#bitty reader

[rubydracogirl]

This is some fanart I made for @crack-a-lackin-max ‘s fic, Little Angel. Very sweet and wholesome, I love Old Man Killer so much.

(I’ve never tried drawing an Anon, or a sweet roll, so this was a first.) 

[little-assistant-blog]

I've been catching up on the story and I just want to offer Bit some relaxing time burning dead leaves. One time I got into a fight with my mom and I spent all afternoon (even falling asleep out there in the cold... don't worry, my dad came and got me eventually,) using the lighter that was left out there to burn dead leaves. Great stress reducer, I think. (Just don't get too close. I think the boys would kill me if I accidentally roasted their Bit to a crisp.)

They really need the break to just kind of think. They enjoy the heat, it makes them feel alive still. Instead of cold and dark.

[cubbihue]

I love Itty Bitties AU. I have a few questions. 1, did the magic cookies make Timmy basically Cosmo & Wanda's bio son? 2, why is Timmy a pixie? Is it because he used to be human? 3, I assume courts have a genetic aspect, based on the different sizes. So how does that work? Are some courts dominant or recessive? Can a child be a different court than their parent? Jorgen appears to be a specialty but Cosmo is Upper court? 4, what's a fun fact you haven't gotten to share yet but want to? :)

Fun Fact! Timmy has his mom's hair color!! It's slow growing, but after several decades, it'll be a nice pink just like hers! He has his dad's hairstyle, but it's not much different than before.

Bitties Series: [Start] > [Previous] > [Next]

Numbered Answers to Questions 1-3 below!!!

Yup!! On top of the Fairy DMV, the Fairy Food lets Timmy become linked to Cosmo and Wanda. He can technically be a Fagiggly Gland donor for his brother.

Also correct! Pixies have the lowest magic output compared to all the other Fairy Courts. It's the safest Court Timmy could be admitted to. Maybe when he's older, he can be fully transferred into the same Court as his parents.

Genetics? Who knows! Fairies haven't had to think about it for about 1000 years. What they do know is that Anti-Fairies are born from the shadows of Fairies, and that nobody's quite sure where Leisure Fairies comes from. Pixies and Fairies can cross-breed though, so maybe they have what's known as "recessive" or "dominate" traits. Although Pixies don't have Anti-Fairy counterpart so... 🤔 ...To be fair, Jorgen also has no idea how he's related to Cosmo.

[seiwas]

hihi sel! for your trope mashup game: bedsharing + teacher au featuring satosugu! (or any ship of your choice, really bahaha)

bitti!! thanks for playing with me 🥹 u need to know. this took me tf out 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 thanks for bouncing around these ideas w me babie @mieiri

"looks like we'll have to cuddle tonight," gojo plops down on the foot of the bed, hands outstretched behind him.

you drop your bag to the floor, scanning the rest of the room.

there's a decently sized window at the far end, with a small desk and its own chair. to your immediate right is the bathroom, with a single sink, a small shower space, and a toilet. the space is okay, not too big and not too small considering the two giants you’re rooming with.

except, there’s one problem. when your eyes pan to the left, right up against the wall—

there's only one bed.

you can hear geto chuckling behind you, his leather jacket crinkling as he walks around the room.

there was supposed to be a couch at least. that's what your faculty had promised you. it's why you agreed to room with geto and gojo in the first place.

"dibs not middle," geto settles into the seat right at the end of the room.

they both look at you.

oh god.

this professor's retreat was initiated by your college in an effort to mingle with your colleagues from the other departments. not that you needed it to get to interact with gojo and geto, you know each other enough from the weekend martial arts classes you attend together.

that being said, though, knowing them from a shared class is a far different relationship from being comfortable enough to sleep beside them.

between coinciding schedules with the physics department and later time slots of the molecular biology classes, the chemistry classes you teach leave almost no opportunity for you to pass them in the hallways.

which, is honestly kind of a good thing.

you don't think you can handle seeing them even more than you already do on the weekends; gojo dressed in tight compression shirts and geto in those sickeningly fitted vests. how sweaty they both end up after sparring with one another—

"i'll take the floor," you announce, heat firing your cheeks as you immediately rifle through the cabinets in the bathroom for extra towels.

granted, the outfits they wear to work are a lot more modest. gojo always opts for pressed dress shirts, neat and sleek as if he’s busy (which he is, you think. he’s always somehow invited to meetings with the university’s higher-ups). geto, on the other hand, swears by his leather jackets. if it weren’t for the ‘lecturer’ id clipped to his jacket pocket, he’d easily be mistaken as a student. you’re pretty sure he has, especially by his own students on the first day of class.

still, you cannot handle sleeping in between the two of them.

in your panic, you don't notice the sound of footsteps approaching the bathroom door, a broad figure leaning over its frame.

"hey,"

you’re going to kill gojo.

between the two of them, gojo’s always the one who tries to convince you to join in on their antics. but as long as he doesn’t touch you, you think you’ve built up a pretty good immunity to all his tricks.

this, however, is a completely different tactic.

if one of them can persuade you by voice alone, it’s geto suguru—and it seems like gojo knows it too.

“you know there'll be plenty of space on the bed, right?"

it was a mistake for you to look up, because now you've caught his eyes, an impossibly hypnotizing brown that drips warmth into his honeyed speech.

you breathe out, keeping your cool, “it's okay, suguru, i don't mind.”

he crosses his arms, leaning more of his weight on the doorframe as he peers down at you. a strand of his hair falls from the bun he usually keeps it in; it’s tip lands right where his smirk ends.

well, fuck.

"satoru's a stick," he comments, and from within the room you can hear gojo start to whine, “hey—!”, but suguru continues, ignoring him, “i can squeeze closer to the wall."

he tilts his head, dipping it lower.

you sigh, closing your eyes. the towels you’ve managed to scavenge now slipping from your hands.

when you step outside in evident defeat, gojo sits up from the bed, tapping the space beside him as he crosses his legs. gojo runs his mouth a lot of the time, but it’s in this moment that you truly believe pretty boys shouldn’t be allowed to speak. because when he says—

"c'mon, it'll be fun."

—you think the next three days will simultaneously be the best and worst days of your life.

some additional things i didn’t include:

gojo’s pedagogy is terrible but students love to take his class because they think he’s hot + he doesn’t require attendance. his assessments are either extremely easy (aka nothing) or fucking hard and students are willing to take this gamble 🥲 he also sucks at teaching because he can’t explain for shit!!! but he grades high 😃

geto on the other hand!! good all around except his assessments are always fucking HARD. but students also love to take his class because they actually learn something 😃 (and also bc his students crush on him hard lmao)

the sleeping situation happens as follows: gojo takes up most of the bed space and geto does in fact squeeze to the wall, with you squished to his side too 😃 on one of the nights, gojo clings onto you and geto scoots closer because the empty space freaks him out a lil 😃 at some point, both of them squish you in the middle too 😃 you start to think maybe they wanted this all along…

[lorelune]

of carnage

|| blade x reader || E/18+ || shared toxicity, band au || wc: 8.8k  || ao3 ||

You and Blade are mutually assured destruction. You know this, and yet it does not stop you from chasing after him.

minors, antis and ageless blogs dni

notes: well hello :3c this fic is part of a trade i did for some LOVELY selfship art with MOST BELOVED @rabbbitseason!! they asked for toxic bladie and reader and i come to DELIVER 🙏 setting and au are heavily inspired by my time in my local music scene and all of the 💀that came with it. i'm glad it can be all get repurposed into blade smut 🫶 THANK YOU!! to bitti for giving me so many fun wants to craft around!! THANK YOU!!! as well to @ofmermaidstories and @2kmps for beta reading!! now, please mind the tags on this one and enjoy <3

CW: dark content, band au, dubcon, pain during sex, bleeding during sex, toxic relationship between blade and reader, angst, hurt/a little comfort, manipulation, gaslighting by blade and the reader @ themselves, face slapping, spanking, spitting, reader smokes cigarettes, reader drinks, self destructive reader, past blade/dan heng, implied unrequited jing yuan/dan heng, kernels of jing yuan/reader

“Are you going to the gig tonight? Fu Xuan asks as if the answer isn’t obvious already.

You crane your neck back to look at her from your roost in front of your full-length mirror. Your knees dig into the carpet and the tips of your fingers are tinged with black. You’ve spent the better part of the last thirty minutes attempting to perfectly smudge the smoky line of eyeliner on your lower lash line. A tube of dark, red lipstick (his color) and sticky gloss rests on the fluffy carpet beside your folded knees.

“Of course.” You can’t make yourself smile, not when your stomach is in knots. “Are you?”

“I should if you are going,” she huffs, leaning against your doorframe. “You need a chaperone.”

(She’s probably right.)

“Please tell me you’re joking.” You grimace and turn away, unable to meet her gaze. She’s too good at reading you. “I’ll be just fine on my own, thank you very much.”

“... He’s playing, isn’t he?”

“I mean, yeah.” You rub more aggressively at the widening smears around your eyes. “But that’s not the only reason.”

“Sure.”

“It’s not, really.” You meet her gaze with a glance in the mirror. It’s hard to keep, her stare intense and full of judgment— (And worry.) “There’s a bunch of good bands tonight. There’s a touring group— all the way from Pier Point.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You have no faith in me, do you?” You pout, keeping your voice light, and hoping it comes off as a bit of a jest.

When you finally turn to face Fu Xuan fully, she dips to sit beside you, on her own folded knees. She plucks your soon-to-be-worn lipstick off the ground and uncaps it, just long enough to see the color, before sighing and closing it once more with a pop. 

“Not really, no.” Fu Xuan leans against your side, cheeks puffing out. “Not when it comes to him—”

“You can say his name, you know.” You smear chalky highlighter on your cheeks with your fingertips. “It’s not a slur. He’s just some guy.”

“‘Some guy’,” She groans. “If he’s really just some guy, why don’t we skip the gig tonight and stay home? We can order in some nice food, and I could invite Qingque.”

“... I—”

“You know that going is a bad idea, right?” Fu Xuan sighs. “We’ve gone over this before.”

“I’m aware of that.” You can’t suppress your scowl any longer, turning to face her. “Blade is fine—”

“He treats you like shit.”

“He treats everyone like that.”

“That doesn’t make it better. If anything, that makes it worse. You deserve better.” Fu Xuan sounds genuinely upset. “And you can do better. Easily. With literally anyone else, even if you find them at one of your nasty house shows. Try entertaining the thought?”

“You don’t have to be so—” You turn to her, fist balling up on your knees— “So mean about it.”

“It’s messy.”

“And it’s not your business.”

“It’s not!” Fu Xuan says, exasperated as she rolls her eyes. “I really shouldn’t even be bothering, but you are my friend. And it is painful to watch you chase the tail of a man who will hardly give you the time of day or bare minimum respect. Excuse me for showing concern.”

“Your concern is noted.” As it has been before. “But I’m fine. I wasn’t lying earlier— there’s other groups I want to see tonight. You... don’t have to come along just to babysit. I’ll be alright. I know you hate them.”

“I do.”

Fu Xuan crosses her arms and exhales, something angry and burning. “At least let me drive you. I can pick you up later too. Rather I do than some stranger or him—”

“Blade. His name, Fu Xuan.”

“Blade.”

“God, you do say it like a slur.” You roll your eyes, the pit in your stomach having become larger and darker. You swipe below your eyes and thank an Aeon or two that your eyeliner is waterproof. 

...

The house venue is a bit out of town, in the rural suburbs on a lot that’s big enough to host a crowd and not bother the nearest neighbors. Fields streak by during your journey, humming with junebugs and chirping with late- summer crickets. Low hills roll by as a harvest moon rises, waxing and half-full.

