#big circle ruby

[cyromew-blog]

Scan

[borealing]

i wonder if the doctor disappeared bc (in turn left fashion) he died in the timeline where roger ap gwilliam was PM and ruby had to deal with the woman

[seraqhites]

the paradox of self-awareness 😵‍💫

[arminsumi]

ㅤ★ ONETWOTHREEFOUR — MAX!

... bully!Gojo loves fucking you in the bathroom stall, turning his creampies into whipped cream inside you. But you know what else he loves? Plugging you up with a vibrator and surprising you by turning it on mid-lecture — and passing the control over to his best friend.

ㅤ★ requested by anon / promptlist

ㅤ★ cws; strictly no under 18s, smut, unprotected sex, rough sex, secret public sex/nearly caught (poor confused Choso just getting moaned at), multiple orgasms/creampies, remote toy control, Suguru gets passed the remote, dirty talk, some spanking/ass slapping

There's just no way he can reach your little hole without bending his knees — and still you have to be poised on your tippy toes to let him fuck you.

Body shuddering with your hands splayed against the bathroom stall's pretty pink wall, your skirt fisted in his big hands and your thong pushed to the side of your puffy lips, bully!Gojo thrusts into your poor overused pussy 'till she cries, 'till she gushes, 'till he groans and releases another cumload against your cervix, 'till he turns his creampies into whipped cream.

Sure, his cockhead is oversensitive from plunging into your wet walls, and his balls are sore from slapping into your poor puffy clit for creampie after creampie, and yeah, there's cum dripping down the front of his thighs— but he's fucking you to put you in your place. And with how addicted he is to the feeling of being inside you, getting his pretty pink cock hugged tight by your walls, he just can't stop now.

His hips practically move on their own. His cock keeps telling him not to pull out just yet — it's telling him let's let her have it.

In mock affection, he presses his sweaty cheek against your forehead, white wispy bangs sticking to your skin, eyes glued to your jiggling breasts, big hand coming down to rub your clit. "Insensitive, huh?" he asks in a dangerous coo, "I'll show ya how fucking insensitive I can be." and with that, he's frantically massaging circles on your super fucking sensitive clit.

"Ah! Fuck! T-t-toruuu, I'm sorry! I didn't even mean it, I was just a-angryyy!" you sob out, feeling his mean cockhead rubbing sweet spots deep inside you.

His clit rubbing is ruthless, and he's a messy boy you know he doesn't care that his fingers and palm are coated with your slick.

"Nah, you meant it." he grunts back, blue eyes piercing you with a glare, hips pounding into you from the back, muscles twitchy 'n tensing, "Now stay still 'n take it. I told'ya I was gonna fuck that attitude out of ya, didn't I?"

You let out a strangled moan at his words, nearly going limp against the shuddering bathroom stall's wall. Satoru presses your head against it, smushing your cheek, getting rougher by the second.

He's still tightly fisting your skirt in his hand, other hand sometimes tugging harshly on your pathetically tiny thong — the one he told you to wear today, or else he's gonna throw one of his spoiled rich boy tantrums. He can't resist groping at your soft ass and spreading your ruby red smacked cheeks wide.

Satoru momentarily stills inside you, choking you up with how deep he chooses to keep his throbbing cock, and then he repositions himself; sharp polished black shoes clicking as he spreads his long legs further apart.

"New angle, hope ya like it." he jokes, angling his cock so it curves right against the gummy roof of your pussy, right against that spot.

"Oh fuck!" you cry out when he starts pounding up into your hole, nearly lifting you off your feet with the force of each thrust, makin' your sweaty body jiggle erotically.

He watches you widen your eyes when his cock hits a sweet spot just right, the one that makes your eyes twitch in pleasure 'n your knees buckle.

You're gushing around him, totally soaking his length, pussy too full of his gooey creampies 'n now they're leaking out and running down your thighs.

His cock hits that damn sweet spot again, with more precision than before.

"Oh fuck, fuck! Right there! Fuck me right there, 'Toru!" you chokingly moan, feeling a shockwave of pleasure pulse from your pussy to every point in your body.

"Damn, chill." he chuckles.

Chill? Of course he'd say that while he's fucking you like he's trying to get you cockdrunk. He's pounding into your gummy walls 'n rubbing your clit with this hate-fueled determination.

All you did was talk back to him in class. Just a cutesy little snide remark. You thought it would turn him on. Well, it did turn him on — it also turned his gaze cold and wiped the smirk off his face. Two things that sent shivers down your spine.

Oh, I'm fucked.

The way he leaned back and hummed had your pussy twitching, already getting wet at the thought of what he was gonna do to put you back in your place.

Whiiich brings us back to the last bathroom stall of the men's bathroom, the stall in which your bully is fucking up your guts and turning you into his personal cocksleeve.

He's close, you can tell because that's when his steady, deep strokes slow and he takes two inches out so he can rub annoyingly back and forth across his favorite ridge inside your pussy. And his tell-tale signs? Choppy breathing, brows twisted together, tightened grip on your body, 'n he's got this psychotic smile forming on his face which he likes to press against your sweaty forehead to let ya know how much he's enjoying bullying you.

Just feeling all his cum getting fucked out of your quivering hole makes you want to cum again. It's almost scary. What if you fall apart? You might even scream this time. Nah, who cares honestly? You can't control how your walls squeeze his cock now even though he bitterly scolds you for being too tight, too tiny to take him all.

You can hardly hear the nasty vocabulary he's using on you, 'cause you're too fucked-out on his thick cock, not even caring if the squelching sounds and choking moans escape under the door and echo down your college's corridors. Even if anyone barged in, Satoru would probably just do what he did last week — when someone barged into the spare room while he was in heat 'n balls deep in your pussy — tell 'em to fuck off.

"Fuck me." Satoru groans, "That hot little pussy 's gonna make me cum... 'm gonna cum... gonna fill you up... ahah... fuck."

He's just the type to giggle during the buildup to his orgasm. It sounds almost psychotic — yeah, you knew from day one that he's crazy and his cock is crazy.

His cock gets hotter, then it bursts with thick ropes of cum once again. The both of you savor in the feeling. It's in the aftershocks of his orgasm that Satoru wonders if he's actually falling in love with you.

Then he snaps-to.

"Shit, you're a fucking mess." Satoru grins almost sadistically, sweating like crazy under his uniform.

You're just shivering against the wall as he eases his cum-coated cock out your pussy, sliding past your folds. Cheek smushed against the wall, face looking like you just saw heaven for an hour, you're relishing the buzzy afterglow of getting fucked dumb by your bully.

His hard slap on your ass brings you back to reality. You hear the sound of him pulling his pants up his long legs, dragging up his zipper. The click of his button. Then he plants another hard slap on your stinging cheek.

You groan, teasingly wiggling your cum-filled pussy, feeling his big hands groping the plush of your cheek and spreading it to reveal your twitchy holes — and he just keeps grinning, watching his seed ooze out 'n drip down your pretty thighs — those thighs that are the reason he chased you in the first place.

You'd think he's looking at the Mona Lisa with how he marvels at the sight — but nah, it's just his white, gooey creampies smeared across your lips and inner thighs. "Aw, don't let it drip out or 'm gonna need to plug ya up..."

Trembling, you listen to him unzipping his backpack and rifling around. "What d'you mean?" you ask, looking back at him with a dazed afterglow on your face, but when you do he's already sliding something into your pussy.

"Ahhh, fuck!" you squirm, feeling that hot pink toy push inside and stretch open your cum-soaked walls again. "I'm so tired, gimmie a break!"

"Relaaax, it's just to plug ya up..." he grins mischievously.

"Oh... o-okay... if you say so."

Oh, but what a liar he is.

It's ten minutes after you and him cleaned up and scurried off to your class and took your seats.

Shit — late again. You curse Satoru and his dummy big cock as you settle down.

... then you feel something start to buzz inside you.

"Oh!?" you let out a small gasp.

Vibrations against your sweet spots make your eyes flicker. Your filled pussy freaks out, spasming and twitching like crazy around the toy.

You give a glare of disbelief back at Satoru, who sat two rows behind and above you — duh, so he could always get a nice view of your breasts.

He sees you. He smirks. He raises a pink little controller shaped like a flat egg, and tauntingly shakes it in his hand before clicking a button.

One notch up.

"Nn!" you tighten around the toy.

He watches you freak out from afar, his sweaty face contorting into a diabolically naughty smirk.

Two notches up. Three notches. Off. Onetwothreefour — you gulp and smack the desk — earning a look from your seatmate, Choso.

The toy temporarily turns off.

"... sorry, this question is just so frustrating." you apologize, playing off your random desk smack.

"Yeah, tell me about it. I'm failing this class for sure."

"S-same, honestly." you reply shakily, soothingly rubbing up and down your clenched thighs.

You text Satoru with fervency.

You

'just a plug' my ass! wtf is this thing!

Toru

lol 🍑🔜 and chill... it's just a lil something i picked up for ya

You

ur the devil. i hate u.

Toru

ur hurting my feelings 🥺

Onetwothreefour — max!

"Fuck...!" you gasp again, feeling a dizzy rush as the toy buzzes at max deep inside your pussy.

Choso gives you a concerned side-glance.

"Sounds like you're really having a rough day." he jokes.

You look at him. He's sitting pretty close.

"You have no ideaaaaaahhhhhhh~" you moan back, accidentally cumming right there in front of your classmate.

Immediately clapping your hand over your mouth, you blink at him. Oh no... you just orgasmically moaned against poor, confused Choso's face.

His eyes widen. He blinks. " H u h ? "

Satoru sees this and slides down in his seat, holding in his laughter behind a toothy smile, pearly whites all on display. Now his best friend gives him a look.

"Satoru..." Suguru sighs, catching onto what was happening. "Give the girl a break."

"You wanna try?" he offers Suguru the remote control.

Suguru looks at it. He looks at you, then Satoru, then the toy... and takes it into his hand and chuckles with his best friend behind their textbooks, clicking it to a new pattern.

You just twitch your eyes and then shut them in pleasure, cursing the both of them in your mind while you feel your thighs tremble and feel the toy pulsing. Your pussy squeezes the pink silicone.

And you can hear those dastardly best friends giggling behind your back, watching you wiggle in pleasure, trying to contain your moans. Every time you glance back at them, Satoru makes mocking ahegao faces at you. Suguru just smirks and continues to play with the vibrator.

Oh, you were definitely gonna get 'em back for this.

© 𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐢

𝐓𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠! 💗

[screampied]

Imagine riding choso so good that he feels like he's the one who's going to get pregnant

☆ cw. fem! reader, reverse cowgirl, overstim, premature ejac, spanking, milkin’ him, breedīng, mdni.

“h- holy shit..” choso’s eyes widen, leaning back against his fluffed-out pillows. you’re straddling him in reverse, being in the prettiest fuckin’ arch he’d ever seen as you’re playfully wriggling your ass against him. just a few more centimeters and your dripping cunt would’ve been stuffed full of his aching cock. it’s veiny, and multiple veins throb from the lanky sides with pre-cum decorating his ruby tip. “you look so pretty in t.. this view,” he nearly choked on his breath, openly staring at the way your ass continued to still itself to hover over his length.

“tell me when to start, baby,” you softly hum, both hands of yours planting deep in the velveteen sheets. they create a print as your palms sink into the mattress, and your sopping cunt’s so teasing. with a tiny shimmy of your hips, you start to smear your entrance over his tip and you could hear him loudly sucking his teeth.

with a deep, protracted sigh, choso’s hand traces over the outline of your rear - so pretty. he stares at its shape from all angles before feeling his dick twitch the second you arch your back further. “you can start,” he shakily murmurs, and once you gradually start to plop yourself down on his cock he loses it. as his hooded eyelids start to droop, he lets off a soft whine once his cock’s slowly delving inside, pushin’ past the tight ring of your hollow entrance. “o- oh my god, your pussy’s gonna kill me.”

“hng-” you let off a quivering moan, biting the inside of your cheek once it takes him a few seconds to successfully bottom out. choso’s thick, and with the slight add of a prodding curve to his dick, you felt him expand everywhere. in you and through you.

he’s lean ‘n tall, easily fitting inside of your cunt like a puzzle piece.

choso’s got his bare hands glued to your hips the entire time, watching as your ass teasingly presents his pelvis with one big wet flop! choso groans, already feeling his knees starting to get weak at the stability of your greedy hips once you’re starting up a frenetic pace. “mhm, that’s it, baby. jus’ hold my hips.”

“god- you’re so hot,” he lets off a gruff huff, the tips of his ears burning over hundreds of degrees the moment you start to accelerate. your exposed backside was so pretty, especially in this position. choso stared at your jerking body - studying your tensing, flexing muscles and all of their glory. he can’t help but start to feel the inside of his mouth swelling up with salty saliva, and oh- he’s drooling already. “look back at me, princess. w- wanna see you while you ride me good.”

with a playful smile, you twist your torso just a bit to get a short glimpse of choso through your peripherals.

he’s so cute, slouched all the way back against the bed with the neediest pout plastered across his lips. he’s already sweating too - tears of sweat poured down the sides of his forehead and his usual ponytails were more unkempt than usual. “hi baby.” you mirthfully purr, and he grunts once he feels your rhythm starting to quicken. fuck, your hips were a menace.

“h…. hiii.” he hiccups, trying to smile but he only ends up moaning once his tip thrashes its way against your g-spot. right there, right-fuckin’-there, and you let off a small yelp. it’s so tender and choso starts to spasm underneath you. it was something about you riding him in reverse that made him lose his mind. the way you look back at him as you ride him to lewd oblivion, sexily tossing your hips in a circle with that cheeky grin on your sheeny lips—christ..

choso’s rock-hard abs through his white tee tenses against the fleecy fabric of his shirt and he moans. “f- fuck, don’t stop. don’t…fuckin’ stop—yeahhh, yeah like that,” and as your hips relentlessly smack back against him, nearly giving him whiplash, he whimpers. “ah. s- so warm inside, think ‘m hah- gonna make a…mess again, princess. y- your hips, ohmygoddd.”

and he’s just continuing to babble and ramble out all sorts of words with his hands still attached to your waist. he was holding on for dear life, never wanting to let go. choso’s cock dragged through your gummy walls through ‘n through, searching its way through every sloppy orifice and cavity..

you can see how his naturally drowsy eyes were already starting to roll back and his pretty pink tongue’s starting to loll out his mouth. oh- he was definitely drooling, all because of your sweet, sweet pussy. the grip you had was maddening, and each slam of your ass onto his pelvis had him whining out for more. dark thin brows of his crease into a crimped furrow as he’s trying to weakly guide your hips back into him. “mhm, touch me more baby. don’t be.. shy.”

you could feel how hesitant his fingers were, but he couldn’t resist allowing his hands to gently trace and explore down the outlines of your curves. “ughhh, i’m g- gonna,” and he pauses, letting off a husky groan the moment your ass rudely smacks back into him. it’s so impactful that for a second—the half curse was speechless. choso gasps, his eyes widening before he sobs out a crooning whimper. “faster, p…pleaseee. fuck me, r- ride it like it’s your princess. ‘m all yours, a-all yours.”

“s- shit,” you moan, snagging the edges of your teeth with your bottom lip. his dick’s steadily caressing your walls with his fat curve, locating and reaching every spot just to make you whine right with him. each pivotal thrust was killer, and you’re starting to puff out heaving breaths yourself.

choso’s fully laid back now as he watches your ass bounce itself up and down on his length before he starts whimpering again. he sounds so pretty the entire time too—

just babbling out sweet nothings, chanting your name over ‘n over as his swinish hands greedily try to reel your hips back into him. he’s addicted, and your hypnotic rhythm had him hungry for more. choso could almost taste his incoming release—syrupy pollen that’s slowly but surely salivating on his parched flat tongue.

“m..mngh,” he grunts, giving your ass a soft spank. he hears you playfully ‘oooh!’ at the swat of his hand and choso’s cock twitches inside of you. “wanna marry your hips. ‘m gonna…marry y-your hips, baby,” he starts rambling again, moaning at the speed of your rotating ass.

each wet thrust sends him shivers an abrupt rabble of butterflies, and choso’s damn near fully fucked dumb before he starts to whimper aloud yet again. he’s soso sensitive. the wide tip of his reddened shiny tip continues to swirl its way around the bulb of your clit before within seconds later—he finally cums… hard.

“oh, fuuuck—fuck,” he lets out a gargled whine and the carnal squelches of your cunt slamming against his lap get louder. choso erupts like a violent volcano - active ribbons of his handmade lava slowly pumping inside of your deprived cunt. choso’s sharp breaths become raspy as he feels your hips coming to a devastating halt, and he licks his lips. “t- thank you, thank you, thaaank you baby.” and you didn’t even know what he was thanking you for.

choso’s eyes close as he’s still filling slimy thin clods of cum inside of your puffed pussy.

it’s hot - and you then bring a hand toward your left ass cheek, squeezing it while still gradually fucking back against him. you’re reaaaal slow, working your hips on his active cock that’s spilling so much from the tip and the twitching sides. choso grabs onto the back of the wooden creaking headboard, and his abs clench as he watches the mess start to dribble further down between your thighs. a white puddling mess of his seed that’s drooling straight out of your flooded cunt makes him moan. “b- baaaby..” he swallows thickly, his ravened eyes fixated on your pretty plump ass that’s perfectly arched over his lap. “hah- think you just…impregnated me.”

“cho, that’s not possible,” you tease, and he moans once the warmth of your cunt starts to fade the second you get up. right away, a sloppy string of his cum glosses onto your slick entrance as you ‘pop’ his dick from between your sprawled numb legs. you turn around, straddling him from the front now, before kissing the side of his twitching mouth. “i can’t impregnate you, silly.”

“o- oh! right… um,” he breathes, sticky black bangs running down his eyes.

choso grabs your waist, a thumb shamefully swiping down the center of your runny pussy. so . . much. he locks eyes with you for a long four seconds as you’re now grinding your drenched folds against his flaccid cock that rests on his tummy. choso cutely scratches his head, and he lets off a soft whine once you sneak a wet kiss on his rosy lips. “i mean- i can try to impregnate you then.”

with a hum, you nibble on his chin. “mhm, wanna test that theory then, baby?”

choso’s so cunt-drunk that’s he’s just entirely dumbfounded. intently, he’s staring right into your eyes—barely registering a thing you just said before he cups your chin, panting at the shocks of rapture. choso’s still faintly whining under his breath before he smears a thumb over your wet-slick lips, lovingly.

