#the scarlet string

[edensrose]

꒰ ݁ ꫂ᭪ ꒱ 𓂃 The Scarlet String

˚₊‧꒰ა samurai.ᐟsuguru geto ﾉ empress.ᐟreader ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

geto suguru, the imperial palace's head samurai, was a man of honour & no earthly attachment. but when he met you, the new bride of the emperor who didn't deserve you, suddenly attachment tethered in the form of a scarlet string. his soul to yours, but your heart never his. this could earn him the death penalty, but for you he'd suffer a thousand blades.

broadcast ᝰ.ᐟ✧ ancient japan, arranged marriage, mistreatment (from reader's husband), infidelity, historical sexism, mutual pining, forbidden love, star-crossed lovers, angst, mentions of sex 𓂃 wc ⌇ 3.5k

sweetheart host ᝰ.ᐟ✧ samurai suguru save meee. art cred ⌇ ( pls help me find this artist losing my mf mind )

˖ 𑣲 samurai geto suguru ᝰ.ᐟ✧ was a respected man of his land. having risen through the ranks after much trial and tribulation. when he walked, people bowed their heads, when he spoke, others lowered their gazes. such reputation landed him a spot as the head of samurai at the imperial's division. that's where he met you.

˖ 𑣲 samurai geto suguru ᝰ.ᐟ✧ who heard the gossip. the new bride, is what they called you. he guarded the palace the morning of your wedding. he'd only heard rumours about the 'delicate flower' that the emperor had plucked. the 'sweetest rain to kiss the earth'. he paid no mind, a man of his stature hardly gave into worldly desires. that was until he saw you through the curtain of the hall he guarded. but a peek, but a moment and yet — in that second, any earthly whim he had long since detached tethered into one chord. a red string. pierced straight through his heart.

The sweetest rain? No, you were the sky after a storm. The caress of the sun through the heavens, painting the bleak clouds in your splendour.

A delicate flower indeed. With your petal hand in the palm of your soon-to-be husband. Smiling brighter than any chrysanthemum he'd laid eyes on.

Suguru held his breath through the officiation. Beauty, he had beheld beauty before. You? Beauty was but a teardrop in your ocean.

Teardrops. Never would Suguru imagine anyone could bear to make an angel cry.

But he was wrong.

˖ 𑣲 samurai geto suguru ᝰ.ᐟ✧ who quickly discovered not every hand knows how to hold a flower and care for her petals. as the head samurai he naturally stayed around the imperial palace for extended periods of times. a decision of duty yet he couldn't help but regret every second that led him to this point when he saw you weep. cry over a man who barely deserved to look at you let alone share a bedroom with. suguru watched with passive eyes smouldering coals. a dragon statue. still, but ever as fierce whenever you attempted kindness to your new husband. when you conducted your duties and searched for affection. only to receive harsh words. even a shove — as suguru came to hear. for if it were in front of him, he might have committed great acts of treason that day.

˖ 𑣲 samurai geto suguru ᝰ.ᐟ✧ who realised you were far gentler than he initially assumed. you were young, full of life, untouched by the rough flames of this world. he'd noticed it more once rumours of war stirred over the land and the emperor stationed him at his beck and call. terrified of his own hubris and decisions? maybe. suguru could only roll his eyes at the emperor behind his back, but at the very least he got to be closer to you.

˖ 𑣲 samurai geto suguru ᝰ.ᐟ✧ who started learning your routines. for your safety, of course. he discovered you preferred the gardens in the dead of night rather than the glimmers of the morning. realised you ate once for breakfast then again for dinner. during lunch you strolled and attended to whatever duty you could put your hand in. which included the more trivial matters of your servants who attempted to shoo you. only for you to drop to your knees, beside a riverbed no less! why? to help them with clothes, of course. suguru beheld it all. your mannerisms, your habits, the kind heart he wished to hold in his hands. but what shattered him the most? the interactions with your husband. the pig that didn't deserve you.

˖ 𑣲 samurai geto suguru ᝰ.ᐟ✧ who rarely spoke even as he escorted you around. your gaze would sometimes drift to him, but you'd either be graced with violet eyes staring right back, or none at all. his expressions forever threw you off. even in his casual attire, there was an air of intimidation and authority. he'd noticed your attempts at conversation, he found it adorable. bless your tender soul — but he is merely a servant. a loyal devotee to his nation and the imperial palace. if you looked at him as a block of stone and steel rather than anything breathing, so be it. as long as he could stay close to you.

