.

“That I am,” he says, squeezing his boy tight. “That I am.”

[disco-archetypes]

YOU - Say nothing, just nod.

KIM KITSURAGI - The lieutenant also nods. It is quite a scene -- the two of you standing next to the broken wall of an abandoned building... nodding. Nodding along.

YOU - Nod even more.

KIM KITSURAGI - The lieutenant is nodding so hard it looks like his head is about to snap off his neck.

YOU - Don't stop nodding.

KIM KITSURAGI - The lieutenant matches your nodding pace. He's a true professional at this.

ENDURANCE - The nodding's reaching critical mass! You can't take this much longer, captain!

YOU - Keep nodding, goddamn it! Stay the course!

KIM KITSURAGI - A small bead of sweat runs down the side of the lieutenant's face as he maintains his nodding...

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT - It's too much! You can feel your vertebrae starting to crack, your muscles groaning...

YOU - Just one more nod.

KIM KITSURAGI - As the lieutenant takes out a handkerchief and softly taps the sweat off his temple... a faint crack echoes through the coast...

PAIN THRESHOLD - Almost snapped your neck... but I fucking got this. No pain... no pain...

ENDURANCE - Abort! Abort! No... shit, it's too late!

YOU - "OH SHIT FUCK HELL!"

KIM KITSURAGI - "Busted the neck, did you?" He cranes his neck left and right, stretching. "Glad I stopped when I did... my neck was really starting to hurt. Don't worry, it'll mend... now, we should get going."

[arminreindl]

Pachycetinae: The Thick Whales

Oh look I'm way behind not only on my work with wikipedia but also in regards to summarizing it on tumblr. Good thing, three of the pages I've worked on these past few months can just be summed up in one post because they are all one family.

So Pachycetinae, at the most basic level, are basilosaurid archaeocetes, the group that famously includes Basilosaurus and Dorudon. Reason I've picked up the articles in addition to my usual croc work, basically a friend and I noticed how lacklustre many pages are and stupidly decided to start revising all of Cetacea (pray for me).

Currently theres two genera within the group. Pachycetus aka Platyosphys aka Basilotritus, which is a whole mess I will get into at the end for those interested, and Antaecetus, which I'll just call "the good one" for now. Among those are three species. Pachycetus paulsonii (or Basilotritus uheni) from continental Europe (Germany and Ukraine mostly), Pachycetus wardii (Eastern United Staates) and Antaecetus aithai (Morocco and Egypt)

Picture: Pachycetus and Antaecetus by Connor Ashbridge

So the hallmark of Pachycetines, as the name would suggest, is the fact that their skeletons are notably denser than that of other basilosaurids. The vertebrae, the most abundant material of these whales, are described as pachyostatic and osteosclerotic. The former effecitvely means that the dense cortical bone forms thickened layers, while the latter means that the cortical bone, already forming thickened layers, is furthermore denser than in other basilosaurids with less porosities. The densitiy is increased further by how the ribs attack to the vertebrae not through sinovial articulation but through cartilage, so adding even more weight to them. Overall this is at times compared to manatees, famous for their dense skeletons.

Pictured below, the currently best preserved pachycetine fossil, an individual of the genus Antaecetus from Morocco.

Now there are some interesting anatomical features to mention that either differ between species or just can't be compared. For example the American species of Pachycetus, P. wardii, shows a well developed innominate bone, basically the fused pelvic bones. This is curious as one would think of it as a more basal feature, with derived whales gradually reducing them. The skull is best preserved in Antaecetus and has a very narrow snout. One way to differentiate the two is by the teeth. Pachycetus has larger, more robust teeth while that of Antaecetus are way more gracile and is thought to have had a proportionally smaller skull (in addition to being smaller than Pachycetus in general).

All of this has some interesting implications for their ecology. For instance, why the hell are they so dense? Well its possible that they were shallow water animals using their weight as ballast, staying close to the ocean floor. This would definitely find some support in the types of environments they show up in, which tend to be shallow coastal waters. There are some Ukrainian localities that suggest deeper waters, but that has been interpreted as being the result of migration taking them out of their prefered habitat.

Now while pachycetines were probably powerful swimmers, their dense bones mean that they were pretty slow regardless. And to add insult to injury, they were anything but maneuverable. Remember those long transverse processes? Turns out having them extend over the majority of the vertebral body means theres very little space for muscles in between, which limits sideways movements.

From this one can guess that they weren't pursuit predators and needed to ambush their prey. What exactly that was has been inferred based on tooth wear. Basically, the teeth of Pachycetus show a lot of abrasion and wear, not dissimlar to what is seen in modern orcas that feed on sharks and rays. And low and behold, sharks are really common in the same strata that Pachycetus shows up in. Now since Antaecetus had way more gracile teeth, its thought that it probably fed on less well protected animals like squids and fish.

Below: Pachycetus/Basilotritus catching a fish by @knuppitalism-with-ue

The relationship between pachycetines and other basilosaurids is wonky, again no thanks due to Pachycetus itself being very poorly known. Some studies have suggested that they were a very early branching off-shoot, in part due to their prominent hip bones, but in the most recent study to include them, the description of Tutcetus, they surprisingly came out as not just the most derived basilosaurids but as the immediate sister group to Neoceti, which includes all modern whales. Regardless, in both instances they seem to clade closely with Supayacetus, a small basilosaurid from Peru.

And now for the part that is the most tedious. Taxonomy and history.

Remains of pachycetines have been known for a while and were first described as early as 1873 by Russian scientists. To put into perspective how old that is. The material's history in science predates both World Wars, the collapse of the Russian Empire and even the reign of Tsar Nicholas II. Now initially the idea was to name the animal Zeuglodon rossicum, but the person doing the actual describing changed that to Zeuglodon paulsonii reasoning that it would eventually be found outside of Russia (something that aged beautifully given that Ukraine would eventually become independent).

And this is where the confusion starts to unfold. Because at the same time people unearthed pachycetine fossils in Germany too, which would come be given the name Pachycetus (thick whale) and be established as two species. Pachycetus robustus and Pachycetus humilis, both thought to be baleen whales.

Pictured below: Pierre-Joseph van Beneden who coined Pachycetus and Johann Friedrich Brandt who described Zeuglodon paulsonii. Beneden easily has the better beard.

These latter two names however were later rejected in 1935 by Kuhn and lumped into other species, whereas Zeuglodon paulsonii was elevated to a full on new genus by Remington Kellogg in 1936. For those curious, Platyosphys means "broad loin", in combination with the species "Paulson's broad loin" to the amusement of some friends of mine.

And then people stopped caring and we have a nearly 70 year research gap. Eventually Mark D. Uhen found fossil material in the United States, but interpreted those fossils as being part of the genus Eocetus, naming them Eocetus wardii, a move that many following researchers disagreed with.

Then in 2001 a new species of Platyosphys, P. einori, was named. It's bad, moving on. More importantly, we got the works of Gol'din and Zvonok, who attempted to bring some clarity into the whole thing. To do so they rejected the name Platyosphys on account of the holotype having been lost sometime in WW2 and picked out much better fossil material to coin the genus Basilotritus ("the third king" in allusion to Basilosaurus "king lizard" and Basiloterus "the other king", isn't etymology fun?). They erected the type species Basilotritus uheni and then proclaimed Eocetus wardii to also belong into this genus, making it Basilotritus wardii.

