#potato brain perhaps

[goatwithaplan]

The embryon and all other junkyard characters clothes are oddly thought out. The armor work as system where you can attach pieces to one another. In general all characters use a base layer similar to Gale's or Cielo's armor with only the torso armor and pants that are attched to the torso armor by the copper buckles in the armor, and yeah those things are buckles. The idea seems that you can attach modules to them so in Cielo's case he wears the bags on his side.

So the armor is pretty much modular. Next thing a character usually adds to theyr armor is a jacket, that mainly covers the chest area and shoulders but could also cover your arms. So both Serph and Argilla are wearing very similar clothes but just the mere detail of having the jacket open in argilla makes them look very different from each other showcasing theyr personalities. ofc Argilla is also wearing a skirt but i think her desing could work very well with pants.

There is a lot you can make with this, so obviously Heat is an edgelord so he gets a cape, Gale is my little neurodivergent weirdo so he gets the worst fucking hood ever seen. And all of this without diverging too much of the original premise of torso armor some pants and something to combine this with.

AND THEN THEY GAVE UNIQUE STYLES TO ALL THE FUCKING TRIBES, srly even after you overtake the junkyard you can see what members were from which tribe by desing alone. I dont want to make the post too long but as an example. The vanguards all seem to wear this head piece as if they are in dessert ops gear.

[damnprecious]

I cooked dinner from scratch for the first time in forever

[krispiecake]

last day of term just three classes left then a little over a week off i can do this i swear

[fluffypotatey]

strange how broad my concept of youth and adults are

[fatguarddog]

You're the heir to the royal family of a kingdom besieged by demons and during a surrender, are offered up to one of the Demon Lords as a prize of battle. Don't worry, he assures you with a warm yet devious smile, you'll soon 'grow' to love your new life with him

You're taken back to his manor and draped in a lavish, yet skimpy outfit, one that really shows off your body and highlights the slight curves of your features. Your new Lord sits you down at a huge banquet table and takes his seat across from you. All manner of succulent and delicious foods are lined up before you, you take a moment to really take in the size of this hulking, handsome demon and assume he must eat like a beast. But when his impish servants are done setting the table, he just brings his elbows onto the table to rest his head in his hands. He smiles at you,

"You've nothing to fear. Eat."

His voice is so commanding. Nervously, you load up your plate with foods that seem the most familiar to you. Roast chicken, potatoes, various vegetables and a bread roll. It's delicious. With the effect the war has had on your kingdom, you can't remember the last time event he royal family could assemble such a sumptuous selection to feast upon... so you end up forgetting yourself a little and eating until you're quite stuffed. You lean back in your chair and graciously thank your Lord for the meal, shyly paying your compliments to the chef

"Good," he smiles wider and snaps his fingers. "Eat."

A surge of warmth courses through your body. With some demonic intervention, everything you'e just eaten rapidly digests within you and you feel hungry again. Your frame even grows a little bit softer, though not enough for you to notice just yet. You blush and oblige his order, you brain trying to rationalise what's happening. A display of dominance, perhaps? Or did he notice how much you were enjoying the food after having had so little for so long and just wanted you to get to enjoy that more? Was something bad coming after this, or was he actually a good demon somehow?

All of your questions seemed to melt away as you dug in to the feast again, this time trying the honey roasted ham, sweet fruits, leg shank and more. Once again you eat until you feel completely stuffed. Once again you thank your Lord for such a wonderful meal... and once again he smiles at you with fiery eyes from across the table, his own plate still empty and untouched,

"Good," another snap of his fingers. "Eat."

That familiar surge of warmth strikes again, but this time you notice how much plumper you look after, especially in your skimpy clothes. You look up at your Lord in shock and confusion, but he just gestures to the food in front of him. You timidly shake your head, yet your stomach growls audibly in the large dining hall

"Perhaps you'd be more in the mood for wine and cheese?" the demon snaps and the feast before you changes to a decadent cheese plate with crackers and dried meats abound. "Or would my royal prize prefer dessert?" Another snap and the table becomes stacked with cakes, pies and pastries alongside jugs filled with custards and creams, all so sweetly mouth watering The look of disbelief doesn't leave your face. Your stomach growls louder, more painfully as your owner laughs

"Better not to ignore your hunger, my dear. It'll be much more pleasurable for you if you just. Eat."

The command rings through you and sends shivers down your spine, you want nothing more than to stuff your face with every dessert in sight. Your hands reach forward greedily and you begin to eat your fill as your Lord looks on, almost lovingly at you

"So good, so obedient, I'm going to like you a lot," he stands and gently makes his way all around the table to your side, his towering form standing behind you, gently rubbing your now slightly pudgy shoulders. "I'll spoil you so much, feast after feast, night after night of pure pleasure to make you into the perfectly fattened up image of hedonism," his hands feels so good and warm on your soft skin as you gorge yourself. "Just think how demoralising it'll be for your kingdom, to see how easily their royal heir fell to demonic corruption... but I must say from a personal standpoint, I do just think you look so beautiful enjoying yourself like this. I'll have a bath ready for us after I think you're done here, there we can really relax and get to know each other, my dear. But for now, please keep eating. I told you you would grow to love it here."

[hanchette]

𝐖𝐑𝐀𝐏 𝐌𝐄 𝐔𝐏 𝐈𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐒 ( wind breaker character )

a/n: hiiragi sends my tingling into overdrive whenever i see him

consists of : fluff, gender neutral reader, reader is called princess in endo— how the windbre boys carry you

𝐇𝐈𝐈𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐈 𝐓𝐎𝐌𝐀, though sharp and all tough on the outside, hiiragi will and will always be a softie inside. won't allow a single thing to harm you, his precious s/o. so hiiragi will carry you in his arms, in a princess carry, that way he can always keep you safe no matter what. his arms caging you in safely, your head nuzzling under the crook of his neck and smelling the familiar scent that keeps your heart beating in a lovely manner that it always sing when you're with your boyfriend. “y/n?” he takes note of your silence, perhaps you were feeling stomach ache? “it's nothing.” you provided, there's nothing more sweet than you being in his arms, after all.

𝐊𝐀𝐉𝐈 𝐑𝐄𝐍, there's a lot of things that kaji finds troublesome—but one of you isn't amongst them, maybe sometimes, he'd proclaimed at your face which is always rewarded by an adorable look of upset that he's quick to quell. he's used to his headphones around his ears, silencing the world, but you offering him the same thing he sought for feels wrong—the silence he so despise. he shifted your position on his back, wishing to hear you ramble once again next to his ear. he has a prominent frown on his face, he doesn't like your silence. “sorry..” he whispered, fixing his hold under your knee, “won't do it again.” so please, talk his ear off like how you used to.

𝐊𝐎𝐓𝐀 𝐒𝐀𝐊𝐎, “tch.” sako clicked his tongue, a blush has settled on his cheeks when you had insisted for him to carry you. as ridiculous as that sounds, even if sako looks like he wants to refuse, he is simply a soft lil blushy boy in front of you. “fine.” he's not used to this, still not, this affection that you offer to him so simply always gets his brain mushed up. shishitoren named him someone who could care less but before you is someone who cares a lot that he's willing to do any requests you want. sako scoops you in his arms, trying to sport a nonchalant look despite your thighs on either of his side and your arms looped around his neck. clinging onto him in a koala position.

𝐘𝐀𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐎 𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐎, you always get into fights because of him, his reputation and attitude just sets a lot and you being his s/o makes you an easy target to many. endo never stops though, he likes to see you all riled up, that way he can scoop you up in his arms, your stomach always ending on his shoulder as you dangle and try to make him drop you back down to the ground, fists curled and hitting the low of his back. he is carrying you like nothing but a sack of potatoes. “ah ah ah, stop squirmin' if you don't wanna get hurt.” endo would chuckle, lifting a hand to spank your behind. “stay seated, princess.”

[teabutmakeitazure]

Coincidental Smiles and Hard Working Humour

How the Yan Genshin boys react to a genuine laugh from you and try to dig for more

Characters included: Childe, Diluc, Zhongli, alhaitham, Pantalone

------

Childe: Going to the kitchen first thing after waking up and seeing him half covered in flour with his hair ruffled up like he just got hit by electro did wonders on your brain. The sight of him disheveled and disorderly had made you chuckle, the bubbles of laughter slowly turning into giggles. Childe watches you with eyes as wide as saucers as he remains frozen where he stands, saucepan in hand. The sound of your laughter echoes in the kitchen, and you briefly clutch your stomach during your unguarded moment. Watching you pour out such joyous sounds makes Childe's brain hyperactive and he tries his best to get into circumstances similar to that. He messes up his shirt's buttons and goes to you, asking you to fix them for him. He purposely lets his hair dry all weird so that you could see how funny it looks. He even goes to the length to make up some puns in his head, but that horribly backfires when you mockingly gag. Childe tries his absolute best to make you laugh again all the while going to sleep with the memory of that heavenly sound replaying in his head over and over again.

Diluc: Dawn Winery is no stranger to nature. There's crystalflies, grapes, carrots, potatoes, the occasional boars and your favourite, the resident cats. Having recently befriended a mother and her three kittens, you often sneak out to the vineyard to find them. Diluc is obviously aware of the little rendezvous that frequently occurs but takes no action since, well, you come back inside out of fear anyway. Plus, the staff in the vicinity always keeps a close eye and Diluc himself, when at home, watches. So when he hears you giggle from around the corner as he hides in the shadow of the estate wall, he is enchanted. Not because he's never heard you laugh before, no no. It's because of how genuine it is. He peaks out of curiosity and sees three kittens climbing on top of you with different angles all the while one licks your cheek. More sounds of laughter from you put Diluc in a kind of spell, and he finds himself slowly taking steps towards you. Naturally, blood drains from your face when you see him towering over you. Diluc feels guilty when you go as silent as a mouse, but ends up bringing the cats inside to dig up more smiles from you. Can't say competing with them for your attention was easy but hey, it's a small price to pay.

Zhongli: The harbour is bustling with business during the evening hours. Working people leaving for home and grabbing necessities on the way back and children playing by the docks during the rush hours just to hurry back home when it gets dark. While the ex archon thought you would be interested in shopping, it seemed that the youngsters of Liyue Harbour had been your point of interest all along. You had slipped away when he was analysing which hairstick would suit you better, and though Zhongli would usually be worried, he is aware that there's no place you may run off to. Thus, him being perfectly fine with you roaming about. However, had Zhongli known that you would be engaging the children in different games with so much laughter and joy, he would have let you go sooner. As he stood there, watching with a smile, only one thought crossed his mind. Perhaps you would display the same joy if you had children of your own, right?

Alhaitham: The Akademiya can be... ruthless, even for the feeble scholar. The other day, alhaitham, absolutely sleep deprived, had fallen asleep while drinking his morning coffee and while he would have thought that you'd leave him be, you actually took the mug from his hand and placed it on the counter to avoid any spills. Alhaitham's lack of sleep haunted him for a few more days and on one fine morning had fallen asleep while doing paperwork. Being someone who avoids his attentive stare in the mornings, it had been a few hours later that you had exited the bedroom for breakfast. It would certainly not be an exaggeration to claim that seeing the acting grand sage sleeping on the sofa with his coffee mug empty and the beverage spilled onto the floor is in any way, shape or form reassuring for Sumeru's future. However, catching sight of the little amount of drool spilling from his lips had caused you to erupt into a fit of giggles, waking up the sleeping man. Maybe you should atone for your transgression with offering yourself as a pillow.

Pantalone: The Regrator's job is a stressful one. There are idiots of all types present everywhere and are far too much of a nuisance. Pantalone had summoned you into his home office in an attempt to catch a well deserved break from being hunched over paperwork, but when you had walked in, he didn't even so much as look up from his desk, scowling at the papers haphazardly scattered about. Having to witness such a stoic and composed man scowling and glaring at papers all the while muttering something about 'buffoons' and 'imbeciles' had made you stop in your tracks, suppressing a smile. It was when he had made a disgusted face before grabbing an abacus that you couldn't hold in a chuckle. The sound morphs into laughter, and Pantalone freezes on the spot, head slowly rising to look at you. Seems like today is a blessed day.

[littlejuicebox]

The Little Things

Summary: Sometime in Act 1, Astarion is beginning to realize he may like you more than he thought.

Tags/Warnings: pure fluff, feelings realization, sexual innuendo, in game spoilers

*

Astarion’s nice, simple plan is falling apart at the seams. He isn’t quite sure when it began or how you slowly wormed your way into his heart like the parasite wormed its way into his brain.

He thinks it must have started shortly after the night you two spent together in the clearing. Perhaps the day you drew his scars for him in the dirt?

You notice the little things about him, and it flusters him entirely. No one else has ever bothered to pay attention long enough to catch all the subtleties you seem to see without missing a beat.

*

You notice he makes tea but never drinks it. It tastes like dirty water on his vampiric tongue, but he loves the smell and the warmth. One day you bring him a cup of tea and urge him to try it.

“This one will be different, I promise.” You say, and you smile at him so sweetly it’s impossible to refuse.

He quirks a brow but obliges. One small sip reveals that this tea is palatable… in fact, it’s actually enjoyable.

“What’s in this? Better not be a sore attempt at poisoning me.” He murmurs with a playful smirk before taking another long sip of the warm liquid.

You grin and show him your finger, where the smallest pinprick can be seen.

Blood. Of course.

His face feels hot, like patches of warmth are spreading across his cheeks. It must be the tea.

“Clever pup,” He chuckles, “I— thank you.”