"You're very quiet."

Sunlight gleamed through the midnight. Such phenomena was only possible with your eyes, your smile, your voice blossoming into the cool air.

Kneeling again, this time at your flowerbeds. Chrysanthemum, tsubaki, ajisai, but the true floral splendour sat on her knees. With a smile to part the heavens and unweave every ounce of training and discipline Suguru had established.

At the foot of the garden he stood. A mighty zelkova tree rooted in his silence and still in the midnight breeze. Awoken only by your voice. You imagined his eyes raised, but Suguru's stare hadn't left you since your arrival.

"I understand if you are unable to speak." You smiled and turned back to blooms. "I just realised I've never heard your voice. Since I see you more than my husband these days, I thought it appropriate."

Your mouth caressed the word 'husband' softer. As if it were something to be revered. Or feared. Suguru couldn't pick his poison.

Unnecessary respect, that is what you gave Suguru. He is but your servant, and yet you refused to look at him. Beneath you, but you hold consideration.

You could demand he speak. Request he shout. Hell, snapped your finger and expected him to read your every wish quick, respond even quicker. But you smiled, assured, even sympathised.

In the heavy silence snowed over the garden, your nervousness fluttered like a frozen butterfly. Waiting for your wings to shatter. Whether by your own doing or the mouth that swore to protect you.

Instead, it mused.

"I was unaware my lady welcomed conversation."

Glimmers through the night, your gaze snapped to his face. Instead of stone or steel, softness greeted you. Stoic, yes, but who knew the frightful samurai lord could smile? Even if faint and solely curled at the corners.

"Well I —" and then you were stumbling. Pushing through gravity to will yourself up and fumbled over the grass in your excitement. "I assumed you were under some vow. Or something. I'm not too accustomed —"

Steel, however, manifested on your arm. No bite, no pain, steady and shielding. Your garden brimmed with all sorts of colours and varieties, but the shade of violet that stared down upon you was something you felt compelled to paint with.

"Easy." When Suguru spoke his baritone exceeded the night. He leaned over you once your stumbling form and froze you with his presence instead. Not the kind of ice that splintered. The kind that kissed, cradled.

"My only vow is to protect you, my lady." And then it was gone.

˖ 𑣲 samurai geto suguru ᝰ.ᐟ✧ began speaking with you after that incident. if his lady wished for conversation then he would give it to her. his presence felt more than protective nowadays, it was pleasant. so pleasant you often pouted whenever your husband arrived and relieved suguru of his duties for the nights. thanks the heavens you wedded an emperor, yes? always busy, never around, giving you plenty of time with your new friend.

˖ 𑣲 samurai geto suguru ᝰ.ᐟ✧ who kept conversation to a minimal. after all, you were still high above him and he knew his place in the soil. but like a persistent gardener you weeded through this stubbornness and pulled his voice like blooming blossoms. he conceded, of course. if it was your wish for a friend then that he could be. you needed one, after all. you deserved more than that. the palace, the lands, the earth and the heavens in suguru's opinion. alas, he is but a samurai and you are the empress. his gift to you will be his devotion. you learnt suguru had two loving parents who stayed snugly in his home village and a close friend of his rank that guarded the neighbouring land. in turn he learnt you adored the fine arts and humoured you.

˖ 𑣲 samurai geto suguru ᝰ.ᐟ✧ who summoned every ounce of strength and perseverance one sleepless night he ventured to the gardens to find peace and instead stirred strife in his ears. you were a married woman, of course he was well aware of your . . . 'duties'. if it were your voice he heard from your private quarters, he might have found some comfort. alas it was your filthy, borish husband. getting himself off by the sounds of it. your voice? imitation. suguru knew you adored the fine arts but he never assumed such acting skills.

˖ 𑣲 samurai geto suguru ᝰ.ᐟ✧ who felt more than envy tugging at his heart. the red string torn through his chest coiled tight. a woman of your stature, beauty and very being should be treated with more than respect. pleasured with such bliss that she'd sleep soundlessly through the night. it seemed the emperor not only failed to handle the land properly, but you as well. it was one thing to bumble like a fool and leave other officials needing to fill in for you — but the evident need for someone else to tend to your wife? if suguru could he'd whisk you away. show you what true bliss tastes like. if the emperor isn't careful he might have to — no.

Not these thoughts.

Not these desires.

You are not some object he can whisk around in the confines of his head.

