#wip: butchered tongue

[fromthenortheast]

OC Open Tag Questionaire

tagged by @48lexr, thank you very much! (this is also open tag for everyone!)

Doing this with my four main OC's: Marilag, Raem, Agapito and Dayang.

1. What's your favorite restaurant? If you don't have one, what's your favorite food?

Marilag, playwright: Ooh, I love specifically the restaurant by the seaside, they sell ricecakes, my favorite. Riceckes are great whenever you have a hectic work and can't go outside, such as making scripts and other endeavors such as fixing costumes for the plays.

Raem, fisherman: Same with Marilag, but I hated ricecakes. Would prefer sinigang and other soup over anything. I go there especially when the evening strikes before I go out fishing in the sea.

Agapito, healer: O-oh...I don't have one, I am not allowed outside. But I love pastries and bread with meat fillings inside. I always eat them whenever I can, though not always...it isn't in the right diet for healers, as the Church would say.

Dayang, Imperial Princess: A favorite of mine is the restaurant by the capital, near the Church. It is called 'Southern Delicacies'. It is where many noblemen would flock over for other business meetings, but I would say that the view is much more better than the food or the people there.

2. How many languages do you speak? Do you speak English? How many forms of those languages do you speak?

Marilag, playwright: Hmm, I speak three of them. Golangi-La is my main language, a language of the moon eaters (bakunawa) and a form of a language of the fae. However it is banned in the empire so I speak the human tongue. I also speak English, though very broken. I have some audiences from the northern empires who speak those languages...

Raem, fisherman: I speak only two. Butlong was my main language, until I got swept by the capital and so I began to speak the human tongue. You cannot speak the language of the tree dwellers to mortals, you know? And also, English? What's that?

Agapito, healer: Around five. First is the human tongue; then the language of the fae (I speak its two forms) and the sirens. I also speak foreign languages such as English and the language of the eastern empires. It is important to do so the Church is diverse in its followers.

Dayang, Imperial Princess: I speak six languages. I spoke the human tongue; two forms of Uslok, a language of the tree dwellers; English and two foreign languages. I was heavily taught by scholars and the Empress (unfortunately) in order to understand the diplomats that always dwell in our court.

3. What does magic mean for you?

Marilag, playwright: Magic is art. Plain and simple. It is an art of life, a gift of the gods for us to use in the good of everyone and to showcase the beauty of life in every form.

Raem, fisherman: Pretty poetic, sister. Anyways, magic for me is something of an advantage, mostly. It can slap you in the face if you even try to use it for evil, I've seen it. And its entertaining.

Agapito, healer: Well, magic is sort of life itself. A component, you see.

Dayang, Imperial Princess: Magic by definition of the Shamans is a component of life aside from soil, water and air. It is a dangerous weapon, while also a beautiful form of art, as Marilag have said.

*when they say human tongue they do not mean the general human tongue but rather their main language in the empire that humans speak.

*these are my characters in my wip, butchered tongue

Tagging @dreambigdreamz + @writing-mechanical-monsters + open tag! Answer these questions below:

Who is the person they would go to for advice when it comes to either romance or other problems in life?

What kind of music do they listen to or like to listen to in the distance if ever?

What would be the first thing they do if danger suddenly comes to them? Do they run? Do they freeze in panic? Do they use their magic?

[fromthenortheast]

I am personally the latter in the context of BT wip:

Marilag literally means beautiful, which, is really not that deep, I suppose. she is pretty, yes, but i guess that's it.

Agapito means beloved, I mean he is everything but beloved though, poor him. but good thing he loves himself (lie).

Are you the writer who carefully chooses OC names for their meanings, or are you the writer who picks whatever sounds good?

[a-ikuoliver]

𝐝𝐨 𝐬����𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐞, 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠

do something, babe, say something | k. bakugou — k-atsukibakugou

the first time you tell katsuki you love him

pairing: katsuki bakugou x gn!reader (no pronouns used) w/c: 2.0k warnings: angst teehee, communication problems, self sacrifice notes: IM SO SORRY THIS IS MY FIRST ATTEMPT AT ANGST BLAME @t-tomuras jkjkjk i appreciate u for babbling with me about this <3 (also fuck 1989 (tv) for doing this to me, mostly say don't go lmao) crossposted to ao3 • masterlist • wip updates & voting • kofi • askbox

katsuki bakugou’s love language was food, he’d never really said the words in his life, not even sure he could configure his harsh tongue into such a soft shape, he always imagined the words coming out garbled and alien. in the months knowing you, he didn’t need to tell you he loved you; it was in the hot, steaming dinners, sweet chopped fruits, in the coffee he’d make when he was getting ready for the gym, and even your glow when he’d bring you snacks he spotted in convenience store windows.

you’d never said the words, but you would feel his adoration everywhere; bathed in yellow candlelight in restaurants, beaming when katsuki gestured at your menu, calloused fingertips pointed at the meal he knew you’d love, even letting you sneak a bite of his own dinner, acting like it didn’t make his heart swell to have you inching so close.

“if you wanted this, you should’ve got one yourself.” he’d grumble, snapping his chopsticks over yours.

“i don't want my own, i want yours.” your smiling lips had his heart fluttering, mumbling a venom-less insult under his breath, sliding you the dessert menu to pick one to share since you were so determined to eat his food, always gruffly denying the waiters if they offered a second plate. he liked it more when you both leaned towards the middle of the table, the intimacy of being so close, so cut off from everyone else in the restaurant, knowing no one there was as in love as he was.

you used to feel it in his kitchen, too, warmed by the stovetop and his proximity. katsuki was never far away when you were cooking, claiming you needed to be supervised after you tried to use his carving knife to chop vegetables, his warm hand on your wrist, sliding the handle out of your hold with the chefs knife in his hand, handing it to you handle first, closing his hand around yours like a coach would in baseball, broad chest to your back, coaching you how to slice the food; his fingertips protecting yours from the blade while he confidently cut everything into perfect, even, slices.

now, you shivered, slamming the fridge door shut, the sound less and less uncommon, but still made him wince, tense shoulders lifting to his ears like a child watching fireworks while you’d leave the machine rocking. it was immature, you knew, to stomp, and huff around the kitchen, hoping you were rubbing a salty pain in his wounds for once instead of your own. your stormy eyes hadn’t met his tired ones yet, staring at the glass that still had remnants of his pre-workout in the bottom, and the cold coffee machine beside it, untouched by him this morning.

eerily silent, you switched it on without a word, pulling a mug down from the high shelf, your movements flowing like his used to; packing, tampering, twisting the handle until it locked, mug beneath to catch the near-scalding espresso. waiting for the coffee, you dumped various items on the counter top, every item landing with a dull thunk that had him cringing.

he pulled on his shoes, peering at you from the corner of his eye to watch you prepare your breakfast messily, food cut into uneven, butchered chunks, nothing like you chopped with his arm around your waist, a smile hidden in your hair. left with nothing to distractedly toy with now, he studies you entirely, the way your limbs drag, your glazed eyes stare at the mangled mess on the cutting board, entranced with bated breath, waiting for him to come tell you as such.

you stayed alone, only pulled from your trance by the sound of the machine to your right beeping.

“are you hungry?” your clipped words cut into the silence like a sword, expertly sharpened by weeks of this tension building; there was no sweet pet name, no gentle adoration, only sharp, jarring words, sounding more like the blond across the room than yourself.

“i ate already.” his voice comes out raspy, scratching painfully at his throat, the lie desperately clawing its way from his lips. his throat closes before he can mutter an apology he didn’t mean; he wasn’t sorry for being a hero, he wasn’t sorry for being number one, he wasn’t sorry for doing what needed to be done. he was just sorry.

he doesn’t flinch hearing you slam your palm on the smooth granite counter, the sound not nearly as painful as spotting the frustrated, angry tears collecting in your eyelashes, that had him recoiling. 

“you haven’t eaten with me in weeks.” you haven’t kissed me in a week. you haven’t held me in weeks. you haven’t loved me for weeks. your voice hung in the air, thick with desperation for him to hear you, your unspoken words making his heart pang pathetically in his chest, your clenched fist on the counter squeezing the life from his heart.

your furious gaze is locked on your trembling hands, gripping the counter like you wanted to fracture it apart in your hands, for it to crumble with you, for something to be broken with you. katsuki's mouth is in a tight line, a mirror of your own grimace, when your wild, furious eyes meet his, staring him down, searching his ruby eyes for the truth.

hes silent, choked, impossibly still like you were a delicate bomb seconds away from exploding into minute fragments, never to be put back together the same. his silence making you want to scream at him, to maul him, to tear him apart, to suffocate him until he gave in and fought back.

“just say something, katsuki!” you slam your fist down on the counter, the pain that came hand-in-hand with passion shooting from where your hand connects with the hard granite, nothing compared to the pain twisting your insides, ripping you apart at the atoms.

god does he want to, he wants to cry out, he wants to call you an idiot for thinking he didn’t love you, that he didn’t need you, for thinking he wants to make you miserable instead of wiping your tears, to protect you from this pain. he has to, you’ll heal if he didn’t keep ripping your scars open, leave you bleeding out alone in his bed for the umpteenth time this month.

“what? what do you want me to say?” he sounds exasperated, tired of fighting, sick of empty promises; that he’d try harder to make this work, he’d come home before you fell into a deep sleep in a cold bed, arms wrapped around a pillow that just barely smelt like him, for him to never leave dinner before you could split dessert again, to acknowledge you.

“anything?! say fucking anything!” you throw your hands up, white hot anger coursing through your veins at the indifference on his features.

“i love you!” you try to scream but your voice only shakes, a palm slapping over your mouth to muffle a sob.

he frowns, a muscle twitching in his cheek and his jaw tensing hearing you say it, flowing from your lips with an ease he can’t imagine; your voice is broken, desperate to hear it back, even if it’s only once.

he stays silent, the foreign confession dying on his tongue.

you can’t tear your wet eyes away from him, studying his features like your life depended on it, watching his jaw tick while you waited for him to respond, to passionately yell back at you, to call you a dumbass, to tell you he loved you with the same intensity, too.

you were stuck waiting for him to do something.

you laugh, a watery, joyless laugh, your frantic eyes darting around the ceiling, tight fists at your side, refusing to look in his eyes and find the apathy you couldn’t stand to see.

“tell me not to go, katsuki, say something, say anything right now to make me stay.”

he studies your face, still soft and plump from sleep, his hands itching to cup your soft cheeks in his hands, to swipe his thumbs over your eyes until they’re dry, to hold you to his chest.

