#up next: backlighting

[gojonanami]

❝ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐃𝐎𝐎𝐑 ! ❞

❝ THE FOUR TIMES YOUR NEIGHBOR TRIES TO HOOK UP WITH YOU AND THE ONE TIME HE SUCCEEDS !! ❞

✧ pairing: uncle! sukuna x neighbor! reader

✧ summary: you had grown up next door to the itadoris, but you never had met their uncle. and for good reason, he had spent the majority of his life in and out of jail. but now he was finally out, and he only had one goal in mind -- getting you in his bed.

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, modern au, uncle sukuna, degradation (slut, whore, brat), freshly out from jail sukuna, implied age gap (sukuna probably like late 30s / early 40s, reader is like mid twenties), wet dreams (f!), masturbation (f! +m!), dom!sukuna, sub!reader, dirty talk, oral (f + m), spanking (f!receiving), fingering (f! receiving), sex (p in v), creampie, orgasm delay (f! receiving), implied multiple rounds, swearing, fanart found on pinterest (let me know if you know the og artist)

✧ w/c: 8,939

You were a pretty little thing. 

That’s what he thought when he first saw you. And when he saw you smile, his second thought was — how could he have you? 

You were the girl next door. Literally. Grew up next to the Itadori family, you watched the brat on weekends, helped around the house after the mom had left, and even slept over some nights in the guest room. 

The very room you were in now, pinned underneath him, legs spread as your cunt gushed as if you had been the one doing time instead of him. 

“Fuck, girl, did the boys your age not fuck you properly?” He clicks his tongue, the glint of his piercing in the low light of the moonlight that illuminated the barest hint of the room. It was by that light that you could not only see the way his lips curled into a smirk as his hand came down on your needy pussy, but the noticeable bulge in his pants, “g’nna have to fix that,” as he thumbs meanly at your swollen clit, “I’ll have you screaming my name soon enough.” 

“Are the cookies almost done?” Yuji asked, rubbing the back of his head, squinting at the cookies through the oven window, trying to make sense of what he was seeing, “sure you’re not burning them?” 

“I know how to bake cookies, Yu,” you roll your eyes, as you clean the counters off of the flour and bits of dough and sugar that smeared the surface, “why are you so impatient anyway?” 

“He wants to leave before the wrecking ball blows through, and you should do that same,” Choso adds, emerging from his room with a yawn, and you tilt your head, his gaze slides to Yuji, “she doesn’t know?” 

Yuji shakes his head, “I thought Dad was—” 

Choso glances at you, gesturing to his face to tell you that you had something on your own, before his eyes slide back to his younger brother, “You know Jin can barely remember to tell us, much less—” 

You cross your arms, wiping the flour and sugar from your cheek, but you only manage to make it worse, “Can you guys just tell me instead of having an argument about who should have told me?” 

Yuji sighed, leaning against the counter, elbow propped up as he held his head up with his fist flat against his chin, “My dad’s brother is coming to stay for us for the summer,” 

“Your uncle?” and you miss the way Yuji grimaces at the question, too busy pulling on oven mitts, “Your dad’s great — I can’t imagine your uncle being any different,” you pull the cookies from the oven, swatting Yuji’s hand as he tries to take one off the still burning rack, “you’ll burn yourself, just wait,” 

Your own family was scattered here and there now — and the Itadoris had been like your own family as you grew up — Jin was like a second dad to you, he had always looked after you, even after you had graduated from college. The quiet man didn’t say much but he did a lot, and you couldn’t imagine his brother being much different. 

And then the door swung open, a large man caught in the backlight of the summer sun, casting a long shadow across the entryway made your breath stick in your chest as if it was where it belonged — pinned under his mere presence. 

“Looks like you’ve done nothing to change the place, did you?” He takes a step or two in and finally his body is cast into view — tattoos bound like ribbons against his skin, muscles are heavy cords that look more monstrous than human — as no human should be as hulking as he was. But that was nothing compared to his face itself — black tattoos lining both sides of his face in an intricate pattern that stole your breath from your lungs, while his eyes were black holes that cut right through you than at you, a flicker of flames burning underneath, “tch, brat, take my things up—“ he tosses the duffle bag slung over his shoulder at Yuji who catches it with a glare, before his gaze slides to Choso, “and he’s still here?” 

“Don’t be rude to my son and his brother, Sukuna,” Jin sighed, entering behind him as he shut the door, “Choso is welcome, and don’t forget you’re a guest here,” he takes the bag from his son, and takes it upstairs instead. 

And Sukuna’s gaze finally falls on you. It’s heavy, the sharp tip of a sword tracing every inch of your body as it circled its weak points — his eyes lingers on the curves of your body — and perhaps the points he liked too. 

“And who’s this?” he jerks his head towards you gruffly, as if you couldn’t answer yourself. 

You say your name, “I’m their neighbor,” and he nods, eyes darting to Choso, his body growing tense, as he gritted his teeth, but Sukuna was only all smiles, he took steps forward. You can’t help but avert your gaze, as he approaches, fingers outstretched, a slight flinch but it’s gone soon enough. 

You glance up, and find him taking a bite of one of your cookies, tongue darting out to lick the chocolate from his lips, “sweet,” he devours it, “not bad, brat,” and he leans close again to grab another, “but probably not as sweet as you.” 

And your eyes widen, as he bears no reaction, except for a small smirk that graces his lips, as he follows his brother upstairs, “You better not be fucking around in my things,” 

You don’t hear Jin’s reply, still utterly consumed by what just happened. 

“You okay? He’s just like that,” Choso murmurs, “he won’t bother you, I promise,” 

“No, no, I’m okay,” your lips curl in an offer of reassurance, but you’re sure it falls flat, as your eyes glance back at the stairs. 

And that was your first time meeting Sukuna. 

But far from your last.  

The next time you saw him was at a summer barbecue the Itadoris always had to kick off summer break. And most of your time was spent chatting with Choso and kicking Yuji’s ass at Mario Kart, until it grew dark, and Choso was stuck carrying a slightly tipsy Yuji inside.

You laid back in the patio chair, scrolling on your phone to the symphony of cicadas filling the silence, the smoke from the barbecue still lingering in the night — and then you hear the creak of the back door open. 

“You want another drink, Choso?” 

“I’d love a drink, girl,” and your eyes snap over to spot Sukuna, standing with hands tucked into his pockets, a black tank you assumed was several sizes too small. 

“Sure,” you say, slipping from your chair, “but we only have the mix for a sex on the beach,” and his eyes find yours, a ghost of a gruff chuckle on his lips. 

“Sounds perfect if it’s from you, sweetheart,” and you have to suppress the urge to roll your eyes — he may be nice to look at, but he isn’t smooth, you make the drink in relative silence. Until you sense his presence behind you, your head whipping back to find him looming, your breath caught in your throat. 

“Uh—“ 

“Just wanted to see a master bartender at work, you seem like you really know what you’re doing, with, what’s the drink called again?” And you force yourself to look forward, ignoring the weird mix of his musk and alcohol, with the clink of the ice cubes against the glsd breaking the silence. 

“Sex on the beach,” you offer it to him, and fuck, you don’t like it — don’t like him and his smug grin, the way your eyes can’t pull away from his, the way your heart clenched, and the way you wanted nothing more than to wipe the smug smile on off his face. 

“Good girl,” he plucks the drink from you, his fingers brushing yours, “want to have one with me?” 

And you almost find yourself saying yes, find yourself buckling under the heat of his gaze and the summer humidity that clings to your skin and strangles the sense from your head — and you can’t help but think how nice those fingers of his would feel around your neck—

“No, no, I probably should head home. It’s late—“ and just then the back door opens again, Choso standing in the doorway, “Choso, where’s Yu?” 

“I got him to bed. Come on, I’ll walk you home,” and you nod, grabbing your bag with a slight nod to Sukuna before disappearing inside, and you don’t catch the way your best friend glares at Sukuna. 

And you don’t see the way Sukuna stares at you as you walk away either. 

The third time you meet Sukuna is a few nights later — and it wasn’t for lack of trying to avoid him. 

“Can I have some popcorn?” you ask, eyes still glued to the TV, a movie that the two of you had seen a million times before during movie night, “Choso?” you glance over at him, but he’s staring off into space, “hello?” you nudge him, and he finally comes to. 

“Sorry, what?” And you sigh, leaning over and grabbing the popcorn bowl, “sorry I was just—“ he shakes his head, “nothing,” 

“You’re so convincing,” and you see a flush crawl up his neck, “C‘mon, what’s bothering you?” 

You toss a pillow at Choso, the pillow bouncing off his face to land in his lap, the glow of the TV in his dark bedroom giving you enough light to see the glare on his face, “Cho, you’ve been brooding all night — did Yuji call you by your name instead of big brother?” 

He scoffs, “I only got upset about that once,” or twice or maybe ten times, “it’s Sukuna. He’s been really grating on my nerves,” and your eyebrows knit together, as you put the volume of the TV down. 

“What has he done?” and Choso hesitates, several emotions flicker across his face before a stoic look glazes over his face, as he presses his hand to his lips, “you can tell me—“ 

There’s a knock at the door, and Yuji sticks his head in, “Hey, Dad has to sleep now for a meeting, so move to the living room,” and you throw popcorn at him, but he only catches one or two in his mouth and leaves. 

You sigh, “I should probably just go home anyway, I have to get some sleep,” you glance at Choso, who is fascinated with his floor all of a sudden, “you okay?” He moves to get up, but you shake your head, “just chill, I’ll walk back.” 

He opens his mouth to argue, but shuts it,  “I’m fine, just get home safe okay?”

You snort, “think I’ll be fine walking the ten feet to my door,” you grab your things, “I’ll see you tomorrow,” 

And you close the door softly, turning to head up the hallway and out of the house, bag slung over your shoulder, and you’re turning the corner, when you nearly crash into someone. 

A hand curls around your wrist to steady you, “You should watch where you’re going, brat,” and your eyes flit up to find a dark gaze looking back down at you, lips curled in a small grin, “don’t know what you’ll find wandering these halls,” 

You pull your arm away, “I’m pretty familiar with these halls and what wanders them,” 

“Not all of them,” the low tone of his voice sends a shiver down your spine, as you brush past him, avoiding his piercing gaze, cutting through you with practiced ease, “what were you doing here so late anyway?” You ignore him as you go to grab your shoes, but find them missing. 

“Have you seen my shoes?” and he only tilts his head, arms crossed, muscles inked with tattoos that littered up and down, and you knew he could pin you down with barely an ounce of effort. 

“Maybe answer my question and I’ll tell you,” and your lips twist into a scowl, as you begin to look around, checking the coat closet, under the couch, “was he really that bad?” And his question makes you pause, “the cursed brat, in bed? Did he not do the job for you?” 

You haul yourself to your feet, “What is your problem?” 

And his expression is as milquetoast as ever, as if he had asked you about the weather as opposed to asking if you had fucked your best friend, “You don’t have to be fucking sensitive, it’s just a question,” he runs his painted nails through his dyed cropped hair, low light glinting off the black sheen, “unless it was that bad,” 

“Fuck off,” you scoff, trying to walk past him but he blocks you, “what?” 

“Maybe I’ll help you find your shoes, if you have a drink with me,” and you cross your arms. 

“Did you go to jail for stealing? Because with all those muscles and tattoos, I’m surprised you weren’t caught sooner,” and he’s leaning closer, breath warming your lips and your blood alike, boiling under your skin as if he had set you on fire without lying a single finger on you. 

“Didn’t take you to be one to admire me, little one, after all, I’m just your neighbors’ uncle aren’t I? Jailbird, criminal, fucking lowlife, right? And his fingers ghost over your jaw, “but I don’t see you pulling away, do I?” 

And you aren’t. But why aren’t you? Every brain cell is telling you to fucking run, but your body wants nothing more than to lean into his touch, to give in, let yourself be engulfed by him—

The creak of the door has you jumping back, “hey, you forgot your shoes—“ Choso starts, and his gaze snaps between you and Sukuna. 

“Thanks, Cho,” you slip past Sukuna, grabbing your shoes, “i was wondering what I did with them,” you step into your shoes, cheeks still burning as you can’t quite meet your best friend’s eyes, “I’ll see you tomorrow,” 

And you’re gone without another word, the silence of your exit hanging overhead as the screen door clicks closed behind you. Sukuna watches you leave, and as he turns he’s met with a glare from Choso. 

Sukuna only gives a gruff chuckle, walking past as he lets his shoulder bump against Choso’s, “What are you fucking looking at?” 

And now he had visited you in your dreams too. 

“S’fucking wet,” Sukuna has you pinned down with one hand, face hovering over your drenched cunt, as he toyed with it, tugging your folds apart to let some of your pre drip onto your bedspread, “fucking slut, you were begging for this, weren’t you?” 

And a thick digit sinks into you with little resistance, making your back arch as pleasure rips up your spine, “fuck off,” you manage, between pants. 

“I know, brat, that’s what I’m trying to do,” he laughs, as he works a second finger inside you with practiced ease, “like I was made to fuck this cunt open, my fingers are already fucking drenched, and all I’ve done is open you up,” and to punctuate his point, he’s scissoring his fingers to stretch your walls out, dragging against them, as your mouth falls open in a silent moan. 

“A-ah, please—“ and he’s grinning now, a purr as he leans down to meet your blown out gaze. His fingers begin to fuck you open, his thumb rubbing against your clit as your body rocked against his hand. And a grunt has you looking at him, only to see him palming his erection, slit dripping with precum, “Sukuna, please—“ 

“Knew you’d be a good girl f’me, good little slut gonna break my fingers in two,” and his other hand spanks your clit, “now cum,” 

And you do, muscles clenching as you do, a cry of his name on your lips that does nothing but stroke his ego, your orgasm soaking his hand. Eyes fluttering open to find him licking your release from his fingers, as his other hand undoes his pants and tugs down his boxers, his cock already dragging against your still twitching cunt. 

“Fuck,” you mumble, under your breath, and he only smiles. 

“Now you’re getting it, baby.” 

And your alarm jolts you awake, you stare at your ceiling, watching the ceiling fan spin, while you glance at your side to find nothing but your comforter beside you. Not to mention, as you shifted, feeling the telltale stickiness of your arousal and the dull throbbing of your cunt, the aftermath of your dream — your very wet dream. 

“Fuck,” you say, this time out loud and to no one but yourself. This was going to be a problem, if you let this go on. And you couldn’t. Not after the last time — you swing your feet over the edge of the bed and stand, glancing back at the stain of your pre that you flipped your comforter over — and not after that. 

“Have you been avoiding me?” 

Yes, you have done a good job. Until now. 

You gritted your teeth, as you stood in the doorway of the room. But how could you have avoided him in the guest room of the house he lived in? 

And as he loomed in the doorway of the kitchen, dwelling in the shadow of his form, you were kicking the ass of past you, the one that had convinced you it was okay to stay over because Sukuna had been out. 

“Had” being the operative word. 

It had been a few days since you had found yourself at the Itadoris. And more than a few days since you had found yourself dreaming of Sukuna — waking up with his name on your tongue and your panties uncomfortably drenched. You had gone through more underwear this week than you had in a month. And it didn’t help that you felt the need to get off once you did wake, the ache between your thighs was too much to bear before sleep. 

And now here was the subject of your dirty dreams darkening your doorway, as if your dreams were some naughty prophecy waiting to unfold (though you were sure he could fold you). 

“What are you talking about?” 

And you knew exactly what he was talking about. You had made sure Sukuna wasn’t around when you came over (the absence of his motorcycle is a telltale sign), and always left before he returned. But tonight you made the mistake of drinking with Choso, the two of you finishing two bottles of sake before being completely fucked. 

Your head was spinning — you could barely have made it to the bathroom, much less your home. Choso had corralled you into taking his bed, before going and collapsing on his couch. It had been only a few hours into the night before you got up in a haze of confusion with your mouth drier than the Sahara. You pulled yourself up, slipped on thin sleep shorts that you had thrown off at some point due to the summer humidity, before finding your way to the door. 

You made your way to the kitchen, the squeak of the fridge as you pulled it open to grab a water bottle. And that’s when he spoke. 

“And here you are,” and the water bottle nearly slipped from your grasp, “no need to jump, brat, I’m not a monster or a shadow,”

No, but he’s so much worse, he’s real. 

“I was just getting something to drink,” you murmur, and he tilts his head, as he takes a step closer. 

“Just water?’ That’s not the kind of drink you still owe me,” and why was his presence so intoxicating? Several drinks in and you could still hold your own, still speak in complete sentences, and even make your way home on foot. But Sukuna comes near, and suddenly you can barely form a fucking syllable, your limbs feel far too heavy, and your body is nearly burning, as if he had turned your blood to wine without any miracle needed. 

No, it was more of a curse. 

“I don’t remember owing you anything,” and he’s tilting his head, amusement flickering across his lips, a step closer and then another, until you’re utterly engulfed in his presence. You can smell the mix of exhaust and sweat off of him from his motorcycle ride, the way his jaw tenses as if he is holding himself back from taking a bite, and the way his gaze pierces into you as if he has you pinned like a butterfly under glass. 

“Do I need to give you a reason?” And when his fingers ghosted over your swell of your cheek, a featherlight brush from rough, calloused skin that makes a shiver roll down your body, “didn’t think I had to with the way you were nearly melting into my touch when I saw you last, girl,” 

“I wasn’t the one begging for me to be there,” and he clicks his tongue derisively, and you wonder what else he can do with it, before his fingers grip your chin roughly, forcing your gaze to his. 

“Tch, so pleased with yourself just for resisting, are you, sweetheart?” he tilts his head, while his other hand slithers down your side until he finds your waist and tugs you close, lips hanging close, a forbidden fruit begging you to take a bite, “imagine how good you’d feel if you gave in,” and you almost do, melting into his touch, as if you were made to fit in his arms, leaning up so you could feel the warm breath of his welcome—

SLAM! 

You’re sent stumbling back again, clearing your throat, as the sounds of footsteps grow close, and Yuji wanders into the kitchen, mouth pulled open by his yawn, as he blinks as he spots the two of you. 

“Hey, I thought you were asleep upstairs,” he walks past the two of you to grab a water bottle from the refrigerator, and sparing a short glance at Sukuna, “and I thought you had plans,” 

“Plans can change, brat,” Sukuna sighs, his eyes still trained on you — a homing missile with a target, and Yuji was an obstacle in the way, “shouldn’t you go back to bed?” 

“I could ask you two the same,” he leaned against the kitchen counter for a moment, while you only shook your head. 

“I’m going to go to bed,” your only exit opportunity and you’d take it — there had been enough mistakes made, and you didn’t need another to add to the list, and you’re slipping back into your room without another word. 

You don’t see the way Sukuna glares at his nephew, cursing the day of his existence with only his eyes, only gaining a confused stare in return, “What? Ow!”

And you’re only left questioning why Yuji is holding a bag of ice to his head the next morning. 

But you knew you couldn’t avoid Sukuna forever — and you couldn’t avoid how you felt either.

Especially when he gave you exactly what you wanted — space. You had barely seen him for the next week, the former criminal making himself scarce, apparently telling his brother that he had grown tired of “rooming with a bunch of brats,” and had found himself another place to stay for a while. 

