#so forgive the constant rambling

[lulu-the-bugaboo]

From a writing perspective, I love how clearly you can see some of Ace's traits (*cough* flaws *cough*) in Luffy

Like how harsh he is with Shirahoshi and Momo despite really caring for them

And the way he didn’t want to run away from Big Mom or Fujitora and continue throwing hands

It's such a fun and natural way to show they grew up together

But there is part of me that just wants to grab him by the shoulders and shake him like not you too dammit

[akechis-special-case]

He won't let me get closer!

Related to this post from earlier (screenshot includes the reference used).

Also the sona used here is my general one, not Lukanja.

As said, Goro needs full ownership of my thoughts in my brain. This is about what this looks like - He owes a lot of my brain. If I don't think about him but another crush (or F/O) for too long he just pulls me aside. Now you know why I mostly Goro Post! I wonder if I just love him too much by now. Sorry, I can't help it.

[arolesbianism]

Man I always forget how fucking good isat is like holy fuck every single god damn word of this game is written with such evil intent (positive)

[0omillo0]

Minho x Reader

Calling you clingy

angst/comfort

inspo from @ seungfl0wer!! I love their works!

You had always been the talkative, affectionate type. From the moment you met Minho, your bubbly personality had been a constant in his life, a stream of warmth and light he found himself drawn to. You loved sharing every little detail of your day with him—the funny things your coworkers said, the way the sun hit the park on your way home, or the recipe you wanted to try for dinner.

Minho had always been receptive, listening intently, laughing at your stories, and teasing you when you got overly dramatic. It became a routine, a rhythm you both cherished.

But recently, things had shifted.

Minho had been stressed, you knew that. Between his busy schedule, endless rehearsals, and looming deadlines, the pressure on him was immense. At first, you tried to give him space, being a little quieter when he came home, offering to massage his shoulders or make him his favorite tea. But when he seemed indifferent to your efforts, you couldn’t help but feel… replaced.

One evening, as you were rambling about a funny interaction at the grocery store, you noticed Minho wasn’t responding. He was sitting on the couch, scrolling through his phone, his face blank.

You waited for his usual chuckle or comment. But there was nothing.

“Minho?” you tried again.

“What?!” he replied curtly, not looking up.

You blinked, caught off guard. “I was just saying—”

“Omg can you stop?” he interrupted sharply, finally looking at you, his brows furrowed. “I don’t need to hear every little thing that happens to you, Y/N. I’m tired. Just… give me some peace, okay? You’re so damn clingy.”

The words hit you like a slap. You stared at him, your throat tightening as the weight of his tone settled over you.

“…Oh- Okay.” you whispered, turning away before he could see the tears brimming in your eyes.

“Y/N, wait—” he started, but you were already walking out of the room.

The next few days were a blur.

You didn’t stop caring for him—that wasn’t who you were. Every morning, you dragged yourself out of bed earlier than usual, even though you despised waking up before Minho. You made him breakfast, carefully plating it on the table before leaving for work. You barely ate yourself, your appetite gone, but you didn’t want him to feel neglected.

When you got home in the evenings, you prepared dinner in silence, eating alone and leaving his portion on the table. By the time he came home, you were already in bed, curled up on your side and staring at the wall.

Minho tried to break the silence.

“Y/N,” he said softly one night as you lay beside him. “Can we talk?”

But you didn’t respond. You stayed still, pretending to be asleep, your heart aching at the tremor in his voice.

By the fourth day, Minho felt like he was losing his mind.

He missed your voice, your laughter, your stories. The quiet house felt oppressive, and the sight of you avoiding his gaze cut deeper than any harsh word ever could. He had tried apologizing in small ways—offering to help with chores, brushing your shoulder as he passed—but nothing worked.

That night, as you lay next to him, your back to him as usual, he couldn’t take it anymore.

“Y/N…” His voice was barely a whisper, but you heard the crack in it.

You didn’t move.

“Please,” he said, his hand trembling as he reached out to touch your hip. “Please look at me.”

Still, you stayed still, your breathing steady but your heart racing.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out, his voice raw. “I’m so sorry for what I said. I didn’t mean it. I swear, I didn’t mean it.”

Tears pricked at your eyes, but you bit your lip, unwilling to give in so easily.

“I love the way you talk to me,” Minho continued, his voice shaking. “I love your stories. They… they make me feel like I’m part of your world, like I’m home. And I ruined that. I ruined us. I don’t know why I said those things. I was tired, I was stressed, but that’s no excuse. I’m sorry, Y/N. Please… forgive me.”

You felt a tear land on your shoulder, and your resolve crumbled. Slowly, you turned to face him, your eyes meeting his for the first time in days.

His face was a mess of guilt and desperation, his eyes red and glistening.

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” you whispered, your voice breaking.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice barely audible. “I’m not good with words. I just… I lashed out, and I hate myself for it. I love you, Y/N. I love everything about you. Please don’t shut me out.”

Your tears spilled over, and before you could stop yourself, you threw your arms around his neck, pulling him close.

“Minho,” you sobbed into his shoulder. “You hurt me.”

“I know,” he murmured, his hands trembling as they wrapped around your waist. “I’m so sorry. I’ll never do it again. I’ll never take you for granted again.”

For a moment, the only sound was your quiet crying and his whispered apologies. Then, he pulled back just enough to cup your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away your tears.

“I love you,” he said again, his voice steady this time.

And then his lips found yours.

The kiss was slow at first, hesitant, as though he was afraid you might pull away. But as you responded, it deepened, filled with a mixture of passion, regret, and unspoken promises.

When you finally broke apart, your foreheads rested against each other, your breaths mingling in the quiet of the room.

“I missed you,” you whispered.

“I missed you too,” he replied, his voice soft but resolute.

That night, Minho held you close, his arms wrapped tightly around you, and for the first time in days, the silence between you was replaced by the warmth of reconciliation.

@intartaruginha @hannamoon143

[voitier]

Blame Morpheus for your sins - 01

𝒾𝓃 𝓌𝒽𝒾𝒸𝒽... you and jungkook had been attached by the hip since you were little toddlers learning how to live in your own bodies, which led you two to spend most (if not all) of your life together. one weird dream makes your whole view about your best friend change. how will you live with that?

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝒶𝒾𝓃𝓈... [mini-series!] friends to lovers, college au, jungkook is whipped for reader but she's oblivious to it all, descriptions of wet dreams, second-hand embarrassment, learning how to deal with new found feelings, sex and all the good stuff, HEA.

𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔... mentions of sex once but nothing graphic, mentions of alcohol and being drunk, reader is dumb, apparently, and jk is whipped.

▸ 𝓔𝓷𝓰𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓱 𝓲𝓼 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓶𝔂 𝓯𝓲𝓻𝓼𝓽 𝓵𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓾𝓪𝓰𝓮

▸ 𝔀.𝓬. : 2𝓴

index / next

Panta Rei.

The philosopher Heraclitus believed that you cannot step twice into the same river: the waters might look the same, but they are not.

Everything in life is constantly changing, nothing is constant, except for one thing: change itself.

Change is the perfect noun to describe you and Jungkook’s relationship: having known each other since you were toddlers - thanks to your mothers, who were long time friends - you saw each other through all life stages up to this moment. You stuck to each other’s hip through good and bad, ups and downs, never once thinking or trying to leave the other. 

You were there when your moms brought you to the park after kindergarten to let you have play dates, chatting happily while you and Jungkook tried to grab the little ants that climbed your shoes to shoo them away, and running after butterflies hoping to catch one, occasionally stumbling on your own feet and rolling to the ground. Somewhere, in the piles and piles of printed pictures that your mom - a photographer - stores with care, there’s a photograph of little you and Jungkook dressed in overalls and yellow rain boots in the park. In the picture you’re sitting on the soft, green grass while Junkook stands next to you, and your mom managed to capture the exact moment a sneeze almost took your best friend out, his four years-old body folded in half right before falling face-first on the grass while you laughed heartily. 

Obviously, you don’t have any memories of the toddler stage, and the stories you know were narrated either by your mom or his, accompanied by some pictures. However, you have a ton of memories of your childhood and teen years spent together. 

For example, you remember almost like it happened yesterday, the years when you two went to elementary school and you spent too many evenings to even recount at his place doing homework, sat at the table with him and his mom who tried to help you since you had problems understanding math and no one could assist you at home since everyone worked till late at night. His mom was not only a precious help to pass math, but also a second mom to you. She let you stay at hers when your mom had to leave early for work, tucking you in Jungkook’s bed even though you were already dressed for school and he was still snoozing comfortably in the comfort of his pajamas and warm sheets; she braided your hair whenever you asked, but in return you had to be Jungkook’s little mannequin, trying to stay as still as possible as his mom taught him how to braid your hair; she listened to your frustrated rambles about Jungkook’s childish teasing, always trying to act so tough but ending up crying each time cause his words hurt more than you cared to admit. He never apologised for it, but he would always show up at school the next day with your favorite snack, a silent plea of forgiveness for his behaviour. 

Then, the teen years came, and your relationship changed once again: your playful banter was still there, but it was more careful, each word almost tentative. You didn’t share a bed anymore, both of your minds already too corrupted by society and the implications it would take to sleep in your best friend’s bed at your “grown age”. Your careless glances turned into sneaky peeks, trying to understand how both of your appearances were changing, with you admiring how his little stubble adorned his pretty face whenever he let it grow out and him observing discreetly how your body was morphing into one of a woman. He started to hang out with boys of his age more, the same way you started to hang out with your girl friends, and soon it was clear to you both that, even if done in different ways, the topics of your chattings weren’t so different, with the main focus being the other sex and the many changes your bodies went through. 

Luckily, the awkward phase lasted until you were sixteen, then things went back to normal and you didn’t feel like you had to tiptoe around each other anymore. But sometimes, life gives you something and asks for a payment: so yes, you and Jungkook went back to the “regular you’s”, but you weren’t ten anymore and it showed. Particularly, your life changed according to your ages and not your wants, and soon you had to come to terms with newcome feelings you never felt before. 

For example, you had to learn how to deal with this weird, twisting sensation in your gut each time your best friend stopped at your place to talk about the new girl he was seeing, rambling on and on about how cool she was and how good he felt when he opened a can of pepsi for her, all while basking in the sun that seeped through your windows. You associated that weird feeling to your envy, wanting to feel desired like he felt, too, pushing further thoughts down. 

“Oh, and she stroked my beard. Do you think I should grow it out?” he asked one day, laying on the ground of your room with a dreamy look in his eyes. You huffed, slapping your laptop closed as your patience finally snapped: you had been sitting on your bed with a blank document in front of your eyes for the past two hours, your mood already cranky since you had spent the first half of the day folded in half because of your period, then he came, all jumpy and happy as if he could shit rainbows and life was worth living, slammed your door open without even knocking and started yapping his ass off about some random girl you couldn’t care about less. Oh, seventeen year old you was pissed, to say the least. 