Fu Xuan drops you at the curb and idles as you collect yourself. A crossbody bag carries your essentials (your phone, your sticky lip products, a lighter to go with the pack of cigarettes that you actually don’t smoke, and two condoms shoved against the bottom). You fiddle with the strap against your shoulder.

“Call me when you need me to pick you up, okay?” Fu Xuan taps the steering wheel. “I’ll be awake.”

“Okay, mom.”

“I mean it—”

“I know.”

“Don’t go home with Blade. Or let him drive you home. He handles a car like he’s trying to kill himself.”

It’s a fair assessment but you still shake your head, trying to seem good-natured despite the rot you feel curling in the back of your throat. Bile, rising, before you have a drop of liquor in you. It’s a little pathetic; you’ll really think so in retrospect. For now, you walk toward the venue itching for a drink in your hand or familiar company. Thundering bass and ripping guitar vibrate from the basement windows, shaking the ground beneath your feet.

A crowd clusters at the back of the house. Folks swap cigarettes and clutch cans of cheap beer and flasks decorated with stickers. You quickly survey, looking for, searching for him—

(He’s usually out here before his set, hiding away somewhere with Kafka sharing cigarettes and glaring at anyone dumb enough to make a pass at her.)

A hand grabs you by the shoulder, and you nearly jump out of your skin. “Oh my gosh, you’re here! I didn’t know you’d be coming to the gig!”

It’s March, you know. She is easy to identify with the sweet, candy-like perfume she wears and the slight press of her almond-shaped gel manicure into your shoulder.  March turns you abruptly, throwing her arms around your shoulders and squeezing. Too tightly, knocking the air out of you in an instant. You give her a tentative hug back and pull away quickly. The contact scalds you.

“Have you seen—?”

“Blade?” March pouts and tilts her head. “You know, I feel like you only come to these things to see that guy. He’s nothing special. And I have seen him. He was off sulking a while ago, by the sheds in the back of the lot.”

“... I’ll have to check. Thanks, March.”

She sighs as you walk away from her, before calling out to Stelle (who is always a step or two behind her anyways.) 

You feel— bad about how you treat them. They’re both good people. So is the third in their trio, Dan Heng, a man with a beautiful face and an eerily calm demeanor, especially when compared to his companions. The group of them was introduced to you back when you first started attending these shows, hanging around the scene, and sweating in the basement of mildew-filled houses. They were some of your first friends, and easy to mesh with when you gave yourself the time and space to. Stelle always had a flask with lukewarm vodka or tequila, and March kept a case of seltzers in her trunk. Dan Heng was the ever-reliable sober cab. 

(It was nice back then. Before you had become so entangled with Blade and the subsequent social politics that came with chasing and occasionally fucking the hot, albeit emotionally-unavailable bassist of HUNTERS. It was far easier to hold those friendships than to orbit around a man who you can never tell if he hates you or wants to fuck you in his back seat.)

You find Blade tucked away around the side of the house, cloaked in shadow while taking long drags of a cigarette. The cherry glows in the dim light. From the basement window peeking out from the ground, a red glow pours out, illuminating the well-worn combat boots he wears. They’re crusted in filth, falling apart at the toe. 

(You’d still lick them if he asked you to. Hump them if he asked you twice.)

Another figure stands across from him. Serene, arms crossed, with storm eyes visible even in the poor lighting. Dan Heng keeps a perfectly neutral expression as he speaks, hushed, to Blade who wears a scowl so perfectly that it looks like he’s carved of immovable stone rather than not flesh. 

You’re not quite within earshot. You can’t make out their words, only their tone. It’s an angry exchange, one that’s charged with heat lighting and ire. Blade spits something at Dan Heng, venomous in his tone like he so easily is. Dan Heng replies back something so cooly that it’s like a low-tide wave lapping at your feet.

If you were better, you would turn around and leave. Neither of them know that you’re here, so close. It’s invasive to listen, but you know that there’s... history between Blade and Dan Heng. You’ve always wondered what it is, and considering that Blade has the emotional availability of a rotting vegetable, you won’t be getting those details out of him.

Maybe witnessing their dynamic (yet again) could provide you some clarity—?

(And maybe, if you know why Blade was so, so hurt by Dan Heng, you can do better. You can be the exact thing that Blade wants, and then he will want you, just as much as you want him.)

You listen more keenly:

“I’ve asked you to stop booking shows where the Express is already playing.”

“And I’ve asked you to get off my dick and stop being such a priss, but it doesn’t look like you’ll ever do that.”

“I’m asking you to be reasonable.”

“Sure, because clearly asking me to not play prime gigs is ‘reasonable’. Not to mention you should be taking this up with Kafka or Elio, not me. Did you just want an excuse to talk, Imbibitor Lunae—”

“Don’t call me that.”

“What, have something else you’d prefer to be called? I remember plenty of things you liked hearing. Want me to name a few?”

“Hold your tongue—”

A stick cracks behind you and you nearly jump out of your skin.

“Bladie~” Kafka purrs behind you, hands sliding up over your shoulders, hot breath over the back of your neck. “We’re on soon. Soundcheck in five, Firefly has a vodka shot for you if you want.”

You’re frozen.

Blade grunts from around the house, and as he does, Dan Heng emerges from the shadows quickly, on hastened feet, and nearly stumbles when you see him. Your expression must be— fucking stupid. Wide-eyed and slack-jawed as Kafka runs her nails up and down your neck. 

As Dan Heng practically sprints off, Kafka croons quietly into your ear, “And what are you doing all the way back here? Looking for Bladie again?”

You don’t need to speak for her to know your answer. Blade’s steps thud against the ground over the short, dry grass. 

Part of you knows you should scramble away and pretend you weren’t just lurking like a stray dog begging for kitchen scraps. It’s humiliating to be caught by Kafka (yet again), doing the same shit on a different day. Another part of you, one which is much louder, more persuasive, and saccharine sweet, urges you to face Blade. If you get caught in his maw, good. 

Your hands shake as Blade emerges from the dark.

He looks like death. Ghostly pale skin with deep purple eyebags, like bruises. His eyes are cut carnelian, ethereal and volcanic against his parlor. A cigarette hangs between his plump lips, threatening to burn and melt the pieces of his fringe that hang around his cheeks. Long, wild black hair, tipped in faded crimson, falls down his back in frizzy waves. His arms bulge obscenely in the tight, black shirt he wears. A carved jade pendant hangs off of his belt.

Blade stares you down and his scowl deepens, turning even more sour. He mutters something under his breath, something unintelligible but cruel. It’s not the first time he’s spoken to you that way. He’s done so more loudly and more brutally. 

You—

(Hate it. You love it. Well, maybe not love, but you crave the way that Blade is awful to you. You’re horrible.)

“Better get inside now,” Kafka hands drift to your waist, tugging on the belt loop of your pants. You let out a little yip. “I’m sure the front row is filling up fast. No need to spy on Bladie if you get a prime spot during the actual set, hm?”

She’s right; she usually is.

Kafka leaves you with an elegant twirl, humming one of HUNTERS songs from their new EP under her breath. You know the tune. You’ve been playing it on repeat for the last two months. 

It’s easy to follow the jarring trills of soundcheck as you float inside the home, following the trail of people headed toward the basement. Descending down the rickety, railingless stairs into thick, humid air that reeks of sweat, beer, and fledging mold. Down, down, down you go— maybe to hell, where you perhaps belong.

...

Moon Drinker by HUNTERS

You taught me that the high moon 

Was our lovers’ sigil

How quickly did you throw away our runes

How empty is your cup

Moon Drinker

That you would break mine too

...

The gig is decent. That’s how these shows tend to be and you enjoy them just enough to tolerate the stench and humidity of grungy basements like this one. 

Three bands play, IP3, the Express, and HUNTERS. The interest you expressed to Fu Xuan about Pier Point’s IP3 was a lie, but they’re not bad. The frontman, a blond with eyes like inverted crystals, has a sultry edge to his voice that verges on sexual. It’s a cleaner sound that rips into something dirtier, filthier, as their set goes on. 

The Express follows IP3. You’ve seen them more times than you can count, but the trio is still nice to listen to, even now. March always plays with the crowd in between her harmonies in a way that riles folks up just enough without causing abject chaos. The band plays a new song you don’t know, one that is angry and loud and so unlike their normal sound. Dan Heng is on vocals, rather than solely on guitar, and you’re reminded of how mournful and melodic his voice can be. The exact words of the piece get eaten by the cement foundation of the basement, but you imagine that it’s an elegy.

HUNTERS is last on.

They usually are, as their music is the loudest and gnarliest, and they’re typically the most well-known (even if they have a shit reputation and their crowds leave trashed venues in their wake). You feel— insane when they start playing. You know all of their songs, even if you don’t really like their music. Kafka’s voice is hypnotic in a way that’s disarming, even on a recording. Silver Wolf is too good of a drummer for the caliber of band that they are, and Firefly shreds easily on guitar, trained on strings since childhood, but using her talents in a grunge band rather than on a world stage.

Blade’s bass playing is messy. Though his tempo is sure and unwavering, the actual rhythm drags and punches in intervals that verge on unnerving. You have never been able to place if this is due to whatever rage and poison he carries into music making, or if his fingers are as arthritic as Kafka jokes that they are. 

It doesn’t really matter, in the end. The sound blends together in a cacophony that sounds like the way bursted flesh looks. If you could taste the way their newest EP sounded, it would be the iron tang of blood and the acrid burn of bile. 

You’re fucked for it— for Blade. You’ve been since you first became tangled in this web.

A pit opens in the middle of the crowd, small at first, but rapidly widening, with more and more people throwing themselves into it. They bounce around and bash against the individuals at the sides of the pit, only to be shoved back in a moment later. 

You try to stay away from it. Instead, you watch Blade like a fucking pervert.

The basement has gotten hot. Steamy, if you look hard enough at the air that barely circulates against the low, pipe-ridden ceiling. Blade has thrown his hair up in a high ponytail, wisps of hair still cling to his neck and temples, sweat visibly rolling down his neck. His shirt sticks to his toned chest as the overclocked speakers try to keep up with the HUNTERS most recently released song— ‘MOON DRINKER’.

Blade doesn’t look at you. Not once.

His eyes are fixed elsewhere, deeper in the crowd, beyond the bodies in the pit and those who hang at the outskirts by the house’s ancient boiler. Blade’s attention is fixed on— something (someone. You can assume who.) Not once does his gaze drift down his instrument, and never does he acknowledge the way you stand in the front row, so close, with your attention squarely on him.

(This is normal. So normal, it’s painful.)

The pit expands even further, widening as more gig-goers jump into mosh as one song bleeds into the next. You almost get swirled in yourself as a stranger slams into your side with enough force to nearly knock you to the ground. 

A broad, warm hand catches you by your bicep, hoisting you up before you even have a chance to fall. 

“Be careful now,” It’s Jing Yuan (who is much too powerful and rich to be at a basement show, but yearning pushes you both to do stupid, nonsensical things) who speaks directly into your ear, so you can hear him even as your ears ring muffled. “Are you alright?”

You turn to nod at him, flashing him a thumbs up and nervous smile. The cologne he wears permeates the space around you, overpowering the sweat and mildew with ease. He gives you an easy smile and a squeeze, before letting you. He sidesteps your frame to be closer to the pit, crossing his arms over his chest and shielding you from the worst of the throng. 

You’re grateful for the cover; it would be embarrassing to topple over right in front of Blade.

It takes you a moment to recenter yourself, lost in Jing Yuan’s scent and the roar of Firefly’s final, aching guitar riffs. You look back to HUNTERS once more as they finish out their set in a loud, carnal flourish. The expensive speakers they’ve dragged with them are going to fucking blow out—

Blade is staring at you.

Not into the crowd, toward the placid face and cold heart that so clearly plague him, not to his bandmates or instrument, but looking at you.

