#this is like. taking place during a time when they were not very accustomed to earth things

[giamee]

𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐈𝐓 '𝐓𝐈𝐋 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐇 𝐑𝐎𝐓!

╭─────────────────────── ( 🍭 )

he just can't get enough of your pussy !

› 〉 📂 .ೃ | 🚨🚨🚨SMUT !! (f!reader receiving oral & fingering), uhhh pussydrunk hsr men who are MUNCHES <3, i think this is the first time writing smut on this blog so hereee we gooo, uhh clit slapping (only once thanks blade), overstim, nothin toooo crazy, ever so slight dom!reader for sampo (that man needs to get topped so bad) + you call him a pervert idk, squirting (shoutout luocha 😙)

╰─➤ 💌 ₍₁₎ I HAVENT WRITTEN SMUT IN AGESSSS SO PLS BE NICE AND TO MY MUTUALS SORRY THT THIS SHOWS UP ON YOUR DASHBOARD LETS STILL BE FRIENDS PLS 😭

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 JING YUAN.

this is a dangerous game when he's involved

as a general, jing yuan is very accustomed to being in charge, of taking charge and ensuring that things happen

and as a man who cares more about the hours outside of his work than during, who can blame him for wanting to commemorate each time that he comes home to you?

he's always been very giving as a lover, that much is true. and as a man with a tendency to be more on the... spontaneous side, you were no stranger to a quickie in a slightly less than convenient location. he just couldn't bear to leave you uncared for, after all.

so really, you should have expected that he would quite literally stoop to this level. one minute he was walking through the front door, you calling out a greeting to him from the sink as you washed some dishes.

and the next minute, he was on his knees behind you, your skirt flipped up over your hips and panties tugged to the side as he began to eat you out with some type of renewed fervour.

it had you slapping one hand over your mouth, the other white-knuckled as you hold on for dear life to the kitchen counter. your legs were very quickly turning to jelly due to his ministrations, the feeling of his tongue fucking into you rendering you unable to form sentences.

and even worse than the sensation was the sound of it- every lick and slurp reverbating through the empty room, every squelch of your pussy making you go a shade darker as jing yuan moaned, the bastard, and delved even further into your pussy. your hips pushed against him, his hands snaking their way around your thighs to keep you pinned in place while he ate you out like his life depended on it.

you bit back a squeal as you felt his tongue flick against your clit before running back through your folds, circling the hole before fucking back into you.

"fuck, i love this pussy so much," he moaned out, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh as he came up for air momentarily. "love comin' home to you every day- you taste so good, so good f'me-"

any attempts at muffling your noises were extinguished as you let out a sob, tears welling up from the pleasure, making you fold over so that your torso rested against the counter. your legs were spread wide by now, giving jing yuan all the access that he needed.

he relinquished one of your thighs in favour of using his fingers to pump into you, curling them just right against that spongy spot that had you shaking like a leaf, feeling the pressure build inside you much quicker than you anticipated.

"fuck- fuck- i can't, 's so good-" you were babbling now, trying in vain to break free or push his head away, the pleasure bordering on too much. it was comically easy how ineffective your attempts to hinder him were,

"you can." his voice was some soothing reprieve, and the warmth of his hands squeezing against your hips helped to ground you as he otherwise brought you to the edge.

your thighs were trembling, barely supporting your weight and you could feel your release fast approaching, though something was holding you back.

"cum f'me." jing yuan's rasped voice is what finally coaxed you to let go, to let that string snap with a final cry as you collapsed fully against the countertop.

always diligent, jing yuan continued to eat you out, making sure not to miss a drop as you spasmed against him, hips finally stilling after you ride out your high.

"bastard." your voice is muffled, head resting on your forearms as your regain your strength. jing yuan merely chuckles, placing a kiss with his wet lips to your inner thigh again, one last jolt of pleasure running through you before he stands, fixing your clothes for you.

"but you love it."

you give him a halfhearted kick in the shin.

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 SAMPO.

he's the type of man who's best in small doses

the amount of times you get annoyed while he's on another tangent or trying to scam you sell you a product is..... a bit more than infrequent

but there's ways around that

"sampo, do you ever shut up?"

ironically enough, you asking him that made him do just that, pausing for a second to lick his lips as his smile widened, cheshire-like, as you watched the cogs turn in his head.

"no, but for a small standalone price-"

if youuu put a buck in my cup i will shut the fuck up (sorry)

"sampo."

the man cackles, slinging an arm around your shoulders, pulling you in to his side.

"sorry, doll, but a man has to make a living somehow."

you turn to glare at him now. you really weren't in the mood.

"either shut up or i'll make you."

you watch as his smile drops for just a second, his pupils dilating ever so slightly at the underlying hint of what's to come. and bless his heart, the man decided to push his luck.

approximately five minutes later, you were grinding on his face. the only noises that he really made now were occasional grunts and moans as you rocked back and forth, and you decided that you liked him much better when he wasn't talking.

the man with a silver tongue had his uses, after all.

he was so eager to please, too- from what you could tell with the way he was eating you out. if it weren't for the overwhelming pleasure you were feeling, you would be convinced that he was enjoying it more than you. his moans reverberated around your clit as his tongue flicked over and sucked it, leaving you keeling over and your thighs quaking against the sides of his head.

every moan you let out had him eating you out with a renewed fervour, almost desperate for you to reach your high. you let your hand snake into his hair, getting a full handful before yanking on it, hard. sampo whines from the sensation, and you almost miss the muffled plea for you to do it "again".

his fingertips are digging into your thighs almost painfully, keeping you seated firmly against him (not that you were going to move, anyway).

your eyes land on the tent in his boxers, and an idea pops into your head as you snake your hand past his abdomen to pull his waistband down, letting his cock spring free. it looked painfully hard, the tip already leaking pearls of precum, and you spat in your hand before starting to jerk him off, ever so slowly.

he whined again at the pressure, his hips thrusting up to meet your hand, desperate for any sort of friction.

"you're getting off to this, you pervert?" you laughed as he shook his head desperately, still plunging his tongue deep inside you even as his hips bucked wildly. he was already so close, it almost made you laugh.

you yourself were beginning to feel the coil deep within you start to tighten, a telltale sign that your own orgasm was approaching.

"so if i were to just... stop, you wouldn't mind?" to emphasise your point, you loosened your grip on him, grinning to yourself as he whined pathetically.

"hm... that's what i thought."

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 BLADE.

blade's mean when he eats you out

he's one of those who eats it for his own pleasure, and whether it's until you orgasm once or multiple times, he's not stopping until he's satisfied, overstimulation be damned

"you still alive there?" the man between your thighs snickers at your fucked-out state, not even able to form a sentence to answer him.

how many times had he made you cum by now? six? seven? you'd lost count long ago, and you don't think it mattered much to blade. sometime after the second one, it began to dawn on you that his goal wasn't to simply make you cum then call it a day.

"c'mon, eyes on me." you squeal at the sensation of his hand slapping down against your clit, the raw flesh stinging for a few moments before his hand smooths it over, soothing the skin.

"you can handle one more, right?" you lift your head weakly to meet his ravenous eyes, somehow even hungrier than when he had first started peeling your clothes off. the look in his eyes made a shiver run down your skin, and you gave him a sheepish nod.

"attagirl."

blade's one to keep you on your toes, never knowing just what to expect from him. he ducks his head down, leveling it with your still pulsing hole, and you gasp as you hear, then feel him spit on it.

there's a blunt intrusion as he sinks two of his fingers into you, knuckles deep, crooking them just right to hit that spot inside you. your leg twitches as an automatic response, making the man snicker again.

"you're so sensitive," he coos, and you hide your embarrassed face with your arm. "i bet if i just..." your body seizes up as you cum, again, more sudden than you ever expected as blade presses harder against you. a strangled moan flies out of your mouth, writhing at the pressure.

he's nice enough to let you ride out your high, pathetically grinding your clit against his palm, whimpering at the tenfold sensitivity and the little aftershocks wracking your body.

and when you're finally breathing normally again, you hear his voice break you out of your stupor.

"one more?"

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 GEPARD.

what he lacks in experience is made up for doubly in enthusiasm

because let's be real, this man is too busy with the silvermane guards to have enough time to be dating and fucking around

but for you? he'd make the time. and he'd learn how to get you off while he's at it, too

"so if you just, slide your fingers in, slowly." gepard follows your instructions dutifully, and even then you still winced at the feeling of his large fingers stretching you out, the slightest of burns already kicking in.

"like this?" he looks up at you, all puppy dog eyes, so eager to learn. his face was too innocent for what he was doing.

"mhmm." you smile down at him, his face rested against one of your thighs as his gaze returns to your cunt, glued to the way it stretches around his digits. he feels you pulse against him and he shudders, trying to hold back for your sake. he was here to learn what you liked, after all.

"and then you kind of... curl them a bit? and move them too." his ministrations are soft to begin with, and even there's still an unmistakeable squelch each time he pumps his fingers into you, the lewdness of it all making him turn pink.

"does that feel good?"

"y-yeah, so good, baby."

he's so close to your pussy, you can feel each time he breathes, his little pants hitting your clit, making you even wetter. the anticipation of it all had you practically squirming where you lay propped up on your elbows, watching him.

his eyes are still transfixed on you, mouth hanging open at the way your hips rolled ever so slightly, meeting each of his shallow thrusts.

"you see that bit above? if you lick it, it'll feel really good f'me." gepard nods, all too eagerly leaning forward, licking a thick stripe from your hole to the clit with his tongue, before starting to flick his tongue against it gingerly.

"yeah, fuck, you're good at this." he hums against you, starting to move his tongue with a little more fervour, his hand still pumping into you. he always had been a fast learner.

he settles into a rhythm, one that has you steadily building the pressure in your core, soft moans escaping your lips.

"just like that, fuuuck," you pant out, letting your head roll back and your eyes closed as you focused on the feeling. it's then when gepard decides to wrap his lips around your clit, sucking ever so deliciously to make your toes curl.

you let out a particularly loud moan at the sensation, one that your ever so perceptive boyfriend latches onto, increasing the pressure in a way that has your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

"geppie m'gonna cum- don't stop-" he obeys your every word, slurping at your cunt with a hunger that sends you over the edge. you convulse, hips raising off of the mattress to buck against his face, his fingers curling around your quaking thighs.

"use my face, darling," he murmurs into you, so eager to please. the way the ridge of his nose bumps against your clit helps you ride out your high, grinding against his mouth a few more times before you finally flop back down against, the bed, limbs turning to jelly.

"no fucking way that was your first time eating someone out." gepard merely grins, wiping some of your juices off of his face before crawling up the bed to meet you.

"'m sure it was, now give me a kiss."

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 LUOCHA.

your life will be CHANGED after this man eats u out for the first time i just know it

like.. he's got skills. he's a certified munch i know this in my SOULLLLL

"just relax, honey, let me take care of you." his velveteen voice is what has you finally lying back, letting the tension in your body leave you as his nimble fingers hook into the waistband of your panties, sliding them off of your legs ever so tantalisingly.

he groans at the string of slick that stays connected to them- no surprises there as you had been sat on his lap kissing him for the past half an hour- and you covered your face in embarrassment.

"don't go shy on me now, hm?" you peek between your fingers, catching the glint of his emerald eyes, the way his smile widens when he makes eye contact with you from his place between your legs.

"hi, pretty."

"hi."

"we can go as slow as you want, okay? tell me what you're comfortable with." luocha's thumbs rub gentle circles into your thighs, coaxing you to open them and let him settle more comfortably.

"do you want me to touch you?" you nod, watching as luocha's smirks almost imperceptibly.

"use your words, darling." you whine, kicking at him lightly.

"quit teasing me."

"do you want my fingers or my tongue?"

"luocha!" he chuckles, pressing a kiss to the inside of your knee.