“l- let’s get married,” and you gasp once he gingerly spanks your ass, an inaudible sign for you to ride him again—this time from the front so he could visibly watch your pretty face. “make me a daddy, princess, w.. wanna be all yours. please..”

[abyssyby]

Touch, touch, touch

—every time you and sylus touch is out of necessity, until it isn’t just.

ʕ ꈍᴥꈍʔ: baby’s first drabble! hello! soft, yearning, aching, hand-flexing sylus has been eating away at my brain like a maggot (affectionate). here’s the first of hopefully more of whatever this is ♡ i havent written in a hot MINUTE, so feedback is super appreciated. i hope you enjoy! ❀ -urs

sylus x reader | fluff, longing, dressing wounds, dates, and touches

The hunter’s attempts at sneaking up on him amuse him and make his chest ache at the same time. It was an all-too-familiar sight— her face and her eyes watching him like a hawk’s, her motions like a wild cat’s. A knife in hand isn’t favorable, sure, but it’s nothing he can’t handle. He’s barely looking when he catches your wrist with his sturdy fingers, head gracefully turning to look at you with no trace of urgency. 

“Kitten.” glowing rubies scrutinize your failed attempt at causing harm. Or a good startle. He couldn’t read if that was murder or mischief in your eyes. Either way, he liked it. “Nice try.” 

𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

Always so lost when it comes to the base, Mephisto is your only friend. The halls were made to be a labyrinth to anyone who dared trespass. Only Sylus and the twins truly know the way. Sylus spent hours programming the bird to know the ins and outs of the base, so he is your beacon. But he flies quick, and after shaking him like a tambourine that one time, he doesn’t really care if he loses you. 

“Shit.” you mutter, turning in a circle. A comical fork in the hall before you. You just wanted to find the library Sylus has been so proud of. You wonder how you’ll ever get there. You wonder how you’ll ever get out… 

Warmth on your shoulder and a sturdy grip on your arm maneuver you towards the rightmost hallway. Sylus towers over you, unimpressed. “He went that way.” 

Cheeks growing warm, you wanted to punch him— for sneaking up on you in a most idiotic state. But you thank him instead, shaking him off and stalking after the stupid bird. Maybe you’ll give him another shake for good measure. 

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

Amongst all your injuries, the broken nail on your thumb irks you the most. At least the lock is broken, and you’re safe and warm inside the safe house. The uncharacteristically charismatic safe house with leather couches, plush rugs, and a fancy fireplace. It smelled of white ginger incense and cinnamon. If you weren’t so dizzy and cold from the blood loss, you’d be living it up in this gold brick bungalow. 

Slumping against the door, respectfully getting only the wood floors wet and not the carpet, you assess the situation: bruises and scrapes (no big deal), gunshot to your shoulder, bullet still lodged and bleeding slowly (not so bad), and possible concussion (maybe a little concerning), broken thumbnail (big issue). 

You know exactly what you need to do. Where the first-aid kit may be, how to dig the bullet out, and what to bite on when you do it. Simple, easy, quick— as you were trained to do. A few winces and groans, and you’ll be fine. You lose a slow and steady breath. You’ll be fine…

 A few minutes to rest wouldn’t be so bad. Just a few breaths, a moment to rest your eyes, to calm your heartbeat and slow the bleeding. Just a minute. Just a minute. 

The click of the broken lock disengaging wakes you, sends you into a panic. How long have you been out? Instinct makes you reach, point, and cock your gun to the door— where it meets a dragon’s rock-molten glare. He scowls at you, incredulous— maybe at the blood on the polished mahogany floor, seeping between its crevices. Or at the shattered, high-end biotech door lock. Or the fact that you broke in. You have no energy to ask.

“You welcome this house’s owner by pointing a gun to his head?” he asks, but his voice carries no venom, nor does it any humor. He’s kneeling the next time you blink, hands hovering over your left shoulder. There’s something in the scrunch of his brows, the crease beneath his eyes, the short breaths he tries to hide— as if he’d been running, panicking. 

“How…?”

“A safe with a broken lock tends to make itself known, sweetie.” he murmurs, too focused on all the blood. Too much to be coming from you. “Although the treasure usually doesn’t walk right in.” 

He applies pressure. You groan. “What?” 

“Can you stand?” he asks. You try, but at the first sign of strain on your face, he stops you and moves you himself. 

He lays you by the fireplace, leaves the room to retrieve a first aid kit, and then works carefully in the dim light. He doesn’t speak a word, and you wonder if it’s because he’s mad. It is pretty shameless of you to break into his property. And you suppose pointing a gun to his head is even worse. 

He shouldn’t have to do this. He shouldn’t be dirtying his hands with your mistakes, dealing with the consequences of your poor and ill-tempered decisions. Shouldn’t have to be dealing with a bloody floor and a broken lock— and it’s all your fault. Guilt, cold and sickening, bubbles up in the pit of your stomach.

But his hands are gentle and soothing. His presence, the sound of his breathing is lulling you into calm-surfaced waters with a current that runs rapidly, dangerously beneath. You hate that you want to drown. 

“Sylus…” you start as he wipes his hands on his thighs, finished with stitching up your wound. 

He holds out a pill. “Take this.” 

You blink at him. 

“Painkiller.” he nudges your hand open, and you wince as he hits your thumb. The broken nail making its presence known once more. He freezes, wondering if he’d done that. If he’d missed a broken bone. He didn’t check for sprains. He opens his mouth to say something.

But you cut him off, bringing your finger to your lips and sucking. “I broke it when I picked your lock.” 

“Your finger?” he sounds mad.

“My nail.” you clarify, voice quieter now. A response at his own tone.

The cord that pulled his shoulders taut and froze his spine breaks its tension. He exhales. The rest of him follows, and with softness, he whispers. “Let me see.” 

You lift your hand to him carefully, and his strong fingers wrap around the base of your thumb and your palm. He inspects it with such care you’d think it was a protocore worth his time. “Looks bad.” 

“Feels bad.” You confirm, tugging at your hand. But with no real force. Maybe just to see if he would let go. 

He doesn’t. In fact, he looks pained. Maybe he had been looking pained this whole time— when he cleaned your cuts, when he pulled the bullet out of your shoulder and stitched up the gaping hole. Too engrossed in your guilt, you hadn’t noticed that what you thought was anger on his face was something else entirely. Anguish. Worry. The last fraying thread of composure his sanity clings to tonight. His grasp tightens around your hand, and he cleans it with the same tenderness he gave your worse injuries.

Then he pulls your hand up to his lips. His breath ghosts over your skin, heat lacing through your veins, down your arm and pooling in the crevices of your chest. “Call me, next time. When you need help.” 

He gauges your expression. He looks different here. His usual blood-cursed irises now looking like sweet, warm honey in the glow of the firelight. 

“Please.” He insists, voice low and imploring. It snaps you out of your reverie, and you nod. That’s enough for him. 

You spend the rest of the night talking, or at least he tries to keep you talking. You still did have a concussion after all. 

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

You shouldn’t be surprised, and yet. In the mirror, you scrutinized yourself in the dress he bought you. The shifting hues of black and red at the movement, how the gloves looked like starlight and felt like butter on your arms. How the heavy diamonds adorning your ears and your neck glimmer in the ambient light of his guest room.

There is a knock on the door and at your command, it swings open to reveal an equally stunning leader of Onychinus.

The strap of his watch catches his skin as he pushes the door open. He’s scowling at his wrist when you see him. And as he looks up, he meets your wide-eyed gaze in the mirror. There is a rupturing, caving so grand in your chest at his heated gaze. A smile he cannot help graces his dangerously, beautiful lips. “You look…” 

“My dress,” you say at the same time. Desperate, quick to fill the silence that stuffed the room now that there are two people in it. Now that he— handsome and alluring— is in it. You need to get a grip. “Can—“ you pause when you realize he was speaking too. But he simply gestures for you to go on. “Can you help me?” 

Sylus takes in the ask and nods. Willing the thrumming in his chest to cease and his breathing to steady as he comes up behind you. Closer and closer until you feel the heat of his fingers on your skin. 

“I’m going to—“

“Go ahead.” you feel his knuckle glide up the skin of your back as he zips you up snugly in the dress. So perfectly fit, you tried to find a flaw— but there was none. The glitter didn’t scratch under your arms, the fabric didn’t itch around your waist and it draped just below your ankles. it was soft and flexible enough should you have to move more than needed during tonight’s operation, you could. 

Something stirs in you that Sylus, under the guise of wanting to handle things himself, still took to account specific, necessary modifications for your comfort without you having to say a word. 

“Thanks.” you say, catching the reflection of his eyes again. His own lingers on the zipper for a moment before he pulls his hands away like he’d touched fire. He grunts in reply. Whatever he came in to say was lost to him, and frankly, he had no interest in getting it back.

“Take your time.” he says instead, voice tight. Then, unable to say another word, he turns on his heel and marches out with a rigid spine and stiff shoulders. Unbeknownst to you, his ears had gone as crimson as his irises. Meanwhile, you curl in on yourself, nails digging into your arms as you drop to your ankles, willing yourself into a ball to distract from the inferno in your chest. 

Good thing the dress was stretchy.

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

“Sylus?” turning, you wonder how it was possible to lose such a tall, formidable man. 

The crowd is an ocean that pulls you within its current however-much you push against. He asked you, very kindly, actually, to stay by his side— or so you recall. And yet the pastries, the trinkets, the lanterns and the small stall with the adoptable pets have charmed you like the lilt of a flute’s tune. 

The Linkon plaza is never this crowded, if it weren’t for the new year festival. From his cave, you thought you’d lure him out and show him how bright and happy a celebration should be beyond the confines of the base. Sure, the lanterns are up, the gold coins are scattered, the streamers and confetti have littered the floors of the mansion (thanks to the eagerness of the twins), but being out with the people celebrating the arrival of a new year is still, you argued, different. 

“I don’t need anyone else.” He’d said when you coined the idea. With his gentle look, and the hint of a challenge beneath a raised brow. You turn away before he spots the visual evidence of the prickles you feel under the flesh of your cheeks. He still does, anyway. It makes him grin. 

Never truly one to deny you, he agrees on one condition: stay close. And here you are… not. 

“Excuse me— sorry.” You weave through people as gently as you could, straining your neck trying to look over countless heads to find familiar moon-touched hair. A part of you itches in frustration— with his height, he should find you easily. Why wasn’t he looking for you?

The crowd spits you out by a sidewalk where children have gathered nearby to watch a puppet show. He’s impossible to miss in his red coat and bright white hair. There he stood in the back of the short crowd, watching intently as the paper dragon dances with the princess. 

You wander next to him quietly, not wanting to disrupt his intrigue. There was a far-away look in his eyes that made you wonder if he was watching at all. When he flinches ever so slightly as the dragon is slain, you’re sure he is. 

He feels your hand slip into his palm, and his fingers instinctively find their place between the spaces of your own. And something like freshly cooked rice or a hearty soup travels down into your chest at the feeling that this— this was right. You should have been doing this from the moment you arrived; then you wouldn’t have wandered, then you wouldn’t have strayed. You make a mental note: don’t let go. 

He thinks of how well you’ve gotten at sneaking up on him. 

Your grasp tightens. “There you are.” 

“You left me.” he says, his voice a little raspy from underuse. Unlike yours, that has been yelling his name the moment you realized he was gone. 

“No, I didn’t.” you insist, nudging him. “I just lost you for a second.” 

“Felt like ages, sweetie.” he says, looking at you. He means to tease, but his words carry the weight of a lifetime.

“Sylus.” you frown. You don’t like the way his features look haunted by a specter you cannot slay. Your free hand comes to touch his face, fingers brushing just below his eye, easing lightness back beneath his skin. “I found you.” 

And as if by your touch, his soul snaps into place. This one, now. Not any other life before. His brows unfurl and his distance from sea to shore recedes. A tenderness. A gratefulness. A prideful, present sort of affection. “You did.” 

“Wasn’t easy.” you huff, shoulders sinking in frustration. Spreading out the tension as the air between you has gotten too thin. But your hand stays in place, curling around his jaw to stabilize itself. Your thumb has a mind of its own, rubbing the back of his hand. To ground him, you say. For him. For… you, too. “There are too many things, I got a little overwhelmed.” 

He smirks, reaching up to your face and swiping his thumb over the corner of your lip. It comes away stained with blue icing. From the very cupcake that lured you away. He brings it to his lips and tastes it. “Show me.” 

“Hm?” you blink, distracted at the act. The sound of your pulse muffling your ears, drowning out the droning of the crowd. 

“Show me the many things.” he says again, a chuckle sanding his tone. His voice is clear as day, the only true thing you hear in the cheerful chaos of the festival. He shakes your joined hands. “I’ve got you.” 

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

thank you for reading!

[orphicmusings]

nothing’s gonna hurt you, baby

summary: the aftermath of what happened in skyhaven with pre-relationship sylus. hurt/comfort, exploring mc’s trauma.

A simultaneous sigh blooms from both of your lungs as the last wanderer crumbles into oblivion. The dust of its essence floated up to the polluted night sky of the N109 zone, painting artificial stars for the pair of victors below. Sylus lifts his gaze to you after he scrapes what’s left of the aftermath from his fingernails. He looks infuriatingly unaffected. You, however…

“You look like shit.” He remarks playfully, his eyes softening as he holds out his hand to help you up. You, like he anticipates, softly slap it away and get up on wobbly legs. “Fuck off.” You retort, still trying to catch your breath, and he simply smiles- striding next to you and subtly offering you his weight to lean on. You tried stubbornly standing on your own, but found yourself surrendering to his quiet help as you walked back to his bike.

“I’m not letting you ride back to Linkon like this.” He huffed, handing you his spare helmet, the one that is practically yours at this point. “Spend the night at the base.” Coming from him, it sounded more of a purring command than a gentle suggestion. “Get some beauty sleep.”

You had felt your muscles tense and your heart clenched as you were rapidly reminded of the last time you stayed over someone else’s place. The sound of doors locking, the pills, the confusion, the breathing man that you still mourned. Before you could refuse, though, a traitorous yawn escaped your throat. You knew he was right, that you were in no shape to travel home, and it’s not like he could exactly traipse into Linkon at the moment to accompany you. Besides, you’ve been fighting alongside him for a while now, and while he has little weaknesses, you’re willing to exploit them if need be. “Alright.” You breathe your surrender as you put the helmet on, bracing yourself for his driving skills.

Luke and Kieran greet you at the door like eager puppies. What happened, boss? Boss lady? Did ya kill something? How many? How bloody? Any guts?

Sylus held out a commanding hand and answered for you, thankfully. “Don’t ambush the poor girl, she’s beat up.”

You rolled your eyes at that. “I’m not beat up-”

“Come.” He holds his arm out for you, and you defeatedly take it, blindly following wherever he deigns to go.

“My head…” You groaned at the harsh overhead kitchen light being flicked on, rubbing your temples. “Does the big bad mob boss happen to have ibuprofen?”

“I’m not headache proof, believe it or not.” He exhaled a small chuckle. “Sit down.” He ushered you to the sofa across from the kitchen table. You obliged, but not because he told you to, of course. You were achey, dirty and exhausted. He held a glass of water in one hand and two pills in the other, and you hesitated slightly as you let him give them to you. Turning the pills over in your fingers with a squint of your eyes, you looked for the label etched into the chalky red circles to identify that it was, in fact, ibuprofen.

Sylus noticed. Of course he noticed, he always does. “What?” He tilts his head, confused, but his tone still holds a hint of safe and familiar teasing. “You think I’m slipping you something?”

Swallowing back those nagging memories again along with the medicine, you force a chuckle. “Can never be sure with a lawless scoundrel like you, can I?”

He grinned, one of those rare smiles of his, toothy and reaching for his ruby eyes. “I may be a lawless scoundrel, sweetheart, but I’m not a monster.”

Not a monster, because a monster would do that.

Your best friend in the whole world would do that.

A deep breath left you, ready to be rid of this conversation topic. “Can I take a shower?”

His wide grin melted down to his signature smug smirk once again. “In which wing?”

Sylus’s living situation was fucking ridiculous. Four bathrooms with showers, three of them with tubs. For, what, three people? You shake your head in disbelief as he leads you to a guest room. Just as lavish as the rest of the place, the first thing that stares back at you is the neatly made king sized bed. A leather futon sits across it, right next to an enormous closet. Before you can gawk at any other evidence of luxury in the room, he shuts the door behind you. Your gaze instinctively flies to the knob, the phantom click still ringing in your ears. Your shoulders hunch, posture stilling as you find yourself waiting for it— but the door remains unlocked. If Sylus noticed, he gave you the grace of ignoring it and deciding he teased you enough for now. He opens the closet, unhooking a hanger from inside, draping a plush back bathrobe from it. “This should fit you.” You ran your hands along the fluffy material, unable to stop touching it. “And could I wash my clothes after-“

“I will.” He assures you with an interruption. “Leave them outside the door. I’ll find something laying around for you to change into so you don’t have to wait for them to dry.” You nodded, not expecting this level of consideration from him. It brings an irritating, fond heat to your cheeks. “Right. Thank you.”

“Just being a good host.” He smirks, opening the bathroom door. The bathroom was, of course, also fucking ridiculous. Dark marble walls, spotless black tile floors. A black Japanese bathtub next to the spacious shower stall. Woody, spicy potpourri wafted through the air from a bowl on the sink. He moves to shut the door, and you turn. “Um…” Swallow. “Is it okay to keep the door unlocked?” He frowned in confusion, and you quickly added, “It’s the steam. Too much in an enclosed space, I get a headache and I already have one, so I-“

“Okay.” He simply agrees, leaving you no room to over-explain and lie further. You’re almost taken aback with the ease he’s treating you with, but if you think about it, he’s always just accepted. He may question once or twice, but always nods his head without judgment.

You showered all of the blood and grime off your skin, but the reminder of Skyhaven clung under your fingernails no matter how much you scrubbed. It was something you had been pushing away from the forefront of your mind for weeks, almost a month now.