Jin had sighed when you had asked over breakfast a day or so after he left, “I don’t know how long he’ll be gone, but we’ll see. The only requirement of his release was to stay in the prefecture—” 

“And that’s already far too close,” Yuji muttered under his breath, earning a sharp look from his dad, “so we don’t even know if he’ll be back huh?” 

Jin shrugs, as he sips his coffee, “I don’t know — your uncle isn’t one to stay in one place — unless there’s something that he wants,” 

“I’ll take any amount of time that he’s not here,” Choso shakes his head, offering you a small smile, “and this way you can stay over in the guest room now,” 

“Yeah, true,” you offered a weak smile, as you continued to pick at your food. This was good news, things were going back to normal, but even so, as you pushed your food on your plate — why did your chest ache so much? 

“Yuck, do people’s heads really explode like that?” Yuji sat with the two of you in the living room, TV playing the movie Yuji had chosen, shoveling popcorn by the fistful. 

“How would we know that?” you snort, stealing popcorn from his bowl, “why did you even choose this movie anyway?” 

“He heard there was a Megan Thee Stallion cameo in it,” and Yuji’s cheeks flushed, visible even in the dim illumination of the TV, as he got to his feet. 

“I’m gonna get a drink, do you two want anything?” And you both shake your heads, as you stifle your chuckle. 

“You wanna stay over tonight?” Choso asks, and you tilt your head, toying with a popcorn kernel between your fingers. 

You shrug, “we’ll see,” your eyes drift back to the movie, but you feel the creak of the bed as he shifts. 

“You don’t have been avoiding staying over, even though it’s just us,” Fuck, your eyes still found themselves on the screen instead of him, anywhere but him, and you can hear the unspoken words — even though Sukuna is not here, “are you sure we’re good?” 

And you couldn’t tell him that it wasn’t him that was bothering you. It wasn’t him keeping you up at night, it wasn’t him who had been tempting you the last few weeks, and it wasn’t him that you wanted to see — no matter how much you didn’t want to admit it, even to yourself. 

So you don’t.  

You smile as best you can, “Everything’s fine, Choso,” and he frowns, still unsure, and you know there’s only one thing that will assure him, if only a little, “I’ll stay over,” 

And so you end up in the guest room — far too late. Even though Sukuna no longer lingered here, his scent still did, even with the sheet change and the small amount of his things gone, he was still very much here. 

And it did little for your sleep. Or maybe too much. 

Again, you dreamt of him, his large palms dragging down your sides, lips pulled in a smirk that he pressed to the hollow of your throat before it’s consumed by a flash of canines that pinch and tease the softness of your flesh. 

“S’fucking wet,” he huffs a chuckle out, “such a little slut, been wanting this for far too long haven’t you?” And he’s undoing your robe with ease, a single tug has your body revealed to him, “haven’t even laid a finger on you and look at the mess you’ve made,” he clicks his tongue, and a whine parts your lips, “already whining like a bitch?” 

He shoves two fingers inside you, a gasp ripped from your throat, thick digits stretching your walls, clenching around the intrusion, “Sukuna—please,” 

“Silly girl,” he murmurs in your ear, “I’m not even the one touching you now,” and fantasy melts into reality as his hand cups your chin, eyes fluttering open, “but I know I can make you cum faster than any dream,” 

Wait. What? 

And suddenly the touch down your body feels all too real, pain ribboning from the fingers squeezing your hips hard, and a gasp as your body trembles, still caught between sleep and reality. Your body can’t move, but it’s not the weight of your own limbs keeping you still. 

Your eyes shoot open completely, sleep shed completely from your mind. 

And you found Sukuna, his lips curled in a smile that was far too familiar from other sleepless nights. But was it? Or was it another dream that he had invaded, far too real as you slept in his bed, rather than your own. 

Your hand reaches out for him shakily, fingers tracing the hard line of his jaw, “Is this real?” you mutter, more to yourself, but he takes it upon himself to answer, his hand darting out to curl around your wrist, squeezing, while the other holds himself up, mattress creaking a divot where his hand pressed in, body heat all too close. 

“Want me to pinch you? Can’t say it’ll be the cheek you’re thinking of,” he chuckles, unable to meet his gaze, “don’t go acting like a shy virgin now, woman. You’re the one having wet dreams about me,” 

“No, I-I, it wasn’t—“ but your brain is short circuiting and his laugh that rumbles against you tells you he’s enjoying this far too much, “what are you doing here? I thought you left,” the statement comes out far too biting, and he raises an eyebrow. 

“I did, but it was just for a week. I had some business to deal with,” and a grin pulls at his lips, “why? Did you miss me, brat? Is that why you’re dreaming of me?” 

You’re squirming underneath him trying to look anywhere but him, “I’m not, it wasn’t—“ and he only hums, dragging a hand down your front, until he’s reaching your shorts, a brief pause to see if you’d pull away, but you don’t, and fingers pressing against your soaked shorts. 

“That why you’re soaked through your fucking shorts?” And the rough pads of his fingers grind against your eager hole, nearly swallowing you in, only the thin fabric of your shorts keeping his fingers from fucking you then and there, “least your body’s honest — so eager to get fucked,” and he’s teasing your drenched entrance, drawing his fingers back to have your pre like spiderwebs between the two digits. 

“Sukuna, please—“ and his lips curl. 

“Tell me to stop, and I’ll go,” a small whine left your throat, the throbbing between your thighs growing with the way his gaze undid you — unscrewed you by your hinges and watched you fall apart, only to ask you to put yourself back together. 

But you couldn’t. Not without him. 

“Sukuna—“ 

“I didn’t ask you to whine, are you going to answer my question—-“ 

“Fuck me,” the words fall from your lips as if possessed, and you can’t find it in you to regret them. 

And he smiles all the same. 

“About fucking time,” and his fingers meanly rub against your clit through the paper thin fabric of your shorts, “didn’t even fucking put on panties and you expect me to think you didn’t want me fuck you open,” and embarrassment burns at your cheeks, “did you get this wet from dreaming about me?” And no words come to your mind, and he gives you a sharp spank to your clothed slit, drawing a sharp gasp to your lips and slick flooding from your folds, “better use your words, woman,” 

“Fuck, please, I need—“ and his fingers practically rip your shorts off, letting your cunt gush onto the sheets. 

“Need me to fuck you that bad? G’nna beg this criminal to fuck you open?” And he’s toying with your folds, tugging your tight hole apart as his eyes rake over your pussy, exposed for him, “after all of your teasing, what makes you think you even deserve to be fucked? Maybe I should leave you like this, fingers buried in your cunt, wishing they were your neighbor’s uncle’s,” and a sadistic smile graces his features as it only can his, “fuck yourself for me,” 

You whimper, as his fingers leave your hole, clenching around nothing as if begging for his touch, “what? But—“ 

“Fuck yourself until you cum, wanna see what you’ve been doing when you’re fucking me in your sleep,” the absence of his touch leaves you keening and needy, for something, anything to get you off. Want overcomes inhibition, and your shaky fingers find their way to your cunt, fingertips tracing the outer lips, a gasp you barely recognize as your own when you rub against your clit, “c’mon girl, gotta open yourself up for me — think I’ll fit if you just rub yourself like that?” And he’s pressing his clothed erection against your thigh — and he’s fucking big — rock hard cock rubbing against you through damp damp sweatpants. 

And his fingers grabs your own, guiding them to your slick hole, letting them slip past your fluttering walls, while his own teased your outsides, “Good girl,” and the praise makes your walls clench, and he’s chuckling, “want to be a fucking good girl, then fuck yourself until I see you cum for me,” 

You swallow your whines, beginning to move your fingers in and out, your insides clinging to you, as if begging for something longer, thicker, better — and you knew his fingers would be. A moan falls from your lips, and he clicks his tongue. 

“Gotta be rougher than that,” and his fingers curl around the base of your own, using your fingers as a glorified fuck toy. Your head lolled back, as he controlled the pace of your fingers, fucking you hard and fast, reaching places you didn’t think were possible with your fingers, “that’s it, you’re close aren’t you? Like being fucked with your own fingers, don’t you, you slut?” And you’re shuddering, soft cries and moans filling the silence of the night with the loud squelch of your cunt. 

“Sukuna, f-fuck, ngh, I can’t—“ and he only begins to rub on your clit with his thumb. 

“Yes you can,” he gruffly chuckles, murmuring in your ear as he leans forward, “cum on your fingers like you have every night for me,” and he forces your gaze to meet his as your fingers brush that one spot that has your back arching, “say my name,” 

And you do, cumming hard around your fingers, as he uses them to fuck you through your orgasm, the wet noises of your folds growing louder as your thighs shake. Your eyes meet his, glassy with tears from your high, and Sukuna leans down to lick the salty tear from your cheek. 

He pulls your fingers from inside you, your sticky cum coating your digits and even dripping onto his own. He smirks as he eyes them, before sliding them into his mouth. A moan pulled from your lips as he sucks your essence clean from them, tongue dragging up the length of your fingers. 

“Shit, that was a nice moan,” and his eyes fall back to your drenched cunt, “Still so fucking tight,” he clicks his tongue, Fuck, girl, did the boys your age not fuck you properly? G’nna have to fix that,” as he thumbs meanly at your swollen clit, “I’ll have you screaming my name soon enough.” 

he hums, taking in your ruined state — tear stained cheeks, your dripping cunt, and your red ruined lips from biting them, “so fucking pretty like this,” and you hear him shift, the distinct sound of his phone camera, making your eyes snap open. 

“No, fuck, no don’t—“ and he’s turning the screen around to show you how absolutely fucked you look, “please—“ 

“It’s a little too late for that, can’t have anyone buying your little virgin act anymore huh?” he’s grinning as he leans forward, pinning your thighs in place as you try to squirm away, “don’t move,” 

His order makes your muscles tense, unable to move your body under the heavy grasp of his hands splayed against your hips. The pads of his fingers dig into your soft flesh, as his lips dare closer to your weeping slit. 

“Fuck, are you a virgin though? You’re still so fucking tight even after that little show you put on for me,” and he doesn’t give you a chance to reply, his breath warming your twitching cunt, “either way, you won’t be one soon,” and he’s burying his mouth in your pussy. 

You moan, covering your mouth before he sucks on your clit, tongue teasing your hole open, a wave of heat flooding your body. The sounds of his licking and slurping fill your ears — and you wonder how the whole house isn’t awake yet. 

You can’t stop your hips from nearly fucking his face, but he spanks your thigh, hard, as he pulls his mouth from your dripping slit, “I told you not to move,” and he spanks your clit for good measure, making you yelp against your fingers, “tell me when you’re about to cum,” and you whimper, “or I can open this door and let the house hear us,” 

You nod, but he doesn’t miss the way your slit twitches at the thought, and his mouth curls in a nasty smirk, “such a fucking slut, maybe I will,” and he’s plunging two thick fingers into your greedy cunt, a gasp ripped from your throat at the intrusion, walls fluttering as they attempt to accommodate his digits. But it’s all squeezing and barely any stretch, as his fingers work you open. 

And it doesn’t take long to get you worked up, his digits knuckle deep and dripping wet, “gonna fucking break my fingers in two with your virgin hole, girl,” he grunts, your body burning with his touch alone, nails dragging against your walls, curling so they can bully that sweet spot just right, “you’re gonna cum aren’t you?” the telltale squeeze of your cunt tells him so, and you’re nodding, and his fingers slip from inside. 

You’re whining, tears burning at the corners of your eyes, “Please, fuck, wanna cum,” the pleasure that had built was throbbing, a dam close to bursting but denied its relief, so it remained, begging and waiting — “please, Sukuna—“ 

“So you do know how to beg like a good little whore, gonna fuck you again, but you can’t cum until I tell you,” and he’s sinking three fingers into you now, eyes rolling back as your back arches, but he’s fucking you meanly, curling and twisting his fingers, until the pleasure is a tight knot in your belly, barely hanging on from snapping, “wait,” he grunts, and it’s as if your warmth is made for him — or now it was, because he’s made it his, “wait,” and you’re sure he’s reached your cervix somehow, fingertips reaching places you’ve only dreamed of (literally), and then he leans down lips around your clit as he orders you, “now, cum,” 

And you do, hard, as he sucks around your clit while fucking you through your orgasm, cum flooding his fingers and face alike, drenching him, even as he slurped and sucked up every bit. 

He finally pulls away, a shiver slips down your spine as he slips his fingers from inside you, pink tongue flicking against his lips, still slick with your cum, What a fucking mess you’ve made,” he sneers, but he’s licking his lips clean all the same, “should make you clean up the mess you made, shouldn’t I?” And he’s pressing the pads of his fingers to your lips, you’re too fucked out to fight, lips parting with ease, “suck,” and you do, opening wide to let his fingers inside, lips and tongue curled around the same fingers that had explored your cunt. 

He watched as you obediently sucked every drop of your juices off, a trickle of drool slipping down the corner of your lips makes his already hard cock twitch in his pants, and he’s pulling his fingers from your mouth. 

“Better than your dreams, huh, sweetheart?” he drags his thumb down your bottom lip, he can’t fucking wait a minute longer, “turn around, gonna fuck this slutty princess cunt from behind,” but you only can watch as he tugs down his sweatpants and boxers alike, his cock slapping against his stomach. 

Fuck, he’s even bigger than you had imagined. Mushroom tip red and hard, as pretty veins run up the sides, and he was looking as if he’d not only split you open, but break you all together. 

Your thighs quaked at the thought, more slick slipping from your needy cunt — and you wanted him to.  

Your knees shake, as you turn slowly, much too slowly his pace, and he grunts, his hands gripping your hips, as he flips you onto your stomach, a yelp leaving your lips as you bounce on the mattress. “have to fuckin’ do everything myself for this whore’s pussy,”

You’re gripping the sheets, nails surely tearing holes in the thin fabric of the sheets, as his calloused palm comes down on your ass, hard, the smack echoing in the silence of the night, a mewl you don’t recognize as your own, “Sukuna, please, I can’t—“ 

“You can, you’ll take whatever I give you, brat,” and another smack finds your ass again, as he pinches the flesh for good measure, drawing another moan from your lips and another chuckle from his, “and you’ll take this cock too,” and he doesn’t spare you a moment as he presses his swollen, dripping cockhead to your drenched hole, smearing his pre all over your ass — as if to erase any doubt you were his, because there wasn’t — before finally sliding in. 

God, fuck. 

Your arms were already shaking, barely able to hold yourself up, but your face nearly plants into the mattress as he sinks into you — he was too fucking big. Even all the prep he had given you was nothing, nothing compared to how much his dick was stretching your cunt. 

He hummed, as your insides swallowed him eagerly, even with the slight resistance of your tight little pussy, watching as your walls parted for him with almost practiced ease, sucking him deeper and deeper, as if you were made for him. And you would be, after he fucked your cunt to his shape again and again — because this was far from the last time he would take you. 

It was only the first. 

“Fuck, you’re so fucking tight — am I the first to fuck this pussy?” he grunts, grasping your hips tightly, your warm, wet pussy wrapped around his dick — he had waited far too long for this, too many nights spent grasping at his cock, thinking how much better it would be buried in your pussy. 

“H-hngh, Sukuna, s’big,” you’re nearly babbling as he works himself into you, inch by inch, not even halfway in, and you were gonna cum just from him putting his dick in, “can’t fit—” and he’s scoffing, watching you squirm against his length, but he only continues to fuck his way into your tight hole, another sharp slap to your ass as a warning. 

“I’ll make it fit, girl,” he growls — like fuck he was stopping now that’s gotten this far, there was only one way this was ending — and it was with his cock fucking you full of his cum, “c’mon, did the dream not compare to the reality? Did you think I had a tiny dick?” and he thrusts shallowly against you, sending another inch inside your already stuffed folds, drawing a needy whine from your throat, “so fucking loud, you gonna let the whole house know what we’re doing at this rate,” 

he murmurs, bending down to your ear, and your walls squeeze around him, a vice grip that has him nearly cumming then and there, but no he won’t, not yet, “fuck, did you think about letting Choso know? Maybe I’d let him watch me fuck you, only way he’ll ever see you like this,” and you whimper as he slams into you, finally bottoming out as his tip bullies your womb, making you cry out against your fingers, “to think the pretty girl next door is on her hands and knees like a slut for me now, getting split open by my dick. What would Choso think?”

You’re whining, “Please, fuck, slow down—” but he only pulls out a little to piston back in, balls slapping against your ass as he does, setting a mean pace, as he chuckles in your ear. 

“You’re saying that, but we both know that’s not what you want — slutty fucking pussy trying break my cock in two,” the sounds of your skin slapping against you as his tip brushes against your cervix rings in your ear, even as he murmurs in it, “y’’know he wants to fuck you right? The little brat is always watching you, nearly fisting himself at the sight of you,” he’s forcing you upwards, pressing your back to his chest, “he wants you, but he’ll never have you, because this pussy is mine,” and his hand finds the bulge in your stomach, pressing down, as you keen, head falling back against his shoulder, as tears pooled in your pretty eyes, “but he’d never be able to reach here and fuck you like you want — like a whore,” his other hand pinches and teases your pebbled nipples, before sliding up to your neck, squeezing lightly, “say you’re mine,” 

You can’t find the words, all of them fucked out of your body to make room for his cock seemingly — the only words remaining his name and “please,” but you have to do better than that, and he slows his pace to nothing, as he pulls out so only his tip teases your entrance, a whine leaving your pathetic mouth.

“If you’re not mine, guess I don’t need to let you finish, do I?” and you’re shaking your head, frantic and repentant. 

“I’m yours, i’m yours, Sukuna, please—” and he’s sliding right back into you, fucking you harder, balls slapping against your ass and sweet cunt swallowing him up to the base, a white ring of your pre cum forming around it — and he just knows you’re close, by the twitch of your sweet pussy — and his hand reaches around to rub at your clit,  “I’m—” 

And he ruts into you, hard and deep that you’re sure his length brushes against your womb — and you’re cumming, falling apart around him, but he doesn’t relent — but had he ever? He didn’t relent over these past few weeks, and he wouldn’t now, not until he was filling you up and watching his cum drip out of your hole—

You’re slipping back forward, face forward into the pillow and mattress, as he grunts watching your slick drip down your ass and thighs and onto the sheets — his balls tense with his release, “Fuck—” and that’s all the warning you get before he slams back into you to bottom out, as he blows his load. 

His release is hot as it fills you up, never ending it seems as he slowly fucks you through his orgasm, his spurts slowing with time, until he’s finally stilling, a soft grunt, as he pulls himself from inside your warm cunt. A soft groan at the sight of his seed spilling from inside you — you’re boneless and spent, until he has you jolting forward from the press of his fingers gathering his cum and stuffing it back in. 

“Kuna, fuck, I can’t—” and he scoffs, retracting his fingers for a moment, before he’s deftly flipping you onto your back, “too sensitive,” you whine as his fingers work their way back into you. 

“Did you think I was done, woman?” and his softening erection is already standing tall again, and you’re almost wanting his fingers now at this point, even as your body disagrees, pussy squeezing at the thought of him buried inside you again. He leans forward, lips brushing against yours, a kiss full of nothing of tongue and teeth, the faint taste of your own release on his lips, “we’re far from done.” 