"i'm sorry, love, you're just so cute when you're flustered." he presses another kiss to your thigh now, lips inching upwards ever so slowly, holding himself back as he waits for your go-ahead.

"could you... eat me out?" your face feels so warm just from asking the question, but the nerves are quelled as luocha smiles brightly, shifting his weight on his hips to lower himself down closer to you.

"gladly."

there's a few seconds of anticipation, of his breath hitting your core before another entirely new sensation- something wet and muscled sliding against you as luocha licks a flat stripe through your slit. his tongue sharpens, flicking against your clit as he pulls away after his experimental first taste.

you're already feeling something inside you coil in anticipation, and it tightens even more at the blissed out expression on luocha's face.

"you taste divine, my love."

and then he's delving in for more. your usually so composed boyfriend lying flat on his stomach, buried facefirst in your pussy and eating it like a man starved.

the slurping and squelching noises are obscene, echoing off of the walls and filling up the room along with your wails and moans. your head was in the clouds right now, too fucked out to even scream his name. and he hadn't even put his tongue in yet.

as if reading your mind, luocha finally shifts his attention to your hole, his tongue circling it, teasing it open, before he plunges in along with his fingers, the size of them and his fingertips grazing against your g spot bringing you to the verge of tears.

everything just felt so good, and he was going to make you cum hard and fast.

the regular pressure of an impeding orgasm kept building up, more than it regularly would, until it became an entirely new sensation altogether.

"w-wait, baby, i'm gonna pee or something-"

luocha pauses, pupils blown wide with lust as he meets your gaze.

"you're not, honey, just trust me, alright?"

and because it's him, because you'd do just about anything for him right now if it meant continuing to feel this good, you lie back down, feeling him bring you back to that point again.

his fingers are drilling into you at an almost inhuman pace, the sound enough to make you cum, let alone the sensation. his soft lips suction around your clit, warm tongue flicking against your bundle of nerves repeatedly, making you squeal and throw your head back.

"'m gonna-" luocha nods encouragingly, his nose bumping against your clit in a way that has your vision go white as you writhe in ecstasy. there's an odd feeling, of something shooting out of you, and you look down to see a spray of clear liquid. luocha's fingers rub against your pusy frantically, making you writhe again, prolonging your orgasm as he milks you for every last drop.

you finally come back down to earth, vaguely feeling a warm wet cloth wipe away at you, at the mess you had made.

and luocha's gazing at you with nothing but adoration, a pussydrunk smile on his lips.

"aren't you glad you trusted me, love?"

𝜗𝜚 honkai star rail masterlist

[yandere-sins]

Imagine getting isekai’ed into otome game as a background character, watching the main character going down routes as you live your peaceful, mundane life, but you’ve unknowingly been going down a route as well, a route for a hidden character that you didn’t discover during your time playing the game.

That character being the reason the game has a dark content warning.

Gosh anon, that idea is so good!!!! I didn't know it would tickle all the right places in my brain, but when I started I couldn't stop lol. Love it, thank you for sending it in ♥

If this had one of these super long titles that are tmi it would be:

I got Isekai'ed into an Otome Game as a Background Character and now I Have to Finish It with the Secret Yandere Love Interest!!

»»———————— ♡ ————————««     

A serene smile spread over your lips as you watched the two lovebirds in the corner of your coffee shop.

Swirling the milk into a cup, it created a little white heart surrounded by foamy coffee, its aroma drifting into your nose. Had someone told you that the little things like a cup of coffee made with love and care were enough to give you the peace of mind you always wanted in your previous life, you would have laughed at them. For you, it had always been the hustle, the making money, finding a partner, and creating a family. Make everyone proud while being successful, whether it costs you nights of sleep or days without proper meals. But looking at yourself now, it all seemed so far away now, and you let out a content sigh before setting down the cup in front of the customer at the bar. 

"You seem happy today," your regular at the counter noted, picking up the cup and taking a moment to appreciate the aroma just like you had. A smile sneaked onto their lips, too, after they took a sip, and you couldn't help but feel your heart swell with pride and happiness when they gave you a satisfied nod. 

"I am! I'm really getting accustomed to my new life here, it's... been a while since I've been so content."

The truth behind everything that happened to you was something you couldn't speak about lightly. Not when it turned the life you knew upside down, leaving you to start over completely. One day you were an employee of a well-known company, responsible for sales and reports and everything stressful. And the next, you were in your favorite, cozy video game, running the coffee shop the main character liked to visit with all the romance options in the game.

Isekai was the genre that came to mind when you thought about your situation. Luckily you were spared the memories of your death in the real world, the circumstances blurry as you barely remembered going home late from work, only to wake up in this very different universe. Perhaps you were just comatose, and this was a dream. Still, by now, you had managed to slip into your role as the barista of the small coffee shop, a barely mentioned background character, just fine.

Your eyes jumped back to the couple in the corner, giggling and teasing each other over a group project, and you felt an immense relief you weren't reincarnated as the main protagonist and had to go through the years of studying and trying to establish connections with the love interests again. You already did that in your old life, and it wasn't as romantic and fun as the game made it out to be. You only played it because it got your mind off things, the art was pretty, and it had the exact amount of cozy time management you needed to relax. But living as the main character in it? No, thank you!

"Jealous?" your regular teased, and you chuckled, shaking your head. They tapped their—now empty—cup, and you took it from them, replacing it with some water until you had the next cup of coffee ready for them.

"I just think it's cute. I never had someone so interested in me they'd take me out for coffee and share their cake with me when I was younger."

Your words tasted a little bitter on your tongue. Still, you genuinely couldn't wish for anything but the main character's happiness. It was just the feeling of being loved, desired, and wanted that you missed, even though your new life was more than satisfactory despite you feeling a little lonely sometimes.

"Well, it's never too late to start," they chuckled, taking up their fork and cutting off the tip of their strawberry shortcake, including the big chunk of strawberry on top, picking it up and holding it out towards you. 

"Oh, I wouldn't dare--"

"I insist! As thanks for the amazing coffee every time I come here."

Nudging your lips with their fork, you let out an awkward chuckle. It was okay, right? They wouldn't sue you for eating the cake they paid for, would they? This was just a silly little game. What could go wrong with you accepting their kindness?

Opening your lips, you let them feed you the cake, taking a moment to let the sweet and fruity notes mix with the fluffy whip cream before you were sent straight to heaven. Not to toot your own horn, but your baking skills had improved so much since you started working at the shop. Who knew you had that in you?

Occupied with the moment of bliss as you let the cake flavor mix in your mouth, you hummed happily before devoting yourself back to making the coffee with a smile on your face. Unaware of your regular fixating on the fork you had just eaten from, staring at it like it was some strange artifact. Your phone dinged softly in its drawer, and you checked it briefly to see the notification pinging up, saying, "Achievement unlocked: Cake-Master - Provide the most delicious cake to your customers."

"Excuse me!" the main character called out to you, stepping up to the counter, and you directed your attention to her, ignoring the little game notification you've been receiving since starting your new life here, the love interest not far away before the two began fighting over who was going to pay the bill this time lovingly. Of course, the love interest won, but you wouldn't have expected it any other way. Seeing the blush on the main character's face after her romance option told her he'd "always take care" of her made you grin like a little fan, and you cheered them on in your head. 

By the time you returned to your regular, their knuckles had gone white with how hard they were gripping the fork in their hand, their eyes following the couple who was about to leave. For a moment, it made you wonder if they had a crush on either of them, their sweet interaction surely uncomfortable if that was the case. But you didn't remember there being a jealousy scene in the game. You'd know, almost playing it 100% before your death. There apparently was a secret route you never got but were trying your hardest to achieve. Now you were left to wonder what it entailed.

But the second you returned, they looked up at you, expression softening and the tension disappearing, and you chalked it up to having witnessed a cringe moment that they had gotten so awkward. "Thank you for the cake, that was really nice of you! Do you want another fork?" you asked and were met with a headshake and a smile. 

They quickly began eating their cake and complimenting your baking skills, stroking your growing ego when they rubbed their belly. 

"I never had a cake that good!" they proclaimed, and you laughed out loud, overjoyed that you had made them so happy. 

"Say..." they suddenly spoke up again, leaning on the counter and watching you with gentle eyes. Your heart set out for a second, tension rising as you didn't know what they were going to ask. Ever since you opened the coffee shop, the main character, love interests, and this regular had come by constantly. If you were honest, you enjoyed their visits more and more. Their presence felt like it belonged here with you, and you were a part of something bigger after all, washing away the small, lonely part of you. 

And maybe... just maybe... this was how your happy end would play out.

"Are you this nice to every customer?"

Halting your movements, you set aside the brew head that you used on the espresso machine, despite having to clean it, thinking about your answer for a moment. It was a strange question to ask someone who worked in customer service. Still, you appreciated your regular, so you didn't want to give them a snarky answer.

"Uhm, well, I am just trying to make everyone feel welcome! But of course, it's a bit different with my regulars! After all, they come here often, like a second family. So I guess I'm a bit nicer because you really get to know and appreciate these people that stay to chat and tell stories."

"I see," they muttered. "Family, huh..."

After that, you suddenly were swamped with sudden orders, excusing yourself to fulfill them, chatting and laughing with even the people that were just passing by. Maybe you really were just nice? Perhaps this new environment had made you more relaxed and gentle than the harsh world you lived in, and it was showing? But their question was shoved into the back of your mind as you kept fulfilling orders and earning your keep.

Once the rush was over, you returned to your regular, only to find their seat empty. Strange, you thought. You could have sworn that you felt their eyes on you the whole time you were away, but luckily, they didn't walk out on their tab, leaving the money and a folded-up napkin beneath their empty cup for you to find. You quickly stored away the bills, trusting your regular with knowing what they had to pay after so many weeks of the same order.

You were about to throw away their napkin when you noticed some red marks on them, unwrapping the paper to find a note scribbled in what you had to assume was ink. 

"You're so beautiful when you laugh."

The surprise wore off quite fast, and you smiled, thinking nothing of it but that it was a nice compliment from your regular. Still, you ended up throwing the napkin away—not knowing if it was dirty, after all—taking the coffee cup and plate to the sink to clean them, overseeing the red tip on the fork that was too dark to be from the strawberry.

The rest of your day was uneventful, and by the time you were closing, you were tired and ready to tug in for the night, wrapping up your business at the shop quickly before walking home. You didn't have a chance to look at your phone since you glanced at the achievement notification, so you took it out, startled when you saw a dozen new messages. 

Achievement unlocked: Happy new life - Be content with your new life

Achievement unlocked: A fork for two! - Share a fork with someone special

Achievement unlocked: Jealousy - Make someone special jealous

Achievement unlocked: Soothing - Calm someone special down with your presence

Achievement unlocked: Family - Have someone be moved by your words

Achievement unlocked: The nicest person in town - Be beloved by all, but especially by someone special

Achievement unlocked: Blood in the cup - Have someone hurt themselves at your coffee shop

Achievement unlocked: Wonder-Barista - Complete twenty orders in less than thirty minutes

Achievement unlocked: Strange compliment - Receive a compliment through unusual means

Achievement unlocked: Blooming infatuation - Have someone special fall in love with you

Achievement unlocked: Shop-Pro! - Close the shop twenty times after making a profit from your work

Achievement unlocked: Tired - Hard workers deserve to relax

You blinked a few times, surprised by what you were reading and a little weirded out by some of these achievements. They gave you some extra coins in your shop till and reputation with the townspeople, so you usually didn't mind them. But to say some of their descriptions were weird was an understatement. You couldn't even remember someone getting hurt at your workplace that day.

By the time you reached your apartment, you decided to ignore the strange notifications and just let the day come to an end with a hot bath and your favorite show. But you were startled when your phone suddenly began ringing loudly, even though you had turned off the sound back at the coffee shop after the first notification. The first messages that appeared before you were more achievements, and you stopped turning the key in your door as you read them.