*

One day you’re simply walking by him in camp, returning from a quick foraging trip in the woods. He’s perched upon a stool, reading a book, and drinking the remnants of his morning tea you’d brought to him just over an hour ago.

It’s a lovely little treat every morning. He’s secretly delighted every time you bring it by.

You pause and smile, “Enjoying your book?”

He hums a soft yes and dog ears the page before clasping it shut to acknowledge you.

“Quite, darling. And you? Enjoying your… digging in the mud?” He asks, cocking his head just slightly as he examines the small basket of potatoes you’d procured from the earth.

“It’s not so bad,” You laugh, and then your eyes flicker to his book, “Oh, I almost forgot.”

You rustle through your bag and withdraw a thin strip of burgundy fabric, offering it to him.

Astarion takes the gift. It’s a bookmark. There’s a delicate letter A stitched in gold thread at the top of the small trinket. He’d spent a few hours last week showing you how to sew and embroider little details.

“I noticed you always fold the corners of the pages, and Gale is always grumbling about it when you return his books, so…” You shrug and smile again, “Plus, it’s a small thank you. For the sewing lessons.”

His face feels hot again. It must be the tea. Again.

“Ah, yes. I shall be sure to use it now, then. Don’t want to risk angering the wizard and getting us all blown up!” He jokes as he places the bookmark atop his book, mostly as an excuse to break away from your gaze, which is causing him to feel flustered. He doesn’t know why.

You laugh softly and step closer to him, “It’s not as good as your work.”

You absentmindedly take his hand and turn it, revealing the inner sleeve of his shirt. Your fingers trace along the cuff, admiring a piece of his own embroidery he’d done a few days ago.

“I saw you stitched these little flowers on your shirt the other day. Can you show me how to do that?” You ask, bringing your eyes back up to meet his.

He swallows. Your hand is still resting upon his wrist.

“O-of course, darling. Anytime.” He responds, still thrown. How had you noticed that? His skin tingles from where your fingers had grazed against him.

But it isn’t a bad sensation. He quite liked it, actually.

You grin and then hoist your basket back up before bidding goodbye and walking over to show Gale your harvest. Astarion is left befuddled and simply staring as you walk away.

*

That same night you’re by the campfire, and Astarion is showing you how to stitch small flowers on a scrap of cloth. You’re leaning over his shoulder, watching his work intently. The proximity is making his fingers fumble more than they usually would, but you don’t seem to notice.

“You filed your nails today,” You remark, absently, as you watch his skilled fingers work their creative magic.

He blinks and pauses mid-stitch.

His nails? You noticed the length of his nails?

“I wasn’t aware they were so obscenely long that it would be so obvious.” He responds, his nose wrinkling just slightly. Perhaps his standards of cleanliness and appearance had fallen in the wilds.

“Oh, it’s not that,” You reply, your tone almost dreamy as you continue to observe the rogue, “I just look at your hands a lot.”

Astarion’s finger slips and he pierces himself with the needle. He winces slightly as he withdraws the sliver from his hand.

“I— what?” He asks, pausing his work to assess you with wide, blinking eyes.

You hadn’t meant to say that last part aloud. You’d been entranced and disarmed by the steady rhythm of his hands and the smell of Astarion’s freshly washed skin.

He’d started a new bar of soap today. You could tell because he smelled different when he returned from the river. You’d complimented the new fragrance and he’d stared at you for a moment too long, eyebrows furrowed. You worried you’d somehow offended him. And then he laughed and made some innuendo-filled joke about cleanliness being next to godliness.

He’s waiting for you to respond, the metal sliver of a needle held at rest between his thumb and forefinger.

“I…” You start, and you feel a blush creep across your face, “You have pretty hands.”

You finish the statement lamely and with a small shrug.

One, two, three beats of silence.

Astarion’s scarlet eyes are staring into your own; he’s thinking… deeply.

Before you process what’s happening, the rogue has already abandoned his project in the dirt and brought both his hands to cup your face, plunging forward to press a kiss against your lips. His tongue slides into your mouth, urgently dancing against your own.

You two hadn’t been physical since the night of the Tiefling party. He hadn’t propositioned you again, and you were far too nervous to attempt propositioning him. You are entirely caught off guard by his advances but eagerly receive his affections anyway.

When Astarion finally breaks away from you, his face is hot. He knows it isn’t the tea this time.

He wants to show you what else he can do with his pretty hands.

[nyashykyunnie]

˗ˏˋ Self Aware Sylus vs Jinwoo x Fem! Reader ◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡ ˎˊ˗

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚𝕆𝕟𝕪𝕔𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕦𝕤 𝕃𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕣 𝕊𝕪𝕝𝕦𝕤˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

‼️[ TW: stalking, obsession, yandere Sylus au ]

・┆✦ Entry : 041 ✦ ┆・

╰┈➤ ❝ [ So You Think You Are the Darkness? ] ¡! ❞

Sylus was enjoying himself a glass of wine after fixing up his new toy before suddenly feeling a sharp pain originate from the back of his head. He groaned, gripping his silver hair and stumbling before ultimately being plunged into total darkness.

The next time he opened his eyes, he found himself in an unfamiliar chair, plopped down with legs crossed on a white chair spouting nonesense he didnt want to say.

A flash of white would appear, and Sylus finds himself standing up towards a large screen in front of him. His body was moving on it's own, smirking, flashing a mischievous glint in his eyes, his eyebrows cocked up curiously as he once again spouted whatever.

Beyond that large screen in front of him is a person he is not familiar with,... Wait, why are you smirking?

Is there something so funny about his face? What is that stupid grin on your lips? What the hell?

Sylus's brain ringed as he hears your voice squeal in his head, watching your features contort into a lovely smile. He can tell you were kicking your feet and rolling on the bed like some sort of 13 year old girl having her first ever crush.

He snarls, clicking his tongue as he attempted to move— But nothing ame of his efforts.

The man elt like he was a hollow doll being puppeteered by some strings.

Oh and he hated that feeling.

The feeling of being underneath someone, the disgust he feels as he has to spout out words he doesnt ever want to say. Not to mention he is forced to stand like an awkward sack of potatoes as you tap and stroke around—

....

Did you Just?...

No way.

Sylus wanted to die right then and there.

You did not just rub his big fella.

You. Did. Not.

He felt like dying, he really did as he feels the gentle strokes— God.

He, the almighty lord of the N109 zone, the king who rules Onychinus at his fingertips, he who controls unimaginable power— Is helplessly screaming inside his head as he is humiliated over and over by having to stand still and look pretty as this wild person he doesn't even know poked at the trophy of his masculinity.

Was this punishment?

What has he ever done to offend the gods?

He cant even bring a finger up to flip off the person, or to even yell.

Sylus screamed out profanities in his head, wanting to so badly to just drop dead and disappear. If Luke and Kieran heard of this, he bets his soul to the devil they will never shut up about it.

He had to endure this torture for a number of days, but instead of resenting you more and more— He slowly found himself growing fond of you.

Turns out, hanging out in a sea of code is way more boring than whatever he does back home. Seeing you however? That was a different story.

At first, he found your admiration stupid and shallow. But as he sees the way you excitedly light up whenever he appears and working oh so hard to level up his affinity— Perhaps it tugged in his heartstrings

Just a little really.

Slowly, you were starting to grow cute in his eyes— Minus the fact you keep making rookie mistakes that send him over the edge facepalming at the mistakes.

But hey, at least you're trying.

...Hahah.

What?

He's atleast giving you credit for something, no?

Heh.

The fact that he is a game character didn't seem to bother Sylus at all. It was rather amusing even, the fact the he himself is just a product of someone's imagination in a different world is quite frankly a curious thing.

He could tell with how healthy and happy you are that wanderers do not exist in this world of yours.

Sylus could tell that in your world, you aren;t concerned of surviving the next day and calculating the people around you— Rather, you spend most of your time plucking your hair out over studies while he himself is sat down and cleaning a gun.

This game at least give shim something comfortable to do despite the fact that he has no control over his body in any shape or form.

The more time passes, the more Sylus started to see the errors in the system.

And nothing hurts to have a little... Fun.

He hacked into your phone system succesfully, roaming about and curiously poking here and there.

You awfully consume a lot of media pertaining to him. Sylus would only cock up an eyebrow and shake his head before stalking around a little more until—

...

"Who is this?" Sylus's voice grew a little annoyed as he saw the album containing another man.

The man was tall, not taller than him of course— Dressed in black, an asian guy who appears to be like a grim reaper with the way he carries himself. At least 3000 pictures of this same guy over and over in a single album, hundred times more than your album of him,

Sylus click his tongue and furiously started researching.

Ah.

His name is Jinwoo.

What a fascinating fellow.

Some fancy titles he has, the shadow monarch, the tenth s-ranker of south korea, the strongest hunter, and quite the charming powers. An ability over the undead?

It made him feel fury.

Oh he's so glad this bastard is just another fictional character just as himself in your little world.

Sylus disliked every bit of it, the fact that he shares a space in your heart with that lousy man.

Sure, he's impressive and all.

But oh darling he can do much,... Much more for you.

You think such a pathetic man is worthy of your affections? Darling he's all your.

Sweetie, why are you being so ridiculous about this?

No.

He cannot allow it.

That space in your delicate heart must only be his.

He must be the only person in this precious heart of yours, kitten.

⋅ ˚ ₊ ‧ ଳ ‧ ₊ ˚ ⋅ ⋆ ౨ৎ ˚ ⟡ ˖ ࣪

It was a long day of university, your head is throbbing and your legs are about to give out. Walking all day has placed a number on your poor body and you wanted nothing more than to laze around and admire your men.

Sylus had been taking over your time so you decided to compensate your other hubby and reread Solo Leveling.

It's been a while after all, surely there are more panels to screenshot despite the fact that you already have hundreds of pictures of that oh-so-wonderful man.

So you open the app and—

...

Pitch Black.

Your phone just shut off out of nowhere?

You panic, holding the power button and smacking it around. Even tried to reach for the charger until you scream and drop your phone to the floor.

Inside your phone was a wide, bloodshot red eye like a crimson moon.

You stumble on your feet, falling down on the floor as you scrambled away from the device.

This cant be happening, right?

This is just a dream, isn't it?

No.

No.

No.

"Awe, kitten, are you scared?"

A familiar voice break through the silence, your head darting around to find the source but to no avail— The fact that you cant see anything made you all the more frightened.

You tremble, hyperventilating as your heart hammered against your chest.

"Now, now, sweetie" A low rumble hums in the air, "You'll get a heart attack if you continue like that, kitten. I can't have that."

Footsteps would start echoing on the floor, making you all the more frightened as you sobbed frantically.

"Mn, how cute."

You feel a hand roughly grab your chin, yanking it in front of you where a pair of crimson red eyes glowed and a face appearing.

Silver hair dancing in the air, illuminated by the blood moon outside the window. Black, and a neatly tailored suit over his shoulders.

Sylus.

"There, we go, kitten." Sylus hums, smirking coyly as he sees your flabbergasted expression. "I'm much, much more handsome up close, aren't I?"

His free hand teases your inner wrist; making you shiver in reponse, sliding it up sensously before ultimately intertwining your fingers. His palms were much much more larger than yours. Warm even.

"So cute," He whispers, before leaning down and capturing your lips in a blazing kiss.

It felt like your throat was on fire as Sylus prevented you from gasping for any air.

The more you struggled, the more your conciousness started slipping away.

And the next thing you knew— You were being dragged into the abyss.

⋅ ˚ ₊ ‧ ଳ ‧ ₊ ˚ ⋅ ⋆ ౨ৎ ˚ ⟡ ˖ ࣪

You wake up, groaning as you tousled over, your body aching and heavy.

"Sweetie, you woke up so early" A deep voice says, and you look up to find Sylus dressed in his robes— His chest and abdomen open for you to see. "Your body is still adjusting to your new reality, kitten. Sleep more."

He sat on the edge of the bed, amused red orbs gleaming as he lightly pushes you down on his sheets and pulls the blanket over your chest.

"There's a good girl," Sylus praises you, leaning down to kiss your forehead as a reward. "Don't worry, my sweet angel, all you need to do is sit still and look pretty. I'll take care of the rest.

꒰ 🪼 A/N: Call me the speedrun master<33. Yw @sylusjinwoon I fr had a field day making a fic abt your hubby teehhee<33. Grampa is so silly I just wanna kick him on his gyatt all day xD!! Pretty fun writing for him ngl. It's amusing<3!! I hope I did ur man justice bestie and that u enjoy this silly impulsive fic hahah!!! Now time to crawl back to my hubby wubby Zayne and Jinwoonie ꒱

ʚ(੭´͈ ᐜ `͈)੭ .｡✧･ﾟ: ~♡ —! stories written by kyunnie; translations, reposts, plagiarism are strictly forbidden.

[idesofrevolution]

Father

Dad had been acting strange for quite some time. Honestly, it wasn't that noticeable in the beginning, which I suppose made it difficult to pinpoint when things started to change. I only started to notice maybe seven months or so ago after he turned down the daily Budweiser. Patrick O'Shaughnessy turning down his biggest vice? I knew something was off right then and there as he sat there, smiling at me from his armchair with the game on in the background: red flag number two, my stepfather had NEVER been a sports guy. Binging Fox News while fingering pudding cups, sure; but actually knowing what was happening in a football game?

I'd originally thought he'd perhaps found a side girl to cheat on my mom with. It was far from outside of his character to do something like that, if he'd ever be able to get his nasty ass out of the recliner for ten fucking minutes... He'd gotten too comfortable in his laziness. When my mom married him a year ago, he was already a piece of shit lardass who refused to do a single thing around the house, refused to work a normal job (he was waiting for a management position apparently), and above all refused to acknowledge me whatsoever. He was rude, crass, could never even so much as break a smile at me. And there, in that moment as his eyes made contact with mine and his lips curled into a smile, I knew something was wrong.

