#You Hear Columns Explode

[popsixsquishcicerolipschitz]

magictransistor

tizianomazzilli

François-Louis Schmied. The Night, The Theatre, Zodiaque, Christ is Resurrected, Abstraction, A Trace of Fire Trails Behind Him, You Hear Columns Explode, The Horse Charge, Dungeon, She is Saved! Illustrations for Johann Wolfgang von Goethe’s Faust. 1938.

[redeemingvillains]

of magic & mayhem - mattheo riddle

summary: the strongest wizard of your age also happens to be hogwarts' playboy, and when he sets his sights on you, you realize neither of you have a choice in the matter.

word count: 3k

a/n: this is like nine of my concepts all mashed into one! heavily influenced by my re-read of fourth wing in preparation for onyx storm coming out, anyone who wants to scream about that in my inbox, please do <3

The Great Hall echoed with the excited chatter of friends and classmates and the general cacophony of breakfast; the sounds of scraping cutlery and the clink of dishes and goblets. You and Pansy sat in genial silence as you read your book and she eyed the gossip column of the Daily Prophet.

You were so totally transfixed on your book that you didn't see the looming figure in front of you until he placed his hands on the oak table and leaned casually across it into your airspace.

"Good morning" he drawled smoothly in a deep voice that caused you to glace up only to see Mattheo Riddle's large amber eyes twinkling at you, matched with a smirk that made you feel like you had pixies in your stomach.

You could smell his cologne from this distance, an undeniable mix of woodsmoke, evergreen and cinnamon that made you feel heady.

"Pansy" he acknowledged, nodding at her as she glanced up at him with a surprise that matched your own.

"Mrs. Riddle" he said, acknowledging you as his electric gaze found yours. You felt a deep blush on your cheeks, even as your face scrunched in confusion and your eyes searched his face for a hint of a joke, finding none.

"What did you just call me?" you asked, cocking your head. As much as you tried to supress it, a small smile graced your lips, which didn't go unnoticed.

"What?" he said in mock surprise. "You don't like it? I think it's perfect."

A pause.

"It suits you" he said confidently. He winked at you as your eyebrows shot up and he turned and walked away without another word.

You turned to look at Pansy who was open-mouthed gaping after him before turning to look at you.

"What was that!?" she exclaimed, excited, like you knew something she didn't.

You shook your head and rolled your eyes despite the hammering of your heart in your chest.

"He's a complete flirt, Pans, I'm not putting a lot of weight in whatever he's woken up and decided to say today."

But even as the words came out of your mouth, you couldn't help but feel excited that you'd caught his attention, even if you knew how delicately dangerous it could be.

"But Mrs. Riddle?! Please. I am dying oh my gods!" she said.

"No, we're not even thinking about this. Not unless you want to listen to me cry myself to sleep in three weeks when I've completely fallen for him and he's moved on to someone else. We all know how this goes and I'm not stupid enough to fall for it."

Pansy pursed her lips as she bounced in her seat with excitement, like she was going to explode.

"Okay, but maybe, just hear me out—" she started.

"—No" you said emphatically, as much to her as to yourself.

She stuck her tongue out at you and you returned the gesture.

It was no secret you were sought after; you had your fair share of dates and suitors. And it was no secret that Mattheo Riddle took the concept of incredibly hot fuckboy to another level, which is why, despite his comment and increasingly insistent stares you kept your distance.

Try as you might to forget what he said, or the way his dark eyes had twinkled mischievously as they drank you in, you found your thoughts drifting to him more times than you'd care to admit, and he had no intention of making it any easier for you, because now every time he saw you, he made a point of using your new nickname.

"Good morning, Mrs. Riddle" he said as he passed you in the Great Hall the next day.

"Have a good day, Mrs. Riddle!" he shouted from the opposite side of the common room, which garnered a significant amount of attention and whispers.

"Let me get the door for you, Mrs. Riddle" he said, pushing your classmates out of the way to do so.

"Mmm, gorgeous as ever, Mrs. Riddle" he whispered walking by you in the library in a way that felt like the words themselves danced over every inch of your body.

Pansy was nearly inconsolable over the situation, egging it on eagerly and even picking it up herself.

"Good night, Mrs. Riddle" she said to you as you crawled into bed in your shared dormitory.

"Lay off it, Pansy! Gods" you replied, even as you grinned like an idiot to yourself.

But then she wasn't the only one.

After less than a week of it, the rumor spread like fiendfyre and now Mattheo's friends were smirking at you in the corridor, waving teasingly to you in the common room and offering you every ounce of preferential treatment befitting of the name: knocking Potter off his chair when he took your seat in Potions, forcing a first-year to stand outside your dormitory holding your favorite latte every morning, and ensuring you had a coveted first row seat at their quidditch matches, including the House Cup, which you were excitedly getting ready for when Pansy burst into your room.

"You will never guess what I just heard" she said, grabbing you by the shoulders.

"What's that?" you asked, humoring her frenetic energy.

"Astoria Greengrass having a sob in the girls lav. You know how she and Mattheo have hooked up a few times?—"

You didn't, in fact, know that and couldn't help the pang of jealousy that gripped your chest.

"—Well I heard her telling Penelope Clearwater that he says he doesn't want to anymore and he told Harmony Norman and Maria Warner the same thing!"

Your face tangled in disgust.

"How many girls is he hooking up with? And why do you look so happy about it? What a mess…" you said, sighing as you turned to resume your makeup.

"Why, all of a sudden is he breaking all of them off, hmm?" she said, cocking an eyebrow at you in your mirror.

"I don't know" you said shiftily. "Maybe he's trying to be a better person?!—"

"—Or maybe he has his eyes set on someone else?!" she said insistently. "You know, someone he's given a special nickname to, his name to?"

You opened your mouth to argue with her but you couldn't deny the logic of her statement.

The boys pulled it off, sweeping Gryffindor in the House Cup for the first time in years and the ensuing celebration was electric.

The music in the common room was loud enough to sway the chandeliers in the ceiling, to feel the bass vibrating in your body.

Every Slytherin you knew and quite a few friends from other houses were there, the normally cavernous room filled in a way that made it feel like some sort of night club, bodies covering every inch of space, melding and weaving between each other and raising the temperature of the normally dank dungeon air.

You couldn't help but search the flashing lights and otherwise utter chaos for Mattheo and you didn't have to look for long the way he stood a head taller than almost everyone in the room, even surrounded by his large teammates; not to mention the way they were walking around like kings, taking turns chugging champagne out of their trophy, raucous, rowdy and loud as people cheered around them.

Mattheo himself was in rare form, his handsome curls were slightly askew and his cheeks were rosy from the alcohol and general liveliness of the night. He was dressed in a fitted black tshirt and dark pants and was exuding an energy that was magnetic, even from where you were standing; undeniably, your heart thumped in your chest at the sight of him.

Had you gotten a little dressed up? Of course. It was a celebration, an occasion, why wouldn't you? But as you wound through the sea of bodies, fingers twined in Pansy's, you garnered enough stares and double-takes that had you thinking you may have slightly overdone it.

"Oh, okay queen!" Pansy had said the minute she'd seen your outfit, the way you'd done your makeup and styled your hair, knowing, perhaps, exactly what or who had been on your mind.

You stopped to grab a drink and your cup had barely touched your lips before two guys came up to you that you recognized vaguely from the year below you. They were admittedly cute and you smiled as they compliment you and chatted with you. You leaned in closer to hear them over the music and the crowd and the one closest to you ducked his head toward you when you felt a tingle run from the base of your neck down your spine and a large, warm hand wound its way around your waist, pulling you firmly backwards into what felt like a pliable brick wall. You were startled for only a moment until you caught the undeniable scent of evergreen, of cinnamon.

"Brian is it? Blake? Blaire? Why don't you go get a drink, buddy?" his voice rumbled near your ear, more of a command than a suggestion as Bradley's eyes shot up over your shoulder to the shadow looming there and nodded quickly, retreating.

"Aww" you pouted sarcastically as you turned around. "He was nice, we were having fun!"

You met Mattheo's eyes which were so dark they looked nearly jet black as they glared at you. Had he been jealous?

And like he could read your mind his lip twitched and he rolled his eyes.

"Even if he had a chance with you, which, let's be very clear, he doesn't, he wouldn't know what to do with it."

"And, let me guess, you would?" you asked teasingly.

"Care to find out?" he asked matter-of-factly.

You felt a wave wash over you from your head to your toes, your body tingling with his proximity, with the way his eyes met yours directly, unfaltering despite the myriad distractions around him.

Gods yes you thought, even as you bit your bottom lip, teetering on the edge of a decision you knew you couldn't come back from.

His eyes shamelessly fell to your lips and you suddenly realized that his hands had never left you as they flexed at your waist, his fingers pressing into your skin like he was holding onto you for purchase.

"C'mon" he said, not waiting for a coherent reply from you, which you may never have been able to form had he kept looking at you that way.

His hands left your body only long enough to tangle his fingers in yours and hold them tightly, pulling you behind him as he headed into the sea of bodies on the dance floor, weaving between some as others offered him a wide berth and a congratulations when they realized who he was.

Then, like he was moving in slow motion, he turned to face you, twining your fingers further in his as he pulled you into him, guiding your hand over his shoulder so you were flush to his chest, and his other hand found your waist again, his grip firm and unyielding as he held you to him as if you would argue or try to be anywhere but right here.

You could feel every dip and curve of his body against yours as you moved against each other in a way that felt perfect and also not nearly enough, even though you couldn't get any closer.

You let the hand on his shoulder wander to the back of his neck, your fingers tangling into the curls there and even though the music was loud enough that you could barely hear yourself think, you could feel as much as hear the growl that released in his chest as his hands tightened on you in a way you were certain would leave a bruise.

The lights flickered for just a second, and a few people stopped dancing and shouted but his eyes never left yours, the only acknowledgement he offered, a small grimace on his face, which made you want to kiss his lips back into his irritatingly perfect smirk.

He leaned in, pressing his cheek to yours as his lips hovered to your ear.

"You look stunning, Mrs. Riddle."

He leaned back and you could see his signature smirk gracing his lips again. You opened your mouth to reply as your eyes met his, but your head was swimming at this point. Everything was him all at once, his body against yours, taught and warm to your touch, his breath on you that smelled like cinnamon gum, his cologne, you felt yourself melting into him at his words, closing the only remaining inches between your hips as your hands came to his face and your noses brushed — and then the lights went out in earnest, drowning you in complete darkness.

"Fuck" you heard him mutter strongly before grasping your hand in his as he started to pull you through the imperceptible forms of people who were yelling and shouting, blazing a path through them, pushing people aside brusquely where necessary. He was on a war path and your feet moved quicky to follow him as he cleared most of the crowd and headed directly for the boys dormitory.

He pulled you into a maze of adjoining corridors before swiping his hand causing an approaching door to fly open as he pulled you in behind him. You were barely through it before he swiped his hand again and it slammed closed behind you, forcefully, the energy pouring off of him in a way that reminded you just how strong of a wizard he was, and exactly why absolutely nobody fucked with him.

He turned to you finally, his chest rising and falling as he gripped your waist and pushed you gently against the closed door with a thud. He let his other hand rest beside your head, caging you in. The look of lust on his face was still there, tangled with the same grimace from before, like he was angry, like he was holding something in.

"Mattheo...?" you whispered and he ducked his head away from you, his eyes squeezing shut as the hand at your waist squeezed again, the touch sending an electric tingle up your side that made you gasp.

His gaze came back to you and then he was leaning in, his nose brushing yours again and your hands came to wind around his neck. You caught a glimpse of a smile on his lips as they hovered over yours, barely grazing them, and you could feel static electricity there between you, the air itself alight with energy, vibrating. The temptation was driving you mad, your chest visibly rising and falling against his own and then his lips fell to yours, warm, soft and urgent.

He took your face in his hands and pressed you into the door and you hummed against him. The lights in the room flickered once, then twice, and then rapidly like you were in a horror film before they went out completely, drenching you both in a velvet darkness that was somehow welcoming, like you could feel the shadows themselves dancing over your body, caressing you, enveloping you.

You felt his tongue against your bottom lip and you opened up to him. Your tongued flicked against his and a freezing gust of wind blew papers, books and quills off his desk, hurling them to the ground with a clatter and bang. Mattheo never stopped, his tongue continued to glide over yours and he kissed you like it was the last godsdamn thing he'd ever do.

He hoisted you up so your legs wrapped around his waist and he pressed you back into the door before releasing your lips just long enough to trail kisses down your jaw to your neck that he lavished in a way you were certain there would be a violet bruise in the morning.

Your eyes fluttered in pleasure, lost in him for a moment until you caught sight of the room around you and you froze.

It was midnight black but for the moonlight coming through the window which cast everything in a ghostly shade of white, but what caught your eye was that every object in the room was floating, adrift in the air, the bed, the desk, the bookshelf, all hovering feet off the ground. Lightweight objects like clothing, quills and his books floated higher and higher and then you realized that it was cold enough to see your breath in front of you.

"Mattheo" you breathed, trying to get his attention. Your hand carded through his curls and the chair in the corner took flight.

Wait. Was this him?

"Mrs. Riddle?" he murmured in your neck.

"Mattheo" you said again, a stronger urgency in your voice causing him to relent and look up at you with a puff of air of his own.

"Fuck" he said. "It's – yeah. That's me. Well, that's you actually."

"What?"

"S'no secret that my magic is ... strong. And I'm well practiced at controlling it. With... one exception."

He took your hand and placed it over his chest where you could feel his heart hammering.

You searched his eyes and his eyebrow quirked until he gestured to his room. As if to say 'see?'

This boy had quite literally lost his control at your touch.

"Wait, the lights? The music?" you asked, a small smile on your lips at the realization.

"When you touched me, I just—" he shook his head, exhaling another puff of cold air. "—See what you do to me, Mrs. Riddle?" he said.

"Gods, when are you going to stop calling me that?" you laughed, even as you looked at him and traced a finger over his lips.

"When it's true" he said simply.

You looked confused for a moment until he leaned into you again, his magic radiating off of him.

"What?" you breathed.

"When you're mine, and it's official and I won't have to spend all of my free time reminding everyone you're mine, they'll know. Until then, I'll hedge my bets."

He kissed you.

"Mmpf, but what if I didn't want you to stop?" you murmured against him.

He pulled back to look at you, scanning your face for any sign of a joke, and finding none as your eyes connected with his and his lip quirked in a smile.

"Well, princess,” he whispered against your lips, ghosting them with his, teasing you before biting your bottom lip gently in a way that sent a shiver through you that had nothing to do with the freezing air.

“Whatever Mrs. Riddle wants—” he murmured, kissing you fully, luxuriously, “—Mrs. Riddle gets.”

ˋ°•*⁀➷ EPILOGUE

taglist: @kenjikishimotoswifey @mattiesgf @sleepiibunniiii @darlingshecried @girllblogging777 @foivetimesacharm @clar2aa @broadwaybaby123 @slytherinscreamqueen @chelawrites @loverliner

[writerpeach]

The Naughty List

IVE Jang Wonyoung x An Yujin x m!reader

8500 words

Part 7 of IVED Vanilla Latte

The cafeteria is oddly barren at lunchtime. Christmas lights are everywhere, and all the clichés apply—decorated trees, stockings hung along the wall, tinsel wrapped around the columns. Holiday music plays over the speakers, but it's easy enough to tune out when you have the company of your roommates.

Wonyoung finishes up her pastry, taking one more sip of coffee as she wipes the corners of her lips with a napkin. Nearly satisfied, she pops open a compact mirror to check her face, and a faint touch-up of lip gloss finishes it off, lips plump and pink once she closes the little case and drops it in her purse. 

"All set."

Yujin laughs in amusement, wondering how one person can spend so much effort on a quick touch-up, as if she'll simply melt if her appearance is nothing less than immaculate. It's not like Yujin doesn't have her own fastidious routine, especially with her makeup, but nobody takes it to such extreme measures like the tall beauty with pouty lips right across the table.

Wonyoung runs fingers through her hair while she stands up from the table to stretch, grabbing her purse and tightening the scarf wrapped around her slender neck. You follow their lead as they bundle up and toss their empty containers into the trash, Yujin still clutching the remainder of her drink, while Wonyoung drops an absurd amount of cash into the tip jar before the three of you make your exit. 

Winter never seems to let up—snow covers the ground everywhere, leaving a crunch under your boot with every step. Not that it’s an issue when you have these two keeping you plenty warm. 

Yujin is on your left, Wonyoung on your right, both with their arms hooked around yours, clinging possessively as they pull you closer, leaving your attention constantly torn between the two. But you couldn’t be happier, sandwiched in the middle—Yujin, with her thigh-high boots and that ridiculously short skirt, as if pants are a foreign concept; and Wonyoung, in her leather skirt and leggings combo that makes her look absolutely delectable.

It draws plenty of stares, of course, because why wouldn't it as you walk through campus, arm in arm, attracting attention in whatever direction the three of you pass. But it’s no concern really. 

"So, daddy—" Wonyoung cuts the silence and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, leaning in closer while also holding on a bit tighter. "Finals are done and Christmas is right around the corner. Any idea what you're gonna ask Santa for this year?"

It's cute hearing the innocence in her voice, and watching her eyes light up with curiosity. "Think I have everything I need right here. You two spoil me enough as it is."

Yujin giggles softly, fluttering her long lashes as she kisses your cheek. "Don’t think that’s possible. Still, I think we'll have the perfect gift waiting for you under the tree, daddy."

That could mean anything—which excites as much as it frightens you, but Yujin's devious smile gives little to no indication. Not even Wonyoung's telling expression gives much of an idea. But you're not left in your thoughts long, distracted when Yujin stops in her tracks, gathering up some snow with a bright look on her face and packing it into a little ball.

"W-wait," Wonyoung pauses momentarily, her whole body coming to an immediate halt, the realization sinking in when Yujin reveals the tiny snowball between her delicate fingertips. "Yujin, don't you dare—"

The throw isn't quite clean, only half connected as the snowball grazes Wonyoung's shoulder and falls short, yet Yujin's smile spreads, excited by the way it explodes. That's all the confirmation she needs to reach down and do it again.

"H-hey, no—d-don't even think—" Wonyoung's fumbling around while frantically trying to decide on how to react and whether to run, blocking herself behind you as a human shield. 

"Hiding behind daddy? That's not very fair, princess."

"Neither is throwing fucking snowballs! I haven't gotten snow on me in years, I don't like being cold!"

"What, scared it'll ruin your five thousand dollar shoes?" A second snowball hits before Wonyoung can respond, the white snow spreading all over her little leather skirt. 

You don't exactly have a say in any of this when Wonyoung takes you hostage, burying her face in your back while clinging to your waist, as if that offers protection against Yujin's clear intentions. Before you can get out any word of protest, Yujin lands a perfectly clean shot against the side of your face, laughing uncontrollably.

Wonyoung doesn't even give you a chance to defend yourself, climbing straight up on your back like her life depends on it, arms around your neck to cling tight. 

"Daddy, get her!" 

No chance to hesitate when you’re forced to carry Wonyoung’s weight without warning. And now you're really at a disadvantage with this girl on your back, hardly able to defend yourself when it comes to Yujin's next barrage of snowballs, taking each one directly in the face. Somehow, you manage to scoop up enough snow to throw a few yourself, one of them finally landing a hit when Yujin doubles back to take cover, giggling mischievously in triumph. 

That's when you lower Wonyoung down onto the ground, needing an even playing field so you can get your payback. She's not exactly happy as anticipated, pouting the second her feet touch the snowy ground. That pout doesn’t linger, however, left alone, defenseless against Yujin's assault. Rather quickly, it devolves to scrambling to the nearest cover behind one of the benches when she realizes there's no more safety net.

And then it's a warzone—snowballs gathered up and launched at Yujin without yield, while you try desperately to block the return fire. 

Yujin's much more athletic and quicker on her feet, dodging almost effortlessly, her long legs allowing her to find cover so easily. You've taken more than your share of snowballs, most to the face, meanwhile, Wonyoung isn't even trying, just cowering behind the bench and waiting for this storm to pass.

You abandon your current position for a better vantage point, and then there's this same thought clicking at the same moment when you fire a direct shot toward Yujin's tight ass as she passes between some trees. It explodes beautifully and catches her so off guard, and then you're locking eyes, in unison, with the same devilish intentions in mind, an unspoken alliance forming. And there's no better target in sight—

Yujin darts towards the direction of Wonyoung, and you gather up the biggest snowball you can manage before putting the plan into motion—an ambush, taking each side to corner her before she has time to realize the trap. It's perfect execution, both snowballs finding their mark in succession, one hitting Wonyoung square in the face from behind, the other from the front by Yujin.

