#on the other hand. people I don’t know. expecting things of me

[nosyp]

Twst Third Years reacting to someone else calling you 'honey' or 'sweetheart'

First Years | Second years

A/N = Likes, reblogs and comments r apprecaieted btw!

Trey Clover

He raises an eyebrow. Like what did he just say?

“Honey? Sweetheart? That's a little forward, don’t you think?”

Gives the person a polite but firm smile, subtly stepping closer to you.

HE WILL try to keep things calm but is lowkey plotting how to make sure that never happens again. Like you should probably... do something about him.

BUT in private, he’ll ask you if you’re okay with it, but also makes sure to remind you he’s got your back.

Cater Diamond

He laughs at first, but the playful glint in his eyes slowly shift into something more possessive.

“Oh? So you think you’re that close to (Y/N)?”

Gives the person a teasing grin before pulling you closer to him.

“You know, I think I’m the only one who gets to call them that. So how about we leave the nicknames to me, yeah?”

When alone with you, he’s definitely more affectionate but might joke about it a bit more.

Leona Kingscholar

Glares at the person, his face darkening in the process.

“The hell did you just call them?” he scowls.

He doesn’t hold back. His tone DRIPPING with irritation.

“You’ve got some nerve. Back off, they’re mine.”

Will pull you closer to him, practically growling if the person doesn’t get the hint.

Vil Schoenheit

Freezes for a moment, then smiles, but it’s far from a kind smile. It's more of... getoutofmyfacebeforeismackyouintotomorrow typa smile.

“How cute, you think you’re that familiar with them.”

Casually places a hand on your shoulder, making sure the other person notices how close you two are.

His voice is laced with poison: “I think you should stick to more formal terms. After all, you’re not exactly their type.” ouch that kinda hurts.

Vil keeps it classy but is definitely claiming you in his own way. He's probably not gonna let you out of his sight after this.

Rook Hunt

He simply... smirks. He's entertained. He's slightly enjoying this... but of course with a possessive glint in his eyes.

“Oh? Honey, you say? You’re a bit too forward for my liking.”

Leans in close to you, wrapping his arm around your waist.

“(Y/N) belongs to me, in a way that no one else can even dream of.”

He loves the tension it creates, and you can expect him to be a lot more possessive afterward.

Idia Shroud

His face turns red, and he freezes up.

'W-Wait, honey? Who the hell do they think they are?' his mind races.

You can practically see the steam coming out of his ears as he starts muttering to himself, fidgeting nervously. He's like a kettle about to BURST.

'I-I don’t like it when other people call them that! I get to call them cute names, okay?' he thinks to himself.

He doesn’t show it on the outside, but internally, he’s definitely marking his territory.

He tries to listen in on the conversation to know more about him for... reasons. AND goodluck to his online reputation cuz it's gonna be non-existent or absolutely ruined in a matter of seconds.

Malleus Draconia

Stares at the person, unblinking.

“Did you just refer to them as honey?”

His voice is calm, but his eyes have a dangerous glint.

Steps closer to you, his presence overwhelming.

“No one else has the right to address them that way. They belong to me.”

Will silently observe, but you’ll feel his possessive nature once the clouds start getting dark and raindrops fall from the sky. Then the air around you seems to shift, heavy with his unspoken claim.

Lilia Vanrouge

He chuckles, but his tone is laced with amusement and something more.

“Oh? Sweetheart, you say? How bold of you, but I think you’ve got it wrong.”

Laughs to himself and then ruffles your hair affectionately.

“(Y/N) is mine, so maybe you should pick a more appropriate nickname.”

While playful on the surface, you can feel the possessive edge in his words.

A/N = I love third years the most tbh

[vibelladonna]

✑ 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝒾𝓇 𝓀𝒾𝓃𝓀𝓈 𝜗𝜚 𝓈𝑜𝓁 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓌𝑒

· ─────── ⋆⋅ 🝣 ⋅⋆ ─────── · 

Didn't expect me to write more about Sol, did you? Honestly, I needed to do more research into his character, after all, since I kinda ignored him in the game as soon as Crowe showed up. Like, no wonder he did what he thought he had to do.  

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔: 18+ NO KIDS (Adults Only) This content contains mature themes unsuitable for children. Please respect the creator's intentions. 

I mixed a bit of canon and my headcanons for Crowe and Sol in this one—yep, once again! This time, I kept it focused on just four kinks to keep it short and sweet. I'm still learning about the BDSM community, and honestly, it's been really eye-opening.

A close friend (college roommate: adding on the fact she adores Sol—Sorry not sorry, love) of mine has been super helpful, sharing and explaining things about the BDSM scene to add more depth to my writing.

A lot of my inspiration comes from her, along with the Tumblr fanfic community and the original creator's work. I try to blend what feels true to the characters while throwing in my own twist. Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Starting, I’ve noticed that TKATB fans have their unique preferences when it comes to Sol or Crowe.

For example, fans who gravitate toward Sol tend to enjoy the idea of him being dominant—whether it’s being in control of him or just envisioning him taking charge. It’s that mix of power and intensity that gets people excited. You know who you are, you freaks!

On the other hand, fans of Crowe are drawn to his reliability, his deep understanding, and his caring nature. He’s willing to guide you through anything, offering both emotional support and strength. It’s comforting, isn’t it? And yes, I’m a freak too—I get it.

✑ 𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓌𝑒

Naturally, I had to start with my man—Jericho, or Crowe, as he's known. He exudes a mysterious, almost savior-like presence, though the details are still unclear. I WANNA KNOW SO BAD.

His style is effortlessly sharp, and his quiet confidence makes him instantly trustworthy. Reliable, steady, and composed, Crowe is the perfect support when life feels overwhelming. His charm is subtle, blending good looks with an alluring personality—irresistible, without ever being flashy. 

Now, let’s address the question: Can you see Crowe as kinky?

At first glance, no. Not. To a stranger, he’s too put together, with not even the faintest hint of anything unconventional beneath the surface. But as you get to know him, that answer begins to shift. Slowly, subtly, he reveals a side of himself that hints at complexity—an edge just beneath his polished exterior. However, don’t expect anything extreme or overtly wild.

What he does reveal is never too much but always just enough to leave you captivated—and maybe, just maybe, a little curious.

✑ Vanilla (Soft Dom…) 

For Crowe preferences! 

He's the ultimate soft, warm partner. Like, you just know he's all about the quiet, comforting vibes. No crazy power dynamics or rough kinks—he's all about that steady, affectionate love. It's Vanilla, but in the best way possible, full of layers. He’s not rushing anything, just enjoying the little things, taking his time, and making sure you feel heard and cherished. 

When you're with him, it's all slow and gentle—he’s not here for intense extremes. His love is patient, thoughtful, and wrapped in warmth. Every touch, every word, is like a soft caress, just so deliberate and tender. 

And honestly? There's no need for anything crazy. Crowe's happy to explore your connection, build that trust, and just savor the passion that grows naturally between you two. It's the kind of love that builds and lingers long after. 

Now… Crowe might be a soft dom—nah he IS A SOFT DOM.

Crowe’s not the type to push you past your limits just for the thrill of it. He’s not into playing mind games or testing how far he can take things. No, Crowe’s power is the quiet kind, the kind that makes you feel safe without even having to try. He knows the real strength is in taking care of someone, not in forcing them into anything they’re not ready for.  

When you’re with him, it’s like he’s always tuned into you, always listening, always aware of exactly what you need. He’s the guy who doesn’t take, but gives—gives you everything he can, with a level of care that’s almost overwhelming. And even though he’s gentle, don’t get it twisted—he’s still a tease. He’s the kind of man who’ll leave marks on your skin, a subtle reminder that you're his. But it's all in the way he leads, in that steady hand that takes yours, guiding you through every little moment.  

There’s nothing loud about Crowe—other than his moans and whining. I SWEAR he has pretty moans.

He doesn’t demand anything and doesn’t rush you, but he has this way of making you feel like you’re the only person in the room. When he touches you, it’s with a confidence that leaves you breathless but also comforted. He’ll press his forehead against yours, his hand guiding yours down to your stomach, just so you can feel his bulge inside you,how much he wants you, how much he’s thinking about you at that moment. 

There’s no need for words—just that connection, that intense eye contact that says everything.  

But yeah, he’ll also let you think you have the upper hand for a minute. Let you believe you’ve got him cornered, like you're finally taking control… only for him to flip the switch, regaining control without you even realizing.  

With Crowe, it’s not about begging or pleading for pleasure—it’s about your happiness, your satisfaction. His version of dominance is the kind that wraps around you like a warm blanket, soft and cozy. He just wants to see you smile, hear you laugh—moan, and whine under him, and know that every moment spent with him is full of happiness.  

So, if you're into a soft dom who values deep emotional connection, tenderness, and affection, Crowe’s your man! He just wants you to trust him, to let go and let him care for you. Let him be there for you in every single way, in every moment. 

And in that, he gives you all the security you’ll ever need.

✑ Praise (giving + receiving)

Crowe is all about Praise, and affection through words. Imagine him pulling you close, whispering in your ear while his fingers gently trace patterns along your skin. 

“You’re such a good girl for me, look at how well you take me, love. That’s my girl, always so ready for me, aren’t you?” His words make you feel safe, wanted, and cherished.

He doesn’t wait for you to ask for reassurance—he gives it freely, letting you know how much he appreciates having you around, and how much he loves seeing you smile. And when it comes to your body? He knows every inch of it like he’s got a personal map of your every curve and spot. He might even joke, “No one will ever know you like I do. I’ve ruined you for everyone else, haven’t I?”

Crowe has this vibe about him, like he’s always hungry to make sure you're feeling amazing, but don’t forget to show him some love, too. He thrives on hearing you praise him, especially when you whisper how much you need him, and how much he’s doing for you. The sound of your voice, the words you say—they get to him, melt him down until his heart's pounding.

Now and then, he’ll pull back, checking in on you, “You okay? Am I pushing you too far?” It’s not just about the rush for him. He wants you to be comfortable, to be in sync with him as he takes you through everything, slow and steady, giving you all that love. “That’s it, you're doing so well,” he’ll say, his voice smooth like syrup, making sure you know you're adored.

But here’s the thing: if you keep praising him, or if you’re the one in control, just wait. Crowe’s mouth? It’ll get filthy. AND I MEAN FILTHY. He can’t help it, don't be mean now...

I mean, you can. You giving him head? Taking his cock deep inside your throat, feeling he's about to cum, then you pulled back, teasing him. He'll say, "Please, my love, you were doing so good on my cock—please, please, keep going, I need that tongue of yours."

One of his favorite things is when you’re so into it that he can just forget what you say and speak directly to you, but in a way that’ll make your body react before your mind even catches up. Like, he’ll whisper, “God, you taste so damn good. Missed me, huh? Just wanna be filled up, don't you?”

His words drip against you, his eyes dark with heat, like he's speaking to your body, not even acknowledging your moans. “Such a good fucking pussy. Always making me feel so damn good. Want me to stuff you full, hm?”

And when it’s all done? Crowe doesn’t just drop it and move on. He’s got aftercare down to an art. He’ll guide you through it, keep you close, making sure you’re okay, settled, and cared for, getting ready to do it all again whenever you’re ready!

✑ Experimentalist

Crowe is the kind of man who never wants to leave any stone unturned, especially when it comes to experiences.

There was something about him that screamed experimentalist—like he needed to try everything, no matter how wild or unconventional. When it came to relationships, he was always up for anything, which meant he'd probably had more relationship experiences than most people you knew. 

His mind is open, impossibly so, and he had an insatiable curiosity that could never be satisfied. He’d never form an opinion on something without diving in and getting his first-hand taste. If there was something new to try, something out-of-the-box—Crowe was there, ready to explore. 

And honestly? He didn’t even need you to ask twice. If you suggested something wild, he’d be all in—his enthusiasm infectious, his curiosity never-ending.

However, he's pretty vanilla when it comes to experimenting, so don't expect him to go TOO hardcore. If there's a kink suited to his taste and he masters it? Oh, Babe, you'll feel it—so much in fact.

Take ropes, for example. Blindfolds? Handcuffs? Oh, he is intrigued. But, again, don’t expect anything brutal. He isn't the type to be into floggers or paddles; no, pain isn't needed for his skills. It is his anticipation. The slow burn of him carefully tying you up, not in a rush, but with the kind of patience that made every moment last longer. 

When his hands hovered over your skin, it wasn’t just touch—it was electric. He’d make sure to linger, let his fingers graze over every inch, just enough to make you shiver, your breath hitching in the air between you. It wasn’t about hurting you, not at all. No, it was all about the build-up—the moment when the ropes or restraints were placed just so, tightening the tension between you both until it was practically unbearable. 

And then? When you finally let go, it was a release so sweet and steady that it left you breathless. No rushing, no quick fixes—just a slow, fulfilling pleasure.

Adding on, Crowe loved the idea of restraint. Whether for fun, for art, or for that extra little spark of excitement, there was something about having you completely at his mercy. 

And if you ever flipped the script? If he was the one getting tied up? Like I said, Crowe will be just as filthy when he lets his guard down. 

✑ Dacryphillia

Okay, hear me out. I know what you’re thinking—"Crowe? He would never hurt me. Why would he want to see me cry?" And I get it, really. This is one of those wild ideas but just stick with me for a second.

You know how he’s all about emotions and deep connections, right? Get it?

He gets this deep fascination with what you feel and show, especially when it’s raw. Here’s where it gets interesting: Dacryphilia. Yeah, I’m talking about that thing where someone gets... well, aroused by tears, by the sound of you sobbing, the whole mess of emotions. 

So, let’s imagine this: You’re begging him, pleading for more. Your face is a mess of emotions, eyes watery, tears rolling down your cheeks. And yeah, he’s gonna ask if you’re okay because that’s the kind of man he is—always checking, always making sure. But if you keep begging for more? Oh, that’s when it gets dangerous. 

Each desperate plea of yours, each tremor in your voice, just fuels this fire inside him, an all-consuming fire. His eyes? They’re practically glowing, deep blue, and locked on you like he's drowning in you, in every little thing you’re feeling.

You can feel him there, so close you can almost taste his breath on your skin. His lips brush against your ear, a soft, teasing whisper sending shivers down your spine. "So desperate for me already, huh? We haven’t even gotten to the fun part yet..." His voice is low, and dangerous, like he’s savoring every second of this.

You know he’s enjoying this. Every inch of him is hooked, and once he has you like this, there’s no going back.

Crowe’s could be teasing you for what feels like hours, driving you wild with a mix of pleasure and frustration. He’s pulled every bit of sensation from you, your body trembling with each orgasm, each touch—until you’re left aching for more. You’ve come undone on his fingers, his tongue, but now, you’re desperate in a way that makes your chest ache. You need him, inside of you, filling you up, but he’s holding back. Just barely, he brushes against you, grinning at the whine that slips from your lips.

His head teases your entrance, and you can’t stop yourself from begging, voice shaky, "Please... Please, please." You repeated. Tears burn at the corners of your eyes, blurring your vision as they fall helplessly. The emptiness without him feels unbearable.

Crowe tilted his head, the smirk on his face practically dripping with playful mockery. “Just please?” He dragged the word out slowly, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Tell me what you want. Can’t do anything unless you say it. What is it you’re begging for?” His hand slid up your stomach, hand pushing lightly as if testing the waters. 

He leaned in, his breath hot against your ear, the playful glint in his eyes shifting into something darker, more calculating. “You want me to fill you up, don’t you?”

His grin stretched wider as you stumbled over your words, desperate and disordered, pleading for more. He could tell you were unraveling, and it only pushed him further, each whimper was like a small victory. 

“You’re falling apart, love,” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. “Don’t worry, I’ll give you what you need... just say the word.” You could barely focus as the desperation built into your chest. His control over you was unnerving, yet exhilarating. The tears on your cheeks were a mix of frustration and need, a silent scream for him. 

“I need you, Crowe. Please...” Your voice was broken, but he was the one who was in control, studying the way you reacted like a willing experiment.

Crowe’s hand lifts gently to your cheek, his thumb brushing away the tears streaming down your face. He gives you a soft grin, his voice low and teasing. “Already crying for me, huh?” he murmurs, almost amused. His thumb, slick with your tears, slips past your lips, letting you taste the salty remnants of your emotions. "We’ve just started," he adds, a soft chuckle escaping him. 

Before you can respond, his hips jerk forward, pushing into you with one swift, forceful motion. The shock of it makes your breath catch, and Crowe can’t help but smirk, his eyes glinting with that dangerous, experimental gleam.

Every move, calculated and deliberate, is part of his twisted exploration. And you? You’re the willing subject.

✑ 𝓈𝑜𝓁

Sol is described as a “stinky basement-dwelling yandere”—ngl, this alone made me laugh. He’s a quiet kid, the one who lingered at the edges of every room, observing, never quite fitting in.