And that’s why you let yourself fall to your knees, next to Jungkook. You grabbed his chin with a death grip, just to make a point clear, and acted like you were thoroughly inspecting his “beard”. In the end, you just shrugged. “Dude, if this is a beard for you then I’m so sorry for your little girlfriend once you’ll do more since, apparently, you over exaggerate things this much. This is barely a stubble, get a grip”. And with that you got up again, acting like you didn’t notice how embarrassed Jungkook got at the insinuation of him having sex, rubbing his jaw to feel his skin. 

Then, life changed again: contrary to what the both of you thought, he wasn’t the one to lose his virginity first. He wasn’t, because the same night he was breaking up with his girlfriend - and he insisted on never telling you the reason - approximately six months after getting together, you were busy spreading your legs for a cute boy you shared literature with, hidden in the parking lot of a desert supermarket. It wasn’t exactly a memorable experience,nor was it that comfortable, but you were so happy to take your well deserved revenge, finally flipping the tables. Jungkook didn’t speak to you for a week after that, disappearing from your radar completely, missing classes and ignoring your calls and messages. When he returned he acted like nothing had happened, blamed his absence on his “heartbreak”, and said that now he was feeling a lot better. He got way clingier to you after that, always on edge when a boy would get close to you, always so protective and jealous of you, acting both like your bodyguard and boyfriend. This time, it was you that blamed it on his heartbreak, assuming that he just needed someone to fill the empty slot left by his ex, looking for that connection in someone else just until he got back to normal. Except, he never went back “to normal” and his behaviour became the normality pretty soon. 

Then, adulthood came, and with it the new phase of your life: college. It was pretty clear to the both of you which major to choose: you went with Philosophy, he went for Classics. “You two are literally complimentary,” had commented your mom once, shrugging her shoulders once you glared at her. “What? It’s true, you can’t study philosophy without knowing anything from the Classic Age and you can’t study the Classics without knowing philosophy. What have I said wrong?”

You chose a college that had both so that you could attend it together, and it wasn’t too far from home so you didn’t need to move out. Jungkook also didn’t need to, but he felt like it would benefit him to move into the dorm, and so he did. Truth to be told, you would have also enjoyed it, but while your best friend had the economical means to pay for both tuition and rent, you could only afford one of the two. Either way, you spent most of the times in uni, whether it was to attend classes or to study at the library, and when you weren’t busy you hanged out in Jungkook’s dorm the same way he did in your room back in the days, so either way you were almost never at home. 

It got to a point where Jungkook’s dorm slowly turned into yours, too. It started small: forgetting your charger plugged in his room, leaving a mascara there “just in case”, dropping your gym bag since you didn’t want to walk around campus all day with another heavy thing on your shoulder. Then, it became sleeping there for the night when you had too much to drink to drive home safely. He would take care of you so lovingly, carefully taking your makeup off with the wipes he had bought - specifically for you -, handing you a spare change of his most comfortable clothes to sleep in - which soon became your designed set of clothes for when you spent the nights - hoping you didn’t trip while changing, locked in the bathroom half naked; braiding your hair out of your face just like his mama had taught him years prior. Then, and he never told you this, he would tuck you in his bed, getting up to go sleep on the couch just to be stopped by you who, half-drunk half-asleep, whined until he finally gave in, scooting in beside you.

“Why do you never hold me?” you had asked that time, your words undefined and messy. Your hands grabbed fistfuls of the soft fabric of his hoodie, dipping your nose into it to inhale his scent. Jungkook’s heart had skipped a beat at your question, not expecting for you to become this affectionate and clingy all of a sudden. “Do you want me to hold you?” he had whispered, almost too scared to push you into sudden soberness with his question. You had hummed, nodding your head while mumbling something before sleep took the better of you. Nonetheless, he spent the night hugging you close to his body, his eyes tearing up as overwhelming feelings clouded his mind. He never told you this story, though, treasuring it jealously in his mind. 

In a way or another, Jungkook fit perfectly in your life. And he wasn’t a filler piece, no, he had his own space perfectly cut out for him in your everyday life. You truly couldn’t imagine your life without him, the mere thought of spending time away from him immediately put you in a mood. Someway, somehow along the road, Jungkook became part of your own soul, a vital piece for your own existence. If it wasn’t for Jungkook, you would have never become who you are today. And as for Jungkook… he physically ached when he wasn’t close to you, but he would never admit it. It wasn’t needed, though. You felt it, felt how you moods changed when you were with each other, felt how your chest tightened in pain when you weren’t close, almost as if your souls longed for each other. 

And that’s why you love him. He’s your best friend and you love each other exactly how best friends should, nothing more, nothing less.

Right?

© voitier 2025

next part

taglist: @mia7732 @tastykookoonut @koooobi

[aventurineswife]

hi hi!! can i request hsr men (aventurine, dr ratio, and any of ur choice <3) with a s/o who is an over-apologizer? no need if u dont feel comfortable just in case but thank u in advance 💙

I'm so sorry!!

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Ratio x Reader, Dan Heng IL x Reader, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Over-Apologizing!Reader, Gentle Reassurance, Soft Moments, Emotional Support, Romantic Undertones.

Aventurine leaned back in his chair, a devilish grin dancing on his lips as he watched you flounder before him, your hands wringing in an anxious motion. He couldn’t help but find your constant apologies both endearing and, at times, amusing.

"Are you... apologizing again?" he asked, the corner of his mouth twitching with a playful smile. You, blushing, nodded repeatedly, as though your incessant apologies would somehow make up for the minor mishap you'd caused.

"I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you late. I’m so sorry I knocked over the coffee earlier—again. I can’t believe I did that. I promise, I’ll be more careful next time," you rambled, looking anywhere but directly at Aventurine, who was still smirking, seemingly entertained by your flustered state.

Aventurine leaned forward, his eyes glinting with amusement. "My dear, you do realize I don’t mind a bit of chaos, especially when it’s you causing it. You’re an over-apologizer, yes, but that’s part of what makes you... you. And I must admit, I enjoy seeing this side of you. It’s rather charming."

You blinked, taken aback by his words. You’d expected a scolding, not praise. Aventurine continued, his tone softening, though the smile never left his face.

"You don’t have to apologize for every little thing. I’m not the kind to hold grudges. If anything, you should only apologize when you truly mean it. Until then, just be yourself. I’ve already invested too much in you to let something like a spilled cup of coffee bother me."

You blushed at his reassurance, the knot in your stomach loosening. Aventurine’s words were always laced with layers of truth and care, though veiled in his typical flair. Still, you appreciated it deeply.

"Thank you..." you muttered shyly.

Aventurine chuckled, the sound rich and warm. "No need to thank me. But you might want to apologize... just once more. For making me wait so long." He winked teasingly, and your heart fluttered as you hurried to sit beside him.

Ratio had never been the most patient person. His brilliance was often paired with a sharp tongue, and he had little tolerance for those who didn’t meet his intellectual standards. But when it came to you, something about you made him pause and reconsider his usual cold demeanor.

You had once again apologized for something trivial—this time for knocking over a stack of books on his desk.

"I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to—I’ll clean it up right away, I promise!" you said, frantically picking up the fallen books with an anxious look in your eyes.

Ratio watched you in silence, his fingers lightly tapping the edge of his desk. His eyes softened slightly as he took in your flustered state. You were always so quick to apologize, to the point where it almost seemed like you didn’t believe he would forgive you for anything.

"Enough," he said firmly, but not unkindly. "There’s no need for this incessant apologizing. It’s a simple mistake, nothing that requires endless regret. You can’t control every little detail, after all. The world is full of chaos, and you can’t simply apologize for every piece of it."

He walked toward you, his arms folded across his chest. He wasn’t angry—he never was, not with you. But your over-apologizing did frustrate him in a way he couldn’t quite explain.

He tilted your chin up gently with his finger, a gesture that was both comforting and commanding. "I care for you," he said, his tone softer than before. "I’ve seen you apologize for things you don’t need to. When you truly make a mistake, you’ll know it. And when that happens, we’ll deal with it. But for now, stop apologizing for things that aren’t worth it. It’s exhausting, and frankly, it doesn’t suit you."

You nodded, your eyes searching his face for any sign of mockery, but finding none. He was serious, and somehow, it made you feel better.

"Thank you." you murmured.

Ratio gave you a small smile, a rare sight for him. "You’re welcome. Now, let’s get back to those books. I have a new theory to test, and I need your help."

You smiled back, finally feeling like you had permission to just exist without constantly worrying about your mistakes.

Dan Heng's eyes narrowed slightly as he felt you accidentally step onto his tail. He stilled for a moment, trying to suppress his reflex to flinch, and before he could even process the situation, you were already profusely apologizing.

"I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to step on your tail! Are you okay? Please don’t be mad, I—" you babbled, your face flushed with embarrassment as you fretted over the minor accident.

Dan Heng blinked, his tail twitching as he quickly recovered from the initial shock. His expression remained calm, but there was a faint furrow in his brow, and he could see the distress in your eyes. He wasn't the type to get upset over small things, but the way you were carrying on made him feel an odd mix of sympathy and a desire to reassure you.

"You don’t need to apologize," he said softly, his voice steady, but there was a hint of warmth in it that only you seemed to notice. "It was an accident. My tail’s fine."

Your eyes widened as you processed his words, still unsure whether to be more apologetic or relieved. But Dan Heng’s calmness eased the tension in the room, and you realized he wasn’t angry.

"It’s okay," he added, his tone a little softer. "You didn’t mean to, and it doesn’t hurt. Just... be careful next time." He gave you a small, almost imperceptible smile, one that made his usual stoic demeanor seem a little less distant.

You, still embarrassed, nodded slowly, the knot in your stomach loosening just a little. "Thank you, Dan Heng. I’ll be more careful."

Dan Heng placed a hand gently on your shoulder, his touch reassuring yet firm. "You don’t need to apologize for every little thing. Life’s full of accidents. Just... don’t overthink it."

For once, you could finally relax, knowing that with Dan Heng, you didn’t have to worry about constantly apologizing for things that weren’t even your fault.

[biblomaniac]

Supercorp headcanon:

Kara and Lena are both clingy, but in very different ways. Kara is obviously one who seeks and gives physical touch at any available moment. At first, this disturbed Lena. For most of her life, touch meant fear, anger, and revulsion.

Over time and with lots of set backs, Lena becomes adjusted to Kara’s touch and starts to crave it. For someone as touch starved as she is, Lena is still incredibly controlled as she seeks Kara’s comfort. While Lena will rarely initiate even the shortest of hugs, as soon as Kara hugs her, or holds her hand, Lena grasps on and holds tightly until Kara breaks the contact.