You were beauty, grace, divinity. And even his mind will serve you as such. You are the deity and he your devotee. Your image won't be tainted by his own thoughts. While he could assure your pleasure, he would never initiate.

For it was by your choice. Your decision. Your rule.

˖ 𑣲 samurai geto suguru ᝰ.ᐟ✧ couldn't help the stares he held across hallways, patrols, ceremonies. whether with or without your husband. your eyes locked in the way the moon misses the sun. you always held on. a second longer, a moment more, then you'd turn. would he? never. he couldn't pry his eyes from you. especially with the faux, physical affection from the emperor. oh how your gaze would drift to his, catch his lowering to the hand on your waist, then back to your eyes. you took it for granted.

˖ 𑣲 samurai geto suguru ᝰ.ᐟ✧ who held his hand to help you out of carriages. who lingered his touch just a little longer. who extended his patrol hours to walk alongside you in the gardens. knelt down beside flowerbeds to aid your passion. who accidentally cornered you in a hallway when you stumbled over those clumsy feet only to be swiftly caught and spun against a wall with a quiet — "my lady, are you alright?"

˖ 𑣲 samurai geto suguru ᝰ.ᐟ✧ who looked to your opinion during meetings. while you were not allowed to speak, he often paid close attention to your opinion on certain topics and decisions; before voicing those himself. your husband was useless in ruling the lands in any case, so perhaps this is the heavens bestowing luck. that is if the bastard listened.

˖ 𑣲 samurai geto suguru ᝰ.ᐟ✧ stood at your side first and foremost. while he was sworn to protect the emperor, during official meetings and escorts, he was at your side. the emperor never paid it any mind. you were a woman, you needed more protection, right? little did the bastard know that if danger fell, so would he. suguru's katana would serve you. not the pig that cannot cherish you. treason? perhaps, but he had been clear to you on that night in the garden. whether you realised it or not. his only vow was to protect you.

˖ 𑣲 samurai geto suguru ᝰ.ᐟ✧ who learnt more about you as the months went by. grew closer in a way he knew threatened boundaries. but you let him. lingering touches, longing stares — you never expected to break down in his arms one fateful morning when the night was simply too much. he became a comfort you never knew possible. he would never shun you, deny you, any rejection would surely be foolish and go against his heart's code. morals? he knows their names. but you might just make him forget.

"I'm sorry." Quivered, wilted. A drooping chrysanthemum in his arms. Forlorn from the sun's scorches and overrun with your rains of tears. Angels should never weep, yet you sobbed. Lost in his strong embrace.

"I'm sorry, Geto. I shouldn't —" at the foot of your private chambers and yet in the arms of another man. Your attempt to withdraw fell short. Stilled by a large hand cupped behind your head.

Halted in your own carelessness, but brought to life by his touch. He stroked your scalp with tenderness tethered to his fingertips in those same scarlet strings.

"Why do you apologise?" Suguru murmured atop your head. In that moment, he became your sanctuary. No longer were you an empress, or a woman married off.

You were simply, you. A delicate flower he swore to never let wither. Not like this. Never.

Calloused hands cradled your face. To you it never felt softer. Suguru remained at a distance, even with your hearts intertwining. Never would he sully your image with him: a humble servant.

"Fall upon me in your time of need. I told you," his thumb brushed over your cheekbone. Imprinting his promise.

"My only vow is to you, my lady."

˖ 𑣲 samurai geto suguru ᝰ.ᐟ✧ who noticed your abrupt distance. had he crossed a line that morning? if you wished for him to turn you away, you should have said something. for all his strength, he is every definition of weakness when stood before you. suguru would never approach you on it, he couldn't. it was your decision to give attention and take it. even if he missed its soft kiss on his skin. even if he longed for the song of your voice to bless his ears. you barely spoke to him, barely even looked at him.

"Have I angered you, my lady?"

At last he asked. If you wished to strike him down for such treason then so be it. But your warmth was granted to him and then left him stranded, cold. Even in the tender spring.

"Never Geto — Suguru." His name on your mouth. It was a prayer, an apology, everything he wanted yet didn't deserve. Not from you, the only being high above him.

"I simply . . . think it's best to keep my distance. For our sake. Yours."