Beneath his reserved exterior was a complexity most couldn’t fathom. He’s incredibly smart, with a sharpness that slipped through his words when he spoke, though he rarely bothered to. His talents leaned toward the arts, paintings, and writings.

And yet, at the end of the day, Sol isn’t exactly smooth. He was hopelessly inexperienced when it came to relationships. He gets no bitches, and honestly, he probably doesn’t even try. But in his inexperience is a certain rawness, and once you did get to know him, he’ll flirt or charm you. But before, he just watched and wanted.  

Now, let’s address the question: Can you see Sol as kinky?

Yes, let’s not sugarcoat it—he is kinky asf. Of course, he is. There was no way someone as quiet and repressed as Sol didn’t have a horny side, one he tried to keep buried but couldn’t fully hide due to his love for you. 

✑ Switch (A Pervert…)

Now, about Sol’s... preferences. 

From reading his relationship information card and playing the game. He is a paradox, a Switch in every sense of the word. He didn’t neatly fit into the mold of “always dominant” or “forever submissive.” Oh no, that would be far too mundane for someone like him. He's not a standard yandere people.

Sol is a man of extremes, a “pervert” in the most endearing, shameless sense of the word. He believed in living freely, without the shackles of societal expectations or traditional constraints. Ethics, morality, conventional roles—he’d toss them aside without hesitation if they stood in the way of his desires.   

When he takes the reins as Dominant, Sol is the type to lean into theatrics, pushing boundaries with a devilish grin and that mischievous gleam in his eyes. He had a talent for making the experience unforgettable, for making you feel as though the entire world had melted away, leaving only the two of you. But when the tables turned, when Sol found himself in the more submissive role, he’d throw himself into it with equal fervor. 

He’d challenge you to prove your worth, tease and push until you stepped up to the plate, and then—when you finally did—he’d surrender so completely that it'll feel like a victory worth savoring.  

To Sol, sex and relationships weren’t just about power dynamics or tradition. They were a playground for exploration, a place where the only rule was to follow what felt right. With his “anything goes” mentality, Sol turned every interaction into a kaleidoscope of passion and unpredictability. 

As mentioned, Sol, can’t help himself when it comes to you.

Let’s say he has this thing—Voyeuristic Disorder, to be precise, a fancy word for being a pervert. Dosn't care to see anyone else naked. Only you he wishes to see. He was obsessed with watching you, whether you knew it or not. In public or private, it didn’t matter.

He just liked being there, lurking in the shadows, soaking in every moment. Watching you do the most intimate things, completely unaware that he was there. 

There was something so exhilarating about seeing you—your bare skin, the way you moved, the little things you did when you thought no one was watching. He couldn’t resist. The way your body reacted, the sounds you made when you didn’t know he was there—it was all he needed. 

Deadass, I’m shocked that the creator of the game never added a specific scene where you were taking care of yourself in bed—you freak, oblivious to him sneaking a peek from the window, his hand on his cock, jacking himself off, doing exactly what he does best. Watching. 

He didn’t let societal norms dictate how he expressed himself or who he loved. He was unapologetically himself—messy, chaotic, and a little too intense for most people’s taste. But for those brave enough to step into his world, you, well, if you picked him, that is.

Sol will offer an experience unlike any other: one filled with unrelenting honesty, unbridled passion, and a love that refuses to be anything less than extraordinary.  

✑ Praise (Receiving)

Sol isn't the type of man you’d peg as desperate for validation—at least, not at first glance. His sharp, confident exterior gave the impression of someone who had the world at his feet, who didn’t flinch under pressure or crack beneath judgmental stares. 

But peel back the layers of this supposed nonchalant and cool type of man, and you’d find a truth that was much more human, much more raw. Sol craved praise. Why? Perhaps it was the lack of it throughout his life. His track record for romance was, let’s say, less than impressive. Not because he lacked charm or good looks—he had both in spades—but because his overbearing aura and unapologetic eccentricities tended to drive most people away. 

They didn’t understand him, couldn’t see past the way he challenged conventions. He wore his "loser" title like armor. After all, who cared if he didn’t have admirers lined up at his door? He didn’t need anyone... right? Yet, when someone, such as you, did manage to offer him an honest compliment, something sincere, it was like watching a dam break. 

His confident smirk would falter for a second, his eyes softening, betraying the vulnerability he worked so hard to conceal. Sol wasn’t accustomed to receiving love—real, genuine love—and when it came, it hit him like a truck

✑ Masochist

The first time you noticed Sol’s tendency to endure pain, you’d thought it was just his stubborn nature. He’s always been the type to wear his emotions on his sleeve when it came to you—raw, unfiltered, and unapologetically vulnerable. But as time went on, you began to see something deeper beneath that tough, rebellious exterior. 

Sol wasn’t just someone who endured pain; he seemed to embrace it…? almost thrive on it, especially when it comes to you.

Sol is, without a doubt, a masochist. Not in the twisted, sadistic sense, but in an almost heartbreaking way. He’d do anything to please you, to earn your attention—even if it meant enduring the unendurable. 

He could never be a sadist. No, he loved you too much to ever inflict pain on you, physically or emotionally. The very thought of hurting you would make his stomach churn. Instead, he channeled all his devotion into being by your side, no matter the cost.

There were moments when his tendencies became painfully obvious. Like he gets into fights back to back, defending himself or you—for example, the movie theater bathroom or the Campus library (With or without.)

You hadn’t/have even been there to witness it—Sol hadn’t wanted you to see him like that, bruised and bloody. But when you found out later, he brushed it off with that crooked grin of his, the one that hid just how far he’d go for you. “It’s nothing,” he’d said, wiping the blood from his lip. “They deserved it for talking about you like that.”

Or that time with Crowe. It had been an innocent moment, just you laughing at something Crowe said, but to Sol, it might as well have been a dagger to his chest. He clenched his fists so tightly that his knuckles turned white, nails digging into his palms until they drew blood. He didn’t want to feel that way—jealousy mixed with self-loathing—but he couldn’t help it. Watching you walk away with someone else, even for a moment, was unbearable. 

It wasn’t that he enjoyed the pain; it was just that he could handle it, even when it tore him apart inside.  

And in the quiet, intimate moments, Sol’s masochistic streak became something else entirely. If you picked him willingly, He’ll trust you, and loved you, enough to let down every last defense he had. He didn’t just endure pain; with you, he could find meaning in it. 

A sharp bite, nails dragging down his back—he shivered under your touch, his body responding in ways he didn’t fully understand but didn’t question. For him, it wasn’t just about the sensation; it was about the connection, the way it brought him closer to you.  

Masochism, for Sol, wasn’t about pain tolerance. It wasn’t about how much he could take. It was about the way he found a strange, twisted kind of comfort in it. The pain wasn’t the point; it was the context, the giver—you. Sol would never seek out pain for its own sake, but if it was for you, if it meant being close to you, he’d endure anything.  

Even in the game, he seemed to attract hardship like a magnet, always the one taking the hits—physically and emotionally. Whether it was the bullies who thought he was an easy target or the way he seemed to hurt himself just to prove his devotion to you, Sol carried it all with a quiet, unshakable resolve. Because, at the end of the day, it wasn’t about the pain. It was about you.  

And he’d never stop. For Sol, loving you wasn’t just a choice—it was a part of who he was. If being close to you meant enduring the worst the world could throw at him, he’d take it all with a smile. Because that’s who Sol is. A damn masochist.  

And he wouldn’t have it any other way.  

✑ Somnophillia 

It was inevitable, wasn’t it? Everyone could see this coming from a mile away—there was simply no other possibility. Sol, in all his twisted complexity, had long blurred the line between obsession and affection, his love taking on forms most would never dare to comprehend. 

Some might accuse him of holding darker urges, like necrophilia, drawn to the lifelessness of the dead. But no, that isn’t Sol. Despite his obsessions, there was a deep-rooted sentimentality within him—a refusal to let go, to lose. If anything, he had made it clear in his own hauntingly poetic way: he’d rather die with you than live without you. 

Yet, that didn’t mean his desires were any less unnerving. No, Sol’s particular brand of affection manifested in somnophilia, a fascination with the vulnerability of sleep, the beauty of your unconscious form. To him, those moments were sacred—your body relaxed, your mind adrift in dreams. It was when he felt closest to you, unguarded and free from the chaos of the waking world.  

Before your relationship, it started innocuously enough—or so it seemed. He’d find ways to end up at your apartment, invited by some pretense or perhaps even through sheer charisma. And then, ever so subtly, he’d lace your drink with something to make you drowsy, to keep you from suspecting as his fingers ghosted on you. 

You lay there, utterly still, utterly serene, your chest rising and falling with the kind of peaceful rhythm that seemed to still the chaos of the world around you.  

It was maddening, the way you looked so untouched by the noise that haunted him, your lips slightly parted, the barest whisper of breath escaping them. Every exhale was a siren call, soft and unassuming, but it gripped him like a vice.  

His gaze wandered, helplessly drawn down the curve of your cheek to your lips. They looked soft, and inviting in a way that felt almost cruel. He wanted to press his own to them, to taste whatever peace you’d found and see if he could borrow just a fraction of it for himself.  

But it wasn’t just your lips. His eyes traced lower, following the lines of your body, the way your clothes clung to you, hinting at the form beneath. He shouldn’t be thinking like this—he knew he shouldn’t. And yet the thought of you, warm and pliant beneath him, invaded his mind, unrelenting.  

He swallowed hard, trying to shake it off, but the more he fought, the more vivid the thoughts became. The sound of your soft sighs, the way you’d move under his touch, how you’d look at him—not like this, not sleepily and unaware, but awake, wanting.  

God, he was losing it.  

Sol leaned back, running a hand through his hair, forcing his gaze away from you for a moment. But it didn’t matter—your image was burned into his mind, and there was no escape. Watching you sleep was his guilty pleasure, though his guilt barely lasted long enough to stop him from pressing further. 

Once the two of you were together, the dynamics shifted, but only slightly. Sol’s obsession deepened, and the lines of consent became more of a gray haze in his mind. To him, love was devotion—complete and all-encompassing. And if you loved him, shouldn’t you accept him entirely? Shouldn’t you trust him to care for you, even when you weren’t awake to see it? 

He was careful, always so careful with you, so don’t worry! 

His lips found their way to the sensitive curve of your inner thigh, his movements slow and deliberate as if savoring every second of this quiet moment. You stirred faintly, a sleepy whimper escaping your lips as the warmth of his mouth brushed against you, teasing and tender.

Sol’s hands gripped your hips gently but firmly; his fingers splayed across your skin to hold you in place. You tried to shift, your body instinctively responding to the soft, wet pressure of his tongue on your needy cunt, but his strength was unyielding.

“Shh,” he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly whisper in the stillness. One hand slid up to brush a stray lock of hair from your face, his thumb lingering for a moment as he marveled at the serene expression you wore, so unaware of the devotion he poured into every touch. “You’re even more beautiful like this,” he breathed, his words an intimate confession meant only for the dark.

To Sol, this meant everything. 

This was the essence of love itself—intimacy beyond words, a bond that transcended anything others could hope to understand. He wasn't like anyone else; he knew that, and perhaps that’s what made this feel so special. So sacred. There was a quiet possessiveness in the way he worshiped you, a deep yearning to etch himself into every corner of your being, to ensure no one else could ever touch the part of you that belonged to him.

And as you stirred again, a soft moan escaping your lips, Sol smirked against your skin, the faintest edge of smug satisfaction curling at the corner of his mouth. You might not fully wake, but you’d feel him—his touch, his adoration, eventually his cock. You’d know, even in sleep, that you were his world.

To be with him, you’d have to accept all of him. Every tender smile, every soft whisper... and every shadowed obsession that came with it. 

· ─────── ⋆⋅ 🝣 ⋅⋆ ─────── · 

[gay-dorito-dust]

Batboys and reader doing the hear me out cake trend and reader pulls out a picture of Bruce when he was in his prime.

Apologies anon but this trend…Do not get me started on how misconstrued the phrase ‘hear me out’ is. I’ll rant about how a lot of ppl should look up the definition first. I’m very passionate about how butchered the trend is that every time I see one I can’t help but think ‘not a hear me out, try again or don’t to save my small remnants of sanity.’ I hate it so much.

Dick

Pouts.

‘My dad? Really?’ He’d ask you.

‘Yeah, what can I say he was a total hunk.’ You shrugged.

‘Was?!’ Dick replied, looking at you as though you had grown a second head. ‘What is he now then chopped liver? Do you not like older men?! Do they loose their charm the moment they have a few grey hairs and lines on their face?!’ He exclaims.

This wasn’t what you were expecting when doing this challenge because now you were being grilled by dick on whether you’ll still feel attractive to him when he himself gets old and grey.

‘I don’t have anything against older men dick, I just find your dad hot in this specific picture.’ You defended yourself and dick only puts his hands on your shoulders and gives them a firm squeeze as he presses his forehead against yours.

‘Sweetheart I don’t think you understand because what do you mean you find him hotter in the picture?! It’s Bruce the man is just naturally photogenic!’ Dick tells you. ‘You could’ve chosen a recent picture of Bruce and say the exact same thing.’

‘Eh, it’s not the same thing.’ You say and dick felt as though he might as well rip his hair from his head because what do you mean it’s not the same thing?! He was now more certain that you didn’t like older men if Bruce was only appealing to you in his youth, his supposed prime.

Needless to say the conversation diverted from the fact that you found his dad hot, to one where dick was trying to prove to himself that you just didn’t like older men/ silver foxes for whatever absurd reason.

Jason

He’s oddly silent.

You feared you did something the moment you pulled the picture of young Bruce Wayne out to put on the cake.

The wait was over the moment he did decide to say something but it was nothing like you’d expect to come out of his mouth;

‘Out of all the pictures there are of Bruce, that’s the one you picked? Nothing about that picture is flattering to him in any way whatsoever.’

‘Oh you’re just jealous.’ You’d tell him and Jason only raises his brow at you.

‘Jealous, babe have you seen me? What’s there to be jealous of that old bat.’ Jason replies as he gestures towards himself before pinching your cheeks. ‘I just think it’s adorable how you consider Bruce in his prime as a hear me out, it’s laughable really but you do you chipmunk.’ He adds.

However when you weren’t looking, he’d take the picture of Bruce from the cake and throw it over his shoulder, for there was no way in hell he was going to have a picture of Bruce on a cake. No sir, Jason would much rather die again than allow his own father to overstay his welcome on the damn cake.

He’d even act innocent when you would ask where the picture went as though he didn’t set it on fire with a lighter after plucking it off the cake. ‘It must’ve grew legs and walked off.’ He’d shrug but it wasn’t hard to know the truth.

His dad can fuck off away from the cake and you.

Damian

Another one who’s not so amused by the fact that you added his father on a ‘hear me out’ cake.

He doesn’t partake in such stupid trends that’ll sooner or later long forgotten by the public consciousness in favour of a new trend that’ll run itself to the ground just as quickly as the last. He questions the publics attention span if it was this short and unreliable, he really does and fears that the age of stupidity has begun with people who think a conventional attractive man with a Roman nose or any other unique feature is a ‘hear me out.’

As if they were any less attractive than a man with a plain featured, and rather unappealing and basic appearance. They’re weren’t, if anything people with romantic noses or any other unique features were just as attractive as the plained featured ones, and Damian found it rather ridiculous that is what is being considered a secrete that many think they’ll be judged for finding appealing.

‘My father? Really?’ He’d say as he looked between you and the picture of his father.

‘Yeah.’ You shrugged.

Damian only sighed as he crossed his arms over his chest. ‘A conventionally attractive man is you hear me out?’

‘Not just any conventionally attractive man-‘ you tried to explain but Damian didn’t allow you the space to do so.

‘My father in his prime doesn’t count, you should really do better research before putting random people on a cake, or better yet don’t partake in a challenge you don’t understand.’ Was all Damian said before he leaves the room, he’s not impressed and feared that there was too many people who for some stupid reason also though his father in his prime is a ‘hear me out.’

It freaks him out and disappoints him greatly of what the future of Gotham and humanity as a whole would look like if these people were to be at the helm.

Tim

Not amused.

He’s sick and tired of people putting conventional attractive people and anthropomorphic animals who are drawn in a specific way to elicit such emotions out of people.

So to see that you had put his father, more specifically Bruce in his first steps as the dark knight, he couldn’t help but look at you disappointedly.

One, you obviously didn’t understand the concept of a hear me out and Tim is more then ready to educate you on what one is with his long ass PowerPoint presentation. And two, really? His dad? What was wrong with his dad in his current old age? Did you have something against older men?