This is all well and good until other people start to notice. Once the Superfriends start commenting on their perpetual close proximity, Lena becomes self conscious and refuses to touch Kara. Of course, Kara thought she had upset Lena in some way and almost begs Lena to tell her how she can make up her “transgression.” Lena eventually admits that she was embarrassed of being called out and didn’t want to overstep any boundaries. Kara repeatedly assures Lena no boundary was crossed, and even vehemently encourages the brunette to seek Kara’s physical intimacy.

Here begins the complete and utter downfall of their “friendship” as they know it. Now both women are constantly touching, cuddling, and hugging. They touch so often that it becomes a rarity for them to be apart in any way if they are in the same room. Whether it be a hand at Lena’s back or Kara’s arm, the women are completely inseparable.

It isn’t until Kara starts pulling Lena into her lap at game nights or the bar that Lena begins to question how common it is for best friends to be as connected as they are. By all accounts, it’s not common, but at this point, Lena may go through withdrawals if she dials it back. So she says nothing and enjoys Kara’s intimacy while it lasts.

Once Kara starts kissing Lena’s cheek, forehead, and hand at any possible moment, Lena starts to think something is off about their friendship. The night Kara kisses her on the lips as the watch The Proposal, Lena builds up enough courage to confront Kara.

“What are we doing?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, what are we doing with the hugs, the touching, and now the kissing? Fuck, two days ago we woke up spooning and you haven’t said a word! When are we going to address this—this—”

“Lena.”

“I don’t understand, how can it be normal for friends to—”

“Lena! We aren’t friends. And we haven’t been for a long time...”

Like a record scratching, Lena freezes and just stares. When she comes back to herself, Kara is still talking but it feels like she’s messed a thing or two.

“…we’ve been dating for months, Lena. I thought you would be comfortable with this by now. We can take a step back if you want, but…”

“Dating? What do you mean dating?”

“Lena, what did you think we were doing this whole time? The constant contact, the lunch dates, and sleepovers. You really didn’t think anything of what we’ve been doing?”

Lena realizes that, just maybe, she wasn’t the best judge of what is and isn’t normal in a friendship. She also comes to the conclusion that she doesn’t want any of it to end.

“I..I thought this was normal? I didnt realize you were under the impression that we were dating. It seems that I have been a bit obtuse as to the status of our relationship.”

Kara is almost horrified at their months long miscommunication. The blonde sees no smooth way out of the situation and so begins what could have turned out to be the ramble of the century.

“So what, do we just stop? I’m sorry, I just thought we were taking it slow. Forgive me, if I had known—if I knew…I’m, I’m so sorry Lena, I’ll just go, and we can forget this ever happened—”

“NO!”

“No? Okay, I’ll give you some space—”

“No, Kara. I don’t want space. I don’t want anything to change. I want the dates, and the cuddling, and the kissing, and nights out with our friends. I want everything with you, Kara,” says Lena, as she reaches to grasp Kara face between her hands.

Kara leans into the touch, slowly gravitating closer to where Lena sits on her couch. Even as Kara grows closer, she hesitates to close the final distance between their lips. She couldn’t bear for Lena to dangle this opportunity between them.

“You do, are you sure?”

Lena decides that her next actions will speak louder than any platitudes she could give to Kara. With a push at Kara’s chest guiding her to lean back, Lena crawls into Kara’s lap, grasps Kara by the back of her neck, and leans down to place the slowest, sweetest kiss to Kara’s lips.

Not one to be outdone, Kara trails her hands along the sides of Lena’s thighs and up her back. Her left hand continues up to tangle into Lena’s hair while the right slides down to grasp Lena firmly by the ass.

With a small gasp, Lena deepens the kiss. With a gentle prod of her tongue to Kara’s lips, Lena licks into Kara’s mouth with a skillful tongue. With a groan, Kara separates their kiss.

“So, does this mean you’re my girlfriend?”

The brunette throws her head back in a joyful laugh.

“Yes, darling. I’ll be yours if you promise to be mine.”

Kara’s face lights up in happiness.

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

Months have gone by and Kara and Lena are happier than ever. Somehow they have grown closer, and although they have to deal with constant teasing remarks from all their friends, they wouldn’t separate for anything.

[zarteyaz]

Snowy Nights

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: In which, during a snowy night in Velaris, Azriel reflects what or rather who brings him peace

A/N: This is my first time posting anything, so forgive any typos etc. Not really sure what this was, more of a late night ramble, but I hope you enjoy! -----

Fractals of ice dance, a silent symphony that only he seems to hear. Azriel’s on the front porch of the townhouse, staring silently into the sea of white before him. He feels the warmth and laughter of the house behind him, the rumble of Cassian’s laugh or the twinkle of Feyre’s laugh, and the shenanigans they were certainly up to.

As much as he loved his family, they didn’t truly understand the concept of quiet. The lights, laughter, the drinks all got to be too much and Azriel found himself longing for a moment of peace, which is why he was currently standing outside alone, looking out over Velaris. He let out a breath, and loosened the damper on his shadows, letting them roam about.

“You are undoubtedly going to freeze to death” came a smooth voice behind him, and he startled. 

Azriel shot a glare at his shadows, she seemed to be the only one capable of sneaking up on him, his shadows never caring to inform him. Before he could respond, a fluffy throw blanket was dumped unceremoniously over his shoulders.

Azriel hadn’t even realized he was shivering, but upon the warmth of the blanket found himself unconsciously drawing it around himself. She came up beside him, the night painting the smooth planes of her face in moonlight, setting her aglow, something akin to a goddess. 

She fixed him with that viridian gaze, “Don’t expect me to lug your hulking ass indoors when you freeze into a sculpture out here”.

Something in his chest warmed at the concern, albeit harsh, in her voice. He chuckled, “I’ve survived worse temperatures, I’ll be just fine.”

She simply shook her head and shoved a steaming cup into his hands, a shadow passing over her eyes, as she considered what circumstances exactly had subjected him to such extreme conditions.

He blinked down at the cup of hot cocoa complete with a healthy serving of marshmallows and a dollop of whipped cream. No one really expected the feared Spymaster of the Night Court to have a sweet tooth, and Azriel wasn’t one to voice his preference for all things sugary and sweet. All the more reason he was shocked by the sweet treat in his hands, one he hadn’t even asked for.

She studied him for a moment longer, her dark waves tumbling over her shoulder as his shadows twined through the tresses. She never seemed to mind his shadows’ constant attention, for some unnamed reason Azriel could never decipher.

She reached out a hand and he ceased to breathe as she gently brushed some fallen ice crystals out of his hair. He fought the urge to shut his eyes and lean into the warmth, the care of her touch, the feeling of being wanted, of being seen -

“Just because you can handle worse, doesn’t mean you should Az” she simply replied, with regard to his previous comment.

He met her piercing gaze, and as always found himself lost in the stark clarity in her eyes. From the moment he met her, he always had the sensation that she saw him, straight to his core, and by some miracle he supposed, she did not shy away.

There was a bleak sort of understanding in her eyes now, an understanding of how after years of torturing and dealing with the worst Prythian had to offer, it was hard for him to allow himself to enjoy a simple night with his family, to believe he even deserved to feel peace, or gods forbid happiness.

That sometimes he couldn’t stand to be around his family, all the joy they all fought for, because Azriel couldn’t stand to burden them with his dark thoughts when he felt the walls closing in so tight he thought he’d just suffocate right then and there-

She smoothed her thumb down the rough scarred planes of the hand he kept clenched on the railing and his head went quiet. You are not judged her eyes seemed to say. 

Another stroke down his hand. You deserve the world and more.

Another. Let it out, I’ll always be here.

No judgment laid in her gaze for ditching the party, just clear acceptance and an uncompromising vow.

She turned to head back inside, understanding his need for a few moments to himself. An unfamiliar panic rose in his chest and he reached out a hand to grab her wrist.

“Stay” he said quickly, stumbling over the word. 

Now she blinked at him, whether it was at his flustered demeanor or at him voicing a request he couldn’t tell. 

“Someone will need to chaperone me in case I do end up turning into an icicle” he amended.

She let out a breath of laughter at that, “I’ll chaperone fine, but like I said earlier, I will not be lugging you inside” she said, giving him a smile.

Azriel found himself smiling dumbly back at her as she came back up beside him. 

“I’ll never leave you alone” she said softly, eyes twinkling in the moonlight. 

Struck speechless, Azriel considered the words, a promise of something more. 

As he stood there with a female who had proven time and time again that she couldn’t be scared away, he considered. Perhaps his peace wasn’t found in silence, but a person.

And perhaps his peace was something worth, more importantly, something he deserved to find. 

[cosmica-galaxy]

https://www.tumblr.com/cosmica-galaxy/780636195823796224/ok-funny-ideathe-cookies-are-roaming-when-they?source=share

So this... I love this...

Anyway-

Ancients trying to tame the human?

My bet is that Pure Vanilla Cookie would somehow be the best at it and would likely be the first one to find out that the human is extremely cuddly and clingy when sleepy.

Thoughts?

-❄💗🖋 (FrostedHeartWriter)

Oh, definitely! (Also YAY, my first named anon!!) Pure Vanilla is not only the kindest Ancient that the human has to deal with, but he also serves as their healer whenever they get tore up in a fight or when their health becomes of any concern. The human respects him the most and is VERY protective of him. Pure Vanilla is one of the few cookies in all of Earthbread that literally has scary dog privilege. Plus, the human does tend to take naps often and will be more than happy to cuddle Pure Vanilla while he heals some of their injuries. Though, they have to be careful not to hurt him in any way or they would never forgive themselves. So, they may cuddle him dearly while they are sleepy, but never while they are sleeping--to avoid any possible accidents. They don't want to hurt him at all. Dark Cacao would be a no-nonsense type of ancient and the human mostly respects him out of worry that he would probably cut them open while they sleep with that sharp sword of his. Plus, he just has an authoritative aura and a steely gaze that they don't wanna antagonize. If he jumps on their head and demands them to go in a certain direction, the human does so without a second of hesitation. He's rougher with the human and sometimes his hair-pulling (a cookie's way of "steering" the human) can become painful. Still, they give the hardass cookie respect and try to stay on his good side. Hollyberry would find "taming" them pretty fun. She's from a rough-and-tumble kingdom, that also has regular invasions from the local Pitaya Dragon, so she is familiar with enemies larger than her. The human mostly goes along with her antics and even tries to "bap" her from time to time to give her shield something to smack. Though, the human is definitely not using their full strength and only submits when she manages to force her way onto the top of their head. But man, don't allow a lot of hollyberrians to congregate on your body, because you may become a trampoline for entertainment or a battle zone for cookies that want to take turns to "drive" you. Golden Cheese is quite a strange cookie in references to the human. She mostly flies up to your head and perches on your cranium to get a better view of the surrounding areas. She is also rather envious that the Cookie Kingdom has a giant to look after the cookies that reside there, something she wished she had during the dark flour war. The human is tolerant of her ramblings and self-pride in her greed, as she even "judges" the human's own "hoard" from time to time. The human has to keep a close eye on all of their jewelry if they have any, because it will eventually go missing if they leave it somewhere for too long while Golden Cheese is around! Now...White Lilly is terrified of the large human companion. To her, humans are the same and are nothing more than cookie-devouring monsters. White Lily avoids or actively tries to discourage her friends from interacting with the human too much because of her worries that it will snap them up like the poor cookies from the banquet. Despite the constant reassurance by Pure Vanilla, White Lilly stands by her views and tries to limit as much contact with the human as possible. The human doesn't understand her dislike of them, but they have other friends to hang out with, so they aren't bothered by it too much. However, they are also judgemental of White Lilly as well. After all, it wasn't a witch that hurt her friends, destroyed golden cheese's kingdom, and is currently trying to plunge the world into darkness. That was all her own fault. So tension exists between White Lilly and the large human.