In the red-lit basement, his eyes nearly glow, unnatural in their anger as they always are. It seemed more concentrated, feral and crystallized in its intensity. Rage. You want to cower under it while your insides feel hot and frigid all at once. He pierces so easily, so thoughtlessly. As the crowd erupts into cheers and shouts as the set ends, you cannot move. Staked in place. 

Not once does Blade look away from you, and his mouth does not deviate from the twisted frown he wears.

... 

Swordmaker by HUNTERS

If I were forged alongside you, 

Do you think I would forgive you then?

If iron was your skin,

Steel your lungs

and lead your heart,

You would be easier to hold.

Empty are memories

Full is the garden

And bloody is the blade.

…

You should be better than this.

Blade slams you up against the back of the shed, the motion jarring and far too fast to be pleasant. Your head knocks painfully against the wood and peeling paint, and despite how you whimper with the impact, Blade doesn’t react. He doesn’t seem to care. 

(You know he doesn’t.)

He hikes your leg up over his hip and grinds against your core through your pants. The motion is rough, clumsy and far too harsh to be pleasurable. The dry friction through your panties makes you squirm and dig your nails into his shoulders. Blade grunts in your ear. You think he likes the pain.

The gig was only let out half an hour ago, and plenty of people are still milling around. Whispers are circulating about if and where there will be an afterparty. You weren’t paying much attention to them— they’re easy to ignore— especially when Blade had been dragging you by the wrist just far enough away from the main house to fuck without being overtly noticeable. 

(Barely, though. Blade can be loud and you can be loud when you’re with him. You’re tempting fate to be caught, seen with him in this way. It’s an open secret that you’re the scraps that Blade entertains himself with, but you would rather not be caught with your literal pants down.)

Blade smells like cigarettes and sweat. The scent of unclean smoke tangles in his unruly hair as you get a grip on it and tug. The juncture of his neck has the faintest hint of some cologne you’re sure he doesn’t know the name of and stale sweat. You press your lips there and dare to drag your tongue across his skin and taste him. It’s not a good taste, not necessarily, but you love it. Salty and filthy. (It’s disgusting, but familiar and morosely comforting.) You are drunk on it and it makes you feel pathetic at the same time.

A growl sounds in your ear as Blade pins you with his weight to the shed. Dragging you back from his neck, he grabs your jaw, forcing you to look at him fully. 

“Don’t leave marks.” He paralyzes you with his stare and sneer. 

“I’d never.” You try to sound earnest, even if it’s a lie. Because you would— you’d bite and tear at his neck (like he does at yours) until the skin there is black and blue. Happily, you would leave hickies above his collar. Split his lip and bite his jaw hard enough to bleed. You could wear his blood on your teeth and smile for once at these fucking gigs.

Instead, you do not bite him. You just let Blade maul you as he desires.

He grinds against your core. The pressure is unpleasant at this point, too much and too little all at the same time. When you whimper now, he just ignores you and slips his hands under your shirt. He grabs your waist in both hands and squeezes.

“Turn around,” says Blade, already twisting you himself, so your front is pressed against the shed.

“H-Here?” You laugh nervously. Despite your... reputation, something cold, unwelcome and uncomfortable settles in you. “C-Can’t we go to your car? Or inside?”

“Maybe later.”

(It’s awful. It’s sick, the way your heart flutters at the implications of ‘later’. ‘Later’ means more of him. More of Blade’s time, his touch, his hardly-there care. More scraps for you to gorge yourself on, more time to beg for more. It’s sick. It’s sick how fucked you are for him.)

Blade reaches around your front to undo the button at the top of your trousers. In a swift motion, he has them around your thighs. Just enough that he can bend you over and access your cunt with some amount of ease. He keeps your panties on at first (he usually does this. You’re never sure why. You can delude yourself into thinking it’s him taking his time with you, but you know that that is a lie). 

Blade places one of his hands on the back of your neck to flatten you against the shed, while the other must be unbuttoning his own pants to get his cock out, based on the jingling of metal and shred of a zipper. You swallow, your mouth dry. You’re dry, but you know that if you try to touch yourself to prep at this point, Blade will only be meaner.

The most he does is run two fingers over your slit, over your panties. It’s barely enough contact on your clit to be felt, but you gasp and shudder anyway. Canting your hips back, you try to encourage more contact. Anything he’ll give you.

He sighs behind you. Disappointed. Aggravated. It makes you want to cry.

Blade peels down your panties. The cold air shocks you, your core tightening up, but you hardly have time to adjust to the temperature before Blade’s equally cold hands fully part your folds. He sighs again, pulling away only to spit on his fingers, and smear his saliva around your hole. It feels dirty. You feel dirty.

When Blade pulls away, you whine at the loss of contact (at how cold it is, at how the crowd milling around smoking cigarettes and cheap weed is just on the other side of this dilapidated shed crows and laughs into the night). You swear you can recognize March’s giggle above the din of conversation.

You’re brought back to your entanglement with a harsh slap to your ass. Harsh and audible. The sound that escapes your lips is choked and high. 

“Don’t get distracted,” Blade huffs. He spits again, presumably on his dick. 

You nod, latching onto the pain radiating from slap to your ass. As if sensing it, Blade lays down another strike. This one is hotter, harder. He isn’t holding back. It is sure to bruise the tender flesh there. A mark. Something that will tangibly ache, something leftover from your tryst.

You could cry.

The velvety head of Blade’s cock nudges your folds. He brackets you into the wall, arms on either side of you. Heat radiates off his chest and sinks into your spine.

“‘Feels good?” He asks, voice hoarse as he coats himself in your meager slick.

“Y-yeah,” you lie. It’s not enough to feel good. You don’t care.

Blade seems content enough with your answer as he bears down on you. Flattening you to the dirt-covered shed, he hitches his hip down, then up, trying to fit the tip of his cock into your hole. He maneuvers your hips as he pleases, grunting when the tip of him catches on your cunt. When you dare to whine, even the smallest sound, he cracks his hand down on your ass again. Your vision speckles into darkness with the shot of pain and—

(The roar of anxiety and subsequent shame when you realize how much quieter the milling crowd nearby has become.)

“Hold still.” Blade's voice has sunk low, gravely with the cigarettes he’s been smoking all evening. 

The next time his cock touches your opening, he presses in without hesitation.

It’s—

It’s too fucking much.

It is, it always is, every single fucking time he fucks you. Any prep he gives you is perfunctory. Blade will never lavish you with attention, not in the way that you probably need. That you—

(Might even deserve.)

No, the most that Blade will do is fuck you filthy behind a shed, near some of his more well-adjusted peers and probably come inside of you. On past occasions, he has let you suck him off in the backseat of his car. He’s only accidentally (‘accidentally’) came on your face a few times. Less than ten, more than five. Once, he ate you out for a few minutes, but you swear to god he was groaning someone else’s name as he did.

(You’re fucking pathetic.)

This is always too much. Blade is too big. Too big, even if you were stretched and primed with a few fingers like would be right and proper. As tight and dry as you are, it’s painful. He has to grind into your cunt with rolling little thrust so he can fit himself in at all. Each one shocks a breath out of you, a shattering, fragile sound. 

When Blade bottoms out, he lays flat over your back. The weight of him is suffocating. His corded muscle is all dead weight above you as his cock twitches inside you. You can’t tell if he’s idling to allow you some time to adjust, or purely for his own leisure. You can’t be sure. You don’t want to ask him either.

“You’re tight.” Blade’s voice threatens to break.

(Of course you are. He’s the only person you will let fuck you, and these trysts only occur every few weeks, when there’s a show that you can be cornered at.)

He bucks into you, deeper still. The head of his cock is touching parts of you that shouldn’t be touched.

You whimper, “Blade—”

He growls in response. It’s a raspy and low tone that makes arousal burn in your gut and leak down your thighs. (You hope so anyway— it’s more wet and you don’t think it hurts enough that you’re bleeding.) Blade fucks you in earnest, then. There’s no delay, no waiting, no potential for momentary, perceived niceties. He pulls out of you almost completely, then thrusts back into you in one single motion. The friction burns and your vision wavers. 

(You still moan like a whore.)

You feel— dirty. Disgusting. Pathetic as he fucks you like. You don’t feel like a person as he fucks you; you never do. How could you? The grip he uses on your hips is too bruising and the force and strength he’s using to brutalize your cunt is just too much. He fucks you like he’s taking anger out on a piece of drywall. Blade shares physically with you in the way a dog shreds a chew toy to bits, then leaves it on the ground to fester.

Blade grunts next to your ear, nipping there.

He doesn’t kiss you— well, not often. He can’t with your current position. You wouldn’t expect him to anyway. Sometimes he leaves a ring of dark hickies across your neck, like a collar. You like those, but he always waits an extra long time to see you after he marks you like that.

(You presume to make sure that the bruises have fully yellowed, then faded. A clean canvas.)

Blade’s pace increases, just before he pulls out. His cock rests on the cleft of your ass and he tips his forehead to rest on the shed, just beside yours.

“You’re still dry.”

“Sorry—”

He cuts you off. “It’s fine.”

...

It apparently isn’t fine. 

Blade drags you toward the house. He barks at someone, then Kafka, to find a room. You feel dazed as he does. Out of your body, as you receive a number of knowing and unknowing stares from the lingering show-goers who cluster around a firepit. 

(How many of them heard you just now? How many know the exact sounds you make when in barely-there pleasure? In certainly-there pain? How many of them know the sound of Blade’s too-big cock slapping into your too-dry cunt?)

It makes you feel sick to think about.

A room must be found for the two of you, as Blade drags you up the stairs of the back porch. 

As he does, he hesitates.

(He has so rarely done this.)

His gaze is not on you; it pierces elsewhere in the dark. A floodlight off the back of the house illuminates a section of the yard, and just beyond its reach, nestled somewhere between the dark and light, he fixates. His jaw sets and locks. 

There are figures, you realize.

They’re easy to identify once you actually focus. One is lithe and short-haired, the other broad-shouldered and long-haired.  Dan Heng and Jing Yuan. Speaking on the outskirts. It feels private. Their attention turns from their hushed conversation to the two of you as Blade stares daggers and swords into them. As if he could pierce them with nothing more than his silent rage and angry eyes. 

You freeze.

Their expressions are obscured in the lowlight, but you can almost feel the looks they give you. Like a sickly mucus that gets stuck to you and rolls down your flesh in slow, cold globs. 

Dan Heng (once so dear to you, still probably dear to you—) looks guarded, thought darkened. Contempt twists his expression, anger following just after. You’d ever wager that he’s disgusted, maybe. Probably with you, because he knows you’re better than this. Beside him, Jing Yuan wears an expression of careful passivity, of geniality, as he always does, but it’s tinged with something sad and old. For all parties involved in this silent, momentary exchange.

Jing Yuan regards you directly, slowly blinking at you, as though he was a large house cat intent on making you feel safe, and not a presence that only drives the bubbling anxiety in you higher. 

It’s a seconds-long encounter that stretches for an eternity. You cannot make yourself move. You cannot feel anything other than rotten and small.

Blade lets out a harsh exhale and yanks you away. The scene breaks and you’re dragged inside. He whispers under his breath, vitriol-tinging his tone. Your panties feel sticky and wet as you walk.

Kafka had found a room for you, on the second floor of the house. God knows whose it actually is. You don’t get a good look at the room as Blade pushes you inside.. It’s dim, the only light is licking in from the dirty window, an afterburn from the raging bonfire outside. You hear muffled voices still, leaking in like a draft. 

Blade locks the door and pushes you onto the unmade bed.

It’s a cheap mattress with flannel sheets. It smells like old weed smoke and cheap incense. Fu Xuan would tell you that you deserve better than this. You think you might.

Blade climbs on top of you, jaw still locked, and eyes far away.