Wait- why was he so suddenly concerned whether or not you find his father less appealing now than how he looked in his prime? He should be more focused on the fact that you found such pristine picture of Bruce during that time, he’s tried multiple times but the resolution was god awful and didn’t do anything to flatter Bruce.

You’re still getting lectured on what a proper hear me out is though. Tim’s got fucking tons.

[venmondiese]

ONE MISSING POINT

-ˋˏ| summary: Failing the class just for one point, and you ask Michael Gavey his help to pass the exam. Tutoring isn't his strenght, neither is yours.

✧ | Pairing: Michael Gavey x reader

✧ | word count: 2.8k

✧ | Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, public masturbation (m receiving), humilliation, Michael is a virgin and he doesn't last long.

It was practically a tradition that Mr. Bynes posted the results of the class in the (most important) headboard in the whole university, and people practically crowded around the single paper sheet searching for their grades and to see if they were at risk of failing the course entirely. If so, they had to do the mandatory exam which was by no means friendly. 

He isn’t as worried as people around him, trying to make his way in the crowd to see the paper. He had to awkwardly pass through some people crying over it before he could see the paper. 

He approved it all. He expected it, of course, since he always participated and was one of the few who understood something the professor said. Sure, he didn’t have straight 100%, but nothing lower than 80%, which was really good upon seeing some people had more than one 0. 

It was a relief, but again, expected. He shrugs and goes on with his life as he walks away, thinking of going to his dorm and annotating his grades to later on calculate his final average score. 

“Michael! Michael Gavey” a voice calls him, as he sets his feet on the grass. He turns around, seeing you walking closer to him, as quickly as you could. 

“Ehm… yes” he says, awkwardly, looking at you. 

You shared calculus and some other classes, and you were good. Not bright, exceptional or anything, but good. And you were so much better at other things, more social and bold things he doesn’t dare to do. 

“Hi… how did you do?” You ask, slightly out of breath as you try to be polite. 

“Ehm… fine, I guess” he doesn’t get why you talk to him now.

“You passed?” You ask tentatively. “I… I saw your grades, and it was awesome, really impressive…” You hesitate before adding “I am sorry, I know… it’s weird, but… You were like one of the few people who actually passed.”

Michael shrugs. as he nods. “I guess so.”

“And you see…” You say taking his arm to interlock it with hers, as you and your friends did when walking together. It was so womanly, he felt weird. Or maybe everyone did it and he didn’t know…? “I had good grades, I did well in that essay that everyone hated… But I had one test in which I got 40%, because I transferred badly one of the gross numbers, and before you ask, I did calculate it… But since I transferred it wrong, the final value was wrong”

“Ah…” he says, not sure what to say “That sucks”

It didn’t suck. To him, it was like a stupid mistake easily avoidable. 

“Well, I was one point away from pass the course, and I explained this to the professor but… didn’t listen, you know him, he said that one point is missing, so I have to give the exam, and I need like 20%, but still..., and now I desperately come to you to beg you to please help me and tutor me” she says, as she turns to look at him. 

He blinks. He didn’t do tutorings on his free time. He did them for extra money, for credits or whatever reason. 

“Please Mikey!” You say, grabbing his hands. “Please please please, I only needed one more point to pass the class, I know about the subject, and it was a silly mistake. You don't even have to teach me from zero, only... go over the things we studied and that... please!”

He isn’t willing to do this. He doesn’t want to do this, yet he is weak. After all, he is a man. And he isn’t blind, you are pretty. Like out-of-his-league pretty. And you are prettier closer.

“Fine…”

You lean to kiss his cheek with a smile, and you nod. “It’s a date then. Tomorrow in the library? Could it be at four?”

He blinks a few times, trying to process the whole thing. He was supposed to finish the semester quickly, and… now he is caught up trying to teach you so you don’t fail a course, all because his mind betrays him. 

So, he tries to do the whole ordeal as smoothly and quickly as possible. He doesn’t want to do this but whatever. At least you are not dumb on the matter, you know something. He has heard some of the answers you give in the classes, and they weren’t as bad as one would hope. 

He’s sitting at one of the study desks, right beside a large shelf, and the library was with a few other students, concentrated in their own thing. He brought his notes with him, even if it was illegible. He tries not to be impatient, as he checks the clock on his wrist. 

“Sorry for being late, I– I got caught in something and…” You say, and you were breathing a bit heavily. 

“No big deal…” he stutters, as his gaze darts down to your blouse. Logically, since summer was getting closer and closer, you wouldn’t be wearing a sweater, but he didn’t expect… Well, he didn’t know what he expected. 

Why was he being so weak around you?

“Sit, I have my notes to show you…” He says, and so you take a seat by his side as you curiously lean to check his notes. Surprisingly, or not so surprisingly, he was very neat in his handwriting, even if they looked like the handwriting of someone in the 1700s.

You are not such a bad learner, and he was rather enjoying teaching you after some time. You actually heard him, as he explained in depth how to have the correct answer for all, as he tries to address everything.  You asked good questions, and pointed at the mistakes he had given you, to see if you could identify them in an exercise. 

As close as you were, Michael could smell how your perfume was nice. It smelled sweet, but not so much that he would like to throw up. Besides, everytime you stared at him, he could feel a bit uneasy, since he got a bit nervous. Your gaze was deep, and he didn’t know what it meant. 

Clearing his throat, he writes a new problem for you to solve. He had done a lot when studying, so he copied one of his. He hopes that focusing on the study will help him to distract himself from the weird feelings around you. 

“Here, try this one” he says, handing the notebook to you. It is complex, but doable. 

He manages to explain really well, as he gets into the theme and all. You do the work, and slide it over for him to check it. 

“You have a girlfriend, Mikey?” You ask softly. 

He looks at you, before turning back to check the answer. “Eh… no” he mutters, trying not to be ashamed. 

You were actually great, you are very tidy when unfolding the exercise and actually took in his advice, he can see it. Yet, you make the same mistake, you took the gross value as the final one. 

He made a circle, and he was ready to explain. 

“He-Oh” he gasps, feeling your hand on his thigh. He was frozen. 

Maybe it fell onto it. Maybe it was by mistake, it was surely by mistake, there was no way it was intentional. And surely it was a mistake how you caressed his inner thigh so… slowly. 

“Oh, did I get it wrong?” You ask, looking at him as if you didn’t have your hand at his thigh.  

He felt his head doing a short circuit, as if trying to understand what this meant. Was he imagining things? He surely must be. 

“Y-Yes, here… here you took the gross value…” he mutters pathetically, he was confused, he didn’t know what was happening. He wasn’t complaining, at all, but what does that mean?

What did it mean that you had your hand on his thigh? Surely, it was something… reasonable. 

“I’ll re-do it” you say, taking the notebook. And you didn’t take your hand away. 

He was frozen. This can't be happening. He's supposed to be helping you with your studies, not... not whatever this is. And yet, his body is betraying him, his skin tingling under your touch, his pants beginning to feel uncomfortably tight. 

He grips on the edge of the table, looking at the ceiling of the library. Suddenly, he is very aware of his surroundings, looking around as if everyone knew that your hand was sliding up as you did the exercise. Women surely can multitask…

“Eh, well, now… we can use the formula… you-you know it” he says, his throat feeling dry as he tries not to whimper. 

“Yeah, yeah. Like the rosary.” You say with a confident nod.

“Yeah… so, what’s the next step?” He prompts you, as your hand is higher and higher, and he is starting to lose his mind. 

“Replace the values, a… with this, and b…” your hand brushes higher and he lets out a little whimper, thinking you were about to stroke his cock… yet it doesn’t happen. It’s a pathetic sound he emits, and he gets red after it. “With this…”

He sees you replace the values, rewriting the formula, ready to be used.

“Right?” You ask, with one of your sweet smiles as if you didn’t know what was happening. 

“Eh, yeah… yeah, that…” he says, trying not to sound that pleased, even if he starts to feel the arousal pool on his stomach.

He starts to feel himself straining against his pants. It was painfully arousing, and he tried to play it cool. He didn’t want for you to notice, as you caressed his inner thigh.

“I… I need a break” he says suddenly, looking at you. 

You look at him a bit pouty even, as he grips on the edge of the seat trying to breathe in and breathe out. “But I am learning” you say to him “I really am”

You were driving him insane. He didn’t even know if he should address the elephant in the room. Maybe he’ll say something about it, and you’ll stop, be disgusted and leave. 

But he tries to keep inside his whimpers, since the library was the worst place ever to do this. Everyone quiet and it’s open for anyone to see. 

“I think… I..” He hesitates, falling to being able to finish a sentence. He moans softly, feeling your hand brush against his notorious erection, and he can’t bear it anymore. “Ah, please…” 

Michael was blushing, embarrassed of it all as he tries not to move his hips to follow the touch of your hand, since it isn’t where he really needs. How could he be so weak? His cock wasn’t even being touched now, but he felt so dizzy already. Maybe it was because, okay, he had never been with anyone else, but it was… embarrassingly little time to be so… needy. 

When he feels your hand on the tent of his pants, he whimpers, the sound too loud and filthy that his left hand goes instantly to his mouth, covering it to mute himself before he does another embarrassing thing that gives them away. 

“Y-You.. You have to stop” Michael murmurs, the words muffled against his palm as he looks at you, glasses sliding through his nose slightly. He was so flustered, he looked cute. 

“Why?” You ask in a pout, not wanting to. 

“I can’t– I need…” He tries to say, to make a coherent thought as your hand moves to follow the shape of his erection. It sends shivers on his spine and he practically melts on the seat as his eyes are rolled back in pleasure. How could it feel so good? “I… I… We can’t…”

He seems so confused with his own thoughts. “We can…” You murmur, looking around as nobody was actually watching them. “If you really want me to stop… I’ll stop”

Michael doesn’t want you to stop. He really didn’t. But he didn’t want to get caught, it would be embarrassing. 

“We are in public” he says, his eyes searching yours. 

“Yes, I know” you say, not stopping the strokes on his cock above his clothes “But look at how much you like it” 

He’s already made a small, wet patch at the front of his pants. Oh, god, he thinks. He looked away, it felt embarrassing, his face feeling hotter as embarrassment creeped into his gut alongside pleasure. 

He liked it, but he was trembling with a mixture of emotions, and he didn’t know what to think. He was so close too…

“Please…” He begs senselessly, he doesn’t even know why he is begging. “I don’t wanna make a mess…”

Your hand touches him with the clothes in between, but the fabric of his light brown pants was thin, and it felt almost delicious. He would hump your hand if you two weren’t in a library. 

“You are making a mess…” You coax him softly, as he tenses his shoulder and falls slightly against yours, as his body was trembling with arousal. 

“I don’t wanna stain my pants” He murmurs embarrassed, in a little voice as he feels his balls tighten up as your hand insists on the head of his cock, stroking it through the fabric.

“It’s hot” you murmur back to him, and your hand is on the wet patch “And when you cum, I’ll feel it here”

He can’t form a proper sentence as he feels you hand caressing his dick, he felt the wetness on the tip of his cock, and even if it was so unlike him, he found himself so aroused. He is on the verge of cumming on his pants, just from the touch of a woman. Damn, you aren’t even touching his cock directly. 

He felt like a teen, needy and so hormonal. He wasn’t like this fromages ago, and he finds himself leaning on you, his forehead against your shoulder as he whimpers softly, his hips searching your touch as he is close. 

The thought of cumming in his pants, making a mess was both humiliating and arousing, as his body tense with each stroke. “I can't… i… I'm going to…” 

His hand goes to cover his own mouth as he reaches his peak, a strangled moan coming from his throat and his hand muffles the whimpers he lets out. He can feel his cock spurting cum into his underwear and trousers. He doesn’t want to call attention, but he cums so hard, his body basically slumps back in his seat as he feels his balls tighten with each rope of cum that his cock leaks. 

You are awfully quiet afterwards, moving your hand away as you clean it and he tries to gain his breath, feeling dizzy already and so pleased. He wants to hide his face in shame, and the other wants to beg you to do it again. 

“I’m sorry” he murmurs.

“Don’t be” you whisper back to him, looking at his wet spot on his crotch. “To me, it was amazing. You definitely made one of my fantasies come true”

He blushes, he feels very self conscious all of the sudden, and he makes sure no one in the library paid attention to them and what they were doing. He moves slightly as if trying to cover up the wet patch on his jeans. 

“You enjoyed it?” You ask him, not pushing him too hard.

“Yeah…” He admits, slightly embarrassed but also very much pleased. 

You look at the forgotten notebooks, and then to him, as he accommodates on the seat and moves his hair slightly as if that would make him go unnoticed by everyone else.

“If it is worth anything, your tutoring did help me tons” you say, taking your notebooks together to save them in your pack. 

He is glad that he could help. Maybe this was your way of repaying? He couldn’t know or decipher it. He takes his things and saves them up in his bag as well. He wanted to go to his dorm and take a shower, and put on pajamas and think about this. 

“I’m not great with words…” He starts, his tone hesitant but trying to overcome it. “But… Thank you. I really… Hm. It was cool”

You smirk, nodding slightly as you appreciate his words. 

“A bit risk��” you tease him playfully.

“Yeah…” he chuckles softly, scratching the back of his neck. “I am a mess”

As he adjust the glasses on his nose, you hum, “Well, nobody really cares but you and me”

“I can’t believe we did… that… in here…” He mumbles, dumb founded. “And I was… so… I completely lost it…”

“Do girls usually make you… lose it?” you ask in a whisper. “Or do you last longer, and I happen to have magical hands?”

He blushes to the blunt question, looking anywhere but to your face as he avoids answering. “Well, um…” he doesn’t want to admit his lack of any experiences with girls “Girls don’t…. touch me like that” he says in a whisper. “So I can’t say…”

You didn’t judge, looking at him, and you nodded.

“Well, next time we’ll see”

Next time. He looks at you with eyes slightly wide, as he tries not to stutter his words. “Next time?”

“Obviously” You say smiling to him. “If I pass the exam, we are doing it without the pants” You say smugly “And… more”

He was so lucky you missed one point to pass the course. 

[reiding-writing]

For the Christmas fic, how about bau!reader never celebrated Christmas properly cause she had like bad parents so Spencer decides to change that with the help of the team

RESTORATION — SPENCER REID!

you’re not a big fan of christmas. spencer enlists the help of the team to try and restore your festive spirit.

spencer reid x gn!reader | 1.5k | fluff | masterlist.

a/n — watch someone who doesn’t like Christmas, write about a group of people who do like christmas :)

You’re not sure how it happened, but suddenly, Christmas is everywhere.

Twinkling lights hang from every corner of the bullpen. Garlands wrap themselves around the stair railings like ivy. A Christmas tree towers near the kitchenette, its branches heavy with ornaments you suspect Morgan and Garcia argued over before agreeing on a theme. The air smells faintly of pine, cinnamon, and coffee, a warm combination that feels almost too comforting. Too safe.

You try not to let it bother you.

You never understood the hype around Christmas. Every year, you watched the world transform into a wonderland of twinkling lights and festivity, but for you, it was just another day. Another reminder of what you never had.

While other kids were unwrapping presents under the tree, you sat in your cold, quiet room, the sounds of your parents’ arguments drowning out the holiday cheer. Christmas wasn’t a celebration in your house—it was a chore, a duty, something to get through without breaking.

Even now, as an adult, you treat the holiday like it’s just another box to check. The gifts you give are practical and impersonal, and the ones you receive feel more like obligations than thoughtful gestures. You avoid the parties, the caroling, the incessant cheer. It’s easier that way.

At least, it was.

The BAU changed everything.

You weren’t prepared for how much they’d come to mean to you. They weren’t just colleagues; they were family in a way you’d never truly known. And Spencer… Spencer Reid is something else entirely. You can’t pinpoint the exact moment your feelings for him shifted, but now they’re impossible to ignore. Every shy smile, every ramble about quantum physics, every thoughtful gesture—it all leaves you wondering how you got so lucky to have someone like him in your corner.

Still, when he asks you about your Christmas plans during lunch one day, your walls go up.

“Oh, you know,” you say casually, taking a sip of your coffee. “Probably just a quiet night at home.”

Spencer frowns, his brow furrowing in that endearing way that tells you he’s already analysing your words. “You’re not a Christmas person?”

You shrug, trying to seem indifferent. “Not really. Christmas wasn’t… something my parents did growing up,”

That’s the understatement of the century, but you don’t elaborate. Spencer’s gaze lingers on you, and you can practically see the wheels turning in his head.

“Well,” he says slowly, “maybe it’s something we can work on,”

You wave him off with a chuckle, but the idea takes root in his mind anyway.

—

A week later, you’re finishing up paperwork when Spencer approaches your desk, his face lit up with excitement.

“Are you free on Christmas Eve?” he asks, his voice tinged with nervousness.