The sound of your name catches your attention, your eyes snapping up from your breakfast, “what?” 

“Are you okay? Choso frowns at you, as he holds his rice bowl, the rolled tamago sliced on his plate, “you look tired,” It was another morning like always, but 

You shake your head, “I just didn’t sleep well, I kept waking up from my dreams,” and it wasn’t exactly a lie — yesterday was the culmination of a million dreams you had. Dreams that only ended when the sun began to come up, with his cock still buried in your cunt as you rode him, back pressed to his chest, as he worked you up and down his dick. 

And finally when he came again, this time all over your back, he finally pressed kisses up and down his back, easing himself out, as his toned arms engulfed you. 

“Should clean up and I should head to Jin’s room,” he murmurs, “I have a feeling I won’t have a place to live if he finds me in here,” and you chuckle, too fucked out and tired, “we’ll have to get used to sneaking around. 

“Oh will we?” you had mumbled, and he answered your question with another bruising kiss to your lips. 

Yuji tilts his head, scratching it, as you lift your glass to take a sip of water, mouth far too dry now, “Is that what those noises were? It sounded like you were having nightmares,” and you nearly choke on it, but force it down, hoping the embarrassment wasn’t evident on your face, stabbing your egg. 

“Yeah, I had a couple last night,” you lied, and even as you suddenly found your breakfast far too interesting, you could feel Choso’s gaze still on you — your cheeks burning as Sukuna’s words about him still rung in your ears — along with the distinct ache between your legs and on your ass he left behind, “I’m fine, I’m just going to need a nap,” 

“You’re not the only one, girl,” Sukuna walks into the kitchen from the rooms, as Yuji and Choso balk at his presence. 

Choso’s eyes narrow, “What are you doing here?” 

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Sukuna’s eyes find yours, the corner of his lip pulled upwards, as his gaze rakes over your form, “what’s for breakfast?” and you knew he only wished that you were the thing placed on the table for him to eat. Jin barely pays any mind, too preoccupied on his phone with his work email, as he passes a plate to Sukuna. 

“When did you even get in?” Yuji asks, as he finishes his own breakfast, leaning back on his two palms. And your insides begin to tie themselves in knots at all of these questions — knowing Sukuna would like nothing more than to tell them exactly what he was doing last night. 

“And where did you sleep?” Choso glares, adding fuel to the fire, as Sukuna looks down on him, lips a thin line,  “you didn’t bother our guest, did you?” and your cheeks burn all the same, a flicker of amusement on Sukuna’s features, lips parting only for Jin to cut in.

“He got in early this morning. He slept in my room,” Jin says with a sigh, “Don’t you two have to get ready? You’re going to your mom’s this morning,” 

“She’s not my mom,” Choso grumbles under his breath, “more like a leech,” but he still gets to his feet all the same, as Yuji follows suit, picking up their plates, a comforting hand on his older brother’s shoulder. 

“I should get to work,” Jin sighs, sparing a sharp glance at his brother, “behave,” and he turns to you, “feel free to stay as long as you want. Yuji and Choso will be back this afternoon,” 

And the three of them find their way out of the house, a rush of bags and feet, as Choso spares a glance at you. 

“I’ll be back soon — you can hang out in my room if you want,” Choso says, before scowling at Sukuna, “let me know if you need anything,” and you nod, waving him off, and the door shuts behind them all. 

Sukuna slides into place beside you, sitting as the two of you eat breakfast in relative silence. You finish up your meal, and move to get up, but Sukuna’s hand finds its way onto your thigh, holding you in place. 

“Are you done?” and you glance at him, plate empty and food untouched, “with eating?” 

“I am,” you raise an eyebrow, “And you?” 

“My appetite wants something else, sweetheart,” he leans forward, fingers inching higher until his thumb grazes your inner thigh. 

“And what’s that?” and he nearly growls his next words, thin patience already tearing in two, just as he would your clothes if you weren’t careful. 

“I’m done playing coy, woman,” he’s lifting you with ease, slinging you over his shoulder as you gasp, and he’s gotten you on top of the counter, the very same counter you had baked cookies on the day he had arrived, but now his hulking body was quickly pressing your legs apart, “there’s only one thing I want to eat in this kitchen, and it’s between your fucking thighs.” 

“Not sick of it yet?” you chuckle. 

“Think I could bury myself in your slutty pussy for days and not get sick of it,” and he looms over you, just as he had that first day, and he leans down to kiss you, stealing the logic from your mind and leaving only the need for his touch behind, “it is the sweetest thing I ever tasted after all.” 

“Really?” and he smirks, as his fingers dig into the fabric of your shorts ripping them and your panties down, the cool air against your already wet cunt. 

“Want me to prove it?” 

And oh, he would. Again and again. 

✧ a/n: i have a problem. i really wanted to write something with degradation ok?

✧ taglist: , @k0z3me , @monstrousbuu , @abiiebibie , @strawmariee , @luciiferslover , @sxnkuna , @psychxbby , @addehehe , @cpu1d , @dreamtardisspace , @authorintheshadows666 , @arcielee , @trxnmagic , @smilk01 , @abcdbleh , @elisaj313-blog , @jinslunv , @n3ptunxe , @pinkyvomit , @being-me-is-not-a-sin , @rat-loves , @spider-fan72 ,, @niks1673 , @lafffyyytafffyyy , @miseraa , @astraxa-xx , @fushitoru , @hanxyy , @milky-milkyway , @nakariabnrb , @johannakhalafalla , @tojicvmbucket , @flyingtranscatofeffed , @vampzys , @caelestine-the-caelicatto , @hatsunemitskislobotomy , @k1ttybean , @catsgomurp , @goddess-ofthe-godless , @i-spilt-ink-on-my-phone , @forest-fruits-jam , @mua-for-now , @pricetagofficial

[clockwayswrites]

Die Screaming, Live Laughing

Danny/Tim, Cyan, Wind through tree branches/Windchimes @wisteriavines @darkstarsapocalypse (I saw you before you changed that! Twins!)

cw:bar parent fentons, more temporary character death, bones

The faint, mechanical whir under his fingertips as he spins the camera lens comforts Tim. The fiddling is familiar from the years of following Bats and crime across the city. The rooftops of Gotham are an environment that he’s far more familiar with than here. Here is nothing but endless trees and leaves.

Well, somewhere here is also the campgrounds and Bernard, Ives, Steph, and Cass; but that’s far out of sight and almost out of mind. It’s easy, as he listens to the wind rustle through the trees, to feel like nothing exists but the trees and Tim and his camera.

He spins the lens again.

Ostensibly, the four of them are in these woods to find Mothman. Which would be cool! But even Tim, who proposed this whole thing, knows that it’s just an excuse for the four of them to do something away from Gotham. To do something to make actual use of their summer between high school and college.

If Tim went to college, that is.

He’d been accepted, sure, but he… he just didn’t know if he wanted to. It felt like there were more important things to be doing than college. College was sitting in a classroom and listening to someone drone on about a subject that Tim could crash course himself on with the right library access in a month. It also meant new people and new noises and maybe even a new home. None of that sounds great, really. Moving in with Bruce to Wayne Manor had been enough change, thank you very much.

Tim’s foot catches on something and he does a half step to keep his balance. He expects to see a tree root when he glances down. It’s bone instead. That’s not… unexpected. They had already seen deer in the woods, the creatures got stupidly close to the campsite. It would make sense that with the big rains the few weeks before, there could have been old remains uncovered. But there’s something…

The dirt brushes away easily from the surface of the bone and, with a little digging, Tim is able to pull it free of the earth.

This isn’t a deer bone.

Tim knows this shape.

This is human. A femur.

“You have to be careful where you’re walking out here.”

Tim stands and spins, the femur held like his staff would be.

The speaker is leaning against a tree several feet away. The golden, setting sun backlights them, making them look almost angelic with how they’re wreathed in light. They’re hard to look at.

“Yeah, I guess so,” Tim says, plastering on a nervous smile that was only half for show. How did they sneak up on him? That should have been impossible with the leaves and branches scattered across the forest floor. “Do you run into animal skeletons a lot out here?”

“Not really,” they say with a shrug before they start forward towards Tim. Their steps are silent. “I don’t really get around. And also, that’s not an animal skeleton.”

“No?” Tim’s grip on the femur tightens. “How do you know that?”

“How? Well, that’s because it’s mine!”

Tim swings.

The femur goes right through the stranger.

“Sorry! Little intense, I get it!” They back up a step and raise their arms. The dappled sunlight shines right through their hand. Shines right through them like the stranger is just made out of gossamer. “I get it, but be careful with that, please? It’s my arm! Or leg? No, leg.”

“Leg, it’s a femur,” Tim says, his mouth running without him as his brain works.

“Leg. Ancients, I miss having legs. And arms… and, well, anything solid really,” the stranger sighs. “I am sorry for scaring you. Just… it’s hard not to get a little intense when someone is holding one of my bones, you know?”

“Oh shit! That’s right, sorry,” Tim stammers as he hurries to put the femur back down on the disturbed earth. “Do you— I mean, should I rebury it? Did the rains washing away the earth, um, wake you up?”

“Kinda?” They tilt their head as they crouch down next to Tim.

It’s clear now, as they move a bit out of the light, how transparent they are. It’s like in the shadow they lose tangency. Their hair is still just as blinding, being bright white in a way that’s really beautiful. They reach out to touch the femur but stop short.

“I’m tied to my bones. It’s why they dumped them all the way out here. After they killed me, I mean, all the way killed me, I haunted the fuck out of them. And yeah, sure, they could hurt this form of me too, but I always found a way out and then it all started again. Burying my bones was the only way to get rid of me, and those fuckers didn’t even scratch me a headstone in the tree or anything. Some parents, huh?”

“Holy— yeah,” Tim says. Looking back down at the other partially exposed bones he has to swallow back a wave of sadness. “Is that a yes to covering them up?”

“Actually… I’d like you to dig them up. I’m not stupid enough to think I’ll get justice or whatever, but I’d… I’d like to be somewhere proper and under my name.”

“What is it? Your name?”

“Danny.”

“Okay, Danny,” Tim gives a little nod and starts digging. “My friends and I will get you somewhere you feel safe. I’m Tim, by the way.”

“Thank you, Tim.”

Danny doesn’t help dig. He can’t, he explains as Tim and him talk. While his bones are buried, he’s not able to interact with them or else he would have gotten them out of there a long time ago. They learn together that as soon as the bones are free and set gently aside that Danny can touch them.

Tim never thought he’d see someone so emotional over a tibia, but Tim can’t blame the guy. Tim figures he’d be emotional over his own bones too.

The big bones are the easiest. The ribs Tim is extra careful with. The fingers are weirdly like peanut shells in his hand. (He’s not going to eat pb&j for weeks now.) Danny chats the whole time, asking Tim about the world. Tim feels wholly inadequate to catch someone up like that, but when conversation turns to technology Tim settles into a rhythm.

It also lets them figure out that while Danny died just shy of nineteen, he’s apparently spent almost two decades in the ground. He still looks just shy of nineteen. He looks like he should be in the forest for the same reason that Tim is, celebrating the end of one era and the start of the next. Danny should be looking to the future, not mourning it.

It makes Tim pause when he finally unearths Danny’s skull. What would it have been like to see Danny smile? To hear him laugh without that faint echoing quality that he has as a ghost? To touch him?

“I’m sorry,” Tim says and holds out the skull. Danny’s skull.

“Thank you,” Danny whispers. His hands tremble as he reaches out towards the skull. He crumples forward before he can touch it, a sob tearing through him.

“I’ll make sure you’re somewhere nice.

“Thank you.” Danny lets out a breath he doesn’t have and sags forward the last inch. His forehead bumps against the skull.

Then he keeps going forward.

The world explodes into light.

-

“Tim?!”

“Are you sure he’s still alive?”

“You can see him breathing, Bernard.”

“Pulse.”

“Tim!”

Tim gasps awake and blinks rapidly to clear his vision. His friends and sister stand clustered above him. It has gotten dark and their flashlights are blinding.

“You okay?” Cass asks.

“Ow.”

“Yeah, he’s okay,” Steph sighs. “Hey Tim, who the fuck is that?”

“Wha—” Fuck his head hurts. Who the fuck is who?

Oh, the person laying in his arms. The person who’s solid and warm and alive.

Tim starts laughing.

“Okay, maybe a little not okay,” Steph amends.

“Is he ever?” Tim hears Ives mutter.

“Guys,” Tim interrupts them discussing his status once he can breathe again. “This? This is Danny.”

“Being alive again hurts,” Danny mumbles against Tim’s neck and Tim can’t help it, he just starts laughing again.

Being alive does hurt, but fuck if that isn’t wonderful sometimes.

---

AN: So this one got away from me a little but, uh... tada? I was planing to have it all explained more, but once Danny didn't purposefully do it, that didn't fit. Basically all if his frankly absurd powers and as a ghost got jump started by his skull and Tim's lifeforce and tada? 100% pulled some from Tim's Gotham Knights character where he's an awkward little bean who is so not neurotpyical. Him and Bernard taking a vacation to hunt Mothman is from that too.

Anyways, stay delightful, darlings!

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

last set of tsumsitter ssr groovies 👀

THE TIME HAS COME

First is Pomefiore!! (Edit: The initial version of this Groovy is on the left; Rook is missing the golden Pomefiore markings on his robes. There was an update to fix this. The updated version is on the right.)

The trio is framed by a border of colorful lights, which reminds me a lot of old-fashioned movie theater signs (though not as colorful). If you look closely at the top and bottom, it seems they are posed for a candid photograph and it’s being posted to Magicam or something?? Rook and Epel look super crisp here, which I love!! I think Epel is posing with his hands held behind his back. This paired with his smile and the slight bird’s eye view of his face makes him look super cute please don’t beat me up for saying that, Epel. And Rook is being showy and familiar as usual, even putting one hand on Vil’s shoulder. Vil isn’t cringing or uncomfortable with it, which goes to show that he and Rook are truly good friends.

As for Vil, it’s rare to see him posed casually like this. Most of his cards feature him posed in very “model”-like and mature ways, so to have just one hand on hip, leaning forward slightly, and gripping his grimoire is unique for him (I mostly associate this pose with Ace, lol). His smile is quite casual too—it’s not quite the full catty smirk he has in his live2D model, it’s a lot more subtle and playful.

BahacTeHWWRVwkkwwm YHE VIL TSUM STeALS THE SHOW ThoUGH 😭 (You can tell it’s smiling despite the lack of a visible mouth) from how its eyes!! The placement of the Tsum is also funny. With Pomefiore’s peacock throne in the background, it forms sort of an angelic halo around… the sentient stuffed toy… Proof that Tsum Vil is a heavenly being/j

Next is Ignihyde!!

The Shroud brothers return to Cyberspace, that blue void with tons of ethereal floating screens, particle effects, and code www I don’t know what those three pink balls of flame are in the background, but there being three of them is a consistent theme for Ignihyde. Three pink fireballs, three Shroud brothers, three heads of Cerberus! I wish I could say more here, but I’m basically a Malleus when it comes to tech—

Idia’s pose isn’t anything we haven’t seen before (just at different angles of it, I suppose). But!! It feels different here and adding Ortho definitely adds to it. The Pokémon trainer energy of the initial art carries over to the Groovy. Idia looks like a smug, tough trainer looking down on you with a cocky grin and his face half-shadowed.

Ortho floats almost menacingly next to his big brother, his face entirely shadowed. His aura is like a phantom (fitting) or even like a Pokémon on standby waiting for the chance to fire off a Hyper Beam. This might be me overthinking things, but I wonder if the amount of light on the brothers’ faces references the original Ortho. Robo!Ortho’s face is entirely darkened because his parallel has passed on. Idia’s face is only partially shadowed because while he was close to stepping over to the “other side”, he ultimately found hope and was able to continue living, this time for himself and on his own terms.

I LIKE HoW TSUM IDIA HAS ITS OWN sCREEN TO WORK OFF OF TOO 😭 IBRO IS MAkING A sUS FACE TOO, IT’S GLEEfUL AbOUT WhAtEVRr it’S UP TO… That makes me think that it’s hard at work… I dunno, hacking something systems fnksgwiwozlapaeb Watch out, a Tsum near you might infect your computer and then bounce away happily after ruining all your programs and files.

Last but not least… Diasomnia!! THIS ONE’S MY fAVORITE OF THE SSR TSUMSITTER GROUP, WHICH I WAs NOT EXPecTING AT ALL 🤡

The violet backlight is fantastic—it adds an interesting lighting to the illustration and highlights the green flames and Silver and Sebek’s bright eyes. And speaking of Sebek and Silver, LOOK AT THEM JUST LOOK AT THEM???????? More specifically, Sebek’s arms (they look ultra meaty somehow) and Silver’s whole face(that lopsided smile??? HELLO?????)!! On either side of Malleus like that… Peak bodyguard, I REPEAT, PEAK BODYGUARD

With Lilia bringing up the rear, the three form a perfect squad to surround and to protect their liege. cbsjsbevejwlw I like that Lilia is different than Silver and Sebek; he’s hanging out upside down (as he usually does) and bears a huuuge grin, completely having fun in the moment. (… How does his hat stay on like that when he’s fighting gravity though?)

Up front and center is Malleus of course! He’s wielding his spindle staff like a king might a scepter. This with his fierce face gives the impression of a leader marching into battle with his retainers. You get a real good shot of his teeth and reptilian eyes here which I’m sure the Malleus stans are going feral for right now—and with the limelight shining down on him, he looks almost hopeful for once instead of downtrodden or gloomy.

THE TSUM MALLEUS LOOKS SO FUNKY PLACED tHERE cnsnwveuxvDFsFjqk Just. Cheekily There on Malleus’s shoulder… Because Maleficent and Diablo is a known combination, the image of those two as master and minion comes to mind. Imagine Malleus blasting you with lightning, pausing to listen to his Tsum whispering a suggestion into his ear, and then telling you the Tsum has advised that he blast you with a second strike 💀

Aaaaaah, the Tsumsitter SSR Groovies are some of the best in this game 😭 So glad they’re finally over though, it’s stressful saving rolls for what you know would be a limited event with multiple SSR banners, lol

[hothammies]

will byers, the resident sniper and medic - apoc au details under the cut!