This move was however not followed by other researchers. Gingerich and Zhouri maintained that regardless of being lost, Platyosphys is still valid and can be sufficiently diagnosed by the original drawings from the 19th and early 20th century. And to take a step further they added a new species, Platyosphys aithai (weird, why does that name sound familiar).

Then Van Vliet came and connected all these dots I've set up so far, noting that the fossils of Platyosphys are nearly identical to those of Pachycetus. This lead to the fun little thing were "paulsonii", applied first to Zeuglodon in the 1870s, takes priority over "robustus", coined just a few years later, BUT, the genus name Pachycetus easily predates Platyosphys by a good 60 years. Subsequently, the two were combined. Platyosphys paulsonii and Pachycetus robustus became Pachycetus paulsonii (simplified*). Van Vliet then deemed humilis to be some other whale and carried over Basilotritus uheni, Basilotritus wardii and Platyosphys aithai into the genus Pachycetus. *Technically Pachycetus robustus was tentatively kept as distinct only because of how poorly preserved it was, making comparisson not really possible.

Then finally in the most recent paper explicitly dealing with this group, Gingerich and Zhouri came back, killed off P. robustus for good, sunk Pachycetus uheni into Pachycetus paulsonii for good measure and decided to elevate Pachycetus aithai to genus status after finding a much better second skeleton, coining Antaecetus (after the giant of Greek myth).

And that's were we are right now. Three species in two genera, but only one of them is actually any good. So perhaps at some point in the future we might see some further revisions on that whole mess and who knows, perhaps Basilotritus makes a glorious comeback.

To conclude, sorry about the lack of images, despite the ample history theres just not much good material aside from that one Antaecetus fossil and I didn't want to include 5 different drawings in lateral view. Obligatory Wikipedia links: Pachycetinae - Wikipedia Antaecetus - Wikipedia Pachycetus - Wikipedia

Ideally Supayacetus will be the next whale I tackle, distractions and other projects not withstanding (who knows maybe I'll finally finish Quinkana)

[sommerregenjuniluft]

@jegulus-microfic feb 26 - bed - 1047words - cw: drinking—aka reg picking up a drunk james from the pub<3

for laurie @itsjaywalkers because she's a gem and also i was listening to wallows typing this out mwah

James wipes a stray tear from the corner of his eye as he straightens back up, belly hurting and cheeks straining as he claps Peter on the shoulder, laughing and shaking with his whole body.

His head feels pleasantly heavy and his vision is a little blurry, alcohol warming him up from the inside and James thinks Peter isn’t far off with the way the flush on his red cheeks starts spreading along his entire face as he tries to catch his breath. 

“Oh god,” James snickers, sucking in a much needed breath, chortling slightly on the way in which makes Peter send him a weird look and then in return makes James break into another fit of giggles. Everything is just so funny right now.

Peter joins right in, while simultaneously trying to take another sip of his nearly empty cup of beer, his laughter preventing him from actually swallowing. 

Predictably, he ends up coughing and James pounds him on the back with one hand as the other maintains a white knuckled grip on the round bar table to keep himself upright as he tries not to piss his pants from laughing.

Once Peter got himself back in order he clears his throat violently, warily eyeing his remaining beverage, “Shit, I don’t think I should finish that.”

James snorts, “That’s barely two gulps, Pete.”

His blonde friend groans, head sinking into his palms, “I think Benji might already have my head if I turn up back home like this.”

James turns solemn all the sudden, nodding in understanding and rubbing Peter’s back soothingly. Benji loves him though so it’ll be fine, James knows that, but he still wants to be there for Peter, obviously.

The other man grumbles something into his hands that James doesn’t catch over the music and loud noise of people.

“What was that?”

Peter’s head tilts back up, “What about you?”

James blinks, trying to decipher what his friend means through the alcohol clouding his brain.

Pete’s lips tug into a lopsided smirk, “How’re you gonna get home to your loverboy?”

“Oh,” James makes, understanding now. “Regulus said he’ll pick me up.”

“Mm,” Peter grunts into his cup, downing the flat beer, “Premium service.”

James feels himself turn a little more gooey where he’s draping his full weight onto the precariously wobbly bar table, and he sighs long and dreamily, “Yeah, he’s the best.”

“Hi, Regulus,” Peter says, head tipped to the side at a 90 degree angle.

“Yeah, obviously, Regulus, who else?” James makes, nose scrunching in confusion.

“Hello, Peter,” a voice says from behind him and James thinks he might nearly break a few cervical vertebraes in his haste to turn around.

“Baby,” James gasps when he sees Regulus standing there in all his beautiful glory. Head cocked to the side slightly, arms crossed and a mild scowl on his face. He’s in one of James’ grey printed hoodies and sporting some dark green and blue plaid pyjama bottoms that always make his butt look a little bigger, according to himself. James loves Regulus ass though, he loves that it’s perky and petite and perfectly bite-sized for when James is—

“I texted you,” Regulus says in lieu of greeting James, lips pursed into a pout James also would like to bite, “And I called four times.”

Another, softer gasp punches out of James and he fumbles for his phone in his jeans’ back pocket for a second, tapping the screen to see the missed calls and messages. 

James’ expression tips into a frown, a wounded noise coming from his chest as he shuffles closer with his head ducked, palms slowly reaching out to Regulus’ hips. “I’m so sorry, love,” James mumbles, tone apologetic and Regulus’ eyes narrow, “I swear I wasn’t ignoring you, I just didn’t hear.”

Regulus averts his eyes with a small tut, arms tightening where they’re crossed.

James can’t help but whine. The last thing he wants right now is for Regulus to be mad at him, “Baby, please, I promise.”

When Regulus doesn’t budge, James twirls one of his dark curls around his index, playing softly and contemplating giving into the urge of peppering his boyfriend’s face in kisses. He doesn’t want to make it worse though. 

James scrambles together all his might and tries navigating through the drunken haze of his brain and body, concentrating to remind himself what usually makes Regulus fold.

“We were just talking about you, too,” James tries. “Petey can confirm that.”

“Oh, I do not want to be dragged into this, thank you very much.”

James grumbles, rolling his eyes and simply winds his arms tighter around Regulus. It elicits a small inhale and yes, that’s good and it makes James tug his lower lip between his teeth, humming in satisfaction.

Regulus eyes snap back around to him, eyelids fluttering and James slips into a victorious grin. He leans closer and lets his lips brush over his boyfriends, inhaling that distinct citrus and bergamot smell of him, before he breathes needily, “Missed you so much, Reg.”

In the next second there are palms thumping against his pecs, punching a breath out of him before he’s reeled back in by the lapel of his flannel, Regulus glowering at him, cheeks flushed, “Ok, that’s officially enough of you, menace.”

James giggles and quickly squishes Regulus cheeks to plant a kiss on his slack mouth.

