#but i assure you this has been going on for as long as i have known of him

[katareyoudrilling]

Evidence ✂️ (Tim Rockford One-shot)

Pairing: Tim Rockford x Female Reader

Summary: Tim knows a lot about vasectomies

Word count: ~1.8k

Rating: Explicit (18+ only. NO MINORS)

Content Warnings: Vasectomy kink (aka the opposite of breeding kink), unprotected PIV, vague detective work (don’t worry about it), destruction of important documents?

A/N: It has been a while since I wrote one of these! Big thanks to @veryprairieberry for sparking the idea and for patience while I pondered it for a very long time.  Also, thanks to @burntheedges for the beta and assuring me I was not crazy lol.  All my vasectomy kinks are marked with “✂️” and linked on my new Vasectomy Kink Masterlist!

Reblogs and comments are always appreciated!

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“Think,” Tim admonishes himself, staring at the board filled with crime scene photographs and bits of evidence.  “What are we missing?”

“We’ve been staring at it for days.” You pull at your neck, trying to relieve the tension, a habit you likely picked up from your partner.  Sharing an office with someone will do that.  You sigh and sit down at your desk, leafing through pages of witness testimony you’ve gone over a hundred times already.  “Maybe we should call it a night.  Look again in the morning?”

A knock at the door interrupts you. “Excuse me, detectives, the medical records you requested arrived. Thought I’d drop them off on my way out.” A lackey from the records office holds out a manilla envelope in Tim’s direction.

“Thanks,” Tim stands up from the chair he had been straddling and takes the envelope.  He pulls out the stack of papers and begins to scan them one by one.

“I don’t know what you expect to find in there.” Your frustration over this case has made you pessimistic.

“You never know,” Tim mumbles under his breath as he continues reading page after page.  You go back to your testimony, looking for anything you could have missed.  Apparently, you’re not done for the evening.

“Got it!” Tim exclaims making his way over to you and dropping the stack of papers on top of your desk with a thud.

You read the top page.  “He had a vasectomy?”

“He had a vasectomy,” Tim repeats back to you.  “Five years ago.  He isn’t the father.”

“You don’t know that.  Vasectomies fail.” It’s compelling, but not the slam dunk Tim seems to think.

“No, they don’t, not if…” He shuffles through the papers some more.  “There,” he points to a test result a few pages later, “he gave a follow up sample and no sperm was detected.  The chance of a vasectomy failing after that point is basically zero. Men just say that to get out of having it done.”

“How do you know so much about vasectomies?”

“Well, I had one.”

“You did?”

“Yeah, long time ago,” he says distractedly as he makes his way back to the board of evidence, rearranging things in light of this new discovery.  He picks up his mug of, what has to be by now, very cold coffee and takes a sip.

You, on the other hand, are frozen at your desk.  Tim had a vasectomy?  Tim is shooting blanks?

This information is eliciting a strong reaction in your body.

It’s swooping through your gut.

It’s making your palms sweat and your skin prickle.

It’s…

Rage.

Burning rage floods your system, heating your skin and making your heart pound.

“You had a vasectomy?” you ask him again, trying to keep your tone even.

“Yeah, are you… angry?” Tim turns to face you, looking confused.  Maybe your voice wasn’t as neutral as you hoped.

“I’ll be asking the questions, Detective Rockford.”  You push back from your desk and stand up slowly. You take a deep breath in and exhale through your nose, keeping your voice deadly calm, as if you’re interrogating a suspect. His forehead creases in confusion, but he waits for you to speak. “When did you have it done?”

“Twelve years ago now, I guess.”

“Why?”

“I decided kids weren’t something I was interested in, seemed like the right thing to do.”

“I see,” you pace across the room, tapping your finger to your lips, rage still simmering below the surface of your skin.

His eyes follow you as you go.

“You made this decision on your own?”

“Well, yeah.  I wasn’t in a relationship at the time. I don’t und….” You hold up a finger to silence him mid-sentence.

“You found the doctor, scheduled it, all of that?”

“Of course.”

“So, you are telling me…” You turn to face him as he takes another sip of his coffee, “that I could have had you bare these past six months?”

Tim chokes.

When he finally stops coughing, he wipes his hand across his mouth.  “Is that why you’re upset?”

“Yes! We’ve been using condoms when we didn’t need to!”

“There are other reasons to wear a condom.”

“Do I need to be worried about any of those reasons with you?”

“Well, no.”

“You don’t need to be worried about them with me either.”

“I never thought I did.”

“You’re so fucking responsible.”  The words come out angry, but there’s a new heat growing in your core. Responsibility is fucking hot.

“I’m… sorry?” Tim apologizes as you make your way to the office door and lock it.

“You should be sorry.”  You stalk towards him until you’re close enough to grab him by the holsters.  You watch as his adam’s apple bobs in his throat.  You pull yourself flush with his front, noting the bulge pressing against your thigh.

“How can I make it up to you?” he rasps.

“Fuck me on your desk, Detective.  Bare.”

“You’re so fucking sexy when you’re angry,” he growls, pulling you into a searing kiss.  His tongue invades your mouth as you both scramble with belts, buttons, and clasps.  You’ve come to love the taste of bitter coffee and Chinese takeout on Tim’s tongue.  Tastes you will forever associate with him as it’s never been very long since he’s had either.

Your clothes come off quickly in between frantic kisses, but you stop him as he moves to remove his shirt and holsters. “Don’t… I need something to hold on to.”

“Fuck, baby, when you say things like that…” his fingers dig into your bare hips as you set your ass at the edge of the desk and lean back on your elbows, opening yourself up for him with a smirk.  

Tim’s cock bobs eagerly in front of you, framed by his open shirt.  He takes it in his hand, stroking slowly up and down the thick length.

Pages of documents crinkle underneath you, but you can’t care.  Right now, all that matters is the beautiful man looking down at you with lust blown eyes.

“I want your cock, Tim. Now.”

He steps into the space between your open legs, cock in hand, and guides the tip through your wet pussy.  You both groan as he nudges at your clit and drags back through your folds.

“So wet,” he whispers, reverently.  He repeats his path several times, coating his cock in your slick before notching the head at your entrance.  “You sure you don’t want my fingers first?”

You vehemently shake your head and bite your lip as you look down between your legs.  He nudges at your entrance gently and you whimper.

“I know baby, I know,” he soothes you, and probably himself, from how completely wrecked he looks – slack jawed and panting.  With a guttural groan, he breaches your entrance.

You both watch as his bare length disappears into your wet heat.

“Oh god, fuck,” your eyes roll back in your head as he enters you slowly, stretching your sensitive pussy around his cock, working his way in inch by inch.  You feel the thick ridge of his head drag along your walls as your body gives way.  Without any barrier between you, the sensation is divine.

“Fuck, baby,” Tim breathes as he bottoms out inside you.  “I need a second.  You feel so good.”  He closes his eyes, overcome with the feeling of you. His hands flex against your bare thighs as he takes deep, centering breaths. 

After a few moments, he opens his eyes, locking his gaze with yours and, slowly, starts to move.

“Yes, yes, yes,” you whine with each slow thrust and drag of his cock.  Sex with Tim has been good, great even, but this… this is heaven.  You glance down to watch his clock slide in and out of you.  The sight of him veiny and glistening is almost too much to bear.  Your pussy begins to flutter.

Tim leans over you, pressing your knees into your chest. “Fuck, you’re amazing.  So wet and hot and tight. It’s been…. oh god… so long…”

The new angle hits just right and you can feel your orgasm building.  

“Yes, just like that,” you throw your head back.  “Fuck, your cock feels good.”

Tim licks his thumb and finds your clit between your bodies, speeding up your impending release.

“Are you going to come on my cock, baby?”

“Oh god, yes, please,” you beg, feeling the telltale pressure deep in your core.

“You have to be quiet for me,” he rumbles under his breath.  You’re not new to sneaking around at work, but until now you had saved the fucking for outside the office.  “Look at us,” he murmurs, rubbing your clit in time with his thrusts.

You look down and gasp at the sight of his thick cock entering your pussy. The last of your control snaps and you’re pulsing around him as you try not to scream his name and announce your relationship to the entire precinct.

When you come back to yourself, Tim is still slowly dragging himself through your sensitive walls, nostrils flared, clearly fighting to delay his own release.

Aftershocks zing through your body and you clench around him.

He hisses and pauses, “Baby, if you squeeze me like that, I’m going to come.”

You smile to yourself as he picks up his rhythm again, then squeeze as he pulls most of the way out.

He gasps and pulls out the rest of the way, pressing a kiss to your knee and laughing, “You have to stop that.”

“What if I don’t want to stop that?”  You reach between your legs with one arm and grab his holster, pulling him to you for a sloppy kiss.  “I want you to come.  Fill me up, Detective.”

Tim practically growls as he lines himself back up with your entrance and slides in fast and deep.  You bring your other hand up to grab the holster on the other side, balancing on your ass and holding on for dear life as he thrusts into you.  His strong arms cage you in and support you as he pants into your neck.

“You feel so good, what was I thinking not fucking you bare this whole time? Oh god… oh fuck…” he stutters as he empties himself inside you.

You wrap your arms around his broad shoulders, nuzzling into his neck and his scruff as he catches his breath.

“Who would have thought… responsible Detective Rockford fucking in his office.”

Tim chuckles into your shoulder. “Can’t be responsible all the time.”

You smile and pull his lips to yours for a soft kiss.  “Let’s get out of here.”  You peel your ass off the papers on the desk and turn to survey the crinkled mess you’ve left behind.  “That’s going to be a problem.”

Tim wraps his arms around your waist and kisses your shoulder, “Eh, I’ll just spill some coffee on it, no one will know the difference.”

You laugh, “Tim Rockford, you are just full of surprises.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

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[digital-domain]

Purpose

Alastor x Reader // word count 3.4k

You can have you soul back, if you wish. But really…why would you even want something like that?

Tags/warnings: yandere, manipulation, power imbalance, angsty as hell, Alastor owns reader’s soul, reference to Alastor destroying other souls, shadows being far too tangible for comfort

A/N: This was supposed to be a short, simple little thing in my notes app. It did not stay that way for long. I swear I’ll write for someone else after this one (this might be a lie, haven’t decided yet)

You can’t believe that you asked. It was a sort of trance that brought you here, that forced your steps down the hallway, that raised your fist to his bedroom door - and it was your entire fist that knocked, not merely the knuckles of your hand. Like you were threatening to break the wood from its hinges if he didn’t answer. But he wasn’t angry when he let you inside. Only bemused. And even now that you’ve done it, now that you’ve somehow managed to get out the words that have been churning in your mind for months…his demeanor has barely shifted at all. Although of course, it could be an act. It’s still hard for you to tell.

“Is that truly what you desire, my dear?��� Alastor’s smile, which you expected to fade somewhat, or at least twitch at the corners in a telltale sign of annoyance, is just as broad as it’s ever been. He towers over you, his hands folded behind his back. “Think carefully, now. It’s already rare for me to allow someone to escape - unheard of, in fact. But taking someone back would be even less likely, so if there’s any chance at all ”-

“I’m sure.” You set your jaw, and refuse to look down, even as the glow in his eyes becomes almost too bright to bear. Even as something stirs in the swamp behind him, threatening to draw your gaze away. “I want my soul. I’ll give you anything to have it back. I’ll”-

“No need to elaborate, darling.” He sounds calm, and just as surprising, he doesn’t sound like he’s lying. “I assure you, I have no interest in any offer you might have had planned. If you want your soul, you can have it.” 

You freeze, your mouth still ajar. It takes you a moment before you can speak again. “Really?”

“Really.” His head tilts slowly as you continue to process his words. “Does that surprise you?”

“Yes.” You’re deeply confused, in fact. You were expecting to have to haggle, if not to beg. You were certainly expecting him to be upset. It shouldn’t - it can’t - be this easy. 

“I give you my word. If you wish to leave, I’ll let you.” He pauses. “However. ”

This is a trick. It has to be. Your eyes dart around the room, as if a map to his true intentions might be lying somewhere nearby.

“It would be irresponsible of me not to help you consider your options. I don’t want you to do anything you might regret. So…tell me.” He sighs, and simply stares for a moment before brushing the tips of two fingers up the line of your jaw, from your ear to just below your mouth. “ If you were to go…” He taps the pads of his fingers gently against your cheek, and lets his hand fall to his side. “What, exactly, would you have to gain from such a thing?”

You blink, still reeling from his feather-light touch. This is not a question you expected to answer, and you stay quiet for a moment too long.

He leans over you, and lowers his face to your ear, as if he’s about to tell you a secret. “I’ll tell you what I think. I don’t think you’ll like it very much…but then again, people never enjoy hearing the truth.” There’s a buzz of static, he disappears and reappears behind you, and you’re left too disoriented to respond. “I think you’d be quite miserable, if you went through with this impulsive little idea of yours.” 

It wasn’t impulsive. Saying it out loud was, without a doubt. But the idea itself has been there for a very long time. 

“Would you like to know why I think that?” 

“No.” You’re not sure, really, whether you’re responding to his words, or to the hand that has landed on your waist. “You’re wrong.” His grip tightens, tugging slightly on the fabric of your shirt, but there it is again - that odd, detached state of mind that you fall into when you need to do something, and quickly, before you think about it and lose your resolve. “I’ll be miserable if I stay. I’ve already been miserable for a long fucking time.” You uncurl the fist you didn’t realize you had clenched, bring your hand to his wrist, and tug it sharply away from your waist. You barely even register your surprise when he lets this happen. 

He reappears in front of you, and waits silently for you to continue. 

“I didn’t think it would be like this.” Your eyes wander to the desk against the wall, to the ledger that you know contains the list of souls under his command. He’s allowed you to witness what happens to the souls - to the people - that displease him, and on more than one occasion, he’s enlisted your help in cleaning up the mess. You always got the impression that he didn’t particularly need your assistance. That it was more about the fun of watching you squirm. “You’re not who I thought you were.”

“How interesting.” He leans forward, eyes gleaming. “I must be a better judge of character than you, then. Because you have never once surprised me.” Without warning, he takes your hand, tugs you close enough to put his other hand on the small of your back, and half-drags you to his desk chair, which he kicks around and deposits you into. 

You glare up at him, hands braced tightly against the armrests, but he only pulls his hands behind his back, and sighs.

“Well, my dear. I would have merely asked you to sit down - as one should do for someone who’s about to receive unfortunate news - but it seems that you’re in a rather oppositional mood. So.” He gestures in your direction, and something slithers over your waist, binding you to the back of his chair. 

Before this all began, you would have struggled. Now, you barely glance down. “Fuck you.”

“Shall I bind your tongue as well, darling?” A dark coil, made of the same unnaturally smooth, unfathomably black material as the first, curls up from behind you and begins to inch its way up your neck. “Or perhaps do away with it altogether?”

You press your lips together, and shake your head. 

“Hmm…if you’re sure.” The second coil retreats back into the shadows, and Alastor looks down at you with an expression far too appreciative for your comfort. “I do love a captive audience,” he muses. “But what I said before does still stand. If, at the end of this little talk, you still wish to leave, I’ll happily release you.” He gestures broadly with an open palm, as if presenting you with some fabulous gift, then quickly flips his hand and points at you, his finger perfectly still in midair. “But first things first. I asked you a question some time ago, and you would do well to answer it.” He stands perfectly straight, and once again interlocks his hands behind his back. “Take some time to gather your thoughts, if you must. I’m not going anywhere.”

You bite hard into the inside of your lip, and swallow your bloody saliva down with all the things you’d like to scream at him. Instead, you avert your eyes, and quietly repeat the question you’d been unable to answer the first time around. “What do I have to gain?”

“That is what I asked, my dear.” The tendril around your waist tightens slightly, as if to force an answer out of you.

“What do I have to lose? ” You keep your eyes fixed on the floor, and force the deepest breath you can manage in and out of your lungs. The air feels heavy and humid, and smells of long-rotten vegetation - or perhaps a half-destroyed carcass, decaying somewhere in the bayou. “When I did what I did…when I gave you my soul…I didn’t think it would be like this. I thought that if I did it, I’d feel safe enough, or - I don’t know - good enough, to make a life here. But I don’t have one outside of you.” You suck in a sharp breath, all too aware of how stilted your sentences are becoming as they pass over the growing lump in your throat. “I live here because of you. And I barely leave because of you. I don’t spend time with anyone else, because I never know when you’re going to show up, and I don’t want to make friends and then watch them get roped into whatever shit you make me do next - and I can’t sleep, because - because you’ve woken me up before, and when you do that”-

You trail off completely as you remember the last time he did this to you, the images in your head far too clear for something that happened in the dark, when you were only half awake: Hand over your face in your dream, falling to touch your shoulder with just enough force to wake you and send you bolting upright. Rise and shine, darling. Smile somehow more vivid than the red eyes glowing above it, spreading wide with a manic delight that you knew was real, too real, and far too close. I’m going to pay someone a visit. They’re not aware of it yet, but I’m afraid it just couldn’t wait. Shadow, on the wall, one that shouldn’t have existed in such a dark room, blacker than you thought anything could ever be. It’s going to be a night to remember, my dear. I wouldn’t have you miss it for the world.  

You don’t want to picture what happened next. In your mind, you skip to when it was all over. When he took your hand, still shaking from the things you’d been forced to witness, and held it tight as he scratched that poor soul’s name out of his ledger. When he set down his pen, which was still dripping a dark red liquid that barely resembled ink at all, and began to turn the pages - you knew what he was looking for long before he found your name, written in impeccable cursive, glowing slightly as he guided you to touch it. I think it looks quite lovely in my hand. Whether he was talking about his handwriting, or about your face, which he’d reached up to touch in that moment, you do not wish to know. Don’t you agree?