---

will's role in the party:

a scouter - stays back to watch over the area during runs w/his rifle and is a backup supply runner if need be. just prefers to scout with dustin and mike

medic - normally takes care of the group regarding injuries and medicine. is very gentle :)

the angel on mike's shoulder -> knows how to placate mike the best if mike's being unreasonable or too harsh

most knowledgable about the infection and how it works -> helps with understanding the patterns of infected people, what attracts infection, etc.

party mediator - rarely ever fights with anyone (mostly with mike haha) and is usually the person people most often go to for a vent or a rant

skills + hobbies:

best with a rifle + second best with guns! -> he practices a lot with lucas but refuses to kill animals

cook of the group along with el (taught her how to cook): rest of the party can make edible food but don't know how to make it taste good

great knowledge of plants and medicine -> jonathan and joyce taught him all they know about it (they are healers)

draws in a sketchbook that mike stole from another group for him: filled with mundane sketches from life and treats it like a daily journal

likes to collect cds and cassettes that he finds around to play in the car (him and max discuss music the most) - fave bands include system of a down, gorillaz, the clash and the cure :) he's an alt rock fan!

quirks / fun facts:

him and lucas have an ongoing competition that started with their aim and is now based on literally anything -> they've been keeping score since they were nine (lucas is currently up by ten and the points are in the thousands)

will shuffles different music in the car and observes who in the party likes what so he can make his own little mental playlists for them!

him and dustin talk a lot about how the infection works. they have some very intense debates about it, especially when it comes to if the infected still have human consciousness or not (will thinks they do, dustin thinks they don't)

--- other notes: canon will, in a short summary, is a very sweet, sensitive, empathetic and capable boy who consistently puts others needs before his own :') of course, i wanted apoc will to share those attributes, with a big emphasis on his empathy, strength, and kindness. first - i wanted him to be a medic to show how he cares about other people and how he helps the people he loves as well. it's shown a lot in the show how much he cares for people and living beings (see: his actions with dart, el, mike, feeling bad for jonathan's hand after he had just woken up, etc.) and him being a healer is very in tune with this behavior. will as a healer is very special to me :') and him learning this skill from his mom and his brother strengthens the theme of family also!

second - him being good with a hunting rifle was to showcase his quiet strength and capability (i'd also like to add that his dexterity on his dnd sheet is extremely high) -> he's a non-confrontational survivor. his strength shines from afar and is put on the backlight, but no one in the party thinks will is weak for his empathy. mike and lucas, in particular, are actually quite jealous of the fact that will is still able to see so much good in humanity and life while being so strong. of course, his connection to the upside down in st is mirrored in this au as well, where he has an innate understanding of how the infection works because of experience, observation and other story spoilers...

looking at the current poll results, it seems im going to be drawing lucas and max next :D see you for that!

[jewelsli]

DC X DP X Captain Marvel/Shazam (Part 2)

Before I continue, here’s a real quick Headcannon for this, so when Danny became the ghost prince, it was a pretty big deal, but since he didn’t want to deal with all the fame stuff he made sure only the people who needed to know were informed(this includes the champion of magic and the lords or order and chaos(they don’t know exactly who he is just that there’s a new ghost prince)). Sam is the new fright knight (the old one is training her), Danielle and Dan are also royals, Tuck and jazz are helping in different areas too (tuck is a kinda judge and jazz is helping new ghosts and getting everyone some therapy). The Champion of magic and Ruler of the Infinite realms interact a lot and are two of the greatest forces in the universe, they also help each other to stop entire universes from dying(Infinite realms is the stuff between universes and the Rock of Eternity connects every universe and supplies it w/ magic), anyway with that out of the way…

here’s the next part! (Once again I am not the greatest writer so don’t expect anything to amazing)(also I mostly know about billy through fanfics and have yet to read the original comics)

(oh also Danny looks his normal age here, he lets a bit of his eldritch form leak into him so he looks older at the JL)

Danny glanced around the room that the meeting was taking place in, it was different from most of the infinite realms, in a way that it just felt more… it felt like how pop rocks taste, sweet but sharp. It was different from the spiky citrusy(or maybe metal?) feeing that most of the realms had. Clockwork had told him it was because they were in a pocket dimension between the infinite realms and some place called the Rock of Eternity(wait hadn’t marvel mentioned something like that?), so there was more magic here then usual. The sound of a door opening caught his attention and he swiftly turned to see the door opposite to the one he had come from open as a small figure stepped through.

A small figure with a very familiar aura(I can’t remember the word I want to use so whatever) stood in the doorway.

After the door closed and the harsh backlighting disappeared he could see more of the kid(who looks his age), they were wearing golden sandals with what looked like wings on the sides, a robe? Thing??? Whatever they called those back then, which was white with golden edges(think how cap’s cape looks), he also wore one of the golden leaf crown thingamajigs around his head. The kid was holding a lightning staff that was taller then they were and had a matching lighting bolt amulet. Overall they looked like some sort of Greek or Roman royal, or at least how he would imagine them.

The champion seemed to be surveying him in the same way, from his crown of black fire and ectoplasm, to his cape of stars, why yes he was extremely fashionable, thank you for noticing! He cleared his throat before holding out his hand to the kid, “Danny Phantom, prince of the Infinite Realms.” He introduced, the kids eyes widened for a moment before they reached forwards and shook his hand, he saw the Lichtenberg figures tracing along his arms, similar to his own scars from the portal, but while his were an ectoplasmic green, the other’s looked like they were inlaid with gold. “Marvel, champion of magic,” he finally introduced.

wait-

They both stared at each other for a few moments, finally the other kid spoke up. “I knew you felt different from a normal ghost!” He exclaimed with a smile, letting go of his hand as Danny paused for a moment longer. “So THATS how you knew there was a new prince!” He said with the same smile as he put the pieces together, he had thought it was strange for a random leaguer who was only supposed to be mildly magical to know. Said kid laughed as he nodded, “Nice to have another kid on the league then, assuming you aren’t actually an immortal who just looks like a kid at least.” Marvel commented. Danny was struck by inspiration and(before his brain remembered that he was supposed to be acting all princely or whatever) quickly said, “We’re just like that Spider-Man meme!!!” And thankfully didn’t have to immediately regret it when Marvel seemed to agree. A noise if someone clearing their throat startled the boys.

“I’m glad to see that you two get along with one another,” Clockwork said with a sigh of exasperation, “But in case you forgot you are here to discuss the fact that a recent use of magic by the Sorcerer Supreme In Earth M-A73 has destabilized the universe and nearby realms.” Marvel looked surprised by his appearance but by now Danny was used to it. “Yes Clockwork we know.” He said in as annoying of a polite tone as he could manage, the entity sighed and faded away, he turned to the Champion ready to discuss the problem-

“WAS THAT CRONOS?!?!” He asked… maybe Earth M-A73 could wait for a bit.

[viasdreams]

Nightwalker ཐི❤︎ཋྀ ~ plz shoot me and not with that gun

"what are you supposed to be?" jeno asked, settling into the back seat of jisung's car.

"gonna be so real, i just put on the sluttiest thing i could find."

renjun turned around in the passenger seat, looking your body up and down. "this is a costume party, you remember that right? what if they don't let you in?"

"it's still a jackson wang party, they'll let any girl with a pulse in. if they ask who i am, ill just say im a father's worst nightmare." you shrugged.

"jisung why are you blue?" jeno reached over the seat to stroke the driver's cheek.

"HEY!" jisung swatted his hand away. "don't fuck up my makeup."

"oh my bad man" jeno awkwardly sat back in his seat.

"don't worry about him, he's just nervous about meeting his boo thang. isn't that right ji?" you smirked at him in the rearview mirror.

"fuck yes im nervous" he drew out the 's', squeezing his eye shut.

"JISUNG EYES ON THE ROAD! OH MY GOD!" Renjun lurched for the wheel, swerving away from the trashcan lined up on the side of the street.

"if we crash right now, you'll never get to meet him ji," you reminded.

"shit you're right," jisung sat up straight, placing his blue hands at ten and two. "no one talk for the rest of the drive, papa needs to focus."

"you're not dressed as papa smurf though."

"JENO NO TALKING!"

you managed to get into the party with ease, jisung actually being the one questioned by security.

"are you like an ugly avatar?"

"no im a smurf," jisung anxiously bounced on his toes, looking through the door. "look im in costume, can i just go inside?"

"fine whatever." before the guard even motioned for him to go, jisung had already rushed inside, practically slamming into your back.

"ok now where is my beautiful man at?" jisung's eyes darted over the crowd, the backlights making his blue skin glow.

"here we can split up, ill go upstairs, you look down here. ill call you if i find him" the only reason you were at this party was so jisung could meet chenle, so you might as well help unite them.

"ok yeah, but if you find him, please don't make out with him. i know it'll be hard to resist his charm," jisung firmly grabbed both of your arms and gazed intensely into your eyes, "but please don't."

"don't worry ji, i would never do that to you." you pried his hands away and made your way to the stairs.

your search for the elusive brainy smurf was unsuccessful, and you were about to text jisung when you got a message yourself.

all thoughts of jisung and chenle left your mind as you swiftly made your way to jaemin.

before opening the door, you paused, preparing yourself to potentially lose the next day of your life due to the sheer power of jaemin's dick.

putting your hand on the knob, you felt a cold hand under yours.

"oh im sor- hyuck?"

an extremely awe-stricken donghyuck stood in front of you.

"yn? um you look..." his eyes traced over your barely covered body, "...cold."

you giggled, wrapping your arms around your torso.

"yeah a bit." you took a second to look at his costume, "looks like your prayers of becoming a vampire were answered."

"what? i am not a vampire." he forced a laugh and violently shook his head. "i don't know what you're talking about."

"uh, then what are you dressed as?"

"oh right! i am dressed as a vampire, yep. not an actual vampire though because those don't exist. and even if they did, i would not be one."

"yeah..." a silence fell between the two of you. "um anyways, are you going in here too?" you pointed at his hand still holding the door knob.

"oh yeah, im meeting jaemin in there."

"really?" he nodded, "so am i. he texted me to meet him here."

"wait why would jaemin ask you to meet him?"

you tried to respond but before you could the bedroom door swung open, a wide-eyed jaemin emerging.

"hey guys come in, come in." jaemin stepped aside, urging the two of you to enter.

"jaemin why did you call yn here?" donghyuck asked.

"ill get to that in a second, real quick," jaemin grabbed your hand and stared into your eyes, "yn can you help me?"

his hand was just as cold, if not colder than donghyuck's. they were both much colder than you, which was weird considering you're the one wearing next to nothing.

"yeah of course, what do you need?"

"for you to go to sleep."

donghyuck watched as your body fell limp, jaemin quickly catching you and moving your body to the bed.

"jaem what the hell is going on?"

"great save with that whole 'im not a vampire' thing just now." jaemin's tone was thick with sarcasm.

"oh you heard that?" donghyuck said, rubbing the back of his head.

"of course i heard it, we have heightened hearing remember."

"oh i forgot," donghyuck's gaze made it's way back to your sleeping body, "wait stop distracting me, what's happening? why is yn here and not her clone?"

now jaemin was the one rubbing the back of his head. "right yeah um there never was a clone."

"what?"

"ok before you freak out, just let me explain. i saw that you were having a hard time being around yn and all that stuff. and that's why you came to me for real blood."

"jaemin i know all of that, what do you mean there's no clone." donghyuck's voice was getting louder with each word.

jaemin took in a big breath, closing his eyes, "yn is the person i've been getting blood from." he opened one eye to gauge donghyuck's reaction.

"are you KIDDING ME JAEMIN?" donghyuck roared.

he wouldn't admit it, but the look on donghyuck's face truly scared jaemin.

"hyuck you said you wouldn't get mad. you swore on mark's life!"

"FUCK MARK!" donghyuck stepped forward, causing jaemin to step back, hitting the wall.

"is that why she was sick last week? you took too much of her blood?" he questioned through bared teeth.

"yes but you also took too much of her blood, so why is it such a big deal?"

"we both know that was different. i was a desperate fledgling, i didn't know what i was doing. you know damn well what you were doing."

"i was just trying to help you man. you didn't like the other blood i gave you, so i cut out the middle man and went straight to the source." he turned to look at you.

donghyuck grabbed his jaw, turning his face so it was looking directly at him, "don't look at her. you don't get to look at her after what you did."

jaemin's hand shot up to donghyuck's wrist, gripping it almost tight enough to break it.

"hyuck i know you think you're the shit, but don't forget i have 400 years of experience on you. this is not a battle you want to fight."

donghyuck let go of his jaw, bringing his hands to rub his eyes.

"she has lost so much blood recently, why did you think this was a good idea." the anger in his voice was replaced with hurt, confusion, and frustration.

jaemin shrugged, moving to sit next to you on the bed.

"i didn't like seeing you struggle, and you asked for help, so i helped."

"look i appreciate the thought, i really do," jaemin smiled, "but im also insanely pissed at you right now." jaemin's smile fell.

"im sorry. do you know what would make you feel better?" jaemin gently traced your collarbone.

"what dude?" donghyuck lowered his hands, following jaemin's voice. instead of seeing a remorseful vampire, looking apologetically at him, he saw jaemin sink his fangs into the soft flesh of your neck.

"JAEMIN!"

donghyuck rushed to pull him away from you, shoving jaemin to the ground with enough force to shake the entire house.

"i know you want some, don't lie. despite what mark says-"

he was interrupted by donghyuck's fist as it slammed into his nose.

they both gawked at each other, stunned at what just happened.

jaemin is the first to recover, flipping donghyuck onto his back and straddling his legs. with one hand, jaemin holds donghyuck's wrists over his head, grabbing his neck with the other.

"despite what mark say's, we're beings of violence. if we weren't supposed to drink a human's blood, why does it feel so good to sink our fangs into their necks?"

donghyuck writhed under jaemin's hold, struggling to free himself.

"answer me hyuck, you told me it was borderline orgasmic to drink yn's blood for the first time. why would it feel so good if it was bad?" the look on jaemin's face was undiscernible, a mix between pain and hunger.

"shut up." donghyuck spit back.

"you know im right, go try some right now and tell me you don't love it. tell me you don't feel powerful."

the door slammed open and an extremely concerned mark walked in.

"what the hell is going on, i could hear you guys fighting from downstairs." mark looked at the two boys on the ground, following their gaze to your body lying on the bed, dried blood dotting your neck.

previous ~ masterlist ~ next

a/n: this ended up being much longer than i intended...anyways ive being thinking about this chapter for weeks and its crazy to actually write it 🤯

taglist (open): @miyawwn @nanaxwi @mystverse @mmoonlee @chenlesfavorite @dudekiss3r @honeynanamin @nctjunie @nneteyamss @iamsimplyasimp @roseangelxfuma @haechsworld @hyuck-me @catpjimin @toyoongg @sthwaaberry @kim-seungmins-gf @sunghoonsgfreal @sunflowerhae @galacticnct @slayhaechan @multifandomania @jasluvsjae @injunnie-lemon @swanyvess @hahaechans @aerivrs @kirbrary @akunoeyebrows @thegracerammy @nessaassen02 @snowyseungs

[bitchimasnake-sss]

i had this idea for ace x reader id love to see😭 basically idk something along the lines of the reader being apart of the whitebeard pirates and ace having a crush on them/pining for them and they stop at some island to chill/celebrate or something and while partying later in the night reader tells ace he can kiss them if he catches them and after a bit of (playful) runing reader goes into the water at some beach and ace obviously cant follow bc of his devil fruit and yesh djdjjdhd idk how it would play out but lets say ace somehow ends up getting that kiss :3 you’re very much free to add to the story or change it!!

heheheh, this is so cute. i am an ACE TRUTHER FOR LIFE AAAAAAAH *rips my shirts and turns into a wolf* [i-ignore the fact that this has been a wip for about... 1.5 months now, im sorry. i will repent.]

❤️‍🔥hey! that's unfair! ft. portagas d. ace

set-up: as mentioned above by anon! playful banter, nicknames, chasing each other around. that's just part of being a crew, isn't it? okay, but what if your very attractive crewmate was running after you to kiss you? not very crew-mate-y of them, is it? warnings: NOT PROOFREAD CAUSE MY BAD, DUDE. nothing major cause i have wrote enough smut to last me a lifetime and i need a cleanse. contains playful banter/flirting, mentions of the asl brothers' past, "slut" as a joke. ace ughhh light me up. [my digital footprint goes crazy, but so does yours.] wc: 2.5k

"slut behaviour." your drawled out the words, nose scrunching up as you looked up at the man. your fingers drew patterns into the coarse sand, as the man above you barked out a laugh.

"huh?" ace's eyes widened, a boyish grin overtaking his features as the sun shone from behind him. the winds from the sea almost blew his hat off, and he put a hand on his head as he peered you down, "what did you say?"

"i'm just saying~" you shrugged, eyes squinted to make out his face under the harsh backlight, fingers still writing something into the sand.

"you're saying i'm the slut?" he plopped down next to you on the beach mat once he was done setting the beach umbrella. giving you the same unabashed grin, he popped his knuckles, "that's harsh, dude."

"i'm not the one walking around with my top off all the time!" you stuck your tongue out and ace scrunched his nose up. he was adorable. "hey, i've told you. i run hot, okay?"

he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively next, "i've always said, you can sleep with me and find out the truth."

an aggressive blush blossomed from the tip of your nose to your ears, and you instinctively pushed ace away, "is that offer only for me? or can marco uncover the truth, as well?"

his expression turned sour, eyes squinting as if he had the worst daydream a man has ever known, "tch, why would you even make me imagine that?"

"mhm." you grinned, shooing him with a flick of your nail, "now, go get me some ice-cream."

"mean." he muttered, but got up nonetheless.

you stared at the gentle waves, the scorching sun, the wet sand that changed with every little movement of the ocean. your eyes travelled to your far right where some of your crewmates drank cocktails and some of the younger ones ran around, chasing each other with faux grievances.

then, your gaze fell atop portagas d. ace.

pops ruffled his hair and the fire-fist grinned in return, talking about some nonsense that you were sure to enchant everyone who stood there. he had that effortless thing going on. he could smile and offer out his palm and the entire crew will chop off their hearts to give it to him. how pretty. i mean— er, how pretty fucking annoying!

huh?! a nauseating feeling built up in your stomach as you tried to shake down these thoughts. it was wrong, ace was just a crewmate!

a crewmate who made you laugh till you cried, someone who would come running to you with gossips, buy you souvenirs when he went to visit luffy. someone who was just a crewmate. so, you really shouldn't be thinking how he made your chest tighten or about the way his biceps flexed, or the way his eyes glinted under the sunlight or the way his smile was so—

"—here you go, princess." he shoved the orange popsicle in front of your nose and you broke out of your daze. he sat next to you under the cool shade of the beach umbrella, sucking on his own blue-colored popsicle.

"who're you calling princess?" you muttered before chomping down on the ice-lolly, "your shampoo for a year would cost half my salary if i got paid."

"mmph huh? you are so mean—" he spoke with the popsicle still in his mouth, and you flicked his forehead at how dumb he looked. he grinned and you made fun of how his pretty lips were painted a dull shade of blue.

the two of you sat there in the shade, occasionally looking over to where the crewmates played volleyball. it wasn't uncommon for the two of you to spend hours upon hours together. out of all the high ranking faction commanders, you two were the closest in age. he would often crash on your couch after a long day, and you would admire his annoying, freckled face. uh, no. what the fuck. knock it off. just a crewmate.

after a while, ace grew fidgety. fingers playing with the red beads of his necklace, mouth busy with the ice-cream stick, he asked you, "wanna play a game?"

"hm? sure." you slurped down the quickly melting ice-cream, "what is it?"

"it's called twenty questions." he balanced the small stick between his teeth, leaning back on his forearms. "luffy's navigator taught me the last time i visited them."

you hummed, "what do you do in that?"

"well, you ask twenty questions, genius." he laughed as you glared at him, and picked the ice-cream stick caught between his lips, "yeah, i figured that much out. i mean, that's it? just twenty questions."