“if you walk out that door, i'm not going to be here when you get back.” you’d always been dramatic but something told him you really meant it this time. one misstep and he’d lose you.

“fine.” it’s nothing above a whisper, the same soft voice that used to whisper his adoration in morning light, you tight in his arms, peaceful, happy in his hold instead of grey, lifeless, alone on the kitchen floor.

the man before you looked nothing like the one you fell in love with, his features flat, soft, no sign of his passion or anger, typically flashing garnet eyes dull, lips in a colourless line instead of a snarl, white teeth on display while he yelled. this man was silent, uncaring. indifferent to you.

“that's all you have to say?!” you’re screaming now, hands and eyes frenzied, eyelashes sticky with sleep and tears not yet shed, “i say i love you, and you say nothing?!”

katsuki sighs, twisting his blade inside you with a desolate shrug of his shoulders. couldn’t you see this was because he loves you? because he couldn’t bear to see you cry one more time? because his heart was yours in this life and the next, but he belonged to japan, he might not save everyone in this life, but he’d save you, even if it eviscerated him. so he stays quiet, his body pulling keys from his pocket while his heart shrieks at him to hold you, to pull you close until you felt his heart beating for you, to die here with you, to love you the way you needed him to, to land blow after blow on each and every last wall he’d built up around himself until he could touch you again.

in another life, he’d do whatever it takes. in another life, he’d stay

“please, don’t,” you say when he turns his back on you, his eyes squeezing shut hearing your wavering voice, “katsuki.”

your voice will haunt him, his name off your lips the only thing right in the world, the only thing that could make him believe in a god, someone who made him for you, dreading the day he’d forget the sound of your laughter, the feel of your lips against his, the scent of your skin; dreading the day you’d forget the look of his smile before it was drawn in a tight line, the sound of his voice mumbling sweet nothings, instead of just nothing. katsuki knows it's selfish to hurt you and push and push until you leave, just to cry about losing you, to let you claw at him and sink your nails in to hold him, while he leaves you without a single scratch.

he clenches his jaw so hard, he begins to worry a tooth will break, half hoping one will, maybe the shards biting in his gums enough to distract him from the pain. hot hands grip the doorknob tightly, not daring to say another word, knowing the second his lips parted, a painful sob would fight its way out from his chest.

the door swings shut behind him, latching softly, a sob tearing its way out of you the moment the lock clicks, your body falling to the cold floor of the kitchen, too weak to hold yourself up as your rage at him melted into despair.

the morning sun was already bright, warm, leaves shivering in the breeze, the world going on like his life didn’t just lose all its colour, like he wasn’t going to be stuck in this moment forever. you’d move on one day, you’d forget about this pain, you’d stitch yourself back together, you’d breathe in time with someone else, someone else to split desserts with, someone with time for you, someone better.

the thought of you in a bed warmed by someone else makes his stomach turn, but still he doesn’t turn back, a heavy foot taking a step forward, then another in front of the other, then another, making a silent promise this would be the last time he left you crying.

© all works belong to @a-ikuoliver, @gwen0m, and dlirious on archive of our own, do not plagiarise, translate, repost, feed my works into ai or recommend my work on other platforms, or bind my fanworks for sale.

[roguishcat]

WIP Sunday

Thank you so much for tagging me earlier this week @xxnashiraxx, @busy-baker, @inkymoonbunny!💕

A little snippet from 'Conversations with a vampire' part 7/10. Set pre-game, mostly child Tav pestering befriending Astarion.

“My, my... What mischief did she get up to tonight?” Mamzell Amira looked at him carrying Tav with thinly veiled interest.

The woman was dripping in jewels, fine fabric whispering tantalizingly against skin as she lifted her hand to grasp Tav’s chin. Turning the girl’s head sideways, she appraised her appearance before letting go.

“Thank you for bringing her back. You may enter,” she said pointedly, giving him a pointed look.

Their eyes locked and Astarion scowled.

“Oh, don’t pretend to be so sensitive that you feel offended at being given orders,” she raised an eyebrow and cocked a hip, shifting her stance gracefully.  “Come. We have some things to discuss.”

Astarion did not want to follow the woman, especially when her words sounded more like a command than a request. He has had enough of that in the past 200 years, being compelled to do Cazador’s bidding. Instead, Astarion told himself that he chose to follow her through a concealed entrance that was clearly not meant for the clientele.

They walked down a narrow, winding corridor. Wood creaked underneath their boots and unlike the areas where clients were entertained, there was no plush carpet to swallow up the sound of their steps. They turned once, then once more. There were no guests, just servants and staff in various states of undress that hurried past quickly. Perfume mixed with the scent of sweat. Giggles, sighs and groans revibrated all around them, creating an atmosphere where inhibition is replaced with uninhibited expression of debauchery. Anything for coin. Every fantasy was possible within these rooms as long as one could afford it.

Amira stopped in front of a door, unlocking it swiftly and beckoning for Astarion to follow before closing the door behind him. He felt power and saw the door glow. Arcane lock. No way out unless she permitted it.

The elf gave the room a cursory glance. It was pleasantly decorated and seemed like a personal space, where she would relax rather than receive company. One could even call it cosy.

Astarion was just about to set Tav down gently on the plush sofa when a servant appeared and plucked Tav out of his arms as if she weighed nothing, whisking her away. Magic hummed and the servant was gone.

“Sit, let me have a look at you,” Amira lowered herself to a half recline on a chaise longue, motioning for him to sit in the chair across from her.

She appraised him unabashedly in a way a butcher would look at a prized turkey and clicked her tongue.

“You are a looker. It’s no wonder that she follows you around like a little lovesick pup. She never spoke of you, of course. She never tells anyone anything. But I have my sources,” she said casually, pouring herself some wine into a beautifully crafted gold goblet.

No pressure tags 💖: @clazberryk, @preciouslittlebhaalbae, @lanafofana,

@khywren, @verbenaa, @obsessedwhyyes,

@cinnamontails-ff, @marlowethebard,

@honeybee-bard,

@orangekittyenergy,

@silent-words, @funniestbitchinfaerun,

[ghostinthelibrarywrites]

... But I also really want a sneak pick at Lake of Fire :D

Here's a snippet from the next chapter, which will hopefully be posted later today or tomorrow:

Someone knocks on the door and Charles whirls around, heart leaping into his throat before he remembers that Edwin wouldn’t knock. “Yeah? Come in?” The door opens and Jenny pokes her head in, scowling. “Did you give the Tongue & Tail’s phone number to one of your creepy friends?” “What creepy friends?” Charles blinks, bewildered. “Someone’s on the phone looking for the Dead Boy Detectives. She says she has a tip about a case.” “About the Deathless?” “I didn’t ask, because I’m in the middle of running a business.” “Right.” Charles realizes he’s bouncing on his heels like that time he drank a whole pot of coffee in under an hour. If he has new information by the time Edwin gets back, they can move past whatever weirdness happened earlier. Edwin isn’t one to dwell on things like his best mate staring at his mouth when there’s a case to solve. “Sorry about that, Jenny. Not sure how they got your number.” She sighs. “Just try to keep my shop out of your paranormal weirdness, okay?” “Think it might be a bit too late for that, mate,” he tells her cheerfully, which earns him an expected eye roll. He takes the stairs three at a time before he makes it into the kitchen of the butcher shop, where Jenny keeps a landline. While Jenny goes back out front to see to her customers, he puts the phone to his ear, leaning back against a patch of wall that doesn’t have any blood splatter on it. “Uh, hello? Charles Rowland here?” “Hello, Charles.” It’s a woman’s voice, though there’s a strangely echoing quality to it. Connection must be bad. “Hi,” he says. “What can I do for you?” There’s a pause that lasts long enough that he starts to wonder if they lost connection. Then, the woman says, “Say hello to Charles, Edwin.” “What?” Charles pushes himself off the wall. “Edwin?” There’s a crackling noise that might be wind. Then, a choked, bitten-off cry, like someone trying not to scream.

WIP Ask Game

[fromthenortheast]

A playwright disses the Count after they tried to close their theater and accidentally started a divine war of gods and humans.

looking for active writeblrs 🦇

i’ve had quite the break from writeblr. now i’d like to join some wip tag lists, read, and support others who are actively writing!

reblog / like with a comment describing your wip in one sentence (i know it’s hard) or link to your wip so i can check it out!

bonus if it’s fantasy, rivalry-themed, or has some world-building.

[magicalbats]

Penance (Suguru x Reader)

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 8962

Warnings: afab!reader, hamfisted religious themes, rimming, ass eating as punishment, themes of humiliation/degradation/ objectification, some gendered language, reader is not privileged with an orgasm (rip)

A/N: I spent some time going through my WIPs tonight and after giving this one a quick proof read I decided to just go ahead and post it. I have, no joke, been sitting on it since 2021. lmao I think it might be time.

⭐

“That’s a rather sharp tongue you’ve got, isn’t it?” Suguru’s voice is soft and pointed, all understated elegance and quiet laughter that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He extends one long hand towards you; curls the fingers under your chin and tilts your face up with a deceptively gentle nudge so you have no choice but to look directly at him. 

There is nothing soft about the expression staring back at you, even for as placid as it is. The tension pulling at the corner of his mouth gives his small smile a razor's edge, so indescribably minuscule you would have missed it had you not been sitting so close and that was to say absolutely nothing of the forged steel glint in his dark irises. It was funny, almost. That he should accuse you of having a sharp tongue when he was all carefully filed edges and beautifully cast steel that had survived hundreds of blazing infernos just to become the living embodiment of an executioner's sword looming over you in the here and now. 

He was the judge, the jury and the butcher all wrapped into one neat, perfectly coiffed package with a smile and a kind word to spare, and you would have followed him to any stretch of this world or the next for even a sliver of that double edged approval. Even knowing the danger he posed to you and everyone like you, his subtle threats so politely concealed yet plain as day to anyone who paid enough attention. Even knowing how lethal his very existence was, you would still willfully lay yourself across that altar and fulfill your role as the sacrificial lamb he always seemed to be searching for. 

No, not in spite of it. 

Because of it. 

Faintly humming as if in thought, he turns your face this way and that, still with the tips of his fingers touching the spot under your chin just so. It’s a featherlight mockery of suggestion rather than outright demand but you obediently follow the motion as if there were magnets stuck in your skin, guiding you where his hand was not. Silently, you beg the blood that pounds wildly in your ears to subside so you can hang onto every word that drips from his poisoned mouth unhindered. 

“You know … I’m inclined to say it’s not very ladylike, especially for someone of your impeccable breeding, but. Well.” A pause while he studies your profile in silent contemplation before finally directing your attention back around with a brief, lingering tap that makes you swallow. “I suppose it’s not entirely without its charm. That being said, I do believe there are some better uses we could put it to that don’t involve lashing out at others, hm? Wouldn’t you agree?” 