(You do wonder what happened between him and Dan Heng. Something did. Something gutting and heartbreaking— you hear it when Blade sings. A betrayal, an intangible knife cut but still so painful. Dan Heng has always spoken about Blade with a type of protective neutrality. He warned you to never get involved with Blade. To stay away, to not get on Blade’s bad side, and if something did entangle you with him, Dan Heng could sort it out. He has always cared so fiercely for those he loves; it’s a shame that you have squandered it.)

(Blade is a sentimentalist. Blade is so held in the past that it chokes him. It always has, during every moment you’ve shared with him. He lingers in the bloody past, he holds it in his hands with a grip that’s meant to snap bird wings and flay flesh. He hates Dan Heng. He still loves him, though. You see it on his face sometimes. You hear it in Blade’s music. The ache, the death, the unending grief and mourning and rage that the man simply won’t let go of.)

(It is obsession.)

It shouldn’t make you bitter to think about. Yet, it does. It’s not your place to hold those types of feelings, let alone express them. For so many reasons, Blade will never see you as anything more than a cheap fuck. You think Dan Heng is the primary one. Over time, you’ve grown bitter. Resentful. 

Blade pulls off your shirt in one swift move. He’s slower than he usually is. More deliberate. His hands are shaking, like how they do just after he finishes a set. It’s… off—

You hate it. You hate that the lingering pain of someone else will effect Blade more than you ever, ever could in the present.

You grab a fistful of his hair and tug. His breath catches as you do.

”What the fuck is your deal?” You sneer at him. There’s a cruel edge in your voice that does not sound like you. Blade brings out the worst in you, and you fall prey to it, so easily. 

Blade glances up at you, eyes sharp like cut gems. He says nothing.

”You and Dan Heng,” you laugh. You don’t mean to— you don’t, you don’t— and you yank Blade’s hair so he has to look at you better. “It’s pathetic, you know. How you look at him like a kicked fucking dog. What happened between the two of you, anyways?”

Blade freezes. So do you.

You’ve misstepped so brutally. So stupidly and tragically and idiotically. You’ve pushed too hard for what—?

Blade is on his haunches in an instance and he slaps you across the face.

Your head follows the force of the impact, forcing your face to the side. Your cheek smarts. It wasn’t— that hard. Blade is strong. He could do worse. Still, it shocks you. The pain is enough to make you gasp and reel.

”What the fuck—“

”Don’t,” Blade grabs your jaw, “open your mouth about things you know nothing about. You should know better.”

You should. You do.

”I could know more, if you ever told me, I don’t know— anything?” You laugh in his face, manic behind your eyes. You’re crushing the delicate nature of your cheap arrangement like how a child would crush a flighty butterfly’s papery wings. 

Blade shakes his head, smothering a laugh. He wrangles you forward, half-off risen from the bed, and parts your lips with his thumb. Before you can react, bite, claw— he is raising himself higher than you, dwarfing you in height, and spitting down into your mouth, onto your tongue.

”You don’t know when to shut up, do you?” He pats the side of your face, over the cheek that he struck. It burns. In another world, this touch would be tender. Here, you can only wince. 

Before you can reply, continue to run your mouth and rile him up further, Blade kisses you.

It shocks you, stuns you. 

He— he hasn’t ever kissed you before. It’s never been an explicit boundary, but never once during these trysts has Blade ever initiated this type of contact. It has felt dangerous to do so yourself. Something that’s too intimate, too personal to share. The core of your entanglement is the way he uses you. It’s impersonal. 

A kiss, you think, implies something more tender.

You gasp into his lips, and he takes the opportunity to all but violate the inside of your mouth. His tongue plunders inside, licking at his own spit that you have yet to swallow. A noise chokes off in the back of your throat. Something desperate and shocked that you hardly recognize. It’s filthy. He nips at your lips and pushes you back down.

Blade devours you. 

It’s too much, really. It’s a gesture of tenderness that has been so thoroughly mutilated, calling it a kiss feels paltry. The way his lips are on your own is much more like an argument and a subsequent conquest. One in which you lose ground. He nips at your lower lip, snags it between his teeth, and tugs it as he pulls away.

You pant, the sound of your own breath roars in your own ears. Your hands are still buried in his hair, grip unyielding, anchoring you.

Blade smiles, something poisonous and satisfied. You are too drunk on the singular kiss he gives you to care that much.

“That’s all it takes, is it?” He laughs, the sound dark and rolling, like the sound of an earthquake cracking the earth. 

He already knows you’ll beg for scraps. God forbid he gives you even a morsel more. 

The bed squeaks as he flips you by your hips so you’re laid flat, belly-down on the dirty sheets. Blade spanks your still-clothed ass for good measure before rustling around behind you. Assumedly to disrobe, just enough to fuck you. Assumedly, to ignore the condoms you brought (knowing he would disregard them—). Assumedly, to fuck you with every inch of your life. 

You want it. You want him so badly it physically hurts.

(Or, maybe you tore while he had you behind the shed. Who is to say?)

Blade clamors behind you, shaking, arthritic hands tugging your pants by the waistband. He doesn’t even bother to unzip them this time. Your panties get pulled down along with them, and they get tossed elsewhere in the barely-lit room. Blade spits behind you, and a sound of too-dry stroking follows. 

“D-do you want me to suck you off?” you ask with a hum. You’d let him fuck your face, if he asked. Or, if he wanted. Blade wouldn’t ask.

“No.”

“Just let me know.”

Blade sighs behind you, but you think little of it.

You brace yourself up on your elbows, lowering your upper half to be flat against the bed, and arching your hips as high as they’ll go. It’s as if to make yourself look appetizing. You hope it entices Blade, even a little.

(Please, you need him to want you. You need him to want you so badly. Please, please, please—)

The head of Blade’s cock rubs as your hole, down to your clit, then back up again a few times. He’s so hot, it’s like he is burning you. Contact that scalds. The contact against your clit is... nice. It’s the most warm up he has graced you with in a while. You could crave more, but settle for this. 

“C’mon Blade,” you whine. Your voice sounds airy. “Fuck me.”

He doesn’t reply, not with his voice. The rocking of his hips becomes more pronounced, and the slide of him against you becomes slicker. Still too big, too hot, but wet at least. Which is a bonus. Pre and blood are probably leaking onto the shaft at least a little bit too.

It makes it easier once he slides home in a single blow. 

It’s too fucking deep— especially with this angle. The head of his cock presses against your deepest parts, bruises them in a place where no one can see or feel but you. Blade is huge, the girth of him stretches you as his hips rest against your ass.

A wretched noise bubbles up past your lips. Something between a cry and a plea, for more, for less— to go home, to be in a warm, clean bed with someone who actually cares— you aren’t sure. Your desires have been twisted up and wrong for so long, you can’t tell what you really want. 

It makes you feel rotten, and then there’s only one thing you want.

(To hurt.)

Blade fucks you, then. Fully in, fully out of. Long and deep thrusts that carve out your insides in a brutal way. It’s violent. He leans over your back, and braces himself over you. You feel small, stupid, and hurt. A horrible swirl of things that make tears spring up at the corners of your eyes. You bury your face in the crusty pillow you’d manage to snag nearby—

And Blade tugs it away immediately. His big, calloused hand curls to hold your jaw up, so every pitiful whine and whimper you let out can’t be muffled. The bed squeaks as his thrusts slow.

“Don’t hide.”

“I-I won’t.”

“You were.”

“I won’t a-again—”

“You want this, don’t you?” Blade growls in your ears, then moves to the most fragile skin of your neck and bites. 

(You do, you do— god you do. You need this.)

You nod, and Blade keeps biting. His jaw nearly locks. You’re sure that you’ll be bruised for a week.

Blade scoffs and rears back, grabs your hips in both hands for leverage. And he fucks you.

That’s all it can be, really. You can’t get a solid hold on anything. The pillow has been thrown off the bed, and you struggle to find purchase on the sheets. All you do is take it. Pleasure, or something like it, builds in your core and goes nowhere. It simmers but never crests anywhere near orgasm. 

You don’t mind. This is enough.

Blade’s pace increases, never frantic. Never with him. Manic maybe, insane, tortured and damaged, but never frantic. Not with you. His rhythm falters as his cock slides in and out of you, slick beginning to stick to the inside of your thighs. 

His hand comes down on his ass. The other cheek, this time. It’s enough force to bruise again. You’ll have trouble sitting for a week.

As Blade nears his peak, his rhythm stutters. His breath grows harsher and more strained. His grip goes from bruising to breaking. You gasp with the pain, but don’t tell him to stop. His cock brushes against your cervix, and never your sweet spot. 

Blade flattens you to bed, prone, and puts his entire weight on top of you as his orgasm hits him. A strangled cry shatters from his lips into your ear as he fucks you too fast and too hard. A gush of warmth fills your insides, spilling to your outsides when there isn’t enough of you to hold all of him.

The bed frame slams into the wall with his final few thrusts. 

You lay there, in the filth, in the pain and the dissatisfaction of the tryst, and rot.

...

Blade leaves you there, at some point.

Not right away, but eventually. He rolls off you at some point, catches his breath for a while, checks his phone, then rises to right himself.

You cannot make yourself move. The only thing you can make yourself do is take slow, measured breaths. Each ache in your body is punctuated, loud and unignorable now that the fizzling pleasure of sex has dissipated. What’s left of it is this: carnage. 

“You have a ride home?” Blade asks. He must be near the door, based on the sound of his voice.

Fu Xuan’s warning words come to mind, and shame fills your belly. 

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

And he leaves.

You rot for a while longer.

This is not the first encounter that has gone this way. Blade fucks you like this and leaves. There’s no reverie or sweetness. There is using and being used, and the conclusion that always follows is this. Cooling, soon-to-be dry cum leaking out of you in thick droplets and a bite mark on your neck you’ll need to conceal for the next two weeks. Blade will ignore you like he doesn’t know you, next time he sees. But still fucks you like a toy.

It’s awful. It’s all you want.

You force yourself up at some point.

You’re surprised to find that your pants and panties are in a heap on the end of the bed. You are sure that they were tossed farther, but perhaps you misremember. Painstakingly, you rerobe yourself. Moving your legs in such ways hurts so bad, you could cry. You probably did cry while Blade fucked you. 

The quick stop in the squalid bathroom confirms this. Mascara smudges around your eyes and down your cheeks. The sticky gloss you were wearing has been smeared away. Not even a stain of the crimson remains. 

You feel hollow as you walk down the stairs, outside, toward the bonfire and its rapidly dwindling flames. A few folks still millaround, people you recognize, just barely, though no one you could call a friend remains around the pit. Stelle, March, and Dan Heng are long gone, probably. You’d feel too ashamed to look them in the eye anyway.

Someone offers you a warm beer and you take it. Your hands shake.

Hollow and wordless, you move around the backyard like a specter. Part of you wishes you were one, just something mostly formless and shapeless. Transparent. No one could see you make a fool of yourself that way. There would be no witnesses to your desperation and perversion.

You swallow back bile when it rises in your throat, and wash it down with a chug from the can.

You’re surprised to find Jing Yuan idling around the corner of the house. He looks up when you near him, and he greets you with the same genial smile he always wears. He nods to the space next him, already plucking a pack of cigarettes from the breast pocket on his shirt. You take one, and he lights it for you in the next instant.

“It looks like you needed that,” he hums. He doesn't take one for himself, only tucking the carton away and out of sight.

“Maybe.” You want to vomit. Or slide down the wall of the house and rot there. 

He laughs then. It’s too... warm of a sound for how you feel. For how dirty these venues are, and for the company that you have come to hold, it feels dissonant. Jing Yuan is too kind, too patient. 

(He cannot be your friend because your ruin would spread to him, maybe.)

“Take as many as you like,” he urges with a hum, and settles next to you.