Now, you shake your head, as if amending the answer you’d given him that night. You don’t like how you’ve conditioned yourself to say the things he wants to hear. To believe them when you say them. “I knew I’d have to do some things for you. But…” You swallow hard, because you can’t imagine he’ll have any sympathy for you if you cry, and you don’t want to find out. “I didn’t think it would be like this. I didn’t think that it would become my entire purpose.”

“Hmm.” His sigh is light and airy, with none of the weight that your words carried. When he does speak, the condescension is unmistakable. “Tell me, then.” He crouches down in front of you, leans forward, and rests his forearms on your thighs; his elbow digs hard into your leg as he raises his hand and props his face up on his fist. His grin still doesn’t waver, and his eyes appear wider from this angle, shining with something that is, perhaps, meant to resemble sympathy. “If you chose to leave…what would your purpose be then?” He tilts his head, until it’s his cheek resting against his fist, and waits.

And you are silent. Because somehow, in all your fantasies of escaping, you never managed to get to that part. The part where you lived your life, with no one to guide you but yourself.

You don’t know what you would do. But surely, surely, it would be better than this. 

He lowers his voice, and finally, you see his smile recede slightly. It becomes softer, and the glow in his eyes fades somewhat, and it’s all so unexpected that you don’t even question whether it’s real. “I know a lost soul when I see one, darling.” With his other hand, he lazily traces a path up and down your thigh. It would be almost soothing, you think, if it wasn’t him. “There’s a reason I wanted you. And a reason I keep you so close.” He sighs, and you can smell his breath, the hint of whiskey that doesn’t come close to masking the familiar rancid scent beneath. But there’s something sweet there, too. That’s new. “I think,” he murmurs, “that you have more to lose now than you ever did before.”

You try to tell yourself that you don’t want him to keep talking. That you want him to disappear now, and for good. But memories of your old life - your old after life, before he took over - are beginning to press their way forward. They make your stomach churn in a different way than any of his cruelty. 

“There’s also a reason - the same reason, in a way - that you were so easy to win over.” He opens his hand, and lets his cheek rest against his palm. There’s nothing dangerous about the way he’s looking at you now, or at least, nothing outwardly menacing, and you find yourself thinking about the night he approached you. Before anything about him seemed dangerous at all. When his appearance in your life seemed like a glorious stroke of luck.

“It was only easy because I didn’t know anything.” You’re disoriented, looking down at him, and it takes away whatever resolve you had left; your voice comes out quiet and hollow. “I hadn’t been here long. Everything about this place scared me. And I was alone…” You weren’t with anyone that night, but that’s not what you mean. Your chest seems to tighten as you remember those early days. The paranoia that haunted your every step, convincing you that something awful was about to step out of the shadows at any moment. The panic of not knowing how you fit into the world around you, and being sure that you would never truly know. The pure hopelessness of being consigned, for eternity, to the one place where no one in the world has ever wanted to go, and knowing that you could blame no one but yourself.

Alastor raises his head, slowly, and lets his hand drop gently against your thigh. “Well, my dear.” His palm touches first, and his fingers fall lightly, their touch barely perceptible at all until he presses them down in an almost-reassuring squeeze. “You’re not alone anymore, are you?” 

“No." You barely even remembered how it felt, until this moment. To be lost. To have nothing, not even the nightmares of the present, to justify your existence. You didn’t think about it.

You didn’t let yourself think about it. Because thinking about it would mean -

“That’s right. You’ll never be alone again, if you don’t wish to be.”

It’s fake, this comfort. Always has been. But you can’t ignore it, now - the way you want to believe it. If it wasn’t from him, you’d have nothing to comfort you at all. You find your mind wandering to your name in his hand, glowing in his book, and wonder if anyone else will ever think of you enough to write it down.

“As for fear… ” His voice is so soft, now, that you feel the need to quiet your breathing. To inhale slowly, between words, and exhale carefully, lest he pause at a hitch in your breath. “What do you fear most, at this moment?” 

Again, you are silent. This time, it’s not because you don’t have an answer. It’s because the one you have seems far too dangerous to say out loud. 

If you leave, and things are exactly how they were before…or worse…

“Uncertainty is a terrible thing, isn’t it?” He pauses, and glances to the side for a moment before speaking, his gaze snapping back into place so quickly that you barely catch its shift. “I’ll gladly admit to planting the thought in your head. My having done so doesn’t make the idea any less real.”

The tendril binding you to your chair disappears. It takes you a moment to notice the absence of pressure on your abdomen. Even then, you do not move. You keep yourself in place, sitting perfectly straight, because you don’t know what will happen if you don’t. 

You stay exactly where you are, even as he rises to his feet and turns to the side, leaving you a clear path to the door. You watch, motionless, as an arm made of shadow extends along the wall and wraps its long, distorted fingers over the doorknob. 

“Walk away from me now, if you wish. You have my word that your soul will depart along with the rest of you.” The door creaks open, in time with the parting of his teeth, and the appearance of his staff in his hand. Its head pulses with a faint green light. You stare into it, and wonder if it’s your soul that you see flickering in its midst. 

“And if I don’t?” Out of the corner of your eye, you see the gap between the door and its frame narrow slightly. And again, slightly more.

“To be entirely honest… I can’t imagine that I’ll ever feel inclined to give you another chance.” The light on his staff grows larger and brighter, and shifts towards you, as if daring you to pull it out. “On the other hand…” He leans forward, and tilts his head, his spine contorting with the sideways motion until his mouth is directly beside your ear. “If you do leave, that door will close behind you. And it will never open for you again.”

The green light ebbs, just a bit, and you think about the first time you saw it. That night was cold, and damp, the kind of weather that eats away at you slowly, sinking its way under your clothes and skin bit by bit, until you can’t even remember a time when you were warm. The kind of weather that seems to suck the color out from around you, leaving you stranded in a world of gray and black and muddy, desolate brown. The place inside you where you imagine your soul once resided felt heavy, just as waterlogged as every other bit of you. 

And it seemed to lighten the moment you shook his hand. The moment you traded…

It was more than your soul, you think. It was the things you feared. The things you despised in the world, and yourself. They’re all gone, now, because now, there is only one face that makes you feel these things. It’s better like this, you think. 

It’s soon to be out of your hands, either way.

The door eases shut, and you close your eyes, because you do not want to see the green light fade. It’s better not to see. Better to pretend that it was never there at all.

“Well done, my dear.” The filter has dropped from his voice. It was there, distorting his every word, until now. But why say anything about that? You keep your eyes closed, and sit still as he traces the back of his hand down the side of your face. Thinking about flinching away, but doing nothing at all.

“Stay for as long as you’d like.” He sounds different, still. Not sincere, perhaps, but closer to it than he was before. “You’ve gone through quite a lot tonight. I expect it will take you some time to feel like yourself again.” He takes a step back, but remains close, and you don’t have to look to know how intently he’s watching.

There is not much left to watch. You slide your hands down from the armrest, and clasp them together, eyes still shut tight. Head down. If you stayed in this room until you felt like yourself, you think, you’d never leave.

Then again - if you wanted to feel like yourself, you would already have left.

[annwe24]

KINDRED serie

LUCIFER MORNINGSTAR X READER

Part 1

Summary: The past still haunts him as a painful reminder of being played at love. Even with such opportunity, Lucifer refuses to open up his heart.

People often say death is the well-deserved eternal rest after a life of hardship. That, unfortunately, has been proven wrong. Hell is like a punch in the face for those who seek escapism in the afterlife, leaving undone business to the living. So why the Hell would sinners be able to redeem themselves in the first place? Lucifer frustratedly thinks to himself. He is totally baffled at the idea. Even, hypothetically at best, they somehow made it into heaven, would they be accepted? However, seeing how determined his daughter is, it would break his heart to not support her only grand goal in life. He hates how he cares enough to awkwardly pour tea into your teacup with a shaky pinky at the moment. Charlie has been pushing him to leave his usual working desk to spend time socializing. It's a bonding exercise, she said. Given how well-mannered you usually are, he is glad she chose you instead of the other sinners. Ah, you. Always so caring, always so polite, always so-

Your Majesty, your tea is getting cold.

Coughing loudly, he drinks all the tea in his cup at once and silently cringes at himself.

Sorry, I’ve been having too many thoughts these days. Many things, you know.

Is there any way I can help? I noticed you’ve been so paranoid lately, I’m just worried but of course! You don't have to agree to that just because I ask you but please don't feel pressured to keep everything to yourself because I know-

Hey, it's alright! I understand your sentiment.

He softly cuts you off seeing that you are getting worked up. You always have this rather odd excitement for helping people. Your kindness stands out too much compared to others, something almost too pure. A question he's been asking himself lately is how did you end up here. It has been fun contemplating the possibilities during his free time, imagining your sweet face distorts into madness. Wait, what? Sweet face?

…

The fuck is your problem? He knows good people, even a rarity, still exist in this hellhole. Not all good people end up in Heaven, something Lucifer has long accepted. The problem is your goodness is absurd. Ever since your arrival at the hotel, it is clear that you are one of the most eager helpers, going as far as taking Charlie’s exercises almost too seriously. It irritates him to no end how you are so easily exploited.

He noticed many guests at the hotel use you as an errand runner unknowingly from time to time. There is certainly no malicious intent underneath, they themselves don't even realize that. It’s just that you are too easy, too gullible. Angel Dust is one glaring example. He has been known to ask you to fetch him stuff when he is “too fragile and sore due to overwork”. In reality, he sleeps through the afternoon and just gets too lazy. Lucifer can't help but find you suspicious. Afterall, who is going to trust someone in Hell, suffers memory loss, no identity and came to this hotel saying they wanted “a second chance”. He is determined to see through your facade, peeling you out like an onion.

Ouch!

A loud yelp followed by the squeaks of a hundred rubber ducks echo though his mansion. He quickly puts down the boiling kettle and dashes to his room. Piles of rubber ducks scatter across his room with you being the center of it all, dumbfounded. Panic reaches your eyes as you stand up hastily and say small “sorry” over and over. You look like you're about to cry.

Lucifer calmly squeezes through piles of rubber duck to get to you and places an assuring hand on your shoulder:

It’s nothing I can't fix. Here!

With a snap of his finger, the ducks magically fly back into place and the room starts to look like a room fit for a king rather than a depressed single dad. Lucifer is quite pleased with your wide-eye expression. Letting out a sigh, he guides you over to the tea table where you two would spend the rest of the afternoon. This kind of “date” has been going on for a while under the encouragement of Charlie. She is ecstatic to see her father finally be able to find someone to confide in and is a sinner. Although Lucifer can hang around the hotel whenever he feels like it, he prefers somewhere more private and quiet so that no one judges him. He hates being judged. It reminds him of his time in Heaven which he absolutely wants to forget. This is where Hell steps in. The place is literally his playground, albeit a bit grotesque, but at least he is free.

…

As time flies, the little hangouts between you and him occur more often. It has reached to a point that he finds his mansion eerie without your presence. You are not a talkative person nor a charmer, but you carry yourself with such sweetness that makes him feel peaceful, a warmth he has long forgotten. He wonders if the same happens to you. Do you find yourself incomplete without meeting him at least once a day? He certainly is not a mind reader but a keen observer at the very least. You seem to light up every time you see him, always looking, listening in his direction. He is scared. What if this was all a ploy you set up to get closer to the King, to have some kind of privilege down here? You are first and foremost still a sinner. Although he believes not everyone in Hell is bad, being in Hell means breaking some morals while you were alive. He can't handle another failed relationship. Not right now, not when Lilith still lingers hauntingly in the back of his mind, not when he can break at any moment and Charlie is the only thing that keeps him going. He can't let her get hurt too. She is just as fragile as him after the divorce.

Tonight’s hangout is just the same as every other hangout: comfortable silence. You are rolling on his king-size bed while fidgeting a rubber duck he especially made for you. You have been quite comfortable in his mansion, letting yourself go as if you were at home. As for Lucifer, he is at his working desk as usual. He likes it this way. Lucifer is not a chatter at heart and you are the same. After a while, you decided to break the silence:

What are you making today? You rolled over on the bed to face him.

Oh, just rubber duck, you know.

You have so many already. Why don't you make something new every then and there?

What do you like?

Huh?

What do you like? He asked, turning back to face you.

Well, um… I like stuffed animals? I guess?

Okay, it's a deal then! He said with a toothy grin.

Y-you don't have to!

It's alright. I’m running out of ideas anyways.

Thank you!! You say as you hug the rubber duck.

What am I doing? Lucifer silently thinks to himself.

[phoward89]

Based on this ask

Academy!Coryo x Academy!Reader

WARNING ⚠️ Coriolanus is a warning in and of itself. Controlling!Coryo, Mean!Coryo, Dom!Coryo, Obsessed!Coryo, Sassy!Coryo, Drama King!Coryo, Obedient!Reader, Sweet!Reader, Petty!Reader, long hair, haircuts, anger over haircuts, mentions of spankings as punishment, threatening spankings as punishment,

You have very long, silky, shiny hair. It's so long, that it flows down your back and stops right at your butt. Oh, your long hair earned you the nickname Rapunzel from your boyfriend, Coriolanus Snow. In fact, your boyfriend absolutely loves your long hair.

So much so that he has strictly forbidden you to cut it.

Ever!

And you being the sweet, obedient, good girl listens to him. And you listen because you love him. You've been with him for nearly 2 years now, so you've grown used to doing as you're told.

Coryo's a very obsessive, demanding, and sometimes even a bit of a controlling boyfriend. But, he claims that he's that way because he loves you and only wants what's best for you. That he has to protect you; keep you safe.

So…

You overlook some red flags that maybe you shouldn't be turning a blind eye to.

But Coryo's always so sweet and charming to you when you listen to him. When you're his ‘good girl’ he treats you like gold and showers you with compliments.

If your older brother was around instead of serving as an officer in the Peacekeepers he would've done everything in his power to keep you away from your obsessive boyfriend. But, Rein's not here and Coryo is.

And Coryo knows what's best for you because he's the smartest one in your entire Academy class (he's the top student, that's nothing to scoff at) and he loves you. Your boyfriend always makes sure to tell you all the time how much he loves you.

One day, after school, you're at Coriolanus' penthouse. You're in his room, studying for an upcoming history exam. Well, actually you're reading from the textbook while your boyfriend brushes your long, silky hair as the two of you sit on his bed.

“Baby, promise me that you'll never cut your hair.” Coryo interrupts, as you're reading a passage from your history book out loud, while placing the hairbrush on his bedside table. “It's so beautiful long.” He added in, grabbing one of the many rubber bands that he has piled up on his bedside table.

“Okay, I won't cut it.” You tell him, feeling his long lithe fingers make precise motions as he begins to section your hair in order to braid it.

Your boyfriend loves to play with your long hair and braid it. Sometimes in the mornings, before class starts, he'll braid your hair in the courtyard of the Academy while waiting for the bell to ring to signal the start of the school day. And everyone oohs and awes about how lucky you are to have a boyfriend so attentive that he braids your hair for you.

Okay, not everyone oohs and awes. Some of your friends thinks that it's weird. One of your friends, Megara, thinks that it's a bit creepy. But you always tell her that she's wrong, that Coryo likes to braid your hair because he's a very loving and thoughtful boyfriend.

But what people don't know is that Coryo braids your hair for himself because he just loves how your long, silky strands feel in his fingers. He also loves braiding your hair because it feels somewhat calming for him, the repetitive motion of criss-crossing strands of hair is like his personal stress ball.

Okay, so Coriolanus Snow, the top student at the Academy has a thing for long hair on you. It could be worse…

“You better not or else you'll make me very mad and I'll have to punish you.” Your boyfriend, who had a halo full of platinum blonde curls on his head, told you as he braided your hair with ease. Pressing a kiss to the crown of your head, he warns, “You don't want me to punish you for being a bad girl. It wouldn't be very nice.”

“Don't worry, Coryo. I'm not going to cut my hair.” You assured him as his fingers worked their magic, braiding your hair to the point that it was halfway done.

“I love your hair long, Y/N, and it would break my heart if you cut it.” He admits, like he always does when he's playing with and braiding your hair.

Hearing your boyfriend tell you that he loves your long hair sends your heart soaring. It makes you feel happy. Your long hair is very pretty and lots of girls wish that they could grow their hair out to a length such as yours, so hearing Coryo admit that he loves it just puts a smile on your face.

“And I love your platinum blonde curls.” You say right back to Coryo as he finishes up your braid.

“I know, which is why I won't be chopping them off anytime soon, baby.” Your boyfriend cheekily says while tying the end of your braid with a rubber band. Coryo tossed your braid over your shoulder while announcing, “There you go. All done, Rapunzel.”

He kissed you on the head once more before reaching to take the textbook from your hands. “I'll finishing reading, then we can make up some flashcards.”

“Okay.” You simply nod, leaning back to rest against your boyfriend's chest.

And you wholeheartedly intended on keeping your promise to him about never cutting your hair, Or at least you did until one day his sassiness made your surpressed pettiness come out to play.

“Maybe she has more important things to do then sitting around at home, waiting for her pathetic and poorly dressed friend to call.” Coryo sassily sneered at your friend, Megara, who was not a part of the popular crowd (the crowd of rich kids and heirs that Coriolanus Snow socialized with; the crowd you've been around more and more as of lately too), instead of letting you answer your friends question about why you didn't answer her call the night before.

“Coryo…” You sigh disappointedly. “Don't say that to my friend, it's mean.” You scold him as your friend shoots him a dirty look.

“You're just figuring out that he's mean now?” Megara asked, giving you a look of disbelief, while at the exact same time Coryo snidely smirked, “Sometimes the truth hurts, darling.”

“Coryo, she's my friend and I don't like how you're being rude to her.” You told your boyfriend. “Please, apologize to her.” You add, pouting.

“I'm not being rude to her, darling.” Coriolanus defended his horrible behavior towards your childhood friend. “And I'm not apologizing to some insolent girl who can't handle hearing the truth when it's spoken.”