Wonyoung looks betrayed as she just stands there with a look of disbelief, cheeks flushed red from the cold while you block off any retreat, ensuring there’s nowhere to run to avoid what's coming. 

And the only answer to this is, well, nothing, surprisingly—just Wonyoung standing in place, snowball after snowball raining down from each direction to that beautiful visage, enduring it while frozen like a statue, silent and unsure how to react to this sudden double-team.

So much for that touch-up earlier. 

"Daddy, you jerk! You can't—" Wonyoung cries out, with this cute little stomp as she shields her face with her arms. You can't stop laughing and neither can Yujin as the assault continues, with an endless supply of ammo at the ready.

But you know that look, the silent fury hidden behind her pouting facade, the way her gaze stays fixated. Wonyoung has never been one to handle defeat too well. Never been one to take anything lying down. Left with no other option but to launch herself at you, she tackles you into the soft snow as you fall flat, completely unprepared to have her entire weight collapse on you.

That fury ignites, Wonyoung grabbing handfuls of snow, not even bothering to form a ball as she throws it, pelting your face. She doesn't let up one bit, almost cackling while she keeps you pinned down with an unreal amount of strength for such a small frame, finding satisfaction from each handful thrown.

"I can't believe you both turned on me," Wonyoung says with a frown, gathering up a fresh handful of snow that you block in self-defense.

"Come on, princess," Yujin says in the distance, joining in now that the danger's passed, collapsing down next to the both of you in the snow. "There are no rules when it comes to snowball fights. And our bratty little princess is such an easy target."

Wonyoung can’t help but sulk as Yujin helps brush some of the snow from her hair—and just like that, it becomes an unfair team-up, the two of them pinning you down, completely outnumbered. But there's no more powder being tossed, only kisses landing on your cheek while you three share this respite in the snow.

"Princess looks good covered in snow, don't you think, daddy?"

Almost forgetting her previous frustration, Wonyoung sighs, kissing your nose as that pout remains. "I look good covered in a lot of things, especially white."

Ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous, and Yujin can only smile when Wonyoung leans over to lock lips, the pair falling back into an eager kiss that's all tongue and wandering hands.

"We should get daddy somewhere warm before he catches a cold," Yujin suggests between these wet kisses and cute giggles. Given how much snow you’re surrounded by, you can't disagree, although you're sure if either one decided to have their way with you right then and there, you'd hardly fight it. "No better time to use the hot tub, don't you think, princess?" 

Wonyoung pauses, stopping midway with her lips inches from Yujin. "Hot tub and daddy's cock, that sounds perfect." 

You’re more than ready to follow anywhere as they hoist you out of the snow, eager to get out of the cold and get warmed up. 

❄ ❄

Wonyoung is the first to drop into the warm, bubbling water, exchanging snow-covered clothes for a tiny red string bikini that leaves so little to the imagination. The hot tub feels heavenly in the cold when you lower in after, watching the way she leans back against the tub while pulling her hair free from a messy bun. Those dark locks cascade freely over her shoulders, head tilted back in relaxation as the water bubbles around her. 

"Mm, this feels amazing," Wonyoung murmurs, eyes fluttering as she submerges a bit deeper. You can’t disagree one bit, how this covered little patio gives a great view of campus while shielding from the cold that continues to fall, surrounded by hedges and a tall wooden fence—a secluded oasis of perfect privacy.

That's Yujin's cue—the sliding glass door opens when she arrives, not empty-handed either as she holds up a bottle of wine and three glasses. Her bikini is equally stunning, a bold black piece that is far from modest. Her curvy hips fill the fabric so well that it barely conceals anything—not her incredible thighs, nor that wonderfully full ass of hers.

"Brought a little Christmas present," Yujin says, smiling as she makes her way across the wooden deck, giving you plenty of time to admire her sinful body before she slips into the bubbling water to take the spot beside Wonyoung. 

It's all so surreal, spending a snowy, cold Christmas Eve in this hot tub, sitting back in the water, right across from heaven itself. Yujin's staring with that gleam in her eye, smiling so suggestively while pouring a rather generous amount of wine, holding out each glass for you to take. 

With a generous sip, Wonyoung's glossy lips stain the rim a pretty pink, nearly draining the contents before setting it down. Yujin does the same, although she's much more reserved, swirling the rich, red liquid around the glass before indulging in a taste of her own.

You’re not even going to attempt not to stare, eyeing both girls shamelessly—how Wonyoung's bikini top looks like a nuisance, the thin strings almost begging to be ripped right off, Yujin equally so. 

Wine downed, all it takes is one little look between Yujin and Wonyoung before a silent plan forms into motion. Yujin takes another sip of wine and gazes longingly, bringing the sole of her foot against your bulge, teasing you as she curls her toes, stroking up and down again until you throb.

"Daddy's a little excited to see our new bikinis," Yujin murmurs with her glass poised beneath her lips, taking another drink, never breaking eye contact. "Isn't that right?"

"I think we're more excited to take them off for him," Wonyoung adds, taking the glass from Yujin to gulp the rest of the wine as she joins in the teasing, and together, the two of them stroke the outline of your swelling cock through your swimming trunks. You groan out almost involuntarily, already feeling that need building as your shaft continues to strain against the fabric, growing harder with every second they toy with you.

"So hard for us already," Yujin giggles, keeping the attention on your cock with her toes rubbing at the tip and slowly downward again, drinking more wine while she strokes you.

Their toes tease and toy with you, as if your trunks aren't a barrier, managing to work you up—not even removing the offending item of clothing, just having their fun beneath the surface of the hot water while you try your hardest not to moan too desperately. 

"Let us take care of you, daddy…let us milk every last drop out,” Wonyoung says, almost pleading. 

Wonyoung licks her glossy lips, her toes squeezing tight, the head of your cock nestled between her big toe and next, massaging you nice and slow. With you throbbing with need, it's only a moment later the pair waste no time in yanking your swim trunks down, throwing the soaked article out of the hot tub and leaving you completely exposed.

You couldn't hope for anything better when Wonyoung scoots in closer and together with Yujin you're treated to this double-team, as they stroke in unison—fingers interlocked and tight, squeezing and twisting around your cock together in an all too familiar, synchronized fashion. 

"F-fuck—god, that feels so fucking good," you gasp, tilting your head back in pleasure, every motion those delicate fingers make along your cock so calculated, every stroke and squeeze just right. You can't hold back your pleasure—your body's all too responsive to their teasing, helpless against the pair working in tandem, up and down your swollen length, making you throb so intensely with every little movement their slender fingers make. 

All you can really do is give yourself a little distraction, untying the strings to Wonyoung's bikini free while she leans over and dips her tongue into your mouth, doing the same for Yujin next.

Tossing aside each discarded article of wet clothing, the bikinis get lost beneath the churning, bubbly water as your hands wander all along their perfect bodies, feeling their smooth, soft skin, gliding across each tight tummy, up to those perfect tits that you squeeze at, their nipples so stiff when you roll them beneath your thumbs. 

"Like that, daddy? When we stroke your cock like this?" Yujin purrs, like the groans you let out aren't enough of an answer, your hands playing with their tits just as greedily while the pressure builds between your legs. “We weren't kidding, we really are going to milk you. So just relax.” 

Not like you could do anything but that if you tried. 

Yujin leans closer in and smiles, dragging her tongue along your neck, planting slow kisses. And maybe they're taking their sweet time to show off their skill—how Yujin uses her thumb to smear precum along the tip of your cockhead, how Wonyoung plays with your balls, cupping them in her hands and squeezing gently to feel their fullness. 

"All we want for Christmas is to make you feel good, daddy. To make you cum as much as you want," Yujin says so seductively, kissing down your jawline until she nuzzles into your neck and teases over one of your nipples. "Let us spoil you even more than usual."

So hard to concentrate with all this bliss, and yet it's nearly impossible to not give in, knowing these two girls won't stop until there isn't anything left in your balls. They switch it up at a moment’s notice, Wonyoung working your shaft with her masterful fingers, Yujin preoccupied teasing your sensitive balls, drawing patterns with the tips of her painted fingernails. You’re just doing as instructed, sitting back and relaxing while they touch and tease you, finding new ways to drag every hint of pleasure out of your body. 

"This is my favorite part," Wonyoung muses. Her gaze is fixated entirely on your face as her hand works magic around the base of your cock, letting Yujin focus on your swollen cockhead, stroking fervently, so focused on bringing you as much ecstasy as possible, pumping without relent. 

"Princess," Yujin shifts around in the water, giving your balls a heavy squeeze that rips a moan from your throat. "Every part's your favorite."

"Yeah, and? Not my fault this cock is perfect in every way. Maybe I like seeing the way daddy's face is whenever he's about to explode..."

Every word from these girls' mouths only winds you up more and more, when their lips stay latched on your neck, where their teeth tease and kiss the sensitive skin. How Wonyoung gets such a tight grip with every twist of her wrist along your throbbing cock and never lets go, how they start alternating between themselves who takes over stroking and fondling your balls, working together, sometimes both hands on your shaft, sometimes playing with your balls.

You're every bit helpless, drowning in all the lust, cock throbbing with anticipation, ready to erupt all over those eager fingers, desperate to let go, to pump out everything you have stored in your heavy balls. And these two only seem to speed up when you're clearly ready to burst—Wonyoung working you faster than ever, hand pumping furiously while Yujin gets a nice handful of your balls, just fondling away with a few tugs here and there.

"Think daddy's almost there," Yujin says so matter-of-factly with this smugness in her voice and you know she’s not wrong—

You're reaching the edge and the feeling grows stronger by the second, not even thinking straight anymore. Every breath comes out shaky and frantic as you feel every little sensation, arms spread out along the ledge of the tub, biting your bottom lip to muffle a moan that doesn't quite work. 

"Daddy's gonna make such a huge mess. A big, thick load for us, right?” 

Those fingers from Wonyoung only move faster, hitting every single sweet spot on your shaft, and that's enough when Yujin cups your balls tight, working wonders and there's that edge right there, the sensation overflowing, your balls tightening, muscles tensed as you can no longer hold anything back—

"Shit, I-I'm gonna fucking—"

"Cum for us, daddy," they both whisper sweetly in unison, urging your orgasm out with their pleading stares. Then you’re groaning impossibly loud with their lips on either side of your neck, and finally blow your load when Yujin gives a squeeze to your balls just the right way—streams of hot white shooting under the water's surface from your throbbing cock as the relief hits all too fast. 

They make good on their promise to milk your release all out, Wonyoung squeezing your cockhead tight, thumb right there at the underside to make every shot feel better than the last, sticky and plentiful and all theirs. Meanwhile, Yujin's hot breath lingers in your ear the whole time, nibbling on your earlobe with this firm squeeze on your balls that seems to draw the rest out.

It's that moment of pure, utter euphoria that lasts longer than you're used to—thrusting your hips out of reflex, pumping out thick, creamy spurts all over their fingers, the duo draining your heavy balls and you think it might never end. 

"There's so fucking much," Wonyoung murmurs with glee, like she’s surprised when she’s mutually responsible for this release. Her fingers just keep milking your cock alongside Yujin, intent on dragging out every last drop your body can possibly offer. 

Even afterward, long after you've shot all the cum they can drain from you, there’s still a hand on your cock, one on your balls, both insistent on working every bit out they can as if you haven't let out enough. 

Between their soft hands on your sensitive cock and the bubbling jets of the hot tub, it’s more intoxicating than that expensive wine Yujin brought—they haven't gotten tired of jerking you off just yet, the water obscuring much of their activity below like they’re seeing whose name you'll groan more.

"Daddy always sounds so sexy when we make him cum," Yujin says all sultry in tone, dragging a single finger from your base, up and over that spot near the underside of your tip and keeping it there—rolling the pad of her fingertip in circles over the area where your cock seems most sensitive. “Hearing you let go... that's my favorite thing."

Before you can even catch a breath, Yujin is tilting your face towards hers, hungry lips crashing against yours, lost in this moment together, tasting the wine on her breath. 

And almost on cue, they let go of your cock and rise out of the water in unison, hopping onto the wooden deck with their dripping wet bodies. Your gaze travels all over, unable to make up your mind where to look—the way droplets trickle down Yujin's wet chest and over those pretty nipples so stiff as the frigid air caresses her skin. Or the way Wonyoung looks with that mess of wet hair cascading down over her shoulders, water clinging to her bare back and those supple ass cheeks her bikini bottom couldn't even hope to contain. 

Topless and soaking wet, the image is seared into your mind, and they don't bother putting anything on after drying off, not even bothered how the cold stings their naked flesh, and god, are you already aching to go again. 

When you step out and head back inside, there's a lingering pause—Yujin's the last one in before sliding the glass door shut, wrapping her arms around your chest from behind as she locks you into place. "We have one more present for you, daddy—right, princess?”

Her breath feels so hot, leaning against your body as her naked breasts press against your back. Wonyoung takes a sip of wine straight from the bottle before she puts it down on the kitchen counter. "Something like that." 

You can't ignore the mischievous smile they share as they head towards the stairwell in nothing but skimpy bikini bottoms. That look can't mean anything good—Wonyoung stays leaning on the banister, letting your eyes wander along her endless legs as she places a pretty pedicured foot on the second step.

The pose is intentional, allowing you to glimpse how tight and shapely that ass of hers is, how delicious her long legs look with that perfect figure accentuated in a red bikini, only making your cock pulse with need.

"How about you head upstairs in ten minutes, daddy?" Yujin suggests, untying a loose knot with her black bikini, the fabric loosening until it slips off her wide, curvy hips, falling on the floor as she starts descending the stairs. Now naked from head to toe, she takes her time up the stairs, enjoying your shameless ogling. 

No doubt she’s fully aware of how your eyes are glued to her every move, drawn to those sinful curves—from her bouncy, thick thighs to that irresistibly tempting ass that follows suit. Every inch of Yujin is a masterpiece put on display, all to make your cock throb harder with anticipation, bouncing her hair freely behind her shoulders, hips swaying all too hypnotically. 

Wonyoung mirrors those movements, throwing her bikini bottoms at you to catch, and the sight of each of them standing there naked, climbing up the steps right in front of you is too much temptation to take. 

Ten minutes is going to seem like an eternity. 

❄ ❄

The time goes by painfully slow. All that waiting, each minute taking longer than the last when you dip into the wine for something to occupy the time with. Who knows what these two are up to—

Hardly able to contain your eagerness any longer, you climb the steps after the promised ten minutes. Yujin's waiting right there in the doorway, standing completely naked and confident as ever with a devious look in her eye when you arrive.

"Took you long enough," she teases, grabbing your hand and leading the way inside the dark bedroom as she flicks the light switch on, illuminating the room with a soft glow. "Hope you're ready for your Christmas gift, daddy."

What Yujin steps aside to reveal is more than just a gift—Wonyoung all naked, tied up in your bed, and looking oh so vulnerable with her long arms above her head, slender wrists secured tight with red ribbons. The same treatment can be said for the rest of her delectable body, pale tits covered up in these festive ribbons all around that lead down to her flat stomach, so perfectly intricate and meticulously wrapped around her whole upper body. And the pattern doesn't end there, going even further, wrapping around those luscious legs of hers, bound together from her thighs down to her ankles, leaving her completely helpless and unable to move an inch.

Of all the things you expected this gift to be, this definitely wasn't on your radar—how all that red contrasts so perfectly against that milky white skin, a large bow right between her thighs covering just enough to tease. 

"Our little Christmas present. This pretty little slut all tied up just for daddy to unwrap," Yujin says, doing an exceptional job presenting Wonyoung. “Ready for daddy's big cock."

Your present has such a desperate look in her eyes, pretending to struggle with her restraints, the feel of ribbons on her naked body adding so much extra sensation. All for show, no doubt, because if there's anything Wonyoung loves more than being a brat, it's this—getting tied up and manhandled to your liking. 

"All yours, daddy." Yujin's voice has taken on this all too familiar sultry tone, smooth and breathy, practically an invitation on its own. "Have her any way you like. Use her like the good little fucktoy she is.” 

"Don't think I could ask for a better present.” 

That’s all you can manage to get out before Yujin dives into your lips with a rough kiss, tongue instantly invading your mouth, and Wonyoung can only stare helplessly from the bed while you devour one another. There's that greedy side Yujin lets out, nails digging into your skull as the kiss turns into something rougher, desperate, sloppy with saliva spilling down her lips and she shoves her tongue in further, getting a firm grip on your cock in the process. 

"P-please, daddy, need your cock—need it to ruin me so fucking bad. Want you to pound me like a fucking whore, daddy..."

Yujin gives a few full strokes to your cock that’s more than a little hard now, keeping you locked into the kiss while you moan into her mouth. "She's a little needy. Shoved a vibe in her while I was tying her up she's so fucking worked up for you. Made sure that pretty cunt got all nice and soaking wet.” 

"So thoughtful of you,” you say, stroking the back of Yujin's head as you gaze intently at Wonyoung on the bed, whimpering so pathetically as those bound thighs squeeze together, desperate for any friction.

"But before you do anything, daddy—let me warm your cock up just a little first. Our hungry little slut can wait a bit longer."

You don't even need to look over to know there's a pout forming when Yujin drops to her knees. Then there’s that warm fucking mouth sinking down, lips wrapped around your cock, sucking with such fervor from the very start. You can't help but groan deeply and Wonyoung has no choice but to watch from her helpless position.

All that warm saliva soaks every inch, like she can't get enough of your cock. Those soft lips glide along your length while Yujin bobs her head up and down—every motion filled with need, staring straight at you until she hits the base. 

"Shit, fucking hell, Yujin—" you mutter in amazement, because no matter how many times she gives these sloppy wet blowjobs, you can never quite get over how incredible that mouth is. How talented, how experienced she is at using every single tool in her arsenal, hands gripping tightly on your thighs to get every single inch down her throat, absolutely covered in messy warm saliva. 

Yujin doesn't even gag, slurping on your shaft and hollowing her cheeks, swallowing every last inch down until her lips press tight to your base, holding there as long as possible—

All that follows is a loud, lewd pop as Yujin withdraws entirely, lips now latched onto your heavy balls, giving them such a good slurp while stroking your cock that’s absolutely soaked with spit along the whole length. She makes such exaggerated slurps with those full lips around your sensitive sack, lips locked tight, humming deeply while keeping you in that intense gaze. The way she works your balls over with her tongue, rolling them so slowly, trapping them into her hot mouth has you raring to go. 

"Mm, your balls are so full and delicious, daddy,” Yujin breathes out, with a line of drool spilling from those gorgeous lips. "I could suck on them all fucking day, but you've got a needy little brat to breed."

One look over at your gift, so tempting, tied up, and tantalizing, and you have to agree, especially when the only thing you want is to ruin that warm, wet little cunt. There's no denying the effort Yujin's put into such sloppy sucking, getting your cock slick and primed to pump out another full load by the time you're done with your gift.

You don’t need to do anything else but climb the bed, unsure where to even start when Wonyoung is all wrapped up, every inch of that pale skin so flawless, all but begging for your touch. "Look at you, princess. You look so pretty like this, don't you think? All tied up and just for me."

"Daddy, please—" is all Wonyoung manages to get out, her whining interrupted as you place a finger on her pouting lips.

"Don't you worry, princess. I'm gonna use my Christmas gift just the way you deserve," you say, and loosen the red bow right between Wonyoung's thighs, not a bit surprised to find her dripping. She’s exactly how Yujin promised, looking so deliciously inviting and wet, the perfect place to bury your cock inside. "Your pretty cunt is gonna look so good pumped full of cum once I’m done with you.” 

"Yes daddy, make me your little cum dump. Use your gift and breed me until I'm leaking. I need you so bad..."

You decide to leave the ribbon around her tits for now, all that decorative red highlighting their shape, nipples no doubt just aching to be sucked and teased. The more your gaze lingers, the hungrier you become, taking a moment to enjoy the sight before you leave a trail of kisses all the way down.

And finally, when you've made your way to those bound-up thighs, you get a good grip on the ribbon with your teeth and tug. In one easy motion, you free that ribbon from those delicious legs and they spread apart on instinct—such a pretty sight to see that slick pussy just aching for your cock, perfectly wet and inviting. 

"So fucking beautiful," you say, and poor Wonyoung can't even touch herself like this. She’s so willingly at your mercy and can’t even show off her wetness to you like she usually does—but you'll get a good view from where you are, feel exactly how soaking wet she is when you slide right in. 

