#like sure that's still more than the inky gets! Barely!

[rivilu]

The da4 leaks are the most conflicted I think I've ever felt about anything game related in my life. The ui? Godawful. Possible warden player character? I Might Actually Purchase Your Game. The combat is just what inq would have been if they didn't pretend to care about tactics and just went all out on the fast paced fighting, which is cool, but we've seen nothing of the level up/stat selection screen so I still have 0 trust that they will let us choose out own fucking attributes like in the first two. Like my lore expectations are in hell and going down every time an inquisition event is mentioned, the gameplay is the only thing keeping my attention atm and it's so 50/50 JUST-

[flseur]

꒰ 𐙚 in for it — genshin men ꒱

⟡ synopsis : how genshin men eat you out, just to keep it brief

⟡ characters : wriothesley, neuvillette, al haitham

⟡ content warning : nsfw ( 18+ ), fem!reader, cunnilingus, face-sitting, fingering, office sex, teasing, praising, squirting

౨ৎ note : been in a writing mood recently and a wriothesley brain rot… sorry if it's shorter than usually, still trying to get used to writing smut but please enjoy ! ૮꒰ ˊᗜˋ ꒱ა

୨୧ WRIOTHESLEY

❥₊ ⊹ wriothesley was… messy when it came to eating pussy. to him, the messier the better. and the more messy you were on his face, the longer he was staying between your thighs.

right now, wriothesley was in bliss. your thighs locked around his head and your sweet cunt in his face, what could be better than this?

"sit down, sweetheart." he commands.

"are you sure? what if i suff-" you were cut off by a squeal, wriothesley's large hands grabbed at your ass, shoving you down on his face completely.

wriothesley licks one thick strip up your pussy, from your hole to your clit before his soft lips wrap around the bud and pleasure shoots up your spine.

"o-oh... oh my god..." you moan, your hands grab at the headboard of the bed tightly, your knuckles turning white. you begin to rock your hips lightly, still nervous about hurting your boyfriend.

until wriothesley pulls away, peeking out between your thighs, looking unimpressed. "if you're going to ride my face, fucking ride it." he demands. "use me, i'm all yours, baby." then he dives back into your pussy, slurping obnoxiously.

you hesitate briefly, then think about his words and begin to truly ride his face and crying out loud. your clit bumps deliciously on his nose and his tongue slithers it’s way into your hole.

your hands soon leave the wooden headboard and makes their way down to wriothesley’s inky locks, pulling at the hair. “ah! so good! mmph!”

he groans into your pussy. your slick and his saliva was everywhere. on his nose, his lips, and it was dripping down his chin. god how he loved you, loves your pussy, your tits, and he loved the way you were riding his face so desperately.

“that’s it… that’s my fucking girl…”

୨୧ NEUVILLETTE

❥₊ ⊹ “you’re a messy little thing, aren’t you?” neuvillette chuckled. you were currently sitting half-naked on the edge of his oak desk in the palais mermonia. just wearing your white blouse, your panties and skirt were discarded and thrown somewhere in the room, your bare pussy was dripping on the wood of the desktop.

"you usually don't tease..." you pout, looking down at your husband though his eyes didn't quite meet yours. instead they were trained on your cunt.

"sorry, love." though it doesn't truly sound like he is. neuvillette lowers to face your bare bottom, his lithe fingers come forward and pull apart the lips of your pussy.

"so beautiful..." he mumbles before his tongue meets your clit then travels down to your hole. his tongue thrusts into you and he tastes your slick on it. "so good..." he groans.

neuvillette then starts to eat you out like he's starved. his movements which are usually precise and calculated are now messy, and erratic. you've never quite felt heaven like this and neuvillette hadn't tasted heaven until the first time he ate you out.

your hands thread themselves in his hair as you moan out loud and they pull his head impossibly closer to your core. "oh! mmf!" and you feel tears begin to cloud your vision.

he didn't care that you were making a mess out of him, and he didn't care about how your arousal was all over his desk or all over his face.

though there is a sudden tightness in his pants, and it becomes more and more obvious to him, neuvillette continues to let you use his mouth. to let you reach that orgasm you oh so deserved because he wanted to be the cause of it.

୨୧ AL HAITHAM

❥₊ ⊹ “tsk… you’re such a distraction…” al haitham feigns annoyance. he brings his hands up to your thighs and pries them apart. "can't even read a book in peace around you, can i?"

"ah! 'm sorry... i just really needed you, al haitham." you mumble looking down your body and the view breathtaking.

al haitham had his head leaning against your left thigh, pressing open mouth kisses that were getting closer and closer to where you needed him most. while his left hand was rubbing lazy circles against your puffy clit.

"i can tell... you're dripping on the couch." he sighs. al haitham likes to act like he's bothered, when in reality he had already read that book more then ten times over for a research paper. he was secretly more than happy to please you, though he won't admit that outright.

al haitham leans down and presses a kiss to your pussy, then his lips wrap around your clit and begins to suck on it. he liked to take his time eating you out, to savour it. to savour you. and that meant not making your cunt a sopping mess until you beg him for it. but he won’t tease you all that much today seeing how badly you needed him.

you moan out, one hand of yours coming up and grabbing your own breast. "t-thank you. love you, love you so much al haitham!" you babble.

"love you too, baby..." he murmurs into your pussy. soon, his long fingers meet where his mouth is pleasuring you and they make their way into your little hole, thrusting in and out.

you swallow back a loud sob, remembering you're not entirely alone in your boyfriend's house, as if the sounds of al haitham eating up all your sloppy pussy has to offer isn't loud enough.

al haitham's fingers were making your head spin along with the way his tongue was moving over your clit. his digits were grazing that sweet spot inside of you and the sound of your hiccups only spur him on more.

"please, please! al haitham 'm gonna cum!" you sob.

"do it." he pulls back for a moment, "cum on my face..." then he dives back into your cunt, his tongue and fingers now working overtime to make you orgasm.

your hips begin to grind against his mouth and your chest heaves. "i-i'm cumming! oh my god!" you cry out as you orgasm, hot flashes of white makes it way across your abdomen and you make a mess everywhere. your arousal covered al haitham's face, his hands and your quivering thighs.

"you're so messy..." al haitham says as he moves up to your face.

"sorry..." you apologize.

"don't." he says sharply, not wanting you to feel bad. his lips then meet yours, and you taste yourself on his tongue. "we're going to do that again and this time, you're going to be louder."

flseur © all rights reserved, do not repost, take inspo from my layouts or themes, translate, or claim as your own.

[elliescumslvt]

Very Good - Ellie Williams

College AU Ellie Williams x AFAB (assigned female at birth) reader. There is no use of Y/N, or a chosen name for the reader. 3.6k words

Content includes: fingering (reader receiving), oral sex/cunnilingus (reader receiving), kissing, cursing, pet names (babe, baby, lover, love, ex), sub!reader + dom!ellie, and overall vivid descriptions of sexual activity.

The moon shone brightly in contrast to the inky sky. The light passed through the window, and lit the room a sparkly gray. I bounced my knee against the wooden desk as I rested my head against the cool surface. My eyes drooped with exhaustion as a result of my long study session. 

A loud knocking suddenly shocked me, causing my head to fly up. I begrudgingly stood up, and walked over to the door. Upon opening it, my face deepens to a blood red. 

“I need a distraction.” Ellie states, pushing past me into my dorm. She flings herself onto my bed, and pushes on her elbows to sit up. “Are you busy?”

Her words echo in my head as I bite down on my lip. Truthfully, I was behind in a few of my classes. I desperately needed to study. However, her sweet honey tone and wide begging eyes tempted me. “I’m not sure Els, I kinda need to work on more of my assignments-” Her groan cuts off my words. Brown soft strands stuck up in random directions atop her head, and her eyes now drooped with similar exhaustion to mine. My lip remains between my teeth as I turn my head away from the scene. If I had any hope of going back to studying, I could not look anywhere near Ellie. 

“But.. I need you.” Ellie begged further, her words almost coming across whiny now. Her brows furrowed together, and her eyes were no longer pleading. With lids half open and a pouty lip, Ellie made me powerless. My pulse hammered against my temples, and a rush of blood traveled to my face. I curse internally, knowing that I could not possibly say no. 

“Need me for what?” I try to play dumb, hoping that there was still some way I could get out of this. But as my eyes traveled over her outfit, I was not sure if that would even be humane of me to do. She wore a thin black shirt, decalled with a band's name I did not know. The fabric clung to her upper arms, only further displaying her muscles. Her collarbone peeked out the stretched collar, and begged to be marked with sin. Cold air blows out my burning throat as I pathetically attempt to calm myself.

Ellie’s face changes into a smirk, and it's obvious she can read my thoughts. “Come here babe, let me touch you.” Her demanding tone forces my feet to drag me over, and all of a sudden I was crawling on the bed towards her. Sage green eyes met mine in an instant, and her arms opened to invite me in. My skin trembled as I finally reached her. Hands flew to my waist, dragging me further into my company's lap. I raise my arms with hesitance, and wrap them around her neck. 

As Ellie reads my nervous expression, a brow raises inquiry. “Why are you so tense? It's just us, love.” I feel as she drags a hand slowly over my shirt before pushing a strand of hair behind my ear. We are so close that I can feel her breath against my face, and it only makes me blush more. Her hand falls back to meet the other at my waist as she whispers, “You’re so pretty when you’re flustered.” 

My heart flies into my throat, preventing me from responding. All I can manage to do is move a slight bit forward towards her. Her lips enticed me, all pink and soft. Ellie’s freckles dotted her skin like stars, only making her all the more beautiful. “I can’t help it.” I mumble, though I am barely aware that I even spoke. My thoughts were plagued with images of her lips on mine, and all over my body. 

“I know.” She chuckles, her chest rising and falling quickly with her laughter. My cheeks impossibly got darker, now a deep crimson red. Ellie notices this right away, as she knows my own body better than myself. A calloused hand moves again from off my waist, and now slides under my shirt. It moves dangerously slow, causing goosebumps to raise all over my touched skin. Her fingers glide over my stomach, the motion going straight to my core. 

“Ellie.” I breathe out, my breath wet and hot. Her existing smirk only widens, and her head tilts.

“And I thought I was the one needing you. Hm?” She teases, though her tone is warm and sultry. Her eyes bore into mine, causing a shiver to pass over my spine. My spread thighs tremble on top of hers. The warmth passing between us was making my head even fuzzier, coherent sentences becoming nonexistent. As if Ellie sensed this, she moved her lips daringly closer to mine. Just as I think she’s going to lovingly close the gap between us, she bites down on my lower lip. A whine escapes me as she does so, only fueling her further. I see sparkles shine in her pupils, her lust obvious. Her teeth now graze over the sensitive skin, pulling yet another whimper from me. Desperate for more I push my lips onto hers, the motion hurried and sloppy. I wasn’t too sure of what I was doing, since I could barely think at all. It was really pathetic how quickly Ellie could get me riled up. 

Ellie reciprocated the kiss almost immediately. Her hand resting on my stomach began to climb up my body, the heat arousing me. Rough fingers gripped at the nape of my neck, holding me still as the kiss deepened. She moved with skill, her lips perfectly mashing with mine. The embrace was slow yet sensual. Low rumbles came from her throat as her brows narrowed together in focus. My mind and hers alike were solely focused on each other. 

Struggling, Ellie ripped her lips off mine. The skin was wet and puffy, her face similar in color. Her lip quivered as if it missed mine, and she bit down aggressively on it. “Mm need you now, babe.” Her voice was deep and scratchy, sounding as if her throat dried from the loss of my body. 

I nodded enthusiastically in response, that being all I could muster. In an instant, Ellie moved to lift me off her lap, and pushed me to lay down. The bed was warming up as our bodies were, the fabric temperature only dulling my mind more. She climbed over me, and moved to straddle my waist. Her thighs melted around my sharp hip bones. They were only shielded with thin shorts, and my hands flew to grip the fabric. Her face frantically came back to mine, our lips colliding again. The kiss started fast and needy, but soon changed into something more slow and brain numbing. I tug on her shorts desperately, trying to ground my souring head. One of Ellie’s hands grasped harshly on my hip, her fingernails imprinting crescents into my skin. A pleading moan leaves me at the sinful thought of her grip creating marks. Her other hand was wrapped around my neck, not preventing me from breathing but increasing my blood flow. I took deep sharp inhales as Ellie squeezed harder. She took this opportunity to slip her tongue into my mouth. Our tongues wrapped around one another, the movement very familiar. 

“What do you need from me?” I croak out. My voice sounded whiny, and my eyes were wide and pleading. Our lips brush against each other as I speak. Our eye contact is intense, and I feel myself shrinking beneath her. 

Ellie chuckles as her hands explore my body, worshiping all of my curves. “I need to..” she pauses to lift her body off mine and blows out an exasperated breath, “Please let me taste you- you’ve been busy all week- I need it.” She takes awkward pauses as she speaks, her tone begging. Her voice sounded as if she hadn’t drunk in years, and I was the only thing which could clench her thirst. Suddenly, her fingers loop around the crown of my pants and tug on them. 

I nod frantically, unable to speak. Her face spreads into a lopsided grin, and she swiftly moves down my body. In one rough push, she separates my thighs. I whimper at the stretch, and momentarily throw my head back onto the bed in anticipation. Ellie stares intently between my thighs, and her mouth almost begins to salivate. My pants slide down over my thighs as Ellie brings them down, and the cool air hits my burning flesh. She enthusiastically pulls them from off my ankles, and tosses them somewhere on the floor. As the soft fabric hits the floor with a thump, my brain runs wild with thoughts. It was not foreign for Ellie to want to please me like this, but this time she seemed so much hungrier. 

Her starved eyes trace my thighs, her lips following in pursuit. Soft kisses press against my skin as she explores. Every freckle, every scar, and every stretch mark were being given attention. Slowly, her face moves closer and closer to where I want her most. Her expression changes into something sinister as she blows hot breath onto my panties. My neck curves backwards as I once again toss my head back. As I try to calm my rapidly moving chest, I stare at the ceiling above. However, I can distinctively imagine the smirk Ellie undoubtedly wore. 

Her hands meet with my thong, and she yanks it down my thighs. I use my legs to kick the fabric the rest of the way off, and Ellie chuckles with amusement. “Eager, are you?” Her laugh echoes inside my brain, rattling around chaotically. Her eyes trace over my features, moving tauntingly too slow down my body. They snapped to mine after a moment, and her pupils were blown. Her normal green eyes were now just a tiny sliver of iris around her enlarged pupil. Lost in a trance with her adoring glare, I fail to realize when her mouth moves down to my clit. In one long stripe, her tongue slides from my clit, down through my slit, and to my hole. The leathery muscle traces along the rim, and a low groan leaves Ellie’s lips.

“I always love when you’re on my tongue.” She confesses. This draws a small whimper from me, my eyes squeezed shut in desperation. I helplessly grind my hips downwards in a sad attempt to make contact with her tongue again. Ellie only laughs in response and the warm damp air hits my heat. “Have some patience please, Babe. I want to take my time with you. I’ve missed this.” Her needy tone adds to my pooling wetness. 

“O- Ok.” I stutter, my brain malfunctioning. I try to calm my hips, but they shake subconsciously. My chest rises and falls rapidly as I attempt to clear my fogging mind, though Ellie practically fought against my efforts. Her tongue returned feverishly, and lapped at my cavern. My hands move frantically as my body looks for something to ground myself with. They quickly find Ellie’s hair, and tug on the strands. Her auburn hair was half pulled back, though some pieces fell to frame her face. The hair ended at her shoulders with a blunt cut. Her eyebrows matched the rest, now wrinkled together as her face was buried between my legs. Calloused hands grip onto my thighs, the plush skin melting between her fingers.  

My fingers tighten around her hair as her mouth travels higher. She licked my clit repeatedly, her effort never wavering. I feel as my thighs try to pull back together, caging her head. One of her hands on my thigh harshly spread it open to give her more access. A small gasp passes past my lips as Ellie’s other hand moves to my core. One long finger circles around the rim, almost as if she was teasing me. I whimper as a plea, however she roughly pulls away tongue and all. 

“I said be patient.” Ellie demands with a cold scowl. Her palms pushed down on my hips, preventing me from obtaining any self inflicted pleasure. My body writhes from loss of stimulation, and a groan deep from my throat escapes. Ellie’s expression remains unmoving, and she does not move. My breathing increases in speed, as I begin to panic. My senses were abruptly met with absence, and the sensation was uncomfortable. 

As if Ellie sensed this uncomfort, her hands begin to gently caress my thighs, Her expression morphs into a more caring one as she keeps moving to soothe me. A warm tingle passes over my spine, effectively calming my frantic stature. “Shh everything is okay. I’ll take care of you, alright Babe?” Her loving words smooth the goosebumps on my thighs, and the muscles stop spasming. Ellie’s lips stretch into a wide smile as she sees my calm demeanor. She leans down to lay a kiss on my thigh, and then rests her head on the plump skin. Her eyelashes tickle my skin, causing me to quietly giggle. If even possible her smile brightens more, lighting up the entire dorm. The setting sun shines warm yellow rays through the windows. However, the sun could never brighten my world as well as Ellie’s smile could. 

“I love you, remember? I just want you to feel as much pleasure as possible.” She mumbles into my thigh. Her eyes looked up at my face, and I could clearly see her pupils searching sporadically to understand how I was feeling. The freckles which scattered her skin stood out against the smooth skin of my thigh, only making her appear more ethereal. 