“Cor-” You began to say, only for your boyfriend to drag you away from your friend while hissing sharply in your ear, “Don’t you even try to Coryo me, Y/N. Your friend's a piece of shit unworthy of being on the bottom of our shoes, so just keep your mouth shut and follow my lead when I'm saving you from social suicide.”

“All Megara did was ask why I didn't take her call last night and you were rude about it. You wouldn't even let me tell her that I was at your penthouse studying.” You told Coryo as he stormed (in a bit of a strut) down the hallway, clutching your arm and making you go with him down the hallway

“We’ve been together for 2 years, baby. Where the hell does that peasant think you're at if you're not home answering the damn phone?” The platinum blonde boy sneered, his voice deep and edgy, as he dragged you towards the courtyard that his friends were usually crowded in.

Your voice, that's usually so sweet and soft, is firm and snappy as you order your boyfriend, “Don’t call my friend a peasant, Coryo.” And that wasn't enough. No, you gave Coriolanus Snow a much needed reality check. “You might be from the esteemed Snow family, but you're as poor as a church mouse.”

The imposing tall boy with icy blue eyes stopped dead in his tracks and shoved his face dangerously close to yours, only to snarl, “Don't you ever say such things about the Snow family where somebody might overhear, you dumb bitch.” The nerves in his face twitched and his once light eyes turned midnight with hate as he cruelly told you, “You're being such a dumb bitch right now instead of my sweet, good girl. It seems that your friend's a bad influence on you; is turning you into a brainless cunt.”

Shaking his head to clear his mind from the rage he's feeling, Coriolanus orders, “You're not to have anything to do with Megara every again.” Taking your hand in his, only to continue to lead you towards the courtyard towards his snotty click, he says, "You'll hang around my friends for now on.” Looking down at you, much like a parents does to a naughty child they're reprimanding, he asks, “Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal.” Is the single word that you utter, causing Coryo to smile. One that's too wide and victorious for the matter at hand.

Coryo's malicious words hit you hard. They really hurt you; break your heart. For the last couple of years he was so loving to you. You're the perfect girlfriend to him; you're sweet and obedient. You never question him; always listen to him.

But not anymore.

No…

If he wants to treat you like shit all because you stuck up for your friend; for your own opinion, then so be it. But you're going to hurt him back.

And you know just the way to do it.

After school Coriolanus walked you home and then went to his penthouse. He was still a bit upset with you and was punishing your bratty behavior by not spending any time with you after school. He gave you the line of, “Believe me, Rapunzel, not spending time with you hurts me more than it hurts you. But, you need to be punished to learn your lesson for what you did wrong today.”

But you didn't care. You made up your mind while he dragged you into the courtyard this morning to hang out with his snobby friends that you're going to get back at him for hurting you by getting your haircut. You know it'll hurt him, seeing you with your haircut, and right now you want him to feel as hollow inside as you do.

So, you go to a salon that's around the corner from your apartment with some money you grabbed from your family's rainy day jar. When the hairstylist brings you back to his station and asks you what you want to do with your hair, you tell him in an unmoving tone, “Cut my hair as short as you can.”

And he does. The hairstylist, Fabian, works his magic on you; gives you a bob. A bob that accentuates your face shape perfectly. The cut even brings a new life to your hair, making it look fuller. The bob even compliments your hair color as well.

You absolutely adore your new haircut. Your mother even paid you a nice compliment on it, which made you smile. She never hands out compliments, so you must look great for her to give you one.

Due to your fight with Coryo the night before, you walk by yourself to school. A part of you is disappointed that you'll have to wait until seeing him at the Academy to show him that you broke his one rule for you. You're still upset with him; you want to show him that you defied him in the hopes that his face will fall and he'll feel sad about not being able to play with your long locks ever again.

When you walk into the Academy everyone stops and stares at you. Everyone, absolutely everyone, is so shocked to see you rocking a bob. You look great with the new hair

But everyone in the school knows that the moment your boyfriend sees it that all hell's gonna break loose.

You walk up to your locker, only to see Coryo’s tall, lanky form leaning against the red metal storage unit. It's clear that he's waiting for you.

But as soon as his baby blues see you, or more specifically your bob, he locks his jaw and shakes his head. Coryo's lush lips puckered, as if he'd eaten something sour, as he brokenly spat, “Your hair…you cut off all of your hair, Rapunzel.”

“Yea.” You smile, only to pettily say, “I know that you prefer it long, but I decided it was time for a change.” Patting your new hair, you add in, “My new stylist at the salon says that I have the perfect features to rock a bob.”

“You wanted a change and decided to chop off all of your hair?” Your boyfriend incredulously asks, his voice a deep scoff. “You couldn't have gotten a blowout or a perm? You just had to cut your hair as short as mine?” Coryo loudly barks as you unlock your locker.

“Cor-” You begin, grabbing your books, only for Coriolanus to cut you off loudly with, “Don’t you fucking dare try to justify your new bob, Y/N.”

You barely had time to place your books into your satchel before Coriolanus is slamming your locker shut while dramatically ranting, “You promised me that you'd never ever cut your hair, but you cut it. You cut it all off even tho you promised not to do it.” His icy eyes shine with heartbreak as he reaches his large hand out to stroke your short bouncy locks that frame your jawline. “You didn't even think about me when you got your bob; didn't care that I love playing with your long hair and braiding it.”

“Coryo…” You heavily sigh. His words cut right thru your petty attitude, just like the way a butter knife cuts butter. Now you feel guilty about your rash decision. But there's no taking it back now, what's done is done. “I'm sorry that I broke my promise to you; I didn't mean to, but I just felt like I needed a new look.”

Shaking his head, causing his halo of light golden curls to rustle around, Coryo mournfully snarls, “But I think you truly did mean to break your promise, Y/N. And I think you were petty enough to break it all because of a fight we had over your pathetic friend.”

Oh shit…he hit the nail on the head. And by the gasp you let out paired with the stricken look on your face.

“I can't believe you broke your promise to be and hacked off all of your beautiful hair all because of a disagreement about your stupid friend. A friend, might I add, that I don't approve of.” Coriolanus loudly huffed, causing the nearby students to stop and stare and the scene unfolding. “You're such a petty little bitch doing that to me when I've been nothing but good to you.”

“Cor-” You started, but the apology died on your tongue whenever he shoved you into your locker, only to tower over you and sneer, “I was a loyal, loving boyfriend that only asked one damn thing from you. I only had you promise not to cut your hair, while other boys would give you a laundry list of things you couldn't do.” His prominent nose pressed into your hair as he took in its smell. A smell that no longer was the freshness of wildflowers, but now was replaced with a lemongrass scent.

A foreign scent to go with a foreign length of hair.

Bringing his lips to your ear, his hot breath fans the side of your face as he lowly, but darkly promises you, “We've been together so long that I'm not going to get rid of you for your broken, but I will be giving you a few spanking for your petty, rebellious behavior.”

“Spankings?...” You trail off, your brows knitted in disbelief. You're 18, not 8. A spanking at your age, and by your boyfriend, is unheard of.

Isn't it?

Coriolanus pulled his face away from your ear, only to nod, “Yes, your punishment will be spankings after school.” Taking your hand in his, he explained, “You can choose whether we do it at my place or yours and what I use: hairbrush or my palm.”

“But-” You tried to reason with him, only to be cut off by your boyfriend's stern, deep baritone telling you, “No buts, baby. You're the one that broke your promise about cutting your hair; knew that I'd punish you for it.”

After your punishment, 4 spankings with the palm of Coryo's hand, he slowly got used to your short hair. He didn't like your bob, but he wasn't going to let it ruin your 2 year relationship. He did make snide remarks every so often about how he prefers you with long hair, how he misses your ‘old’ hair, etc.

Cutting your long, silky locks has been a test of your relationship. So far, you and Coryo are passing.

But what'll happen when reaping day comes around and your boyfriend gets assigned to mentor a girl from 12- a girl with long, dark waves of soft hair that cascades like a waterfall past her shoulder? Only the gods know the answer to that question. And the answer shall be revealed in due time.

But right now you and Coryo have to deal with the aftermath of your petty, spur of the moment haircut. A bob that you rock the hell out of like no other.

Tags: @kuroosbby001 @purriteen @poppyflower-22 @meetmeatyourworst @whipwhoops @bxtchopolis @readingthingsonhere @savagenctzen @ryswritingrecord @erikasurfer @tulips2715 @universal-s1ut @thesmutconnoisseur @squidscottjeans @sudek4l @wearemadeofstardust0 @mashiromochi @gracieroxzy @belcalis9503 @shari-berri @aoi-targaryen @whiteoakoak @spear-bearing-bi-witch @gisellesprettylies @loverandqueenofdragons @qoopeeya @mfnqueen1 @permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88 @v-love @swiftieblyth @joyfulyouthlover @harvey-malfoy @chxrrybomb22 @marvel-hiddles-stark @xjinnix @devils-blackrose @zombicupcake3 @jacesvelaryons @tempt-ress

[bengals-barnesbabe]

Unattainable

one shot

Pairing: LSU!Joe Burrow X Original Fem!Character (unrequited) & LSU!Joe Burrow x BFF!Reader (eventually)

Summary: he’s the lovable quarterback that all women want to get their hands on, but none seem to successfully capture his heart.

Word Count: 1.3K

Warnings: 18+, language, drugs and alcohol

Asking a guy out requires strategy, asking a guy out who has girls that are friends requires a lot more technique, but asking a guy out who has a girl best friend is a hopeless task. You know when you can tell that they’re inseparable from just one encounter, but everyone assures you that there’s nothing going on between them. Yea, a horrible idea to start with. The ones- like your friends- who aren’t pursuing guys in this predicament severely underestimate the task, but continue to push you towards it.

So here you are at a party celebrating his victory on LSU’s football team and in walks Y/n. She spots you and rushes over to where you’re sitting.

“Skylar! I haven’t seen you in so long.”

Because your back is always to me.

“We should hang out sometime.”

A time when you’re not attached to his hip?

“You know what-

Her phone buzzed in her hand before she could finish. “Fuck I need to go, enjoy the rest of the party!”

She gives you a side hug then races back over to the door when in walks the man of the hour. Tall, kind, strong, confident and painfully unattainable, when she’s around nothing in the world exists to him but her and her ridiculously curly hair.

Y/n presses her lips to his ear with an urgent look on her face. Without waiting a second he takes her hand and walks back out. You don’t know what she said to get him to leave with her, but knowing them it could’ve been anything.

So here you are at a party for Joe Burrow, without Joe Burrow. A party you only attended to ask him out at, but here you are sitting by yourself. It was a dumb plan anyway.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The next time you tried to ask him out was at a bar. You were with some of your friends and everyone was having a great time getting drunk and letting loose, when Joe and his friends walked in. You immediately started fixing your hair, outfit, anything he could see if he looked over. The sounds of your friends drunk giggles filled your ears.

“God Sky, just ask him out already.”

“She’s been crushing on him for forever.”

“If you want we could help you.”

Your eyes widened, “Kylie no. No one is doing anything, going anywhere or even looking at him.”

The girl scoffed, “weren’t you just eyefucking him?”

“Maybe you’re just not his type.” A voice joining the table whispered. Gina. She once tried to ask him out as well, when he declined she took it real hard.

“Of course I’m his type, I’m brunette and curvy like his ex.” You point out.

A wicked grin rose on her face, “maybe. But you aren’t a 5 '5-5' 7 curly headed and brown skin like his new girl.”

“They’re just friends.” The words felt like sand coming out your mouth.

“You know what, I’m gonna prove to Gina that every *hiccup* one has a chance.” Kylie stumbled off her stool and walked over to his table, it was more like a baby deer walking for the first time, then fell into him.

“Oh my god.” You cringed for her.

“She’s fucking stupid.”

“Gina, shut the fuck up.”

Over at Joe’s table, some of his friends were laughing at Kylie’s attempts at flirting with him, while y/n just looked amused. They ‘chat’ for a few minutes before you hear Ky say, “would you like to go out sometime?” You know his answer is probably going to be a no, but it’s all about how he answers and it was telling.

His cheeks blush a bit, some from the alcohol and from her question. Then he looks up at Kylie, but glances at y/n, who was now over at the bar, for more than a few seconds. You leave your seat before she comes back to the table. As you walk past the bar y/n smiles and waves at you before taking her drinks back to their table.

Why does she have to be nice?

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Walking into the victory party rushes a wave of deja vu over your body. This entire season felt like one giant celebration which was great for LSU, but you were partied out by now. Kylie invited you because she’s an LSU legacy, so this was a euphoric experience for her. You just wanted to find a random corner and maybe a joint to relax. Luckily there was an entire lounge full of stoners to keep your company.

An hour into the party Kylie came to check on you and immediately started laughing at your current state. “Sky, I think you’re living up to your name right now.”

You smiled up at her with lidded eyes. “This is all I ever want in life Ky.”

“Ok bubs.”

Unbeknownst to the two of you, Joe was on the other side of the lounge with his own drug of choice. You didn’t seem to notice him until his name was being shouted out.

Kylie looks over her shoulder and sees him. “Sky…”

You look around her and there he is, sitting with one leg propped on the other, LSU snapback backwards on his head and a cigar in hand. “He’s so hot, but so not worth it.”

“Since when? You’ve been trying to ask him out all year.”

You shook your head and took a deep breath. “Exactly all year it never worked out because he’s in love with her.”

“Who?”

“Her.”

Looking back over at him, Kylie watches as a girl with waist length braids walks over to him and sits on the couch.

── ⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆ ──

“You asshole, you left me with the Js to get bodied in beer pong.” You pout reaching over for his forgotten cup. “What is this?”

“Don’t laugh.”

Like a reflex, a smile pushes your cheeks up. “Why would I laugh?”

Rolling his eyes. “Because I know you.”

“Fine I won’t laugh. Now tell me.”

“It’s lemonade with a shot of vodka.”

You finally take a sip of it. “It’s not bad, why would I laugh at that?”

“Because I had to cut open a CapriSun for the lemonade.” His face flushed at the confession and tried to look away.

“You’re so cute.” You smiled and turned his head back towards you.

“Yea, that’s a lot coming from the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.” He takes your drink and sets it on the ground then puts out his cigar.

His eyes meet yours as you unconsciously scratch the back of his head with your fingers. “That’s sweet, but I’m not- JOEY!”

Without warning he lifts you up onto his lap, his arms go around your waist and yours wrap around his neck. You feel your face get hot, “what are you doing?”

“What I should’ve done a long time ago.” Then his hands bring your face to his and kisses you.

You freeze for a moment before melting against his soft lips and inhaling the rich spice from his mouth. His cap is knocked off as your fingers glide through his silky hair. A deep groan is sucked into your mouth and his arms tighten their hold on your body.

You’re on a cloud of pure bliss just the two of you until a few whistles are heard from the ground. He pecks your bruised lips once more before you hide in his neck.

“What took you so long?” Your giggles vibrate into his collar.

“You didn’t give me many signs.” You pushed yourself off his shoulder with enough force to almost end up on the ground, luckily his arms stabilized you.

“Joseph.”

“Hey it’s true, it’s not like you were the jealous girl who pushed people away from me. You tried to set me up with Skylar once.” He defends.

“Yea because I’m a nice person and yall would be cute together.”

“See you didn’t make anything easy for me.” He smirked.

Your eyes rolled so far back you could watch the memories of him with other girls. “I can’t with you.”

“Too bad, I’m not going anywhere.”

“I hate-

He ambushes your lips with a fervent desire that ends up with your teeth clashing as you start laughing. “Is this your way of getting me to stop now?”

“Yup.” And kisses you once more.

Main Masterlist Coming Soon

[hotheadedhero]

In Unrequited Love - Part 3

AN: Hey, can I be sappy with y'all a moment? When I first started this story, I was admittedly pretty proud of what I came up with but I never anticipated the amount of love it would receive, so thank you everyone! <3 I also thank you for your patience, you have all been great 😋 With that said, I now bestow the conclusion to this renegade of emotion

Part 1 - Part 2

Donatello x Reader

Pathetic. That’s the one word that keeps ringing in your ears like echoes of a bug-infested cavern, the erratic scuttling serving loudly as your reminder. In no respect towards yourself, you are. All you have done since Casey escorted you back home is wallow in bed, tossing around the agonising reprieve that you are a love-strung puppy awaiting its next pat on the head. That’s why you’ve kept texting Donnie to a minimum; cut yourself off from the source and deal with the withdrawal symptoms. Doing this has you riddled with guilt but what else are you meant to do? Everybody loves somebody, right? But you don’t want to love anybody if it isn’t him. Perceivably dramatic, yes. After all, he is still a valued friend. Currently, the way you see it, it’s best to let yourself get over this puppy-dog sickness before that friendship can continue. Again, dramatic but the only logical option with April so tantalisingly strung in the picture.

Living a life of solitude hasn’t been all bad. For starters, you’ve been able to rest your ankle. Walking on it is still a fair challenge but it’s much more manageable than it was before. These past couple of days have also given you amble opportunity to reflect, as it were. It’s kind of easy to understand why one would fall for the resident bad boy in High School but a mutant turtle living in the sewers? No disrespect to Donnie, of course, but you’re just surprised. You don’t even think about all of that when you think of him. All that comes to mind is the heavenly warmth of his eyes; the soft care in them when you would help him out in the lab or when he’d be tending to one of your bumps. Euphoria’s temptress beckons you in once more in its rose-tinted glaze as you fantasise about some superfluous daydream involving him. The sweet melodies enrapture you in this cosy bubble as you curl up in bed but the sharp force of reality is swift and knocks you down before a peak is seized.

Perhaps trying to get over this infatuation isn’t quite going as planned. Groaning out into the open air, you throw a pillow into your face and continue your muffled whining. This is so unfair. Why can’t he be the one that you don’t want? You just can’t seem to escape the fact that you need him. In your state of disarray, you’ve even tried to figure out how to become the one that he thinks about. To try and curate him into being the other half of what you’ve never had. Closeness. A deeply set solitude that seemed so alien to you before you started hanging out with him. Time is slipping at this point. You swear you must be going crazy because of it. There have been a couple of nights when you swear something - someone - has been lingering outside your bedroom. Yet, when you get up to check, there’s nothing there. Part of you hopes that it’s your long-awaited love checking up on you whilst the other screams that you have indeed lost your mind. 