[malevolentconfessionalbooth]

On one hand, I think the Arthur Lester hate is so fucking valid. We’ve seen what he’s done in the past, the pain he’s put people through, the decisions he has made. *He* knows how horrible he was, and is. But I’m so curious how much people think he should suffer to make up for it. This man has been to hell and back and gone through things that would make anyone snap, and he just keeps going — to say that Arthur hasn’t suffered enough for his mistakes is an interesting thought. Even he hasn’t forgiven himself fully, and I don’t think he ever will. I guess I can’t really get on the “I hate Arthur Lester as a character” train like I see a lot of people doing — Has he fucked up incredibly? Fuck yeah he has. Is he irredeemable? I don’t think so- and I think that’s a very Malevolent message - no one is irredeemable or undeserving of forgiveness.

This is a lot of nonsensical rambling I’m not too sure what the point I’m trying to make is other than I get a little tired of the constant “Arthur Lester is a shit protagonist” discourse. He’s not MEANT to be perfect, or even someone you need to root for 100% of the time, if you want that in a protagonist I’m sure you can go somewhere else rather than complaining about him every episode 😭

.

[doodler16]

I can't take Charlie as a protagonist seriously, especially after the Hell's Greatest Dad song. I was willing to forgive her constant naïveté and overall childish behavior till that episode.

I'm sorry, but do you really want me to take a woman in her early-mid twenties seriously when she's being fought over like she's a preteen child of the divorced parents? Anyone at this age would have died of embarrassment and immediately called this crap out. 

Theoretically, it could've worked if it was shown that she was playing along with Alastor in order to manipulate her father, but she seemed genuine in that song?? Like, girl, did you REALLY buy Alastor's crap? He only lived here for a couple of months, and you already act like he's a wise father figure to you?? Like why?? They didn't even interact properly in series prior besides maybe exchanging a couple of lines, idk. (Plz, don't bring up the pilot cause I didn't watch it, lol, so I have zero clue what their relationship was supposed to entail there. I only judge by what I've seen in the series.)

Daddy issues or not, but Charlie was severely infantilized by this song, and she's supposed to help redeem the sinners, which requires a lot of wisdom, maturity and compassion in order to guide them. And she has none of that.

What a waste.

Even more reasons to appreciate my goat, Mimzy. Thank god for her stepping in and interrupting the song. This is fandom once again doesn’t deserve Mimzy 😂.

That aside, there are families or relatives who do unironically fight over their adult child for whatever reason. I am open to Lucifer and Alastor fighting over Charlie, like you said Anon it could theoretically work.

I was going to briefly bring up Charlie and Alastor’s dynamic in the pilot how Alastor and Lucifer fighting could’ve worked but I won’t since you didn’t watch the pilot and don’t want me to bring it up 😅.

Hell’s Greatest Dad doesn’t work because like you mentioned Anon, Alastor barely interacts with Charlie and only interacts with her when it’s convenient for himself and the episode/plot. So, it is easy to tell that Alastor is not only lying (throughout majority of the song) but repeatedly trying to make himself look good any chance he gets.

I don’t know why some fans and stans thought Alastor was serious about him seeing Charlie as her daughter when he was just lying. I know Vivziepop loves pushing that since she had beef with Chalastor shippers ages ago. It is annoying seeing some fans actually use Alastor’s lie as a “gotcha” moment and a way to put down Chalastor shippers.

If Alastor did see Charlie as a daughter (in more twisted way), he would’ve consoled her in episode 7 but didn’t. Charlie would proceed to ramble while Alastor would roll his eyes.

I know Hell’s Greatest dad song is an extremely popular song as it’s the top of Amazon’s most viewed videos but it could’ve been cut. We didn’t an entire 2-3 minute song dedicated to the two men having a pissing contest while Charlie third wheels especially when the episode is supposed to be about Charlie and Lucifer. It easily could’ve slimmed down via dialogue. Or cut it out completely and save it for another episode.

[arolesbianism]

Rotates swap au Wickerbottom in my head. Gotta love old women trapped in self imposed cycles of pain and regret

[meo-eiru]

Hihihiii :3 Hope you're having a great day author!

This is my first direct interaction in this website generally speaking, so what better way to start than rambling my head off about the twink slutty baby? YES. Lavi. That cute whore that's been on my mine for a good while now...I want to kiss him, want him to cuddle me so bad grrrr I want to rim his pretty ass and use it as my only life source for the rest of my mortal existence. I want to follow every single one of his instructions on how to please him while he guides me with that shit eating smug grin '>:3'. I totally see him as a power bottom, riding my strap effortlessly while he pins me down telling me how much of a pathetic virgin I am and how fortunate I am to even be touching him, how lucky I am that he's willing to teach me how to make him feel good, how he'd laugh once I'm exhausted and he keeps nonchalantly bouncing still with his endless incubi stamina...MMMM...But also, I want to hit his ribs each time he throws an annoying tauntrum, or make him whimper each time he breaks something expensive, I want to sneak into his phone and watch just all the dozens of porn he has in his gallery along with his search history, I need to make him cry so hard until we're both doubting who's the real pervert here...I NEED to peg him. I NEED to spank his cute jiggling ass until it's red and sore. I need to make him deepthroath my strap and perhaps give me head. I NEED to grope his cute small chest and nurse on his rosy nipples while he tries to make a teasing remark only to be interrupted by his own lewd moans. I NEED to watch how all that lube and cum slowly leaks out of his puffy hole with profane sounds while spreading his supple asscheeks further apart as he whines and mewls begging for more. I NEED to cuddle him from behind while I finger his thight whorish asshole, I NEEEED to give him some genuine, gentle love-making while kissing his pretty face and cooing sweet nothings into his ears while he grabs onto my neck thightly saying shamelessly how good it feels.

I want to give him goodnight kisses on the forehead, cheeks, nose, eyes, tummy and finally his soft lips. I want to feel him clinging onto me with his limbs (and tail of course) while we sleep, even better if he craddles my head on his chest. I might even forgive his murders if he promises to be a good boy with a pretty pout even though he'd probably be crossing his fingers behind his back. I want to do each other's hair and nails. I want him to listen to the music I listen to (Rabbit Hole by DECO27 would be SO him). I want to see his deadpaned and disdainful face when I tell him all my bad jokes. I want to go out with him at those aesthetic cafés and buy him everything he wants even if I won't be able to buy anything else for a while. I want us to get matching couple cheesy things. I want us to do lovey dovey stuff together and maybe a kiss that doesn't end up looking out of a hentai. A wholesome one. I want him to live on my lap. I want him to try make him wear decente clothes from time to time. I want to see his reaction once my mortal life comes to an end. (If he cries and gets depressed he'll look so pretty but if he laughs he'll also look so pretty). I want to show him off to my friends even if I know he's probably the type that types 'uwu', ':3' or 'nya~' either satirically or not. I would bear the cringe for him. I want to send him memes and reels and, overall, just hear his laugh because I'm sure it would be gorgeous just like him. <3

He literally lives rent free in my mind this is a call for help. I crave for more Lavi content.

I'm not horny. You are.

Anyway, thanks for the constant posting! I love how you write your characters and draw/paint! You're one of my favorite artists. Eat well and have a good day/night. :)

Oh my dear GOD this was a ROLLER COASTER

I don't even know where to start. Alright so first of all, this is so deliciously written omg??? You made me put Lavi on a plate and eat him I bet he'd taste like cake. The contrast between the wholesome parts and the extremely unholy parts were crazy I felt like I was in a car that randomly speeds up and down

Rabbit hole is indeed very Lavi, the animation fits him so well as well. If I knew how to make them I'd definitely draw a Lavi version. And yes he's definitely the type who'd type "uwu" and ">:3" unironically

THE DRAWINGS ARE SO CUTE AS WELL!! HE LOOKS SO ADORABLE LOOK AT HIS CUTE LITTLE FACE AND CUTE BUTT

[newrochellechallenger2019]

2 / 2 / 1 please

ahh!!! hi saoirse thank you so much!!! stick season x patrick zweig x smut especially for you my love!!!

also i got so carried away writing this...please forgive my ramblings...

wc: 2873

writing game!

‘Welcome to Vermont!’ The sign seemed to taunt Patrick as he drove down the highway surrounded by thick forest, like this place had been anything but welcoming to him. His parents had decided to move here whilst he was at the MRTA because of the ‘potential’, like the millions they’d made in New York weren’t enough for them already. Patrick’s eyes were drawn back to the passenger seat, the crumpled ‘Zweig Christmas Gala!’ invitation staring back at him, not your soft features, your feet up on his dashboard even though he’d always tell you to sit normally and quit dirtying his car with that telltale smirk because he could never stay mad at you. He could already sense the smug looks on those aristocratic faces as his father retells the story of the ‘wasted money’ in sending Patrick to a tennis boarding school and how he had to ‘grovel at his father’s feet’ for a job in the company and how he had to be ‘put up in an apartment in Chicago for the foreseeable’. It’s enough to make him want to drive his beat up car into a ditch.

But he doesn’t, because he could never see things through, you’d’ve teased him for that. So, it wasn’t long before he was rounding the corner into his parent’s drive, parking besides stretch limousines and estate cars, his engine sputtering as he turned off the ignition, kicking his door open. The car boot creaked as he opened it, grabbing his suitcase, badges of the tennis tournaments he’d been to ironed all over it, a ribbon tied around the handle, a gift from you he couldn’t bear to get rid of, the constant aching reminder of the day you left. Rifling through his jacket pockets, Patrick’s fingers close around a joint, a calming presence as he holds it to his lips and lights it, taking a drag and watching the smoke fill the air, polluting these grounds the way he always does as he makes his way to the door. 