You shrivel under his guillotine stare as well as the sweetly posed question that seems to cut you straight to the bone. It makes you wither like a once succulent rose that had been cruelly denied sunlight and water, and air itself with which to survive. This was not the way someone should be speaking to a grown woman. Neither was this the way a grown woman should allow herself to be spoken to. It was condescension in its purest, most vile form - or, at least, you’re quite certain that’s what it is. 

Suguru’s kind, agreeable demeanor and his honeyed tone of voice make it hard to tell sometimes. The stark contrast between one and the other and the next leaves you reeling; intoxicated beyond all measure off nothing more than just his mere presence and its bold study in broad strokes of contradiction. You were regretfully helpless before it though. Eager to have those arsenic dipped words aimed at you for the vindicating thrill of it as much as you shied away from it, fearing their burning sting. 

“I’m sorry …” It’s all you can think to say. 

His expression shifts and the threadbare tension fades. But rather than softening at your mouse squeak apology it only grows sharper with the hard lines of put upon pity that slither across his face like a stretching, clawing shadow. It comes in the form of a stilted upward draw of his brows to accompany the cooing pucker of damnably kissable lips. If you didn’t know any better you could almost convince yourself that he was looking upon a contemptible stray or a particularly unfortunate child rather than at you. Certainly not you, with all your money and the posh upbringing you’d enjoyed by virtue of your well to-do parents and their considerable sway in the world of politics. Your top rated education, your impressive track record of boyfriends, each more affluent than the last. The shiny new car you’d abandoned in favor of coming here right along with everything else from your past life, even the expensive jewelry you were in the habit of buying for yourself just because. 

These were the things that made people look at you in envy, not ignominious disregard. No one had ever stared you down quite like this before and that, too, makes you wither from the inside out as much as it has your gut twisting with a surge of molten heat. This was not the way a grown woman of your social standing was supposed to react to being degraded, verbally or otherwise. You knew that as much as you knew the back of your own hand. But you only lean towards him as if seeking out the warmth of the sun you’d been so long denied rather than scuttling away as you probably should have. 

Would have, if you were only just a little bit smarter. 

“I’m sorry.” You say it again, feeling like you owed him that and so much more. 

“Whatever do you have to apologize for, love? I said it wasn’t without its charm, didn’t I?” 

Tilting his head, Suguru gives your chin another soft tap as if to encourage you but it has the opposite effect of making your bottom lip warble. Something white hot and steely flashes behind his eyes, and he tips closer until the end of his nose stops just short of touching yours. Those long fingers remain a steady, unforgiving knife on your jugular throughout it all. 

“Oh, but don’t fret now. There’s no reason for tears, is there? You’re still my good girl, aren’t you?” 

You wonder, idly, if this is some kind of trap. 

In the same breath you decide that this is most certainly a trap. No doubt about it, but you find yourself sadly nodding along with him all the same. He pulls you into it, guides the motion out of you just as a master puppeteer might manipulate his hollow wooden dolls, and you’re happy to go along with it, as with anything else, so long as he keeps looking at you like that. 

“I know, darling. I know you are. You try your best to be good, don’t you? That mouth of yours is what gets you into trouble, isn’t it?”

Another nod, and this time you can’t seem to stop the tears from tracking hot streaks down your burning face. You were flushed in shame and something not far off from excitement, equally torn between the two. Uncertain if you should preen under the blazing spotlight of his attention, as natural inclination would dictate, or the groveling, desperate urge in your higher functioning mind to rectify your mistakes so he wouldn’t be upset with you anymore.

The latter wins out quickly enough. It always does, particularly when his sugar coated reprimands make you feel so infantile and pathetic. Just as small and meaningless as a chewed up wad of gum stuck to the sidewalk. You were willing to do anything to earn your spot back in his good graces again. Anything. 

Clearly seeing what he was looking for now, Suguru’s smile slides back into place with a staggeringly slow curl across the line of his mouth. It’s somehow even sharper this time, and you’re almost blinded by the glint of a blade bathed in sunlight. 

“There, there. I understand. Really, I do. Your tongue just doesn’t know any better, does it?” 

You suck in a wet, faltering breath. “No …” 

His lashes droop to an almost seductive half lidded state, promising the absolution of eternal rest as much as the dizzying, unspeakable heights of carnal pleasure he could bring you. Drawing a carefully tempered breath that seems to steal the air from your lungs, he slides his hand out from under your chin and reaches up to wipe the tears off one cheek with a lingering swipe of his thumb. He pauses then, for just a moment, while he studies your face before sedately reaching around to repeat the process on the other side. 

“Don’t you think we should give it something more productive to do then?” 

It's barely more than a whisper, intended for your ears only in an otherwise empty, cavernous, sparsely furnished room that was so horribly still and quiet you would almost believe only the dead walked here. 

And you shudder for him - tremble and shake like some small, frightened creature caught under the talons of an incomprehensibly vicious monster. There was close to nothing you would not do for him, no humiliation you wouldn’t endure for his sake and his sake alone. You’d happily let him make an example out of you and mould you into the idyllic martyr he seemed to want so bad. It was a blessing coming from him, and you warm with the rush of helium in your chest that swells at being chosen by the god of sharp edges and black silk. 

“Please tell me what to do, Geto-sama. Please.” 

“Hush,” He mouths the word like a prayer. “I have just the thing in mind. You’ll do it for me, won’t you?”

“Yes. Anything.” That was very much the truth. 

A pleased exhale from him teases the flyaways in your hair and Suguru’s hand retreats, making you whimper at the loss of contact. Instinctively you try to follow, tipping forward on your knees so far that you almost lose balance, but he only pins you with an amused look of warning as he reclines back against his plush throne of pillows. Still so sharp and jagged, even at ease, and you watch him get settled in rapt fascination, unsure what he would have of you. 

You were eager to learn though, and the serrated glint in his eye never strays from your face, ensuring you don’t look away as he reaches down to grab at the bulk of his robe and tug at it. Pulls the heavy fabric up, up, up with a quiet slither and an almost coquettish flourish to accompany it. 

Slowly, more and more of him is revealed to your voracious gaze — much more than you would have ever dreamed yourself worthy of looking upon — and your throat goes bone dry when you realize he’s much more sturdy than the shapeless robe would have had you believe. Almost sickeningly so, and the unbearable heat that spears through you almost bowls you over on the spot. 

Nicely shaped calves that speak of an active life outside this temple, outside of this role he's taken here on these hallowed grounds, lead the way up to a pair of well defined thighs, beautiful in their muscle heavy composition. It’s perfectly scandalous in its own right to have him baring himself at you like this but he doesn’t stop there and instead drags one corner of the garment even higher, teasing you with a glimpse of his smooth hip. The realization that he’s not wearing anything underneath makes you sway on the spot, well and truly lightheaded now. 

“G - Geto-sama, I - -“ 

“What’s the matter, love?” He cuts across you in a tone that hits its mark like the lethal swing of a battle sword, rendering you immediately and irreparably mute. “I’m certain you just said you would do anything. Or was I mistaken?” 

You hesitate. 

You clench your clammy hands into tight fists. 

You don’t know what to do, how to react. What to say. 

The world itself seems to stand still as you surreptitiously glance at the spot between his legs with brazen, boldfaced interest, unable to conceal it even if you tried. That part of him is still obscured by the pool of fabric gathered in his lap, however, and he laughs at the eager look of apprehension in your expression. Light and airy, and so horribly cruel you feel the prick of fresh tears in your eyes again. 

“Not that, I’m afraid. That’s only for good girls who don’t need to have their behavior corrected. You really should know that by now.”

You feel the hurt of that deep in your bones and it leaves behind a throbbing ache as if he’d ruthlessly brought a harsh leather strap down across your back. He may as well have done just that for as much anguish it causes, how cleanly it slices despite his voice maintaining its ever pleasant intonation, and you implore him with a wet, wide eyed look. If not that then what? 

But Suguru only inclines his chin in lieu of a proper response, inviting you to keep your eyes on him. To keep watching as he decorously turns over onto his side and then further over onto his front with the topmost leg splaying out from his body at a wide arch. He cranes his neck around to look back at you over his shoulder then, and you suddenly forget how to breathe. 

Both because you’d never seen him look at anyone with the same tawdry, undeniably flirtatious little smirk that he gives you and because your scrambled brain was already starting to connect the dots. You weren’t stupid. You may have been willfully, happily dumb and malleable for him but you weren’t stupid, once you got right down to it, and yet you can’t find the presence of mind to protest. Nor do you manage the wherewithal needed to argue against what you already knew was coming. Your heartbeat pounds a wild rhythm against your rib cage, threatening to burst right out of you as he brings his hand down to hike the back of his robe up in similar fashion to the front, teasing you with it. 

The curvy backs of his thighs are just as enticing and you voraciously soak them up, admiring the smooth, flawlessly warm tone of his skin while you let them draw your attention straight up to the meat of his ass. It’s tight and narrow, as most men’s are, but unexpectedly soft looking in texture. Just plump enough to offer something to squeeze and hold on to. It gives the impression of being the only part of his body with any real cushion, completely lacking in any of the sharp angles you see in his face and his hands. 

You swallow so hard you audibly choke on it. 

Even having already surmised what his intention was, you still struggle to wrap your head around the reality of it staring back at you. The embarrassment is felt almost as sharply as the humiliation, but neither quite compare to the nauseating spike of arousal that rips through you with all the destructive force of a lightning strike to wreak havoc on you from head to toe. You were far more horrified by that than of what he was offering you. What he was asking you to do, and your lungs painfully hitch with the ragged breath you suck in. 

Your willingness to do it was one thing. Something you could easily overlook as being for his sake. His benefit. His enjoyment. There was no low you weren’t prepared to degrade yourself to as long as it was for him. Always him. But to derive genuine pleasure from an act so demeaning? So inherently disrespectful to you as a woman, and also as a person. As a fellow human being. What was so wrong with you, on a fundamental level, that even such as this would turn you on? 

But, you remind yourself, Suguru was not so much a man as he was a god. Something that existed far above the banalities of humanity no matter how polite or agreeable he might look. 

And he exudes all that and so much more even as he reaches around to smooth a big hand over the swell of one cheek, digging his fingertips in just enough for you to see the dimples it creates in the skin. Showing you exactly how right you’d been about it’s plushy give and further mortifying you in the process. You never would have guessed his build to be this stocky when the usual robes he donned hung so loose and unassuming around him, thoroughly concealing his figure from prying eyes such as yours, but you were sure to never forget now that you’d borne witness to it yourself. The shape of him was forever burned into the backs of your eyelids like a brand. At the very least you were sure to never again know a restful night's sleep for however long you might live. 