I take a deep inhale, fully stretching my lungs. The air flows from my lips as I exhale, and ruffles Ellie’s hair. “I know.” I breathe out, my lungs now exhausted. Ellie quickly sits her body up, and kisses my lips. It is short and sweet, a strong contrast to earlier. She ended the kiss as soon as she started to feel it increase with intensity. Her lips stretch to smile as she lowers her head back down towards my center. 

I gasp out as one of her fingers press against my entrance. She moves carefully as she inserts a digit, allowing my body to stretch with the intrusion. My walls fluttered around the warm perpetrator. I look down to see Ellies’ eyes wide open. Her pupils swelled as she realized just how wet I was. Already a single finger was sliding easily, her knuckles hitting my sensitive folds. 

Ellie understood my body far past what I could understand, so she knew I was ready. Another digit presses against my somewhat widened cavern. It slides in next to the other finger, my wet slick allowing the process to be painless. I groaned out into the air as my back arched, and my knees rose. My head falls back onto the bed, and pushes up my neck and shoulders. Ellie saw this and began to slowly scissor her fingers. The digits would push apart to stretch my walls, before meeting back together. She repeats this process for just too long, and I begin to whimper. Her smile transforms into a smirk, and she finally begins to finger my arching core effectively. The fingers slide in and out with a steady speed, and they curl to rub the spongy area of the flesh. I cry out and frantically move my hands to grip Ellies’ hair again for stability. My hips rock rhythmically with hers, but this time she allows such. As her fingers dig deeper, the curling presses against my sweet spot harsher. My breathing increases as the pleasure invades all my sensations. 

Without warning, Ellies’ tongue returns to my clit. The muscle circles the pulsing mound feverishly, successfully dragging a loud whine out of my throat. My hand grips on the tiny pony tail of her half-up-half-down even harsher. However, the girl between my legs seems to give no care. If anything this devilish pain fueled her actions even further. The fingers inside me slow down, but now slide deeper into my core. Her digits still for a moment, then the tips start to swipe over my sweet sponge repeatedly. My hips uncontrollably seize away, but Ellie is quick to slam them back down. The hand not being used to plow me grabs my ass, and fondles the skin. I clamp down on my lip in hopes to muffle my pathetic whimpers. However my efforts are useless as the sound of wet sliding fills the room. As I try to center my focus, my teeth grind on the fragile feature. 

I release my lip as Ellie unexpectedly drags her tongue through my folds. She laps up the arousal and groans. One thing I could never be insecure about is Ellie eating me out. She constantly ensures me that she finds pleasure and enjoyment in the action, possibly even more than I did. It was not uncommon for my lover to barge into my dorm to demand intimacy.

My mouth falls open and desperately brings air to my lungs. The organs cause my chest to rise and fall just as frantically as they were. Ellie undoubtedly notices, and takes it as a sign to pleasure me more intensely. Her tongue muscle works hard to slide up and down my slick, and occasionally spin around my clit. My walls shake deliciously with every pressured stroke. The bedding now envelops me in an overwhelming warmth, the heat from our bodies changing the temperature. Yet in contrast my skin erupts in goosebumps. Every nerve tingles in a mind numbing pleasure. My core muscles contract, which pressurizes the growing pit in my stomach. Ellie tilts her eyes up from my lust to watch my stomach spasm with a wicked grin.

Her tongue pressed flat against my clit for a moment to say; “Come on Baby, make a mess on my fingers.” Her sensual words fly straight to my sex, causing the attentive flesh to pulse more rapidly. Ellies’ tongue teasingly flicks my clit, some drops of saliva and arouse propelling into the damp air. The fingers inside me move with the intent to drag an orgasm from me. The tips caress my skin quicker. This sensation becomes entirely overwhelming, along with the attention being given to my clit. A pressure grows substantially within my stomach, and threatens to explode. Ellies’ eyes flutter close and my skin vibrates as she moans against it. Her brows are furrowed in concentration as she begins to drag me over the edge.

The throbbing, tingling pressure in my arousal intensifies as my core snaps. A full body sensation travels over me, blocking my system from experiencing any other feeling. My back arches higher, and my thighs clash together. Ellies’ auburn locks get tousled as her head is crushed between my thighs. My clit feels electrified, and my nipples harden. My breasts stretch with my back, which makes my buds buzz with static delight. I taste Ellies’ spit from when her tongue was in my mouth instead of torturing my clit. My sight is blinded as my eyes squeeze shut. My lovers’ hair is yanked once more, this time harsher than the others. 

Ellies’ eyes remain close, and sweet enticing moans leave her soft plush lips. She drinks the lust spilling from my cavern with joy. Her facial muscles release their tension and relax as her tongue works to not miss a single drop of my orgasm. 

I moan in ecstasy. She had made me cum countless times, however this time infected my senses stronger than any other. My thighs violently quiver around Ellies’ head, though she makes no effort to escape. Her tongue still moves to happily swallow my arousal. The reddened flesh now hums with a simmering sting. I attempt to pull her away by tugging on her locks more aggressively, but she doesn’t move. My nerves scream with overstimulation and loud guttural groans bounce about the dorm. I release a hand from her hair, and it shakes as I move it towards her shoulder. I tap the freckled skin twice, and Ellie immediately pulls her face away from my heat. Her chin drips with evidence of my orgasm, and her shiny lips reflect the light of a lamp in the room. My eyes snap to hers and her love for me is obvious. Her pupils consumed the iris, and the skin around them was softened and relaxed. I watch her lashes brush against her lids as she stares up at my lustful face. I can feel the heat in my face, primarily in my cheeks. 

Her hands leave their current positions on my body, and are placed down on my thighs. The skin twitches occasionally, but the nerves have mostly calmed down. Her thumbs stroke atop some of my stretch marks with a soft kindness. “How was I?” She inquires, and the usual cockiness in her tone is absent. Her eyes traveled over my face, trying to understand how I was feeling before I was able to say. 

My exhausted body is limp on the bed. I can just see Ellie in my sight, as my head was barely propped up by the disheveled comforter. The hand still in her hair slowly slides down her neck and to her hand. I interlock our fingers lazily, my grip loose and relaxed. “Very good.” I emphasize while my expression morphs into a warm smile. 

[thegnomelord]

just read about demon hunter reader and demon ghost cuddling, and the first thing i thought was how ghost would react if, one of these times, reader ends up having a wet dream and dry humping his ass 😋

about time that our demon thinks of getting laid, he's disgusted and turned on at the same time

Sorry this took a while lads :Dd, I'm getting back into writing after all that shit with my school but I got a summer job as an assistant medical worker with 12h shifts every other day so It might take a bit for me to write stuff.

Hush, Hunter

CW:NSFW, MDNI, demon Simon Ghost Riley x male hunter reader, grinding, wet dreams, handjob, blowjob, size difference (demon ghost is like 11 feet tall.)

Your ‘husband’ is strange, even by demon standards.

He grumbles about the inconvenience brought on by your mortal failings and fragility, growling whenever you have to stop at a gas station to buy food or at some dingy motel to sleep. He grumbles even more about being confined in the stolen human skin suit he's forced to wear to blend in.

You can ignore the stranger with the stolen face and hellfire eyes throwing dark glares at you for the most part, except for when the demon decides to make the binding ring around your finger heat up when you spend too long talking to the pretty cashier. And it only takes a few more seconds of not paying heed to the incessant burn before Ghost Simon looms behind you, glaring at the flustered cashier like she’s a fey trying to trick you into the Fey Lord’s court.

And the big bastard never gives you any explanation on why he’s acting like that, just drags you back to your car, slamming the doors closed with enough strength to shake the entire vehicle. He’s like a cat honestly; hisses at you, but doesn’t want to let you out of his sight or claws.

But when your nightmares get so bad your only chance of sleeping is on the floor, well hidden behind the bed with your back flush with the dingy motel wall, Ghost surprises you by laying down with you. Sure he grumbles about the demeaning position - laying like some mongrel dog - but he still does it.

Ghost is on his side, his broad muscular back to you, rough inky scales swallowing all the moonlight that filters through the blinds and turning him into a pitch black wall of muscle. He’s so still you might even think he’s sleeping – you know he’s not; demons aren’t tied to mortal laws, nor are they subject to time’s iron grip, that’s what makes hunting demons so dangerous. The only indication you have that he’s awake is the occasional twitch of his tail and the slight shuffle of his wings when you accidentally get closer to him in your attempt to get a comfortable position.

You flinch when his one wing spreads out and back, but the blanket of black and blood dyed feathers soon eases the tension in your body. Probably too quickly, definitely too quickly, but Ghost doesn’t draw attention to it and neither do you and the night is cold and he is blissfully warm and he stays stock still when you shuffle a bit closer. You're glad he pays no attention to you when you get comfortable against him, barely an inch of space between you two.

His feathers tickle your face, they’re softer than you’d expect a wrath demon to have, fluffy like the down of chicks. His scent invades your nose, rough leather and steel oil and something distinctly demonic you can’t name. . . but it’s strangely comforting.

Laying only an inch or two away from a demon goes against everything you’ve ever been taught. Your nerves should be on a razor’s edge, but instead you’re calm. You don’t know why your fucked up mind finds comfort in the fact a possible threat would need to go through half a ton of murderous wrath demon to get to you. And you don’t want to think about it either, you’ve had far too many sleepless nights for your brain to care how you manage to sleep so long as you do. And the moment you close your eyes, you’re out like a light.

Ghost has gotten used to your nightmares.

Just like his father’s absent love, your nightmares are consistent. He’s almost impressed how such a frail thing like you could hunt the likes of hydras and Hell Dukes when you barely sleep a wink most nights. The longest you’ve gone is a couple of hours of restful sleep before you woke up trying to claw your eyes out. You never talk about it, nor does he, Ghost may be a demon but he knows far too well how the mind can haunt someone.

And Ghost has gotten good at telling apart the individual nightmares by how you squirm in your sleep.

It takes a little longer for the nightmare to start than usual, but he knows you’re neck deep in it when you heart starts it’s frantic drumming in your chest. He ruffles his feathers as your hands grip his sides, your breath fanning over his skin. He thinks it might be the basilisk haunting you this time by the way you press yourself flush with his back, burying your face into the space between his shoulder blades until your nose is flush with his spine, back hunching to further shield your eyes.

Ghost doesn’t, nor will he ever, mention the low happy rumble that escapes him when you snuggle up to him. His feathers fluff up, the scratchy hair of his tail flattening down - about as silk soft as he can make them. It’s little better than throwing pearls before swine, you won’t remember any of this after all, but doing this strangely doesn’t feel as much of a burden as it should.

Usually the low deep purring growling will chase away your nightmares and lull you into a dreamless sleep for a little while, but not this time. You squirm against his back like an eel, muscles tensing to grip his sides until dregs of pain dance along his spine. Your breath fans across his scales, your heart pounding in his ears like that of a rabbit’s caught in a snare. He’s just about ready to turn around and wake you before he feels it—

Your arousal pokes his back, hard like iron.

Only now does he pick up the slight sweetness of arousal in your adrenaline rich scent. “Hm- fuck.” You mumble as you roll your hips to grind your cock against him. “Slow- fuck fuck- slow down.” You breathe out, and Ghost swears this must be another part of his father’s eternal punishment. The sudden thought that your dream is of a sexual nature smites him with all the intensity of his father’s rage.

Who do you think you are, taking his little mercies for granted? Who do you think you are, grinding against him like some mongrel mutt? Who do you think you are holding him as if you are more than the eventual reward for the maggots fervent prayers? Who do you think you are—

“Ghost- Simon. . .” His name, his original name, leaves your lips; it’s the softest he’s ever heard you speak.

“Human.” He seethes and rolls around, pushing the warm feeling –warm like a campfire compared to the blistering pits down below that usually dwell in his chest– out of his mind. “Disgusting.” You’re so small compared to him, your head could easily fit in his rough hand, a momentary lapse in the binding’s protection all that it would take for his flesh rending claws to cleave through your skull. He’s thought about it often, of the look in your eyes as your life fades, of how good your blood would taste, of how nice your shoulder would look with his teeth marks on it. . .

His hand is gentle as he reaches to brush your cheek, like he’s handling glass, rumbling when you lean into the touch. “Wretched thing.” He growls, hand sliding from your cheek to your back and pulling you close. He feels you nuzzle into his wide chest, carefully bullying his thigh between yours, steel hard muscle tensing to give you a good surface to grind on. “Nothing more but a mongrel waste of flesh.” He doesn’t notice how quickly his voice has lost heat, barely above a murmur as he listens to your breathless gasp and watches your back arch.

For someone usually so guarded, you are painfully naked in flesh and soul, responding so wantonly to his touches; from low moans to soft little murmurs of ‘Simon’ and ‘more’ that has him mindlessly rubbing his thigh against your crotch in hopes of getting more of those so painfully human sounds. You moan and nuzzle into his chest, your body like soft clay in his hands now that you’re no longer shackled by the chains of pride and prejudice that your mind conjures around him

You’re like a strange bug to him; a part of him wants to pin you down, to tear you apart with vicious claws and see if there’s anything different in the way your heart beats, in the way your lungs move, in the way you exist — something substantial to show why holding you in his arms doesn’t feel as degrading as it should.

He wonders, briefly, if this is what God saw that made him love Adam so much. Why God did not have the heart to kill Adam for his disobedience.

Greed moves his hands like they’re puppets on strings, flesh rending claws carefully tracing the bumps of old and fresh scars that dot your abdomen — perhaps you aren’t so pathetic, it takes strength to survive this long. Your skin prickles from his touch, your breath fanning over the rough belly scales protecting his front as his hand slowly moves down. He hooks a claw under the band of your underwear and pulls down until your cock springs out right into Ghost’s hand.

Ghost hasn’t seen many cocks before, why would he?, but a low sound comes from his chest at how neatly your cock fits in his hand, how neatly all of you fit against him. And only now does it dawn on him that he doesn’t know how to do this— he’s a wrath demon for fuck’s sake, he understands war and bloodshed like it’s the back of his hand, but this? This is new territory.

Well, he’s never been one to back down when he’s gotten this far.

His hand slowly closes into a fist, just a little loose around you. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t be anything but gentle in the way he strokes you. Your hips move on their own, gentle little rocks to fuck your cock into his fist and he follows along with the motion. It’s a little rough at first, he feels how the dry slide of his hand makes you shiver, but he soon finds a nice pace as your precum eases the glide of flesh on flesh.

He wants to see your face when you moan, but he can’t bring himself to pull you away from his chest when you cling to him so sweetly, your lips mindlessly ghosting over his scales. So he contends himself with coiling his tail around your leg, draping a wing over you so there’s a barrier between you and the rest of the world, so no creature from heaven high or deep below may entertain the thought of taking what’s his.

No good thing lasts for long.

He feels you wake like the first thaw in spring, slow and gradual, eyes fluttering open, mind still clouded with pleasure to really understand the position you’re in. He takes advantage of that, gripping your hip to keep you close, swirling his tumb in the precum beading at your head and squeezing his hand just right to coerce a breathless moan from your chest.

Then your eyes snap open, realisation hitting you with the same intensity as the punch you throw at his skull. But the ‘marriage’ turns that show of force into a gentle caress of the skull cheek of his ‘face’. “Ghost what the fuck are you-” You begin, cut off as another clench of his hand has you gripping his forearm and biting your lip to silence yourself. 

“Oh hush hunter.” Ghost rumbles low in his throat, his wing tensing behind your back to bring you in closer, soft blood dyed feathers encasing you in a cocoon of warmth against his cool belly scales. “No need to wake the other worms.” Disdain and mockery drip from his voice like molasses, yet strangely it doesn’t feel aimed at you. . . it must just be the pleasure making you believe that.

“You- bastard!” You snarl, trying to summon the hunter savagery that had been meticulously beaten into you, but it slumbers like a fat cat. “Fuck off- get away from me.” You aim to slam your fist against his scaled abdomen, just a little lower and to the side where the floating ribs should be, but all you manage is a slow caress of his side and back up his chest where you can feel his eternal soul burning beneath the flesh.

He laughs and slides his hand down, rolling your balls in his wide hand and squeezing just enough to be at the edge of pain– shit, that should not feel so good. You hiss and throw your head back despite the inherent danger of exposing your throat. He tilts his head down, ghostly breath washing over your ear, “We both know if you wanted this to stop you would have done so.” Oh, now you can just feel the mockery in his voice, sweet like honey that it is.

Some petulant part of you thinks of arguing, anything to retain what remains of your damn pride, but then he slides his hand back up, pressing your cock against your stomach and grinding the palm of his hand against your shaft and all the thoughts of arguing are pushed to the side by the tide of pleasure. Fuck, it’s been far too long since you ‘took care’ of things, it’s not like you have much time to wank off, let alone with Ghost hanging over your shoulder like some grim reaper. And hell, if any other hunter heard you let a damn demon jack you off, yours would be the next head put on the stake but. . . but Ghost is surprisingly gentle with you, not a single hint of pain coming from his touches, not even from his claws gently running down your side.

“Fine-” You suck in a sharp breath, head fixed to stare directly at his chest. “Make it quick.”

You feel him smirk against your ear, “As you wish, hunter.” He laughs lowly, like you’re nothing but a cute puppy chewing on his shoelaces, “Though, you should thank me for debasing myself like this.” He growls, and with a sharp move of his wing he rolls you on your back. 

You gasp as your back hits the sleeping mat, and before you can even struggle Ghost looms over you, a wall of muscle and dark scaled flesh. “Fuck no.” You growl, some scraps of pride still clinging to your mind, though even those are threatened when his broad hand returns to stroking your cock, faster this time, the drag of his palm making pleasure sizzle up your spine. Your head rolls back to rest on the mat and you don’t even notice when you close your eyes. You’re not sure how Ghost is so good at this, something sharp like jealousy curling in your stomach at the thought of him doing this to someone else. But it’s hard to think when you can feel and hear him purring, his claws gently tracing your stomach and leaving lingering heat everywhere they touch.