˖ 𑣲 samurai geto suguru ᝰ.ᐟ✧ who couldn't understand what you meant by that but held true even when it ruined him. especially with the new hovering of your husband. were the divine laughing at him? was every god in the heavens playing some cruel joke on him? if this red string is fate, then let them cut it. but who could suguru lie to? even if the gods themselves snapped the string he'd weave it back, tether every thread with his bare hands and hook himself back to you. you were an earthly desire he couldn't relinquish, and refused to. even when you seemed to wish for such. for once, he couldn't respect your decision. not when he saw how solemn you'd become. when he bore witness to your only amplified mistreatment.

˖ 𑣲 samurai geto suguru ᝰ.ᐟ✧ who proved his vow true. a storm took the palace in steel and fury. an unexpected siege at the hands of the enemy. rumours of war had become a reality and suguru acted in his duty. to the emperor? no. while he commanded his fleet and fought for the palace, tore down the opposition and guarded the imperial. . . you were his priority. word had gotten out that you were taken — and suguru couldn't care less about the palace when its princess was nowhere to be seen.

"Where is she?"

Steel flushed to an opponent's throat. Eyes ablaze. Jaw set sight. The man shook, but grinned.

"My, have you grown soft, Geto?"

Suguru angled his blade. Struck the shoulder. Dug deep and spoke low. Sharper than his katana.

"Answer me and I'll leave enough of you intact for jigoku to recognise. Where. Is. She?"

˖ 𑣲 samurai geto suguru ᝰ.ᐟ✧ who could only be described as feral. he dashed for the maple forest and found the group dragging you along. tossed into a sedan and pushed around like some prize. sullied by their hands. no matter. steel bit through the air followed by shattered screams. twenty three, highly trained and enough to spark fear in probably half of suguru's men — fell to his sword in a matter of second. scarlet painted maple trees more vibrantly. each hit the floor with any hands that dared to touch you dismantled, any eye that thought it worthy of looking upon you struck, shut, stabbed. until only two stood. the samurai with his heaves and his heavy blade, flicked to the side so red scattered the floor too. he wasted no time beholding the carnage before he stood before your cowered form on the ground and hoisted you up instantly. steadying your shaky self and terrified cries. you stilled when familiar violets met you. shock, then realisation — then horror.

"Have you lost your mind!?"

Your cry painted every leaf redder. "The palace is under siege! Go — return at once, protect —"

Hands steeled tight on your shoulders. Soaked in the same scarlet. Nothing in comparison to the string that shone through the bleary night. Shimmered, strung, secure. Between you. Him. Only now visible to your eye.

Rain soaked the land. Poured into the red and washed it from the leaves, the ground, his clothes — but not the string.

"My only vow." Suguru's whisper shook violently in its shout. Refinement bled from his fingertips that held tight. Trembled you in his firm hold. He never meant to rattle you. But the quakes of his heart, his soul, seeped into his hands. Thunder crashed, so did his voice. Never raised, but fierce. Able to still the storm.

"Is to you."

As any sinner would, he allowed his hands to wander. To your face, to cradle, to caress. He flushed you into him. Uncaring of the rain, the blood, the tremor in your body. What did it matter when you melted into him?

"When will you understand that?" Croaked, paired with the thunder. You're shook again. Gentler. The man you knew, unweaved and unravelled before your very eyes. "When will you understand that my devotion is to you — and only—"

His soaked hair kissed your skin as he jerked forward. Violets frazzled, whirled and wild like the storm. His clothes bled into yours. Breaths stilled with yours. Heart beat with yours.

Can't you feel how it shattered for you? How it soared for you? Were his eyes not enough, would you rather his blood as a sign? His soul is already yours. Take the rest of his being. Him, every fibre he'd built through the years.

It didn't matter when it came to you.

"Only you."

Suguru breathed. Lashes soaked in the rain and stroking yours. Body, mind, soul, linked in this endless, agonising scarlet string he couldn't strike, cut, split. Never. He'd never.

Forbidden. His lips inched yours. Every year of training, down the drain. Every stature of his being, torn away by you. Restraint, resolve, refinement, it rinsed away with the rain.

One inch.

One touch.

That's all he needed.

It's all you wouldn't allow.

"Suguru."

You cried when you wished to kiss. You withdrew when all you wanted was to wait. Hold. Lose yourself to his lips, his touch, his love. . . love?

The red string bled. He stiffened.

"I can't." An apology to him or the heavens? He'll never know. Not with the way you still clung to him or the cracks in your eyes. Still held onto his, still fixed. Pleading, wanting, but denying. "I can't. I'm wed. I'm the emperor's wife. I am married. I cannot."