They bid their Goodbyes to Peter and make sure he’s got a cab that’ll bring him home safely and then James lets Regulus tug him out of the pub with their fingers intertwined.

Once they’re outside of the crowded space James can’t help himself when he snatches Regulus around the waist and squeezes him with a happy groan.

“James,” Regulus chides, voice tight and flustered, “Let go, we’re in the middle of a sidewalk.”

“But I love you so much,” James slurs into the space between the hoodie and Regulus’ exposed neck, nose nuzzling the skin contently.

Regulus sighs and James doesn’t have to look to see the smile playing at his rosy lips, “Let’s get you into bed.”

“Aw yeah, bed,” James snickers, reaching one hand around to grab at Regulus’ butt.

Regulus yelps and James ends up with a bruise on his ribcage that throbs softly once he cuddles up with Regulus under the sheets half an hour later.

[ruiniel]

What You Choose

Fandom: Demon Slayer: Kimetsu no Yaiba

Pairing: Rengoku Kyojuro x f!reader

Count: 2K

Rating: T (M later)

Part I

Summary: Rengoku survives the fight with Akaza, but some battles are not so straightforward.

Tags & Warnings: Rengoku lives AU, blood, injury, death, pining, angst, second person POV, demon slayer!reader, tsuguko!reader, Rengoku POV, eventual smut

Author Note: I am not OK and will never be OK about *waves hands* all that, so this is now a multichapter story.

II.

“Once again, you’re a guest in my healing ward.”

Kocho Shinobu speaks softly, as is her manner. She's seated by his bed with the afternoon sun shining gently on her features, highlighting the amethyst in her hair and eyes.

“I seem to be the only one,” Rengoku replies, looking at the empty infirmary. He’s still bedbound and can barely move his limbs. It hurts to breathe more often than not, and there’s a dull ache where his left eye used to be.

Her kind smile never falters as Kocho looks at the liquid in the syringe she’s preparing. Rengoku always admired her decision to honor her late sister this way, by holding on to that smile Kanae loved so much. After all, everyone has a keepsake of their loved ones in their heart, driving them forward. Memories, moments, words that hone one’s spirit and meld with determination, acting as a guiding light in the darkest places. He knows this all too well. 

“At least you won’t be lonely during your convalescence, those three have been coming here every day, even before you’d awoken.” She giggles, seeking a vein in his arm. 

Oh, of course… young Kamado… the boar lad, the yellow-haired boy. All of them gifted, resilient, and unwavering. He’d promised to train them, but…

That was… before. 

Another image appears before his mind’s eye, drenched in fog—you, running towards him. He, ordering you not to interfere. “Kocho. Tell me, please. How long before I can leave this bed? What is lost, what can I regain?” 

She sets the used syringe aside on a tray, then places her hands on her knees. “My, my, impatient already?” 

Rengoku tries a smile of his own, though it hurts the muscles in his face. If not for the strong sedatives and painkillers administered to him since he regained consciousness, he imagines he’d be squirming in pain. “I want to self-assess myself. Besides…I have promises to keep.” 

She understands. He knows she does. The Insect Hashira gazes out the window, and a small sigh leaves her chest. “Your fatal injuries have been healed by the peculiar blood demon art of young Kamado’s sister.”

He nods. Remarkable. He thought that would be his last battle, and he’d have passed without regret into the land of Yomi. Nevertheless, his gratitude is boundless.

“... your muscle and organ tissue has regenerated and there was no internal bleeding. However, there is still some damage to several vertebrae in your spine, severe trauma to your head I’ve not fully assessed yet, and you have eight fractured ribs.”

“Hah, I can feel them, too! I miscalculated by one, I thought there were seven.”

She looks his way, with that odd expression people sometimes have when he sounds unreasonably high-spirited. He supposes not everyone shares the same outlook, and that’s all well. But what use is there to bow down in dismay and accept the worst life throws my way? 

“Your left eye was smashed, and irrecoverable,” Kocho goes on. “We removed it with surgery and placed an implant inside to fill the empty eye socket. The recovery period in these cases is typically a year, as now you must adapt to your monocular status. But this also depends on the individual, and… this might mean alterations to your fighting style, of course.” She rises and picks up the tray. “I’m convinced that with time, you can return to a state allowing you to perform your duties. For now, please rest, that is a foremost priority.”

My friend, you know all too well that time is never on a demon slayer’s side. “Thank you, Kocho.”  She is right, though: he does feel exhausted, as though he’d climbed a mountain without rest or ever reaching the summit. Expected, though bothersome.

“We’ll do our best to help your recovery. Aoi will return later to change your bandages,” Kocho adds.

Rengoku turns his head as Kocho greets someone on her way out, and sees you, standing in the doorway. “Hello.”

“Hello.”

“You heard?”

You nod, nearing the bed. “Ms. Kocho told me of it all while you were asleep.”

“I’m sorry.”

You tilt your head in bemusement. “What ever for?”

“Because, I won’t be able to help with your training for a while.”

You’ve been at his side often. While in a coma, even if he couldn’t react, even if his body wouldn’t listen, he knew you were there. The thought is a warm one, a foreign sensation: different from the heat bursting in his body during a fight. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t look forward to your visits even now, to see how you’re faring, to hear the latest news on the Corps.

“No,” your voice brings him out of his thoughts, “but that does mean I can help you. When you’re ready, that is,” you add quickly. “With rehabilitation training.” 

“Of course!” The fatigue in his body is stubborn, clinging to him like heavy wet wool. “And… I don’t believe I’ve told you this yet: I’m happy you returned safely.”

You look away, appearing utterly miserable. It confuses him. Rengoku’s seen that shadow in his father’s eyes countless times, so often he can’t stand it: self-loathing.

“Forgive me, Master. I should have been able to do more, after all you strived to teach me. I… I could barely be of any use.”

But you were there, you helped protect all those people. You did your part. “You were unflinching, fast, and aided those who needed it precisely like I taught you. You are rank Kinoe, and what's your demon kill count?”

“Thirty-two.”

“There… now that I think about it, even without further guidance from me or anyone else, you’ll make Hashira soon! Our numbers are dwindling while demon activity increases. You’ve seen it. This is a struggle that needs all of us.” Rengoku pauses. The word ‘need’ felt odd coming from his mouth. But the statement is true. Why does it feel incomplete when he says it to your face?

You look down at your hands. “How can you do it?”

He blinks, frowning. “Do what?”

“Be so supportive and encouraging even when you’re lying broken in an infirmary bed. Sometimes… sometimes you are so very strange, Master.”

You do say that to him often, though less so than before. A smile trembles on your lips—it took you a long time to smile again, he recalls. 

“I merely speak the truth…” He can barely stay awake. The slow drip of liquid in the IV infusion is magnified, drowning out all other sounds, and your face becomes hazy as he drifts away.

Three years prior

The path of blood leads straight into the farmhouse, looking as though someone had been dragged inside by force.

His eyes narrow, and he centers his breaths as he walks forward with his blade drawn. The silence of the glade is eerie, the reek of decay nauseating in the heat of this humid summer.