You jump as something slick brushes over your balls, “Look, good hunter.” He growls and you listen without thought, eyes wide when you see his tongue— it extends from the darkness of his head just beneath the rotten upper teeth of his skull, long, black, thick strings of oil coloured spit dripping off his tongue. “That’s better,” He purrs; you’re not sure how he can talk, and you’re unable to ask because he leans in closer until your cock rests against his skull, his hellfire eyes burning in the darkness and giving just enough light for you to see his long black tongue curl around your base like a snake. 

Shit– he wants to kill you.

“Holy fuck Ghost-” You breathe out, lungs burning before you remember how to breathe. His tongue moves, squeezing your base and sliding lower to lap at your balls. You’re forced to bite your finger to stop the painfully pathetic sound burning on your tongue.

He stops moving and you’re thankful he doesn’t mention the whine that slips past your lips. “Simon.” He demands, oily spit clinging to your skin and making it tingle with heat.

“Simon.” You nod along dumbly, “Fuck- Simon.”

“Good.” You imagine he’s smiling when he says that, his hand returning to stroke your cock in reward. “Call me that again.” He says, a purr rumbling in his chest and you can’t help but moan at how the vibrations travel through his tongue, making it act like a vibrating toy.

Your hands fly to grip his horns, the pleasure making you throw your head back yet you try to keep your eyes on him, hiccuping his name between harsh breaths. He doesn’t mind the touch on his horns, leaning into the touch before flicking his tongue at your taint. He rewards you for each time you say his old name, tongue and hand working in tandem to slowly and steadily march you towards release. 

You try to tug on his horns to warn him, or maybe to pull him away, but he pays no heed; he doubles his efforts, wetly slurping at your balls and base while his hand toys with your crown, his free hand holding your hips down so all you can do is weather the pleasure until you’re finally pulled under the waves. “Simon-” You gasp, cum spurting all over his hand and your stomach. 

You watch through lidded eyes as he retracts his hand, keeping his gaze on you as he lazily licks up your cum from his hand. “Better than I expected.” He rumbles, more to himself than you, leaning up to drag his long slimy tongue across your stomach to gather up all your cum.

 Shit, that sight got you hard again before you could even soften.

You’re not sure if the greed you see spark in his eyes makes you scared or even harder, but you’re not left any room to think further about it before his tongue wraps around your cock again.

Unfortunately for you, demons have no concept of time as mortals know it, so his ‘quick’ ends up being the entire rest of the night. At one point you get to the point you’re sure Ghost is trying to kill you with all the pleasure, spit polishing your cock until he’s satisfied and by that point the sun is rising and your voice is hoarse.

You can’t meet the gaze of the motel receptionist in the morning, but Ghost Simon, looks smug like the cat who ate the canary.

[seouljazzbar]

selfish (m.)

𓃹𓂃𓂃𓃹𓂃𓂃𓃹𓂃𓂃𓃹𓂃𓂃𓃹𓂃𓂃𓃹

about— wonbin’s a musical prodigy, having worked alongside critically acclaimed producers, and now he’s your guest lecturer for the semester. correction, your hot lecturer for the semester (producer!wonbin x f.reader)

author’s note— this is a little rough but i still like the way it turned out! title is from this song if anyone's curious hehe i think it's wonbin coded lowkey

warning— language, teacher-student dynamic, me blatantly lying about new york/nyu, alcohol use, (soft?) dirty talk, fingering (f. receiving), whiny wonbin, oral (m. receiving), teasing, penetrative sex (with a condom!!) 18+ MDNI!!!

word count— 5.3k

Thursdays and Fridays from four to six, those were his office hours. It was difficult to have office hours that fit everyone’s schedule and that was the best he could do given he was only a guest lecturer. Even worse, he wasn’t given an office for said hours due to the deconstructed nature of the city. Going to university in New York was already far from traditional, and the conditions were no exception. But Wonbin didn’t mind, reserving a nice table on the second floor of Gregory's coffee on Broadway. It wasn't much but it was enough for the four or five students who took advantage of the time.

You were one of them. You knew all too well the struggle of falling behind in a class by thinking you had a handle on the material, only to be drowning in confusion come midterms. The class, The Sociology of Pop Music, interested you too much for you to risk completely flopping just because you failed to utilize your resources. But it wasn’t just your grade that you cared about. It helped that the guest lecturer in question was unbelievably sexy, an absolute dreamboat wunderkind who was just barely older than the students he was in charge of. 

Park Wonbin, musician to the stars. He’d worked with countless acclaimed producers, written for most of the Billboard Hot 100 artists, and even put out his own flawless body of work that gifted him one Grammy and several nominations. He was an absolute icon at the ripe age of twenty-two and you were dying to sink your claws into him. Soft and athletic, inky black waves, a bashful smile and a voice that the heavens surely blessed him with. His presence was more distracting than conducive for your precious six-figure education, your thighs clenching together every Tuesday and Thursday that he took his place at the professor’s podium.

But you weren't the only one. Nearly everyone in the class was crushing on him, eyes batting as they asked elementary questions and giggles erupting at even his worst attempts at jokes. You felt like a dime a dozen lusting after him, gnawing your lower lip at the way his back muscles flexed when he turned to write something on the board. Get a grip, you’d think to yourself. You’re fighting for a slot on a list of many. 

So you amused yourself with your self-labeled delusion, daydreaming about him outside of class and showing up to his office hours to clear up even the smallest of questions about the week’s lectures. He was careful with every word, taking his time to cultivate thorough responses to any and all questions you thought up for him, even ones that stemmed outside of the class's margins. 

You still remember the first time you saw him, your jaw nearly dropping to the floor as he entered the lecture hall like any other student. Except he headed straight for the front of the room, placing his bag down at a table near the podium where the staff chaperone was setting up. He picked up the small expo marker that sat on the table, taking off the cap to write wonbin on the white board in messy penmanship before he followed it up with a squiggly smiley face. You knew who he was, his name notorious in the music wing of your school considering what he’d accomplished at such a young age. His looks definitely didn’t hurt, either.

He smiled at you, sitting in the second row waiting for class to start. Most people opted to sit as far back as possible, in the seats that were easier to slip out of the classroom unnoticed. But you sat proudly in the second row, alongside a few other eager students who’d heard good things about the class. His smile felt so personal, the glint of his teeth nearly causing heart palpitations as you smiled back. He didn’t know your name just yet, and suddenly that was your life’s mission; to make this man say your name.

It almost made you think he was giving you special attention with the way he paid close attention to you, his eyes lighting up whenever you came around the coffee shop steps with your notes in tow. He’d even stay past six o’clock if there were too many people before you who needed help, always offering to buy you a cup of coffee or a pastry after having waited for so long. He was so attentive, leaning into your space to look over the notes you took and making sure you were following along correctly. It was hard not to drool over him, especially when you were two of the last people left on the second floor, looking like a couple to the onlooking world. 

“I’m serious! I think I’m gonna ask him out.”

Winter rolled her eyes, closing the magazine that she was never really reading in the first place. "So, what? You'll fuck his brains out in his office and then walk into class like nothing happened?"

"Actually, he doesn't have an office." The thought made you blush, sneaking around with Wonbin while your classmates and professors were none the wiser. The taboo was too hot for you to let go of.

Another roll of her eyes, this time meant for you to see. "___, get a grip. You're just slobbering all over him because he's famous. At the end of the semester, you'll go back to eyeing that one saxophonist."

Winter was numb to the novelty surrounding celebrity and the likes of it. She was a not so struggling artist whose parents funded her entire lifestyle, and it had been that way her whole life. She'd had her fair share of moments in Page Six, and the lavish New York socialite life had grown old for her. Her friends were still in the scene, but she had long since retired. Winter's idea of a fun Friday night these days included watching The White Lotus while experimenting with cookie recipes (with hopes of making it into the NYT Christmas Cookie lineup, of course).

You didn’t tell any of your college friends, though. Sure, the whole university knew that he was guest-teaching a music-related course and that he was unbelievably attractive, but you never mentioned to your friends that you felt something between the two of you. As much as you trusted your small circle of friends, you knew that student-teacher relationships were absolutely prohibited, no exceptions. Knowing this did nothing to quell the insatiable thirst you had for him, or the flutter of your heart every time he locked eyes with you. You were willing to throw caution to the wind for him, knowing you officially had it bad for him the moment you started doodling his name in your notebook. It got to the point where you were ready to make your move, ready to invite him to an apartment party one of your friends was throwing. 

It was a Thursday evening, another night of attending his office hours despite your ninety-five percent in the class. You were the last student left in the final minutes of his office hours, just the two of you at the moderately sized table of the café. Your hands were mere centimeters from touching where they were laid out on the table, his warmth radiating onto you as he penciled in some helpful reminders in the margins of your notes. Just as you parted your lips to speak, he interjected. “I think it would be best if you stopped coming to office hours.”

That was not what you were expecting him to say. “Oh, um. Alright. Can I ask why?”

“You’ve clearly got an amazing grip on the material, and if anything you’re wasting your time showing up so frequently. It would be better if I had the full two hours for the students who are really struggling.” He refused to look you directly in the eyes as he spoke, opting to stare at your notes instead.

“Oh. Okay.” You gathered up all of your notes and pencils as quickly as you could, shoving them into your backpack without caring if the edges curled. The chair skidded back as you stood from it, not bothering with a goodbye as you saw yourself out. It was humiliating, almost, for him to have given you such a backhanded compliment. You started ruffling through your attendance record in the class and decided that you could afford to miss Tuesday, too embarrassed to be seen by him so soon after.

You really dodged a bullet there, then. Just seconds away from making a move on him when he told you that you should stop showing up to the only semi-private time you had together. It made you feel more delusional than ever before, allowing yourself to think he might actually feel something for you, too. You ignored the tears of frustration teasing the corners of your eyes, running off to the subway station that would deliver you back to your lousy campus housing safely.

What you didn’t see, however, was Wonbin nervously pulling at the ends of his hair. He was always such a bad liar but he knew he needed to put on the performance of a lifetime in order to get you to leave him alone. Considering it was quite the opposite of what he wanted you to do. There was something so intoxicating about you, your voice, your lips, your scent, that had him thoroughly fucked for you. Legally, he didn’t feel bad about it. But the professor he was working under, as well as the university, had already told him that under no circumstances was he to have dalliances with any of the students. So there he was, stuck thinking about you and not being able to do anything about it.

He had everything under control, at first. A few stolen glances during class but nothing to raise suspicion, just long enough for it to seem casual. Then it was finding you on social media, careful not to like any posts or to actually follow you, which made him feel like he was in full creeper mode. That was where he decided to draw the line until you started showing up to his office hours consistently, just as gorgeous as ever as you plopped down next to him in full concentration. He let himself indulge for a while, showering you with just a bit of special treatment until he realized he was crossing into dangerous territory. So he drew the line without a second thought.

You felt like you were back in high school, throwing a fit over being rejected by your longtime crush. All he’d done was politely ask you not to attend office hours anymore, but it felt like he’d told you off. You tried to convince yourself that it was because of your education, that you didn’t appreciate him taking away a resource that was proving itself helpful for you. But the real reason, the one you didn’t want to admit, was that you knew he felt it too. The storybook surge of electricity when his shoulder brushed yours and the way he never offered to get any of the other students coffee and pastries. The way he’d sometimes call you by a nickname when you were together or the way he spoke so highly of you in your exam notes. It was more than a one-sided schoolgirl crush and he was denying it just the same as you, and you couldn’t ignore how much it stung.

Saturday night was your chance to forget all about it. A friend of Winter's had convinced her to open up her ridiculously large penthouse for a laidback party, and she reluctantly agreed. You went to the party having skipped Wonbin’s office hours the evening before, successfully resisting the urge to 'drop by' the coffee shop casually; that would've been worse than just going to office hours. You were ready to let loose, your body a bit tense after the marathon overthinking session you had when Wonbin all but rejected you. All done up in one of your favorite ‘going out’ getups, you set yourself at a three drink maximum before starting the trek there.

You arrived considerably late, the party in full swing by the time you stepped off the elevator and onto the floor. There were so many people, sweaty bodies and intoxicated breaths, so much so that you almost missed him. He was leaning up against one of the kitchen countertops, nursing a drink of his own as he chatted with your friends. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at the sight, almost annoyed that you ran in the same circles. But you pushed it aside to go talk to them, knowing they’d have a drink in your hand faster than you could make one. “___! You made it!” Wonbin’s eyes shot up to you making your way over to them, a raspy ‘fuck’ making its way off of his tongue. He suddenly felt trapped, nowhere to run as his student joined his little conversation circle. “Have you met Wonbin?”

“Yeah, we know each other. From around.” You avoided his gaze at all costs. “I need a drink.”

Wonbin quirked an eyebrow at you, “You drink?”

“Yeah, is that a problem?”

He cleared his throat awkwardly, shifting his weight to the other foot as he avoided eye contact with you. “I just, you know… Are you old enough for that?”

“Ew, don’t be gross. I’m a uni student, I’m not in daycare. I’m twenty-one, promise.”

You were baiting him, and he knew it. Your anger was directed at him and only him, your bubbly demeanor intact for your friends as you caught each other up on the last month or so of your lives. You had no intention of making this night, or his life, easy. You knocked back the drink your friend Sohee gave you easily, sending Wonbin a sarcastic wink as he stared at you.

Even though your mind was begging you to run, you refused to let him ruin your night. They were your friends, too, and things were only awkward because he made them so. You stood your ground, pretending like he wasn’t even there as the conversation ebbed and flowed naturally, the party music seeming to follow suit. Everything was fine until someone who’d had too many came barreling into the kitchen, spilling their sticky spiked punch all over your legs. You let out a curse as it spilled into your shoes, the sensation far too uncomfortable to ignore.

“Here, go clean up in my bathroom.” Winter handed you the key, sending you off with a gentle shove in the direction of her bedroom.

You didn’t bother locking the door back behind you, knowing you’d be in and out before anyone could miss you. You took the time to freshen yourself up as well, poking around in Winter’s cabinets to see if she had anything exciting or ridiculously expensive. Perfumes, hand creams, serums. Sometimes you forget how rich New Yorkers could be. You turned the light off in the bathroom, turning to leave when you nearly jumped out of your skin at the pair of eyes watching you. “What the hell are you doing in here?”

“You didn’t lock the door back.”

Wonbin crossed further into the room, hands in his pockets as he watched you. Even when you were irritated with him, his charm was able to cut through your faux harsh exterior. “I'm sorry, is this allowed? Or does this count as office hours, too? Should I see myself out so that other partygoers can take advantage of your precious time?”

“___, stop. I was just trying to make a decision based on what I thought was best.”

You scoffed at that, trying to ignore just how close he’d gotten to you. “Yeah, right. There’s only like five people who bother showing up anymore, so I don’t know why me showing up is such a big deal? Like you must think awfully highly of yourself if you th—”

He cut you off with a swift kiss, lips finding yours in the pale lighting of the bedroom as you froze. Time seemed to slow; just barely noticeable, but you could feel it. Like one minute felt like two with his hands cupping your cheeks and his hips pressed against yours. You relaxed into his touch, daring to kiss back as the party outside seemed to disappear. All your senses could focus on was him and the way he seemed to consume you.

He walked you backwards, stopping as you stumbled into a wall. The once innocent kiss grew in desperation, your hands everywhere at once as your  tongues clashed over and over again. It could’ve easily been a dream with how much you’d both had to drink, the taste of tequila fresh on his lips as you begged for more. Your leg hooked around his waist to draw him closer, a gasp slipping from your lips as you felt how hard he was through his jeans. And then he just stopped.

“Fuck, I shouldn’t have done that.” He was breathless, his words not matching his desire as he slowly backed away from you. “This is exactly what I was trying so hard to avoid. I'm your superior, ___, I'd get fired for this.”

Your mind was blank, not a single thought worthy of being voiced in response to him. You knew it was wrong, knew his position could be terminated, but you didn’t care. Not when his touch was so addictive and your name sounded so sweet on his lips.

“This… this never happened, okay? And it can never happen again.”

He stalked off to rejoin the party, leaving you breathless and unsure of if any of that was real. The only evidence was the faint waft of his cologne that stayed behind, taunting you with the memory of his kiss. His soft, heated, spine-tingling kiss that had your head spinning from the feeling of it. Your lips were puffy from it, fingers reaching up to touch them delicately as if you could scare away the feeling somehow. 

Your thoughts were interrupted by him coming back in, locking the door behind him as you fixed your hunched over posture. “Fuck it, fuck this job, I don’t need to be a guest lecturer.” His hands found your hips as he pulled you in once again, kissing you with much different intent behind it. “This is all I've been able to think about this semester.”

You let out a whimper, clawing at his shirt as his teeth pulled at your lower lip. His hands smoothed their way up your body, cupping your breasts through the material of your shirt as you moaned into his mouth. This felt real, no doubt in your mind as you melted like putty in his hands. “Do something.”

His lips migrated to your ear, licking along the shell of it as your head tipped back. “Do you want my fingers?” You nodded sheepishly, cheeks flooding with heat in a sudden wave of shyness. “Then spread your legs for me, baby.” Your body obeyed him without question, legs spreading for him to slip his hand between. He could feel how wet you were through the pants you were wearing, your underwear no match for the arousal he was responsible for. Your fingers fumbled with the button of them, popping it open and dragging the zipper down.