The storm cleared overhead, but not in violets. Rain continued its vast downpour, but now the heat of his body felt cold as he stared. Searching for an answer, for you, the true you hidden in the depths of yourself. The you he saw in the garden. The you he held.

The flower he adored. Now withered. Unsure.

"If you can even call that a marriage." His hand pushed to your cheek, cupped you with a gentleness you never knew. "If you could even call that disgusting pig a husband —" it's the first time his voice raised. And that's when he realised.

He broke code. He shattered tradition. Painted over it with ink of his own desire — no.

His own heart.

And as he stood there. Rooted like that same zelkova before the chrysanthemum he should have never touched, never tainted, only observed from afar. He understood that he was no longer that tree. But a blade of grass. Whispered through the wind. Wilting.

To his own soul.

"As you wish, my lady." He murmured. Even when it was his eyes that plead, wanted. Still, he denied.

His touch slipped from your skin. Arm dangled at his side, together with the string. Weighed heavy between two hearts that knew better. Or did they? Was is that they knew too well?

That fate wasn't a kiss in the rain.

"Forgive this servant for thinking otherwise."

But cruel.

© 𝒆𝒅𝒆𝒏𝒔𝒓𝒐𝒔𝒆 . no copying, translation or plagiarism authorised

[lsandom]

Sins of the Father ⛓️

[scarlet-sam-chaos]

~ artemis ~

[wasababycheese]

I'm gonna cut straight to the chase a bit-

For a while, I have been considering animating my comic AU, Dog Man and the Scarlet String of Fate- It's a very ship-heavy AU that I made into a comic, and I've been working on it for a fair bit by this point-

I am willing to create a 30 minute animation of this AU- However, there is a mild catch-

I was accepted into my dream school earlier today which is amazing, and need to raise 200 dollars in order to pay for any and all necessities that come up as a result- I have a GoFundMe to collect money for this very purpose as well-

If I make it to my 200 dollar goal by May 15th, I will animate the Dog Man Scarlet String of Fate AU- I will make a 30 minute animation of my AU for a measly 200 buckeroos- I will also keep everyone posted when I do these things as well and post the final animation onto YouTube when I'm done- I promise-

Here's the GoFundMe:

I really only do need 200 bucks-

[d3adbr3inc3lls]

I can take him to Therapy I swear- as long as it's in Galar.

Ngl I'm a firm believer in Toxic Chain Kieran... I refuse to believe that he hates me... </3

[satoshi-mochida]

Monospaced Lovers launches October 31 for PS5, Switch, and PC - Gematsu

Side-scrolling platformer Monospaced Lovers will launch for PlayStation 5, Switch, and PC via Steam on October 31, publisher Astrolabe Games and developer Scarlet String Studios announced.

Here is an overview of the game, via Astrolabe Games:

About

A narrative adventure game about closeness and distance. Clara wakes up to a phone that isn’t hers. Journey through an introspective, fantasy-filled land and save your world before it disintegrates in this metafictional platform-adventure game about closeness and distance.

Story

Clara wakes up to a phone that isn’t hers. On it, she finds a perplexing message left by a hacker named the Gòd o͏f̴ B̴in͠a̸r̨y̧, stating that her time left in this world is short. Her only clue is a series of encrypted messages locked on the device — and a mysterious new friend who woke up to a phone that wasn’t his. What does this enigmatic hacker want? Why is he talking about the end of the world? And what does any of this have to do with Clara’s quaint and peaceful life in Haven Heights? All we know for sure is that if she doesn’t embark on this quest… her friends will drag her into it anyway. Are you ready to solve the mystery of the Ġ̸̱ŏ̵̲d̶̺̔ ̴̺́o̵̮̚f̴̹̆ ̷͍͝B̵̦̐i̶̤̾n̷̳̿a̵̘̓r̷͎͐y̴̛̜ and uncover the truth of this strange but comfy world? Well… it doesn’t really matter, does it? There’s no running from the truth—whether you’re ready or not.

Key Features

A Sense of Wonder and Adventure – Work through unconventional, metafictional puzzles that will make you want to use the in-game hints. Rekindle that childlike sense of discovery with a game that treats you like an adult—inspired by Fez, La Mulana, Majora’s Mask, and much more.​

Plot Twists and Genre-Defying Developments – Experience a heartfelt story with a 100,000+ word count. Comedy! Drama! Social anxiety! Philosophy? We dropped the “silent protagonist” trope to create a heroine with her own personality and feelings—and she’s always one step ahead of you.

