#i know it has something to do with reducing drag but it's so cute

[flecks-of-stardust]

[image description: a lineless digital doodle of a dark colored beetle in flight. Its front two pairs of legs are raised, with little marks around the end of its feet to emphasize them. It is almost as if it is excitedly raising its arms. A written ‘Wheeeeeeee’ curls around the right side of the beetle. end image description]

obsessed with how insects do this when they fly

[the-fandom-is-now-my-life]

Hi ! I wanted to say I love your work a lot, especially those stories about Tokyo Debunker characters going to the future !! Would you mind doing one with Sho please ?

A bun in the oven

Cw: Hyde slips a future potion into Sho's drink without him knowing, reader described as pregnant

Wc: 1,2K

Notes: if there is something in the new chapter that contradicts anything in here, no it doesn't (haven't gotten around to reading it jiji)

For some reason this doesn't read like I wanted it to but it's kind of cute sigh

Sometimes muscle memory takes over when Sho cooks, zoning out and looking at nothing while cutting vegetables or mixing batter, more than once freaking Leo out at his zombie like state.

It just came so naturally after spending so much time in his hobby, mincing garlic, salting water and reducing the sauce. It isn't until he dips his chopsticks in his mouth that he snaps back.

An horrible itching and burning inside his mouth waking him from his trance. He quickly throws aside the offending chopsticks and hurries to the sink to fill a glass of water.

Without a care, he throws his head as he chugs the water faster than he ever shotgunned a beer. Not even caring to wipe the droplets slipping from his lips to his chin and down his neck.

There is only one reason he would cook something like that, he thinks, god-damned Leo and his hellish spicy things. He always tells him that he won't taste anything but the chili oil and jalapeno but he just rolls his eyes and tells him to do as told.

That damned brat, how can he even eat this bullshit without losing his tongue? Maybe he lost his sense of taste after chewing on his special artifact so much, he insists it doesn't taste like anything but some anomalous chemical in it must have ruined his tongue.

Footsteps sound behind him but Sho doesn't pay it too much mind, must be leo, he thinks while swishing water inside his mouth and spitting it out. The last time he spits it out he is lucky it didn't go up his nose at the unexpected hug. Arms wrapping around his waist and someone's head resting on his shoulder.

A soft voice talks just behind him, the sweetness dripping from it too real to be Leo's “Thanks for cooking for me, love, I know you hate spicy with your whole soul after Hyde tricked you” was that…? If Leo was pulling his leg again he swears to God he will never tell him anything ever. Just one time he tells Leo he likes to spend time with you -maybe a little too much to be like friends- and he has never known peace since. Whenever Leo gets slightly bored his little crush is something so easy to exploit, teasing about white day's gifts, sending him photos of couple's discounts at stores, links to rings with obnoxious remarks like ‘Better hope they have cheap taste’ or ‘your food truck better be making some good revenue otherwise I see it hard. I'm not lending you even one yen’

Ripping him away from his thoughts, the muscles under his skin tremble and shudder as if an electric current went through them as your lips fall just beneath the angle of his scapula, an almost mockingly honest ‘mhwa’ follows as you get away. Luckily you didn't do it as he was pouring the blistering oil in the bowl or when he was cutting the garlic, Sho is sure he would have spilled oil all over himself or sliced his finger open.

“Whatever. It should be ready” he mumbles as he drags the cutting board and pot where the oil was boiled to the sink to scrub them.

Without a peep you grab the bowl and walk off to the kitchen island.

“So how was the truck today?”

“Hyde was hanging around all day and wanted to watch how I did everything, such a nuisance.”

“Like a little kid! Maybe that is why he was so happy at having a nephew, he wanted someone close to his maturity!”

Letting out a small laugh to let you know he heard you, his mind starts chewing and begins to understand what you said. ‘nephew’ stands particularly up, he is Hyde's only sibling, so that would mean… no, there is no way, is it?

And for once, he turns around to see you, not dressed in school uniform and loafers with tidy and neat hair but rather you are on the stool wearing a t-shirt he has been thinking about buying for a few days and your hair on a messy bun. But that is seen as normal over your hand, spotting a ring over the sage's ring, resting over a very noticeably pregnant stomach.

Oh, fuck, it wasn't a prank, that fucking masked creep truly got that damned potion. That is why he was so fucking annoying to get him to share a drink. He should have known it wasn't from the goodness of his heart. Was he getting back at him from when he stole his beers? Immature bastard.

“Huh? Is something wrong” lazily you lean back and look at him wondering.

“... No, not at all”

Leaving the dishes halfway done, he sits on the stool next to yours and stealing glances at you

“baby, he is kicking, have a feel” without giving him a second to pull away his hand lies flat against your swollen stomach, and soon is greeted by a harsh kick from the depths of your body “he is kicking like crazy”

“Are you sure it isn't because… he hates spicy” it takes him a second to not call that an ‘It’. He does like you, maybe enough to have a serious relationship and not just mess around like he always does but it's a wide jump from the ring around your fingers and having a fully fledged family.

“If that was why then your son shouldn't make me crave spicy food!”

“Are we sure it's not Leo's?” He jokes, unsure how to continue the conversation, and gets a smack in the arm while you laugh “hey, I think it's a fair enough q-” suddenly another smack lands on him but this time it's harsher and directly on his face, accompanied by such and annoying voice.

“Shohei-kun~~” his brother is hunched over him and slapping his face, there isn't much worry on his face as annoyance, as if him being out of it because of something he slipped in his drink “finally~♪ I would have thought ghouls have a higher tolerance to potions but doesn't seem like it”

Sho’s hands fly to Hyde's collar, or so he thought, his body must still be halfway asleep given how easily he dodged his grasp.

“No need to get so aggressive so soon! I just wanted you to tell me how your future was going to be but I doubt you are speaking, right?” Wobbly kneeling up Sho only is capable of snarling a string of curses making his brother, who rolls his eyes and helps him up on a chair.

“You should get better in a few minutes, how about you tell me all about your little dream when I come back~?” And hurriedly he rushes out of his own office to dodge a book thrown by his little brother.

Sighing into his arms, it seems that the only way to calm his stomach and stop his head from spinning was closing his eyes and anchoring himself to the desk. Stupid Hyde and his stupid potions.

Cracking his left eye slightly at the buzzing of his phone, he is faced by the only text he couldn't stomach to answer right now. Even a text from Leo or Hyde would be better.

Senpai: Sho, are you fine? I couldn't find you at recess

Senpai: call me when you see this, don't make me worried!!

He should call you but how could he look at you in the eye after that “damned masked freak”.

[musings-ofthe-unamused]

Obey Me Headcanons

Topic: First Kisses

Characters: Lucifer, Mammon, Beel, Satan, Levi, Asmo, Belphie Warnings: Lucifer

Lucifer:

He’s pushy, we all know this

When he gets stressed, he turns to you as your stress reducer

But that gets tiring because all he does is rant, rant rant

You just can’t take it anymore

“Lucifer?” “Yes?” “Shut up.”

He gets offended at first

But then he gets curious 

What happens if he continues to press your buttons?

You grab him and kiss him, of course

If your lips are on his, he can’t complain

He now asks for a kiss instead to help him stay stress free

Mammon:

Most definitely shyly asks you for a kiss

Like it’s the cutest thing ever

He has this whole date planned of a movie and dinner

You think you guys are just hanging out like normal

But he’s acting weird

You guys make it back to the house and he grabs your hand to keep you from going in

“I had fun tonight.” “Uhhh me too?”

He just kinda pauses and then goes “Can I kiss you?”

He’s blushing and looking away with a tiny pout

You realize that you were on a date and suddenly your heart is poundind and you just silently nod

And then he kisses you and its so soft and sweet

Then he runs away

Levi:

Video game time!! Which means competitions

Which means making bets

If he wins, he gets to kiss you 

He said it was a joke, but we all know he was trying his hardest to win

Three rounds

At a game you completely suck at

He did this on purpose. 

You obviously lose

“I win! But..you don’t have to kiss me if you don’t want to! I mean, I don’t know why you’d wanna kiss a loser like me.”

“I want to.” “What?” “I want you to kiss me.”

Suddenly he gets so flustered and his face is all red

He starts stuttering but all you have to do is grab his hand

Levi looks at you and then

smooch

It’s quick and awkward but now he wants to have bets like this all the time

https://64.media.tumblr.com/c079a798fbcf72cb417bfe18e580cdd8/7c40ac6e565497ed-27/s540x810/0329251d21ab87bc7a724d78f92f136179bfa43c.gif

Satan:

I actually had already started writing a short story about this

You go to his room to study or read

You’re both chillin, not saying much just enjoying each other’s presence

You then want to show him something and he is close

He stares at you. You stare back

His eyes flick back and forth between your lips and your eyes

He leans in, his lips brushing against yours

When you don’t pull back, he goes in and kisses you

The both of you kinda get heated 

He finally pulls away for some air and rests his forehead against yours

“I’ve been waiting for that.”

Asmodeus:

With the way he’s so flirty, its a wonder how he didn’t make a move before

However, he’s kind of a romantic

He wants to have one of those cute movie kisses

Preferably in the rain

So he watches the weather, hoping, praying for some rain

And there is! 

He drags you outside despite your complaining

“Why are we standing in the rain” “So we can kiss!” 

You don’t know whether to be mad or kind of flattered that he wanted to kiss you in the rain

He goes all dramatic and dips you down, giving you a very wet kiss

He almost drops you as he squeals in happiness

“I did it! I finally did it!”

You hate him

Beelezebub:

Jesus he’s so damn CUTE

This is during a baking session for sure

Making some cookies for him the brothers

Things always get messy because he wants to eat everything every step of the way

You’re just finishing up the batter when he comes up behind you

“Can I have a taste?”

His deep voice scares you and you accidentally get batter on your face

You turn around and scowl at him

But…oh my god what is he doing?

“You have something on your face

He grabs your shoulders and brings you close. 

He licks the edge for your lips. 

“Tastes good,” He mumbles. “More.”

And then he kisses you

After it happens, you are red in the face and just bolt out of there

“What about the cookies?!”

Blephegor:

100% kisses you by accident

Its nap time which means you two are in his bed taking a nice long nap

While also hiding from Lucifer

You had woken up an hour ago, and saw that two have already passed

Belphie was still passed out cold

You tried moving, but instead was met with his arms wrapping around you

He let out a groan and a “Don’t go”

You can’t tell if he’s still asleep or not

“Belphie, I need to go pee. Let me go.”

He mumbles something and holds you tighter

You’re trying to pry yourself away from him when he starts kissing your neck. Then your jaw. Then your cheek

“More.”

And then he gives you a gentle kiss

You’re frozen as he opens his eyes then stares at you

“I just had the weirdest dream.”

“Yeah…”

[bruisedboys]

congrats on 2k! could i ask for steve or eddie with extrovert x introvert please?

summary: eddie picks you up when you get overwhelmed at a party

shy!gn!reader 0.6k words

Eddie finds you in the upstairs bathroom. You’d called him fifteen minutes ago, on the verge of tears, almost begging him to come and pick you up from this nightmare of a party. Your words, not his.

He knows you’re in there only because he finds your bracelet on the carpet just outside the door. The latch must’ve come undone. He picks it up and secures it around his own wrist, making a mental note to actually remember to return it to you. He knocks on the door.

“Y/N? You in there? It’s me.”

There’s a pause, then a series of sounds, and then the door’s opening and you’re there. You look as pretty as when you’d left for the party earlier, if not somehow prettier. Eddie thinks you get prettier and prettier with every passing hour.

“Eddie,” you say, sounding relieved and looking twice as much. You scrub at your face, too harsh for Eddie’s liking. When you pull your hands away he thinks he sees tear tracks on your cheeks. When he takes your face in his hands, he knows he sees tear tracks.

“Have you been crying?” He asks quietly, as kindly as he can. He wouldn’t like to make you cry even more.

“Oh.” You look extremely guilty at being caught and it would make Eddie laugh if he wasn’t so worried about you. “Um, n-not really.”

You try to pull your face from Eddie’s hands but he won’t let you. He holds you still and drags his thumbs over the hollows beneath your eyes.

“What happened?” He asks slowly, softly. “Did something happen?”

You stop struggling and instead shake your head in his hands. It’s awfully cute. Eddie had to stop himself from pinching your cheeks.

“No,” you say around his hands. “Nothing happened. Just … got overwhelmed.”

Eddie can tell you’re being honest and is glad for it. He hates when you reduce your sadness or your worries to little things, when really, they’re big things for you. He lets his hands slide down to the spaces between your neck and shoulders.

“I’m sorry, angel,” he says, squeezing your shoulder. “That sucks.”

You sigh. “Yeah.”

Eddie doesn’t hesitate as he wraps you up in a hug. He pushes his arms over your shoulders and encourages your face to his neck with one hand, his fingers buried in your hair. You oblige happily, your arms pushing around his waist and locking him in. Eddie hugs you as tight as he possibly can without crushing you. You hug back, less tight but just as enthusiastic.

“I think a kiss would make it better,” Eddie says quietly, his lips at the side of your head. He pulls away so he can see your face. “What do you think?”

He watches as you attempt to keep a straight face but ultimately fail, a whisper of a smile tugging at your lips.

“Maybe,” you say slowly, looking like you’re about to burst.

Eddie grins. He keeps one hand firmly on your shoulder while the other slides to your jaw and pulls you in. His smile mirrors your own as he dips down to give you a chaste kiss. It’s sweet and soft and you taste like strawberry lip balm.

When Eddie pulls away you look happy as ever, the prettiest smile he’s ever seen gracing your features. He has to refrain himself from kissing you again.

“Better?” He asks, his thumb carving a track down your jaw.

Eddie expects you to flush, to grow warm in the cheeks and shy under his gaze. You don’t. Instead you put on a thoughtful face and look up at Eddie with eyes like a puppy’s.

“I think one more will do the trick,” you say seriously.

Eddie’s heart soars.

[siriusblackloml]

Day 6 - George Weasley (Kinktober 2023)

𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩: 600+

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: swearing, dry humping, somewhat derogatory (george loves talking about your pussy), MDNI (18+)

Kinktober 2023 Masterlist┊Day 7

The sound of your heartbeat was pounding in your ears as you desperately chased your high. The way your thighs were wrapped so perfectly around George’s leg was lewd in itself, but what made the scene even more naughty was how fast you were grinding on your boyfriend’s own thigh. You had no time to discard any of your clothing let alone his own. The moment the two of you collided with the bed, you took it upon yourself to cum before he even had time to realize it was happening.

George watches your face contort from pleasure. Blushing cheeks and tearful eyes was quite the sight to see, especially knowing it was because you were so fucking horny just from his leg. He teases you as you continue to grind down on his thigh. “You’re so cute, baby. Keep going and maybe I’ll think about fucking you senseless after this.”

The words go straight to your core and make you moan immediately. His fingers were placed on your hips, helping you guide back and forth on his leg. Your clothed clit was practically hurting from all the friction, but you didn’t care. You were so close you would do anything to fall apart on your boyfriend regardless if you were in clothes or not.

“P-Please let me finish, I’m so fucking close, George. I feel so good!” You exclaim loudly into his ear. You were already so far gone, he knew damn well that he was going to fuck you nice and hard to bring you back after all of this. It was what you deserved for being such a good girl.

“Damn, baby, I can feel how wet your pussy is through my pants.” George’s grasp on your hips only tightens as he describes the sensation he felt on his thigh. He loved knowing that he was the only one who could make you this miserably soaked without even taking your clothes off, let alone kissing you.

Your pace never falters even after hearing his talk so dirty to you. If anything, it just makes you rock back and forth faster than before. Your knees grow weaker and weaker as that special knot in your stomach starts to unfasten. In a matter of minutes, you were cumming undone from the sheer power of your cunt dragging against your boyfriend’s leg. George praises you immediately, “Ah, fuck yes, baby. Such a good fucking girl. Make a mess on my leg, honey. Keep going.”

Nothing comes close to the grin George has when he sees you finish, which is etched on his face. The way your eyes almost cross together as you cum so forcefully is something he adores seeing. Even though he hasn't finished, he is aware that you are about to give him a damn field day with how wet you are. George loves it when you get like this because he knows he can drill you for hours and you'll still have the energy to keep going.

You reduce your speed and groan softly as you try to catch your breath. You lean against George's chest while grinning broadly, choosing not to pay attention to the apparent dampness on the inside of your pants. It was quite literally smeared all over your underwear, but it was well worth it.

George presses a chaste kiss to the side of your head for a split second. The moment is blissful and enduring, however it doesn’t last long. His hands have long left your hips and are starting to make their way to his own pants where he slowly unbuttoned his jeans. He asks you in a sultry tone, “Ready to put that pussy to use, baby?”

TAGLIST: @calmspencer, @baddiebbarbietngz, @slytherclaw1978, @serendipitous-fernweh, @pandanation24, @rachelreallyroars, @tinafuentes, @chvmpion-jack, @ethereallovr, @godknows-shetried, @waggoth, @ellieswhor3, @wildestdreamers-tv, @faefaes-world, @hahahafucku, @delusional-13s-blog

[kitsumidori]

An assortment of Borderlands headcanons that I have saved up and I'm on when I'm going to ramble about these, but I'm doing it now. LET'S GOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Tina would sometimes crochet whenever she fidgets, these would result in cute little yarn plushies that she would give to her friends.

Despite being one of the smarter vault hunters, Maya has shown to be a little dense at times (like one time she asked Lilith if she has extra closet space for her books, Lilith only responded with the most deadpanned face ever imagined while Maya was waiting for an answer) You can blame the monks for that.

Ironically despite being called “The Firehawk” Lilith has a mild phobia of birds (huge ones specifically) She’s ok with small ones like with Bloodwing and Little Talon, though she was taken off once she’d noticed Talon grew way bigger than Bloodwing did.