‘You can’t smoke in the house sir’ comes a frigid voice, Patrick looks over to see a man in a well ironed three piece suit standing by the door. 

‘It’s my house’ retorts Patrick, lips curled in a frown, barely through the door and he already had to deal with his mother’s bullshit. 

The man’s eyes widened in surprise, ‘Master Zweig? Why, we weren’t expecting your attendance-’

‘Yeah yeah’ Patrick mutters, pushing himself through the door, dragging his suitcase behind him. 

Before his thoughts could drift to the insane opulence of just the front entrance, Patrick’s mother swans into view, ‘Oh darling’ she crows, sweeping him into a perfumed hug, ‘I thought you’d given all that up years ago’ she frowns, prising the joint from between his teeth and putting it out before Patrick can protest as he watches his last bit of freedom sizzle away between her fingers. 

‘Jesus Christ mother, you’ve got servants now?’ The disdain in Patrick’s voice is evident as he takes in his mother, her wrinkles appear to have smoothed since he last saw her but he knows better than to mention it. 

‘We don’t call them servants! George is our doorman darling, he’s just there for security purposes.’ his mother croons in that patronizing tone that he remembered all too clearly from his younger years. 

‘Right.’ Patrick gives a noncommittal nod before heading upstairs with his suitcase, beady-eyed family portraits watching him as he climbs the grand staircase. 

You used to laugh at these portraits, especially when he'd poked fun at his Great-Great Uncle’s moustache, mimicked the pompous facial expression of his Great-Great-Great Grandma, he used to make you laugh so hard you couldn’t breathe sometimes. Now he can’t remember the last time someone even smiled at something he’d said, Patrick looks down at his feet, he can’t face their judgement, not today. He tosses his suitcase onto his bed and sighs, walking over to his bay window, where the two of you would sit and talk about what you wanted to do with your lives, where he’d told you he’d drive you to the airport that day you left, the day you didn’t take him with you. Just as he’s trying to force the memories from his head, rain starts to drizzle, coating the manicured gardens in a dewey darkness. 

‘You’re my forever’ you whispered as the two of you lay in the gardens, surrounded by bushes and red clovers, your own version of paradise. 

‘Forever?’ scoffed Patrick, ‘What does that even mean?’ he chides, leaning over and pressing a kiss to your shoulder. 

‘Well you know…it means I’m not going anywhere’ you shrug, ‘and you’re not either’ you elbow him. 

‘I don’t plan on it’ Patrick nods mockingly and you sit up, moving to straddle him, eyes lit up with an intensity he rarely saw in you, ‘pinky swear we’re forever?’ you murmur as you look down at him, pinky held out like a sacred being. 

‘Pinky swear we’re forever.’ he repeats with matching seriousness, pinky interlocking yours and you smile, satisfied. ‘Good.’ before flopping down beside him again, watching a plane fly by miles above you both.

‘Forever’ Patrick grumbles under his breath as he watches the raindrops slide down the window, ‘What a bunch of bullshit’. He grits his teeth, eyes falling to the dent in his wall from the day you’d left, he wasn’t going to let that happen again. Opening his suitcase, he grabs his suit and pulls it on, looking in the mirror as he fastens his tie and tries and fails to sort out his unruly curls. 

‘Patrick!’ his mother’s shrill voice reverberates through the house. ‘I’m coming!’ he shouts back, muttering under his breath about her impatience as he spritzes cologne before strolling back downstairs towards the expansive dining room. 

‘There you are! I want you to meet some people!’ his mother swoops in all smiles while her eyes scold him for his tardiness, pushing him into the growing throngs of people, ‘This is Sandra and Bill.’ she gestures and Patrick’s stomach drops. Your parents are staring at him blankly. ‘Yeah…uh…nice to meet you both’ he manages, his throat dry as he shakes both their hands. 

‘Now Bill was just telling me about his daughter, I believe she’s about your age, did you two know each other?’ his mother continues and Patrick bites back a scoff, it was certainly more than that. ‘Yeah-’ he goes to say more but meets Sandra’s eyes, there’s not a flicker of recognition in them and his heart aches, ‘I- uh- sort of’ he finishes awkwardly. 

‘You see she never told us if she’d be coming tonight and we know it’s ever such a long flight from London and-’ Sandra starts, ‘I thought you might have her number, dear’ his mother finishes for her. ‘Could you give her a call? See if she’ll be here?’ she says with a tight lipped smile, this was not a question. 

‘Oh’ is all Patrick could muster, of course he still had your number. He’d lost count of the number of times he’d stared at your contact, his finger just barely hovering over the call button. His thoughts are interrupted by his mother pulling him close to her side, ‘Wonderful, thank you darling!’ she praises before disappearing off into the crowd. 

Patrick pulls out his phone, scrolling through his contacts before landing on yours. What was he doing? Of course you weren’t going to answer, he knew that for certain. Even if you were on your way here, why would you want to be somewhere he was? He didn’t need to do this, Bill, Sandra and his mother had long since walked off, out of sight- 

Ring…ring- ‘Shit!’ hissed Patrick, without thinking his finger had slipped and now he was dialling you. He stared in horror, panic slowly seeping through his veins before the number rang out, ‘You’ve now reached the voicemail of-’ his worries eased, hoping to feel relief but instead the ache in his heart only increases as he hangs up. Patrick tries to take a deep breath as he shoves his phone back in his pocket. He needs to get you out of his head and fast. 

Making his way over to one of the tables, he grabs a bottle of beer and chugs half of it immediately, his grip on the bottle so tight he’s shocked it doesn’t smash right there in his hand, bringing his pain to the surface. He’s grimacing as he finishes the bottle, grabbing another before his father is pulling him into yet another conversation. 

‘Tell them how much money I spent on that bloody tennis academy of yours’ snaps his father, gesturing to the two men standing before him, Patrick could tell by his bloodshot eyes his father had had one too many drinks already but he was not in the mood to pick a fight about it. 

‘$675,500’ Patrick replies numbly, the number drilled into his head ever since he’d graduated. 

‘Right! And what did you do with it?’ his father continues, growing more irate at each word. 

‘Lost’ mutters Patrick, looking down, suddenly feeling a lot like that little boy hiding from his father in his bedroom again. 

‘Right! You and that stupid blonde boy won one trophy and it was enough to make you think you could go pro!’ his father scoffs, turning to the two men for approval, ‘He’s crawling up to our door, telling us how awful the tour is, how he’s lost every match and how wrong he was and how he wants to work for me-’ his father is practically yelling, revelling in Patrick’s shame. 

Just when Patrick’s starting to think he can’t stomach much more of this, debating making an excuse, grabbing a tray of wines and hurrying out the door, he catches a glimpse of a young woman attempting to slip into the party unnoticed. Patrick’s heart stops when he realises it’s you, the one he’s been dreaming about ever since you left. Tentatively, he starts to walk away from his father’s complaints, away from the nodding businessman and closer to you. The gold dress you’re wearing clings to your body like it was made just for you and the lights adoring the room make your doe eyes twinkle like stars in the night sky. 

‘Can I get you a drink?’ he says dumbly, playing host at a gala he wishes he wasn’t at.

Your soft gaze turns to him and you brighten, like it hasn’t been years since you spoke. ‘I’d love one, Patrick, thank you.’ 

He turns and grabs a glass of wine off one of the passing waiters and hands it to you, ‘Here’. You smile gratefully and take a sip. ‘So…London?’ he broaches. 

‘Mmm’ you nod seriously, ‘It’s wonderful over there, they do the most divine teas and some of the views in Notting Hill are just-’ 

Patrick stopped listening after that, watching the way your lips moved as you spoke, the way you gestured with your hands animatedly when you were excited about something, the way the dress exposes your collarbones and how easy it would be to just lean in and- 

‘I miss you’ he says calmly, so much for staying steadfast. He watches you intently, looking for any change in your facial expression and when he realises you’re not staring at him in shock and disgust, he continues. ‘I still think about you a lot, about us a lot.’ 

You blink, brow furrowing ever so slightly, ‘You do? I thought- I thought you were happy for me? You drove me to the airport that day-’ 

His hands move to cup your face and you don’t pull away, after all these years it still feels so familiar to the both of you. ‘It killed me to let you go but I couldn’t let anyone else drive you there, I needed that one last drive with you.’ 

‘You always did love driving me around’ you laugh, cheeks blushing red as the easy energy crackles around you both. 

‘Please’ Patrick utters, somehow distilling everything between you two into that one word. 

You down your wine and nod, ‘Fuck it, I missed you too’.

That’s all Patrick needs to hear before his hand is enclosing around your own and he’s dragging you out of the dining room and you’re sprinting down the hallway with little to no abandon and it’s almost like you never left. Patrick pulls you into the nearest bathroom breathlessly and lifts you up onto the counter besides the sink, your heels clanking against the marble as he drinks you in. 

‘How’d you get even prettier?’ he murmurs, hands running up and down your sides reverently. 

‘Maybe it’s the London air’ you shrug, looking down at him endearingly. 

‘Maybe…’ he murmurs, before he’s pulling you in for a kiss and it’s everything he could’ve dreamt of and more. 

Your lips are softer than he remembers but the feelings are  still there, the desire and hunger for each other as his tongue prods your bottom lips, asking for entrance. You oblige and his tongue collides with yours messily, fighting for dominance as the air in the bathroom grows stifling hot. Panting, you break apart, his hands gripping your hips like a vice, terrified to let go for fear he might lose you again. 

His eyes are pleading before he says the words, ‘I think we should…’ and you nod vigorously, already starting to hike up the skirt of your dress to your thighs. 

‘I agree’ is your murmured response, and he’s tugging at the belt of his suit, tossing it aside and unzipping his trousers, letting them pool around his ankles, his dick already prominent in his boxers. 

Patrick’s hands find your thighs, and he slowly starts to move his fingers towards your panties, rubbing carefully against the fabric and you squirm, he takes that as a signal to keep going, creating more friction until your hips are bucking against him and he smirks, pulling the fabric to the side and tracing his finger across your slit, feeling the wetness starting to collect there. 

You shudder as he slowly pushes one finger in, prepping you for his cock as he presses right to the hilt. He adds a second finger, scissoring them inside you and you gasp, ‘Patrick-’ as you feel his fingers stretching your gummy walls. ‘Ready?’ he whispers and you nod, craving his cock inside you. Pulling his fingers out, you whimper at the loss of stimulation but watch in awe as he licks his fingers clean of your slick, before pulling his boxers down and letting them pool around his ankles too. Patrick lines himself up with your entrance, hands gripping the counter as he slowly pushes into your cunt. 

Even two fingers can’t prepare you for the size of his cock and you’re choking on your own breath as he buries himself inside you. You moan as his tip hits your G-spot but his hand clamps over your mouth and your eyes widen. 