“Come now, darling. You won’t get anything done sitting over there, will you?” He purrs, his sly smirk growing when you only sit there, frozen to the spot. A marble statue prostrated at the foot of his altar. “Or have I asked too much of you, hm?” 

Mechanically, you drag your attention up to his face and Suguru immediately chortles at the vacancy staring back at him. 

“My, could it be you simply don’t understand? Shall I spell it out for you then?” 

Your stomach and your pussy both clench in tandem when he purses his lips, cooing at you again, just like before. Belittling condescension oozes from every pore in his body as he tips his head further back, resembling a playful pinup model spread out for a particularly risqué photo shoot and your gaze quickly drops back down to zero in on the savory way he cups his own ass. With a stilted sigh of anticipation he pulls, dragging one cheek from the other until you’re afforded a straight, uninterrupted view of the tight wrinkle of his hole, the gentle curve of his taint directly below it and the silken weight of his ballsack where it’s settled against the cushions. You can’t see his cock like this — can’t tell if he’s hard or flaccid, and you aren’t sure which would have been better worse — but you practically swoon at the thought of it being trapped between his stomach and the pillows he’d laid himself out on. 

He clearly sees the disoriented look of shock on your face yet he pays it no mind. Doesn’t give you a chance to recover, to get your thoughts sorted out as he shifts and draws his splayed knee higher up on the floor. Keeps his body spread open for you when he curls his hand inward and directs your frazzled attention to the pink pucker with a light, almost playful tap of his fingertips. 

“Right here.” He tells you, all sultry smooth and eternally damning. “Your tongue will do quite nicely, I think. It’s certainly better suited to this than starting pointless arguments, anyway.” 

You think he’s probably right about that. He has to be, because he’s Geto Suguru. The man you’ve decided to follow until death do you part, the very light of your life. The apple of your eye. The fire that burns and smolders, even now, in the deepest, darkest recesses of your curling loins. There’s no way someone such as him, with all his hard edges and jagged points thinly concealed under the serene placidity of the Buddha himself — surely someone like that can’t be wrong about anything but least of all this. 

Your arousal, too, cannot be wrong for that reason alone, so you numbly shuffle forward. Drag yourself across the tatami to close the small distance which suddenly feels like a great chasm separating you from him. And Suguru watches on with an inferno that threatens to set you ablaze raging behind his dark irises. You can see the suspense, the twisted excitement curling just under the surface as if it were a living, breathing, all too tangible serpent housed under his skin. So real you could almost reach out and touch it, if you dared. 

You don’t, of course. Not only because you knew better than to be so presumptuous, unworthy as you were, but particularly not after he’d already presented you with your task. A trial to endure in the name of forgiveness. Your penance for saying cruel things to one of the other girls in the congregation out of jealousy and spite. Angry that she might have caught his eye a little too much when you were right there, so much more deserving of his attention than she was. Especially when you were so very unaccustomed to not getting your way. It was an ugly thing, and you knew you’d earned this. 

Suguru may have had a propensity for being cruel in a subtle, needle-pinprick sort of way but he was never, ever unjust. 

Going to your hands and knees now, you lean over his prone body with a strange sense of detached excitement so you can regard him up close. His skin truly is flawless, warm and smooth with sparse curling hair to frame the soft colored hole nestled between his shapely cheeks. He smelled good, too. Like soap and detergent, and the faintest undercurrent of masculine musk that goes straight to your brain, sparking something inside you that makes your cunt squeeze around nothing. There’s no hesitation to do it and he must see that because his smirk inexplicably sharpens, looking like something you could well and truly cut yourself on — but when you swoop down to shove your face into the cradle of his body he stops you with a firm hand abruptly smacked to your forehead. 

Left reeling and disoriented, you allow him to push you back just a smidge. The wry twinkle you find in his gaze when you glance up at him makes you flush red hot, as embarrassed as you are castigated by the gesture. “I - I’m sorry - -“

“Now, now. There’s no rush, is there?” Simpering at you, he drags the tips of his fingers over your temple and down the side of your face so he can deliver a light, mocking tap to the underside of your chin. “You should savor it. Enjoy it. Unless you don’t want to, that is?” 

You shake your head so fast it makes you dizzy. “No, I do! I want to, Geto-sama! Really!” 

The sound he noises is not unlike a purr, and you gratefully lean into the warmth of his hand when he reaches back and curls those long fingers around the curve of your skull so he can pull you back in. “Good. Then take it nice and slow, just like that …”

Under his steady guidance, you lean down much more tentatively than the first time and let him press you into the meat of his ass where you deliver a soft, fleeting kiss to the skin. Suguru hums in appreciative approval at your acquiescence but continues to hold you so you don’t hurry it. So you don’t dive in like some kind of animal. 

Shame at your own behavior chokes you up and you suck in a wet, faltering breath even as you softly peck at the swell of flesh, distantly noting how warm he is as well as the taste of salt on his skin. 

The tickle of fine peach fuzz under your lips and the incomprehensibly pleasant smell that you can taste on the back of your tongue. It’s overwhelmingly easy to get lost in him like this, the act itself far more gratifying than you would have ever thought something such as this could be. Even for all your blind idolization towards the man laid out underneath you, holding you close with your face shoved up against his ass, you still hadn’t expected to feel quite so much satisfaction just from kissing his body. It was all you’d wanted in recent memory, yearning for nothing more than a chance to worship him as you were so certain he deserved to be worshipped, and yet you were still taken aback by it. 

And how could you not be when you were so intimately close, indulging the sort of physical touch you’d never been permitted to share with him until now? You’d fantasized about this — something like this, plenty of times in the past. Rubbed your clit raw and soaked through your panties more frequently than you could even count while you steadily drove yourself mad with wanting. It’s no wonder then that you were so willing to demean yourself when it meant getting the chance to actually touch him like this. The real him, and not the Geto Suguru that exists only in your mind. 

Your pussy gives a muted throb at the soar of vindication that suddenly tears through you, coating the seat of your underwear in sticky slick even as you lean into your work and press so tight against his flesh that it becomes hard to breathe. And of course Suguru allows it, softly cooing at you just as a priest offering comfort to the broken, desperate sinner at death's door might. It sounds like salvation in your ringing ears but you knew it was in all reality the whisper of eternal damnation. The abrasive shuffle of the hangman’s noose around your neck, or perhaps last rites read moments before the swing of the executioner's axe. 

But if this is how you were to die then you would go happily, merrily to that chopping block. 

“Mmm  … that’s it, darling. Nice and easy for me. Haste isn’t going to get you anywhere, now is it?” 

You shake your head with a muffled sound of agreement, basking in the warmth of his skin against yours while you listen to Suguru’s honey dipped voice filter over you. It’s reminiscent of a comfortingly warm mist against your flesh and in your ears. It was the one and only constant in your cotton stuffed head which couldn’t decide what, if anything, it should focus on above all the rest and you desperately latch onto it in search of direction. Cling to it for guidance, and heed its call to you on an exigent summons that you wouldn’t have been able to ignore even if you’d wanted to. 

It was making you crazy. 

He was making you crazy. 

Opening your mouth wide, you eagerly nibble and suck at his skin with rapidly growing urgency, desperate to feel more of him against you. Desperate to take more of him inside of you. He tastes so good, so good, that you can’t even think straight anymore now that you have the flavor of him marinating on your tongue. Your internal frenzy steadily grows while you try to feast on the communion of his body in earnest until he finally reaches down to deliver a sharp flick to your forehead, making you hiss.

“No marks.” 

Blinking back the sting of tears, you let up on the meaty swell of his cheek in favor of kissing the reddened spot you’ve left behind. It’s not enough to bruise, probably; but still regretfully noticeable, and you purse your lips against it in apologetic reverence. You should have known better. Should have asked before doing something of your own volition without his direct order to do it first. The weight of this newest transgression pulls an emotional sniffle out of you, and he mockingly chuckles in response to the sound. 

“How cute. You want to taste me that badly? I didn’t expect you to be this enthusiastic, sweetheart.” 

You nod, dragging your cheek across his plushy ass, making it pudge under the pressure of your face even as a slow trickling tear dribbles from the corner of your eye. It follows the same line already tracked by the ones that came before it but, rather than finding your chin where it could drip off onto the floor, it spills over where your skin meets his and pools between the two of you. 

Softly, Suguru clicks his tongue at the sensation so you lift your head enough to lick it off of him in apology. The bitter salt is repugnant compared to the subtle, almost airy flavors of his body and you draw a faltering breath as you sedately work your way over the swell of his ass cheek one kitten lick at a time, working your way inward. 

He sighs, ever so softly, while you do it. Relaxes the pressure of his hand on the back of your head in favor of absently caressing his long fingers over your hair, teasing strays and flyaways. The tiny baby hairs on the nape of your neck. This unexpectedly tender touch from him, your savior and executioner wrapped into one, has you shuddering over him, wracked with the relief that comes with his forgiveness. You still had work to do. Still had a much deserved penance to complete, but with his guidance you were on the right path to salvation again. 

Carefully, you kiss a hot trail over the curve of his buttocks and start to work your way down. Nudge yourself even closer so you can lean into him and at last dip your face into the crevice of his body. The lingering scent of soap and male musk grows stronger like this, not at all unpleasant but so incredibly heady that it seems to rush straight to your cunt. You pointedly choose to ignore that though, and instead nuzzle your nose into the space between his cheeks, teasing the puckered hole within. A subdued shiver races through him, slight enough that you wouldn’t have noticed it had you not been pressed in so tight against him. He doesn’t move to stop you though and merely curls his finger around a loose strand of hair on your head as if something like this was a casual encounter, not one that was of any particular concern to him. Nothing to get excited or hasty about. A leisurely pastime he indulged in from time to time, frequently enough that it didn’t demand his full attention and yet not so commonplace that he was bored with it. 

Idly, you wonder who else among the congregants has been blessed with this particular gift. 

Spurned on, you press your face in close and deliver a lingering kiss to the center of his asshole. It weakly twitches under the contact, clenching and then unclenching in a mockery of a reciprocal kiss, returning the favor, and you do it again with a quiet groan. Sink into him until you can scarcely breathe but that is hardly of any consequence to you at this point. Suffocating in him like this did not seem so bad a fate — it was one you would have gladly welcomed, in fact. 