"yeah." he nodded, eyeing the plucked wooden stick in your hands for a second before dragging his gaze up to yours. god, you were so pretty that some days ace wondered if he would go in overheating just by looking at you. probably not. but what if?

you flicked the stick away, turning towards him, "so, wanna play or what?"

turns out, ace is an absurd man. you found that out as you two were on your eighteenth question. the sun dipped below the horizon and the clouds reflected back myriad of shades, painting you and the man next to you in a thousand hues.

"huh?!" your eyes widened comically, words spluttering into a half-sob-half-laugh, "repeat that, please."

he nodded, repeating solemnly like he didn't hear himself, "i said if you had to fuck one warlord, who would it be?"

"jesus christ." your rubbed your temple, "i dunno, like mihawk? the emo thing kinda gets you going."

"tasteful choice, i agree. you think he's a vampire?" he brushed off the comment, shaking his head, "no, wait, we've seen him in the sunlight. wait, have we? anyways, your turn. ask away."

"well, i'll ask something normal." you hummed in deep thought before asking, "if you could have any devil fruit, which one would it be?"

"mine, obviously." he flashed you a cashmere smile, "somebody as hot as me must ofcourse have a hot power."

"you're cheesy as fuck," your lips puckered up as if you had something sour, "dumbass."

but marco called you both over to help set up the campfire. and so, you followed ace as you both got up to walk over to where the rest of the crew was. chatting, chugging bottles upon bottles of sake, and laughing about days long gone.

the sand got stuck between your toes, the wind blew your hair over and you could just watch awestruck as ace turned around, giving you a soft smile before tugging your wrist and running towards the crew.

"i'll fall!" you shrieked but followed him nonetheless. you would probably follow that man to the depths of hell, it seemed.

by the time you both were free, it was dark. the moon hung low, the sky lay exposed with millions of stars, the dying embers of the campfire still twinkling as ace sat down on a log next to you. the rest of the crew had either slept on each other or retired to their rooms, having drank down every inch of sake available.

"ugh," you groaned, "gotta restock in the next island."

ace laughed, and the sound was so soft. he sounded like a boy in a wrong reality, so young. "why are you so sad? didn't get any today?"

"as if i'd get any with those fuckers drowning anything that even barely resembled liquor." you grumbled, and the fiery boy could only stare at you for a second. taking in your barely illuminated form, the steady rise and fall of your chest, your eyes as you sighed and fluttered them shut, and your arms as you stretched them over your head.

you were adorable. and he was an idiot for fancying his own fucking crewmate.

he shook his head as if to gently pull himself away from staring at you too hard, and you turned to look at him strangely, "what?"

"n-nothing." the section commander muttered, choosing to look at the dying embers in front of him. blushing furiously, you chose to focus on the same welcome distraction.

you air grew thick with tension, the kind both of you got crushed under like bugs. so you cleared your throat, rubbing your palms together as you quipped up, "wanna finish that game?"

"yeah." ace mumbled, mindlessly copying your actions by running his palms against each other, "two more questions, right? you start."

mulling over his words for minute, you tipped your head back to gaze at the stars. you sighed, "if you weren't a pirate..." you paused, "then, what do you think, what kind of job would you have?"

he tipped his head back all the same, hand coming to rest a mere inches away from yours. the glowing charcoal casted a subtle glow against his toned chest, the metallic necklace shimmering against his skin. he finally spoke, "i don' know, really. just think i'll do everything to stay with my brothers. whether that's to become a thief, or to become a marine."

you slowly turned your face to look at the somber man next to you. portagas d. ace rarely got quiet. he was all high-spirits and boyish laughs, freckled nose scrunched up in mischief when he wasn't busy leading the whitebeards to victory. but whenever he got back from seeing luffy, there would be a certain gloom that clung onto his aching bones — the kind he tried to laugh away and hid behind bowls upon bowls of food.

you never understood why seeing his younger brother filled him to the brim with regret. after all, monkey d. luffy was all smiles and reckless punches, right? but one drunken night, he confessed to you about sabo. heavy words, forlorn eyes, a man racked up with guilt. no. a boy racked up with guilt over not being able to chase off death.

your fingers inched closer to his, and your pressed your soft palm against his hand. squeezing down slowly, you found yourself comforting the fire-fist without even as much as a single word.

now, the same man boy next to you cleared his throat, squeezing your soft hand right back. as he dragged his eyes from the night sky back to your face, he gave you an earnest smile, "but then, i would have never met you, and what a shame that would have been."

warmth blossomed from the tips of your fingers to the tip of your nose. what a bother. you huffed, trying to hide away anything that gave away your voracious heart, "you're so cheesy, ace."

"hah, only for you." he was all smiles. he snuck in a prolonged breath, "okay then... my turn, right? if you could join any other pirate crew which would it be?"

"aha, i know this!" you lit up, "your brother's."

"the strawhats?" ace looked genuinely surprised and you nodded, "i wanna see what kind of weirdo are you responsible for. up close."

"that's fair." he shrugged, "okay, last question. go."

"d- d'you think that some day..." you drawled on, fingers stilling against his warm skin, "that some day, we'd leave this place? retire, and do something else with our lives maybe. i don't know if i wanna still be running from marines when i'm all sagging skin and weak bones."

"do you wanna leave?" he asked softly, and you shook your head, "no. i love pops, obviously. but... like i said—"

"—you don't wanna be seventy and still with a bounty on your head?"

"maybe, yeah? if i live for that long, anyways."

"then, i suppose i would have no choice but to follow you. just promise me good food, and i'll come with." the man said it so easily, but he knew it with every inch of his heart. he would follow you to hell and back, if you ever let him.

"tch." you pulled your hand back to your chest, you palm still slightly warm from his body temperature, "what's gotten into you? stop flirting."

"okay, my last question. ready?" he spoke softly, gaze searching your face and studying the flush as you looked away from him.

portagas d. ace moved closer to you, his fingers gently taking your palm in his own slightly burnt ones, and interlocking them. he exhaled, eyes meeting yours, "if i kissed you right now, will you kill me? or will you kiss me back?"

what? your eyes instinctively moved to his pretty lips. soft, pink lips that you've daydreamed about too often in the past few days. should you lean in? or should you tease the man some more?

well, you've never been a saint, have you?

a smile tugged at your lips as you pulled at hand back to yourself again, "hm, i think i will kiss you back. but for that, you'd have to kiss me first."

and with that you took off.

"hUH?!" ace's voice shot up as you bolted away from him, and he chased after you without a second thought, "come back, oh my god."

the sand under you feet almost made you fall but you reached the sea before your crewmate could catch you. clothes growing heavy as they wetted, you moved inwards till you were submerged till your waist in the cold, oceanic water.

the water around you reflected the star-studded sky, and among them you looked like an ethereal being. divine.

"hey!" ace yelled, a small pout on his lips, "that's unfair! come back!"

you found yourself giggling, "why?" you pouted back, "come get your kiss, ace."

"ugh, aren't you troublesome?" he groaned but a grin broke out on his face as he walked towards where you stood, each step drawing you two close. when he stood barely a meter away, his feet wobbled, "if i faint, you're gonna have to carry me back princess style, understand?"

"why? marco will save you, princess. hey, don't fall!" you teased, but ace wobbled again and the smile on your lips shriveled up into a frown. you found your feet moving to him. fighting the push of waves, you reached the man and supported his figure. hands on his toned torso, eyes staring up at him, concerned. "are you okay?"

he wrapped his strong arms against you and grinned like the devil itself. you found the muscles flexing against your wet clothes, gaze trained as he stared you down. what an asshole. he was pretending.

you glared at portagas d. ace, "you cheated."

"no, i didn't." his face titled downwards expectantly, hot breath fanning your nose, "i just tried to get what was rightfully mine."

"and what's that?" you whispered up at him.

"this." his finger lifted your chin up and he pressed a soft, chaste kiss. his lips slotted against your, soft lips dancing against yours so gently. but then his grip on your chin tightened, and he pressed himself against you heavier.

hand tightening against your waist, chest flush against his and tongue passing your pretty lips. as ace pulled back, he smiled to himself. closed eyes, parted kiss-bitten lips and flushed nose and cheeks. what kind of forbidden alchemy were you? and how did he get so lucky?

"huh," you opened your eyes to catch his smile, "looks like you really do run warm."

and turns out he's not "just a crewmate" either. a day full of discoveries, it seems!

credits: @bucciniexe for the bby boy header! tagging: @help-i-lost-my-sock [i hope you genuinely like it!]; @chrollohearttags [ur tags on one of my ace fics were so funny, i had to tag you]; @tetsuskei [you told me ages ago to tag you in ace fics aaah :')] a/n: DROPPING TWO FICS IN TWO DAYS?! WHO AM I?1 omg i had so much fun writing this. don't tell anybody this, but i feel maybe my writing's block is slowly going away. yay! maybe i can upload consistently? who knows? anyways, ace has become one of my favs since i saw his greasy ass in alabasta and declared he's to be the father of my children [he's a 2d man, help].

[southerngothicchic]

Thinking about cruising down the highway with Steve. You're absent-mindedly singing along with the song on the radio while the cool breeze from the rolled down windows flows through the car.

Steve's hand is resting on your bare thigh, having pushed your skirt up to feel more of you. He would occasionally squeeze and elicit the pretty sounds he loves.

He would steal glances of you, and with how wind blown your hair looked and the evening sun providing the perfect backlighting, you were literally breathtaking. He wanted so badly to pull you to him and kiss you until you were as breathless as he was.

After he parks in his driveway, he watches with a smile as you try to tame your hair in the side mirror. You then take the scrunchie from your wrist and quickly pull your hair into a ponytail.

With your neck now exposed, he notices traces of past hickies and thinks he would give you some new ones tonight.

You finally look over at him and smile. You can practically see hearts in his eyes as he gazes at you.

"What?" You softly ask.

"You're gorgeous," he answers, leaning closer to you.

His words make you blush as he pulls you in for a kiss.

"I'm the luckiest guy in the world," he adds, as he cups your cheek. "I love you so much."

"I love you, too, Stevie," you smile, leaning on the center console.

He leans in, a lovesick smile playing on his lips.

"Yes?" He quietly asks as your hands tenderly cradle his face.

You proceed to pull him into a passionate kiss. The sudden intensity of it catches him off guard, though he quickly reciprocates.

"You're the best boyfriend, and I love you so much," you breathe against his lips. "I love how you touch me, how you treat me, and how you love me."

He sighs your name. "Are you trying to make me cry?"

"It's okay if you do. I just want you to know how I feel," you explain, combing your fingers through his hair.

"I don't know what I've done to deserve you..." he softly says before kissing you again.

"You're just you, Stevie," you sweetly reply. "That's enough."

"I want to spend the rest of my life with you," he dreamily confesses, with his lips brushing yours.

"You mean it?"

He nods. "Absolutely. I love you so fucking much."

It's your turn to sigh his name as he swipes his thumb over your pouty bottom lip. He kisses you deeply, mirroring your earlier intensity, with each of you temporarily losing yourself in the other.

"Let's go inside," he pants, pressing his forehead to yours. "I want to show you how much you mean to me."

Once you both enter his bedroom, you immediately start shedding your clothes. You stand, only in your underwear, facing each other.

His fingertips glide across your back and unclasp your bra. You then slip it off and discard it on the floor, with your eyes never leaving his. You move closer to him and place your palms on his chest. Your fingers then graze the hair on his chest, making him shiver.

His hands move from your hips, and his fingers hook into the sides of your panties, slowly pulling them down. He then drops to his knees before pressing kisses to your thighs. Your panties pool at your feet while he continues kissing you.

Your hand settles in his tousled hair as he glances up at you with affection shimmering in his eyes. It's almost enough to make you cry.

He's then standing in front of you again and places your hands on the waistband of his boxers.

You hold his gaze as you push them down his muscular thighs.

"Let's get into bed," he softly says, nuzzling his nose against yours.

You each then slip under the covers and lay next to each other. You're overcome with how cute he looks and press kisses to his cheek, focusing on his freckles.

"I've never experienced a love like this..." he breathes. "I feel how much you love me in every kiss... marry me."

"What?" You ask, pulling away.

"Marry me," he repeats, gazing at you dreamily.

"Really? Like... Are you serious?"

"Yes," he laughs. "I'm serious, I already told you I want to spend the rest of my life with you."

"Steve-"

"Unless you don't want to-"

"Of course I want to! Are you kidding? You're the love of my life," you interject, sitting up.

He smiles up at you. "So, that's a yes?"

"Yes!" You laugh. "It's a yes."

"Really?"

You lay back down next to him, and he immediately pulls you in close.

"I'll get you a ring tomorrow, the prettiest one I can find..." he whispers against your lips.

You sigh his name when his lips leave yours, eager to kiss any part of you he could.

"And then, someday, we can start a family," he adds excitedly.

He then rolls you onto your back and hovers over you.

"Yeah, someday," you agree, reaching up to brush his hair behind his ear.

"Is that something you'd want?" He asks, unable to keep his nerves out of his voice.

You nod. "Building a family, a life, with you would be a literal dream come true."

A warm smile spreads across his lips as he leans in to kiss you.

"I also think you'd look so sexy pregnant," he reveals, nuzzling his nose against yours.

"You would?" You ask with a laugh.

"Yeah, because you'd be carrying my kid," he casually replies. "There's no better turn-on than that."

"You're just full of surprises tonight," you smile.

"Stick with me, and I can guarantee you'll never be bored," he confidently says before pulling you into a kiss.

[romchat]

The Time of Fever (Ep. 1-3) visual analysis: The Metamorphosis

Ho-tae: "I woke up to find myself transformed into a monstrous insect, lying in bed"...What is this? A story about a guy turning into a bug? Dong-hee: If I turned into a bug one day, would I still be Kim Dong-hee or just a bug?

From this piece of dialogue and the cinematography alone I know The Time of Fever is going to cause me a lot of pain. The only way to describe its style is palpable.

The moment our two main characters, Kim Dong-hee and Go Ho-tae, appear together, we can see the friction and unnamed longing between them.

Notice how often the first episode uses shots with three distinct compositional layers to provide depth and complexity to the relationships portrayed on screen:

In most of these shots, the composition places Dong-hee in the background with Ho-tae on another layer completely--they're distant and never quite aligned on what they want out of the relationship. Despite how these two characters were brought together by their mothers' friendship--I love how the second screenshot uses their bodies in the foreground to frame Dong-hee and Ho-tae--it's that very connection that also creates a wall between them. Although Ho-tae is excited about rekindling their friendship after moving away two years prior, Dong-hee doesn't want to betray his aunt's trust by admitting his romantic feelings for him.

And so he recedes into the background, alone and inscrutable.

The fact that Dong-hee also compares himself to Gregor from Franz Kafka's The Metamorphosis hits like a sucker punch.

Like Gregor, Dong-hee lives a sort of transient and almost functionalist lifestyle. After being kicked out of his home by his abusive father, he focuses on his school work and trying to get by. He is isolated and his queer awakening only makes him feel more disoriented and misunderstood--he feels like Gregor in his insect form.

And yet we still see moments where he allows himself to yearn for something more and how Ho-tae begins to do the same.

(Side Note: I love love love the show's use of backlighting to highlight the lines of the actors' bodies. It's so simple but intimate and erotic as if the camera is acting like Dong-hee's artist-eye trying to memorize Ho-tae's muscular beauty.)

One of my favorite stylistic choices of The Time of Fever is how it uses close-ups to represent the characters' subjective POV and desire.

Like Dong-hee's sketches, these shots are the fragments of everyday life that are so small yet feel oh so significant while on the path towards self-discovery.

They're gloriously tactile, the shallow depth of field eliminating extraneous detail, allowing us to experience the heady excitement of accidentally grazing your crush's skin or looking into their eyes during a rainstorm.

I don't think I've seen desire that achingly displayed in a hot minute.

And so it makes sense that as Ho-tae begins to undergo his own metamorphosis and understand his own feelings, we see more and more visual parallelism in how their desire manifests.

(Side Note: The second screenshot above is such a gorgeous shot. That inky black negative space not only showcases Ho-tae's gaze at Dong-hee's lips but also his reaction to the realization that hits him. Great 2 for 1.)

I can't wait to see what visual storytelling the next three episodes bring.

[valaruakars]

26 LOVE LETTERS TO KARLACH: A & B (Or, the NSFW Alphabet meme in oneshots)

Karlach x AFAB!Tav/Reader; 1891k; Explicit. Warnings beneath each letter. Ao3 link.

𝔄 - Aftercare Warnings: Cunnilingus, masturbation, hardcore cuddling.

Her lips are wet. Spit and slick. You and her.

“C’mere,” they coax as Karlach sprawls back on the bedroll at your feet, dragging her forearm across her glossy mouth as she goes.

Propped up on her elbows, the laces on her leather pants gape. A wet smear on her thigh catches the lantern light where she must’ve wiped her fingers clean before. Her chest heaves, her bare breasts splay, but above all else, the pulse that backlights her ribcage holds you in a fucked-out trance.

Each heartbeat shifts the gradient. Cobalt at the height, turning indigo as she comes down. Subtle, one color into the next, unlike the way she touched herself to the taste of you and broke with her face buried between your legs, vents on her shoulders breathing blue.

She’s pulsing magenta now, and you’re still just staring. Realizing, distantly, that your knuckles throb because your grip on the tentpole at your back is needlessly iron. Both feet planted firmly on the ground, it’s of no use now for balance—to keep from toppling with your thigh draped over her shoulder, toes curling, legs quaking as her tongue licked impossibly deeper. Your knees are still weak, though. She has that effect.

You blink and there’s the smoldering red, orange, red again. You know it as the color of new love and the flower she picked for you by the roadside this morning; as sunsets spent together, however many are left. You know it, too, as hellfire and blood and all the awful things you came along too late to protect her from. To love her is to wish you could’ve, somehow.

“Everything alright?” she asks, growing worried.

You nod bonelessly—fucked stupid and strangely sentimental, apparently—but that does little to convince her.

Karlach sits up, curling forward to rest her forearms on her knees. The scarred skin of her stomach folds softly above her open pant laces. “Hey…” Her voice is gentle, earnest as ever. “We don’t have to do anything else tonight. Well, unless you’re up for it—in that case, I’ll happily provide. But me? I had more of a cuddle in mind if I’m honest. I just want you close.” Uneasy, then: “…If you want that too.”

It’s not surprising. She’s always eager to thread her spent body around you, the smell of sweat, metal and sex thickened by her heat, but a thought finally occurs to you.

Champion, bodyguard, protector—her arms are as good for cleaving bone as they are for holding a lover, but when was the last time someone held her? Made her feel wanted and safe and cared for in that vulnerable stretch before sleep follows satisfaction? In the morning, she’ll ask if you still like her. She keeps asking like sharing a private joke, but you know better. You know her and what anxiety looks like in her eyes, what it sounds like in her voice; how she blooms for you, made vibrant by a little reassurance. You might know, too, how to stay the doubt before it ever starts at dawn.

“Of course I want that,” you croak, cracking a coy smile at your own raw, scratchy voice. Whoever could guess how it got that way? You pad over, loose linen shirt scantly covering the still-damp curls between your legs. “Scoot, please.”

Karlach wiggles over, smile restored, as you sink down beside her. Her arms move to curl around your waist, to pull you into an embrace as soft and warm as sleep has been beside her lately. But your arms thread around her shoulders and you’re the one to pull instead, gentle and more insistent, different than every other night before.