"What, no beer burps for me today?" I scowled at him, raising my eyebrow in a malicious curiosity.

"Nahh little man, I'm trying to cut down." Little man? He'd never gotten my name right let alone given me a nickname... We did not have that kind of relationship, at least one that would have an affectionate nickname for one another. "Say, I'm hittin' the gym in a couple minutes. Whaddya say you come along?"

"You're... you're going to the gym? Really?" I sat there slackjawed. Something was indeed off. What it was, I couldn't exactly tell. Nothing outside of his UberEats order would ever get Patrick out of the chair. He laughed at me, gripping his sizeable paunch beneath his stained tee shirt.

"You bet, bud. High time I set an example for my boy. How's he gonna respect a couch potato loser? You should come along. Nothin' like a father and son spending time together, especially in the gym. Get the boys lookin', right?" He stood up from his chair, grabbing his keys off the kitchen countertop as he headed toward his car. I, on the other hand, stood there with tunnel vision. Patrick was not the most supportive parent when it came to... well, anything. But the biggest bone of contention was me coming out to them last year. It was the biggest hullabaloo, Oscar worthy. Thrown glasses, flipped chairs, disownment, threats of eviction... the only thing that kept me in the house was my mother putting her foot down. It wasn't a big deal for her, but for him... I was the biggest embarrassment on the planet. What would Tucker Carlson think?

Yet as I stood there, staring at the cigarette-stained wall, my brain couldn't process what I'd just heard. 'Get the boys lookin' he said... As if he were trying to play wing man for me... What the fuck was happening? My heart fluttered the moment his words sank in, that was pride. It was something neither my father nor my stepdad ever had the courtesy of giving me. My walls were up, and I was beyond skeptical, so for my own peace of mind I had decided then and there to investigate.

From that day on, the moment I came home from school, I was spying. While most of my friends were trying to enjoy their senior year, going to parties or getting ready for college, I was at home peering behind corners at my stepfather. Over the first few months I watched with complete disbelief at the changes. Every single day, I'd come home, and he'd be on his way out to the gym. The normal scowl he'd gift me upon my entry was replaced with jovial smiles and hair ruffling as he schlepped his gym bag over his shoulder out the door. He'd be gone for two or three hours at least, and come home just before dinner dripping in buckets of sweat. I'd begun to avoid driving his car, as the stink of his sweat had completely inundated the fabric of the seats. He'd toss his bag on the floor by my book bag (gross), and plop down at the dinner table where he would ask genuinely about my day or sweetly flirt with my mom while winking at me. I still wasn't convinced. He kept asking me nearly every day if I'd come to the gym with him, if we could go shoot hoops at the park across the street, or if I'd play FIFA with him. Each time I'd shoot him down, he'd have a momentary break in that happy facade of his, as if it were hurting him I wasn't spending time with him.

Within five months or so, he was nearly unrecognizable. I guess protein shakes & a low carb diet really works on a guy: he'd lost nearly 70 pounds and gained about 20 in muscle alone. He'd struck up friendships with my school's wrestling coach and a couple of the neighbors, and we were finding ourselves invited to barbecues and block parties for the first time. I had to endure little hallway chats with Coach Weston about joining the wrestling team, as he was in talks with the school district about bringing my stepdad on as assistant coach. It was bizarre to me for many reasons, but one stood out above all: Patrick was never a wrestler. Not in college, not in high school, my mom even confirmed it one night at dinner. He'd brush it off as if it were something fun he were doing with 'Dane', which in and of itself was weird to hear the coach's first name used at all at home.

Sleep was getting difficult. My mind ran at a thousand miles an hour, but now he and mom had begun to fuck like rabbits. Loud, hard sex almost every other night with their bed slamming against my bedroom wall for hours. Mom of course was radiant at that point. The years of one piece of shit husband being a complete and total asshole, replaced by another piece of shit husband treating her like garbage melted away in the course of a couple of months of Patrick being a strangely brilliant partner. He'd started to cook us meals, he'd started to do the yardwork, he'd even fixed things around the house that had been broken for years. Sure, the sex seemed to help, but as she would say: "He's lessened my load so much, Jonas. I wish you'd give him a chance."

Sure, he was treating my mom well and that was a good enough reason for me to like him. Was it enough to trust him? No. I'd still turn down every single request to spend time alone with him. No gym. No basketball court. No gaming. Though, in one single concession for my mom's sake, I begrudgingly agreed to let him drive me to school in the morning. That one decision is what truly changed my life forever. I went to bed that night, putting on my earbuds to drown out their disgusting sex in the next room, less than eager for the fifteen minute drive the next day.

Thus, on that warm April day, my morning began as normal. Shower, dress, drink my morning smoothie, grab my bag, and walk out the door. It wasn't long before I was greeted by his chipper, dim witted voice shattering my peaceful morning.

"Ayy little man!" I sighed, turning toward the garage, where there he stood: shirtless and dripping sweat from his chiseled body. As a gay guy, I have to admit, it was hard not to stare. He had become quite a sight to behold. The other moms in the neighborhood certainly would sit and stare at him on his morning runs, even a couple of the dads as well, and now I sat there oogling the ripped, gleaming body he'd built.

"Hey, Patrick. Do you need to shower? I have to get going, but I can catch the bus if there's not enough time?" In my head, I was praying to God that he'd just hop in the shower he never seemed to take and I could go on my merry way. Though, no such luck.

"Nah, man! It's all good. I promised you I'd take you to school, so hop in the car!" I sighed, turning to his 1998 Mustang with a shiver cascading down my spine.

"Sure, Patrick." I dragged my feet headed toward his car. Opening the door, the humid, musky air within poured out of the car, punching me in the face with his scent. Imagine a noxious waft of butter, blue cheese, saltwater, and feet just drowning you. That was the stink that swamped his car, and him for that matter. I took one final breath of fresh air before I sat in the car and closed the door. He wasn't far behind, not even bothering to put a shirt on as he hopped in beside me.

"Alright! Let's get goin' bud!" He turned the key and the car roared to life. I sighed, thankful it was only fifteen minutes. As we pulled out of the driveway and onto the street, I turned on the radio, hoping to dissuade him from making some puerile small talk. We sat there in silence for a moment, before hitting the main road. "You know what, bud?" He turned to me, looking me up and down before rolling up the windows and turning off the radio. "Ahhh fuck it. We're playing hooky today."

"Wait, what?" I had no time to protest, before he turned onto the main road, but in the opposite direction from the school. "Patrick, I'm not playing hooky. I have to go to school." He laughed, ruffling my hair yet again.

"You gotta stop callin' me Patrick, Jonas. I don't have to be dad if you don't want, but Patrick is so... not me. Just call me Pat."

"Okay, PAT. I'm going to school." He turned to me, and his smile faded, letting out a solid sigh that would put mine to shame. He pulled over onto the shoulder, and put the car in park.

"Listen. I know you don't like me. I know you don't trust me, and I get it. I made a lot of changes to him very quickly, and it's hard to keep up." Him? Why did he say it like that? "I'd been watching you just suffer endlessly for years, man. All the time. I just wanted you to have a good role model for once. A man you could lean on, and not some shitty lard who talks bad to ya."

"What the fuck are you on about?" My patience had worn too thin for my calm veneer to bear. He turned the key, and the engine quickly died.

"C'mon bro. You know something's different about him, right? I know you've been watchin' me like a hawk. Think I haven't noticed you watchin' me from around the hall corner? You think I don't know you're creepin' while I beat one out huffin' my strap? I know, dude. I've always known. C'mon, man." Pat threw his hands in the air in frustration, the first time since his attitude adjustment that I'd seen anything like it. But, this was different. It wasn't rage, it was exasperation.

"Okay, Pat. So you saw me watching you. Can you please tell me what the fuck is going on now?" He slowly rested his sweaty head against the headrest, and sighed. Then, a chuckle. Then another, until he was full on laughing. "What!?"

"Ahhh, man. I never thought I'd see the day you'd man up and come to. Yeah, Jonas. I can tell you what the fuck is going on." I sat back, confounded- even more so than before. "My name was Matt Wilde. Way back in the day, I used to wrestle for Palm Heights High. Was pretty damn good at it too, but one day I got pinned just a little too hard and poof."

"Matt Laurent? What the fuck are you talking about, Pat? Are you high?" His dumb laugh threw him back in the seat.

"Nah, I finished that joint earlier, man. Stone sober now. But, safe to say for the past 50 years I've been just hoppin' body to body. Started with a couple of my teammates just so I could finish out the years, wrestle a bit more. Got bored, hung around the gym, in and out of some lug heads. Did a stint in some Libertines, that was fun as fuck. But man, I saw you sulkin' around the school for the past three years and thought, damn that kid looks sad. So, I may have eavesdropped a bit, maybe caught a bit about your dead beat, piece of shit dad; then right after he ditches, Mom lands this fuckin' winner." He slapped his chest, little droplets of his sweat landing on my bewildered face. "Oh shit, my bad." I sat there, slackjawed, completely disoriented as he dumbly wiped his sweat off my nose and cheek.

"You... you're dead?" He snapped his fingers, winking and smirking at me.

"Bingo, bud. Right on the money. I was like, I'm in a very unique situation here to fuckin' do something this. So, I slipped into this dumbass and just stuck around. Did the work. Tried, emphasis on TRIED, to be like the Dad I had and that you deserve, ya know? Haven't made it fuckin' easy, but... ahhh. That's parenthood, am I right?" I scoffed, he must have taken some damn good drugs. I was convinced. There was no way!

"Okay, then. MATT. So, if you're some dead jock bro possessing Pat, where the fuck is he?" He pondered for a moment in silence, shrugging his shoulders.

"I think he's gone, bro. I haven't stayed in a dude this long, I used to hear him bitchin' and moanin' all the time, but he went silent a couple of weeks ago." Fuck, I wish that were true. I had to admit, even if only in my mind, this Matt-Patrick was lightyears better than Patrick Patrick. Sure, he was dumb, he was every stereotype dudebro in the book, he smelled like he bathed in sweat baths... But, for the first time in my life, he wanted to be around me. He wanted to spend time with me. He made an effort. He... liked me. The mental gymnastics needed to make sense of the situation was growing too monumental to comprehend, but in that moment as he sat there with his dumb fucking grin on his face as if I was going to just completely buy it, I started to hope it was true.

"So, what now, Matt? Are you just gonna keep fucking my mom and prentending to be my Dad for the rest of your life? Or are you gonna hop out and ditch us?" He raised his eyebrow in genuine confusion.

"I mean, yeah that was the plan. One, your mom is fuckin' hot and she's better than any girl I've ever been with. Two, I kinda like our little family. Three, I ain't ditchin' ya, bro. You had enough of that shit for one lifetime. Besides, I gotta get you to chill the fuck out one way or another, so I was hoping we could give it a shot. Like I've been beggin' man." 'Matt' put his hands together as if praying, pleading to me. I suppose it wouldn't be the worst thing. It's better than coming home every day to spy on him, and it's way better than being the sad wallflower all the fucking time. Besides, those dumb fucking puppy dog eyes...

"You know what? Sure, Matt. What did you have in mind?" I could barely finish my sentence before he'd twisted the key and slammed on the gas. The man drove like a bat out of hell through town, hooting and hollering in victory as if he'd won a match.

"Hell fuckin' yeah, man! Dude we're gonna be so tight, it's gonna be awesome. You're gonna be so fuckin' sexy, the dudes are gonna be on their knees by the time we're done! Slobberin' on that dick like SLURPEDY SLURP! WOO!" So fuckin' dumb. Dumb as a box of rocks. But I couldn't help but crack a smile as he swerved left and right, shouting at the top of his lungs. "Let's get you sweatin' man. We can get you pumpin' iron, playin' ball... I'm burning everything you got in your closet, bro. Nobody wants polos and button ups, man. Gettin' you some J's, some good jocks. Oh, how do you feel about chains?"

"Matt, dude. I'm not like you. That's all well and good for you, but I can't pull that shit off..." He slammed on the brakes and a cavalcade of horns from behind us rang out like a brass band. Matt whipped his gaze to me in shock.

"Don't say that, bro! You could be a bona fide stud! Look at you, man!" A couple of hard slaps against my bony chest and a harsh wheeze later, perhaps it sank in a bit. "Aight, well we have some work to do. I mean, if you're up for it." He smirked at me, lifting up those massive arms and flexing. His veins bulged from his massive bicep, the wet hairs in his ripe pits wafted that pungent scent I'd regrettably started to secretly love... Yeah, maybe I did want it.

"I don't know how, man. If I were like you, I bet I could." As if a cartoon lightbulb flickered to life above his head, I saw the spark of inspiration hit him like a sack of bricks. That stupid smirk grew into a wide, toothy grin.

"Aight, bro. Haven't tried this before, but I'll give it a go." He clapped his hands together, rubbing them gently. "I saw Jimmy Morales do this once when he needed a spotter. Gotta ask, though. You trust me, right?" I sat there and wondered if I did. I'd pretended up until this point that I believed every word that had come out of his mouth. This insane, psychotic story. It was nuts. It was crazy. But that little voice in the back of my head, deep down in the dark recesses of my brain decided to finally speak up.

"Yeah, Matt. I trust you."

"ALRIGHT! Fuck yeah, man. Oh shit, this is gonna be great! Okay, so don't freak out, just trust me and let it happen, okay? It doesn't hurt, the dudes usually bust a nut after it's all over." I heard a squelching rumble from in his stomach: wet, guttural, as if he were getting ready to vomit. Which became more and more likely as I saw a lump start to make it's way up his throat.