Achievement unlocked: Follower - Have someone special follow you home

Achievement unlocked: Welcome home! - Arrive at home, not alone

Achievement unlocked: Wherever you go, I'll be watching you - Ɨ ΔΜ ΔŁŴΔ¥Ş ŴΔŦĆĦƗŇǤ ¥ØỮ

Lifting your head, you looked around you, glancing over your shoulder and into the courtyard below. No one was out; everyone was at home eating dinner and occupied with their lives. Confused, you swiped all the notifications away before another pop-up appeared.

ALERT! You're about to enter X's route. Do you want to continue?

> Yes > No

Panicked at this point, you pressed "No," but nothing happened. You kept tapping it repeatedly, not understanding what was happening with your phone. But nothing changed, the notification staying in place. The sound of something breaking inside your apartment tore your focus away from your phone, startling you. 

You must have finally managed to close it, the pop-up disappearing just as you unlocked the door to your apartment, still having held on to the key when you were surprised by the sound. Darkness and silence greeted you from inside, everything seemingly normal.

Majorly confused, you shook your head, slowly entering the hallway leading inside. "Hello?" you called out, reaching for the light switch. The light flickered on, and... there was no one. Holding your breath, no sound reached your ears, and you groaned, realizing you got freaked out about... nothing. 

This wasn't some kind of horror game, and the story never had a murder-solving subplot. True, the ratings for it were kind of strange—it being rated as 18+ on the website—but seriously, what should happen in a cozy little city like the one the game played in? You didn't even think they had a police station here.

Pushing off your shoes as you shrugged off the weird feeling from before, you walked up the hallway to your living room, turning on the light before coming to an abrupt halt. There were broken pieces of glass underneath your living room window, but what really freaked you out came into view only when you lifted your head. You could look into the mirror of your cabinet door from your position, red marker dripping from it as if someone had hastily scribbled on it just seconds ago. You weren't sure it was a pen anymore, judging by its deep red color and the fluidity of it.

"𝘪 𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘥 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘭𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘮𝘦 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘻𝘺"

Your phone pinged.

Achievement unlocked: 

On the Highway to Hell - Unlock the secret route

[jeoncopi]

[1] EAGER DAYS | JJK

are you ready to witness what's like to have a very yearning, domestically soft, vulnerable, silly yet playful and hot military boyfriend?

welcome to military jungkook's episodes!

—this entire series are based during jungkook's current state. as I'll be writing with each irl update. so this series might last until jungkook's finally free (Imao).

IMPORTANT: each episode won't be necessarily correlated to one another but some episodes could have light references to previous actions, feelings or situations.

BE AWARE OF: 18+ CONTENT.

pair: jungkook x reader

word count: 1.1k

what’s in here?: cutely and reassuring banter.

[more espisodes]

EPISODE 1. “piercings? OUT!”

It’s early in the morning, you both haven’t eat.

Jungkook wakes up first, just like he has been doing it for a couple of days as he said that everything is for him to be able to accustom and get ready for his future new morning routine.

he’s been already so dedicated, using eunwoo’s gifted military watch too. — he didn’t liked thinking too much about going there but somehow, he had to if he wanted to mentally prepare. mostly when he really, really didn’t wanted to go.

he sighs as he’s brushing his teeth. so sleepy..

“okay, I’ll take them out now.” he murmurs to himself as he open his mouth, slender fingers touching his lips as he removes one of his lip piercings. “okay.. there’s one.” continuing by repeating the same process for the other one. “and.. last one.”

he takes a good look at himself in the mirror. fingers slightly rubbing his bottom lip. ‘the scar doesn’t look too bad’. he pushes the inside of his bottom lip with his tongue, having a better look at the size of the little holes. ‘yep, not too bad.’

stepping out of the bathroom as soon as he heards a sound that looks like it’s coming from the kitchen, ‘babe’. crosses his mind.

all he can see is your back as soon as you ask, “all good?” taking several steps closer to him when your body finally turns to face him and he could already get a whiff of the very tempting leftover pizza from last night that you were already heating. the smell quickly floating all over the place.

“yeah,” he responds without further ado.

your hands travel over his face into a cup as you inspected his face, slightly moving it from side to side. “your skin has gotten better.” you smile. “oh.” pausing, you start caressing your anular finger onto his bottom lip.

“oh.” he mimics your response in agreement. bambi eyes only examinating your every facial expression while yours are just so focused on his lips.

“it’s not that bad..” reassuring him, you mutter more to yourself but jungkook can still heard you very clearly.

“I thought the same.” barely managing to talk since you keep looking and touching his lips.

“I like it though.” leaving a peck on his lips. “you look sort of weird though.” you chuckle.

he does too. a sort of shy smile drawing his lips as he rubs the back of his head with his left arm, feeling a bit embarrassed without one solid reason. “it’s been a while..”

you then mirror him with a warm smile. “it really has been..” you pause. “it sort of looks like a vampire has now bitten your lip though..” you joke. “should I be jealous?” arching one eyebrow in a funny way.

jungkook laugh. “you’re so obsessed with vampires, I’m telling you.” while taking your hands off his face. he places them behind your back as he hugs you. sort of trapping you into his big body. snuggling his face into your neck sniffing you as if he was a dog and it makes you laugh.

“leave me alone!” raising your voice in between laughs. you finally detached your body from his. “you’re crazy.”

he boyishly smiles, crossing both his arms on his chest as he quickly point his chin up when he says, “you smell good.” with the tone of his voice being very playful and sultry..

he continues, this time leaning majority of his weight onto the dinner table with his right hand while his left one anxiously caresses one side of his neck, very slowly. “I’m..” he pauses. “..kinda scared of shaving my entire hair, if I’m being honest.” he confesses. “this is just step one,” referring to his piercings. “but step two..”

you listen as the pizza is finally heated. placing them with both plates on the table. your gaze lingering at him as you both comfortably seat.

“it’s hard” you respond, sympathizing with him.

“It is.” he re-affirms. “but it’s just hair, right?”

“eung. it’s not like you have a choice anyways..”

“wow. you really do help.” he jokes around at your unhelpful answer. he chuckles about it as soon as he sees your worried face. “all good babe.” being light hearted with a soft smile, he continues. “I do know.” answering to you. then he breathes, “I’m thinking of doing it myself.”

you didn’t say a thing for a few seconds. “I wouldn’t be surprised to be honest.”

he chuckles. “I am that predictable?”

“I mean.. sometimes.” you tease.

jungkook rolls his eyes. “ha.” he tsk with a bitter smirk on his lips. it makes you laugh.

“too lazy to book a date for it?” you genuinely ask, referring to the hair salon.

“mm.. not really. I just thought that I won’t ever have this opportunity ever again, you know?” he pauses. “it’s not like I could go bald just any other day.” he chuckles.

agreeing with him, “you’re right.” you respond. “I’ve heard that they shave it for you once you’re there so..” he repeatedly nods his head very cutely, making his whole luscious hair bounce.

you smile. he’s so cute.

“but I’ve also heard that you can continuing shaving your hair as long as you’re there, you know?”

jungkook laughs at your words. “babe, do you really think I’ll do this TWICE?” as his hand dramatically points at his chest when he speaks. making you both laugh.

“I’ll leave my short hair if that’s the case, but I won’t give being bald a second chance..”

“why? you don’t even know if you’ll look bad.” you pause. “maybe it’s refreshing, you’ll never know.” you tease, “maybe you’ll fall in love with your bald head, life can bring many surprises.”

jungkook only sides eyed you while he takes a bite at his pizza slice. “tsk. no.” cheeks full. “I like my hair the way it is, thanks.”

making you laugh. “okay then.” pausing. “given this situation, I’ll trust your skills.” doing a fake half reverence to him with your pizza as you take a bite.

“you should trust me!” cutely demanding, he says with a pout on his lips.

you laugh again. “I said I do!”

[skyahri]

Blind |Naruto Men X Uchiha!Reader| HC

Characters: Kakashi Hatake, Shikamaru Nara, Sasuke Uchiha, Naruto Uzumaki, Madara Uchiha, Hashirama Senju

Summary: How they handle their partner losing their sight due to the effects of the Mangekyo Sharingan.

Warnings: Mentions of fem, but not very relevant. Mentions of war and loss of sight.

- - - - -

Kakashi Hatake

He knew the day would come when the Sharingan would take your vision, but he didn't know it'd be so soon.

There were no other eyes available to you at the moment, so eternal was not an option.

Not that'd you do it anyway. It was highly against your beliefs to partake in the Uchiha nonsense that was eye swapping.

Something that drew Kakashi towards you in the first place.

You'd been preparing for this day since you first awakened your mangekyo.

You'd memorized the layout of your apartment, practiced roaming the village in a blind fold, and learned braille.

You'd been coping well, Kakashi... not so much.

He couldn't deal with the knowledge that you'd sacrificed your vision for the sake of the village.

You'd given up everything during your years as a shinobi, and this was the icing on top of the cake.

He'd watch you every day.

Watch you drag your hands across the walls of your apartment. Watch you walk a bit too far past the stall in the market. Watched you struggle to do simple things like grocery shopping.

Over time, you'd become worse and worse at eye contact, and that ate him alive.

There were no more longing looks or sneaky glances. Even your attempts to appear as if you could see were slowly declining, and it dampened his mood every time.

He felt as if he'd failed you. If only he'd been stronger, you wouldn't have had to overuse your doujutsu.

But he stayed quiet because you seemed happy. You were alive and safe and happy, and that's all he could ask for.

Shikamaru Nara

After the war, your vision had completely vanished. There were no blurry shapes or deaf perception problems because there was simply no sight.

There was no time to prepare. You hadn't planned on having to use the mangekyo so much in battle, and the price was astronomical.

He tried to help where he could, but you were being stubborn, constantly rejecting any aid he tried to provide.

"Just let me-"

"I told you I can do it myself."

"No, you can't, just let me-"

And that's when he felt the sobs rack through your body. Tears quickly fell down your face and your hands couldn't keep up.

He sighed and forced everything out of your hands.

"I can't do anything anymore."

"That's not true."

You scoffed, a bitter laugh leaving your lips.

"I can't go grocery shopping or cut fruit or put dishes away without running into everything or breaking something or,"

"Give it time. It'll get better."

"Two weeks ago, I was a shinobi. Today, I'm just a blind girl who can barely feed herself."

Shikamaru wasn't sure what to do. Strategy was easy becausebit was all factual. Feelings, though? So many variables he didn't know where to start.

He confided in Kakashi at some point, but wasn't too pleased with the advice he got it.

"Let her figure it out. She's a smart girl."

Despite thinking it was a stupid suggestion, he listened.

Slowly, over time, you'd regained your confidence and became the capable person you had previously been.

Doesn't stop Shikamaru from uncharacteristically babying you sometimes, though.

Sasuke Uchiha

He offered you his eyes, but you declined.

You weren't fond of Uchiha tradition despite being raised by it. Taking his eyes just felt like you'd be starting the new age Uchiha clan off on the wrong foot.

So you chose blindness.

It was difficult at first, but you quickly learned to get around and help yourself with little to no issue.

You'd gone from stumbling around the kitchen to making yourself breakfast within a few months.

Living with out sight wasn't too bad, and you'd grown accustomed to it. You felt like you'd made the right decision.

Until your first son was born.

It wasn't the parenting aspect that you found difficult, it was the emotional one.

When Sasuke told you your son looked just like Itachi, you knew you'd have to see for yourself.

So, you allowed Sakura to do the transplant.

Within seconds after the bandages were off and you had time to adjust to light, your sight was fully restored.

Sasuke brought in your baby, and wouldn't you know it? He looks exactly like Itachi.

The sharingan is based on strong emotions, yeah? Maybe you can base it on love in the new Era.