Reaching underneath, you get a good firm grip on her hips to pull her helpless body closer so you can tease her, sliding the head of your cock between those glistening lower lips. She’s all desperate when she groans, which only makes it more satisfying to watch her wriggle in these binds as you deny her the initial pleasure.

Before she can even open her mouth to complain, you're lifting her long, slender legs up in the air, resting them right on your shoulders, and getting a good look at where your cock is about to sink right in. Yujin appears right beside you then, kneeling on the bed, so very interested in witnessing you defiling this brat. 

"Hope you don't mind me watching you fill our present, daddy," Yujin says sweetly, planting a soft kiss on your cheek before shifting attention onto Wonyoung. 

"Not at all. Little slut loves an audience watching her get ruined. Isn't that right, princess?"

Wonyoung only manages to elicit a long whimper, face flushed a pretty shade of pink when your cock teases at her drenched entrance, a clear sign that yes, she does. Those legs rest nicely on your shoulders as you caress them, toes curling already from how close you are to being inside—and just like that, you give one pop of your hips, sinking deep, plunging the entirety of your length inside.

"Oh fuck, daddy!" she cries out as you fill her to the base with one rough thrust. "M-more, it's so good daddy, fill my pussy with your fucking cock, fill me so fucking good, ah—"

She’s so goddamn drenched that it’s impossible to do anything else. Her hot cunt swallows up your length right down to the very base as you bottom out with ease, impaling Wonyoung balls fucking deep without resistance. 

“Shit, princess—love your cunt, love how tight you are,” you growl out, and nothing else feels better than the pure heat and wetness that comes along with being inside Wonyoung. It’s heavenly, how she clenches around every throbbing inch, once you're hilted deep, determined to never let you out of that hot, velvety grip.

"Your pretty little pussy loves daddy's cock, doesn't it? Creaming all over him the second he fills you right up," Yujin purrs, getting such a good view from her position, how your cock impales that dripping cunt with so little effort. The fact that you haven't even really begun, only a single slow series of strokes so far, and she's already a soaked mess, squirming all around in these restraints, what's left of the ribbons clinging tight to that smooth porcelain flesh.

All this warm, slippery flesh that hugs your cock—Wonyoung is so fucking tight that it’s maddening. 

Despite getting railed good and often by the both of you, those velvety walls always clench up so impossibly tight around your shaft as it stretches her open, just like the first time. 

"Can’t imagine how tight you’re squeezing his huge cock, making daddy feel so damn good—princess must be so desperate to empty his balls straight into your womb. Is that what you want, baby? A nice, big, thick creampie, filling up this greedy little pussy?"

The lewd, depraved things that leave Yujin's lips are more than enough encouragement to keep this momentum building, pumping your cock in and out of Wonyoung’s wet heat like you belong there, buried all the way inside while those pale legs dangle from your shoulders.

"F-fuck, daddy, feels so good when you fuck me, when you're balls deep, so fucking deep—just ruin me, ruin daddy's pretty little slut, please…” 

So easy to oblige her when she’s begging like this, that you can’t help hugging those creamy long legs while you piston your hips at a merciless pace. So easy to see the desperation in her eyes, and the harder you move, the more erratic she gasps out while you ram your cock through all the wet flesh of her slick cunt, the sound of skin on skin echoing around the room. 

“God, princess—you feel so incredible,” you groan, hips relentless as you plunge so deep. Somewhere along the way, Yujin slides up next to Wonyoung, encouraging that stream of pathetic noises, each sweet moan punctuating your harsh thrusts.

"Just listen to her, daddy. Listen how she enjoys that big fucking cock rearranging her guts—pretty little whore is about to cum any second now, isn't she?" Yujin asks, her fingers dancing across Wonyoung's chest, tracing the intricate details of the red ribbons clinging tightly to her smooth, silky skin. "Wanna give her what she wants? Get this slut all folded up and maybe she'll cum a little faster for you?"

Without a doubt, you know Wonyoung would love nothing more than that, your cock just plunging inside, pounding deep inside over and over again—

So you do exactly what Yujin suggests, pushing both legs forward towards her head, until her knees almost hit her shoulders. Then you've got her all folded in half, the perfect position to hit even deeper, putting those flexible limbs to good use, arms still helplessly tied together. “D-daddy!” 

And that's when you give a rough slam back inside her dripping cunt, immediately having the intended effect when you bottom out so easily at such a different angle, your heavy balls slamming right up against her ass while you drive all those loud cries out of her mouth—

"D-daddy, fuck! So fucking deep, s-shit, you're gonna make me cum, oh please, g-gonna make me fucking cum!"

When her words devolve into desperate babbles, that's when you know you're doing something right. You’re driving every inch into her, leaving that cunt so impossibly slick when you pound into that flesh that grips without relent. 

"There you go, daddy, keep fucking her like that. Use this pretty little fuckdoll until she's gushing all over your huge cock," Yujin encourages from beside, turning all her focus now onto Wonyoung as she leans right in to wrap a hand around that pale throat, squeezing firmly, and fuck—

Wonyoung just falls apart. Then she's just whimpering, every sound she tries to make barely audible when she's cumming on your cock, eyes rolling to the back of her head. There's nothing more beautiful, listening to her broken moans, how she's downright sobbing from the pleasure, letting you ruin her as she drenches your entire cock, that climax flooding out like a broken fucking faucet and threatening to shove you right out. 

But instead, it just makes you pound into her that much harder, fucking her near delirious as she makes such a mess, gushing all over you while you keep pounding away until she's a shaking, trembling wreck.

"Look at our pretty present, cumming so fucking hard while you destroy that pussy," Yujin says, getting an even tighter grip around Wonyoung's neck, applying enough pressure to watch the girl's expression crumble. "That pussy is so good, isn't it? Wrapped around that big fucking cock of yours, must be so fucking desperate for your cum to be dumped inside.” 

She’s not even a little wrong, that wetness covering your whole length, your balls completely slick from just how Wonyoung absolutely floods out, and you’re not far behind.

"Princess, fuck—“you groan, pounding away into that dripping heat, this filthy squelch coming from between her legs growing even louder the longer you plunge deep. “Gonna fucking fill you right up, gonna breed you, empty everything inside this pretty fucking cunt." 

Wonyoung can't even form enough words to beg, hair matted all over her sweat-covered forehead, body going limp while you keep using her body like she’s built to be a toy. And then Yujin's suddenly there, right behind you, fingers cradling your balls so delicately while your cock pistons in and out of this heat—

"Can't wait to watch you breed this fucking cumslut. Want you to dump everything into her cunt, empty your balls, make her leak all of that thick creamy load everywhere," Yujin says, voice so sultry, hot breath all over you as those fingers squeeze so dangerously close. 

Unsurprisingly, Yujin doesn't stop there, fingers stimulating all sorts of sensitive areas, like she can feel everything that needs to be drained, each firm squeeze causing a jolt through your entire body. 

That hot breath moves away for only a fleeting moment, with Yujin abandoning her grasp on your balls while you keep those hips churning, sending a barrage of thrusts into that wet, hot vice of Wonyoung's pussy. And before you have time to miss Yujin’s touch, her tongue, slick and hot all at once starts teasing your ass, tongue prodding slowly and meticulously.

You can't even respond with anything but groans of appreciation, losing your train of thought each time Yujin gets her tongue buried so deep, taking such good care of you, urging you to blow your load inside Wonyoung. 

And god—that mouth does wonders as Yujin toys around the rim of your ass, making all sorts of sinful noises behind you. Through these intense licks, her hand works up a firm massage for those cum-filled balls, and you don't know which does more damage, or if it's simply a combination of both that sends you over the edge—but you can't resist anymore. 

"Breed me daddy, breed me so fucking full, need your hot fucking seed inside—p-please, please, cum in me. Want your hot fucking load in me, empty those huge fucking balls right in my little pussy, fuck, please please please—"

Hearing your helpless little gift so needy, pleading frantically for you to finish in her, mouth hanging open, with drool spilling down those red lips, that's what does you in. 

One final slam, balls deep into her tight, needy little pussy, and you don't waste a second unloading it all—pumping the biggest load, so fucking thick and heavy straight into her cunt. Each shot is so powerful, Yujin's tongue back in play, pressed right up against your asshole, making you groan even more while the palm of her hand gently massages and rolls your swollen, heavy balls around, coaxing every last drop from them to empty you completely. 

All that sticky warmth that empties endlessly into Wonyoung, painting the slick depths of her insides white—and it makes her squirt out even more, flooding all around your cum-coated length still buried deep inside as you fill her up, all the way to her womb. 

You’ve already unloaded so much inside, fucking it deeper until it's overflowing back out. Only when Yujin pulls her tongue from your ass do your thrusts finally stop, an absolute deluge of hot, thick seed that she's delighted to see leak out of Wonyoung when you gradually pull out. 

"Look at that," Yujin says with so much delight in her voice, getting an up-close view of the mess you've just made and having herself a taste. She laps it all right up with her eager tongue, slurping so loudly at the mix of your hot cum and that nectar from Wonyoung. “Dumped so fucking much into our little cumslut. Mm, fuck, that pussy must feel so full with daddy's hot load leaking out…” 

Between the panting, the heavy breaths, chest still heaving, Wonyoung gives a small little nod while you rest at the side of the bed, cock still glistening with a complete mess of your cum and hers. 

Yujin however, has all the energy in the world as she cleans up the aftermath, hands gripping so tightly onto Wonyoung’s milky thighs, face buried deep in between. She's every bit selfish, tongue dragging up to lick through those delicious cum-covered folds, so satisfied when she gathers up what leaks out. 

"Daddy’s cum tastes so fucking good when it's been pumped inside this needy slut," Yujin says, getting back to work sucking up the remnants of your huge dripping load. She's so ravenous when it comes to cleaning Wonyoung up, taking another indulgent lick right down the center, chin nearly glazed already. "So fucking messy too.”

For her part, all Wonyoung does is moan and whine as Yujin gives a few slaps to that already sensitive cunt, and you’re just watching all the wetness transfer from Wonyoung's heat into that eager mouth, who devours it all so happily. 

Were you not entirely exhausted, you'd be tempted to get right behind, slide into Yujin’s heavenly cunt, and empty whatever you have left into her next. Still might, but you're entirely useless at the moment, letting these two indulge themselves.

"Yujinnie—" Wonyoung whines, voice ragged from being thoroughly wrecked, but tone so very needy, as if begging for another release. And Yujin gets her lips sealed right on that engorged clit, giving exactly what Wonyoung desires. 

"Doesn't look like our present's tired yet. Should we untie her so she can empty your balls again? Maybe have her take your cock deep into that perfect ass while I ride your face? Sounds fun, doesn't it, daddy?"

Nothing sounds better. Maybe you don't need a respite just yet after all. 

❄ ❄

After round two (and then three and then four), a change of scenery is needed. So you all share a shower, change into comfy, festive pajamas, and head over to the spacious couch in the living room. The scent of pine permeates throughout the whole room, with this massive Christmas tree lit up with colorful lights the center of attention. 

There's no better time to indulge in the holiday spirit, lazing about on the couch where you find yourself pleasantly trapped between Yujin and Wonyoung, cuddling up alongside you for warmth while some cheesy Christmas movie plays in the background. 

The snow really starts coming down, heavier by the minute, enough that you'll be stuck inside—not that there's a reason to venture outdoors. Especially not when you have everything you could possibly want right here, hot cocoa, an excessive number of cookies, and the two prettiest girls on campus all over you.

"Merry Christmas, daddy," Yujin says seemingly out of nowhere, finding a nice spot to rest her head right upon your chest, playing with the pom-pom at the end of your hat. Not exactly what you pictured wearing for the entire night, but it's so impossible to say no to Yujin's requests, so you'll wear whatever she puts on you to keep that smile on her face.

"Merry Christmas, Yudolph.” You can hardly finish the sentence without laughing at that ridiculous headband, reindeer antlers looking so cute atop her pretty head.

"No fair, you can't just steal my nickname," Wonyoung complains from the other side, grabbing a cookie from the plate on the coffee table. She feeds you the first bite before shoving the rest into her mouth, so unprincess-like the way she scarfs the rest down. 

"Why not, princess? What's yours is mine, anyway," Yujin replies, planting a kiss right on your cheek as proof. Wonyoung hardly stays mad, too caught up in eating another cookie before wiping the crumbs away from her mouth. She's almost embarrassed by the kiss that Yujin then plants on the corner of her lip, quickly flustered and so out of character, even though Yujin has never been shy to hide her affection. 

"Daddy is all mine, so that means you are too, Yudolph," Wonyoung counters, planting a little kiss to both of your faces, getting cute giggles from Yujin in response.

"Wow, did our princess finally learn how to share?" you ask, poorly stifling a laugh. 

"Don't count on it," Yujin says rather bluntly, still bouncing your pom-pom around with her fingers. "Anyway, it's almost midnight. What did Santa bring us tonight?"

"Hmm, what did he bring us, what's in these gifts?" Wonyoung asks so innocently, looking at the assortment of presents sitting near the tree, like there's more than just the three of you in this room. "A brand-new sexy set of lingerie and heels for Yujinnie? Maybe that leather catsuit you were talking about the other day..."

Yujin gets this little smirk on her face when she hears Wonyoung mention such a thought.

"And what about me?" Wonyoung continues. "I hope Santa brought me more outfits, I could use a new dress and lots of cute skirts to model for daddy—" 

"I don't think the princess gets anything after being on the naughty list this year," you add, earning a very cute pout from Wonyoung. 

"Isn't that every year for her?" Yujin asks, chuckling because she knows how true it is, not that being a brat never stops her from taking such pride in it.

"Hey, I deserve a nice present too, after all the times I'm on my knees. Santa better reward me well this year," Wonyoung says, whining so dramatically.

"Doesn't he reward you enough? Filling you up every time you sit on his lap?" Yujin asks, rather rhetorically, and this conversation might be the end of you.

"As if I could ever get enough of daddy pulling my hair and spanking my ass red. I'm on the top of the naughty list for a reason." 

You have a very hard time not laughing at how utterly ridiculous and proud that statement is.

"Well, don't worry princess. We have something very special for you," Yujin reassures, giving her one more peck on the forehead. "So, wanna get Santa his gift? I think we've all been plenty naughty anyway,"

"Nuh-uh, I'm not moving an inch. Daddy's too warm and comfy for me to get up," Wonyoung says in protest, snuggling into the crook of your neck and wrapping her arms even tighter around your chest. Yujin can't exactly argue there, joining in to ensure you can't possibly move, trapping you so nicely between the both of them.

"Too warm and comfy," Yujin repeats, and you're more than content to never move from this spot ever again. It's the kind of warmth you never want to leave, especially not on a night as chilly as this one, the perfect excuse to spend hours cooped up by the fireplace together.

"Merry Christmas, daddy—" They both say in unison as the clock finally strikes midnight. "You're not going anywhere, we won't let you."

This is absolutely the best present you could ask for.

[solxamber]

Shot Through the Heart || Jade Leech

As a senior Cupid with a 100% matchmaking rate, your flawless record crumbles before your eyes when Jade Leech resists every arrow you shoot.

Cupid work was supposed to be simple. Straightforward. Shoot the arrow, spark the love, then vanish into the ether like a matchmaking ninja. And the best part? No one could see you while you were on the job. Humans couldn’t detect cupids unless you wanted them to—basic enchantment stuff.

It was foolproof. Bulletproof. Idiot-proof.

Until Jade Leech came along.

Now you were crouched on an invisible cloud in the Mostro Lounge, clutching your bow like a deranged sniper, trying for the fifth time today to make this slippery eel fall in love. Normally, one arrow would be enough. Two, tops. But no. Jade had managed to evade your efforts so many times you were starting to think he had some kind of love-repellent aura.

Your first attempt had been textbook—clean shot, perfect match, zero complications. You’d aimed at a sweet marine biology student sitting at the table he was standing at. She laughed at his jokes and even complimented his creepy mushroom collection. Prime material.

The arrow sailed through the air, shimmering with cupid magic, and… thunked directly into a potted kelp plant.

You blinked. That had never happened before.

Jade, meanwhile, tilted his head slightly, like he’d heard something. Which was impossible. He couldn’t see or hear you. That’s not how this worked.

“Strange,” he murmured, sipping his tea.

“Strange?” you hissed under your breath, ducking behind a kelp column for cover. “You don’t even know the half of it, buddy.”

Your second attempt was a waiter. He’d nervously approached Jade’s table to compliment the décor. You’d immediately pulled another arrow and lined up the shot. He was sweet, polite, and had a thing for tall, mysterious men with creepy hobbies. A perfect match.

The arrow zipped toward him—only to ricochet off Jade’s glass of water and hit a chandelier. It exploded in a shower of pink sparkles, which Jade observed with a calm “My, how festive.”

Meanwhile, Azul was screaming in the background about cleaning bills, and you were screaming internally about your reputation.

By the third attempt, you were desperate. A nice guy had wandered over to ask about the specials. Surely, surely, this would be the one.

Nope.

The arrow missed entirely, grazed a wine bottle, and smacked Azul square in the back of the head right when he was looking at a mirror. He froze, then his face took on a soft, dreamy expression that would haunt your nightmares forever.

“Wow,” Azul said breathlessly. “Your eyes are like a summer tidepool…” to himself.

You gagged. Jade, of course, looked directly at your hiding spot with that smile.

By attempt number seven, you were sweating. How could one man be so impervious to love? It wasn’t natural. The Association would have to send in a research team to study him after this.

You waited until a shy customer approached Jade to ask about the menu. He blushed when Jade smiled at him. Perfect. This was it.

You drew your bow, steadied your breath, and—

“You’re working very hard up there, aren’t you?”

You froze.

No. He couldn’t have. He didn’t.

You turned, heart pounding, to see Jade looking directly at you. You were still invisible—he shouldn’t have been able to—but that smug, knowing expression said otherwise.

“Oh, for the love of—”

Your hand slipped.

The arrow flew.

And it hit you.

In the foot.

There was a pause. A long, horrible pause, as the enchantment spread through your body.

“Oh no,” you whispered. “Oh no, no, no—”

It hit your chest. The realization came immediately, like a freight train of romantic doom. You were going to fall in love with Jade Leech.

From below, Jade tilted his head, a picture of polite curiosity. “Everything all right?”

“No,” you groaned, clutching your face. “Nothing is all right. Everything is the opposite of all right.”

Your heart was already beating faster, your palms sweating. You peeked out from behind the kelp column to see Jade still watching you, his mismatched eyes glittering with amusement.

“Interesting,” he murmured, taking another sip of tea.

And that’s when it hit you. He’d been doing this on purpose. He wasn’t just immune to cupid magic—he knew.

“Oh, you smug little eel,” you hissed. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

He didn’t answer, of course. He just smiled.

And for the first time in your long, illustrious career as a senior cupid, you realized you were in big, big trouble.

Masterlist

might do a part 2 lol

[thecheshireprincess]

Hidden in Plain Sight

Shuntarō Chishiya x F!Reader

Summary: Chishiya takes you on the roof of the hotel; will any of the partying Beach citizens notice?

Content Warning: NSFW (18+); porn WITHOUT plot, smutty smut, just smut fr, breeding kink (bc i can't fucking stop), sex in public, curse words, Chishiya is possessive and a little bit OOC (but who cares bc it's literally porn, anyone can be whatever in porn!)

I won't tell anyone what or what not to do, but please interact responsibly ✨️

AO3 Link Here

A/N: Oops, I slipped and I posted this

This might be a two parter? When you get to the end, let me know if you're thinking what I'm thinking 😜

"Chishiya!" you cry out with a whine, the man's long fingers easily finding your clit as he bends you over the sun warmed concrete ledge in front of you. Your mind is hazy with your desire for the blonde, the obscene sounds of his cock driving in and out of your soaked pussy only serving to spur you on. The man moans in earnest, his left hand moving from pinching one of your peaked nipples to splay itself across your soft belly. He had been thinking things recently, and imagining your belly rounded with his seed right now was going to make him explode.

You both had an excellent view of the players gathered around the pool below you, their laughter and the clinking of beer bottles merging effortlessly with the bass of the upbeat music they were swaying to. Each and every one of them none-the-wiser to you getting railed in plain sight above them. For now.

"I've never felt you drip for me like this, angel. Thought you said you weren't into public sex?" he challenges with an arched brow as he continues rutting into you at a leisurely tempo, his long cock imprinting itself deliciously on your cervix as your ass jiggles from the force.