You knew this was a bad idea. Whether you cared or not, having his hand slip past your panties was wrong on so many levels, no matter how good it felt. His reputation and your academic career were on the line, but you couldn’t will yourself to stop him. Not when your body was yearning for more, thighs clenching at the circles he was rubbing against your clit. Not with his lips scaling your neck with kisses that only made your knees weaker than they already were.

Your resolve finally melted when he slipped a finger into your warm heat, the stretch easily out-rivaling anything your own fingers provided. The relief sent you into a spiral of high pitched sighs and moans as he added another, curling them near perfectly against your g-spot.

“Sound so pretty for me, baby. Wanna put your moans in a song.” The thought alone made your stomach twist, visions of riding him in his studio while he held his microphone up to your lips. He could see the shift in your expression at the suggestion, teeth practically destroying your lower lip. “Is that what you want, baby? Wanna be my muse?”

All you could do was nod as the heel of his palm pressed against your clit, your orgasm crashing over you much sooner than you expected. He kissed you through the waves of pleasure, swallowing the pleas of his name and the whimpers from the slight overstimulation of your clit. The cherry on top, though, was when he licked his fingers clean of your arousal without once breaking eye contact. It made you shudder.

Neither one of you knew where to go from that moment on, the heat of it all long gone as you faced reality head on. You zipped your pants back up to break the silence, fluffing your hands through your hair to alleviate any signs of sexual activity before rejoining the party. Not a word to Wonbin before going back like nothing happened, even though the uncomfortable dampness of your panties said otherwise. 

unsaved number, 3:25am

↳ it’s Wonbin, i got your number from sohee. we should meet soon

you, 9:08am

↳ yeah? where?

wonbin, 9:09am

↳ 150 east 14th st, @ 11

you, 9:12am

↳ smh making me get my day started on a sunday morning

His apartment was as well kept as him, minimalistic in all its glory but decorated with his achievements wherever he saw fit. Awards, records, framed lyrics, any and everything he felt deeply proud of. You knew that you shouldn’t be there, no matter what occurred the night before. Wonbin was irresistible, and giving into his invitation was practically asking for trouble.

“I got coffee and bagels, if you’re hungry.”

Not just any coffee, though. Coffee from Gregory's. Of course he’d do something like this, you thought. He's trying to prey on my sentimentality to get me in bed. Kinda smart. “Why am I here, Wonbin?”

“Well as of three o’clock this morning, I’m no longer your teacher.”

You nearly choked on nothing as he smiled at you, pulling up the email correspondence from the Dean. “I'm sorry, what?”

“I never needed that teaching job, anyway. I took it because it felt good helping students, but it was getting to be too much, cutting into my own work time. And then when we crossed that line last night… I knew quitting was just the right thing to do.” He walked gingerly toward you, assessing your reaction carefully as he closed the gap between you.

You looked at him incredulously, brows furrowed as if he’d grown a second head. “Y-you’re not my teacher anymore?”

“I'm not your teacher anymore.” He backed you up against the wall of his foyer, the position eerily similar to where you were mere hours before. Heat rose to your face as he gazed at you, his smirk painfully malicious as his hand cupped your jaw. “Lemme take you out on a proper date. Dinner… the Angelika… dessert.”

Your gulp seemed to echo the walls of his apartment, giving up any and all fronts you were trying to put up. You could feel his lips hovering over yours more than you could see them, the soft hum that reverberated as he asked you if you’d like that. “I'm… not sure we’ll make it to dessert.”

“I thought I taught you last night to always leave room for dessert.” He popped open the first button of your blouse, getting a peak at the lavender bra beneath it. You’d dressed up for him, knowing very well where things could lead and not wanting him to see you in your far less alluring Sunday attire. Your breath hitched at his touch, your mind shouting for you to just wait for the date before crossing any more lines. But there he was, just as sexy as ever, sliding the sleeves of your top down your arms with his forehead pressed against yours. Youd didn’t stand a chance.

Your back was hitting his mattress before you could gather the strength to hold off, more of your clothes in a tangled web on his floor than on your actual bodies. Your skin was saccharine, a sweetener he’d been searching for ever since he could identify its name and he couldn’t get enough of it. Marks of his lips were blooming on every inch he could reach, your body signed with his name in a way you never knew you needed. His name rolled off your tongue like it was the only word you knew, the two syllables your new favorite combination in the entire world.

His hands guided your slip skirt down your legs, discarding it carefully with the rest of your clothes as you tugged impatiently at his boxers. He was hard, dangerously so, and it was killing you not to see him in all of his naked glory. “Canisuckyouoff?” You didn’t even think about it, the words flying out of your mouth before you could even try to stop them.

“Seriously?” You were already flipping the two of you over, inching your way down his legs until your face was leveled with his hips.

“Yes, please. I wanna make you feel good.”

Nothing could’ve prepared you properly for his length springing out of his black balenciaga underwear. It would’ve been a shame if he wasn’t as well-endowed as you wanted, but you were mature enough to know that it wasn’t all about size. Wonbin, however, was all about size. He was probably just barely above average in length but he was thick with veins in all the right places that had you close to drooling all over him.

You licked at his tip in a graze, not enough to satisfy him but enough to get him squirming. Small, agonizing licks here and there that had him fisting at his hair in sheer frustration. You pitied him with a bold lick up the underside, but went right back to the teasing that had him close to tears. “___, fuck, I can’t take anymore of this. I thought you said you wanted to make me feel good.”

“I will, baby, you just have to be patient.”

He whined out, not sure how the rest of the afternoon was going to play out if you kept teasing him so mercilessly. He was just about to beg again for you to touch him when your lips wrapped around his tip, his back arching involuntarily and sending him further into your mouth. A guttural groan accompanied the pleasure pumping through his veins as you bobbed her head along his cock, swirling your tongue around him every so often. You had a primal need for more of him, more of the way he tasted and the precum that was oozing out of him. More of the way his groans switched to melodious moans as his climax neared him, more of the way his face was contorted in pleasure as your hands rubbed at his thighs. 

His orgasm was building up in the pit of his stomach, the twine of tension pulling further and further until he was sure it was going to snap. Your mouth abandoning his cock in favor of his balls almost did the trick, your hand wrapping around him to jerk as you sucked one at a time. He pulled you off of him reluctantly, wanting so desperately to cum in your mouth but knowing he’d regret passing up the opportunity to fuck you. “I have condoms in the drawer.” His breath was ragged as he pointed the drawer out to you, his hair sticking to his forehead as his body heat was skyrocketing. You handed one to him before shuffling back to the bed, letting him climb over you clumsily with his arms supporting his weight.

He tapped his tip against your clit, running it between your folds as you bucked your hips toward his. “That's not fair.”

He slipped inside of you, barely an inch before pulling back out. He repeated the movement over and over until you were gripping at his hips in an attempt to force more out of him. “Isn’t it, though? You had your fun…” You were so wet that it was making it hard for him to keep up, your soaked walls pulling him in with every shallow thrust. “Have you learned your lesson yet, baby?”

You nodded your head furiously, feeling almost embarrassed by how much you needed him. He refused to give up so easily, though, continuing his perfectly angled thrusts that grazed your g-spot just enough to make your hips buck. "Wonbin, please."

His first full thrust had you clenching around him so tightly that he almost came on the spot, the warmth of you wrapped around him so overwhelming that he had to screw his eyes shut. Your eyes fluttered in satisfaction as he filled you to the brim, the stretch burning deliciously. All you could think about was the next time, and the time after that, and how he could stretch you out whenever he wanted to now. He was yours now.

His lips wrapped around your nipple as he slowly dragged himself in and out of you, savoring how tightly you were squeezing him. It was all the anticipation finally materializing into something he couldn’t get enough of. Your moans, your faces of pleasure, your scent, your taste. He wanted as much of it as you’d let him have, for however long you’d let him have it. "Is this what you were thinking of while I was trying to teach you? Hm? Thought about me stuffing you full of my cock?"

The only noise you could manage was a raspy moan, mind completely numbed by the sensation of his skin pressed against yours. You could feel your lips move, saying something along the lines of wanteditsobadbinnie, but the feeling of his nose dragging up the side of your neck distracted you.

Your bodies seemed to mold together as he picked up speed, drilling into you relentlessly as your nails dug into his hips, asking for more. The slap of your skin against each other was his kryptonite as he wrapped your legs around his waist, wanting to hear it again and again until it played in his mind on a loop. He could feel the knot in his stomach warning him to slow down, to relish in the feeling a bit longer, but he didn’t care. Not when your lips were pressed right to his ear begging him not to stop. “Are you gonna cum for me?”

He tried to respond with a ‘yes’, but the absentminded clench of your walls sent him over the edge in a flash. He emptied himself into the condom, trying his hardest to focus all of his efforts on pushing you towards your own orgasm. His fingers found your clit between your sweaty bodies, the rough pad of his thumb orbiting your clit until you joined him in your own throes of euphoria. Your nails clawed down the expanse of his back as your vision blurred, ecstasy replacing every cell in your body as he kissed along your jaw.

The room smelled of sex and the remnants of his body wash, both of you fighting for air as you wrapped yourselves in his sheets. Your fingertips danced across his chest as he watched you wordlessly, face flushed with the evidence of your Sunday afternoon in. “What are you thinking about?” He caught your hand in his, eyes still trained on your face.

“Honestly? Trying to remember if there are any hidden corners in the Angelika where we can have sex.” You looked up at him as he laughed, a smile of your own creeping onto your lips. “What? Too honest?”

“You’re kinda perfect, you know that?”

His lips pressed chastely against your temple. “Yeah, actually, I do.”

[dragons-and-handcuffs]

Pirate!Aemond x Mermaid!Reader

While trying to get out of a deadly sea storm Aemond noticed something, or someone, the is far more valuable than any treasure Pirate AU/Mermaid AU

The storm howls around the large vessel, a monstrous force of nature that seeks to swallow the ship whole. The winds tear at the sails, whipping them into wild tatters as rain lashes down in relentless sheets. The sky is an inky void, lit only by the occasional flash of lightning that illuminates the chaos for a fleeting moment before plunging everything back into darkness.

Aemond stands at the helm, feet braced wide on the slick deck, his hands gripping the wheel with a vice-like hold. His eye gleams with a fierce determination, undaunted by the fury of the storm. He has faced dangers before—pirate hunters, rival crews, even the occasional sea monster—but nothing like this. This storm is unlike any other, a tempest that feels almost alive, as if the sea itself has risen against him.

“Hold fast!” he roars to his crew, his voice a sharp command that cuts through the din. “We’ll not be taken by the sea tonight!”

The men scramble to obey, their movements frantic but practiced, something they’ve performed many times under his command. They trust him—how could they not? Aemond Targaryen is the most feared pirate on the seas, a man who has carved his legend with blood and fire. His ship, the War Dragon, is the largest and most formidable vessel to sail these waters, its black sails a herald of doom wherever it goes.

But even legends can fall to the sea’s wrath.

A sudden wave, massive and unforgiving, crashes against the side of the ship, sending it lurching dangerously to one side. Aemond grits his teeth, fighting to keep the ship on course, but the wave is relentless, slamming into him with enough force to rip his grip from the wheel. He’s thrown back, his body hitting the deck hard, the breath knocked from his lungs.

For a heartbeat, he lies there, dazed, the world a blur of water and darkness. Then he hears it—a sound that shouldn’t be there, a haunting melody that rises above the roar of the storm. It’s beautiful, otherworldly, a siren’s song that calls to something deep within him.

Aemond forces himself to his feet, staggering to the edge of the deck. His eye scans the churning waters, searching for the source of the sound. And then he sees it.

Her.

Amidst the frothing waves, a figure moves with a grace that defies the chaos around her. She is breathtaking, with long hair that flows like liquid moonlight, and scales that shimmer in every color of the ocean, catching the flashes of lightning and turning them into something otherworldly. Her eyes, deep and mysterious, lock onto his, and in that moment, time seems to stop.

Aemond can’t look away. He’s heard the tales of mermaids, whispered in taverns and around campfires, but he never believed them. And yet, here she is, a myth, a vision of beauty and danger, her gaze holding him captive as surely as chains.

The ship lurches again, snapping him out of his trance. He stumbles, barely catching himself before he’s pitched overboard. The mermaid vanishes beneath the waves, but her image is burned into his mind, as vivid and unforgettable as the storm itself.

“Captain!” one of the crew shouts, desperation clear in his voice. “We need you!”

Aemond tears his gaze away from the water, forcing himself to focus. The storm isn’t over, and his ship—his men—need him. He grabs the wheel, wrenching it with all his strength, guiding the ship through the tempest with a skill born of years at sea.

It feels like an eternity, but eventually, the storm begins to abate. The winds die down, the waves calm, and the sky lightens with the first hints of dawn. The War Dragon, battered but still afloat, emerges from the storm’s grip, the crew slumping in exhausted relief.

But Aemond’s mind is elsewhere. As the ship sails into calmer waters, his thoughts are consumed by the mermaid, her face a haunting echo that refuses to fade. He should be thinking of treasure, of the riches that await him at their next port, but all he can think about is her.

He knows what he has to do.

“Change course,” he orders, his voice steady despite the turmoil in his chest. “We’re heading south.”

The crew exchanges puzzled glances, but they know better than to question him. They nod and move to obey, setting a new course without hesitation. They don’t ask why, and Aemond doesn’t explain. How could he? How could he put into words the pull he feels, the irresistible urge to find her again?

As the War Dragon sails away from the storm, Aemond stands at the helm, his gaze fixed on the horizon. The sea is vast, full of mysteries and dangers, but he has never been one to shy away from the unknown.

He is a man who takes what he wants, and now, more than anything, he wants her. The mermaid, the myth made real, the beautiful creature who nearly cost him his life. He will find her, whatever it takes.

[solbaby7]

Make You Feel My Love

pairing: azriel x reader

[ part 2 to Make You Feel Something ]

warnings: sexual tension, possible sexual descriptions, not intended for readers under 18, swearing, best friends who fuck, possible typos

summary: Late nights and dim lights with a Shadowsinger who bares it all when it comes to you.

[part 1 ]

—

Practice makes perfect.

At least that’s what you told yourself every time the sun would set and Azriel came strolling through the doors of your bedchamber. He’s grown rather confident as a muse, such perfect features translating on dozens of pages in your sketchbook and countless canvases with him draped over the throne or laid out in a field of flowers. Two of them were a set, a close enough depiction of the shadowsinger in a spring, water up to his chest and inky hair dripping over his forehead—he looked peaceful, like the world hadn’t yet taken a piece of his soul. Most were divided between the two of you; stolen slices of sunshine and bargained bits of darkness hung proudly on his walls, even the nude one had its own home in his closet. “Where do you want me?”

“On the bed.”

He raises a brow, a smirk growing in the corner of full lips but he obeys. “Skipping right to the fun parts, are we?”

“Not this time,” You state firmly, arms crossing at your chest and putting your foot down. “I have three sketchbooks filled with half-finished pieces because you and that silver tongue of yours.”

“You’ve never complained about it before.” Azriel plops onto your bed face down, arms curling under the same pillow he was burying his face in. “Why don’t we do this in your room more often? I’m sure sitting for hours will be much more bearable with the smell of you surrounding me.”

“We stopped doing that because you kept falling asleep.” You’re not even facing him, bare feet smacking against the hardwood floors as you dragged over a chair and the small side table beside it. The soft blue book you pull out is far more intricate than any of the others he’d seen you use before, a special set of charcoals were pullout and sharpened. Stained fingers smear at the page, giving a rough base to sketch upon and Azriel finds he falls in love with the messy ponytail you pull your hair into each time before you’d started.

Azriel made a little noise, humming into the comfort of your sheets after shrugging off his shorts; no underwear this time. Just endless miles of hard muscles and giant wings that settled into the soft fabric of your duvet. “Even better, I’m quite handsome when I sleep.”

“You snore.”

“That’s a lie.”

“Is it? Shall I ask Rhys to join us? I’m sure he wouldn’t mind poking around in my head to help confirm.”

It was a harmless taunt; one he probably still wouldn’t have laughed at even when you were just friends. But now—this. The late nights and early mornings laughing about nothing, fingers smeared in whatever medium you’d chosen to use that time. Sometimes it would lead to more; feverish mouths molding against one another, your fingers tracing at bare skin while Az’s greedy hands tug off your clothes. Soft promises branded at your flesh each time your bodies connected, shadows in a frenzy, touching the places his hands couldn’t get to but he swallows every moan, every blissed out whimper until he was full off you and the air you breathed.

Other times were softer, two friends bonding over something they didn’t have to share with others. A reprieve from expectations; a place where Azriel bared his body and allowed another to find a beauty in him he had yet to see. “You wouldn’t dare—you’d get too jealous having someone else looking at me the way you do.”

“Maybe, I’ll just think of a different memory; of me before a mirror with my hands between my thighs.”

It’s too easy to push the right buttons; amber irises peering at you over the plush pillow beneath him, wide shoulders tense and body half covered by the sheets. “That’s not funny.”

You’re already sketching the outlines of the bed frame, the mattress and the crinkled pillows. Rough outlines of a figure beginning to form before your very eyes as you continued, fresh linen sheets, a thick duvet that smelled of you bunched low at Azriel’s waist. “I wasn’t laughing.” He shifts in bed, hair messy and gaze darkening when taking you in; giving you time to change your words. “You moved.”

“Take it back.”

“Why?” You poke harder, amused grin plastered on your face. “You jealous?”

To your surprise, Azriel nods; just once but it’s enough to have your stomach doing flips. “I don’t like the thought of someone else seeing you like that—someone that’s not me.”