Naruto Uzumaki

Unlike the others, Naruto finds the whole eye transplant thing horrendous.

"What do you mean by that, huh? You freaks just trade eyes like around? That's the worst thing I've ever heard."

Although he wasn't happy with your newfound loss of sight, he wasn't one to label anything as a downside.

A setback? Sure. Negative? Never.

Hes overall very patient about it, even if in the moment he gets a little ahead of himself.

He's always forgetting that you're blind, so he'll ask you to look at things all the time.

"Hey, what's this?"

You just shrug. He may or may not bring your hand to the object to get a feel, but he mostly just gets embarrassed and drops it.

It honestly hadn't really dawned on him until he asked you to go train with him and you'd refused.

Sure, you could overtime work yourself up to be a shinobi again, but at this point in your life, that just wasn't the dream anymore.

Madara Uchiha

He thinks you're being stupid.

This world is all about power and you're choosing to be blind?

Idiotic.

You may be his wife, but he ignores you for quite some time after you make it clear there will be no eternal in your future.

It's an easy justification for him; he doesn't mingle with the weak.

Life gets pretty lonely after he decides to completely shut you out. Yeah, he sees Hashirama and makes his round through the compound, but it's not the same.

It isn't until he sees you in the village, going about life as you had months ago, that he starts to think maybe he was too hasty.

After all, he had married you for many reasons, and a big one was how skilled you were at adapting.

That night, when he finally returns home, he decides to sleep in your marital bed, not in the guest room.

The next day, he joins you for breakfast.

He came home early from his duties for the first time in a while.

He even started speaking to you once again.

You don't say anything right away. You know how he is about changing his mind, and you aren't willing to push your luck.

Things slowly get better over the span of a few weeks, and that's when you decide it's time to question him.

"I take it you've come to terms with my decision?"

"Of course not. I still think you're a fool."

Just the answer you'd expect.

"But I have missed you dearly."

You smile at him.

Hashirama Senju

The eternal was never something either of you had considered, so when your vision eventually dulled, it was fully expected.

Times were peaceful at the moment, so he had no need to worry for your safety.

You were almost always near someone willing to lay their life down for you- himself, Tobirama (reluctantly), or Madara - so there truly was no need to stress.

He helped as much as he could while also attending to his duties as Hokage.

Unlike Naruto, he had true patience. He happily held your hand every step of the way.

It wasn't long before your life was back on track, no longer burdened by the anxiety that came with cluelessness.

While Hashirama had preferred it never come to this in the first place, he was happy that things had worked out as best as they possibly could.

[lordprettyflackotara]

habits || bloody painter

SMUT MINORS DNI 18+ tw: descriptions of gore, murder, abusive/toxic relationship, stalking, service dom!helen, borderline yandere helen, overstimulation, praise

Helen considered himself to be a poised and intelligent young man.

He had never considered himself lowly enough to crave romantic affairs, nevertheless develop a full fledge obsession.

He lived his life on a scheduled routine. The only variable he allowed to change was in which victim he selected. His creativity was shown through out his art pieces, he didn’t need tons and tons of action to keep him mentally satisfied. After all, he was an artist. A painter. One with methods society disapproved of, but a painter nevertheless. Helen considered himself to be content with life.

He came and went from the Trenderman mansion as he pleased. On Tuesday’s he spent quality time with The Puppeteer. What else could he possibly need?

That question became answered, once he saw you.

Helen hadn’t even meant to see you. Your neighbor had been his choice for his routine victim. Middle aged man with a habit of watching the neighborhood kids play in the street. One would normally find that endearing, but the contents Helen found in the mans household were not so much. Helen thought he had done a fine job, turning a scum of the earth pedophile into a work of art. He was spread like a starfish, pinned to the wall by his hands and feet with the handy kitchen knives. His chest of course was ripped open, the contents of his organs fallen onto the floor below. Helen's favorite part, the one he deemed to make this a masterpiece, was the removal of the mans genital's. Helen found it very appropriate to cut that off and staple it into the wall beside him.

As Helen admired his masterpiece, he couldn't help but overhear yelling coming from the direction of your house. Normally he would take this as his sign to leave. After all, his work here was done. But then he heard your voice. He was drawn to you like a sailor to a siren. Curiously he peered through the deceased mans curtains, looking over at your house. Your white curtains were closed, but he could make out the shadows of you arguing with a taller man. Helen wasn't a fan of domestic violence. He had witnessed all of that and more during his childhood stay at the psychiatric hospital. During that time he trained himself to stay neutral. To pretend what he was seeing didn't exist. But the pain in your voice intrigued him. Cautiously he slipped out of the mans house, dying for a closer look.

Using the shadows of the night to his advantage he slipped out of the neighbors backyard, hopping the fence. Helen creeped over to the window, peaking inside. That's when he saw you. Your face was red with anger, your eyes widened, and mouth running a thousand miles a minute as you argued with your presumed lover. Helen had never seen anyone like you. With your curves, feisty attitude, and bright eyes. You were something a man could only dream of. He felt himself frown at the sight of your oblivious and angry boyfriend, whose veins were popping out of his head from anger. Helen then made himself a vow, one he took very seriously. He was going to be your guardian angel, whether you knew it or not.

Helen didn't have obsessive tendencies. He had never spent his time stalking someone before. He didn't live at the Slenderman mansion, he wasn't sent on missions or anything absurd. He felt out of place as he studied you, becoming accustomed with your routine. You lived a simple and peaceful life, outside of your toxic relationship. Helen decided to study up on your lover as well, since he seemed to be such a massive issue. His name was Liam. Occupation: unemployed. If Helen had to take a guess he would assume that is why the two of you were arguing. Helen deemed Liam to be a useless slob. One that didn't do much of anything with his time, nevertheless tend to you and your needs. How you ended up with such a useless partner Helen could not figure out.

He enjoyed how modest you were. Your spare time was spent in libraries, curled up in the most secluded corner with a good book. You only ordered from small businesses, even if it meant going out of your way to attend them. All and all you were perfect. Helen thought of all the ways he’d introduce himself to you. Maybe he could run into you at the local book store. Or maybe he’d accidentally brush into you on the street. After all, Trenderman’s mansion was at least four states over from where he was wanted for being a serial killer. Showing his face in public was too much of a risk though, he feared. Especially with the cops now on high patrol in your neighborhood since the murder of your neighbor. If he could go back in time he wished he could’ve seen you first. He would’ve at least changed his victim to someone a few streets over.

The more Helen watched the more he noticed Liam’s violent tendencies. It all came to a screeching halt for Helen once he saw him put his hands on you. Now that. That did numbers on his mind. Who did he think he was? Stomping on such a delicate flower like yourself? If it wasn’t for the patrol car parked outside of your neighbors house he would’ve slit his throat and mutilated him for as long as possible. It took every ounce of self restraint he had to not interfere. The look of despair and sorrow you had written all over your face resonated with Helen more than he would’ve liked to admit. It stayed in his head rent free.

The next day Helen saw the bruises that littered your arms. It was in your character to modestly try to cover them. He expected that of you, even if he didn’t approve. What he hadn’t expected of you, was for your night life to become so social. You previously had proven yourself to be introverted and borderline antisocial. Yet, he watched you through your window as you put in earrings. You were dressed up more than he had ever seen. A tight dress and strappy heels clothed you, his mind going to rancid filth at the sight of your exposed thighs. So Helen did what he thought to be the best course of action: he followed you. This time however, he had different plans.

He planned to finally meet you.

He was surprised your location of choice was the local club, crowded with local college students and overbearingly loud with music. Even as you paced through the door he could sense how uncomfortable you were with the bass booming. Straightening out his collar he trailed behind you, the bouncer not glancing at him twice. He followed you through the never ending sea of swaying bodies, your hips ones that Helen would recognize anywhere. You approached the bar, sliding up on the bar stool like you had done this time and time again. Helen tried to appear casual as he sat beside you, the bartender approaching him. “Whiskey, neat please,” He ordered. You hadn’t glanced in his direction, your fingers aggressively typing against your phone screen. The overworked bar tender looked at you, your gaze not meeting his.

“Ma’am?”

Embarrassed you looked up, eyes widened. It then occurred to Helen why you chose the club. Subtracting the alcohol from the equation, your bruises were practically invisible strobe lights. “I’ll have a sex on the beach, sorry,” You gushed, face flushing with heat. Helen tried to avoid looking at you as to not seem obvious, but it was so hard not to. You were so darling, a ball of nervousness as you sat in a location you felt so out of place in. “Come here often?” Helen finally said, the words escaping his lips faster than he meant them to. Your eyes finally met his, soaking in his blue eyes. They were so striking, even in the inconsistent lighting. You awkwardly laughed, not having expected to indulge in a conversation with someone new. “Who? Me? Pfft, no. Absolutely not,” You rambled, tucking some stray hairs behind your ear. Helen didn’t fail to notice this, giving you a polite smile. “I don’t come here either. I’m Helen, lovely to meet you,” He greeted. He stuck out his hand for you to shake.

You flashed a small genuine smile, before shaking his hand. “Y/n. Nice to meet someone like me. Everyone here seems to know what they’re doing besides us,” You say, side eyeing a group doing body shots at the opposite end of the bar. The bartender set down both of your drinks, nodding before walking off to help another customer. “If you don’t mind me asking, what brings you in?” Helen pried. He sipped his drink, the firey liquid slithering its way down his throat. You slipped the little pink umbrella out of your glass, setting it aside on a napkin. “Just needed to get away from life, you know? I want to feel something absolutely liberating instead of the norm,” You say. Technically you were telling the truth, but you were smart enough to not spill your guts to a stranger. Helen liked that. He liked that you were smart enough to be cautious.

“How about you?” You asked, taking a large gulp of your fruity drink. Helen gave a slight chuckle. “Troubles at work. You know how that goes i’m sure,” He said. He was dancing along side you in the tango of word play. His occupation was untraditional surely, but the cop outside of your house was most certainly a thorn in his side. “Definitely. So do you live around here?” You asked, attempting to stir up conversation. You hadn’t expected to converse with anyone, nevertheless a handsome man. Helen was quick on his feet with an answer. After all, he had prepared conversation topics and answers for all of the different ways he could converse with you. “I’m new to the area actually. Been here about a month. You?” He replied slyly. You nervously pulled your short dress down before setting your drink on the counter. The obnoxious music seemed to be bothering you.

Helen had learned all of your nervous habits. Strike one was pulling down or picking at your clothing. “Dont freak out but I may live next to the murder house,” You replied. Helen raised an eyebrow, now curious. “Murder house?” He asked. Of course, you figured sharing something so frightful to the normal man would be safer rather than lying. Oh how bright you were. “Oh cmon i’m sure you��ve heard. It’s the most talk we’ve had in this town for ages. Creepy old Gary got torn apart by some serial killer,” You explained. Helen was intrigued by what you thought. If things were different he’d ask so much more. Maybe when he got to know you better he’d ask what you thought of his work. “Oh my. Sounds quite brutal,” Helen commented. You nodded, finishing off your drink. Huh. You seemed awfully desperate to get drunk. The bartender approached the two of you again, going to pour you another one.

“Oh no no just one please. Do you guys accept cash?” You rambled. You began digging in your clutch, searching for the crumbled up bills you had shoved in there. Helen knew this to be because of your lack of funds. He suspected Liam had some sort of control over your finances. “Put anything she wants on my tab please,” He intervened. Wide eyed you turned to Helen. “You didn’t have to do that,” You told him. He shrugged and sipped his drink, watching the bar tender deliver your drink before walking away. “The pleasures all mine. A pretty girl like you shouldn’t be paying for her own drinks,” He said truthfully. Your blush may have not been visible because of the lighting, but you best believe Helen knew you were. You couldn't help but feel hopelessly attracted to him. Maybe it was desperation. Or maybe it was nice being treated with respect for once.