“What’s this about…?” she starts to ask. Her body is pliant, her muscles are soft. Trusting when life has tried and failed to teach her to be otherwise. She goes easily, guided to lay her head against your chest. Settles in that perfect spot where her broken horn clears your shoulder and her ear is near enough your heart. Her breath slips warm beneath the edge of your shirt as she shudders a quiet, “Oh.”

The moment stretches in sweet, idle touches. Your fingers trace the thick keloids up and down her tricep. They card through her dark hair as the lantern burns low, balancing affection’s scales with each absent kiss to the crown of her head. And before her breathing turns slow and even, before her lips part and the arm around your waist grows heavy, she whispers, “Thank you,” as if loving her the way she needs is any hardship at all.

𝔅 - Body Part Warnings: Alcohol use, shitty attempts at seduction; no, he's not being serious (when you know, you'll know).

Wind through the trees, drink in your hands—the campfire crackles and pops, smoke sweet with pine sap billowing downwind. Huddled in a semicircle, the night is still young amongst the five of you left awake.

There’s Shadowheart to her right, kneeling prim and rigid, leading a one-woman argument by the haughty pitch of her voice, but Karlach isn’t listening. Neither is Lae’zel for once, too fixated on sharpening her longsword to be baited into it. Not yet, at least. 

Then there’s Astarion, grimacing with each shallow drink he takes from a green glass bottle. It’s never good wine pried from overturned crates, lost and forgotten on the roadside, but it’s wine nonetheless. Always fucking wine, no matter how hard she wishes for cured meats or bruised fruits. They’re cursed with a bounty of it.

Possibly blessed, on second thought, because then there’s you sitting straight across the fire with dark, hungry eyes and slackened lips. Thoroughly sloshed, shamelessly staring; somewhere so beyond yourself that you’ll have trouble finding your way back in the morning.

Nothing’s going to happen. It can’t on account of her engine, neither would it on account of her principles, but Gods, watching you finger the bottle in your lap sings to her imagination. Over and over, you drag it in and out with the faintest wet pop. You do it so slowly that perhaps it could be mistaken for absent fidgeting to anyone else, but not her. You look Karlach dead in the eye with each and every lazy pop, and the intent is very clear.

It’s so stupid—such a sloppy attempt at seduction that Karlach knows she’d be snorting into her fist if she saw it happening to anyone else. What’s stupider is that it fucking works on her. Trashed and desperate make a heady pair, apparently, and for her part, Karlach can feel the blood rushing down, evacuating her brain like it’s an emergency.

“Alright, yes, we get it,” Astarion suddenly groans, then beneath his wine-soaked breath mutters something that makes you peal a giggle. Well, more of a sloppy chortle, really, but the rose tinted glasses are firmly on at this point. Shadowheart purses her lips, finally quiet; Lae’zel clucks her tongue. “Can we perhaps turn the conversation to something, oh, I don’t know, interesting?”

“Like…?” you ask, lolling your head. Slurring, “Far’s I can tell, your only interests are blood, sex, ‘n fancy shoes.”

“Nonsense, darling. My companions have become a great interest to me, as it turns out.”

His eyes flit around the campfire, weighing some invisible odds. They settle on her.

“Dear Karlach, why don’t you tell us your favorite thing about our little friend here?” he drawls, gesturing to you, mid-swig from the bottle she thought you’d emptied a while ago. You start to smile too soon with it pressed to your lips and that little bit left in the bottom drips down your chin. Down, down, fucking down, and her eyes brazenly follow.

“Easy,” Karlach snorts, because she’s horny. “Ti—” she starts to say, because she doesn’t think before she speaks half as much as she should.

But Karlach clamps the word down before it’s all out in the open and you’re too embarrassed to ever speak to her again. It’s one thing to eye-fuck across the campfire and another thing entirely to let everyone else in on it. She fumbles for a laugh to cover it up that putters into a cough, backpedaling hard as she can. “T—‘Tis an easy question, I mean…” Nailed it. “Got a little tongue tied there. Must be the wine. You know how it is,” she shrugs, “really gets to my head.”

“Funny,” Shadowheart hums, “I wouldn’t consider you a lightweight. Come to think of it, I recall an evening when you drank two bottles on your own without ever stopping to empty your stomach.”

“You try eating the food in Avernus for a decade. Got an iron stomach right here,” she laughs, easier this time, as she flexes and gives it a knock.

Languidly, Shadowheart’s eyes drop. Something about it rakes, appraises. “To match the heart, I suppose?” It’s familiar. She’s seen the same look on your thrice as drunk face all night.

“How generous of you to remind her,” Lae’zel sneers, because for reasons unknown, Karlach has found herself on her good side. But this feels like more than that. This feels sharp, spiteful and goading, hanging heavy between the two women so often at odds.

Karlach coughs again as the atmosphere shifts strangely. “Sorry, what was the question?” she wonders too loudly. On purpose. “Oh—right, yeah.” Karlach shrugs like it’s a casual fact: the sky is blue, grass is green, and you are fucking lovely when you watch her sharpen her axe and think you’re being sly. “She’s got the prettiest eyes.” 

“Cute,” says Astarion, dripping with disgust, “but are you quite sure you didn’t mean to say tits? You know, a smutty answer was preferred…”

“What? Psh, no! I would never—” Four sets of eyes are on her now, leveling that you’re-full-of-shit sort of stare right at her in various intensities. “Fine, alright,” she sighs. Knows when she’s caught, and when to surrender. “Respectfully: Tits.” And then for some Godsforsaken reason, her mouth produces the words: “Perfect handful right there, I just know it.”

Across the campfire, your lip wobbles. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Too much, again, and Karlach sucks air through her teeth for an apology.

Before she gets any further, “That is… the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” you sniffle, flopping bonelessly toward Astarion like you mean to hug him. He’s faster, cat-like as he shifts away and stands, leaving you in the dirt. Literally.

“Whoever thought the bar could be so low?” Shadowheart murmurs, getting to her feet too.

“Yes,” Lae’zel agrees, a rare and beautiful thing, “that is incredibly sad.”

Karlach doesn’t have the presence of mind to think it’s strange that she follows Shadowheart off into camp. Not as you blubber just out of reach, a self-proclaimed ‘emotional drunk’ no longer when here’s the soggy proof.

The good news: She still likes you. A lot. Even as wave your arms to the starry sky and bemoan how the Gods gave their toughest battle to their weakest soldier. Not in reference to the tadpole or the goblins or the inevitable horrors to come, just that you can’t, quote, ‘get your hands on Faerûn’s most perfect ass,’ without getting scorched to the bone.

The bad news: For the same reason said hands are not on her ass, nor is her tongue in your mouth, she can’t exactly put you to bed.

The worse news: Astarion’s certainly not going to help.

He sighs, forlorn, and pouts, “So, no orgy?”

[ariseur]

Hii I would like to make a request of "🍰time check on pre-nibelheim Cloud" with 'stay with me til i fall asleep' and 'fake dating', I hope you are comfortable with this and congratulations (⁠ ⁠◜⁠‿⁠◝⁠ ⁠)⁠♡

✧˖° time check!! 🍰 : currently 12am when i’m starting this!

✧˖° edit ; i just realized this said pre nibelheim cloud and i am so sorry i forgot that! i hope this is okay 😭

lazing in bed isn’t so bad, you think. looking up at the ceiling with only the distant ambience of sector 7’s slums outside your curtained window was almost a little soothing to you as you fell in and out of slumber. the lingering pain in your side hurt like hell though — considering you were practically thrown at a wall a day or two ago by one of shinra’s most frustrating creations: a sweeper.

the warm sheets pressed against your back wasn’t much help to the stinging sensation that burrowed into your midriff, only adding to the extensive warmth that was enveloping your body with cool waves of sweat periodically layering itself against your skin. your eyes flit along the darkness of the room, squiggly shapes appearing along your line of sight when you focus on them for too long.

you can’t bring yourself to shift any more along the mattress as you hear the familiar clicking of a doorknob. you assume it’s tifa from how gently the door is opened, maybe coming to bring you a fresh change of bandages or more water that you’d politely decline.

you’re grateful she had let you bunk in this odd room she keeps underneath the bar, a small room for sure, but nonetheless better than bleeding out in the street or in a stuffy medical hut.

but only when you hear the quiet call of your name do your eyes dart to the right, spotting a familiar silhouette of spiked hair and a large buster sword on their back. your ‘boyfriend’, cloud strife. seeing cloud was somehow both difficult and pleasing, an oxymoron in a world where everything felt too simplistic to function. you’re not quite sure why he proposed the idea of the title to you, especially when you guys weren’t technically . . dating.

perhaps another tactic that benefited him in this battle with both the assholes of society, shinra included. or perhaps he just somewhat liked the idea of calling you his girlfriend, although you decided to push that thought far down into the creases of your brain as he approaches you; heavy boots against wood as they made their way towards you.

“you’re still up?” he asks, a monotonous tone that almost sounds deafening against the quietude of the dark bedroom.

“mhm,” you hum, hands clasping as they place themselves on your stomach. he shuffles over to the edge of the bed, placing a small glass filled with water and a small plate of toast on the worn down circular night table next to the bed, the wood lowly creaking with the weight of the objects.

cloud presses his lips into a thin line as he tries to figure out what to say. surely, a ‘boyfriend’ wouldn’t leave his partner possibly writhing in pain while he just walks away and continues on with mindlessly patrolling around seventh heaven right? therefore his mouth opens for another question, perhaps it comes out a bit wary when he says, “how’re you.. feeling?”

you turn your head for what feels like the first time in ages, the side of your cheek pressing against a cool part of the pillow to which you revel in, the foreign fabric refreshing your senses as you look at cloud. “not very well,” you mumble, voice raspy from the lack of use.

“oh,” is all he responds with. it almost looks a little scary, the way he simply just stands there, face invisible due to the fact that the only light illuminating his figure was the sliver of the backlight emerging from the doorway. “do you want me to,” he pauses, “go?”

your eyes stay on him for a moment before eventually upturning to the ceiling, eyes adjusting to the script dimness you’re met with on the roof. the ringing in cloud’s ears become unbearable as you both stay silent for a beat, so thick. so quiet.

you suppose he takes it as a cue to leave as he says nothing more and instead goes to exit the room before you whisper a tiny, “cloud?”

it shouldn’t be surprising, considering with how much mako and how much training it takes to become a soldier much less a mercenary would cause his ears to still perk up. he turns back to look at you, this time giving you a glimpse of three quarters of his face with the deep yellow lighting past the door. you purse your lips, watching the way his eyebrows remain furrowed with his head cocked.

“can you stay?”

“stay?” he parrots.

“until,” you almost stop yourself, halting your words as if you debated with yourself inside of your little head, tugging at the words as you weave them inside your brain before ultimately; you end up just spitting it out. “until i fall asleep, maybe?”

cloud didn’t miss the way the last word fell off into a meek mutter, your face wholly turning to the other side, the darkness of the other side capturing your face as he stands in the doorway. he contemplates for a moment, and you almost regret even asking him to stay. it almost felt a little odd. maybe you were desperate for comfort; or maybe you just needed him.

“i mean, it’s alright if you don’t want to. i get that it’s late—“

“sure,” you’re met with his curt answer, whipping your head back around as you hear soft footsteps advance. “are you sure you don’t need anything?” he asks, navigating around the room blindly in search of a chair to pull.

you manage a meager, ‘mhm’ as you hear a cut off scrape against the floor and see cloud’s silhouette lifting it and walking over to your bedside. he places the object as gently as he can but you can’t help but snicker as it still makes enough noise anyway to which he huffs.

“thanks, cloud.”

“don’t mention it,” he mumbles, sitting down on the wooden seat as he leans back, scooting his hips ever so forward so as to get more comfortable. it’s a difficult view, he must admit, considering he can’t see your face at all and vice versa, but he can’t let your pleas go unheard.

he know he’ll wake up with a kink in his neck from ensuring you get a good night’s sleep even with your hinderance, and he knows that either tifa or marlene would end up running down to check on you in the morning and see the two of you — but for some reason, he doesn’t care.

even when it’s midnight, seeing your head nuzzle into the pillow as your legs shift to a foreign part of the bed in search for a cool spot rather than the sweat barren sheets you’ve already claimed, is merely so refreshing to him.

crap, he thinks. you really do have him wrapped around your finger.

𐙚 join my taglist !! ; @alieeelinn @ch3rryfiles

𐙚 dottie’s 500 event | 🍰 time check and 🍡 action prompt!!

𐙚 non-500 requests are closed — august fourth, 2024 [ 12:49 am ]

[mystery-contestant]

@democracyrockzz @astral--horrorshow @krowsselfindulgy @ratsvoid @savannahwiththegreeneteyes @spacingbachelorette @badeggyt @affinity-play-real

Main Tws: death, unreality, body horror, implied gore, yelling, trauma, loss of identity, internalized queerphobia, horny teens being horny teens

(Pay mind to the timestamps)

We pick up where we left off:

At the end of Ride The Cyclone. (Check pinned post for those visiting)

And that's it. On September 14th, 2016, all of the kids died, none able to escape their fate. Years pass, and the fair rots like their corpses.

Except it's not the end. For they now haunt the abandoned fair.

Welcome to:

The Circus of Life

We begin at the entrance of the cyclone. It is night. (See Chance theatre's set. Note: Just so you know I do not support M*C*rter, as I'm pretty sure Chance is associated with them.)

A headless silhouette appears from behind a sheet, slowly revealed by a backlight.

Jane Doe, singing:

I know this dream of life is never ending

It goes around and round and round again

At times we fall and soon we are ascending

I know beginning comes with every end

2:13-2:44

As she sings, she puts on her doll's head and adjusts it. (See Station Theatre's Jane Entrance.)

Lights fade out.

The stage is lit by a blue light.

You Drop! Begins.

0:17-2:20

Each character enters from opposite sides as they sing, walking in beat with the music before turning towards the audience. They act like lamenting ghosts.

The song ends and the characters snap out of their trance.

Synopsis: The choir processes the fact they are now ghosts as well as observes the ruined state of the fair.

(Remember that in order to makes sure nobody feels rushed to answer whenever you want to speak you should put in the comments that you are going next!)

[quintessencewrites]

Pernicious

toxic!Shuri x reader; OC x reader

“Nah, baby, just getting a taste. 

“Fuck y-”

“I told you, you can’t do this shit better than me.”

Warnings: 18+!!! slight smut, TOXIC! Shuri (i'm sorry in advance), slightly toxic!reader, Shuri's got a twin, yall! explicit language (as always) If you liked how She Loves Me ended, I suggest you skip this one, I'm bout to fuck that all the way up (again, sorry in advance)

Word Count: 6.7k+

Tags: @shurislover @6-noir @doramilaj233 @ihearttish @vampzxi

@verachii @jessiap @phantomof-themcu @taiiunknown @sapphicvqmpires @pocketsizedpanther @oceean

Special shoutouts to my babies @venusdraco for naming Shuri's twinem and @inmyheadimobsessed for the story idea to begin with (love y'all lots)

A/N: I was supposed to post this like three days ago...and forgot...my bad, I hope yall still love me cuz I love yall

“I’m sorry, this voicemail box is full. Please hang up, and try again later.”

The line didn’t even ring- straight to voicemail she went for the umpteenth time today.

Either your phone was powered off, or you’d blocked her, and it was more likely the latter.

Shuri’s blood was boiling. If she were a cartoon, steam would be puffing from her ears. Instead, the backlight of her phone illuminated her angry features in the dark room. The device was brick-like in her grasp, the screen sporting a fresh crack from her overreaction to the photo you’d sent her before you went ghost.

Flat on your back, you lay in a sea of white sheets with one draped over your torso, barely covering your most intimate parts. The glimpse of your nipple played peek-a-boo with the camera. Pure ecstasy was written across your face, curls wild and frizzed, and eyes rolled, half-closed. You looked like a Greek goddess, etched straight out of the finest marble.

Your tongue stuck out, hanging over your lips teasingly. Shuri could practically hear your laughter rolling from it, mocking her. 

The hand around your throat was the icing on the cake. She could see the indents in your skin from their fingers, and they weren’t Shuri’s fingers.  It wasn’t her hand, and even more infuriating, Shuri didn’t know whose hand it was.

You were playing her game and beating her at it. 

How fucking dare you?

She’d snapped a photo in retaliation and couldn’t even send it because her messages weren’t going through. 

Shuri’s anger was inextinguishable. Her eyes roamed the room, fury flooding the unusually dark orbs. A weight shifted next to her, and she suddenly remembered the whore in her bed. She was attractive earlier, a nice little plaything whose moans had caused a blush to creep to the princess’s cheeks. Unfortunately for her, now she was a target whose name Shuri couldn’t even recall.

“Aye, get up.”

A deep breath escaped the girl’s chest, but she didn’t stir, and that just pissed Shuri off more. 

“Get up,” her accent was thick with the venom that coated her words; her hand felt like fire against her lover’s chill shoulder. “You gotta go.”

A blond head shot up, and if Shuri’s eyes were to roll any harder, they would have rolled across the floor like marbles. She knew the bitch was pretending to be asleep.

“I gotta go?”

“Did I stutter? Get gone,” Her attention was back to her phone, back to the photo- now zoomed in as she inspected it harder.

Shuri was glad to see the girl comply; the sooner she got up out of Shuri’s room, the sooner she could investigate this shit in peace.

“Uh, you know where my panties are-?”

“Find ‘em”

Shuri knew she wouldn’t. They were folded in her pocket, a little trophy from tonight’s conquer. 

“I can’t-”

An exasperated sigh left Shuri’s pretty lips, and though they remained sealed, her glare spoke in volumes.

The poor girl practically shrunk beneath the gaze, grabbing what little clothing she came with and heading to the door. “Guess I can go without them-”

Shuri was already buried back in her phone, barely noticing the door opening and shutting. She was wracking her brilliant mind, trying so hard to understand.

She wanted to understand why you were ignoring her, why you’d left. She needed clarity for the past seven months that now felt like wasted time. 

You were just ungrateful. Ungrateful and greedy, that was the only explanation. 

She’d spent hundreds on you, thousands, really. She bought you flowers weekly, the biggest bouquets with the most vibrant roses, tulips, and lilies you’d ever seen. She even printed your name on the card in the most expensive fonts. 

She’d take you out to eat at establishments that drained her pockets. Shuri would even order for you, priding herself on knowing your favorites.

She’d taken you home to Wakanda on a week-long trip that you claimed was “unforgettable”. You’d met her mother and childhood friends, you shared a laugh with her brother and his wife. 

You were just fucking ungrateful.

Sure, Shuri had come home a few times covered in dark spots, but you believed her when she told you they were bruises. She was just sparring, boxing in the gym and she’d taken a few hits. 

Sure, she slipped up a few times, calling you by a name other than your own during sex, but she switched it up quickly enough for you to not notice. It’s not her fault; there were too many names to keep track of.

Yeah, you may have spotted her in a pic or two and it may or may not have been incriminating, but shit, she had told you the truth with, like, half of those. 

“It wasn’t even like that-” It wasn’t; you were always blowing shit out of proportion.

“She’s just a friend-” With benefits, but you ain’t had to know all that.