"Matt..." His body began to shudder and quake, his veins bulging and head thrashing from side to side. Then, from between his lips, a glowing blue vapor began to slip out. It was tiny at first, a little tail whipping about, before more and more of it started to bellow out of his mouth. Slick, bulbous, translucent. I had mere seconds of watching it slither out before it darted right into my own slack jaw. It squirmed as it wriggled from his body into mine, slurping deep into my bulging stomach. The feeling of fullness overtook me, watching more and more of the rubbery thing enter me, squeezing into every available inch within me, and he was right: it felt good. It felt like an eternity, but in reality it was just moments. The last of suctioned into me, and the world went black.

---

I woke the next morning in my bed. Shooting straight upright in a puddle of sweat. I rubbed my hands on my face, running my fingers through my drenched hair. What a fuckin' dream. I groaned as doubled over in pain. I felt like I was hit by a train. Everything hurt, a soreness unlike anything I'd ever experienced before radiated from every fiber of my being. Then, a soft caress of the nostril. Salty, buttery, funky... I raised my arm, finding the culprit immediately.

"Fuck!" I spat out, before taking a deep breath, another hit. "Fuuuuck..." Another inhale, a familiar stink, a comforting stink. What started as gentle whiffs quickly turned into full on huffing. I buried my nose in my pit, letting the wet jungle lather my face in my own sweat.

"Morning, bro. Good shit, ain't it?" The words echoed in my head, a soft, rippling little voice from within my brain. I should have been alarmed, terrified, even. But no, the words felt like gospel to me. "We really went to town yesterday, man. I had you liftin' like an Olympian. Take it easy. Here, I'll be right there, I got just the thing for it!" My hands started to drift southward, beneath the waistband of the teal sweats I didn't own... Were they... Pats? The door to my room burst open mid-huff, and in walked the hulking tower himself with a tray in hand.

"Goooood Morning, Kiddo! I made ya a protein shake, good recovery breakfast after a workout sesh like we had! Oh, your Mom made eggs!" He walked over to the side of my bed, kicking the Jordans I'd borrowed from him to the side. Wait, when did I do that? "Eat up, champ. Those 'ceps aren't gonna feed themselves!" Slamming the tray down onto my thighs, I let out a groan of pain.

"Pat? Dude, I had the weirdest dream." Dude? I never say dude. I cupped my hand, slick with sweat and pre over my mouth, aghast at the words coming out of my mouth. Pat smiled, grabbing the shake and handing it to me. "Drink up, my dude. For real, you're gonna be in a world of hurt otherwise." The voice boomed in my head, HIS voice. But his lips hadn't moved an inch. "Pat..." I ripped the sheets off of me, sure enough, I was sporting his nasty sweatpants & drenched socks. Cupping my manhood was most definitely his grimy jockstrap. "Hey, if we were gonna have the best workout, I had to be comfortable, bro! I knew you'd get it, though." I looked at him, a tight lipped smile, as if he were proving to me he weren't talking to me. "Feels good, right! I told ya! Just think, bro. With a half of me in there, you're gonna be unstoppable." I smiled. A genuine fuckin' smile, for the first time in as long as I could remember. I watched as my hand gripped the shake, bringing it to my lips of it's own accord. Downing the vanilla shake, our eyes met, and I understood completely. Matt winked at me, ruffling my hair, and sauntered back out of the door.

I leaned back in my bed, throwing my arm behind my head. The musk drifting from my pits and feet, identical to my dad's. Smirking, I let my fingers drift down to my growing meat in its slimy pouch, knowing fully well that I was in damn fine hands.

---

So that brings us to today, I guess! One year to the day. One full year since I finally let Dad in. 'Pat' sure did join the wrestling team as assistant coach, bringing his son in tow, eager to finish my senior year with at least a title. Thanks to him, I made varsity after the first fuckin' tryout. Can't say it was all me, all the time, but after a while it was. Honestly, it all started to blend together. Me at the wheel, him at the wheel, soon it sort of blurred and it was just me. That last semester was the best of my whole fucking life. Parties, bodybuilding, skating with the boys, fuckin' the boys... Shit, it was the time of my fuckin' life.

And after every day at school, or at least after every post-practice locker room blow job, I couldn't wait to get home and smash some Call of Duty with the old man. Mom would always come in, making comments on how we seemed as if I'd become a mini-Pat. Finishing eachother's sentences, drinking the same beer, wearing the same kind of clothes... she'd always put our sneaks outside the garage door, "they even stank the same." Little did she know just how much of the same person we really were.

I've decided to stick around the house for a year or so before maybe headed to college. I don't know, family is here, friends are here, Coach Weston should be retiring in a year or two... so there should be an opening for a new assistant coach on the wrestling team. Besides, I may have landed quite the catch in the boyfriend department, and I really want him to meet my dad, I have a feeling they'll get along just fine.

[jester-lover]

Reverse of the ask where TWST bois pick the reader up: Reader is surprisingly strong and scoops *them* up.

I think the bigger the dude, the funnier, but Riddle’s reaction would be hilarious to me as well.

Somewhere in the distance, Ashton Vargas just found his new favorite student…

OG Post! Something similar for the Jack fans!

Buff Girlfriend Casually Lifting Them

Featuring! - Riddle, Jack, Malleus, Sebek

CWs/ Fem! Reader, fluff, humor

Riddle

“Unhand me at once!”

Riddle is shocked, appalled, and redder than a strawberry the second he feels you hook your hands under his knees and neck and pick him up like a bride. His hands immediately flail around and land around your shoulders, increasing his embarrassment tenfold.

His demands quiet down once the shock of the situation soaks in. His girlfriend is lifting him up and carrying him around like he weighs nothing. He has always been aware that you’re physically strong, but he didn’t know you were this strong!

Riddle usually won’t like being carried, but on the rare occasion, after a long day of school and his duties, he’ll ask for a piggyback ride back to his room. He’ll use a very standoffish tone while asking, but the way that he presses his head against the back of your shoulder lets you know he likes it.

Jack

He is so flabbergasted. Jack is in shock.

While he is aware that you’re into fitness—maybe the two of you even train together—he never knew you were this swole.

Jack is blushing; if you look close enough, his hands are shaking. He’s just realized he’s found the ideal woman for him—kind, gentle, who could break him in half like a pixie stick…

Bragging isn’t in his principles, but he might have to gloat a little bit with his track teammates when you’re literally running around with him thrown over your shoulder like a sack of potatoes. I mean, you’re not even exerting that much energy; he’s astounded!

Jack will (very quietly) ask for you to lift him again, just because he can’t believe it and he needs confirmation that he didn’t just make up the situation in his brain.

“Wanna join me for my morning run? It’ll be good cardio.”

Malleus

He’s getting the princess treatment. Very happy to know he’s your favorite lizard.

Since Malleus is very tall and imposing, he’s not used to such blatant displays of affection.

Having a physically stronger girlfriend would be a point of great pride for Malleus, particularly if you were a human, because then your strength would have been something you'd worked hard on. Something you’ve earned.

Being carried around is no problem for him; he may laugh a little at your strange human whimsy, but he happily agrees to being carried about at any time.

By any time, I mean any time. You could pick him up in the middle of a crowded campus hallway, and he’d just wrap his arms around you, place his head on your shoulder, and let you lead the way.

“Child of Man, be sure to drop me off at my alchemy class; perhaps I’ll let you pick me up and take me to Spelldrive Practice afterwords…”

Sebek

“How dare you, human!”

Sebek is appalled at the absolute gall you’ve got to have to do something so unabashedly romantic; don’t you see he’s too repressed for something so affectionate?

His face turns so red, and he tries to shake out of your ridiculously strong vice grip. Once he leaps off of you, get ready for an hour-long lecture. Sebek is shaking in his boots, explaining to you how inappropriate your actions were and how if you wanted his attention, there were better methods.

Midway through, he kind of realizes how hot it was that you were literally able to pick him up and carry him away like it was no problem, which makes Sebek quieter than you’ve ever seen him before, contemplating his words.

He quietly asks you to pick him up again because he wants to test your human endurance! (Ignore the way his eyes lock in on your defined shoulders, okay?)

[dilatorywriting]

Pity Party

Gender Neutral Reader x Malleus Draconia Word Count: 3.3k

Summary: 'I'm going to do it,' you thought triumphantly. 'I'm going to invite Malleus Draconia to the next Unbirthday Party as my date.' And naturally, the Universe in all its infinite omnipotence, went 'lol bet.'

A/N: A very fun commission for the lovely @toast-tales

“Heartslaybul is having another one of their Unbirthday Parties this Friday,” you said, a bit stilted but enthusiastic nevertheless. “And I was thinking—well, it was just a thought! But! Maybe it’d be nice if we, y’know, went together?” You finished, looking up from beneath your lashes at the looming figure before you.

The Gargoyle, naturally, did not respond. A sound rejection if ever there was one.

But! That attempt had sounded really good, hadn’t it? Totally natural and everything! Not a single stutter, fainting episode, or bought of nervous vomiting to be seen!

“Okay,” you muttered, pacing back and forth as you diligently fought the urge to ring your hands. “Okay, okay, okay. I can do this. It’s just, like, two sentences—Three? Was that three?—Doesn’t matter! Focus! It’s not that hard!”

You circled and circled around the alcove. It was a familiar little corner, for all that you’d only ever seen it in the dark of the evening. This was where you’d meet up with Malleus for your nighttime rendezvous. Normally you didn’t bother popping by for at least another hour, but you needed all the practice you could get. And while, yes, the stone carvings overhead were hardly the best conversational partners, it was easier to practice your totally smooth pickup skills on their emotionless faces than, like, Grim. Or God forbid, Ace and Deuce. 

It was only Malleus, you reassured yourself yet again—your kindly, awkward, fey friend with the social awareness of a two-centuries-old potato. It was one thing to know, or at least assume, that he’d be sweet enough to take your offer in stride. It was another entirely to imagine the Briar Prince’s blank ass face saying something genuinely well-intentioned but harsh like ‘that doesn’t sound like a particularly riveting way to spend my afternoon,’ and immediately crushing your soul into itty bitty bite-sized pieces. It was an all too easy scene to picture, as you’d done at least a hundred times since your heart had set itself on its intentions.

You just—maybe just a bit more time. Yes. One more round of practice (perhaps two), and then you’d be ready. Like the Overblots, or whatever. Those hardly phased you at all anymore! It only took repetitive, mind rending, exposure therapy. That would do it. You just needed the teeniest bit more time to—

“Ah—Child of Man. I wasn’t expecting to see you here so earl—”

You jolted back with a truly heinous squawk and wheeled gracelessly into the stone pillar at your rear. You weren’t exactly a force of nature or anything, but the column hadn’t looked all that stable to begin with. So your frantic flailing took its toll, and the great, rock, beam creaked and fell. The Gargoyle perched atop it (the very one you’d been propositioning for the past half hour or so) crashed to the ground with an echoing BOOM and a cloud of debris fit to choke an elephant.

The poor thing lay in the dirt in pieces, its regal countenance split right down the middle. And Malleus Draconia, noted aficionado of all things carved from stone, looked two steps away from having an actual aneurism. So you hurriedly buried your invitation back in the depths of your brain and quickly went about carrying out the inanimate-object-equivalent of CPR.

“I think I have some super glue back in Ramshackle,” you offered. Even though you knew well enough that he could probably wave his hand and undo the entire thing. But it was the thought that counted, right?

“Supered Glue?” Malleus parroted, his neon eyes darting back and forth between you and the shattered gargoyle like you’d just offered him some mystical panacea. You nodded along and scuttled off in the direction of your dilapidated dorm.

‘Tomorrow,’ you promised yourself, as you rifled through your miscellaneous utilities drawer, tossing around rolls of tape and wads of too-thin elastic bands. ‘Tomorrow I’ll ask him.’

.

.

The next morning, you sat in Potion’s Class with the tacky remnants of last night’s nonsense dried along your fingertips. You sneezed and something ground unpleasantly behind your ear. You reached up to pluck a stray bit of gravel from your hair and flicked it aside.

Normally you tried to give Crewel’s lectures the entirety of your focus, primarily because you respected the man and wanted him to like you. And also, y’know, from the very rational standpoint of not wanting to lose your eyebrows or dignity when an incorrectly brewed potion exploded in your face. But today you were stuck in the clouds, replaying scenario after scenario and wondering what your next step in the whole ‘Ask The Crowned Prince of An Entire Nation Out to Lunch’ situation should be.

Your neck was itching again, and you scrubbed around mindlessly before pulling out another bit of gargoyle debris and tossing it. It bounced harmlessly off Jack’s shoulder.

“Did you get all that?” Your beastman friend asked, beginning the tedious process of organizing your group workstation for the day.

“Oh? Yes. Of course,” you nodded, not having heard a single word of what was going on. You grabbed your little instructions pamphlet for the day and made your way towards your own stool.

Jack turned and narrowed his yellow eyes at you in a way that clearly let you know that that superhuman schnoz of his had sniffed out your bullshit a mile away, but you generally had a better track record than the rest of the first years, so thankfully he let it slide.

Without further ado, you went about heating, and mixing, and tempering. And by the end, the pair of you had a lovely, silver, concoction that popped and fizzled like cola. Professor Crewel paused in his rounds of the rows to stare into your cauldron with an impassive sort of look that could have meant anything from ‘Content’ to ‘Outright Murder.’ Your eyes hastily flickered around the room, but everyone else’s potions looked liked Mercury Sprite too, so you couldn’t have been in too much trouble. You dipped the testing spoon into one of the bubbliest bits and brought it to your mouth to take a teeny sip. It tasted alright, and you smacked your lips as you tried to identify the flavor.