Taking your time with it, you slowly peck your way down the gentle slope of his taint and press your tongue flat against the seam, dragging your mouth up until you feel the wrinkled dip pass under it. You do it again and then again, slobbering all over him with slow, savory licks that come back tasting of salt and copper. His skin is so soft and smooth here, and mostly hairless save a few wispy strands that tickle your lips in silent reminder that what you were doing was by all accounts dirty. Certainly not the sort of degrading act someone of your social standing should be subjecting herself to. 

But you hold a deep, overwhelming love for him in your heart, one that trumps all sense of dignity you may have otherwise possessed. The quiet sigh he eventually issues into the still air only further encourages you to keep going. 

Pausing when your tongue next passes over the center of his hole, you worm it forward to poke and prod at the tight entrance. Circle the rim with just the tip until it relaxes against the wet pressure of your mouth so you can dip inside far enough to truly taste him. Your eyes roll back at the heady flavor and you quickly seal your lips around him, alternating between sucking and licking in order to loosen him up more. You wanted to shove your tongue inside of him as far as it would go, but you couldn’t do that when his body was still so tight. 

Suguru hisses faintly at the suction and untangles his hand from your hair, bringing it down so he can dig the fingers into his topmost cheek. He pulls at it, opening himself up to you. Grants you access to the depths of his person, and you eagerly take the chance to wiggle your tongue inside again, reaching deeper than before. His hips give a little jerk at the sensation before subtly angling upward, tipping towards your face. 

“Mmm, that’s it, darling. Just like that …”

Your breath puffs out of you in a ragged exhale, stuttering and clipped. It’s not hard to tell that your panties are soaked at this point and they wetly cling to you as you burrow deeper into the crevice of his ass with a muted shake of your head. You’re already as close as you can get but that doesn’t stop you from trying, even when your nose registers discomfort at the pressure. You can’t stop though. You’re mad with it, this powerful need to crawl inside of him, if only you could. If only it were possible. 

Groaning at the wild squirming of your tongue, he slowly eases up his hold on the meaty swell of his ass and finally rolls the rest of the way over onto his stomach. Barely audible huffs of pleasure reach your ears now, reverberating inside your skull like the sweetest melody of wind chimes to lull you deeper into your trance. The change of position opens him up further to you, you’re delighted to find, and it is with a great deal of satisfaction that you worm your tongue into that clenching passage where you can finally — finally! Massage at his insides to your pounding hearts content. 

“I knew you were well suited to this task,” He murmurs, breathy and distant. Distracted. “Your mouth was made for this, wasn’t it?” 

You noise a muffled sound of agreement, dizzy and lightheaded. Feeling faint with the weight of it all, but especially the significance behind this act of service and the sharp stab of humiliation that comes with it. Degrading though it may be, you’d never felt closer to this man who presented you with salvation in one hand and damnation in the other. You were practically soaring with it, and that sensation only increases, doubles down, when he pushes back on you in encouragement. 

The lower half of your face is a mess of dribbling saliva, cool and sticky on your red hot skin, but you stamp down the urge to reach up and wipe it away. Instead, you lean somehow further into him, meet the not so subtle roll of his hips, and it doesn’t take long for the two of you to fall into an easy rhythm like this. Rocking together in near perfect unison for a prolonged beat until he seems to grow impatient, pushing himself against you more insistently no matter how you work him over with your tongue. The thought that you weren’t doing a good enough job brings with it a sharp twinge in your chest, so you quickly follow him up when he  at last pushes up to his knees with a disgruntled huff. 

Positioned like this with his ass jutted upward makes it a little easier to tongue fuck him, his passage relaxing open with the pulse of a muscle spasm that shudders through him. You suck in a wet, gasping breath of air as you enthusiastically gum at him with your lips, noting in a far off, dreamy sort of way that the rim of his hole has become more puckered and raised over the last few minutes. It seems to welcome the soft plunge of your tongue now, greedily swallowing it up each time you dip it inside of him. The slow rise of pleasured groans coming from his mouth attests to the fact that he was enjoying this, assuring you and emboldening you at the same time. You wanted to make him feel good more than anything else in that moment — needed him to feel good — and it is with a great deal of pleasure that you let Suguru drag his ass across your face with a subdued twist of his pelvis, smearing you with sticky spit in the process. 

“Nnghn … yes, darling, yes. Keep that up and you’re going to make me cum … you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Ahnn - a reward for all your hard work, hm?” 

The thought alone is enough to make your whole body seize, pussy clamping tight around nothing so violently that you actually sway on your hands and knees. It was too much. You’d fantasized about just that, about making him shoot hot ropes down your throat more times than you could conceivably count, but you hadn’t thought you’d ever get the chance. It was too good to be true. A once in a lifetime opportunity if there ever was one. 

You’re punch drunk on it as you slip your tongue out of his hole and enthusiastically circle the puffy rim with broad, flat strokes before tracing a wet path down his taint. You pause long enough to deliver a smacking kiss to it before leaning further down, intent on doing the same to his hanging ballsack, but he stops you with a pointed shove of his ass. 

“Stay focused, my love. I already told you where your mouth belongs. Do not overstep my patience with you a second time in one day.” 

Appropriately chastised by that warning, you hurriedly direct your attention back to his waiting hole. He lets out a pleased sigh when you get back to work, lapping at him with renewed vigor and just a pinch of emboldened audacity, but it seems to sufficiently placate him. 

It doesn’t take long for Suguru to relax into it again and he sedately rocks his hips back into the warmth of your mouth, all but basking in the sensation now. You’re glad for it, for his infinitely forgiving nature and his proclivity for giving second, third, even fourth chances to those that loyally followed him. Were he not so kind and magnanimous you probably would have found yourself kicked to the curb long ago. Were he not so understanding of your shortcomings as a mere mortal before his godlike presence you would have surely found yourself booted from the temple, never to return or be seen ever again. 

There was a kindness in his cruelty and you’re reminded of that when he pushes against you, going up on his hands now so he can properly grind himself on your face. You welcome it. Revel in it as you fuck your tongue into him again, delighting in the easy slide of it along his throbbing passage. You had him so obscenely coated in slick that you were sure the insertion of a finger would be a seamless one, but you don’t dare try it. Not without his permission first. Not without the risk of incurring further ire from him and, as if he can sense your thoughts, he twists around to look back at you. 

“Mmm, I’m getting close now … lie back for me, won’t you?” 

You freeze at that, a million questions running through your head all at once, but you give none of them voice as you slowly peel your mouth off him. This time you can’t stop yourself from reaching up to swipe at your wet chin even though it does very little in the way of good. You were soaked in spit from the nose down, something only a good washing could remedy, so you push it to the back of your mind for now and move to obey, hastily laying out flat on your back across the floor. 

For better or worse it doesn’t take long for you to figure out what he’s planning to do, and you swallow the lump in your throat as you watch him shuffle around to kneel beside your head. He looks like an elegant, dangerous cat hovering over you, all the more so when he pins you with that serrated edge smile. The faint flush on his cheekbones doesn’t detract from the air of superiority he holds over you, whether natural or by design, and in fact only seems to highlight his almost preternatural beauty. You’d never known someone so pretty, regardless of their gender, and you can’t quite shake the feeling of looking upon a blessed work of art as he gathers the loose fabric of his priest garb in both hands. 

Then, to your surprise, he throws one leg over your chest, straddling you backwards with his front pointed towards your feet, and you suddenly forget how to breathe. You aren’t sure how to react, what to do, so you just lie there, prone and helpless, while he hikes up the back of his robe to expose his ass again. He was still denying you even the pleasure, the simple satisfaction of seeing his cock with your own eyes, but you were under the distinct impression that he must have been straining hard by the way he looks back at you over his shoulder. The simmering heat in his dark eyes gives him away. 

“You don’t mind, do you?” 

Effectively robbed of your voice, all you can do is shake your head. 

He chuckles at that, clearly amused but unconcerned at your lack of a verbal response, and you hold your breath as he starts to lower himself. You think you might really faint, as overwhelmed as you are by the whole thing. Somehow you manage to keep it together though and you groan faintly when he settles on top of you, not quite sitting his full weight down but enough so that you quickly find it hard to breathe. It feels like you really might suffocate in his ass this time, more so when he gives his hips a slight wiggle to get comfortable and make sure his puckered entrance was right where he wanted it. 

“There. That’s nice, isn’t it?” 

Your attempt at a response is horribly muffled and incomprehensible, a mess of gibberish that may not have made much sense at all even if you weren’t currently being smothered. That clearly doesn’t bother him, however, and you whimper when he reaches down to take your hands in his so he can redirect them around his waist and up to the front of his robe. 

“Hold this for me?” 

Numbly, you fist your fingers into the thick material and let him position them as he wanted. You felt silly and inconsequential, a thing and not a person with him seated upon you like this. Just like a king on his impromptu throne. But you were hardly in any position to complain. Even when humiliation cuts through you like a sharp razor blade, even when embarrassed heat floods your face to make you even dizzier than you already were, you still couldn’t find it in you to advocate against this treatment. 

If Geto Suguru wanted to treat you like a chair and nothing more then that was what he would do. 

If he wanted to treat you like an inanimate mastubatory aid then that was his prerogative as well. 

You were his to do with as he saw fit, and you have to make a conscious effort to stop your hands from shaking when he settles more firmly on top of you, puckered hole pressing tight against your mouth until you have no choice but to open it. He moans, very softly, at the sensation before reaching around, presumably to take his cock in hand. The eager clench of his ass tells you the exact moment he gives it a tight, savory squeeze. 

“Don’t forget to use your tongue …” 

He sounds distracted. Thoroughly preoccupied now, but you happily comply without protest as you reach out past teeth and lips to lap at him again. The responding groan is needy, perhaps even a little frazzled, and it slices through you like a hacksaw. You’ve never heard anything like that come out of him before, or anyone else for that matter. It was a heated noise that seemed otherworldly for as beautiful as it was. The kind of sound an seraph might make, if they could or would engage in an act such as this. 

Unbothered by the lack of oxygen you were getting, you dazedly poke your tongue up to dip it into the center of his hole. You were hoping, praying, to catch that sound again but all you get for your trouble is a breathy exhale that seems to waver at the tail end. That’s not nearly enough to discourage you though, and you crane your neck up to attack the center of his body with the same fervor as before, worming your way inside so you can massage along his pulsing guts. 

Suguru twitches on top of you, his breath coming a little quicker now as he slowly thrusts his hips forward and then back. You shudder at the realization that he was fucking into his fist, dragging out the strokes to elongate the pleasure of them while pointedly dragging his asshole across your mouth at the same time. It has you squirming underneath him, pitifully rubbing your thighs together in search of relief, no matter how blithe it might be, but he doesn’t even seem to notice. He was intent on chasing his release now, and you struggle to keep your tongue moving when his motions start to pick up. 