“I have a long-lost twin sister-” Maybe not long and lost, but the twin part was real.

This was all your fault for not believing her.

Val fucking tore you up. Your body was sore and spent, and sleep almost overtook you. Her warm lips against your shoulder kept you conscious just long enough to hear her parting words. It was good, so fucking good.

“Get some sleep, baby. I’ll call you in the morning- don’t forget to turn your phone back on.”

You could only moan a response, far too exhausted to open your mouth. Valkyrie’s deep chuckle reverted through the room, and the sound of the door opening and closing soon followed. 

Your curves sunk into the mattress beneath you and the sigh you released was therapeutic. The same thoughts you’d been trying to push away began to crawl right back, and you wished so badly that they would truly disappear. 

Valkyrie was here, she was gentle, and she was healthy. She was a breath of fresh air in comparison to the air trapped in your lungs that you felt you couldn’t release.

Yet, for some reason, you couldn’t genuinely feel the happiness you feigned around her. 

She’d surprise you with flowers with your name adorned on the card they were packaged with. 

Your name was the only one that rolled off her lips and it sounded so sexy when it did.

There were no imaginary twin sisters, no suspicious bruises, and no damning photos with girls who weren’t you.

And still, somehow, that wasn’t enough. 

It was who the flowers came from, not the name they bore.

It was the accent your name was spoken with, and it wasn’t the one you wanted.

It took the strength of a thousand men to lift your head from the pillow that supported it. Your arm was deadweight, as heavy as lead as it moved across the comforter towards your phone that lay several feet away.

The screen was much too bright when you powered the device back on and your face took cover back in the pillow until it dimmed enough for you to look at it without wincing. 

Once the buzzing started, it didn’t stop. Message after message, missed call after missed call, your phone was blowing up, and the flutter in the pit of your stomach told you who it was before you even looked.

She must have gotten your picture. The one you’d asked Val to snap “just because”. The second thoughts swarmed you immediately when it came to sending it but second-guessing yourself wasn’t a habit you wanted to keep. That little blue arrow was but a seductive little tease, drawing your finger closer and closer until the next thing you saw across your screen was “delivered”.

Twenty-five. 

That’s how many times Shuri had called you over the past hour, how many times she’d been sent straight to voicemail.

Hundreds of messages started to pour through, all from the same number. As clever as she was, Shuri wasn’t a woman of many words and most of her texts repeated the same thing. You only tuned in to the last handful, skimming over them just barely.

‘You think you funny?’

‘Who’s the bitch, y/n?’

‘Where the hell you at?’

‘You can’t do this shit better than me, baby.’

The smirk that made its way across your face was purely devilish. You had her bothered. Good, she should be.

This wasn’t a game you should be playing. You were supposed to be out of this toxic-ass relationship, not dipping your toe back into it, but the waters were warm and alluring, with the way they pulsed to and fro.

The temptation that soured your veins didn’t need to do much to sway you. The desire to hear her hurt, the urge to crumble her confidence, it was just too fucking strong to ignore.

The line only rang once before she picked up. Shuri didn’t speak, but you knew she was there. 

“I can’t do this shit better than you, huh?”

Shuri was silent. 

“Well, guess what, Shuri?”

“What y/n?”

“I am doing this shit better than you.”

A scoff was all you heard through the receiver. “Oh, you think so?”

“I do-”

Shuri’s harsh words cut you off. “I saw that picture, y/n.”

“I-”

She was giving you no chance to speak. “I know she ain’t fuck you good though, cuz she ain’t me. If she was me, she would have been too preoccupied to snap that cute lil pic. You would’ve been too distracted to send it.”

“She-”

“Cuz the bitch I had in my bed tonight ain’t have her mind on nothing else but me, baby.”

Her words tripped you up, and you stumbled and fell hard. Of course, she’d had somebody else in her bed tonight or any night. That wasn’t outside of Shuri’s norm and you knew it. Within seconds, the chime of your phone sounded, and every nerve in your body begged you not to look at it, to hang up the phone, and never turn back. Unluckily for you, though, your muscles usually moved on their own. 

Across your screen popped up an image: Shuri, with a broad in her lap. Everything about the photo took your cockiness and threw it straight out the window. The girl was naked, legs spread with Shuri’s fingers dipped between them. Her pale skin glowed beneath the contrast of Shuri’s umber tone and blond hair barely touched her shoulders, the very shoulders that had your princess’s lips pressed against them. 

“You fucking with white bitches now?”

Shuri’s laughter infuriated you, and fury gained dominance over your emotions, shaking you from the inside out until the phone was trembling with your anger.

“Nah, baby, just getting a taste. 

“Fuck y-”

“I told you, you can’t do this shit better than me.”

“Fuck you, Shuri!” Your voice rang through the room, climbing several octaves. Its shrillness was unfamiliar to you, a sound you weren’t used to hearing in a pitch you weren’t used to hitting.

“That’s how I know she ain’t do a good job, baby, you still so angry. Want me to come over and fix it?”

This time it was a voice in the background that cut you off. Mumbled words that didn’t make any sense through the phone, muffled and whispered vibrato that was indistinguishable. 

“Nah, Shuri. I want you to stop hitting my line, for good. Go enjoy your little snow bunny.”

Her deep chuckle withdrew a breath from you that got caught in the concave of your chest. “I sent ol’ girl home a long time ago. I gotta surprise for you.”

Unfortunately for Shuri, you were standing firm with a stubbornness that was just a side effect of the fury that flamed you. “Ion want any surprise you got for me.”

The pouty princess merely shook her head at your response, a sight she knew you couldn’t see. “I’ll see you in fifteen, baby.”

“Shuri, don’t you bring your ass-”

She’d hung up before you could even finish your sentence.  

She could never fucking listen. 

Fifteen minutes later, on the dot, a soft knock came from the heavy wood that granted access to the outside world.

Your legs swung over the side of the bed out of habit, but you truly didn’t have any intention of getting up. The knocking turned to thumping the longer you hesitated and she pounded the tough oak like she was the police.

Neighbors would begin poking their nosy heads out their doors if you continued to ignore her. It was two in the morning, and the old lady next door wouldn’t take kindly to being awoken like this. 

The sheet around you would serve as a robe, just long enough for you to answer the door that would have swung right off its hinges if you were to pull on it any harder.

“Shuri, what the actual fuck-”

She stood still, leaning against your doorframe with a readable smirk dancing on her hard features. Your princess looked damn good, and she knew you knew it. The baggy tee hung loosely on her broad shoulders, and the thick, black sweats that sat low on her hips didn’t do a damn thing to hide those sexy ass dips that you used to trace with your fingers. 

“Silence suits you.” Her head dipped as she pushed past and into your home. 

Her voice was deep, a bit deeper than it was just moments ago when you were on the phone and she looked about your home as if she was stepping into it for the first time. Your eyes trailed her body so slowly you’d have thought the two of you were frozen in time. 

“Y-you cut your hair?”

Her curly top was gone. Like, gone-gone, not just the sides like before, but the whole damn head. 

Instinctually, her hand rose to brush out the faded cut, like a habit she’d developed in minutes. “It’s always been cut, baby.”

Her hand outstretched toward you, luring your stunned figure straight to hers. She’d cast a spell and you were enchanted, letting her lead your body to hers until your breasts, barely concealed by the slipping sheet, were pressed firmly against her torso.

“Sh-Shuri, I’m not fucking stupid-”

“I never said you were, baby girl.”

It was much easier to ignore the charm in her voice when it was over the phone. Now, with her hands on your flesh and her fingers toying with the dimples in your back, her magic was much harder to resist.

Your words were lost in a void, and a hush fell over the room, over the space, over the two of you. 

She was just toying with you, that’s all. That’s what you tried convincing yourself. Shuri didn’t want to do anything but come over here and play with your feelings.

But if that was the case, and you knew that was the case, why couldn’t you push her away?

Why did your heart thump a little harder when her eyes dropped to your lips and stayed there?

Why did anticipation creep through your belly when her head got lower and lower and lower-

Why didn’t you stop her when her lips touched yours?

It was so gentle, the way her mouth met yours. You can’t remember the last time Shuri kissed you so tenderly.

Her grip around your waist tightened, and if she pulled you any closer, your bodies would become one.

The sweet sound of your sigh was melodious and just as you began to melt beneath the heat of her caress, she pulled away. 

It was such a pathetic sound, to hear you whine for a girl you weren’t even sure you wanted, and yet you did. 

“What’s the matter, baby?” The heat on your hip traveled to your pouted lips when her hand left to graze the bottom one with the tip of her thumb. 

What the fuck was the matter?

Here stood Shuri, the source of your headaches and late-night cry sessions. The liar, manipulator, player-girl on campus whom everyone wanted and everyone could get.

Here stood Shuri, the source of the thoughts that spun through your brain. The jokester, genius, who would move the heavens and the earth for you if you asked. 

“Y-you gotta go-” 

The whisper was so low, you weren’t sure she’d heard you. When she made no move to drop her hand from your naked body, you were sure she hadn’t.

“Shuri, you have to go-”

“Why?” Her question cut your orders short and the fact that she even questioned you ignited anger.

“‘Why?’ Fuck do you mean ‘why?’”

“Why, baby? Why I gotta go?” Her arms snaked around you even tighter, and she dropped her head into the crook of your neck. The warmth of her breath tickled as she descended, causing a stifling giggle to catch in your throat. 

“Do you want me to go?” 

Seduction rang throughout her tone, and like a siren’s call, it almost pulled you under.

Almost.

“I-I want you to go, Shuri.”

“Why, baby?”

“Because just an hour ago, you had some bitch in your bed-”

“Should’ve been you-”

“But it wasn’t, Shuri. It usually isn’t more often than it is.”

“Is it?”

Rage fueled your hands to fly with exasperation, and the girl before you flinched, as though they would come back down onto her.

“I’m not fucking dumb, Shuri-”

“Aren’t you?”

The response came from Shuri’s voice, you knew that for sure, but the girl standing before you hadn’t opened her mouth. 

“Usisi-” That one came from the Shuri standing in front of you, slithering from between her clenched teeth like a reptilian. 

Her eyes were no longer trained on you. She was staring at something behind you, a moving figure from the way her eyes shifted back and forth, and you almost didn’t want to turn around to know what it was.

Damn, those muscles that moved without instruction. 

Shuri Udaku was standing in front of you, hands glued to your waist with a shortcut that she didn’t have yesterday, and yet, somehow, she was also standing behind you, leaning against your doorframe with crossed arms and the same curls that always hung over her furrowed brows. 

You weren’t sure how long you’d stopped breathing, but it was long enough to earn a too-loud gasp at the sight before you.

Curly-haired Shuri’s arms dropped, and her hands fell into her oversized pockets before she started making her way toward you, and Short-cut Shuri’s grip on your body tightened.

“You’re not fucking dumb, y/n?”

A gaped mouth was all you could offer up in response. 

“You play this game better than me?”

Still nothing. 

It’s like you’d regressed back to infancy, forgetting what words were and how to use them. 

They didn’t make any sense in your scrambled mind, this didn’t make any fucking sense. 

“Ngaba kufuneka uthethe naye ngolo hlobo (You gotta talk to her like that)?”

“Thula (Shut up), usisi”

Foreign tongues spewing foreign words. Shuri times two, standing ahead of you, arguing with herself. 

Your Shuri’s eyes shifted, taking in your barely covered body, still in her clone’s grasp, and you could practically see the fire ignite behind her gaze. 

“Nalla, izandla zakho (your hands).”

“Kuthekani ngabo (What about them)?”

“Get them off my girl.” Finally, something you could understand. It was slow, the way the duplicate dropped her hands from your hips and brought them down to her side. As soon as hers were gone, Shuri’s replaced them, and the way she pulled your body into hers was rough. It should have hurt her, the harshness with which your back hit her front and her arms wrapped around you in defense. 

“Baby-” Shuri’s lips brushed against your ear as she spoke directly into it.

“Sh-Shuri, wha-” It was barely a legible sentence, coming out in gasps that were lulled to silence by Shuri’s shushes. 

“I told you I had a surprise for you, baby.” She spoke to you between kisses that were planted gently against behind your ear, trailing down your neck. 

The Shuri behind you was the one speaking; it was her warmth you felt and her arms that engulfed you, and yet, it was the Shuri in front of you that had your attention. Your eyes couldn’t leave hers, with a thousand questions burning behind them. 

“A surprise-” The crazy octaves you were reaching earlier had long gone, and every syllable that spilled from between your lips was so low, it took concentrating ears to hear. 

Mhm, the vibrations from Shuri’s hum tickled against your neck. “Remember that twin you called imaginary?”

“Imaginary-” you parroted absentmindedly.

“Meet the imaginary bitch with whom I shared a womb-”

“Mazenja (bitch), hm?”

“Andizange ndithintitha (I didn’t stutter). Baby girl, Nalla. Nalla, baby girl. Umntwana wam oyintombazana (My baby girl).”

Nalla. You’d never heard Shuri speak of a ‘Nalla’ except for when she was making up a sorry-ass excuse. Yet, here she was, standing before you, a smirk smile etched across the perfect face she shared with her sister. Here she stood, reaching toward you until your hand was in hers and her lips pressed against it, leaving behind a warmth you wanted to feel again. 

It didn’t last long enough, though, with Shuri pulling your hand from her sister’s grasp with a click of her tongue. 

“Shuri, Nalla-” 

“I think you broke her, usisi.” A deep chuckle left Nalla’s lips, and her hand swayed back and forth in front of your gaze, trying hard to break whatever trance you were trapped in. 

Shuri’s guard on you broke when the phone in her pocket began to buzz, snatching away her attention, and Nalla swooped in. Her hands tugged yours, pulling you away from her sister until the two of you stood chest-to-chest.

“Come back, baby girl. It ain’t that mind-blowing,” her whispers matched yours, speaking low enough to avoid Shuri’s wandering ears. 

She underestimated her sister’s intelligence; Shuri was no dummy. From the corner of her eye, she could see her twin luring you into her space and how willingly you just stepped into it. Suddenly, the phone in her grasp was no longer of interest, and neither was the needy bitch she was entertaining in it. 

One foot in front of the other, you were lulled by Nalla, closer and closer and closer, until the vibrations of Shuri clearing her throat shattered the bubble you allowed yourself to become encapsulated in. 

“Was I interrupting something?” The question could have easily just floated through the air unanswered, had you not turned toward the sound of her voice and seen the arch in her brows and venom in her frown. 

Words still hadn’t found their way back to you yet and there you stood, voice gone as though it’d been stolen straight from your throat. 

Nalla took control of the impending situation while your brain was wracked for something to say and your needy eyes looked on from one sister to the other. 

“Nah,” her long, veiny hands rubbed along the carve of her chin, and the shackled staring contest between the two of you was broken when her eyes found the ground beneath her. “Nah, Shuri.”

“Then back up. You a little too close to my girl.”

“Intombi yakho (Your girl)?” Nalla’s scoff is low, but not low enough, and it does nothing to diffuse her sister’s anger. She’s yet to release your hands from hers and Shuri’s taken notice. 

“Yintoni ingxaki (What’s the problem)?”

“I didn’t say anything, Shuri-”

“You didn’t have to-”

“Nigga, you called me over here-” The lookalikes are speaking as though you’re not standing between them, trapped in a Wakandan princess sandwich-

“Yeah, to iseti the irekhodi ngqo, not try and fuck on intombi yam!” Shuri’s english always breaks when she’s upset; a habit she’s yet to control. Half the sentence is in Xhosa and despite the few months you’d spent with her and the few weeks you’d spent in her country, the words still sounded foreign to your unfamiliar ears.

“Was she your girl when Snow White was laid up in your sheets earlier tonight?”

The step Shuri took toward her sister shook the ground below as though she’d moved the Heavens and the Earth to approach the two of you. 

“Fuck you say, Nalla?”

This was not a situation you wanted to be in the middle of, quite literally. Their native tongues flew, leaving you out of a loop that you found yourself to be at the center of. Nalla’s hand rose,pressing against Shuri’s chest and keeping her a full arm’s length away while you stayed squished between the two, barely reaching chin level. 

While one twin bore an expression of pure rage, the other was totally amused. Shuri’s nostrils were flared, her teeth bare. Her hands were balled into fists at her sides, and you were certain that she was staring past you with a crimson hue. 

Cowardice ran a single shiver down your spine, one which made itself more dramatic the more you tried to hide it. It missed Shuri’s eyes, but Nalla took notice and her brows met together in the middle with your reaction toward her sister. 

“Kufuneka uhambe (You should go), Shuri.”

Her words were accessorised with little droplets of spit that collected at the corners of her mouth, her jaw taut with anger. “You taking her side? She-”

“I’m not taking nobody side, Shuri, but you’re scaring her.”

You weren’t scared. Who the hell did Nalla think she was, to accuse you of such an emotion?

Fear was an emotion that had escaped long ago when it came to Shuri, and while her fury was scorching, Nalla stood behind you, cooling the burn caused by your former flame. 

You weren’t scared, though shocked you stood still, with Nalla’s hands still covering yours and her chest a rooted grounding point against your back. 

“You should go-” 

“I’m not-”

“Go, Shuri.” Damn your voice for sounding so small, damn you for feeling so trivial. 

“Go?”

Your nod was pathetic, as was the way you restrained from wincing when Shuri scoffed. 

“Are you serious?”

Another pitiful nod. 

“Ha, ight. Let’s go-” Shuri spun toward the door too easily; with no fight. She’d been expecting to hear the sound of her sister’s footsteps follow-

The room remained silent.

Her slow turn was menacing, facing the pair once more, hiding the shock that etched its way across her face when she saw Nalla, standing where she had been before.

“Nalla, masihambe (let’s go).”

“I-” Nalla appeared stuck, flashing frantic eyes between you and her sister, unsure of which way to turn.  

“Do you want me to go?” It was a question meant for you, just for you, as her whisper floated directly from her lips and towards your ear. 

The room was still, three bodies awaiting an answer.

A confident ‘yes’ should have been your answer. She was a stranger, blood-related to the trigger of your trauma. They shared the same face, strong nose, and sculpted jaw and all. Their hands were similar, but where one grabbed at you roughly, the other stroked you to safety. 

Your right shoulder bore the devil Shuri, the one who lied and cheated out of habit. The one who manipulated you like a game and lost her temper like you were a child. She made your stomach hurt, made your head tight with anxiety. 

And on your left, was the angel Nalla. Maybe not an angel in truth, but an angel in comparison. You knew nothing of her other than her name, and she, you, yet here she stood, in defiance to her sister to offer you solitude and security. Her hand never left yours, and in thirty minutes, she’d treated you more tenderly than her carbon copy had in seven months. 

You leisurely shook your head to and fro, the dome weighing too heavily on your shoulders by all the thoughts that consumed it. 

Shuri’s laughter was heinous and it traveled with a chill like ice in your veins. “You for real?”

“She said go, Shuri.”

“Fine,” the princess spat, stepping into your personal space. She was so close, your noses were practically kissing. 

Nalla’s grip on the fabric collected at your waist tightened and she was ready to pull you into the safety of her arms if her sister’s temper were to pop off. 

“Fine, y/n. I’ll go, but ole’ girl tonight been better than you in seven mon-”

“That’s enough, Shuri. Hamba (Go).” 