Silently, you ruminate. Descend into yourself. You suppose, given the events you’ve seen tonight, that you’re both stewing in something akin to yearning. 

(Jing Yuan is better than you for it. He, at least, doesn’t sleep with his unrequited adored in someone else’s bed after a messy house show.)

“Do you have a way home?” asks Jing Yuan, breaking you from your slow-rolling spiral.

You shake your head. It would be rude to call Fu Xuan so late. You— you hadn’t really thought about a ride. Not yet. 

Jing Yuan looks you up and down and his smile looks sadder, “How about a ride home?”

“Sure.” You nod. 

The ride back home in Jing Yuan’s (too nice, too expensive, too decadent) car is quiet. An album from a band you don’t recognize plays at a low volume. Soothing, soft voices, so juxtaposed from the venue you leave behind. Maybe you just can’t recognize the words because you’re decaying. Your phone lays in your lap, over your aching thighs. 

[no new messages]

(Because Blade never messages you after a fuck. You’re not worth that much to him.)

...

Gingerly, you unlock your front door and enter your little apartment. Fu Xuan lays on the couch, on her back, with her phone against her collarbone. Her mouth is parted in peaceful sleep, though her hair is still done up, all of her pins are still in.

(She waited for you, again. And you failed her, again.)

You don’t know how she puts up with you. Or why either.

Some part of you wants to vomit. Wretch, like it’ll purge the awful, disgusting thoughts warming you. They do not serve you. You should just—

(Know better. You gain nothing from entangling yourself from Blade. The sex is... enough. Because Blade doesn’t know his own strength sometimes and makes it hurt, unintentionally toeing the line between too little and too much. It’s still not worth it. It shouldn’t be worth it. You’d be better off never going to any gigs, ever again. You wouldn’t have to disappoint and embarrass yourself to your old friends then. You wouldn’t have to linger in the yearning of others while never having that affection given to you.)

You collapse atop your bed. Your makeup has been roughly scrubbed off with an old towel, and you can feel the crunchy remnants of mascara clinging around your eyes. You can’t make yourself care. Burying your face in your pillow, you burrow into your blankets. You’ll probably be sore and hungover tomorrow... today? The songbirds are just beginning to chirp their morning arias. It makes you sick to your stomach.

As you begin to doze, your phone vibrates. 

[one new message]

blade: did you get home 

Your mouth feels dry and your chest feels so tight you could die. 

you: yeah. jing yuan drove me. 

[seen: 5:11 AM]

You hold your breath as Blade begins to type. Then stops typing. Then begins again. It goes on for several volleys and you really do think you might puke.

blade: get some sleep

You drop your phone somewhere in your sheets. Giddiness fills your chest, despite the exhaustion and ache and bone-rotting fatigue. Elation causes you to smile, something wide and girlish that you have to hide in your pillow, lest it be beared to the world.

(It’s a scrap. It’s nothing. It’s worse than the bare minimum and the bar is already in hell.)

But, it’s something.

A morsel. Something to clutch onto and hold and cherish.

You want to put his words between your teeth and swallow. 

[crescentmoonsandroses]

Drew Vamp-Chan and Skulls from @theskeletongames' fic The Skeleton Games. It was fun, I love how much shorter Sans is than Vamp-Chan. (Actually, I'm pretty sure he's supposed to be a bit shorter, but I forgot to check the height chart before I drew it. Oh well.)

Underfell was made by Vic the Underfella. The Skeleton Games and Vamp-Chan belong to Poetax.

[l4long-winded]

I’ve read some people saying carm is a boob guy so… how about carmy getting a tittyfck for the first time? if it’s too much it’s totally fine!

you affectionately swirl your tongue over carmen’s tip once your mouth moves up the length of him, flickering your gaze up, only to find him already staring down at you. there’s plenty of past moments where he tore his gaze away to mutter mumbled curses towards the ceiling, but each time, he focused on his breathing to continue watching. his lips part, teeth marks etched in the slightly dry skin of his mouth he wets with his prodding tongue, his eyes half lidded.

he’s somewhat lying back at an angle, able to reach his hands down and touch you. any position where he can touch you is the one he prefers. he was reluctant about this, accustomed to prioritizing your pleasure above his, but this doesn’t mean he sacrifices indulgence. said indulgence he engages in now, situating bent legs in order to cup your breasts in his palms, thumbs brushing your pebbled nipples. he pinches them when you suck onto him with increased pressure, circles them soothingly after with soft pants and husks of your name when you lap along the ridges of his cock. he’s close. his abdomen flexes, the muscles rippling the more he holds back.

he squeezes your tits, kneads them like they’ll help keep him at bay, but those successive groans filling the room tell you otherwise. carmen’s blatant infatuation with your chest intrigues you. it started with bashful, hidden (that you caught) glances at your cleavage in lower cut tops, lingering stares when they’d jostle as you bounced in excitement, like when you’d bound over to him after not seeing him for a few days due to his restaurant pulling away too much of his attention from you. then he got the privilege of seeing you naked, finally able to touch them and suck on them when you’d ride him, one hand on your tit while his tongue lashed at your clit, feeling them up from behind, thumbs shifting over the cloth of his shirt on you to perk your nipples up as you cooked breakfast. they are, as he loves to call them, his girls.

“do you wanna fuck them?” you ask, flexing your sore jaw. your hand takes care of him in your mouth’s absence, stroking him back and forth using the spit on him and the precum steadily leaking from his swollen head.

“hah,” he hisses. his brain is a bit mushy right now. “huh, fuck w-what?”

he deserves this. he deserves to feel good. you smile as your thumb caresses his tip, smearing around the slick, earning a guttural sound from his throat. “my tits... do you wanna fuck them?”

his eyelids raise, widening his gaze on you like you slapped him across the face. he gulps, glancing down at your breasts in his hands. he’s in disbelief that you even asked at all, but the answer is so damning and obvious to him. he nods his head before he recreates eye contact with you.

“yeah, yeah, i wanna fuck them. c’mere, baby. squeeze them together f’me.”

he lies flatter on his back as you readjust. it takes some awkward fumbling around, but eventually, he has his cock nestled between your breasts. you push them in for him, plushy softness engulfing the sides of his pulsating length. at first, you’re the one teetering your chest up and down him, the beautiful and raunchy sight stealing his surveillance. it doesn’t feel like the grip of your pussy or the flex of your fingers around him, but like a warm blanket. soft texture he could die happy in. bountiful. ample. constricting him just enough to rebuild the orgasm you previously sucked him towards before.

carmen gets frantic. he begins to push his hips up and down, his feet trying to plant better on the mattress to gain more relief. he moans at the sensation, the filthy image of his girls jostling here as his cock glides with a frenzied pace. to top it all off, your pretty lips, plump from sucking his dick, morph into a coaxing grin, and it’s maddening. all of it is. the vision he’s dreamt about, the way you look at him. he lifts his hands on top of yours, pushing your tits further, his thumbs back on your nipples.

carmen’s completion is messy. his cum splashes part of your jaw, your bottom lip, his lower abdomen, and your wonderful tits. his back levels down to the mattress, relishing in the lewdness of his cum dripping over your chest. he takes the viscous substance, coating your left nipple with an oscillating thumb. a satisfied smile overtakes his lips whenever you whimper, heart hammering in his chest watching your tongue snake out to lick your lip clean.

he stops you as you attempt to get up. sitting up himself, he tugs at the blankets on the bed in search of something. you sit on your knees in confusion as he tosses pillows aside.

“carmy—”

“hold on. where’s my fuckin’ phone? i need a picture.”

[fuckmymunson]

Can you do a story about Eddie having sex with the reader on her period then taking care of her!!!!

❥ a/n: Yes I can and sorry for answering this like a hundred years later—

❥ TW: 18+ smut!!! Period sex! Soft dom!Eddie, aftercare. Please give me some comfort I need it. Also, I get incredibly horny before I get my period so this is a bit self indulgent. Cozy ending because I'm a bit tipsy and so love starved 😁.

︵‿︵‿‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿ʚ♡ɞ‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿

Eddie's calloused hands are practically bruising your waist with his tight grip, his heavy breathings from behind you and the rather animalistic growls he exhales every now and then only make the coil in your belly (and pussy) even tighter and bigger and— oh fuck when he yanks your hair…

But he stops. Suddenly.

Abruptly.

Violently.

Making you whine in discomfort and annoyance.

"What the hell, Eddie?" You manage to ask, looking over your shoulder to look at your boyfriend whose eyes are big as plates— his brown eyes are fixated on your pussy, and all you can read in them is panic and nervousness. "Eddie?"

"Babe" He gulps but his gaze remains glued to his dick and your cunt. "Baby" Eddie exhales, visibly shaking.

"Eddie what's wrong?" You ask, resting your weight in your forearms. "You are scaring me"

"Y—You…" His eyes drift from your pussy to your face, and you witness firsthand how the color is drained from his face. "You are b—bleeding"

"I'm what?" You ask frowning, confused.

Then it hits.

The snarky replies at school, the uncomfortable feeling all day, the nausea, the stomach pain, the moody comments, and the unforgiving urge to fuck Eddie until his cock breaks in half—

"Shit, shit— shit" You curse and ran towards the trailer's bathroom, thanking God in his heaven that Uncle Wayne's at work.

You stumble around the trailer with uncoordinated steps as your wobbly legs make you look like a newborn deer. Locking the door behind you, you grab the box that you keep inside the mirror's cabinet, where your feminine products (as Eddie likes to call them) are kept.

Eddie follows you, naked as well. He knocks on the door holding back a laugh after he hears you fumbling with the pad's wrap.

He opens the door inviting himself in after the third knock. "Baby." He calls you, almost amused. "Did you just had your period while fucking?"

"Ugh, shut up" You throw him a death glare and he holds his hands up in defeat.

"I don't mind, sweetheart. It's— you know, your natural body uh, things. Yeah" He means good, but poor baby isn't good with words. "Although, now I can say I literally murder that pussy—"

"Edward, seriously. Shut up."

"Uh-Oh, first name calling. Yes ma'am" He nods and and knocks the teasing off.

"I'm sorry" You sigh, resting your hands on the sink.

"Why are you apologizing for?" Eddie frowns and tilts his head, a few curls falling over his face. "I literally don't care, princess. It's something completely natural"

"You don't think it's gross?" You ask with a pout.

"Sweetheart, nothing about you is gross" He chuckles and kisses your head, lovingly. "Well except when you eat with your mouth open, that is fucking disgusting"

"Thanks for ruining the moment, Munson" You roll your eyes. His hands caress your sides, stopping at your hips as he silently placed himself behind you in the bathroom mirror, towering behind your still naked form. "Eddie? What are you doing?"

"Nothing…" He says looking away, pretending to not be responsible or conscious of his hand sliding in between your legs, quickly finding your clit and circling it. "You know… I've heard that period sex helps with cramps and mood swings"

"Oh yeah, where?" You try to remain calm, but then he slides a finger between your folds, slick with a mixture of your wetness and blood. "Fuck— Eddie"

"Doesn't matter" He kisses your shoulder, locking eyes with yours through the mirror. "What matter is that, now that I know you are fine… we can continue…"

"Eddie, it's gonna be messy—" You try to protest, but when he sinks two fingers so easily...

"I like it messy"

He curls his long fingers making your wet pussy clench around them, you moan his name in a needy manner, making his cock twitch.

"Now, let's return this fat cock exactly where it belongs… fuck— that's it" He thrusts without warning, his dick slides even easier than before. Eddie moans at this new sensation, it's so warm, so wet, so good. "Good girl, always so sweet and precious, you really know how to please me"

Eddie wastes no time, resuming his unforgiving pace. His balls slap against your clit in the most delicious way, making you whine and moan and cry and fucking gush around him. He looks down again, this time completely and utterly hard as a damn rock at the sight of your sweet pussy clenching around him. He doesn't care at all about the blood, he feels so fucking amazing that you trust him enough to do this.