“Well?” The professor droned, crossing his arms over his chest in a fashion that looked entirely unimpressed. “How is it?”

You opened your mouth to reply and nothing came out but static. Literal static. Like you were some overloaded, old, plug—spitting sparks and whiny, high-pitched, nonsense that was most definitely an indication of some sort of fire risk.

Crewel hummed in that self-satisfied sort of way of his—the sort that was only mastered by those who were in the habit of being proven right during every, single, catastrophe.

“The Tickled Tongue recipe is fairly straightforward, you see,” he explained, stepping closer with a languid swishswish of his large overcoat. “It’s difficult to alter without any remarkable change or err. However,” he droned, “it is incredibly similar to the Stone Tongued Elixir. Do you know what the one, unique, ingredient in that brew is in comparison to our assigned project today, Prefect?”

You sighed fuzz.

“Stone,” he said, reaching out to pluck another bit of gravel from your hair.

Crewel brushed his hands against his vest and you debated if it’d be worth it to try jumping out of the window and escape while you still had at least some face.

“I’ve been kind enough to look the other way when you break curfew so that you may continue your… nightly excursions with a certain upperclassman,” he droned, and that open window was looking even more tempting. “But please at least give me the courtesy of cleaning up the evidence before attending my class in the mornings, yes?”

“Yes, sir,” you tried to say, but it just sounded like a busted landline.

.

.

“Hello, Child of Man,” Malleus beamed, his lips curling pleasantly at the corners. His usual trio were flanking his hind, all watching with varying degrees of interest that ranged from sharp curiosity (Lilia) to outright hostility (Sebek).  “Would you care to accompany me for lunch?”

You opened your mouth and all that came out was the fucking AOL dial tone.

Lilia doubled over laughing and Malleus tilted his head at you like a dog listening to a whistle tone.

“Pardon?” He blinked.

“BZZZZZZ,” you said, miserable, and Lilia just laughed harder.

.

.

‘Two days left,’ you reminded yourself miserably. You had just under forty-eight wretched hours to not only complete your initial Date Objective, but also somehow do that whole thing while making up for the ego-crushing failures of your first two failures.  

There was a Spelldrive match after classes today—another attempt for Leona to try and get one up on Malleus’s ‘Hall of Fame Worthy’ record before the pair of them aged out of the competition. And maybe that would be perfect! That was always sort of a Thing in teen movies, right? The big, heart wrenching, confession delivered on the field of whatever sport was in season. The fated couple lit all prettily beneath the glaring overhead lights and artfully drenched in a very timely shower of rain. This whole situation was practically writing itself.

So you tucked yourself into a warm, cozy, sweater fit for the breezy day and inevitable aesthetic downpour, and went to sit out in the stands. Which was your first mistake, because the match was being held on Savanaclaw’s practice field. So immediately you could feel sweat pooling along your lower back and along your brow as the magical, overhead, sunshine did its best to seer the flesh right off your bones. Malleus moved to step out onto the field and you went to wave at him enthusiastically, only to catch sight of the giant pit stains steeped into your stupid sweater. The dark spots opened up like the gaping maw on a beast, determined to derive its entire sustenance from your embarrassment alone. You clamped your arms back down to your sides and immediately began questioning the universe at large. Were you a murderer in a past life? Someone who scammed old ladies out of their pensions? What other reason could there be for the entire fucking cosmos to just perpetually go ‘hey, how about we make things worse.’

The game was probably going well or something, but you were swimming in so much swampy body heat at this point that you were starting to get dizzy.

With a sigh, you pulled the cute, wool, deathtrap over your head and tossed it aside—ruffling your sweat sticky hair for good measure to try and get some airflow going. It wasn’t the most dignified look or whatever, sitting there in only the thin cotton undershirt of your uniform and half drowned in your own secretions, but at least you weren’t in imminent danger of dying of heat stroke anymore. You leaned back on your elbows with another much more contented sigh and gave yourself a moment to let the last of that hot nausea settle.

“Oi! You horned bastard! Watch where you’re—”

There was a swirl of spitting green sparks and you looked back out onto the field just in time to get absolutely decimated by a Spelldrive disc to the face.

.

.

“He really didn’t mean it,” Lilia said, but he was laughing so hard into his fist that it was hard to make out anything beyond merry gurgling. “In fact, he’s really very upset about the whole thing.”

You stared blankly at the off-white walls of the infirmary, wondering how it was possible for one person’s luck to be this bad.

“Where is he?” you asked. Your tongue felt thick and sluggish.

“I don’t think he would appreciate me saying that he was off hiding—pouting, even,” the fey tutted, floating up to sit cross-legged at your eyelevel. “But I don’t believe there’s a much more accurate way of putting it.”

“Why would he be hiding?” you trudged forward again, mouth still entirely uncooperative. “I wanted to ask him something,” you admitted, chronically dejected and acutely brain damaged.

“Did you now?” Lilia grinned, something mischievous and far too knowing lighting his wine-red eyes.

You nodded. You could feel the tug of the bandages around your forehead.

“Well, I’ll ask that you be patient with him,” he sighed fondly, reaching out to pat your cheek. “For all his years, our Prince is still a bit stunted.”

“Oh, please! He’s six and a half feet tall!” you complained.

Lilia laughed again, doubling over in the air and doing a full roll about—like a pill bug.

“Oh, dear,” he snickered, wiping a tear from his eye as he straightened back out to lounge upside down by one of the rafters. “You do deserve each other.”

.

.

This was it. The final countdown. Friday.

The Unbirthday Party was this afternoon, and with God and the Heavens as your witness, you would be dragging Malleus Draconia there with you if it was the last thing you did.

‘The hardest part is supposed to be the rejection,’ you thought bitterly. ‘Not that crap leading up to it. This is bullshit. I want a refund.’

But no, if the Universe was going to be so cruel to you, then you were just going to have to be needlessly paranoid and prepared in advance. You set aside two spare sets of clothing and an umbrella. You packed an entire feast’s worth of provisions in case a fucking hole decided to open up in the ground or something and trap you in a cave for a week. You scribbled a little ‘Would you please go with me to the Unbirthday Party today’ on not one, or two, but three separate notes. Each in a different pocket. And laminated. And, perhaps most daring of all, you walked up to Ace and Deuce that morning with a stiff upper lip and an even stiffer spine.

“I’m going to ask Tsunotarou to come to the Unbirthday Party today,” you told them, fighting the urge to twist your hands into your jacket sleeves.

“What?” Ace choked, just as Deuce stepped in to clobber him over the back of the head and tell you very sweetly that he was sure that the House Warden would appreciate that very much.

“You must like him a lot,” your blue haired friend said, polite but clearly also at least a little unnerved.

“Yeah,” you sighed miserably, thinking of each and every horrible failure as the world at large fought your stupid affections at every turn. “I guess I do.”

So you went about your day like a soldier trudging through a warzone—always at the ready for something unknowable to fuck you over yet again. You looked twice around every corner, always let someone else walk through a doorway first, immediately spritzed Azul in the face with a spray bottle when he tried to start a conversation. It wasn’t paranoia when you knew the universe was out to get you.

The school day was coming to an end and so far you’d managed to avoid any catastrophes. When you caught sight Malleus off in the distance, you had to fight down the sudden swell of dueling panic and hope that blocked off your throat. You made eye contact with the fey prince from across the near empty corridor and he seemed to straighten. You took a deep breath and took one step forward, then another.

“Tsunotarou!” you called cheerfully. “I was wondering if you—”

“FIRE!” Crowley wailed, careening around the corner with all the urgency of someone who very much genuinely cared about the safety of their school and all its inhabitants. Which was outright ridiculous. His glowing, golden, eyes locked on you like you’d been the target of this caterwauling all along, and you wanted to scream. “Ah! My most darling and favorite of Prefects! You have to help! There’s a fire in—”

“No,” you snarled, like some great monster of old. And you watched the Headmaster pale beneath his bird mask. You reached out to pat his shoulder with a pleasantly threatening thump. thump. thump. “I’m sure you’ll find a way to sort it out on your own, sir. Have a lovely afternoon!”

And before you could chicken out, or something else could happen—like a tornado ripping the entire school up at its base and flinging you into Oz—you rushed forward and latched onto Malleus’s sleeve with a wide, panicked, sort of look in your eyes. Hisown eyes went round and wide, but he didn’t pull away, so step one complete.

“Please come to Heartslaybul’s Unbirthday Party with me!” You entreated. “As my date! With me! Together!” you word vomited, clutching at his sleeve even tighter.

“Oh,” Malleus breathed—those sharp, reptilian, pupils of his jumping into something soft and huge that swallowed the green of his irises in a sea of black. A pale, rose, pink crept along the tips of his pointed ears and you could feel your own cheeks blazing like a bonfire.

“Yup,” you nodded lamely, realizing you were still clutching his hand like a starving leper.

“Lilia had mentioned that you might…” he trailed off, gaze sliding to your fingers tangled beside his. “I hadn’t thought that—well…” He cleared his throat and stood to his full height with a puff that almost looked prideful. “Nevertheless,” he grinned, almost shy, and offered you his arm. “Shall we?”

You were going to die. Keel over. That would be the cosmos’s final strike against you. But though your heart beat like a rapid drum in your chest, you didn’t actually collapse in cardiac arrest. Your blood felt warm, but not with fever. It was… You’d actually done it!

You fought the urge to squeal and instead ducked excitedly against Malleus’s side with a secret little fist bump. His arm wound snuggly through yours and you were still too high on the thrill of victory to even consider being embarrassed about it.

“It may surprise you to know,” he said as you walked together towards the Queen of Heart’s Dormitory. “That I actually was attempting to ask something similar of you for this past week as well.”

“Really?” you gaped.

He nodded. “But it seemed as though fate itself was conspiring against me. The first evening went poorly, and then the next day you’d been cursed into silence. And you even ended up injured during one of my attempts.”

“The Spelldrive disc?” you blinked.

“Unfortunately,” Malleus sighed, leading you towards the familiar rose gardens. Which were lovely as always, and perfectly well painted for the afternoon’s festivities, and—

And… also on fire.

“Well what do you know…” you mumbled as you watched a furious Riddle chase a screeching Ace through the flaming fields. Trey had his head in his hands. Cater was filming the whole thing with an artful smear of ash drawn across his cheek.

Malleus made a low rumble of discontentment and you immediately swung the pair of you around to start heading back towards the Mirror Chamber.

“Not to worry!” you beamed, pointedly jostling the full picnic lunch in your bag. Sure, it hadn’t ended up being a gaping hole that had dragged you straight into the bowels of the abyss, but hey. Hellfire was hellfire. “I came prepared.”

“So did I,” Malleus smirked, the points of his canines peaking out of his lower lip. He twisted his fingers and the pair of you were surrounded in puffs of floating, sparkling, green lights.

And despite the Universe technically, yet again, having come out on top and flipped you and your date the proverbial middle finger, you couldn’t find it in yourself to be too upset at all.

.

.

[fic-heaven]

But you belong to me. (Graves x reader)

He was so annoying... And yet you craved his annoyance.

(graves never betrayed the 141 in here)

.

A whistle startles you when you were returning from the city to Alejandro's base, said man gives you a knowing look with a very noticeable hint of annoyance before he scapes with Rudy and you flip him the bird for leaving you behind to deal with-

"Lookin' good, gorgeous. I like tha' dress. It suits." Graves.

"Nice eye, American boy. Who are you? The fashion police? Here to admire my wardrobe?" You ask still a little confused as to how he spawned right next to you. Jesus, you'll have to burn this dress later... And apologize to Ale, he was the one who gifted it to you when he helped you pick something to impress a certain someone.

"Could be." Graves winks following your hurried steps with a small trot.

"Not with that haircut you ain'."

"You'll realize ma' hair won't matter much once I get to take off that pretty dress of yours and show ya what I've got in store."

You scoff and chuckle astonished. The Shadow commander never seemed to give up on his constant flirts, getting bolder and bolder with the passing time. Your banters with Graves have been quite frequent and very, very awkward. As much as you try to light them up with your wit, he screws it all with his broken humour and poor flirts which ends up in you feeling uncomfortable and your sass levels to increase but it never seemed to scare him off, it only tempted him further. You see, when you all were forced to collaborate with Shadow Company to track the missiles and Hassan in Las Almas you didn't think much of it, you'd stick to your thing and that was it. But the bad side of being and feeling attractive is that sometimes instead of gaining the attention of your crush, you'd end up having Phillip Graves licking your ass every opportunity he got seemingly enchanted with everything you pulled when you were trying to flirt with another different man.

That man being Soap frickin' Mactavish, the oblivious Scotchman. You could strip naked right in front of him tying your waist in a little bow like a wrapped gift and he'd pay more attention to the bow than your bare body. That sexy fool...

"I ain't got no time for this, dear. I'm tired. Mommy needs her beauty nap before we head to El Sin Nombre's mansion or wherever the hell he's hiding later tonight."

"I could accompany you. You know, warm the covers for ya before we-"

"I'll pass. But thanks! Ask Soap if he'd be interested in doing so instead, yes?" You smile to later grimace before going to the barracks leaving Graves behind laughing bitterly. How the hell could you make him take you seriously? That man had less brain than a sack of potatoes.

______

Perhaps you also had less brain than a sack of potatoes.