‘You gotta be quiet, sweetheart’ he mutters urgently. ‘My parents would kill me if they heard us’ 

You nod, your parents would too. Still, he keeps his hand over your mouth as he starts to thrust in and out of you, causing you to shiver in delight. Once Patrick sets his rhythm, he’s relentless, his hands clutching at your hips as he pushes in and out, in and out, in and out, your pussy squeezing tight around him so hard he’s struggling to stifle his own moans. It’s when his rhythm disappears that you know he’s about to cum, he starts to pant, going faster and faster till he’s practically pounding your pussy so hard you fear you’ll fall back and hit the mirror. 

‘I’m- I’m-’ he grunts before bottoming out in you one last time, you can feel his seed filling you and you gulp, thanking god for birth control. Patrick’s out of breath, head resting against your shoulder as you squeeze every last drop from him. He meets your eyes, a little dazed and it’s like he can tell without you even needing to say anything that you haven’t orgasmed because his hand is snaking back down between your thighs and rubbing your clit, giving you the last push you need, ‘Oh- Oh-’ you cry out, it’s too much, full of his cock, fingers on your clit and your legs start to shake, jolting as you cum, nearly seeing stars. 

‘Still with me?’ Patrick croons gently as he pulls out of you, watching your cunt spasm and drip with his seed and you nod, rubbing your face. 

‘Mhm’ you swallow thickly, sliding off the counter carefully and into his arms. 

‘That was-’ Patrick breathed, pulling his boxers and trousers back on, it was beyond words. 

You smile weakly as you go to use the toilet, ‘Yeah…it was’ you agree, still reeling from your orgasm. 

Patrick adjusts his tie in the mirror before calling out, ‘Will I see you back in there?’

‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world’ you call back cheerfully and Patrick smiled to himself, by god was he glad to have you back in his life. 

[seraphimaa]

Doll for a day - Part 2

Soft(ish)!Raphael x fem!Tav x Haarlep

Raphael sets out the terms for his forgiveness. After all, it’s not nice to feel left out.

Or

Raphael makes her fuck his incubus in front of him and then tests her dedication.

Warnings: selfish idiots with feelings

PART 1

She can’t stop her face from cringing. It’s all the confirmation he needs and he falls into silence, processing. He is furious, yes, but he can’t help the faint relief that is flooding him. The board is still in play. Her mouth forms the shapes of letters but nothing seems to come out. She takes a breath, utters only the word, “leaving”, like he’s supposed to find reassurance in it, and turns to flop onto her stomach, beginning to drag herself by her arms towards the edge of the bed.

“No.” She feels his thighs clench to hold her own, the thick ropes of muscle halting her movement. Her face hits the silk and she lets herself simply collapse in defeat under the master of the house. “What the hells is wrong with you? You come into my house, look at my things, touch my things, fuck my things.” He’s spitting with rage the more he rambles and with every word she pushes her head further and further into the covers, half in an attempt to smother herself.

“Then you think you can just what? Scamper off? Tell me, Tav, is your sheer aptitude for being this insufferable nature, or nurture? Did somebody drop you on your head as an infant, or were you simply born this way?”

“Born...” Her words are barely comprehendible through the bedding. He grunts in acknowledgement and takes a break from frowning at the detailing in the wallpaper to look down at the fleshy heap. She looks pathetic and entirely resigned.

“And what, on all of the planes, were you ever hoping to achieve, pray tell?” Her shoulders shrug limply. “Hm.” He hums, unimpressed, and lets her stew in the silence until he hears her again, clearly desperate to move things along .

“No reason.”

“Oh thank goodness,” her ears perk at the happy tone, “I find so much comfort in knowing you would cause all of this chaos for no reason at all.” Never mind.

“And what did you plunder and soil?” He sniffs indignantly, “other than my sheets and incubus.”

He expects another short, mumbled response but instead he feels her begin to shake under him rhythmically. For a brief moment, he thinks she’s laughing like a maniac but then he hears her sobs.

Her head lifts just enough for her cries to ring clearly. “I’m sorry! Okay? I payed that lady to open the portal. I don’t know what I was thinking. I promise. I wasn’t going to touch anything, just look. Then I ended up here and you were here too and you were so nice but it wasn’t you but he looked so good and he felt so good and I didn’t want to stop, I couldn’t, I don’t know what I was thinking-I wasn’t thinking!” It all comes out in a jumble and her head flops down again as she shudders in another wave of sobs. Haarlep’s tail can be heard wagging against the sheets absently, only paying attention the indirect praise aimed his way.

For what feels like the hundredth time in one day, he heaves a massive sigh. It feels like an eternity that the scene drags on. Raphael ponders whether this is all a cruel, fated karma playing out. He considers what sins it were that landed him in the constant circus show that he appeared to ringlead daily. He looks at the three of them, on the bed, and thinks that they would fit perfectly on renaissance style painting. Haarlep is crouched with knees to the side, looking every part the demonic gargoyle of a creature that Raphael considers him to be, tail wagging in the air and looking very pleased with himself. His mouse is splayed dramatically on the bed like a tortured damsel, wailing and he is slumped in his own pose of enduring anguish. He considers giving her a further tongue wagging but she appears to be torturing herself just fine for now. Hells, you’d think she was the victim here.

Her sobs hiccup as she feels Raphael twist and rise from the bed. She cranes, terrified to see what kind of torture he is about to impose on her but her puffy, wet face is met with the curve of his bare spine and hips as he strides to the desk against right wall. She definitely doesn’t look at the jiggle of fat on his ass as he stomps over and throws himself back into the chair. She definitely doesn’t look anywhere in particular as he reclines back, neck craned at a sharp angle over the back of the oak. His eyes snap to hers, and he crosses his legs with a frown, and she averts her gaze to the wall beside his head for no related reason. He tears open a drawer and brings out a dusty bottle of vintage. He busies himself with uncorking the bottle, and pulls out a glass. He fills it without any grace, almost overflowing the rim then knocks it back, taking his time before he swallows it down. She’s tempted to ask him what comes next but the withering look he shoots her way as she intakes air to begin makes the words die on her tongue. She swallows with an awkward nod and settles her face back into the covers. She is good at ruminating and wallowing. This is fine. Even the incubus seems to pick up on the sudden lack of energy in the room and he flops back wriggling around, fluttering his wings and swishing his tail, as he gets into a comfortable position. His leg thumps her own and he whines until she shuffles over, half hanging over the edge. He mimics the brooding duo and lets out a sigh, his own airy and perfectly content.

Raphael is surprisingly the first to break the peace.

“Why did you sleep with it?”

There’s hesitation in his tone, almost like he couldn’t decide if he truly wants the answer. She is completely caught off guard and lifts her head after some thought, enough to respond but not enough to have to face him as as she does.

“It was just a really bad mistake.”

Haarlep seems to take offence to this, his tail whipping her leg as it beats back and fourth in protest but he stays silent, intent on listening to this play out.

“No,” his tone is wary but he speaks like this is something important to him, “you knew the risk. As much as you would like to galavant through life like a court jester, you are smart. What was it exactly that made you decide to take that miscalculated risk?”

“I don’t know! I was, I was just…” She seems to sway between deflection and truth but eventually finds her answer.

“I was just desperate.” He cocks an eyebrow as if deciding on how to perceive her words but when her face emerges pink and swollen from the sheets, intense and ugly, altogether striking, he sees the burning honestly. “Really desperate.”

“Excuse me!” Haarlep cranes to look at her, wings flaring, entirely offended. He is not reading the silent layers of communication happening amongst the rude guests of in his little sanctuary. “And just what, exactly, are you trying to imply? Don’t act like I didn’t have you mewling happy as a kitten, eyes crossed in bliss as you bounced yourself around dumb and drunk on my cock. Don’t act like you didn’t throw yourself at the chance to come undone under me, specifically. You said that you needed him, me, raw and undiluted. No rude lies on my bed, please.” It is the first time, in the short span they’d shared together, that she’d seen the fiend seem truly displeased. They both pointedly ignore his bruised ego and the implications of his words.

“And what was it, exactly, you were so desperate for?” She gives a small shake of her head in protest of what he is trying to drag out of here.

“I just wanted to be touched.”

“Then you would have gone to the brothel. Try again.”

“I wanted to be touched by someone who I knew.”

“Then you would have crawled your way into the tent of one of your willing companions long ago, I’m sure. I’m tired, little mouse.” She builds her courage enough to glance at him through damp lashes and he really is slumped in utter defeat. He’s nursing a new glass, and his face has never looked so tired. It feels violating to witness him like this, even more so than seeing him naked ever had. he takes in her face, full of fear and pain. She looks like saying it might break her, like it’s the last thing she wants to do. She looks at him like he is cruel, and she is begging him to spare her. His face hardens and he drains the last in his glass, not hesitating to empty the bottle in its place.

“I..” he trails off, before shaking his head and standing up, throwing his hand out dismissively.

“Forget I said anything. Go. Get dressed. I’ll organise a portal out.” She openly balks at him. “But what about-“ he doesn’t wait for her to finish.

“Please. You’ve done enough. Spare both our dignities any further blows for one day and just go.” He falls back into his chair, tapping his finger on the desk impatiently, staring into the liquid crimson in his hand. She swings herself up, sitting with her back to him and she is glad for the fact because once again, to her frustration, her eyes blur with tears. She feels like everything is crashing down upon her and the reality of the day is setting in, finally. This is unfixable. She’d taken a running jump over every boundary they constructed and respected until now. It was like a game. The flirting, the teasing, the goading. It was relentless, but they both played by the same unspoken rules. They were both smarter than to fall for the words the other spun. It had felt, in a way, safe. But she isn’t smart. Somewhere along the way she’d come to anticipate their next encounter. She felt a flutter in her stomach when he smiled down at her, so dashing and smug. She played their conversations over and over again when alone, trying to spy a crack in his performance, a subtle sign that he harboured his own strange fondness for her. She’d replaced the face of the imaginary companion with his when he brought herself to completion late at night. If she leaves now, there’s no going back. She decides to speak before she can change her mind. If she walks away then he’d take this as her final answer. It would mean whatever they had would be over.

“No.” She stands from the bed. She ignores the withering look she shoots her and strides around the bed. “I’m not going. You can’t make me.” He is close to reminding her that this is very much not the case but she keeps coming closer, stopping when her legs bump his knees and suddenly her hand is around the glass, brushing his, as she pulls it from his grip and tips it back. The liquid seeps around the seam and drizzles down her chin, falling and painting her nude frame. She finishes it with a gasp and sets it back into the desk, he holds his breath as she leans over him but she keeps her gaze detached from his. She plonks herself onto the bed, facing him.