Hammerlock likes to collect novelty nick-nacks (tea/coffee cups, souvenirs from gift shops, those singing animatronic fish trophy's ECT) and has also dragged Wainwright down the rabbit hole into collecting little trinkets they’ll find while on holiday (One being a paperweight that looked like a eldritch squid god that he keeps on his desk)

Gaige having ADHD is something that everyone agrees with. But I like to add that while she can spend hours reading multi chapter fanfictions on the ECHOnet, she however can’t finish an actual book and would spend hours skimming the same two pages and getting a headache from it. However give her a comic book/graphic novel (something like The Bone series) literally anything with pictures and she can easily get though those in an afternoon.

During her recovery, Angel has taken to age regression to cope with what Jack did to her. Lilith and Gaige understand and would help with her coping.

Clay is definitely the type of guy that can’t be labeled (sexuality wise). But at the same time he’s not too picky on who or what he likes and is open to whatever.

Wainwright and Alistair would host the best house parties hands down, especially during the holiday seasons.

Example: On Bloody Harvest, The Jakobs Manor would become a haunted house attraction filled with all sorts of spooks and treats and during the summer season, the two would invite the Raiders for a big cookout/pool party.

Moze has Hirsutism (excess hair growth in unexpected areas of the body) though it is hardly noticeable because

1. It's usually around her chest and stomach which she would shave off (just because she's a soldier doesn't mean she has to give up personal care and it's really itchy)

And 2. She's been taking hormone medication so it does reduce it

However she'll have some days where she would forget to do either due to mental shutdowns.

Despite Outer Krieg's violent tendencies, he is no moron. He has a very strange patchwork of knowledge, it's anyone's guess what he knows about any given topic.

Tyreen has a deep fear of dating/romance, this mainly stems from the idea that it'll end up like with her mom and dad.

Maya has a very soft spot for children. She really hates the idea that adults would use and abuse one for their own personal gain (like what happened to her)

There have been some days when Maya would use her powers to do the most stupid and mundane things, like phaselocking and feeding herself a pizza because she's too lazy to use her hands.

Unknown to herself and everyone else, Maya has the ability to sense ghostly/supernatural presence. She gets a feeling like she's being watched at times.

Contrary to popular beliefs, the Handsome Jack and Typhon DeLeon vaultlander figures are nowhere near valuable. Ironically it's the Claptrap figure that's the most valuable and most rarest.

Typhons """"""fame"""""" has been dwindling ever since it's been reveled that he's nothing more than a gross deadbeat that took other people's credit, and newer generations of vault hunters see him as a poser

Maya has Astraphobia (fear of thunderstorms). This stems from when she was a kid back at Athenas, if a storm comes by the temple, she would hide and freeze up, praying for it to end. This trauma stems further with the fact that back then she didn't have anyone to go to for comfort.

While thunderstorms are very uncommon on Pandora (at least in the part's where the Raiders reside) when they do come, Krieg is right there to comfort her throughout the storm.

(more TBA later)

[tohsri]

3some 💀

so this is my first fic, on tumblr, so i don't know how things work. however i have read some fanfiction in the past, so i guess i have a bit of experience. warnings ig: reader is described as a female/self insert, porn with plot, fingering, virginity loss (even though reader has the dirtiest mind), cough coug implied 4some, it makes no sense (it's a dream ofc it don't), characters may (will) be ooc (hmph) minors dni!! 18+

we only had a week before the big project. while i could hear satoru's voice happily chattering with a friend of his downstairs. it slightly bothered me that he wasn't up here studying with us.

"geto, is the presentation okay?" i leaned against the hard wooden chair, peeking at the unfinished presentation.

"mhm. i think satoru should be able to remember most of this, without looking at the screen too often."  he replied, lifting his hands off the keyboard and putting them behind his head. "by the way, where's toji?"

"hey, zenin, ya gonna help?" toji only scowled, muttering a "why should i" as he walked away grumbling.

toji was part of one of the most feared gang of this school, always rebelling against the teachers, never attending events, getting into fights in between the school buildings, and the scar that were plastered on his lips had pretty much proven a point.

you were genuinely taken aback on how geto talked to him so carelessly, as if toji couldn't beat the shit out of him with full force. toji looked like he didn't care anyway.

you focused your mind back to the presentation, helping geto point out mistakes.

"here, you spelled this wrong. lemme help." you leaned further, pushing geto to the side a little bit as your hands moves all around the keyboard. "maybe you can rephrase this to sound more formal."

"anyways, you continue working on the presentation, i'll go make some drinks for both of us. what do you want?"

"just some water please, thank you." he smiled softly, nodding his head as another thanks.

you went downstairs, dragging your hands down the railings to see satoru still smiling and staring at his phone.

"gojo, at least come help with the last bits of research.." you said in a whiny tone, making a cup of hot chocolate and pouring a glass of water for geto. "you've been on your phone this entire time, can't you spare a minute studying?"

"no can do~" he giggled, eyes still glued to the screen. "maybe if you stop giving me the longest parts of the presentation whenever we're in a group together."

"fine. study the last part and i'll give you the 2nd shortest." you grumbled. "but you have to edit your own part, save me and geto some work."

"now that's way too much to ask from me. you know what, i'll edit half my part." he gave you a shit-eating grin, knowing you couldn't help but give in to his words.

"half. that's the limit, now come upstairs and do research."

--------

"there are other ways to protect the environment, like reduce wasting plastic, participate in cleaning up beaches- uhh, whatever that's called, and other stuff. we'll search it up online."

"pff, nerd." geto teased, placing his arm on gojo's shoulder like an armrest.

"hey- get your hand off me!" gojo smacked it off, crossing his arms. you couldn't help but laugh at his puffed-out cheeks. unfortunately, he noticed. "what's so funny?!"

"n-nothing." you tried to calm yourself down, putting a hand over your mouth.

"i look that cute, don't i?~"

"you look like shit."

before gojo could say something, toji interrupted. "hey enough you two, let's just focus on the project so we can get it over with."

"let's decide on the roles first. of course, i get the introduction and conclusion, geto you get the 2nd shortest, toji 3rd shortest and gojo gets the longest."

"why's it always me who gets the longest? come on, give me a break for once~ you said i could switch with geto if i studied!"

geto glared at you. "what did you tell him?"

"exactly what he said." you laid back, with hands behind your head on the floor.

"alright, but you better repay me for switching." geto smirked.

"wh- why?! gojo never asked for anything!" you sighed. "fine. if you want me to pay," you whispered as you leaned closer to his ear.

"i'll pay with my body~"

geto looked as if he were about to explode right there, his face completely turning a tint of red. even the tip of his ears were burning with embarrassment.

"wait, what did you tell him?! i got to get this on camera!!-"

"shush gojo, it'll only work for her." he muttered, not enough for you to hear (or so he thought).

"anyways, how about a sleepover? so after a proper breakfast we can continue the project immediately." gojo suggested. "i already asked my parents, so i guess you're sort of obliged to let me stay."

you rolled your eyes. "you're lucky my parents aren't home, they would kick you out." you couldn't help but giggle at your own words.

"alright, we finish this topic up and then tomorrow we finish the rest."

-------- "alright, it's late. who's sleeping in the guest room?"

"me." toji grumbled, tugging onto his sweatshirt.

"there's only a bed and mattress in there, so one of you sleep in my room." you spoke up, putting both hands on the ground.

"i will." gojo and geto said in unison, as they both turned to each other.

you sighed, facepalming yourself. "you know what, sorry, one of you will sleep with toji-san. no offense."

toji just grumbled, avoiding eye contact with everyone.

"geto, is it okay if you sleep in the guest room?" you looked at him with the most adorable puppy eyes, and he was dragged away by your looks. he had no choice but to give in or else you'll (fake) cry.

he sighed, heading downstairs with toji to the guest room as gojo smiled excitedly.

"rest in peace, suguru." he laughed and you swore you could hear geto say 'shut up' halfway down the stairs. it made you giggle.

"i'm gonna get changed. i'm not sleeping in jeans. you aren't gonna sleep in your uniform either, so i hope you brought clothes."

after you and gojo had changed, you turned on the air conditioner and slept next to the window. despite the air conditioner being turned on, it never reached your spot which made you basically sweat while gojo got the enjoy the cool air.

you waited for a couple of minutes until it was dead silent, and removed the blanket above you. tiptoeing across the room, you had finally got snuggled in your cold bed. you sighed contently, but then realised gojo was right next to you, thankfully asleep.

until you felt a hand wrap around your waist and bring you closer.

"hey, stay on your side..~" he whispered teasingly, hugging you as if you were a plush.

"gojo, let me g-go. i'm just hot."

"mm, being here with me will only make you hotter." he muttered, pressing against your body. his warmth combined with the cold air felt perfect.

you just laid down in silence, enjoying being held in his embrace. however, tension was growing between the two of you. you two barely even knew each other in school (except for the projects you were partnered up with), and it was getting awkward.

eventually, you had managed to doze off into a deep slumber. you felt uncomfortable between your thighs, and it was making you wet.

you had opened your eyes, feeling gojo's cock slide inbetween your thighs, followed with his irregular panting. your panties and short pants were down at knee level, and the whole thing caught you off guard.

"sorry princess," he gasped out the name, and for a second it felt like you two were dating. "i got hard from you, is it okay if i use your thighs? or maybe even that sweet pussy.." he licked his lips at the thought of it.

flustered and basically paralysed, you could only let out a nod as his tip rubbed at your clit. all you could do was moan and whimper as he used your body to his heart's content.

his thrusts only got faster and sloppy, and without warning he came on your bedsheets.

"sorry again. i couldn't handle it," he chuckled, grabbing his cock. "i'll wash it in the morning. that okay with you?"

you had no idea what came over you that second, but your two fingers scooped up a part of his cum, sticking it into your mouth.

"oh fuck, that's hot." he nibbled on your earlobe, licking the back of it.

"can't help it, 'toru."

"call me that one more time and you won't be getting an ounce of sleep tonight."

"alright alright, just.. sleep. i'm tired."

--------

fuck, i'm thirsty.

you quietly walked downstairs, carefully not to wake anyone, grabbing the water bottle that was conveniently placed at the side, taking one big sip as you quenched your thirst.

you didn't feel sleepy. at all. i guess the only thing you could resort to was watching anime on the tv. unfortunately, the only tvs that were available was the one right next to your room, or the one right next to the guest room.

eh, too late to go back upstairs.

you turned on the tv, lowering the volume all the way to 0. how boring it was, watching your show with only subtitles. whatever, it wouldn't hurt to increase the volume a bit.

careful not to wake the two sleeping boys in the room next to you, you increased the volume by 2. well, better than nothing. only the chances of their waking up to you watching anime at 2am.

you watched for a good 15 minutes, trying (struggling) not to talk in the middle of the show, or fangirl whenever your favourite character came on.

you were interrupted by the sound of the guest room door clicking. toji.

"hm? what are you doing up this late?" he said in a softer, yet a raspy voice.

"watching anime. couldn't sleep."

"i get that too." he mumbled. "do you have a lighter?"

"brown box on the counter."

"thanks." toji headed outside, shutting the door as he lit his cigarette on fire.

you opened the glass door, taking a sip of your water bottle. "i've never smoked before. have you burned your mouth on the inside?"

your question made him chuckle. "no. never done it before. i only smoke when i'm stressed or feeling like shit."

"had a nightmare?" he only nodded, blowing out the smoke from his cigarette.

you just continued watching your anime while toji stared into the sky, dropping the cigarette butt on the ground and crushing it.

"do you want one?" he spoke up.

"no, i don't think i want to." you smiled, sighing. you closed your eyes for a while, until you felt an arm around you.

"is satoru awake?" you recognised it. geto.

"no. he's sleeping.." your memories with him a few hours ago came back, causing your cheeks to flush red.

"i heard that zenin go out, woke me up from that dream."

"what dream were you having?"

"maybe a dream about you."

you blinked, processing the information. "w- wha?"

"speaking of which, you still haven't repaid me yet.. what was it? your body, hmm?" he smirked, pushing his knee against your covered clit, causing you to let out a small moan.

"it w-was a joke, geto!" you couldn't help but moan as his touch, as he continued to grind his knee on your sensitive bud of nerves.

"oh? so you don't want this?" he stopped almost immediately. "but you're so wet~"

"n-no, please geto, want m-more.."

he hungrily pulled off the shorts and panties, revealing your already wet pussy. "lemme have a taste, good girl."

his tongue repeatedly lapped at your juices, pushing his tongue into your hole. he swears even the slightest movement of his tongue made you clench around him so tight.

the thought of the lewd act only make your bundle of nerves twitch, and you were so close to release because of how talented geto's tongue was.

"are you close?" he pulled away, breaking the string of mixed saliva and cum. "i wanna hear you beg for it. aren't you a good girl?"

you merely nodded. gathering the words stuck in your throat, you finally spoke. "p-please geto-kun.. w'nna cum, needa cum, i'm a good girl.."

"mm, you're quite obedient." he grinned, sucking on your bud gently. you bit your lip, trying to hold in your moans. "mmn, g'nna cum! g'nna cum- ah!"

geto placed his mouth on your pussy, letting him taste your cum. he swallowed it all, but you were too tired to notice. you rested your head against back, panting heavily.

you were too tired to even notice toji standing right behind the couch.

"geto. got room for another?"

--------

you suddenly found yourself manhandled by toji, on your hands and knees, sucking geto's cock as toji thrusted into you from behind.

"fuck, this pussy is tight." he grunted, balls slapping against your sensitive clit. "squeezing my cock so well, huh?"

you couldn't even respond properly. you just nodded and let out muffled whimpers, moaning into geto's cock from toji basically slamming into your cervix so often. his thrusts was kept at a sloppy pace, only stopping to give a harsh slap to your red and glowing ass. "fuck, you don't know how long i've kept staring at his plump ass. your tits are fucking amazing too, built to be just like a whore." he kept degrading you, maybe even squeezing your tits playfully.

"but she's such a good one, isn't she? taking our cocks so well just like a slut." he ran his fingers through your hair so affectionately, pushing your head further down his cock. "c'mon, c'mon. just like tha- fuck!"

without warning geto had already sent spurts of sticky cum down your throat, filling up your mouth. he pulled his cock out, admiring the sticky mess. "swallow." one word was all he needed for you to do so. "good girl. zenin, mind changing positions? let me see her tits."

toji flipped you over, your pussy still wrapped around his throbbing cock. after all, why wouldn't toji want to see the view? the next thing he knew he was completely focused on how geto pinched your erect nipples, making you whimper from the overwhelming sensitivity.

geto pulled out his phone, taking a good photo of your fucked out expression lying on his lap. "god, imagine how much satoru would pay for this. this fucking beauty right here. hey, maybe you should call him down so we could enjoy this beautiful body for ourselves."

oh, one more person joining this would only make it hell for you. you couldn't imagine the damage that they would leave you with for days. as much as you didn't want that to happen, you could care less about the consequences when you were this needy. the thoughts you had were so fucking lewd but you couldn't handle it.

"fuck, gonna cum, let me cum inside?" toji interrupted, letting you regain your consciousness back for a second.

"'m not on p-pill, wait!-"

"don't w- fuck!! don't worry, i- ain't gonna. just lemme fuck your pussy a lil' longer, alright?" he panted, thrusting a few more times into your pussy before pulling out, cumming all over your stomach and chest. "fuck, he's right. you're such a good girl. liked being praised huh?"

you only nodded before you finally passed out from exhaustion.

  AFTERMATH

"fffuck, what a fucking headache. what was that-.." you glided your hand over the leather, realising you were still on the couch. you removed the soft and fluffy blanket above you.

"geto-kun." your voice softened at the thought, blushing at the possibility of it being toji too who gave you this blanket. you noticed you didn't feel sticky at all either.

how nice of them. words: 2.6k hooray

[sizzlingpatrolfox]

Hi. How do you do? I'm here to vent🪑:

So I'm a Jikooker (yes I know, foolish. But once I get into something, it's hard to let go. That's just who I am, unfortunately). I'm a Jimin-biased Jikooker and one of the well-known Jikooker blogs I follow (I won't mention their name because I don't want to bring them hate) made a shady post about PJMs about two days ago. They said Jimin is the member who attracts the weirdest solos. When PJMs came for them, they switched up on some "all solos are bad/it's dumb being a solo".

But they explained why they don't like PJMs specifically, said that group have been the one who've always attacked them the most, so they say these things based on their own personal experiences. Which is understandable, right? I know all the members' solos hate Jimin specifically and spend their days saying the ugliest things about him, but I personally hate JJKs the most because they are the worst of them all, they make Jimin biased people's experience very unpleasant online, they say the most horribly awful things about Jimin..

This blogger said it's funny how PJMs who accuse her of being a JM anti also accuse her of being a JK stan in the same breath and that she didn't understand why it's PJMs always flocking to their blog and not other members' solos. I sent them an ask about this, saying the reason why only that specific group of people keep coming for them and why they accuse them of such things is probably because they've always had high praises for JK while being dismissive of Jimin/anything about him and only praising him the context of the ship.

For example, around May last year, they'd say things like "JK is going to be the member to really blow it out of the park" in terms of success about 'Seven' and his upcoming solo album. They once answered a shady ask that said JK doesn't look like he baths these days and they said "you know you're talented as hell as an artist when antis drag you about bathing. It's because they know they can't drag him about his singing, dancing and performing because he does all those exceedingly well. Man is goated AF". There's nothing wrong with what they said, people have different tastes and JK is clearly the best thing since sliced bread for them.

But then in another ask/post, they'd talk about how they don't like Jimin's voice at all because it sounds too nasal. Which is also fine, because like I said, different tastes. But the contrast between how they talk about JK vs how they talk about JM makes sense as the reason why people would flock to their blog and call them a JM anti/JK solo, isn't it?