There was a very noticeable shift in the air when you went working solo with Soap at Diego's mansion. And it begun after you two bantered with one another and your team had finally managed to trap Valeria. Soap was characteristically oblivious of your flirting, and there was one certain pick-up line you said that was so clear of your intentions it made Valeria, who was handcuffed to the other side of the Heli scoff in disbelief, the other men chuckled lowly amused by your bold flirt.

For the first time in all the months you spent trying and failing at wooing Johnny, you felt pure embarrassment. Suddenly your team's laughs felt like they were mocking you, Soap seemed to be playing oblivious on purpose probably irritated by your futile attempts, and the weight of Graves' eyes made you shiver a bit, now you understood Phillip all those times he spent trying to court you only to end up being the butt of the joke.

Ghost was quick to notice your discomfort and with an authoritative bark he shut the other men up quickly before he gave you a knowing look you returned with a tight-lipped smile and a single nod. You all were quiet then, which took you by surprise because normally Graves wouldn't waste a minute trying to shift the attention you gave Soap to him, but this time he stayed quiet stealing a glance or two you way from Valeria's side, as if the blonde was giving you time to digest the discomfort and finally realize that perhaps Soap simply wasn't interested in you.

And fuck did it sting.

During the interrogation you remained professional trying to move on from the previous very awkward situation. Alejandro's temper tantrum and Phillip's sass helped you focus on the tied woman you were all supposed to squeeze information out of, the embarrassment was still burning your insides so you didn't comment much leaving the boys to their thing.

Soon enough, when the interrogation finished, you were approached by an smiling Phillip. He was content with how fast the interrogation had gone but you could feel his worry in the way he softly called out to you.

"You have a way with words." You said casually trying to halt him from making the question that almost fell from his lips. He obviously came to ask if you were okay and you weren't ready to answer that because frankly you didn't know for certain. Graves' fingers graced your forearm, you were wearing short sleeves at that moment so the gentle touch made your skin erupt in goosebumps, his face was sickenly soft as if he was approaching a wounded kitten until he broke it with a crocked smile and a little chuckle.

"Made her talk real quick. I'm an expert when it comes to interrogations, but that's only one of many skills as you'll come to know."

"Maybe she wanted to get it over with so she wouldn't catch more of your smelly breath." You picked on him with a playful smile of your own pinching his arm back before you crossed your arms on your chest.

"Were you jealous I was standing so close?" He bit stepping a little closer, both hands now tucked under his vest giving you this seductive look you were so familiar with.

"Should I? After all, I know you'll come right to me whenever you're done playing." Graves' brows quirked a bit in surprise. You were teasing him back, this was new.

But... Were you doing it because Soap had let you down yet again and you wanted to use him as a way of revenge trying to make your crush jealous?

Phillip moved his head to the side spotting Ghost roughly yanking Soap by the arm and walking away with him while bombarding his eardrum with whispered snarls, men stalking to the opposite hall you two were in. Phillip then looked back at you, your eyes were still on him, amusement written all over them. Now that Soap has left the scene would you drop the act if he pressed you a bit?

Graves launched forwards, his arms trapping you against the wall with a type of dominance that could only belong to a possessive commander. The huff you let out when your back hit the wall and the way your eyes widened in surprise as your palms shot to his chest so he wouldn't crush you made the blonde's smirk widen.

"You look adorable denying my advances, teasing me by staring at other men and fluttering those gorgeous lashes pretending you are not into me, (y/n). Lucky you, I'm not dumb." He whispers, his voice a growl of clear desire.

"What-..." Your voice failed you intoxicated by the delicious smell of Graves' minty breath. It seems you were in the wrong.

"I've got a darn good taste in women. Do you?"

He left you perplexed then. His back was to you when you were able to break out of your stupor. Graves just questioned your taste in men, what a joke.

But was he right, though?

______

The next time Graves tried to pull a move on you, Ghost, Soap, him and you were detonating a missile in the middle of the gulf of Mexico, the turbulent waters showed some mercy on Alejandro and the other shadows when they evacuated the zone of impact, the gigantic missile blew the oil rig and with it, one of Hassan's deathly weapons of mass destruction.

You couldn't remember how it went exactly, but in an instant Ghost was behaving strangely, taking the mercenary by the shoulder and guiding him somewhere else as Johnny approached your side near the big window that overlooked the chaos.

"I've seen plenty of explosions. But never like this one..." The Scott said softly under his breath like he was contemplating an spectacle of beautiful fireworks.

Somehow you weren't in the right mind and you simply hummed feeling distracted as hell. You'd excuse it as if you were simply worried about Alejandro and the other shadows but the truth was clear when your eyes went from Soap to Phillip. The last interaction you had with the commander had made your brain explode with a thousand new thoughts and none of them were about Soap.

The blonde was shaking Ghost's hand eagerly with a delighted face, he seemed satisfied with how the mission went. These Americans and their love for explosions...

"Y' alright, lass?" Soap called startling you.

"Sorry, what was the question-?"

Johnny brushed his mohawk back with a charming chuckle, you smiled at the sound of his sweet laugh but... You still felt very distracted. It was when Graves' blue eyes met yours from Ghost's shoulder that you felt something warm on your stomach before the tall Brit blocked both your line of view.

"Say, what if we all go find the others? I wanna see if Ale shat himself during the explosion, poor man must have lost a few more inches of hairline with the stress." The men laughed at this bumping fists and patting shoulders with one another, a short celebration for the successful mission. General Sheppard congratulated all of you individually in the comms and after thanking the general, Graves walked up to you while all of you were walking to the boats, Soap pressed to your side hugging your waist with one heavy arm as he looked at Graves as if whatever he was about to say was also directed to him. Normally you'd silently fangirl on the spot but right now the Sargeant's touch felt slightly suffocating. As usual, Graves never showed any care for Johnny's presence when it came to bantering and flirting with you.

"Nicely done, sarge. Next time we work together, remind me to send ya an application, you'd look great in black."

"You offering me a spot at your company, mister Graves?"

"More like a spot right by my side. I could use a very loyal shadow watchin' my back. Y'never know, right?"

"I think you have plenty of those under your command." You smirked waving a hand around you three, some Shadows who passed by chirped a "yep yep!" Instantly making Graves puff up his chest with pride, your sassy smirk melted into a sweet smile at his reaction. You knew Phillip was faker than Price's favorite Nike's, but the love he had for his Shadows was clearly real and honest.

Was his attraction to you just as honest? You asked yourself.

The American replied to you instantly making Soap stiffen. "You'd make a great Shadow, love. You'll never change ma' mind on that."

"And what makes you think I'd be so loyal to you, Ken doll?" You teased. Johnny was baffled on the spot but knew better than to say shit.

The way Phillip looks at you says it all. The bastard knows he lives rent free in your head, and sadly you just realized this now, just when Soap seemed to be reciprocating your advances you stuttered. Grey eyes under dark brows faded in your mind, orbes changing to a color blue under dark blonde brows. The weight of the American's eyes felt more intoxicating than Soap's.

"Yeah, we gotta go. Lt will lose his shit if we keep him waitin' any longer, right (y/n)?" Soap said in warning patting your shoulder.

But he was met by your silence, your eyes were firmly planted on Graves' as if leveling him, he didn't waver either. The bastard only broke eye contact to shoot Soap a smug look, he then turned back and joined a small group of shadows who awaited him on his boat but not before winking your way.

Fucking Graves...

_______

You all left after Hassan. Trying to corner the rat on the spot before he blew the whole country to the ground was hard, specially when Phillip aided you with a bunch of shadows seeking to trap general Shepard and luckily press charges of his traitorous intentions when he forced the commander to order his men to betray you.

You had missed Graves for the whole mission and it was taking a toll on your senses making you clumsy and risky. You suffered many close-calls until Hassan attacked Gaz, Soap, Price and you along with some of your men and neutralizing the little group of shadows you had left working by your side, the Iranian had wounded the captain and you while poor Garrick did his best to pull all of you out of harm's way. Soap went after him and not so long after you all received Ghost's call that Hassan was dead.

Hurrah.

"Hurrah." You huffed out drinking your tequila in one gulp. The whole gang was tired to their bones and weakly cheered drinking their own glasses. But then out of nowhere a voice you all knew too well broke your comfortable silence.

"He-hey!! Look at the gang enjoying a celebratory drink after a job well-done!"

None of you said a word, too exhausted to even look at the approaching commander who cheerfully perched himself near your stool.

"I'll let ya have this round under ma' count and forgive ya for not inviting me this once but only because I'm in a pretty good mood."

The captain sighed. "Shepard?"

"Laswell's dealing with the preparations. Soon enough that ol' bastard won't bug us no more."

That seemed to take a huge weight on all your shoulders, your team's faces changed in an instant, they seemed much more relaxed than before.

"Now there's only one thing to deal with." You heard Graves whisper behind your ear.

"The day you get more annoying I'll shove my knives so far up your ass you'll be shittin' blades for weeks." Maybe it sounded more rude than you intended but right now you couldn't indulge him on his charming shit.

"My good you are sweet. Mind if I call ya sugar pop? Or perhaps pumpkin is more fittin', what do ya think, love?"

"You can call me whatever you want but do not call me later for dinner."

"Even if that implies my infamous Texan-style ribs? I'll even serve em' with sweet potatoes. Have y' ever had sweet 'tatoes, pumpkin?"

Your brows could have very well reached your hairline, eyes wide in surprise, you pursed your lips and tilted your head slightly at the idea of trying such dish. After what happened with Hassan, the plan of eating a whole pig with the commander sounded too good to refuse.

"Are they just like normal potatoes but sweet?"

"I'll take that as a yes!" Graves laughs soundly pointing a finger to your very expressive face.

You groan rubbing one eye with your open palm. "Fine, fine. But only for dinner. Don't get too excited."

"Sure, love. One meal and I'll drive ya home like a gentleman."

"Youuuuu got it."

______

One fucking hour later at Graves' provisional apartment. He had pinned you under him on his comfy couch as the TV lowly played a mix of soothing music from YouTube that Graves had prepared for the occasion.

"Fuck you taste so sweet..."

"Maybe's cuz you didn't let me wash my mouth after the whole-ass dinosaur of a pig we has just eaten."

"The bbq sauce and the sweet potatoes are one thing, your tongue is just fucking addictive. Worse than nicotine I might add..." He sensually said before nipping your chin gently eager to attack your lips once again.

The way Graves kisses your mouth as if he was a man starved steals your breath away, his hot muscle swipes every corner of your mouth turning sloppy and if it wasn't because of how hot this man was and how amazing he has been treating you for this whole night, you'd say gross. And yet you look up at him, how his blue irises twinkle with desire, his reddened lips shine with all the saliva he was able to steal from you, and you feel so content. Like this was meant to be.

You broke the kiss panting, both hands pushing his chest back slightly to catch your breath from how sticky he has gotten ever since the first small peck.

"Fucking hell, Lip... You kiss like a middle schooler."

"Keep that up. You have no idea how hard you make me with your insults, woman..."

"Lil' bit of a masochist ain't ya?"

"Only for you, pumpkin..."

Yes, you do have good taste in men.

_______

"When your ma and I first met she was obsessed with me."

"Obsessed!? I was after another totally different guy!"

Your son laughed baffled at this new information shaking his head in disbelief making his dirty blonde hair sparkle under the rays of sunlight from the nearby window. With ten years of age, little Dominic was asking for more and more stories about how you and your husband met, eager to brag in class about the cool adventures you two shared with him. It was tradition. Every third of January Graves and you would sit Dom at the couch to grace him with a new cool story of the old days and reminisce on how you two met before your mother in law would pick him up so you two could celebrate your wedding anniversary.

"Ma', you have a funny taste in men."

This pearl from your son made Phillip spit out his lemonade staining your brand new carpet, you bursted out laughing from your spot of the couch, your legs spread to the side where your husband previously massaged your feet with one hand and supported his glass with the other. Said glass was carefully placed on the table as he cursed lowly at the freshly stained carpet.

"Oh you have no idea, little one..."

[studentbyday]

a september packed with purpose 🏵️ (goals for the 2024-2025 academic year)

an attempt to live a meaningful life even if it's really busy.

🎓 academic goals:

stay on top of my schoolwork. not feeling like i'm running after deadlines but staying organized, calm, and methodical, even if there's a lot.

change up my study strats! turn text into diagrams! shorter focus periods followed by an active break to ease myself into the semester!

study 8h per day or less if at all possible (for official schoolwork)

👩🏻‍🔬 career goals:

finish databases courses to increase my career capital (i sped read so good they can't ignore you this summer and it was both inspiring and practical - grateful for the feeling of having a roadmap...even if it's vague.)

do everything to become so good the lab i'm interested in joining can't ignore me (i have pretty much no current affiliation with them or their university so this is gonna be an uphill climb unless maybe i seem like a perfect fit...)