It’s not what you think it is, you remind yourself as you clench your fist, watching the hot water droplets roll off your knuckles. It’s Caleb. He was trying to protect me…

“No, we’re not doing this right now!” You mumbled aloud to yourself. Think, think, think of something else. You abruptly turned the valve to the wall, the water turning freezing cold. Your breathing seemed to slow down with the ice hitting your veins, and by the time you caught two chills, you stepped out and toweled off. The robe felt nice against your damp skin, the fuzz of it all absorbing the water droplets quickly. Opening the door, you see the clothes Sylus left for you in a neat pile: two items. A black satin button down with an “S” monogrammed into the breast pocket with golden embroidery, and grey basketball shorts. A dry snort found its way out of your nose. What a look.

You swam in them, of course, but in a cozy way. You folded the waistband of the shorts until they would aptly rest on your hips, and you didn’t mind the way the shirt’s sleeves hung past your fingers. The shirt smelled like him. Like his stupidly nice cologne, the familiar scent of spices and leather on the collar.

You let your exhausted body drive you to sleep.

The door is locked.

The eyes you used to seek comfort in refuse to soften.

You blindly take his sleeping pills.

The door is locked.

He pins you down on the sofa, next to a photo of the two of you in a frighteningly similar position, play-fighting and laughing.

He threatens to wrap a collar around your throat.

Your pleas fall on deaf ears.

The man in front of you is breathing, but he is long dead.

The door is locked.

Your heart drops you awake, out of breath and eyes watery.

You are not in your bed.

Where are you?

You push the covers off you before you could even remember, rushing to swing the door open. The force of the mahogany hitting the wall got the attention of your gracious host.

“Sweetie…” A deep voice rumbled up your spine. Sylus.

You’re with Sylus.

The pet name lacked all the familiar playful condescension, more of a brace, a concerned approach to a wild, wounded animal. “What’s wrong?”

You don’t answer at first, your clouded mind still assessing the situation. Your shoulders relax a fraction as you register your surroundings, Sylus’s base. You spent the night here after a hunt. You’re with Sylus, you want to be here, and the door was unlocked. Your grip on the doorknob loosens. Sylus slowly comes out from behind you and into your field of vision. “Sit.” He ushers you back into the room, sitting on the bed and patting the silk sheets. You slowly obey, perching on the bed with your knees hugged to your chest. A gentle expression paints his face, something you could’ve sworn you’ve never seen before. “I’m going to ask again.” He urges softly, slowly, the brisk command his tone usually carried melted away.

You can lie to anyone in your life. You could have said it was a bug in your blankets. A noise, he thought of an intruder. Even a nightmare about something else. You can lie to anyone in your life, except for the man in front of you who looks worried for the first time you’ve seen it. You can lie to anyone in your life, except for the man who seems to know your very soul despite only knowing you for a handful of months.

You don’t even try, clenching your fists so tight you’re sure your fingernails would draw blood out of the meat of your palm.

“I can’t tell you…” You murmured, holding back the flood. “Because if I do, it becomes real.”

He frowned, his head tilting to the side slightly. He pushed a soft smile out of the corner of his mouth. “I won’t tell reality if you won’t, sweetheart.”

You exhaled out of your nose shortly, an amused puff of air followed by a sniffle. “No, I’m…it’s serious.”

“I know.” He sat back on his elbows, blanketing the atmosphere with a sense of leisure and ease. That was something you had to admit he was good at. “I’ve noticed.”

You turn to him. “What?”

“You checked the pills I gave you.” He started. “I thought that was a one off, maybe you being extra careful, but then you announced you were gonna shower with the door unlocked-“

You scoffed shakily. “Okay, I didn’t announce-“

“The point is…” He interrupted. “You’ve been…off tonight.”

You don’t know how to answer. You know that at this point, if you open your mouth, the tears will start free falling.

“You don’t have to explain.” Fuck him for always reading your mind. “But you just need to tell me you’re alright. No guest feels unsafe under this roof.”

“It’s not you.” You assure shakily, resting your chin on your knees. “It’s…a long story.”

He nodded, accepting again. “I don’t have anywhere to be.”

“Um…” You suck in a breath through your nose. Here we go. The tube of toothpaste is squeezed. Your voice is slow, measured as you continue. “Remember about three weeks ago I went to Skyhaven?”

You began to unload. From the top. He knew of the explosion, the one you wrongfully blamed him for. The reminder of that moment brings a flash of mortified heat to your cheeks, expecting him to bring it up. You pause for it, the tease, the coy ‘Yes, kitten, I’m so bad,’ but it doesn’t come. His eyes just pave a delicate path down your face, waiting for you to continue. You watch them widen slightly when you tell him your childhood best friend survived, and that you found him up there. Your words shake and choke in your throat when you get to the next part, tears pricking the back of your eyes. You squeeze them shut, and feel a feather-light weight on your hand; his covering yours. A soft affirmation, a silent I’ve got you. The action is so tender, it pushes even more tears to your waterline. You purse your trembling lips at the gentleness of it all, the opposite of the force you two exuded over one another when you first met. You shoot him point blank in the chest, and he holds your hand like it’s precious gold.

“Sweetie…” He looks at you as if the sight of your face twisted in tears makes him violently ache. “Don’t cry.”

Which of course, makes you cry more. He closes the distance between you within a second, pulling you into his side. “I’m trying not to.”

“I know, sweetheart, I know.” He whispers gently, rubbing his thumb over your bare shoulder, the collar of his shirt hanging off of you. “It’s okay. Take your time.”

It takes a few minutes to gather the words, because how exactly do you say, I think my best friend held me hostage in his home and slipped me pills but I think it’s not really him based on zero evidence?

His thumb stopped its soothing rhythm. “He what?”

You cringe and stammer. You feel caught, for some irrational reason. “I-I know what it sounds like, but-”

“No.” He shook his head, his tone still soft but firm. “No, you don’t have to protect him.” He has to bite back the snarl in his voice, fight to keep his words gentle. “Not after he does this…” He wipes a tear from your cheek, his fingers lingering on the skin for a moment. “Not after he does this to you.” His voice shakes alongside yours, for different reasons. “You don’t need to tell me anything more, but you don’t protect him, either.”

You look up at him, drawing in a deep breath. It makes you realize that’s exactly what you’ve been doing all this time, refusing to acknowledge it. While he was ruining you, you were protecting his memory. At the same time, though, what you know about the professor and Caleb’s abnormal behavior flipping like a switch makes you doubt it was fully him that did this to you. Even if it wasn’t, it doesn’t mean it didn’t affect you so deeply that you’re crying into the arms of the person you’d least expect. You watch his fists clench. “He didn’t…” A hesitation. “He didn’t touch you, did he?”

You vehemently shake your head and you could hear a small breath of relief. “It wasn’t like that.” You go to explain again, to defend him, but stop yourself. “It was so scary.” He breathes a deep sigh, tightening his arms around you.

“I know.” He whispers. “I know, sweet girl, but you were brave.”

You scoff tearfully. “No I wasn’t.”

“You’re here.” He pointed out, brushing his hand through your hair. “Not there. I know your prowess firsthand.”

A pathetic half-laugh exits your chest, followed by more sobs. He holds you even tighter as you cling to his grounding familiarity. He does that for as long as you need it, waiting patiently as he assures you you did the right thing, that you’re safe with him, that he could walk into Linkon and take you home right now, bounty be damned; whatever it is you need to hear.

“I’ve got you.” He whispers into your hair. Your head is atop his chest, laying down now. Your eyes are closed, and he can tell you’ve cried yourself to sleep. “Always have. Always will.”

When your breaths turn steady, he moves slightly to get his phone from his pocket. One hand on your back, the other on the keyboard, he types a message to Luke and Kieran.

Farspace Fleet Colonel. Lives in Skyhaven. Name’s caleb. Need any and all information there is to know ASAP.

Another message.

Boss Lady will not let you hurt him, as much as I am dreaming the different ways I could make him hurt right now. Do not go after him. Just watch.

Two pairs of thumbs up from the twins follow the message, not needing any further instruction or explanation. He locks his phone and leans his head against the pillow, giving you a soft kiss on the forehead. It’s quiet now, the only sound surrounding him are your soft breaths and Mephisto’s caws into the night as he suddenly takes a trip up north.

[cherry-hulu]

— Shows on 3.. 2.. 1..

Synopsis : Thirteen dicks in front of you, all standing tall with varying girth and size. Not a matter of when and where, but rather a matter of how.

Warnings : Svt x Idol!fem reader, unprotected sex, double penetration, triple penetration, lots of cum, anal, buttplug, breastplay, implied free use reader, creampie, cum eating, oral (fem receiving), pwp

#Part One — #Part Two — #Part Three

Seokmin gets up on his feet first before anyone and immediately stands in front of you. He touches your cheek with the back of his hand before using his fingers to open your mouth, pressing his thumb at the top of your tongue soaking it in the left over cum of his peers.

Joshua follows him almost immediately after, situating himself behind you, caressing your ass sigh his hands. "Not a single handprint in sight.. we might have to change that." He mutters before giving your cheeks a slap causing you to slightly jolt forward.

"Sit up princess, it'll feel better like this," Soonyoung says rather softly as he slowly lifts your body up on a sitting position, as you lean your body backwards on Joshua. You looked like a total wreck. Make-up running all over your face, body glistening with sweat and cum, dress all wrinkled and messy. A big difference from what you had looked like earlier on stage, all prim and proper, clean and dainty, everything set in place.

You feel Joshua slip his hands underneath your top, grabbing a handful of your left boob before taking it out and letting it hang off from your top. Doing the same go the other while Hoshi licks all over your left tit, sucking and biting your areola. Seokmin, on the other hand, had a different vision as he takes his hard dick in hand, rubbing the tip all over your right tit spreading his pre-cum.

Sighing with satisfaction, he leans down and takes your right boob in his mouth, licking it clean off your pre-cum. The blonde beside him groans as he pulls away, doing the same to your left before diving back in, moaning in delight. Soonyoung slides his hands down across your stomach before drawing circles on your pussy.

You moan as you threw your head back resting it on the eldest shoulders, chest heaving heavy, hips rocking back and forth on Soonyoungs hands.

You can feel Joshua's dick press hard against you, teasing the the rim of your ass, hole plugged with a silver buttplug embossed with a big ruby heart— a gift brought to you by yours truly. He slapped your cheeks again, much more harder this time making you really feel the toy up in your ass causing you to whimper.

"Please.." You whisper, finally talking after an hour of being silent. "Please what baby?" The man behind you whispered back, pushing the plug deeper than it already is. "Please Daddy.. I need you.." You spoke softly, half an octave louder this time.

"Do you think she deserves it?" Soonyoung, finally de-attatching himself from your tit, now rubbing the tips of it. "I don't know.. has she been good?" Jeonghan said rather brazen, asking the spent up members scattered among the couch legs in a manspread, some dicks were soft, while some were still half hard, looking for another release.

They all hum in agreement, and with that, Joshua slowly took off your plug revealing more cum to drip out of you. Blotches of semen combining the sperm of 95z when they had their "pre-game" before going on stage came running down your ass, down to your cunt.

Not wasting a second longer, Joshua slowly started to push into you making you gasp and moan at the intrusion. Seokmin finally pulls away giving Soonyoung space to situate himself in front of you lifting your thighs to sit both on his and Joshua's leg. He waited before the elder and you were comfortable with each other before grabbing his own length in his hands and gliding it across your pussy.

Toying with you for a while, preparing you for what's about to come, before slowly pushing in your pussy. Joshua holds your hand behind your back keeping you in place as you make loud noises while Seokmin makes his way in you. It wasn't your first time taking both of them at the same time, but somehow, it never gets easier.

"Good job baby.. taking it like a good girl. Our pretty little cock sleeve," Seokmin coos as he cups your face in one of his hands. "Ready for one more?" He follows, a smirk well displayed on his face. Your eyes widen at this as he positions himself behind you, beside Joshua.

"She's more than ready, had the plug on for the whole duration of her performance, 'm sure she'll be fine." The elder says caressing your waist sliding down to the curve of your ass. The youngest scoffs at this before holding his dick and slowly starting to push in you.

You moan loudly, throwing your head back again, grinding back and forth– which only made you moan louder as Soonyoungs dick just goes deeper inside of you hitting your sweet spot. You hold on to the man in front of you as Seokmin makes his way behind you.

A few grunts, pushes, and pulls later, you had 2 dicks up your ass, and one sitting politely in your cunt. Barely giving you time to adjust, the two slowly starts to move back and forth, earlier cum now used as lube as they take advantage of it with their thrusts.

Soonyoung then follows in front of you, thrusting his hips upwards. At this very moment, you serve only one purpose for them. You were only a hot hole to be fucked and dumped cum into. Providing pleasure to their penis.

Their thrusts become harder and harder, in sync with your barely made out moans. There was never a moment where you felt empty, a rhythm forming between the three, where one goes outwards, the other two goes in. They were all hitting your right spots putting you near the edge.

Nearly forgetting about the rule, you clench your stomach to stop yourself from cumming. Resulting in an abrupt orgasm from Soonyoung, spurts of cum running directly inside you, mixing in with his his dongsaengs. But he still didn't stopped, still thrusting inside of you, riding out his high.

The set behind you seemed to be in a world of their own having their own rhythm as the dancer in front loses itself inside of you having erratic movements. Joshua's hands were all over your ass, constantly slapping it now loving the way it jiggled wigh two cocks inside of it splitting your hole up open.

"I.. I'm close.. fuck.." Seokmin whispers throwing his head back as his arms wrap around your throat leaning your head backwards. Using this as his leverage to keep himself grounded as he pounds faster into you.

Joshua, on the other hand, had his mouth open taking heaving heavy breaths as he too was getting affected by the others movements due to his cock being stroked sideways. Resorting to your body, he grips on your waist, thrusts slowly starting to speed up as he too chases for his high.

With both dicks grinding on each other and pounding into you, both boys soon came inside adding go the pile cum already pumped inside of you.

Seokmin rests his head on your shoulded as he starts to slow his movements, while Joshua leaves light feather kisses on your neck. Soonyoung slowly pulls away from you, making sure to plug his fingers inside of you ensuring not that much cum seeps out before lifting your legs to his shoulders as he kneels before you.

Leaning your body backwards more to the boys behind you, he positions himself in front of your cum covered pussy, before taking his fingers out and diving right in. You cry out a string of moans as he eats you out helplessly, trashing in the arms of the two boys behind you.

You were trying so hard to keep yourself from cumming, but the boys were making it hard on you, continuously pushing you to the edge. You were extremely overstimulated now– having two cocks still up your ass while your cum filled cunt was being eaten out.

"I.. I'm c.. close.. Please! No... No more!" You beg pushing Soonyoungs face away. Tears ran profusely from your eyes. You really did felt like you were close this time. You were extremely on the edge until you felt Soonyoung pull away from you.

The dancer now had his head leaned beack, hair gripped by the general leader. "That's enough." Seungcheol says sharply, pulling him away from you. You felt movement behind you, two cocks slipped out of your ass, leaving you empty once again.

You close your eyes as you whimper and lay back. You felt a kiss on your forehead, and hands running all over your body. "Last round baby.. then you can rest. M'kay?"

⭑ tags .ᐟ

@hanniebanggi @ane102 @black-swan-blog27 @xxxcyx @strawberry31

[sevsbunny]

So something I've been thinking about is how after Sev becomes a Councilor how she probably couldn't, or shouldn't, visit Babette's anymore due to "appearances" (we could say she doesn't give a shit about those, but her "you look weak" to Vander tells me otherwise :) ). I think there would be a more private, fancier brothel in Piltover for 'elites' (maybe not even called a brothel?) And I was wondering how Sevika would navigate that as she gets more pent up with her new status. :) Girls probably act different there too.

Sorry this is anon, my own thoughts embarrassing me. Lmao.

taking it slow

councilwoman!sevika x brothel!reader

not sure with the word count on this one!

18+ ! sensual touching, light teasing, oral / fingering (sevika!) light hair pulling, reader admires the shit out of sevika. sevika is a little shy coming here. just taking care of sevika <3 switch!sevika & reader.

i’m aware that when she’s councilwoman she has her cunt ass bob but for the sake of this fic…she has her old hair. however! there will be other parts to this so…she will have her bob back

EIGHTEEN PLUS. MEN AND MINORS DNI.

sevika was extremely nervous as she walked up to the brothel doors, a few months after the fact that she became councilwoman.

it was hard being as big as she was going out to places like these — it could ruin her status and make the citizens of zaun look weak, like she has other things on her mind. respect her less, even.

she struggled a lot with wondering what she can do that’ll make her happy, without worrying different members of the board. after all, it was her downtime to get a break. she just hated her telling her in the back of her head, ‘don’t fuck this up.’

fortunately though, the higher end brothel piltover offered was of gold status — and it seems like some people who worked as guards in the palace also frequented.

she surveyed the area, the wet air moistening by the minute after a particularly hard rainfall a few hours earlier. she took out a small bag of coins, tossing them to the brothel bodyguard at the front, a head nod from the man after he poked through the pouch and he opened the velvet curtain for her to step through.

she knew there was no way to conceal who she was coming into this place, her stature at 6 foot made her stand out like a sore thumb, along with this deep ruby red cape she wore to conceal her mech arm when it wasn’t in use too much.

she kept her eyes forward, looking through her peripheral vision to see bodies on bodies together. there were suede couches set up against the wall, some arranged in funky places to create a more intimate circle of people. tables littered with cups of alcohol, ashtrays of cigars and joints ashes out or still lit.

skin on skin was everywhere, the sound of moans reverberated over the music and to her ears, making her body shiver. she hadn’t heard anything like this in such a long time, she was worried she’d be overwhelmed with the amount of stimuli until she saw you.

standing there with a hip popped out, you had on a deep purple two piece — a dark purple leather crop vest on your chest that dipped low into your clevage, matched with a dark purple leather skirt that hugged your hips, and if you bent over enough she’d be able to see your clothed pussy. two amethyst stud earrings were in your ears, matched with a black and purple collar that was adorning your neck — the metal loop in the middle in the shape of a heart with a small diamond hanging on the end of the heart.

you wore no makeup, you were gorgeous even under the different colored lights in the brothel. she caught her breath in her throat when you looked over at her, your eyes widening just a smudge before you settled on giving her a short wave

blushing as she averts her gaze, she brushes past people in the crowd as she made her way towards the bar you were standing at. her skin was on fire being this close to you, something she didn’t know she’d ever be able to feel around someone else.