As it would turn out, you’re not as deluded as you might think yourself to be. Indeed, Donatello has tried many a time to meet you in person but to no avail. Many times he has attempted to knock on your window only for his courage to crawl back into the ground and, alas, he does the same by retreating to his home in the sewers. What is he meant to do? You hardly message him if at all these days. Considering the state of injuries you’d endure, he’s worried about you. He has every right to be worried about you. What more could happen to you whilst unsupervised? He doesn’t want to be overly protective but he has valid grounds for such concern. His only assurance that you’re alright is when he sees your shadow through your curtain at night but that isn’t enough. Of course, it isn’t enough. He wants to care for you and cater to your every need and undying whim. 

If only words could do him justice in articulating how he feels about you but he has never been so eloquently spoken unless it’s with regards to the sciences. He’s yours but you’re not his. He just wants you to be with him. If he had to - if he could - he would take the light out of the stars to help you see that. Anything for you to understand just how much he loves you. These spats of poetry are easy enough to site to himself but he knows he would tumble the moment he does as much as even consider reciting such lullabies to you.

Donnie leans over his desk, head in his hands, and sighs heavily for the umpteenth time this day, ever thankful that the streets have been quieter than usual. It’s not as though he can focus on much of anything. All surfaces of his brain have been overtaken and overruled by the thought of you. At this point, he doesn’t even care if nothing happens between the two of you. More so than anything, he just wants you back in the lair. It doesn’t matter if you’ll never be more than friends, he misses his lab partner. It isn’t as though he’s been particularly subtle in his grovelling, either. Figuring out that he had a crush on April was a no-brainer but this has been much more obvious and much more detrimental. His brothers can’t seem to get him out of this funk as much as they may try. Day in and day out, it’s the same thing: Donatello sulking in his lab, staring off into space and pretending to look busy on one of his gadgets. Desperate times call for desperate measures and if he needs a smack up the head, there’s only one person for the job. 

“Come on, Donnie, when are you gonna stop beating yourself up over this?” Raph asks, palming at the desk and resting his body weight against it. 

“Oh, yes, because I stand so much of a chance with (Y/n),” his brother remarks sarcastically. 

The shorter of the two shifts his attention elsewhere, lips turning to the side shamefully. He never wants to feel bad about poking fun or laying out the hard truths of their shared situation being mutants. The bitter contempt within his brother's voice is fair given the fits of teasing in concordance with the cold facts that mutants and humans can’t be. In hindsight, he and his brothers could have treated the situation with more care. Still, as brash as he can be, Raph hates to see a family member suffering as such. Whilst his methods aren’t all conventional, sometimes it’s necessary. 

Raphael huffs and rolls his eyes. “You know what you need?”

“For you to go away?”

“No,” he responds quickly, stifling the annoyance beneath bated breath, “what you need is to get your head out of this storm cloud. Sitting around and moping all day isn’t gonna change anything. So what if you don’t stand a chance? You won’t know until you try.”

“Thank you, Raphael, your input is valuable as always,” Donnie scorns rudely once more and exhales heavily. “I think I just want to be left alone.”

As heartbreaking as it is, such a wish can be respected, especially by the turtle that frequents isolated periods when he’s in a bad mood. Raph takes his leave and reconvenes with Casey for their night of watch duty. They sit atop an apartment roof, scathing the barren area for trouble that never seems to come. It doesn’t take more than a few minutes before the main matter at hand becomes the point of conversation. 

“He just needs to take action,” Raph claims as he smacks a fist down into his palm. “I know we haven’t exactly been supportive but it’s eating him up. The sooner he gets it over with, the sooner he can be done with the whole thing.”

Casey’s cheeks puff up into his hands and he frowns, only for a wry grin to quickly take his lips. “Or, he just needs the expert to give him a helping hand.”

“Oh? You’ve changed your tune.”

“Hey, as long as he isn’t trying it on with Red, I’m all good.” Jones shrugs and pulls out his phone. “Now, watch a pro at work.”

Just a few blocks down from our duo lies your rotting form within the confines of your bedroom. It feels as though the space has somehow gotten smaller these last few days. You’ve chosen to spread eagle on the floor seeing as the bed has suddenly become uncomfortable, too. Rolling onto your side, you grab your phone and flick through your music, every song you pass turning out to either be a love song or something somber. Thanks, fate. Turning out to be a great ally here. You scroll a little longer in search of a distraction when a notification takes your attention. 

Hockey Junkie: Hows the ankle treatin ya, everyone in the lair misses u

It hasn’t been uncommon for any of the gang to message you but Casey being somewhat sentimental isn’t inherently natural. You suppose it was only a matter of time. You have been quiet for a short while now. If this has been good for anything, at least you know your friends care about you. It’s only fair that you halt your pitiful oath of silence. 

Nerd’s Assistant: I can walk on it fine but I might give it another day or two just to be sure Hockey Junkie: Playing safe, gotcha Hockey Junkie: Forget that crap tho, get your butt down here, the guys think ur dead

You huff a laugh to yourself and rest your weary head against your folded arm as you roll onto your stomach. In truth, you could have returned to the lair a couple of days ago but that sinking sensation sullies your stomach any time you contemplate the idea. All the more reason to stick to this seclusion. Without knowing what to say, you put your phone down and sigh into the carpet. The sweet melodies from your speaker are almost all-encompassing until your phone dings again. Then, again and for a third time before you decide to take a look.

Hockey Junkie: Look lemme be real with you Hockey Junkie: Gap tooth aint doing so hot right now Hockey Junkie: Can you at least give him a visit? Do it for your favorite classmate yeh?

The last cocky comment goes amiss with the main picture here. What’s wrong with Donnie and what has it got to do with you? All you can think on the matter is that he misses having someone to vent about April to. No, that isn’t fair to him. There’s more to him than just being madly infatuated with her. He’s a beautiful person of vision, albeit a little on the awkward side but that just makes him all the more adorable. Seeing as you haven’t replied to a lot of his texts, he must be bloated with a bad conscience. That must be what Casey is getting at. It takes some effort but you convince yourself that Donatello indeed misses his friendly assistant and that it’s high time you make a move. There goes your vow of distancing yourself. Goodbye, vegetative bed rotting.

Walking to the lair after so much time would be alien was the route not learned via muscle memory. There’s still an unsettling energy that becomes all the more poignant with every step you take but you’re putting that down to your nerves. You should probably text first; let him know that you’re coming but you’ve already made it to the large doors of his laboratory. As your fingers trace over the smooth metal, you think about the day that started this all - the day that would mark a start to something so unexpected that it almost doesn’t seem real. This is real. The alarming beat in your chest is all too loud for it to be a dream. It’s now or never. Taking a deep breath, you knock and pull one of the doors to the side, revealing the beaten-down turtle surrounded by unfinished projects and forgotten inventions alike.  

He slumps further and throws a hand up loosely. “I know you’re trying to help but I already said-” He stops speaking when he turns around and sees it’s you. 

You wave awkwardly with a just as clumsy smile to greet him. He springs up to his feet and bounds towards you, going in for a hug, only to stop himself just a few steps in front of you. That’s too much too soon. Your arrival is just so unexpected but by no means is it unwelcome. Many questions. There’s a lot he wants to ask and much more that he wants to say, like how much he’s missed you, how concerned he’s been, or please, never do that again. 

Instead, he says the only thing he can rationally think to, “How is the, uh, ankle doing?”

“Much better. Some positions still hurt but…” You do a little spin on the spot to demonstrate how much you’ve healed, laughing shortly. “... I can walk now at least.”

Donnie laughs as well, glad for that much. “So, no more injuries I need to worry about?” he asks playfully with raised brows. 

“Nah~” you resound melodically, winking with a waggishness. “Sorry to disappoint, Doc.”

Not a disappointment at all. Knowing you’re in good health, at least physically, is a huge relief. Between the shared chortling and the all-together prospect of dismantling the initial awkwardness, it’s great to have you back. It’s good to be back and you’re inwardly scolding yourself for depriving yourself of pleasant company. An aching heart can make you do stupid things and you’re about to realise just how stupid going quiet was. Donatello rubs the back of his head and seems to look everywhere but at you. 

“So how come you never messaged?” he asks slowly. “I got worried.”

There’s the guilt you had expected but you didn’t realise it would be so gut-wrenching. He’s trying to mitigate how hurt he was but it’s clear as day on his face. You contemplate reaching for him as extra consolation, finger flickering towards his. Instead, hold onto your forearm and tilt your head shamefully.

“I’m sorry. I never wanted to worry anyone, especially not you. Just needed some time to myself, I think. You know, reflect on stuff.” Ah, he thinks to himself, Casey stuff no doubt. You blow off a cackle and shrug. “Without sounding like a complete pessimist, I think it’ll be easier to accept that no one could ever fall for me.”

You play it off as a joke - for the most part, that’s how you meant it - but he isn’t having that for a second. His hands jolt for your shoulders unexpectedly. Nothing follows and your wide eyes blink furiously with the abrupt action. 

“Donnie?”

Still, nothing. Gaze turned downwards, he just holds your shoulders, as though he’s thinking long and hard about something. He is. He’s thinking so very hard about this. Even the risk of making a fool of himself can’t scare him out of doing it now. There’s only so long he can carefully tread on this ice before it eventually breaks beneath him and swallows him whole. One might argue that’s not as bad as flat-out rejection but he doesn’t care anymore. It’s time to put those words to the test. 

He breathes deeply to collect himself, to avoid falling into a blubbering mess, and closes his eyes before getting straight to the point. “I know I could never stand any chance with you, as much as I like to pretend that I do, but I’d like it to be known at least. Even if you could never feel the same way, just know that you are loved - that you’re worth loving - and that… I’m in love with you. Don’t ever say stuff like that because it’s not true.”

All you can do is stare. Had he kept his eyes open, he would have witnessed your face shift into every conceivable expression whilst you tried to unpack what had just been said. You don’t know whether to laugh or cry. Both could be an option were you not so stunned to the point of near incapacitation. The lack of response is jarring yet still, he can’t bring himself to look at you. 

“Oh my God,” you suddenly wheeze under a whisper, afraid that if you speak any louder, you’ll surely burst into tears. “Are you for real?” Confused, he goes to answer but you continue. “Donnie,” you breathe more weakly, “I have been hopelessly in love with you for weeks and now I’m hearing that you feel the same? In all this time where I’ve been in my own head. I just thought that- with April-” You cut yourself off and step back, jerking your shoulders away from his clutch. “No. There’s no way. This isn’t funny, Donnie. Just stop.”

There’s a brief period of chronostasis - a beautiful phenomenon in which time stills and he has the space to reflect on what has just sputtered from your mouth. He almost can’t believe it and, it seems, you can’t believe his own words either. He wants to jump with joy, spring with glee, and throw it in his brothers’ faces for ever doubting such circumstances. The overconfidence can wait. At this moment, it’s just the two of you with this air of reconciliation, though dampened by doubt. Your doubt. 

He holds a hand out to you only for it to clasp into a soft fist. It would be easy to act on the defensive but that wouldn’t amount to anything. If it’s evidence you seek, so he shall provide. He walks over to his desk and retrieves a small box - the same box that you had snooped on the other week, the one containing the quaint, little bracelet that is surely meant for April. That’s what you assumed, which is why your heart clenches tightly. He carefully takes it out of its packaging and fawns over it in a moment of vulnerability. You’re awaiting words of inclination towards the redhead but he remains silent. A green thumb skips over the turtle charm and Donatello outstretches his other hand to you. Wearily, you oblige and bestow yours to him. He cups the back of your hand and turns it over so that he may place the delicate-looking jewellery in your palm, making sure the charm is turned up on its backside. You frown at his peculiar behaviour, only to realise that something is inscribed on the turtle’s underbelly: your initials. 

When it all comes to light, your head turns up to meet him again. He’s glanced away shyly but there’s an awkward smile on his lips. One would think that this shared admittance is something to be celebrated with a fantastical display but it feels much too surreal. You have this horrible vision of waking up in your room, finding this to be another one of your crazed dreams. When he finally meets your stare, those fears vanish. Wild imagination or not, you could never replicate that warm glow of those maroon eyes. Even thoughts of being embarrassed about the tears in your own couldn’t ruin this moment. You fawn over the little bracelet again and shimmy it onto your wrist. The exchange is silent but there’s an ambient comfort: an unfamiliar familiarness that paves way between the two of you and closes the gap you’ve both been aching to be rid of. Neither of you is well-equipped with your words, so this alteration best suits the moment. Everything that has come to be may have been born from unrequited feelings for your friends but the birth place doesn’t matter. Value is held in each other’s happiness and simply loving one another unconditionally.

You lean up, lifting yourself on your good foot mostly, and kiss him on the cheek. His inelegant grin drops and you’re sure the tassels of his mask would have flickered up if they obtained sentient life. A primrose hue blossoms his face - one that you become well-acquainted with when he cups your cheeks and presses his lips to your forehead. With you both soaring ever higher, he pulls you into a long-awaited embrace, holding you close as your bodies transcend orbit and go off into the stars. 

Man, he sure does love being a turtle.

[changingplumbob]

Pancakes Household: Chapter 9, Part 9

Are you ready?

Since the infant can't talk her thoughts will be in brackets

Fergus: She’s going to be here after school!

Onyx: *unenthusiastically* Yay

Fergus: I thought you wanted to have a sister

Onyx: I do, I’m just feeling sick

Fergus: You should stay home

Onyx: I don’t know

Fergus: Well I know if you go to school Emi is going to end up following you around screaming you’ve got the plague

Onyx sighs as they know their brother is probably right. Willing the swirls on their face to come through in their voice they call in that they’ll be homebound today.

Eliza: Honey you should be napping

Onyx: I was but I needed some juice

Eliza: Okay well please get back in bed after. If your dad wakes up before you go up tell him I’m walking Ginger before the social worker gets here

Onyx follows their mothers’ instructions and eventually Bob learns Eliza is out when he and Strawberry pass her and Ginger like ships in the night. Bob assures her he’ll be back home in time for their special delivery.

Here she is! Miss Tiana Pancakes, newest member of the stack. First up on the agenda once she’s dropped off is a feeding to stop her getting hungry. Then while Bob goes to set up the kitchen for the new addition Eliza plays with her daughter who may be intense but is no less adorable for it.

Eliza: You are so precious my little Tiana. Me and your daddy are going to love you forever and ever, I promise. Your older siblings will love you to, and we have two cute dogs, I’m sure you’ll like them. They’re fluffy

Tiana smiles as Eliza lifts her up for a kiss. Eliza then takes her to the playmat in the lounge for Bob to spend some time with her.

Bob: Hey there, oh you are cute as a button aren’t you? Can we have some tummy time with daddy, huh?

Very carefully he turns the infant on to her tummy and works on trying to get her to lift her head.

Bob: Come on honey, lift that head

Tiana: *cries* (but my head is heavy)

Bob: Oh dear. Eliza! What do I do

Tiana: *cries* (I don’t like this, put me back on my back)

Eliza: Just keep trying Bob, she’ll learn eventually

Bob: But I feel like I’m torturing her when she cries

Tiana: *cries* (I hate this)

Eliza: It’s just because the others went straight to toddlers

Tiana: *cries* (why won’t he turn me over)

Bob: I don’t want to be the bad guy, can’t you do it

Eliza: *sighs* Okay I’ll try later, how about giving her a nap

Bob: Yes! Come here Tiana, Daddy’s got you, yes I do

Tiana: *sniffles*

Bob cradles Tiana and softly whispers while rocking her. It doesn’t take long for the infant to fall asleep, it’s been a big day for her to.

Eliza: There Bob, not so scary now is she

Bob: She’s perfect, our daughter

Strawberry: *yaps* New human! Pink bow! Oh we’re twins

Tiana: *panics and cries* (Loud noises! What the heck is that? Does it want to eat me)

Bob: Oh no, she’s awake

Eliza: Here, I’ll take her. Think you can handle being the bad guy with the dogs

Bob: *laughs* yes. Here Tiana, here’s your mother. You’ll be safe with mother, yes you will

Tiana: *grins* (It tickles)

In Eliza’s arms Tiana suddenly remembers the scary yapping dog and begins crying all over again.

Tiana: *cries* (I’ll be eaten, goodbye cruel world)

Eliza: *shushes* There there Tiana, its okay. Strawberry is a bit loud isn’t she, don’t worry she’s just saying hello because she likes you.  Do you see, she has matching bows

Tiana doesn’t understand any of this but Eliza’s voice begins to soothe her and she feels calmer.

Eliza: See now, isn’t it better when we’re not crying huh? We can find something to smile about, yes we can

Tiana beams up at Eliza happy again.

Eliza: Now I know you’ve had a very big day but can we try to practice lifting that beautiful head

Eliza rolls Tiana on to her tummy and begins encouraging her to try and lift herself up. A couple of times she comes close but before long the crying starts again.

Tiana: *cries* (I just want to be an infant forever)

Eliza: Oh honey, it’s okay, it’s okay

Gently Eliza rolls Tiana onto her back and makes some funny faces until the young one is smiling again.

Eliza prepares some formula and gives Tiana a feeding before bed. The little girl guzzles away happily until it gets to burping time. When Eliza pats her back Tiana sicks up some of the formula on her shirt.

Eliza: Uh oh, do we have a happy spitter

Tiana: *whimpers* (If I am why does my animation look sad)

Eliza: There there honey, are you ready for bed? Mother will get you to bed

Previous ... Next

[readychilledwine]

Flight Patterns pt 5

Summary - After years of hushed whispers and leads, Azriel has finally found Cassian's lost sister, Aerilyn. What he found with her was unexpected, though.