The clubs music switched to a different song, one with more bass. Helen noted you nervously glancing over your shoulder, staring at the DJ booth. Strike two was the way your eyes darted around when you were nervous. Helen decided distracting you might be the best course of action. “So, may I ask you on a proper date? What fun activities are there to do around here?” He asked. You became incredibly flustered, the sight definitely one for sore eyes. “There’s an art museum down the street. It’s the only gallery I haven’t seen in this town,” You suggested. Oh how little did you know that suggestion secured your fate and locked it in place. Helen then had mentally deemed you to be his perfect match. You both would make a delightful pair.

“Thats a splendid idea. Truthfully I adore the arts,” Helen answered. It was then you delivered the third strike, the biting of the inside of your cheek. Helen wasn’t quite sure what set you off, but the room was overstimulating to say the very least. “How about we take this party elsewhere? Your place perhaps?” Helen asked. He knew that wasn’t possible, but curiosity lingered about what your answer would be. “Oh um, no mine it’s very unorganized right now. What about yours?” You asked. You were now gnawing on the inside of your cheek. Oh dear, had you developed a new habit? “I have the most obnoxious roommate. Here, take my hand,” He proposed, setting a neat pile of bills on the counter. Your soft hand took his, the painter leading you through the crowds of people. Truthfully he was searching for more of a supply closet, something more secluded and private. But he supposed an unoccupied handicapped restroom would do. “I apologize for the lack of cleanliness that’s surrounds us, but your well being is more important,” Helen said, locking the door.

It wasn’t terribly filthy, but he much rather would’ve taken you somewhere nicer. “Helen I- I must be honest, I have-” You began. He knew where this was going. And if he was being truthful with himself he did not want to discuss Liam at your first meeting. So instead, he decided an alternative. “I apologize if this is a little too straight forward,” He said abruptly. Helen towered over you, cupping your cheeks before planting your lips against his. His lips were soft and warm, the faintest taste of whiskey still lingering. You melted into the kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck. Stumbling you fell back against the wall, your head spinning. “You are so beautiful and you deserve to be treated as so. May I show you how beautiful you are?” He asked. You nodded profusely, watching him drop to his knees. His slender fingers pulled up your dress, revealing your lacey black panties. Helen couldn’t help but feel like you had worn them for him.

It only made his cock harder as he pushed them to the side. Your slick was already wet, your folds begging for attention. “This wet already? You poor thing, does no one tend to your needs?” He asked, a hint of taunting lacing his tone. You were desperate, the double meaning of his words flying over your head. “N-no, please, please touch me,” You whined. Who was Helen to deny you of that? He licked a stripe up your cunt, sending a shudder down your spine. You grabbed onto his jet black locs for support as his large hands settled onto your thighs. He lapped at your cunt like a starved man, devouring every drop of juice your body was producing. His eagerness to please you only made you wetter. Truthfully you couldn’t recall the last time Liam had ever done foreplay with you. Your moans were loud and shameless, the clubs music overpowering the sounds anyways. You grinded against his face, whining as you approached your high. His lips attached to your clit, sucking at the sensitive bud harshly. His ocean eyes watched your facial expressions intently.

You were like a divine art piece that came to life.

Helen kept your thighs apart as they trembled, his name falling off of your lips as you came on his face. Shamelessly he lapped all of the juices away, licking you until he deemed you clean. You went to drop to your knees to return the favor, Helen stopping you. “A lady such as yourself does not belong on this filthy floor. Where you do belong, is with my fingers buried in your cunt until I make you cum again,” He said. Your head was spinning as he picked you up, setting you on the sink. He nudged his way between your thighs, plunging two fingers into your eager cunt. “Oh my- fuck- holy shit,” You whined, tilting your head back. Helen curled his fingers inside of you, your gummy walls clinging to him. “Such a tight cunt, what a masterpiece,” He praised, licking his lips. He began to curl his fingers faster, placing sloppy and uncoordinated kisses onto your neck. “D-don’t leave marks,” You pleaded in between pants. Helen knew why, but agreed to your request.

“I would never mark such a beautiful masterpiece my love,” He agreed, his voice hoarse. He pulled down your dress, exposing your breast. He was pleased at your lack of a bra. With one hand he toyed with your nipple, the other abusing your g spot as it pleased. “Feels so good Helen, you make me feel so good,” You whimpered, pawing at his button up. You grabbed handfuls of the fabric, Helen more amused than anything else. How long had it been since someone had truly pleasured you? He concluded it must’ve been an entirety, based on the way he could feel your second orgasm coming. “Someone close again? Wanna make a mess on my fingers?” Helen asked, a sly grin dancing across his lips. You managed to meet his gaze, your mouth fallen open in the shape of an O. “So close, wanna cum for you,” You whined. Helen twisted your nipple painfully, triggering your second orgasm. You didn’t have time to process it, your vision going white as you creamed around his fingers.

Helen enjoyed watching you ride out your high, your body convulsing as you experienced euphoria. He removed his fingers from your cunt, licking them clean. “You taste divine my love,” He praised. You gave him a dazed smile, hopping off of the sink. Helen guided you to turn around, studying the mounds of your ass as he pulled your dress up to your waist. “Such a gorgeous body. Truly a walking goddess,” He mumbled, undoing his belt. It wasn’t long before you felt him rub his tip up and down your slick, earning desperate moans from you. You gripped the sink as he began to push inside of you. Your face told Helen everything. That truthfully Liam was no whereas big as him or as coordinated. That you had not had a good fuck in a longtime. Your body was the snitch to everything you were attempting to hide. Helen was quick to bottom out, your gummy walls clinging to him. “You’re so perfect,” He grunted, beginning to pick up the pace. Helen thrust were slow and powerful, each one hitting your g spot just right.

It was like he knew what your body needed, your sounds sinful and pure filth as he rammed into you. Your cunt told him everything he needed to know, the sound of his name falling off of your lips one he wanted to hear forever. He relentlessly snapped his hips into yours, your orgasm growing closer and closer as he fucked you. “I’m going to make you mine my love, my perfect masterpiece,” Helen huffed, his slender fingers digging into your hips. You babbled an agreement, your mind too far gone. Helen slithered one of his hands down to your clit, drawing fast circles. You stood upwards, your back colliding with his chest as you felt yourself coming closer to your final orgasm. “Thats it, cum for me. Make a mess on my cock,” He praised, his breath hot against your ear. His name rang off of the bathroom walls as you creamed on his shaft, your orgasm triggering his own. Helen was quick to pull out of you, bending you over and cumming on your ass.

He watched his white seed paint your skin, creating a beautiful work of art.

Your fate was sealed, you were to spend entirety as his canvas.

[cr4yolaas]

the weight of words — alhaitham x mute! reader

notes: based off of this tiktok i found a long while ago featuring a poem that serves as the base for this fic <3 i feel like this is very poorly written / rushed and it lacks a good flow but i wanted to get it out asap bc i didn’t have any more energy to write it LOL

tags: italics represent handwritten notes, reader is implied to be rlly smart / top of the class, implied depressive episode (reader), self deprecation (reader), fluff → angst → fluff, may or may not be an inaccurate rep. of mute individuals, ooc alhaitham, not proofread

this was a little more irksome than he wanted to admit.

at the very top of the akademiya, far away from prying eyes, sat a student bathed in sunlight. from a distance, he observed. you held a book in one hand and an apple in the other, while your legs dangled off of the ledge. he couldn’t discern much from your backside.

but what bothered him the most was that you were seated in “his” spot. the spot he always crept away to during lunch, mainly for its isolation and breathtaking view.

without hesitation, alhaitham approached you. he tapped on your shoulder and stared with an intensity akin to the blazing sun in june. “excuse me,” he began. “i normally sit here. i would greatly appreciate it if you moved to another place, as i’m most accustomed to this spot.”

a silence washed over as you stared up at him. your lack of response left him annoyed — did you find this funny?

however, as you set down your book and snack gently, alhaitham found himself surprised for the first time in a while.

a notebook sat on your lap as you wrote rapidly. the man watched quietly.

i’m afraid not. there are countless other spots up here, and i just happened to get to this one first.

a sigh slipped from his lips. while he wasn’t unfamiliar with stubborn personalities around campus, this particular interaction seemed to interest him more than it irritated him. alhaitham nodded and sat beside you, much to your surprise.

he listened as you flipped your page and began writing again, this time taking up less space on the paper.

why do you like sitting here? you passed the notebook to him.

he wrote much slower in comparison to you, however, his handwriting bore an elegance you had not seen before, as if each letter carried a song in the ink. you found it beautiful.

the lack of noise.

his short response made you smile — simple and straight to the point. another thing you deemed wonderful.

he did not hand the notebook back to you, but instead, continued to write. i dislike unnecessary sounds. they serve as useless interruptions. up here, i find that in comparison to the chatter of students, the ambience is soothing. alhaitham placed the notebook in your lap gingerly and looked into the distance, his gaze absent yet his thoughts reverberating.

you continued this back and forth with him for the entirety of the lunch break. the lines engraved on your palms spilled over with ink smears, and you found your dominant arm growing weary. you did not write your goodbyes on the paper, therefore leaving your conversation unfinished. you left with a smidge of warmth in your heart and a smile on your face in hopes of meeting him again the next day.

from afar, you could see the way he sat leaning slightly more towards one side, and the occasional tapping of his fingers against the table as he wrote. he drank from a small mug of what you presumed to be coffee, but rather than holding the handle, he gripped the cup from its mouth. another intricacy that piqued your interest.

he noticed your stare after a few seconds, eyes of jade and clementine meeting yours. without a word, he relocated to your table, sitting directly across from you. “hello,” he greeted softly. “i didn’t know you frequented this place either.” his gaze flickered over to your notebook peeking out of your schoolbag, and when you pulled it out to respond to him, he found himself getting uncharacteristically excited.

i don’t, actually. i wanted a change of pace, but i’m not sure how much i’m enjoying it. you pushed the book across the table to him.

is it too loud to study? that’s surprising.

you looked up at him questioningly for a moment before jotting down your reply. i’m not studying. i’m just here to read. his lips upturned noticeably at your words, an expression you wished to carve into the crevices of your memory for eternity. he was painstakingly beautiful.

alhaitham didn’t respond for a handful of seconds, instead opting to look outside the window to his left. strands of sunlight draped themselves onto his perfectly crafted face and fell between each strand of hair. a view that compared to the one at the top of the akademiya.

a conversation of short responses — ranging from questions about your darshan, to your favorite season, to the books you enjoyed reading — ensued, the evidence splayed onto the paper. you appreciated his company, for it was rare that anyone sought to talk with you.

he asked another question, his curiosity seeping out endlessly. why do you communicate like this?

a thin-lipped smile etched itself onto your lips. the ink of your pen ghosted atop the paper, your hesitation evident. i was born mute. i have no voice, therefore i cannot communicate in a normal manner.

you grew increasingly anxious as he looked at you with an expression that was terrifyingly unreadable. your hands rested atop the notebook, keeping it away from him for reasons you didn’t understand quite yet.