His right hand releases your waist and yanks your hair again, forcing you to look in the mirror.

"Look, princess. Look at yourself, being fucked like a naughty girl. Spread your legs a bit more yeah— oh that's it, good girl." He gives your ass a few playful spanks, enough to send sparks to your pussy. "Shit— can feel that little messy cunt clenching around me, you gonna cum, bunny?"

You nod desperately, mumbling. "Yes, yes, please. Let me cum Eddie" Not only begging with your words, you beg with your eyes, half lidded, glossy and breathtaking. "Please baby, lemme cum, need it so bad"

"Cum, cum for me sweetheart" He slaps your ass harder this time, the pain sending you over the edge. "Fuck yeah. What. A. Good. Little. Whore." Every word is punctuated with a snap of his hips, prolonging your orgasm.

The wetness in between your legs mixed with the blood runs down your thighs, but the sight of it makes him swallow so hard and cum so hard inside you. Eddie groans and slams his cock all the way in, painting your walls with his sticky load.

Between pants and giggles, Eddie kisses your shoulders, grinning like an idiot.

"I love you so much, sweetheart" He murmurs with pure adoration, helping you take a seat at the edge of the plastic tub of the trailer. "Lemme take care of you okay? I can wash your hair and all"

"Eddie, you don't have to" You say, blinking slowly as the sleep starts to possess your body. "And I love you too, darling, I really do"

He is a man of word, after all. Eddie scrubs your hair, massaging your scalp, kissing your neck, your shoulders. Rubbing your bodywash all over your soft body, caressing every inch of your skin, worshipping it and not only bathing you with your favorite products but with adoration.

"Night, princess" He kisses your nose, now safely wrapped in two blankets.

"Night, my love" You whisper kissing his lips and resting your face on his chest, listening to his heartbeat rocking you to sleep.

God, this is true love ♡.

[dragonridernoobie]

Glad to see a undertale au author still up and running.

Thoughts on writing a feral underfell bitty sans (possibly abandoned, escaped from a bad place, neglected? Who knows) the reader finds injured and patches them up + befriends them?

Some bitty fics include feral bitties travelling together, like a horror or classic sans with a fell.

Basically, go nuts, no strict requests. Interpret it how ever you like :)

Hope you like this request, idk just enjoying the fandom.

Enjoy the rest of your day/night ^-^

I am so happy to do this! It reminded me of a picture I found on Pinterest that I wanted to adopted fell san bitty. Here is the picture. Also, I'm gonna do it with fell and horror since they where abandon for there looks and attitude.

To anyone else reading this: You will adopt him, and if you don't, I will find out where you live and kill you. Then I'm gonna bring you're ass back from hell and make you write a sorry letter to a fictional character.

Enjoy <3

FellSansBitty X Reader X HorrorSansBitty

It was just a normal day in Ebbot city. All you wanted to do was get a coffee and some treats but mother nature decided that you where gonna deal with nature and threw the biggest Strom the city has seen.

You where currently running down the street, you're jacket over you're head to stop getting wet.

While on you're way back home, you ran by a alley you passed a million times. Though, this time was different. You heard crying. You stopped and tried to listen over the heavey thunder and rain but you couldn't.

When you got closer, you where able to hear it clearer. When a loud thundering boom made it's present, you heard a whimper. When you followed the noise, you came across a wet, broken down box. On the front it said "bitty for sale." There were numbers also scratched out.

25$, 15$, 5$, and free. You looked inside and you saw a bitty. Bittys where interduced to human kind when monsters arrived above ground.

Humans took them quickly and made more of them. They are now used for therapy, friends, pets, and teatchers for the disabled.

Though there were times when bittys did stuff they were not meant to do. Like bitting, talking back, and actually running away from their owners. People called then "broken bittys."

When that stuff happened, people would take them and dust them or put them down in human words. You did not believe in that way since it was wrong, and living things should have free will.

So when you opened the soggy broken box open, you came face to face with the bitty. It looked up at you, scared but also hissed at you in fear.

You used your best smoothing voice to calm into bitty and reach your hand out. Showing it that it can get on your hand if it wants.

When another loud thundering boom was heard, it quickly grabbed you're hand and you slowly raised it up.

Now that it was in your hand, you quickly brought it underneth your jacket and got a closer look at it

It looked like....

FellSanBitty

It looked like a little cherry. It had a big furry black and yellow jacket and shorts.

It had red eyelights.

It looked at you while you stood up and quickly ran to you're house.

Once you reached you're house, you where quick to grab a towel and help the bitty dry off.

It grumble and snapped at you, saying it can do it it's delf

Once it was dru, you interduce youreself. "Hi, my name is (Y/N). What's you're name?"

"....sans...but I like being called red...."

You nod and ask him if he wants food.

You make him some grilled cheese and give it to him.

He complains that the grilled cheese was too cheesy, but he was lying that he hated it since he was eating it faster, then he could chew it.

You had to tell him a few times to slow down.

While he eats, you asked him why he was in that box.

Red stopped eating and looked at the ground.

"No one wants a mean looking bitty..."

Obviously you don't like that so you pet his head and say to him. "I don't think you look mean looking. I think you look tough."

Red looks at you surpised. He looked at you like you were joking, but how you were petting him, you wernt joking.

He blushes and pushes you're hand away.

"I ain't cute."

You chuckle and nod. "Of corse you're not."

"I said I ain't fuckin cute! Now stop fucking petting me!"

You guys are gonna have a instresting relationship.

Pretend that's you're hand.

HorrorSansBitty

When you got a better look at the bitty in you're hand, it looked hurt.

It had a hole in its head, torn up clothes, and seemed to be shaking from the cold.

You held it aginst youreself and ran home.

Once home, you quickly grabbed a towl and help it dry it off, being mindful of its hole in the head.

Once dry, you asked him for a name.

"......sans......but people call me horror."

You nod and ask if he wants some grilled cheese.

His eyes seem to shine at the sound of food and quickly nods.

You make some and give it to him.

You watch him devour the grilled cheese in seconds.

You had to tell him to slow down.

Once he was done eating, you asked the hardest question.

"Why where you in that box?"

Horror stopped eating the crumbs and looked down

"No one wants a broken looking bitty."

You're hurt by his words but after a bit, you take 2 fingers and pet his good side of his skull.

He immediately looked at you surpised but smile and purred.

You just got a skeloton cat bitty.

[iirlshinjii]

Gojo swears nothing makes his heart beat faster than being around you.

After his best friend died, he lost hope. Breath cutting short. All hope leaving eyes.

Restless sleep, filled with twisting and turning. But not once did he ever cry. But once he met you, you quite literally sparked hope, love, and happiness once he met you.

You made his blood rush, top to bottom (not sexual :1). He felt complete, he even shed a few tears. He truly loved you...so what he would do is cling. Cling so tight, the air could quite escape from your mouth.

All because he was afraid. Afraid of losing you.

He may seem very cocky but all of its a facade, he's a pathetic lovesick attention whore.

One touch from you can break his mind.

So, in conclusion, You and only You can reveal the real Satoru Gojo.

[yuri-is-online]

Consider: A Jade/Yuu bit where there's a dance competition and Yuu knows they have it in them to win, they're really good at some of the dances from their world, they just... Need a partner. Someone who isn't gonna question where these dances came from (Earth), why Yuu learned them (for an old crush), or what Yuu wants the money for (Ramshackle, it's Ramshackle). Problem is, Yuu's kinda tall so they know the lead parts of the dances but aren't practiced at the follower parts. They can teach them but muscle memory makes it hard to do them, plus the need to find someone taller than them if Yuu is gonna follow. Yuu ends up going to Azul and offers up half the prize money if he can find someone discreet to dance with them. The thought is that Azul is pretty short, right?? He'd probably do it. Only, Jade has a crush (the pining is real) and Azul likes living so he passes the job onto Jade. Yuu's annoyed but Jade is outwardly calm, collected, and willing to follow their every order so even if Jade's taller than them, he still makes for a decent follower. Yuu's forward behavior is a surprise to Jade, he hadn't realized they were so confident, but he's enjoying himself and putting his all into helping Yuu win. After hours at the lounge, he'll practice both lead and follower parts, running through the step sequences on his own until they're perfect. Only problem is, Floyd sees this and he starts joining in, learning the dances from Jade and falling into the sequences faster than Jade ever could. It makes Jade feel territorial and a little inadequate, he and Floyd practically get into minor dance battles as Floyd enjoys learning and Jade tries to prove himself. With his hackles up, Jade's instincts to provide and protect his mate of choice kick in a little and he starts itching at having to dance follower. He wants to lead! He wants to win the competition for his crush, Yuu, not just be an accessory as they win. (It's so stupid, he knows it's stupid, but the eel is jealous and must be placated). Yuu and Jade get closer and on the day of the contest, Jade scrapes up the nerves to ask for an alternative payment if they win- a favor. Yuu agrees, curious and wanting the money, and the contest starts. When it gets to be Yuu and Jade's turn, things start off as planned but then Jade steals the lead smoothly, forcing Yuu to follow him. Furious, Yuu steals it back, then Jade dips them and sneaks it again, trying to show off as a courtship move. Back and forth, both so good at the dance that the trade in lead looks intentional, the judges are eating it up. Yuu storms off at the end of the dance and Jade follows, desperate and smitten, trying to call them back. Yuu shouts at Jade a bit, demanding to know why he screwed with the dance, Jade drags them into an impassioned kiss and gives an explanation, then apologizes, offering to give Yuu a sum of money if they lost due to his spontaneous actions. Yuu pauses, then asks for a favor instead. Jade hesitantly agrees, as Yuu still hasn't given him a response to his confession other than kissing him back. The winner is announced and Yuu and Jade don't win- but they do get second place and a smaller cash prize. Jade turns to Yuu, ready to apologize again, but Yuu just smirks, calling their favor. On Yuu's day of choosing, Jade will join them for a date and activity of Yuu's choosing, and it'll be on Jade's dime. Helplessly charmed at how it gives Yuu control but lets him provide as his instincts demand, Jade smiles back, already plotting on how he'll get back the lead this time.

hrg

Jade loves the unexpected, but he does not love to be at the center of it. He prefers the sidelines, like the ambush hunter he is he stays to the sidelines until he has unraveled enough of the unknown to make a strike. It's safe, and even if Azul makes complaints about it from time to time he never really feels like exposing him. And technically as Azul tiredly points out to him, that is not what he's doing here, not really. Jade already wants to kill whoever touches you on accident what was he expecting Azul to do?

For your part it's not like you didn't consider asking one of your friends to help. Epel is shorter than you and so is Riddle, but Epel doesn't really want to do the "girl's" part of the dance and Riddle... I feel like their might be some rule that makes him feel like he should be the one leading the dance, he's quite confident in his skills already as he's been to a bunch of formal parties but he's just so rigid about things. Asking Azul seems safer since he doesn't really care about the emotional side of things that can make him money, so why wouldn't you assume he'd jump at the offer? You were expecting him to negotiate for a steeper cut of the money, not to immediately break eye contact and sigh deeply.

"I'm busy that day." He isn't you'd checked long before asking. "But I'm certain Jade would be more than happy to oblige you, think of it as a favor to me. He could really use the chance to practice." You know better than to ask what he means, but still you wonder...