This person has made posts that have so obviously been heavily biased towards JK. They say they're OT7 and they don't bias JK at all but their many posts about JK vs about the other members seriously contradict that. They try to come across as "I love all seven equally" (although they did admit that their affection for Tae has waned) but just going through their entire blog or following them for the past three years as I have will show you that's a complete lie and that they obviously love Jungkook a lot more than the others.

I told them about the times they'd speak so well about JK from an artist point of view - they praise his dance, praise his singing, praise him as a person, as Jungkook the individual outside of Jikook. But every time it comes to Jimin, it's "gosh that man is so sexy. I bet you JK tires that ąss out", every time Jimin posts a dance video, it's "but JK is truly such a lucky man". It's never praises about Jimin as an individual and an artist. No, those praises have to involve JK, and they have to be about sex. And it's understandable why Jimin biased people/PJMs would get triggered because we've had to deal with the fandom erasing Jimin's talent as achievements and reducing him to being "cute, sexy, fckable".

I also mentioned the FACE to Seven to GOLDEN era when people sent them asks about how Jimin seems to be getting sabotaged by the company for JK and how the fandom attacked Jimin for getting not even 1% of what JK got but kept quite when JK got it all, and how they (the blogger) dismissed the anons who said the company is sabotaging JM but had all the time in the world to talk about how terrible Jimin's solo stans are for attacking JK for his career choices.

I told them that most Jikook accounts who seem so biased towards JK and defend what HYBE has been doing to Jimin in favour of JK, eventually became JK solo focused accounts after 'Seven'. I don't think they'd ever become a solo, though, because they seem to really care about some other members (I just don't think Jimin is one of them lol)

I told them that for all these reasons, I don't blame people for accusing them of being a JK solo/Jimin anti. I thought they'd respond to my ask because I genuinely wanted to understand their perspective but they made a bullsht post saying they've blocked all anons because people just want them to explain themselves over and over again and that they don't like PJMs and we'll just have to deal with it.

I laughed. Because it's so obvious they didn't know how to respond to my ask so they took the easy way out and at the end of the day, they win, because they get to twist things and make their followers see things as they want them to see them and Jimin stans are forever the bad guy.

Someone called them out on always having the time to write posts about how Jimin stans are "being weird" and attacking "other members" again (the "other members" is always JK lol because this bloggers posts always come out when PJMs attack JK. They never complain when PJMs are all up on Yoongi or Tae or the others) but never calling out JJK for attacking others, especially Jimin. Their response was "I actually talked about this on my personal account and vented to a friend but everything always has to be said publicly for y'all". Sure, Jan. It's very convenient how they can always complain about PJMs publicly for all to see but when it's about Jungkook's stans it has to be done privately. They talked about "solo stans" (it was PJMs who said those disgusting things and we all know) accusing JK of being groomed by BangPD and sleeping his way to the top, but there has never been a single post about how "solo stans" have been saying the exact same things about Jimin for years and especially during FACE era, and how they've said even worse things.

Anyway I just wanted to say I'm so done with Jikookers. They don't care about Jimin at all, never did. I should have seen it with the "Jimin would be ashamed to see you guys saying JK doesn't seem to care that Jimin's career is being hurt because of him", when that's literally what it looks like. I should have seen it with the "why do people hate Jikook so much?" comments, when it's actually only Jimin getting hate and Jungkook being portrayed as the trapped victim. Even Taehyung gets more defended by them: every time other Jikookers hate Taehyung for "deliberately feeding Taekookers" (as they say) these Jikook bloggers write lengthy posts about Taehyung alone, highlighting his "innocent" personality and the times he's shown how much he adores his members and would never hurt anyone of them. But when Jimin gets accused of being an attention seeker, a fanservice king who enjoys "feeding Jokers", they write lengthy posts about JIKOOK and their bond/moments.

They really do not care about Jimin at all. I wonder what they see when they look at him. I really wish I could literally see through their eyes and find out how they really see Jimin because it's all so bizarre.

I remember saying once that Jungkook biased jikookers were the most delusional jikookers. Most Jimin biased people jumped ship a few years ago, and now all there's left is Jungkook biased jikookers. They're the majority, by a landslide. Literally 4/5 jikook blogs you come across on Tumblr, are Jungkook biased. And they're all delusional, they all talk the same way, share the same theories, etc. In general, Jungkook has always had the most shipper fans out of all the members because he's shipped with everyone. Anyways, I said they were the most delusional and my point gets proven everyday.

I genuinely believe you have to be able to will yourself into ignoring a lot of things about Jungkook to be his fan, and I say that from first-hand experience because at some point in history I used to like him a lot, too. But there was always a "wish he hadn't done that wish he hadn't said that". In almost every piece of content, there was without fail a moment where I felt like I had to settle for Jungkook; "oh well he's too young; oh well he's awkward at expressing himself; oh well he didn't think that through; oh well he's impulsive". Eventually, I just got tired and bored of the same shit year after year. Speaking only about attitude though, his attitude is better than it was a couple of years ago, at least on the surface, and I have no qualms about admitting that. But I'm not really a second chance type of person so it's been over.

If she's a jikookers she's obviously gonna have readers who are interested in Jimin and Jungkook both together and separately. Why is she wondering about Jimin "solos" going to her blog? Is she stupid? She must be. Because if she didn't want pjms or Jimin biased people to reach out to her, then maybe she could just dissociate Jimin from her blog and that's it. It's not that hard. But if she keeps calling herself a joker...

This isn't about pjms. I have no business defending them and myself I've made fun of them and all before. But what's fair is fair, and the truth is that they're not the worst. Please, a lot of them even felt bad for Taehyung when Jungkook was having his 2739483rd listening party during layover's release.

Sexually charged insults, edits, racism, nepotism accusations, blowing up fake info in hopes it'll turn into a scandal. All done against Jimin by Jungkook's fans, both solos and taekookers. Who were the first ones to call Jimin a sexual predator? Who were the first people to accuse Jimin of sleeping with CEOs? Exactly. And it's been YEARS. This isn't something that started in July 2023; it's been going on for fucking years, since 2017 if not before. I talk about it because I saw it all while it was happening, and I saw pjms walking away from the fandom and becoming solos. They didn't even hate on the members until it got really bad -die a hero or live long enough to become the villain or whatever.

You'd take a look at pjm twitter in 2018, 2019, 2020 and it was all Jimin content, "hybe mistreating Jimin" threads (that had NOTHING to do with other members), and even some ship content enjoying yoonmin, vmin, jikook, because pjms actually liked them. Those were pjms. Meanwhile, taekook lives already existed. Meanwhile, DC gallery was already filling up with the most disgusting stuff about Jimin that wasn't even true.

Every time anyone mentioned the hate against Jimin, it was "move silently, block and report, do not engage". Okay, cool. Now, there's hate against Jungkook and it's rant after rant about pjms. What happened to just block and report silently? Now they're enraged enough to talk about it? Now they want to bring attention to it and call it out for the sick behavior it is? Now, when it's against Jungkook but not when it was against Jimin?

The other thing is that jikookers don't want to admit that they're in bed with taekookers. Taekookers are ALSO Jungkook stans. Jungkook solos, taekookers, they're all Jungkook stans but jikookers don't want to hold accountable for what they say and instead they charge against pjms because they don't want to be grouped with people as deranged as taekookers for being a Jungkook fan. They try their hardest to not associate Jungkook to his solos because in their mind, the fans actually do represent the idol. So Jungkookie can't have deranged fans under any circumstance; it's all and only pjms. Deep down, that's exactly what they're doing; in their minds, pjms are a representation of Jimin, but Jungkook solos, taekookers and deranged jikookers are not a representation of Jungkook. How does that work?

My personal favorite is when they say 'how can Jimin have such evil fans when he's the kindest?". What do they mean? That Jungkook deserves to have jjks and taekookers as fans? Mmmmm!!! If solo stans are a representation of the members, what does it say of Jungkook that he has fans like muri?

I don't know if you're talking about who I think you're talking about, but I've seen a blog that sounds a lot like what you're describing. Someone sent me a link once, and I replied to their ask. I can't look for it right now, but I'll try to search for it during the weekend. So, I saw that blog and it was essay after essay about seven and the tools from the company and scooter, etc. Defending all of it. Which, okay if they think it's cool. But anyone who dared to say that Jimin was neglected and Jungkook was pushed by favoritism or something along those words, while not even being mean about it, mind you, a lot of people just wondering why; they were like "just say you're a Jimin solo and go". That's how they'd reply. Everyone, anyone who dared to have a different opinion or a less than favoring one about Jungkook or his career, was immediately called an anti and a solo. A Jimin solo, mind you.

Then, I also saw this ask:

So, someone saying "I hate so many things about jimin" is "not a rare breed", but saying "Jungkook payola" is an anti, and stupid and a Jimin solo.

It seems criticism -whatever the type- about one of them is okay, but if it's about the other it's bad? If that isn't the literal definition of bias...

Imagine I went to her and said this exact thing or something similar but about Jungkook, pointing out a thing I don't like about him; do you think I would get a "sameee you're so valid" or would I get lectured on all the good things about him?

If they're so bright, so quick on their feet, so much better than solos, how come they didn't think this could be a Jimin anti pretending to be a fan? How come they didn't get labeled as an akgae of other member immediately?

I don't know how they don't get tired or bored of pretending. Is life really that dull for them that they have to create a whole personality on the internet? Pretending they like someone they don't really like?

At the very least, people should begin to question themselves why it's okay to talk freely about Jimin's voice, or any other thing they see as flaws in him, and they're okay with those conversations; but they cry and throw up if someone says the dumbest, smallest shit about Jungkook? Just accepting that you don't care about both of them in the same way, and that you believe one is more talented and more deserving than the other, could be a good start.

[kanamori-kamper-moved]

Tres Leches Cake

Written for @ygorarepairweek!