A Hand-Painted World to Explore – Chat up the local Tanuki, learn how to translate Slimespeak, and explore every corner of your quaint home town until you’ve found all 60+ collectibles. The game features non-linear, collectathon-style exploration mixed with RPG-style story quests.​

Bullet Hell Meets Platforming – Dodge bullets! With over four bullet hell boss battles and even more challenge rooms, you’ll have to learn how to platform in a whole new way.

Watch a new trailer below.

Release Date Trailer

[baby-rotom-dex]

Finally hatched my boy!!

(305 eggs!! But I did give up a 1500+ egg hunt before I got the shiny charm...)

[itsskoll]

Paldea's angriest child

Made him to ship w Kieran and I love him already. My little autistic beast. Worst part is he works in retail. Probably about 14 yrs old?

His espurr is a bilaterial gynandromorph bc I couldn't decide on which meowstic was cuter. His oc's name is Poffinpaw and he's an angst Warrior Shinx oc.

Overall a very fun character to design!

[edensrose]

. ۫ᯓᡣ𐭩 i can't keep anything in my mouth ( cept d — ) anway, if y'all read the dragon .ᐟ satoru series you're gonna wanna read samurai .ᐟ suguru series . . . won't say why

[ihaveathingforwomen]

Invisible String (3662 words) by JacTheReaper Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con Relationships: Wanda Maximoff/Original Female Character(s) Characters: Wanda Maximoff, Pietro Maximoff, Werner von Strucker, Wolfgang von Strucker Additional Tags: Original Character(s), Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Slow Burn, Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Kinky, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Smut, Angst and Fluff and Smut Series: Part 1 of Universes Away Summary: In this alternate universe, among Earth 2843, Baron Von Strucker has assigned his soldier prodigy to train his newest weapons - the twins.

a/n: This is a sort of prequel to the Universes Away Series that's begun on this page already. I'm writing them out of order in the way of the OG Star Wars trilogy. There will be one more part, Truths of the Dark, but that won't start for a while.

[wasababycheese]

Made better cover for it-

[doamarierose-honoka]

Monospaced Lovers - Release Date Trailer

[satoshi-mochida]

Monospaced Lovers releases today digitally for the PS5, Switch and Steam.

[dmitriene]

simon riley obsessed with creaming your pussy, watching the way your stretched hole spasms, glossy folds spread around his thick length, fluttering with rapid pulsing of your gummy walls, latched at his throbbing cock as he spills ropes of his seed inside of you, thick, viscous cum that fills you up, so much that it's spills out of you, when he fucks it deeper into your gooey cunt, spurting against your cervix.

squeezing at the fat of your hips, long fingers spread across the supple flesh, as his blunt nails bite at your skin, grasping onto you with ravenous need, his wide hips jerking forward, until you won't sob with hiccuping mewls, clawing with trembling fingers at his pale hips, leaving long, scarlet crescents in the wake of your whiny pleas for simon to stop, and when his thighs starts to cramp, movements slowing to messy circles, he let's his swollen cock slide out.

there's a wet squelch, obscenely lewd sound as your slick stretches with glossy strings from your aching, clenching pussy and to the thick, rudy tip of his cock, coated in frothy white of your shared releases, coating his length in sticky, almost pearly streaks, as the globs of his seed dribbles out of your twitching hole, your body frissoning under simon's dark, honeyed eyes, trained intently on your soppy pussy.

the wet mess that dribbles down your doughy thighs, soiling your soft skin in tacky cum, when simon grips at his softened cock, fisting at the fat root just slightly, as he slaps it against your puffy folds, making you jolt, hips twitching as you whimper, glassy eyes shooting to peer on simon, at the way he clenches his jaw, teeth's grinding together, as the tip of his shaft nudges against your clit, rubbing his come into your cunt.

thick fingers joining to rub at your slit, making your legs kick out weakly, but simon ain't stopping, rubbing merciless, absentminded circles, scooping his cum and your slick that blends together and then stuffs back in your pussy, walls tightening immediately around his digits, before stretching around the intrusion, and that's until he won't calm down, all of your combined fluids stuffed into your drippy hole.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[redcali]

MDNI 18+

────────────────────── .✦

Caleb is the kind of guy that gets hard everytime he sees you.

Anything can set him off. When you suddenly jump on him, gleefully tackling him onto the couch, all it takes is one slight glance at your chest (which is pushed up right in his face) for him to be shoving you back, one arm trying to hide his burning red face.