“I was desperate for you. I just wanted you. I couldn’t have it so I took what I could. Im a greedy, selfish, depraved asshole and I know I really messed everything up but you can’t just send me away. You have to forgive me. I’m not leaving here until you forgive me. I’ll stay right here, as long as it takes, but you have to tell me what it is that I need to do. Please, Raphael, how do I fix it?”

She begins so doubt herself the longer he remains catatonic and brooding but at last he humours her.

“You’ve found a way to rewind time, my sweet little fool?” She shakes her head but isn’t willing to give up now that she had his attention.

“Without hindsight I’d have done it again, to be honest. Something else. Realistic, maybe.” She’s slowly gaining back that deplorable attitude and confidence.

“Watch your mouth, mouse. Remember exactly what has landed you here. If you want my forgiveness then I should know exactly what I am forgiving.” She quirks a brow at this, feeling an uneasy flutter at the way his face morphs to a determined smile, as if setting a challenge he expects her to fail.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Well,” he crosses one leg over the other and his posture is creeping back into its usual confidence, “how could I ever forgive you when you went behind my back and now, when asked to simply take responsibility and admit to everything, you wail like a bairn. One would be led to believe that it was your form that had been violated so rudely from across the planes from all this hysteria. It’s madness.” They glare at each other as he lays his condition before her.

“I need to even the playing field, Tav. Any embarrassment you have caused me will be returned tenfold. You see, I’m starting to feel rather left out. Like the only one not in on your little joke. You will show me as everything that happened after you entered this room. Your recreation must be convincing enough to make me believe the words you say and you will show me every detail of how it happened.”

He watches as she rises at once with a yelp.

“I’m sorry, you want me to do what?”

“Haarlep does love to put on a show. Quite the performer. All you need to do is read the lines as they were written. You should be familiar with them as you did write them yourself, did you not?” Haarlep lets out a happy sound behind her. She falls to her knees, reaching for his legs.

“Please. Eternal torture, death, anything but this.”

His foot kicks to smack her beggar hands away.

“Oh feeling embarrassed? Humiliated? Violated? My, my, mouse, quite a turn of a tables, is it not?”

She glares up and tries to feign dignity as she clambers back onto her feet.

“And if I do it then everything will go back to normal? Forgiven and forgotten.” He considers her phrasing.

“Forgiven? Why of course. I am a man of my word after all.” She puffs herself up and turns, making her way to behind the pool partition. She emerges from the far side, walking in an unintentionally exaggerated manner, every single movement screaming discomfort. She gasps loudly in surprise at the incubus on the bed, lounging back in character.

“Gracious, Raphael, your buxom bosom is exposed to the elements.” She raises her hand to her forehead, feigning as if to faint at the sight. It draws a giggle from Haarlep and a groan from Raphael. Can’t please everyone, she supposes.

“That’s strike one. On the third I’ll drop you into the middle of the sea with a snap of my fingers. I swear it.” She gawks at him as he sneers at her, entirely unimpressed. He was definitely not in the mood.

At his instruction, she begins the scene agin, from the top. This time she echos her words, verbatim.

“Ah, Raphael! Why…are you dressed like that?” She was not born for the stage, but it will do. Haarlep is bristling with excitement as he begins his part of the act. Ah, Roleplay! How exciting!

“My, my. Is that a little mouse skittering through my house?” His grin is as devilish as she remembers it. “How very naughty. Come to serve yourself to the cat? What a surprising course of events indeed.” She studies him as she recites his greeting to her just as he had.

“You’re not Raphael. You look different. Younger. Who are you really?” Haarlep smirks.

“I’m impressed. Very perceptive of you, indeed.” He raises onto his knees, legs spread and muscles rippling as he balances his weight. His abdomen is adorned with keratin ridges leading and pointing down to-no. She wasn’t looking there. She had, but she will safeguard the shreds remaining of her dignity where she can. He doesn’t have to know that.

“My name is Haarlep. You’d do well to remember it for you may just find me drawing it from your lips, like prayer. Very soon.” His hands are spread wide, inviting her to bask in his form. He look like he’s carved from scarlet marble. Like an angel. She instantly remembers exactly how she’d fallen to ruin to quickly. He’s so convincing that she almost forgets that she hasn’t really been taken back to that moment. She does not have to fake the way she freezes under charm of the incubus.

“The master must attend to business. I’m afraid he’s currently buried so deep into his work. You should know that he likes to finish very quickly.”

Raphael grunts, storing this for when he next wanted to berate the demon spawn. Haarlep breaks character to throw a glare over his shoulder.

“What? You said to recreate it exactly.”

“Shut up, Harlot.” He sighs, waving his hand. “Continue.”

The incubus’s gaze is instantly locked back onto hers as he resumes his act and again, he drinks her in. it’s like everything else in the room disappears.

“How lucky you are little mouse. He should not be back for quite some time. You’re all alone with me.” She holds her ground, as dangerous as he looks when he falls onto his hands and begins to prowl towards her. “I propose a little game. One I simply insist you must play before you go. If you don’t, well then I’d just have to assume we’re not friends. If were not friends then you’d be intruding and I would simply have to tell.” Haarlep, and reaches to grab her hands, giving them a light squeeze. She’d looked so scared the first time.

“Come on. I promise it’s not a mean game. I won’t make you do anything bad. I promise. Trust me. Play with me.” His smile is so sweet and gentle that she melts all over again.

“O-ok.”

“Oh goodie! Here are the rules. I ask you one question. Just one! You must tell me the truth. I will know if you lie to me. That’s all.” She frowns, not believing that it could be so easy.

“Oh come now. I won’t tell a soul. Nobody will ever know. It’ll be our little secret. I promise.” She nods and the breath leaves her as the incubus surges towards her. She doesn’t flinch this time, as his face brushes hers. Instead of going for the kiss he teases near her open mouth, he presses his lips to her ear, hissing his question.

“Do you want to fuck me?”

As she had before, she turns, locking eyes with the sultry, demonic slits. Their faces touch from proximity. True to her actions, instead of answering aloud, she closes the distance. She’d been so lost in the spell he must have cast on her when they’d met. There was no other explanation for why she’d been so overcome. But then, why was she feeling it all over again?

The incubus sighs against her mouth as their tongues dance and she’s pulled on top of him. He had undressed her as she lapped the venom straight from his mouth but they are both already naked this time. She grinds and squirms on top of him as the venom begins to seep straight to her head and loins. A heat spreads through her abdomen, hot as coals, and she can feel the trial she’s drooling onto his hard abdomen as she grinds against the rough, leathery skin. The room spins and that drunk feeling washes over her all over again.

She almost forgets that they are not alone, so focussed on the forked tip of his tongue playing with hers and the friction his scaled body is offering. He flips them around and it makes her stomach clench as he pins her below himself. She pants as he pulls away from her, desperately trying to catch her breath and ground herself in reality. Her eyes open and her stomach flops again when she sees Raphael, watching her intently, upside down. Their eyes lock and his lips part slightly as he looks down at her. wild and flushed, completely under the effects of the tainted saliva.

Haarlep fills her view again, coming back down to capture her lips. His hands brush her, his fingers curling though her hair as his thumbs dance over her cheeks. He cradles her face, joining them once more. His hands trail down, one travelling her collar bone and down her arm. It captures her hand in his. The other trails from her collar bone, fingers teasing against the fat of her breast as it tickles down and comes to caress the hardened bud. She whines into the kiss as the smouldering heat flickers to burning and another wave of slick dools from her. His fingers pinch and flick as she grinds and thrusts up at him, desperate for more. She needs to be closer. She needs him inside. He growls a laugh as his hips slam back on top of hers, pinning her to the mattress. Gods, now she understands how they ruined the sheets.

“What an enthusiastic answer, little mouse. Have you been waiting for this? To feel me on top of you?” The first time he’d asked she’d been completely taken by the fantasy that he really was Raphael but now, she was absently aware of his presence elsewhere. His hand tails down the curve of her stomach, toying at the mound of her push, not quite close enough to where she needed it. Now he was truly Haarlep in her eyes and she burned for him all the same.

“Say it. Say that you’re desperate for me. Admit now that I was the only one that you wanted when you came here, that you wouldn’t have done this for any other. I won’t touch you again until you take back your cruel words from before.” She lets out a yelp, squirming with fury and glaring daggers into his beautiful face.

“You didn’t say that!” The incubus giggles and raises his eyebrows, waiting.

“Strike two. Last warning.”

“WHAT? That was him!”

“At least he stayed in character.”

The incubus is all shades of smug, tail wagging.

“Ugh. Fine.” A finger dipping just a breath from her clit drags her back into under his spell and he hums in anticipation.

“Yes,” she chokes, “I only wanted you. I only needed you. I just want you to want me too.” The words pull a hiss from the cambion who can’t deny himself the sincerity, for once, he hears in her voice and knows that her words are for no other than himself. Haarlep hums again, pleased. His finger rewards her, brushing over her clit and her hips jump as she gasps. He giggles again, and squeezes down on her hand. His finger circles around before dipping between the soaked, swollen lips. She quakes and sings out so sweetly as the incubus works to undo her. Raphael’s hand wanders like an independent entity over his clenched thigh, until it finally comes to rest on his groin, fingers ghosting at the base of his hardening length. He watches the flashes of her pleasure revealed to him through the flapping cocoon of wings curled over her. His hand, not by his own volition wraps around himself and he hisses again. His mind is plagued by the memory of how tight and wetly she’d wrapped around him and his hand feels like a pitiful substitute. Nevertheless, he finds his it working slowly, squeezing up and down his weeping cock. His sighs are lost in the chorus of the two menaces on his bed, singing so beautifully.

“My, my. Don’t you two play nicely together. I can see that any worries I may have had that this was a one sided encounter were truly misguided. It seems you both posses no higher rational thinking than the drive of your genitals. I can see why you two get along so well now. It makes perfect sense.” He’s talking more to himself than anyone else but his cock throbs at the whimper it pulls from her anyway. She comes back to her senses enough to realise that she has not yet given Haarlep any attention, too completely lost in the endless throes of pleasure he was wracking upon her. Her hand comes down and wraps around his length, pumping it with desperation, eager to make him feel nearly as good as he did her. The incubus keens and grins into the crook of her neck. He feels the spark of ecstasy from his master as his hips jerk from the seat at the ghost of her touch. His master is already worn out tonight. His hand comes to wrap around hers, halting its motion.

“Ah, ah, mouse. I think we might need to improvise. Wouldn’t want the show to finish before scheduled.” She tries to understand the implications of his words as he flips her over, pulling her ass high into the air. Her eyes are closed as she feels the fiend position behind her and she waves her rump through the air, drunkly whining at the lack of attention. Her eyes shoot open, mouth falling slack as for the third time that night, the shape of Raphael’s cock slides without warning inside of her. Her vision is filled with the man in question, teeth clenched as he takes the sight of them in, cock in trembling hand.