Quicker now, he rocks between your mouth and his hand, letting out soft little huffs and groans while he does it. Nothing quite like that sound he’d first made but these were nice too. They were husky and hot, giving away the true extent of his arousal. You wondered if he was leaking precum all over his knuckles, or if he was using it to lubricate his palm. If he was rubbing over the glans with a blocky, callous worn thumb to stimulate the nerve endings there or if he was more focused on making his fist as tight as possible for him to fuck into. You wished you could see, that you could watch him tug himself to completion, but just getting to be this close to him while he did it seemed enough for now. 

Assuming you didn’t die here on the floor of his private chambers, smothered to death by his ass, you’d have plenty of material for your own mastubatory fantasies to last a lifetime. It was well worth the risk and the price you might potentially pay. 

“Oh, right there, love … deeper, go deeper!” 

You try your best to oblige even when the root of your tongue aches in protest, already stretched to its limit. Gasping and heaving, struggling just to keep from passing out, you forcibly wriggle it into the clenching heat of his body with everything you’ve got, determined to meet his every need. He responds in kind with a fervent thrust of his pelvis, riding your mouth with quickly growing need. You hadn’t expected him to be so affected, so caught up in the pleasure, but you carefully file it all away with what little wherewithal you still possess. It wasn’t much, hardly more than a drop of higher functioning thought left at your disposal, and yet that seemed to be all you needed. You could feel your own excitement growing in tandem with his and your body reacts to each sound, each shifting motion as if you were experiencing the same sensations as he was. 

And when his ass suddenly squeezes down on your tongue in a vice grip your pussy responds in kind, tightening to the point of discomfort. Suguru groans, just as beautifully as before, and it makes your toes curl while he faintly jerks on top of you, stiffly riding out what could only be a powerful orgasm. Elation quickly rushes in to flood your cotton stuffed head as if you’d experienced the same high of relief even as your guts clamp up, left hanging on the precipice indefinitely, but you try to tell yourself that you don’t mind it. His pleasure was your pleasure after all, and you were thankful just for that. 

Gradually, some moments later, he starts to relax on top of you and you suck in a gasping breath of air when he gingerly rocks forward to lift his ass from your face. The sense that everything was spinning around you at an alarming speed only increases as he moves to dismount and you squint against the faint light coming from the lamp in the corner. Even that was too much for your eyes after they’d adjusted to the darkness under his robe, a surprisingly apt metaphor for the malicious spell he had you under, but this too was something that didn’t bother you half as much as it probably should have. 

What does register in your mind as alarm, however, is the creamy white ropes of cum you find staining down the front of your clothes when you lift your head. It made sense, in a way. Where else was he supposed to cum if not on you? Still, you can’t quite keep the shock off your face and he titters quietly at your expression while he makes casual work of straightening out his robes again. 

“That’s quite a face you’re making. Is something wrong?” 

“No.” You practically croak. Stopping long enough to clear your throat, you try again. “No, nothings wrong, Geto-sama.” 

“Good. Now, I hope you’ll think twice before trying to stir up trouble again.” 

You visibly wither at that. “I will. I promise.” 

Drawing a stilted breath that sounds like the swing of a blade in the still air, he leans forward to brace one hand on the floor, looking at you up close. “Do you really? You know I won’t tolerate any lying.” 

“I do! I swear it!” 

The corners of his eyes wrinkle when he smiles, looking fittingly like a sly and powerful fox demon. “Good. I’d hate to have to punish you again for the same thing, but if you and that tongue of yours ever need a reminder don’t hesitate to come see me again. I’ll set you straight as many times as you need.” Then, with a sense of finality, he sits back and moves to stand. “Come. It’s just about time for dinner and I do believe your father will be joining us this evening, isn’t that right?” 

Your stomach sinks. You’d almost completely forgotten. 

No, not almost. 

You really did forget after everything that had happened today. Was it really any wonder though? It seemed like only a few short minutes had come and gone here in the secluded privacy of Suguru’s chamber but it had to have been going on over an hour now since he’d steered you through the door with a mindful hand on the small of your back. 

A shudder races through you at the reminder but you quickly shrug it off, clambering to get on your feet as well. “I’m so sorry for keeping you like this. I’ll change as quickly as I can and - -“

“Ah, ah. That’s not what I told you to do, is it?” The knowing smirk on his face grows, sharpens and slices through you like a knife. You’re wholly mortified at the way your pussy throbs in response to it, drawing attention to the fact that you were soaking into your underwear. It felt like you’d already cum at least twice, but you knew all too well that that was not the case. “If I’d wanted you to get cleaned up first I would have said that, wouldn’t I? Hm? I told you to come. You’re not going to disobey me are you?”

“No, Geto-sama, o - of course not!” 

Chuckling, he turns to make for the door. “Then let’s get a move on. I’d hate to keep your father waiting.” 

You hesitate only a brief moment, slowly glancing over yourself one last time. The threads of sticky semen splattered across your front were quickly drying but not nearly at the rate you would have liked. They were leaving behind wet, globular stains, the darkened patches in the fabric regrettably noticeable by your estimation. Maybe they wouldn’t be as obvious to other people though. Maybe they’d just assume you spilled water or some kind of oil on your clothes. Maybe no one would ask any questions. 

Not quite convinced your luck would hold out, you hurry to follow after Suguru just as any devout lamb following their shepherd should. Through heaven or hell, fire or high water, you would let him lead you to any stretch of this earth and back as many times as he saw fit, in whatever condition pleased him. Even now, even after your dehumanizing trial, there was nothing you wouldn’t do to earn his good graces and stay in them. 

Absolutely nothing.

⭐

Crossposted: here

[alchemistc]

Ooo please tell me more about drunk handsy Tommy!

Based entirely off this post of mine that is based off my voyeurism of a clingy couple in a tiktok. Me following the trail of my Tommy Is A Toucher headcanons.

Buck’s never seen Tommy this drunk before. Or — well, he’d been pretty hammered at their wedding, they both had, but that was mostly the champagne and the never-ending line of toasts from firefighters from both their stations, and their sisters, and Tommy’s army buddies, and — well, he sort of forgot, eventually. It’s alright, though, there’s a video saved on Tommy’s hard drive and backed up in, like, twelve different places because they’re firefighters who have seen enough things of value go up in literal flames. But. Tommy. Tommy is drunk. It’s a flirty kind of drunk, that had started out as heady looks and pursed lips. Four shots of some sugary concoction that had stained Tommy’s tongue red, and he’s handsy now, fingers digging into Buck’s back pocket, wandering around his waist, pulling him closer as the bar gets more crowded, arm perpetually around him and hands always doing some sort of wandering. It had been an excellent deterrent when some college girl with green sparkles in her hair eyed Tommy like a slab of the butchers best cut — not that Tommy had noticed, too busy curling his hand around Buck’s neck while he leaned in across their increasingly claustrophobic little table to yell something in Eddie’s ear.

ask me about my WIPs!

[direwombat]

another wip wednesday another dollar. tagged by the beloved @socially-awkward-skeleton

got a couple things cookin' on the stove, so to start, here's a bit towards the end of katc ch 7 wherein shaw is helping syb escape st francis after her emergency appendectomy. still very rough/unedited (as evident by an instance of brackets) and subject to change but here's something

“Because I made a mistake and now I’m trying to fix it.” He grips her by the shoulders and squeezes them tight. Firmly, he says, “Listen to me: Augustine is alive. You need to find him.”  

In a flash, she grabs him by the collar and drags him towards her. “Where is he?” she snarls -- teeth bared, eyes narrow. She shakes him for good measure. “Where the fuck is he?” 

He lifts his hands in a placating gesture. “I don’t know,” he says. “Most likely somewhere in the Valley or Henbane.” 

“So help me, if you lyin’…” She has no idea how she's going to finish that threat -- just that it involves excessive and horrific violence.  

“I’m not! I’m just --” he cuts himself off at the sounds of low chatter and approaching footsteps. “Someone’s coming. Get on the truck. You need to hide. Now!” 

With a harsh shove, her back falls onto the bed of the truck, and her legs are quickly swept into the air as the man lifts the tailgate. She rolls onto her belly and crawls between white boxes bearing the symbol of Eden’s Gate. The motions press and pull at the tender skin of her abdomen, held together by a series of sutures. She bites her tongue to prevent herself from hissing through her teeth. Once she’s nestled herself between two that have been securely strapped down, her rescuer throws a tarp over cargo, further obscuring her from view. 

As he finishes securing the covering, the approaching footsteps come to a halt near the truck. “Brother Shaw,” drawls a feminine voice. The name tickles her brain with a sense of familiarity, but she brushes it aside. She’s had so many fleeting interactions with people in her time as a deputy sheriff. It isn’t out of the realm of possibility this Shaw was one of them. 

“We missed you at the service this evening,” the woman continues. “Is everything alright?” Her light and airy tone is belied by a cruel sneer; spoken like a high school hall monitor with an inflated sense of authority. The unspoken observation and threat are plain as day: You weren’t where you were supposed to be. Do I need to tell the higher ups about this?

“Sister,” Shaw greets curtly. “I may not have been at the chapel, but I had my radio tuned to the same frequency as everyone else. Someone had to make sure the trucks were loaded with supplies to aid in the siege against the sinners held up at the jail.” 

“And was this a direct order from the Herald?” 

“The Deputy butchered my whole squad tonight, Emily,” Shaw says tersely. “Forgive me if I wasn’t in the mood to sing and rejoice in preemptively celebrating the Project's victory.” Sybille’s eyes go wide. Could it be? The same man who’s helped drag her to freedom is the same one who found her at the ranger’s station and brought her here in the first place? “Unless Brother Jacob specifically asked after my absence, then I have nothing more to discuss with you.”

“And if he did?” The woman’s voice pitches higher; her arrogant posturing rapidly crumbles at the slightest challenge.

“Then I will explain myself to him.” 

[A beat]

“You should’ve died with your squad,” Emily sneers. “Only a weakling and a coward would abandon their brothers in arms like that. I don’t even know why the Herald keeps you around. You should have been culled with the rest of ‘em.” 

bonus snippet 1: from a scene that possessed me the other day wherein jacob and syb are stuck in a bunker and they're talking about their daddy issues (and what they want to leave behind/how they want to be remembered). which is to say. this is the closest to therapy they'll ever get <3

"Told myself I'd never end up like my old man. Sooner put a bullet in my head than wind up old and miserable like he was. But shit happens and then suddenly…" [Jacob] trails off, his thumb idly playing with the tab.