Soon, he stands on the threshold. Two, there might be two of them. Near the farmhouse is a toolshed, he’ll look there next. Rengoku covers his mouth with his sleeve, eyes closing in pain.

The bodies lie there, some with scattered limbs. This was a family, no doubt about it. The brutality of the mutilation makes his stomach turn, but Rengoku steels his resolve, extending his senses for any hint of the entity’s presence: there is none. He sheathes his katana and enters the space proper. Three hours until dawn.

He descends to one knee, finding the fireplace in the middle is out, but the ashes are still warm. The tatami mats are sticky and stained dark. This all transpired recently. He reaches out a hand, touches an inert arm: not yet cold. Too late, I am too late. But I’ll find you, wherever you are, you damn beasts. 

It’s only due to his reflexes, honed with endless hours of training, that he turns around fast enough, leaping backward before the descending attack.

At first, he thinks it’s the demon, his katana at the ready.

“Don’t you dare touch them!” 

He pauses, nearly too late in avoiding the second strike. A girl’s voice, a human’s heartbeat. His arm shoots out, catching the wooden staff in a strong grip. 

You’re panting, eyes wild and glimmering in the moonlit night. “Let—go!”

“Wait, I’m not an enemy!” he says, taking a better look at you, still holding your makeshift weapon even as you try to wrest it from his hand. 

“How do I know that! Demon!” Your voice is hoarse. Half your face is caked in drying blood, and there must be multiple injuries on your body judging by the torn clothing and the widening dark stains. 

“I’m not a demon,” he speaks calmly but urgently. “I hunt them. Please, they may still be close.”

You jerk your chin towards a corner of the room. “I had him… I don’t need you. Get out of my home!” you yell, more desperate with each word. “Get out, get out, get out!”

Another body lies there in the dark, slitted pupils dark against its milky eyes. The head had been nearly completely crushed. Rengoku freezes in disbelief. You did this? Alone? “Wait, you don’t understand, there’s another—”

A loud crash severs his words as the ceiling collapses, and he barely has time to leap forward, catch you in his arms, and throw himself outside. He rolls onto the ground, pain erupting in his left shoulder with the impact. When he opens his eyes you’re there, safely held against him, face tearstained and body rigid with shock.

But there’s no time to explain further—he feels it. The gurgle of inhuman hunger as a figure emerges from the wreckage of the farmhouse, eyes fixed on them. It does not speak, but growls in hunger; it must be of the feral kind, no reasoning left as the transformation rotted its memories. 

Rengoku rises, changing his stance. “Stand back,” he urges, looking over his shoulder at you as you struggle with your own body. He looks back ahead, grinds his teeth, his breathing attuned to his thought. 

First Form: Unknowing Fire.

It doesn’t last long. He’s been running from mission to mission, dispensing with different kinds of fiends, and this was yet another run in a long chain that will only end with his own life. 

Once the head is removed, the battle is over. Sometimes there is someone left to check on after the fact; often, there isn’t. But now, Rengoku hurries towards you, descending and slipping a hand under your back, aiding you to sit. “Where are you hurt?”

“Thank you,” you say instead, eyes glazing over. He hopes the Kakushi will get here soon. You point towards your ruined home. “Set it ablaze… please.” 

“Hey, hey, stay awake!” Rengoku urges even as your body turns heavier and your eyes roll back. 

He expected this to come. Kneeling and with his forehead pressed to the ground he sits still, prostrated before the leader of the Demon Slayer Corps. 

A voice like the lull of spring reaches him, setting his worries aside. In his heart, he thinks he’s done what is right.

“Rank Kinoe Rengoku Kyojuro, you are summoned to explain why you have brought a non-combatant to headquarters, instead of having the Kakushi transport them to a civilian hospital.”

“Master, the girl shows extraordinary potential. Her family has been murdered by demons, and yet she managed to fell one before I arrived, alone, despite grievous wounds and bloodloss. Forgive me if I overstepped, but I believe…” 

“Go on.”

“I believe once her body heals and her focus returns, she will join the fight. I believe she will want to. If I'm wrong, I accept all consequences.”

“You sound fairly convinced of this, young Rengoku,” says Ubuyashiki Kagaya. “Though there is no reason to know for certain one way or the other.”

He stays quiet, his heart raging in his chest. It will all depend on you, of course. You may want to have nothing to do with this. 

“But… you’ve not failed us thus far. I will allow it.”

“Gratitude, Master.” And then, almost in the same breath, “If she chooses this, I will guide her myself.”

TBC

[tadpolesonalgae]

Degraded[*]

Nesta x reader

a/n: I haven’t written anything unhinged in a while

warnings: degradation, manipulation on Nesta’s part, slight dubcon because of that, reader having a vague cnc kink, also a bit of a fear kink, dumbification,  heavy d/s dynamics, collar + leash, intense humiliation, squirting, slight overstim, orgasm denial, Nesta’s definitely a mean domme in this so have fun I guess?

word count: 6,323

——————————————————————————————————————————————

You relish the cool bite of the night air as it nips at the exposed skin of your neck, content to take your time on the late walk. 

The sidra is always lovely at this time of night, with the colours amplified by the darkness of the sky, and the smell of food in the air, vendors selling treats and snacks to other like-minded fae as you, who enjoy taking strolls before bed. 

Alcohol permeates just below the slight smokiness of the night air, but you can manage to ignore it—you’re long past that point in your life of drinking until the sun’s rising, scrambling for clothes that were recklessly strewn off the night before. Yes, that’s all far behind you now. And you’re glad of it. 

Your heels click faintly atop the cobbles, streetlights twinkling high above as you pass through various alleyways, taking your sweet time as you meander through the familiar parts of the city. Maybe it would be worth paying a visit to Rita’s…catch up with some familiar faces. It’s been a while since you last swung by, and you find yourself missing the pleasant comfort that’s always available there. The distinct coziness and security provided by the establishment. 

A hand snatches at your wrist, and you nearly stumble as you’re jerked into a narrow alleyway, the abrasive texture of brick grazing your back harshly. 

Your mouth opens in a yelp, but another hand has slapped over your mouth, nails tenderly biting into your cheeks as eyes the colour of mercury burn into you. Instantly you recognise the female, tension dissipating as you relax into the relief, before your brows are furrowing in question—what’s going on? Her palm recedes from your mouth but her hand remains firmly shackling your wrist, and you look at her in confusion. 

“Nesta…” you greet, nervously. “How’ve you been?” 

“Perfect,” she replies, her voice whispering down the vertebrae of your spine, small hairs rising at the nape of your neck instinctively at that quicksilver sound. “You?” 

“Good…” you hedge, glancing about skittishly. “I’m— I’ve been good.” You swallow, trying to regain your composure. Her lips curve faintly. Oh dear… 

“I haven’t seen you recently,” she drawls, stepping closer so her foot is between your own. “Have you been hiding from me?” 

“Hiding from you?” You question, forcing a laugh into your voice. “Why would I be hiding from you?” Her smile sharpens faintly, a hungry glint in her eyes that has your pulse spiking. Heart stuttering further when she again raises her hand to your cheek, gently scraping a nail below your jaw to tilt your head upwards for her. Pushing a strand of hair away, tucking it behind an arched ear. 