“that’s okay,” he spoke, the baritone of his voice cutting through your shared silence. “i don’t mind it. actually, i think i prefer it. over the grating voices of the other scholars i know, at least.” he went on about his senior, a friend in kshahrewar who apparently could never keep his mouth shut in his presence. you merely listened, soaking in his words and absorbing each syllable that spilled out of the cracks between his teeth. your confession rendered you utterly silent, but seemingly, he paid no mind.

again, your conversation ended without a proper goodbye. your notebook sat still on the table. moments after his departure, you stayed in your seat, contemplating the complications of this newfound acquaintance.

alhaitham’s life revolved around routine and quiet. he needed both to go about his day in an efficient and satisfying manner; otherwise, he would end up feeling rather unfulfilled and bothered.

perhaps that is why he found himself so drawn to you. in comparison to many of his classmates, who were incessantly obnoxious and needlessly talkative, you were quiet, not just vocally, but in every other aspect. your handwriting was consistent and each letter looked just as neat as the other. your responses were similar to his in that they were direct and honest. and, oddly, you radiated a warmth that he could not see in anyone else.

his next encounter with you wouldn’t be for a handful of days. he knew you were a student, thus resulting in his confusion — he had never seen you around campus until that day.

he ran into you during one of his lectures. you sat right beside him in a seat that wasn’t usually occupied. he began to question you with pen and paper, as usual.

since when were you enrolled in this class?

i always have been. this isn’t a necessary class for my darshan, it’s just an extra period for me to increase my credits. i don’t come to class very often.

he quirked a brow up. you fiddled with your pen.

interesting how i haven’t heard of you until now. alhaitham smiled softly at your muffled giggle, one that he had not heard until then. the noise swarmed his chest with a lightness he could not replicate.

you might have fallen too soon.

alhaitham was a simple man, yet alluring all the same. you had snuck away his perfections and imperfections in a different notebook. for instance:

3 - straightforward and direct

21 - prefers tea over coffee

44 - can’t sleep without a weighted blanket

your ever-growing infatuation for him began to blossom in the cavities of your stomach, and soon, it would infect everything above. you could not bear it — nights spent in solitude, where he would discuss his interests (which were minimal) until you fell asleep; afternoons spent in comfort, where you would share a slice of cake to celebrating a particularly difficult exam. he consumed your very being, the neurons that invoked muscular response and the veins that carried your blood here and there; all of it was him. and yet, you could not meaningfully share this with him, your silence embedding your heart in a crevice far away.

it seemed that he got to it first, anyways.

alhaitham asked you a simple question — if you were capable of speaking for a day, what would you say? he had begun carrying his own memo book to conversate — another addition to the list.

you sat in silence for a brief period before writing, every thought and feeling and idea that has ever encountered my mind would leave my lips.

he wrote, then i will give you just that, and more.

when you began dating alhaitham, you found that he was much more eager to “speak” to you consistently. he would write in his same font and present to you a variety of inquiries, ranging from plans for the day to what you wanted for dinner. he was the epitome of a loving man, a far cry from the tales of coldheartedness and brutality you’ve heard of him. and yet, something began to gnaw at your lungs as he did so.

alhaitham was your voice to speak through — he was the monotonous ramblings, the heavy whispers, the gentle laughs; he held all of those for you. seemingly, life became far more breathable.

but your love was just as restricting as it was kind. to speak is to suffer, but to not speak at all is beyond that — it is torture. nights were spent staring at alhaitham’s sleeping figure, questioning whether he truly felt the affection you expressed. gifts, contact, quality time; what good was it if you could not do something as simple as converse with him? it extended beyond him, as well — for reasons unknown, it grew increasingly difficult to communicate with your new professors and classmates, the downturns of their lips as you pulled out a notebook gut-wrenching. you questioned if alhaitham felt the same.

you began to spiral.

a rapid set of knocks arrived at your door at a questionable hour. the sun hung high in the sky, albeit obscured by your curtains. a soft buzz rung in your room.

“i know you’re inside,” a voice spoke from the other side of the wood. he knocked again.

you made no move to open the door, nor to approach it, nor to get up from your bed. in response, the hinges creaked and heavy footsteps neared.

“why have you locked yourself in here?” alhaitham asked, his tone indiscernible. you didn’t see it, but you heard him shuffling around your bedroom. “where is your notebook?”

it was silly. he spoke as if you could respond, and you weren’t sure if you were supposed to be sorrowful or upset.

he pulled the blanket from off of your head, his face indifferent as he witnessed your disheveled state. “i’m not sure what’s going on, but i can assure you i will wait until you’re well enough to speak to me again. i will always wait.” alhaitham set his own memo book and pen beside your pillow. a warm hand held yours, a signal of reassurance. “please get better as soon as you can.”

he turned around to leave, and you could not bring yourself to reach out for him. what would you do? would the words crawl out of your throat, akin to a miracle? or would you plead at him with desperate eyes in hopes he’d read your mind? you did not know. every instance would inconvenience him in some way — that you could not bear.

you did not step foot outside for another week. alhaitham (and kaveh, much to your surprise) had left meals and gifts next to your door, all of which remained untouched. you were in stasis.

each thought had been replaced by a fog so asphyxiating that it had drowned every word the moment it rose to the surface. a bubbling exhaustion boiled in you. you wished to speak, to express anything at all, to apologize for inconveniencing those around you, and to apologize to alhaitham for putting him through such an obstacle.

as if sensing this desire, he arrived at your dorm again, this time with a more gentle appearance and a large bag behind him.

you reached out for the notebook he placed beside you a week prior. why are you here?

he kneeled down beside you, paying no mind to your disheveled appearance, and spoke softly, “i’m sorry.” if it were fitting, he would have laughed at the instantaneous furrow of your brows. “i should’ve realized. and in failing to do so, i have failed you.” alhaitham took the notebook and pen from your grasp, and with an unrivaled delicacy, he held you.

“i would give up my own voice if it meant i could spend an eternity with you,” he began. “i do not care if you lack a voice of your own. you’re still embedded in my heart all the same.”

you had not written to him for days. and yet, he understood everything. he read the words displayed in your features with a familiarity no one had demonstrated.

758 - willing to help me heal.

alhaitham sat across from you, his back hunched over his work and his face framed with a mix of feather-gray hair and wispy sunlight. he wrote with an unmatched fluidity, as if time were escaping him.

he let out a sigh as he set down his pencil and sat up straight. “why must you sit with me if you’ve finished this assignment weeks ago? it’s as if you’re mocking me.”

it’s entertaining. he grabbed the notebook from your side of the table and wrote haphazardly, contrasting his smooth technique before.

it’s really not. i feel as if i’m being ridiculed and observed under a microscrope. it’s horrible, he teased.

you’re smart, anyways. you’ll survive.

afternoons in the akademiya’s library were once suffocating and exhausting. to be surrounded by peers who could only sneer and misjudge and question was unpleasant. now, as you sat with your lover in a soft silence, you felt at peace.

[silkscream]

once bitten, twice shy

megumi fushiguro x reader

ੈ✩ wc: 3.1k (i cannot write anything under 2k to save my life)

ੈ✩ tags: emotionally constipated megumi, tsundere basically, friends to lovers, a lil angst, not actually unrequited love, pining, alcohol, typical yuuji nobara antics

ੈ✩ a/n: this is not xmas themed despite the title BUT it does end up taking place on satoru's birthday for plot reasons. megumi fushiguro your intimacy issues bewitch me mind body and soul.....

megumi does not know what to do with his feelings.

he’s never been the type to be particularly in touch with them — he didn’t remember his parents enough to blame them for whatever avoidant attachment he’d accustomed himself to. or maybe, that was the exact cause of said attachment style. gojo taking him in when he was a child didn’t help either — the man also refused to be very vulnerable around him, merely acting as a benefactor and a nuisance at best.

and while he was closest to tsumiki, he’d still built up a wall around himself that she couldn’t get through, and she knew it. she couldn’t break through it in his pre-teen years, and certainly not his teenage years when he was taking out his aggression on his classmates. he would ignore her soothing words and resent her kindness. perhaps he’d taken after toji in that way. constantly fending for himself for the sake of survival. always convinced that he was doomed to be alone.

and then there was you.

he’d met you first at jujutsu tech before any of the other students could. after sparring with maki, he’d been dismissed to shoko’s office. he’d opened the door that september day and was immediately met with your wide eyes, your searing cursed energy. gojo had found another stray.

shoko had made him your first experiment and you excelled. his injuries were healed within minutes. if anything, he felt better than he had in months — after battling insomnia and panic attacks, he felt… calm. like his brain was cleansed and that he had nothing to stress about. (until the next time gojo had gotten on his nerves.)

your introduction to his class was nothing extravagant despite gojo’s theatrics. megumi couldn’t help but keep his eyes on you after that — during practice battles, lectures, or lunch. he was always hyperaware of your presence. he blamed it on your cursed energy.

he hates how enthusiastic yuuji is about you, how yuuji tells him about how he manages to get you alone even though you often keep to yourself, and how he thinks you’re so fucking pretty, and that you’d agreed to watch the human earthworm movies with him. (megumi had refused when yuuji asked.)

he stews in that anger quietly because he’d rather die than let anyone know. nobara knows better, of course. she teases him about it and brings up jealousy.

why should megumi ever be jealous of yuuji? the boy was a freak accident in human form, with no inherent technique. who fucking cares that he can make you laugh without any effort?

it doesn’t matter. it doesn’t. because you have no direct effect on megumi and you don’t distract him during school. he doesn’t cling onto the memory of your hands on his skin. he doesn’t wish for the feeling again. of course not.

he tells this to yuuji and nobara, too. there’s one day where nobara goes too far — she teases him about setting up a date, that you rave about him, that he’s definitely your type. megumi doesn’t believe a word of it, especially because you’re probably more comfortable with yuuji. he doesn’t care to date because it would hold him back. he’s too focused on his training, on being the best, because he’s determined to follow in gojo’s shadow even if he won’t admit it. he could be the second strongest. he could be the most reliable.

it comes out in all the wrong ways. he’s more irritable than usual, so he yells at nobara instead of seething in hushed tones. he rants about how he does’t need someone by his side, certainly not you, whose only benefit is to heal superficial injuries and not much else. how your combat skills are poor, how easily you get beat when you spar on the field. how compared to him, you’re weak, so you’re of no use.

unfortunately, you hear him. every thought on his mind that tumbles out of his stupid mouth, his tone spewing wrath. you know that megumi is a moody person, but you’d never think him to be mean.

you pretend you’re just passing by, but from the faces nobara and yuuji are making, megumi already senses your presence. the color drains from his face, cobalt eyes wide.

“i’m — i’m sorry, i didn’t mean —“

“it’s okay, fushiguro,” you say softly. even after that shitshow, you’re still fucking smiling. it puts a sinking feeling in megumi’s stomach.

“ah, i got an extra pack of mochi and thought you guys would like it.”

you hand over a small bag and megumi takes it wordlessly.

“that’s so sweet,” yuuji beams, attempting to deflect. “hey, i was just looking for you. do you happen to have those jujutsu history notes? kugisaki spilled a soda on mine.”

“you knocked it over!” nobara protests.

“you put it on top of my stuff!”

you take your notebook out of your bag and hand it to yuuji graciously, avoiding megumi’s gaze and making up an excuse to see all of them later.

apparently, “later” means a week after. megumi sees you in class, and while he attempts to walk you to the dining hall or invite you to hang out, you bolt out the door before catching anyone’s attention. he has to find out how you are from fucking yuuji, who somehow gets to see you around the dorms every other day.

“i think she just likes to keep to herself, s’all,” yuuji says. he can sense megumi’s anxiety just from being in the same room as him.

“but you see her all the time.”

“she’s been tutoring me a little. and we just like the same movies and stuff.”

yuuji shrugs casually. his nonchalance makes megumi’s blood boil, because of course he’s the one who gets to occupy all of your time. of course you’re probably most comfortable with him. he knows he shouldn’t be seething at the thought of you two together — it isn’t his right. but his jealousy is starting to get the best of him lately.

“are you guys together?” he blurts out.

“no?” yuuji furrows his brows. “if anything, i feel like nobara might be trying to make a move since she’s way nicer to her than she is to us. except i’m pretty sure she and maki have been going out lately.”

“maki?”