Breathlessly, you whimper not so convincingly, "I'm n-not. And nearly all of The Beach is down there - what if they s-see us?" The Cheshire man grins wickedly at this, "Then you'd better keep quiet if you don't want them to look up and see you getting fucked dumb."

Chishiya had you pinned against the ledge of the roof, your body humming with the electric current of your arousal. You had to hand it to him, you had been violently opposed to getting fucked where other people could see you when he'd suggested it, but honestly you are enjoying the thrill of potentially being caught underneath the blonde man.

Chishiya forces your nearly bare skin to dig into the concrete, the material biting into your senses as his chest presses against your back. The man runs his warm tongue against the column of your throat, sucking and nipping his mark into the sensitive skin. He works his way down your shoulders and ribcage, heat spreading like wildfire throughout you. A tiny, sweet moan escapes you at the thought of his marks littering your body.

He didn't care if you were caught by the entire Beach, in fact, he welcomed it. At least then all those idiots would know you belong to him. They all would soon, anyway, he hoped. A low moan escapes him at the thought, fucking into you with a particularly rough thrust against the spongey spot inside you, both of your heads quickly growing foggy with lust.

You whimper pathetically, eyes rolling back in your head and legs beginning to shake from the position he had you pressed in. Leaning your weight forward onto the concrete in front of you, you sink your teeth into your forearm to prevent your sounds from alerting the public to your position. That will not do, Chishiya decides, pressing one hand into your lower back, and wrapping your hair around the other to lift your torso towards him. "Let them hear how good I make you feel, baby."

Both of you groan in harmony at the new angle the arch in your back provides, the bulbous head of his cock reaching new depths of your wet heat, making tears spring to the corners of your eyes. Your pussy flutters around him, making him suck in a sharp breath.

Without missing a single stroke, Chishiya lifts your body and flips you over, laying your back flat on the wall with one hand protecting your head. His soft hands trail down to grip your waist, stroking up your ribcage and taking one breast in each hand, thumbs finding your nipples and pinching them as he continues his thrusts. "Shiya . . ." You whine, feeling the familiar coil start to tighten in your belly.

The man growls, digging his nails into your hips and fucking into you with abandon, his pelvis providing friction against your sensitive bud. Your legs wrap tight around Chishiya's waist, hands coming to grasp his surprisingly muscular biceps through his white jacket for support. You allow your head to fall back against the concrete, staring up at the gorgeous man above you, the sun glinting off his blonde hair giving him a halo.

A goddess. Chishiya loves the way he splits you open on his cock, every inch of him stretching your tight little pussy. Your eyes half-lidded and mouth hanging open, you're nearly drooling on yourself. Fuck, you're going to kill him. Beads of sweat begin to form against both of you, dripping down and mixing with your other fluids.

You don't technically belong to Chishiya, but damn if he doesn't want you to. You with your gorgeous eyes, your perfect mouth, and fuck this tight pussy. His perfect idea of heaven would be stuck between your legs for all time.

Under him, you begin to babble and whine. Your pretty little moans go straight to the man's cock, and he knows he is going to cum if he doesn't slow things down.

Chishiya grabs tightly onto your thighs, fingers marking the plush skin as he pulls out of you quickly, dropping to his knees between your legs. You're just about to complain about the loss when he suctions his lips around your swollen clit, stuffing two fingers inside your tight, fluttering core. A surprised squeal escapes your throat and you instantly clap a palm over your mouth in embarrassment. Shit.

"Tastes so good for me, baby. So sweet," he praises, the vibrations from his mouth moving like shockwaves through you. Pathetic whimpers leave you as you watch Chishiya move between your legs through thick eyelashes. When his dexterous fingers curl against your spongey spot, you squeal again involuntarily. The man looks up at you with wide, mischieveous eyes - he wants the players to look up and see you.

What a treat it would be for them to get to see you look like this, a goddess that they'll never get to touch. Not as long as he's around to fill you. Not if he can help it.

Your body wriggles adorably against him, whether you want more friction or less, Chishiya can't tell. Your moans have morphed to weakened pants, your entire body wrought with tension as he laps his tongue erotically against your swollen bud.

"Shiya! P-please," you gasp out, hands gripping hard into his blonde locks. He raises an eyebrow up at you from where he's positioned on his knees for you. "Please what, angel?" he questions, fingers still scissoring in and out of your squelching wet pussy.

"I wanna cum on your cock!" you wail in admission, still desperate to be filled but not by his fingers. With one final obscene slurp of your arousal, the man stands up and in one swift motion has your pussy stretched around his cock once more.

Your legs come to wrap tightly around his waist, the man leaning his weight down onto you as he ruts into you. You can feel the way his abs tighten a little bit, Chishiya is close too. The flames of your impending orgasm lick up your abdomen from your core, extending into your ribcage.

"Shiya! Gonna c-cum!" you wail, clearly having abandoned the concern about being fucked just feet above the rest of The Beach partaking in their pool party. You just want to feel good.

"Fuuck, angel. I'm close too, cum for me baby," he nearly begs, reaching between your bodies to rub tight circles on your soaked clit. The extra stimulation and Chishiya's dirty words do it for you, you see stars with one final thrust and your entire body is flooded euphorically with your high. You know you cry out loudly, but the blood rushing in your hears prevents you from hearing, caring.

The way your entire body shudders underneath him is stunning, your tight pussy clamping down on Chishiya's cock and inspiring his own orgasm. Thick ropes of white coat your womb, the man moaning your name as he fills you with his warmth so well.

His sweaty forehead comes to rest on yours as you both pant desperately for air. Chishiya presses his soft lips against yours, gentle but filled with tenderness. When he pulls away to look at you, body limp, pretty polka dot bikini skewed, and eyes shining up at him as though he gave you the world - holy shit. What is this feeling?

He gently adjusts the top of your bikini first, hands trailing along your sides in his ministrations as goosebumps erupt across your skin. He finally pulls his softening cock out of you, tongue clicking at the gorgeous sight of his cum leaking out of you. The man kneels between your legs again, trailing his fingers up through your puffy folds to push his cum back inside you. Your body shivers at the sensation and the erotic implication of the gesture. He straightens your bikini bottoms too, looking up at you with a darkened look on his face. You swallow thickly as he runs a warm hand over your lower belly, a flicker of something appearing behind his eyes.

"Keep my cum inside you, angel. I'll have to fill you again and keep you in bed for days if you don't," he commands, tone serious. Your eyes widen but lustful heat burns in your belly once more. You wouldn't mind being stuck in bed with Chishiya for days, nor would you mind being filled with his cum over and over.

As you come back down from your high, your body feels like putty. It takes nearly all of your strength to roll over and look out at the party down below. The people of The Beach are still splashing and gyrating below you, not a single one of them looking in your direction. Just as you grin, thinking you might have gotten away with it, you feel a burning gaze lingering on your absolutely wrecked body.

Niragi's lustful gaze stares up at you from his place on a daybed, twirling his rifle between his hands. Chishiya notices too, smirking and giving the man a smug and nonchalant wave.

The absolute audacity.

♤ ♡ ◇ ♧

Everything Tag List: @potato-vagina

Please don't hesitate to let me know if you want to be added to (or removed from) any of my tag lists! You can specify if there's a character you like or if you want to see everything. Also, my asks and messages are open, PLEASE reach out, I would literally die to interact with you; ily guys endlessly 💕✨️

[megapteraurelia]

EPITHIMIA. — charm #1 — what was gojo up to?

☾ SUMMARY; — gojo satoru can't help but include others in his shenanigans, especially when it's about annoying megumi and you. or: extra scenes of chapter two.

☾ WARNINGS; — fem!reader; enemies to lovers; forced proximity; attempted character study?? (badly done!!); angst; gojo is a menace as per usual!!; slight politicking; TW: mention of blood, death, hospital

☾ WORD COUNT; — 5,858.

☾ AUTHOR'S NOTE; — sorry it took so long! this one's not my absolute favourite, but i've been itching and anxious to get it out, so i hope you enjoy it regardless!

i would love to hear your thoughts!!

— back to masterlist.

14th of April; 08:00. — ijichi kiyotaka.

It was mercifully quiet. For once.

Papers were stacked, cursed tool reports sorted, the mission schedule sitting in front of him, printed in neat columns and, weirdly enough, colour-coded with an enthusiasm that Ijichi Kiyotaka rarely encountered in this field of work.

Well, by anybody other than Gojo Satoru, of course. The fact that the thought entered his head had his collar feel tighter already. He ignored the urge to fix his tie.

Instead, Ijichi stared at the sheet of paper like it was about to explode any second, like it was a minefield hiding a nasty surprise. It surely would not be the first time that happened.

Birds faintly chirped through the cracked window and somewhere down the hallway, a door slammed. The air hummed with a low pulse of daily life, of a world that never stopped moving.

The smell of lukewarm tea drifted from the cup at his elbow. It had gone cold whilst he worked, but he didn't bother replacing it. Cold tea, like most things in the Jujutsu world, was a compromise. A sign that peace was temporary, and comfort was optional.

Ijichi's eyes flicked away from the schedule for a moment. He thought about the dry cleaning he'd meant to pick up yesterday: the suit that still waited neglected at the shop on the corner, hanging on a rack. Maybe he would have time to go pick it up after this. Or at least enough time to call and extend the pickup deadline. Again.

The day's small errand nagged at the back of his mind. On the priority list of all the things he would have to finish before the day ended, his clothes ranked medium to low. There was the Honoured One's order at the bakery. At seven in the morning, he had received a call from the white-haired teacher, calling in advance to make sure his fancy, elaborate, excessive assortment of pastry would be picked up today as well.

Ijichi listened. He would go stand in line at a bakery nestled in the wealthiest part of Tokyo, would wait amongst polished shoes and designer handbags to pick up an array of patisserie: five éclairs, two mill-feuille, something including an obscene amount of black sesame as well as whatever else his sweet tooth was persuading the sorcerer to choose. All for someone who could, without lifting a single finger, teleport into the kitchen and take them himself.

He didn't have to; if anything, he doubted Gojo Satoru would acknowledge or appreciate the small kindness within the chaotic schedule. He doubted the strongest sorcerer even really remembered who he called to bring him the pastries each time.

To Gojo Satoru, the world was full of things that simply appeared: sweet things, annoying things, cursed things. Reliably so. Forgettably so.

Ijichi Kiyotaka, who existed somewhere in that blur, listened, still. He always did.

For all the curses roaming the earth, and for all the sorcerers too powerful to be tethered to the ground, Ijichi had to stay grounded. He didn't have a technique worth naming. No raw strength. No title the students feared. But he could organise. He could coordinate, he could make sure that everything in between could and would run as smoothly as possible.

So he listened and allowed the mundane and the monstrous to blend together in his life. Everyday tasks sat uneasily next to cursed tool inventories, mission planning right above — or under, if it were to be how Gojo Satoru liked — the éclairs.

He glanced at the schedule sitting in front of him again, fingers tapping absently against the wood of his desk. Two names stood out, highlighted in a pastel pink. The ink was already dry and there was a tiny heart drawn between the names: a childish decoration in the midst of a professional document.

His palm found his forehead with a sigh. He wasn't stupid. He had known Gojo Satoru for way too long, and had seen far too much to believe this was anything but intentional meddling. Forcing interaction was, after all, his favourite type of mentorship. Regrettably.

He reached for his tea, now long cold, and took a sip. Just as he set the cup back down, the door burst open and the devil personified entered, a drink in hand.

"Good morning, Ijichi!" Gojo sang, long legs already having slinked across the room to lean over Ijichi's shoulder like there was nothing more important than curing his boredom. He slurped loudly from his straw, the little ice cubes clinking together, "Whatcha workin' on?"

Ijichi sighed again, a perpetual frown on his face, "The mission schedule. Same as every monday."

"Ohhh, right."

Gojo Satoru said it like he didn't care to sound like he absolutely knew the answer. He leaned a bit lower, strands of his hair tickling Ijichi's left cheek, "So, who ended up on that Saitama recon again?"

Ijichi didn't look at him, but he felt the expectant hum of Gojo's to indulge the sorcerer in his silly nonsense. Instead, his finger, despite not having to, ran over the bright ink, and Gojo tilted his head like he was reading it for the first time. He even added a gasp of surprise, "No way. Again? Wow, what a crazy little coincidence!"

This time, he did look over. Stared at him, long and hard, "You finalised the assignments yesterday, Gojo-sensei."

There was a brilliant smile on Gojo's lips, though his voice full of exaggerated innocence, "Did I now? Fate seemed to take the wheel from me."

Fate, Ijichi thought, was powerless in the face of Gojo Satoru.

He knew that. Practically everyone did.

Gojo Satoru walked through walls like they didn't exist, rewrote rules just by choosing to ignore them. It was no coincidence that Fushiguro Megumi and the exchange student from Kyoto were paired up again, and it was sure not fate. It was Gojo's hand, deliberate and delicate.

For all he chose and curated, for all the focus he put forth, for all the weight he carried — still, he was exhausting. Incredibly so. A walking migraine, if he was forced to answer the unasked question of how he were to describe Gojo Satoru. But even then, with all the reverence he could muster, he would admit that he could not imagine the world without the safety that the Strongest Sorcerer allowed people to reside in.

"There's a heart. There's even colour-coding."

Gojo made a delighted noise; in between a half-gasp and a half-snort, "You noticed? I was going for a spring theme, rebirth, emotional healing, maybe romance, yadda, yadda. Who knows!"

Ijichi's voice was clipped, teetering on the edge between questioning authority and reminding the friend he's had for years upon years, a slight hesitation somewhere in the folds of his voice, "These are hostile environments, Gojo-sensei."

"I'm just encouraging healthy communication between colleagues."

"It's sabotage."

Gojo grinned, "Exactly. That's what I call mentorship."

Ijichi stared at him again. No matter how many times he saw Gojo like this, loud, flippant, careless — there was always that distant hum beneath it. The sound of something furious and too big for a world like this, with power that could level cities if he ever got tired of pretending to be harmless.

And yet, he still showed up.

Ijichi Kiyotaka didn't always agree with Gojo's methods. In fact, he frequently didn't. But what he understood better than most was this: Gojo Satoru didn't meddle unless he believed something could still be saved.

Ijichi never spoke of it, not because it wasn't his place to do so but also because all he had heard of it was through whispers behind hands. He could only see the aftermath of the days long passed: when the strongest sorcerer in the world stood too still after a mission, the days when his jokes fell flat, or when he seemed to linger in the silence between laughter like he was listening for a voice that wasn't coming back.

He didn't need the details. He'd seen how that one loss had carved itself so very strongly into the way Gojo taught, the way he shielded, the way he pushed his students toward each other like it might save them from the same kind of falling apart.

So no, he didn't always agree with Gojo's choices. He didn't like the manipulation, or the avoidance of responsibility. But he understood one thing: the penance.

16th of April; 16:13. — gojo satoru.

Gojo Satoru loved looking unserious.

It was half the point, really. He knew what people saw when they looked at him. Or, rather, what they thought they saw: the flippant tone, the lazy posture, the half-amused smile that rarely left his face.

That was fine. Let them believe it.

Sure, part of it was his ego. (Okay, a lot of it was ego.)

The rest, though? Was easier for the kids; made the world look a little less terrifying if even for a moment. If their teacher could laugh, lounge, crack jokes like it was a game, then maybe they'd start to believe they could survive it too. Maybe they'd believe they weren't alone, then.

Besides, most of the time, he also was bored out of his goddamn mind.

Spinning his phone between two fingers, he ignored the buzz of notifications he had no intention of reading. Across from him, Yuji and Nobara stood like they'd been summoned for execution.

Weird. He only wanted to talk.

Somehow, he couldn't help feeling a little flattered anyway.

"You two," he said, his voice slipping into a tone of one that held gravity, "are my most trusted servants."

Yuji blinked, his attention perking up at once as if the word servant was a compliment. Truly, the kid smiled at everything. Missions, breakfast, impending death. Honestly, it was impressive, endearing maybe, definitely a little concerning.

Gojo sometimes wondered if Yuji even noticed how depressing this whole sorcerer thing was supposed to be. He had seen him drop into a vicious curse and come out with a hand scratching his head, talking about "wow, that went better than expected!"

Not that Gojo minded.

It did make things easier; made it more entertaining too. There should be more people like that, he thought. Or at least people willing to laugh, willing to be loud and nosy, refusing to drown quietly. If nothing else, it kept the rot from settling in too deep.

Yuji didn't realise it but he did more than fight curses. Gojo watched him grin and shoot Nobara a confused thumbs-up.

Gojo could keep an eye on the darkness, let Yuji chase the sun.

That felt fair.

"We're literally the only ones here," Nobara cut in, her arms crossed, "and you're clearly trying to rope us into something dumb."

God, he loved her.

She saw through everything, sharp in a way that had people flinching. His bullshit didn't impress her, never had. And yet, she still showed up every time. She complained and she threw cutting words, rolled her eyes like she was competing in that sport (Gojo dreaded the day she'd become as good as Maki) but she also crowded around him, trained and fought like someone who had been born angry.

He thought that she reminds him — not of himself, that would be too easy — but of the version of himself he might have been if things had gone differently. If there had been less responsibility, more freedom. If he hadn't been expected to carry the weight of an entire generation on his back.

Well, she doesn't carry the world. No, she does something almost better, rarer, he found: she tried to fight it. She wouldn't have wanted his approval, so he didn't tell her.

Instead, he placed a hand to his chest, "That hurts, Kugisaki. And yet, entirely accurate."

Clapping his hands together once, he sat up.

"Anyway! I have a mission for you both."

Yuji leaned in, eyes lit up. Gojo thought he kind of looked like a dog like that, "Ooh, is it a high-level one? Do we get to punching? I've been working on a move, Gojo-sensei, you should see it. It goes like kapow-bow—"

Gojo caught Yuji's hand easily, tapping it once with his finger, "Sadly, no punching. At least not unless things go horribly wrong."

He paused for a second, because— "which would also be fine."

"What kind of mission?" Nobara's eyes narrowed. "Because I swear, Gojo-sensei, if it's going to run so long again that I'm going to miss my nail appointment again, I will sue you. Do you know how hard it is to get a same-day slot in Tokyo? They had those tiny cucumber water bottles and everything!"

Yuji blinked, "Can you sue your teacher?"

"Watch me."

Yuji leaned in, close, whispering behind a hand held up as if it was going to deter Gojo from understanding everything that was said. The subtlety of a brick, "Do you, like…already have a lawyer?"

"I have three," she snapped, "on speed dial."

"Make sure they're good, Kugisaki," Gojo checked his nails like he was the one being called into the briefing room to listen to what his teacher had to tell him, like he was the one being inconvenienced; a sly smile crossing his lips, "I don't like winning without a good fight."

Nobara scowled, "What is it now, sensei?"

"Emotional surveillance!"

Both, Yuji and Nobara blinked, though one with far more density behind their eyes. Then it shifted: soft confusion on Yuji's like he was trying to solve a riddle without realising that it didn't make any sense, and Nobara's had both, fury and fascination painted all over her features.

He went on, unbothered, of course, "Megumi and little Miss Exchange Student are on an assignment together— again, crazy coincidence, right? And I need both of you to poke around a little, stir the pot, add some spice, report back to me, you know the drill."

"You want us—" Nobara stopped to let it sink in, her tone already halfway resigned, "—to spy on them."

Yuji scratched the back of his neck, "Is that not a little like…invading their space? Like, maybe they just need time to work things out on their own?"

"Itadori," Gojo paused, solemn for exactly half a second, and dropped a hand onto Yuji's shoulder like he was breaking news of a fallen comrade.

There was a time and place for everything, and telling Yuji that he was right was for one, not on Gojo's agenda in any capacity, and two, also not the right time for if it had been.

He leaned in slightly, voice conspiratorially quieter, "Sometimes, the people who need the most help are the ones too proud to ask for it."

A firm clap to Yuji's shoulder, "Besides, we're not spying. It's just to see where we're at. Checking in, if you will. That's what teammates do."

"That sounds exactly like spying."

"Ah, youth," mournful like ever, "So naive. So full of of ethics and decency."

Dropping his gaze, a sigh escaping him softly, "You think I want to do this? No. This is a public service. An act of pure selflessness. Do you know how exhausting it is to walk into every mission debrief and feel the temperature drop twenty degrees?"

Yuji gave a helpless little shrug, "I mean…I do wish they'd stop being so weird around each other. It's kind of awkward."

"Exactly!" Gojo snapped his fingers, "See? Progress."