You swallow. 

“So…what are you doing, out this late?” You manage to ask, head wanting to dip so you might be spared from the intensity of her gaze. The ire that seems to be continuously ablaze in the depths of her silver stare. “Evening entertainment,” she muses lightly, fingers grazing a spot she knows you find sensitive just shy of your ear, a spot below the hinge of your jaw. You inhale softly. 

“And you?” 

Your tongue flicks out to wet your lips, momentarily fumbling when she follows the motion. “I wanted an evening walk,” you answer, eyes averted and you glance to the relative light from the street. “Then I’ll be getting to bed,” you smile, forcing another laugh, “I like my early nights now.” 

“Hmm? Has all the fun been drained out of you, lamb?” She drawls, a mirthless laugh slicing from her own lips. “Did Amren suck you dry?” 

“No! No, no. I haven’t seen Amren actually since…” you fumble trying to think back, her pesky nail repeatedly scratching at that spot that has your breath trembling. Her grin widens. “Probably in a few months, at least…” 

“And now I’m to understand you’ve taken to staying in, on nights like these?” 

You swallow thickly, all too aware of her proximity, that wretched nail scratching away at the tender soft spot below your ear. Nod your head. “I enjoy it,” you stammer out softly. “It’s pleasant, to…be alone for some nights…” You wonder if she catches your meaning. 

“Only some?” 

Fuck.

“I suppose…company is nice…sometimes too…” you hedge, nervous to displease her. Anxious to slip out from her dominating presence. Her lips curve into a vicious smile, one that you’re sure would feel like steel across your mouth. “Sometimes…” she muses, eyes glinting with ravenous hunger, “tonight?” 

“Uh, I don’t know about tonight…I’m quite worn out…and I’ve been falling asleep earlier, as of late, so…” 

Her smile vanishes, dropping faster than a millstone through water. Apprehension strangles your throat at that look, heart pounding wildly. Her nails close around your neck tenderly, scraping as she steps closer, able to feel her breath on your lips. “Repeat that?” 

You fumble, lungs trembling as your pulse spikes, and you could swear a bead of sweat gathers on your temple. You look away. “Nesta…maybe you should stay in for the night too. By yourself.” 

Her nails scratch at the soft flesh of your cheeks as she grips you harder, forcing your face up. “I thought you liked being my little bitch,” she whispers sharply against your mouth, marking the involuntary shiver of pleasure that tremors up your spine. The small noise that gets caught in your throat. “Has something changed?” 

“No…! Nesta, let me go…” You mumble beneath her grip, hands beginning to raise to pry her fingers away, but one sharp glare has them recoiling to your chest. “My sexuality is as it’s always been, but that doesn’t entitle you to it…” you whimper softly, fingers trembling beneath that barely restrained ferocity. 

Her temper seems temporarily soothed in the blink of an eye. A bat of her eyelashes and it’s gone. Then the hand on your wrist is releasing you in favour of pulling your dress out of the way, her palm sliding effortlessly between your thighs as she cups you through your underwear. Your eyes go wide, inhaling sharply as your lips part at the violation. The entitlement. Her fingers shift, and your hands ball tight over your chest as she presses at your clit. 

You’re unable to look away, her silver eyes burning into your with a starving, simmering heat that’s bound you tight in her spidersilk, breath beginning to pant from your parted lips as she leans closer, mouth skimming your own. “You like this,” she murmurs, so tenderly, fingers swiping softly between your trembling thighs. “Remember how it felt? How much you enjoyed it?” She asks, removing her hand only in favour of gripping your wrist again, but you don’t think to fight against her as she brings your palm to touch her. 

“Remember this?” Nesta whispers, mouth almost atop your own, hips grinding softly over your hand, riding her scent into your skin. “You loved getting the chance to put your pretty face between my thighs, getting to taste me…” she goads, “and you were so good at it too. Better than any of those males by a long shot. So good with my clit.” 

Your breath stutters in your chest, heat flushing your cheeks with an overwhelming ferocity, hunger paired with fear. “Is that what this is about?” You force a whisper, lips trembling as her mouth returns to its sharp curve. “You’re bored?”

“I’m bored of not finding my satisfaction,” Nesta drawls atop your mouth. You inhale raggedly as she slips your palm into her underwear, inviting your fingers to dance through the sopping wetness of her heat. “And you will definitely satisfy me,” she murmurs, grinding down on your fingers before guiding them away. “As you always do.” 

With an almost tender touch, she plies your lips apart, guiding your glistening fingers to slide into your mouth, pushing her taste across your tongue. “Doesn’t that sound wonderful?” She muses, pressing her leg between your thighs, watching how your pupils dilate at her flavour, the memories coming back to you. 

She can feel she almost has you. 

You swallow thickly, eyes dropping away from her own, glancing downward toward the light of the street. You’re supposed to be getting back from your walk soon…supposed to be settling into bed…supposed to be going to sleep soon… 

Nesta pulls your fingers from your mouth, cupping your cheeks in both hands before carefully laying her lips atop your own. There’s the faintest taste of alcohol, but you’re surprised how sober she is…probably hadn’t had time to visit a tavern before she found you… Your breathing stutters, able to feel the faint caress of her lashes against your cheek, her tongue nimbly swiping out to taste you…and you crumble. 

“Just…just tonight…?” You ask, head slightly dipped when she pulls away. A hair-raising laugh spills from her lips as she gazes down at you, hands still cupping your cheeks. “If that’s what you want to tell yourself, be my guest.” You flush, looking up at her from beneath your lashes, brows furrowed faintly. “Do you want this or not?” You mumble, trying to sound indignant but failing miserably. 

“You’ve crawled on your hands and knees for a taste of my cunt before,” she drawls, pressing her thigh closer between your own, causing your breath to hitch, “you’ll crawl again, before the night is up.” 

“I don’t have to come with you, you know,” you try to argue, but there’s already a distinct heat pooling in your lower belly, and she looks like she’s considering dragging you away herself if you won’t follow of your own accord. “You won’t be coming at all, if you keep up with this attitude,” she hisses, a shiver sprinting up your spine. 

You look away. “You never made me come anyway…you always made me do it by myself…” 

“Give me a reason for you to deserve one.” 

“You…you like my mouth better than a male’s…” you mumble softly. 

“You could put in half effort and still be better than a male’s. Maybe if I think you’re actually trying to make me come I’d be inclined to return the favour.” 

“I always did,” you insist, flushing. “I always made sure you came. You never did anything for me…you just wanted pleasure…”

“Oh please,” Nesta hisses, shoving firmly at your shoulders, making the brick of the wall dig into your back. “Like you didn’t get off on it. I know you loved how objectified I made you feel, how much you loved getting to shut up and follow my orders. That’s why you kept coming back, because you love my kind of degradation. And that’s exactly why you’re going to drop everything for me tonight and fumble your dumb, ditzy way back to my place, just so you might get the tiniest bit of approval from me.”

You stare at her, speechless, arousal thick and heavy in the air as you flush. 

“Now, I’ll ask you again,” she murmurs, and you can feel her breath as it fans across your mouth. “Do you, or do you not, want to be my good, little, bitch.” 