YGO Rarepair Week 1 - Prompt is Sweets/Desserts - Fathershipping

~~~ Vetrix has always had an eye for baking, it’s always been there. Even when him and Faker were cooped up in that lab, he always baked nice little tea cakes, although he never accepted them, let alone his tea. He remembered it so clearly, to see the shards of the teacup splayed all about the ground. He detested Faker for the act, but he never let it show.

But now, he kind of missed it. He was so petite that he could barely reach the top of the kitchen counter, always having to drag over a stool or ask one of his kids to hold him up so he could get something.

He’d barely had time to bake as he used to. Oh, such a shame.

It was sad, really, to be reduced to such a pitiful thing. But it was okay, because Kazuma didn’t mind. When they’d reunited he had expected him to be disgusted, to wonder where the old him had been, to never speak to him again. Maybe he was just scared, because the moment Kazuma saw him again, it seemed he’d loved him even more than before.

It was almost like nothing changed.

He’s hesitant, however. It’s a maelstrom of “Can I do this?” and “Is it wrong?”, to the point it makes his head spin. Because Kazuma is married, after all. Vetrix has met his wife multiple times, she’s a nice lady, this has to go against some type of rule.

But he doesn’t have the time to dwell on it. it’s the middle of the day, a quarter past 2 and not a second more, and their outside soaking up the sun. Kazuma went traveling with her again, bringing over a box of tres leche cake he’d picked up. Even though he never says it, it’s a gift! He assumes Vetrix would like it. It’s light and fluffy, just as Kazuma is whenever he holds him close.

His eyes are starting to wander again, noticing Kazuma's smile. "Who's got you smiling like that?" Vetrix asks, setting down his fork for a moment, "It's you, I think. You're always so cute when you eat, y'know."

"A-Am I now?" Those words alone make his cheeks flush. (Along with his galaxy eyes too, which is pleasantly pulsing with color)

"Yeah, you've got a.. what's it called?” He takes a moment to think. Oh, endearingly air-headed Kazuma, “A sweet tooth, yeah!"

“It always shows whenever you eat cake or stuff like that..”

"I suppose I do." The blonde stifles an awkward laugh, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and wiping the runaway crumbs from the side of his lip.

But he doesn’t suppose so, he knows so. It wasn’t his fault that sweet things always tasted so amazing. Kazuma always has a way of making things better, this cake included. He’s never been fond of big extravagant cakes (like the one Mr. Heartland had at that big party for the World Duel Carnival finalists, which he was sure it tasted like nothing but chalky, tasteless fondant) as it was always the small ones he loved the most, much like this tres leches cake.

He doesn’t love it, (love is too strong a word to place on an inanimate object, and love denotes attachment. Vetrix is absolutely horrible with attachment) and he’s still not 100% sure if he hates it, but he continues to eat it while not being completely sure why.

Visiting Kazuma, or just having him come over always tended to be a little draining. Most times he couldn’t find the right words to say, or just wanted his intrusive thoughts to win, to pin him down to the ground and kiss him until the both of them forgot their own names. Vetrix could barely function, like a computer running on the the first version of Windows as it slowly rotted away. But it’s always a relief, because Kazuma does most of the talking, anyways.

Vetrix has never been chatty whenever he’s alone with Kazuma. No one’s here, just Vetrix and Kazuma and over 100 colorful flowers that sit in the the flowerbeds right next to the table. Hell, Kazuma helped him plant all of them as well.

“I like the sunflowers. They remind me of you.” He’s shifted in his chair just a bit. They always point towards the sun, as if it’s their own personal spotlight. But Vetrix isn’t confident enough to do any of that. “They’re pretty, like you.”

He doesn’t quite remember the last time he heard Kazuma call him pretty, it’s been so long that the memories almost escaped him. He remembered Kazuma holding him closed running his fingers through his hair when they slept in that tent together, “The stars are pretty tonight, almost as pretty as you.” But the moment was cut short due to the most obvious.

But, out of no where, he finally has it in him to speak.

“I like spending time with you,”

It’s not an “I love you”, or an “I need you”, or “I like you”, nothing to ever suggest it. But the feelings there.

“And uhm, thank you very much for the cake, you’re very sweet.” He squeaks, feeling a little tinier than he actually is. But he doesn’t even realize what he said, having to do a double take. “I mean the CAKE is very sweet!” He babbles out, yellow eyes darting about.

Kazumas smile doesn’t go away, seemingly unbothered. Vetrixs shoulders relaxed, cheeks covered in blush.  

“That wasn’t so hard, now was it?” He chuckles as he cuts himself a slice. Almost as if he knew. “I’ve barely gotten to try this stuff, let’s see if it’s as good as you make it look!”

He takes his first bite of cake and briefly closes his eyes in contentment. It’s pleasantly sweet and moist, and Vetrix can’t help but look on as his features fill with pleasure.

“And you’re welcome, really.”

And somehow, almost magically, the tension disappears.

[stylographic-blue-rhapsody]

been thinking abt the in-world mechanics of healing magic, and exactly what it is that makes espen Good At Healing. besides the standard boost to hp, I figured her magical healing was more thorough/easier on the body/reduced scarring and itching in an immediately noticeable way to her patients

obviously a ficlet was in order bc the only thing better than textwalling in discord is pairing the meta with another lil glimpse into The Beforetimes

scene: bazzoxan, 60 years ago. the taskhand's personal apartments

...

Espen looked up from her paperwork as the door to the apartments opened with the clattering sound of heavy boots and clinking metal. She smiled to herself as a string of increasingly-nonsensical curses echoed up the stairs and into the bedroom, heralding Fyrna’s safe return: she was only ever quiet coming off duty when something had gone terribly wrong. 

“Do you want assistance?” Espen called. 

While the reply was unintelligible over the clamor of platemail being doffed and dropped onto the floor, by tone it was a declination. Espen turned her attention back to the stacks of parchment spread before her on the bed: the accounts and inventory wouldn’t finish balancing themselves. 

Some time later, when the stocklist requests were almost compiled, Fyrna arrived and collapsed onto the reading chaise with a sigh. She was clad only in soft breeches, hair damp and tousled from the bath she had apparently taken while Espen was engrossed in the task of finding a miscalculated purchase record. 

Looking up, Espen saw Fyrna start to drag her nails along a freshly-healed wound beneath her collarbone before restraining the urge with a grimace. Fyrna muttered to herself, “Light help me, this itches something hellish.”

“You could ask me.”

Fyrna lolled her head back on the chair and smiled apologetically. “I’m just whining to myself. No need to interrupt you while you’re busy.”

Espen gave her a dry look, shutting the journal and shuffling the papers into a stack to set aside. “Martyrdom isn’t becoming. Come here, firefly.”

Chuckling at the reprimand, Fyrna hauled herself from the chaise and clambered onto the bed. The acrid tang of healing poultice and mild florals of Fyrna’s soap hit Espen’s nose as her wife settled before her. Espen cataloged two major lacerations along Fyrna’s back in addition to the one on her collarbone: all three scabbed and showing the shine of young scar tissue. With a muttered incantation, Espen frosted her hand and ran the pads of her fingertips along the one on her chest, avoiding scratching it with her nails. 

Fyrna groaned in relief at the cold. “Oh, that is fucking brilliant. You are so sexy, did you know that? Do you want to get married?” 

“Sure, but you’ll have to ask my wife first.”

“Oh? The handsome Taskhand? Maybe I’ll ask to marry her, too. She seems like a catch.”

Espen snorted. “Turn around so I can get a better look at your back.”

Comfortable silence settled over the room as Espen made methodical passes over Fyrna’s skin to soothe the newly-healed wounds. Based on their orientation and jagged course, Espen guessed that the skirmish had been against something with nasty claws—babau, perhaps. There had been more of those emerging from the Rise, and it could be a pattern—

“Can you teach Elexi how to make his healing not itch, like yours?”

Fyrna’s question pulled Espen from her thoughts of demonic incursion. She said, “No, unfortunately. It’s not their fault, though. It’s very rare to have the ability to heal perfectly.” “And why’s that?”

“Do you want the quick answer or the correct answer?”

Fyrna sighed contentedly as Espen pressed her magically-chilled palms fully against her back. “I want the long winded, technical answer that will make you use your excited academic voice. It’s cute.”

“You are the only person in all of Xhorhas who thinks it’s endearing.”

“Everyone else has poor taste. Please instruct me well, Captain Danlys.”

Espen huffed and leaned forward to place a brief kiss on the nape of Fyrna’s neck. “As you wish, Taskhand Beltune.

“In arcane theory, it is understood that every spell, whether formally taught or accessed innately, falls into one of the eight schools of magic. Contrary to the layman’s understanding of the Weave, these schools are not different types of magic so much as they are the different forms magic can take, or the constraints by which a mage may safely channel its volatility.”

Fyrna hummed. “It’s using a saddle to ride a mount instead of riding bareback.”

“Yes, schools are like tack.” Espen pushed gently at Fyrna’s shoulder to encourage her to turn to face her again. “And ‘healing’ is not its own school because the desired outcome changes the channel required to accomplish it. Returning the deceased to life is necromancy because it is a manipulation of the spirit and not the body. Curing poison is abjuration because it is negation of something extant in the system. 

“The healing of wounds is almost always accomplished via evocation, which is, essentially, indiscriminately pumping creation magic into damaged tissue to fill the gaps. However, this does not seamlessly blend the whole and healthy tissues in the body with the recreated flesh, instead creating a border that the body must finish integrating. Because this integration is biologically the same process as natural wound recovery, magical healing itches just as the end stages of natural healing does.”

“Makes sense to me.” Fyrna’s eyes drifted closed as Espen attended to the wound on her chest. “What about you, though? Why doesn’t your healing make me want to rub against a scrub tree like a moorbounder with a face full of bee stings?”

“There is technically another way to magically heal a wound: speeding along the body’s natural process of converting its resources into new tissues via transmutation. This is, however, exhausting and potentially dangerous to the patient depending on the severity of the wound and the energy availability of the body. Transmutative healing also requires a very sensitive caster to manipulate the magic correctly at that small of a scale.” 

“So your healing combines evocation and transmutation, to restore the flesh and then integrate it with the body?”

Espen hummed in affirmation. “Most people can only manipulate the Weave using one school at a time, but very powerful arcanists have the skill to cast through multiple channels simultaneously and accomplish this. I do not have that sort of power, of course, but the Luxonmark attunes me to body-magic in a way that allows for dual-channeling while healing. To use another riding metaphor, if channeling two schools is trick riding on two mounts, the Mark is a yoke keeping the two together so I do not have to control them both independently.”

A smile began to pull at the corners of Fyrna’s mouth, her eyes sparking with mischief. “ ‘Attuned to body-magic’? That sounds…”

Espen raised an eyebrow. Amused, she asked, “Would you like me to wait for you to make the joke, or shall we assume it’s been made so we can carry on?”

Fyrna barked a laugh and leaned forward to kiss the tip of Espen’s nose. “I was only going to say that you didn’t need to tell me you’re ‘attuned to body-magic.’ “ 

“That wasn’t as crass as I had expected. You’re losing your edge, Beltune.” Espen flicked her cheek playfully. 

“That shouldn’t be a surprise. How could one not soften in the presence of your loveliness?”

For all the flirting, for the suggestive banter, that is what finally elicited a blush from Espen. “What a cliche. Have you been borrowing Bas’s trashy romance novels again?”

Mercifully, Fyrna allowed her to deflect. “I still think you’d enjoy them if you’d give them a chance.”

“And give Tars and Jin that ammunition against me? I can’t risk it.” Espen said. “Do the lacerations still itch?”

Fyrna stretched gingerly, spine popping with the effort. “No, they feel much better, thank you. Do you have work to finish?”

“I think it can mostly be left for tomorrow.” Espen extricated herself from the bed and scooped up the stacked paperwork. “I have a set of infusions steeping that I need to filter and store first, but I’ll retire once I’m done. Wait for me?”

Fyrna snatched Espen’s free hand before she could get too far from the bed and placed a kiss on her knuckles. Releasing her, she made a shooing motion. “Until the mountains sink into the sea, my love, but I hope it won’t take you quite that long.”

“No, it shouldn’t,” Espen replied with a soft laugh. “Maybe only until the Barbed Fields turn green.”

“Oh, that’s not so long. See you soon, starshine.”

[beevean]

(Feel free to ignore this if you don't want to talk about IDW Sonic! /gen) I don't know if you've seen the solicits for issues 63 and 64 yet, but... yikes. I'm happy Silver is getting more focus, but it honestly feels as if they're just going the Archie Sonic route with him being kind of a literal dumbass jumping to conclusions left and right? In itself I don't mind that, I think it does suit Silver to immediately undertake action without thinking things fully through, but it's how the other characters (are going to) react to it. The fact that the solicit for issue 64 already says "Awkwardness ensures." is promptly giving me second-hand embarrassment, and it hasn't even come out yet! I really don't want another situation wherein everyone is going to jump down Silver's throat (*flashing back to Sonic dragging him by his quills through the town towards Antione in the hospital*) because of the narrative presenting him as an idiot who accuses others without proof and like a dumbass (even if Silver is right; I'm pretty sure it's already confirmed the blue cat dude is Mimic in disguise. I'm not sure if IDW Sonic the comic can be trusted for the others to put a genuine apology towards Silver when this comes to light.). It honestly makes me kind of sad that Silver might get reduced to just being The Dumb Overeager Guy Being Rude To Others And Who Everyone Thinks Is Stupid in this way, not to mention all the weirdness of him getting in the way of the Diamond Cutters and being an overeager fanboy despite having been perfectly able to work together with Whisper at the end of the Metal Virus arc (and, you know, being an immensely powerful psychic and stuff). The comic already went this route in issue 8, why are they dragging it up again despite having shown things that can definitely be interpreted as the contrary in issues 26 and 28?

Just something that has been on my mind ever since I read those solicits, and wanted to get off my chest😅

Stuck in the past with no clear directive, Silver decides to spend some time with the Diamond Cutters and their new member. But he’s too busy being star-struck over Whisper to notice that he’s interrupting their training! Elsewhere, Sonic takes Blaze sightseeing so she can enjoy her vacation.

This issue is all about Silver the Hedgehog! First, he's incredibly suspicious of the Diamond Cutters' new member and he jumps to a conclusion that leads him to some hasty accusations. Awkwardness ensues. Then, Blaze comforts Silver as they bond over being away from home and in Sonic's world.

I'm honestly surprised that they even remembered that Silver is a Whisper fanboy. Remember when people shipped Silvisper and Blazangle, before Whispangle fused together? Good times lol

Yeah, this plot is going to be cringe in the real sense of the word. I hate when the story is about characters making fool of themselves, and Silver is about to be a uwu cute but annoying idiot in #63, and a Mr. Conspiracy Theory (who was actually right all along) in #64? Miss me with that.

Remember when Silver kicked the entirety of Sonic's ass and came close to murder him in cold blood? I do. Silver is not an edgy murder machine and sure I can believe he's happier now, but come on, do something more with him than turn him into the cute child of the group!

Also didn't Silver already have a conversation about being stuck in the past in the 2022 annual, with Espio? A much more interesting interaction since the two have only been paired together in Rivals 2 of all things? Ah, but then again, if they're rehashing Archie, sure why not :V yay can't wait to see Sonic being an utter jerkass to Silver <3

And why oh why did you have to remind me of how awful Tangle's apology to Whisper was 😭 I hate that scene so much

... I hope they'll show Sonic and Blaze having fun on Frog Forest. I love Frog Forest 🥺 please just have two characters having fun on their own

[rigaudon]

highly controversial (esp for tumblr) take under the cut, brought to you by me, less than 24 hours after running out of my antidepressants

i hate the continued trend of "quirkifying" (thing i made up just now) mental illness, but I especially hate how recently tumblr has latched onto, specifically, adhd and autism and turned them into personality types that people slap on a name tag to show off how unique they are. I hate that being neurodivergent has become the go-to excuse for terminally online people to justify their shitty behavior. I hate the sentiment that being unmedicated is something to be proud of. I hate that wanting to be fucking normal is a cardinal sin, because ew why would you want to be like those boring neurotypicals.

I hate it. I want to be normal. I started taking medication for ADHD when I was four years old and I have never, not once in my life, thought it was a Fun Thing To have. I hate that I've spent the last 15 years slowly coming to terms with the fact that I'm probably--no almost definitely--autistic, but am still vehemently opposed to it and unable to reconcile that fact despite all the evidence. I don't want to be autistic. I don't want to have adhd. I don't want to make these things a part of my identity that I share with people in the same breath as I talk about my favorite video games or dnd class.

It's not fun. It's not a cute, exclusive club you get to be part of.

It's miserable and alienating and people don't take it seriously. Because you're just lazy and not trying hard enough. Why haven't you done this task you promised you'd do six months ago. Why did you fail out of college? Why did you squander that once-in-a-lifetime opportunity? Why don't you finish anything you start? Having a low attention span isn't an excuse to not communicate like a normal person. I've had to tell you this five times why can't you just remember? Why can't you save any money? Why are you so fucking weird? Don't you ever think about anyone other than yourself?

Why can't you Just Be Normal?

I would give anything to just be a shitty, irresponsible person who makes bad decisions out of carelessness or lack of empathy. I would give anything to be a "boring neurotypical". Because I could work on that. I could become a better person. i could learn from my mistakes and have that actually mean something practically rather than just cognitively.

It's an overwhelming feeling of hopelessness. Accepting that my brain just does not work correctly and no amount of positive thinking, or bullet journaling, or time management skills, or even medication will fix it. It will always be a struggle. It will always be a ten ton weight shackled to my ankles that I have to drag behind me through any task that doesn't result in instant gratification. There will never be a permanent solution. I will never wake up one day and suddenly be able to do these basic fucking tasks that everyone else does without issue. I will always have to remind myself to brush my teeth, or to eat breakfast, or to take a shower, or to make sure my cats get fed. It will always be an ordeal to get the mail or to go grocery shopping or to keep myself from sabotaging every good thing in my life for the umpteenth time.

It's exhausting. I'm so tired. I'm so sick of fighting against myself every waking moment of every single day. I'm so sick of being told that I don't deserve any kind of accommodations or allowances or compromises and there is no excuse because "everyone else has to do these things and you don't get special treatment".

I don't want special treatment. I don't want everything different or "wrong" with me to be painted on my skin in bright red ink for everyone to see. I don't want to be reduced to a bunch of boxes so people can just glance at the labels and decide that's all they need to know about me. I don't want to stand out. I don't want to be different. I want to fucking blend in and be unremarkable and boring.

I just want to be fucking normal.

[idontunderstandwhydoyouneedmyurl]

Inquisitor as a Companion: Romance edition!

Template here. Under a cut since it's lengthy.

Inquisitor as a Companion: original post here

For Delilah Lavellan - or since she's a companion here, just Delilah.

Sexual/Racial preference: Romancable by any gender and any race, but men/qunari get less approval for each flirt option

Nickname for PC: “Ma vhenas”, meaning “my/our home”. Sometimes just “vhenas”, which is also a play on “vhenan” being an endearment meaning “heart”

Romance only mission: “Ma Vhenan, Ma Vhenas.” (Prerequisite: complete the quests "Here Lies the Abyss" and "Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts") The Inquisitor sends a letter to the Keeper of Delilah's clan via a war table mission (for Dalish Inquisitors, mission time for this is reduced 25%; time is reduced a further 25% if the war table mission “Protect Clan Lavellan and Wycome” was completed and Clan Lavellan survived). The Inquisitor explains to the Keeper that they want to do something special for Delilah, and that they would like the Keeper’s input on what to do.