Warnings - injury, mention of Azriel's job, Amarantha, story takes place pre-UTM, loose editing (aka my friend who does my edits is currently arc reading for someone so I am not bugging her until she is done. Liz will catch uncaught errors as she looks with fresh eyes later)

A/N - Did I change how I wanted something to go in this story? Yes. Was it so I could include a starfall scene where *other things* may happen? Also, yes.

P.s. Pieces of You will be out later tonight still. I apologize for the delay. My tiny human was super snuggly last night and today, so her and her many rolls won.

✨️ Series Masterlist ✨️ Rhysand Masterlist ✨️ Master Masterlist ✨️

Aerilyn felt like she was floating. She wasn't sure what she had been given, or if something had coated the arrows that struck her, but she felt as though she wasn't in her own body, let alone this plane of existence.

She could hear him, though. Hear him whispering to her. It was like he was calling her home, calling her back to him. His voice felt like a tether, pulling her from a pit. “Come back to me,” Aerilyn felt that tug at her heart, felt him in her mind. “Come home to me.”

Mor watched as her fingers twitched, sending the image to Rhysand. “Keep fighting, Ari,” she took Aerilyn's hand in hers. “Come home to us.”

-

Rhysand watched the red-haired general as she studied the male he currently had on his knees. “I do not recognize him.” Lie, Azriel's voice rang through his head, echoing in anger and promising death. She lies.

“Odd,” the High Lord said slowly, “He sang your praises when I asked what he was doing in my court, and all the way up in the Moutains.” The attack leading to Aerilyn's injury had been enough for the High Lord to have Amarantha stopped and held in Hewn City.

He refused to risk her getting beyond that point and restricted her access any further into Night. It had been met by a pout from the general, claiming she was being held despite her being there to bring a message of peace.

Now, her face was a mask of calm and seduction, one Rhysand saw straight through as her shields temporarily dropped in anger of her spies' treason. “I can assure you I do not know who this is or why he had bloodbane weapons with symbols of Hybern.”

Rhys didn't allow his face to shift from the look of indifference he had. She had unknowingly given him knowledge in her slip up, and he sent it immediately to Madja. He, however, didn't give her a single drop of knowledge as Azriel in his shadows swept the spy from the room, dragging the poor male to whatever holding cell Cassian was waiting in.

Cassian had been feral when they came back to Rhys and Amren holding Aerilyn down as she shook, blood pouring from her mouth and nose. Cassian wanted blood in turn for what happened to his sister, and this male would be the last to deliver. “As much as I doubt that to be true, it would be wrong of me to turn you away if your intended purpose is peace negotiating,” Rhys paused as 5 guards appeared. “They will escort you to your chambers for your stay. Until I know for sure there is not someone with alternative motives in your travel party, they will stay where they are.”

Amarantha seemed to smirk with something Rhys figured was glee as she studied his body and face, “Who knew such a pretty thing could be so cruel.”

“You have no idea how cruel I can be.”

Mor had brought Aerilyn to Rhysand's room at the Moonstone Palace. The illyrian female had tucked herself into his bed instantly, curled up and asleep under the power of one of Madja’s tonics to aid with pain. She hardly felt Cassian beside her, plaiting her long dark hair into braids to protect it as she slept. Not that they knew what was in her system, everything clicked into place, allowing Madja to properly treat her.

The inner circle was gathered in the room, discussing the best course of action. Aerilyn would be upset the conversation happened without her again, but it was a risk Rhysand was willing to take to protect her. “I do not want to risk her knowing about my family, especially Aerilyn and the dragons,” Rhys looked towards the window, sighing as he did. “But Keir will quickly reveal the existence of all of you, minus her.”

Rhysand's eyes were locked in his mate's sleeping form, the soft rise and fall of her chest as she took clean deep breaths for the first time in 3 days. He'd sooner sent Aerilyn and her dragons away. Risking Hybern getting to her somehow was too dangerous. Mor sipped her wine, clearing her throat to pull Rhys from his thoughts. “She already knows about me. She knows we are family and I helped the Night Court armies. I can safely go with you.”

Rhys nodded. “Azriel can hide in the shadows.” Az nodded, still wiping blood from his hands as he did. “Did he say anything else?”

The spymaster shrugged. “He cried for his mother,” Azriel felt his lip twitch up slightly, “Nothing has broken him yet, but we know how Hybern tortures their spies to prevent that.”

Rhys nodded, his eyes meeting Cassian's. It was an unspoken command, one that led to Amren and Cassian glancing at each other. The ancient being moved to the other side of Aerilyn. “We will protect our future lady.” Cassian watched Aerilyn's soft smile appear, then the ghost of a whisper of Rhysand's name. “You should spend some time with her, Rhys.”

Rhys shook his head. “I will not risk her scent on me before dinner.”

Cassian held Aerilyn while Rhys entertained the Hybern general. He had no interest in politics or the games right now. His only concern was his sister. He had her tight against him, telling her her favorite bedtime story of a princess who couldn't sleep due to a pea under her mattress. He could remember her laughter, the squeals of delight, as he and their mother would reenact the story to her. It all seemed so distant now. Like memories of a past life.

A defenseless boy stripped from his mother. A girl, barely more than a babe, ripped from her home and left for dead. Had he left a single person in that village alive, it would have felt like poetic justice to him. He would be their commander and general, and his sister Lady Night.

He knew that day would come, the day his sister would have command over him. He was watching her and Rhysand, watching that instant chemistry and attraction blossom. Rhysand loved her at first sight, Cassian and Azriel both knew that based on his anger.

Hybern had been sniffing around for awhile, and Aerilyn appearing when she did complicated things for Rhysand. He now had more than just his court, more than his family, he had a mate. A powerful mate with weapons they would not even be able to use without risking war with the other courts. A mate capable of carrying an illyrian babe. Aerilyn's eyes were no longer hardened when she looked at Rhys. Instead they had softened and were filled with wonder and affection. He had also noticed they were touching each other more. Cuddling in Rhysand's office from time to time.

It was odd how his intuition as a brother should have been to fight Rhysand, to threaten him, but instead, Cassian found himself praying that Aerilyn accepted the bond soon. If she accepted the bond, Cassian would never lose her again. And who better to be her mate than the one male capable of misting armies away to protect her.

Rhysand entered the room late into the Night, sending Cassian and Amren away as he did. He was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to get out of his fine clothing and hold Aerilyn.

He winnowed them back to the cabin, knowing she preferred the Forest to the stonewalls. He prayed the mountain air would help her heal. He began his mission again, wiggling into her dreams and whispering to her, calling to her. He had hoped the command of her high lord would pull her soul back from wherever she was.

The whispering began again in Aerilyn's mind. That pulling being came insistent, ripping her from the darkness she was in into a starlight bathed flower field. Rhys was there, waiting for her as she walked to him, settling next to him among the wildflowers. “Where are we?”

Rhys shrugged, finally looking at her. “I was hoping you could tell me. You created this place after all. It's in your mind.”

Aerilyn looked around, admiring the overgrown grass, the tall florals in bright reds, blues, purples, and whites. She deemed it her safe place. Somewhere she must go in her dreams to relax. She watched the stars racing across the sky, glittering in greens, teals, and soft pinks.

“I did not realize you had witnessed Starfall before,” Rhysand laid back, pulling her with him. “It is my favorite holiday.”

Aerilyn placed a hand on his chest, huddling into his warmth. “I have only read about it.”

“If you wake up, you will see if soon,” he tilted her head towards his, “you have to wake up, though.”

Aerilyn shot awake, hand on her chest as another rough tug rattled her body and mind. Rhysand sat shirtless in front of her, whispering a soft thank you to the Mother. Her hand was instantly on Rhysand's cheek, hazel eyes meeting his as he came closer and put his forehead to hers. “Good morning, Darling.”

What happened next was the last thing he expected, the last thought in his mind. He hardly even had time to react. Aerilyn's hand moved to the back of his neck, pulling him down to her before crashing their lips together in a heated kiss.

Home, she whispered into his mind. You are home.

General Taglist:

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[yloiseconeillants]

MAYNCIENT :: Day 10 - Promise

"I told you I'd be back for them."

Mnemosyne (angel) belongs to @hermits-hovel. The explanation of this sequence got *very* long so I'm putting it under a cut but MASSIVE ARIADNE LORE DUMP LMAO

Amaurotine social conventions discourage the expression of extreme emotions, which could make the processing of things like grief and alienation difficult when there isn't a cultural framework to acknowledge those feelings in the first place. Ariadne, who lost her brother, Midas, in an accident, has a very difficult time adjusting to his loss - most Amaurotines have only experienced death through the deliberate choice of returning to the Star, which is universally considered a beautiful and respectable event. This disconnection between the grief that Ariadne felt at his passing was at odds with the pride that she was expected to show, and she withdrew from almost every aspect of her life - stopped going to theatre rehearsals, barely showed up to her classes, avoided her friends and loved ones (there was a fairly dramatic breakup with Hades at this point after he refused to fetch her brother from the Aetherial Sea - he didn't understand why she felt so despondent about Midas' death which. Boy howdy does that become a Plot Point Later) (he did try to help but he absolutely was not equipped to do so).

Over time and with the very patient help of her mentor, Halmarut, she slowly rejoined society after graduating by taking on a student-teacher job at Halmarut's personal request. She still wasn't fully comfortable being open with other people after her withdrawal and instead developed a sort of party-girl persona to interact with others. As long as she was having Fun, she didn't have to think about everything she had lost in the meantime. She met the rest of her eventual friends and lovers in the GAP at this point, starting with Timoria, who she first met in a bathroom at a party while she was crying and Mori and Ari's woo-girl energy fed off each other as they navigated Amaurot.

Of course, new interpersonal relationships and dynamics means More Feelings and Ariadne still hadn't really ever stopped grieving so she ends up easily overwhelmed by her emotions, which caused her to act out in erratic and sometimes self-destructive ways, including the ever-green clown daughter favorite Causing Problems on Purpose. When the inevitable consequences of these actions backfire on her in small or less small ways, she tries to drown them out by escalating the FUN and attempting to block out her own memories to get through the day, first by narcotics and when that doesn't work, she pressures her friend Mnemosyne, whose literal job is preserving memories, into the experimental field of removing memories. She isn't necessarily just banking sad memories, but anything that causes her to feel what she determines is Too Many Feelings.

(yes we're doing a self-inflicted eternal sunshine of the spotless mind kind of thing uwu)

Mnemo is uncomfortable with this, as it's not really what he is supposed to be doing with his powers, but Ariadne assures him that she will eventually come back to collect the archived memories, which Mnemo preserves in a crystal he developed for this very purpose. She spends years not coming back for those memories, though, instead compounding the problem by increasingly dropping memories off with Mnemo until it becomes clear to her girlfriend, Minthe, that something is terribly wrong with Ariadne's memory. Minthe confronts Ari about this, and Ari promises that she'll go and fetch the memories from the crystal (we've been affectionately calling it Ariadne's cringe compilation crystal) (there's a playlist).

Going back for the memories had its own issues and inevitable fallout, but Ariadne did try to regain those memories and work through them with her friends - one at a time, based on what she feels she can deal with. She doesn't manage to get all of them back before the End of Days - meaning that there's a memory crystal floating around with some Very Strong Feelings that's a repeated McGuffin through the eras in blorboverse.

ok i did it i wrote up the lore huzzah thank you for reading

bonus: also also this whole thing about her brother dying is why ariadne is obsessed with death and rot and decomposition and amaurot's refusal to acknowledge what is ugly about death thank you i have written enough

[impossiblesuitcase]

hii, how are you? I was wondering if you could write something like Cinder being sick or in pain and Kai taking care of her, I've had this in my head for so long!

Drowning. She's back in the water, thrashing her arms for leverage, her ears filling and throwing her balance into a blender. The iciness covers her arms, her legs, her spine. She gasps and splutters, hoping to fill her lungs with whatever she can. Something insidious enters her throat; not water, but noxious smoke. It incinerates the water in its heat.

The lake empties out beneath her. She screams as she plummets but doesn't feel the impact. Her fall is cushioned by the fire that rises up to catch her.

Cinder gasps, limbs clawing to get out of this hell pit when they are pushed back down firmly.

"It's okay, you're okay."

She doesn't know where the voice comes from. Her mind is still coiled to attack, but her body becomes limp. It trusts the voice. Against her will, she allows the elements to overtake her. Somehow, the assuring voice has snuffed out the flames and dried up the riptides.

Cinder wakes in a haze. A hand is pushing hair off her brow and a damp cloth is pressed against her temple.

She instinctively tries to sit up.

"Hey, easy there," says the same voice. "Lie back. You're okay."

His face is hovering above hers when she opens her eyes. "Kai?" she croaks out, almost inaudibly.

"Hi, my love," he murmurs, smiling down at her. "You gave me a good fright today."

She weakly removes his hand from her forehead. It's hot and clammy, and she wants it cupping her cheek instead. When he allows her to move it and her forehead is still burning, she realises that perhaps it's not his hand that's feverish.

"Where am I?" she asks.

He adjusts her blankets and she shivers. "On your ship. I didn't want to move you just yet. Once you're better I'll get you inside the palace."

Vaguely, she collects her bearings. The room is dimly lit and yet still too bright for even her bionic eyes to handle. She forces them to focus. They are in her quarters on the personal ship used for Lunar's Earthen ambassador.

"You've been working too much," Kai reprimands gently. "Going from one climate to another when you're already fighting a cold is a recipe for a fever. It used to happen to me when I was travelling with my parents on diplomatic missions."

A fever. That's what the freezing and burning was. Cinder had felt run-down the past couple of days, and today was going to be her rest day. But she must have collapsed, because her last memory was half-consciously telling the pilot to take her home.

Her crew must know her well enough to know that her home was no longer Luna.

Kai gets some water into her, teasing, "Thank you, by the way, for getting me out of a tedious meeting. Taking care of my sick fiancée is a great excuse."

Right. Kai hadn't known she was coming. He was probably busy. But a muddled Cinder is a selfish one. "Stay with me, please," she begs incoherently, grasping for his hands, "don't go back to the meeting."

She feels a kiss on her fiery skin. "I'm not leaving you, love."

She drifts off again. When she wakes, she will recall how Adri had been so attentive to Peony when she had the flu. Feeding her soup, ensuring she took all her medicines, tucking her into bed with a kiss. Later that week when Cinder caught the same bug, she was confined to her room with an unempathetic "get over it".

Now, cared for and loved and treasured for the first time in her life, Cinder almost wants to stay sick for longer.

--

This is directly inspired by me having covid right now. Which is also the reason it's probably word vomit. I have a fic coming up eventually which delves more into this theme but here's a short fic for the moment.

After writing this I actually thought, sure, Kai taking care of Cinder while she's sick is sweet, but what about Iko taking care of her? Or Cress? Or Thorne? Now that I want to read.

[hantenguclonesimp-minuszoha]

Request: what if the hantengu clones (+ the main body and zohakuten ofc) found their wife murdered‼️

The backstory: The demon slayer corps found out that one of the twelve Kizuki (Uppermoon 4) had a wife and decided to kill her.

𝓢𝓽𝓸𝓵𝓮𝓷...

Hantengu x Fem!Reader [Angst]

Synopsis: He has a feeling that she should be moved. It's a tactic he always used if he's been in one place for too long since it would get on the Demon Slayers' radar. Oh well... Is that what the humans call 'gut feeling'?

Warnings: Blood, Corruption, surprisingly short?

Note: This has been on my mind for a while, you vile person. But, I love me some good angst also since it's been a good long while. Anyways, enjoy, babe. ♡⁠(⁠˃͈⁠ ⁠દ⁠ ⁠˂͈⁠ ⁠༶⁠ ⁠)

"D-Darling, I believe it's best if we move...!" Hantengu tried to coax her into joining him on his travel before he leaves for his mission. "Nonsense! Look at how long it's been and not a single slayer or demon has found me!" But she was too stubborn to go, likely because she enjoyed this area and because it was closest to home. She, like many other humans, tend to wave things off because she's either too caught up with her feelings or has gotten used the feeling of safety. Nevertheless, something in his mind told him this place wasn't safe for him or his wife anymore. Especially her. "Go, you're just a little paranoid today. The mission will be fine. I will be fine." She assured him, taking his hand and placing a kiss on his temple. "Go now, those slayers will quite literally not kill themselves, you know?" Perhaps she's right. Maybe he's being too paranoid and it's just him worrying too much. She seemed to be perfectly fine like usual and it isn't the first time he's worried about staying in one place too long yet remained because he had no other option or had to by order of Muzan. The short demon whimpered quietly, having concluded that it was just him overthinking things before he then left for his mission.

He'd return hours before sunrise, that much is certain. He can't keep his lady waiting now, can he? And besides, he's had little to no time to spend with her, a date night would do him some good and would make her quite happy! The demon went off towards the south where he the Demon Slayers are currently travelling.

"I say we execute her! She's a traitor to humanity for keeping a demon in her household much less being married to it!" A bold and brazen voice yelled out in anger. How could a human peer live happily with a demon? The bane of humanity's existence? How dare she! "We mustn't act irrationally. Who knows why she's still with him? She could potentially be under some spell." A softer more compassionate voice countered. The thought of executing a human, one of the very things they the slayers protect is revolting. "She's been married to that thing for nearly five years and is well-aware of the crimes he commits!" The brazen one persists. He believes that someone such as herself is no longer apart of humanity as she's committed the greatest sin one can commit and that is aid a demon. "Oyakata-sama himself said—" "I don't give a damn! He's a fool if he can't see that she's a traitor to us all and if you won't help me, I'll do it myself!" His peers tried to stop, tried to reason with him that killing the woman will get him executed and possibly hunted down by the Kizuki she's married to which result in death and death only. It's an Upper Rank demon for crying out loud, is he stupid?