————

Honestly, you’re surprised how clean her apartment is. Sure there’s still some clothing strewn about, but as far as you can tell the sheets are washed and crisp, the duvet recently changed, and only the faintest scent of liquor in the air. You’ll admit a part of you had been antsy at having to go over to her place, where you’d be so isolated, but… well, it looks okay, at least…

“Strip,” Nesta orders, and you turn to look at her. “Do I need to repeat myself for those dim ears of yours?” She murmurs, worryingly softly. Like the calm before the storm. You flush. Look away. “No…”

“No, what?” She probes.

You bite the inside of your lip. “No, ma’am.” 

Silver eyes narrow on you, then she’s turning away, and you glance down at yourself, feeling how swiftly your body has prepared itself for her. The sensitivity in your breasts, the tingling heat between your thighs…you lick your lips, sliding the straps down over your shoulders before lifting the dress up over your head, leaving you bare save for your underwear. 

“Come here,” she commands, your skin prickling at the stern tone. 

Bare feet pad across the wooden floors, and she turns to face you. “You know, I thought you might be a little hesitant to return to me,” she drawls, her hands faintly skimming your bare hips, nails scraping over the thin string of underwear. “So I got you something I think you’ll like.” She applies a pressure to your hips. “Kneel.” 

You settle on the floor, hands in your lap as you look up at her shyly. 

Nesta’s lips curve, them her fingers are deftly releasing the strings holding the bodice of her dress together, allowing the material to go slack over her lovely form, before pulling it away entirely. Leaving her in little clothing. “Do you like the view from down there,” she muses, one palm lightly cupping her breast, the other trailing tauntingly lower, fingers slipping between her parted legs. You swallow. “Yes, ma’am.” 

Silver eyes twinkle, then she’s pulling something from the drawer at her back. When you realise it’s a collar, you hurry to look away to hide the ferocious heat that’s undoubtedly ravishing your body. A single, disciplinary tut has you righting your posture, spine straightening as you incline your chin so she can attach it to you. “I knew you’d like this little thing,” she murmurs, tightening the straps so it fits well, still able to slip two fingers between the collar and your skin, before she attaches the leash. 

“I told you you’d be crawling for me before the night was over,” she taunts, feet parting a little wider as she gives a short tug on the leash, beckoning you up onto your knees. She wraps the lead around her knuckles, keeping it tight when she tangles her hand in your hair. “Keep still. Don’t move until I tell you to,” she commands, giving a punishing tug. 

You release an involuntary whimper as she steps forward while holding you still, a mere scrap of fabric between you and her cunt as she stands over you, close enough your mouth is pressed flush to her clit. It’s a struggle to not part your lips, with her heat and her scent right there. How her arousal is filling your every breath. 

“Now, you’re going to listen carefully because I’m only going to tell you this once,” she mutters, grip tightening on you. “I think you have been avoiding me lately, and I don’t appreciate it. There are a lot of males in this city I could go to for pleasure, but very few of them would actually give it to me. Fewer still well enough to make me want to return to them, especially when it comes to knowing how to work their mouths well.” 

You try to concentrate, but your mouth is watering from how dizzyingly close you are to her cunt, practically able to feel the dampness seeping through onto your lips. 

Another punishing tug on your hair, pressing her hips closer, so Nesta can really only see your nose and eyes, though she’s working on making more of you disappear from her vision. 

“Knowing all that, don’t you think it was cruel to vanish like you did? To deprive me of that pleasure? That only another female could give me?” She drawls, tone sharpening to something icy and bladed. “I went so long without it, you know. Missing the feel of your lovely, pretty mouth between my legs, the way you actually know what to do with your tongue. Even those dumb noises you made when I was particularly punishing to you.” She takes another small step, forcing you to crane your neck back as she settles over the lower portion of your face, nose now pressing to her clit, mouth poised to…you can’t finish the thought…

“So if you think for a second I’ll be warm and welcoming to you, grateful that you’re dumb enough to fumble your way back to me, you’re mistaken.” Her hips buck, rubbing her scent into your skin, giving in to that need to mark you as her own, so nobody else can claim your pleasure. “You won’t be getting so much as an ounce of pleasure from me,” she whispers, thumb stroking with faux-care over your scalp, “until you’ve repaid every night I’ve missed. Every orgasm I’ve had to settle for since you decided to take your mouth away from me, every half-decent lay, and the ones less that that, you’re going to make up for every, single, one of them.”

Gods, your limbs already feel weak. You need more of her. 

“And you’re going to degrade yourself wholeheartedly, because your only goal tonight is to please me. Understand?” 

You whimper in response, wanting to touch her, to wrap your hands around her thighs, but you know you’d only get in more trouble for that. Her lips curve, apparently satisfied with whatever she finds in your eyes, but steps away before you can get a chance to use your mouth on her. 

“Now crawl,” she murmurs, making to walk over to the bed, forcing you to descend onto your hands and knees to follow after her, the leash still clutched taut in her hand. Humiliation pleasantly simmers beneath your skin as you cross the floor, a small portion of you happy to be engaging in this behaviour with her again. After so long without it. 

Nesta prowls onto the edge of her bed, keeping you behind her as she settles on her knees, bringing a pillow forward for her to lie on, looping your lead between her legs. Then she settles down, tugging faintly on the leash to drag you closer. “I’ll take my underwear off when I think you’ve earned it,” she tells you, getting comfy on her bed, and you can make out the rustling of pages. 

She did this a lot when you were with her before—hiding you away beneath her skirts, or tucking you under a thin sheet then turning to a book to conjure up a fantasy. Maybe not the healthiest dynamic you’ve been in, but gods did it turn you on how she demeaned and exploited you. Pretended you weren’t there for the sake of her own pleasure. 

“Are you waiting for something?” She mutters, jerking hard enough on the leash you’re pulled to her cunt, parted lips settling over her centre, and she bucks her hips lightly, thighs spreading wider to get you closer. 

You hastily raise into a sitting position, hungry to start working on her, to please her enough she’ll let you have a taste… She makes no noise of contentment when you lay your hands on her, but her figure relaxes significantly, muscle melting into her bed as she resigns herself over to you, and a kernel of pride blooms in your chest that you could get this terror of a woman to give herself over to you. 

You swallow thickly, one palm resting on her ass while the other thumbs down her centre, getting to work on slowly building up that heat. She prevents abrupt and intense stimulation, but with the added layer of difficulty of her underwear in the way, capping the amount of sensitivity you can exploit from her, you’ll have to take a more slow, deliberate approach. You allow your breath to ghost across the inside of her thigh, nosing lightly at the intimate skin, letting her anticipation build as your fingers trail teasingly across her hind, almost reverently. 

As lightly as you can manage, you press your lips over the top of her underwear, slowly, slowly making your way down, following the thin, grey silk band to where it darkens, arousal having soaked the lovely material. You can feel her tighten beneath your mouth. Nesta shifts on the bed, and a page turns. 