“haven’t seen you before,” the classic pickup line left your sweet lips and ran right through her soul. she perked up after ordering her drink. she nodded, an elbow leaned up against the bar table, her body moving to face you

she had to look down at you, really. you were that short to her.

easy to toss around.

“what brings you in? or i should be asking, who?” you swirl around the drink in your hand she didn’t notice you had, your eyes locked with hers as she struggled to find something to say

what the fuck was wrong with her? she’s never not been able to speak to someone, let alone a gorgeous girl like you.

after a few moments of unspoken silence, you shrug, taking a swig of your drink as the bartender pushes sevika’s drink towards her. “not much of a talker, huh? that’s okay. most people come to suck and fuck before having a drink and conversation.”

it was true, that’s the normal clientele that came through here did, even if they paid good enough they were still assholes. working in piltover did give you a pretty penny, but at what cost?

“just here to look,” sevika finally responded, her voice cracking from lack of usage. she cleared her throat before taking a long swig of her drink, the cool liquid running down her throat and into her system.

she would need a few more with how uptight she was feeling right now.

“look?” you questioned, leaning against the bar as you look up at her. “like you’re shopping for something?” she shakes her head, realizing how she must’ve sounded when she said that

“no! i didn’t mean it like that i…” she huffed, watched you shift from foot to foot waiting for an explanation. “this is just my first time coming as…councilwoman…” she whispers the last part, as if some people didn’t notice her here already.

you hummed at her response, taking it in and going over it in your mind before settling with a solution. “that’s okay, baby. everyone is new somewhere.” you laid a hand on her arm, the arm not covered by her deep ruby red cloak. she feels goose flesh pimple over her skin before she feels her cheeks burn.

you can tell she’s nervous, her shoulders are locked up, you can tell she she hasn’t shaken that, ‘someone is watching me,’ mindset with the way her eyes dart from each exit, looking at everyone in the crowd to remember a face just incase something goes sideways.

you run your thumb on her forearm to soothe her, and at first is kinda throws her off, eyes darting down to where your thumb is rubbing her skin.

“it’s okay, come on. let’s go somewhere quieter.” you say, your tone sweet and gentle as you pull on her arm softly. without her thinking, her feet started moving along with you, following you towards the back. you part open a curtain that looks similar to the one up front, revealing a long hallway of various doors on each side

you don’t say anything as you walk down with sevika’s forearm still in your hold. sort of felt like you were walking your own pet with how big and tall she was. it made your skin shiver with the amount of authority sevika held and how easy it was to get her to calm down and follow you.

“my rooms near the end.” you say, but sevika isn’t really paying too much attention. she grunts in response so you don’t think she ignored you — but she’s more focused on the other rooms with some doors left ajar and wide open.

bodies inside having sex, smoking weed, laying and touching each other. sometimes there were parties of 4+ people, making sevika’s head snap towards the front.

she wasn’t sure why she felt so…awkward when it came to sex now a days. she felt anxious most days, out of place along the seats of piltover people, wearing gold and admonishing their money towards everyone who would listen. she felt out of place, like she wasn’t meant to be here.

she also hadn’t touched another girl in months.

“just down here.” you say again, your hold still gentle on her arm as you pull her up towards your room. a sign on the outside decorated in pretty font with stickers all attatched to the door, she knew it was your room without you telling her.

you unlock the door and turn on the light, pulling her inside. there she looks at your room.

she’s met with the strong scent of rose water and vanilla, some candles look like they had been burned prior to your leaving of your room. she looks around, a four poster bed in the center with baby pink silk sheets, pillows to match and a few stuffed animals on the comforter.

there was a bookshelf that was over flowing with books at this point, she wasn’t sure if the shelves would be able to hold any longer. you didn’t have any things on your walls, explaining that even if you lived here full time — the room still technically wasn’t yours. she commented on the door full of stickers but you laughed and shrugged. “they can take the money from my paycheck.”

in the far corner you had a desk. filled with loose leaf pieces of paper and a few different ink bottles with black quill pens. on the other side of the large desk there was an alter.

candles half burned and old wax running down the sticks. there was a big pink conch shells sitting in the center with pink pearls loosely draped over the shell. around the candle and the conch shells sitting was various items — old pocket change, dried up flowers that looked like carnations and roses, a small glass jar of sand with some other smaller shells, and an over abundance of gold jewelry.

“Aphrodite,” you speak up behind sevika which has her startled, jumping gently in her skin. you come up behind her with a little lighter reaching for one of the pink candlesticks. you held the flame to the wick and watched it burn as you placed it back on the candle holder.

sevika watched the flame flicker slowly at first, before it rose in a straight line and stayed like that for a while. “she’s really nice to work with. especially while here.” you comment, taking a small gold ring from your pinky finger that was adorned with a small ruby, onto the altar right next to one of the old coins

“have you worked with her long?” she asked gently, watching your movements as you nod your head with a soft smile on your face. you walk over to your bed, curling a leg under you as you sit half on and half off the bed. sevika looks around and finds a plush chair with a blanket draped on the back in the corner of your room with a small side table and night lamp on top.

she takes a seat, keeping her arms on the arm rest and relaxing her fingers, and trying to keep her eyes on anywhere except your body. her brain swims back and forth with a long list of bad possibilities of what could happen with her sitting in a place like this.

first of all she could get her title ripped away, not like she wanted it anyways. it was situational. then she wouldn’t be able to protect her people, the ones who meant the most to her. second of all…what if someone busted her? someone called in a anonymous tip to the committee? then she’d surely get fucked.

but the way you were looking at her, your eyes soft and gazing over her figure like you were drinking her in, trying to figure her out — her heart rate slowed. she took in a deep breath, closing her eyes before opening them again, to meet your gaze right back.

you seemed a bit startled, gasping a soft breath as her eyes look towards you and she could see a subtle red blush on her cheeks. you brought your other leg on your bed, before sitting criss cross and your hands in your lap.

“you’re pretty, you know that?” the little laugh that left her lips told you that she didn’t get told that very often. you spread your legs out before moving back against your pillows and smiling. “what?”

sevika hadn’t been called pretty in…well has anyone actually called her pretty like that?

“what makes me pretty, doll?” your breath caught in your throat at the nickname that played on her lips, her eyelids lowering just a smidge, enough for you to notice the gaze in her eyes darkening.

“well…” you get up from your bed, sauntering your way over to her. your feet were bare now in your room, the only sound in the space was the way your foot pressed against the plush carpet with each step towards her, and the soft breathing from the two of you. she swore you could hear her heart hammering in her chest.

you came to her side, your finger trialing along her exposed forearm, her eyes darting up the expanse of the skin up to sevika’s chest, where multiple straps and buttons kept her tightly in her clothes.

your fingers itched to undo them slowly, run your lips down her skin and between her breasts, just to hear how she sounded. you licked your lips before shaking your head to yourself. she wasnt comfortable with that, she didn’t seem comfortable being here in the first place. you knew that wasn’t the case, that sevika had frequented places like this before but only in zaun. but you figured being councilwoman made her tense.

you kept your finger trailing up her arm to her shoulder, before tucking in a stray piece of her hair that fell from her half bun, right behind her ear. “first of all, you smell really good.” she chuckled, looking up at you as she taps her mech fingers slowly on the leather chair. “like sandalwood, smoke,” you whispered gently.

“your eyes…breathtakingly easy to get lost in.” you trailed off as you walked behind her, your hand coming to cup the bottom of her chin as you stood right behind her head. you pulled her head back enough to look down into her eyes, her uneven full lips parted as a soft breaths escapes her throat.

she blinks at you, and you blink back, eyes trailing over the scars and blemishes that decorate her warm, brown skin. your thumb runs over her bottom lip softly, pulling on it enough to make it wobble back into place when you release it. you keep her gaze for a second, your fingers going to undo the clasp that held her cloak together.

she resisted from stopping you, knowing you wouldn’t make a move on her without asking her first. the way you were touching her, softly and gently as you list out the things you find pretty about her. her head swims full with just the feeling of you touching her skin, the sound of your voice light on her ears.

your hands come to pull the cape off entirely, hanging it up quickly on the hook next to the door before coming to her left side with her mech hand. “and this, i mean…” you trail your finger tips down the smooth gold metal of her arm. you watched in real time as the gears ticked back and forth, forever having her arm on the go. “this is beautiful.” you murmur softly, looking up to meet sevika’s anxious gaze.

you pouted your pretty pink lips, making the anxiety go for a moment as she looked at you. “what is it, doll?” she turns her head slightly as she looks at you curiously, her eyes darting between your eyes, to your nose and quickly to your lips before she snaps back to your eyes.

“can i touch you?” you ask softly, a silent permission to say no if she so desired. but the way you were looking at her right now as you moved in between her spread out thighs, your own bare thighs touching hers, she couldn’t help but nod.

you smiled gently as you grab a soft pillow from your bed before sink to your knees, your hands running over the fabric of her thick thighs. “gonna need you to say something, angel.” you asked softly , digging your nails gently into her thighs. she shuddered softly, the authority written all over your face.

“yes, you can touch me baby.” her voice is low, barely above a whisper as your eyes darken. you smile in response, leaning to give her knees two quick kisses before your hands come up the expanse of her thighs and to her pants button

you pop it open with ease, sliding the zipper down and with sevika’s help as she lifts her hips, her pants come off in one swift movement. you discard them next to you, eyeing her clothed cunt. you look up at her and meet her gaze, her eyes lids lowering, pupils widening.

you lean in, your nose bumping against her clothed clit. you inhale deeply, smelling her arousal and mail, your mouth watering to get a taste of her. you lick a soft stripe up her clothed cunt, a shudder leaving her lips as she watches you with a lustful gaze.

“can i taste you?” you ask softly, eyelashes batting up at her as she nods quickly, moving to push her boxers down before your hands rested on hers, sopping her movements. “let me, baby.” you coo, authority dripping form your tone but your gaze is gentle as you speak to her.

she feels her cunt throb at the action.

you leaned forward, taking your fingers and hooking it into the crotch of her underwear, drinking in the feeling of how wet she made the fabric. she lets out a soft gasp as you reveal her wet cunt to you, the cool air hitting her lips and making her shiver.

“another thing that’s pretty is this pussy,” you breathe out, looking up at her momentarily before you take your other hand and thumb her clit slowly, pulling the hood up just a bit to reveal the rest of her swollen clit.

her hips jerked in reaction, a grunt leaving her throat as you sat there and touched her, softly. you didn’t do anything else with your hands, your eyes just fixated on the way her cunt clenches gently in anticipation, under her gaze.

leaning in, your tongue poked out jsut enough to circle around her clit, tasting her on your tongue instantly. you let out a soft groan as you taste her, your eyes rolling shut as you position your hands to keep her thighs spread wide for you.

“fuck…” she breathes out, leaning back in her chair and moving her hips forward to give you better access to her cunt. your tongue makes slow movements, licking down her clit, her folds and to her dripping hole. you circle the tip of your tongue around her entrance, making her flesh hand come to grip the back of your head.

“don’t tease me, babygirl.” she groans as she pushes your face a bit further into her cunt. you obey her command, gripping her thighs as you slip your tongue into her cunt, warm and wet around the muscle. you moan, and you can tell she’s enjoying herself as she starts to needily grind her hips against your face

“just like that, shit…” she tips her head back, eyes fluttering shut as she focuses on the languid motions of your tongue against her folds, lapping up every single drip of slick that falls from her pussy. you could feel her arousal stick to your chin and cheeks, dripping down the chair and onto your skin.

you didn’t care, you loved how messy she was getting, her moans getting louder and deeper with each thrust of your tongue fucking into her hole. you brought one hand from her thigh as you pressed your thumb against her clit, firmly rubbing circles as you continues the assault of your tongue on her cunt

she squeezes your tongue, making a moan rip from your throat against her. she feels the vibrations of your moan rip through her from her cunt, her hips bucking against your face. you took your other hand, her legs staying spread, as you took your tongue from her hole. she whined in protest from the loss of your muscle, but shortly letting out a groan as you slip two of your fingers into her hole.

“there you go, baby. you like that?” you ask gently, peering up at her and watching as her chest rise and falls each each thrust of your fingers, moans slipping form her lips.

she lets out a whimpered, ‘yes,’ her back arching off the chair as she lets go of the armrests of the chair and right to your head, fingers digging into your hair and pushing you closer to her cunt, if that was even possible.

“pretty moans,” you moan against her as you suck her clit harshly, circling your tongue and flicking her clit as she moans out, riding your face and grinding messily into you. “you gonna cum, vika?” she moans in response, her cunt clenched your fingers as she meets your gaze, a fucked our expression across her features.

“fuck, yes, please i’m gonna cum…” he grips your hair as you feel her cunt squeezes your fingers as she cums, tasting her squirt on your tongue which made you moan as the taste, your fingers slipping easily in and out of her puffy cunt.

“that’s it, thank you vika, fuck…” you moan against her, feeling your cunt clenching and clit throbbing at the whole ordeal, how she spread for you like this in your chair, leaving herself vulnerable for you to take.

and you fucking have.

she frowns as she’s wheats you thank her for cumming against your tongue as you slip your fingers slowly from her cunt and into your mouth, sucking the digits while looking up at her

you lower face was covered in her slick, dripping down your chin. she leans forward quickly before you can even blink an eye, gripping g the back of your head with her metal hand and her flesh hand coming to grip your chin.

she pushes her lips against yours, moaning as she tastes herself on your tongue as she pulls you closer, a shim pier leaving your lips. you felt your body melt into the plush floor below you, into her touch and lost in the way her lips felt against yours.

she pulls away after a moment, her lips shiny with spit and her slick, eyes heavy lidded as she stares as you. “my turn to list all the things pretty about you now, doll.”

[octaneink]

October Rain

Will Lenney x Fem!Reader

Summary: Will forgets his two-year anniversary with the Reader Warnings: Sad then cheesy as FUCK Notes: Based on this ask! I got carried away on this one...Kinda has more angst than fluff I think, but I hope the end was fluffy enough. Reader is described to be wearing makeup and have hair that has their orignal roots peeking through (beiefly)

You spend an hour picking out the dress.

It’s ridiculous, really—the closet yawns like a wound afterward, half your wardrobe strewn across the bed. Too formal, you’d hissed at the emerald gown. Too casual, you’d spat at the sundress, though summer died weeks ago. The silk slip you settle on is the colour of champagne, the one Will once said made you look like “a sunrise with legs”. You spin in front of the mirror, fabric swirling, and pretend the heat in your cheeks is from the hairdryer.

The bathroom sink becomes a warzone. Eyeliner wings sharp enough to draw blood. Blush blended to that “just-fucked” glow he’d teased you about last anniversary. You spritz the vanilla perfume he buys you every Christmas—‘So I can find you in a crowd,’ he’d said. Your phone buzzes on the counter.

A text from Will:

Will (7:43 PM): Emergency reshoot. Might be 20 mins late. Don’t eat my breadsticks, thief

You roll your eyes, smiling. Typical Will. You text back:

You (7:43 PM): If you’re late, I’m ordering TWO desserts. And I’ll tell the waiter you stood me up

You leave a note on the fridge in your loopy script—“Gone to claim my free pity cake. Catch up, slowpoke.” — And double-checked the contents of your clutch. Inside rests a small box with a silver ring, its band etched with tiny stars circling a moonstone—a mirror of the one you wear on your right hand. Under the stone was an engraving of the date of your first kiss hidden in tiny numerals.

Rain whispers against the windows as you step outside, but you don’t mind. You imagine his face when he opens the box, the way he’ll fumble trying to slide it onto his finger mid-sentence, his laugh warm and sheepish as he says, ‘Should’ve known you’d out-romance me.’

The cab driver eyes you in the rearview. “Big date?”

“The biggest,” you say, thumb rubbing the moonstone. Two years. Two years of his chaotic schedules and your terrible puns, of long sleepless nights and his hands steadying yours when you cried during sad movies.

The hostess leads you to the corner table, its surface gleaming under a halo of candlelight. Rain ticks softly against the windows, a muted rhythm beneath the murmur of violins and clinking crystal. You smooth your dress as you sit, the silk whispering against your thighs, and immediately reach to straighten the centrepiece—a single tulip, its petals curled at the edges like parchment. Wilted, you note, but it feels fitting. Romantic, in a vintage way.

You tug the tablecloth taut erasing imaginary wrinkles. The waiter materialises, his voice a velvet hum. “A drink to start while you wait?”

“A glass of Maker’s Mark and a Cabernet, please,” you say, fingertips drumming the menu. The waiter’s gaze flicks to the empty chair, then back to you. He nods, vanishing into the amber-lit haze of the restaurant.

When he returns, the whisky glows like molten gold in its glass, the Cabernet a deep ruby beside it. You take a sip of wine, the tannins bitter-sweet, and blurt, “Could we also start with the breadsticks? And—do you have any recommendations for the main course? We’re… celebrating.”

The waiter’s smile softens. “Anniversary?”

You nod, thumb brushing the moonstone on your ring. “Two years.”

“Congratulations,” he says, and you swear his tone dips. “The duck confit is exceptional. Crisp skin, pomegranate glaze. A favourite for… special occasions.”

“Perfect,” you say, voice bright as the candle flame. “And the breadsticks, please.”

They arrive warm, dusted with rosemary and sea salt. You pluck one, the crust crackling under your touch, and set it on Will’s bread plate. His ritual: stealing bites before the meal, grinning with a mouthful of carbs. The butter dish sits unopened—he’d argue it’s “sacrilege” to ruin good bread.

The waiter lingers. “Shall I wait to bring the duck?”

“Please wait a bit more.” You clear your throat. “He’ll be here any minute.”

He nods and walks off.

The couple beside you leans into a kiss, their shadows merging on the wall. You look away, smiling. That’ll be us in ten minutes, you think, adjusting the tulip one more time.

8:03 PM.

The ice cubes crackle in his untouched drink. You text him:

You (8:03 PM): Breadsticks are going quick. Hurry!

Outside, the rain thickens.

The restaurant’s candlelight pools like liquid gold on the tablecloth, but it can’t warm the chill creeping up your spine. Rain blurs the world beyond the glass into a smudge of greys and blues, and you fixate on it to avoid staring at the empty chair. Will’s whisky glints amber under the flickering flame, ice long melted, the glass sweating like your palms.

8:17 PM.

Your phone screen dims again. You tap it awake, thumb hovering over the latest text—sent seven minutes ago, still unanswered. The waiter glides over, his voice a gentle ripple in the silence. “Can I bring you anything else while you wait?”