The Inquisitor can choose from three gifts: a book containing all of the lore the clan has collected thus far, painstakingly written down; letters from all of her clanmates, saying how much they miss her and wish her well; or a pendant necklace from the Keeper, carved in the shape of an anatomical heart with vines wrapped around it, enchanted to help calm the mind and soothe an anxious heart. Delilah will greatly approve regardless of gift chosen, but choosing the necklace will gain additional dialogue later on where she mentions that she wears it wherever she goes.)

Dialog to being asked for a kiss: “I suppose have some time to spare. Go to our usual spot, I’ll be there in a moment, vhenas.”

Halamshiral dialog:

“I’m glad to support you, vhenas, but I don’t know why you had to drag me here. I’ve been called a rabbit twice already, and I swear if one more noble mistakes me for a servant...”

Being asked to dance during mission:

(If the Inquisitor is not Dalish) “Really? The Inquisitor, seen dancing with the Dalish savage? What will the nobility say? *laugh* First, we really ought to focus on finding the culprit behind this assassination attempt. Ask me again later, if you think about it.”

(If the Inquisitor is Dalish) “Are you certain they won't look at us and wonder why two ‘servants’ are dancing instead of passing out drinks? *chuckle* I’m kidding. Kind of.  First, we really ought to focus on finding the culprit behind this assassination attempt. Ask me again later, if you think about it.”

Asking to dance post-mission:

Delilah: "I was wondering where you'd disappeared off to. Josephine is keeping the nobility at bay at the moment, but they're sure to miss you soon. How are you feeling?

Inquisitor: (stoic) "I'm fine, just tired."

Delilah: "Same here. Orlesians can be exhausting - I'm impressed that you handled this whole evening as well as you did."

-or-

Inquisitor: (agreeable) "Things turned out well, in the end."

Delilah: "Well, hopefully it means Corypheus won't be able to spread chaos in Orlais like he'd planned. Another loss you've sent his way."

-or-

Inquisitor: (aggressive) "Tonight has been awful. I'm just happy it's over."

Delilah: (slight approval) "I agree completely. The next time you ask me to come to an Orlesian party, don't."

Delilah: "I know the Court may look down on you for it, but I still want to ask. Is your offer to dance still open?

Inquisitor: (if selected yes) "Of course. I care more about you than anything the Court could ever say about me."

Delilah: "I knew I liked you for a reason."

Romance banter (what others say about it):

Sera: "If you had to roll around with someone, should you really have chosen someone so elfy? And there's the whole magic thing too. Phew, you know? Two not so great things in one."

Dorian: "Well look at you, being all cute with our resident Dalish expert. It's adorable."

Solas: (only if specifically brought up) "Oh, I hadn't really given it much attention. Your choices are your own, Inquisitor. Delilah and I have our disagreements but I don't wish her ill - or you, by extension."

What Cole says about companion to PC: “Warm sun, cool rivers, soft grass. Home cannot be replaced, but a safe sanctuary, a new security. You make her feel safe.”

Who is concerned about the relationship?: Sera is a little put off by it, since she and Delilah don’t really get along, but concedes that it’s not her business to tell the Inquisitor who they should get involved with. Solas is totally uninterested in it, but wishes the two well.

Who supports the relationship?: Most everyone else is supportive of it, ranging from general well-wishes from the Iron Bull and Blackwall to Cassandra dragging the Inquisitor aside and giving them several unsolicited suggestions of romantic things to do for Delilah.

Who had a bet running on it?: Varric, naturally. He manages to drag Cassandra into a bet on how soon the Inquisitor will propose, and somehow Dorian got in on it as well.

Banter(between NPCs):

Varric: “So, you and Sunny, eh? You two make an interesting pair.”

Inquisitor: (diplomatic) "I trust you don't have an issue with it?"

Varric: "Not at all. I just want my friends to be happy, you know?

-or-

Inquisitor: (humorous) "Do you have an opinion on who I choose to spend time with?"

Varric: "I have plenty of opinions, which normally lands me in hot water. Here, I'm just trying to keep an eye on things."

-or-

Inquisitor: (direct) "Do you have a problem with it?"

Varric: "No, of course not."

Varric: (regardless of dialog option chosen) "I just know she's been even more smiley lately, and it suits her. If you can keep it that way, you'll have my full support."

Delilah: (if present) "(teasingly) Varric, I've found a charming little nose in my business again. Any idea whose that is?"

Varric: "Ah, it does look familiar."

Varric: (if inquisitor does not choose to reply) "Fine, keep your secrets. So long as she's happy, I'm happy."

Break up:

If PC breaks it off:

Inquisitor: "I've been doing some thinking, and I think it's best if we ended this."

Delilah: (disapproves) "(visibly hurt) What's brought this on?"

Inquisitor: (if 50+ approval) (diplomatic) "I'm sorry. I think it would be better if we were just friends."

Delilah: "I see. I'm sorry you feel that way...but I suppose I'll respect your decision."

-or-

Inquisitor: (charming/humorous) "You're smart, I'm sure you can see we're not a good fit for each other."

Delilah: (slightly disapproves) "Apparently not. If there's nothing else, I need to get back to my books."

-or-

Inquisitor: (blunt) "I don't have feelings for you, I don't want to give you a false impression."

Delilah: "Well. I suppose I should just be grateful you were upfront with me on this."

(regardless of dialog option chosen, when attempting to speak with her after this conversation she will only say "I need some time alone, please" until the Inquisitor leaves Skyhold and comes back, at which point normal dialog options resume.)

If NPC breaks it off(and why):

Delilah will break off a romance if the Inquisitor reaches -50 approval, or reaches 20 points for decisions against elves:

Allows Clan Lavellan to die in the war table mission series (5pts)

Refuses to help the dalish clan in the Exalted Plains (5pts)

Sells the true account of Red Crossing to the Chantry instead of giving to the Dalish (5pts)

In "Wicked Eyes, Wicked Hearts" chooses any ending except for public truce between Celene, Gaspard, and Briala; or for Gaspard and Briala to rule together (5pts)

In "What Pride had Wrought", kills the ancient elven guardians instead of allying with them (10pts)

The next time the Inquisitor initiates conversation with Delilah after meeting one of the previous requirements for ending the relationship, it triggers a cutscene.

Delilah: "I need to talk to you."

Inquisitor: "What is it?"

Delilah: "I've been doing some thinking. I'm not leaving the Inquisition...I think...but I think we need to end this. Us."

Inquisitor: (investigate) "What's brought this on?"

Delilah: "I understand you're the Inquisitor and you're having to make some hard decisions. The problem is they're decisions that I can't condone. I still think the Inquisition as a whole is doing good work, but I can't be with you anymore. I'm sorry."

Inquisitor: (agreeable) "I've seen this coming. You're right, I think it's for the best too."

Delilah: "I didn't want to make this harder than it already was. Thank you for being understanding."

-or-

Inquisitor: (mad) "We're in the middle of a war against a darkspawn magister, and you're putting this on me now!?"

Delilah: "I know the timing could be better, but I'm not going to sit quiet and miserable just for your piece of mind. I'm sorry, but this is where I stand on the matter. There's nothing else really to say."

-or-

Inquisitor: (sad) "I see...I'm really sorry it didn't work out for us. I never wanted it to be this way."

Delilah: "I know. I'm sorry too, but I hope this will be for the best."

Love confession: (after "Ma Vhenan, Ma Vhenas" is completed)

A cutscene shows Delilah crouched in the garden, talking softly to a plant in a pot. The Inquisitor comes up behind her.

Inquisitor: "What are you doing?"

Delilah: "I've been experimenting with magic to see if I can get this plant to grow bigger so we can harvest more of its leaves for medicine. My Keeper can do it no problem, but it's always been outside of my skill set."

Inquisitor: (Investigate) "You can use magic to grow plants bigger?"

Delilah: "Oh yes, and different shapes too. The Keeper and their First - and Second, if they have one - work alongside the clan craftsman, to grow wood in the specific shape we need. It's more efficient than cutting a large piece of wood, and then carving it down to only use a small part and discard the rest."

Inquisitor: (polite) "I can imagine that would be really useful."

Delilah: (slightly approves) "Oh yes. Imagine, an elfroot producing bushels and bushels from one plant. It could revolutionize medicine, and that's just one application."

Inquisitor: (special, if polite option chosen, and if the Inquisitor spoke to Adan in Haven about not having enough supplies for potions) "I'm sure the healers would be grateful. We're well stocked now, but I remember when the Inquisition was scrambling for simple herbs."

Delilah: "I believe it. If I can do this for every civilian and soldier who's been hurt, then I'll have pulled my weight here."

-or-

Inquisitor: (humerous) "Maybe you can make the grass in the courtyard fluffier. I somehow always step in that puddle of water at the foot of the stairway leading to the main hall."

Delilah: "Or maybe I like the idea of you going to the war room with wet socks. Josephine must grow another gray hair everytime you squelch past her desk."

-or-

Inquisitor: (direct) "It doesn't seem you've had much success with this one."

Delilah: "I did say it's been outside of my skillset. But that's what practice is for, I suppose."

Delilah: "But I need a break regardless. Would you like to join me for dinner?"

(The two of them head to the Herald's Rest tavern. They sit at a secluded table and eat and talk for a while.)

Delilah: "You know, evil darkspawn magister aside, this past year has been surprisingly nice. You've made me feel welcome here, which I never thought would be the case. I didn't expect to find that here...or you."

Inquisitor: (elven special choice) "I know what you mean. You've seen the resistance to having an elven Herald of Andraste."

Delilah: (approves) "(In a high pitched, whiny voice) 'The Maker would send no elf in our time of need.' Mythalenaste, I don't know how you've put up with it."

-or-

Inquisitor: (mage special choice) "I'm glad you feel safe here, as a fellow mage in an Andrastian organization."

Delilah: (slightly approves) "Andrastian or no, at least you and I have been able to bond over our magic. So long as I have that, I don't care about the revered mothers giving me dirty looks."

Inquisitor: (diplomatic) "I love you."

Delilah: "(visibly flustered) Oh! I didn't - I mean, wow. You really do?"

Inquisitor: "Ah, I didn't mean to spring that on you all of a sudden. But yes, I really do."

Delilah: "(shy smile) I love you too, vhenas."

-or-

Inquisitor: (humerous) "I mean, at this point I'm the savior of southern Thedas. Nobody's really in a position to dictate to me whom I spend my time with."

Delilah: "(laugh) I can't say I'm not glad for that, at least. Maybe I'm finally understanding what people mean when they say power is attractive."

Inquisitor: "(teasing) I knew you only wanted me for my political prowess."

-or-

Inquisitor: (direct) "I feel the same way. I care for you very deeply, and I can't imagine all of this without you."

Delilah: "I'm glad to hear it. I'm ready to see all of this through to the end with you."

(Regardless of dialogue option chosen, the inquisitor and Delilah lean in for a kiss, and the cutscene ends with them holding hands and smiling at one another.)

Romanced tarot card: Temperance

End game dialog:

Delilah: "Leaving the party already? Most of the Inquisition and half of Orlais must be here to celebrate your victory."

Inquisitor: (polite) "Parties are all well and good, but it's been a long day."

Delilah: "Nobody will deny you've earned a rest, certainly."

-or-

Inquisitor: (humerous) "I'm absolutely stuffed from those frilly little cakes, I'm leaving before I pop."

Delilah: "Not to compliment Orlais or anything, but I will admit those cakes are tastier than they're given credit for."

-or-

Inquisitor: (direct) "I'm tired, so I'm heading up for the night.

Delilah: "That's completely understandable. You've been so busy for so long, I'm surprised you're still standing."

Delilah: "I hope you're not too tired for company, though?"

(They head up to the Inquisitor's quarters and stand out on the balcony. The inquisitor puts their arm around Delilah's waist, and she smiles back at them.)

Delilah: "Corypheus is dead, there will be a new Divine, and peace is finally beginning to settle into south Thedas. You've managed some incredible feats. Where will you go from here?"

Inquisitor: "I'm not sure. There's still a lot to do...but I know I want you there with me."

Delilah: "Me too. You still have great things ahead, and I'm determined to see them with you."

(They kiss and then look off into the sunset as the scene fades.)

[kiyoominous]

who's a good boy?

blurb: your beloved has been magically graced with... animal ears! and a tail to boot! i wonder how they feel about them... but most importantly, how do you feel about them?

characters: kaeya, diluc and thoma

content: fluff, crack, alcohol mention in kaeya's

author's note: i saw a similar prompt a while ago that was like this but reversed but i cannot for the life of me remember who wrote it. i'll link it when i do end up finding it! i am also going to say that i'm not an animal expert so some of the body language may be incorrect!

kaeya with bunny ears!!

the cavalry captain with bunny ears and a ball of fluff for a tail. now wouldn't that be a sight for sore eyes?

it's exactly what he deserves after absentmindedly pouring a few strange liquids into one of albedo's abandoned experiments and then drinking it afterwards.

kaeya will not shut up about them. in fact, he'd plan out his wardrobe specifically to be able to show off his new ears and tail. sure, it's not the most professional but you've got to flaunt what you've got, right?

if he catches your eyes lingering on his recently sprouted parts, he'll do anything in his power to tease you for even glancing at them in the first place. whatever, you still win anyway. kaeya will eventually cave in and let you pet them.

on one your regular visits with him to angel's share, he had a few too many to drink. as you coaxed him out of another drink, you spotted his tail wagging. only a rabbit expert would know that it was... a sign of defiance.

"another... death after noon, charles." kaeya drunkenly mumbles. in a sudden mood of contentment — or perhaps just a normal after-work thought — kaeya insisted on sojourning to the tavern for a few drinks and a laugh with his new ears and tail.

he had a few drinks, alright.

charles looks curiously at the blue-haired man, clearly wanting to avoid mixing him another glass. to his fortune, you sat right next to him making all sorts of gestures to tell him 'absolutely no more drinks.'

"sorry captain, no can do. you've downed quite a few death after noons this evening." he quickly replies.

"you're no fun, charles." the drunken man of interest sulks. the bartender simply chuckles under his breath and your laughter follows.

kaeya's bunny ears lay flat behind his head as he drowns in his sorrows, as one may dramatically put it. this is definitely not an image you'd see during the day, when he stands tall as a leader of the knights. with his ears usually perked and alert, it's cute to see him reduced to floppy ears.

as you observe his slumped figure, something catches your attention from the corner of your eye. a movement of white. your eyes follow the curvature of his back until they reach his rear, where his tail is swinging back and forth.

"charles, look." you quietly gesture to kaeya's wagging tail. "do you know what that's supposed to mean?"

"that's usually an act of rebellion, almost like he's saying 'you're not the boss of me' or something to that effect."

oh holy barbatos, spare your weary soul. you already knew your partner could be a dramatic man but to see it manifested in a flicking tail? what an affectionate stake to the heart. fawning over your boyfriend aside, there was a much bigger mission to attend to; getting his more-than-tipsy self back home.

"you're way too drunk, my love. we're going home." you whisper in his ear.

"nooooo..." his whine is accompanied with a quick flick of his tail.

"come on, let's go now."

"not... yet..." another wag from his tail.

"you have work tomorrow, kaeya." an unintelligible noise leaves his lips as his tail shakes side to side once more.

it takes a prayer to the anemo archon and the willpower of a boar to lift kaeya from the bar and then promptly dragging him out of the tavern. you shouts your thanks to charles as you walk through the door, being quick to turn to your lover. he hasn't quite passed out yet but his ear's are flopped forward this time, almost obscuring the gentle smile he's wearing on his face.

oh you are going to have a field trip with this after kaeya sobers up.

diluc with cat ears!!

cats are adorable, diluc is adorable, so the both combined would be wonderful!

a new set of ears isn't something he'd normally wake up to. he didn't eat or drink anything weird... perhaps it's delusional but something tells him that this is the work of an abyss mage.

the young ragvindr is not happy with this outcome. displeased, undignified and embarrassed are all appropriate words to describe his emotions towards his new appendages.

you, on the other hand, are so enthralled by diluc's new look. seeing the twinkle in your eyes as you pet his pointy ears makes the moment a little more bearable. only just a little though.

to humour yourself, you tried meowing at him to see if he'd return the favour. all you got back was a deadpan stare and a half-hearted huff. guess the abyss mage's spell wasn't strong enough to turn him a little more animalistic.

it's a quiet afternoon in the manor. diluc is busying himself in the love seat with another thick novel and you're lounging on the chaise next to him, watching in awe. it's quite amusing to watch him read as it is but adding cat parts to the equation? hilarious. occasionally, his ears will twitch a little and if you're lucky, his tail will swish from side to side.

his new body parts were cat-like enough but how much of a feline was he? you muse that there's no better way to get your answers than to test a hypothesis.

so, you start meowing.

you only get a few quite mewls in before diluc places his book down solely to give you an unimpressed look.

"what are you doing?" there's a discontented tone in his query. though he sounds serious, you can find a silver of mirth dancing in his eyes if you look for long enough. determined to continue your experiment, you simply shrug off his irritation with a guilty grin.

"i, uh- just wanted to see if you would meow back?" with a snap of the fingers, his huffy demeanour cracks to reveal a half-hearted eye roll and a chuckle.

"you would enjoy that a little too much, wouldn't you?"

maybe you would. maybe the sight of seeing the all-business-no-party heir of dawn winery meowing like a new born kitten would entertain you to no end.

"i don't feel anything different if that's what you're wondering. i feel normal aside from the obvious... recent growths." diluc continues. surprise may not be evident in your face — what, with the way you're still blankly observing him — but you're astonished to know that after all this time, he's picked your brain apart enough to know exactly how you'd approach his cat parts.

a gentle silence passes and diluc has yet to return to his book. his ruby reds are too busy gazing into yours to even consider picking it back up. words always have a chance to bore him but your glittering eyes never will.

perhaps this little cat situation is... less than ideal but if there's anything he could do to see your sparkling smile, he would jump at the chance to do it. even if it's at the expense of his own dignity.

diluc brings a hand to your chin and pulls you closer to him, from the comfort of the chaise to the armrest of the love seat. "so, shall i humour you with your query?"

your eyes light up and giggles begin to quietly spill from your lips.

"oh i would be honoured to hear a meow straight from the diluc ragvindr's mouth."

thoma with dog ears!!

oh, thoma with a pair of dog ears and a beautifully fluffy tail would be a sight to behold indeed.

looks like ayato managed to make a meal so terrible that a pair of furry ears and an equally fluffy tail sprouted from thoma's head and back after he ate it. oops!

to be honest, he doesn't hate them! in his words, "they don't look too bad on me!" perhaps the only drawback would be how much more obvious his emotions would be.

the only thing that truely matters to him is your reaction to them. he would most definitely eat up all the attention you're showering him in, ears twitching and tail wagging in delight.

even though he's still thoma, just with a few extra parts, he has had the urge to bark like a dog more times than he'd like to admit... please don't tell anyone though

"you know, i've always wondered how it feels to be a dog getting head pats." thoma practically thinks out loud. he's lying with you on the plush mattress you share, head sitting in your lap and the rest of him curled around himself. both of your hands have found their way to his scalp, massaging and scratching the sweet spot between his ears.

"guess you don't have to wonder anymore then." you quietly reply.

"guess not."

a five minute petting session turns into a half-hour head and ear massage too quickly. your eyes flicker towards the window of your bedroom — the sun is starting to set. crap, both of you need to start dinner now.

with a knowing sigh, you turn to the quarter dog sitting in your lap. full dog even, with the way he simply is. thoma's eyes are contently shut and his euphoria is so clearly painted on his face. oh, it would break your heart to slip your fingers from his hair. unfortunately, duty calls and both your stomachs must be served as soon as possible.