The incubus rocks his hips without urgency. She moans, long and low, with every drag his cock as it carves and stretches her walls around it. One hand is driving into her spine, bending her up and onto him while the other wraps around her hair, pulling her head up and exposing her fully to his master. she’s pulled up and back. He bounces her, leaning back to let her land onto his upturned hips with a wet smacks. She squeals his name, shrill and pitchy.

“Fu-fuck! Haarlep!” He groans in satisfaction, wings fluttering at the sound of his name on the lips of another. For all that he screams inside to just ruin her and drive her into the mattress like last time, he’s not prepared to meet Raphael’s fury if he embarrasses him now. He keeps the pace lazy and controlled, watching the other fiend intensely and reading his pleasure for the signs that he was getting too close. It is like wrestling a feral cat, trying to hold her still and stop her from throwing herself back onto his length without abandon.

Raphael seems to recognise his nearing end as he lets go of himself entirely, gripping the arms of his chair until his knuckles pale.

His voice is strained and gritty as he needles her one last time.

“You know I’m entirely unimpressed. You were so adamant that you wanted me but but it seems you’re able and willing to do little more than bounce on my incubus. It looks like maybe are just desperate, after all. Perhaps I was wrong, you will just throw yourself on any willing cock that asks nicely. how disappointing.”

She hates his stupid, condescending sneer and all at once, she has kicked and fought her way free of the now whining and complaining incubus and is clambering toward the edge. She throws herself from the bed, landing on the floor and crawls like a possessed person to his feet. Her face has an intensity to it that makes even him pause as she bares her teeth and howls in rage.

“Fuck you!”

She’s on top of him now, her hands in his hair, and his scalp burns as she yanks his head backwards.

“I wanted you! You never gave me anything!”

She spears him into her, feeling him shudder.

“You’re all I ever wanted! You’re the only person who makes me cum. You’re the only person I trust. I hate you.”

She’s riding him hard, throwing her weight into every thrust that brings her cunt to press on his pelvis.

“I fucked your incubus. You fucked me. Now I’m fucking you. Everyone can just get fucked!” He would usually be disgusted in her uncivilised language but holy shit, he’s never been so turned on. She is terrifying, and hysterical, and she looks like a queen as she rides.

“You’ve tried to humiliate me but guess what? It didn’t work. It didn’t work because I know you feel the same, don’t you? Am I the one that makes you cum too? You’re just as pathetic as me.“ He’s choking on a moan as she bring her face over his, staring down his eyes and breath venting across his neck.

“I did your fucking deal. You forgive me now. You ever want to get fucked like this, until you can’t feel your own cock, again? Then you cum for me right now and prove right now that you’re no better than me.” He wants to be angry, and hateful. To shove her off and smite her into the depths of hell but instead he flops backwards, body quaking and shuddering as he releases inside of her, her own orgasm milking his seed from him as she screams and collapses onto him.

They stare at each other, panting and trying to find their breath. She leans closer and for a terrifying second, he thinks she is going to kiss him. She doesn’t. She pushes herself up and brings herself to stand on shaking legs. The room is silent as she redresses. When she is done, she turns to look at Raphael expectantly. With a snap of his fingers a swirling portal forms before her. She pauses before disappearing through. She looks to the incubus, reclined back on the bed and gives him a small awkward wave.

“It was nice to meet you?” It’s asked like a question. He nods enthusiastically and waves back with a smile.

“Do come back! It’s been so long since I’ve had a friend! Ta ta now, little mouse.”

She looks to the cambion still flopped in the chair. He is back to his absent brooding. She opens her mouth to say goodbye, maybe apologise, maybe ask what the hells all of that means, but a pointed look tells her that she has done enough and now it is time to go. Happy to avoid the confrontation that awaits them at some point on the inevitable future, she simply gives him a nod and disappears from his home. Peace, at last.

“Well,” the incubus rises with a stretch and makes his way to the heated water of the pool, “wasn’t that just a delight. Do you think she’ll come back at some point? I really could use a play mate, you know.” Raphael again, ignores the ramblings of the lesser fiend and rises to leave. He needs his own bath and the sweet embrace of sleep. He most definitely did not have the energy to deal with the little demon right now. Before leaving the boundary of the room, he half turns to address the incubus.

“I was wondering, did you happen to-“

“Yep. I obviously wasn’t going to let her go without a little payment.” The voice of his little mouse echos from the steaming water with a laugh, like chiming bells.

“Good. Good job, Haarlep.”

He hears an excited intake of air at his praise and takes his leave.

“Get Korrilla to deal with the sheets before tomorrow. I don’t wish to be disturbed again tonight.”

He has forgiven his little mouse, as promised. That did not mean he was near ready to forget. There was no way she would keep herself from him now. Not when he was so eager to explore his new toy in the days to come.

Hello! I hope you liked it! It’s the longest thing I’ve posted and I’m terrified that it was a let down after the first part. Please lmk what you think, I welcome discussion and feedback. This was meant to be a softer, lighter take on Raphael, haarlep, and their mouse but I hope I still somewhat made them likeable and recognisable.

Also, poor Korrilla.

[hello-summ3r]

reader, who is part of task force 141 is wrongly accused of being a traitor. but for some reason, despite all the torture they endured, they still forgive them.

hi guys :D im still quite new to tumblr and this is my first fic im gonna be starting. i have written before on ao3, wattpad, notes (for practise), a failed unfinished book so hopefully this will go well!

writers block may happen at some point because im kinda planning for it to be a series, if not, just a one-part fic. chances are, i wont have the energy to proof-read so if there are mistakes, please dont mind it :)

i got this idea from @ghostslittlegf . i have reblogged the post that they made that gave me the inspiration. <3

anyways, enough rambling, enjoy! <33

!tw! : t0rture, mentions of g0re, abvse, swearing, foul language, manipulation

part 1

it wasn't you. not your fault.

days pass, and all sense of time was lost for you. you don't know how long you have been bound to this chair for, and the same nauseating scent of old blood and soil was not making it any better.

the task force placed you in a holding cell underground. the entire place was empty; it was just you, and the chilling, hollow echoes of whatever slight movement you bore from the tight knots gnawing at your wrists and ankles. your skin was blistering from the constant friction of the jagged ropes and stinging. fear was eating you alive, consuming more and more of you as each day passed. hell, it felt like an eternity down here.

the task force, the previous week, had encountered a leak in information that meant the entire team was put under danger. they were sure it was someone within the base, as nobody else would just have access to such private information.

one day, you were just in the gym training when a few men took you aside, captain price at their heels. his eyes were dark and you could see levels of anger rising inside him. you were confused, obviously. had you done anything wrong? no, you hadn't. the next thing you knew, you were here. bound and restricted.

but you didn't do anything?

"you will tell us the truth, is that clear?" price spat as he bent down to meet your eye-level. behind him were 3 other people with pistols in their hand, loaded. you couldn't make out their faces as it was dimly lit.

"truth? what do you mean?" you question, utterly confused and a little scared of this situation. your eyes dart around the cell. you've never been down here before, and everything seems so foreign. the walls were slightly cracked, the large bricks uneven in placement. moss grew from the cracks, and the stench of wet soil creeped into your nose. it was cold and damp, and disgusting. these were the holding cells you never wanted to go down into, yet here you were, forced to be in one as a prisoner.

"dont play dumb." price sneered, his face closer to yours. you backed away instinctively, looking away to avoid his gaze.

"i really don't know what you mean..." you reply with some thought whilst slightly shaking your head, trying to make sense of this whole situation. price grabs at the arm-rests of the chair with some force. it startles you but you listen to him carefully.

"we know you betrayed us. that information that got leaked? yeah, well now the entire base is in danger. we're sabotaged, all because one little birdie decided to run their traitor mouths to enemy bases." he says, sing-songingly on the last part.

your eyes widen a little at such an accusation. never would you even think of betraying the task force. they were like family to you, and the accusation sickened you deeply. even the thought was sickening. "what? you're accusing me? but why!? what's your evidence?" you desperately pry for answers. all this was so sudden.

"oh, evidence? there's plenty of evidence, sweetheart." he replies, a sarcastic and irritated chuckle woven into his speech. he stands back up and looks back at the men behind him. he nods and they walk towards you.

"what? price...what are they doing?" you cry, your voice shaking and unstable out of fear. you watch as one walks behind you, the other two standing in front on either side. price walks away, pulling the cell door open and leaving.

"price? price! captain!" you yell, but no-one answers other than your screams that reverberate emptily off the cold, damp stone.

you wake to the sound of your cell door sliding open. it slams forcefully when it reaches the other side, which jolts you back into your senses. you blink away your exhaustion and look up at the dark figure that walks towards you. you try make out their face, and distinguish them as simon.

"simon...is that you?" you weakly mutter. your body was on the edge of breaking from the week-long physical and mental torture you had to endure.

he doesn't say anything and just walks towards you. his demeanor seemed calm and stoic but you knew what was about to happen. you took a deep breath to the best of your ability, your ribs hurting in the process, as you anticipated what he was going to do to you.

"listen, we've been a'this for a week now. you still refuse to tell us the truth. we've been too gentle with you. now, tell us the truth. or else i'll 'ave to resort to more...brutal ways." he stared at you, his gaze of pure rage that he managed to keep controlled.

"i'm innocent...i truly have nothing to say." you mumble, knowing it wasn't going to change anything.

suddenly, you feel the brute force of simon's fist against your cheek. you go limp at the pain of the punch, but you bite back tears.

"tell. me. the. truth." he demands, his voice becoming more stern and loud.

"i really don't have anything...i promise you the evidence against me are forged, and the accusations are false!" you whine, voice breaking.

another punch.

"i forgive you all for this...once you find out i'm truly innocent." you mumble with a sob in your voice, a warm, twitching smile on your face as tears brim in your eyes.

simon's eyes only narrow at you.

"i don't give a shit for whatever trickery you're pulling right now. i want the truth! so spit it out!" he demands again, just below a yell. you look away as you try contain your tears from the pain.

"i wont hesitate you batter you right now. i won't go easy like i did before, just a harsh hit here and there. tell the truth! the truth!" he yells this time, but you stay silent. your lip quivers as you try think of what to say, as you truly had no 'truth' to confess. you're not the traitor, you're innocent.

another hard blow hits your face, then another, and another. the abuse slowly turns into a result of his anger. simon had his denials, but the evidence changed his mind immediately. he was mad, infuriated that you betrayed the entire team, or at least, he thought.

"i'll forgive you, i promise." you choke under your breaking breath, trickles of blood running down from your nose and mouth.

"the truth!" he yells again before delivering another hit.

"i'll forgive you all...no matter what."