The movement doesn’t alter the direction of the sketch too much and the way he rests on his side, upper body propped up by one strong arm while the other rested over his stomach and he’s not as awkward with his hands anymore—allowing them to just be. You don’t dare look in his eyes, fearful of the secrets he’d lure out of you and you linger around areas that have already been completed. The strong lines of his waist, the dark trail of hair, the muscles of his abdomen that seems to flex slightly when your stare lasts a beat too long. “That your way of telling me not to be seeing other people?”

“Have you been seeing other people?”

You try to ignore the fire that burns in your belly at the jealously he openly displays and your hand pulls away from the paper, a brow raised in question. “Have you?”

It’s difficult to maintain eye contact under the intensity of such a rich gold and you’re fairly certain he can hear the way your heart thuds in your chest. This was the closest either of you had gotten to verifying what it was you were doing and suddenly the warmth from the fire is entirely too much. A finger hooks under the neckline of your shirt, tugging gently in a motion that Azriel doesn’t miss, tongue darting out to wet his lip. “I think we both know the answer to that.”

True.

It wasn’t like he had the time to juggle another woman between all of his responsibilities and spending every spare second sneaking off into whatever room was empty for a few minutes of skin on skin, mouth to mouth and tongue sliding over tongue. “Maybe, I want to hear you say it.” It comes out a little shy, head tilting to the side to rest against your hand and shadows twist up your ankle, around your calf and over your knees. They stop at your thighs, the cool sensation almost resembling the pressure of hands when they tease at the hem of your sleep shorts. “Az—“

“You have to hear the words?” The shadowsingers voice goes devastatingly low, unbearably taunting; luring you in and daring you to bite. Play with me. His shadows seem to croon, tracing letters in your skin too gentle for you to decipher but the heated stare greedily feasting on your reactions is a big enough clue. “Can you not feel it in how I touch you? How I handle you?” The cool pressure creeps past the silk of your shorts, fleeting touches grazing spots that needed more before they dart off to the next. “Is it not clear when I look at you?”

“Azriel—“ It comes out breathless, bones melting to nothing in the cushions of the couch. “The drawing.”

“Who’s stopping you, sweet thing?” The shadows do the work for him, raising the charcoal back in your grasp while the other extends out your sketchbook. “I’ll keep still while you finish.”

A double meaning in the best case.

No doubt, this was his payback for making him spill his load in your hand like some teenager still learning their bodies.

His shadows are relentless, memorizing every curve and branding their touch in their wake. Focusing is near impossible, hands shaky and breathing choppy when forcing yourself to relax; to continue drawing the tortuously beautiful body before you. Az smirks when you pause, throat bobbing with a swallow when you feel the cool caress graze your chest, teasing over peaked nipples. You can feel him following your every move, every drag of pencil to paper; a few of the lines are less than neat but you can’t find it in you to care when Azriel’s attention on you is so addictive. “Can you feel it now?”

“I’ve always felt it, Az.” There’s such vulnerability laced in your tone, eyes trained on your paper; copying the furrow of his brow, the straight line of his nose, the plush of his mouth. “Just need to hear you say it.”

There’s a brief pause; enough time to sign the page and neatly put your utensils away but instead of tearing the page free like usual, you shut the baby blue book and tie it tight. “I want you,” He confesses when you stand, your back is to him and the words come out so quiet you barely hear it. Your body stills and your soft inhale of breath is encouragement enough for him to keep going. “—as more than just friends.”

A slow glance over your shoulder, book still in your grasp and now you’re definitely sure he can hear your heartbeat—everyone in the whole damn city probably could. “Yeah?”

He nods, a smile creeping in the corner of full lips at the way you’re looking at him and Azriel shifts to make room when you move closer, hands and knees sinking into the mattress when you sit yourself on top of him. “I want to kiss you in front of people,” Warm palms dips under your shirt, strong hands gripping at your sides with the most perfect pressure when explores the shape of you. Az lets a pleased sound rumble in his chest at the way you fall into him, allowing him access to a body he’d laid claim to long before he’d ever even touched you. “And have a cheesy picture of your face hanging up behind me in my office.” A blush fans, soft laughter filling the room but inside your screaming; on top of the world with no plan on how to get down. “Just want you. Only you.”

His hands keep trailing higher, pausing at the curve of your breasts and his pupils go wide when you grind down on him, pulling the shirt clean off and throwing it somewhere behind you. “Then have me, I’m yours. Only yours.”

[scribblestatic]

Eyo, back on my amputee!SY agenda bullshit

Lesgo.

Prev: Part 2

---

When Luo Binghe married Shen Yuan, he was named the First Husband. But now, with his new crowning, he'll become the Empress, a position given to none of Luo Binghe's wives, not even in PIDW. Though, he's already come to terms with the fact the world isn't the same as the book.

Mostly. It's still perhaps a bit too easy for him to suggest torture for someone despite his modern world sensibilities because it's easier to think of anyone facing against his husband (AAAAAAAAAA) as some no-name NPC rather than someone with a whole life full of experiences.

But anyway, he's becoming an empress. Which is wild to him.

And it dusts up a lot of his insecurities. And not, like, the kind where someone asks their significant other if they would still love them if they were a worm. No, it's more along the lines of, "Hey, would you still love me if it turned out my soul wasn't transmigrated at all, but was simply, like, disconnected from itself and I really am Shen Jiu, but I also lived as and firmly feel like I'm Shen Yuan, but some piece of me really had done all those terrible things to make your innocent life more miserable?"

He pops the question while Binghe's combing oil through his hair, his left eye gazing anxiously at the bronze mirror to look at the demon emperor's expression.

Luo Binghe thinks, humming a little as he doesn't falter while combing his hair.

"...Would Shizun love me if I killed some of my wives?"

"Huh?"

"Would A'Yuan love me if I killed some of my wives?"

"I mean...sure? I'm sure you'd have a reason for it."

"Then, would A'Yuan hate me if I killed and ate demons in the Endless Abyss?"

"What? No. Survival was extremely difficult. You only did what you had to do."

"And if I still had a taste for demon flesh?"

Shen Yuan's face scrunches, but his response is still immediate.

"Then, I suppose we could find which ones you liked? I mean, I don't think I could do it with you, and we'd need to respect their personhood. So, maybe we could find a group where cannibalism is a norm for them? I think that'd be difficult...ah! We could also see if the Red-Dipped Manfruit could be bred to taste like the demon's flesh. Demons that eat humans use it for minor sustenance when natural human flesh isn't available, so surely--"

Ah, his expression had scrunched more with thought than disgust. Luo Binghe doesn't interrupt as he goes on his continued tangent, smiling as he listens. He only speaks again after he seems to be trailing to another subject.

"Then," he pauses, leaning forward and looking down at Shen Yuan, "if A'Yuan can love this one as I am, even at my ugliest, how could this emperor not love my A'Yuan at his most beautiful?"

Shen Yuan stares up at him, his lips slightly open as he listens, as he sees the depths of the light and love in Binghe's dark eyes.

"Even if you are Shen Jiu, back then, this disciple wanted the affection you now freely give. I have always cared for and about you, for better or worse. And your attention was always on me, for better or worse. This Binghe likes to think that, now, we care for each other, not just for the better, but for the best."

"Ah..."

Shen Yuan stares up a bit longer before he quickly turns away. Binghe puts the comb down as he hears a sniffle, and when he kneels beside his seat, he pushes the long, inky black hair away from Shen Yuan's eye, catching sight of his ruddy cheeks and the mistiness in his eye.

"...Shameless."

"Indeed, I am. A'Yan should punish me."

He just shakes his head, and he doesn't lean away when Binghe leans forward and kisses his lips. They linger softly, pulling apart slowly as they share each other's breathes. Their faces remain too close for them to see each other properly, lips still just barely touching.

"...Then, I'll only kiss you two more times," Shen Yuan mumbles.

Luo Binghe chuckles.

"How cruel."

They only remember to get back to combing Shen Yuan's hair several minutes later.

--

The remains of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect had not been invited to Shen Yuan's crowning ceremony, but they still heard of it happening regardless.

Demons, previously unaccustomed to some of the more casual aspects of living with their means more easily available, and humans, always seeking new methods of entertainment, became very entranced with the gossip surrounding Demon Emperor Luo's harem. The fact pieces of it were steadily dissolving had originally been a gripe against him, as though he was losing his touch. However, when some of the wives were members of their own race or species and they returned without harm and with a hefty sum of money, well, the bridges hadn't been burned, and suddenly, "losing his touch" simply became "being less loose" or "finding lasting love."

So now, with the crowning ceremony ramping up, of course the gossip mills were churning at rapid speeds. Eventually, word of who would become empress despite the emperor's known track record of wives was absolutely scandalous.

"His shizun, of all people?"

"The one he had imprisoned, even."

"Must've driven the man mad."

"I don't know... I saw them recently. Shen Qingqiu looked quite sane."

"He has no limbs and is missing an eye, he can't be that sane anymore."

"He certainly wasn't groveling. If anything, he seemed quite untouched. Save for...well..."

"His eye is quite sharp, and he is quick-witted. I don't think he would be bad for an empress."

"The cultivation sects are going to implode."

And, just like the news of the crowning ceremony spread around, so too did the news that Cang Qiong Mountain Sect sent a letter to Demon Emperor Luo, demanding an audience in light of his proposal to a lord from their sect.

It was, to many demons and a few humans, a wasted, and perhaps misguided, effort. Yet, they wouldn't protest against the meeting.

It would be incredibly entertaining, after all.

---

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3: here Part 4

[falling-star-cygnus]

...i've gotten four asks about this sorta thing -> which i'm super grateful for!! thank y'all so much for wanting to see more of my writing!!

i've just sort of been putting these specific ones off until i felt i could adequately display it and even now I feel iffy about the characterization, but I really didn't want to seem like i ignoring y'all either :( -> Masterlist

i have some semblance of a plot now, so... i sincerely hope you all enjoy? this might be the push i need to get out of my funk, and i put in the very best effort for all of you!!

"You were a WHAT?"

"Is now really the time to be surprised!?"

The Ethereal- they kinda looked like one the Ballerina Twins actually, if the Ballerina Twins had galactic glitchy orbs for heads and rainbow glowy nervous systems- warbles at them impatiently. Anby's barely keeping them at bay with her sword.

It's practically a toothpick compared to the giant weapon Thanatos was wielding... They raise their shield-

Billy fires.

It doesn't land, of course it doesn't, but the smaller Demara doesn't get bludgeoned either so the android counts it as a win.

Especially when the bullet ricochets off the sign previously behind the larger than necessary Ethereal and back towards him. Billy tilts his head left just in time to miss it, and pivots on his heel when Thanatos shrieks and flails back. Bullseye.

"It's showtime!" he announces, and lines The Girls up somewhere where their jaw would be. Only about six of the bullets- 12 in total, the android was counting- actually hit before they teleport away again.

Billy reloads.

None of them, except the Boss, used the right typing to properly take Thanatos on.. but there was little to be done until they could carve an escape route out.

The Hares' ready their weapons, turning in slow circles as they wait for Thanatos to appear again. Were they gone..? He knew better than to assume they were, of course, but-

"Billy- behind you!" Nekomata points; he whirls around.

And takes a blade to the head.

There's not much to say for this part, aside from pointing out how cliche and underhanded it was to get him from behind like this, but bits and pieces float around to the surface with just enough clarity to be worth mentioning.

The pavement cracking under the android's weight.

Sparks fluttering out of the cleaved out gash.

Thin oil leaking out of his head like a halo.

Isolation.

Billy stands in the inky abyss of his own mind. His memories- his memories of the Hares'- play out before him like a movie: braiding Anby's hair, putting Nicole's into pigtails, napping in the sun with Nekomata on his chest, warmth-

Fighting as a team, Anby helping him up, Nicole calling his name, the restaurant they all went to after successful raids, fighting alone, Being alone in that truck bed, sand clogging up his joints.

Chill.

The memories fade away, leaving the android with the stilted thought of:

Don't- take them.. from me.

Nothing.

Billy Kid wakes up, and points the nearest weapon- a gun, by the feel of it- at their forehead. The hands reaching for him still, too pale to be anybody from the Sons.

Calloused enough to be Caesar's, though, so they must be some form of blade user. Electric, if the Lichtenburg scars on their finger tips have any weight to them.

The android sits up, ignoring the stab of pain behind his right video processer. He could deal with that later, after figuring out where the actual hell he was. And dealing with whoever it was that moved him.

They're small, surprisingly so, but Lucy and Piper were also small so that didn't exactly mean anything of value. Brilliant white hair, amber eyes, and green and black tech wear.

And a backpack packed with enough thrumming energy to kill the Dead-End Butcher.

Definitely a threat.

Billy Kid doesn't lower the gun, even as he's sure the human's fleshy arms were getting tired of being raised. Or maybe they weren't. He knows their type, he's cut from the same cloth himself.

A weapon.

"Billy, d-"

"How do you know my name," he interrupts, praying to a god he didn't believe in that he wouldn't have to shoot someone so small, "and why are you only using part of it."

He was Billy Kid, the feared enforcer of the outer ring. The only people that occasionally just called him Billy were the other Sons of Calydon. Not strangers.

"We work together," his potential captor calmly says, lowering their hands by their sides, "We're friends. Partners in crime."

"The hell we are."

"We are," they insist.

He doesn't buy it. Billy Kid didn't have friends, he was an android. A weapon and tool for whoever his boss was. Big Sis, the drifters, whoever had him before that.

He cared about them all, more than he should considering what he was made for, but he wasn't built to receive that kind of care in return. Pain spikes behind his processer again, and his free hand instinctively moves to grasp at it.

The stranger jolts forward as the gun dips.

Billy Kid shoots on instinct, even as something like worry[?] coils the wires in his lower torso too tight. There's a click, but in the end nothing but dry fire. And relief[?]

Billy Kid curses at the opening he's provided, and braces himself for the inevitable attack. He doesn't know where the other gun was- because there had to be one, Burnice only ever made things in pairs- and..

Why did he assume Burnice made these...?

Small hands, calloused and scarred, gently- why was he being treated gently- bat his hand away from his video processor. The empty gun is sandwiched between them.

More carefully than he deserves for shooting at them, the stranger inspects something on his face, and the android swings his lanky legs over the side of- it looks like a cot[?] to make it easier for them.

"You took a bad hit to the head," they inform his forehead, only pulling away when Billy Kid starts to get twitchy at the proximity, "an Ionized - Thanatos. It most likely messed with your memory bank."

"Sounds convenient," he scoffs, lowering the gun to his side, "Most likely messed with my memory bank?"

"It definitely did, we were friends," the stranger presses, strangely insistent, "What's the last thing you remember?"

They take off their backpack as the android thinks back on it. Whether to prove they weren't a threat or gain his trust to attack later, he wasn't sure.

What he was sure of was the fact that the harder he thought about it the harder his head pounded. Everything dating up to the past year and six months was just- blank. Corrupted files that spat static and made him want to lie down for a while.

More than that, he felt... lonely, for some reason. Like a big chunk had been carved from his sternum and left to burn in front of him.

"Billy?"

"I don't remember you."

And oh. He'd take it right back if it meant that look never crossed their face again.

It's barely there for a second, but it's a look of pure hurt. Hurt that makes something close to guilt roar where his mechanical heart sat. He never wanted this stranger to look at him like that again.

He never wanted anyone to look at him like that, to be honest. Fighting was fun- it was what he was built for- and the thrill was something that almost nothing could replicate- but...

Flashes- memories- of Lucy and Piper flit through his head, images and phantoms of them tucked into his sides on warm days and colder nights. A rough hand carding through his hair.

...being sent.. off?

“I’m-”

The door cuts him off with a bang!

"What's taking so long!? Is he ok?"

"Nicole! Anby told us to wait-"

Long pink hair and calculating green eyes bully their way into the room. Something in his programming wants to stand at attention all of a sudden...

The stranger- the white-haired stranger, because now there were three- moves away from the confused android. It looks like they want to say something but apparently thinks better of it and turns towards Billy Kid.

"I don't think I should be the one to say it," they- the thiren said her name was Anby[?]- announce, with all the enthusiasm of a dry rock. Which seems to be her MO, endearingly enough. Endearingly?

The pink haired- Nicole puts her hands on her hips.

"Say what?" she demands, before turning her critical gaze onto the android, "Are you ok or not, Billy?"

Again, shortening my name... Who are these people?

"All systems are operational," he reports anyway, because despite her brash words she sounds worried, "Except my memory banks, apparently."

Side-eye.

Anby's nose just barely scrunches at his tone.

"What do you mean your memory banks?" Nicole prompts, gaze flicking between the two.

"He doesn't remember us."

The Cunning Hares freeze. Silence rules the small space they've tucked themselves into- which... kinda looks like a garage? A nice garage compared to whatever you'd find in the Outer Ring.

Much too nice to be anywhere close to the Outer Ring.

"Where did you take me?"

Nobody answers for a good while.

Until the thiren lets slip:

"...it's so weird to hear you talk like that.."

She shudders from her fluffy ears tips to the sleek finishes of her tails. Were they prosthetics? Why were they blue at the at the base-?

What was wrong with the way he talked?

And why didn't she answer his question-

"Not- not in a bad way!" the thiren is hasty to tack on, "you just... you don't sound happy anymore.."

...happy? He wasn't built to sound happy. He wasn't even supposed to talk much outside status reports and communications. Although- sure, the android often broke that somewhat unspoken rule when Piper and Lucy needed a bit more help to drift off at night, or when Burnice needed someone to bounce a new design off of, or if Lighter was talking about something that happened while he was out in shops, or-

...you got the idea. Caesar hadn't explicitly banned him from talking with the other Sons, not by a long shot, he just- didn't want to push it.