She parted without another word, and all you and Nalla could do was linger in the remaining essence of her presence. 

Nalla’s deep vibrato broke through the silence first. “You good?”

If you were to nod anymore tonight, your head would roll across the floor like a bowling ball. 

You were avoiding eye contact with the girl who so closely resembled the source of your hurt. Her head dipped until your gazes were level and a sympathetic smirk played across her chin. “She scared you mute?”

An audible sigh of relief escaped her parted lips when a smirk of your own mirrored hers and teased the corners of your mouth up. “I thought silence suits me?”

The heart beating in your chest stopped when her laughter rang through and my God, it sounded so much like Shuri’s.

“I was wrong, I guess,” Her eyes fall to the floor, searching for anything to look at but you.

“My bad.”

“Fuck you apologizing for?”

“I thought you was just gonna stop at ‘fuck you’”, Nalla laughed again, and this time, you could feel it in your toes. “Nah, ma, I’m sorry for her. I haven’t really been keeping up with her shit these past couple of years-”

“You good.”

“I’m good?”

“Yeah, and I’m good on the apology and shit. Shit sappy, I’m cool.”

Nalla’s silent and for a moment, the two of you are frozen in time, just gazing at one another. 

“Why you want me to stay?”

Your shrug was too nonchalant of an answer, and the way her head cocks to the left tells you just that. Any thought behind the question didn’t even bother to cross your mind before you responded. “You kissed me.”

On instinct, in a habit she’d surely picked up over a few years, Nalla’s hand passes over her barren scalp. “I did,” she admits through clenched teeth. 

Here stood not-Shuri. She looked like Shuri, but she was not-Shuri. She’d kissed you gently, not like Shuri. She’d kept you safe, not like Shuri. She’d protected you, not like Shuri, from Shuri. 

“I liked it.”

Nalla’s entire expression changed at your confession. Her perfectly arched brows jump to the top of her face with a look of undeniable surprise. 

“I want you to do it again.”

Her breath caught in her throat when you closed the already non-existent gap between the two of you. “You do?”

Her question was lazy, as was the way her head fell to the side and her gaze deepened upon you. 

You nodded one last time before your lips hesitantly met, almost as though this kiss were forbidden and neither of you knew who was to initiate it. 

The kiss was forbidden, but once Nalla’s soft mouth descended onto yours, control rolled over into her court, along with your tongue. 

How slow, how sensual could a kiss be before one of the participating parties would need to come up for air?

Nalla’s lips were just begging for your teeth to sink into their plumpness and the guttural groan it produced proved it to be a good idea. 

Her hands tickled as they roamed your body, trying so hard to keep up the sheet that concealed your intimates while also searching for somewhere to rest while her mouth worked on yours. 

The feeling was distracting and the damn sheet had to go.

Your lips never left hers when your arms rose to drop the white sea of fabric from your figure, allowing it to pool at your feet. Nalla couldn’t pull herself away from you to gaze upon the blessing you’d just feasted upon her and the control she once held was now transferred into your court.

With the guidance of your hands, rested underneath the shelf which held your ass high and your hips higher. She lifted you as though you weighed nothing, wrapping your long legs around her waist, bringing your body just a bit higher than hers. 

You were mesmerized; the way she handled you was mouthwatering. You weren’t sure if it was the want to get over Shuri or the desire to wash Valkyrie’s touch from you, but you needed this. 

This unfamiliar person whose lips you were starting to like the taste of and whose touch burned your flesh in all the right ways. 

“Bedroom-” Nalla didn’t appreciate you breaking the kiss, immediately reconnecting your lips and ignoring your words. 

Biting her lips once more proved successful to separate yourself for just a moment, though it was a moment too long for the princess. 

Mm, hummed from the back of your throat. “Nalla, bedroom-”

“Are you sure?” her panting was hard to control; neither of you realized how long you’d gone without air due to the distractions you served for one another. 

“I’m sure.”

Whininess was not a trait you usually held, but it seemed to be a recurring trend tonight. Nalla released you from the air, from her arms gently, sharing in your sadness when your feet touched the ground and your bodies no longer touched. 

“Show me.”

Her hand felt like it was sculpted to fit in yours. It molded too-perfectly into yours as the two of you walked down the short hallway, turning the corner to your bedroom, with the bed still messy from you and Val’s rendezvous just hours earlier. 

Nalla couldn’t hold back the smile that fell upon her features at the sight of your safe space. “Cute,” it was murmured, and she hadn’t even considered the possibility that you’d heard her.

“I know-”

The corner of her lip tucked between her canines and it had your tummy doing somersaults. Your knees buckled beneath her stare and the hunger behind her eyes. “Um,” Damn, she had you stammering. “Where do you want me?”

Her steps towards you were quick and effortless, as was the way she lifted you by the back of your knees and threw you atop the disheveled sheets. Your naked body bounced with the force of the quick movements and your thighs fell apart to brace yourself for the impact.

“Right there. I want you right there.”

Your pussy was on display to the girl before you and it had her hypnotized. She wasn’t even looking at your face anymore, too focused on your pretty brown and pink folds as she dropped to her knees. 

Her arms hooked underneath your thighs, pulling your bare body to the edge of the bed, closer to her. She sank back onto her knees when your pussy rested in her face. 

The anticipation in the room was thick enough to cut through and a sexy waiting game ensued. You sat, weight resting on your left arm with Nalla’s head between your thick thighs, not moving but wanting so badly to be. 

She had all the patience in the world, sitting and watching your slickness collect and drip, inviting her tongue to lap up the nectar that was being wasted. 

You had no patience at all, wiggling your hips, inviting her in, wanting to feel the same soft tongue that explored your mouth explore your cunt.

“You just gonna sit there and stare at it?”

Nalla didn’t move a muscle, other than her eyes, to look up at you. “Just waiting for permission, baby girl.”

“Permission? Nigga, I’m sitting here with my pussy in your face-”

Your words got lost in your throat when a cool stream of air hit your cunt and it quivered beneath Nalla’s gaze.

“Tell me I can, baby-”

“Nalla, man-” You’d never been so whiny with Shuri, never this needy for Val.

“Tell me I can eat it, y/n. Tell me I can play with you. I need to hear you say it.”

If she would have just touched you already, she’d have known you were fucking soaked; she wouldn’t have needed verbal confirmation.

“You can eat it, Nalla, please-”

The rest of your sentence was swallowed by loud and proud moans. Nalla’s flattened tongue spreading your lips and tasting from hole to hole. The muscles in your abdomen tightened at the sudden sensation and your legs curled into your body, allowing the focused girl all the access she wanted.

Nalla was a fucking munch. She kissed at your cunt the same way she did your lips, slowly and sensually and so seductively. Her tongue dipped into your hot core, licking up your taste from the source. Your moans were her melodies, egging her on to continue.

“Ohhh, my gawdddd, Nalla, shit-” Words just thrown together, that made sense in the beginning, and made much less sense now. The tip of her nose rotated about your clit while her mouth swallowed you whole. Every sensation she brought upon you was a new one, from the way she lapped at your lips, to the way she just barely brushed your clit with teasing moves. 

You wanted so badly to grab at her hair, but the lack thereof left your hands empty and grasping for something until they rested upon your own breasts. Harsh tugging and not-so-gentle rubbing of your erect nipples between the tips of your thumb and index finger contrasted boldly with the slow way Nalla used her entire tongue to rub across your cunt. 

“You taste so fucking good,” The accent, the cussing, the way she licked and sucked as though you were the best meal she’s ever had, it was almost too much.

Your moans morphed into grunts the closer she brought you to your edge. Your clit was so round, so smooth and it fit so perfectly in her mouth when her lips enclosed around it, sucking the little bean hard and flicking the tip of her tongue over it in rapid succession. 

“I-uh, I’m close, I’m close-”

It would have been polite to warn the Wakandan that you were a squirter, but your words were slurred together and she couldn’t decipher where one began and another ended. She felt your impending orgasm, with the way your wetness collected on her chin and your clit swelled between her puckered lips. 

She was unsuspecting when her index finger played between your folds. Just one, then two, and three, playing at your entrance, but not daring to enter. 

But you were so wet, so fucking slick. A slight twitch in your movements caused Nalla’s fingers, all three, to stretch you out as they entered with no warning. 

“Oh fuck!” Nalla’s lips released your clit and she planted herself at your entrance, still three fingers deep, mouth open and tongue out. Your cum dripped down her chin, trailing down her neck and falling to the bed as she tried hard to not let any go to waste. What a sticky mess you’d made, in a way that you never had with Val.

Nalla’s eyes bore into your soul when the grip of your warm pussy finally released her hand and she stuck all three fingers in her mouth, sucking your taste off of them and savoring every drop.

“Anybody ever tell you you taste so fucking amazing?”

“Do I?”

Again, she bore that lip bite that could rip the clothes off a nun. “You do.”

“Lemme taste.”

Every muscle in her arm was visible as she raised from her knees and onto her feet, slinking across the bed until her face was right in front of yours.

Your hands were still shaky, recovering from your orgasm, when you brought them up to her face and pulled her lips to yours, taking her bottom lip in your mouth and sucking your taste right off of it.

Nalla’s eyebrows rose in amusement that quickly faded when you pulled her face in again, entangling your tongues together as your cum passed back and forth between your two mouths. 

The girl before you smirked when you let her come up from air, eyes glued to your lips before they rose to meet yours. Her sultry lip bite was enough to ignite another round and her whispered words found your ear as she laid you gently against the cool sheets underneath you.

“You nasty girl-”

Nasty indeed. Who didn't play this game better, Shuri?

[greenplumbboblover]

Not-a-tutorial - Lighting (Basics - indoors)

Previous Part(s):

Not-a-tutorial - Lighting (Basics & Outdoor)

How to use lighting for Nighttime (Indoors):

Here we have a scene where Lolita is studying.

Not too bad of a scene eh?

Now, with indoor scenes, the principle is basically the same, except that you can be even more clever about the lights!

Now, you have noticed maybe that there is a light next to her (in fact, 2, but let's focus on the one on the right for now).

While I like to keep those lights off, and the rest of the lot's lights turned on, we can still mimic it in our lighting!

Setup:

Here, I've put the helper lights setup. All the lot's lights are on, except for the ones on the desk (so it doesn't do weird things to our setup).

Because I like the idea that the desk light would be a warm orange-yellow light, I've set the colour of the front-light to yellow.

Setup:

Backlight = Blue (because it's night!)

Sub-light = Magenta (to make things a little more interesting)

Front-light = Yellow.

Obviously, if you rather want it to feel more "dark", you can always make the backlight and sub-light both blue ;) This would look something like this:

What about scenes with lots that have no lights?

I think we all know how terrible a truly dark sim house can look like, especially in storytelling (it's not the strongest part of the game's lighting engine)...

Now, let's pretend the power has shut off, no lights are working and your sim is, in this case reading in the dark (lol). How would we set that up?

The principle of it is almost the same as our Outdoor Night part of the tiptorial.

Now, we now know how important the colour blue is for our night pictures. However, in these instances I like to not pick and white colours for the front-light. Instead, we're going for a custom colour, Light blue!

Setup:

Backlight = Blue

Sub light = Blue

Front Light = Light Blue (RGB: 59, 138, 218)

Though, if You feel this isn't really working, you can always move the lights away from your sim, for a less intense effect! See:

Here I did add the front light much closer to the sim, and the Sublight more away from the sim, to soften the blue effect. But this is obviously just a choice you can make! 😉

How to use lighting for Daylight (Indoors):

Just like I mentioned in the Night Time section, this is almost the same principle as the daylight part in the outdoor section.

Here we have Lolita in a unlit, daylight room. Not too bad! But we can add a bit more spice to this with the methods we now know :)

Turning on the light next to her helps... but this is obviously without the helper lights. We can make this even more interesting!

Here, I added a red background, orange sub light and a white front light :)

However if the red is simply too much, you can always dim it. It will look something like this:

And if that's not enough... We can always turn on all the lights on the lot to help our scene out!

That way the desks feel a bit more intriguing, but we do lose a bit of the orange in Lolita's hair. (Though just a tad!).

[ronanziriano]

Augusnippets Day 1 - Gaslighting

The only piece of decoration in Whumpee’s room was the clock.

Everything else was gray and flat and bare. The walls, the ceiling, the floor - plain, cold, gray stone covering every inch. There was the light in the ceiling too, of course, the one that would dim or brighten or turn off completely at regular intervals; and the stiff cot bolted to the floor in the corner.

But besides that, there was just the large analog clock in the center of the wall. Framed in a dark ring of wood, the second hand moving silently at all times, flowing rather than ticking. It was always there for Whumpee to watch. It even had a dim backlight that rendered it the only thing visible at all when the overhead light turned off.

Whumpee had relied on that clock the whole time he’d been stuck here, using it to keep track of the days and Whumper’s schedule, to know when to next expect food or whether it was day or night.

But lately…

He was starting to wonder.

Whumper was meticulous about keeping time. The light went out at ten p.m., then turned back on to wake him at six a.m. Food and water were given to him at the same times every day. And Whumper would give him time limits on tasks, and tell him how long punishments would last. Down to the minute, they would follow the clock precisely.

And yet Whumpee could swear something was off. Sometimes he would fall onto the cot only for the light to wake him feeling like he couldn’t possibly have gotten more than an hour of sleep. Sometimes the time between meals seemed endless, and by the time he was fed again he was near delirious from the hunger pangs in his empty stomach. Whumper would give him five minutes to wash himself and then cut him off before he could do much more than a quick rinse. He would tell Whumpee that he’d have to stay still for one hour, and Whumpee would be left wondering if Whumper had left and forgotten him as his muscles cramped and stiffened and he was sure he would never move again, only for Whumper to tell him an eternity later that his hour was up.

According to the clock, everything was correct. The time on the clock always matched what Whumper said. Whumper would point to the clock. “See?” he would say. “It’s four-thirty,” he’d say, or “It’s been thirty minutes” or “It’s morning” or “Time’s up.” He would always be right.

Whumpee would stare at the clock sometimes, follow the second hand with his eyes, try to count the seconds. Sometimes it would seem to be moving too fast or too slow, but it also could have been his own counting that was off.

He could swear one time he glanced at the clock to see an earlier time on its face than what it had displayed minutes before, but he couldn’t be sure. He hadn’t thought to memorize the time between glances. Whenever he did, whenever he stopped to focus and test it, nothing seemed off. And he couldn’t just stare at the clock all the time.

Really, though, did it matter? Whumper followed the clock. What the clock said was law. He didn’t know how long he’d been there - surely long enough to throw off his internal clock. Maybe time itself moved differently between these walls. He knew the basics of relativity, that time felt slower when you want less of it and faster when you need more. That would make sense. It would explain why sleep kept feeling shorter and punishments kept feeling longer.

He stopped keeping track of the days at some point. Stopped testing the clock and trying to count seconds. Things happened when the clock said they would, and that was the way of it. Seconds and minutes and days passed at whatever speed the clock commanded.

It wasn’t worth questions or suspicions. The clock was in charge here, not him. Whumper always pointed to the clock, and the clock was always right.

@augusnippets

[x-blue-spring-x]

If requested are still available - nanami who has a crush on you but you're with auguri 👉👈

Hi bestie!

Love this idea, not sure who you’re referring to as boyfriend so we’ve made him just some guy, that Kento can’t stand lmao.

Kento watches the light play across the glazed windows of the small soba restaurant he’s sitting in, half a bowl of noodles and an empty cup of water sat before him. You’d texted to say you were running late, but that was nearly forty minutes ago and tired of waiting with his stomach rumbling, he’d caved and ordered something to fill the void.

Frankly anything at this point to kill time would be accepted, whatever it takes to distract his thoughts from returning over and over to the one thing he can’t hold in his broad palms.

You.

Kento doesn’t consider himself highly strung or prone to lovesickness. If anything he’s cool and collected, dominated by logic rather than letting his heart lead. It’s that same sensible outlook that keeps reminding him it’s hopeless, he’s hanging on to something that’s a lost cause. But no matter how many times he tries to rationally dismiss his feelings, they remain omnipresent, an ever changing pang lodged deep in his mind which fans the flames of sweet longing.

Frequently his inner eye wanders to you, the way you look when you smile at him from the corner of your eyes, the sound of your laugh echoing in the corners of his apartment as he tries to catch a few moments peace. You brushed his hand incidentally late one evening, discussing plans for a new method of exorcism based on the combination of your cursed techniques, and Kento felt a sense of calm unlike anything he’d ever experienced.

It was so natural for you to touch him, utterly perfect like the pieces of a moving puzzle slotting neatly into place. You’d been sat close to his broad shoulder, the smell of your perfume impressed on the cuffs of his shirt. Kento still hasn’t washed it clean and he knows that’s strange. He just can’t bear to remove the memory of that moment, the vision of your face alight with excitement as you told him your ideas.

Partners of a kind, workmates even though Kento would rather be far more than that. You shouldn’t mix business with pleasure, he knows this and yet still it becomes harder and harder to conceal just how much you mean to him. Each interaction with you is treasured, savoured like a delicious meal, though he always ends up hollow and alone when you go back to him.

Him. Your boyfriend.

A man thoroughly unworthy of the gift you represent to the world. The one that makes you come into work with red eyes and distraction evident in your face because you’ve been fighting with him. Kento can’t think what there would be to disagree on with you, anything you asked of him he would give, but then again perhaps this boyfriend isn’t up to the task.

Kento holds others to a high standard, that’s how he knows you’re the real deal. No one else could ever or would ever capture his attention in the way that you have. Occasionally he becomes sloppy, going above and beyond to keep you safe during missions or letting himself find opportunities to speak with you, though there’s nothing that pressing to discuss.

He nauseates himself with it, this stupid adolescent style crush. However you deserve so much more than your boyfriend could ever give you. Kento knows if he ever was lucky enough to hold you, kiss you or even have you in his bed for a night, it would be impossible to go back to a life without the feeling of your body next to his. You’re a curse all of your own, an acute poison there is no antidote for.

Kento checks his phone, there’s a message from you apologising. Explaining that somethings come up and you’re skipping dinner. It has an argument with your boyfriend written all over it, between the lines of your polite little text. Kento clenches his fist so hard the plastic of his mobile pops, the screens backlight fluttering as if butterflies have sprung into life across it.

“Get ahold of yourself.” He murmurs under his breath, dropping cash on the table for the noodles and heading home without looking back. Easier said than done, it’s been months of this and every time you choose that man over him it’s back to square one.

Once inside his warm apartment, Kento heads to the shower, like the water will cleanse him of the unprofessional thoughts coursing through his bloodstream, making his pulse pound in ears and his cock twitch in his slacks. Your body so pliant against his, a tie binding your wrists carefully so you can’t escape the flicks of his tongue against your pretty clit. He’d tease you, build your desire into something life changing, so when you came you’d never want any other man. Kento’s never seen you naked, but he knows the sight would be burned onto his retinas in only the way seeing a goddess in the flesh has the power to do.

Kento rests his head against the cool shower tiles, breathing hard, trying to stay anchored in reality and not drowned in the image of your body riding his.

Abandoned somewhere on a counter, his phone glows.

Two missed calls from you.

I wanna snuggle him omg 🥲