You force a smile, brittle as the sugar crust on the crème brûlée at the next table. “Just the duck confit, please. And another Cabernet.” The please cracks, but he nods, retreating with a discretion that feels like mercy.

The duck arrives, its pomegranate glaze glistening. You slice into it with surgical precision, the knife barely whispering against the plate. Last year, Will stole a bite off your fork, grinning as juice dripped down his chin. Now, you chew slowly, each swallow a battle. The couple beside you clinks champagne flutes, their laughter a bright, foreign language. You glance at Will’s whisky, then slide it toward yourself, the glass leaving a damp ring on the linen. The first sip burns; the second tastes like regret.

9:03 PM.

The candle drowns in wax, its flame shrinking to a pitiful flame. A tulip petal drifts onto Will’s unused bread plate. You pluck it gently, its edges browning like a forgotten letter, and tuck it into your clutch beside the velvet box. The moonstone ring on your finger feels heavier now.

The waiter hesitates, his polished shoes shifting slightly against the hardwood floor. His fingers, long and graceful from years of balancing trays, hover near the table’s edge as if unsure whether to reach out or retreat. His gaze lingers on the empty glass of whisky.

“Dessert, perhaps?” He offers again, voice low, careful. “The chocolate torte is—”

You press your lips together, forcing a small, polite smile. “No, thank you,” you murmur, softer than you intended. Your fingers, stiff from clutching the sweating wine glass, fumble for your wallet. “Could I just have the receipt, please?”

He hesitates, then nods, pulling the leather folio from his apron. You pretend not to notice the way his brow furrows—the unspoken Are you sure? in the slight tilt of his head.

You open the bill, scanning the numbers without really seeing them. The candlelight flickers, casting wavering shadows over the ink. Duck confit. Cabernet Sauvignon. Breadsticks (2 orders). A bitter laugh threatens to rise in your throat—two orders, because you’d been so sure Will would devour them the second he arrived.

He watches, silent, as you count out the bills. Your hands don’t shake—not visibly, at least—but the edges of the notes crumple slightly under your grip. When you slide them across the table, he takes them with a practised nod, but then hesitates, thumbing through the stack.

“This is too much,” he says gently, extracting a few bills to return.

You shake your head, eyes fixed somewhere past his shoulder, where the candlelight catches the rain-streaked window. “Keep it. For the… the trouble.” The last word splinters, but you don’t let it crack further.

His mouth opens—maybe to protest, maybe to offer some other kindness—but you’re already standing, smoothing the ruined silk of your dress like it still matters.

At the door, the hostess—her delicate silver name tag glinting, Sophie—catches your arm with a touch so light it’s almost imperceptible. The warmth of her fingers is startling against your chilled skin.

“The rain’s gotten worse,” she says, her voice threaded with something that isn’t pity, but close. “Let me call you a cab.”

You turn your face just enough to meet her eyes, another practiced smile in place. “I’m alright, thank you.” Your voice is steady and pleasant, the same tone you’d use to decline an extra napkin. “Have a good night.”

You don’t wait for her reply. The door swings open, and the storm greets you like an old enemy—immediate, unrelenting. The silk dress, already ruined, clings to your skin as the rain seeps deeper, turning the fabric into a second, heavier skin. The cold is sharp, but you don’t shudder. You walk. One step, then another.

Behind you, the restaurant glows—golden, warm, a world still spinning without you in it. The violins hum on, the clink of glasses muffled by the downpour. Somewhere inside, the waiter is clearing the table, folding the unused napkin, and wiping away the water ring left by what should have been Will’s drink.

You walk faster.

The rain tastes like salt.

The tube station swallows you whole, its fluorescent lights flickering like a dying heartbeat. Rain cascades down the steps, turning the floor into a mirrored maze. Your heels—strappy, delicate, stupid—stab into the tile with every step, blisters gnawing at your skin. The silk dress clings to your legs, its champagne hue now muddied to dishwater grey. You don’t flinch. Let the pain root you. Let it be real.

A digital board flickers: CIRCLE LINE DELAYED – 22 MINUTES. Commuters sigh, their breath fogging the air. You sink onto a cold metal bench, mascara bleeding down your cheeks in charcoal streaks. The moonstone ring on your finger feels like a lie. You twist it off, the silver band catching the light one last time before you bury it in your clutch beside the velvet box.

An old man lowers himself beside you, his trench coat smelling of mothballs and Earl Grey. His face is a map of wrinkles, eyes milky at the edges but kind. His hands, speckled with age spots, grip a weathered umbrella. “Nasty night,” he rasps, nodding at the storm outside.

You nod back, silent.

He thrusts a weathered umbrella toward you, its handle carved with faded floral patterns. “Take it, lass. You’ll catch your death.”

“I’m alright, thank you,” you say, voice fraying at the edges. Polite. Always polite.

He hesitates, squinting at your trembling hands. “Sure?”

“Yes.” The word cracks. You turn away, staring at the tracks until his shuffling footsteps fade.

The train arrives fifty minutes late, its doors wheezing open. You board, heels slipping on the grimy floor. A toddler points at your drowned-rat elegance, giggling. Rain drips from your hem, forming a puddle at your feet.

At your stop, you limp up the stairs. The storm hasn’t relented—it thrives, needling your skin, soaking through the clutch pressed to your chest. Let the rain scald. Let it strip you raw. Your heels click defiantly, blisters splitting open, blood mingling with rainwater. You don’t slow. The pain is an anchor. The pain is true. 

Let it drown out the memory of Will’s empty chair.

The automatic doors shudder open with a sound like a dying breath, spilling you into the lobby’s arctic chill. Air conditioning razors down your rain-raw skin, and your dress—once liquid silk, now a translucent shroud—clings to every curve, the fabric plastered to your thighs like wet tissue paper. Water sluices from your hem, squelching against polished marble as you walk.

Dave, the night guard, freezes mid-yawn. His eyes dart from your bare shoulders to the puddle spreading at your feet, his Adam’s apple bobbing as if swallowing a scream. “Ev-evening, miss,” he stammers, fingers spasming over his keyboard like he’s forgotten how to type.

You smile. Polished. Automatic. The kind you’d give a stranger. “Evening, Dave.” Your voice doesn’t waver. “Enjoy your shift.”

Mascara bleeds down your cheeks in Rorschach trails, each swipe of your hand hours ago having smeared it into abstract art. Your hair, once sleek, hangs in Medusa tendrils, rainwater still glazing the strands. Your right hand drifts to your ring finger, bare now, the moonstone’s absence a phantom itch. 

The elevator dings. You step in, shoulders grazing cold steel. Your reflection splinters across the mirrored walls—a dozen shattered versions of yourself, each more unrecognisable than the last. One version trembles. Another sneers. A third presses a fist to her mouth, stifling something raw.

You fixate on the numbers lighting up: 4… 5… 6… Each floor hums, the sound vibrating in your molars. The doors open to your hallway, its geometric carpet clashing violently with your waterlogged heels. You fumble the key, metal scraping the lock until it gives, your trembling hands betraying you.

When the door finally gives, the flat smells of vanilla and Thai food. Light spills from the kitchen, where Will’s voice rings out, bright and buoyant over the clatter of dishes.

“Welcome home! You’ll never believe the day I—”

You step inside, rainwater pattering onto the entryway tiles.

“—had to reshoot the entire bridge sequence because the damn drone malfunctioned. Nearly brained James when he suggested cutting the tracking shot, but then—”

You don’t move. Don’t speak. You place your clutch on the coffee table, a dark stain spreading beneath it. The sound of his voice - usually so comforting - feels like radio static now, all meaningless noise.

"Anyway, I've got this banger idea for the next main channel vid—"

A cabinet slams. Silverware jingles. He’s pouring wine, you realize—the clink of two glasses meeting.

“Hungry? I grabbed that Thai place you like on the way back. The Penang curry’s still…”

He trails off as he rounds the corner, two glasses of Malbec in hand, hair messy and shirtsleeves rolled up. His grin fades when he sees you—a drowned spectre in ruined silk, mascara bleeding down your cheeks.

“Jesus, why’re you soaked?” He sets the glasses down too hard, crimson sloshing onto the counter. “Didn’t you check the weather? I texted you about the storm before I left this morning—”

Your voice cuts through his, quiet and lethally calm. “What’s today’s date, Will?”

“What?”

“The. Date.”

His eyes dart reflexively to the fridge—to the takeout calendar stuck beneath a Star Wars magnet, October 12th circled in your lavender gel pen. A Post-it note hangs half-peeled beneath it: “Dress fancy. 7:00. Il Girasole. Don’t be late!!! ”

The blood drains from his face. “Fuck. The shoot ran late, and then the producer ambushed me with notes, and I—”

“Two years.” Your whisper fractures. “You forgot two years.”

A beat. Rain lashes the window above the sink.

He reaches for you, wine-stained fingers trembling. “Let me fix this. I’ll call the restaurant—we can go now, I’ll—”

You sidestep his touch, the motion sending water droplets arcing onto the plush rug. The bathroom door slams shut behind you.

The bathroom tiles bite into your soles as you peel the dress from your skin. The silk clings, resisting until it finally slaps wetly against the floor. You ball it up, shove it into the rubbish bin beside the toilet. The champagne fabric wilts over the near empty bin.

The shower handle creaks as you crank it. Water hammers your hand before the heater catches up, icy needles sharpening to a scalding sheet. You step in, skin flushing red. Steam clots your lungs.

For a beat you stand there, staring blankly at the showerhead.

Then your breath hitches—sharp, shallow gulps that shudder through your ribs. You clamp a hand over your mouth, teeth sinking into the meat of your palm to stifle the sob climbing your throat. It works, but only briefly. A high, keening noise escapes through your nose, and you press your face into the crook of your elbow, smothering the sound against wet skin.

Tears come in silent, relentless waves. Your shoulders jerk forward with each suppressed gasp, muscles coiled so tight your back aches. Water streams down your face, mingling with snot and salt, but you keep your eyes screwed shut. When another sob threatens, you bite down harder on your hand, the pressure dull and grounding, but not enough to break skin.

Your free hand braces against the shower wall, fingers splayed white-knuckled on the tile. The urge to scream pulses in your throat, but you choke it back, swallowing until it burns. Your body rebels anyway: chest heaving, knees trembling, a strangled whimper slipping free. You slump against the wall, forehead pressed to cold ceramic, and let the water hammer the nape of your neck.

It’s messy. Uncontrolled. Snot drips onto your collarbone; tears pool in the divot of your pressed lips. You swipe at your face with a trembling fist, smearing rather than wiping, and suck in a ragged breath that catches like a hook in your windpipe. For a moment, you’re silent—then a fractured cry escapes, sharp as glass. You muffle it with both hands this time, breath hot and trapped against your palms, until the worst of the wave passes.

By the time the water runs cold, you’re hollowed out. Your breaths still hitch, but softer now—wet, exhausted sighs. You swipe your nose with the back of your wrist, eyes swollen to slits, and lean heavily on the wall to stand. Every muscle feels wrung-out, tender.

You reach for the soap with trembling hands. The bar slips twice before you manage to grip it, lathering mechanically between your palms. You scrub your arms again—not violently now, but with the dull precision of someone completing a chore. Bubbles slide over goose-bumped skin, your movements slow and leaden, like your bones are filled with wet sand.

Shampoo this time—squeezed directly onto your crown without measuring. You work it in with limp fingers, nails grazing your scalp without intent. Suds slither down your temples, stinging the corners of your bloodshot eyes. You don’t flinch. Just tilt your head back, let the spray rinse it away, your throat working silently as you swallow the last vestiges of tears.

A conditioner bottle clicks open. You apply too much, the excess dripping down your calves in pearlescent streaks. The scent—coconut, his favourite—makes your jaw clench. You rinse until the water runs clear, until your fingers prune and your skin feels scraped raw by nothing but time.

Beyond the door, Will’s breath hitches. He presses a palm to the wood, then balls up his hand, knuckles whitening, but doesn’t knock. “Fuck,” he mouths silently, raking a hand through his hair. 

He counts each shuddering breath you take, his own syncing unevenly with yours. When the shower shuts off with a metallic squeal, he staggers back, suddenly aware he’s been holding his breath.

Silence.

Will hesitates, arm half-raised as if to knock. Then the rasp of a towel against skin sends him retreating down the hall, socked feet silent on hardwood. By the time you crack the door, he’s slumped on the living room sofa, staring blankly at his abandoned wine glass.

You dress in the sweatpants and shirt he left on the hook—his sweatpants, the ones he’d draped there this morning while whistling off-key, already late, already forgetting—and don’t look at the bin where your dress lies balled in the dark. 

You crack open the door and step out, spotting Will with his back to the door, staring at something on the coffee table. You swallow and shuffle to the spare bedroom, closing the door softly and curling under the warm duvet, curling up and stare at the wall.

Rain ticks its fingernails against the windowpane. The hoodie you claimed for yourself from Will at the start of your relationship drowns you in its fabric, the cuffs frayed from his restless worrying and your attempted messy repairs at stitching them back together. The elbows are thin from wear. It smells like him still—

The door creaks. 

A sliver of hallway light fractures the darkness, then vanishes as Will slips inside. He’s haloed in the dim glow of your alarm clock, shadows pooling beneath bloodshot eyes. His socked feet whisper across the floorboards until he kneels beside the bed, a supplicant at an altar.

“You once said…” His voice splinters, raw as the blisters on your heels. He tries again, softer. “‘We should’t go to bed if we’re angry at each other’ Even if it’s 2 AM. And you’re rightfully angry at me.”

You curl tighter, hoodie fabric muffling your reply. “You remembered that?”

A beat. His exhale unravels, frayed and uneven, as if the truth weighs more than his lungs can hold. “I remember everything.” The mattress groans as he leans closer, his knuckle catching a damp strand of hair from your cheek—the touch featherlight, like he’s handling glass. “How you take your coffee. Your weird fear of pigeons.” His thumb skims your jaw, lingering where your pulse thrums. "The way your smile lingered after our first kiss, like you were still tasting it when I walked you to your door." A ragged inhale. "I remember us. Every moment. Just...not the date on the calendar.”

Your breath hitches, betrayal and hope warring in your ribs. But then his palm cups your cheek, calluses catching on tear-salted skin, and you feel it—the tremor in his touch, the way his gaze maps your face like he’s memorising it anew. This is the man who once spent an hour untangling your necklace with a paperclip, who still flushes peony-pink when you mimic the way he murmurs your name between snores—lips parted, brow smooth, utterly, infuriatingly beautiful.

The fist around your lungs unclenches finger by finger—air flooding in, sweet and sharp as the first gasp after drowning.

He removes his hand from your face and unlocks his phone, the screen’s blue glare sharpening the hollows of his face, and hands it to you. A reservation confirmation glows: Il Girasole. Tomorrow, 7:00 PM. Table for two. “They’re holding the same corner booth. The duck’s still on the menu. And—” His throat bobs. “—I’ll eat every fucking breadstick this time. Even if they’re cold.”

A teary laugh escapes you, brittle but real. “Your memory’s awful.”

“But yours isn’t. I may be pants at dates, but I remember the proper things.” He swipes open his notes' app, revealing a list titled THINGS TO NEVER FORGET (OR ELSE) in all caps. And in bullet points: 

Hates cilantro

Hates roses (cliché)

Hums when she cooks (buy a home speaker)

Secretly loves my terrible puns (look up more)

Saves fortune cookie slips (Saves it in a cute box, give her yours too)

Order at the dodgy kebab shop near the station: lamb, extra garlic sauce, no onions (but she’ll steal sone of mine anyway, so get a large)

Loves the centre of sandwiches (make sure to offer it to her before you finish it all)

Keeps the foil from chocolate bars (folds them into tiny stars when she’s stressed, found 17 in her coat pocket last winter)

Her ring size (6.25)

You sit up, moonlight catching the tear tracks on your face. “You made a list?” Your thumb keeps swiping, the entries endless—tiny, obsessive details you hadn’t even realised he’d noticed.

Your breath hitches. “How long…?”

“Since our first date.” He rubs the back of his neck, sheepish. “You told me you hated cilantro. I wrote it down so I’d never put it in your food. Then… it sort of grew.”

His phone screen flickers—a photo of you, mid-laugh at a pub, tucked between reminders: Buy more of her weird sour cherry tea and She bites her lip when concentrating (don’t distract her, no matter how cute it is).

"I updated it at the studio during the reshoot." His smile flickers, vulnerable at the edges. "James caught me and said I'm 'whipped.'" He huffs a laugh, thumb brushing your knuckles. "Told him he's just jealous because his girlfriend's never looked at him the way you look at me when I'm half-asleep and making coffee in my pants."

The tension unravels like a frayed knot, leaving only the quiet pulse of rain against glass. You reach for him, and he surges forward—foreheads colliding, noses brushing, his hands cradling your face like you’re something fragile. His thumbs sweep beneath your eyes, smudging tears into the salt-stained hollows of your cheeks.

“I’ll set alarms,” he rasps, lips skating your temple. His breath hitches, warm and uneven. “A thousand of them. Buy a calendar that takes up the whole fucking kitchen wall. Tattoo the date—”

“Don’t.” You press two fingers to his mouth, trembling.

He kisses them anyway, teeth grazing your knuckles. “—on my ribs,” he finishes, voice rough. “I’ll hire a skywriter. Carve it into every birthday cake we ever eat. Make our future kids recite it before—”

“Will.”

“—school. Every. Morning.” He’s grinning now, wild and desperate, eyes glittering in the dark. “I’ll be the embarrassing dad with anniversary-themed socks. The one who—”

You kiss him quiet. He tastes of mint toothpaste, of apologies swallowed too late. When you pull back, his smile has softened—not a promise, but a plea.

“Just,” you breathed in, “be here,” ending in a whisper.

His forehead drops to yours. “Always.”

You hook two fingers into the waist of his joggers—a gesture from your early days, when you’d drag him into dive bar bathrooms for reckless, laughing kisses. He follows without resistance, knees bumping the mattress as you fall back onto sheets still smelling of rain and your abandoned perfume.

He folds around you like a prayer, all trembling hands and murmured sorrys into your hair. His stubble scrapes your temple as he nuzzles closer, one arm banded tight around your ribs, the other cradling the nape of your neck—possessive, penitent.