You blink, caught off guard. “I guess so? Why?”

He grins, his hands fidgeting with the strap of his messenger bag. “It’s a surprise. Just… trust me?”

You don’t have the heart to say no.

—

When Christmas Eve arrives, you find yourself in front of Spencer’s apartment, a mix of curiosity and apprehension swirling in your chest. You’re not sure what to expect, but the last thing you anticipate is the sight that greets you when he opens the door.

“Surprise!”

The entire team is there, the living room transformed into a Christmas wonderland. There’s a fake tree in the corner, its branches laden with ornaments and lights. Garland and tinsel drape over every surface, and the scent of cinnamon and pine fills the air.

Hotch is standing by the fireplace, looking uncharacteristically relaxed with a drink in hand, JJ and Will are helping Henry hang a candy cane on the tree, Garcia flits around in a sequinned Santa hat, arranging plates of cookies and snacks, and even Rossi is there, holding a glass of wine and smirking like he knows exactly how overwhelmed you’re feeling.

And then there’s Spencer, standing in front of you with that nervous, hopeful look that makes your heart ache.

“You did this?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

He nods, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. “We did. You’ve never had a proper Christmas, and we thought it was time to change that.”

You look around, your chest tightening as the weight of their thoughtfulness sinks in. For a moment, you can’t speak.

“You guys didn’t have to do all this,” you finally manage, though your voice trembles.

“We wanted to,” JJ says, stepping over to hug you. “You’re family, and family deserves to be celebrated.”

The word family hits you like a freight train.

—

The night unfolds like something out of a movie.

You start with decorating gingerbread houses, a task that quickly descends into chaos when Garcia insists on bedazzling her roof with edible glitter. Morgan competes with Henry to see who can build the tallest chimney, while Rossi critiques everyone’s technique like it’s a cooking competition.

Spencer sticks close to you, guiding you through the process with his usual patience and a surprising knack for icing details. At one point, he accidentally smudges frosting on his nose, and the way he blushes when you laugh makes your stomach flutter.

Next comes dinner, a feast that Rossi and JJ clearly poured their hearts into. You sit between Spencer and Garcia, listening to Rossi’s stories and laughing until your cheeks hurt. Every now and then, you catch Spencer sneaking glances at you, his expression soft and fond in a way that makes you feel seen in a way you’re not used to.

Afterward, Garcia insists on a gift exchange. You’re hesitant at first, but when you open your gift from her—a beautifully wrapped box of handmade bookmarks featuring your favorite literary quotes—you can’t help but smile.

“How did you…?”

“I have my ways,” she says with a wink.

You’re equally stunned when Spencer hands you a small, carefully wrapped package. Inside is an antique copy of *Pride and Prejudice*, its leather cover worn but lovingly preserved.

“Spencer,” you whisper, running your fingers over the embossed title. “This is… it’s perfect.”

He shrugs, looking almost shy. “I remember you mentioned it was your favorite. I thought it deserved a spot in your collection.”

Your throat tightens, and for a moment, you’re sure you’re going to cry.

—

The night ends with everyone gathered around the fireplace, mugs of hot cocoa in hand as Jack preforms his reading of The Night Before Christmas.

You sit beside Spencer on the couch, his arm brushing against yours as he leans in to whisper little facts about the poem’s history. Normally, you’d roll your eyes at his need to share trivia, but tonight, it feels comforting. Familiar.

When the others start to leave, bidding you Merry Christmas with hugs and warm smiles, you linger by the door, hesitant to let the night end.

“You okay?” Spencer asks, his voice soft.

You nod, but the lump in your throat betrays you. “I just… I don’t know how to thank you for this. All of you.”

“You don’t have to thank us,” he says, his gaze steady. “You deserve it.”

The words are simple, but they cut through you in a way you don’t expect. Before you can second-guess yourself, you step forward and wrap your arms around him.

He freezes for a moment, clearly surprised, but then he relaxes, his arms coming up to hold you in return.

His cheek smushes lovingly against the top of your head, and it’s only once he catches the glimpse of white and green above the doorway that he pulls away.

Mistletoe. How cliché.

Spencer lets out a breath of a laugh as you follow his gaze with curious eyes, cheeks warming at the fluster on your face.

“Garcia must’ve put that there…”

You press your lips together between your teeth, a wave of heat rising to the tips of your ears as you glance back in Spencer’s direction.

But you’re not nervous. It’s almost domestic, the soft crackle of the dying fire across the room, the way Spencer’s arms linger innocently at your waist.

You cup Spencer’s cheek to bring it to your face, lips pressing deftly against the corner of his mouth.

“Merry Christmas, Spencer,” you whisper like you’ve run out of oxygen.

He smiles with his whole face, his voice warm and full of meaning. “Merry Christmas,”

[lvrboy-inc]

“Siren” — K.M.

“Boy, I know what you desire..”

“Oh, you’re such a bad, bad liar.”

꒰: Précis | After a shitty breakup with a subpar man, you find yourself drawn to the lights and sleaze of the nearest bar. Drink away your problems or fuck and forget them with the bartender who’s hot as hell.

꒰: Disclaimer(s) | Dirty talk, praise, coercion, praise, spitting, hair pulling, PRAISE, pet names (♡)

꒰: Word Count ; 10.2k

꒰: Sweetest Sin Masterlist

Incubus Bartender!Satoru

x

Sad Drunk Virgin m!reader

“You seem tense, handsome..”

Starting your night off with a shitty breakup and one two many drinks might’ve not been the best route to take. In hindsight at least.

Your co-workers had already urged you to break it off with the less than desirable man who could barely breathe without working your nerves and not only that—trying to make you work in the bedroom. 

It was an endless cycle of  “You get on top, work for me.” and never him using the hips that God gave him to work you out—always ending in a resounding turn off, consistently followed up with, “Next time for sure.” So, after he had started an argument, ending in trauma being spat out in a fit of anger, you felt thankful, grateful, blessed even that he gave you a reason.

But..all breakups are hard to get over. Whether they were a long time coming or not, it’s always a shitty experience. 

What’s always the best unhealthy coping mechanism for such..? A drink, of course.

“A drink.”

That was the intention..but you wound up getting more plastered than expected and crying out your woes to the bartender who had only asked whether you’d be putting things on your tab or card for the night. 

He was charismatic—maybe because of the job description and having to be a poster boy for such a place. Sweet talking drinks into vulnerable people so he could get tips and points from his boss for making them profit. It was a good hustle, respectable and fun.

Not to mention..he was damn good at it.

After a bit of a slurred exchange of words, you’d gotten to know a few things about him: His name, Satoru, Satoru Gojo. 28, graduated college with a psych major, infinitely and criminally tall—6’3 to be exact—and to your surprise, swung both ways. Often.

You found yourself asking stupid questions just so he would slide your way from the other customers.

“I’m starting to think I should cut you off,” He teased after about the 5th call over.

You raised up your head to rest in the palm of your hand, running your index over the rim of the golden-lined glass he’d refilled so many times now. Some of it you drank, most of it you babysat. “I’m pacing myself alright..” You’d slur out with a mild puffing of your cheeks.

“Oh yeah? Your cheeks are flushed, hun. Unless that’s just from staring too long.” The way he pointed out your fluster so obviously couldn’t have made it go down any.

“You’re too cocky..‘m holding over fine.” A bit snippy but he laughed heartily, drying off a used glass with the hand towel he’d kept attached to his hip. 

Even from this distance, you could just tell he smelled nice. Maybe it was the already alcoholic aroma that the rather sleazy place held but you could’ve sworn there were hints of cologne—expensive cologne—that mingled with it. 

Those piercing blues he had, barely dimmed out by the lighting of the establishment flickered over you and a slick smile spread across his lips. “Then, please, I’m at your disposal. Need another drink, pretty boy?”

An initial sound of surprise came with the name but you turned away from him slightly and blew a stray strand of hair from in front of your eyes. “No..”

“Ah, so you did just want to talk to me.”

“Shut up..don’t you have a job to do?” You quickly retorted with a harsh roll of eyes. 

Shrugging, he waved a small goodbye. Not before adding on a small, “You’re technically a part of it..”

And in another moment, you were back to eating up the eye candy. In your mild boredom, you opened up your phone to see your shitty ex spamming you across every platform imaginable—TikTok, Insta, Snap, Facebook, hell, he went as far as to email you. He was hooked and just seeing the mass notifications made you want to throw the whole device away.

That’s when you got a really..really bad idea.

About an hour went by and the promiscuous bartender had paid you a few more stops of his own volition. Each encounter got more and more..suggestive, to say the least.

From mild flirting to him finally saying, “My eyes are up here, you know.” when yours were drifting.

“Obviously..but that’s not really the objective.” 

He visibly was caught off guard by your comment, going as far as to lean his arms forward onto the bar top, eyes now boring into your soul it felt like as he purred out a response. “Oh? And what might your objective be? You’ve been eyeing me since you walked in, can’t help but feel you undressing me.”

“I’m not some sort of pervert—you’re making it sound worse than it is.” Furrowing your brows slightly, he tilted his head in that oh-so innocent fashion.

It was hard to not crack a smile.

“I am,” He admitted smoothly, now actively ignoring a small trio of women at the end of the counter. “But, you didn’t answer my question.”

With one last adjustment of his neck, he was staring right at you. “What’s your objective here, pretty boy?”

“Is it not obvious?” 

“Terribly. But, I’d just love it if you could use your words. Give me something worth listening to and blowing off customers for.” His tone, his posture, his eyes—God, this is what true temptation feels like.

Working up the courage which..didn’t take long, thanks to liquid confidence, you squared your shoulders a bit to meet his gaze properly. “My objective is you. Is that so hard to piece together?”

“Don’t talk about things being hard right now.”

…

A round of silence and you were pulling a pen out of his breast pocket, you went along and grabbed his notepad as well. “And what are you doing now?”

“Giving you my cell..obviously.” Quipping back, you started to jot down the series of numbers before his slender fingers were pulling the parchment down so your focus was back on him once more.

He flashed that award-winning smile and stood up straight again. “No need. My shift ends in 30.”

Oh, he was confident.

“Make it 25. My place or yours?” 

Finally, the women at the end had gotten more than impatient and wound up calling out a not-so passive, aggressive, “Bartender!” from down the way to which he cast a small grin your way.

“Duty calls.” He said briefly and then, he was gone again. Was he serious..? Maybe the drinks were really just getting to you but Lord..the way he spoke to you, sized you up—he wanted to talk about undressing people with their eyes? Please. 

You could almost feel how he was defiling you in his head.

Among other things, you decided to down the rest of your drink and ultimately did put it on your tab. Once he’d taken down his apron and you had gathered the remnants of your heart that had led you to this point, you both were walking out with an air of civility…

Such a stark contrast to the debauchery that was promising the night.

Initially, you’d offered to take your car but he waved a hand with a chuckle, pointing over to a white Mustang GT sitting pretty in the parking lot. “I’ll get my co-worker to keep an eye on your ride for the night. You can come get it in the morning, ‘kay, handsome?”

“Should I feel insulted..?” 

He looked around for a bit before looking back down at you. “I don’t know, are you into that sorta thing?”

“Do you always talk to people like this?”

“Hm, like what?” Peering in closer, he dug his keys out of his pocket, twirling them around his index for a moment before resting them in his palm.

Crossing your arms and beginning the path to his car, you spoke, “Like a slut.”

“Are you not one too, though?” He drawled, purposely keeping his strides slow just so you could keep up easily in your dwindling intoxication. “I mean, you came to my place of work, talked me up, now, we’re heading back to your place—is that not slut behavior?”

You got ready to make another smart comment but wound up falling short and simply digging an elbow into his ribs that elicited a pained groan followed by light laughter. 

He was enjoying this way too much. 

Even on the ride home, he wouldn’t let up in his relentless teasing fit. With the low rumbling of the smooth engine carrying you across the streets of the night city, he held one hand on the wheel whilst the other rested on the gear shift. 

Every so often though, he’d try and drift his fingers over..over and up to your thigh which made you crane your neck to give him a sideways glance. “We’re not even halfway there yet..” You chastised lowly to which he moved his hand down, giving your thigh a playful squeeze instead of the devilish wandering it’d been doing before.

“Oh, I’m sorry, is foreplay not your thing?” Scoffing lightly, he shook his head and briefly peeled his eyes away from the road to look over you once again—it was becoming a habit. “I thought maybe you’d be as eager as I am—seeing as you’re the one who came onto me, after all.”

Rolling your eyes instinctively, you turned to face the window a bit. “Barely..I gave hints and you took them to ten fold. And I do like foreplay, seeing as my ex lacked the ability…I just wouldn’t want it to wind up with us fogging up these windows.”

“Please, I wouldn’t fuck you in my car,” He said it quick, as if he was a bit offended at the proposition. “I respect my baby better than to make a mess of either of you in here.”

That shut you up rather quickly.

You let your head make a small thud against the cold glass with an audible, “Hmph.” But, it was rather deterred when your hand moved over his, dragging it up further until it basically rested on the junction of your hips and leg. He didn’t make a comment and neither did you, save for the way your body spoke, pressing your thighs lightly together to hold his hand there.

Regardless, the rest of the drive was calm and when you’d arrived back to your quaint condo, just a bit out from the center of the cityscape, he turned the keys out of the ignition and got out of the driver’s side door. 

Moving to open up the door, you started to get out before he was right there in front of it, closing it back. “What the hell?” You exclaimed, given the roughness of the pushback.

He took a few moments before opening the door so gently and leaning down to your sitting level. “You’re trying to rob me of my gentlemanly status, pretty boy. Can’t have that now, can we?” With that, he extended a flat palm your way which you took—not without a low, grumbled string of complaints at his dramatacism. 

You fumbled with your keys for a split second before getting up to the door. Satoru loomed behind you, making a small shiver trail over your spine—that cologne was his.

Once getting inside, you were greeted by your precious feline companion who, instead of rubbing against your ankles, circled through Satoru’s. He gave a deep laugh of amusement, crouching down to scratch behind the furry friend’s ear to which he purred and mewed in response. “What’s its name?”

“His name is Dot.” You gave back, just the slightest bit jealous that the cat had taken a bigger liking to the house guest than the man who fed him every day. “He usually doesn’t like house guests..” A mild jab at the pet who was jingling and purring as Satoru catered to his sweet spots.

Though..after enough time and playful back and forth, just getting to know one another, flirting..whispering..trading spit..things got much more hot and heavy much quicker than you expected.

Once he’d had his tongue down your throat, it tasted..sweet. Not even in the metaphorical sense but like a literal syrup—an addictively sweet taste that had your head spinning..hazy, even. 

Your back was already flat against the bed and he was taking his time..so much so you were getting impatient. Breaking the seal between your spit-drenched lips with a soft pwah, he was breathing right into your mouth. He trailed his hand up along the column of your throat and finally, a thumb was swiping across your bottom lip, pressing down on it just to get a glimpse of your lower set.

“Somethin’ wrong..?” God..how did he sound even more sultry than before..? All panting, just as his low-lidded eyes fell on yours. “Don’t tell me you’re backing out now..”

Just for a moment, you were speechless. Now, you were really feeling the effects. Kissing’s never felt this good before..ever. And that haze from before? It was becoming a lot more prominent. “My head..feels weird..” You breathed out, finding yourself gradually heating up..from the inside.

“Ah, you’re catching on, pretty boy.” Catching on? To what exactly?

Instead of giving any sort of reassurance, his knee was creating friction along your jeans that were already straining. It was all so warm..hot, burning..something was off and all you could trace it back to was the man on top of you now. “It’s been so long since I’ve gotten an easy mark like you..you really did make this way too easy, handsome.” He purred, trailing kisses and nips down your collarbones—exposed by your loose hanging shirt—and down, down, down.

It was so heated, every touch he showered your body with, even the simple action of him sliding his fingertips under your tee and dragging the fabric up was enough to make you squirm.

“What are you..talking about..?” You managed to say, relatively snapping back to a bit of reality. Despite how he was already kissing down from where your ribs connected under your skin, past your midsection and laving his tongue over your navel—it was obvious he was avoiding your questions.

Deft fingers picked apart the button of your pants, leaving them hanging open until he was back over top of your face. Satoru was analyzing your features, each twitch and shift in expression—the effect he was having on you. 

It was utterly adorable.

Watching that stressed, pretty face all night, going from ranting and raving about a man who could hardly be called such to opening up into his own drunken desire and now laid out underneath him—fuck, it was a head rush.

“You seem tense, handsome..” The name rolled off his tongue like a vice and you could’ve sworn you were hooked. “Are you finally realizing what you got yourself into, hm?”