Yuji glanced at Nobara, and Nobara looked back. A wordless moment passed between them.

It was operation go.

21st of April; 18:02. — itadori yuji.

Yuji sat on a ledge, swinging his legs idly. He held his phone loosely in one hand, fiddling with it like there was no danger that it could slip his grasp and fall thirty feet down. If it did, his reflexes were probably fast enough to catch it immediately anyway.

Below, Megumi and you moved through the remnants of the cursed site of your mission; clearing wards, cleaning up residue, not saying a word to each other. Again.

Nobara had gone off to check for cursed pockets, whatever that meant. Though, Yuji suspected with a furrow in his eyebrows, that she just needed a break from the weird silence downstairs. He almost envied her. He definitely needed it, too.

He clicked open his phone, then navigated to his messages with Gojo-sensei. He stared at the expectant question for updates for a second, then sighed and hit record on the voice memo.

"Uhh, hey, Gojo-sensei. So…they, uh, didn't talk today. Again. but they did stare at each other for like…a full minute? It was just silence, though. Not, like, aggressively, but…silence-silence. Is that progress? Or…I dunno. Felt intense. Anyway. That's my update, I guess?"

When he listened back to his recording, he grimaced a little at his own voice, but hit send anyway.

His phone buzzed a heartbeat later, almost immediately.

A sticker. That's what he got sent back. A meme. A crying cat, tears streaming down its pixelated face. The caption in a funky font, saying it's beautiful.

Yuji thought the meme was funny, but…was it a yes? Was it a no? Was it a keep spying, my underling? He didn't know, but maybe he could get by, pretending there was an air of encouragement. Probably.

He tapped out a reply:

do i send another one if they like…look at each other AND sigh next time?

No typing dots. Just a new sticker, again.

This time, it was Kermit the Frog lying flat on its back, surrounded by rose petals, one hand clutching its chest.

Let it unfold, Yuji-kun. My heart is singing with anticipation.

"Okay," Yuji said, a quiet, confused noise building up in his throat. He locked his phone and leaned back against the ledge, arms behind him, head tipped toward the sky for a second before down to the two of his teammates.

Megumi passed a curse tag to you without speaking, and when Yuji squinted down at you both, he could swear he saw your fingers almost brush.

"…yeah, okay," he muttered, fingers fumbling with the phone again, "I'm sending another one."

21st of April; 18:08. — kugisaki nobara.

You were crouched near the edge of a busted concrete pillar, fingers brushing over the remnants of a curse stain. The air was still, heavy with the energy residue swimming in the air. You didn't look up when Nobara approached, which was fair, considering the only sound louder than the silence between you both was the sound of you both not acknowledging each other.

Nobara lingered a few paces behind you, then sighed.

"So—" she drawled, just loud enough to be annoying, trying to channel a little bit of Yuji's annoying optimism, "Are you still mad at Megumi?"

You didn't flinch, but your hand paused for a half a second. Then you stood up, brushing the dust from your palms, "Thought you were busy."

Nobara raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "I was. Then I got bored of being productive."

She didn't say why she'd really walked over, didn't really plan to. Her sharp eyes lingered for a moment longer than necessary on your form, her gaze cool, assessing, but then she turned slightly and scanned the area like she was actually here for more than just the protocoling of emotional turmoil in the name of her teacher, like she was doing something official.

"Don't let me stop you from scowling at the walls, though," Nobara added, almost offhandedly, an eye roll ready to break out.

That earned her a look, flat. Not denying anything, though, which was probably as close to progress as anyone got with the exchange student.

Nobara pulled out her phone when you turned away, heading for the next structural corner, her thumbs moving without hesitation. Her expression didn't change much, just the slightest raise of an eyebrow, just enough to hint that she might not be as disinterested.

She typed fast.

confirmed: still annoyed. or wants to strangle him. possibly both. definitely not neutral. there's something there. will keep watching.

She hit send and tucked her phone away, glancing across the rubble at Megumi. He was silent, quiet, standing a short distance away, half-hidden in the shade of his chosen fractured pillar, eyes fixed on something that wasn't you.

Which was interesting, considering he had been doing so for the past five minutes: pretending not to look, like he always did. Like if he turned his head and caught your form, something might crack open.

Nobara pulled a grimace.

Then there was you, who wasn't any better, who was just as still, who pretended not to notice, too focused on the curse residue, too deliberate in where you weren't glancing. As if acknowledging his presence would be the same as starting a fight.

It didn't even feel like ignoring, really. It was somehow even worse, Nobara noted; it felt like you were waiting for the other to stop first.

Yikes.

22nd of May; 12:01. — itadori yuji.

Now or never.

"So, like, hypothetically…if two people who don't talk much suddenly talked…would that be weird?"

You slowly turned around from your plate, expression unreadable, at least to the likes of somebody like Itadori Yuji. "What."

Yuji scrambled to stack his chopsticks and plates on his tray like they were on fire, "Nothing! Nevermind!"

24th of April; 11:48. — fushiguro megumi.

Dust kicked up beneath Megumi's feet as he moved through a quiet summoning formation, fingers mid-sign. There was a low crackle of cursed energy gathered in the air, ready to burst out.

"Yo, Megumi!"

The energy fizzled out.

"On a scale of one to ten, how would you say your teamwork reflects your inner emotional framework?"

Megumi didn't look up, "Zero."

Gojo's laughter came easily, carried along on the breeze, "No reflection or no emotion?"

"Pick one."

"Very cold. Very mysterious."

26th of April; 16:21. — gojo satoru.

Technically, the room was off-limits, but that never stopped Gojo Satoru.

The curtains were drawn, the lights were low and the three of them were hunched in a circle around a low table. Yuji looked tense, Nobara looked suspiciously entertained and Gojo — well, he looked like he was about to commit something legally and morally inadvisable.

Between them, on the table, sat notes and phones, screen glowing with voice memos. A whiteboard on wheels was shoved into the corner, already half-covered in complex diagrams and questionable vulgar doodles.

"Alright," Gojo said, his voice grave, "Hit me. Where do we stand?"

Yuji frowned, "They stood next to each other for ten minutes without fighting. And they didn't throw glares at each other. That feels like progress."

Nobara sighed, "Hardly, they didn't speak at all."

Gojo nodded, then picked up a marker and added a completely unnecessary line to the whiteboard: a very dramatic arrow labelled "emotional constipation" pointed at a spiky circle vaguely shaped like Megumi's hair.

"Oh!" Yuji perked up, eyes glinting, "But get this, what I noticed is how both of them never look at each other when the other gets complimented. Like, Miss Kyoto looks like she's one second away from breaking her spoon when somebody praises Megumi."

Nobara wanted to rub her chin, but didn't want to smear around any makeup, so she tapped her skin with a manicured finger instead, "You might be on to something here. And vice versa, Megumi about summons his dogs when somebody says something good about her."

Gojo whistled, low and entirely unprofessional, "Remarkable. Looks like what we're watching unfold is the slowest unravelling in modern Jujutsu history. Beautiful, but incredibly inefficient."

"I think they just don't know how to talk to normal people," Yuji offered, "Should we tell them we're doing this? Maybe that will be good incentive?"

"Absolutely not. That ruins the observational purity of the data."

"I don't—"

The door slammed open.

Megumi stood in frame, half out of breath, eyes immediately locking on the three of them like he had just walked into a crime scene. Which, to be fair, wasn't far off.

"Itadori, I've been—" he stopped short, sharp eyes taking in the whiteboard, the glowing phone screen, the hastily shuffled notes. "What the hell are you all doing in here?"

Yuji flinched like he had just gotten caught with the stolen answer sheets for an exam he was dreading, Gojo whipped his marker behind his back, even though he stood closest to the whiteboard, and Nobara moved with admirable calm; her hand slowly moving to lock the phone, but Megumi's eyes narrowed, catching the word surveillance before the screen faded to black.

His voice came sharp, suspicious, "Is there a mission?"

Yuji stood up too fast, "No."

"Yes," Gojo nodded.

Nobara didn't even look up, "Define mission."

"If you weren't so opaque, Megumi," Gojo Satoru, teacher of the first-years at Tokyo Jujutsu High, defended himself like he was the accused on the stand, "We wouldn't have to be doing this."

Megumi stared hard, voice flat as always, "Doing what?"

Gojo clapped a hand on Yuji's shoulder, beaming, "Part of a long-term behavioural study. Very advanced. Very ethical."

Yuji made a strangled noise somewhere between a sigh and a whimper, a plea for help that Megumi ignored. Gojo knew what the Fushiguro kid thought.

Knew it from the way Megumi blinked slowly, like he was calculating whether walking away would be more efficient. From the tight line of his mouth, the stillness in his eyes.

Megumi thought this was stupid.

To be fair, Gojo didn't need to be a master detective to know that was what Megumi was thinking, but it wasn't like the kid was subtle about it. He wasn't when he was thirteen, wasn't when he was fifteen or now.

He wasn't wrong, either. Gojo was making a scene. On purpose. But what Megumi never seemed to realise was that Gojo didn't do it to piss him off. Not only, anyway.

It was the same reason he gave him choices when he was a kid, when no one else had. The same reason he never pushed too hard — just enough to get him to blink first.

Because Fushiguro Megumi, for all his silence, felt things deeply. And Gojo knew what it looked like when someone tried to outrun that kind of weight. The way it always ended the same way: collapsing under it.

So, maybe the operation was a little excessive. Maybe Gojo was dragging the others into it for his own amusement.

But if it helped Megumi to be known, well, you could call him the Sorcerer Supreme of Growth then.

Megumi had turned around, slowly and stiffly, before walking out the way he came.

Gojo leaned back. "Make a note, Yuji-kun. Next observation: subject shows increased awareness of being observed."

"Also known as: suspicion," Nobara added.

Yuji deflated, slumping forward onto the table, "Oh, we're dead."

He wondered if he could get Sorcerer Supreme of Growth on a business card. Probably not. But a sticker? A patch? Something embroidered on his school uniform?

Gojo Satoru made a mental note to ask Ijichi. The assistant manager would hate it. Which made it a hundred times better.

30th of May; 22:00. — gojo satoru.

Gojo Satoru had always hated this room.

The paper windows let in just enough light to make the old, stiff wood look polished. There, also, like all the other times, was silence. Always silence. He supposed the elders wanted it to come across as cultivated, or instil some kind of weird sense of control.

It still smelt like incense, too, sickeningly sweet and suffocating.

Gojo stood with his hands in his pockets, blindfold in place, his weight settled evenly between both feet. He was sure they looked at him like he had trudged in with dirt on his shoes, but he had taken off his shoes, he checked. He did have that much manner.

The elders didn't show themselves, but he didn't need to see them. He knew their voices already: dry and brittle, echoing with all the conviction their bodies couldn't support. He also knew that none of them would last more than ten seconds outside this room.

He supposed it was easier to condemn from behind a screen, to weave the strings through layers and distances before pulling on them, pretending like it wasn't their plant to begin with. But then again, it was easy to be authoritative behind a paper screen when no risk befell you.

"You're playing a dangerous game, Satoru. Between the Sukuna vessel and the Zen'in heir, you've surrounded yourself with unstable elements."

Gojo lifted a hand lazily, two fingers flicking through the air like he was dismissing dust, "Fushiguro."

"Fushiguro Megumi. You've kept him under your wing, but you're aware he rightfully belongs to—"

Zen'in, yes. Still going on about that.

"—the Zen'in clan. As such, we believe it's in the school's best interest to establish formal agreement of succession, should anything happen to—"

He rolled his eyes behind the blindfold. For a brief moment, he considered lifting it, showing them the truth of their decay through the Six Eyes. If only to serve as a reminder. But the shapes of their cursed energy were already visible enough as is, murky and fractured, heavy with the weight of things that should've been let go a long time ago. And really, Gojo Satoru had no interest in overwhelming his senses with a direct look to all the rot whirling around of particles.

"No."

He heard a slight shift behind one of the screens, a slight pause.

The voice sounded measured, a slight condescension in the wrinkles of its bearer, "You're obstructing lineage matter. He belongs to that line, whether you like to or not. There are expectations—"

"Nah, you see, that's where you're wrong," Gojo cut in. "He doesn't want that. So he doesn't belong to anyone."

Technically, Megumi's appearance under the wings of Gojo Satoru created a subtle ripple through the Jujutsu world. The Ten Shadows Technique suddenly appearing to live and train under the Six Eyes Sorcerer? It unsettled more than a few branch families.

Not publicly, of course. The clans were always polite with their paranoia.

If Gojo had to be honest, he thought that the Zen'in clan did have rights fearing their blood son to be aligned with the Gojo Clan.

He'd noticed certain people lingering around the compound, cloaked in polite concern, keeping an eye on his student, uninvited eyes trailing him.

Of course, they didn't fear losing him out of sentiment. A potential successor with ties to both powerfully ancient clans and loyalty to neither? That threatened their little house of cards, carefully crafted. They were greedy for neutrality, greedy in making sure that Megumi stayed a Zen'in in name, even if they had thrown him aside to rit in a back alley with his sister for years. So long he didn't claim anything else, so long as he didn't say Gojo — they could tolerate it.

Megumi wasn't stupid. He knew. Never asked to join any clan, never hinted at it even.

Though, if he had asked to, Gojo would have refused, anyway.

There was another voice coming from the centre window, right in front of him, a slight tapping against wood accompanying it, as if to punctuate the measured and slow words, "That's now how it works, Satoru. Personal will does not erase legacy. His blood means obligation, whether he claims it or not."

Another older voice from the left, "We don't require his consent. Only time."

Ah. There it was.

They seemed to misunderstand the situation each time.

"Funny how legacy never quite survives contact with the people you try to bury under it."

They disliked when he undermined them, he knew that. If not for his cursed technique and the weight of his name, they wouldn't have allowed him that. They would have removed him years ago.

Yet, still, would they ever stop handing him the knife? Would they ever stop wrapping him in ceremony, thinking their words would ever get him to play along?

They didn't reply to that. That wasn't unusual. When Gojo pressed close to the truth, when he dished out his thinly veiled threats, they defaulted to silence, pretended it was beneath them like they always did, as if to acknowledge his resistance was just a procedural step.

Eventually, they pivoted, "Then let us speak of Itadori Yuji."

Gojo waited with an exasperation settled deep in his bones.

"The boy is a ticking time bomb, and you've placed him in the heart of our school."

It was funny, wasn't it? The way they pretended Jujutsu High was theirs.

As if they had built it, as if they had bled for it.

As if any of them ever set foot in a battlefield in the last twenty years. Sitting behind their paper walls, quoting their doctrine, they muttered about false balance and duty like they weren't the reason so many students came back in body bags. Like they hadn't driven Geto into madness.

Gojo knew the truth. Had known it for years now.

"Correction," Gojo pointed out lazily, "I placed him as a first-year amongst other first-years. He's done more for this school in six months than most of your precious alumni did in their entire careers."

They hated Yuji because he didn't fit in their system. Because he wasn't supposed to exist, because he disrupted the fragile little thing they called balance.

What they didn't like, though, was to have too much strength in one place, too much thought, certainly too much will. Gojo Satoru was never good at balance, not the kind they wanted, anyway.

Keep things vague enough, keep faces blurred and questions rhetorical, and you didn't have to think too hard about why so many of them didn't make it past the first year. Or why some of them never came back at all.

But then you got Itadori. A kid who asked why.

"He's unpredictable. Dangerous."

"So am I," Gojo flashed a smile at nobody in particular, the cold sharpness pulling at the corners of his mouth, "And you're not arguing to execute me."

There was a scowl evident in the elder's voice, "You are not the same. You are controllable."

Gojo barked a short laugh; disbelief, amusement. A laugh that he knew made them uncomfortable, their skin crawl, "Oh, that's adorable."

Really, the only thing the elders represented to him was old noise, and Gojo Satoru had learned a long time ago how to let old noise fade.

6th of May; 02:38. — gojo satoru's diary journal.

Monday — Miss Kyoto ignored Megumi's entire existence Notes: Impressive. 10/10 cold shoulder. Tuesday — Sparring Match, Megumi almost snapped Notes: Nobara and I took bets. I won. Wednesday — Megumi and Miss Kyoto said the exact same thing at the exact same time. Immediate silence. Refused to speak for the rest of the session Notes: A glitch in the matrix. Thursday — "shared" a training dummy. Dummy died Notes: Their tension is now homicidal. Friday — Both requested separate training spaces Notes: LMAO.

TAGLIST | @nevvynev ; @iheartkhloe ; @soobsdior ; @binkibuns ; @1l-ynn ; @nscuit ; @julieannah ; @ch3rry-bombb ; @miyomomo

[hopeluna-archived]

Lay a little love on me! | Obey Me!

Synopsis: the Obey Me! characters when you're feeling needy

Characters: Lucifer, Mammon, Diavolo

CW: suggestive but no nsfw content

M.list

✘Lucifer

"Lucifer, are you done?"

The said demon sighs, with a hint of a smirk, when he hears your question. A question you had asked 10 times in the last 5 minutes.

"Just a few more minutes, darling"

"That's what you said a few more minutes ago...." Lucifer could hear you mutter under your breath with a pout. You didn't mean to be so....needy but what were you supposed to do when Lucifer had been practically ignoring you for the whole day and instead choosing to focus on his work.

Lucifer had to hold back a smug chuckle when you twisted and turned, all pouty and furrowed eyebrows as you scrolled away on your D.D.D. He wouldn't deny that seeing you like this, so starved of his attention, didn't make him feel cocky.

"Come here." A simple command, one that you followed hastily thinking it would be to help him with work, which would mean getting it done faster. What you didn't expect was for Lucifer to firmly, but gently, pull you down to straddle his lap. "Good now?" Lucifer smirked when you nodded, although surprised but happy, snuggled more close to him, his hand resting a little bit too up on your thigh.

He was definitely not going to get all his work done.

✘Mammon

Mammon almost jumped out of his skin in terror when you practically pounced on him as soon as he entered his room, latching onto him so close, hands ready to wander.

"M-MC, what are ye doing?"

"Missed you today" his face felt like it was burning when you started peppering kisses on the column of his neck, "so busy", a kiss, "all", another, "day", and again another kiss accentuated by every word. At that point, Mammon's head was surely going to explode at how lightheaded it felt when you whispered a 'need you' in his ear.

Mammon had been out all day today, courtesy of Lucifer making him work several shifts as a punishment and a way to pay back all the money he had spent away gambling the other week. You had been too busy at RAD with the student council too and so you couldn't even catch a glimpse of him properly without being swept away to look into another issue.

This had undoubtedly left you hot and bothered as it was rare to not see you two attached at the hip.

Mammon didn't say anything, instead choosing to lead you to the bed, falling over you with a grunt as he started nipping desperately at the crook of your neck. He could never say no to you now, could he?

✘Diavolo

You were slowly starting to get bored of the gala. The chatter of the people fading into the background as white music, the annoying kind of white noise. You would rather much have stayed in bed with Diavolo or maybe even a nice walk outside, the weather was certainly pleasant today.

Speaking of the demon, not that he had been neglecting you but he was defintely too preoccupied with his guests. Normally it wouldn't have bothered you, he is the future king of devildom, you understand that he has responsibilities.

Its the amount of women and men throwing themselves at your lover when you were right there, Diavolo's arm around you. All so eager to please the royal with their sweet complements and praises. All that Diavolo took with a smile, as he had to.

Your patience, which was already hanging by a thread, snapped when a certain demon was getting a bit too touchy to be considered appropriate. Taking Diavolo's hand in yours in a tight grip, you promptly proceeded to lead him away from the crowd to a quiet hallway just beside it.

"MC, are you alrig- " Diavolo was startled to say the least when you pulled him down to kiss you with such fervour. No matter how unexpected this was, he was definitely not complaining about the change of events, his face had already started to hurt from having to keep up a smile with even the not so pleasant guests.

When Diavolo pulled you more into him, the kiss getting deeper and more languid, you really hoped that somehow the demon from before had accidentally ventured out in the hallway to make it known to them who Diavolo really wanted.

© hopeluna. Do not copy, translate, modify or repost any of my work in this or any other site. Do not steal or modify my ideas/concepts either.

[dimsilver]

just thinking of wholesome interactions with people unlike me, as a category, and remembered this:

Picture this - I’m on a school trip overseas and I walk into the big hotel dining room and see not a single spot open near anyone I know. The tables are full of students from other colleges on the same trip who haven’t been with us before but are all converging on the hotel for a mid-trip group thing. The only open spot I can see near me is at a table with a bunch of big guys, laughing loudly.