carefully, you remove your fingers from his blonde locks and quietly rise from the mattress. but before your feet can even touch the hard wood flooring, you hear a squeaky whimper. there's no need to question where it came from when thoma's hands immediately clap over his mouth.

"i won't say anything. promise." you blurt out. there's a fear in his eyes that you've never seen before.

"please don't. if ayato even catches wind of this, i'll never hear the end of it."

a solemn nod and the promise is sealed. you feel a half-smile creep on your face as you grasp onto his hands, pulling him from the bed. "come on baby, time to make dinner." you coo.

after successfully dragging him from your bedroom, thoma lazily wraps his arms around your figure and settles his head in the crook of your neck. instinctively, you reach up to pet him and he instantly nuzzles into you. oh how he made you melt. as you both waddle your way to the kitchen, you feel a cool breeze around your hips that's also accompanied by something swinging back and forth.

thoma's tail is wagging very enthusiastically.

right then and there, you decide that now you could finally die happy.

[inkykeiji]

break my heart in two, but when it heals it beats for you

character: zenin naoya

genre: smut + angst

notes: aaaaah this is my lil submission for the sewer’s soulmate syndrome collab (and my first collab ever waaah!!!) it’s a curseless soulmate AU with the tiniest hint of the zenin’s being a prominent crime family. please please heed the warnings!! | title credit: back to you by selena gomez

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, incest (reader and naoya are half siblings), mentioned death of a family member (mother), naoya being his misogynistic self, excessive use of the word ‘Daddy’ to refer to their biological father, one (1) instance of physical abuse, size kink/size difference, mentioned relationship between a university student (reader) and their TA, infidelity, one (1) mention of Daddy being yakuza, age difference, spanking done by reader’s biological father, toxic relationships, minimal prep, rough sex, a hint of degradation

words: 9.5k

synopsis:

Except the torture doesn’t stop, even when you’re gone, because he’s assaulted with thoughts of you the very moment you leave—what you’re doing, who you’re with, if he plagues your mind as much as you plague his—you’re like a fucking sickness, a parasite that burrows deep between the folds and tissues of his brain, infecting it, and he’s hopeless to find a cure.

It’s a few days after his twenty-ninth birthday, the night you appear—unannounced, uninvited, and an absolute fucking mess—falling into his father’s arms the moment he opens the door, fingers curling in the material of his cashmere button up and tugging as powerful sobs rip through your entire body, violent tremors following.

It’s fucking disgusting, the way his father reacts. Naoya watches the entire thing unfold from the shadows of the living room, nose wrinkled in distaste, features twisted in aversion and saturated in abhorrence.

Because his father lets you cling to him like a child—a grown woman, gripping a seventy-one year old man like a sniveling little girl—as he manages to scoop you up into his arms, collapsing onto his favourite armchair with you in his lap, hushing you gently as he rocks you back and forth, large hands stroking your shuddering back as you nuzzle your puffy, snot-stained face into his chest, wailing out Daddy!

It’s the first time Naoya’s ever seen his father behave in such a way, revolt churning his stomach as he observes the quite frankly unfamiliar man in front of him. It makes him fucking sick to watch, acidic bile rising in his throat until it stings the back of his tongue, face souring as he swallows it back down.

And you can’t even manage to force words through your stuttering breathing and hiccupped little sobs, unable to explain the situation at all without being overwhelmed by another fresh wave of tears, crashing over your body as you fall back into the sanctuary of his father’s arms, face buried in his neck, now soiled with spit and salt water.

“Naoya,” his father calls, voice curt and stern and demanding, snapping Naoya’s gaze to his own in an instant. “A glass of water, please?”

Naoya scoffs, narrowing his eyes. “What the fuck do I look like to you? The help?”

And Naoya’s no stranger to the level gaze his father fixes him with, has seen that same look etched into his father’s face more times than he can count, eyebrows pinched and mouth pressed in a firm, fine line, chest rising as he inhales slowly, calmly, deeply, then exhales through flared nostrils.

“You look like a good big brother who’s on his way to get his baby sister some water,”

Ah, right, that’s who you are—the bastard, Daddy’s little mistake, an ugly, irreversible stain on their family’s prestigious name.

“That bitch is not my sister,” he grumbles as he stomps from the room and towards the kitchen to fetch you a drink, huffing under his breath about being treated like a fucking woman, yet obeying his father’s orders nonetheless.

It turns out, Naoya learns, that your mother has passed away, leaving his poor bastard of a baby sister all alone in the world, with nowhere to go—and you’ve come here to ask for shelter and food, just until you get on your feet.

It’s fucking pathetic, as far as Naoya’s concerned, shaking his head in condescending disbelief with a cruel snort. It’s almost difficult to believe that you, undoubtedly the family disgrace; you, with your dirty blood and the dishonour you haul around everywhere with you, have the balls to come crawling to his father begging for support. You’re an adult, for Christ’s sake, and you should act like one, should be out scouring the earth for some equally pathetic man to serve like you ought to, like you would have, if you knew your place. Maybe then, Naoya would have a shred of respect for you.

Maybe.  

“How selfish. Daddy already pays for your tuition, why should he provide you with housing, too? Are you really that incompetent? Can’t do a thing for yourself, huh?”

Your head whips around to face him, almost as if you’re startled by his presence, by his voice addressing you directly, a sharp gasp falling from your lips the moment your eyes meet.

It’s the first time you’ve actually looked at him since you’ve arrived, the first time your gaze has connected with his, eyes bloodshot and gleaming as crystal tears stream down your cheeks, excess water clinging to spidery lashes, clumped together in spikes.

God, you’re beautiful.

It kicks him right in the motherfucking chest, hard enough that he stumbles back a few feet into the stone fireplace, a hand gripping the mantle for stability while his body caves in on itself. A spear of agony sears through his body, slicing clean through all of his vital organs as you choke out an apology punctuated with an honorific, head shaking in jerky little motions as your tongue struggles to form words to explain yourself.

And he’s never felt anything like it in his entire life, skin feeling as though it’s been set ablaze from the inside, thick black smoke filling is lungs as he wheezes on an inhale, strangled by it.

“Naoya,” his father snaps, eyes wide and scorching. “Leave.”

Each step away from the living room feels heavier than the last, as if his blood’s been replaced by lead, by rapidly drying concrete, rendering him incapable of lifting his feet from the floor, dragging them against the tile until it’s fucking painful, calves and thighs tingling as if the blood flow’s been entirely obstructed, muscles quivering and exhausted.

“It’s okay,” he can hear his father’s faint voice soothing you, each of your sniffles feeling like a sharp little thorn straight to his heart, each of your tiny I’m sorry’s carving out a vacant, phantom wound in his chest. “Shh, it’s alright, Daddy’s here, Daddy’s got you,”

“Pathetic,” Naoya spits to the empty hallway, though the word wavers, catching a little in his throat, letters scraping the gummy walls as he forces them from his mouth, leaving scalding little blisters in its wake.

It’s then that Naoya decides he hates you; standing motionless in the dark  hallway, feet inexplicably bolted to the floor and chest burning with some unknown emotion, a fire that blazes and rages, flares and thrashes, with each of your hitched little apologies, his teeth clenched together so tightly he’s surprised they don’t crack.

But it’s only after your sobs have calmed, father having reduced them to soft sniffles and half-hiccups through tender words and sweet affirmations, only after Naoya knows that you’ll be staying here for the night—that you’ll be safe—that he regains control over his limbs, that he rips his cement-filled feet from the floor and trudges towards his bedroom, scalding inferno dulled to simmering coals and faint flickering cinders.

He doesn’t think about it—isn’t going to think about it, refuses to waste his time or energy on such absurdity, refuses to allow his father’s preposterous decisions and ridiculous sentiments soak up space in his consciousness.

And he absolutely refuses to think about is the way your sudden presence punched a sharp gasp from his chest, the way he suddenly feels incomplete, like something’s missing, now that you aren’t within arms-reach, the way that he lost control over his entire body for the first time in his fucking life, in that hallway, just a few moments ago.

    ✰          ✰          ✰

His father—your father—falls in love with you almost immediately; having only met you briefly a few times before this, despite sending your mother multiple cheques every month for over twenty years.

It’s truly deplorable, positively sickening to watch the way his eyes light up when you come skipping into the living room after your afternoon university classes, dropping a fat, almost obscene kiss to Daddy’s cheek before plopping down on his lap as you chatter on about your day—about what you learned in lecture today, about the essay you got back (top of your class, of course), about your cute TA with the white hair and crystal eyes who always seems to conjure a bashful expression the moment you mention his name.

Naoya watches the entire thing unfold day after day, a deep sneer etched into his face, jaw clenched so hard it begins to ache, light eyes glaring daggers in your direction.

Something akin to jealousy, a creature with glowing emerald eyes and gnashing teeth and razor claws that slash and tear at the pit of his belly, roars and rattles the ribs that keep it caged within his chest, gnawing on the bones every time his—your—father makes you giggle, your eyes sparkling with adoration as you gaze at him; every time lithe fingers brush hair back from your face or a large palm settles on the crown of you head, petting you gently; every time you nuzzle into his neck, curling up comfortably—perfectly—in Daddy’s big, strong arms that keep you protected from all of the bad, from all of the evils of this world, from him, the big brother that loathes you.

It’s unsettling, almost sad in a sense, seeing his father fall from grace, observing the way you decay his persona so quickly, eating away at it like corrosive acid, rotting him from the inside out; the way he morphs from one of the most powerful and feared Yakuza bosses into soft, sticky, sweet putty in your hands the moment you appear; the way your presence shatters his tough, hard exterior and renders him gentle and tender—gentler and tenderer than he’s ever behaved with Naoya or any of his older brothers.

He can’t fucking stand to watch it, despises every single thing about it, positively detests the inexplicable, uncontrollable sensations that thrash and thunder inside of him, an unusual mixture of envy and melancholy, of wrath and desire, combined to create something toxic, something hazardous, something uncontainable that erodes his senses and mind, leaking into his bloodstream and poisoning his thoughts.

Because his gaze stays glued to you the moment you enter a room, like he’s bewitched by you, cursed by you the way his father has become, unable to rip his eyes from your form until you exit.

Except the torture doesn’t stop, even when you’re gone, because he’s assaulted with thoughts of you the moment you leave—what you’re doing, who you’re with, if he plagues your mind as much as you plague his—you’re like a fucking sickness, a parasite that burrows deep between the folds and tissues of his brain, infecting it, and he’s hopeless to find a cure.

And the worst part, the worst part is that he hasn’t a clue why. He doesn’t know why he feels the way he does, why you evoke such strong emotions—emotions he’s never felt before, emotions he doesn’t have a name for—or why, suddenly, everything feels wrong, off, whenever you’re not around.

It’s fucking annoying. Those tiny, raised bumps on the inside of his wrist—shaped in the form of a zodiac constellation, a mark everyone is born with, a mark that supposedly hints at your soulmate—burn and tingle as he meditates on these notions, blunt nails scratching viciously at his skin.

    ✰          ✰          ✰

Daddy grants you permission to stay at the estate for as long as you’d like, because of course he does, a victim to the spell you’ve cast. He even gives you your own room, helps you pick out furniture and takes you shopping for new clothes. You promise to do your share around the house—pinky swear—and, to Naoya’s immense dissatisfaction, you don’t disappoint.

No. Instead, you excel.

Those pretty little words weren’t empty promises—you begin cooking all of the meals, taking on the task to do the dishes entirely by yourself, tending to the house and the garden outside, even going as far to aid the help in their daily cleaning routines, until Daddy tells you it isn’t necessary.

And you manage to capture almost everyone’s hearts through your deeds and duties, through your kind and compassionate nature, through your being attentive and, for the most part, obedient—but most important of all, being family oriented.

You do the laundry when it needs to be done. You keep the house spotless and the kitchen sparkling. You learn everyone’s favourite dishes and then dedicate hours upon hours to perfecting them.

Naoya observes you throughout it all, sharp eyes following your movements, watching as you expertly tend to everyone’s needs, almost as if you know what they’ll require before they do.

You’d be perfect wife material, if you weren’t his sister—he catches the thought as it drifts through his mind—a sentiment that’s almost involuntary, unthinking in nature— and strangles it with his bare hands, stomps on it until it’s nothing but dust.

Because what’s more infuriating than anything else is that you are a good woman, a perfect woman, a woman who—for the most part—understands her place and duty in the household; or, at least, you did, before Daddy began spoiling you rotten.

It earns you the nickname princess from your favourite nii-san, hissed through gritted teeth with narrowed eyes and scrunched up noses, drenched in condescension and sprinkled with artificial icing sugar—a nickname Daddy irritatingly and affectionately adopts, extracting all of the patronization Naoya had imbued it with and stuffing it full of love.

You aren’t invincible, though, no matter how precious you are, how sweet your voice becomes when you bat your eyelashes and fix a pout on your lips, how much Daddy is barely able to deny you.

Because Daddy’s incessant spoiling does eventually bite him in the ass, just like Naoya knew it would.

    ✰          ✰          ✰

“But Daddy,” you whine, wearing your prettiest pout and cutest puppy-dog eyes, lethal weapons that are nearly foolproof, your most cherished expressions that grant you almost everything you want. “It’ll just be for a little, I promise! Just a drink or two!”

“I said no—”

“But everyone’s going! Even my professors will be there; I’m expected to show up!” Voice rising in pitch, your arms cross over your chest as eyebrows knit deeply and a lip juts out further, looking about two seconds away from stomping your foot.

Naoya would be amused, really, to see a grown woman acting like a petulant fucking child over some inconsequential party being thrown by the department, if he didn’t feel like his heart was ripping itself to pieces with your teary expression and soft half-sniffles, with the knowledge that, if you attend, you’ll be with him.

“You have an exam tomorrow,” Daddy reminds you in a sigh, dipping his head to scrutinize you over the rim of his reading glasses. “Are they not all required to write the same exam as well?”

“Well, they are, but—”

“But they didn’t spend their study break out gallivanting with their TA, did they?”

Your eyes widen for a second, shocked by the words leaving your father’s mouth, but the expression is gone in an instant, morphed into incredulousness, eyes rolling as your tongue tuts in disbelief.

“Please, we were studying,”

The chuckle that escapes your father’s lips is anything but warm; it’s cruel and condescending, a sharp slap to the face, your bottom lip beginning to tremble as he snaps his book shut, the sound echoing throughout the living room.

“You must think me a real fool,” he’s almost snickering as he throws his glasses on the coffee table, grunting a little as he stands from his armchair and raises himself to his full height, towering over you. “Do you think Daddy’s stupid?”

“What? No, of course not—”  

“Then why are you lying to him?”

“I-I’m not—”

“And you’re doing it again?”

Head shaking in jerky, quivering movements, your lips open and close, emitting nothing more but little squeaks of breath as you try to backtrack, managing to stammer out an apology.

“It’s a little late for that,” your father’s saying sternly, a large hand curling around your bicep as he yanks you towards him, beginning to haul you down the hall. “Good girls do not lie to their fathers,”

Naoya sits tense and coiled in his father’s armchair, a symphony of your cries mingled with harsh slaps of Daddy’s calloused palm against your smooth skin carrying throughout the house, and he swallows thickly, past the lump that’s lodged itself in the column of his throat, past the bitter acid rising in his chest, past the irregular thumping of his heart against his ribs.

Because he doesn’t know why your wails and squeals of Daddy! M’sorry! Daddy! make his cock throb and his chest ache—ache with longing, with want and desire, with jealousy—doesn’t know why he finds himself fucking his fist to those memories that same night, mind fixated on the quick glance he had caught through the sliver of the open door when he couldn’t stand it anymore, when he had to sneak down the hallway just to make sure everything was alright, images of you thrown over father’s knees, bare ass spanked raw materializing in his head.

Or maybe he does know. Maybe he refuses to admit it. Maybe he just pretends he doesn’t, because he wishes he didn’t.

Still, you always get off fucking easy, as far as Naoya’s concerned. He’s never witnessed his father allow any woman to talk back to him with such horrid disrespect, to whine and plead and roll their eyes without a backhand so heavy, so hard it knocks them to the floor.

And yet, you receive a few measly spanks to your ass—a punishment that’s more embarrassing than anything else, terribly unfit for a grown woman—and get sent to your room for the rest of the night.  

“She truly is Daddy’s Little Girl,” his mother had snarled after one particular punishment, features curled up in an unattractive sneer.

Naoya can’t help but begrudgingly agree.

      ✰          ✰          ✰

“Oh, lighten up,” one of his brothers nudges his foot with the toe of his slipper before collapsing next to him one abnormally cold evening in early October, interrupting Naoya’s nightly routine of glaring at you, cuddled up into Daddy’s side as you watch a show. “Just because you aren’t Daddy’s favourite anymore doesn’t mean you have to skulk around looking like you just ate a whole lemon,”

“What’re you on about,” Naoya seethes through clenched teeth, glancing at his older brother through the corner of his eye.

“You know,” he responds airily with a knowing smirk, nodding his head in your direction. “She’s taken your place, huh? Or is that not what’s upsetting you?”

And that hurts—it hurts, because he used to be Daddy’s favourite, Daddy’s youngest—the baby—Daddy’s spoiled brat. He’s used to being the center of Daddy’s attention, used to being the object of his praise, used to being the golden child, the prized child, the destined son nurtured and conditioned to take over the Family Business once his father retires.

Light eyes roll back in his skull as he tsks in disapproval, shaking his head and clearing his throat to rid the tremble from his voice. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,”

“Mm, I think I know more than you believe,”

The words are spoken in a murmur, only loud enough for the two of them to hear, but Naoya’s gaze snaps back to his face immediately as he calls your name, gently pulling you from the hushed conversation you were having with Daddy, full of giggles and murmurs, nonchalantly asking, “When’s your birthday?”

No.

No, Naoya wants to hiss at his pathetic excuse of a brother, large hands curling into quivering fists, nails biting into the fleshy heels of his palms as teeth grit, forcefully swallowing back down the two letter refutation.

No-no-no-no-no, he doesn’t want to hear this. He doesn’t want to know, doesn’t need to know, throat constricting as you inhale to speak, chirpily responding.

Blood turns to thick ice in his veins when he hears your birth date, when he realizes those raised little bumps he was born with on the inside of his wrist match your zodiac sign. Heavy dread, black and poisonous and akin to thick disappointment, sinks in his chest, latching onto the floor of his stomach and spreading quickly, sticky as it engulfs all of his surrounding organs, coating them in acidic pollution.

He’s up and out of his seat before his brother has even finished asking you his next question, stumbling out of the room on unsteady legs, nearly tripping over his own ankles in his haste to get away from you, to escape.

He doesn’t want to know what the bumps on your inner wrist are, tells himself that it doesn’t matter, that he doesn’t care, that this is all bullshit anyway, century-old myths created by the dreamers and the sentimentalists. It isn’t like the prospect hadn’t already crossed his mind—drifting through a sick orgasmic haze after fucking his fist to the memory of you—the potential that you may be his ‘soulmate’, a cruel trick played on him by the gods. Except…