It was only a second. You blinked, eyes already squinting through each glance up at him and before you knew it he wasn’t..him anymore. With each passing open and shut rhythm it was something:

First his teeth, he was speaking but God knows you weren’t tuned in. Then the hands that had once been so soft, neatly cut and filed down grew into something sharp—clawed. And finally, there were those damn horns. You wished, hoped prayed that you were just too out of it to really be seeing straight but..it was real.

That cute bartender, the one who had teased and teased, led you on and wrapped you around his finger for the night..was a demon. An incubus at that—which, when it dawned on you, became even more of a problem.

Obviously, the first reaction was panic, a widespread “fight or flight” response that gradually was dimmed out. Next thing you knew, he was laughing..like, genuinely, cracking the fuck up. He could see the struggle in your eyes, the burning want, the need to fight back but oh..that little party trick from earlier was doing its job.

“Shh, shhh..it’s alright, nothin’ to worry your pretty little head about. Relax f’me..thaaat’s it..” He was speaking so slowly, so tauntingly, it felt like he was dumbing you down with his voice alone. “Fun fact about incubi—their spit counts as raw aphrodisiac..”

He leaned in closer, licking away a stray tear that had rolled down to the peak of your cheekbone before disappearing onto the warmth of his tongue. “And another fun fact..you kiss like a fuckin’ pornstar.” Already, his mouth was in desperate need of some soap.

If it’d stopped there, that would’ve been ideal. You could barely think straight, poor thing. A little too turned on for a first time, scared out of your wits, and still..still wanting to go further. You wanted him to take you further.

“Don’t you worry about a siiingle thing,” A low purr would escape him as his hands’ earlier work at your shirt finally finished, sliding it up and over your head until it was then pulled right around your wrists—he made it so. “Let me do allll that fuckin’ work for you. I told you you’re a part of my job, didn’t I..?”

You took in a shuddering breath, head instinctively flicking over to the side with a subtle roll of your hips. Oh-so absentmindedly your movements were..because as his nails made their tracings along your skin—from your chest, where he leaned all the way down just to shower your sensitive buds with the utmost attention, to how his palms then rubbed over your hips—you were just grinding.

Grinding it out on the rough fabric covering his knee as he steadily worked you over. His tongue felt..different. As in, before, it was..softer, more inviting, cute even. But now..? God, it could’ve wrapped around your cock twice and still reach the base with ease. That was a bet.

He was reveling in the series of whimpers and whines that you drenched his ears with, each one offering up a low, vibrating chuckle against your chest. 

“Mhn.. ‘Toru..” Damn, was that your voice speaking..? Where did all this “Toru” business come from..? Whatever..all you knew was it tasted like heaven in your mouth and like a siren’s call to his brain. “S-stop fuckin’ around already..demon, incubus or not, you got me hot and bothered so deal with it—properly.”

A round of tutting left him as he finally detached himself from your now-swollen nipples, only to go back in to land a bite and minor tug on one of them. Already, the action alone had your legs trying to close up around his, stomach fluttering just from the feeling of his sharp canines digging in. Oh you knew he left a mark. You could already feel it.

Just as quickly as he doled out his physical reprimand, he was back to his affectionate, lewd lapping at your nub, alternating between each and giving whichever was orally unattended, pinches and rolls between his fingers. “I thought you liked foreplay, pretty boy..don’t tell me you got a little impatient and changed your mind?”

“You’ve got the brain of a whore and the body of a virgin—what kinda joke is that?” Sitting back on his haunches, both of his hands crossed over his pelvis, gripping the ends of his shirt as he tugged it off over his head. In all honesty your body had a reaction to that—a small gasp that he undoubtedly heard as well. 

The shocking part wasn’t even the sheer cut of him, no, but the pair of wings that accompanied. A dark, charcoal black that differed so heavily from the pure white that his hair adorned. Stemming from his chiseled shoulder blades like a stalk.

His attention ran right back to you as he readjusted himself between your legs, both hands snaking to your inner thighs as he parted them like a sea: slow and deliberate. One of them trailed up further..coming to rest just before your groin where he splayed his fingers out.

“Hey,” A more baritone call for your attention as he stared you head on. “This is gonna really suck while I’m not inside you so..hold out for me, ‘kay?”

Rubbing soothing circles over where his fingers had found purchase, he rolled his hips forward, cracking that smile that was now sullied by the sharpness of his once-straight and narrow dental set. “You can hold out f’me, right?”

He wasn’t even asking. He talked like it was a fact.

“Nah, I know you can..you can take anything I throw at you..” Before you could even deny it, to tell him to reevaluate his expectations of your threshold, it was in motion. 

The surging energy that he flowed out into your lower body first, then the crackle of electricity that followed suit, gradually descending into a sickening ache inside that felt like an inferno needing to be quelled. You squirmed and writhed, fragile fingers threatened to tear up your sheets as your strained voice caught up in your throat. 

Eyes squeezed shut as you grit your teeth so hard you thought they could’ve cracked from the pressure. He was murmuring words of praise, encouragement, of urging you to endure it. And after a bit, it was less painful and more just a throbbing need that already had you breathless.

“Haah..fuck, what is..God..” The last name was said like it was the worst of profanity as you finally worked up enough gall to look down. Once his hand lifted from its place, that’s when you saw it. 

Right there, just below where your stomach ended and your happy trail began—a fucking womb tattoo. 

No, like, for real. It was engraved in your skin, staining your flesh that same charcoal black with the intricate scrawl of abstract twists all centered around a hollow heart design. 

Fuck how it looked though—your body was screaming.

Just from the proximity alone from Satoru, it was getting harder to breathe, harder to even think straight and his pants weren’t even off yet. Was this the power of a real fucking demon? Able to bring a man to his knees with just a few well-placed touches and words of slutty promise?

“Toruuu..it burns..” A pathetic whine fell from your lips as you ran your hands down to try and soothe the ache. But not only with your shirt tangled up along your wrists but one of his own pinning them back against the headboard, you were stuck. 

That roll of his hips had gotten bolder, more rhythmic..you could feel how much he was into this. Not only by the way he seemed to do it mindlessly, his breathy pants and the slight flutter of his abnormal appendages, but God..the fucking print.

Oh, it was fucking big.

Here he was, trying to keep you under control when he seemed like he would burst at the seams with one wrong move. “I know, I know..I feel it too, baby..” This whole time, he’d been rather composed—you know, while making you fall apart—but even now, it seemed hard for even him to keep himself under control.

“Tell me,” There went that damn tone again, though, instead of that cocky arrogance, it was almost desperate. “Do you want this as much as I do..? Don’t think with your dick right now, as hard as I know that is to do that right now…”

Trailing off, his free hand cupped your jaw, making blown pupils meet the zeroed. You could’ve gotten high off the eye contact alone at this point. “Say the word and I’ll stop—you won’t have to remember this ever happened. You’ll forget everything about me, your body will go right back to how it was and..I’ll be gone.”

“But I’ll miss this face..those eyes, your voice..oh…” No matter how much he was prioritizing you, how much he meant every word he said..he couldn’t help but pray, beg for God to do him a solid and let you say yes to this. “Come on, pretty boy..”

“Talk to me.”

It was less of an asking and much more like a command. Your hesitation was so evident in the way your breath hitched with each labored inhale and exhale. The proposition was set but the real question remained unanswered—were you really about to give up your virginity to an incubus..?

…

Well..yeah.

Making sure you never took your eyes off him, after what felt like an eternity, you uttered, “I crave it, Toru..please, don’t get me all the way here and leave me..I need you. Need to feel you in places I don’t know exist…” And with a final batting of your lashes, you breathed, “..need you to fuckin’ ruin me.”

That did it.

“Goddamn your mouth is so fuckin’ nasty,” Like a flip switched in his brain, he was on you. Gone was the gentle caress of his kiss—replaced by the starved devouring of your lips, teeth and tongue as he finally got serious. “I cannot wait to break you the fuck in.”

And by God did he mean it in every sense of the word. 

His hands were everywhere: your hips, thighs, face, anywhere he could get a feel for you. A feel for the heat that you were radiating and pouring off in gallons. It didn’t take long at all for him to start tugging at the rest of the clothing that was keeping him from what he was gunning for.

Bits and pieces of fabric stripped away like nothing but an inconvenience before being discarded into the growing pile of articles on the floor. Once you were laid out bare in front of him, you faintly caught wind of an instinctive, “Fuck..” Slipping from his mouth before he was already hooking your leg onto his shoulder. 

Even in his haste, he was handling you with sooo much care. His bites felt like nips and grazes before he was leaning in closer..further up until the heated inner of your thigh was burning the side of his face. He stayed there for a moment closing his eyes like he was an aerosol fiend.

But oh, oh when those glaciers met your gaze again, he bit down, hard. Those canines of his were a force to be reckoned with because the yelp that tore from you upon the breaking of skin was awful.

“What the hell, Toru..?” You complained, furrowing your eyebrows down into an expression that was meant to be scolding but you couldn’t deny the way the new addition to your skin was twisting your perception of pain and pleasure oh so deliciously. 

And boy did he know. One turned into two and gradually, your thighs were stained with his saliva and the clear imprint of his teeth—slightly bloodied and hickeys for daaays. 

At one point, you’d closed your legs up around him, a feeble attempt at a timeout but he wasted no time in prying then right back open, lowering his head enough to lick a looong, slow stripe up your neglected cock that had been sitting so pretty on the sidelines. 

You really were acting like a virgin—the simple lick making your hips lift up just a bit before the contact was taken back away. A whimper of protest was heard at the loss of sensation and before you knew it, he was speaking again. “Ahh, is that what you want, pretty boy? Hm?”

Although his eyes were on you right now, he couldn’t help but feel the effects of not only smelling—seeing, touching, breathing—but tasting you on his tongue. All the while with both hands busy and his pants seeming like the greatest obstacle on Earth. But he digressed, bringing up a sharp-nailed hand to press his palm down juuust enough to glide up and dig your length a bit further against your stomach.

“Wanna feel my mouth giving all my attention to this cute cock of yours, hm?” A drawl of a question and you were already getting driven up the wall by the physical aspect that came with it. “Come onnn, what did I say about using your words, sweetheart?”

Did he like..need you to die in the process of all this?

A simpering moan was all your mind could muster up before you let out a light puff, willing yourself to meet those eyes that seemed to be doing more work than anything else right now. “Please, Toru..You’re driving me insane..” Breathless and absolutely helpless—just how he liked you.

The verbal queue was all he needed. With one chuckled out, “Good boyyy.” Oh he was getting to work.

That tongue that had seemingly grown in measure was going alongside with his hands—smooth and soft, yet a little calloused—that took your aching shaft up into his palm. He fucking kissed up, from base to tip and then swiped his tongue back and forth under your sensitive frenulum before using those plump lips to give playful sucks to your weeping slit.

Swirling that aphrodisiac-saliva slick all over until you finally caved, pulling your forearms in front of your eyes and just barely stifling out your voice from behind them. The muscles in your thighs were just shivering, and he hadn’t even taken it all in yet.

God you were fucking hopeless.

Satoru’s hands rubbed soothingly along your inners as he showered your cockhead with sooo much care. It was so much yet still not enough. “Mhn..f-fuck, deeper..please..” Even as you begged for more, your body was following its own rhythm, hips bucking up into the inviting heat of his mouth. “Come on..you’re a..haah, demon, right..? This is your job..right?”

“Then give me more.” You were taken aback by the urgency you held in your voice and he clearly was too—seeing as his tongue stopped its endless movement that had remained focused solely on the tip of your member. And in one, sharp-toothed grin, he was following your words to the letter.

Oh and God could you tell he had the experience of a lifetime. From head to base, he took it alll down. He even did the courtesy of holding his mouth there, swallowing around every delicious inch like it was the sweetest candy he’d ever. Fucking. Tasted.

The sensation was enough to make your head finally fall back into the plush pillow set that decorated the top of your bed, shuddering out a throaty groan and ultimately a sigh of relief. His tongue got back to work, even though he wasn’t moving his head, you could feel the methodical patterns he made along the underside, around—even going as far as to trace the veins that pulsed with each flick.

But when he started to move? Your eyes fluttered back like you were experiencing the first effects of anesthesia. Even with his sharpened set, you didn’t feel one bit of teeth.

The worst fucking part was those damn eyes.

You were avoiding his like a plague but you could feel them burning holes through you as your fingers raked through your hair. Yeah, you’d gotten sucked off before but goddamn, he was sucking the soul out of you. 

Finally, your lids managed to peel open when your legs began to tense up, mindlessly rutting your pelvis up and down, just so desperate for that high you could feel coiling in your stomach. He noticed all the squirming, could taste the bittersweet of pre that dripped into his tongue each time he pulled his head back up—you both knew you were close.

A series of careening moans later and he pulled his lips off of you with a wet pop, putting in the effort to spit directly on the tip, rubbing his thumb over that weeping slit until you were sure you’d cramp up. His hand already picked up where his mouth left off and he was just heaving those barely useful, hot, shuddering, laughing breaths onto the connection of your shaft and head.

“You taste like fuckin’ heaven, pretty boy,” He said with a bit of a cockdrunk smile on his face. Those charcoal wings gave their own fluttering of excitement—now that you were slightly able to focus on something else other than his oral cavity. “I could suck this cock for hours and I’d keep going even when my jaw locks.”

And he wanted to talk about your mouth being nasty?

He brought his other hand to help with the job, left moving in short, up and down motions whilst the other was simply bullying the entrance of your urethra. Your hands, on the other hand, were simply just trying to find purchase on anything you could get them on.

The sheets, the pillow, your own tousled locks—whatever to help you cope with the burning need in your gut. “Oh f-fuck, oh God..‘Toru, Toru..!” You tumbled out in a hurried fashion as both your hands tried to close either ends of the pillow over your face to possibly shield you from the embarrassment..from those damn eyes. “Close.. ‘m close..s-so fuckin’..fuuuck..”

Vocabulary falling short, you heard the deep chuckle that he made, followed up by such a soft coo—all the while he was making you feel euphoric. It couldn’t have felt this good in its own..right? Sure, being a virgin was one thing but you’d gotten handys and blowjobs plenty of times before. It had to be that damn mark..right?

“Look at you..aww, you poor, poor thing,” The lilt in his voice made a whine of annoyance and frustration die out in the pillow that now barely masked your features. “You feelin’ it? My hands, my mouth, my breath..oh it’s just too much isn’t it? If you can’t handle this..”

He trailed off like he finished the sentence once in his head before finally verbalizing it, “Just how are you going to manage with my cock fucking you stupid? Huuh?” 

Automatically, you felt another surge when his words reached your brain—not your ears but after they registered—and you were damn near trembling with the effort to hold back and keep up the tedious conversation. Or, it seemed rather tedious..to you. 

“Can you imagine it already, huh? How it’s gonna feel when I finally sink in, the draaaag..Your eyes going cross when I bottom out, when you can feel me all the way up to your stomach—” He didn’t even get to finish his sentence before you were sent tumbling over the edge in a fit of muffled profanity and swears.

Once again, that raspy chuckle of his echoed against your walls, only quieted down when his lips wrapped around the twitching and now pulsating head of your cock that emptied out straight into his waiting maw.

He closed his eyes, you heard—and felt—his low hums of appreciation as he drank it all down like he was on the brink of dehydration. As he did, the symbol along your pelvic bone started illuminating the small space it took up. It was almost hypnotizing..

After what seemed like absolutely forever, you fell back into the pillows with strained sounds of your come down, looking down to find Satoru’s glaciers staring right back up at you through those snowy lashes. You’d expected a witty remark but he simply pulled his lips off, holding your softening shaft in one hand as he opened his mouth up.

There, you saw the aftermath of your own premature climax. Immediately, your face lit up with a deep crimson. “Jeez, I thought you swallowed already..!”

He shook his head, smiling cheekily.

“Are you waiting on my say-so..?” 

A bout of silence..then another nod.

You pulled a face, glancing off to the side and only coming back when he gave a few more teasing strokes that made you yelp in frustration. “F-fine..! Swallow, spit, I don’t care..I just..”

“I just want to stop the burning in my stomach..it feels like…I’ll die without it—without you..” You breathed. “So quit fucking around and do me right.”

That did it for him, seeing as he swallowed with haste and stuck his tongue out to reveal the—relatively—empty contents. What he did next was more bold.

Slowly, surely, he raised his head up, peering in over you. Even after all this and such a lack of clothing, the scent of his cologne still drenched your senses and managed to make your vision just a bit hazier in the proximity. All of that amplified ten-fold when he sealed your mouths together.

Sloppy, and riddled with the taste of your own cum, he was taking your breath away with each slick slide of your tongues along one another. A heady mixture of that delicious aphrodisiac and something uniquely his.

This entire time he’d been so patient. Dragging it on for what seemed like absolute ages. So when you felt his hand sneaking down—past your navel, not at all skipping your sensitivity—and finally down to your patient, waiting, hole. 