Jade loves the way confidence looks on you. He doesn't get to see much of it, so to find something that brings authority and happiness to your voice and for it to be a something he understands (conceptually anyway) makes him happy as well. You aren't exactly surprised at how well he follows, he's a keen observer as you well know, but it is strange to notice how well he observes you. He tells you he's been practicing and you can feel it in his steps, Jade delights in your little shocks and praises at his progress. Lives for it even, so when Floyd takes up practicing with him on something as flimsy as a whim he's enraged. Floyd is the better dancer, Jade has never faulted him for this until now, and to make matters worse he is better with his legs. Jade can feel you slipping from his grasp, and it drives him into further delusions of ways he can prove himself worthy to keep you. A moray's courtship dance would see him winding himself around you, couldn't that be seen as taking the lead? (He's also quite attached to that silly joke you made, something about the "leader always being right" because of the foot the led with) He does enjoy giving the illusion of control, a dark impulse to be sure but he does not see the need to change himself, only prove his worth.

"Of course you'd want that wouldn't you?" Favors and Octavinelle go hand in hand, so you really shouldn't agree to this but money likes to talk and it's favorite thing to do is encourage you to gamble. "So long as it isn't Ramshackle sure, I guess." Jade's lips quirk into a smile as he folds his hands.

"I'd never ask for that, this is meant to be a personal favor, not one for Azul." Jade has a rigid way about him that's similar to Riddle, but with a hint of playful flexibility you have come to really love appreciate while practicing with him. When you learned the dances you had pictured doing them with a certain someone... but never got the chance for one reason or another. Dancing with Jade feels natural.

So natural you barely notice when he takes the lead during a subtle change in the song until your eyes light on his grin and it takes everything you have not to let your anger crack through yours. You bring your weight to bear against him, molding your body into his so he can feel your demand for him to be good and follow which he has to take as a challenge, why else would he dip you in front of the judges when that had not been part of your choreography at all and why did they have to gasp in excitement? There's adrenaline pumping through your veins as a storm works itself up through the set and you barely keep yourself together to extract yourself and your dignity from that stupid eel so you can explode in peace but he follows.

"I should have known better than to agree to this, for fucks sake!" You barely hear Jade calling you over your own voice, barely see him reach for him through your own tears. "Did you think it was fucking funny to get my hopes up like this?! I was rooting for you, I WAS WILLING TO TRUST YOU AFTER EVERYTHING YOU-"

Jade steals the lead from your lungs, bringing you up into his embrace bracing your back against the wall as he kisses you. He kisses your tears, slow and with purpose apologizing with each breath he takes against the apple of your cheeks before an announcement that judging is about to conclude brings you both back to your senses.

"It was my instinct to display for you." The term is strange, but you think you understand what he means between the kisses and the dilation of his pupils. "I- do not wish to frighten you, or ruin your impression of me but please tell me you can see how I feel about you. I wanted to be the one to win this for you, and not be some accessory you could toss aside once you were done." He pulls away from the wall, takes your hand as he does to guide you back towards the front, pausing to hesitantly brush you knuckles with a kiss. I love you. You can feel him mouth the words against your hand, but he does not say them aloud. He's afraid. Yuu can feel it in the way he can't quite bring himself to directly look as he offers them the money they lost.

"Could I ask for a favor instead?" It doesn't quite feel like you speaking, the entire night's events are just too surreal. The very real way Jade stiffens next to you and the ashamed tone he agrees in brings you back down to earth, and tumbles you straight into the ocean when you tug on his tie to make him look at your grinning face when your "loss" is announced.

"You don't work on Saturday afternoons, right?" You love the way surprise looks on Jade, it's not something you get to see often, nor is what you can best describe as the hope he expresses as he hesitantly concedes that no he does not. "Good, then we can go on a date." He goes to open his mouth and you place your hand over it to shush him, trying very hard not to giggle too loudly or fluster at the knowing look of the judges still at their table. "I've got a great place picked out already, just bring yourself and your wallet." His entire body alights at the phrase, if you were under the literal water his happiness would be displayed for you in living technicolor and save him the need to verbally accept. But this is the land, so he gently takes you by the wrist and pulls you against his chest.

"Of course." He makes sure to bend as close to your ear as he can, mind already racing with how exciting this little game has now become. "I live to serve after all."

[goxjo]

aki I'm so happy that you agree with home wrecker suguru!!!!! >u<

my hc is that he doesn't actually want you, he wants to steal you away from a (hopefully) loving partner then break your heart and move onto the next one ajfjfhshsks

(og home wrecker! suguru post here uwu)

+ cw. infidelity (reader is married) + yandere + toxic + MDNI

OH YEAH DEFINITELY!!! Home wrecker! Suguru wants to drive you over the edge, knowing just how gutted you are coming home to your loving, doting partner- acting as if you haven’t been sneaking around with Suguru. Your partner has been busy making dinner for you, thinking you’ve been working yourself to the brink of exhaustion at work. When really, you’re parked in some dark and secluded area, front seat adjusted all the way through, bouncing on Suguru’s cock for hours in the car your partner bought you.

You kiss your partner anyway as you’re greeted at the front door. It leaves a bitter aftertaste in your mouth that is fully acquainted with Suguru’s lips, cock, even his name- one that causes you to sin with every secret roll of his name on your tongue.

Home wrecker! Suguru is so taken with you because you never seem to get desensitized to whatever it is you do behind your partner’s back. Always with a tinge of guilt in your eyes, afraid of getting caught, afraid of breaking your partner’s heart. But Suguru knows it excites you. He knows how addicted you are to the feeling of his cock stretching you out, addicted to being treated like the actual filth that you are when all your partner has ever done is treat you with respect.

And so when shit hits the fan, and your partner leaves you to rot with your little affair, all Suguru needs is to see your expression absolutely wrecked, while you hold on to the consolation that at least you still have Suguru. But you’re dead wrong.

“We had a good run. I wish you all the best!” he bids you, big smile on his face as you wail, begging for him to stay, but all he does is kiss you goodbye.

[toovaeloe]

errands and no game 𝝑𝝔 “Wooooaaahhh!! Oookay, he did not mean to say that.”

fluffy fluff drabble

genderneutral!reader x Satoru Gojo

Gojo and Megumi annoying big brother and annoyed little brother activities

Satoru visits the Fushiguro kiddos, and helps Megumi run an errand for his sister. Gojo however gets distracted by a gorgeous you— although charming you into giving him your number doesn’t exactly go as planned with Megumi around.

☁️🤍☁️

Question: 21 is supposed to be one of your best years, isn’t it? So why was Satoru spending it working, working, working, and oh, walking this stinker to and from the store??

Answer: Megumi wanted to do something nice for his sister, aka the chore of grocery shopping. And Satoru had oh-so graciously volunteered to check in on those kids every once and awhile…(mostly to get out of missions.)

“Hey Megumi, Megumi, let’s get ice cream!” Satoru chirped exuberantly as they walked by the parlor, the 8 year old’s grip on his pant leg the only thing stringing him along the sidewalk and keeping him from stopping in for a frozen treat. “C’moonnn you’re in, like, 3rd grade! 3rd graders love ice cream!!!”

“Tsumiki’s waiting for me. We have to get back.” Megumi dismissed- far too dutifully for a child as he tugged on the white haired oaf’s trousers near his knee, a plastic grocery bag clutched in his other tiny hand. “And I don’t wanna get a treat without her.”

“Awwwwwww,” Satoru whined with melodramatic crankiness, his shoulders dropping and hands shoving into his pockets with a huff as he continued to trudge along, practically curved into the posture of a dissatisfied shrimp. “You’re the most boring, levelheaded kid ever. Seriously, I should hire a babysitter to cart you around…or maybe a prison warden since you’re so ruthless and cruel,” Satoru muttered sulkily.

The little Megumi echoed his huff, irritation creasing his brows. He felt like the one carting Gojo around if anything. “I said I could go by myself. You’re the one who was whining about going with me.”

Just as Gojo was about to give his grand explanation of why he couldn’t let an 8 year old roam the streets by himself, something, or rather someone caught his eye. You.

Within seconds, Satoru was rerouting Megumi with a yank under his armpit towards you. He wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity to chat with a beautiful stranger- lay on the charm, woo you with his otherworldly beauty, etcetera etcetera. And to top it all off, he had Megumi with him. Dudes and Chicks dig kids, right? Makes him seem like a down to earth, kind hearted guy.

“Yeah, he’s like a little brother to me. ‘Just taking him out to shop for his sister. Me and the little guy are like this,” Satoru explained to you after stopping you before you could cross the street, speaking as if he was the most charitable philanthropist on earth, crossing his fingers in a show of supposedly how close he and Megumi were. Megumi however, looked at Gojo with the kind of grouchy, wrinkly frown only a child- or perhaps a sphynx cat- could muster.

He had the sole goal of getting home to complete this kind deed he’s done for his sister and see the cheerful smile she would have at his show of appreciation for her. And he wasn’t about to have that be delayed by Gojo’s pathetic attempt at scoring a date.

“Your eyes look weird on your face.”

Megumi pointed straight at you as he bluntly stated his critique. “Seriously, it looks like a 4 year old drew you-“

“Wooooaaahhh!! Oookay,” Satoru quickly covered the cynical kid’s mouth with a nervous chuckle, waving off his words. “Silly little bugger,” He playfully scolded in an attempt to salvage the interaction.

Satoru whipped his head over to Megumi as he moved his hand away from covering his mouth and to his hair, ruffling it into an even worse ebony mess as the boy warded off the giant palm with indignant swats. He was speaking to you, but his words were meant as a reprimand for the mini Fushiguro.“He did not mean to say that,” He’d grit through his teeth with a denotative glare.

“What he probably meant to tell you is how radiant your eyes are- I could stare into them forever, at least,” Gojo recuperated his charm quickly, flashing you an easily dazzling grin that he hoped would get you to at least crack a tiny smile.

“No, they creep me out. In fact, you should wear sunglasses to cover them- like this freak does.” The young tween continued his merciless and unsolicited attack on you with a gesture now to Gojo, before he strolled off with far too much nonchalance for an ankle biter. “I’m going home. Losers.”

You’re too stunned to speak. This is probably the last interaction you’ve expected to have on your way to the store.

“…kids say the darndest things, don’t they?” Gojo hums with an absentminded grin now that the entire run-in has fallen completely flat. “Such creative young minds.”

“Don't go forgetting me, alright? I’ll see you around!!!” He’d shout over his shoulder, a halfhearted promise before sprinting off after the little tike. You can hear the fading sobbing of the guy complaining about the failure, as well attempting to assert his “grown-up status” to the child that ambled on like he had mentally tuned-out his chaser.

What a weird family, you’d probably think to yourself, left to ponder this odd encounter later as you sorted through the produce section.

a/n:

omg I posted writing for my tumblr againn 😛 Gojo adopts the Geto walk in the drabble uhhhh because I said so

Jokes aside I would absolutely cry if I received a creative insult from a child 😔

based off this request on a diff platform that I thought would do better as a minific 🤍

Have a wonderful day/night

[watatsumiis]

Reader's Stuffed Toy (Part 2)

Various characters react to the reader having a plushie that looks like them!

Part 1 here! (with Ayato, Foul Legacy, Gorou, Tighnari, Rex Lapis, Xiao)

Characters included: Cyno, Itto, Kaveh, Thoma, Yae Miko, Zhongli

Cyno takes it entirely in stride. He treats the toy like it's his child, assigns it duties (such as looking after you while he's away, or keeping his seat warm when he gets up). It becomes more his plush than yours with how often he carries it around. He serves it food, plays cards against it, talks to it about cases, the whole shebang. He's affectionately dubbed it 'C.J.' (Cyno junior) and has a silly little voice he puts on for it and everything. He hand-makes a little pouch for it in his downtime, insisting that CJ deserves only the best possible security and safety measures around. The way he speaks to it sounds one hundred percent genuine, and is in exactly the same tone he speaks to others with, so sometimes it’s hard to tell if there’s a real person he’s talking to or if he’s just infodumping to CJ again. He also likes to put it in high places so it has a good ‘vantage point’ of the room, and you may often find it tucked on top of closets or curtain rods with a miniature spear in hand, watching and judging everything you do. At some point, it becomes more Cyno’s toy than yours.