Except it isn’t real. It isn’t real. There’s no science backing it up, nothing to concretely prove that the zodiac constellation embedded in his skin has anything to do with his ‘soulmate’—or anyone else’s. It’s just a legend, an old wives tale made up for the romantics and nothing else.

In his alacrity to resist it, he turns fucking ruthless in his verbal assault, but nothing seems to deter you; it barely seems to phase you at all, carrying on your tasks or your cute little babbling as if he hadn’t just insulted you.

Because you’re incessant, almost desperate to gain his approval, continuing to treat him like a god—doing more for him than you do for anyone else, including Daddy—regardless of how many how many expletives and offensive sentiments he hurls at you.

And eventually, he goes a little too far.

    ✰          ✰          ✰ 

The night before Halloween is dark and dreary, thick grey clouds stuffed with rain that continuously drizzles over the estate, brutal winds whipping the tiny droplets against the windowpanes, tiny specks and splatters of water decorating the glass, rearranging themselves every time the wind throws another smattering of rain towards them.

You skip into the living room, full of bashful giggles and muted squeals as Daddy fawns over you, awestricken as he murmurs about how beautiful his princess looks.

His princess.  

Naoya’s not quite sure what you’re supposed to be, nor does he care, tearing his gaze from your scantily clad form before his brain can even register what the costume is, before blood can rush to his cock, before he can witness the shy little smile on your lips and the pretty way your eyes glitter as you twirl for Daddy.

No, the only thing Naoya cares about is the fact that the dress of your costume is way too short to be considered decent, fluffy petticoat barely covering your ass, fanning out to reveal the edges of dainty pink lace clinging to the supple flesh of your ass as you twist and turn.

And he hasn’t a clue what you’re chattering on about, isn’t listening, can’t hear anything over the roar of blood rushing in his ears as he stands from his seat and stomps towards you, strong, callous voice cutting off your excited babbling as he glowers expectantly at his father.

“Jesus Christ, Daddy, you aren’t actually going to let her go out in that, are you?”

“Why?” you ask before your father can respond, genuinely confused, head tilting cutely. “What’s wrong with it?”

“What’s wrong with it?” he repeats incredulously, thick eyelashes fluttering as he blinks several times, eyebrows raising and huffing out a sarcastic laugh in disbelief. “Are you joking?”

Your head shakes slowly, a frown beginning to materialize on your lips as your eyebrows knit.

“It’s entirely inappropriate,” he scoffs, enunciating his words slowly, like you’re stupid.

You stare up at him cautiously, bottom lip jutting out in a pout so deep your chin puckers. “But nii-san, it’s Halloween—”

“Oh? And what are you going as, a slut?”

A little strangled gasp of Naoya-nii! hitches in your throat, your entire expression crumpling at his disapproval, hands running over the costume in an almost protective manner, smoothing it down.

“N-No, I’m—”

“I don’t care,” he hisses. “There’s no way you’re leaving the house in that—go change. Now.”

The direct order surprises you, shock saturating your features before resentment begins to bleed through. Blinking hard, you force the tears from your eyes, expression hardening and shoulders rolling back, spine straightening.

“No.”

“What did you just say to me?”

“Is there something wrong with your hearing? I said no,”

That sharp, self-assured smile drops from his face in an instant, face screwing up from such defiance, such disrespect. “Excuse me?”

Shivers skitter up your spine, tiny spikes of ice chasing them, but you refuse to back down, even though your voice is beginning to quiver.

“Y-You’re not Daddy! You don’t get to tell me what to do, I don’t care if you’re older!”

And just like that, the sharp smile is back, stretched abnormally wide across his lips—like it had been cut, carved, into his handsome face—uncanny and inhuman as his eyes glint with malevolence, words flowing from his mouth slowly, calmly, almost serenely, as he prowls towards you.

“You’re right—I’m not Daddy, because I would never let a woman speak to me the way he allows you to speak to him, you ungrateful little brat,”

A large hand, decorated with chunky, glittering gold rings, cuts through the air, striking you across the cheek with such force you stumble backwards from the impact, nearly tripping over your own feet only to have Daddy wrap a strong arm around your waist, catching you with ease and pulling you to his chest.

And it’s intense, so intense it kicks the breath right from your chest, barreling up your throat where you choke on it as it tangles with a sharp yelp. Hands fly to clutch your cheek immediately, throbbing thorns of pain shooting through the side of your face.

Daddy’s yelling, but it all sounds muddled, muffled, like your deep underwater and he’s shouting from above the surface, despite the fact that you’re clinging to him, pressed up so tightly against his side you can feel the vibrations of his voice in his body.

Naoya-nii isn’t saying anything, hand dropped limply to his side, pretty gold adorning his fingers coated in gleaming crimson. He isn’t even looking at Daddy—no, his gorgeous light eyes are focused on you, on the sticky scarlet leaking from the wounds his rings left when they collided with your cheek and the glistening tears shielding your eyes.

And for once, he has nothing to say, no sarcastic remarks or cynical little comments, voice evaporating in his throat as his chest burns, scathed with regret, remorse, repentance—all unwarranted, undeserved, unnecessary. Because—because you earned that slap for being so fucking disrespectful; you needed it, were practically begging him to put you back in your place, back where you belong: below him, behind him, and never beside him.

Because no matter how cute you are, how sweet and precious and good, none of it permits you to speak to him in such a manner, to act as though you’re equal.

So why has this inexplicable agony taken root at his core? Why does he feel like his heart is mutilating itself, tearing itself to shreds, with each of your pitiful little whimpers? Why does he feel the overwhelming urge to make it better, to make your pretty tears and precious sobs stop?

Inevitable anger surges through his veins—furious at you, for eliciting such bothersome emotions; furious at himself, for being so weak, so vulnerable, and allowing such pathetic sentiments to take over, to rob him of his control, of his autonomy.

And despite everything, all of his rage and loathing and confusion, his hand buzzes from it, from the sensation of touching your soft skin for the very first time, even in such a brutal and malicious manner, and instantly, he craves more.

    ✰          ✰          ✰

You don’t speak to him after that. You stop making his favourite meals, stop asking him about his day and then uninvitedly reciting your own in that cute, excited chatter that is so distinctly you, stop doing all of those extra little chores—washing his clothes and changing his sheets and scrubbing his bathroom until it sparkles. You put an end to everything.

And he fucking misses it.

He shouldn’t, but he does.

It’s painful to admit, but he can’t ignore it, notices your lack of presence almost immediately, that gaping void spreading, growing, as it roars in protest, claiming more and more of his body every day, like some sort of inky disease that only your presence seems to calm, to cure.

It fucking sucks. It fucking sucks, because he can’t stop it, regardless of how hard he tries, an impossible ailment he can’t void himself of. It fucking sucks, because you’re eating him up, consuming his very soul, devouring him from the inside out without even sparing him a goddamn glance—and you don’t even know it.

And it’s getting exhausting, putting up this front all the time, fighting against the intense feelings you swirl around in his chest, in his cock, without a hope, without a chance in hell. Fighting for nothing, because he knows he’ll never win. Fighting for nothing, because he isn’t sure he wants to anymore.

They’re unruly, voracious and rabid, tearing up his chest, his lungs and his heart and his throat, with sharp piercing claws and becoming increasingly difficult to overlook, to disregard.

Still, he’s too stubborn, too proud, to give in, to give up, even though the thing living inside him grows stronger every day, even though he knows that one day, it will overpower him.

    ✰          ✰          ✰

It’s windy—the estate quiet as the wind howls softly through the dense pines outside and ruffles them—the night it finally does, the night it takes over entirely, bursting through the barriers he keeps rebuilding and repairing around his soul and his sanity, writhing inside him when he hears soft sobs, muffled by the wood of your bedroom door, just past three in the morning.

It possesses him, like some sort of eternal spirit sinking deep into his bones and sewing itself into his soul, revoking his control over his body as a sudden, intense need to comfort you, to find out what’s wrong and make it all better, courses through his veins, entirely unaware of his actions as he pushes past the door and into your room.

“Naoya-nii?”

It’s the first time you’ve spoken to him, the first time you’ve even looked at him, since he struck you.

And he aches to apologize, I’m sorry’s and I shouldn’t have done that’s blistering his throat as they linger, just behind the back of his tongue.

But his pride outweighs them by a hair, despite how much his chest stings with the need to make things better, to make things right, for a reason unbeknownst to him. It’s just a sense—vague in meaning but strong in feeling—that longs for reconciliation, that’s desperate to rid your pretty face from the permanent scowl his presence etches into it.

That’s the first time he creeps into your room, the first time he loses his autonomy to the thing inside of him as he takes you into his arms and comforts you, the first time he allows you to cum from grinding on his cock.

Except it becomes a habit, an addiction, a nightly routine, cravings becoming stronger and stronger with each passing night. And for a brief span of time, it’s enough to appease the creature, the short nights spent with you in his arms, body trembling against his as you whimper out his name and his honorific, tangling on your tongue.

Because it feels right. It feels righter than anything in his life ever has, uncharacteristically gentle hands guiding your hips as they rock against his, soaked cunt gliding over the flannel of his pajama pants with ease as you huff out the prettiest little mewls into his neck.

It feels right only when he’s here with you, alone with you. Suddenly, it’s like everything makes sense again, like the world is in colour again, like the planet balanced again. He can no longer deny this feeling, this ache deep at the very pit of his soul that throbs and stings and burns mercilessly without your presence. You’re the only thing that can heal it, that can quell it, that can complete it.

So he gives in. It’s just for the nights, he promises himself, vows never to allow such sentiments to trickle into the daytime, to save it for when the sun sinks beneath the horizon, pledges never to permit these nightly escapades to advance from anything more than dry humping, nothing further than your cum on his fingers and your thighs stained with sticky cream.

But eventually, that isn’t enough, either.

And he was stupid to think it would be.

    ✰          ✰          ✰

The harsh slap of Testoni loafers against stone echoes out among the immaculately landscaped front yard, bouncing off thin tree trunks and being absorbed by tall, thick shrubs. Silver light, cast by the haloed moon hanging high in the clear navy sky, illuminates the garden, the foliage faded and washed out, painted by the moonbeams. Somewhere in the distance, the gentle trickle of water mingles with Naoya’s harsh breaths, cellphone gripped tightly in one fist as he paces back and forth like a rabid dog, small rocks popping under his feet.

It’s late. It’s too late—you were supposed to be home hours ago. Naoya’s tried calling—seven times, now, his phone buzzing in his palm to warn him of a low battery—but you haven’t picked up once. But that isn’t new, nor is it unusual; you rarely answer his calls while you’re out with Satoru.

So, really, this shouldn’t be cause for alarm. It shouldn’t.

Except he knows the man you’re out with, knows what you’re doing with him, and he can’t get it out of his fucking head, assaulted with fabricated images of you trapped under a large man with ivory hair and crystal eyes, back arching in ecstasy, his name leaving your lips in the prettiest gasps, in the way Naoya’s name leaves your lips during his habitual sneaking into your room in the middle of the night.

He’s terrified it’s going to drive him insane, eyes pricking and throat burning as his nose twitches with the threat of tears, eyelids shut so tightly his whole face scrunches up, tense and crumpled every time a new wave of contrived memories of you cumming all over that asshole’s cock crash over his mind.

Copper stings his tongue as sharp front teeth nibble at the raw cuticles surrounding his nailbed, face puckering at the taste and ripping his thumb, glistening with saliva, from his mouth.

This is pathetic, goddamn it! It shouldn’t even matter who you’re with and what you’re doing with them, shouldn’t be any of Naoya’s concern at all whether you’re safe or not, shouldn’t fucking hurt nearly as much as it does, a heavy ache that weighs on his chest more and more and more as each second ticks by, ribs caving in and splintering under the force, snapping into sharp spikes that puncture his lungs and make it painful to breathe.

“This is such a waste of fucking time, I don’t even—” he’s muttering to himself when you step out of Satoru’s car, his internal monologue beginning to leak from his head out his lips, your presence immediately cutting it off as his head snaps up, light eyes paler than normal, practically glowing in the moonlight.

A startled little whimper pries its way past your lips when you see him, stomping towards you with a heaving chest and a growl ripping from his throat.

“Where the fuck have you been?” he’s seething as a large hand seizes your arm, wrapping around your bicep and yanking, bring your face closer to his. “Huh? Do you know what fucking time it is?”

Frenzied eyes search your face, wild and erratic in their movements, sharply zeroing in on the tiny galaxies of swirling lilac and cobalt peppered with little pinpricks of scarlet that’ve been sucked into the flesh of your neck.

He chokes on something—a gasp or a snarl or a sob, maybe a mixture of all three, you aren’t entirely sure—pearly teeth gnashing together. “You’re a little slut,” he spits the word out like venom, harsh and biting as it whizzes past your cheek, slicing into your skin.

“That’s it, that’s all—that’s all you’re fucking good for,” his grip tightens with each word that flows from his mouth. “At least you’ve picked a rich man to sell your pussy to, at least you aren’t a total idiot, just like your mother, huh?”

“What is your problem?” little hands claw at the fingers latched around you, finally breaking free from him, ripping your limb from his grasp with such vigor you nearly fall on your ass, teetering backwards on unsteady feet. “You know, just because you can’t own up and face your feelings, doesn’t mean you get to take it out on me. This,” you gesture between the two of you. “Isn’t my fault.”

“This?” he spits, face screwing up in scorn. “There is no this,”

“Oh my God,” eyes rolling, you shake your head, exhaling a dubious laugh. “Shut up. There’s no one here—you can be real with me, I’m not gonna tell anyone,” you snark, arms crossing over your chest as you level your gaze with him.

He glares back at you, sharp jaw rhythmically clenching and unclenching with the grinding of his molars, large hands balled into tight, trembling fists on either side of his body.

“You know there’s something here, between us, within us, even if you refuse to admit it,” you continue after a beat of silence, voice softening.

His whole form is beginning to quiver and he jerkily shakes his head, exhaling harshly. You think he may be crying, but in the faint moonlight it’s hard to be sure.

Holding your wrist up, you swallow thickly, glancing at those little bumps embedded in your skin, watching the tiny shadows that form when your arm twists. “I have your sign,” your voice is quiet as you look back at him, flashing the inside of your wrist to him. “And I know you have mine,”

A cynical smirk spreads across his lips, but it looks more like a grimace, like a flimsy mask desperately attempting to cover something else, tongue tutting in disbelief. “Yeah, and there’s millions of people in this world with any given sign. It’s all bullshit—it could be anyone,”

“It could be anyone,” you agree, nodding. “But it isn’t.”

“You don’t know that!”

“I do! I know you feel it too! Christ, why are you so—so adamant on denying this, even when it’s just the two of us? What’s the point?”

“You’re my fucking sister, that’s the point. This is inappropriate, it’s wrong,”

“If it’s so wrong, then why do you sneak into my bedroom every night? Why do you let me cum on your fingers? Why do you fuck my thighs?” your footsteps speed up, jogging a little to catch up to him. “Huh? Huh? No answer? Or do you know the answer, and you’re too afraid to say it?”

“I don’t know!” he explodes, whirling around on you and trapping you against the brick, palms laid flat against the wall. “Alright? I don’t fucking know why I do those things. They make me feel sick afterwards, but I…”

But I can’t stop.

But I need you.

But I love you.

Chests heave with harsh exhales that mingle and echo in the garden, your eyes studying his face intently, in a way that makes him feel naked, exposed, makes him want to turn and hide from you.

“I’m not asking—” you start, words catching in your throat and blinking hard to clear rapidly welling tears from your eyes. Your voice is softer, more fragile and weak, when you speak again. “You don’t have to marry me, for Christ’s sake. I just—I just want you to—I need to know you feel it too,”

“Why?” he hisses, acidic envy bubbling in his chest, beginning to erode his resolve, walls crumbling to rubble. “What is there to know? You already have him,”

“But I’d rather have you,” the words materialize on your tongue before you even know what you’re saying, earnest eyes boring into his.

“God, don’t—” eyelids shut tightly, lithe fingers tangling in blonde hair and tugging. “Don’t say shit like that,”

He can feel them, those three little words thrashing in his chest, desperate to claw up his throat and spill from his lips, but he grits his teeth and swallows them back down, letters lodging and forming a painful lump.

And you notice. You notice, because you’ve studied him extensively, have learned to read him—his mannerisms, expressions, behaviours—well.

And you’ve just found his weakness.

“Do you want to know what I think of when he fucks me?” you ask, eyes searching his face in an almost frenzied manner, breath accelerating as you quickly push the words from your lips, worried if you don’t speak fast enough, if you don’t vocalize these sentiments now, you’ll lose him again. “It’s you. It’s always you. I’ve tried—I’ve tried to think of someone else, of anyone else, but you just…you just won’t leave my brain! It’s like a—a sickness, or something. Like a chronic illness, and it’s only getting worse,”

A strangled growl rattles in his chest as he tears himself away from you, fists violently rubbing at his eyes.

He knows. He knows, because he’s tried the same thing, attempted to desperately forget you, to disintegrate the weird feelings you endlessly evoke in his chest by losing himself in women night after night, often multiple women at once, drowning himself in their moans and gasps and soft bodies to no avail.

“There’s no cure,”

He doesn’t even mean to say it, words slipping from his lips unconsciously as he gets tangled in his thoughts, flipping through the countless memories of faceless women of all shapes and sizes, faceless woman that somehow always mange to morph into you.

“No,” you respond, shaking your head. “There isn’t. But at least I’m trying!”

He spins around, gleaming eyes flashing, brimming with bewilderment, features falling in surprise for just a moment before they harden again, varnished in offense.

“What’re you talking about,” he seethes, eyebrows furrowing deeply as his eyes narrow into sharp slits, scrutinizing, analyzing, dissecting.

“I-I’d rather have you, yes, and he’ll—no one will ever compare, will ever even come close to how much I—” you cut yourself off, swallowing the thought, then clearing your throat and beginning again. “At least I’m trying to find someone, though. At least I’m trying to find just a shred of what I feel for you, instead of sitting around feeling sorry for myself, alone and miserable,”

“Oh,” he laughs humorlessly, a callous little sound that viciously tears from his chest, that scrapes his throat and comes out strangled, full of incredulity. “You don’t think I’ve tried? You don’t think I’ve tried endlessly to forget you? To cleanse you from my mind? To move the fuck on from something that had never begun in the first place? You’ve imprinted yourself in the tissues of my fucking brain in a matter of months. It’s tiring. It’s hopeless,”

His voice breaks on the last word, some of the merciless heat fading from his features as he glares at you, eyes almost pleading for you to understand.

Because you’re the only one that can.

You’ve been in this together the entire time, right from the start, from the moment you walked through that front door.

And he’s been resisting it, fighting against it, against himself, all while the current only becomes stronger, only continues to grow in strength and size, and he’s motherfucking exhausted at this point, sick of battling some invisible force he was convinced didn’t even exist, sick of waging a war he will forever be destined to lose.

You’ve broken that wall, shattered it to dust, destroyed all of his weapons of defense and robbed him of his sovereignty, and now it’s all pouring form his mouth, an endless, uncontrollable stream of confessions, of thoughts and desires, of agony and misery.

“But it doesn’t even fucking matter, because I love you. I love you and I fucking hate you for it. And I’ve been trying, alright? I’ve tried not to, I’ve tried every single trick in the fucking book to stop it, to get over you, to forget you—and none of it has ever fucking worked, not even for a second. I don’t want you; I—I don’t want to be, but I’m in love with you,”