Just the graze was enough but when two—not one—of his lengthy digits slid in, and his breath began to fan across your face with each break of this kiss..it was showtime.

“Fun fact, pretty boy..” He’d say, curling his fingertips into a spot you couldn’t even reach properly before you met him. “This, this little symbol right here..?”

As your legs were starting to clamp up, he used his free hand to trace over the tattoo embedded into your pelvic bone. “Makes things sooo much easier for me—for us..” Trailing off, he had gotten just mildly carried away as he hit that sweet nerve inside that elicited such a tantalizing sound to drip from your lips. “It gets you all nice and ready for me and I don’t even have to do anything too bad, t’ya..”

“Ain’t that exciting?” Chiming, he got his answer via the resurgence of your erection against your stomach. 

This was his element and clearly he was thriving.

The sound of his digits knuckle deep inside—stirring up the fire that was raging in yourty core—bounced off the walls like a symphony. 

Your voice was only getting sweeter and sweeter, falling on his ears in a way that made his previous, mindless, grinding down into the sheets seem like it would never be enough. 

It wasn’t enough. 

Not with your tight heat already pulsing and gripping his fingers like a vice, giving him a perfect demonstration of what he could be buried in right now.

“C’monn, I’ll talk you through it if it hurts too bad but..fuck…I can’t hold off anymore,” He slid his fingers out of you, but not without a shiver running up your spine. 

Drifting downward, he undid—what he would call—his restraints and slid off everything from the waist down. Once he kicked it off to the edge of the bed and over, Satoru sat up on his knees and began fisting the base of his thick shaft.

“You’ve been leading me on all night..a man can only take so much you know..” It was almost a whining complaint that he twisted into a slight reprimand. “Let’s take this all the way. Let me get you there. You know I’ll fuck you so right in all the wrong ways.”

Panting now, he looked down at how your body was screaming with Fahrenheit and anticipation as much a him. The puddle of slick pouring out into the slight indents of your abdomen from your sobbing cockhead—that, amongst others let him know just how he was getting to you. 

Just a bit of finger fucking and you were already like this..? He couldn’t even begin to fathom how you’d be when all 7.4 sunk in.

A whine trailed out when, the slight of fullness had been removed from your pulsing walls. “‘Toru..” You frustratedly simpered out, covering up your eyes with your forearm. “Quit f-fucking playing..”

“Playing? I’m just waiting for you to drop the attitude and ask me how you know you’re s’posed to.” He snipped back. “You’re the one squirming around and enjoying yourself getting off on my hand but you’re still so confident.”

You bit back a groan at his bratty response and shivered out a sigh. “I’m..sorry.”

“For..?”

“For giving you lip about how you’re not inside me right now.”

He shrugged his shoulders and slid his dripping tip along the crevice of your as—teasing you with his hips each time it caught on the rim. “I think you can do better than that..” Each pass spreading the slick that was artificially—or ‘magically’—pouring out of you and the fat drops of pre that were coming from Satoru.

Leaning your head back, down into the pillow, you began to speak, “Haah..for being..defiant—”

“Look me in the eyes when you’re asking me for something. That’s common courtesy.” With a slight bite, he pressed the tip past just a bit and it was enough to make you trip up in your sentence.

Your arm fell from over your eyes and to the side of your head as you stared up at him with all due reluctance. It was mildly hard to tell with how your features were already being contorted by the promise of more. “I’m sorry for being..mhn..defiant. I’ll listen, I’ll be..good for you. So please give me what I want..” 

“Atta boy.” He purred, taking that as a sign to ‘spontaneously forgive you’. In reality—he just hadn’t expected you to beg so fucking nicely with just a bit of teasing. Next thing you knew, he was bottoming out inside you.

The pathetic sound that your mouth produced was one you didn’t know you could make before. A gradual and steady ease into it would’ve been better but oh he did the exact opposite of any of that. He had let out his own slightly pained groan at the sheer grip that you had on every inch you’d taken so gracefully. Eyes falling directly down onto you, he gave a half-smile that was somewhat meant to convince himself, just as much as you that it wasn’t that big of a deal. 

“Holy shit..fuck you feel…fuck..” Vocabulary failing for what felt like the first time during the entire encounter, you heard the light fluttering of his wings up on his shoulders–most likely compensating for the way his hips had jutted to a stop after the initial breach of both your senses. 

The cherry on top had to be the fact that he had pressed down riiight onto that little symbol of yours. Exactly where you could feel his cockhead nestled so snugly inside. It didn’t help that the veins were pulsing as they struggled to all find purchase within your sopping wet hole. He pushed your legs back by your knees–not into a full-on mating press yet but just enough so he could start rocking and setting up a steadfast rhythm inside. 

You thought it’d be easier to–well, who are we kidding? It was already hard enough for you to deal with him just being inside but now with that drag that was building up the friction your body felt like it’d been waiting ages for; you were already rendered a stuttering, tensed up mess. 

Rampant fingers scrambling for him and finally pulling him down on top of you by the base of his horns, you earned a groan that faded off into a dry laugh. “Aw, already can’t seem to get me close enough? I’m already all the way up in your stomach, you know..”

“I..mnh..I know, I know..f-fuck, ‘s just..a lot.” You pieced together, even with the currents that were creating seas of pleasure through your veins. It was like each time he pulled out and dropped all the way back down into you, his throbbing cock found new spots to bully and pinpoint. “.. ‘Yer fillin’ me up so much I c-can barely think straight, ‘Toru..”

That hanging coo of his name made his heart–and well, dick–throb as he furrowed his eyebrows in slight concentration. He was building up a sweat, easy to tell from the droplets that slid down his brow ridge and past his face to fall onto you. 

“Are you sure you’re a virgin..? Or do you just naturally say shit that makes me want to give up on trying to fuck you slow?” He grunted, each time with a deep grind against your deepest parts.

At one point, he went into what felt like full downward dog and that alone was enough to prove his question to be redundant. Poor you, you didn’t even know what that bit of hip curvature could do before you were shuddering out a premature orgasm that startled the both of you when it hit. You were slightly mortified at the fact you’d cum from just a few well-placed strokes but to Satoru, you couldn’t have stroked his ego any better. That little emblem glowed it’s white shimmer until your climax subsided, Satoru never really stopping his motions until you were completely sated and now thoroughly heightened in your nerves. “Fuck, ah, s-shit, I’m sorry I didn’t think I’d–”

“Why’re you apologizing for that?” He laughed out. “It’s only your first of tonight, anyway. Might as well get used to it..” Giving another scan over your body, he could see and feel just how much each little detail was contributing to the state you were in now. “Hey, can you..get on all fours for me..?” “Why..?”

“I want to see if you can get a few back to backs while I’m hitting it from the back.” So chipper about it, you couldn’t help the slight twist of annoyance that came with it. To him it was worth it though, just to see your face get all pouty about the matter. 

Slowly withdrawing, he eased you off of your back with a flawless handling of your waist and legs, making sure not to give you too much ragdoll treatment–yet. Your face naturally landed into the pillow with a muffled ‘hmph’ and just seconds later, you felt his thumbs spreading your hole out. He was admiring the view and your face grew hotter with each passing instant that you could feel his eyes lingering there. 

“Do you mind–”

“Hush up, f’me. Let me enjoy this fully–it’s not every day that I get to fuck virgins so I’m trying to make you last.”

You let out a lengthy groan into the fabric before speaking again, “Why can’t you just fuck my brains out already..that is your job. Not to tease me until I can’t take it anymore..” “Oh, trust me, sweetie,” All matter-of-factly, he leaned down to nip and bite at the exposed skin of your shoulder, moving to lick a stripe from your tailbone, all the way up until he placed another loving set of teeth marks at the nape of your neck. “If that was enough to make you finish quick as you did–you wouldn’t be able to handle all that. I’m doing this for your sake, so try and sound a bit more grateful.”

Whatever bratty remark you had to give afterward was silenced by the sound and feeling of a fat wad of his saliva coming into contact with your puckered entrance. A mild shiver and you could’ve sworn that the tips of your ears were redder than ever. It also didn’t help the fact that he began that languid stroking of his angry cockhead all along the crevice that he’d spread out so gracefully and politely.

Throaty grunts–some fading into soft, almost tender moans–fell on your ears in an increasing succession. It was enough to drive anyone far up the wall. Especially when he’d already given you such a clear-cut example and beautiful snippet of what was to come.

Almost on their own, your hips began to bounce back on him in the slight of chasing more of the friction that was your only–inadequate–sense of relief. “Aww, ‘s the matter, pretty boy?” Once again, that patronizing coo of his pet name stole a whimpered complaint from your mouth. It felt mostly on deaf ears with your face being so submerged into the plush. “Doesn’t this feel soo nice? Hm? Remember what we talked about..”

“I-it does..it feels..hah, amazing…” You’d meekly reply.

He cocked his head to the side, angling an eyebrow at you before planting an arm squarely beside your face, then using his free hand to guide your eyes up to his. “Buttt..”

“I told you..” It was then that Satoru got to see the true effect of all his ruthless teasing–you were already tearing up. His snow blues widened at the sight of the mild wetness that had begun to spring from your eyes and stain your cheeks. “..‘S not enough..I’m burning inside and you’re being fucking..mean.” 

Oh, but how could he not? 

The entire night, you’d been casting glances, slipping words under your breath and essentially leading him all the way on. It was–one of–the more irritating ‘jobs’ that he’d ever gotten but after having a taste of you..? Seeing how those pouty expressions became twisted and eventually fell away once you really started to feel it..how could he resist..? 

“Ah, I see now..” he drawled, lining himself up once again. Luminous depths all muddled with lust and something just simply carnal lurking behind them, his breath hitched and so did yours when he slipped the tip in. As much as you wanted to recoil, he held your face there, clawed nails softly digging into your cheeks. Mouth hung open above yours, his lips just ghosted with the heat of his every exhale. “I’m sorry, baby..you must be in agony, huh..? You’ve already had such a bad night..”

Inch by inch, he watched with hawk-eyes the gradual descension of your facial expression–so needy, so fucking pathetic–alll because of him. 

Oh, that was just the half of it. 

From this angle, this position..fuck was he reaching deep. Deeper than before it felt–and even then, he didn’t stop until he was fit so snugly inside. “S-shit..might get fuckin’ addicted to this,” he huffed once again, then pressing his sweat-riddled chest against your fluttering spine. “Let me help you forget about all your problems..you deserve it. Just lie there, look good, and take everything I have to offer..” 

With that low mutter, he sealed your lips together and kicked up his rhythm–obscene and just downright filthy sounds coming from the connection between the two of you. Instead of the grind he’d grown and nurtured beforehand, his hips were slamming into you, making that harsh slap each time that his pelvis pressed up against the fat of your ass. It was enough to have your legs trembling just a few minutes in.

Over and over and over, just fucking pounding you in. Your moans and gasps for air were all swallowed up into his slick maw as he dominated the kiss with ease. His tongue was mapping out each crevice of your mouth. As much as you thought he tasted sweet enough to make your dentist fly into a fury–he thought you tasted fucking divine.

“God-damn, holy–keep it arched like this..just like..ahh…” He began to roll his head back but just as he did, your hand came up, tugging him back down over you by one of his horns. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea. A brief widening of his eyes and he was now hooking his big hands into the junctures of either of your hips, pulling you back with a harsh tug that made the precision of his thrusts seem all the more brutal. 

One hand firmly clasped on the protrusion of his head, ever-adjusting, another scrunching up your poor pillow as yet another round of tremors rang out through your spine. Your lips were fallen open in such a blissed out way that all manners of sounds were coming from there. Ranging from, “Right there..! R-right fuckin’ ohhh..!” to strings of, “S-slow– mhn..! Can’t take..haah..” It was so endearing how you couldn’t even properly place what exactly it was that you really wanted.

Slithering a hand from its holster, he wrapped around, once again laying his chest on top of you but this time sinking his weight down into you in a way that made your body tense and you could’ve sworn you heard the zip! Signaling a short circuit in your brain when your prostate was dug into sooo fucking deliciously. 

What definitely wasn’t helping were the fingers that had found your sorely forgotten shaft–left to leak endless strings of pre down onto your sheets as you were dicked down into them. Methodically twisting his wrist on the upstroke, he eventually noticed how your ass was rutting back against him, encouraging him to continue his relentless pursuit. “I can’t..hngh..make you out…” heavily panting, he began to leave the back of your neck and shoulders branded with the map of his sharp canines and incisors. 

Another one of those hearty chuckles, just a little less throaty and more breathless than anything and he was kissing up along your shoulders. “You’re really something, y’know.”

“..‘Toru...”

“Yess, handsome?” That purr was enough to make you flush, maybe even a bit more than how he was literally jerking you off while keeping at a standstill inside.

Pulling your face up and out of the small huddle you’d made amongst your arms, you gave him that glossy-eyed look. Oh you felt him throb. “I’m..getting close again…”

“Oh yeah? Aaand..you’re getting close to..what, exactly?” Even now, he wasn’t letting up on his teasing, sliding his fist up to create a lewd squelching sound along your weeping tip. A careening moan stopped what you were going to say next but it was so cute to hear you struggle to form the most basic of sentences. 

“..Fuck.. ‘m gonna cum..”

“Already?” 

His response made your cheeks stain with crimson once more as you then coyly nodded along. “I want you to..cum with me…You didn’t before.” 

God. 

Maybe he was just turned on or maybe it was his heart melting, but that ignited something inside of Satoru that he couldn’t explain. All that you knew was that he was practically smothering you now, big, strong arms gathered around your head as he buried his face into the crook of your neck–fucking ramming his cock deeper and deeper with all due haste.

Your fingers came up to scratch at his biceps, clawing at the skin there as your voice grew louder and louder, more and more strained and finally being dulled out by the pillow whilst you were sent barreling over the edge. Incoherencies flowing from your mouth like a fountain–akin to how your dick was pumping out rope after rope of burning release onto the sheets. It didn’t help that even when your body grew rigid and you were shuddering through your climax–he kept going.

“Fuck, fuck, fuuuck..” Chanting over and over, each weighted slap of his balls up against your sore taint was plowing you through your already-powerful orgasm and straight into overstimulation. He would’ve been more gentle, would’ve stopped and maybe rubbed the rest out after you came but the way your hole was fucking clinging to him–as if begging him to stay–he knew that was a lost cause.

His breathing faltered, got caught in his throat a few times before he was whining in your ear. It was hard to make sense of, given your deliriousness and the fog that was beginning to mar your psyche but something along the lines of, “My name, f-fucking say my name..” he pleaded. “Wanna let this..whole fuckin’ neighborhood know who’s the first..who’s the best fuck you’ll ever have.”

In a blind state of compliance, you tried your hardest to follow his command.

“Satoru–”

“Fucking wrong.” He bit.

Trying again, you rolled your neck off to the side, resting your cheek down into his forearm as you helplessly mewled underneath him. So close already, his cock was pulsing inside of you with each rapidfire, short stroke he made. “Jesus fuckin’--ahh..! ‘Toru, ‘Toru..oh my fuck, ‘Toru..!” With how syrupy sweet his name sounded on your lips, it was no surprise at all when you felt the first spurts of cum begin to paint your insides when you said it.

‘Toru, Toru, Toru’ over and over--he rode out every last second of his climax with deep, guttural groans of your name, essentially returning the favor a bit. By this point, your mind was already swamped with pleasure that had long since had your eyes simply rolling. That burn had begun to dim down and it seemed as though he was spent as well–for the most part.

Basking in that pretty afterglow, he finally let some of his weight stop pinning you down to the mattress and opted for leisurely laying on top of you. “Hey, not too bad at all for a first timer.” like a switch was flipped, he was right back to his casual, smug demeanor. Still out of breath but steadily regaining his senses, he brushed back a few strands from your face before letting his softening shaft slip out. Teasing the tip a bit before the pop! rang out, almost immediately his load started to drip down your thighs.

Only then did you let your hips sink back down with an unceremonious fall.

He glanced over the sight with rapt attention–he couldn’t help but glide his fingers through the mess he’d made of you. You felt a small shiver run up your spine when he did, lifting your head up and off of the pillow just enough to look back at him through your tousled locks. “Seriously, Satoru?”

“Aww, what? I liked it when I was ‘Toru’.” He’d whined with a feigned look of dejection.

Rolling your eyes, you turned over on your back and to your surprise–the mark was gone. “Hey, where did–”

“It’s temporary,” Cutting you off just a bit, he smiled. “I came inside, I helped you out, anddd..my job is done.”

Slowly but surely, you watched all of his otherworldly features begin to retreat–his horns disappearing back into his hair, wings folding up and sliding back into place inside his shoulder blades. It looked..painful, but he hadn’t really flinched.