Itto gets an almost insufferable confidence boost from it, he thinks it’s the coolest thing ever, and the fact that you had it made is a sign of utmost affection and adoration towards him. The moment he finds out, he’s half-snatching it away from you and running to show Kuki and the boys with this huge toothy grin as he brags all about how awesome it is, how you must’ve had it custom made and how everyone in the Arataki Gang should have that kind of undying devotion towards him. All the guys hype him up for it and echo his sentiment about how absolutely awesome it is, clapping you on the back as they bemoan the fact that they didn’t think of it first. Itto practically begs you for partial custody so that the gang can use the plush as another mascot, though it may be returned to you a little worse for wear. While Kuki tries to keep an eye on the situation, sometimes their games of ‘Arataki “itty-bitty-Itto-chucker” Ushi’ get a little out of hand, but rest assured, the toy receives the utmost love and attention whenever he’s hanging out with the gang.

Kaveh is a little put off at first - at first, he assumes it was Al Haitham mocking him in some way, but he eventually kind of warms up to the idea, though doesn't wholeheartedly embrace it. He tends to get easily creeped out by these sorts of things, and will insist that you turn it so it's not facing him whenever possible. Though, eventually there comes a time when he's about three days of minimal sleep into a huge project where he finds himself pacing back and forth in the kitchen at 4am, coffee in hand as he stews on his thoughts, when he sees his little plush replica sitting in the fruit bowl on the counter and, without thinking, just bursts into speech and begins to chatter away to it, laying out all his woes about his current project - he finds that speaking aloud actually really helps him organise his thoughts and get on with the project, and it eventually becomes a habit, he'll leave mini-Kaveh on his desk and talk to it when he gets stuck, or just voices his thoughts aloud, sometimes even talking as if it's responding to him. 

Thoma is absolutely and adorably flattered - while he’s a little unsure at first (and vaguely suspects that his employer may just be behind it somehow), once he realises you’re being genuine, he’s so shy but also extremely delighted at it, and feels like he somehow has to make a similar gesture - this leads to him eventually having a hand-made doll of you that he carries around, introducing it to the tiny Thoma (dubbed ‘Tinyma’) in a way reminiscent of people introducing their dogs to one another for a playdate. He thinks it’s absolutely magnificent and will make matching accessories for your little guys, and, when too shy to compliment you directly, hold up his ‘you’ doll and mimic you saying nice things about yourself. He definitely fixates on making little accessories and outfits for them in his downtime, and thanks to Ayaka’s fixation on dolls (especially when she was younger), he has quite a lot of experience doing so. It’s not long until your dolls are the most decked out in all of Teyvat, with their own little houses and wardrobes and even little animal companions!

Yae Miko isn't particularly surprised - she was the one to authorise the creation of that merchandise, after all. She'll tease you so much for it, but deep down she finds it very cute and charming. When you leave the plush laying around unattended, she may even go the extra mile and make sure it's always sitting up straight and that none of the accessories are crooked, and will quietly speak to it, saying things like "The Head Shrine Maiden must always be in pristine condition, you know." Or "goodness me, you're quite a fickle one, aren't you?" When the toy refuses to stand upright on its own. You may even find that somewhere along the lines, the toy suddenly has new accessories - shinier jewellery, a more realistic vision, a perfectly made little gohei for the doll to carry, a teeny tiny plate of pretend tofu - Miko will deny having anything to do with it, of course, but if you observe closely, it's almost painfully obvious that your attachment to the toy has rubbed off on her. 

Zhongli thinks it’s extraordinarily sweet - he observes the way you interact with the toy and will try his best to mirror it, doing what he can to make sure you’re comfortable and happy. It’s almost impossible to miss his warm, glowing smile when he spots the little coattails of the plush hanging out of your bag. Sometimes he’ll even pour an extra cup of tea for it if you’re out for a meal together. If he realises you carry it around often, he uses it as a kind of sneaky way to get you to carry around more protection charms and the like - while he’s not inherently superstitious himself, he knows that there is genuine merit and benefits to the charms he provides, since he’s able to know everything about their creation. He also uses it as a roundabout way to get you to be more comfortable opening up to him, asking things like “well, what has my little twin been up to recently?” when you seem like you may be dodging the question. With his age and experience, he’s come into contact with a lot of people, with a variety of different comfort objects and coping mechanisms, and has his own reliable ways of reacting and engaging.

Please don't repost, steal, copy or otherwise plagiarise my writing! I do not consent for my works to be translated and posted elsewhere, or used to teach bots!

[wilderness-of-thoughts]

".... Y/n?" You heard a voice on the other end of the phone. A familiar voice. It's three in the morning and instead of sleeping you're sitting and watching a movie. You grab the TV remote to turn down the background noise, because the voice is surprisingly quiet. "... I need your help."

∆∆∆

The fact is, the only reason you have a job supporting the jujutsu sorcerers is because your uncle is a Yaga. Your cursed energy is so small it's practically nonexistent. Sometimes you see curses, sometimes you don't. However, in situations where there aren't enough people in the field, you're sprinkled in in a support role... More like support for support. It never bothered you though. Your talent for being a person with curse energy is that you are almost normal. Almost sometimes makes a big difference.

But hey! Work is work and as long as they pay there's nothing to complain about. So when you were running through the streets of Tokyo in the middle of the night to the apartment of none other than Gojo Satoru, it didn't even cross your mind what was going on.

He's probably craving something sweet again, or come up with some stupid idea like - "So if you put more capsules into the washing machine, won't the wash be done faster? Damn. Okay, clean up this mess y/n." Or "I'm out of hair gel, I'm not leaving the house like this! Go y/n and buy me some." - being an errand dog defines your position more. Especially since one of the weakest of the weak in the world of the strong, you are a subordinate of none other than the strongest sorcerer. The Chosen One.

Meh... Could be worse. Right?

Right?

∆∆∆

You punched in the code to Gojo's apartment, breathing heavily. Fuck, why is Ijichi always the driver? Oh yeah, you failed your driving test.

"Gojo? What is it this time?" You asked with a slight note of irritation in your voice. You turned on the light in the living room, looking around the room for any sign of Satoru. With his height you usually had no problem finding him. But this time, all you were greeted with was a dark room. As if no one was here. "Gojo? If this is some kind of stupid joke..."

"Believe me, I would like to..." You heard his voice, strangely quiet but not weak. However, when you turned in the direction it came from, no one was there. "Listen... First, promise me that what you see will stay between us." Gojo continued talking, or rather his voice came from the side of the table in the living room.

"Um... Ok?"

"Secondly... swear you won't laugh."

"Did your students play some stupid prank on you? Did they shave you bald?"

"Promise me, fuck."

"ok ok I promise..." You slowly approaches the table, his voice getting clearer, but you still can't see him.

"Third... Fuck... Help me." His voice was a mix of anger, shame, and humiliation. You never thought you'd ever get to hear it. Ever.

"Okay Gojo... I'll help you, but where are you?"

After he told you to turn on the light and go to the table, you still didn't see him. Finally you heard some rustling and Gojo climbed onto the table top. Yes, he climbed it.

"you won't believe what happened to me..." He said, trying his best to protect his dignity by masking it with an amused tone of voice.

And so, before you on the night table stood the strongest sorcerer of modern times. The Chosen One. Except... He's the size of a doll now, with cat ears and a tail.

"WHAT THE FUCK?!"

Next:

[broz0neglitters]

You used to know me, now you don't

Brozone Headcanon + Fanfic

~This Events takes places during and after trolls bands together ~

-John dory was the reason why Bruce Change his name from spruce to bruce because bruce wanted to leave his boy bands days behind

-He had all five of his little brother wrapped around his fingers he could constantly overwork them even bitty B he was just a literal baby they wouldn't eat or take breaks until rehearsals is perfect

-Floyd once fainted from exhaustion but john didn't care because he promise the fans that they would hit the perfect family harmony

-Bruce was super hungry and clay was cramping up and bitty B needs his nappy but no square ass brother just wants to over work them

-John dory gave Clay and floyd the least amout of lines to sings althought most of the brozone songs were written by floyd he didn't even credit floyd for the song that got popular

-past brozone staff also spill the tea on john dory saying how he overwork his little brothers and he won't talk to anyone if they mess up and he would get angry over one tiny mistake that was made on stage

-Don't get him started on the part where the family harmony failed which left 4 of the brother hanging from the vines while bitty b watch in honor after the show there was a fight that broke out which led the 4 older brother to leave bitty B

-Moving forward on their way to save floyd with poppy filling in floyd spot while john made them practice but he was so demanding which cause the fight to eventually break out with poppy standing in between them and branch having to live through that event where his brothers were fighting because of a tiny mistake...

-Bruce told john "I Had to change my life, 'cause I knew you'd stay the same even after all those year which you still are!" He snap angirly at john

"Come on spruce stop making a big deal out of it." John said "Its bruce!" Clay snap angrily at john

-Clay,floyd and bruce must admit when the band broke up and they went to do their own things they felt like they were finally free from john dory control

-When branch had enough of his brother fighting branch stepped up and stood up to his big brothers "You all still treat me like a baby well guess what I don't need a kiss goodbye, I'm on my own tonight because you all walked out on me and there was no one else to look after me than grandma got eaten this time I'm walking out on you." branch said angrily as poppy looked at his brother with full disappointment how could some one be crule enough to leave a poor baby behind and she proceeded to walk out after branch....

-After saving floyd from the twins as the brother got together to talks things out but all the brother had some grudges hold inside them but they finally had to let it go and branch brought poppy to help just in case things got heated

"John Dory you held all of us back it was like you had tied all of us up inside a cage and locked us there just because we mess up one tiny bit!" Floyd said angrily Before john dory got a chance to speak The youngers bro were just very upset as much as john was he felt bad for the way he had treated them in the past

"You still treat us like this is like you used to know us but now you don't because you can't see clearly how free and happy we all are after breaking free from your control I'm in a sad book club, bruce settled down and branch is no longer a baby and floyd well he almost die and we just save him." Clay said trying to hold back his tears

All of the brothers couldn’t easily forgive john dory and how he has treated them the truth is they never wanted to leave branch not even john dory himself but he was just so mad he left to the middle of no where so we didn't have to deal w bossing people around and for bruce he wanted to break free for john control when he got married and had kids he felt free and happy for once in his life and for clay he wanted to be taken seriously and for floyd he wanted john to acknowledge floyd without floyd writing songs brozone will be nothings because most of their hit songs are mostly written by him

well john has written some song but they weren’t as a biggest hits as the songs that floyd wrote and as for branch poor baby was left all alone blaming himself and making him think that he was the one who fail his big brothers it wasn’t his fault floyd told him but to him it was because grandma got eaten because he was so lost in the song hoping his brother would hear him and come back to him and his grandma save him....

Jonh dory hated himself for being controlling aswell if he had a wish he would wish to go back and undo the things that he did to them maybe that way branch was never left alone, grandma wasn’t eaten and much more but to now all of jonh little brothers were just strangers to him...

As he looked at their sweet faces "I-I'm sorry I should have never treated you all like that I wish I could go back and fix my mistake I truly do." he said sobbing it was the first time that his brother saw their older brother cry john didn’t want to cry b/c he was the oldest

As all of the younger bro stood up "You used to know me now you don't." they all said in unison as they left poppy beg them to stay but they refuse to stay and see john act so pathetic he knew what he did and he truly didn’t mean his words....

------------ okay like please this is getting so good and spicy anyways if you want a pt 2 of this can "I please get 100 likes?" once I get 100 liks I'll do a part 2 of this cause this is so good and a-lot of tension between the brothers and after saving floyd and trolls band together hehe.... --------------- Like + Follow are very much appreciated!