“dude, keep up!”

and when yuuji accuses of megumi having a crush again, the same way nobara did all those weeks ago before he made a fucking fool of himself, megumi shuts it down with a grimace and a blush. he’s merely concerned about your wellbeing is what it is. that’s what he’s able to muster up to yuuji, of course, who absolutely isn’t buying it based on his shit-eating grin.

it’s annoying, especially because yuuji can make you feel more comfortable, comfortable enough to hang with the whole trio, and the pink-haired bastard has to meddle like a little troll. bumping the two of you into each other like you’re in middle school. somehow, it worsens everything. not your dynamic, but megumi’s self-consciousness.

he was already so extremely aware of you, but now he’s convinced that some angel above has tied the red string between you both extra tight. megumi looks for you in every crowd, awaits your arrival every day in the classroom and at lunch, and it’s starting to feel pathetic — the lightness in his chest whenever you’re even so much as ten feet away. his heart even beats faster at the anticipation of your text in the group chat, for fuck’s sake.

and then there’s gojo’s birthday party, a surprise orchestrated by the four of you, despite megumi’s reluctance. you’re particularly more radiant than usual. maybe it’s the lighting. maybe it’s the dress you have on.

despite the amount of shots he’s been forced to take in the past hour (three), megumi is still sober enough to feel anxious around you. though, he thinks he might be drunk enough to be lost in your image, fixating on your collarbone and the way your hair falls in your face as you laugh at one of gojo’s stupid jokes. it’s when the two of you lock eyes that megumi feels out of it, because you smile at him. you fucking smile.

if the warmth of the liquor wasn’t currently raising heated blood to his head, he’d deny the sparks that came from the mere sight of your smile, but he was hopeless. you’re mesmerizing. dizzying. he doesn’t know what to do with his face, not when his cheeks are flushing red and his motor skills are slowing down. fuck, maybe he was a lightweight like gojo after all.

he’s clearly out of touch with reality, because the moment fades as soon as it comes. perhaps it wasn’t a moment at all. he watches you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, your mouth moving slowly as you mingle with other classmates. he’s fucking fixated on your mouth — your lipstick tonight is a blush red with a shiny gloss reflecting light. megumi has only dreamed of what your lips would taste like once or twice. no more than that. he swears on it.

there’s brief eye contact between the two of you again for half a second. there’s a coy smile on your face as always before you slip out the back door of the house.

there are so many bottles around the place that no one will notice megumi taking an entire bottle of champagne for himself. he scowls at the taste, of sickeningly sweet pears — courtesy of gojo, probably. his head swims and thinks of you.

his momentary peace is rudely interrupted by the sound of nobara’s voice in his ear, asking for you.

“ijichi’s setting up karaoke!”

“there is no way in hell that i’m—”

“i don’t care what you do, emo, but i need her to do a duet!”

megumi heaves a sigh, making his way to the backyard where he finds you sitting on a tree stump. even with the dim fairy lights, he probably would’ve missed you if not for the cherried end of your cigarette.

“fushiguro-kun,” you nod at him.

“megumi,” he rasps. “just… megumi is fine.”

“oh, i get special privileges now? how come?”

there’s no mirth in your tone. you’re teasing him. he doesn’t answer your question.

(the mere act of you teasing him becomes an intimacy in itself — he had never thought that you would be comfortable enough to talk to him in jest. you’d maintained your distance from him fairly well.)

“didn’t know you smoked.”

“only when i drink,” you shrug. “ieiri-san doesn’t make much of an effort to hide her cigarettes, either. don’t tell on me, though.”

“wouldn’t dream of it.”

he doesn’t know where to look. luckily, you’re not looking at him, so he can settle his gaze on your mouth nursing the cigarette. plump. glossy under the moonlight.

megumi is not used to wanting. he had never asked gojo for anything during his adolescence, and refused any gesture of kindness from anyone. he was convinced since childhood that there was no point in desire because disappointment would be on the other end of it either way.

he’d like to be a monk about it. he could control himself and focus on his studies. never spare you a glance again that isn’t platonic. and then a cool december wind blows past the two of you, and he smells your amber perfume.

and when he turns his head, you’re looking at him, eyes bright.

“so… not enjoying the party?”

“i’m not really one for parties.”

“me neither,” you shrug. “that’s why i like to do my little ritual of escaping.”

“we have that in common.”

you hum, a noncommittal noise. you take another drag of your cigarette, which disintegrates slowly.

“what a pair, the two of us.”

megumi can’t pick up any sarcasm from your voice, though he assumes it. it makes his stomach drop even though the statement is harmless. the two of you. together. it makes endless futures bloom in his mind. maybe it’s the prosecco, but it almost makes him want to vomit. to think that he was even good enough to be beside you in your future.

you curse quietly when you pull your phone out of your jacket pocket to check the time, realizing it’s dead. megumi gives you a once-over. the jacket you’re wearing is all too familiar. like him, you’re not one to wear very many colors. but this jacket is bright red, varsity style, and oversized on you.

“is that itadori’s jacket?” megumi stammers.

“oh, yeah. i didn’t realize how cold it would be tonight.”

“oh.”

“why?” you give him a curious smile.

“nothing,” he coughs. “are… you two…”

you laugh and it’s like a song to him.

“i think he might be my best friend, s’all. why? you jealous?”

he looks at you again, head-on, your eyes still bright. brighter than fluorescents. there’s something in your irises that is meant to provoke him, but he’s dispensed of his usual cautious nature after he takes another gulp from the bottle.

“more than you can imagine,” he huffs.

“sorry?”

“’m not repeating that.”

“what, you’re not saying you’re like, into me, are you?” you exasperate.

megumi remains silent, cheeks flushed. he thinks that if his head could heat up any more, he’d end up with a migraine.

you breathe the tiniest gasp. if it wasn’t for how close megumi was to you, he wouldn’t have noticed.

“i kind of thought you hated me, you know,” you admit.

“i could never hate you. i don’t think anyone could.”

“you don’t have to pretend,” you sigh. he didn’t notice until now that your cigarette was finished, discarded onto the dirt with your boot to crush it into ash. “i— beyond the politeness, i get it. that i’m not your type or whatever. you don’t even have to be friends with me, fushiguro-kun.”

“megumi,” he emphasizes.

“megumi.”

“i’m not pretending. i… i really fucking like you,” he slurs. “it kind of scares me how much.”

“you’re drunk.”

“i am. i know you heard me say all that shit to kugisaki and itadori, but it’s because they put me on the spot and i was nervous. i don’t know how to… deal with feelings. honestly, if i wasn’t even a little drunk right now, i’d probably have left the party with my tail in between my legs and avoided you for the next fucking week, and you don’t deserve that. you deserve… everything.”

“even you?”

when did you get so close to him? if he sauntered just a few inches in your direction, he could touch your noses together. he can smell your perfume so deeply.

“it’s the other way around,” megumi breathes. “i don’t deserve you. not anything close to you.”

“what if i want you regardless?” your voice is just above a whisper. a prayer, a hymn. a wish to be blown out.

megumi swallows the lump in his throat. he blinks at you, dark indigo luminescent. the world slows down. he may owe it to the liquor and the wine, but he assumes it’s just your presence. your scent, the softness of your hair in between his fingers, your soft breaths.

“what do you want, megumi-kun?”

he remembers something gojo said. that to be a jujutsu sorcerer, he has to be selfish. he’s not sure if that philosophy applies to the situation at hand, but he’d be damned if he let you crawl into bed tonight without knowing how he truly felt about you. so, uncharacteristically, he takes a leap forward.

he unwinds the tension in his body and presses his lips to yours. it’s soft, chaste, innocent. something like a pause. he’s afraid to touch you, but you’ve already reeled him in with arms thrown around his shoulders, fingertips touching the softness of his black hair.

you bump your nose with his, shyly, and he kisses you open-mouthed. tongue in your mouth, meshing the taste of tobacco and prickly pear. the vanilla chapstick that he’d put on before he followed you out to the backyard.

he has one hand caressing your jaw and the other on your shoulder, thumb brushing over your collarbone in a way that makes your entire body shiver. you’re embarrassed at the pool of desire in between your legs.

megumi has never let himself be full of wanting, but at the moment, his veins are surging with it. it’s like a drug to him — your warmth, your scent, the saccharine taste of your mouth. your flesh is so soft, so pliable, from the way you dip towards the cavern of his lanky body, pressed against him chest to chest. letting his hand dig into the fat of your hip. fingertips grazing the skin underneath your shirt.

maybe it’s the liquor, but he’s feeling experimental — he tucks your bottom lip in between his teeth. pulls your hair ever so slightly. you mewl into his mouth quietly and he thinks that he’s never felt anything better than this. you’re wrapped up in all of him. you can quite literally feel the heat on his cheeks and both of you realize how aroused he is, his bulge prodding your thigh.

“fuck,” he whispers into your mouth, and he pulls away. only a few inches are separating you as he takes a moment to breathe. his eyes are blown out wide, black stretching across dark blue. both of you are stunned, panting, and the tension is more palpable than ever.

a rustling of grass makes both of you jump. when he turns, he sees yuuji and nobara staring with wide eyes.

“you owe me 7,000 yen,” yuuji deadpans to nobara.

“seriously, fushiguro? i didn’t think you had it in you!”

“i always had faith in you, fushiguro!” yuuji chimes.

while you giggle, megumi growls under his breath at the new intrusions of dumb and dumber.

“i personally thought you were way out of his league,” nobara tells you.

“eat shit.” megumi seethes with arms crossed, and despite his wrath, he resembles more of an angry kitten to you than any potential threat.

“sheesh, don’t summon a shikigami on them, megumi,” you tease with a pleased grin.

“i—” he stumbles over his words in frustration, grimacing. “what do the two of you want, anyway?”

“gojo-sensei got ijichi to sing doja cat.”

“oh, i’ve gotta see this,” you snort, grabbing megumi by the hand as you begin to usher the crew back inside. his heart leaps at the feeling of your fingers intertwined with his.

despite his inhibitions, megumi’s decided that he could get used to this.

[yuellii]

When reticent rainfall restricted the outings of the common-folk, Neuvillette tended to blame himself for causing these complications.

But storms in the Court of Fontaine symbolized sadness; and such sadness, he noticed, matched so simultaneously with his own demeanor. Rain always resembled the frown on his face—downpours always dawned from his despair. The weather was only a weaving track through his withering tears.

So why, now, was it beginning to pour when he caught sight of you patting the head of a Melusine?

The sight was what those old romance books would describe as heart-warming; endearing, too. Your hand ruffling through her little head of hair ( especially one that he speaks his morning greetings to every day ) was a sight akin to sweet Fontainian desserts. Who would’ve thought that you’d grace him with your appearance during his morning routine? Such a pleasant occurrence—and yet, he still feels cold rain begin to land at the top of his head.

“Oh no!” you exclaimed in quite a silly manner, talking to the Melusine whilst not noticing his eyeful presence from the sidelines. “It’s drizzling, let’s take cover aside the building!”

A twinge of guilt settled in the Chief Justice’s stomach immediately, blaming himself for the rain. To make matters even more confusing, he just couldn’t figure out why rain was beginning to fall in the first place. Were these droplets not the resemblance of his tears? Pitiful feelings of sorrow from the Hydro Dragon—was this gloomy weather not the definite denotation of that?

“Don’t worry, my body is accustomed to water!” the Melusine waved off. Then, she tossed her little guard hat to you, ushering it into your hands. “But your body is not, so please take some cover!”

The working Melusine clearly liked you; Neuvillette’s heart might have skipped a beat. Rain started falling a bit harder.

“Oh, Monsieur Neuvillette!” the little Melusine suddenly waved, calling him over. You looked surprised to see him yourself, but he tried his hardest to rid of this sudden nervousness. Somehow, for some reason, it was taking him a bit of adjusting just to walk over to you. He sweared he’s never felt like this before. “Good morning!” the Melusine brightly smiled.

“Good morning,” he responded shortly, slightly ducking his head in a makeshift sort-of bow. The man joined the two of you underneath the overhang of this quaint shop, standing across from you such that the little Melusine stood in between.