I take it with all the usual nervous pleasantries and plan to eat my breakfast and leave. But before long I’m laughing too, quietly, because the guys are taking turns going table to table, asking to borrow their water pitcher, then straight up stealing it. The guys try to smother their laughter as pitcher after pitcher joins the collection in the middle of our table. There’s not much elbow room left. There’s so much water.

I crack up and they ask me if I want to go steal one next. I do. Then, temporarily satisfied with their pitcher collection, we get talking, and they start asking me about my school.

Now here’s where you need to know that I went to a very small liberal arts college with less than 300 students, and these guys went to a big and very multicultural school in california. I say multicultural because. well you’ll see.

After they hear the “less than 300 students” part, one of the asian guys at the table asks me how many asians there are at my school. Maybe 20, I tell him. He shakes his head a bit. Only 20?

Then one of the hispanic guys leans forward. “How many hispanics do you have?” I’m not sure - maybe 15, I say. He nods like he’s satisfied. Someone giggles.

Then the black guys elbow each other, grinning, and one says, “How many african-americans?”

“…….One,” I say, and tell them her name. (There was actually a guy too but technically he was just straight from africa, so I forgot.) I don’t even have time to look sheepish because these guys EXPLODE into laughter.

I don’t know if the pitcher-stealing earlier just primed them or what, but they all sound like Elijah Wood in the do you wear wigs interview. Just absolutely losing it. Heads down on their arms. Pounding the table a little, making all the water in all those stolen pitchers shake.

Eventually the laughter starts to subside, but it bubbles up again every time they look at each other or me. There are tears in everyone’s eyes. The guy who asked the question heaves a long sigh.

“Not even a full brother!” he says, and his voice gets high at the end, and then he suddenly jumps up from the table, taking his napkin with him.

We all turn to watch him, mystified, as he marches over to the corner of the room beside a column—and puts the napkin over his head. He turns to face the wall, and we see the napkin and his shoulders shaking with another gale of laughter. That sets everyone off again.

It’s a long time before the guys settle down, wiping their eyes. The guy in the corner finally comes back to us, trailing the napkin. We all look at each other for a second. “You’re all right,” somebody says to me. “Man, good thing you met us!” someone else says.

And at the end of the trip when all our school groups converge again, those guys track me down and insist we all get a picture.

[septima-severa]

Orson Krennic fried my brain.

This reminds me so much of the conversation I had once with my friend after rewatching Rogue One. Back then, I admitted my crush on one of the characters, and she was immediately like "Is it Cassian Andor?" And I said "no", dropping the bomb to her that left her speechless for good 30 minutes.

Oh, okay. I don't need my braincells anymore, right?

A lovely reader stopped by and commented on my older work I Got You on AO3, about how wife saves Krennic's sorry arse from the Scarif incident (technically, I could write it so much better after a year and half, and I cringe internally every time I re-read it, which is not so often in the first place). Anyway, our conversation has kicked my gears into a working state again (as I'm now stuck with the Thrawn shit), and I have typed a brand new story for this man.

Seriously, I haven't watched even the first season of Andor, let alone the second, but the moment I saw the trailer, my mind exploded over hearing his familiar voice. It does... ahem... unspeakable things to me.

So now, the old fanfic has been moved into the Director of Advanced Weapons Research series, and I have AT LEAST one more story coming VERY soon (while working on yet another one). The only catch is that I have been in a very dark place, so before we get to the irregularly scheduled sinning... This man is not nice to his reader wife.

EXCERPT:

“My my, the whore has returned home,” a soft voice rumbled, making you almost jump out of your skin.

“Stars, Orson!” you exclaimed, hand coming over your startled heart.

The sheer shimmersilk kimono fluttered with your movement, delicately embroidered cranes on it dancing. It made him lock his gaze on your form, and he sneered at the sight of how underdressed you actually were despite the layers of gauze-like garment over dark pantsuit complimenting your creamy white complexion. His man-splaying pose widened imperceptibly over his own imagination running wild. He remained seated on the sofa, one of his gloved hands gripping the back of it with more force than the other, while the other nursed almost empty glass of Corellian whiskey.

While you noticed the glass with amber liquor propped on his knee, your eyes also took in the rest of him. He gave you a lopsided smirk when your body went rigid, our hazy mind absorbing his silent threat.

Eyeing the modified antique DT-29 blaster pistol on his other thigh, ready to fire at any time no doubt, you tore yourself from it only reluctantly when you felt a movement on the kitchenette threshold. “And your faithful aide has been following you everywhere, I see. Hello, Dunstig,” you turned to the man fully, giving Orson the opportunity to leer at your back, the pantsuit open and revealing the column of your spine to him. His hand twitched with desire to touch it.

“Good evening, missus Krennic,” the pilot offered you an apologetic smile. He was standing there in a parade rest, yet his unease didn’t escape your keen observation.

Instead of remaining bolted to the spot with maybe irrational fear that threatened to paralyse you, you started taking off the shimmersilk layers, putting them carefully on the backrest of the chair near you. You had played with fire that was your arranged husband too many times to really care about your self-preservation. “To what do I owe for this lovely visit?” you asked finally.

Captain Pterro only shrugged, looking to his superior.

You heard the empty tumbler clink against the wood of the low table behind you – apparently, he finished his drink. The rustle of his uniform told you he moved, calling for your complete attention.

“You traitorous bitch,” Krennic chuckled under his breath, doing nothing to hide his arousal.

The predatory look of his made your heart stop. “Dunstig,” you gulped, “I-I think you should go. This is going to turn rather nasty,” your voice broke.

“You’re relieved of duty for the evening, captain. And lock the door.”

“Aye, sir,” the poor man saluted, then told you ‘Good evening, ma’am’ again before disappearing through the corridor.

Good evening, indeed.

It took him a whole of two seconds to rise and stalk towards you once he heard the telltale beep of locking mechanism engaged. He backed you against the wall, and you felt the nuzzle of his blaster poking at your ribs. An unsettling situation, for sure. Smelling the whiskey in his warm breath fanning over your face, you did not flinch – it certainly wouldn’t be the first time he was holding you at blaster point.

“This is the moment when they usually beg for their miserable lives,” he drawled.

You arched your brow at his words. “You should pull the trigger, then, for I’m not going to.” Your hand was trembling only slightly as you reached for his, delivering a caress he had been undeserving of in his opinion. You looked into his eyes, seeing the storm in them surfacing before you reached for his lips tentatively.

It could be only a chaste kiss, a little taste of alcohol –

“Who twisted your knickers this time?” you whispered breathlessly into his ear once he diverted his attention from your lips, the rouge smeared, continuing to nip on your lower jaw and down the column of your neck. He couldn’t get enough of your subtle perfume, and inhaled it deeply, groaning.

You felt how he slipped the strap of the pantsuit over your shoulder, swinging the golden chain dangling from the shell of your ear back tenderly so it didn’t get caught accidentally, and hissed in pain when he finally nipped at the sensitive skin over your exposed collarbone more forcefully. He relished in you tugging at his hair at the nape of his neck, just above the stiff collar, and repeated his action just to get more. “You’re maddening, woman,” he growled into your skin. Your heart fluttered despite the jab of his weapon just under it.

[luv-elixir]

Cherry-Coloured Funk

Stepfather Leon S. Kennedy x Reader Your stepfather finally comes home after a long work trip and shows you how much he missed you.

Part of “Body Electric” series

18+ Content Warnings : Stepcest, power imbalance, fingering, p*ssy slapping, slight degradation, facial, stepfather!Leon, stepdaughter!reader

THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION! I DO NOT CONDONE ANY OF THE ACTIONS WRITTEN BELOW; ALL THAT IS WRITTEN IS PURE FICTION AND FANTASY!

“Do you really have to go?”

“I’ll be back before you know it."

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That was two weeks ago. Two very long weeks of blue balls caused by being without his vixen of a stepdaughter.

Leon sighs as he enters the house, grateful for the quiet atmosphere.

He needed to think and get work off his mind.

He also needed to get his new wife off his mind.

They’d been having arguments nearly everyday and knowing he’d be back today opted to have a girls night at a friends.

Not that Leon really cared, you were home and that made everything better.

He knows he should stay out of your room, that he should wait until morning, but he’s missed your soft skin and vanilla perfume too much to wait.

After taking the fastest shower possible he softly opens your bedroom door, the tv light illuminating your sleeping figure covered by the floral duvet on your bed. Your hair is all splayed out and Leon can make out his old hoodie from his academy days on your exposed upper half.

“My baby,” he murmurs, slipping in beside you and pushing the hairs in your face back.

You turn and groan as your body makes contact with his, the familiarity both comforting and startling you out of sleep.

He hears your breathing pick up and sees your eyes shoot open.

“It’s just me baby,” he coos, stroking the back of your neck to lull you back to sleep.

It doesn't exactly work, you get your bearings and your eyes peel open and the smile that takes over your face has Leon’s heart beat speed up.

"You're home," the smile makes it into your voice and Leon can't help but feel love explode all through his chest.

"Yeah baby," he kisses your forehead just as you hook your knee to his narrow hip.

It's then, as you press further into Leon that he feels your thighs and his hands follow the curve of your skin and groans when he touches your bare cunt.

"No panties, sweetheart?" he tilts your chin upwards so you can't hide your sleepy eyes or your coy smile.

"I knew you’d be home," Leon shakes his head when you lean up to pepper kisses to his jaw.

"Little vixen." he curses, finally kissing your lips.

It's tentative at first and then his tongue prods into your mouth and licks at your own. His lips suck yours into his mouth, swallowing your moan as he pulls your hips into his. It’s wet and sloppy and has your cunt soaking through the material of his pants.

"Leon," you whine, his lips leaving yours to suck at the column of your neck.

He only hums, nipping and biting at the tender skin on your neck.

"Daddy please," your hips are rocking against his, and he sits up, pulling you with him as he changes positions and lays you flat on your back.

"Please what?" Leon says with a spank to your pussy.

Your answer is interrupted with him grinding his clothed hips into yours, a moan slipping past your lips as he brushes your wet cunt with his bulge.

"Please don't tease," he kisses you again, and this time even more wet.

"God baby," he coos, fingers spreading your cunt open so that he sees even more of your slick gushing out. "You miss me a lot?" It's mind numbing the way he uses words to make your mind melt and shut off.

He just says a couple nasty things and your brain short circuits.

His thumb brushes at your little hole, a smirk pulling on his lips as your hips buck into his touch.

"I asked you a question, baby."

His mouth is sucking at your clit almost immediately after he speaks, and your whines are breathy and high as your hands reach for his hair.

A broken, "Yes," manages to escape you and after that, it's the only coherent thing to leave your mouth.

Leon’s fingers finally slip into your cunt, and he loves how tight you feel.

"God," you cry, hips moving to meet the thrusts of Leon’s fingers, growing closer and closer to your orgasm. "I'm gonna come, please daddy."

He only hums, eyes meeting yours as your hands knot into his hair, holding his head still as you ride his tongue and fingers to your release.

"Atta girl, fuck yourself on my face." He praises, watching as you continue to ride his fingers and tongue till your orgasm fizzles out. Leon crooks his fingers in your pussy so they brush against your g-spot over and over again till he feels the tell-tale signs of another orgasm.

"Gimme another one, slut. Let me see you come again." Your mouth drops open as he rolls your clit and a second orgasm washes over you.

You can't fight his touch as Leon drags you to the very end of your orgasm and pats your cunt as he pulls his fingers out of you.

“Want your cock, daddy," your eyes are glazed over already, and Leon has to physically restrain himself from just slamming his fat cock into you.

"Yeah? How bad do you need it? How bad do you want your stepdads cock?" He likes playing this game with you, there's something about the way you spread your legs and offer your pussy over to him that makes his head swim with lust.

"So so bad, it’s all l've been thinking about since you left.” he wouldn’t even doubt your statement because you're all he's thought about too, “Please daddy, need your cock in me, You always fuck me so good."

He can't resist you anymore, and slides in, both of you groaning as he bottoms out in your tight cunt.

Your breath is short and sharp as he fucks into you, hands fisting the sheets as your hips match his thrusts. All you can think about is the way the head of his cock is pressing at just the right spot that has your toes curling with each thrust.

Tears pool on your lash line as his thumb finds your clit again, ready to pull a third orgasm from you.

"Oh fuck," you croon and Leon pulls back to slap at your clit. "You're gonna make me come again." you mewl, eyes full of tears as your pussy clamps around him.

"Yeah? Y'gonna make a mess?" your nails dig into Leon’s shoulders at his teasing, tears falling down your face as his thumb resumes rolling your clit. "Soak my cock, baby." the order has your back arched off the bed completely as you obey it, legs trembling from the force of your orgasm.

Leon manages to hold off his own till the very last second, holding the back of your neck to keep your slick bodies pressed together as he pumps his cock with his fist.

“There you go baby, fucking slut.” Leon mutters as his cum spurts on your face, giving you a sticky facial.

[thewhumpcaretaker]

⚜ Marquis of Los Angeles: Ch. I - Lucky Find

ཐི♡ཋྀ Thank you for the beta-read, @evrensadwrn! ཐི♡ཋྀ

Summary: On a visit to his home country, Sebastian LaCroix has the good fortune to find a beautiful and powerful Marquis dying of a bullet wound. Why not take him home as a ghoul?

Author's Note: Okay, um...remember when I said this was a one-shot? Excuse me while I spit out another enemies-to-lovers slowburn because I can't help myself. I may or may not finish it, but I'd rather give the story plenty of room to breathe than rush through it, even if I don't get to the end. I'm excited to see where it goes!

TW: hallucination, kidnapping, religious imagery, vampires doing vampire stuff

If you have a century or two to wait, sometimes the world delivers gifts, just lying there, ready to be pocketed. A seashell, pearlescent and only a little chipped at the edges. A shiny new quarter forgotten on the sidewalk. Los Angeles.

It even might deliver what Sebastian LaCroix would have called, in his day, a “dandy”, freshly dying, on the steps of the Sacré-Coeur Basilica.

Only minutes remained until sunrise. LaCroix’s heart, though it had no need to beat, contracted in terror at the nearness of sunlight, at the piercing golden glow already illuminating that beautiful creature’s parted, breathless lips. This was risky business, swooping in like a vulture at such a time. A little longer, and they might never have met. Sebastian thought of that too often in the days and years and centuries that followed.

Only minutes remained until the bullet in his brain would have laid waste to the most vigorous life force Sebastian had ever encountered.

But as matters stood, he watched from the shadowy columns where he had chosen to shelter during the daylight hours of his visit to France, and clung to the sound of a distant pulse. It persisted (though feebly) even once its scent exploded into open air.

A great bulk of a man in a dark overcoat bowed down his head and sighed. He lifted Vincent’s body with the solemnity of one who knows what death means, and carried it within, into the shadow where Sebastian waited, under those forgotten awnings just beyond the pews. The carnival of stained-glass light pouring through the windows did not penetrate there.

As they passed, the man halted, overcome with a sudden unease, and could not move his feet. Sebastian smiled on him, an open hand outstretched. “Would you allow me to bless this man before he passes on?”

The man had, of course, no choice, and he would not remember laying his charge at Sebastian’s feet, or saying, “Who are you, sir? A man of God?”

“Think of me as a healing angel.”

He stared, knowing quite frankly that this was bullshit. He could see a barely restrained urge to devour flaring up within Sebastian even now, not so different from the look his own superior had worn on occasion, equally recognizable on both kindred and kine. “If you are an angel, then so is he.”

.¸¸.*✧*.¸¸.*✧*.¸¸. ཐི♡ཋྀ.¸¸.*✧*.¸¸.*✧*.¸¸.

There was never total certainty that it would work. A headshot was unfortunate to say the least, and even with a truly massive outpouring of vitae, the bullet still had to be pushed out of Vincent’s brain, dragging on the neurons as it went.

There wasn’t physical pain, exactly. No nerves are to be found in the grey matter. Inside the brain itself, the only pain is mental.

Time and place fragmented themselves, breaking apart in front of Vincent to form a dazzling kaleidoscope. He was drifting on his back, through a flooded Château de Versailles. The water must have been deep, because he was lifted so high, close to the frescoed ceiling where angels leaned down over him amongst the roiling clouds. Why was the palace full of water? No…not water. Blood. Of course. He was being carried up to judgement on the tide of blood he’d spilt, that was it. He could hear his own music coming from another room, the reveries he used to play at the piano, but it was wildly distorted, devolving into devils’ trills. The angels crawled down over the mountains of clouds, over the ledge of the upper moulding, down the columns on all fours to descend on him, snarling as angels never snarl, with fangs at their lips. Their unnatural motions sparked a total horror in him but he could not flee, could only float paralyzed on the sea of blood that was starting to seep into his mouth, into his eyes. They were upon him, someone was bending over him, a face that flickered and distorted and jeered. A devil. His father. Then John Wick. His heart strained with wild terror.

“Your heartbeat is growing stronger. Good. It took long enough.”

And the face resolved. It was, at least, none of the faces he had feared a few moments ago. And it wasn’t unpleasant to look at, with strikingly high cheekbones and full lips, with a strawberry blond slick of hair and eyes like pools of pale honey. It had a magnetism about it, deeper than its inherent charm and beauty. He had trouble looking away from that face – it was in focus even though the rest of the world remained blurred, and it made something sickly sweet well up inside of him. He could have forgiven the cruel satisfaction painted all over it, but that sweet magnetism, tugging on his heartstrings…he could not forgive that. He decided that whoever this was, he disliked them very, very much.

For a few moments, Vincent tried to speak, but his brain had not yet made contact with his tongue, it seemed. He just gasped and gasped until the man laughed and held up the bullet, coated in blood. “Can you believe this little scrap of metal was all it took to put you into a state of such total confusion? And you would be far worse off if I hadn’t taken a liking to you. Life is so fragile.” And the man…well, there was no getting around it. He popped the bullet into his mouth like a candy and licked his fingers, apparently savoring the taste, before pulling it out of his mouth again, sucked clean of blood. He swallowed and grinned widely, this time baring fangs.

Okay. So he was still hallucinating, then. Good good, nothing to worry about. Just slowly breathing his last breaths on the steps of the Basilica, hallucinating violently while John Wick probably gloated over his body. It was fine! Everything was fine. The world started to go fuzzy and dark at the edges as his wild gasping continued.

“Oh no no no, you’re not passing out again just yet. Solo jet rides are interminably dull. We ought to use our time wisely and get to know each other.” The man slapped lightly at his cheek, trying to keep him conscious. Vincent felt his brows furrow, and couldn’t control his muscles enough to wipe that affronted look off his face.

“Who…who…” do you think you are, that had been his intention for the sentence. But he couldn’t quite get there, and the man answered just the same.

“Sebastian LaCroix, Camarilla Prince of Los Angeles and your new regnant.” The man took his hand and shook it. “Of course, none of that means anything to you just yet, but it will very soon.”

It didn’t, except for “Los Angeles.” Vincent was still catching up to the part about “jet rides,” and noticing that the ceiling above them was curved in the manner of an aircraft cabin. Where the hell was he? Was he…kidnapped? A feeling set in then. Whether it was made of greater parts relief or sinking dread, he couldn’t tell. But he had the feeling that this was far too vivid to be a hallucination.

He wasn’t dead after all, and Sebastian LaCroix, whatever he may be, was real.

[anjelicawrites]

Could you PLEASEEEEEEE write Osferth X professor!reader with religious kink and corruption if not that’s okay ily

Hi nonnie! Your lovely ask evolved into a full fledged fanfic! I hope you'll enjoy it!!!

Warning: religious kink, corruption, self-harm, whipping, description of self-inflicted wounds, a dash of obsession, p in v sex, sex in a church, overstimulation.

You can't sleep.

The pouring rain should lull you into slumber, yet you have been tossing and turning in bed ever since you closed your eyes; you know why you're so restless, and have been for months, desperate to ignore the root of your issues, until even your dreams aren't a safe refuge anymore.

NSFW and 18+ only please!

With a huff you leave the warmth of your bed and throw your dressing gown over your night gown. You ignore the Loeb volume on your desk, deciding to head out, your mind is nowhere near translating archaic Greek.

When you were hired by the Catholic University you still work at, you were a bit anxious at having to live on campus, in the small apartment your employer rent you at a ridiculously low price, compared to the city. You were afraid that you wouldn't be able to have friends over and to have to live like the monks and priest working and studying here, and not like a layperson. You heart had soared when you saw that the building was dedicated to the laypeople personnel of the University, although still connected to the maze of ancient corridors and tunnels that formed the veining of the University town.