“Does that not..hurt at all..?” You inquired, gesturing toward the clear expanse of skin where his horns had been before.

All he did was shrug it off, bringing a hand up to his neck as he scratched the back of it lightly. “Huh..? Ah, I guess not. It’s sort of like..when humans naturally lose teeth. Orrr, growing and cutting off nails.”

“Kinda gross.” 

“You didn’t seem to find any part of me gross a few moments ago,” Swinging his long legs off to the side of the bed, he leaned down to tug his pants back on, keeping his belt messily undone. In another moment, he stalked over to your bathroom and you sat up a bit straighter, pulling your legs into yourself a bit. Your face fell as you thought it was simply over just like that. Well, until he came back with a towel from the cabinet. “Humans are so odd. Keeping towels in such places–they go on racks.” he’d grumbled as he made his way over to you.

Stepping back into frame, he saw the way your face was just a few seconds away from tearing up. “What’s the matter? Don’t tell me you’re hurt somewhere..” his features fell somber as he cupped your face, tilting it upward to look back at him. 

“N-no it’s..nothing.”

He gave a harsh scoff and once again pulled that smug smirk. “Uhuh. ‘Nothing’ my sweet ass. Talk to me, pretty boy.”

“I just thought..you’d stay a while longer.” Your eyes sideswiped away from his and all Satoru could do was smile even harder, dragging your face to his lips. Peppering kisses wherever his mouth could reach, you soon felt your face growing hotter. “Fuck–quit it..! What’s up with you-?”

Once again, another burst of laughter and he tugged away, unfurling the towel and wiping down all of your sullied limbs and taking extra time to tend to where he’d been paying the most attention beforehand. Knelt in front of you, cleaning off your inner thighs, he was humming lowly to himself. Your fingers carded through his white head of hair enough for him to look up at you with a raised eyebrow. “Is this the part where you say ‘I love you’ and you ask me to stay the night?”

“You ruined the moment, so..I’ll skip over the first part and just say thanks for helping me not be an adult virgin anymore.” You remarked with a small flick of his forehead.

Shrugging, he chimed back, “So I can still stay over?”

“Of course–my couch is always open for freeloaders.” 

That was enough for him to know where he stood and get back to cleaning up his mess.

A/N: Kind of my debut into this scene..! You lot showed so much love to the mlist alone! I hope I characterized my precious ‘Toru’ well, I took inspiration. More on the way—enjoy the first commandment. 🧧

[sweet-s0rr0w]

day 20 of @hprecfest - a fic with fanart

Heart Like Neon by @lqtraintracks - E, 41k, 2020, with art by @bluebutter-art

Summary: Bored of being The Chosen One, Harry discovers he rather likes sex and becomes a professional. He’s good at it, and part of why is that he can read people. Not minds, not Legilimens, but their whole self, and he can give them what they don’t even know they want. Enter Draco fucking Malfoy, enigma to everyone, including himself. Harry can’t help but want to break into him, to figure him out. And Draco, thinking he’ll fuck Potter on a lark, has no idea what he’s in for.

Excerpt:

He’s not sure if he expected some form of resistance, but that’s not what he gets. Potter blooms against him, his lips parting readily, hot breath exhaled on an aroused sigh. He kisses Draco back, instantly deep and hot and sexual. He lets Draco press him back hard, runs his hands up under Draco’s jumper and onto his bare back. Draco hears a thunk and realises he’s dropped the wine in order to grip Potter by the fabulous arse and tug him closer. Potter breathes a seductive little laugh against Draco’s lips. But there’s no artifice in it. It’s only seductive because it’s so fucking genuine. Draco shuts him up, and Potter hums contentedly into the kiss.

The lift dings their floor, and even then they’re slow to step away. It takes a moment to do anything other than look at Potter’s flushed face, at the swell of his lower lip, the heavy dilation of his eyes. It’s Potter who reaches out quickly to stop the doors from closing on them once more.

But before they step out, Draco has to give voice to this nagging feeling inside. “That thing you do,” he says. “Are you doing it right now?”

Potter looks at him steadily. “No, I’m not.”

Draco nods. “Good. I don’t want you to. Not tonight.”

“I won’t,” Potter says, hand still staying the lift doors, hair dishevelled by Draco’s hand, pulse beating hard beneath his jaw.

Draco snatches up the wine bottle, and they step out into the hall.

This is one of my absolute favourite LQT fics. I always tell the story of the day it posted, when I took my kids on a playdate, and claimed, er, tummy issues, so I could lock myself in the bathroom and finish it! Ah, fandom life. This fic just really hits the spot, every time. It's so well paced, I always think, and Drarry are a brilliant match; Harry really self-assured, Draco faking confidence in a slightly arrogant way, but underneath anxious and uncertain. The sex is obviously super hot, and I love the way each sex scene feels like it really has a purpose in driving the story and the relationship forwards. The ending of this fic is cinematic and romantic, illustrated to chefskiss perfection by one of my favourite artists (and people), @bluebutter-art. Big rec, for both creators!

If you read it, and especially if you love it, please do let me know! And as always, please do take the time to leave the author a kudos/comment <3

day 1 - first fic you remember reading

day 2 - a fic rated G

day 3 - a fic not on ao3

day 4 - a comfort fic

day 5 - a romantic fic

day 6 - a fic for a ship you don’t normally read

day 7 - the best of your OTP

day 8 - a fic that was recced to you

day 9 - a WIP

day 10 - a fest/event fic

day 11 - an underrated fic

day 12 - a fic from your favourite author

day 13 - a rare pair

day 14 - a fic rated T

day 15 - a fic over 50k

day 16 - a podfic

day 17 - a fic that makes you cry

day 18 - a fic that makes you laugh

day 19 - fanart

[zer0-devoox]

Serial designation V psychological analysis

Let’s start with this.

From the pilot, the first and clearest introduction we have of V is as a cold-blooded killer, which leads us to draw several conclusions:

• she DON'T feel guilt or other emotions for being practically a psychopath, right?

• Pretending (and perhaps overacting) not to know N.

• She’s sexy—wait, what?

If there’s one thing I can say with my eyes closed, it’s that V’s personality throughout the series (at least until episode six) is a defense mechanism. Having suffered firsthand the atrocities of AS, V had to find a way to stay sane and assured herself that it didn’t hurt to make N suffer, that it didn’t hurt to be a complete bitch to the people around her, and that it didn’t hurt to kill people.

(That last one is a given; what did you expect? You can’t ask for moral consequences for murder; we’re in Murder Drones.)

A haughty, playful personality that is, to some extent, easy to anger. I don’t deny that many of these traits may have developed over time, but most are tropes that hide what’s really inside—a traumatized girl who lost everything and was turned into a killing machine.

(Some might say that I justify V’s actions when it comes to killing, and yes, I do; number 1, we’re in MD, and number 2, she’s my favorite character. What did you expect?)

To some extent, her diva complex hides insecurities (???)

The point is that this girl hardened herself, sharpened her teeth and claws, and did what she had to do to survive—from killing random workers, beheading N in cold blood, to manipulating a teenager and pretending to be her best friend to kill everyone (can we talk about how in "The Promening," V tried to negotiate with N and keep Uzi alive?)

A little extra note: rewatching the series for this summary, I can notice that V still retains some behaviors from her previous self, like when she blows bubbles or when at the end of "Cabin Fever," she smiles upon seeing Uzi with N.

In a way, I can assure you that V is simply TERRIFIED—terrified of herself, terrified of what they are now, and of Uzi, of Cyn.

Disorders:

Perhaps (with the risk of being wrong) Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.

We have several clues about this, like when in "Cabin Fever," she calls Uzi "Cyn."

That’s a detail we’ll discuss later.

Besides that, she’s always on alert and has her claws ready for any danger that may arise (another symptom of PTSD), and her aversion towards Uzi because when she sees her, she doesn’t see Uzi.

She sees Cyn...

People who ship VxN (sorry, I’m not a fan of the ship, but I don’t judge; I’ll try to give my opinion without it sounding like a criticism) always argue that V feels jealous of Uzi. But you know? I... don’t see it that way, at least not completely. I think V does feel jealousy, but more than romantic jealousy, it’s more of a necessary attachment feeling. Let me explain:

Let’s remember that J is dead, so if we add 2 + 2, we can understand what’s happening here: V is ALONE and the only "functional" support network she has left is N and only him.

And also when she tries to keep Uzi away from N because deep down, her clearest thought was that they were going to end up hurting each other, or Uzi would hurt N and the guilt could lead her to suicide, or N would have to kill Uzi if Cyn took over her body.

This is why she clings to him with teeth and claws, and this gradually gets better as the series progresses. Evidence of this is in episode 6 when she sees N holding hands with Uzi and her only reaction is "agh" (How I love episode six!!!)

I’ve already talked more in-depth about the climax of episode six, which is a key moment for the character; if you want to go see it, I’ll leave it at the end of this post.

My theory of post-traumatic stress increases with chapter 8 when we see the true V for the first time—someone damaged, scared of all the damn traumas she carries, who has had to endure practically alone all the atrocities that Cyn committed at her expense, and above all, that what she did, she did for N (I have some issues with this chapter, but let’s ignore that for now).

This is where I cry because we realize that V had hope that—after doing her job, Cyn would leave them alone—she had faith of being free, and it could not bring me more satisfaction to know that (unlike J) she could find her freedom by ending what bound her, accepting her traumas, and fighting against them (literally), and finally finding a new life with the other two idiots.

The only people who, despite what she has done and her flaws, accepted and loved her.

To wrap up, I want to clarify something:

V IS somewhat psychopathic.

V DOES kill in cold blood.

V IS a diva.

But V is not just that; she is a complex character with layers and nuances and a girl who has suffered the atrocities of a pompous being who treats them as toys. I don’t expect to encompass all the psychology of the character in this summary (because I’m not a psychologist), but I hope I’ve done some justice for my favorite character UwU.

[Conclusion]

The truth is that I’m a bit saddened by V’s development. It’s not bad development by any means, but the potential she had was somewhat cut short due to the limited screen time. Although honestly, Liam is a fucking genius who managed to package such a beautiful series into eight episodes.

Thank you, Murder Drones; thank you for informing me, for allowing me to draw my lesbian ships, for making me laugh so many times and bringing me to tears so easily, thank you for the two years I spent alternating between making theories at three in the morning and waiting for the episodes, having to save money just to be able to download the episodes and download all the possible fanarts on Pinterest. Thank you so much, Murder Drones, for marking my life and... if possible, one day, to do you justice.

🧡

[growlingven]

Hey so this is something I put more effort than I expected into. It’s cozy, and a bit depressing. Knifeplay and gore tws, but no consequences. Praise to @butchwolfmom who helped flesh out my ideas.

The tension is what hurt the most. A distinct difference between her life at home and out. She leads her victim by the hand, walking up the step. Sneaking through the front door. Pointing out the stairs which creaked loudest. This aspect of her life that so few knew about. A source of joy, of true talent and utter satisfaction. Steps taken slowly, hands hot with sweat but not letting go, Blood rushing in her ears. Who could have known that breaking into one’s own house could be so exhilarating. This moment was not something she could share with anyone who really mattered to her, except for her love.

She slips inside her room with prize in tow, pulling the door shut. The facade drops, spinning around to press her prey against the door. She prays that her parents just across the hall would stay asleep. Frantic kisses find their way to cheeks and lips, and down jaws. Nails dig into each other’s sides to pull themselves ever closer, burying themselves in their other. Hickeys are left trailing along revealed necks and chests after collars are stretched out of the way. muffled giggles and gasps in equal measure fill the air of the room, moans hidden within deep kisses. She thinks of her parents walking in on them. Of the confusion they would express, their denial or misunderstanding taking over. She pulls her precious thing away from the door and falls forwards onto her bed, ensuring her squirming toy is wrapped up in an embrace under her. How could they ever understand this.

Weak grinding and stolen nibbles, deep kisses and hands slipping up under clothing all work to enflame the momentum of desire. Quickly, rope is wound tight around her victim’s wrists and ankles Leaving it bound down upon her childhood bed. Memories of years past fill her mind. Her staring with a sense of shame and need at similar images of people tied spreadeagle across a bed. Even as her love flexes, the knots made by her well trained hands don’t slip or loosen despite the straining. Remembering, As a child, her not knowing what this was but wanting it nonetheless. And it gasps under her, “w-what are you going to do to me.” These were scenes and images from childhood made real. She trailed a finger up a leg, teasing across the waist, clawing along the neck of her toy, coming to rest upon the lips. Silence ordered, sealed with a kiss. These stories, still hidden in the darkness of her room where none but her should see.

And from under her bed she takes out her set of precious knives, an unmatchable gift which she would use on the very being who gave them to her. With tenderness she began unwrapping the cloth around them. Imagine if her parents saw her now, finally the surgeon they always dreamed of. She lays each one on the nightstand letting the moonlight shining through the window catch them, leaving each knife to shine like liquid silver. Her victim whimpers at the sight, of the tools which would soon be disassembling it. “Ahh ah,” she cools into its ear, “Darling be quiet. We can’t let them hear.” It whimpers again, quieter this time. They’d be horrified wouldn’t they. Seeing the blood and pain that delighted their child so. Unable to cover its mouth, bucking up at her as she straddled its hips, begging for her to finally begin.

She starts by picking a long serrated knife, the kind one would use for bread. She saws the blade down its chest to tear apart clothes, bearing its flesh before her. What did it mean, that she could think of, even dream of carving into this living flesh like marble. It quivers and pleas with its eyes for her, understanding that every noise it would make would only serve to drive her further. A second knife is chosen. One well used, sharpened again and again. Why wasn’t she disgusted by those choices. It struggles not to scream when the knife tip pierces its skin. She couldn’t look at the wound. It refuses to writhe as the blade is dragged along its chest. Leaving it ungagged is a choice, a single torturingly risky decision. And in the moment after the knife is removed, when its freedom is returned, it begs for more. It wants this done to it, wants to be held and hurt and bled. But why, her thoughts scream, would anyone sane want to do this to another, to the person they loved. It begs to have blood running down its body, to have its arms and thighs covered in wounds. It begs to bleed so perfectly for her tormentor. She wants to cut her love apart, needs to give in. Needs to…Needs to stop.

She drops the knife.

“I can’t darling, I…we can’t” she whispers, fumbling in the darkness for the blade, “We can’t have anyone else seeing. If your parents knew-”

“D-did you forget?” It gasped out between slow and delirious thoughts, “I moved out. You can go as far as you want with me.”

With shaking hands she finds the knife. Tears spill onto her sub’s chest, mixing with blood. “I..right. I’m sorry. I forgot.”

And so she cuts. Her hands shake, her eyes fill with tears. And still she cuts. Her victim, suffering at her hands, writhing and pleading, looks up at her. She can’t meet its gaze. She can’t look it in the eyes. Her hands are numb, wet. She can’t stop crying.

It asks if she’s okay.

She carves another small tear-stained heart into its shoulder and nods. She’s fine. The cuts are jagged. It doesn’t look like a heart.

It says stop.

She freezes. She went too far. She shouldn’t have wanted this. She hurt someone she cares about

“Please cut me free,” a voice whispers from under her.

She Does so.

“Are you okay,” the mass of blood and meat under her whispers again.

She can’t look up, she’s stuck staring down at her blood covered hands holding a knife. She says she’s sorry.

She’s so sorry.

Her love places a hand on her cheek, wiping a tear.

“Don’t touch me,” she whimpers, clambering off of it, pulling a mess of blankets with her, “you don’t deserve..this”

Its touch was so cold on her face. Was it dying. Did she do this to it. What would happen now.

“I need you,” the words cut through racing thoughts, and a hand reached towards her.

What choice did she have but to take it. To be dragged from the safety of nothing but herself and blankets and stand staring before the mess that she had made.

She enjoys looking down at that display of cuts, at the hearts and stars and swirls forced into every bit of skin. The way the blood pooled and flowed through furrows of gore. She enjoys this. She did this.

“W-where is the thread, I need you to help me”

She opens the bedside table, pulling out a needle, thread, cloth, antiseptic and bandages. She could fix this, she could undo everything that happened and everything would be okay, and this would never have happened.

So she began to clean, and stitch. Her love’s hand grips her by the hair, pulling and gasping in pain when tears fall onto its wounds.

It holds her, it thanks her, it pulls her close, it doesn’t let her pull away. Its chest is cleaned, red gore replaced with the sheen of clean antiseptic. And she is made to lay beside it, head buried in the crook of its neck, sobs wracking her form. Hands run through her hair. “That was perfect, my love,” it cooed, “You did good.”