“Pips, you can’t be doing that!” He can already feel his dick throbbing in his pants, straining desperately against the fabric of his boxers. He has to excuse himself, quickly walking back to his room with his hands shoved in his pockets in an attempt to hide his straining boner whilst you just sit there on the couch, oblivious to the true reason as to why he’s suddenly leaving.

It’s particularly inconvenient whenever you two are outside. Caleb has to cover his boner with his hand whilst hobbling around for the rest of the time, his face scarlet.

Like that one time when you guys were at the supermarket. You two were at the drinks aisle, and Caleb stood there watching you pick out iced tea whilst berating you about how sugary drinks are bad for you.

“Caleb, can I have this? It’s less sugar.” You turn, clutching one of the slender bottles in one hand whilst looking at him expectantly.

Caleb’s breath hitches sharply as his eyes fall to your hand.

The way your fingers wrap around the bottle, the wide-eyed, questioning look on your face, and the way your soft pink lips are slightly parted… it would look so good around his cock.

Fuck. Caleb shuts his eyes, trying furiously to push away torrents of dirty thoughts and will his straining boner to go back down. Think about anything else. His hands grip the handles of the trolley so hard they turn white.

“Caleb?” You ask again, throwing him a quizzical look.

“Stop saying my name like that…” Caleb murmurs under his breath.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Caleb grits his teeth as he forces himself to focus back on the situation at hand. “Fine. you can get that.”

And every night without fail, Caleb would take out all his pent-up sexual frustration on his poor fist, hips furiously bucking into his closed fist whilst a string of “fuck” and your name fall from his lips. When he finally cums, embarrassingly quickly, he imagines his fist as your sweet cunt and the way you would call out his name. He thinks back to when your chest was all up in his face. He can so easily picture the way your tits would look under that shirt, and he gets off to that image too, as he completely milks himself dry.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

────────────────────── .✦

[comatosebunny09]

Now that his birthday’s passed, I can be angsty on main.

cw: non-mc reader, angst, rejection, heartbreak, self-loathing, alcohol mention, unrequited feelings (kind of), stream of consciousness, not proofread, bittersweet (?) ending

After Sy returns to the base following a day spent with Emcee, you quietly slip him your gift—a small, matte black box with a curled, scarlet ribbon encircling it. You don’t give him time to thank you before you’re out of sight. He doesn’t miss the forlorn undertone of your “Happy Belated, boss-man,” before you leave.

He opens it up to see a QR code at the base of the box. He scans it on his phone. Two tickets to a candlelit orchestral performance. He smiles quietly, an affectionate chuckle in his throat. Something tame yet different to get him out of the base. Something so inherently Sylus. But why are there two tickets?

He stares after your afterimage. Ah. Was one of them for—not you? Well, that won’t do. You went through all this trouble to get him something thoughtful. Of course you’re coming with him. Maybe it’ll help break up the tension that’s been brewing between you since he made his choice.

—

It’s nice. Pleasant. You rented out the concert hall just for him. Didn’t expect him to bring you, but you won’t deny that you were thrilled about the invitation. Surprised—it was meant for him to enjoy it with…someone else.

He looks great beneath the candlelight. Then again, so do you. Dressed in sophisticated crimson, a dress to highlight the devastation of your body, courtesy of him. It’s still alright for him to buy you things, right? Friends buy each other gifts all the time.

It’s a little awkward, sitting there beside him. Thighs just barely brushing, fingers itching to reach for each other’s hands. But you’re friends—this is what you agreed to. You convinced yourself you were content with remaining by his side, paying off your unspoken debt to him, even if it pained you to look at him. Smell him. Feel him, barely ghosting, but always a commanding presence.

The music is a lovely distraction. It’s soft, invoking emotions you tucked away. Your eyes water as the strings kick in. It’s like he senses the minute shift in your expression, the change to your posture, the clench of your teeth, and he places his hand over yours to offer you a semblance of comfort. It feels wrong how his fingers burn, how they curl towards your palm on the armrest. How they make you feel safe, validated, wanted.

That soft smile he offers when you glance at him doesn’t help. And how he strokes over the clutch of your hand with his thumb, agitating the emotions welling in your chest. Your returned smile is watery, guarded as you glance at your lap.

Should friends even be holding hands like this?

—

A little bubbly to chase the burn away.

He took you to a lovely restaurant afterwards. You joked it was his birthday gift, so you should be treating him. It’s fine—friends take care of each other, right? When the ache is too much. When your tongue’s too heavy in your mouth, and your heart pulls in your chest.