It comes handy now that you want to go to the small Chapel built at furthest corner of the north border of the grounds.

You're not a religious person. You don't consider yourself to be an atheist, simply someone open to a spirituality that encompasses all organized religions. When you go to the Chapel, your goal is to help your mind slow down and focus, not because you want to pray.

Tonight, more than any other time in your life, you need to reach that part of your inner self that's calm, collected. And not in the throes of a passion that's forbidden, not only one sided.

You walk as close as possible to the ancient walls, the storm is so violent that the rain is pouring through the columns of the portico, wetting the part of the flooring that's the closest to the inner garden.

Trembling, the cold being so biting not even your flannel nightgown, nor the thick dressing gown protect you fully from it, you reach the side entrance of the Chapel, the one that opens to the right side of the altar.

You stand, rooted under the old lintel, like a salt statue, like Lot's wife during the fall of Sodom, your eyes drawn to the kneeling figure of the man that's haunting your dreams.

The lights are off, only the votive candles on both sides of the nave barely illuminate the, otherwise, pitch black Chapel.

In the darkness you can't see what he's doing, only when lightning explodes outside, you realize he's not praying, no, he's whipping himself, blood pouring down his long back and splattering on the stone floor when he lifts the scourge to hurt himself again.

Over the squelching sound of leather against flesh, over the rain pattering the stained-glass windows, you now hear his voice, broken by moans of pain, reciting prayers after prayers, begging his God to forgive him.

You don't know for how long you stood there, watching him hurting himself, the horror and the surprise rooting your feet to the ground, choking your voice.

"Osferth!"

He looks like he's a the end of his tether, his torso falling forward inch by inch with each lashing he's giving himself.

Your eyes, having adjusted to the dim lights of the candles, now see the rivulets of sweat traveling down the naked skin of his front, mixing with the blood pouring from his open wounds, ending where he's bunched the upper part of his cassock around his slim waist.

He can't focus his sight on the blurry image emerging from the shadows, sweat and tears blind him, so is the hunger clenching his stomach painfully: he's been starving himself to punish both his traitorous mind and body, now he feels so weak he can barely keep himself upright, the pain of his torn flesh stabbing him with every breath he takes.

His strength abandons him, he almost faints with his head against your shoulder. When he feels the soft material of your dressing gown, he starts crying, inconsolable, like a lost child.

For the longest moment he doesn't recognize you, the white of your nightgown and azure of the dressing gown deceive his tired mind: all he sees his the statue of the Virgin Mary advancing towards him, her arms open for a sinner like himself, her smile serene as she looks at him with a Mother's love.

He only realizes his mistake when your soft palm caresses his cheek.

It's not the Heavenly Mother who's come to his rescue, you were simply standing in front of the statue.

You don't know what to do, you're afraid of hugging him, only to hurt his mangled back. You didn't expect the object of your dreams and sinful desires to be in the Chapel with the sole goal of obtaining forgiveness, for what sins? You're the one who has been having those all too real dreams, where he would come to your office, and not to clarify any doubts one of your lessons might have left him with.

What sins has this pure soul committed, that warranted such harsh punishment?

Your hands shake violently when you put one on his side, and the other in the sweaty mess of his hair. You're unsure of what you've walked upon and want to calm his desperate wailing, scared he might truly faint, or worse.

Gently you caress his hair while you call his name, slowly helping him back into himself, ordering him to breathe slowly, following the even movements of your chest. Whatever this is, it is your duty as his professor to help him solve his issues: you can't abandon him.

Against yours, his body still shakes with torment and affliction, yet he manages to lift his head to look at you with the saddest eyes you've ever seen.

"I can't live like this anymore." He says with a broken voice. "I can't."

His hands, the very hands you fantasized about in the wee hours of the night, grab your shoulders with desperation, forcing a wail out of your lips.

This is the moment when you understand that you haven't been alone in your impure thoughts.

You never wanted to, consciously, tempt him, yet you would always open as many buttons of your blouse as you could, when you knew you'd be teaching his class. You would wear the tightest slack the dress regulations of the University allowed you to and you would get in Osferth's personal space more than you would any other student, whenever he stayed after class to ask you questions.

You wanted him, though.

From the moment the monk had walked in your advanced Classic literature course, you had felt the know of desire tighten in your belly. You had wailed his name with your hand between your legs, only to force yourself to ignore your actions as soon as you reached your orgasm. You had tried to gauge the shape of his lean body, under the bulky cassock he would always wear, only to chastise yourself afterwards.

As bad as you knew your desires were, you never truly tried to stop them, you simply hid them under the rug, in the vain hope they would die there. And never stopped tempting him.

Even with the bleeding man in your arms, a part of yourself hopes he would reciprocate. Even with the proof of the pain you've cause him, you can't help yourself but needing him like you need air.

"Shh, Osferth. Shh." You murmur, your forehead against his. "Shh. All is well. Shh."

His lets his head slide down the curve of your shoulder, where he can smell you, until his heart stops beating madly in his chest.

With your head still stroking his hair and tonsure, you tell him you need to get the first aid kit in the small room behind the altar.

In your arms, Osferth wails in distress again, until you promise him you'll come back in five minutes, you simply need the time to grab the box standing under the defibrillator.

You help Osferth lay on his front on the soft fleece of your dressing gown, then you rush to the office, almost falling in your haste.

When you come back you can't see him breathing. Scared you kneel by his side and pull his unresponsive body on your folded legs, your haste movements jostle his body painfully, causing Osferth to wail in your embrace.

Even though the Chapel is rarely used, the University had to install a first aid response point, due to the fact that the University grounds are enormous: if someone were to need first aid help, the closest, used, building, would still be too far away.

As you grab the heavy box, you thank the regulations of the University: you're not sure Osferth is any shape to walk anywhere. On top of that, the storm is still raging outside; with those open wounds on his back, he wouldn't be able to wear anything to shield himself from the biting cold.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" You tell him, your voice high pitched. "I'm so sorry, Osferth!"

What are you sorry for? Your desires? Having elicit his own fantasies? The raw wounds marring his skin? For causing even more torment just now?

With a groan Osferth turns his head, open eye focused on the shadows hiding your beautiful face.

"Don't leave me, please!" He begs, feeling fresh tears welling in his eyes. "Don't abandon me!"

The way you two are positioned puts the statue of the Virgin Mary in his line of sight, since you're partially covering it with your torso. You wonder if he's talking to you, or to Her.

"You need to lay on the gown again. Your wounds need to be disinfected." You murmur. "I'm not going anywhere."

With what little strength he has left, Osferth moves his body off your legs and on the soft fleece. On purpose he turns his head, knowing fully that he can't face you, and the Holy Mother behind you.

Even on Sacred ground, even after praying desperately, starving himself and flogging his traitorous body, all his thoughts towards you are sinful: he doesn't see the fear and affliction in your eyes, your worry for his health, all he can focus are your breasts and the nipples poking against the material of your nightgown. Your touch, albeit gentle, inflames his loins anew, as if the pain each breath brings him doesn't exist. He doesn't truly hear your words, he only knows he wants to kiss you until your taste is all he can feel.

His wounds look horrific: there isn't an inch of his back that's not torn, raw skin; he has managed to strip the outer layer, and kept going until he had bled.

He winches when you start cleaning his back, begging him for forgiveness with every pass of the sterile gauze, until you can start applying layers and layers of antiseptic cream and plaster, covering the wide expanse of his ruined back.

Once you're done, you can't make yourself lift your hands from the dressing; even under those circumstances, you want to feel him.

"Why did you do this to yourself?"

You know the answer: the same malady plaguing your mind has invaded his yet, in the dazed state you're in, you want to hear the confession spilling from his lips.

Heartbeats as long as centuries pass, before Osferth finds the strength, and the courage, to lift his abused body to kneel in front of you. Only then he looks at you with haunted eyes.

"Because I am a sinner. Every breathe I take, every thought coursing through my brain makes me one. I think about you during every waking hour. You come in my dreams, taking my willpower away from me. I no longer want to live for my vocation, I want to live for you."

"When I pray, it's you I see behind my closed eyes." He barks, forcing your body closer to his. "I can't study, I can't focus on anything but the lust I feel. I keep wondering about your taste, the texture of your skin. How you'd sound under me. Even when I was punishing my flesh, all I could think about was you."

His voice raises with every words he says, until he's feverishly screaming in the silent Chapel.

Before you can answer, his hands grab your shoulders again in a painfully tight grip that surprises you.

On instinct you put your hands on his naked chest, unsure if you want to push him away or drag him closer to you.

"Osferth..."

His warmth liquefies your strength and stuns any good purpose you might have.

"I can't live like this anymore." His voice has taken a begging note, his hands shake your body. "I can't free myself if you don't tell me you don't want me. Please, I can't..."

Osferth bends his head again, overwhelmed with tears and shame.

You weren't acting as yourself, you will repeat in front of the mirror in the morning, you didn't know what you were doing, you'll lie to yourself, waiting for night, and him, to come.

All his life he had desired the safe haven of the monastery. To leave the world behind and follow his Calling.

Or so he thought.

With you so close, supple skin and enticing smell, he doesn't know what it's right and what is wrong anymore, what he truly wants for his life.

Possessed his hands strip the flannel off your body, until he frees your breasts, his hands cupping the warm skin as he sighs in the kiss.

You are absolutely aware of your actions. Of cupping Osferth's tear streaked cheek with your hand, until you could stare in his eyes.

When you slant your lips on his, you know you have opened the gates for a flood neither of you will ever be able to control.

You link your hands behind his nape, pulling him over you, the dressing gown your only protection against the unforgiving stones of the nave.

His kiss is hurried and inexperienced, so are his hands on your body, pinching, touching, caressing every inch of skin he can find.

When his fingers meet the wetness between your legs, he stares at you, surprised.

"Osferth, please!" You beg, lifting your hips to bunch the flannel around your waist. "I need you."

He's on you again, kissing and biting, scratching as if possessed.

Hungry you help him remove the cassock and boxer briefs, until he's naked, and hard.

You don't know if this is his first time, it doesn't matter when he breaches you with a shout, and keeps pushing and pushing, deaf to the sounds of pain and pleasure that spill from your lips: all he can focus now is your warmth, and the way your muscles pull him in, mercilessly, until his hips are flush against yours.

"I... I... Oh God!" He screams when your hand curls around his massive erection to stroke the fluids weeping from his head, all over his hardness.

"Now, Osferth! Now!"

Only then he stops moving and pulls his torso up to look at you.

In the half - light he can see the blessed out expression on your face and the way your breasts heave with every breathe you take. You're so beautiful this can't be sin.

Hastily you plant your feet on the ground and grab his buttocks, pushing upwards against his body, fucking yourself on his cock until he lets his weight be carried by his forearams.

You scream when he pounds recklessly inside of you.

He fucks you like an animal, no finesse, no technique, his cock rams against your walls, opens you up with squelching sounds when your wetness starts dripping from your hole.

You can't match his hunger and let him sweep you away, your legs curling around his trim waist, nails puncturing the meat of his ass.

Blindly he fucks against your G spot until you arch and come under him.

He doesn't stop.

The tighter you curl around him, the faster he goes. He brutalizes your insides, he bites the soft skin of your neck to snuff his own moans of pleasure, the pain of his back forgotten.

On instinct he pulls out and turns you around, only to enter you again, marveling at how deeper he can reach now.

He's possessed by lust you, under him, can only grab the fleece and scream your orgasm, unable to even beg for mercy.

You're a trembling mess under him, your combined honeys drip from your hole and have formed a white ring around his base; inside of you, he's still hard.

Relentless he fucks your hole, your muscles pull and curl around him, his balls, impossibly full, slap against your naked skin. He grinds against your cervix when you whine in pain and tightens his hold on your hips when you come around him.

He can't stop.

His erection is pure torture. His brain is screaming that he needs to come, he stubbornly tries to push his own end away: he doesn't want the coupling to stop, he doesn't want to leave the sanctity of your wet cunt, even now that you're begging and crying, he can't stop, not when you come again and curl impossibly tight around him.

Desperate for a sliver of control, he pulls out and turns you on your back.

You're so beautiful with your teary eyes and weeping pussy, the skin of your breasts marked by the stones under your entwined bodies: you are the image of lust and desire, with your lips bitten raw and your splayed legs.

Unconsciously his cock strains for your hole, for its warmth and hunger; he chokes on his own saliva when he sees the way your cunt clenches, still needy for him.

You're so sore, oh God so sore! No one had ever given you such a pounding, you're sure you'll not be able to walk tomorrow.

You don't deny him when he enters you again, moaning, his head whipping back to expose the cords of his neck, your hole so wet he bottoms out easily.

Mesmerized he stares at the junction of your bodies: how will he be able to live without this? Without your warmth?

He lays on you, his weight partially carried by his forearms, his pubic bone delicious against your pearl.

Your words unleash his lust again. Like a man possessed he fucks you, barely leaving your hole, grinding against your body, reveling in the way you moan and whine, your hole clenching tighter and tighter, the pressure mounting at the base of his spine until he comes, copious in your pussy and you follow him, blinded by the strength of your orgasm.

"Osferth, I can't..."

"Please!"

"Come with me, Osferth! Please!"

He's still laying on you as his cock softens in your hole. He almost purrs when he feels your hand caress the solid muscles of his arse; no, this isn't sinning, not when it's you.

Dazed you two help one another with your clothes, his hands and yours tremble, your eyes don't meet. That's why you notice the cilice sitting on the first pew.

With shaking fingers you take it in your hands, finally staring at him.

His hands are so big, yet careful to remove the vile instrument from your grasp.

"Were you going to wear this?" Your voice shakes with pity and fear.

"Not anymore."

"Do you regret..." Your hands gesture to the floor. "This? The Dean can have my resignation letter first thing in the morning."

Before you can start to fear his response, he grabs your arms again, shaking you.

"No! Never!" He shows the cilice right in front of your face. "Wearing this for the rest of my life would hurt less than not being with you again! Flogging myself until no skin remains would hurt less! I don't want this to be a once only!"

The vehemence of his words, the desperation you can see in his eyes, they both surprise you, so is the fact that he is confessing all of this on Sacred Ground: you thought his calling was the only thing that mattered to him, that he would deem your coupling a mistake.

Despite the weariness he feels in his body and the pain now biting his back, he stands to his full height, grabbing your hands with his own to help you on your feet.

"I can't fathom not having you inside of me again and again, Osferth."

"I'll never leave you."

Outside the storms still rages, as if the Heavens are screaming at the sins you two are committing by promising absolute faith to one another in front of the Altar, a blasphemous matrimony.

"I am yours, and you are mine." He says with a firm voice. "That is the only important thing."

"Yes." You cup his cheek. "I'm yours and yours only."

It doesn't matter. Nothing matters but you two and the bond now binding your souls.

No one will ever separate you two.

No one.

Osferth taglist: @fan-goddess

Ewanverse taglist: @vhagar-balerion-meraxes @zaldritzosrose @thought--bubble

[klunkcat]

Hi hello I just found your writing and I LOVE IT. May I please request number 48 with the pbj duo?

‘Don’t touch me!’

(@psychologicalwarclaire - There was a more simple route I could have gone with this, I saw it and then took a hard left turn instead. Also thank you so much!!)

TW: vague medical setting, mention of needles, kidnapping

It takes two days for their brothers to find them. Normally, in these situations (or at least in the Jupiter Jim films they’d spent so long obsessing over), he would say that it felt like so much longer. 

It doesn’t, it feels like two days. Two days is a lot of time when you stretch it all out. 

Nothing had really happened that was unrecoverable— there'd been a lot of threats. Promises of some unbeknownst evil if they ceased to cooperate at first, and then later, more unsettlingly, the insistence that they were subjects. Not to be spoken to.

He thinks that's the part that might stay: being referred to by a species type, being reduced to a clip board and data sets. All of Mikey's little brother splendor being reduced to a column beside his.

Raph had burst down the door with dad hot on his heels to spin kick everyone in the room right into all of Leo’s conveniently placed portals before anyone had even really delved into the gruesome threats. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem to matter to Don’s brain much.

Two days was plenty of time to think.

They’d strung him and Mikey up on flat tables, shone an over bright light directly at them, and asked a lot of questions mostly. Talked a lot of big talk. Pulled out medical equipment and taken blood samples here and there. A slice or two. Not worth mentioning in the grand scheme of things, they'd all had worse more recently.

There was something... writhing in the back pocket of his mind though. The moment where Bishop had bent over Mikey, back to him so Donnie couldn't see, and whispered just to him.

Don didn't know what was said to counter argue it. To point out flaws in science or loopholes, or insinuate anything about the lack of foresight. He didn't hear it. When he leaned back, Mikey looked scared.

"Enough blood samples," Bishop had said to the glass wall beside them, that barest hint of a smirk he carried every moment. "We have our findings. Perhaps, bone would be best as a next step. Speed up the research."

He hadn’t been able to stop any part of it, was the thing. Hadn’t gotten a single second of a break from the noise and the lights, and the press of metal against his wrists. And the constant threat that they could grab or stab or worse. And Mikey had been scared. 

Nothing even happened, he reminds himself. His brain flashes back to Mikey trying to duck into his shell, the cattle prod the man had waved around almost playfully. 

He hadn’t been able to move his arms the whole time, pinned up by his ears like a butterfly under a pane of glass. April unclicks the button with a loud shout of ‘got it!’ and he hears the hiss right as a spike of pain slams into every limb. It doesn’t matter that it hurts, it matters that it feels like a thousand tiny stabs of a thousand needles everywhere across his skin. He hates it, he hates it so much. 

There’s grates under his knees and he hates that feeling too. Separated metal maws punching up in bumps and ridges — it’s all disgusting. It’s awful, he can break it all down into chemical compounds in his mind and the imaginary neutrons feel like exploding fireworks. He needs it to all stop, for a minute or. An hour. 

Stop.

“Dee, are you—” That’s Raph, he knows it’s Raph. But there’s noise and touching and he can’t breathe with all of it in his face, and Mikey is scared. 

“Don’t touch me!” He snaps back, pulling further into himself on instinct. He can sense Raph’s hand hovering, just by his shoulder. Hears his steady apologizing. 

Noise, noise, noise. 

Leo whistles across the room, “Raph, they got a lot of stuff in here. We should probably make sure they can’t use it.” Giving him an out, a breather. Thank god for twins. 

He doesn’t want to think about what they’d gathered. He’d seen the vials. Just because he hadn’t felt whatever they’d done at all doesn’t mean it wasn’t his DNA. He barely represses a shudder. 

Mikey had been so scared. He’d looked at Don with wide, shocked eyes. Like he’d forgotten that there were people in the world that didn’t care for sunny smiles and friendly hellos, that there were worse things than grouchy junkyard mutants and spider ladies. It felt wrong, some fundamental thing in Donnie’s mind skittering and clattering around. Science was meant to help, to study and grow from— he couldn’t pretend he hadn’t tossed a thought or two around DNA samples of his own but. They’d taken it, right from him. From his baby brother who still thought Santa was a suspiciously hairy short man who visited through TV fireplaces. 

Nothing even happened.

But it could have.

The sheer fact that the phantom feeling of an itch across his skin was in his head and made up and that was a good thing. The scientists could have gotten bored. Decided they’d needed one turtle less. It could have been Mikey. But they'd circled him and stared at him, and poked and prodded, too. Why is that comparable? Why is that worth noting?

His family is here, the scientists are gone. He can hear dad's voice a few scant feet away. So why can't he---

“I’m here,” Mikey’s soft voice appears. “It’s okay, Dee. I’m okay. We’re fine.” 

He’s knotted himself up in a ball so tightly, hands around his knees, shell pressed firmly against the wall. It’s dark here, for once. Don realizes he’s been repeating Mikey’s name almost mindlessly, like a white noise machine in the background. 

"You with me, Don?" Their check in phrase. No touching, not too many questions.

He signs back: 'here'.

"Thanks for telling me. April's helping Dad with something. Leo and Don are in the next room. They'll come back in three minutes, I have Leo's watch."

Good. Numbers, specifics. That's good.

'Injuries?' He signs.

"No, I mean. Not big ones." He can hear Mikey's wince. "Bruised my wrist I think. Dehydrated, probably? Leo said he can check when you want him to, since nothing's bleeding."

'Okay.'

He hears rather than sees Mikey’s slide to the steel floor beside him. Hears his shaky sigh out. “Sorry I didn’t get us out.” 