The silence surrounding the ragtag four stretches into something distinctly uncomfortable.

"That.. aside," Nicole- who he assumes is the Boss- eventually starts, "We.. ahem. We got your wound patched up just fine, but... we ended up needing some help to get you back here."

Billy Kid tilts his head.

It made sense, of course, he was an android made of reinforced metal. And while he didn't doubt the strength of these people- especially Anby- he had an itching feeling that their strength was.... not particularly rooted in the weight-lifting sense.

So who-?

"Well. This isn't exactly the reunion I was hoping for."

....there was no way.

Caesar, the Big Sis of the Sons of Calydon herself, walks through the- admittedly abused looking door. Billy Kid shoots to his feet.

And severely underestimates the refractory period required following the repair of a head wound. He stumbles.

A sturdy arm catches his middle with ease.

"Easy, Kid," Caesar reprimands, hauling him back to his feet, "There's no reason to do that, I'm not your boss anymore."

Her words are oddly quiet, as if the other three in the room weren't supposed to hear. Big Sis had always been good at that. Quietly being reassuring without being coddling.

That achingly hollow feeling returns.

From behind Caesar's large frame, he can see the Hares' lower their hands slowly. Their faces are oddly stormy..

Anby bullies her way between them.

"Quite the team you've found yourself, by the way," Caesar continues as if she hadn't, "I'd ask you to fill me in, but.."

...right. Her pale eyes lock onto his, and-

She gives him a single nod of approval. Something loosens in his wiring.

"You'll be alright, Kid."

"Of course he will." Anby cuts in, squaring her small shoulders, "Even if we have to remake all the memories he lost, Billy will always be a member of the Cunning Hares."

And-

Billy finally believes it.

[suashii]

୨♡୧ SICK DELIGHT — dan heng x reader. vampire!dan heng. blood. reader has fairly long hair. suggestive. not canon compliant.

“are you sure you don’t want to go out? it’s dark now.” you look at dan heng over your shoulder. he’s stretched out across the mattress with an open book resting on his stomach, eyes closed and hands tangled in inky black strands of hair. he breathes out a sigh through his nose before letting his eyes flutter open. it takes no time at all for his vision to adjust. everything is sharper and more defined—even in the dimly lit room, it’s as if he can see everything. he’d think it was nice if the sensation wasn’t such an overwhelming change.

dan heng shakes his head lightly against the pillow; any harder and he’s sure he would be met with a fit of dizziness. it’s been some time since he last fed and the effects are beginning to catch up to him. his limbs feel heavy and he’s moving slower than usual but he tells himself that it’s preferable to the guilt that washes over him when you offer yourself as sustenance.

“okay. we can just watch a movie then,” you suggest, making your way from the dresser to join him on the bed. you plop down beside him, remote in hand, and start on your search for something to watch. 

recently, most of your nights have ended like this; dan heng declining your offer to venture outside the walls of your apartment and you finding an alternative way to entertain the both of you. you can’t blame him for his reluctance to leave. he hasn’t had much time to grow accustomed to his new circumstances.

it’s only been a few weeks since you found him curled up in one of the alleyways you pass on your way home from work. before that moment, dan heng was merely an acquaintance; someone you were familiar with but would barely consider a friend. still, seeing him in such a state pulled at your heartstrings. no matter how hard he weakly protested,  there was no way you could leave him there.

that’s how he ended up living with you.

he still can’t wrap his head around why you let him stay after finding out the truth.

after a couple more minutes of thoughtless scrolling, you turn on something similar to what you’ve noticed dan heng is interested in. music that accompanies the opening credits of the film fills the room once you press play. you glance over to the man next to you to find his eyes closed like they had been earlier.

“are you feeling okay?” you ask, a frown etched into your features.

your voice almost sounds far away despite your proximity and even though his perception of it is off, it’s enough to make him blink twice before meeting your eye. dan heng has to think back to what you said before he breathes out a reply. “hm? yeah.”

it wouldn’t take a genius to know that he wasn’t being truthful. looking back on the past few days, you come to realize that he’s been less mobile. even with the blackout curtains you installed, he hasn’t been wandering behind you like usual. the deviation from what he’s established as “normal” persists in this moment. it’s as if there’s a fog clouding his brain, getting in the way of his senses. there’s only one explanation that comes to your mind. “when’s the last time you fed?”

he turns his head on the pillow so that he’s looking at the ceiling. “i’m fine.”

“liar. and that’s not what i asked.” you’re almost positive that dan heng hasn’t left the apartment since you welcomed him and the last time he hesitantly accepted blood from you was more than seven days ago. “it’s been over a week, hasn’t it?”

you’re right, but dan heng doesn’t plan on telling you so, so he keeps his gaze locked on the ceiling. he may feel like shit now but isn’t willing to let some fatigue and lightheadedness lure him into leeching off of you.

even though you’re staring at him, dan heng refuses to look at you. you chew the inside of your cheek as you contemplate whether or not it’s reasonable for you to be so concerned for him. it doesn’t take more than a few seconds for you to decide to tell him what you’re thinking. “look, i don’t know a lot about vampires but going long periods of time without your life source can’t be good—especially since you’re so new to all of… this.”

you broadly gesture with your hands as if that’ll make your point any more apparent. either the motion or your words strike a cord in dan heng because he lifts his head from the cushion and sits up to face you. however, the uneasiness painted on his face is enough to tell you that he isn’t entirely convinced.

“i get that it’s probably uncomfortable,” you start, recalling the past times he’s fed on you and the way he would promptly apologize, rushing away from you in favor of holing up in the living room by himself. “ but i want to help any way i can if you aren’t feeling well.”

dan heng knows that you’re more than willing to be of service to him. it’s nice of you, nicer than he deserves. as much as he’s been trying to ignore it, the truth is that feeding feels good. it’s incomparable to the satisfaction that used to come from eating, it’s better—so much better. the metallic taste had been unpleasant the first time around but it soon turned into something sweet, made him feel like an electric buzz was coursing through him. now, it sets every nerve in his body ablaze and makes him feel warm—a warmth he hasn’t felt in what feels like forever.

you level him with a pleading look. “please, let me help you.”

he doesn’t know if it’s the sparkle of desperation in your eyes, the waver in your voice, or the nagging feeling of thirst that finally makes him nod his head. a relief floods over you with his agreement. 

the two of you have only done this a handful of times but enough that you know how he prefers the process. you scoot forward on the mattress so he can settle himself behind you. he favors it over being in front of you where it would be easier for you to see him. the bed dips as he comes to sit behind you. a cold air follows dan heng, cooler than usual. if you had to guess, you’d say it was due to the recent lack of blood in his diet.

you tilt your head, causing your hair to fall to the side which leaves your neck exposed. the punctures from last time have all but faded and are barely recognizable. despite the compelling scent of you wafting around him, tickling his nose, dan heng’s hands hover over your waist and he keeps a safe distance between his mouth and your throat.

“ready?” his breath raises goosebumps on your arms.

you hum. “go ahead.”

with your final prompting, he firmly grips your midsection. dan heng’s fangs shoot out as he drops his head to the crook of your neck. the sharp, pointed teeth pierce the delicate skin of your neck. you stifle the gasp that bubbles up at the discomfort of what feels like two needles penetrating you. the rest—when his fangs retract, that is—isn’t nearly as painful. the sensation is a strange one, draining you physically and mentally. it leaves you faint, but still conscious.

for dan heng, the experience is almost euphoric. any heaviness lingering in his muscles lifts as he swallows down the blood leaking from your neck. more than that, he feels like he’s awake—lucid—for the first time in a while. that electricity that seemingly always follows not long after the initial alleviation of the consumption sparks within him. 

he’s had his fill by now, but he’s greedy for more—more blood, more of you. he licks up the dripping lines of red, readying to latch onto you once more when he catches sight of the sheets balled up in your fist. like his rationality has been switched back on, dan heng recoils, almost scrambling from behind you. 

“sorry.” he wipes his lips with the back of his hand. when he pulls it away from his mouth, a streak of red is left behind. seeing it hits dan heng with a pang of the familiar guilt that comes after feeding from you. 

he whispers out another apology before moving to leave but your hand darts out to catch his wrist. dan heng turns to face you. he’s never met your eye once he’s finished; he usually makes a conscious effort to avoid looking at you after he’s fed. he expects to see the worst painted on your face—pain, disgust, fear. but they’re all absent. your expression is as normal as can be—the one you wear when you’re making breakfast or when you return home or when you’re watching a movie with him. it leaves dan heng frozen in his spot.

“you don’t have to go,” you tell him, your voice a little frail. your hand slithers down from his wrist to his palm, his skin smooth beneath your fingers. you interlace your fingers with his and gently tug him toward you. “just stay.”

dan heng thinks he has every reason not to. it can’t be normal and he can’t be sure that his overwhelming desire for more won’t resurface. but the feel of your hand in his and the hopefulness swimming in your eyes makes him reconsider. 

the final nail in the coffin is hammered in when you squeeze his hand and send him a small smile. he’s not sure why, but he can’t say no to you. “okay.”

thanks for reading! consider commenting or reblogging if you enjoyed ❤︎

[schoopsahoy]

i've binged all your writings and i just wanna say that I LOVEEE love love how you write your stories. can i request a hurt/comfort with steve where he accidentally hurt the reader's feelings. no specific requests bcs im just a sucker for these types of fanfics, i'll leave it all to you to decide on what you wanna write. THANKK YOUU

aah thanks so much for the love babey !!! here’s a little somethin for your req, i hope you enjoy it <33

cw: steve being a dumb boy. bit angsty. general hurt/comfort, soft make up vibes. not proofread.

Robin’s brow furrows deeper as everyone around the table keeps laughing, the girl still as confused as she was when the joke was first told despite the multiple attempts at explaining it.

“It just doesn’t make any sense.” She grumbles, slumping back against the booth in a huff with her arms crossed over herself to really cement her annoyance.

“C’mon, you’ve gotta get it by now.” Your words come out as a laugh, cheeks a little sore from the way your grin had tugged at the corners at your mouth all night.

“Yeah Rob, even she gets it.” Steve’s head tilts towards you, a gesture only a modicum more subtle than pointing. “Surely you can.”

You instantly feel a drop in your stomach, a nasty feeling not that different to when your foot slips from underneath you or when you peer a little too far over a high ledge. You don’t let your smile falter, force out a fake laugh because you don’t want to make things awkward for anyone by being upset by something so little, so stupid.

Because maybe you are a little slow on the uptake sometimes, whispering to Steve to explain things to you or joining in the laughter a few beats after everyone else after it’s finished processing in your head. Away with the fairies, a little ditsy and easily confused, but it’s just how you are.

You know Steve didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, you can tell by the way his arm still slung over your shoulders to keep you pressed close to him. He hasn’t even noticed that you’ve dropped out of the conversation, suddenly quiet and withdrawn because you’re stuck in your own head and a little embarrassed because is that how everyone sees you?

You feel like you’re not really there for the rest of the evening, head all foggy and the lights suddenly feeling too bright - eyes blinking hard to try and keep them from watering. You’re not going to cry, the sting along your lash line only makes you more determined to hold it together, at least until you get home.

Steve has to nudge you to bring you back to the room enough so you can shuffle out of the booth, an unconvincing smile flashed to him when he looks at you with pinched brows and confusion across his face.

“What’s up with you? Y’gone all quiet.” Steve clicks his seatbelt into place, eyes looking at you rather than the keys he’s turning in the ignition.

You shrug, still feeling a little silly for being upset and letting a throwaway comment have such an effect on you. You sit low in the passenger seat, tucked into yourself as you stare out the window at the inky dark night.

“Baby.” It’s almost a whine, a plea to you to give him something more than a lift of your shoulders. “You can tell me y’know? You can tell me anything, any time.”

He waits for you to say something more, or anything, but it doesn’t come. Your lips pressed shut, if the light hit them he’d probably notice them quivering as you try to hold it together, breathing slow and quiet and controlled.

The car ride is almost silent, save for the hum of the engine and the nervous tapping of Steve’s fingers against the wheel. He knows somethings wrong, he just doesn’t know what.

Your eyes stay on the window, following each droplet of condensation trickle down before it’s swallowed by the door frame. It takes all your courage to finally say something, voice barely above a whisper and the words come out as a croak with how much you’re having to control your breathing.

“I’m -“ You take another deep breath, it’s needed with the way Steve instantly looks over to you despite the fact he’s driving. “I’m not stupid, y’know.”

“What? What d’you mean? Of course you’re not stupid.” His hand is instantly on your thigh, the best physical comfort he can give right now. “Why are you saying that?” You can hear how upset he sounds, and you almost feel bad for saying anything because you know he’d never want to hurt you, always so careful and soft around you like you’re the most precious thing in the world.

Your inhales are shaky, tears once again threatening to spill over your lash line as you push your words out. “‘Cause you said “even she gets it”, like I don’t get anything, like I’m stupid. But I’m not stupid.” You wince a little at how much you sound like a child, voice all weak and close to a whimper.

“Huh?” Steve gives your thigh a squeeze, eyes darting between you and the road so he can find somewhere to pull over. “Babe, I don’t think you’re stupid at all.” He puts the car into park, perched on a curb only a few blocks away from your house. “I didn’t mean it like that, I’d never mean it like that.”

You still can’t look at him, not more than a glance anyway because you’re certain if you make eye contact you’ll lose your composure. “S’not nice though, guess I’m a little slow with it sometimes but I get things.” You have to tuck your bottom lip under your teeth to stop it quivering. Your lashes blink quickly as you feel a couple of tears break over the barrier of your lids, rolling down your cheeks leaving little damp trails behind.

As soon as Steve hears you sniffle, face all scrunched as you try to keep any more tears from spilling, he’s straight on you. Belt unbuckled so he can lean over the center console and wipe at the sad stripes left down your cheeks with his thumbs. “Hey, nonono, don’t cry, oh baby.” His voice is all sad and soft as he takes your face in his hands, your eyes closed tight as you try to avoid his gaze. “Y’not stupid, you’re my best girl, yeah?” He punctuates his words with gentle kisses on your cheeks. “If anything, I’m stupid, sayin’ stuff like that.”

You let out a small laugh, a little sad with how you sniffle again after but it’s genuine at least. “You’re not, you’re jus’ a big meanie.” Your voice is still shaky but there’s a smile pulling at the corners of your lips as Steve keeps kissing there, a smile of his own appearing when he sees yours.

“Yeah, you���re right, I am.” He pouts at you, eyes all loving on you as his thumb rubs soft circles on your cheekbone. “I’m really sorry, baby. Y’know I never want to make you sad, think you’re the best thing to ever happen to me.”

“So dramatic.” You roll your eyes, the flush on your damp cheeks ruining any attempt at teasing. “Guess you’re forgiven.”

“Yeah? Y’sure?” Steve nudges his nose against yours, and even with his face so close you can tell

his grinning by the lilt in his voice.

“Mhm.” You nod, brushing your noses together again. “I’m sure.”

“I love you, you know that? So much.” Steve pulls back slightly so he can look at you properly when he speaks, eyes grazing all over your face as he keeps a gentle hold on it.

“I know, Stevie, I love you too.” You still feel a little shy saying it, even though you know Steve feels the same way. The words still leaving you with a dizzy head and flutter in your chest like it’s the first time.

“If I ever upset you again, you give me a good hit yeah? A real smack.” He watches you until you give him a small nod, all giggles at how seriously he’s looking at you. “I’m not kidding, babe. Knock some sense into me. Promise me you will.” He holds his pinky out to you.

“Okay, okay, I promise.” You’re smiling properly now, laughing at his proposition as you link your pinky finger with his.

“Good girl.” He brings your hand to his lips so he can press a kiss across your knuckles. “We best be gettin’ you home, yeah?”

You nod, dabbing at your cheeks to dry any lingering wet spots when Steve lets go of your hand to start driving again. As soon as he has a hand free again he holds it out to you, wiggling his fingers at you until you take it and hold it in your lap. You draw lines up and down and around his knuckles with the index finger of your other hand, tracing slow patterns across his skin whilst you sit in the comfortable quiet - occasionally broken by a small sniffle even though you don’t feel like crying anymore.

“I love you.” Steve looks over at you as you focus on your fingers motions, voice all soft and sincere and you find yourself smiling down at where your hands link.

“I love you, too.” You don’t think you’ll ever get tired of saying it, or hearing Steve say it to you. It’s probably your favorite thing to say now, when you really think about it.

[thegnomelord]

here for the prompt game! (Seriously such a neat idea)

I’m thinking 26 with Ghost and Soap and an inexperienced male reader (could be trans if you want) who’s got an eager golden retriever vibe about him even if he doesn’t know as much as the other two. Also maybe some fluff on the side about reader maybe biting off more than they can chew and getting overwhelmed and Ghost and Soap could comfort him? Thanks!

Sure thing anon! sorry it took so long, couldn't figure out what to write; I decided to do an eldritch reader since I haven't written it in a while and I think it works with this prompt :D. Play the game HERE

Prompt: Pulling them closer by the back of the neck

CW: NSFW, Sub Top Male Eldritch Reader, Dom Bottom Ghost, Sub Bottom Soap, oral, anal, nonhuman genitalia, tentacles, first times.

You don't know how this happened; Ghost and Soap(primarily Soap) had taken upon themselves to introduce you to alcohol, and despite the knowledge you couldn't get drunk or even consume it like they could, you still drank down what was given to you just to see amusement dancing in their eyes as they tried to match you.