You end up going for a walk downtown after dinner. Enjoy the historic sights, the fairy lights, the nightlife bustling on the cobblestoned walkways.

You’re laughing. Crowding together. Conversing like two idiots who just fell out of love, itching to sink back into it. He has gentle yet firm fingers around the crook of your elbow to steady you. Maybe you drank more champagne than you thought.

Your feet hurt. He shepherds you to a bus stand to take a load off. Pulls your feet up onto his lap, peeling off your high-heeled sandals, and working through the pain with his knuckles. Just like old times. Is this alright? Should he really be…this nice when he’s…not yours, and—

Thoughts you tried to keep at bay come spilling in. That night replays like torn film reels.

“Maybe in another lifetime,” he whispered, as if admitting it so low would ease the devastation of it. The sting. “Maybe in another lifetime, it could’ve been you. I could’ve held your hand while you laughed so sweetly under the sun. I could’ve stroked your cheek while you pouted in that adorable way, pretending to be upset with me. I could’ve held you so close while you dreamed, while you gave yourself to me. Just…not now. The timing. It’s just—”

You laughed despite the pang in your chest. Despite the tears clumping in your lashes, distorting your vision of him. Pathetic little streaks of red, white, black. You remember rubbing your arms to self-soothe. Being hysterical. Curling into yourself as bile singed the back of your throat. You wanted to vomit. Wanted the world to open up and swallow you whole. You wanted to be erased from his memory—him forgetting you would’ve hurt less.

“Please don’t cry,” he placated, voice all croaky. Strained. Broken, almost like how you felt. Like it pained him more to let you down. He reached out for you, fingers shaky in the air near your cheek. You stepped away. You didn’t deserve his affection. Didn’t think you could handle it.

You laughed again, forcing a bitter smile onto your lips. “I’m okay,” you lied through a constricted throat.

It burned. Felt visceral. His pity was the worst torture you’d ever been subjected to. Honestly, you could’ve lived with him being mean. Crushing you. Telling you that you were delusional, a mistake, pathetic. His tenderness hurt more, like a knife thrust into your gut and twisted. It was like he was teasing you with a glimpse of what could have been. False hope. That doting voice speaking to you every day like that.

“Don’t worry about me,” you choked around the threat of a sob, a laugh, “I’ll be fine. Promise.”

He hated it, how you always had to put up a front. Always so brave, guarding your emotions like forbidden treasure. He wanted to hold you. Stroke over your hair. Murmur, ‘I’m sorrys’ against the outskirts of your ear. He’d never seen you like this, falling apart at the seams, and yet still fighting to shield yourself. As though showing a bit of weakness would cause him to dispose of you.

He hated himself, watching you wear that prideful smile despite the tears streaming down your cheeks. Letting you slip out of his office without a fight. His nails bit unforgivingly into his palm. Split the skin. Anguish possessed his features in the quiet. He always swiftly dealt with anyone who hurt you. A hair out of place, a scar on your cheek, blood seeping through your clothes.

So what was he supposed to do when he was the source of your pain?

You don’t say anything as his driver pulls his car up to the bus stop. Stone-faced as Sylus drops his jacket onto your shoulders, ushering you into the backseat. You feel empty—a husk. You thought you’d be over it by now, his soft rejection. But he’s gone and picked the scab, reopening festering wounds beneath with his sentimentality.

Why couldn’t it be you? Why was it always—

Someone else?

You lean away from him the entire ride back to base, watching the streetlights blur past the tinted window with your forehead against the crisp glass. It’s all you can do to keep your tears at bay. To keep yourself from falling apart all over again.

And you don’t miss his reflection—those anguished, scarlet-spun eyes watching you. His mouth opening and closing, grappling with the right words to say, yet failing to get them out. 

What could he say that wouldn’t wound you more? 

—

You leave without warning the following morning while everyone’s asleep. Pack up your essentials, a duffle slung over your shoulder, a motorcycle purring between your legs.

You ride towards the horizon, no destination in sight, a sinking feeling in your throat. You thought you could do this. Thought you could brave the storm, the torrents of pain, the letdowns. Thought you could handle seeing him smile like that, hearing him laugh like that, knowing you weren’t the cause of it. 

You deserve better, don’t you? A change of scenery. A chance to start over. To figure out who you are again, without the crushing weight of a quiet, consuming, one-sided love tearing you asunder.