Donnie tenses. There’s a myriad of reasons that makes no sense, but his words have escaped somewhere in the replay. 

Mikey sighs again. “I— I was thinking about using the mystic powers again, but I didn’t want it to hurt. Or leave you there. I should have been more brave.”

Don remembers the way the gold cracks had fissured up his shoulder, split all the way near to Mikey’s neck. The heat emanating even with all the bandages, and the physical therapy Leo’d tried to walk him through after. He still couldn’t close his left hand all the way on bad days. 

“No,” he manages. “You were brave.”

Mikey hadn’t cried, or begged. He’d channeled some deep down snark and thrown cocky one liners back every chance he could. He was only fifteen. 

Don pulls his head up, breathes out sharp through his nostrils.

"I was scared, too." He tells his knees. A quiet confessional.

He stretches his hand out. The pins and needles are awful and constant, but he needs to know— 

Mikey’s hand slides instantly. It helps. It’s quieter. 

He'll be braver next time, too.

[kazu-naito]

𝐌𝐘 𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐃 𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐌𝐄 — kazu x mei

legend of the willow | rating M | @rc-catalog | art

tw: mentions of blood and death

Mei couldn’t destroy the Gate on her own. She thought she had it in herself, but reality had proven, once again, to be cruel. Now she was surrounded by oni and ryoge. She couldn’t move at all. Even if she could dodge both enemies, she still would have been struck by the gatekeeper’s magical fire. “This is the end”, she thought. She hoped Takao could manage, but was sure she would not live to see the outcome.

Kazu had just gotten up. The blows from the gatekeeper, the bloodloss and the fatigue were finally taking its toll, he could not go on much longer. His vision was blurry as he looked around, searching for his companions. As soon as his eyes landed on Mei, he rushed toward her - no hesitation. The ninja’s inhuman speed did not slow, not even when an enemy’s blade slashed his shoulder. He ran - as he had never before -, wounded, dodging white flames - his clothes flared up as he was hit. Still, the shinobi continued to fight. He had to. He could not stop. He would not stop. He had to get to Mei. An enemy sword slashed his chest - he barely felt it, focusing his gaze on his goal, on his beloved. Driving a knife into an oni’s temple, Kazu swept the second oni’s legs out from under him, knocking him into the water.

No longer encircled, the kitsune breathed a sigh of relief as Kazu’s hand wrapped around her waist and they leapt into the water. With a groan, the shinobi yelled to the sorcerer to attack. One after another, Takao’s blows exploded against the Gate’s pillars, which began to crack and fall apart. The debris falling onto the water caused a wave of slit and algae to wash over Mei and Kazu. His grip on her loosened as the adrenaline rush ended and his wounds became too much to bear. Kazu could feel life slipping from his grasp as another wave crashed onto them - but he did it, he saved her, so it was worth it.

Mei managed to surface… but Kazu did not.

Upon noticing this the kitsune immediately dived back in, searching for him. As soon as she saw him, she grabbed him and tried to drag him up. The columns began to crack and the stone pillars continued to collapse, but Mei was no longer paying attention to what was happening. She gathered all her strength to drag the bleeding shinobi to the shore.

“Come on, please… you can’t…”

Her vision blurred with tears as it dawned on her what was happening. Her hands were shaking, stained and slippery with his blood. “Kazu no… Wake up… You promised…” She couldn’t see or hear anything but her own sobs. Clutching his clothes and pressing her head against his, Mei felt the moment when it happened.

The heart of Aogawara’s last survivor stopped in the arms of the one most dear to him.

“I couldn’t save you… I’m sorry… I’m so sorry”

“KAZU!” Mei had never heard a scream filled with pain such as that one. Turning her head she could see, clear as day, all of Takao’s barriers collapsing as he took in the image of her falling apart and his brother’s lifeless body.

No strategy in mind, Takao rushed towards them. He needed to be there, he needed to try, maybe his eyes were deceiving him and Kazu was alive. After all, how could he be dead? Kazu of all people? They have taken different paths and travelled different roads, but they knew they’d always end up on the same one when they were old… They were in this together… they had to.

But Takao’s plans were cut short as the Gate exploded, a moment before the gatekeeper. A large piece of debris collapsed to the ground, burying Kazu and Mei beneath it - but not before she could cover his body with her own. Then everything turned to darkness.

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦

Mei wasn’t sure about what happened, nor how long had it been. But a sudden thought made her clutch the sheets. Kazu. The air suddenly seemed too thick to breathe. The one thing she was sure of was that Kazu was not there. She could feel it. After all, the moment his heart stopped a part of her died inside, the best part of her was gone forever - just like her love. No, no… Why him…? She couldn’t say she didn’t care about other deaths - she did. Every death was on her conscience and she memorised every person that died in her name. But at that moment, every other death seemed irrelevant, none of them were him. No one could ever be him.

Kazu was dead because she couldn’t do her job. She had one task and failed. One task. And failed. One. Task. Failed. And it cost her more than anything ever had so far. Guilt-ridden and ashamed of her own powerlessness, Mei mercilessly told herself:

“All of Aogawara’s people have died, and I am alive. They all died helping me survive. Every last one of them. I couldn’t help any of them. I couldn’t. Not even one so dear.”

Her heart could not bear what had happened. She was panting. She was so out of herself she couldn’t even tell whether she was choking on her tears or on her own depressing thoughts. Her heart felt so much all at once that it suddenly felt nothing at all, scarred by the countless wounds. Only her mind remained.

Mei’s position didn’t allow her to grieve beyond the walls of her chambers. She had to maintain her composure all the while Lady Hatakeyama was present, as if her only concerns were the outcome of the battle and her own injuries. But in the quiet corners of her now almost silent heart, where whispers of sorrow were softly dwelling, grief lingered like a shadow: a weight unshared, an echo without sound. Mei took each breath with a tender ache, like autumn leaves drifting to the ground as their colours fade, yet still they fall with grace. Her upbringing would not allow otherwise.

When Mei saw Takao she had to try very hard not to break down in front of him. Little did she know the same thoughts were going through the jounin’s mind. Their paths entwined, silent as whispers, swift as the wind, two shinobis bound by brotherhood’s fierce embrace. But now that path felt lonely, Kazu’s absence materialised as one of his shurikens lodged into Takao’s chest.

The small talk didn’t help. Seeing the jounin only increased the feeling of guilt the kitsune was trying so hard to drown out. Mei couldn’t take it anymore, she had to address the obvious but unspoken matter.

“Takao, if you’re able to someday, please forgive me for Kazu. I couldn’t do it on my own…” There was a sort of hollowness in the jounin’s eyes, he spoke with conviction. “It was his choice. You had nothing to do with it. Please, let’s leave it at that.” Mei didn’t push it. She had lost her soulmate, but Takao had lost his brother.

After a moment of silence Takao spoke again: “Even though he’s gone, I can feel his strength in the cool night air. His spirit remains, in a way he will forever be my partner in the art of the unseen. And yours too, Mei.”

“I never got to say I loved him.”

“Trust me, he knew it. And he loved you too, in his own way. He didn’t do what he did for the contract, he wanted to save you. He wouldn’t have been able to live with himself if he was alive and you were not.”

Mei’s eyes were glistening with unshed, silent tears. “I’m not entirely sure I’m able to do that either, Takao.” The sorcerer silently comforted her, comforting himself at the same time.

The moment gave the kitsune time to compose herself and ask the question she was dreading the most: “What happened to his body…?”

“It was cremated, as is tradition in our clan. Most of his belongings are already back in the mountains, but I did keep something for you.”

Mei couldn’t believe her eyes when she saw his dagger, no gift she had ever received could compare to this. She bowed so deeply to Takao that her hair was touching the ground, along with a single teardrop.

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦

In solitude, the heart remembers the love that once filled every corner of her soul. And in this hush a deep river flows, carrying the weight of unshed tears, the beauty of what was, and the longing of what remains. Mei buried her face in her hands, slowly swaying from side to side. A muted howl, chilling in its dreary sorrow, escaped from deep within her. In the stillness, she only wished to reach for him - she needed the type of comfort only he knew how to give, yet she could find only the soft hum of his name - that the kitsune herself was whispering into the darkness - a bittersweet reminder that love endures even as the heart struggles to carry the weight of loss.

Kazu… Why can’t I be happy with you? How can I learn to live again… to live without you? You attentive gaze… your thin, firm hands… the bitter scent of you… the embraces that felt like home… We didn’t even get to see the flowers…

Years passed, but Mei never truly got over her grief - she just learned to live with it. In a secluded area of the palace, she had made a grave for her beloved, a sacred space known only to her and a few. On the upper left of the grave’s soil she would plant the most beautiful flowers, right where his heart once beat. This was her way of fulfilling their last promise to each other, which never came to be. She dreamed that their broken promise could still be mended. She dreamed that one day she would finally be able to join him and see his face once again. Secretly, she prayed that it would happen soon, because the notion of forgetting his face someday in the future scared her deeply. So she waited patiently, going through her days, but denying herself a chance of loving someone new, instead honouring the memory of a love that remained strong in her heart, hoping that time would eventually fulfil her heart’s deepest wish.

Mei Hattori was the most important person in the Empire, but she was proof no throne or crown could mend the aching hole left by the loss of one so dear. Her power, a flame against the dark, could not chase away the shadows of grief, a testament that even the mightiest soul is but a vessel for the love that lingers on.

[tanooki-hut]

Kirby: Meta Knight and the Monster of the Magic Stone - Chapter ☆4: A Sudden Ship Battle!?

Lucia stood on the deck of the sailing ship, gazing at the horizon, her blue hair fluttering in the wind.

"I will definitely defeat King Flotzo with my own hands. I won't let outsiders get in my way!"

She clenched her fists and reaffirmed her resolve.

Lucia was surprised to see a white sailing ship sailing nearby.

"Isnt that the ship that Meta Knight and the others came on?! How could I, Lucia, have been caught up with…!"

Lucia muttered, her eyes glaring.

"I won't let you get in my way! Get ready, Meta Knight!"

……In fact, that was not Meta Knight and his mens' 'Sunset Harmony.'

The ship was the identical 'Morning Melody.' In other words, it is the ship that Kirby, King Dedede, and the Waddle Dee squadron were on.

Kirby and his friends are having a blast going on a full-scale boat trip.

They ate the desserts that were prepared in the refrigerator on the ship, drank the drinks, and really felt like they were at a resort.

King Dedede is lying on a deck chair on the deck, holding a tropical drink and feeling completely at ease.

"Woohoo! It's paradise!"

Kirby said, holding a cupcake in each hand and munching it down.

"After I finish eating this, I'm going to go fishing. I'm going to catch a big fish!"

Bandana Waddle Dee said as he cleaned the deck.

"Kirby, fishing is fun, but our goal is to get rid of the octopus. Don't forget that."

"Of course, I haven't forgotten! Hey! Come out quickly, King Takotzo!"

Portmanteau of takoyaki and King Flotzo.

"It's King Flotzo..."

And then.

Adventure Waddle Dee, who had been perched on the mast and scanning the area with binoculars, called out.

"Oh no, oh no! A suspicious ship is approaching! It has black sails.... oh no, the skull sign! That's a pirate ship!"

"Huh? Pirate?"

Everyone looked up at Adventure Waddle Dee.

Bandana Waddle Dee said with a grin.

"Is it the legendary pirate, Captain Pietro? He's a pirate, but he's a good guy."

King Dedede said, rising from his deck chair.

"So you’re the pirate who cut off the legs of a giant octopus. I’ll say hello to you, then. I declare that the remaining seven legs are mine."

Kirby said excitedly as well.

"Pietro, let's invite you to our takoyaki party! I want to hear all your stories. Yo!"

But.

Adventure Waddle Dee squinted through his binoculars and cried out in a tense voice.

"I heard that Captain Pietro has retired! The person on that ship is... Ah, it's a girl! A girl with blue hair!"

King Dedede said in confusion.

"A girl? Is she a different pirate than Pietro...?"

Suddenly, at that moment.

Bang!

A thunderous roar echoed, and a large column of water rose up from the surface of the sea.

A tremendous impact hit the 'Morning Melody.'

"Whaaaaaaaat!!"

"Aaaaahh!"

Kirby, King Dedede, Waddle Dee and the others all screamed and rolled around on the deck.

Adventure Waddle Dee clung to the mast and bit into it to keep from falling.

"Cannon fire! The pirate ship is firing its cannon!"

"What!?"

Adventure Waddle Dee continued his report, peering through his binoculars.

"The enemy is fired up! They're firing again! Oh no! We have to fight!"

Adventure Waddle Dee jumped off the mast.

A second and a third shot came storming in quick succession.

Although it wasn’t a direct hit, the bullets went up in the air with a bang.

The 'Morning Melody' was buffeted by the rough seas and swayed like a leaf.

King Dedede roared.

"Oh come on, you disgusting pirates! I won’t forgive you! I’ll show you what happens when you pick a fight with King Dedede! Waddle Dees, we’ll fight back with our cannons!"

The 'Morning Melody' is not just a sailing ship for tourists. It is a ship that can withstand the adventure of heroes. It is loaded with serious weaponry so that it can be used for a variety of purposes.

However, the Waddle Dees are not used to handling weapons.

"Um, well, how do you fire a cannon…?”

"What if it explodes!?"

Everyone was so panicked that no one even dared to approach the cannon.

Yelled King Dedede, throwing a tantrum.

"Oh come on, that’s enough about the cannon! Warrior, bring me my hammer!"

"Y-yes!"

Warrior Waddle Dee hurriedly came over with his hammer on his shoulders.

Tool Shop Waddle Dee said to Kirby.

"I've prepared some Copy Abilities for you to use, Kirby! Fire, ice, sword, I've got it all!"

Kirby jumped up and shouted.

"Thank you, Tool Shop! Then, give me the sword please!"

"Yes!"

Kirby received the Copy Ability from the Tool Shop Waddle Dee.

He took it and spun around.

Instantly, Kirby’s appearance changed.

A green hat and a giant sword. The familiar sword Copy Ability!

King Dedede raised his hammer and shouted.

"Let’s destroy those wicked pirates! Bring the ship closer!"

The Waddle Dee at the helm answered.

"Alright then! We will approach the enemy ship!"

The 'Morning Melody' headed toward the black pirate ship, ignoring the fierce bombardment.

King Dedede shouted as he prepared to board the enemy ship.

"Let’s go! Everyone, follow me!"

"Oh!"

The Waddle Dees roared in excitement.

The one who is most enthusiastic is Adventure Waddle Dee.

Filled with enthusiasm for his first adventure, he yelled loudly.

"You pirates! I’ll take you down! I won’t let you have your way!"

Of course, Kirby isn’t far behind.

"I’m the first one to board! Save yourselves, you pirates!"

Kirby, King Dedede, and a bunch of Waddle Dees all jump onto the pirate ship at once.

At the time…

Countless flaming arrows were fired at the 'Morning Melody.'

The secret weapon of Lucia’s pirate ship is the Ultra Dangerous Fire Weapon!

Kirby and his friends are shocked by the unexpected attack.

"Whoaaaah! Fire!"

"Oh no! It’s going to catch fire!"

Fire was threatening to spread to the cargo on the deck, to the masts, and to the sails.

The Waddle Dees frantically rushed to put out the fire.

"Get some sea water! Quickly!"

"Bring me more buckets!"

Neither Kirby nor King Dedede are in a position to fight.

"Hey Tool Shop, give me a water Copy Ability! I’ll put out the fire with water!"

"Give me a bucket! Come on, Waddle Dees, you’re going to get burned! Hide behind me!"

Everyone on the chaotic 'Morning Melody' was completely unaware of it.

During this commotion, a Waddle Dee falls into the sea.

It’s Adventure Waddle Dee.

In his overexcited attempt to jump onto the pirate ship before anyone else, he lost his footing.

"H-H-Help me! Great King!"

He screamed at the top of his lungs as he swam through the waves, but his voice was drowned out by the commotion.

King Dedede, Kirby, Waddle Dee and the others were all busy putting out the fire and didn’t seem to notice.

"Help… Help…!"

The fresh seawater flowed effortlessly into his mouth.

He could no longer make a sound.

"……! …!"

His vision blurred and he lost consciousness.

Adventure Waddle Dee lost consciousness.

Introduction

Previous Chapter

Next Chapter

[madisonmontgomeryimagines]

this is probably a weird request, but can we get a smut where madison is just completely infatuated with pregnant!reader? i mean we all know she’d be obsessed with her gf/wife all the time, but i have this theory that she’d be like super attracted to her pregnant partner…

Of course 💜

"Maybe that bullshit they say is true after all," Madison's words tickled your skin between the languid kisses her lips were granting you.

"What would that be?" You murmured, pulling her closer when her teeth grazed your flesh.

"About what pregnancy does to someone. Because you really are glowing." She lingered for a longer kiss, pressing you back into the pillows. "See? I just can't keep my hands off you." Madison's lips returned to yours as her hands slipped under your shirt to cup your tits, drawing a soft gasp from your throat when her palm grazed across your nipple.

Madison didn't play fair, and she knew it; just as she knew how sensitive you've been. An amused part of you hazarded a guess that she was grateful for your tits swelling, if the way she struggled more than usual when you wore something low cut meant anything. Your back arched as she squeezed, her full lips swallowing your sweet moan as her hips shifted against yours slowly, a wordless promise.

Ever since the first night you made out with Madison, she had awoken a craving in you with such hunger it could take you by surprise. You could scarcely go a day without her touch, and now between the spikes in your hormones and the way she looked at you, it had blazed into an inferno. The other change had been the way your need replaced your shyness, which woke a feral delight in your girlfriend.

"Do you need me again already, baby girl?" Madison's words were a velvet purr as she gazed down at you, curtaining you both with golden hair.

"Yes!" Your hips rolled up against her, demanding and begging all at once.

"You're perfect." It was half sigh, half growl. "Desperate and eager and always so greedy for more." Her mouth painted her mark on the column of your throat as she shifted her weight to pin your hips down tauntingly. "All it took was the thought of carrying my babies and you can't stop begging me to fuck you." Madison's words were soft and teasing, but you thought you could catch a hint of pink in her cheeks.

"Shut up and fuck me about it." Your breathless quip made her breath cascade over your collarbone with her soft laughter. A gentle tug on one of your nipples took your breath away before her hand slipped down to pull your underwear aside.

"As you wish, princess." Madison's voice sounded like sex as her fingers spread you, reminding you how unfairly empty you currently were. Before you could whine, her fingers were sinking into your soaked cunt and curling to abuse the angle that could make you scream for her.

Madison smirked as your back arched off the bed, thrusting her fingers deep enough to made your head spin. “That’s my good girl,” she murmured, her lips brushing against your ear, sending shivers down your spine. “So wet for me already. You’re insatiable.”

Your hands gripped the sheets, the pleasure building rapidly with each calculated stroke of her fingers. “Madison,” you groaned, your voice low and trembling when her thumb circled your clit agonizingly slow.

“Say it louder,” she demanded, and you could nearly hear her signature smirk. She leaned over you, her gaze locked on your features, dark with desire and dazzling with a taste of mischief. “I want everyone in this house to know who you belong to.”

Her fingers curled just right, pounding against that spot that made stars explode behind your eyelids. The cry that tore from your lips was anything but quiet, and Madison’s satisfied chuckle rumbled against your skin.

“That’s it,” she purred, her free hand sliding up your body to grip your jaw, tilting your head so you couldn’t escape her gaze. “Look at me when you cum, baby. I want to see it.” Her fingers quickened, her thumb pressing down firmly against your clit. “I’d keep you like this forever if I could,” she murmured, her voice a sinful melody. “Writhing, begging, screaming my name. My perfect girl.”

The wave of pleasure crested, crashing over you in a blinding, all-consuming rush. Your body trembled, her name spilling from your lips like a mantra as she drew your climax out as long as she possibly could. Madison’s lips claimed yours again, frantic and deep and possessive, as if she were staking her claim all over again.

While you remembered how to breathe, Madison sank into the sheets again to wrap her arms around you. “See?” she mumbled against your temple, her tone soft but still laced with that ever-present arrogance. “I told you I couldn’t keep my hands off you.”

You let out a breathless laugh, your head nestled against her chest as your heart slowly returned to its normal rhythm. “I think I’ll survive,” you teased.

“Survive?” Madison arched an eyebrow, leaning back to meet your gaze with mock offense. “You’re thriving, baby. I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to you.”

You rolled your eyes, but the grin tugging at your lips betrayed you. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love me for it,” she shot back, her smirk softening into something almost tender as her fingers traced lazy patterns along your side.