Swallowing thickly, you press your lips to the apex of her thighs, and she snatches at the opportunity you’ve presented to grind back against the tip of your nose, tightening the pull on the leash so you’re flush with her cunt. Smoothly, you graze your palm across the exposed skin of her hind, redirecting sensitivity while you open your mouth. Gently, you lay the flat of your tongue against her clit, giving time for the saliva to soak through, so the material will be less abrasive. 

Nesta shivers as you apply a slight pressure, grip slackening on the leash enough for you to run your thumb down her centre, switching positions to lick at the dip between her thighs, softening the already wet material, sucking on it lightly to better taste her arousal. Her spine curves faintly as you push the pad of your thumb to her clit, oscillating slowly as you focus on working her up, tongue flicking at her entrance. 

When she begins to get impatient, tightening her hold on your leash, you switch back. Your thumb rests over her entrance, circling thrice before slipping beneath the dove-grey silk, pressing flush to her heat. Nesta rolls her hips down, and you kiss up her centre, pressing your middle and further finger against her, soaking them in her slick and it takes all of your discipline to keep from licking at them right then and there. Only in favour of sinking them inside of her, feeling how she grips at your digits, already knowing how much pleasure they can bring. 

“Hurry up,” she mumbles, but you can hear the slightly breathless note in her voice, the way her hips are winding, and anticipation builds in the pit of your belly. 

Focusing on pumping and curling your fingers, you continue applying that pressure to her clit—more than anything that’s been the kind of stimulation she’s been missing, so it’s the kind you will target. Relentlessly. When you have better access to her, that is. For now, you’re searching. It’s been a while since you’ve been with her, and you need to re-familiarise yourself with her— there. 

Her toes curl, body moving atop the pillow as she squeezes at your fingers, clenching around them when you brush up against a spot she likes. Your lids flutter with pleasure, sealing your lips over her heat, pushing your fingers further inside to better rub their pads against that spot, kissing at her cunt while beckoning her closer…and closer… Nesta’s body goes taut, her toes curling as the orgasm releases through her, her fingers gripping the sheets as you push against that spot, not once slowing or shifting your rhythm as she flutters around your digits. 

A quiet curse slips from her lips as you carry her through the aftershocks, pulling back to rub your thumb atop her clit, sending fresh pulses of pleasure through her. 

Nesta raises from the pillow lethargically, like an ancient creature at last waking from its slumber, and she pulls on the leash again, dragging you to her wet cunt as she spreads her thighs, grinding over your face, the lead rubbing against her clit. You inhale deeply, hands tenderly wrapping around her thigh and calf, keeping yourself close. 

A low, mocking laugh drags from her lips, forcing you to remain plastered to her cunt as arousal seeps through onto your skin, holding you there as she rides out her pleasure. “You’ve missed this, haven’t you slut?” 

You whimper at the name, and she laughs again, using you like a pillow to rub and grind against until she’s satisfied. 

“Now,” she instructs, settling higher onto her hands and knees, “I want you to remove my underwear. Don’t use your hands, and don’t lick anything. Get to work.” 

You swallow a moan, rising higher to latch your teeth over the band at the base of her spine, forcing yourself to drag the material away and keeping your mouth to yourself. It’s a harder task than it sounds, watching the slick fabric peel away, strings of silvery arousal webbing between her thighs, the heavy traces of her orgasm difficult to ignore, but you manage to complete your task. Enough so that Nesta shifts on her own, removing her underwear when you’ve tugged it down to her thighs, exposing her to the cool air of the bedroom. 

“Come up here,” she instructs, shifting along the bed to make room for you, and you follow swiftly, crawling up onto the plush mattress. Her lips curve when you pause a healthy distance from her. “Closer,” she drawls, reaching for your lead but you scurry forward before she can tug on it. But still, “closer.” 

You pause when your knees might as well be brushing her own, hands set in your lap as you look up at her nervously. 

“There were a few things that surprised me, when I first decided to try you on,” Nesta muses, letting her fingers roam across the top of your thigh, moving in faintly circular patterns. “One of them was how shameless you were,” she continues, “I couldn’t fathom ever submitting myself in the way you do. But I suppose that’s why I’m the one who does the degrading, not the other way around.” 

Her fingers persist on their travels, skimming to the inner part of your thigh, and when she taps her nail twice, you shyly part them a little. Nesta hums slightly, and her palm slides between your legs, fingers running over the damp material clinging to your hips, dragging them over your sex teasingly, noticing possibly for the first time just how you react to her touch—hands tightening into fists just shy of your knees, the increase of temperature in your skin, that wonderfully bashful look that’s kept in the set of your brows. 

“But I think what I found the most surprising was how, despite your pretty exterior, how you put yourself together, your composure and polite demeanour,” she smiles, and no good can come of that smile. You feel yourself getting wetter, aching for her, but as if sensing that acute need, she pulls away, instead dragging her underwear closer. “All of that was put together to hide that nasty little fixation of yours, hm? Isn’t that right?” 

She circles the tip of her finger atop the mattress, in one of the holes for her legs, and you swallow thickly, catching the way a section of the material glistens with a thick coating of slick. Hers. Her orgasm. 

You’re too busy off in your own world that you don’t notice her hand until it’s gripping your jaw, nails lightly piercing your skin as she holds you still. “You’re so dirty beneath all of that,” she mutters, fingers curling around the band that would settle at her hip, “and yet you have the guile to try and act so innocently to the world. Pretend you’re so sweet, and quiet, and charming. But I know better.” 

She grips her underwear in her hand, fingers squeezing firmly at the hinge of your jaw and you have no time to think as she shoves the erotic flavoured part of clothing into your mouth, holding you still so you’re utterly under her control. 

“So dumb beneath all that, aren’t you? Silly, stupid, foolish girl,” she hums, pressing down on your tongue to draw more whimpers from your throat, mind fogging at her rough touch. “There’s nothing going on behind those eyes of yours, is there? Not a single thought, other than trying to memorise what I taste like, trying to conjure up a dirty little fantasy to help get yourself off. Not even trying to please me anymore, are you?” 

Nesta’s silver eyes glint like mercury as she rubs her fingers over your tongue, infusing her flavour with your saliva, making sure you get all of it in your mouth. 

“How hot and bothered would you get if I tied you up and left you tucked away beneath my bed for a few hours, with my underwear gagging your dumb little mouth to stop it from making any more of those stupid noises?” She croons, moving closer, rising up onto her knees so you have to look up at her. “Would you like that?” She whispers, a power-hungry gleam in her eyes. “What else can I make you do, hm? How far will you go for me, if I tell you to? Wear that collar in public for me? Let me permanently mark those thighs of yours? Spend full days on your hands and knees for me? I bet you’d love that last one, such a pathetic little slut, aren’t you?” 

Nesta laughs, gripping you tighter as a wetness shines on your lashes, able to smell as your arousal spikes, humiliation flushing your skin. 

“Go on,” she mutters atop your mouth, smiling cruelly. “Tell me how you’re my perfect little slut.” 