🌳 lifestyle and adulting goals:

develop a can-do attitude and work on my growth mindset

continue to practice driving at least 3x per week before it snows

become a 6AM girlie (or an 8PM girlie, if you're looking at the sleeping time lol) so i have a few hours of calm, focused silence in the morning which will minimize the amount of time i need to spend studying after dinner (planning to take advantage of the jet lag and the fact that the sun sets earlier in winter, making me sleepy sooner 😠)

re-gain some level of fitness to counter my couch potato summer habits and all the sitting i'll be doing this semester

🤸🏻‍♀️ more fun goals:

apply to volunteer with my local horticultural society and hopefully start volunteering soon (hoping to work on their newsletter as that's something i miss from my high school days! something familiar will also be good for easing into my "reintegration into society" era as a previously "studying hermit". perhaps once i get so comfortable i feel like i'm plateauing, i can branch into being a volunteer gardener! i have absolutely zero successful experience with plants, so it would be really nice to have some guidance from people who've made and maintained such pretty gardens in my community 💗)

make time for piano (ideally at least 1h 3-4 days of the week, but i will be happy if i even get to touch the keys for less than 1h of practice 3-4 days a week. if i can do this, then i can more reasonably justify getting a real acoustic piano at home and maybe even take lessons again when things get less busy...and i don't have to fear not making progress or even getting worse on the digital in the meantime because my fingers and brain get re-accustomed to the acoustic feel and sound options surprisingly, happily quickly even if i only get to play on one for a few days of a year, which is already quite a privilege 🥺🙏🏻 in the meantime, i need to maintain/improve my dexterity, sight-reading skills, and theory knowledge. i don't plan to read the theory book front to back anymore, i'll just read the bits i'm most interested in and maybe eventually that will mean covering the whole book but i won't start with that intention in mind 🤷🏻‍♀️)

sOmEhOw have the energy to comprehend even 1 duolingo lesson in japanese ~daily if only to one day get to a level where i can read more japanese books (and maybe even watch some animé without subs? no pressure tho since i'm very picky about animé 😂)

💭 nice to have but not pressing:

make it a habit to read a nerdy book or academic article that isn't directly for schoolwork to help me find my research interests, learn more about labs in my physical area, and/or re-ignite my passion for/sense of wonder with STEM and STEM-related issues 🔥

each week read something from suggested/recommended course reading lists if there are any

each month read a book completely unrelated to academics, something that distracts me or that feeds my soul or both (or if i can't do that, then just 1 such book each semester, i'm just after something rather than nothing)

🐝 productivity advice from one of my role models that i want to follow religiously this semester:

prioritize rest in order to think and act fast (10 hours of sleep! downtime! meditating! gentle exercise!)

schedule down to the minute but understand that as long as you're doing what you planned to do within the hour you planned to do it, you're good (that is assuming life doesn't happen and derail the entire day's plans but most days thankfully are not like that). give yourself lots of buffer (bigger, not smaller blocks of time in the calendar!).

understand that prioritizing means that you may fall behind in the unprioritized areas from time to time and have to catch up and that's completely expected and completely fine.

be selective about what you're "perfectionistic" with (it's not really about applying perfectionism, more like being picky about where you apply extreme conscientiousness). that is also part of prioritizing.

✏️ post schedule: 1-3x a week depending on time, energy, and what that means for my mental state 😅

[milkteasweetheart]

『just like heaven, chapter 1, part 3』

this part contains riddle’s dream sequence. 

housewardens x reader

author’s note: i depict nrc as an actual college, so first years are 18, second years 19, etc.

summary: crowley has the bright idea of a bonding experience, specifically in the form of a dream potion.

characters: (riddle rosehearts), leona kingscholar, azul ashengrotto, jamil viper, vil schoenheit, idia shroud, malleus draconia / platonic mentions: dire crowley (ew), grim

genre: romance, fluff, smidge of angst

warnings: female reader, reader is yuu, reader is around ace and deuce’s height, sappy, marriage, mentions of potential children, some suggestive themes

「dream scene: rose colored reverie」

Everything is going Azul’s way. Last week the prefect told him he has nice handwriting, his academic rival is suffering, and everyone is a bit on edge, especially Idia, who just tried to conspire with Jamil to figure a way out.

Azul is not nervous. He doesn’t have dreams, except those he’s already decided on. Goals is a better term for it. He is curious as to what the prince of Briar Valley wants. Perhaps he could make a deal? A bit ambitious, but… such is business. Speaking of Malleus, Azul is sure he hasn’t blinked in a few minutes.

(Y/N) is sitting on a chair, turned away from the scene. No thoughts are currently moving inside her head in order to preserve sanity for upcoming tomfoolery. “Sweet potato, do you remember what your dreams are about?” Vil hopes they involve him. “I can’t really remember. I just blackout from exhaustion when my head hits the pillow.” His face isn’t exactly pleased. “Stress isn’t good for you. I’ll talk with the headmage. Just so you know, you’re always welcome at Pomefiore.” Preferably permanently.

“Let’s go to the main event, my love.” Dream (Y/N) extends her hand to Dream Riddle, who gladly takes it. (Y/N) is pretty sure she heard someone shriek a bit when the cafe warped. 

⋆⭒˚｡⋆☾⋆⭒˚｡⋆

The scent of roses wafts through the lakeside park. Stars dot the sky. (Y/N) is yet again quick to recover, and sees the couple on a checkered picnic blanket.

Riddle wants to run away. This is the conversation that happens at the end of each of his dreams. It’s blatant wish fulfillment, but it staves away most of the yearning during the day.

He finds his words. “...please. Let me preserve my dignity.” His face is comparable to the strawberry tart from the cafe. Leona ignores his plea and lies down on the grass near the couple. “Nah. Besides, I bet octobitch will have an even worse sapfest than whatever your brain could come up with.” Azul makes a face. “Mind your words.” He is ignored.

Jamil and Vil have settled onto the bench facing the meadow where the couple are laying. Dream Riddle has his head on Dream (Y/N)’s arm, and they are holding hands.

Riddle knows the coming conversation beat by beat. “It’s beautiful.” Gray eyes wonder at the sky. “So are you. More so, I’d argue.” Her voice is quiet, but confident. Like she’s speaking facts. “We’ll be together longer than the stars will twinkle in the sky.” A lovestruck smile crowns the statement. “You mean it?” The voice it’s spoken in wavers with the threat of tears. “I know it. We’ll live here, with our friends, and each other. We won’t have to do anything we don’t want to. I’ll take you out every night and day, if you want it. I’ll do anything so you’ll be happy.” The real Riddle is currently staring at the prefect. She isn’t reacting, but her gaze is soft. Is it pity she’s feeling?

He sighs. He’ll be clowned on for the rest of his life by Azul, and he pleads to the Seven that Ace and Floyd will never have any word of this. He jumps at the feeling of a hand on his shoulder.

“...Hey. Don’t feel bad. Dreams come from the subconscious or something.” (Y/N) considered her next words. “We can go hang out somewhere cool if you want. Just ask.” She figured his mind has just blended some old romance movie and his want for rebellion without punishment together. “Thank you, prefect.” Riddle smiles with a relieved look.

That’s the queue for Malleus to change the dream into Leona’s.

[cleo-fox]

As the Clock Strikes Midnight - Part VII

Series Masterlist Chapter Summary: In which your patience is finally rewarded. Chapter Warnings: Sex, p in v sex, oral sex (f receiving), dirty talk, praise kink. Tag List: I don’t have a tag list for this fic, sorry! The best way to hear about updates is to follow me on Tumblr or subscribe to the fic on AO3.

Getting through the next day is a challenge, to say the very least.

Your day typically includes a fair number of mindless tasks–peeling pounds of potatoes, kneading bread dough, scrubbing pots and pans, and so on. Normally, you don’t mind it; normally, it’s an opportunity for your mind to wander, a way to distract yourself from the neverending drudgery.

Today is a different story. Today, the only destination for your wandering mind is what awaits you at the end of the day. And what awaits you at the end of the day, well…those sorts of thoughts tend to leave you flustered and checking the time.

The others, thankfully, are too preoccupied with their own tasks to pay you much mind, which feels like a small blessing—you couldn’t even begin to come up with a believable excuse for your inattention.

You’ve taken care to maintain a sort of playful distance from Loki as a matter of protection—the more detached you appear, the less likely you are to be hurt when this ends. Not that you’re having any feelings you need to protect yourself from, of course—this is just a precaution. The practical part of you knows that you should probably wait a little after dark before making your way to his chambers. Unfortunately, the part of you that has been anticipating this all day (to say nothing of the last three) is not particularly inclined to listen to practical advice; consequently it is barely dark when you arrive at his chamber doors.

He notices. Of course.

“You’re awfully early,” he says as he lets you in, not bothering to hide his smirk.

“Yesterday you scolded me for being late. Today I am too early,” you say, arching an eyebrow at him. “Perhaps the problem is that you are too particular, your highness.”

“An artful deflection,” he says, taking your hand and leading you to the bedroom. “There’s no shame in admitting you couldn’t wait for me to ravish you.”

A huff of a laugh escapes your lips and you give him a look. “That’s awfully bold of you.”

You say this largely to bait him and he gives you a catlike smile as you come to a stop in the bedroom. He looks you up and down and wets his lips. “I suspect I’ll find you slick and aching under your skirts.”

He’s right, though you don’t intend to admit it. You simply raise your eyebrow and he smiles like he knows exactly what you’re hiding. Bastard.

“And similarly—” his voice drops as he guides your hand to the front of his trousers, “I’ve been contending with this for much of the day.”

His cock is hard and straining against the material of his trousers, which only fans the ache between your thighs. 

“Oh.” You wish you had something clever to say, but lust has made your brain pleasantly foggy. You run your hand along the length of him and he watches you with hooded eyes, the slight intake of breath his only tell. You move to undo his trousers and his fingers wrap around your wrist, pulling your hand away.

“We’re getting ahead of ourselves,” he says. “I want to take my time with you.”

As much as you want him to finally, finally take you, the thought of him taking his time is also wildly appealing. His eyes remain hooded as he trails his fingertips down the curve of your jaw, across your lips, along the column of your throat and down to your collarbones. His touch is light and reverent, like he wants to know every part of you and commit it to memory. It’s entirely chaste, but still somehow erotic and you can’t hide the way that you tremble in the wake of his gentle caress.

His fingertips trail down your sternum, skimming along your ribcage, then down the sides of your waist to your hips. He pauses for a moment before reversing his course. He does this several times before your resolve begins to waver.

“Loki.” Your voice is a strained whisper.

He brushes his lips against your forehead, his fingertips still following that light and teasing path. You tilt your head up in the hope that he’ll kiss you; instead, his lips ghost against yours, pulling away before you can draw him deeper.

His light touches and barely there kisses are inspiring a specific sort of madness in you, one that feels particularly unbearable after three days of waiting. After another brief pass of your lips, it’s enough to override your remaining shred of pride and self-control.

“Kiss me,” you breathe.

The flash of a wicked smile makes you wonder if this was merely another ploy to make you admit to wanting him, but the thought is fleeting and dissipates completely when he finally brings his lips to yours.

This is different from the other times he’s kissed you—it’s deeper, more searching, hungry. You wind your arms around his neck, twining your fingers in his hair and pressing yourself against him. His hands slide along your hips to the buttons at the back of your dress, nimbly slipping them free, trailing his fingertips down your spine as he goes. You release your hold on his hair to help him pull your dress off, leaving it to pool on the floor at your feet. Your hands slide to his tunic, tugging insistently at the fabric until he obliges you and breaks away long enough to pull it up and over his head. Your shift and undergarments are next to go, joining the other clothes on the floor in quick succession.

He pulls you back to him and the heat of his bare chest pressing against yours feels so good that you almost don’t notice that he’s walking you backwards toward the bed until you feel the mattress brush against the backs of your legs.

“On the bed,” he says roughly. His voice is commanding and stern and it goes straight to your aching cunt.

You slide onto the bed, relishing the feel of silk against your bare skin, your eyes locked on Loki as he starts removing his trousers. He looks like something out of a figure drawing, all lean muscles and understated strength. Your eyes drop to his cock as he removes his trousers. He is achingly hard, the tip flushed. You can feel yourself tense in delicious anticipation of what he will feel like buried to the hilt inside of you.

Your gaze trails back up to his face and you find that he is looking at you with the same sort of appraising, lustful look. His gaze roams over your breasts and down to your hips and back again before he finally meets your eyes.

“You look so pretty in my bed,” he says. “Even better than I imagined.”

“Were you not paying attention? I’ve been in your bed these past few nights,” you say.

“Not like this,” he says. “Not bare and waiting for me to fuck you into the mattress.”

You shiver, but you manage a sardonic smile. “To be clear, I wanted that last night and the two nights before. You simply chose to be a tease about it.”

“Trust me, darling,” he says, his gaze dark and hungry, “I’m about to make it up to you.”

You lick your lips and smirk. “Prove it to me, then.”

He allows himself one wicked grin before he crawls up the bed on top of you, looking as intent and hungry as a caged panther stalking its next meal.

You inhale sharply at the first brush of his bare skin against yours. He lowers himself on top of you, his cock resting hard and heavy against your stomach. You’re fairly certain you’ve never wanted him as much as you do right now. He leans in and kisses you deeply, his fingertips stroking along the curve of your jaw and the column of your throat before wandering lower to cup and caress your breasts.

You wrap your legs around his waist, arching against him and trying to angle your hips so that his cock rubs against you. His right hand trails down your body, pausing briefly at your hip to hold you in place.

“So eager, so slick,” he purrs. He kisses you again and you feel him take his cock in his hand and drag it in a slow circuit from your clit to your entrance and back again. You moan into his mouth  and he chuckles. “It takes so little to soften that sharp tongue.”

You arch your back and press your breasts against his chest, your hands twining in his hair. He strokes his cock along you again, like he’s getting ready to fuck you properly and put an end to your aching need. You rock your hips forward, trying to encourage him.

But the moment you feel him smile against your mouth, you want to kick yourself. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy.

And indeed, he begins kissing a leisurely path down your neck mere seconds later.

“Loki,” you groan as he begins slowly easing his way down your body.

“I need to get you ready for me, darling,” he murmurs, sliding his tongue over the curve of your right breast.