“Still stealing my hoodies,” he rasps, thumb brushing the frayed cuff around your wrist.

“Still leaving them where I can find them,” you counter, voice muffled against his collarbone.

His laugh rumbles through you, warm and wounded. You map the familiar landscape of his face-the faint constellation of freckles on his cheekbone, the delicate lines that etch the corners of his eyes and his eyes—god, his eyes—blue flecked with moss-green, his iris fractured by a sliver of grey hold yours like a vow.

The rain softens to a hushed patter as Will shifts, his chest becoming a pillow beneath your cheek. You trace the hem of his shirt where it rides up, fingertips skating over the warm plane of his stomach. He shivers, not from cold, but from the featherlight drag of your nails.

“Still ticklish?” you murmur, pressing a smile into his collarbone.

He huffs a laugh, catching your wandering hand. “Still a menace.” But he laces his fingers through yours, bringing your knuckles to his lips. His breath ghosts over them—a silent apology, a promise—before he kisses each ridge of bone.

You lift your head, finding his gaze. Moonlight spills through the blinds, striping his face in silver. His eyes are raw, red-rimmed, but soft as he tucks a damp strand of hair behind your ear. “Your roots are growing in,” he whispers, thumb brushing the faint line at your temple. “Like autumn creeping into summer.”

Your breath hitches. He notices. He always notices.

“I was going to dye it tomorrow,” you admit, voice still thick from tears.

“Don’t.” His palm cradles your jaw, calluses catching on salt-dried skin. “I want to watch the seasons change.”

You swallow, throat tight. He leans in, so close his lashes brush your cheek, and for a heartbeat, you think he’ll kiss you. Instead, he noses along your hairline, inhaling deeply.

“Vanilla,” he murmurs, lips grazing your earlobe. “And that shampoo you pretend to hate.”

You snort, swatting his shoulder. “It dries my scalp.”

“Liar. You keep buying it.” His smile curves against your neck. “Just like you ‘hate’ my puns, but laughed at the one about the scared pasta.”

“It was shell-shocked.” You groan, even as laughter bubbles up, bright and healing. “That’s not even a pun, it’s a crime—”

His lips meet yours not as an ending, but a beginning—slow, syrup-sweet, a confession pressed into flesh. The first brush is tentative, a question mark curved against your mouth. His thumb finds the frantic pulse at your wrist, a callused pad circling gently, as if polishing a relic. I’m here, it whispers. I’m not leaving.

You sigh into him, and the kiss deepens—no longer an apology, but a promise. His free hand cradles the nape of your neck, fingers threading through damp hair still chilled from the storm. His touch is summer-warm, grounding you as he tilts your head, lips parting yours with a reverence that makes your ribs ache. There’s a hitch in his breath when your teeth graze his bottom lip, a stuttered oh swallowed by your mouth as he pulls you closer. When you whimper, he gentles, tongue sweeping soft as a paintbrush over the seam of your lips. Let me in, it pleads. Let me fix this.

You open, and he moans low in his throat—a sound that vibrates through your sternum. His hands skate down your spine, bunching the stolen hoodie at your waist, kneading the tender hollows above your hips. You arch into him, fingers fisting in his shirt as he nips your jaw, then soothes the sting with a flick of his tongue.

His lips linger against yours, breath mingling in the scant centimetres between you. When he finally pulls back, it’s just far enough to let his thumb brush the fringe of your lashes. His own eyes are glassy, the joke hovering on his tongue not yet ready to land—not until he’s sure you’re both still here, still real.

You feel it—the tremor in his hands where they cradle your face, the rapid flutter of his pulse beneath your palm. He swallows hard, Adam’s apple bobbing against your knuckles, before managing a shaky grin.

“Still got it,” he whispers, voice frayed at the edges. His attempt at levity cracks mid-syllable, revealing the raw fear beneath—the terror that this might’ve broken you.

You huff a damp laugh into the hollow of his throat. “Got what?”

He nuzzles your temple, stubble catching on tender skin. “The magic touch.” A pause. His nose traces your temple, breath warm and uneven. “Made you laugh, didn’t I?”

It’s not the joke that undoes you, but the desperation in it—the way his arms tighten around your ribs like he’s clinging to driftwood. You press closer, lips brushing the frantic thrum at his jugular.

“Terrible puns aren’t a ‘magic touch,’” you mutter, teeth grazing his collarbone in reprimand.

He shivers, fingers skating up your spine. “Admit it.” His palm splays between your shoulder blades, pressing you flush against him until there’s no space for doubt, for anger, for anything but his next whispered plea: “You married a comedic genius.”

“We’re not married.”

“Yet.”

The word hangs, delicate as the cobwebs glinting in the window’s moonlit corners. Your heartbeat thrums against his, syncing as his hands slide beneath the stolen hoodie, palms searing trails up your spine.

“Will—”

“Not asking,” he breathes, forehead pressed to yours. “Just… storing the idea. Somewhere between your sandwich centres and chocolate foil stars.”

You fist your hands in his shirt, anchoring yourself as he shifts, rolling until you’re cocooned beneath him. His weight is a comfort, familiar as your own breath.

“Talk to me,” he whispers. “The quiet version. The one you only show at 3 AM.”

So you do—lips brushing his throat as you confess the ache of waiting, the terror of feeling forgotten. He listens, fingers combing through your hair, until your whispers dissolve into yawns.

“Sleep,” he murmurs, tugging the duvet over your tangled legs. “I’ll be here when you wake, I promise. Even if morning you is a sight.”

You snort, but curl closer, nose buried in the hollow of his throat. His heartbeat drums a lullaby against your lips—steady, alive, yours.

I hope this was okay! It took longer than expected, so sorry about that! And I hope you don't mind that I made it a female reader. Also, I'm thinking of possibly making a part two where they go on the date that Will booked...thoughts?

[classyrbf]

Hey bae, maybe a little something something for Sukuna feat. nipple piercings for us (when they are already healed 🥰)?

sukuna loves, and I mean loves your nipple piercings. He didn’t know you had them at first until he caught a glimpse of the metal impression from under your shirt and when he asked you immediately became flustered. He didn’t understand the big deal but when he saw them, his entire perspective changed. Now, has you ride him more often, loving the way your tits bounce his face and the metal dances off the light. He’s learned how sensitive your nipples are, always running his thumb over them just to hear your gasp or whimper. You become an absolute puddle when his tongue circles around the sensitive bud or when he gently bites on it, letting out a devilish laugh when you cry out. He makes you wear no bra. Bras are practically banned. Every moment, he wants to have the chance to lift your shirt up and get a look at your titties without anything else being in the way. He loves buying you new jewelry. Like you have tons of it now. “Put these in for tonight.” He hands you a box and simply walks away. And you open the box, the glimmering silver bars with real shining rubies at the end of them. At least you have a variety to choose from now thanks to him. When he’s away, you always send him a quick photo, of how your new jewelry looks and let’s just say he’s quick to come back and fuck the shit out of you. And lastly, when you mentioned that he should get his pierced he was opposed to the idea until he realized you had the same lewd thoughts he had of you when it came to it.

something short and sweet! hope you like it pookie <3 @alainatranquility

[hopeyoufindalovelikethis]

Hello! After gathering my courage, I’m excited to share my first piece of writing here. I prefer a love that's warm and homey, not rushed — something slow and real. I hope you enjoy it and that it resonates with you.

Synopsis | Your first time — where Sylus tries so hard to be gentle, even when every part of him is burning with need, because he refuses to scare or hurt you.

The world outside didn’t matter. There was only Sylus — and the way he looked at you, like you were something fragile and precious he had no idea how to hold without breaking.

He hovered above you on the bed, his tall, broad frame almost eclipsing you completely. His white hair, usually so perfectly in place, was a tousled halo around his fierce, too-bright eyes. His tailored suit had been tossed aside, shirt half-unbuttoned, clinging to him like a second skin.

He could crush you without meaning to. And maybe that's why he moved like every breath was a war he fought against himself. You reached up — hand trembling — and brushed your fingers against his cheek.

He flinched. Not away from you — never from you — but from the tenderness he found in your touch. As if he didn’t believe he deserved it.

“Sylus...,” your voice came out small, breaking, but it made his whole body shudder.

He leaned down, so slowly, giving you a lifetime to pull away. You didn’t. You never would. His lips met yours, feather-light, trembling with restraint.

His hand — massive compared to yours — cradled the side of your face, thumb stroking a line just under your eye. You were so small beneath him and he was so painfully aware of it. Every move he made was hesitant, asking permission without words, terrified of hurting you even by accident. You felt the strength coiled under his skin, barely held back. The shivering in his shoulders. The quiet, desperate way he breathed you in.

The kiss deepened when you rose up slightly, pressing closer to him. That small, instinctive motion cracked something inside Sylus.

He let out a low, guttural noise, something helpless and broken, and gathered you up against him — hands sliding down your sides, so, so carefully, like he was touching something sacred.

He kissed you harder, but still shaking, trying to anchor himself. You could feel the tension in him — the way he trembled from the effort of holding himself back.

His knee nudged your thighs apart almost without thinking, but the second he realized, he froze, forehead pressing against yours, breathing ragged.

"Tell me to stop,” he rasped.

You opened your eyes — wide, dark brown, shining — and shook your head.

"Please, don't stop, Sylus.”

Sylus swore under his breath, voice low and guttural, and kissed you again, this time deeper, slower, almost reverent. His hands roamed over your body, mapping every curve, every tremble, with aching tenderness.

Every time you gasped, every tiny whimper you couldn't hold back, Sylus paused, shuddering, checking you were okay. His fingers traced the curve of your hip, the small of your back, everywhere but where you needed him most — afraid to rush you, afraid to ruin this moment.

You finally had to reach for him, small hands fumbling at his shirt, pulling him closer, grounding him.

"I'm not glass," you whispered, voice cracking with emotion.

At that, Sylus broke.

He kissed you like he was starving, his body pressing more firmly to yours, surrounding you. He shifted lower, carefully easing you back onto the bed, his weight a heavy, comforting presence. Even then, he bore himself up on his elbows, not daring to let himself rest fully on you, not wanting to overwhelm you.

You felt every second of it — how carefully he aligned himself with you, how his big hands framed your hips, almost reverently, thumbs stroking soft, absent circles against your skin.

Sylus stilled above you, his breath ragged, and for a long moment, neither of you moved. His ruby-red eyes were soft, studying your face with a mixture of concern and reverence, as if trying to read every flicker of emotion there.

He could feel it in the way you tensed, in the delicate tremble of your body beneath him. He needed to be sure. Needed to make sure this was something you wanted. Something you were ready for.

“Are you okay?” His voice was rough when he spoke, barely a whisper.

His fingers gently brushed the side of your face, a question in the touch. His thumb stroked across your cheek, eyes locked onto yours, checking for any flicker of hesitation. His tone both urgent and tender.

“I need to know, if you need me to stop... just say the word.”

His body remained poised, controlled, a silent promise not to move further unless you were ready. It was as if every inch of his being was focused on your comfort, the intensity of his usual self-control now wrapped in a gentle restraint.

You could feel his heart beating beneath you, wild and frantic, but every part of him was waiting — waiting for you. He leaned in, so close you could feel the warmth of his breath against your lips.

“Do you need more time?” His voice was softer now, his words a reassurance. “I’m not going anywhere, but I need to know you’re okay.”

Sylus’s gaze flickered down to your body, then back up to your face, never once breaking his careful watch. He didn’t want to rush you, didn’t want to overwhelm you. The weight of his desire was tempered by a raw vulnerability that he rarely allowed anyone to see.

“Please, just tell me what you need.” His words were thick with emotion, and it was clear: He’d do anything for you — but only if you were ready.

Sylus’s hands trembled slightly, though his touch was steady as it traced the outline of your jaw, lingering near the curve of your neck. It was almost as if he were memorizing the feel of you — every inch, every soft curve — as though afraid to break the fragile moment.

His gaze was unwavering, locked onto yours, his red eyes filled with something so much more than hunger. There was love there, a tenderness that clashed with the fierce reputation he wore in the outside world.

“Let me know if I’m pushing you too far,” he murmured, his voice a deep growl of raw emotion. “I’ll stop if you need me to. I won’t do anything you’re not ready for.”

The words were both a promise and a plea, as if he couldn’t bear the thought of causing you pain, emotional or physical. Even as the ache in his body grew stronger, he remained still, his body poised in a perfect balance of restraint. He wanted you so badly, but more than that, he needed you to feel safe — to feel wanted for you — not just in the ways he desired.

“I don’t want you to feel overwhelmed. You’ve never done anything wrong. If you need a moment, I’ll give you all the time in the world.”

His thumb brushed across your lips, a soft, reverent gesture. There was no question in his voice, no uncertainty. Only the raw devotion that he had for you — the willingness to move at your pace, to honor your body and your feelings in the way he had promised.

He waited for you, reading your face, looking for the tiniest shift in your expression. His own breaths were coming in shallow gasps, but he held back. He had to be sure. He couldn’t risk moving any further unless he knew you were ready, even if the burning desire inside him made him feel like he might break from the weight of it.

You could see the conflict on his face, the way he fought against his own instincts, his own overwhelming need for you. You could feel the weight of his desire, but it was tempered with something far deeper — respect.

Finally, he spoke again, his voice steady, though laced with longing, “You’re not alone in this. I’m right here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

You met his gaze, your breath coming faster now, the uncertainty still gnawing at you, but the reassurance in his eyes began to calm your nerves. You knew he was being so careful with you, so patient — and something in his touch, in his gaze, made you feel like you could trust him completely. You were scared, yes. But in his arms, it didn’t feel like fear.

“Are you sure?” you whispered, your voice small, tentative, but full of longing.

You wanted this, wanted him — and yet, there was still a part of you that feared he might change his mind. Sylus smiled softly, the edge of his usual sternness softening as he lowered his forehead to yours.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.” His voice was steady now, calm but full of deep emotion. “This is you and me, and nothing else matters.”

He let his lips hover just above yours, his breath mingling with yours, and for a moment, time seemed to slow. The world outside disappeared. There was only him, only the warmth of his body, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear. You could feel his care wrapping around you like a blanket, pulling you closer to him.

“Are you ready?” he asked gently, his voice barely above a whisper. His lips brushed against your ear as he spoke, the tenderness in his tone making your heart flutter. “We go at your pace. Always.”

There, in that moment, you knew — with him, it would never be about rushing, never about expectations or pressure. Sylus would never push you. He was waiting for you to decide, for you to choose, and that small action — giving you the control — made all the difference.

With a soft exhale, you nodded — shy, vulnerable, pulling him closer, feeling the safety and love in his arms. The moment of hesitation melted, replaced with the quiet heat of desire, and Sylus pressed forward so gently, inch by careful inch, it almost broke your heart.

When he finally entered you, it was with a broken, whispered groan, his forehead pressed to your shoulder, his whole body trembling with the force of holding himself back. You clung to him, burying your face against his neck, holding your voice, breathing him in, feeling the stretch, the pain, the fullness, the heat, the trembling, the love that were brought by him in waves.

He lifted his face and now was inches from yours, his breath warm and shallow against your skin. His lips brushed yours with an almost reverent touch, and the kiss was soft at first, lingering, as though he were savoring the moment. When he deepened it, it was still slow — tender — as if each second was a treasure, each caress a reminder of what they were building together.

You gasped softly, not from pain, but from the overwhelming sensation — the intimacy, the reality of him being inside you, a slow, burning stretch that made your chest ache.

Sylus froze the moment he heard it, panic flashing across his face, his voice cracked, “Am I—?”

He swallowed hard, his hands trembling where they cradled you, still fighting to be impossibly gentle. You shook your head quickly, pulling him down, and your hands caressed his ethereal face.

“No... please, don’t stop,” you whispered, voice breaking with emotion.

He kissed you then — so tenderly you thought you might fall apart — and continued moving, slower than the ticking of time, easing into you with painstaking care. Every shift, every small adjustment was deliberate, carefully timed — he made sure you felt no discomfort, only the slow, steady pressure of him, pushing and pulling with a tenderness, giving you the chance to breathe, to guide him as much as he guided you.

His eyes never left yours, constantly checking for any sign of discomfort, any trace of hesitation. Every shallow breath he took was laced with restraint, as if he couldn’t bear the idea of hurting you, even by accident. And with each glance and breath, his red eyes softened, the intensity of his usual gaze replaced with something gentler, something that only you could inspire.

Suddenly, a dark thought crawled into your mind. Your body — soft, curvier than the women you knew he had always been surrounded by — tensed under him at first, old insecurities bubbling up, unwelcome. You couldn’t help but wonder — if he noticed, if he compared.

But, as if you speaked your insecurities out loud, Sylus shifted slightly, framing your face between his hands, his red eyes burning into yours — not with lust, but something rawer. Deeper.

“You don’t even know, do you...” he murmured against your lips, voice rough with emotion.

You blinked up at him, confused, trembling.

He pulled back his face — his gaze softened unbearably — to whisper, “Only you,” he said, voice cracking, “Only you.”

Tears welled up behind your eyes, but this time they weren’t from fear. They were from relief. From the kind of love that could see every imperfect part of you — and cherish it like it was the rarest thing on earth.

Sylus rocked into you again, still painfully slow — cradling your body like something he couldn’t bear to lose, pausing every few seconds to brush your hair back, to kiss your forehead, to murmur your name like a prayer. His hands, so large and strong, mapped your curves with almost desperate reverence, fingers splaying against your hips, your waist, your back — not to control, not to claim — but to worship.

The deeper you sank into him, the more you realized that this — this slow, loving rhythm — was what you’d needed all along. It wasn’t just about the physical act. It was the quiet, aching connection between two souls finding their way toward each other.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered against your hair. “You’re mine.”

You were overwhelmed — not by the physicality, but by the depth of emotion. The way he worshiped you with every touch. The way he looked at you, like you were his whole world and he was terrified of ruining you. Tears slipped from your eyes — not from pain, but from something far deeper.

Sylus felt them immediately. He pulled back just enough to see you, panic flashing across his face again. But when he saw your smile — trembling, tearful, utterly happy — he made a broken sound, held you tighter, and kissed you fiercely, again and again, like he could taste the emotion between your tears.

As the night wore on, Sylus’s steady movements became more familiar, and with that familiarity came a deeper understanding of one another. You both moved together, a dance of trust and tenderness, of soft gasps and shared warmth. There was no rush, no moment of doubt — only the slow, steady building of something undeniable.