Then Johnny had leaned in and by the time your eternal mind had finished buffering you were stuck between two warm bodies, Soap's hands greedily pushing beneath your shirt, his mouth like a blistering star against your own, tongue prying your lips open to push cold liquor into your mouth and running over your teeth as a way to remind you to swallow.

And for the first time in over a millennia you are. . .uncertain.

You'd watched these little creatures for so long you had been certain you could match them, arrogant creature that you are, for what is an ant to a god?

But the moment you felt their touch, before even time had been able to register it, you froze. You felt naked; you feel naked, stripped bare of cloth and human flesh, their warmth stabbing through inky abyss to your core, to all that you are and will be.

Johnny pulls back with a wicked grin and you're left breathing like a newborn, your skin bulging in unnatural ways as you shift beneath, unsure of what to do, what to think, your mind desperate to feel more yet weary of it.

You forget how observant they are despite how short their lives are, "You olright?" Simon asks, his broad chest flush with your back, both of them warm like collapsing stars compared to your corpse like temperature.

"Yeah lad," Johnny leans a bit back, "Yer lookin' a wee bit tense." His palms lay flush along your ribs and he can almost feel you writhing beneath— it takes every bit of your consciousness not to reach out, not to tear through the flimsy layer of stolen skin to feel him, not to wrap them in your body and never let go.

"I. . ." You push out a breath, the air near your mouth crackling with static. "I don't know." Your eyes focus on Johnny only to widen when you notice how his mohawk has puffed up like a blow-dried cat. "Ah-I'm sorry."

Johnny looks at you incredulously, not aware by his appearance, "Sorry for whot?" His brows furrowed, "Hey, wee dinnea have to do this if yer havin' second thoughts."

You feel Simon shift to your side, still close but not suffocatingly so, his rough fingers on the nape of your neck, blunt nails scratching your skin. "Talk to us."

"I. . .I didn't think it would be this hard." You admit, gnawing on your bottom lip; some things are native to both gods and mortals, anxiety included.

"That's what she said." Johnny suddenly pipes up. "I- ow!" You assume it's some type of poorly timed joke by the way Ghost swats him over the head, turning a deaf ear to Johnny's whining about it hurting.

"What's the matter lovie?" Ghost pulls your attention like a lighthouse in a vast ocean of darkness, "Did'yea think fockin' would be easy from being a peeping Tom?" You'd gotten a talking to plenty of times about having watched them fuck when they'd thought you were a cat.

You lower your head, unable to meet his eyes; funny how a fly can make you feel so small. "Yeah."

Johnny quirks a grin, "Need some guidance then?" You're confused until Johnny's hands move, blissfully warm fingers tickling along your ribs before lightly tugging on your nipple, and though logically you shouldn't feel much in your skin suit, it still has you rippling beneath your skin, a sharp breath leaving your lungs. "Need us tae show yae how ta snog?"

"Snog?" You ask, barely able to make your tone sound confused, or even human for that matter.

"Roll in the hay," Ghost joins him, much slower, paw like hand tracing down the curve of your spine, "mate," His hand dips down to your thigh, sliding up to your hip and not even you are oblivious enough to not see the implication. "have sex," Simon leans in to your ear, breath fanning your flesh. "Fuck."

A nonhuman sound escapes your throat, leaving their bones shaking, but you hardly notice as the promise of having them, of touching them like none of your kin have before, makes your head nod automatically.

"Use your words godling," Simon orders, and the second a 'yes' comes from your mouth Johnny's descending on you like a wolf, your teeth clacking together, tongue pushing past your lips to explore your mouth all over again, blunt nails scratching down your sides.

You kiss him back despite how uncoordinated you are, trying to retake the breath he's stealing from you, and the moment Johnny pulls back, panting, Simon is there. A firm hand on the back of your neck pulls you to meet Ghost's lips, rough and demanding, already so familiar that deaf and blind you'd be able to tell them apart.

You melt between them, between their lips and their touches, not even noticing how drops of liquid abyss pushes past your pores; fingers turning into claws to help disrobe them, eyes spreading across your body to see both of their reactions as you touch and feel, teeth elongating and filling all the corners of your mouth better mark them, tongue elongating and darkening to push as deep into Soap's tight heat as you can, each twist and turn of your monstrous tongue making Soap whine and pant and moan like a receptive mate, viscous saliva staining his shaking thighs and marking him as yours.

Your mind only returns when you feel Ghost's rough hand on your cock, what should be a normal human mating organ turned ridged and bumpy, squirming like an eel in his hand, your viscous precum leaving his skin tingling. "Fuck, I-" You jump, tongue still lodged deep in Johnny's ass, your voice ringing all around and gently shaking the ground.

"Easy there," Ghost shushes you like a frightened stallion, not even a bit unnerved by your current condition. The booze you'd all drank helps to make their minds more receptive to your existence, the horrific sight of bits of you pushing out of your human skin only tickling their skulls.

"Think he's stretched enough," Ghost strokes you a few more times, before a firm hand on your nape makes you pull your head back, slowly dragging your foot long tongue out despite how desperately Johnny's walls clench down on you— it has you salivating to have your mouth on him again.

"Ghost." You manage out, every bit of you shuddering from the look he gives you, by the way he tugs you closer by your cock until your tip's tickling Johnny's well lubed entrance.

"Fuck, look how desperate you've made him." Ghost's words make your eyes, all your eyes, focus on Johnny; pleasure makes your chest burn hot with how fucked out he looks, panting like he's in heat, drool running down his chin, eyes bleary and unfocused, whole body boneless and splayed out for you.

"Shite," Soap pants, barely able to catch your gaze, spreading his legs even wider for you, his hand roughly pawing at his own cock. "C'mon- fock- just please, let me- need you-"

"Go on godling," Ghost growls, trusting you to follow his orders so he takes his place by Johnny's head, his dick hard and red right in front of Johnny's lips. "Take 'im."

You don't dare refuse, pushing your hips forward, your writhing cock seeking out his hole, easily slipping inside. Immediately pleasure bangs on your skull, on your mind, like a hammer, distant stars cracking from how you groan, sinking inch after inch into him. Your shaft squirms inside, squirming, stretching, feeling every inch of his walls and when you slam inside that tight heat fully Johnny screams.

You stop all at once, the temperature in the room dropping, your nonexistent heart shredding itself at the thought of having hurt them— only to feel Johnny bucking his hips into yours, his arousal sticking to your tongue like honey.

"Aye, he's a slag," Simon laughs, guiding his tip to Soap's mouth and having him immediately latch on, plump lips wrapping tightly around Simon's large shaft and bobbing his head. "Yea can go rougher, he likes the pain."

Wearily, you snap your hips, your strength far surpassing theirs, almost doubling over at how he clenches around you like a vice and moans in such a sacrosanct way. Even with Ghost's cock half-way down his throat, Johnny tries to beg you to move, pretty tears in his eyes awakening something deep and hungry inside you.

Your flesh suit moves on it's own and you're unable to do anything else but follow and feel, burning every sound you tear from Johnny's occupied mouth into your eternal memory, each praise that falls from Ghost's lips as you hammer into the hot willing body beneath you making you edge closer and closer towards release, your claws leaving red bleeding lines where you grip his shaking legs to keep him stable.

You don't even notice when you lean down, the 'crack' of bone Johnny's only warming before the newly formed maw at your torso envelops his leaking cock. The taste of his precum, like sweetened communal wine, floods your senses, your tongue hanging out of your mind as you brainlessly hump into him, barely able to catalogue each little twitch of his legs when you pound him in just the right spot.

You cum incredibly fast, centuries later you'll be embarrassed at how poorly you lasted, but right now all your attention, all your focus, all you are, boils down to them— their scents, their low groans, their moans, the blissful heat of Johnny's walls clenching down on you as you slam your hips into his and cum, flooding his receptive body with your seed.

Johnny cums as quickly as you, shooting his cum into your awaiting mouth and into the darkness between stars where your true body resides, small little gurgles coming from him as he swallows down Simon's own release.

You collapse on top of him, your mind empty for the first time since your birth, carnal pleasure having reduced you to nothing but an animal. There are so many eyes all over your body yet not one of them can look at Ghost without his silhouette doubling in your vision, your body so sensitive that even a brush of his hand across your sweaty skin has you moaning softly.

"That's a good god," Ghost snorts, ruffling your sweaty hair. Then his fingers slide down, carefully avoiding poking the numerous eyes as he grips your chin, making you look at him. "D'yea think you can go again? This one is far from done." He hums, noting how Johnny's hip continues to twitch into yours despite how fucked out he is.

You don't know how much you have in you, but you're about to find out. . .

[oleander-nin]

Valen-Time 03: Forever(2012 Mikey x Reader)

A/N, not important: Yes I know the first half sucks but bear with me<3 Any criticism is welcome, constructive or not. This is supposed to be a gender neutral reader, so if I screwed up somewhere, please tell me.

-Ollie

CW: Marriage talk, sitting on roof ledge(non-suicidal), short

Words: 774

Summary: Mikey asks about marriage

Tag list: @f1oricide @itsyagurlchip @lordfreg @acutiewithagun @rottmnttmnt2012 @lixnininotnay @lexiechr @ssak-i

You shiver from the rush of wind that hits your face the moment you open the door to the rooftop, your makeshift picnic basket in hand. The roof was already decorated for your date, a corner of the concrete roof covered in an old blanket and surrounded by dull, half working Christmas lights you snagged from a thrift store just a few months before. Mikey wasn't here yet, but that was to be expected. He was never someone who showed up exactly on time, and while never late, you weren't sure he had ever been even a few seconds early to plans without his brothers dragging him there.

You start to set up the food and drinks you had brought, the large pizza you ordered going directly in the middle of the blanket. You sit down next to it, cracking open one of the soda's you brought as you wait for your boyfriend to arrive. You watch the night sky with interest, the light pollution from the street lights and billboards causing the night to be void of stars, but you appreciated the inky-darkness nonetheless.

You barely take more than one sip before two hands grab at your shoulders, the sudden touch making your heart fall to your stomach and your fist to fly out. Your eyes meet Mikey's as soon as you are calm enough to think, his cheeky smile and making you wish you landed that punch. 

"I missed you." He says brightly as he sits down, greedily eyeing the pizza and snacks you had placed out. You grin good-naturedly, waving your arm over the spread and letting him take his pick of the food. He happily opened the pizza box and started to dig in, both of you slowly migrating to the edge of the roof and dangling your feet off the side. It was nice, just being able to sit there and talk. 

“Would you ever want to get married?”

Mikey’s casual tone paired with the weighted question makes you sputter, your drink dribbling out of your mouth as you cough. Mikey squeaks, his eyes wrinkled in worry. His muttered apologies seem to be the tempo for the harsh pats on your back, your wracking coughs startling you both. You wipe the water from your eyes that the coughs forced out, your voice a bit hoarse from the sudden wheezing. “We’re seventeen, Mikey.”

You immediately feel bad when you watch his face fall, his hands fiddling with his fingers and pulling harshly at each of the large digits. You clear your throat, feeling awkward and unsure how to go about this, not quite understanding his sudden question, nor the sadness towards your dismissal.

Mikey shrugs, his left shoulder popping at the movement. The usually bubbly turtle had shrunken in on himself, clearly unable to convey just what he wanted to say. You wait for him, not trying to pressure him into speaking before he is ready. You already felt bad enough for the way you responded, knowing it wasn’t so crazy to ask as you’ve both been practically dating since you had met, but his question made everything seem so… Real.

You force yourself to take the last swig of your drink, hoping the burn of the carbonation would distract you from the memories flooding your mind. Mikey was serious in his question, despite the nonchalant and joke-y way he asked. You couldn’t blame him either, knowing that deep down, spending your life with him was something you truly did want. He was kind, caring, and even though his goofy nature was still prominent, it didn’t annoy you like it did his brothers. Mikey was comfortable to be around, and made you feel good. He was your best friend, and someone who you considered your soulmate. Now your only concern was how your family would react, and the logistics of the marriage, but that could be worked out eventually. Your family would come around, hopefully.

“Do you think Donnie could fudge a marriage certificate for us? Or at least figure out how to get us a real one?” You ask, glancing at the moping turtle. His eyes snap to yours, the brilliant blue shining in the moonlight.

“If we asked, yeah!”

You chuckle at his enthusiasm, giving him your now empty soda can to crush and throw in the trash bag. You lean against his shoulder as he starts to babble about a wedding, tales of bright lights and ceremonies you didn’t even know existed until now. Whether you could truly get married or not, you knew for certain you never wanted to leave his side. He was your forever.

[iiwaijime]

track 01.

mlist.

cws. major character death, nightmares, blood, guns.

wc. ? 1k

tooru tightens his grip on the metal loops around his fingers; the once cool-to-the-touch surfaces of the dog tags now warmed up by his skin. he clutches them close to his heart and lets his eyes flutter shut. and suddenly, for a brief moment, iwaizumi is just in the other room, and the golden light behind his eyelids emanates from the antique lamp on his bedside table instead of the shitty fairy lights he'd salvaged from an abandoned garbage dump, and he can almost hear the smooth classical music that he'd listen to to relax — almost. but then the soothing scene he's conjured up in his head is shattered by a crazed thumping of fists on the doors of his bunker, and a gutteral scream splits the night in two. he is no longer in his room, and his hands are slick with blood — iwaizumi's blood — and he looks up, only for his eyes to meet a pair of green ones, ones that are glassed over unnaturally. he knows what this look means; he's good as dead already, and there's nothing that can be done. but still.

"oikawa," he croaks. "tooru, run."

he shakes his head vehemently. "no, i can't leave you, not like this—"

he doesn't register the fact that he's crying until much later. but right now, he can't run, he can't move, and he can't leave iwaizumi.

tooru is cut off by a bullet that whizzes past his cheek, and it's enough to shock him out of his stupor, and make him listen to his body, his brain, that's been screaming at him this whole time.

it's then he notices it, glittering around iwaizumi's neck. his eyes widen, and he's bending down again, getting on his knees before he can even think, head bent as he undoes the clasp and pulls the pair of dog tags away from his best friend.

"i'm sorry," he gasps, and the tags, glinting in the sunlight, seem to catch iwaizumi's attention. his mouth twists up into a pained half-smile; tooru's heart wrenches painfully in his chest, and iwaizumi mouths something like go. he's barely turned around, tags in hand when his world explodes in pain as a second bullet nicks his ear.

he stumbles away, unable to look back. heavy footsteps follow, and soon he's running faster than he can catch up with his thoughts. all the same, he prays. he's not sure to what, but he just does. please, get up. please? if not you, then who?

eventually, he manages to outrun them, but he keeps running still. now, it's hard to differentiate between his sweat and tears and his blood and iwaizumi's blood, and the tags are slipping out of his hands even as it coagulates. and then he's falling, and the dog tags go flying, and everything around him turns into an inky black.

this is definitely not the first time tooru has woken up sobbing from a nightmare, free hand fisting his cheap, wrinkled, plasticky sheets. he lets the tags fall to the bed slowly, examining the indents it left in his palm with a sort of disconnected wonder. various pinks and reds decorate his palm, but the tags are okay, and therefore so is he.

he swings his legs off the bed and quietly pads to the door, checking and rechecking the locks, even though he'd locked them himself a few hours ago. he's halfway under the blankets when he decides to check one more time, just in case. in these times, you never know.

he counts his sips as he drinks his water, counts the steps it takes for him to get to the "kitchen" from his bed and back. (forty-two steps, twenty-one each way.) he knows he could probably do it with much less, but tonight he's taking the tiniest steps, because while he has to sleep, he's also trying to put it off for as long as possible. he doesn't like sleeping, because sleeping means dreaming, and dreaming means that every emotion, every feeling, every though he's pushed down comes clawing out of his chest to infiltrate the secure fortress of his mind. it's not really secure anymore, though. it's really just falling apart.

he does not like telling people this, but tooru oikawa is a hopelessly sentimental person. he thinks and remembers and yearns and dreams, and tonight he dreams of The Fair. it's where they got the dog tags done, him and iwaizumi. tooru had begged and begged, and even paid for both of theirs instead of just his own. it'll be cool, he'd said. matching best friend shit, for the memories. yeah, for the memories, all right.

this time, though, he's trying to shoot down targets over a pool of water. and the thing is, he is winning. but every time he hits one, the spongy darts turn into real bullets, and the targets melt into iwaizumi's face, and the water is no longer water — it's blood.

he doesn't have the energy to panic after this one, and there's light streaming in through the skylight anyways, so it's time to get up. his body aches, complains every time he moves; he steadfastly ignores it as he goes through the all-too-familiar motions of his day. any other day, and he'd let himself laze around, but today just so happens to be the most important day of the fortnight — the day he restocks all his supplies (or tries to, anyways).

he gives up on working out halfway through, rolling onto his back with a groan. everything hurts. he still can't not go out, though, so instead of heading out later, he decides to do it now. more time to sleep later, then. he cleans up, changes into more protective gear. guns, check. knives, check. what's he missing— oh. tags, check.

the two pairs hang together on matching hooks. he remembers the day he'd fixed the hooks there, clear as day. he'd been sobbing as he worked, the... remnants of iwaizumi a neat little pile in a corner in the form of bloodstained clothes. the smell permeated the entire bunker, but he hadn't been ready to throw it away just yet.

the broken down convenience store on top of the hill sneers down at you mockingly; your joints ache from how far you've walked and you're not even sure if you'll be able to make it up. you drop your duffel bag with a sigh, before turning around to sit down beside it — only to be met with the muzzle of a gun.

"don't move," the masked person says sharply. the voice is vaguely familiar, but then again, being alone for so long has probably skewed your senses at least a little bit.