"Suddenly you seein' 'im every time you look in the mirror," Sybille supplies. She proceeds to down the rest of her beer. She crushes the can under her palm and lets out a loud belch.

"Yeah," Jacob says lamely, and he does the exact same thing.

She reaches back into the 24-pack of lukewarm bunker beer. "Wanna'nother one?"

"Please."

bonus snippet 2: from the jakesyb bliss-induced-sex fic :)c

“What the fuck is this?”

“Oh! I’m so glad you asked!” [Faith] grins. “I’m doing some…hm, what’s the term for it? R&D?”

“R&D?” Jacob parrots. 

“Yup!” She lifts the leash and waves it in her hand, the motion making the tags on Sybille’s collar jingle. “Doing some testing on a new strain of Bliss. One to store for when we emerge in New Eden. That'll…” she bites her lip, contemplating her words, “...help us repopulate.” 

He comes to an abrupt halt, just out of reach. Faith’s words knock the bluster from him. “What?” 

“I don’t know how to put it more simply, Jacob. It’s a strain of Bliss meant to help encourage procreation.” 

“You’re making an aphrodisiac?” he states dumbly. 

She clicks her tongue and scoffs. “A vulgar way to put it, but yes.”

“And you’ve used the Deputy as a guinea pig.”

“Mm-hm,” she nods, “as one, yes.” 

“And this is a gift to me, how?” 

Faith cocks her head to the side. “Do you not like it?” She frowns. “I dressed her up all nice for you and everything.” 

taglist (opt in/opt out)

@buggknife, @cloudofbutterflies92, @josephseedismyfather, @la-grosse-patate, @tommyarishikages,

@florbelles, @statichvm, @fourlittleseedlings, @wrathfulrook, @harmonyowl,

@ivymarquis, @carlosoliveiraa, @cassietrn, @confidentandgood, @strafethesesinners,

@trench-rot, @miyabilicious, @simplegenius042, @g0dspeeed, @inafieldofdaisies,

@josephslittledeputy, @aceghosts, @adelaidedrubman, @finding-comfort-in-rain, @voidika,

@strangefable and anyone else who wants to share a wip today <3

[eldrith]

Would you be willing to tell us anything about your WIPs?

sure! i have so many - like a sick amount lol. so here are just some in no particular order... with songs that have lyrics that fit the plot <3 ive been heavily discouraged as of late and can’t guarantee anything in terms of posting these

about you ; jacaerys x aunt/targ!reader [jace is betrothed to baela], request. ➺ vibes: escaping your family just to tame an untamable beast. saving your cousin's life, almost losing your own. feels like unrequited childhood longing, slow burning; like finding the cherished toy that was lost in your youth. like laughing in the face of death. sounds like 'about you' by the 1975, like the roar of an ancient beast, the buzzing of a fly in the corner of a peaceful room. tastes like herbal tinctures, root of thistle, and milk of the poppy. smells like ancient dragonsmoke and rolls of gauze.

dead men don't sing ; jacaerys x stark!reader, request. ➺ vibes: sweet, but foreboding - like the destiny woven into your bloodline long before your mother’s mother ever had a name. feels like playful love, poorly contained desire; like when the burden placed upon your back is lifted by the one you love. sounds like 'would that i' by hozier, like the northern wind snapping in your ears. tastes like snow on your tongue, remnants of wine upon lips. smells like the woods in winter; like a well-burned hearth.

a golden cage [part iv] ; jacaerys x aunt/targ!reader ➺ vibes: awkward dinner parties, the embarrassment of sprouting affection. feels like an apology in the back of your throat, like the guilt and subsequent relief of looking at someone and feeling like you're looking into a mirror. sounds like 'south' by hippo campus & ‘shake it out’ by florence & the machine; like dramatic declarations and whispered vows. tastes like wine in your cup and the salt of ocean upon lips. smells like incense burnt low and muddled sourleaf tea.

honeyed [part ii] ; jacaerys x queen's advisor!reader. ➺ vibes: flirty, sweet, - resisting something you know is inevitable. feels like the giddiness of camping with an old friend; or the first time riding a dragon; like looking up during a storm just to feel rain hit your smile. sounds like 'pools' by glass animals, like quiet whispers within canvas tents; like the chorus of full tables at Raventree Hall, celebrating royal guests. tastes like wild berries and fresh river water. smells like the leather of dragonsaddles, like wild rosemary.

miscellaneous; these may never see the light of day

untitled ; jacaerys x lady!reader, request. ➺ vibes: yearning for your best friend & knowing them better than the back of your hand. betrothal proposals, envy. feels like lounging in the hot sun, like worrying over looks sent to you across the ballroom; gossiping with your crush’s brother. like the brush of fingers upon your neck, like a gut bubbling in unspoken jealousy. sounds like ‘daydream / wetdream / nightmare’ by saint motel, like butchering the pronunciation of an ancient tongue. tastes like cucumber sandwiches, like hot tea under the summer sun. smells like old library scrolls and cologne oils upon a warm neck.

half-fleshed fic of modern jace x best friend reader ➺ vibes: almost-friends-with-benefits with your best friend - poor drunken choices, insecurities, yearning. feels like not knowing what you are, like washing off the remnants of lipstick upon your neck in the shower. sounds like 'an ode to a conversation stuck in your throat' by del water gap & ‘affection’ by BETWEEN FRIENDS; like the faint whispering when someone sleeps. tastes like guinness on tap, like cookies made at 2am. smells like empty streets after rain, like the warmth of your best friend’s hoodie.

untitled ; jacaerys x wife/betrothed!reader [undecided, v incomplete] ➺ vibes: teasing someone to see them squirm, smiling politely to hide a smirk. feels like the excitement of a chase, the warmth of desire; like tugging on curly tresses. sounds like the scraping of silver cutlery against plates, like breathless pleads against sweaty skin - like 'silvertongue' by young the giant. tastes like an eager tongue pressing against your own, sweet like blueberry pie. smells like blown out candles, scented oils on pillows.

untitled ; jacaerys x wife!reader ➺ vibes: giddiness & good news. happiness, the blossoming flower that sprouts from the seed of sorrow. feels like sand under your feet, like arms around your waist. sounds like the shaking of pride in a voice, like ‘jackie and wilson’ by hozier. tastes like salt of tears, like rosemary cakes. smells like home.

& maybe a nsfw version of the 5 love languages with jacaerys but who knows

[jtl-fics]

Surely please xx

7/31/24 - WIP Wednesday (Closed) | Surely

Kevin and Nathaniel sit there, their deep breathing masked by the sound of the man’s screaming. Nathaniel lets Kevin hold on as tightly as he wants. Kevin’s hand tightens around Nathaniel with every scream and Nathaniel sees him flinch and a whispered, “Don’t touch me.” from Riko.

Nathaniel wonders if Kevin had tried to offer the same comfort to Riko and Riko rejected it. Thankfully Nathan doesn’t seem to have heard it as he had started working on the man’s legs. It has always been his favorite part of the butchering.

It takes another 30 minutes for the man to finally, mercifully, die.

“Huh, weaker than I thought. I’m usually better at judgi-” Nathan pauses looking at the man’s mouth, “Ah, I wanted to hear him scream but that does always let people bite their tongues.” he shrugs not overly bothered.

<- PREV | FIRST | NEXT ->

[gothsuguru]

THANK YOU SM FOR THE WIP TAG LILY! @storiesoflilies <3 i have so many wips so i figured i’d make a whole other post abt it so it doesn’t clog up the dash omg 🙂‍↕️ also i have so many more wips (like SO many) but i’ll just show these for now :3

rules — list the names/titles of docs in your WIP folder + open your inbox to have people ask about them! feel free to ask about any of these if you want to! :D

geto suguru x reader

- butchered tongue (cult leader!geto x heavenly restriction!reader)

- premonition of love (prequel fic to “black is the color of my true love’s hair” — down bad & devoted tattooist/piercer!geto x down bad & devoted!reader -> strangers to friends to lovers)

- shadow chiaroscuro (art curator!geto x fashion designer!reader)

- my love builds coffins (harpist!geto x coffinmaker!reader)

- death by slaughter — made for consumption (recently defected!geto x non-sorcerer turned curse!reader)

- the shade always comes at the worst time (cult leader!geto x kenjaku!reader)

- i hope i don’t murder me; i hope i don’t burden you (sensei!geto x heavenly restriction!reader)

- with the snow, my hell is cold (king!geto x knight!reader)

- your rarest of flowers (dilf!geto x neighbor!reader)

toji fushiguro x reader

- kintsugi (dilf!toji x neighbor!reader)

- shining like gun metal, cold and unsure (assassin!toji x civilian!reader)

gojo satoru x reader

- we fell in love in the midst of spring (devoted!gojo x devoted!reader) [title’s under construction]

- you should let me ride shotgun (rich brat!gojo x bodyguard!reader)

ryomen sukuna x reader

- out of my league (uni crush!sukuna x down bad!reader -> best friends to lovers)

- dancing under red skies (heian era!sukuna x first recorded case of heavenly restriction!reader)

kenjaku x reader

- belladonna (corrupt dilfy therapist!kenjaku x patient!reader)

tagging: @teddybeartoji @mossmotif @staryukis @hayakawalove @connorsui @kentophilia @mikichko :3

[theragethatisdesire]

quick bright things - teaser 2 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

"So quick bright things come to confusion.” - William Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night's Dream Act I Scene I

MY TOP SECRET WIP HAS A NAME NOW!!! welcome to the world of quick bright things !! here is a little sneaky surprise :) i still don't know when it will be done or even if i should be posting this but i can't stop myself i love you guys i love this eren i never want to shut up about it ANDDDD i think part 1 should be postable soon.....if only you guys knew what i had in store for this uni truly. anyway.....tell me what u think hehehee enjoy<3

teaser 1 here if you missed it

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

“Open up.”

You’ve been enjoying this game of trading one sense for another, and you keep your eyes shut firmly, letting your jaw fall open and your tongue hang out. A piece of peach, fleshy and dripping with juice, finds its way onto your tongue, pinched too roughly between strong fingers. When you close your lips around the fruit, the fingers stay with it, frozen in their pinched position and forcing you to suck the peach from them, to swallow around them, to run your tongue along them and get as much of the meat as you can. When the fingers withdraw from your lips, you open your eyes and gasp quietly.

Eren’s leaning over you, a solar eclipse that smells like tan skin and sounds like Campari, and in the silhouette of the sunlight, you think he’s smiling.

“You’re still hungry,” he says, a question that’s left its punctuation mark behind. You think of Historia, of the shame of revealing your appetite. You dodge.