They lay there, warming themselves, sweat and tears wicking away. Tears turned to shaking, to words of fear and praise. They pull the Scattered blankets up, the rest of the world forced out

[tachiharastanacc]

Tachihara gift exchange headcanons

Port Mafia-

Mori (and Elise):

-Tachihara probably gets him a nice pen or something

-Elise gets a coloring book and a set of colored pencils and she thinks it’s way cooler than Mori’s stupid lame pen (he also gets roped into letting her put bows in his hair. Again)

- Mori gives him like a bonus or something idk I really don’t like when they interact

- Elise draws him a picture of him and Hirtosu and gin

Kouyou:

- they’re not close so he wasn’t expecting anything, but Kouyou makes little gifts for everyone every year and he didn’t have anything to give back so he made a little flower out of metal for her

Chuuya:

- wanted to get him wine but doesn’t actually know anything about alcohol. Refused to ask Hirotsu, but he ended up getting carded and having to ask anyway

- ended up with some vintage wine that chuuya had mentioned to Hirotsu from both of them

- I feel like chuuya didn’t super know what to get him so he invited him out to go drinking and hang out instead

Verlaine:

- doesn’t know him. Didn’t interact at all. A single cupcake appears on his counter one day with a note just signed ‘~v’

Akutagawa:

- Tachihara got (read: spent way to long figuring out how to make) a dessert with figs for him

- Akutagawa got him a vase of hyacinths since gin mentioned that they were his favorites

Higuchi:

- tachi got her a basket of chocolate and a bunch of rom coms and agrees to suffer through watching them with her

- Higuchi knits him a scarf and it’s kind of janky but it’s addressed to her favorite little brother and he never takes it off ever

Hirotsu:

- Tachihara and gin get him a really nice lighter that’s engraved

- Hirotsu gets Tachihara a new coat (except he low key just drags him shopping because he goes on about how important it is for him to keep warm (cuz y’know coats are important in bsd)

Gin:

- gets him the set of pencils he’s been eying every time they walk by. And a box of bandaids

- he makes them a tiny knife they can slip under a dress for missions

Q:

- most people forgot about them but he ventured down to the basement with some sweets and his old fnaf books because you can rip fnaf kid Q from my cold dead hands

- Q gives him a really ugly mug they painted with the kit chuuya gave them. It’s definitely not food safe, but he keeps pencils in it

Kajii:

- Tachihara very distantly slides him a card with a gift card for a hardware store

- Kajii gives him a gun that allegedly shoots lemon bombs except it’s bright yellow and Tachihara doesn’t know what to do with it

Hunting Dogs-

Fukuchi:

- tachi stresses over what to get him until jouno smacks him and says the captain just enjoys spending time with them (this is canon btw, he says one of his happiest memories is when all 5 of them were together)

- Fukuchi also stresses over what to get tachi bc he feels like it should be practical but doesn’t know what he’d want and low key does he even deserve to give him a gift

- Tecchou tells him Tachihara is also worried and wants to impress him

- Fukuchi takes Tachihara out to do some father-son activities and they both have a good time

Teruko:

- most of Tachihara’s budget goes to getting things for teruko (she gave the hunting dogs a Christmas list in the group chat)

- it ends up being a lot of stuffed animals and weapons from all of them

- plus a coupon for a free piggy back ride

- teruko bitches to the others because Tachihara never actually asks for anything

- she ends up getting him a new holster and tools for cleaning his guns because it’s all he fessed up to wanting (he’s very happy with it, even if teruko calls him boring)

Jouno:

- Tachihara gets him a couple records (I feel like Jouno owns a record player, sue me)

- Jouno gets him a set of ceramic dish ware because he complains Tachihara has a bunch of cheap stuff like some college freshman (to which Tachihara points out that he’s a 19 yr old middle school dropout)

- the stuffed animal Tachihara originally refused also shows up on his bed and he keeps it this time

Tecchou:

- Tecchou gets Tachihara a new sword because the grip on his was getting worn down and trains with him

- Tachihara gets Tecchou a new yoga mat and set of weights

Bonus-

- ango and Tachihara exchange respectful Christmas cards

- Yosano gets a dead fish wrapped in newspaper on her doorstep, but it’s preserved in the snow and she assumes that it was from Kenji and takes it as a gift

- a bouquet of purple flowers is laid on a lone grave. The cold wind blows, and it almost feels like someone ruffling his hair

[honeii-puff]

The gateway to the world

In which Soren leaves. Read on ao3!

Soren was done. Out. Finished with all this.

He couldn’t handle it anymore. He knew Aaravos was gone now, but he didn’t want to stick around for any other magical bad guys to show up.

He could think of a handful of people who would call him a coward, or selfish, but he wanted– no, needed, to do something for himself this time.

His armour was neatly stacked in the corner of the tent, the Katolis crest looking back at him in the dim light of the single lantern he had.

They’ll live without him. He needed to be able to live, too.

Soren closed his bag before draping it over his shoulder. It wasn’t much, but it was all he had left after Katolis burned. Even before that, he didn’t have much. Claudia was more fond of trinkets than he was growing up.

He pulled his dark red cloak over his shoulders, pulling the hood up over his head, before quietly stepping out of the tent.

The camp was quiet, what remained of Katolis sleeping soundly or otherwise out of sight.

Soren wove between the tents, heading to the edge of camp-

“What are you doing?”

He spun around, coming face-to-face with Corvus.

“Uh- Just going on a walk.” He didn’t want to lie to Corvus, but he knew that he was just going to stop him from leaving. “Couldn’t sleep.”

He raised his eyebrows at him. “Without your sword?”

“I have my knife.” Soren didn’t like how quickly this was starting to feel like an interrogation. He had hoped that wouldn’t happen for another few minutes, or not at all.

“And a fully packed bag…” Corvus’ voice trailed off. “Soren, where are you going?”

“On a walk.” He pressed. “Just a walk.”

“You’re a terrible liar.”

“I’ll have you know I’m a fantastic liar. One of the few things I got from my dad.”

A small crease formed between his eyebrows. “That’s not a good thing.”

Soren blew out a breath. “Yeah, yeah, I know.”

“You’re not coming back, are you.” It wasn’t a question. Soren hated that it wasn’t a question. But if it was, he knew part of him would say no, he wasn’t. 

And he’d stay.

But he couldn’t.

He nodded after a moment, kicking at the dirt. “Yeah…”

“They’re going to charge with insubordination and deserting your post if they catch you, Soren.” Corvus seemed more concerned than he was expecting. 

He laughed a bit. “In order for that to happen, they’d have to know where I’m going, and I don’t even know where I’m going.”

That seemed only make the crease between his eyebrows deepen. Soren sighed, stepping closer to him and reaching out to smooth the crease with his thumb. “I’ll be alright.”

Corvus exhaled, his breath starting to cloud up in the air. “Destiny’s a flowing river. You’ll get to where you need to be.”

He pressed his mouth into a thin line. “You know I don’t believe in that.”

“I think I believe in it enough for the both of us.” Soren felt Corvus’ hand cup the side of his face, and he leaned into the touch.

“You’re making it really hard to leave.” He murmured against the palm of his hand.

“I know.” He leaned his forehead against Soren’s. “Promise me this wont be the last time I see you.”

I can’t do that.

“I promise.” The words were lies strung from his lips, promises he knew he couldn’t keep to him. His hands moved to cup the sides of Corvus’ neck before kissing him softly.

A spark of warmth in the cold of that night.

The kiss was short, lasting a moment before Soren pulled away from him reluctantly.

It was time for him to go.

“You’re making this very hard for the both of us.” Corvus said after a moment.

“Isn’t that what I do best?”

He shook his head before slowly pulling away from Soren.

He looked away from him. Looking would only make it harder.

I love you.

I love you, I love you, I love you.

But he said nothing as he stepped into the woods surrounding the camp, the incomplete silence deafening. If his destiny was a river, he’d force its course to change.

[skeedelvee]

Carry On Countdown Day 26 - Savour

For this year's COC I've decided to put together daily fic rec lists! Let me know if you find any new favorite reads from these <3

For todays prompt I've gone with fics where the boys are savouring each other

An Oral Tradition by @banjjakbanjjak

Rated E, 2,909 words

When Baz Pitch came out in Eighth Year, the last thing he expected was Simon Snow to corner him, in their room, and ask him: Can you teach me to give a blow job.

Here in the Dark by @artsyunderstudy

Rated E, 4,725 words

He does this sometimes.  He wakes up in the middle of the night, sleep-drunk and uninhibited, wanting me.

Cool Runnings And Sucking Cock by @jasonfunderberkerthefrogexists

Rated E, 3,416 words

“Well, if it isn’t Basilton Pitch. Did you take a break from getting your cock sucked and remember that you have friends and family?” “Took a break from sucking cock, actually,” -AWTWB by Rainbow Rowell Simon overhears a very…interesting conversation between his boyfriend and Dev.

Smooth Like Butter by @angelsfalling16

Rated E, 808 words

Simon wants to bring butter into their sex life, and Baz agrees.

double vision by @pipsqueakparker

Rated E, 5,502 words

On the outside this fic looks like gratuitous sex with two Bazes & Simon, but on the inside this fic is really all about Baz's self-discovery. -- I can’t believe I’ve done this.  I’m not sure what I’ve done, actually.  But now I’m sat here, propped up against my pillows in my once empty room, staring into an all-too-familiar pair of grey eyes.  “What the fuck,” we breathe out in unison, and hearing my own voice outside of my head is jolting. I look for my wand, but it’s still right where I left it on the bedside table. Not that it’s location would have made a difference, it’s not a bloody clicker, I can’t sit on it and accidentally spell myself a clone.  -- AKA The One Where There Are Two Bazes

Death By Basilton by @starwarned

Rated E, 2,033 words

Simon feels embarrassed. The last time he and Baz had gotten this far, he had to stop them and make up some excuse to leave. Wherein Simon has a secret to tell Baz which he's making way too big a deal out of.

5 Times They Half-Arsed It b y @krisrix

Rated E, 54,686 words

“Would a more kinaesthetic approach suffice, then?” “A-are you suggesting grabbing my arse?” “I’m suggesting, that since this seems to be a topic of great interest to you, Snow, I can charitably offer you a lesson in the basics.” Snow unleashes an agitated groan. Merlin, I don’t know how the boy can manage to keep up such a froth for so long. (Though I’ve somehow managed to keep up an erection for this long, so I’m not one to speak on the matter of indecorous stamina.) “You’ve never offered to tutor me in anything before!” he yammers. “Precisely.” I curl my lip at him. “So don’t expect me to ever be so generous with my offers of elucidation ever again.” Baz gets caught with a dildo up his arse, which results in an awkward conversation about the benefits of anal stimulation. Simon is admittedly curious, and, well, so long as it's something straight blokes can enjoy too, there's no reason not to let Baz show him the ropes...right?

✨Gratuitous self rec✨

If You Stay Ready, You Ain't Got to Get Ready by me! @skeedelvee

Rated E, 7,880 words

The boys take a trip out to the countryside for Baz's birthday. Baz wants to try out a new spell as well as a new sex act. Or 3 times Simon eats out Baz and 1 time Baz eats out Simon

Have You Heard About Baz Pitch? by me! @skeedelvee

Rated E, 3,982 words

Rumors have been flying around about Baz Pitch, and Simon's about to find out that there's some truth to them. A tale about sewing wild oats and sexual favors that get a bit out of hand.

If you have any recs that fit the prompt that I've missed, feel free to leave them in the comments! There's plenty of gaps in my reading so there's a good chance I may not have read it

Also I've had a hard time finding if some people are here on Tumblr, so if you know someone who hasn't been tagged, feel free to leave that in the comments as well <3

@carryon-countdown

[ceaselesswatchersspecialboy]

My curse is the fact I keep saying ‘oh yeah I’ll open art commissions soon!’ And then never do because I’m secretly terrified of having to speak to people and be entrusted with their visions.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Are you taking requests for kraven? Maybe dating hcs where reader is lowkey insane?

Reader might come off a little more deranged/ morbidly curious rather than insane. But yeah enjoy whether this was.

You came across as a typical upstanding citizen of society, nothing out of the ordinary but not everything about you was ordinary when animals -whom are good judges of character- were adamant in avoiding you, running away as fast as they could if you were nearby and or show hostility towards you in hopes that you’d leave them alone.

You unsettled them as you were silent chaos waiting to break out, other people just get an unnerving feeling about you that they’re quick to dismiss when you show them a side that’ll make them less skeptical of your true nature. It was rather easy to fool others by putting on a charade that they can digest.

Sergei -upon first meeting- had a feeling that something was off about you as his eyes took you in, you looked normal but yet something within him told him to be weary of the fire within your eyes as you smiled at him.

Then again your meeting came at a time where one thing and one thing only was preoccupying his mind, so human interaction with anyone that could potentially get hurt by his father’s associates was far removed from his mind as he was quick to pick up where he had left off.

But it wouldn’t be long before you were too deeply involved with his plot against his father and you would have to remain close by the burly man for your own safety in fear that his fathers men would come back and finish the job that they should’ve beforehand.

However you seemed unfazed by all the violence and blood that came from Sergei’s lifestyle, almost coming across as numb when you saw how he’d tear through people as though they were nothing, your eyes would be wide slightly in morbid fascination at how effortlessly limbs were torn off and sent flying elsewhere.

Had it been anyone else would’ve ran away and seek for shelter for their own safety, get away from all the chaos and destruction happening before you. But you were a little different as you would only sit yourself down on a nearby surface and watch Sergei go to work in awe of how truly violent one man could be to cause so much bloodshed.

Sergei would naturally be a little pissed that you were so close to the violence, so close to getting hurt and looking about as unbothered as you were being told something that didn’t affect you directly. Like nothing truly disturbed you because you’ve already seen your fair share of chaos and carnage in comparison to a normal civilian.

It was eyebrow raising to say the least but your safety was his bigger concern as he held you by your shoulders and looked at you with wild eyes, expecting you to flinch but you didn’t, if anything you only smiled at the man as you hugged him tight; not caring for the blood that stained him as you knew simple but effective methods to get rid of such a stubborn substance.

‘You could’ve gotten hurt.’ He tell you.

‘No I wouldn’t.’ You replied so certainly, a little too calm for someone who’s seen people die before their eyes. ‘I have you.’ You added.

‘You act unfazed by such displays of violence,’ Sergei starts, ‘I wonder why, you don’t seem to have any background in anything that could have you withstanding the sight of a man with his entrails hanging out.’

You merely shrugged. ‘I might just have a strong stomach and the idea that you know so much about me and my background should off put me from you as being creepy, but I kind of admire a man who wants to learn all about his prey before pursing them in a hunt.’ You cackled as you messed with the fur lining of his coat.

Sergei removed your hand from his coat, holding them in his own as your fingers caressed the bruised and bloody knuckles tenderly. ‘Having a strong stomach is one thing love but your reaction alludes to a darker side of you that I have yet to see, almost as if the thrill of the hunt excites you along with the harm it causes others too.’ He adds in a low whisper as though he finally had you figured out, his eyes narrowed by his hold on you was still gentle and protective as though he was trying to protect you from your darkest version of yourself.

You pecked his lips innocently. ‘The hunt does thrill me, though only when I get to see you at what you claim as your worst and still feel nothing but love and affection for you my beloved Sergei.’ You tell him as you squeezed his hands, memorising their roughness and each individual callousness they had with the idea of worshiping a man of such raw power and strength. ‘You’ve always fascinated me, and you only continue to fascinate me even more.’

‘I’m not safe company.’ He tried to tells you.

‘I don’t care whether your safe company or not, they’re going to come after me regardless if you explained that I have no ties with you, and this-‘ you gesture to the dead bodies nearby. ‘Will only tell them that there is something between us. A connection that they can exploit to their advantage against you, so if anything I’m in safer company with you than without you.’ You replied.

Sergei knew you were right, the damage was already done and more people will only be after you and him because of it. However this doesn’t solve the itching feeling that he got from that darkness within your heart, that curious nature that you possessed that could borderline dangerous.

Who was he romantically involved with and why did it send his senses haywire into whether keep you safe from that inner darkness or keep himself away from that very same thing?

[quietwingsinthesky]

i have been thinking about that ‘give your oc a kink’ post for days. because i think even would have a thing for hypnosis. yes, yes, for character reasons of overwhelming feelings of impending failure that make the idea of having the ability to choose anything at all be taken out of their hands look extremely appealing. but also because it would be so fucking funny in the worse timeline. imagine you get stuck in time hell with a guy whose whole thing is hypnotizing people, and u hate him. u hate him so. so much.

[thirdeyeblue]

(Your tags deserved to live on!)

it's insane to me that people can't get past the nuances of rose and mickey's relationship and how they're both good people who don't do right by each other. like this is a show where the main character (allegedly) kills his entire species and you can't get past why two people who started dating in their teens might fuck each other up a bit