“I’ve been ready for the last three d—”

You gasp as his teeth lightly graze your nipple, his tongue darting out to sweep over the sensitive skin before drawing it gently into his mouth and sucking as his hand cups your other breast, fingers gently rolling and pinching your nipple until it becomes pebbled and hard.

“I do so enjoy quieting that wicked tongue,” he murmurs.

You open your mouth to say something, but Loki is quicker, sucking your nipple back into his mouth, teasing it mercilessly with his teeth while his hand redoubles its efforts with your other breast. Your complaint fades away into a whimper that would be embarrassing if you had the capacity to care about anything beyond his mouth and hands. Your hands tangle in his hair, your hips rocking fruitlessly as you try to find friction that evades you as he lavishes attention on your breasts.

No amount of pleading seems to persuade him to go any faster, but eventually, he begins slowly kissing his way down your body, trailing his lips along your ribs, then down your stomach and to your hips. He looks up at you from in between your spread legs and you swear you can feel your arousal practically dripping out of you when he gives you that hungry smile.

He brings a single forefinger to the very top of your slit, his gaze locked on your face. Your breath hitches.

His finger skims but does not part your folds. It’s a soft, barely there touch that makes your aching cunt clench tightly around nothing. He takes his hand away and brings his face closer and for a moment, you think he’s finally going to give you some relief, but instead, he repeats that same feather light gesture with his lips, lightly pressing closed mouth kisses along the very edge of your slit.

He looks up at you, his eyes hooded and hazy with lust, though not so hazy that you think he’s lost any amount of control. He didn’t even really touch you, but you can still see a faint glint of moisture on his lips from how wet you are.

He licks his lips and your resolve breaks, abruptly and completely. 

“Loki, please.”

He draws back slightly, his fingertips grazing your folds as he parts you gently, staring greedily at your exposed cunt.

“Look at you,” he breathes, his voice a low, dark purr. “Absolutely soaked and begging for me.”

You whimper.

“Such a pretty, needy cunt.” He licks his lips again and looks back up at you. “Shall I taste you, or do you want my fingers?”

Whatever shred of pride you still possess has long since vanished, your entire focus zeroing in on the throbbing ache between your legs. “Both,” you say, without a thought.

He raises an eyebrow, but there’s a spark of delight in his eyes. “Greedy girl. Do you think you deserve it? You’ve been awfully pert.”

“Loki, please,” you whimper. “I need you.”

“You need me?” he says, his lips curling into a teasing smirk. “Darling, you have me, I’m right here.”

“You know that’s not what I meant,” you say.

“And what did you mean?” His voice is low, the warm exhale of his breath lightly brushing against your folds.

He’s played this game before, making you say exactly what it is that you want, no matter how filthy or indecent it may be. The prideful part of you isn’t fond of letting him win, but this is largely overshadowed by the desire that’s coiling like a snake in your belly and making you desperate.

You lick your lips. “I want you to put your mouth on me. I want to come for you.”

This particular turn of phrase seems to stir something in him—he gives you a wicked smile that is almost feral, his eyes darkening with lust. Slowly, he lowers his lips to just above your clit, pressing another chaste kiss against you, drawing forth another whimper from your lips.

“Say my name,” he breathes against your cunt.

“Loki, please.”

You can feel him smile just before the warm blade of his tongue presses forward, parting your folds in one long stroke.

You are so slick and sensitive and his mouth is so warm and perfect that for a moment, all you can do is moan as his tongue lightly brushes against your clit. He seems determined to continue things on his terms, working at a slow, leisurely pace that is enough to nudge you closer, but not quite enough to pull you over the edge. After a few minutes of just his tongue, he slides one finger inside of you, curling it so that it brushes ever so slightly against that soft, tender spot that can so easily unravel you. It’s not enough to make you see stars, but it’s enough to make your breath hitch and your hands tangle in his hair to pull him closer. He chuckles against you, but does not change his pace.

Just when you think you may start to go mad with wanting, a second finger joins the first, his fingers drawing sparks from where they graze against that spot inside you.

“Loki.”

His tongue flattens against your clit and his fingers curl just a little bit more.

You are panting, your heels digging into his back as he draws you closer to the starry oblivion that you’ve been thinking about all day. You are a mess of half whimpered pleas and breathy moans as he keeps you balanced on the edge, his fingers gradually curling more to rub that aching spot inside you as his tongue works your clit. The knot in your hips is impossibly tight, the heat in your belly smoldering. Distantly, you wonder how much more of this you can take.

He sucks your clit gently into his mouth as his fingers simultaneously hit that spot in just the right way and all at once, the heat and ache inside of you reaches its peak and breaks like a wave on the shore and you utterly unravel.

At first, you can’t even make a noise—all of your energy and focus is zeroed in on the way that your muscles are spasming and releasing and everything feels so good. But then that next wave pulls an obscene moan from deep in your chest and your fingers grip his hair so tightly that you think it might actually hurt, but he merely purrs against you as his tongue continues to stroke your clit.

You’re not sure how he manages to draw it out for so long, but it seems to last forever, every part of you fizzing like you’re filled with champagne and stardust. Eventually, the tingling pleasure of the aftershocks blurs into your second orgasm, stealing your breath and bending your body upwards like a bow pulled taut as you moan Loki’s name like a prayer.

He doesn’t stop, though—not until he draws a third one from you, making you cry out so loudly you almost expect half the palace to come running.

He finally lifts his head as you come down from your high, his lips and chin coated in the evidence of your arousal as he gives you a ravenous smile. “You taste so sweet when you come,” he says. “I could stay between your legs for days.”

Just the thought of that makes you shiver and his smile widens. You reach for him, arms trembling and you’re a little surprised when he obliges, crawling up your body and into your arms with little more than a pleased smirk. Your arms wind around him as he settles on top of you, his cock pressing enticingly against your stomach. He kisses you and you melt, your hands moving again to tangle in his hair.

“Please,” you breathe when he brings his lips to your earlobe, gently worrying it between his teeth, “don’t make me wait any longer. I need you so badly.”

His hand slides down your thigh, hitching your leg up over his hip. “You’ve had my mouth and my fingers and now you want my cock?” he says, pressing a kiss just behind your ear.

“Yes.” There’s no point in denying it, not when he’s felt how wet you are, not when he’s so close to finally taking you, not when you still want him so badly you ache.

“Hmm.” He shifts slightly so that his hips align with yours, dragging his cock along your sopping cunt until his full length is covered in your slickness. He frowns thoughtfully, like he’s genuinely weighing whether you want him, whether you’re ready, though that mischievous glint in his eye is a dead giveaway of his true intentions.

You decide to try flattery once more. “Please, Loki. I need you.”

You can feel him, hot and hard, poised at your entrance. When he doesn’t immediately push forward, you are not surprised to find him smirking down at you. And as much as you need him, as desperate as you feel, you can’t help but scowl at him.

“Must you always be an insufferable tease?” you say.

“I’m merely savoring the moment,” he says, though the spark in his eyes says otherwise.

You roll your eyes. “I’m sure.”

“There’s a lot to savor.” He presses his hips forward ever so slightly and you gasp as the tip of his cock slides into you. “That right there,” he says huskily. “That lovely little sigh.”

You try and thrust your hips forward, but he’s got you pinned against the mattress. “Loki,” you whine.

“Be good.” He creeps forward another inch and his eyes close, his breath hitching. “Norns, you’re tight.”

This gives you an idea and you intentionally clench your muscles around him. He’s not expecting that and he groans, his teasing expression yielding for a moment to a pure, unguarded pleasure. His eyes refocus and he grins at you. “Vixen,” he says.

“Stop teasing and fuck me properly,” you say.

“Ah, but you make such pretty sounds for me when I tease you,” he says, pressing forward another inch. A breathy whine escapes from your lungs before you can stop it and he indulges in a catlike grin. “Just like that.”

“Loki.”

“Yes, darling?” He says this with a smirk, like he still has the upper hand.

“Fuck me. Please.”

“Such filth coming out of that pretty mouth,” he says, his hips pressing forward another inch. You tense your muscles again and his groan is delicious. “Oh, you’re going to pay for that.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” you say.

“Filthy girl.” But at last there’s a crack in his impeccable composure and he slides forward those last few inches.

Your head tips back and you moan as his hips finally press flush against you. You knew he was big, but you still weren’t entirely prepared for how full you would feel, how he seems to press against every sensitive part of your cunt. His fingers and mouth were incredible but his cock may very well send you to another plane of existence entirely.

You are so distracted by how good he feels that you’re almost taken aback when he begins to move. He feels so good when he’s seated fully inside of you, but when he’s moving—when he’s moving, it steals your breath away and sends sparks shooting all over your body, even at the slow teasing pace that he’s currently employing to try and drive you wild.

It’s so good. It’s so good and you don’t want it to end, but after so many days of teasing and the three orgasms he’s drawn from you tonight, you can feel your end quickly approaching, inevitable as thunder after lightning. You try to fight it off, wanting to make this last as long as possible.

“You’re holding back,” he says as you struggle to keep yourself on the edge. “I want to feel you come.”

“Don’t want it to end,” you manage to gasp.

To your surprise, he gives a low chuckle. “If you think I’ll be done fucking your exquisite cunt so soon, you are quite mistaken.” His eyes darken as he gives a particularly sensual thrust that makes you keen. “Now be a good girl and come on my cock.”

You try to hold back even so, but it’s no use: his words speak to some hungry, feral part of you and your orgasm overtakes you, sudden and swift as a riptide pulling you under. His pace never falters, his hips continuing to move in steady, powerful thrusts as you shudder around him. You ache for him even as he fills you, his cock rubbing against all the sensitive places deep inside you and drawing out a raw, primal pleasure that makes you cling to him, your fingernails painting long scratches down his back.

You expect your orgasm to drive him quickly to his own end, despite his assertion otherwise. His eyes flutter shut when you come and he allows himself a soft groan, but his pace remains steady and even as he fucks you through your orgasm. As you tremble through the aftershocks, he offers you a rather wicked grin and leans in to kiss you.

“You’re going to do that again for me,” he says against your lips. His husky voice alone is enough to make you shiver.

“Do you think you can manage it, your highness?” The effect of this retort is immediately ruined by the obscene moan that falls unbidden from your lips as he pulls your right leg up higher and presses even deeper inside of you, his hand sliding between your bodies to find your clit.

“Your mouth says one thing, but your cunt—” He punctuates this with a rough thrust that makes you keen, “—says something else entirely. I can feel you fluttering around me.”

You whimper as his too clever fingers stroke your sensitive clit and slow, deep thrusts drive you closer and closer to the edge.

“Yes,” he breathes, his gaze intent on your face. “Give into it. Let me feel you.”

Your back arches and your nails dig into his shoulders. It’s only a matter of time, a few more thrusts. His eyes glitter like he knows this. His fingers press against your clit.

“Come for me,” he says and you do without hesitation, careening headfirst into another starry euphoria. Your cries mingle with a low groan from him, but his pace never falters as you tremble around the thick girth of his cock.

His cool facade is starting to falter, if the desperate way that he kisses you is any indication. His fingers leave your clit so he can shift his position above you, putting his weight on his elbows to drive himself even deeper inside of you. His pace is still slow and steady, but there’s a slight wildness in his movements that makes you arch up into him. His hands roam your body, gripping your hips, kneading and squeezing your breasts. His mouth covers yours, his teeth nipping at your lower lip, his tongue sliding in and out of your mouth in the same rhythm as his cock sliding in and out of your cunt. He overwhelms your senses in the best way possible and all you can do is wrap yourself around him and meet the maddening rock of his hips with your own.

He pulls back slightly, resting his forehead against yours. His eyes are slightly unfocused in a way that makes you ache because you immediately know he’s close—and the fact that he’s close because of you is incredibly arousing.

“I’m going to come inside you,” he says, his voice rough. “Are you ready?”

“Yes,” you breathe, tensing around him.

“You’re going to come with me,” he says, and despite the wanting in his voice and the desperate hunger in his eyes, his tone is still commanding and sure in a way that makes you shiver in anticipation.

And despite the fact that he’s already made you come so many times already, you know that he’s right.

“It’s true, isn’t it?” he says, somehow managing another one of those wicked grins that goes straight to your cunt. “You’re going to come on my cock like a good girl while I spill myself in your tight, wet cunt.”

“Yes.” Your brain works in fits and starts now as he takes you higher and higher. Yes. Yes. More. Please. More. Please. Yes…

He grinds his hips into you, his pubic bone pressing against your clit in a way that makes you see stars.

“Come with me.”

Bliss overtakes you and you come hard, only this time, it’s different because this time Loki is cursing and moaning with you and shuddering through his own orgasm and that alone seems to extend yours as he spills himself deep inside you. His thrusts become erratic and slow until he finally stills, pressing his face into the crook of your neck.

The weight of him is comforting and solid, anchoring you as you slowly regain control of your senses. You can’t help but feel a small flash of pride over the way his breath is still a little ragged against your neck, how he stays pressed inside you, how you can feel his heart pounding hard.

After a few minutes, he lifts his head. You expect him to set about the business of cleaning up, but instead, he kisses you. It’s surprisingly tender and slow, especially for a tryst that you fully expect he’ll end tonight. Now that he’s had you, surely there are others who will occupy his attention.

The thought makes you a little sad, though you don’t like admitting it.

He pulls back slightly after a moment. “I believe I’ve properly atoned for teasing you these last few days,” he says with a lazy smirk.

You raise an eyebrow. “There was an awful lot of teasing, your highness.”

He grins. “I suppose I’ll have to try harder tomorrow.”

It’s probably not a good idea to continue this, but it’s more difficult to keep yourself from smiling as he kisses you again.

Next chapter