Your eyes widen, looking away, tongue swiping across your lips when she pulls her underwear from your mouth expectantly. “Nesta…that’s a bit far…” 

“Hm? A bit far?” She parodies, making to lay back on her mattress, that smug, domineering smile staying on her perfectly curved lips. “You don’t get to say I’m going a bit far when you’ve waited hours on your knees beneath my vanity for me to give you the okay to stick your ditzy face between my thighs.” 

Your lips part on a shocked inhale, vicious flame engulfing your body whole, like you’ve been dunked in a slightly too-hot bath and need to be getting out. 

Nesta smirks, laying back into the plush cushioning of her pillows, legs bending at the knees to spread herself open, and you flush further when she beckons you over, a single elegant finger directing you toward her exposed, dripping cunt. “Come over here,” she murmurs, still looking smug. 

Shyly meeting her gaze, you crawl forward, settling lower to the bed as you open your mouth, anxious to finally lay your tongue over her, to bury your face into the sopping wetness of her pussy. But Nesta hasn’t let her original plan go, and you squeal when her nails rake across your scalp, holding you in place, less than an inch from her lovely cunt. So close you could probably lick her, if you tried. 

“I told you to say it,” she whispers in a tone that sounds like it’s trying to mimic care. A little whiney, a little taunting. Wholly mocking.

“Go on,” she encourages, lips curving into that smarmy little smile again, “say you’re a pathetic little slut. Or I’ll be more than happy to toss you back to the streets.” You can guess that’s a lie after how she sought you out, but her pride is fierce enough, and she’s stubborn enough to possibly follow through…

Silver eyes pierce into you. “…I’m…your…” 

“Where are you looking?” She drawls, tugging on your hair once, redirecting you to her cunt. “I know what you are. Tell her.” She pulls you closer, so her arousal glistens on your lips, and it would be so easy to flick your tongue out…

Your toes curl with embarrassment, an arousing twinge of shame unspooling in your abdomen as you lower your gaze to her pussy. “…I’m…I’m your pathetic little slut.” 

Nesta laughs, spreading her legs wider as she pushes you against herself, hips winding against you as her thighs squeeze either side of your head in pleasure. “I knew you’d say it,” she taunts, “too desperate to go without it. Dumb, ditzy, desperate slut.” 

You could moan from how good it feels to be so intimately placed in relation to her bare heat, feeling how she’s lightly riding your face, swiping her hips up and down to glide across your slick-soaked features, liking how your mouth feels pressed flush to her entrance, nose pressing at her clit. “Get started,” she muses, a little breathless, thighs squeezing you with need. “You’ve got a lot to make up for.” 

Your lips part, and her flavour rushes in, pulled further into your mouth with every fervent swipe of your tongue through her centre, parting her until the tip reaches her clit, circling and trailing around it in the way she’s been yearning for. Nesta’s hips buck with pleasure, and you close your lips around her, suckling eagerly while your palms wrap beneath her legs, skimming the tops of her thighs as you drink her taste down, so much more concentrated that what you got from her underwear. 

Gods, she’s heavenly. 

Nesta curses on a low, rushed exhale, grappling for her book again, and you flush as she balances it across her sternum, effectively blocking you out once more. You feel at least a small part of you should be indignant about her obsession at refusing to acknowledge you, but it allows you to focus on her. 

Carefully removing your hand from her thigh, you trail down to her entrance, pushing your tongue against her, lapping and flicking against her as you begin pushing small circles into her clit. She inhales sharply, and you know the sound. It’s always different when it’s someone who understands what’s going on between your legs, who can choose to target sweet spots and use them to their advantage. Your tongue flattens against her, pushing inside, and the circles become tighter; meaner. Rapidly dragging her closer, making use of the sensitivity you’ve created from that first orgasm. 

The curses become more frequent, though they’re all barely muttered under her breath. You switch around, lips wrapping around her clit to suck while your hand slides lower, slipping in your middle and forth finger with arousing ease. 

She’s so wet. 

You know it’s helped on by the first orgasm, but even then, she’s practically drooling slick onto the sheets, even after you’ve spent so long licking it up. 

“More,” Nesta murmurs, voice breathy and undone; you follow obediently. 

You know exactly where to touch, where to rub up against again, curling your fingers and keeping in rhythm with the suctioning pulses you’re creating with your mouth and tongue, pulling her clit between your lips and circling the tip of your tongue against that sensitive part. You can feel how it’s hardened from the stimulation, growing taut beneath your ministrations. 

Nesta’s spine arches, and you keep pushing against that spot, knowing exactly the kind of reaction it’ll reward you with. 

She makes a strained noise in her throat, deep and breathy, book falling aside as she tries to cover her mouth as the second orgasm gushes through her…and from her. You moan as she splashes onto you, a little taken aback, having forgotten what it was like to have her soaking you. 

Heated, silver eyes glance downwards, a beautiful pink flush heavily colouring her cheeks, and you have to press your thighs together when she reaches down and spreads herself apart, making an upside-down V with her fingers, intentionally squirting across your face, taking her pleasure in marking you so territorially. You get the vague impression it’s turning her on more that it is you. 

Nesta doesn’t once look away, practically coming again from the humiliation of it all, her lips curving in a feline grin, dripping feminine satisfaction, sinking into the luscious plushness of her pillows. As if she’s finally back where she belongs, after being denied her rightful position. 

Her fingers shakily roll over her clit, delivering slow, almost lazy circles that cause her thighs to flinch with each pass, and you obediently return to lapping at her heat, gently licking up the orgasm from her dripping pussy, careful not to waste a single drop.

With a steadied grip, Nesta pulls on your leash, and you rise desperately from her heat, your own cunt aching for some kind of relief. 

“Nesta…it’s your turn,” you insist softly, a deep flush on your cheeks from how needy you sound. She arches an eyebrow, and your brows curve with desperate frustration. “Nesta, you said you wouldn’t do this,” you whine, following her pull on the lead until you’re hovering above her, poised  to lower yourself to her breasts should she order you to. “Please, I need to cum so badly…” 

“I didn’t say you couldn’t touch yourself,” she muses, two finger looping directly beneath your collar to pull you closer to her mouth. “I can sit on your face, while you use those talented little fingers on yourself,” she croons, lips brushing against your own, making you release a noise of disappointed frustration. 

“No, you said…” you fumble, recalling that she didn’t exactly say anything. “I’m not… I’m leaving if you don’t. It can’t just always be for your pleasure, you know. I’m serious this time. I’ll leave…” Nesta’s lip curls, silver flame blazing bright in those tormentingly beautiful eyes of hers, inciting both your fear and your arousal. “You aren’t stepping foot outside this bedroom, much less getting to come on your own until you make me do that at least two other times,” Nesta hisses against your mouth, a snarl coming through from beneath. 

“And don’t even think about trying to sneak yourself some relief now,” she mutters, a punishing ire gleaming hot in her silver stare. “Pathetic little sluts don’t get to cum. Now stop whining. I told you exactly what you were in for before we started, so don’t try and act all shy now,” she tells you, her legs moving to guide you into the next position she wants, dragging you back down her body to continue servicing her aching pussy. 

Her mouth shifts with knowing, a distinctly self-satisfied expression passing over her cruelly honed features, voice softened to a mocking drawl. 

“This is exactly what you want.” 

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