“I’m never hungry.”

“Never?” Eren crawls over you to kneel between your legs, propping one of your ankles up on his shoulder. The game you started is ripped out of your hands, chess pieces flying into the pool, scattering across the table, knocking over bottles and matchbooks. It’s so silent out here in the sun it hurts, and you almost miss the constant buzzing horseflies of early summer.

“Never.”

“If you’ve never been hungry,” Eren muses, tilting his head so that his cheekbone fits into the sensitive arch of your foot, reaching a hand down to splay it wide on your belly, “you’ve never been full.”

“How do you figure?” Your words come out throaty, waterlogged.

“Can’t have one without the other.” Eren shrugs, turning his head to the side. His lips brush against your heel, your Achilles’, the swirly seashell dangling from your anklet. You dig your teeth into your bottom lip, toes twitching behind his ear. “I don’t believe you, anyway.”

“No?” You try to tilt your head coyly, like your heart’s not clawing and scratching against your throat to get to him. Hungry, indeed.

“You wouldn’t stare like that if you didn’t want to.”

You’re taken aback, but not enough to fall out of the moment, Eren’s lips closing around the knob of your ankle slowly, like the pit of a fruit, make sure of that.

“Didn’t want to what?”

Eren’s hands meet the cushion on either side of your head hard enough to rattle the chair, his long, tanned body stretching over yours. He’s close enough to brush his nose against yours, but you can still see the hazy green of his eyes flicking here and there on your face: from your eyes to your lips to the beauty mark on your cheek. Your poolside lounge feels more like a butcher’s block under your taut spine.

Sasha’s told you about the wolves in these hills, that they howl murder at night, but they’re sleepy and indulgent in the heat of the sun. One of Eren’s canines catches the light and glints at you as he grins.

“Eat yourself sick.”

-

come hang in my inbox if u have questions or thoughts or literally anything at all hehehehehehe i love you guys!!! enjoy him <3

[softboynick]

sentence sunday - 3/24/24

i got distracted by my rwrb big bang and i almost forgot, but thank you for the tags @priincebutt @onthewaytosomewhere @eusuntgratie @bigassbowlingballhead @itsmaybitheway @captainjunglegym @taste-thewaste @anincompletelist i see you and your wips make me go insane!!! 💜💜💜💜

also happy early birthday to my sunshine darling, alex claremont-diaz. you can try to take celebrating fictional characters' birthdays out of my grubby little hands.

here's a sneak peek from chapter 5 of a beautiful chance to celebrate:

“Earlier,” Henry speaks up after a beat. “You said this phrase in Spanish. What did it mean?”  “Hm?” “I know I’m going to butcher the pronunciation, so don’t laugh at me, but… You said something about… er, casual…lidad?” “Oh.” Alex’s chest rumbles beneath his ear with a soft chuckle. “Fuiste, eres, y siempre serás, mi más bonita casualidad.” “Yes,” Henry nods, feeling a warmth spread like wildfire throughout his body when he hears it again. “That one.” “It means…” Alex pauses, and Henry tilts his head back to find him staring wistfully up at the ceiling, a gentle curve to his lips. He watches him as long, curling lashes flutter across high cheekbones, a pink tongue peeks through full lips to swipe at his bottom lip, and a breath releases through flared nostrils.  Henry drags the tip of his pointer finger along the bump of his Adam’s apple, feeling him swallow underneath his touch. He presses a kiss to his shoulder, his golden brown skin warm against his lips. He breathes in—cinnamon, magnolias, and burning wood—and suddenly, he thinks he is home.  Then, Alex says, quietly into the still air, “You were, you are, and you always will be, my most beautiful chance.” Tears prickle at his eyes, and Henry smiles. “And you are mine,” he whispers.

OPEN TAG because it's a little too late in the game to tag anyone <3

[redbelles]

5, 18, 69, and 76 for the fic writer meme!

5. how many wips do you have? what fandoms/pairings are they for?

yeah i've got wips

kidding! (mostly! not really. but only kind of. it's fine!)

i have just. so many fucking wips. don't wanna talk about how many i have because it's embarrassing, actually! this is absolutely because i consider anything i've written words for/thought about for more than a hot minute a """wip""" but that's a me problem, so here, have semi-comprehensive list of wips i'm determined to finish this year:

the chimneys hardly ever fall down masters of the air; post-war john/gale/marge

gonna stand here in the ache the punisher; post-season one frank/karen

our hands are cold, the moon sets low asoiaf/got; post-season eight jon/sansa

butchered tongue still singing berserk; post-canon guts/casca

something in the night gilmore girls; keg max!au jess/rory

don't you hear me howling, babe? shadow & bone; season one canon divergence darklina au

the second hand unwinds (time after time) stranger things; post-season four hellcheer au

and then, for fun, some wips that aren't top priority atm:

prophetic perfect tense dune; always a girl!paul atreides au

i've walked for miles top gun; post-canon icemav road trip au

more than kin and less than kind hotd; rhaenys flambés the greens at aegon's coronation au

the knife i turn inside myself dune; irulan/feyd post-kanly hatefucking + marriage of convenience au

18. do you enjoy research? which fic of yours required the most research?

yeah! i'm a nerd at heart and also i have a burning need to be canon-compliant with both canon and reality, so i love getting into the research weeds when i'm all in on a fic!

the most """research""" i've done for a fic was, astonishingly, for the fucking,,,,, robert baratheon story (that started life as, and i cannot stress this enough, a joke). i spent so many hours on a wiki of ice and fire i'm pretty sure i made up at least 40% of the site's traffic during the calendar year time it took me to write the damn thing. extremely normal behavior!

anyway! i'm actually in the opposite situation with chimneys, which is super weird. i know a staggering amount of information about the post-wwii usaaf/usaf, and i have to actively stop myself from a) infodumping about things like the development of the american bomber fleet and b) trying to make the timeline accurate, because the entire premise of the fic relies on me Ignoring what was actually going on. anti-research. insane! everyone pour one out for @sluttyhenley— she's spent the last two months taking one for the team and letting me rant at her about curtis lemay so i can get it out of my system and spare everyone who's there for porn instead of a dissertation on strategic bombing doctrine <3

69. what are your favorite fics at the moment?

first of all: nice 😏

second: i feel like i've blathered enough about my own fic today that i'm gonna take this as a question about what i've been enjoying as a reader, so! some recs!

moon's low (can't say no) by @meyerlansky delicious introspective curt pov that nuances an already insanely interesting scene! love this for me! in related news, i am barking and frothing at the mouth as i wait patiently for the follow up to dancing cheek to cheek (to cheek)! tumblr user meyerlansky comin' in hot with THEE definitive curt biddick voice!

never saw the sun shining so bright by @sluttyhenley absolutely shrieking about this series! marge deserves the world! and also both of the buck(y)s! good for her.jpeg! i'm lucky enough to be getting snippets of this as m writes it, and i cannot wait for the next few installments to go live

careful fear and dead devotion by @everyangel another john/gale/marge series i'm currently losing my mind over! the marge voice is so delicious, and i love the pre-war angle that underpins the first fic! cannot wait for more!

enter night by @rhaegang monsterfuckers and barry keoghan enthusiasts rejoice! the writing is top notch, the sex is blisteringly hot, and the tension and pacing are superb. rhaegang truly never misses

nothing safe is worth the drive (follow you home) by @yoursummerfrost i never really had a buffy phase, but i came across this fic the other day and boy howdy does it have me by the throat. deeply emotional, very sexy, and written with so much love it's got me thinking about giving the series more than a cursory "well, it was on when i was home sick from school way back when" watch. also! i've devoured every buffy fic they've written since i found this one and i'm happy to report that they're all incredible!

76. how do you deal with writing pressure, whether internal or external?

mature answer: i try to take a step back and remind myself that this is a hobby i am doing for fun and for free and i should calm the fuck down about it

follow up answer: and if that doesn't work, i whine ceaselessly at my writing buddies until i'm over it

send me some fic writing asks!

[iiowaw]

WIP Wednesday

Hello, thank you to everyone who voted on my post about which of my WIPs they'd like to see a snippet from! My canon-compliant post TKM fic won, so here's a bit about the fic and the first few paragraphs of the introduction.

About the fic: Currently titled idk something (thanks you were) amazing ig for my own amusement (please feel free to suggest legitimate titles). Canon-compliant but not extra content compliant; centered around the development of Neil and Andrew's relationship, the Foxes' relationships with Neil and each other (especially focuses on the Monsters), and Neil learning how to heal from his trauma.

idk something (thanks you were) amazing ig

Neil Josten watched as the figure sitting beside him took a long drag of his cigarette and then flicked the stick into the empty stretch of air beneath their feet before it could burn down to the filter. The speck of flame seemed to drop for far longer than it should have before finally hitting the sidewalk below, a shooting star that flickered for a few minutes before disappearing, dead before they stopped being able to see its light. Neil turned his gaze back to the man at his side.

“Staring,” Andrew Minyard commented dryly, though his head—now illuminated only by the furthest reaches of light from dying bulb that hung above the door at the far end of the roof—did not turn in Neil’s direction.

The whistle of the wind racing through the six inches of space between them was the only response. On nights like this, when Neil was too quiet and Andrew was as quiet as he always was, the sound tended to echo in the striker’s ear like a shrill scream. He wondered if the noise was what the blonde at his side heard when he contemplated the drop before them. If Neil were to sit in a room staring at a butcher’s knife, he thought that the sound might escape the confines of his skull via his lips before too long.

There were days when Neil felt as though he was looking at the word before him through an old film reel of his past, when the affectionate hand of his best friend reaching out to clasp his shoulder was overlaid by the ghost of his mother’s furious grip. He would blink, unable to tell where gentle touch began and the frantic rip at his skin ended. Despite being able to feel the careful manner with which his arm was squeezed and released, he would watch as fingers curled into talons would press down until bruises blossomed upon his skin, willing himself not to flinch as he struggled to determine which version of reality was his current truth.

The answer, always, was both. For Neil, the possibility that he might escape his past—that he might leave it behind so that he could go forward as Neil Josten—seemed to grow smaller with every passing day.

Still, he had said that he would stay. He had been given keys, truths, and trust, and all he had to do in return was stop running.

It wasn’t as though anything existed outside of Neil’s own head for him to run from, anyways.

So the wind whistled in his ear like a scream as he resisted the urge to roll up his sleeve and check for bruises in the shape of long-dead fingers. Neil forced himself to take a deep breath in after Andrew finished lighting another cigarette, trying to convince himself that the scent pooling upon his tongue was that of his future and not the past.