It appears so... His peers tried to stop him from committing a mistake that would get him killed but it was futile, he had gone for the poor woman. They weren't going to stop him, it was too late and they were too scared. The slayers feed back to the Corps while the rogue went his own path – the path towards his grave.

"Urogi!!!" Sekido yelled, commanding Urogi to be rid of the group of slayers trying to ambush him while he focuses on the main threat. A hashira. And to think such a young boy, no older than fifteen, is able to take them on so well. It's infuriating. Urogi did as he was told and killed the pests with little effort as they then focused on their main target. It was difficult and Zohakuten had to get involved, though from there on out was smooth sailing and as expected, they finished the mission hours before sunrise. Zohakuten took Hantengu and used his dragons to get back as fast as he could. Like Hantengu, he had a feeling that he needed to get there, as if somebody was trying to hurt her, but then, thought back to her words and tried to brush it off as him being paranoid. He travelled stealthily, using the forest as his camouflage until he reached the populated town, where he would have to travel by foot.

Once he arrived at his destination, he swiftly entered his home through the back though the instant he stepped foot into the house, he knew that something was not right. "Y/N?!" He called to his beloved wife, quickly searching the house with his eyeblinking speed. "Y/N!!!" At this point, Urami was out, searching for their shared wife as well. He had gone upstairs to check if she were hiding in one of the rooms, having taken note at some of the wrecked furniture, breaking down doors and flipping things upside-down. Zohakuten was downstairs, trailing the scent of blood... her blood... He knew where it was coming from. He could feel where she was and yet he refused to look, as if in denial of what could—is. Just then, the clone felt true fear for the first time. He entered the spacious kitchen, peeking his head around the counter before his eyes landed on a pair of legs. Her legs. Despite his monstrous strength and lighting fast speed, in that moment, Zohakuten found himself barely able to move at the sight, only taking small steps at the pace of a snail.

"Zohakuten! Did you find—" Urami froze instantly, not only at the smell, but also at the sight. He pushed past Zohakuten towards the corpse he saw and to his despair, it was was the one human he cherished so. He picked up the corpse which finally revealed to Zohakuten that corpse was his wife. It was silent. Blood dripped from her mouth, her eyes were open, and her injuries were... too severe for a human to handle. Slit throat, cut tongue, stabbed in the solar plexus... Their poor, poor wife. She was killed brutally and unjustly, afraid and alone as she choked on her own blood, likely hoping and praying her husband would save her, and yet, nobody came. What did she do to deserve this? What did his innocent and kind wife do to deserve this? After a few long and quiet moments, Zohakuten immediately snapped out of his stunned state and tried to check the room for any hints whatsoever on who might have committed such an unforgivable crime. And then, they saw it. The kanji "Destroy", painted with her own blood. The very same kanji they see on the humans that pester them and likely her last sign for him before she died.

"Those repugnant scum..." Zohakuten hissed softly, pupils constricting at the mere sight of the kanji and his hatred flaring to a level even he has never felt before. Urami stood there, wide-eyed as his large hand rested on his poor wife's face before, trying to thoroughly process that the Demon Slayers were the ones who had committed this crime. Demon Slayers... Aren't they the ones who boast about the fact that they do not eat or harm humans in anyway? That they defend them with their lives from "evil demons" like himself? As the realisation lingered in the air, he too began to feel strong levels of resentment that he has but unlike Zohakuten, his expression remained unchanging. That was until he felt her slip away from his touch. He immediately turned to see who it was that dared to take the only thing he has left of her only to be met with his silently sobbing, sorrowful counterpart. "My d-darling..." The other three were present as well. Sekido was speechless and so were the other two. They could take no pleasure or joy out of this... Their wife was dead. Aizetsu was the only one who properly displayed what Hantengu felt the most in this situation as his crying became more apparent and his tears stained her face.

"I should not have left you..." Aizetsu continued his hopeless muttering as he embraced her corpse while the others stared in silence. To Aizetsu, everything was gone. Everything that he as a demon could ever cherish was ripped away from his ever depressing grasp, that being the one true thing that made his everlasting sorrow a bit more bearable. His darling, his love, his better half...

My wife...

The tears of his still and broken heart rushed out like a raging ocean. His sobs increased in volume as his shaking hand caressed her still beautiful face, streaming down from his face to hears. "M.. My love... M-My beautiful.. No..." He couldn't stop his choked sobs and constant hiccups even if he tried, simply burying his face into her now pale and cold, dead neck. She who was once so warm and radiant, now nothing more than the average corpse he had seen of both humans and slayers. "C-Come back to me..." But the demon was no fool. He knew she would not ever be brought back to life.

"We can... We can turn her into one of us... right?" Urogi tried to ask but was quickly shut up by a blank stare from Sekido, which answered his question. "But how? She'll be able to resist it! Even now! Who knows how long it's been?! We can't leave her!" "The blood is almost an hour old... With what system will she fight back?" Sekido can understand why Karaku and Urogi are in denial but coming up with worthless solutions will most certainly flare his anger. It quickly died down when he the scent of her corpse entered his nose as the realisation that his she is dead would sink in once more. She was gone. Stolen from their loving arms and for what...? For what? FOR. WHAT. Taken by those slayer scum who pride themselves in protecting their human peers! Yet, look now! His wife was human too! Was she the exception because she was married to a demon?! Was that to them a way of betrayal?! Now, it was his turn for his anger to flare in overwhelming levels. "Let her go." He stated firmly, as if he was over her death just like that.

"What?" "No!" Aizetsu was first to refuse only hugging her corpse tighter while the others stared at him in shock, as if he had grown another head. "Let. Her. Go." Everybody had to object against that decision and ask why, especially Urami. He did not bend as easily to Sekido's will as the others and would refuse until he got an answer. "Standing here and feeling sorry for not having been there to save her will do nothing." Sekido states coldly, gripping his khakkhara tighter, giving Urami and the others his coldest, most brutal glares. "She was our wife—" "And she's dead." The others were absolutely in shock at his near merciless behaviour until they realised why he was acting like this. Revenge. "This entire town and the next will pay for it." Sekido announced with not an once of mercy present in his voice. No men, women or children will be spared and a point will be made. These Demon Slayers are as evil as Hantengu had said them to be, as their Lord Muzan had painted them to be and he intends on getting justice for his beloved wife.

After much struggle, Aizetsu eventually let up, closing her eyes and embracing her body one last time, muttering a soft apology and a declaration of his love for her – however his brain allows him to feel that which he is not. They had not intended on burying her just yet, though. Sekido had cleaned her up, washed every ounce of her blood off of her body, bandaged the stab wounds and stitched her slit throat closed before he dressed her in her favourite kimono. After he finished cleaning and dressing her, he took her hand and brought the back of her palm to his mouth, gently pressing his lips against it. "Wait for us, my bride. No matter how long it takes. Please wait for us." That was the only time Sekido had ever allowed such a vulnerable part of himself to be free as in that moment, his anger was almost non-existent. He felt only a dull and heavy feeling all over his body but especially in his chest. A sort of pressure. He didn't know what it was.

He left her in her bedroom and joining the others. The only one who wasn't there was the main body. He had been waiting for Sekido to leave so he could be alone with his wife, this moment being on of the few times he isn't hiding within Urami and simply remains out in his normal size, clutching his deceased wife's hand. "I-I-I'll... k-kill them.. for you..." That was his promise to her before he broke out into never-ending sobs, clutching her hand and hoping she would miraculously wake up despite her fatal injuries. He, Aizetsu, and Zohakuten were in denial the most...

That very same night, the entire town was slaughtered mercilessly within a singular hour. No men, women, or children were spared. Not even the animals. And the town after, and the town after. That night, the true unfiltered power of an Upper Moon demon was shown. Neither of the nine current Hashiras would ever defeat the once madly in love demon now scorned. Not the period before, or the one before that. Any slayers and Hashira that were sent to deal with the Upper Four were killed in mere minutes and devoured like a delicacy. Lord Muzan himself caught onto to the reckless behaviour of Upper Four, but allowed him to do so simply because he eyed his power.

From that day on, he never spoke of her again. Even thinking about her was far too painful and the image of her discovered by Zohakuten and Urami even more. He was back to serving his Lord Muzan mindlessly...

Note: You, person, are responsible for the absolute outrage that will happen.

Taglist:

@hawnkoii @fallstreakfeathers @dreamcorechild @lumitylovepill @hantengus-fuckass-clones @sunbrokenswords @georgette-mademoiselle @hearts4mitsuri @star-dust-wanderer @shytastemakerthing

[dizzybizz]

teru minamoto you make me sick

[orangefuckingjuice]

late to TDOV but

I love you trans women I love you trans men I love you nonbinarys and genderqueers and multi gender people and people with their own unique relationships to their gender that might not make sense to others I love you intersex trans people I love you trans gays and lesbians and bisexuals and asexuals I love you all

many blessings and celebration and love to you all!! you are beautiful and wonderful and worthy of the many joys life will give you living authentic to who you are :^) 💗💞💖

🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍⚧️

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ how long does it take to fuck your brother's best friend? (four whole days)

synopsis. suguru comes home to visit from college at the same time you do—except he brings satoru along. this is going to be a long break

word count. 8.5k (i am tired of this tomfoolery)

contents. college! au, brother's best friend! satoru, fem! reader, minors do not interact, three-year age gap (you're both early twenties), slightly mean satoru (when you’re kids), slight enemies to lovers, jealous! satoru, mentions of reader having an ex-bf, male masturbation, satoru is taller + carries reader, cunnilingus, fingering, handjobs, unprotected sex, brief mentions of alcohol (satoru), creampie, pet names (baby + sweetheart), not proofread i could not be bothered i’m sorry

notes. this was not supposed to be this long bye i am embarrassingly down bad for the blue-eyed freak

everyone knows that where there is satoru, there is suguru—and likewise, where there is suguru, there is satoru.

they’re a bit of a packaged deal, really. satoru befriends your brother in what you think must be some twisted stroke of luck—there is no way suguru would lower his standards for some rich bastard who’s had life made for him since the day he was born. but apparently, he does, and you’re stuck with a white-haired nuisance in your house at least once a week. for years.

you’ve known satoru since he was a whiny, snot-faced, and spoiled little brat. back then, he used to call you toothless—you were six, it’s normal for children at the age of six to lose a few teeth. just because satoru is nine and has grown his teeth back doesn’t mean he escaped the toothless phase himself—but satoru is just a jerk like that, pushes your buttons, and calls out your insecurities to get a good laugh.

you don’t smile with your mouth open even once around him that summer, not until suguru assures you that regardless of how many teeth you have, you have a lovely smile.

when you’re twelve, puberty does its thing, and now you’re stuck with acne-prone skin—also a normal occurrence for people your age, but satoru makes sure to point out the giant pimple on your forehead every time he sees you. you make sure to let him know his haircut is as awful as his sense of style, and suguru tries his best not to choke himself with his charger as you both bicker.

satoru is gone that entire summer for a family cruise that you’re sure costs double your house—he comes back frighteningly taller than you remember him within the span of just a few weeks.

it’s been like that since you were kids. he comes over, finds a new thing to pick on through his smug grins and smooth chuckles, and you fume as you bite back with just as snarky rebuttals. he makes sure to never cross the line of going too far—it’s more for suguru’s sake, you’re fairly sure—but stays right on the dot of getting just under your skin.

he’s annoying. a jerk. a rich snob. a privileged dickhead. he’s rude and disrespectful, with no tact, let alone any semblance of respect. you don’t understand what could possibly make suguru want to hang around such a douchebag, but suguru cares about satoru—and satoru has always been there for your brother.

you don’t understand it, but you respect it. as long as he doesn’t wet your entire bathroom sink and mirror in the mornings after he stays over, you suppose you can coexist.

but you haven’t seen him in ages—not outside of suguru’s instagram stories and posts. it’s been a long few years since the two of them have left for college, and by the time you leave too, life has its funny way of working, and, well…you don’t bump into him anymore. it doesn’t occur to you that satoru is not the same guy you used to know until you come back home to visit after your second year of college.

“suguru,” you call, “i borrowed your hoodie. but you can have it back—”

you cut yourself off when you open the door to your brother’s room, and lo and behold, stands a very shirtless gojo satoru, the white-haired and blue-eyed asshole you’ve had to deal with since childhood. except he’s way taller than you remember him—just how much does this guy grow, exactly? his shoulders are broader and….and since when did he have abs? there’s a small tattoo just under his collarbone—when did he even get that? his hair is also longer, just enough to fall over his forehead and curtain those striking blue eyes of his.

he looks…well, handsome. very handsome, in fact. dangerously handsome that it catches you by surprise as you blink.

he’s still shirtless, holding his t-shirt in his hands as he grins.

“hey, toothless,” he greets, voice deeper than the last time you heard it—but it still sounds relatively the same. you think you’d always recognize satoru’s voice, whether you’d like to or not. and, of course, he just has to still use that ridiculous nickname after all these years. “long time no see.”

“i have all my teeth now—i have for a long time, y’know. and put a shirt on, you freak,” you huff, rolling your eyes, “where’s suguru?”

“what, you don’t enjoy the view?” he motions at his bare torso, like the shameless bastard he is, “most girls love this view—”

“and yet, you’re still single,” you cut him off, staring at him pointedly.

he grins impossibly wider, tugging his shirt over his body swiftly—you have to exercise all ounces of control not to gulp as you watch his biceps flex.

“keepin’ track of my love life?” he wiggles his brows, “i know older men can be appealing but have a little class. your poor brother would lose his shit if you went after his best friend—”

“satoru,” you sigh, pinching your nose, “do you age backward or something? how are you still this obnoxious after so long?”

“i practice in the mirror,” he winks, “it’s my charm.”

“that’s hardly charming,” you roll your eyes, “anyway, whenever suguru comes back, let him know i left his hoodie, yeah?”

“sure,” he chuckles.

and then you close the door as you leave—right before you stop, pause, and open it up again as you’re sticking your head back in when you make a shocking realization.

“wait, how long are you here for?” you ask, eyes wide.

he has the audacity to look smug as he taps his chin and pretends to think—“oh, y’know. just the rest of break. my old man took my mom on some trip, so i’m killing time here,” he shrugs.

great. lovely. wonderful. just what you needed.

you wish he’d drop dead—maybe suguru will finally be forced to go outside of his one-man circle and actually befriend some respectable people.

“you can’t just stay at your place?” you hiss, “it’s certainly big enough.”

“well, why be lonely in an empty home when we can have fun here?” he hums, “consider yourself lucky—you get to be housemates with me for a—”

“keep to yourself,” you warn, cutting him off again through narrowed eyes and a dangerous glare—satoru only looks more amused, raising his hands up in surrender.

with that, you turn again and almost shut the door when he calls for you—“hey, toothless,” he says lowly, making you pause before turning to him with a raised brow. he smiles—it’s so unlike that usual smirk of his…somehow this one is a bit gentler as he murmurs, “you look good. grew up well, y’know.”

you blink. you’re not ready for that…didn’t expect a compliment from gojo satoru himself—especially not after all this time of throwing mediocre insults your way.

you decide he must be messing with you, so you purse your lips as you click your teeth in irritation. “yeah, sure,” you say dryly.

you can hear his chuckles as you close the door again—this is going to be a long break.

—————

just as expected, the house is simply not big enough for you and satoru.

the first time you run into him happens to be first thing after waking up—you’re walking up to the door just as he twists the knob and opens it, walking out shirtless. again.

this time, however, he’s got beads of water rolling down his skin from his shower, right between his pecs, as a towel hangs around his shoulders. you can see his tattoo from up close now, a small infinity sign right under his collarbone that contrasts against his pale skin.

how tacky, you think—just as you’d expect, even his choice of tattoos is questionable.

his hair is wet—it’s sticking to his forehead instead of the multiple directions it usually scatters around in that messy way it always does. you’ve only felt satoru’s hair once—when you were fifteen, and you’d hit him in the back of the head as you walked past him at the breakfast table. he’d made a jab at your dark circles. tests were around the corner, and unlike satoru, your grades actually mattered. you didn’t expect his hair to be so soft, but it is, and you almost itch to twirl the strands around your fingers for a quick feel.

instead, you scowl and stomp off to your room as soon as your dishes are washed.

his hair is probably just as soft now—maybe even softer now that he actually probably cares to look after it. you’ve heard suguru grumble about using two-in-one shampoo too many times when he comes back from spending the night at satoru’s. for a second, your fingers twitch to reach up and brush through a few strands on his forehead—just to feel them because they look soft. nothing else.

the urge is quickly killed as soon as he opens his mouth, however.

“oh, hey there, roomie,” he grins, “you’re really doing all you can to catch me half naked, huh?”

“don’t flatter yourself,” you grumble.

“i’m just sayin’,” he chuckles, “that’s twice now. if you ask nicely, i might walk around like this just for you.”

it’s way too early for this.

by early, it’s actually late noon. now that finals aren’t killing your free time, you stay up until ungodly hours to catch up with your social life—and it doesn’t help that you can hear satoru and suguru stay up playing video games the next room over, either. suguru is probably still sleeping.

that’s a bit of a shocker, in fact—usually, it’s satoru that has to be dragged out of your brother’s room to have breakfast (or brunch, really) before the kitchen is cleared up. why satoru is up first is beyond you.

maybe it’s just a cruel way for the universe to enjoy watching more of your veins pop.

“does that apply to asking you to leave? because then i suppose i can ask rather politely.”

he grins, eyes sparkling with amusement as he shoots you that smile with those pearly whites that irritate you to no end. you’re not sure why, but something about his smile looks so much different nowadays—something about it just seems so….mature.

that’s a word you didn’t think you’d ever use to describe satoru.

“mm, not quite,” he hums, “you’re still stuck with me.”

“whatever,” you mutter, rolling your eyes. “move, i want to shower before suguru wakes up.”