"huh?"

they step closer, gun still trained on you. "i'll take everything you got, thank you."

your own defiance surprises you, words rushing out before you can stop yourself — even though you don't really have anything worth taking with you. "no, the fuck you won't."

they hum appreciatively. "you've got fire, i'll give you that — but i'm no stranger to pulling the trigger, so don't try anything."

"what do you want?" you ask, guarded, cautious. "i'm not giving you my bag."

"guess i'll just have to take it myself, then," they say, an amused lilt to their tone, and suddenly everything's a blur as you rush towards them, arms outstretched. the power of the shove catches them off guard — they hadn't even been expecting it, so they stumble back, but only for a second. it's still enough for the hood to fall back, and the mask to tumble to the ground, and then you're staring into familiar brown eyes. he shakes dark hair out of his eyes, glaring at you.

"the f—"

"tooru?" you gasp. "tooru oikawa?"

he blinks.

"i'm y/n! we were friends, remember?"

"no fuckin' way," he breathes, and you're tugging your own mask off, watching his face clear while he lowers the gun. "shit, you're alive?"

you nod, relief flooding through your veins before your heart drops again. the gun is aimed back at you once more; tooru stares at you, face a blank slate. "i'm glad you're alive, really. you know i'm not a bad guy, right? i just—" he shrugs, smiling wryly. "this entire situation's fucked, and my life is a higher priority to me than yours."

"what—"

"what's in the bag?" his voice is amiable, but his expression and the way his hands are unwavering as he holds you at gunpoint tell a completely different story.

"i don't have food," you tell him coldly. he says nothing, inching closer ever so slightly.

"really?" his voice taunts you, light and sing-songy, completely out of place in this situation.

"goddamnit, tooru!" you snap. "i haven't eaten in two fucking days, are you happy now?"

"oh," he says. "that's not good."

it's annoying, how he's switching from caring to not, in literal seconds; how he seems to be happy that you're alive, but threatens your life a moment later. "what's it matter to you?"

his jaw hardens. it looks like he's fighting some sort of internal battle, before he sighs and starts walking towards you. you back away instinctively, intensely aware of the gun still trained on you, until he stops abruptly and glances to the side. you follow his eyes, taking in a sharp breath when you realise he's successfully separated you from your precious duffel bag. "do you have any weapons on you?"

"why, do you plan to take those too?"

he sighs exasperatedly. "no. in fact, i have a proposition."

after losing his best friend, tooru oikawa promised himself to never get attached to anyone again. so what exactly is he doing right now, taking you back to his bunker like a lost puppy to feed and take care of?

"tooru, you asshole," you seethe as the two of you walk in. you're mad at him — rightfully so, with all the mixed signals he's sent you between the murder threats and the concern — but still grateful to have food and a place to stay, even if it's only for a little while. not that he's specified how long, of course, but you don't expect him to want you to stay forever.

you're wary, always on guard, a feral animal who never lets down. tooru thinks you might actually hate him.

chapter notes!!

buildups? we don't know her!!

tooru is really good at this apocalypse game. you're alive by sheer luck.

yeah tooru's acting freaky rn but we'll get a him pov next chapter

i hope.

they're not exactly friends rn,, ur MAD mad cs he threatened to murder u??? basically???? so drama next ch

taglist — 12/50, add yourself please — form

@akaakeis @akaashislovee @mikauraurr @lulumi1u @dawnisatotalqueen @anqelkoz @kayleedelulu @buckturd @mjustag1rl @ilovemymomscooking @kang-ulzzang

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[brightdarkness-2013]

Chapter 2: A Cleaner Chapter

Summary: Jazz feeds it and argues with it. Pretty much it.

“Ya know I hope ya appreciate what I’m doing. Ya have no idea how much I hate being wet and after ya pulled me into the ocean the other night I’m a little irritated with You as well. I have some fresh sushi this time. It’s not as cheap so ya had better eat this. I don’t want to be wasting my money.”

I stared into the inky water for any sign of movement as I tossed in one of the pieces. This was twenty bucks worth I had and if it stuck its nose up at this I was going to be pissed.

“I know you’re there. I’m not going to hurt ya. I can barely swim and the worst thing I could do from here is litter.”

Still nothing. Well I could wait. I was not going to let this fish get one over me.

“That one's tuna ya brat. It’s good. I’ve had it.”

The water was still. Maybe it had left the area after this morning? Or maybe it just didn’t like tuna?

“Fine. This one's salmon, but I didn’t nor will I ever have much of this because it’s so expensive it’s a rip off. It’s not even that good.” I tossed another piece into the water. It floated along the surface next to the other in silence. “I have a younger sister. I can wait all night to get my way.”

I watched the water, lounging on my stomach lazily. Maybe I should call Blaster? Na. He was mer crazy. He’d scare it away. Maybe when it wasn’t so wary and injured. Blaster would go out on fishing trips with his stepfather all the time. He wanted to be a marine biologist. He thought the mysteries of the sea were amazing while I didn’t care to guess what was hiding below the surface. Who knew what horrors were waiting down there? I was torn out of my thoughts by one of the pieces disappearing.

“Finally.”

And of course it took the bloody salmon. Spoiled brat.

“I hope ya know that if ya don’t eat all of this I’m not going to feed ya anymore and I’ll let the fishermen try and shoo ya away. And the way they’ll do it I have no doubt that it’ll involve some painful traps. They don’t like it when things mess with their catches.” I spoke to the mer under the water. Though I couldn’t see it the water churned giving me a decent idea of where it was before it settled again. From what I could tell it was right under where I was throwing the fish. “Come on. Eat the tuna or I’m not giving ya anymore.”

Nothing. So I pulled out the other piece of salmon and dipped it into the water before pulling it back out.

“See? Ya want it ya need to eat everything else.”

For some reason I got the impression that I was being judged.

“Tuna is cheap and has a lot of protein from what I know so quit pouting and eat it.”

I sent the water an unamused stare, trying to send my message since I couldn’t tell if it could understand what I was saying. I doubted it, but that never stopped me from talking before. Then I smiled as the tuna vanished.

“That wasn’t so hard now, was it?” I tossed another piece into the water. “But you’re not getting the salmon until you eat everything else. I’m not even sure what that one is, but it’s apparently popular.”

Nothing happened until the piece stilled in the water and I got the glimpse of black claws. The process was slow and continued on until I was out of sashimi. I watched the water.

“Well I have nothing more to give ya. This box here is for tomorrow. I’ll be back in the morning to feed ya.”

The water churned as it moved under the black water.

“Don’t steal from the traps anymore. If ya do than sure you’re gonna get hurt, but it makes Blaster’s stepdad unhappy and if he’s unhappy he doesn’t bring Blaster on his fishing trips and if he doesn’t bring Blaster then Blasters unhappy. If Blasters unhappy it’s your fault and I won’t feed ya anymore. Got it?”

No response. Not like I was expecting one anyway. I stood.

“I’ll know if ya start stealing. Don’t think I won’t.”

Then I turned and headed home.

444444444444444 Fooooouuuurrrrsssss!44444444444444

Happy Saturday. I was getting up with the freaking sun for this fish. So out I went. Its breakfast in hand. And low and behold there it was. Curling around and between the rocks. None of the traps appeared to be bothered. Maybe it did understand. Either that or it was content with what I was giving it. I lounged back on the pier as I set the box next to me. Popping the lid I watched it.

“Morning. Ya know I’m surprised no ones seen ya yet. You don’t really blend in well.”

It didn’t move. However when I tossed in a piece its gaze turned to the floating fish. It glanced at me a few times before it stiffly moved forward. It favored its left arm as it slipped along the bottom slowly. It settled below the dead meat. I watched with mild interest as it rose up on its tail and reached up. It stopped. Nothing happened for an extended amount of time before its claws dug into it and drug it under. It watched its ‘prey’ a moment before swiftly eating it. Well no wonder it took so long for me to feed it if it did That every time. It moved its gaze back to me and it moved back until it was once again flat against the sand. I tossed another piece in and it watched that one until it settled.

“Quit stalking the sushi. It’s dead. It’s not going to swim away.”

I nearly laughed when it glared at me before going back to watching its new prey. It slowly reached up and stopped again.

“Oh for the love of- grab it! Hey! Don’t growl at me. I’m feeding ya.” I scolded it, but it cautiously reached up again like it hadn’t heard me. Then it snatched it and watched it. “I know you’re not deaf. Eat it. Do something. If you were actually prowling after something that was alive this would be much more interesting, but no. It’s dead. It’s been dead for awhile.”

Great. I was arguing with a fish now. I sighed as it sent me another glare. I fell back on the pier with a huff. I stared up at the dull looking gray that was the sky at the moment. Then I pulled myself back up. I jumped and yanked my legs back up and away from the waters below. I stared down at the mer that appeared below me.

“Ya know that’s Really creepy. Nothing’s supposed to move that quietly in the water.” Silence. “It doesn’t help that ya don’t move or blink.”

It twitched an ear fin, but that was the only response I got. I sighed again before grabbing another piece. It dangled in my grasp and I contemplated a moment. Then I was slowly lowering it to touch the water. Hopefully feeding time would go by quicker if I could get it to take it from my hand.

“I really want to get back to bed. This is Saturday. Saturday. And here I am arguing with You. A fish. I hope ya know I have plans today involving sleep, video games, and pizza with my friends.”

It was still besides its expression settling in a glare.

“Fine. I guess ya don’t want this.”

I made to pull it back and it growled softly.

“Make up your mind. Take it or I’m leaving.”

It took it several minutes to decide to slowly reach up. Its gaze shifting from me to the sorry excuse for a fish in my hand. Then in snatched it before retreating.

“Ya could really act more grateful. I don’t have to do this.” I muttered before doing the same with the next piece I pulled out.

This process of handing it each piece slowly made things quicker with feeding it as it grew used to it over the course of the week. As the days passed I could tell it was healing slowly, but surely. It didn’t move as stiffly and it distributed more weight onto its right arm when it crawled along the sandy bottom. Many of the wounds were slowly shifting into pale scars along its body. It was more noticeable on the black scales. I found myself hanging around even after I was done feeding it. I just talked and it watched me until I left. However one morning it broke the cycle.

“So Blaster and I- hey where are ya going? I was talking.”

I jumped up as it slowly swam the length of the pier. It glanced at me as I followed it every once in awhile.

“I know you’re a mer, but ya should know that it’s rude to just leave when someone is talking. Hey. Are ya listening?”

I jumped down off the pier and onto the sand. It followed the shallows edge. Moving slow enough for me to keep up.

“Where are ya even going? There’s nothing but rocks out in that direction.”

I was trying to argue with a fish. Blaster was going to have a good laugh when I finally told him about my little secret. I hesitated at the hollow in the cliffs edge. The mer stalled before it kept going, following the shallow path of water.

“Hey! Come on! Wait up!”

I followed after it. Running along the slippery edge. If I fell in it wasn’t that deep anyway. The area inside was a small little cove. It pulled itself up on the center rock, its tail curling around it. I looked around the area as it watched me.

“So this is where you’ve been hiding out, huh?”

I sat on the rim and watched as its tail fin opened and closed lazily. It had some healing cuts in the pure white and red edged fin as well.

“So I assume there’s a reason ya brought me home? I could only guess this means ya trust me. Either that or you’re planning to kill me. I really hope it’s the former.”

The mer blinked its sapphire eyes slowly as it let its arms dangle over the side of the rock.

“Ya Do blink. Well that makes ya a little less creepy.” I grinned at it and it tilted its head to the side to rest on one of its arms.

Next

First

Masterpost

[badolmen]

Turn Off the Light

Hallucinations aren’t unheard of for spelunkers, especially those on the verge of a panic attack. You were hoping they would hold off until your light went out, but the whisper returns.

“The light. If you turn it off, we can help you.”

The realization that it is not one voice, but many overlapping echoes makes you shiver. Although, it is rather cold so deep in the caves.

You look around the expanse of stone, slate gray and devoid of life. Not even bats are roosting here. There is no sound of running water that you could be mistaking for whispers. Silence save for your too-fast heartbeat pounding in your skull and the dull hum of dying electricity in your headlamp.

The light. They wanted the light off. Your fingers are too cold, and it takes a moment for you to fumble the switch off.

The darkness is immediate and thick, blind eyes searching for light that isn’t there. For a moment, you think you may drown in the inky black.

“Thank you.” The voices are louder now, and you can see their source.

You know you aren’t really seeing them - it’s impossible, your brain is putting something in the darkness to make sense of the presence that hovers feet from your face. But somehow, that doesn’t make the writhing mass of shadow any less real.

It wobbles between a fuzzy static silhouette and coiled tendrils like a nest of snakes but there is something in front of you that you cannot see but cannot not see. You don’t even realize you’re speaking until your own echo reverberates in the ocean of darkness.

“Who are you?” You should have asked what, but the way this creature makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up makes you unsure you want to know.

“We are a friend. Follow.” There’s amusement in the voices, and a soft, fond, sorrow. The presence begins to move away from you, the electric pinch of awareness that curled across the bridge of your nose fading as it left.

“Wait!” Your voice is shaking but soft, your first step unsure and unsteady. You feel like you’ve forgotten how to even walk. One misstep nearly sends you crashing to the hard, damp stone below your clumsy feet. You brace for an impact that never comes.

There’s a hand, soft and dry and warm, holding your own. It’s not human - or it was once but no longer is - it was more a mitten of tender flesh than a familiar five fingered grip. The hand relaxes, but you don’t let go. You aren’t sure why.

“Follow. We can help you.”

You still stumble in the dark, blind to every shift in elevation and stone, but the steady presence beside you forges onward. The question you should have asked earlier wells in your throat.

“What are you?”

The grip on your hand gives a gentle squeeze.

“We are a friend.” There’s a tension in the answer, as though the voices aren’t in complete agreement with each other. You swallow - or try to, your mouth dry and tongue leadened.

“My name is - ” You stop, acutely aware that the presence is bristling as it stopped suddenly.

“That’s dangerous.” The voices nearly growl, but it’s tone lightens as it starts walking again. “You are a friend. We are helping you.”

You aren’t sure how to respond so you don’t. You walk for what feels like hours, legs aching and feet sore. You’re cold and hungry and tired and can barely keep pace with your guide.

“I need a break.” The presence stops when you speak, and even you are hesitant to release its gentle hand. “I have a snack in my bag; can I turn on - ?”

“No.” There’s a wind in the whispers as though heard in the air just before a storm, something anxious and angry and ashamed. “I’ll get it for you.”

You don’t have time to protest that you can blindly grope through your supplies for a protein bar. The thing unzips your pack, and if you close your eyes - not that it matters in the darkness - you can almost pretend this is a damp, cold dream of a high school hallway, some friend retrieving a folder from your backpack for you.

There’s a protein bar in your empty hand (still half raised to turn on your headlamp) and the wrapper crinkles a little too loudly as you open it and break off a piece.

“Hungry?” You offer - the least you could do for this thing that has yet to kill you. It makes a strange noise somewhere between a whimper and a sigh.

“No.”

“Are you lying?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I shouldn’t eat your food.” The growl in its voices runs thick in its words. “That’s dangerous.”

“Okay.” You finish the protein bar yourself, not speaking again for fear of further agitating the presence. It takes your hand in its mittened grip and you walk.

“Almost there.” The whispers are softer now, no longer echoing against the stone. You can’t tell if the cavern is familiar, but you trust the gentle voices that have delivered you safely thus far.

The you hear them. Your team. Sharron is screaming your name. Isaac is sobbing. Chris curses into the darkness somewhere you cannot see them.

The presence beside you hears them too, it’s pace picking up to match your own. Then you see it. Light - not much, thin threads of photons in the damp air that barely delineate a distant cave wall. You call out, voice still hoarse from your earlier screams.

“Here! I’m here!” There are shrieks of joy and panic and relief in the distance. If they tell you to stay where you are, you ignore them to charge ahead. You pull your new friend along, it’s grip loosening.

It stops you just short of the corner. You stop and turn to it, confusion creasing your invisible features. The light from around the corner is so dilute you can still only make out your companion’s writhing, static obscured silhouette. The footsteps of your approaching team are getting louder.

You open your mouth to say thank you. To ask why it had helped you. To ask any number of questions. But you don’t get the chance. Sharron rounds the corner, her headlamp cutting through the darkness and illuminating the cave.

For a split second you can see it - a flash of adjusting irises and shadows chased back by the light. It’s something feathered and something skeletal. Ancient and inhuman and disintegrated in the harsh glow on an LED light.

“You’re alright!” Sharron didn’t see it - her face only shows relief, no horror or recognition of what just scattered into the shadows. “What happened? Did your headlamp run out of battery? How did you find your way back?”

Your mouth is dry and words are stuck in your throat. Your teammates all round the corner, glowing and alive and oddly chilly. The warmth of the presence is gone. There’s something damp and cold in the air.

Chris is smiling at you, a hand extending a protein bar. Isaac’s eyes are dry, no tears on his sallow cheeks.

“We were all so worried about you, here eat.” There’s something wrong with the way Chris’ lips move, out of sync with the sound of their words. There’s something wrong with the wrapper of the protein bar, faded and dull and water damaged.

You don’t take the protein bar. Sharron has her clipboard out, a guilty smile on her face. Her face is too pale and her skin like wax.

“Sorry, I’m terrible with names - you are..?” That’s a lie. You heard her calling your name mere moments ago. Your breath clouds white as you begin to breathe faster. No fog leaves their lips as they ask you what’s wrong.

You run. The lights follow, biting at your heels as you dash back towards the darkness.

--

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(This is being reposted from a prompt fill for @/writing-prompt-s. Please reblog this version, as I no longer want my writing associated with that blog.)