It looks as though your breathing has ceased, chest halting in its rapid movements, body gone still, static, stagnant. Your silence is deafening, has his ears ringing and his heart pounding, thrashing against his ribs as it aimlessly attempts to crawl through the cage, to present itself to you, bloody and beating and all yours. It’s all yours—take it, kill it, end its suffering.

“And there’s nothing—”

Surging forward, your lips crash into his, body following as it smacks against his own, effectively cutting him off. Naoya freezes, eyes wide and breathing stopped, entire body turned to ice, rigid and tense, but you are not deterred, arms winding around his neck as fingers thread through the gold and ink at the base of his skull.

“I love you, too,” you mumble into the kiss, refusing to break contact for even a second, lips brushing his as you speak. “I love you so much,”

The confession—an admission he already knew, deep down in his very bones, an admission he can no longer ignore, now that you’ve said it—snaps him out of his trance, and something switches, something breaks. Because then he’s kissing you back, tongue forcing its way through your lips to assault your own as calloused hands find purchase on your hips, squeezing your flesh hard enough that you yelp.

He chuckles against your lips, and then he’s pushing forward, forcing you to walk backwards, too fast for you to keep up, his legs longer than yours, body bigger than yours, stronger than yours.

Even with all of his shoving, you still aren’t moving quick enough for him, clumsy and stumbling over your own feet, whimpering hushed apologies into his mouth, a response to the growls that rumble in his chest each time you trip, your pitiful little sorry!’s consistently being cut off by his tongue.

Large hands hoist you up without breaking the kiss, mouth still attempting to devour you whole, to suck up your very soul, and your legs automatically wrap around his waist, latching onto him.

Either of your bedrooms are too far, and he can’t take it, he can’t wait—not with the way your fingers are tangling in his shirt and tugging, the way needy little whines are hitching in your throat, the way you’re squirming in his grasp, trying to grind against his half-hard cock.

You’re fucking desperate, but so is he, thigh whacking off the edge of the wooden coffee table as he blindly staggers towards the kitchen, tongue hungrily dragging against yours while he does so.

The cold marble stings your skin as he deposits you onto the nearest countertop, hips wedged between your thighs keeping them spread.

Little fingers immediately go for his belt, nonsensical whimpers sounding in the back of your throat as you fumble and struggle, hooking your fingers through his beltloops and pulling.

“Eager girl,” he chastises, a little breathless as nimble fingers find the soaked lace at the apex of your thighs, pushing it to the side. “Nii-san has to prep you first,”

“No,” you whine, pitched high and much too loud. “M’wet enough. Want you, want you now, nii-san, please, just give it to me, been waiting so long, please,”

The words are slurred together as they tumble from your lips, infused with a potent lust that casts a dense haze over your mind, rendering you capable of only focusing on what you need.

Light eyes dart up, holding yours through fanned lashes for a moment, as if they’re searching for any hesitancy, before his lips form the most genuine smile he’s ever given you.

“Yeah?” he huffs out, finally breaking your stare to watch his hands undo his belt, continuing to speak as he shoves his jeans down his thighs and frees his cock. “You think you can take it?”

“Yes, nii-san,” you nearly mewl, gazing at him with blown, glazed eyes and a cute pout. “Please, give it to me, I-I want it, please,”

His gaze finally flicks up, that sincere smile stretched wider across his face, a playful glint in his eye, voice void of any of its usual derision. “You want what? Hmm, baby? Come on, nii-san wants to hear you say it,”

A low whimper leaves your throat and you shift on the countertop, as if trying to wiggle closer to him. “Your cock, nii-san, want your cock, please-please-please, gimme-gimme-gimme,”

It sounds as though you’re close to tears, voice cracking and thick with desire, Naoya’s cock twitching in his palm in response to the sound, and, God, he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to that, absolutely adores it when you beg, thinks you sound so pretty when you’re pleading for him.

“You’re a greedy little girl, you know that?” he pants while he pushes in, a muffled yelp prying past your lips. “Shh, hush now, nii-san will give you what you need,”

The stretch is incredible, cute little cunt throbbing around his thick cock as it struggles to adjust to the sudden intrusion, feeling as though he’s going to tear you into two, leaving stinging micro-fissures in the delicate flesh.

Yet despite the burn, the ache that settles deep in your core, that feels like he’s splitting you in half, a satisfied moan leaves your lips, head falling forward and resting against his broad shoulder, fingers curling in the cotton that adorns his torso and pulling him closer, closer, closer.

Because, finally, you feel whole, more whole than you’ve ever felt in your entire life, satisfying an inexplicable desire buried at the crux of your very soul, something you didn’t even realize you were missing until you finally had it.

“S’not enough,” you mumble into him, nuzzling your face against him like a cat. “Need more, nii-san, need more,”

“You really are a selfish little fucking brat,” he grunts as fingers flex on your hips, tips digging into the pliant flesh and gripping, singeing his name into your skin in rapidly blossoming indigo and ultramarine.

“Nii-san was going to try and be nice,” the words, strained and husky, spill from plush lips as his hips begin to thrust, slow and hard, winding back as they draw the force to ram forward, slamming a cry from your chest as his cockhead pounds against your cervix. “But you’re too impatient for that, aren’t you?”

It’s a fucking lie; his self-control had been hanging by a thread, barely restraining the primal need to wildly buck into you, but you just snapped it, just tore the last of his treasured discipline to fucking shreds with nothing more than a few words.

The pace is ruthless, your head bouncing off the cabinets with each powerful snap of his hips, an endless stream of cries pouring from your lips, one hand curling around the edge of the counter as the other grips his shoulder, nails burying themselves in the hard muscle through the thin cotton of his shirt. Sharp bones carve a spot just for him, made for him, between your legs, into the tender flesh of your inner thighs.

“You’re mine, you hear me?” he pants out, eyes so bright they’re practically glowing. “Mine.”

“Yours!” you gasp out, head nodding in sloppy little movements against his shoulder as you fall forward, wrapping your arms around him and squeezing. “Yours, yours, yours,”

Everything feels hazy, almost dreamlike in a sense, vision blurring over with a thick shield of tears that you can’t quite explain, his name and the honorific becoming muddled on your tongue, fusing into one as you wail it out, clinging to him in a way that’s almost possessive.

“Nii-san’s here,” he promises you, voice hoarse. “Nii-san’s yours, too,”

“Mine,” the arms thrown around his neck tighten, fingers tangling in soft gold and wrinkled cotton. “Mine, mine, mine—”

“Mine,” he echoes, hips never faltering even as you wind your body around his, large hands keeping your hips still as he fucks into you. “And only mine—”  

“Forever and ever and ever—”

“You belong to me, were made for me, put on this earth for me,”

Words of confirmation are escaping from your lips, you’re absolutely sure of it, can feel them vibrating up your throat as you speak them—but it’s so much, too much, all of the feelings swirling around in your chest, sending spikes of pleasure and thorns of pain shooting through your veins as they clash together. A sudden wooziness settles over you, brain fogging over as he becomes the only thing you can think of, the only thing you want to think of, nonsensical babbling still slipping from between parted lips in hitched puffs of breath.

“So full,” you nearly sob, one of Naoya’s hands tangling in the hair at the back of your skull and yanking, pulling your face from the sanctuary of his neck and exposing your expressions to his scrutinizing eyes, devouring the beautiful tears streaking your cheeks, the contorting of your features as pleasure washes over them. “M’so full, nii-san, it’s so much,”

“Yeah? Better than he could ever stuff you?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” you’re wailing out, affirmations falling from your lips with each brutal piston of his hips. “More, need more,”

Because it’s like an addiction, an innate need for more of him, for all of him, ravenous and unquenchable, that’s always existed within you, that his cock stretching you out, filling you up, has only just awakened.

His aura is positively intoxicating, overwhelming your senses and becoming all you can see, all you can hear, all you can smell, taste, touch. His taste lingers on your tongue, faint notes of minty pine and sharp nicotine dancing with your tastebuds; his touch brands itself into you, bruises and bitemarks carving his name into soft skin; his scent assaults you, envelops you, overpowers everything else as it wraps you in a shackled embrace of expensive aftershave and cedar wood.

A growl tears from his chest, so rough that it vibrates throughout his entire body, and his pace quickens, cock plunging into you and an incredible speed, dragging against that one spot that has you nearly screaming, that has your eyes rolling back and your little hole fluttering around him as a blistering fire sparks to life in the pit of your belly.

You can feel it, furling in on itself with each vicious rut of his hips, each relentless bang of his cockhead against your cervix, a concentrated ball of scathing heat pulsing, quaking in your stomach as it curls tighter and tighter and tighter with each plunge forward—until it bursts, a fiery explosion that buzzes through your veins as your cunt clenches, gushing on his cock as he praises you—yeah, that’s it, make a mess on nii-san—entire body coiling from the sheer strength.

“Tell me,” he keens almost desperately, voice pulling you from the clutches of post-orgasm unconsciousness, hips stuttering for a moment before he regains his finesse. “Tell me how badly you need it,”

And you don’t need to be told what, pleads pouring from your mouth in an instant, before your brain can even comprehend what you’re saying, an instinctual reaction to his command. “Need your cum, nii-san, need you to full me up, fill my tummy with it, stuff me full of it, need it so bad, nii-san, please gimme your cum, please, please,”

The words are all jumbled together, thick with tears and wet with saliva and imbued with delirium, quivering and breaking as your body trembles from overstimulation.

“Fuck,” he chokes on the curse, hips stilling, pressed flush against your ass as his cock throbs, filling you with spurt after spurt of thick cum, a broken whine catching in his throat as endless words spill from yours, peppered with the sweetest moans—yes, nii-san, thank you, nii-san, fill me up, fill my body with it, my brain with it, I need it, I need it.

And he does, pumps you full of so much that it begins leaking out from your abused little hole—still stuffed with him—and down his cock.

And it’s then—after he has filled you up, with your precious little cunt still pulsing around his length, whimpering out his honorific as you hold onto him, voice raw and wrecked and cracking with residual tears—then that Naoya’s sure you were meant for him, made for him, perfectly tailored to him; he knows you were, his very own gift from the gods.  

[imaeraser]

Hello!

I really love your headcannons about Strawhats with Teen reader, that's why...

If you don't mind - Can I ask for Platonic Strawhats with Female! Teen reader that tend to be the quietest in the crew because of her shyness?

I also had and the next idea after this one- but I don't want to overwhelm you with it. Take care of yourself!

Have a nice day!

Sorry for the wait, here you go!

Luffy

He was intrigued by you

That’s why he forced you onto his ship. And then he realized that instead of having a convoluted backstory, you were shy

And quite honestly it was refreshing

Even though he likes being around Chopper and Usopp and be loud as heck, he likes spending time with you

You balance him out

And even though you’re not an adult, he’ll go to you for advice. This makes the rest of the crew confused (and low-key mad) because he doesn't want their advice

But most of the time he doesn’t take your advice anyways

I think that you two are close, seeing as he is endlessly extroverted and will break through your walls no matter how hard you try

Most of the time he leaves you to your own devices, but he will drag you to large parties and make you feel as welcome as possible

He does the same on the ship, but that was never a problem anyways because everyone likes you

Feels the need to protect you, not only because you’re a member of the crew, but also because you’re the youngest

10/10 I can see him giving you some of his food (only some)

Zoro

Ultimate big brother vibes

Likes to go to you for a quiet space because the ship can be loud

So he spends a lot of time with you… sleeping

He also half-asks questions to fill up the space and gets to know you pretty well

He also feels a need to protect you since he sees you as kinda weak (but almost everyone is weaker compared to him)

He will also feel the need to shield you from the craziness of the ship

Like sir, it’s nice that you care, but they can take care of themselves too you know?

Doesn't incorporate you into the crew since… he’s mostly sleeping. But he would try, and he would fail because they already like you

Cue him being shocked that he wasn’t your only friend on board, but to be fair he is sleeping most of the time and not watching you

He likes the calmness you bring to the ship, good for his meditation sessions (but I don't think you want to just sit there why he meditates)

I can see you having fun with him and Chopper, maybe play a board game

8/10 calm down sir, they can take care of themselves

Nami

She’s like the cool and fun older sister

She likes to dress you up in her old clothes, and then gush about how cute you look (no, not her super tiny bikinis)

She takes it onto herself to guide you through… whatever I guess

Also feels the need to protect you from dudes

I think that she gives good advice, but when combined with Robin the two of them give life-altering wisdom

You can go to her for anything from how to sew to how to manipulate people

Always gives you juice when the crew starts drinking

If the ship starts to get too rowdy she will shout at everyone to keep it down, and then turn to smile at you as if her actions were for you

She will share her tangerines with you

I think that she wants to protect you, but is frustrated at the fact that she can’t be as strong as the Monster trio (but everything works out in the end)

If you borrow money from her, she will reduce the interest (only by a little)

9/10 only downside is the interest (if you ever borrow money)

Usopp

He was high-key suspicious of you

To be fair he is suspicious of anyone and everything, and seeing as you were quiet he was on the edge

But after you saved his life, he gets all buddy-buddy (really Usopp? You got saved by a teenager)

I think the two of you would get to know each other when he’s working on a new invention, and you guys are having idle chatter

Now he tried to act like a cool older brother. Always ready to swoop in and talk about his “accomplishments”

He will do just about anything to make you laugh

I can see some crazy (but fun) times with him, Chopper, and Luffy

He would give bad advice, but occasionally he does have some piece of wisdom

He would try to protect you, but… yeah

He ends up feeling bad, and incompetent. But tell him that he was amazing or something and he’ll be fine

I think he would get frustrated when you beat him at a game of cards

10/10 he is just so fun to be around

Sanji

Also acts like an older brother

He tries to protect you from guys, saying that they’re all dogs (but then you point out that he’s a guy)

This also means he tries to limit your time around Zoro, saying that he’s a bad influence

Then the two start to fight and right as they pull you into it, Nami hits both of them and carries you off to eat or something

Gives you more food because you’re still growing

He is a surprisingly good listener and when he chimes in his advice are always good

And like all of the crew, he will try to protect you from danger (ma’am you are still a teen, why are you on this ship? Oh wait, Luffy…)

I said he acts like your older brother, but he also acts like a proud dad sometimes

Like sir, why are you crying? All they did was perform twinkle twinkle little star on the piano (Brook taught you)

He also tries to restrain his pervert tendencies around you, but when they inevitably happen he can’t look you in the eyes for several days (he also smokes more. It gets to a point where you have to confront him)

He also teaches you how to cook

8/10 he can get a little extra sometimes

Chopper

If things get too crazy on the ship, he likes to go to you

I feel like he would try to act like a big brother, but you would just pet him (sorry Chopper)

I can see Chopper trying to get you to socialize more with the crew. Just drags you out with his tiny Reindeer paws

I can see you confiding in him a lot because it’s kinda like venting to a stuffed animal (again, sorry Chopper)

He gives (almost) child-like advice, but it’s so simple and it always works

I think you would beat both him and Usopp at games, and then they would proceed to chase you around

He would try to protect you, but he also knows that you need to push yourself to get stronger, so he lets you fight some of your fights

When you end up hurt, he always makes sure to be extra vigilant with your care

I believe that you would also try to protect him, but his pride would end up hurt

I think you two would spend a lot of time in his office for a quiet place to read (and for him to do work)

He makes you help him organize stuff

10/10 a great duo

Robin

She is the kind older sister

She is such a good listener, and her advice would solve all of the world's problems

If things get crazy on the ship, you go to her. She has the presence of calm around her that just soothes you

I think she would also like to participate in dressing you up with Nami. That means you get to wear Nami’s old clothes and Robin’s old clothes

Robin always has an extra book and cup of tea reserved for you. Tea times are when you two like to ramble about anything and everything. This is also the place where you can vent and the both of you talk about your past

She would like to teach you about world history, while you listen and ask questions

She would try to teach you how to read one glyph, but if it’s too hard she stops (and low-key gets sad)

Robin also lets you help her garden. She enjoys having a person keep her company while she does the things that make her happy

She thinks that you are too adorable, and that also makes her go into a momma bear mode when she thinks you are in danger

She will yell at crew members, and she will annihilate the enemies

Robin sees you in a similar way to Chopper, so if you say something dirty or cuss, her image of you will be ruined

10/10 she is perfection

Franky

I see him as a weird uncle figure

He mostly hides in his workshop and creates weird but cool inventions while you watch him and ask what he is doing

I don’t see you two talking about important things, just you two having fun and making jokes

He is fun to watch, but when he tries to get you to participate— it’s even more fun

I can see Robin trying to shield you from him (hey, he says he’s a pervert)

He would share his cola with you (I can see some very fun crew bonding time when everyone gets cola and huddles around Franky’s new invention)

Franky is the opposite of shy, so sometimes it gets to be a bit too much

Like sir, please leave them alone for one second

I think that Franky and Usopp would try to teach you how to make things

And if you like to prank people… they’ve created a monster

Expect all three of you to get yelled at

8/10 pretty good, but he does say some stuff that you don’t get sometimes

Brook

Another weird uncle

When he asked to see your panties, both Robin and Nami slapped him so hard, he had flown off

He never asked again

I can see him joining in on the Robin history over tea, and add things in he knows from living during the period (dang he’s old)

He occasionally makes the tea you three drink

I think he would try to teach you how to use a sword, and then get yelled at so he teaches you to play instruments instead

He’s a surprisingly easy-going teacher, if you don’t practice he’s not mad. He just assumes you don't want to learn. That means he won’t teach you, which leads you to practice

He would let you peek inside of his skull and then jumpscare you. It works every time

Brook would tell you about what he did during the two-year time skip, all while you’re laughing at the fact they called him Satan

I think that being around you and Luffy would make him remember his days as a teen

Starts to get all weary like a dad (and just like Sanji)

7/10 rough start, but good ending

Jinbei

He is the dad (not like, is)

He is always concerned for your health, and whether you should be fighting or not

He told Luffy that it was ridiculous to bring a teen on board, but then he realized Luffy is only 19…

Jinbei is always there to make sure you feel included, and will often leave the crew’s festivities just to hang out with you

Honestly, his old man self likes the quiet you bring

If you ask him, he’ll tell you about Fishman history (also over Robin History Tea Times)

100% tries to protect you. I think that can make you frustrated at times, but he has saved you so you can’t be too mad

So he teaches you Fishman Karate (it gets Robin’s stamp of approval because there are no sharp objects)

Jinbei gives the best advice, again dad and old man

He’s able to see different perspectives and tell you the best course of action (that gets annoying when you just want him to take your side, but you have Nami and Robin for that)

Also is proud of you when you achieve something (part of the tears dad group)

10/10 every group needs a parent figure