“you have time,” he steps to the side, letting you enter the bathroom, “he’s probably not waking up anytime soon—woah.”

satoru’s shirt is on the floor—why, you may ask? because he’s an annoying idiot who doesn’t have to clean up after himself when people have always been around to do it for him. he never has to care to aim and toss his clothes into the hamper because the maids will pick up after him anyway. old habits die hard, you suppose—you’ve listened to suguru complain about satoru’s messiness not improving even after being his roommate for the last few years. it’s never been your problem, but you don’t appreciate it now that you’re slipping over the fabric on the tiled floor, falling backwards with a squeal.

but satoru’s quick—he catches you with those strong arms of his and wraps them tightly around you, keeping you securely in place as he steadies you against his chest.

his bare chest, in fact.

you can feel the slight dampness seeping into your shirt, and you can feel his hot breath on your neck as he exhales in relief once he makes sure you’re safe. you almost shiver—almost, but you manage to scrape together enough self-control to stay painfully still in his grasp.

“you okay?” he murmurs gently, voice a low whisper against your skin. there’s no bite to his words. no amusement or teasing or even smugness. it’s genuine, the way he checks on you.

this is…new. very, very new.

“yeah,” you breathe, letting out a sharp breath. and then—“maybe keep your clothes in the fucking hamper next time, though.”

“sorry,” the smile in his voice is almost audible—you can’t see it from where you are, but you can hear it in his voice. you roll your eyes, and satoru makes no move to loosen his arms around you. for some reason, you don’t move.

you’re not sure why, but you just don’t.

“you’re still just as messy, huh?” you roll your eyes—he laughs, and it’s a smooth, boyish chuckle that almost makes you wonder for a moment if this is why girls seem to love satoru so much despite his god-awful personality.

it’s a pretty beautiful sound—you hate that you have to admit that to yourself.

“yeah,” he admits, “it drives suguru nuts.”

“yeah, i can’t imagine why,” you snort. it’s like that for a moment—satoru’s muscled arms around you and hard chest pressed against your back. finally, you clear your throat. “you can let go now, you know.”

“right,” he mumbles, slowly pulling away—and when you turn to face him….is that disappointment? on his face? you don’t get a chance to be sure because then he’s bending down to pick up his shirt before he’s standing—he’s already wiped the expression from his features completely by then. “sorry about that, toothless. i’ll keep my shirts off the floor next time.”

“that would be so kind of you,” you smile sarcastically.

and then you shut the door in his face and exhale as you lean against the wall.

this is going to be a longer break than you thought.

—————

the next time you run into him, it’s late at night. everyone is asleep—even your brother and his headache of a best friend, if the silence tells you anything. you can’t sleep, though, so you make your way to the kitchen to hunt for snacks. you’re skimming through the pantry before your eyes land on a surprise—a box of strawberry pocky sits nice and enticingly, right there for you to open and devour.

you grin, reaching over when—

“those are mine,” satoru calls, stepping into the kitchen, “brought them over myself. you should ask before touching people’s things.”

“you literally ate my leftovers the other night,” you say incredulously.

“those were yours? i thought they were suguru’s.” he raises a brow in surprise, making you click your teeth in irritation.

“the principle of asking still applies,” you purse your lips. and then defiantly, you open the box and grab a pack right before his eyes.

he scowls—but you know he doesn’t actually mind because he waits for you to finish grabbing yours before taking the box and grabbing his own pack and a coke from the fridge. you both take a seat at the kitchen table, across from each other, as you open the packaging and silently eat your newfound snack.

it’s satoru who breaks the silence first.

“do you still throw away the ends of these?”

you huff indignantly, not meeting his eyes as you take a bite off the strawberry-covered end, stopping at just where the cookie portion is uncoated. “yes. i’m eating these for the coating—not the bland biscuit part.”

“what’re you, five?” he snickers, earning a glare from you. defiantly, you pop the end of the pocky stick into your mouth just to prove a point—and then the look of distaste makes him cackle louder. 

“shut up,” you hiss, “you talk too much.”

“the ladies love it when i do,” he bats his lashes—you stare at him blankly, unimpressed.

“yeah, as if.”

“hey, my ex-girlfriend totally did,” he defends.

ex-girlfriend? that’s a bit of a shocker—you didn’t know satoru dated anyone in the last few years, you haven’t seen or heard anything of it through suguru’s end. in all realness, you didn’t even think satoru was the boyfriend type…but then again, he’s not really the anything type. he just kind of exists to take up space and be the bane of your existence. 

“i hope the poor girl is recovering well after dating you,” you shake your head, feigning a concerned look on your face that makes him roll his eyes—they’re still disturbingly bright even in the dark kitchen, dimly lit by the slightest bit of moonlight pouring in through the small window.

“i dated her freshman and sophomore year,” he says casually. you also didn’t expect that—that it lasted that long. something about satoru doesn’t strike you as the long-term relationship kind of guy. something about him doesn’t seem like the relationship kind of guy at all. not because he’s the type to mess around casually, but because he seems the type to seem disinterested all around—he’s snobby like that. “she was…alright, i guess.”

yeah. very snobby.

“you are such a sick bastard,” you spit.

he snorts, taking a bite of his pocky as he shakes his head in amusement. you’re as feisty as ever—it’s always fun riling you up, even if unintentionally.

“hey, it’s not like she was bad. she was just…well, she wasn’t interested in me like that either,” he shrugs, “i think it was just the sex. it was good, can’t lie there.”

“you’re so gross,” you roll your eyes, “have some decorum.”

“what, you’re still sixteen?” he raises a brow, lips curling into a smirk as he reaches for another pocky, “can’t say the word s-e-x?”

“i don’t broadcast my sexual activities out in the open,” you shrug.

satoru chuckles, taking a bite that more or less finishes the entire stick in one go before he presses a finger to his lips, “shh. don’t say that too loud—suguru will come chase you from his room if he hears.”

“suguru,” you groan, “he’s such a pain to have around sometimes. y’know i dated this one guy last year. i think suguru might’ve paid him to dump me.”

“i know. he definitely thought about it,” satoru hums, “he used to go off about it all the time. he was right, though—that guy was a total prick.”

something about you is mildly shocked that satoru knows about your private life—sure, it’s not outrageous or even the slightest bit unlikely that suguru mentions you. satoru and suguru are best friends, and you happen to be suguru’s sister—of course, suguru is bound to mention you here and there. it’s just the fact that satoru even pays attention to anything to do with you that surprises you—although you suppose it would be a good way for him to find his next source to push your buttons.

“i’m not surprised you think he’s a prick,” you nod, “it takes one to know one, after all.”

“oh yeah?” he snorts, waving you off, “i do, in fact remember anniversaries, y’know.”

“okay,” you sigh, defeated—your ex-boyfriend is admittedly not at the top of the list of your brightest choices. not even up halfway on the list. in fact, he’s so low on the list of good choices you’ve made, that willingly choosing to interact with satoru feels like an exceptional decision in comparison. and that’s saying something. “he was pretty bad. but he was really hot. when a guy looks like that, his values are the least of my worries.”

it’s a joke—you’re sure he knows that. but satoru takes a long sip from his coke, silent for a moment. you don’t think you’ve ever seen him so serious, especially so suddenly.

“he can’t be that hot,” he mutters.

“oh he was really hot. probably the hottest guy i’ve ever talked to—” satoru bites his pocky a bit aggressively at that, “and he was so tall. maybe taller than you—how tall are you again? anyway, he was pretty enough to overlook his shortcomings.”

“he’s probably not taller than me,” he grumbles, frowning. you snort—men and their fragile little egos, you think in amusement.

“he was,” you tease, “he was so tall, i’d let him do whatever he wanted.”

“that’s a terrible way to look at it,” he scrunches his brows, “you shouldn’t let some guy walk all over you because he’s tall and his face is a bit easy on the eyes—”

“i know you’re not talking—”

“i’m serious,” he cuts you off. something about him reminds you of suguru for a moment—like he cares who you’re with because he has a reason to. as if you mean something to him, as if knowing someone who doesn’t deserve you has you in their palms is upsetting.

but then you shake the thought out of your head—satoru doesn’t care. he’s never had a reason to, and you don’t exactly plan to give him one, either.

“okay, dad,” you roll your eyes, “i learned my lesson. i have standards now.”

“good,” he nods—and then, as if to keep himself in character, he adds, “because i don’t want to help suguru kill someone, and it’s over something lame like forgetting his little sister’s anniversary. i’d like to go to jail for something more badass.”

“you and badass don’t belong in the same sentence,” you raise a brow. “let’s be realistic.”

“oh yeah? that’s rich coming from—”

“guys, it is five in the morning,” suguru grumbles, throwing a water bottle at satoru’s head. you glance at the kitchen entrance, eyeing a half-asleep and very irritable suguru as he crosses his arms, “can’t you idiots fight over who’s more of a loser at reasonable hours? some of us like to sleep.”

“want one?” you offer your pack of pocky, holding it out to him.

suguru blinks, contemplating for a second before sighing and trudging over.

“yeah,” he mutters, flicking your forehead. “gimme that.”

you watch woefully as suguru takes the entirety of your pack, swiftly sitting next to satoru and leaving you empty-handed. satoru snickers obnoxiously at the deflated look on your face—and then he holds out his pack to you.

you look between him and the pack for a moment before giving him a genuine smile. it’s a rare sight—he drinks it in as you carefully take one and bicker over something with suguru.

you’re pretty when you smile, he thinks—pretty enough that if you had horrible values (which you don’t), he might feel inclined to understand your (awful) reasoning for a moment.

and then he blinks and shakes the thoughts out of his head—it’s going to be a long break.

—————

satoru meets you when you’re six. 

he’s nine at the time, and he feels on top of the world knowing he’s three whole years older than you—in hindsight, three years is not a very large gap, but to nine-year-old him, it feels like centuries. he’s remembered you as the fun little drama queen that’s too easy to poke fun at for years—that’s all you’ve always been: suguru’s younger sister who puffs her cheeks out and scowls way too often to be normal, the girl that’s way too easy to tease than should be standard. 

somehow, he wasn’t expecting for you to come back so grown…and so hot. suddenly, it really hits him that you’re not a kid—have not really been for a long time now. he’s always treated you like you’re way younger than he is, way too little to be in his presence and be worthy of it—but you’ve really become a fine young woman.

a magnetizing one, in fact.

it’s now his third night at your house—your parents are as lovely and welcoming as ever, and suguru is always a good time to be around. but somehow, satoru is not satisfied. not anywhere near sated by the few, minimal moments of contact with you. 

when did you get so pretty? although, as much as satoru has always liked to poke fun at you, you’ve never been ugly. not even a little—but you’ve grown into your features better, outgrown the awkward teenage era of your life, and now present yourself with a newfound confidence that just looks…so good. satoru doesn’t see his best friend's kid sister anymore—no, there’s something so alluring about you now.

the nail on the coffin that solidifies he’s officially screwed is when you mention your ex-boyfriend—why would your dating life make him this irrationally angry? why is the thought of someone being on the receiving end of your praise (and shameless heart-eyes) so aggravating for him? 

he doesn’t know—but what he does know is that the raging boner has been killing him all morning ever since he woke up from…well, less than proper dreams about you.

so now he’s here, forehead pressed against your shower wall as the hot water hits his back, swollen cock in his fist as he thumbs at the tip, teasing the slit just the way he likes. he thinks about you—how he’d show you what makes him feel good, how you’d probably learn fast and take care of him just the way he needs. 

your hand would look so much daintier compared to his—smaller, but he’s sure it would still feel infinitely better. 

he bites his lip, fighting back a moan as he strokes himself slowly, pre cum smeared along the length of his hard, aching cock—red and angry at the tip, leaking with more pre cum no matter how many times his thumb collects every drop. 

“f-fuck—” he breathes, and his voice lets out a shaky, breathy little call of your name—he’s screwed if anyone hears it. he’s sure you and suguru will both band together to kill him, but thankfully, the words are lost in the sound of the shower running. “fuck baby,” he says hoarsely, voice cracking ever so slightly as he whines. 

it’s soft and quiet, the noises he makes—careful and deliberately hushed to make sure no one hears the improper way he’s thinking of you right now. but fuck, your tits are so pretty when you walk out of your room in a t-shirt in the mornings—he can just tell you’re not wearing a bra. he can’t stop thinking about it, can’t stop trying to picture what they’d look like uncovered and bouncing.

“jus’ like that, baby,” he pants, whimpering softly as he squeezes around his tip, teasing himself with that slow, painful pace of his. 

satoru is sure that if it were you, that if the hand stroking his cock right now was yours, you would never let him cum so easily—you’d drag it out just like this, pump him slowly and twist your hand around him in a pace that’s painfully not enough before ever thinking about letting him come undone. 

it’s just the way that you are—never ready to back down from a challenge, unwilling to go down without a fight. but he loves it, he thinks—lives for the way you keep him on his toes and work for the satisfaction. 

“more,” he gasps, “n-need more—gimme more, sweetheart.”

he imagines it—the way you’d kiss his jaw, maybe even the corner of his mouth, as you hum. say please, toru, you’d probably say—and fuck, he’d kill to hear you say toru. 

“please,” he rasps, “please, baby. d-don’t tease.”

he can practically hear your light giggles, the sweet, okay, baby. no more teasing, that you might whisper. he’d also kill to hear you call him baby—he’s almost nauseous at the idea that some other guy must’ve heard the pet name from your lips before him. and then he lets himself pump his erection faster, squeezing tighter as his thighs quiver while he stands in the shower. 

fuck—you feel so good. you’re not even here, but he’s sure you do, and he’s desperate to envision it. it practically hurts—the way he’s so hard and swollen and ready to release. just for you, he wants to tell you, he’s going to cum all for you. 

“baby,” he whimpers, “‘m so, so close—fuck ‘m gonna cum. ‘s for you—gonna cum for you—ngh, sh-shit.”

and then there’s cum on the tile walls, on his hands, on his abs as they flex with every labored breath. satoru cums—hard. his eyes are squeezed shut, lips parted with a silent cry as he pants and strokes himself through his high. you’d kiss him, he likes to think, on his jaw and cheeks and maybe the tip of his nose as you sit on his lap and work him through his orgasm. you’d watch him closely, take in the way he comes undone for you, maybe even call him your pretty boy as he paints your hand white with his seed.

would you praise him? murmur softly into his ear and seal the gentle words with a kiss to his skin? would you stroke his hair from his face as you admire his blissful, fucked out little expression? maybe he’d ask you then—maybe he’d ask you to admit he’s way more handsome than that douchebag you dated as your hand holds his softening cock, sticky with his release.

god, what he wouldn’t do to see your hands coated with his cum—did you do this for your ex? did he look as hot as you claim he was when he came for you? the thought makes him sour—he grits his teeth and clenches his jaw at the idea, panting and catching his breath as he stares down at the mess he’s made.

he should feel bad—this is wrong. so, so wrong—suguru would kill him if he was aware satoru was lusting over his little sister. but it felt so fucking good—he’s never cum as hard as when he’s pictured cumming for you. 

it can’t be that wrong, if that’s the case—can it?

——

“suguru,” your voice is shrill, deadly—like you’re out for blood. “next time you jack off in the shower, maybe clean the fucking wall? are you joking?”

“wha—i definitely cleaned that,” suguru defends. 

oh, fuck, satoru thinks—he forgot to clean that. so he makes himself very scarce and stays within the confinements of suguru’s bedroom—his messy habits are starting to really catch up to him. if his defense, he really would clean that up…it’s just that he was a bit distracted. 

“so you admit you jack off in our shower? our shower?” you sound inconsolable, downright devastated, and borderline hysterical. having siblings seems like a lot of trouble, he thinks—but then again, sometimes satoru is jealous of your bond with suguru. it’d be nice to have someone in his family he can actually depend on. “keep that shit for your bedroom, you jackass!”

“well, how am i supposed to do that when satoru is there? you tell me.”

“i don’t know! figure it the fuck out—you guys probably jack off together anyway.”

“what?” suguru sounds appalled, “we do not—that’s outrageous.”

“whatever,” you say—you sound almost murderous as you warn, “next time you better clean up your fucking mess, you asshole.”

satoru can’t help but smile a little—your pointer finger is definitely held up as you scold suguru—you’re so cute when you’re mad, he thinks. he almost wants to step out and catch a glimpse, but he decides against it for now.

silently, satoru thanks his best friend for taking one for the team—even if it was unknowingly.

—————

it’s night four. 

satoru has surprisingly kept to himself—he even promptly looked away after meeting your eyes in the kitchen yesterday morning as you walked in for breakfast. that’s…new. a lot about satoru is new. 

he’s taller and more muscular now—at one point, suguru used to tower over his scrawny little form. now he’s seemed to grow into his body, seemed to learn how to style himself better, and actually do his hair a bit. it’s still messy now that he’s just lazing around in your home—but it’s oddly handsome. 

scarily handsome, in fact. 

you don’t enjoy the idea of thinking about the jerk of your childhood like that—but ever since you felt the hard press of his chest against your back, sometimes you wonder what it’s like to know satoru outside of just your older brother’s obnoxious friend. 

maybe, somewhere along the line, had you put your pride aside and actually tried to get to know him, maybe you both could at least be friendly. but then again, there’s never been any real animosity between you two—you can share a lighthearted talk from time to time, like that night in the kitchen. 

you decide not to dwell on it too much, decide that he’s not really worth your thoughts when he’s just a guy who’s always been a bit too spoiled to learn how to be humble. instead, you go down to the kitchen to grab another pack of strawberry pocky—satoru will just have to deal with it. if he doesn’t want his snacks eaten, he shouldn’t keep them in the pantry where anyone could stumble across them.

you walk into the kitchen until—oh. it’s satoru. again.

“oh, hey,” he grins cheekily, taking a sip of his coke—he needs to break the habit of having so much sugar this late at night…but then again, why would it matter to you? “stalkin’ me?”

“for an unwelcomed guest, you sure do talk a lot,” you roll your eyes, making his lips curl into a smug little smirk. 