The world outside of the two of you ceased to exist. There was only the space between your hearts, the soft press of your bodies together, the heat of your connection radiating in every touch. Sylus’s movements were deliberate, never hasty, as if he wanted to make sure you felt every inch of his affection, every ounce of his love.

When the two of you finally found stillness, when his body rested against yours, and your limbs tangled together under the warmth of the blankets, there was no need for words. Sylus’s arms wrapped around you protectively, pulling you closer as if to keep you from ever drifting away.

“You’re mine, in every way,” he whispered, his lips against your forehead, as if he needed to remind you that this moment, this love, was real. “And I’ll spend every day making sure you know it.”

His voice was thick with the weight of his emotions, the words wrapping around you like a warm embrace. You didn’t respond immediately, not needing to, because in that moment, you knew. You felt it. The bond between you was unbreakable, forged not just in the intensity of the physical, but in the quiet tenderness that only the two of you shared.

You curled into him, feeling his heartbeat steady and strong beneath you, the soft warmth of his skin against yours a constant reminder that you were loved. Not because of how you looked, or because of any expectation, but because of who you were — the woman he’d chosen, the woman he would never let go.

Sylus held you close, his breath slow and even now. You buried your face against him — listening to his heartbeats, breathing in the smell of his skin, feeling his warmth. As you drifted into a peaceful, contented sleep, wrapped up in the softness of his love, finally you let yourself believe:

You were safe.

You were loved.

You were understood.

[twistedpink]

How about flustered!jade? Love your writing!

Cute!!

Jade that starts perfectly obvious (at your request) with his affections for you, even blushing a pretty ruby red when you catch him off guard, until you mess up in alchemy with a transformation potion..

Jade doesn’t make it a habit of becoming flustered (or at least that’s what he tells himself) but imagine him being completely straight faced, his prefect starts teasing him about a blush that’s not there- and suddenly his face warming up! He’s been duped! The only reasonable course of action is to speed walk away, lest his secret be revealed :)

Flustered!Jade that starts to cover his face more after the potion, and considers wearing a turtle neck under his uniform because he blushes full body,, even if it’s only his inner circle that can tell, he actually gets a little shy around you, worried about what you’ll think of him now. He keeps telling himself it’s only for a week. Then he can go back to being “normal” .

Flustered!Jade that’s sooooo obvious to Floyd and Azul (literally nobody else can tell) and the two of them mention you as “motivation” all the time

“don’t be upset, I’ll even arrange an evening with your beau :)”

“heyyyy where’s shrimpy at? Home? You’ve gotta tell them eventually, or I will”

Flustered!Jade hates that you of all people can see the truth behind his facade. Have you always been especially perceptive, or is this some kind of trick you’re pulling? Interesting,, that hunter’s been giving you lessons? Poor Jade, now he’s worried about everyone he talks to (even the idiots) figuring out his “grand secret”

But the prefect doesn’t like that they can’t read their fishy friend anymore, so they engage project “make Jade fall so madly in love he can’t hide it! (Yknow, whatever the hell he’s hiding)” and by god does it work. Pinning him up against walls (to the best of your ability) , pulling him down to cuddle without warning, and even giving light tugs to his hair- Jade falls hook line and sinker. If there’s even an inkling you like him more than he thought, then he can’t avoid you anymore,,

Flustered!Jade that takes the invitation to get more physical with you, and your plan to keep “normal” Jade around is totally backfiring. At this point you’re convinced that nothing can surprise him anymore. It’s time to bring out the big guns. (He’s counting down the days until this stupid potion is out of his system)

Flustered!Jade that finally blushes a bright blue when you confess- and you’d do anything to see him like that again!! But, Jade is slippery, and gets all his “blushing and thinking about yuu” time out of the way the entire time the potion is in effect. Once it wears off you’re only sad you couldn’t take pictures, so I hope you’re good at brewing for your next photo dump! (All is fair in love and war) <33

I literally wrote this under the assumption eels had blue blood,, I might be really wrong but it’s also a magic anime school so it’s something something blue potion now

[lunajay33]

My Angel🔥

Summary: y/n always wanted a family, so when she finds out she’s pregnant during the worst time during the lead up to the war, everything she’s ever felt has changed

Pairing: Eris Vanserra x f!reader

•Masterlist•

The war was coming, every court was on edge seeing my family in distress, Rhys is an amazing brother but having to carry the court on his shoulders was always a lot for him and now having a mate to worry about too was just the cherry on the top of it all, but now with the threat Eris liked to keep me close, too worried about what could happen and if anyone would use me against him and I understand

When we became mates years ago it changed my world, my family wasn’t thrilled but over time they came around realizing he would never hurt me and that his persona was only that, a persona he had to put up to other to protect himself

He’s my heart, soul and mind and it kills me to see the stress and worry weigh on him and seeing his mother today only made my own worries worsen

As I sat with her in the library Eris’ guard dogs wandered over to me laying their heads on my lap, growling at any person that would get to close to me, I didn’t think much of it until Eris’ mother pointed out why they were being so protective, because their masters wife is pregnant, how they knew I’ll never know but when she said those words my heart clenched

The day dragged on slowly as I paced in mine and Eris’ room just waiting for him to come home from a meeting with the dawn court, I’ve always wanted a baby to have a little family of my own but it wasn’t really the best of times and what if it was too much for Eris

“Oh mother above what am I gonna do” I sigh not noticing Eris walk in until I feel his warmth right behind me and his arms wrap around me

“What’s got you so worried my love?” He whispered in my ear sending shivers down my spine as I relaxed into his chest

“Just been a crazy day I need to tell you something”

“First u have a surprise for you” he said turning me around and pulling a box out of his pocket handing it over

Opening it it’s a gold necklace embedded with red rubies

“Eris this is beautiful but what’s the occasion?” I ask as he helps put the necklace on around my neck

“Well it’s the best for the my most beautiful mate who’s carrying my child” my heart jumped

“What? You knew?” I ask nervously turning back to him squeezing his hands

“Of course your scent changed a few days ago, you’re my mate I notice every little change” he smiles as his warm hands grip my hips

“But you’re not mad? Aren’t you scared with the war coming”

“Of course I’m scared but between me and Rhysand nothing will harm you I promise my little deer”

“You promise no matter what you’ll come back to me, that you won’t risk yourself during the battle”

“I promise, I’ll come back”

The day started off pretty low, as I helped Eris get dressed in his armour for the war starting today the past months of being pregnant he’s been so sweet and protective only making me love him more the inner circle always visited excited to have a baby apart of the family seeing as I’m the first to get pregnant

“I love you Eris, come back to us my love”

“I’m doing this for the both of you for a better future, I’ll be back my deer and my little fawn” he places a kiss to my lips then my belly before he left

The day dragged by slowly the castle filled with anxiety and worry, sitting with his mother helped a bit but nothing could stop me from think of Eris, if he was gonna come back

I ran my hand up and down my big bump on of the dogs pressing its snout to my belly huffing out a breath of excitement

“I think they love you more than Eris”

“Don’t tell him that he’ll freak out” I laughed before a pressure popped then my dress was wet, I look up at her with fear

“It’s happened dear come on let’s get you ready” she brought me to the healers and got the bed comfortable and ready

“I’m not ready not without Eris……I’m scared”

“You’ll be okay honey, think of how happy he’ll be when he gets home, do this for your baby, be strong dear”

After an hour of excruciating pain I finally hear the gentle cry of my baby girl, holding her against my chest she was just like Eris, fiery red hair with the cutest nose

“She’s perfect” I look to the doorway to see Eris standing there covered in dirt and blood but right now that didn’t matter

“You’re back” I smile exhausted

“I told you I would be”

“She’s beautiful, you’re so strong my love I’m sorry I wasn’t here”

“You’re here now with us that’s all I care about”

He leaned next to me watching our little girl sleep

“Ember that’s what we should call her”

“It’s perfect, this is perfect”

And suddenly everything was okay in our world again

[ticklygiggles]

Kitten | Sylus x fem!reader [n$fw]

A/N: Wonderful PPY ( @ppystkposts ) and I decided to do a little exchange thingy 🤭❤️ she asked for this fic with Sylus~ I hope it meets your expectations, love! ❤️

Disclaimer: he's probably a bit ooc, but after recent events I can only see him like a softie 😩

Summary: Sylus is... frustrated.

Words: 5k (is this my longest fic????)

Monday

Waking up to the intoxicating scent of your neck had become Sylus's new normal. He'd grown irritable on mornings without you by his side, but today, you were snuggled up against his chest, nesting yourself in his arms, and your presence was a warm comfort that made his heart skip a beat… but you were cutting off circulation to his arm. 

Sylus tried to adjust himself to relieve the tingling sensation that spread from his fingertips to his shoulder, but no matter how he moved, he couldn't free his arm.

“Kitten,” he whined, his voice husky from sleep. “Kitten, move your big head, please.” He tried pushing your forehead with a single finger, but you simply whined in your sleep and tightened your hold around his waist, nuzzling more into his bare chest.

He groaned, tilting his head back. That was it. He was definitely gonna lose his arm. 

“Sweetie, move!” He tried again, his eyes catching a glimpse of your bare waist and a smirk quickly pulled at the corners of his mouth. 

The warm tips of his fingers brushed across your soft skin, drawing little zigzags and circles across your side, from your hip all the way up to your ribs. A soft chuckle escaped his lips when he saw the goosebumps covering the path his fingers followed, chasing after them as you squirmed and pressed more into him. 

A deep, malicious chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Does that tickle?” He asks, teasing.

“No. It feels nice~,” you answered, smiling as you snuggled closer to him.

Sylus widened his eyes. “Wait- were you awake? Move your head!” 

Your giggles made his heart dance funnily as you finally lifted your huge head, the blood flowing again, making him wince in pain.

Tuesday

As much as he wanted to be attached to your side 24/7, he still had work to do. In his office, while you were carelessly playing on your phone on his couch as if you owned the place, he pretended to work, but in reality he looked at you with adoration. Following the curves of your body with his ruby eyes and licking his lips when he looked at your face... your irresistible lips that- 

“Caw!” 

His eyebrow twitched in exasperation as that damn bird fluttered right in front of his face. 

“Mephisto,” he nearly growled. “What on earth do you- huh?” 

Something falling slowly from Mephisto's beak caught his attention as the crow flew to sit on your shoulder. He blinked and took what Mephisto had left as a gift: a red feather. Sylus frowned, where the hell had Mephisto gotten this from? 

He sighed, but didn't think much of it as he fiddled with the feather between his fingers. The touch was soft. The feather was a little stiff, but when it ran against his skin he felt a very pleasant tickle. 

Suddenly, an idea came to his mind and an evil smile spread across his lips. Sylus chuckled and stood up from his chair, heading to the leather couch where you were still playing comfortably, stroking Mephisto's beak without paying much attention. 

Sylus dropped his weight beside you, gently placing your bare feet on his lap.

“Are you done?” You asked with your nose almost glued to the screen as your thumbs tapped all over it.

Sylus hummed, his hands moving to grab one of your feet, giving it a tight squeeze before pressing his thumbs against your sole, massaging it. “I'm taking a break.” 

You hummed, barely paying him any attention, just as he expected. Smirking to himself, Sylus pulled out the red feather; he twirled it between his fingers momentarily before the tip gently swept under your toes. 

He looked over at you and you were looking back at him over the edge of your phone, he grinned. 

“What do you have there?” You asked, arching an eyebrow. 

“Mephisto gave me a feather, do you like it, kitten?” He showed you the plume and you eyed it without interest. 

You shrugged your shoulders, your attention coming back down to your phone. “Yeah, it's pretty, I guess.” 

“Does it tickle?” He asked as the feather tickled your toes again, he frowned when your digits didn't even flinch under the soft touch. 

“Hmm, I think it feels nice. It's not ticklish,” you answered nonchalantly and his frown deepened. 

Sylus kept tickling your toes, under and in-between them. He even swirled the feather around the ball of your foot and the arch and heel, but it was like he was tickling a dead body. No response at all.

He growled in exasperation and got up. “I'll come back to work. Rest is over.”

“Hurry up, Onychinus Leader!” You claimed, not even looking at him. “I'm starting to get hungry!” 

What a spoiled brat.

Wednesday

“Okay, now, Boss, left foot green!” Kieran said cheerfully and Sylus growled deep in his throat as he had to reach all the way over your body to touch the green dot. 

“Sweetie, we could do more interesting things,” he said, his breath making your hair move, close to your ear.

“Miss!” Luke chirped. “Left foot green!” 

“They're not even using the board,” you said, and Sylus rolled his eyes when you ignored him. “We've been moving the same part to the same color for like five rounds now. That's cheating.” 

Sylus huffed. “You're the only one that would trust the twins to be rightful during your silly games. Name one where they didn't cheat,” he dared you and chuckled at your silence. 

“Right hand yellow, Boss!” 

Sylus huffed. This game had stopped being fun by the second round; his leg felt like it was going to cramp and his left hand was shaking, holding all of his weight. He was getting tired of this. 

Just as he was reaching over the yellow dot, his fingers accidentally brushed the skin of your side where your shirt had risen up a bit. He noticed how goosebumps flourished where he just touched and a smirk pulled at his lips. 

He cupped your waist and he chuckled when you jumped. His fingers started to scribble your flesh and he thought he'd hear your sweet, desperate giggle right away, but instead he felt a sharp pain on his side where you had elbowed him. 

“Are you trying to cheat too, Sylus?” You asked and he frowned, tickling your waist with more purpose, but you didn't even flinch. 

“Boss, tickling is not fair! You're gonna get a penalty!” Luke said and both twins started to giggle. 

Giving up in his attempt to tickle you, again, he sighed and reached over the yellow dot, but he had tired his other hand and his arm bent, making him fall over you with a loud thud. 

“Ack! I'm being crushed!” You cried while the twins laughed their heads off. 

“Good,” Sylus said, holding some of his weight with his arms. “Maybe this way you'll stop making me play stupid games.”

“Sylus! Get off! You're heavy!”

Thursday 

What was going on? Why didn't you laugh whenever he tickled you? Were you trying to hold back? Were you embarrassed of your laughter? No, that's not it, you certainly don't hold yourself back when you cry of laughter watching funny videos on your phone. 

Then what- 

“Sylus!” He was brought back to reality by your voice, looking up from the paper in his hands, his eyes quickly found you. He raised his eyebrows slightly as he watched you with both arms raised above your head trying to reach a book, dancing on your tiptoes.

He chuckled and lazily got up from his chair and only when he was right behind you, he realized your vulnerable position and a side smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth. 

He flexed his fingers and then brought them under your arms. He wiggled his fingertips into your warm skin, almost viciously, so sure he'd have you laughing your head off in seconds, but soon realized he was wrong. Again.

“What on earth are you doing, Sylus? I'm trying to get that book! Help me, please!” You said, still stretching as best as you could. 

Sylus let out a sigh and he easily grabbed the book and gave it to you. 

“Whao, thank you, Sylus!” 

Well, it was worth it to see that sweet smile as you walked away with it. 

Friday

Okay, this was simply stupid. Absurd. Ridiculous.

What was he doing wrong? Why weren't you cackling your beautiful head off when he tickled you? Was he being too rough? He tickled you with a feather, didn't he? 

Well, he really shouldn't be surprised, he wasn't ticklish himself, but it was simply impossible you weren't ticklish somewhere, wasn't it? 

No. He was having none of that. 

He left everything he was doing, (fixing poor Mephisto), and rushed with long strides towards the bedroom. 

The darkness outside seemed to penetrate the room from the floor-to-ceiling window, the walls absorbing the darkness that was extinguished a little by the warm light of the lamps and the chimney. Sylus stopped by the doorway, breathless as he saw you lying on the bed. His record player was on and the melody was like a wave gently sliding over the sand. He recognized it immediately: ‘La Mer’ by Claude Debussy.

His gaze fell on you, lying face down right in the center of his huge bed, your legs curled up, heels intertwined and your hands holding your head up while you read. His breath hitched when he noticed you were wearing one of his black shirts. 

Sylus had given you countless pajamas of the highest quality and the softest and freshest of fabrics but you always preferred to wear his shirts. It clearly didn't bother him, on the contrary, it always made his heart skip a beat. 

You finally raised your head and looked at him curiously, tilting your head to the side like a little bird. "Is something wrong, Sylus?" 

He walked over to you, his gaze fixed on the way his shirt clung to your curves, making his heart pound with growing anticipation. He sat beside you, the mattress dipping under his weight. 

You looked at him with a raised eyebrow and he resisted the urge to kiss you as his hands positioned themselves near your hips. You followed his every move, making him feel almost nervous. The soft satin allowed his fingers to slide easily from your hips to just below your arms, and then down, all the way to the back of your knees. 

You shuddered under his touch and his eyes, bright with excitement, looked at you. His mischievous smirk widened when he saw that you were smiling.

“What are you doing?" You asked with a gleam in your eyes that he couldn't quite figure out what it meant. 

“I'm tickling you,” he said as a matter of fact, wiggling his fingers against your waist and you giggled, but he knew it wasn't because it tickled. 

“Ah, that you're doing, hmm?” He watched you rise up onto your knees and turn to face him, your hands resting on his shoulders, your beautiful face dangerously close to his. 

Sylus instinctively grabbed your waist and squeezed it slightly as he looked into your eyes, you were smiling. Smirking. 

"You've been trying to get a reaction out of me this entire week, haven't you?” You leaned against his ear, your lips brushing against his soft skin. “Do you perhaps have a tickle kink?” Your voice was a whisper, Sylus barely heard you over the melody that began to reach a point of dynamism that somehow made him nervous. 

He let your words sink in and make sense before letting out a humorless chuckle, rolling his eyes. 

“That doesn't exist.” 

You laughed. “Then why do you keep trying to tickle me? Do you like to be in control? Or perhaps… you wanted me to tickle you back~?” You were suddenly on top of him, pinning him to the bed, straddling his hips. His large hands settled on your thighs, just below the hem of his shirt.

Your tongue lightly teased the hole of his ear and he shuddered, his ear flushing as your lips moved down along his sharp jawline. 

“I'm not ticklish,” he answered breathlessly, something swirling inside his chest and wrapping around his heart.

“Hmm~,” Your light hands placed themselves flat against his stomach and he arched his back as you pressed them against his body, sliding them up to his chest. Sylus let out a ragged breath. “Is that so?” 