“i don’t know—your parents seem to love having me over. what if i become their newest son?”

“i doubt my parents are looking to adopt you,” you raise a brow, slightly amused. 

he hums, sipping his coke before blinking at you through those long, perfect lashes of his. “well, there are other ways to blend into a family. marriage, for example, is a great way.”

“you and my brother might as well marry each other,” you snort, “no one else will do it.”

“who said anything about suguru?” he winks, chuckling when your face twists into an exaggerated look of horror—always as dramatic as ever, you are. he can’t help but find an endearing side to it now.

satoru stands, walks over to where you are and stands in front of you as you scoff, shaking your head as you huff out a disbelieving chuckle. 

“that’s pushing it,” you muse, “marrying you would be the last open option i’d have left—and even then i doubt i’d ever take it.”

“yeah?” he raises a brow, leaning in so close, you can practically feel his breath fan over you. he smells like expensive cologne and your shampoo—why is he using yours instead of suguru’s? before you can even ask him what he’s doing, he throws away the empty can of coke in the trash can behind you, eyes bright with amusement as your breath hitches.

it’s like he knows—the fucking asshole.

“yeah,” you breathe, “you don’t deserve me,” you try to say matter-of-factly. it comes off a bit more breathless than you intended—the air feels suffocating. maybe because satoru is so close, maybe because his breath is on your face, maybe because all you can smell and feel and hear is him. 

you can’t find it in yourself to pull away—why aren’t you pulling away? it’s just like that day he caught you, when his arms wrapped around you and all you felt like doing was lean into his chest. what about satoru and you has shifted so quickly to make you want to do that? what makes him so easy to fall into when all you’ve always known was to shove at him?

he hums, leaning in closer and closer until his forehead touches yours. “you know who didn’t deserve you?” he asks, “that shitty ex of yours.”

you look up at him with wide eyes, speechless as his hands find purchase of your hips, grabbing them and pulling you closer—and against better judgment, your hands lay themselves across his chest. it’s as firm as you remember it. 

“how would you know—”

“heard suguru rant about it all the time,” he murmurs, “how he forgot your dates. got you a shitty birthday present. didn’t show up to your anniversary. made you hang out with his friends and didn’t even meet half of yours. you’re tellin’ me he deserves you more than me?”

“he was hot—”

“yeah? and i’m not?”

he’s cocky—you hate that about him. always did. but he’s so close, so intoxicating, so irresistible, and fuck, he is hot—so incredibly hot, you’ve been losing sleep over it the last four nights no matter how hard you try to deny it. 

“satoru, what are you—”

“y’know, i’ve been helping suguru pick your birthday presents since you were twelve. i’d pick you the best gifts,” his nose is brushing against yours now, lips just millimeters away from his as he speaks—“and i never forget an important date. i’m very punctual too, believe it or not. i’d meet your little friends—show ‘em what a catch i am when you introduce me.”

“and what am i supposed to do with this information?” you ask defiantly.

it’s a last-ditch effort—you both know this. you know exactly what he wants you to do with this information. 

“i don’t know, sweetheart,” he chuckles, “what do you think?”

and then you’re kissing him—because fuck, satoru is right there, and how could you not? his chest is under your palms, his lips are right against yours, and you can feel his thumb rub circles into your hips. 

so you kiss him—loop your arms around his neck and tug him closer and press your lips to his. he groans, responds almost instantly as his mouth molds against yours, kissing you deeper as his hand moves to cup your cheek.

your lips are softer than he thought, and his hair is silky against your fingers. you tug at the strands, grab a handful, and feel them against your fingers like you’ve wanted to for so long. and when he nips at your bottom lip, who are you to deny him? your lips part, letting his tongue slide in and taste you with a breathy sigh that makes your knees wobble. 

“s-satoru,” you stutter, whispering between kisses, “suguru might come in like last time—”

“god,” he groans, head burying into your neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses against the skin, “don’t fucking talk about your brother right now. please.”

“my room,” you say urgently—it’s all he needs to hear before his hands are on your ass, grabbing you as you wrap your legs around his hips. it’s urgent, the way his mouth is back on yours—he doesn’t pull away even once the entire walk to your room, not even when he lets your back fall onto the mattress as he hovers over you, pressing kisses along your collarbone. 

no bra, he notes happily, his hand sneaking under your shirt to toy with your pert nipples. 

“god, you’ve been driving me fuckin’ crazy,” he mumbles, tugging the hem of your shirt over your arms and tossing it over his shoulder. he stares, takes in the sight of the same tits he’s been fantasizing over for the last few days in awe. “you know that? been thinkin’ about these for days,” he says lowly, cupping your tit and massaging as he presses a kiss to your jaw. 

“you’re shameless,” you mutter, snorting before you cut yourself off with a gasp as he squeezes your nipple, pinching and rolling it between his fingers and pulling a soft whine from you.

“shhh,” he chuckles, tilting his head toward the wall next to you, “don’t want suguru to hear, do you? that wouldn’t be nice, would it?”

“it’ll be worse for you than me,” you grin, tugging at the hem of his own shirt, indicating you want it off. he grins widely, wiggling his brows and making you purse your lips.

“wanna see me shirtless again, huh? third times the charm, as they say,” he winks. you would retort with something as witty, but then your eyes fall on that tattoo again—right under his collarbone, making your hand reach out to trace it with your thumb. 

“what compelled you to get this corny little tattoo of yours,” you grin, giggling as you trace over the small infinity sign. 

for the first time, you think you witness satoru shy, blushing as he rubs the back of his neck and chuckles awkwardly. “that…that was an accident. when i got drunk for the first time.”

“oh,” you snort, “you’re so weak, satoru—”

“do me a favor, sweetheart,” he hums, cutting you off, “as much as i love when you say my name, say toru for me, yeah? i wanna hear it.”

you roll your eyes, huffing as your hand finds the back of his head and pulls him into another kiss, moaning into his mouth as he grinds the throbbing erection in his sweats over your heated core. 

“toru,” you say breathlessly, “more.”

that’s all he needs to hear—satoru doesn’t waste a second before he’s crawling between your legs, sliding your cute little pajama pants down your legs before meeting your dripping pussy.

it’s wet—so wet, he almost wants to chuckle and tease you a bit. just for old-time's sake. but the ache that shoots down to his cock reminds him that he’s in no position to tease you when he’s not faring any better himself. so he spreads your legs, kisses lightly at your clit in a feather-like touch that has you whimpering and clutching the sheets in anticipation.

“how pretty,” he mumbles, “been hiding this pretty little thing all this time. what a perfect pussy.”

“satoru,” you gasp in embarrassment, hands reaching for his hair and tugging him closer to where you need him most—equal parts because you really need his mouth on your cunt and equal parts because you really need him to shut up. 

but he chuckles, takes his time to spread your folds open with his thumbs, and watches in wonder as you flutter around nothing, arousal dripping and leaving a mess. it’s perfect—you’re perfect, and he wants to take his time with you. 

“god, you’re soaked,” he groans, chuckling as he murmurs, “that’s fuckin’ cute.”

before you can even whine at the way his words are shameless, his mouth is back to kissing your clit, lips wrapping around it as he sucks and rolls his tongue along the sensitive bud. his fingers sink deep into you, pushing past your folds and slowly bullying into you until the tips of his fingers curl and brush against a spot that makes you squeal. 

you gasp a breathy, “fuck, toru—” before he hums around your clit, vibrations making you whimper as he thrusts his fingers back in to hit that spot again. it’s sensitive, the way he makes you feel—your nerves are on fire, and your head is light, and fuck, it feels so good you can’t help but sob brokenly and squeeze your thighs around his head. he moans against your cunt, pulling his fingers out before letting his tongue lick a stripe along your slit, tasting you with a sharp inhale. 

“f-feels good,” you whimper, biting your lip as your eyes crinkle at the corners from squeezing shut.

“yeah?” he hums, kissing your inner thigh, leaving a wet little sheen of his spit and your arousal on the skin, “that’s a good girl—just keep telling me how good i make you feel, kay?”

he could stay buried nose-deep into your pussy for as long as you let him—tongue alternating between fucking into you and rolling over your swollen clit, hearing the broken little gasps and whines of his name as you repeat toru over and over again like a prayer. his hand grips at your thigh, sinking his fingertips into the plush skin and rubbing soothingly with his thumb as you rut your hips and grind against his face. 

satoru has half a mind to watch it again—to lick and suck at your core again and again just so he could burn into his mind what you look like when you cum. it’s divine—like he’s halfway to stepping into heaven and has to pause just to admire the sight before him. 

your hips leave the mattress as your back arches, and your fingers tug relentlessly at his roots as your walls quiver, letting satoru taste every drop of your release as you press a palm to your hand and try to keep yourself from squealing at the pleasure.

suguru is right next door. you can’t wake him—can’t let him know this is what you and his best friend get up to in the late hours of the night. 

it’s not until satoru pulls away, catching his breath as he wipes the wet trail on his chin does he realize how hard he is—how badly he’s aching as his cock strains against his sweats. he hisses as he frees himself; ridding his sweats and boxers and wrapping a large hand around the tip of his erection and smearing the leaking pre cum along his length. 

you watch in awe, reaching over and replacing his hand with yours. satoru was right—your hand is infinitely smaller than his, and yet, it feels a great deal better. so much better, in fact, that his arms shake as he hovers over you, burying his head into your neck and groaning as you slowly stroke him, squeezing at the tip and rolling your thumb through the slit.

he didn’t even have to show you what he wanted, what makes him feel good, what makes his mind fog with pleasure and burn through every nerve. no, you figure it all out on your own, pulling strangled moans and hushed gasps from him that make your clit ache once more. 

“fuck, baby,” he pants, “can’t last long like this—c’mon, g-gotta feel you.” gently, he pries your hand from his thick, pulsing cock, laying it against your stomach as he peers down in fascination. “i’ll be right here,” he hums, drawing a line on your skin right where his tip ends, “see that? that’s where you’ll feel me, sweetheart.”

“then let me feel you,” you murmur, cupping his cheeks and brushing a thumb over the skin, “fuck me, toru—wan’ it so bad.”

so he does—drags his tip along your folds and collects the slick pooling at your entrance before pushing his tip past your folds, splitting you in half as he slowly buries himself to the hilt. his jaw is clenched, breath labored as he waits for you to adjust, lets you kiss his cheeks and nose as you murmur how handsome he is, how perfect he feels, how good is to you. 

“that asshole ever make you cum?” he asks lowly, “he ever eat your pussy like that? make you cum hard enough you had to cover your mouth so you’re not screaming his name?”

“no,” you breathe, quivering as his thumb rolls over your clit in slow circles, still painfully still as he stares down at you, “n-no, never. just you—only you—”

“good,” he grins, “that’s what i like to hear. and when i make you cum on my cock, make sure to tell me he’s never done that either, yeah?”

“you’re full of it,” you scoff, “always have been.”

“and you’re full of me,” he says cheekily, chuckling as you glare half-heartedly. “can i move, baby? please? need more, ‘s not enough. n-need more—”

“yeah,” you whimper, pulling him closer, chests brushing against each other as your lips meet in a sloppy kiss, “yeah—need more too, toru.”

satoru, in all his years of knowing you, has never seen the side of you that could be this gentle. the side that glides your hands over his back, feeling every flex and every pull of his muscles, gently caressing the skin like it’s holy, like it’s not worthy of marks—instead to be worshipped and revered with thoughtful touches. your lips sear into every part of him they can find—his lips, his forehead, his nose, his hair as his face digs into your neck. even your voice is a gentle whisper of his name, so soft and careful, it’s like saying it wrong could break him. 

your hips buck up in tandem with his, meeting his rhythm as he slams into you, his balls slapping against your skin as he buries his cock into you as deep as it’ll go with every harsh thrust. you can feel his tip kissing against that sweet spot in the back of your walls, your abused cunt sucking him in and hugging around him as he groans. 

the friction feels sickening, like he’ll pass out any second, like he’s floating between the precipice of pleasure and the edge of consciousness. 

you do that to him—he doesn’t know how or when or why, but you make him feel like he doesn’t have a grip on his own senses. he doesn’t mind it so much, he thinks—doesn’t hate the idea of letting himself fall into your palm and wrap around him. it feels nicer that way, like it’s where he belongs.

“fuck, ‘s so tight,” he rasps, whining into your neck as your hand cups the back of his head, holding him in place. his hips are rutting into you sloppily now, barely maintaining the rhythm from before as he nears his high—but that doesn't stop him from angling into you perfectly, slamming into your sensitive spot every time without fail. “c-cum—’m gonna cum. cum with me, sweetheart.”

“‘m so close, toru,” you sob—and then, just as his thumb finds your clit again, rubbing harsh, desperate little circles to get you over the edge, you cum again—harder than the last time, spasming around his cock and pulling him in as you squeeze around him. “t-toru,” you gasp brokenly, “fuck, ‘s good—so good.”

“baby,” he moans lowly, “fuck, you’re so perfect. prettiest thing ever—prettiest pussy ever. i, sh-shit—” your orgasm quickly has him falling into his own, hot, thick ropes of cum spilling into you with every twitch of his cock, sweet little noises pulled from his throat that he sings into your neck, fucking his load into you. 

it’s messy, the way cum spills out of you and coats his cock—but it’s perfect and feels so, so right. you can’t help but think how perfectly satoru fits against you as his body slumps on top of yours, panting and spent as he cages you in his arms.

your hand doesn’t leave his hair—now that you know how it feels, you don’t think you can stop threading your fingers through it, ever. 

“wow, toothless,” he chuckles after a bit, “you’re seriously obsessed with me, huh? i mean, how long have you been nursing this crush on me, hmm? thinking about your brother’s best friend, you naughty little thing—”

“satoru, would you shut that mouth for once,” you hiss, rolling your eyes—still, there’s an affectionate grin on your lips this time as he chuckles into your skin. 

“oh baby, i’m afraid this mouth never shuts, so you should get used—”

suddenly, you both freeze as you hear suguru’s voice through the door. “you two better not be fucking doing what i think you’re doing,” he seethes, making your jaw drop and satoru’s eyes widen.

fuck—that was never supposed to happen. suguru was never supposed to hear, let alone know.

“hey,” satoru starts, “if suguru kicks me out of our place, i can come be your new permanent housemate, right?”

do not comment about a part 2

but yeah he can come live with me any time and as long as he pays by sucking my tiddies i shall provide all food and utilities and everything

[neo-shitty]

spring day never latches on to a permanent face. it takes the form of the people i miss whom i have no way of reconnecting with. ever since i read that message in my inbox, it has taken the form of you, kesya.

[getvalentined]

An open letter to @staff

I already submitted this to Support under "Feedback," but I'm sharing it here too as I don't expect it to get a response, and I feel like putting in out in public may be more effective than sending it off into the void.

The recent post on the Staff blog about changing tumblr to an algorithmic feed features a large amount of misinformation that I feel staff needs to address, openly and honestly, with information on where this data was sourced at the very least.

Claim 1: Algorithms help small creators.

This is false, as algorithms are designed to push content that gets engagement in order to get it more engagement, thereby assuring that the popular remain popular and the small remain small except in instances of extreme luck.

This can already be seen on the tumblr radar, which is a combination of staff picks (usually the same half-dozen fandoms or niche special interests like Lego photography) which already have a ton of engagement, or posts that are getting enough engagement to hit the radar organically. Tumblr has an algorithm that runs like every other socmed algorithm on the planet, and it will decimate the reach of small creators just like every other platform before it.

Claim 2: Only a small portion of users utilize the chronological feed.

You can find a poll by user @darkwood-sleddog here that at the time of writing this, sits at over 40 THOUSAND responses showing that over 96 percent of them use the chronological feed*. Claiming otherwise isn't just a misstatement, it's a lie. You are lying to your core userbase and expecting them to accept it as fact. It's not just unethical, it's insulting to people who have been supporting your platform for over a decade.

Claim 3: Tumblr is not easy to use.

This is also 100% false and you ABSOLUTELY know it. Tumblr is EXTREMELY easy to use, the issue is that the documentation, the explanations of features, and often even the stability of the service is subpar. All of this would be very easy for staff to fix, if they would invest in the creation of walkthroughs and clear explanations of how various site features work, as well as finally fixing the search function. Your inability to explain how your service works should not result in completely ignoring the needs and wants of your core long-term userbase. The fact that you're more willing to invest in the very systems that have made every other form of social media so horrifically toxic than in trying to make it easier for people to use the service AS IT WORKS NOW and fixing the parts that don't work as well speaks volumes toward what tumblr staff actually cares about.

You will not get a paycheck if your platform becomes defunct, and the thing that makes it special right now is that it is the ONLY large-scale socmed platform on THE ENTIRE INTERNET with a true chronological feed and no aggressive algorithmic content serving. The recent post from staff indicates that you are going to kill that, and are insisting that it's what we want. It is not. I'd hazard to guess that most of the dev team knows it isn't what we want, but I assume the money people don't care. The user base isn't relevant, just how much money they can bring in.

The CEO stated he wanted this to remain as sort of the last bastion of the Old Internet, and yet here we are, watching you declare you intend to burn it to the ground.

You can do so much better than this.

Response to the Update

Under the cut for readability, because everything said above still applies.

I already said this in a reblog on the post itself, but I'm adding it to this one for easy access: people read it that way because that's what you said.

Staff considers the main feed as it exists to be "outdated," to the point that you literally used that word to describe it, and the main goals expressed in this announcement is to figure out what makes "high-quality content" and serve that to users moving forward.

People read it that way because that is what you said.

*The final results of the poll, after 24 hours:

136,635 votes breaks down thusly:

An algorithm based feed where I get "the best of tumblr." @ 1.3% (roughly 1,776 votes)

Chronological feed that only features blogs I follow. @ 95.2% (roughly 130,077 votes)

This doesn't affect me personally. @ 3.5% (roughly 4,782 votes)