Sylus' heart was pounding against his ribcage, he wondered if you could feel it under your hands. The melody that filled the room had left that sensation of seeing the waves lazily crashing against the shore. Now it seemed like he was standing in front of a violent sea, huge waves almost engulfing him completely, drowning him into the unknown.

He gulped as your fingertips dragged down against his sides, a gasp escaped his lips and he squirmed, arching his back. You giggled and his eyes, open widely, immediately looked up at you.

“Not ticklish, hmm?” He let out another gasp as your playful touch traveled back up towards his chest, and his hand grabbed yours. 

It was his mistake to always forget how strong his kitty truly was, and in the blink of an eye, his arms were above his head, wrists one over the other as your delicate hand held them tightly, pressing them against the mattress. 

Sylus groaned, his back arching again as another giggle reached your lips. 

“Why are you so frisky, Sylus? Didn't you just say you weren't ticklish?” 

He wasn't. Or so he thought. But right now he felt the effervescent sensation of giggles bubbling in his throat at your gentle touch, making him want to crawl out of his skin. 

“No-!” He said, jerking to the side when your hand sneaked under his sweater, your fingertips teasing his warm skin. 

As the back of your nails lightly scratched the curve of his waist, he managed to free his wrists from your hold and he wrapped his hands around your waist, but heavens, what kind of training did you go through?! In a moment, Sylus found himself pressed back down against the bed, this time face down, with one of his arms held behind his back and your hand spidering up his side.

He bit the inside of cheek, trying to hold back the laughter threatening to escape. He couldn't understand what was going on. Why was he feeling so… sensitive? Your fingers felt like hundreds of feathers caressing his side, making him want to shriek.

As he felt the touch lingering on his hip, a gasp escaped his lips and then laughter– no, embarrassing giggles poured out like a broken faucet. He kicked his legs and tried to catch your hand with his free one, but quickly found it impossible since your tickly hand moved from one spot to the other in a flurry, making him jump and squeal at every sudden touch. 

“S-Stohohop! I'm seheherious!” He laughed, nearly cackling when you repeatedly poked at the back of his ribs. 

You giggled. “Oh? Why should I? You said you weren't ticklish, this certainly doesn't bother you, right?” 

Oh you were so evil. Sylus felt a sudden heat assaulting his cheeks and ears and he hid his face against the soft blankets, muffling his laughter.

“None of that,” you singsang and he was suddenly flipped onto his back again, manhandled until both your hands were under his sweater, which was slowly lifting up with his squirming as both your hands worked around his torso. 

Sylus was laughing. Jerking and squirming and tossing his head side to side as his hands weakly tried to make you stop. It had been a long time since he felt so out of control. Who in their right mind would even think of treating the Leader of Onichynus like that? Who would even think of tickling the most important man in the N109 Zone? There was only one person in the world who would do it and boy was that person enjoying it. 

Sylus opened one of his tightly shut eyes to look at you and he regretted it right away. You were smiling almost viciously, watching all of his reactions with hunger in your eyes, as if you had been waiting for that moment for a long time, and Sylus had no doubt that this was the case.

You probably enjoyed all these recent days of him trying to make you laugh out of your head, and failing like an idiot. Had you planned all of this from the beginning? Were you expecting him to confront you about it? Sylus didn't doubt it. He had dug his own grave this time and yet... he found it strangely exciting. Thrilling. 

“Tch, stop that,” you said, your brow furrowing as he tried to lower his sweater. 

“K-Kihihitten, s-stop- ack!” 

He didn't– he couldn't fight back as you lifted the hem of his sweater over his head, successfully trapping his arms up, leaving him completely exposed. He gulped, looking at you with almost despair. The smirk on your lips only seemed to widen as your eyes marvelled over his body.

“You look so hot right now, Sylus,” you purred. “Especially when you laugh for me~” 

His breath hitched as your fingers hovered over his torso as if you were deciding where to strike next.

“Sweetie,” he mumbled, his voice deep, but laced with something he did not dare to name. “You're playing with fire. You had your fun and it's time for you to s-s-stohop–,” he gasped. “N-Nohoho!” 

“Were you saying something, Sylus?” Sylus arched his back and laughed as your fingers scribbled against his exposed armpits. Fingernails skittering against the sensitive skin, so maddeningly calculated, he couldn't stop himself from bucking. 

He jolted a little when he suddenly heard your giggle into his ear. Your tongue followed the curve of the cartilage and then hooked under his earlobe sucking at it momentarily before your voice filled his ear canal. 

“Tickle, tickle, tickle, Sylus~” 

A deep blush bloomed across Sylus’s cheeks as he laughed uncontrollably. His arms twisted, trying to break free from the imprisonment created by his own sweater. Your fingernails raked up and down his pits, first gently, almost lovingly, but then lethally, making him throw his head back with loud laughter.

He never thought he could laugh that loud, the muscles of his sides and stomach were getting sore already and he felt his eyes acting funny, were they tearing up? 

“Hmm~ Onychinus Leader truly is ticklish~” You said as your tickling fingers finally let his armpits have a break as they moved over his collarbones, teasing the sides of his neck that only made him let out hummy giggles. 

Your fingers traveled across his chest and a startled burst of laughter escaped his lips when your fingertips brushed against his nipples. His eyes widened as he looked up at you.

“Oh?” You grinned just like a little demon.

“No!” He warned, but it was too late. Sylus shrieked, shivering all over as your long nail started to scritch-scratch at his hardening nipples.

Why did that tickle?! His flush deepened as he laughed and squirmed, his legs kicking behind you and his cock– oh goodness. 

“Oh?” You purred again and Sylus whined, letting out a soft groan when you sat on his hardening dick. “What's this? Someone's enjoying his tickles? I told you you had a tickle kink~” 

“Thahat's n-not ihit!” He really hoped it wasn't it.

“So it's not it?” 

Sylus arched his back, laughing as you teased the little buds with the feather-like touch of your fingertips. He could feel the soft tickle scribbling all around them, but nearly bucked off the bed when you tickled the very top with fluttery fingers. He tried to ignore his own moans escaping between laughter and also your mischievous giggle that made his stomach do somersaults. 

“Stohohop nohohow!” He laughed, little tears of laughter clinging to his long lashes. 

“Hmm, already? I'm just starting though…” 

“Nohoho!” Sylus squealed like a pig when you traced his ribs, staring from the lowest to the highest and back down and then back up. 

His skin covered in goosebumps and he let out a vibrant cackle as your fingers spidered down to his stomach. His eyes widened and he sucked on his belly, shaking his head. 

“Aha! So this is your weak spot? How adorable of you, Mr. Sylus.” 

Sylus nearly laughed in hysterics as you formed two claws with your hands and let all your fingers poke him around his tummy repeatedly. 

“N-Nohoho! AHAHAHA! S-Sweehehetie! NOHOT THEHERE!” 

Scribbling on the sides of his belly, tracing his abs, clawing at the middle of his stomach; tracing the rim of his belly button and then wiggling your finger inside it– Sylus was losing his mind. 

He cackled loudly, squirming all around and about, begging for mercy as his voice started to get hoarse from laughing so hard. 

He was nearly double your size, he could easily pick you up with one single arm, and yet, he was laughing desperately, hysterically, as your fingers tickled his stomach as if your life depended on it. No matter what you did, he couldn't get used to the maddening sensation and his ticklishness only seemed to increase the more you pursue his weak spots, like his lower stomach. 

“OKAHAHAY! OKAY!” He cried, tilting his head back and tossing it from side to side. “AHAHANYWHERE BUT THEHEHERE!” 

“Fuck, Sylus.”

He wasn't sure you actually said that– he could barely hear anything besides his own hysteria, but his cock twitched inside his pants for some reason, as if he wasn't dying of laughter. As if he didn't only fell more hopeless and helpless as you kept tickling his damn stomach. 

“Our poor Sylus has a ticklish tummy?” And that damn teasing, he couldn't stand it! “Poor little Onychinus Leader. What would people say if they new only a few tickles to his belly were enough to have him begging for mercy~” 

You were the devil, he was sure of it. He was dating the devil himself and this devil had found her favorite diversion. 

“You're doing so well, though,” you continued, your nails tickling his lower tummy. “Taking your tickles so well, doesn't it feel so good? Hmm?”

“PLEHEHEASE!” He begged breathlessly, his laughter fading away every now and then, simply leaving him shaking silently. “KIHIHITTEN! PLEHEHEASE!” 

“Please what?” You said, your fingers finding a rhythm poking and scribbling around his lower stomach that really had him howling in hysteria. “Tickle you more or… tickle you less?” 

“Less,” he babbled as tears fell down the sides of his face and a bit of spit escaped from the corner of his mouth. 

He was a complete mess. Flushed in the face and pathetically hard as he finally laughed in complete silence when your attention gravitated back to his belly button. 

“Oh? Are you laughing yourself silly, Sylus?” He nodded, what else could he do? “Oh poor thing, does it tickle too much?” Another weak nod and a terrible loud snort from his nose that had you giggling. “Should I give you a break?” Yes please. Please. Please. 

“Ah!” He finally was able to inhale enough air as your fingers stopped their torture. He collapsed on the bed, gasping for air as his heart thundered against his ribs and he let out residual laughter. 

“Y-you're the worst, s-sweetie,” he said, his voice hoarse.

“Hmm? Am I really?” You asked with a sweet, sultry voice that made him whimper. “Because–”

“Nghh!” 

“– this little friend of yours seems to really enjoy the attention,” you said, your finger teasingly tracing the outline of his hard cock and Sylus moaned, jerking his hips.

“S-Stohop… I c-can't take it a-anymore,” he begged, his hips humping slightly and you laughed. 

“Liar,” you said and your deft fingers unbuckled, unbuttoned and unzipped his pants in a flash. You tugged them down along with his underwear, freeing his bouncing cock and gathering his clothes by his ankles. 

Sylus watched you place yourself back between his legs, his big thighs squeezing around your waist as you caressed them gently, drawing little figures with your fingers. 

He couldn't lie, he was afraid. He didn't know– he had no idea you were like this. He didn't know how ruthless you could be. Always smiling at him with your sweet smile and laughing at him when he started singing. He had no idea that you had a dark side. 

He flinched as your fingers lightly moved towards his cock, his body tensed in anticipation, mouth open, letting out ragged breaths. 

“You want to cum?” You asked and your smirk made him shiver. 

He shook his head. “N-No- hah,” he gasped when he saw your eyes darkening. “Y-Yes…” 

“Too late,” you said and you wrapped one hand around his cock. “I'll do exactly what you asked~”

Sylus's cock throbbed and jerked as he felt your soft hand wrap around his thick, hard shaft. Your fingers barely met around his girth, and he had to grit his teeth against the urge to buck his hips up into your touch.

“F-Fuck! Ngh!” Your hand started to stroke his hard shaft, steadily but rhythmically, finding a pace that had him groaning as your hand squeezed his cock just right and your thumb brushed against the sensitive head of his dick, smearing the precum leaking from the tip. 

Sylus huffed, sighed and moaned as pleasure started to build up in his lower belly. He squirmed slightly, his arms still fighting against his own sweater. 

“Does that feel so good, Sylus?” You purred and Sylus widened his eyes when he felt your warm, humid breath against the tip of his cock. He looked down to see your lips were mere inches away from the crown of his dick. 

“Nnghh, please k-kitten,” he cried, jerking his hips to fuck himself up into your hand. “D-Don’t…” 

“Don't tell me what to do,” you warned and Sylus nearly saw stars when your tongue dragged over the swollen head of his cock. 

He tilted his head back and moaned deeply as you lapped all his precum, the taste of his arousal exploding in your mouth. Sylus's stomach tensed and his hips thrust at the rhythm of your licking and the pumping of your hand. 

“A-Ah, kitten,” he gasped, circling his hips. “W-Wait, pl-please.”

“Do not tell me what to do,” you repeated and closed your mouth around the head of his cock. Sylus’ moan was almost primal as you suck softly at the tip, as you would a lollipop. 

His thighs squeezed your body and he cried with pleasure when your tongue flickered against the slit. Sweet shudders of pleasure made his limbs and insides tremble and shake. His breathing quickened and his body started to tense with the eminence of his release. 

“Haah! Ah! N-Ngh! K-Kihitten! I'm-” 

“Oh, I'm sorry,” you said, stopping just as he was teetering over the edge, and Sylus whined. “I forgot you said you didn't want to cum.”

Oh you truly were so evil. 

“Kitten, I fucking swear, why are you- haah! AHAHAHA!” 

Sylus shrieked as your fingers scribbled and wiggled against the sweet spot in the inner part of his thighs. Your fingers latched to that weak muscle near his groin that had him arching his spine and throwing his head back. 

His strong legs squeezed you and you giggled, tickling him faster. 

“STAHAHAP!” He cackled, his hips jerking as he foolishly kept trying to reach his ruined orgasm, but it was all useless, he couldn't even concentrate because of the damn tickles to his thighs. 

He screamed your name, trying to sound intimidating. “Fuhuhucking s-stohohop!” He gritted his teeth, refusing to give you the satisfaction of seeing him laughing any more, but a quick scribble to the middle of his stomach was enough to have him nearly in stitches. 

For how long have you been doing this? He certainly felt it had been ages, millennia of insane, hysterical laughter. When he thought there was no more laughter left in him, your fingers would move in a certain way in a place no one had ever touched before and he would realize, much to his horror, that he could still laugh, even harder.

“Does it tickle, Sylus?” You teased as he was sent into another hysterical fit of silent laughter as your fingers abused that muscle in his inner thighs. “You're loving it, right? Otherwise why would you be so hard? It's a shame you don't want to cum, I bet that'd be wonderful, don't you think?” 

Shut up! Please, stop! Don't fucking touch me! He wanted to scream, but deep inside he knew it was hypocritical of him to do so. He could easily get you off of him with his Evol, but he fooled himself into thinking he couldn't concentrate because of the tickling. He could unload the sweater around his arms, but he brainwashed himself, saying it was his favorite sweater. 

He was simply taking it, laughing and getting hard over it. 

“I told you you have a tickle kink~,” you purred and that was enough for Sylus. 

Oh fuckfuckfuckfuck!

Sylus's eyes rolled inside his skull and his head tilted back with a hoarse cry as his orgasm crashed over him like a tidal wave. His cock jerked and throbbed violently into the air, nothing around it as he pumped thick ropes of hot and sticky cum. 

Sylus groaned, his hips rocking as he rode his orgasm and the aftershocks rushed up his body. He sobbed, teary eyes opening to look at you and he whimpered when he saw your big shit-eating smirk. 

“Did you enjoy yourself, kitten?” You asked, one of your hands back to his inner thighs and the other to his stomach to start tickling him again.

This tickling was indescribable, nothing like what he felt before… he was lost in a tickle subspace and you were the only one that could possibly bring him back– the same person that threw him into it with a smirk and sweet giggles bubbling past your lips. 

What had he gotten himself into? 

[baby-tini]

Dabi with a daddy kink.

Oh, and this man would fuck you in public. Not even like, "fuck in a public bathroom," would bend you over in a restaurant with everyone watching and do it.

A/N- I just want to start this off with.. why the hell are you so right?!?! He absolutely is the type of man to do some shit like this~ 😩 I hope you like it...

CW- smut, daddy kink, public sex

The first time it happened, it was an accident and you swear by that, really you do. It was in the heat of the moment, his cock was just so deep and your brain was fuzzy, everything seemed so high and cloudy. His hand was so warm and big around your neck, lithe fingers calloused and squeezing just right. Your voice coming out garbled and squeaky, tongue limp and wet, hanging out so pretty for him. So soft and warm on his thumb as he slips it in to keep you quiet for him.

He freezes when he hears it at first, cerulean eyes shooting to your own, burning hotter than hades flames. Dilated pupils leaking uncertainty as they flicker from your irises to your lips, thumb sitting pretty wrapped in plush skin. But you give yourself away when your eyes get all wide and anxious, at that point you know, that he knows what you said. That little gargled whine of "Daddy" was real, it came from you, and fuck, the repeated spews of "sorry, 'm so sorry Touya", "didn't mean it, just so good Touya." Leave him light-headed, heart pounding against his chest, pupils dilated on a high he didn't know was achievable. There's a quick, tighter squeeze around your throat before his hand pulls away to wipe the tears off your cheeks, hands moving wet hair off sticky wet skin.

"Shhh, it's okay, calm down pretty baby, I'm right here, yeah? I'm right here, I'm not going anywhere. But I need you to say it again princess, say it again for Daddy, please?" You try to say it again, you really do, for Touya, but it comes out choked, you don't mean for it too, it gets caught in your throat when his wet thumb presses down on your sticky clit. Rubbing rough circles into the little pearl, getting leaky juices on the floor when it drips off his cock, smearing on your thighs. "Try again baby, need to hear it again, you sound so pretty, hm?" Too much. It's too fucking much, his voice is raspy and cracking, warm breath panting in you ear, pleading with you.

He gets faster in his pace, cock twitching inside it's warm confinement as his balls slap against your ass. Heavy and full, ready and willing to give you everything you need. But it's too hot and stuffy in the dirty alley-way, people walking by and laughing. Parts of different conversations bouncing off your ears as your eyes roll back. The first spurt of warm cum he fucks into your cunt, has you keeling and pleading with him, voice raising in pitch as your nails dig into un-burned skin, blood starting to leak and gather under your nails.

"Daddy please, too much please, I can't, please I swear I can't, 'm too full," his hips stutter while hitting against your own. His abs clench, body tensing in full from the euphoria. Head thrown back as his eyes clench tight, white canines biting deep into your neck, pulling away soaked in crimson as deep imprints burn in their wake. The pain leaves a dopamine rush in your brain, ears buzzing from the overstimulation of everything.

"There you go baby, there you go, 'm so proud of you, so fuckin' proud, good girl." It's all so warm. His hands burning as electric eyes stare you down and whisper praise into your ear. Warm, wet tongue licking up ruby from your throat- smearing it onto un-flawed perfect skin. The full shock that wracks through your body when you cum for him makes you feel faint, legs like jelly and thighs strained from being wrapped around his waist for so long. The cobble from the cold, stone wall leaving nasty imprints on the backs of your thighs and arms. But it's all so worth it, worth it for Dabi, worth it for Touya.. worth it for Daddy.