The little one turned back up to look at you. “You know, the Chief Justice greets all the working Melusine’s every morning!”

“Every morning?” you repeated, almost like you were talking to a young girl.

“Every morning!”

There’s a gentle smile on your face as you look down at the childlike excitement radiating from the Melusine between you. And despite all this energy coming from the little guard, Neuvillette found it impossible to take his eyes off of you, instead. How kind you looked, staring down at her as you listened carefully to her words—Neuvillette might’ve been entranced.

“The Chief Justice is a very good man,” you spoke down to the Melusine, “isn’t he?”

“Very much so!”

Neuvillette could feel his chest tighten once again. The currently light drizzle suddenly had a random burst of a downpour.

He cleared his throat, “Thank you.”

You hummed, finally looking up at him. “The rain is quite peculiar today, isn’t it?” His cheeks suddenly warmed from the way you looked at him. He couldn’t quite tell what was different this time, for you always looked at him like this—such a look of normalcy. Every time he came to see you during work, you looked just the same. Just another human; But now, he might’ve felt a bit insecure. Archons, perhaps you made him a little sick. He did not reject your attempts at small talk, however.

“What makes you say that?” he asked in response.

“It’s still sunny, good Monsieur.” And when he looked up to the sky, he found that you were right. Water only fell from a few, light clouds. Otherwise, bright blue skies could still be seen. Following his gaze to the lightness above, you continued, “The rain seems to be a bit happier today.”

Happier… Happy rain…

Was it possible to cry from happiness?

He’s never heard of such a thing.

“Maybe the legendary Hydro Dragon is crying from joy right now!” the Melusine perked up, agreeing wholeheartedly with your comment. You immediately laughed at her statement, finding some measure of endearment in her enthusiasm.

And when you looked back down at the Melusine with such a kind expression—an expression that trapped all air in his lungs—he might find himself agreeing with you, too. “Crying joy,” you repeated with a smile in your eyes. “Oh, I bet he is.”

[gayboydetectivez]

Tw smoking

Dbda drabble

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"Job officially jobbed, good work, guys!" Charles smiled at his companions, coat still covered in green slime from the evil plant they had just killed.

It hadn't been a difficult case, comparatively, but hunting through the forest for a cursed bush and then losing the bottle of weed killer had made it significantly more difficult than intended.

"We should head back to the office." Edwin replied, still scratching notes into his book as he led the walk back to the bus stop.

After a few minutes crystal began digging in her bag, retrieving a small paper box and a lighter. Pulling one of the thin sticks from the box, putting it to her lips, she ignited the end, inhaling deeply.

"You smoke?" Charles asked incredulously.

"Is that uncommon now?" Edwin chimed in, a confused look on his face.

"It's frowned upon, but plenty of people still do it." Crystal answered, blowing a cloud of smoke into the air. In her months with the agency, she had grown accustomed to Edwin's cultural questions, no longer being overly sarcastic in response to his genuine confusion over time period differences.

Edwin hummed thoughtfully, watching the grey plumes curl in the air before being swept away by the wind.

"Did you ever smoke, Charles?" He asked after a moment.

"Occasionally. When the lads had a carton or I was at a party." Charles answered simply, leaving out the risk coming home smelling of cigs posed to 16yr old him and his fathers impact on his lack of typical teen rebellion. "You?" He asked, mainly to be polite. Charles knew Edwin had a sheltered childhood, as most childhoods seemed to be during his era, but he had grown fond of their usual back and forth routine.

"Me? Oh yes, quite frequently." He answered, earning duel shocked expressions from his companions.

"You smoke?" Crystal asked, disbelief coloring her voice.

"Well it has been over a century..." He corrected snarkily, "but yes. It was common place when I was alive for boys as young as 10 to get their first cigarette case and begin smoking. It was a right of passage of sorts, i suppose." He shrugged.

"Next you're gonna tell us you were shooting whiskey and doing lines of coke." Crystal retorted, earning a chuckle from Charles, who despite being well aware of his best mate's rebellious nature, simply couldn't imagine him getting drunk and doing drugs like some rockstar Charles had on his bedroom wall as a child.

"'A gentleman does not shoot whiskey, he sips it'" Edwin quoted, allowing Charles for a moment to envision what Edwins father had sounded like, "and cocaine was a very powerful and frequently prescribed medicine. It was a main ingredient in cough syrup." He informed his stunned counterparts.

Charles tried to press back the images flashing in his mind of Edwin drunk, cheeks pink, smoke swirling around him as a cigarette balanced carelessly between his fingers.

"Can ghosts smoke?" Crystal asked unprompted. "Like have you tried?"

"I can't say I have," he said, "though there were moments in Hell where I thought I could have killed for a cigarette and a drink." He added, laughing the way he usually did when speaking of Hell. Casual but with a faint tightness to it, not quite forced but not quite natural either.

Crystal dug the cardboard pack out from her bag again, offering one to Edwin. He gave his usual resigned sigh and took one, rolling the white stick between his long fingers, inspecting it, before bringing it to his mouth. Charles breath caught in his throat. Crystal flicked the lighter and Edwin leaned in to inhale through the flame. The smoke plumed around his face as his eyes fluttered shut in memory.

He exhaled a small cloud and looked at the expectant faces around him. "I can't exactly taste it, but it is rather pleasant." He answered their unasked question, taking another drag. If Charles could blush, he would be the same color as his shirt. "My apologies, would you like to try?" Edwin asked, holding the lit cigarette out to Charles who had spent the majority of this time staring at him in stunned awe.

Charles looked from the offending item to his partners expectant face and back again before sliding the cigarette from Edwin's thin pianists fingers and placing it in his own mouth. He tried not to think too hard about the fact it had also been in Edwin's mouth just moments ago. He inhaled, smoke filling his chest, the usual subtle burn missing as it flowed down his windpipe and back out again. Edwin had been right, he could almost taste it. The usual flavor dulled by death, instead a faint earthy flavor filled his senses. It was familiar enough to recognize as tobacco but lacked the overpowering taste.

Blowing out the smoke, he smiled at Edwin's expectant face. "That's brills." He said, returning the cigarette to his partner.

[usedpidemo]

Shangri-la (Oh My Girl Yooa)

Thank you for the commission! I hope it's to your liking.

—————

“What the?”

What welcomes you inside the bedroom takes you by complete surprise. It’s the kind that leaves you with more questions than answers. She had been very vague about the whole ordeal, skittering around the details. she was completely straightforward about one thing: to get fucked. That’s the main selling point.

Her inviting tone, her sultry expression, her lust—it’s still freshly imprinted on your mind from an hour ago. You’ve heard those words—their many variations—a handful of times, but hers is by far the most enticing and the sweetest sounding:

“Wanna have sex with me tonight?”

—————

Admittedly, it was never on your bucket list to attend a concert, let alone a group who sings primarily in foreign. It was supposed to be just a kind gesture for a roommate.

He’s your resident nerdy K-pop fan, the kind that gets bullied in real life and on the internet. He’s the full package; posters on the bedroom wall, a book full of photocards, and a shelf of albums and lightsticks which he considers as his sacred temple. You were never meant to go beyond a toe’s dip into this unhealthy obsession he’s engrossed himself in; completing his homework was enough exposure. 

If there was one takeaway from your observations, it was quite obvious: the girls are really hot. And that’s all that you needed to convince yourself to go. 

Besides, you were his roommate—and his only friend. Out of the kindness of your heart, you have an obligation to be there for him, at least until you graduate.

For the most part, the show was entertaining. Again, the girls were pretty attractive, and they were dressed in outfits that flaunted their bodies exceptionally well. Your friend’s relentless screaming accustomed you to the crowd’s energy, which was no joke. Even in a small, intimate venue, there were several moments where you felt that the place might collapse off the audience’s deafening shouts alone. At least you came prepared with noise canceling earplugs.

It’s not a huge surprise when he suddenly vanishes after the show. He’s been in and out of sight the whole time; getting freebies, merch shopping, taking numerous bathroom breaks, to the point where he just straight up forgets he left his phone with you before running off again. 

To make things worse, it’s the dying moments of the night, when everyone in the VIP section, the two of you included, gets to greet the members for only a brief passing moment. He’d been acting like his entire life has been building to this moment, completely neglecting the fact you were his ride home. 

Of course you’re not entirely sure about who’s who in this group. Six equally pretty girls, all wearing the exact same shirt and short skirt combination, down to the colors, with equally warm smiles. You didn’t have enough time to familiarize yourself with each of their names; the internet in the area has been failing you for hours. The staff was strict with phones the closer you approached them. It didn’t help that everyone screamed through their introductions, too.

Unsurprisingly, nothing substantial came of your interaction. A series of repetitive, awkward bows and near-silent whispers of “hello.” You’ve been putting off Duolingo for months, and it showed. It should have been a forgettable affair, considering the hundreds of people they’re greeting just from tonight’s queue alone. It’s not like you particularly stand out from the rest of the crowd; a casual shirt and jeans combo that’s indistinguishable from the dozens in attendance, and you don’t have anything on you that screams ‘overly dedicated fan.’

So when you’re pulled aside by the same staff closely watching the queue during the meet and greet, asked to head backstage as part of some secret lucky draw, you’re not surprised. There’s an age-old superstition that states that you’re more likely to meet celebrities the less you’re familiar with them. It rings true, and you have first hand proof.

You’re led to this singular door in what’s basically an unused narrow hallway. The kind that criminals use to trap their victims. Definitely safe. The staff member instructs you to head in before leaving you there alone. Nothing more, nothing less. 

Instead of your friend, you find one of the members you just met, waiting on the other side. You have so many questions, but she she gives you another to entertain:

“You wanna have sex with me tonight?”

Much to her amusement ,you’re taken aback. At first, you’d think she was pulling some kind of prank. By the way she smiles and laughs, it’s a reaction all too familiar to her, like this is some kind of cliche. It’s not a surprise to hear those words from any girl, knowing your experiences at college parties and bars, but from a traveling singer? Simply put, it’s quite ridiculous.

“You’re joking right?” you say, hand close to the door you just entered, ready to make a beeline for it. You glance around the enclosed, compact space, searching for any possible hidden cameras recording the scene.

She shakes her head, taking a step forward. “Not at all. You should consider yourself lucky.”

“Do you do this all the time?” you ask, her reply not easing you in the slightest. Your hand inches a little closer to the door. It’s not like she’s going to hurt you; if anything, her thin figure’s probably what should worry her if you dare to even breathe heavily on her, let alone touch. 

“Yeah. Every stop. You look really cute,” she says, reaching her hand out to you. “And you look like you can give me a good time tonight.”

There’s something flattering about her words, coming from an idol singer, complimenting you that hits a chord harder than other girls. Her sincere tone, doll-like eyes twinkling, and expressive lips certainly help. It’s alluring—devastating—to a casual like you; how much more to someone who worships her. 

Then, here comes the killing blow:

“So, what’s it going to be?” She kisses you on the chin, wrapping her arms around your neck. It’s not suffocating, not in the slightest, but you might as well be entangled by them. Her eyes, sharp and fiery, are daring you to say otherwise to her seemingly coarse question. 

Leaning your head against her shoulder, her scent and soft skin prove to be intoxicating. You can’t get enough. That hand you’ve been pressing on the door is no longer there; it’s coiled around her back, taking inventory of her slim waist and arched back, then teasing at the fabric of her shirt. Even if she wasn’t the girl you just watched perform on stage, she’s too gorgeous to turn down. And it isn’t like you’ll find your friend, anyway. Perhaps this is your way of getting back at him for being insufferable all throughout.

“Here?” you ask, whispering in her ear, playing with fire. 

She holds you by the cheek, tilting an eyebrow. Shaking her head, she drags her tongue on the ridge of your ear. “Somewhere nicer.”

—————

It’s only you and her in the backseat of one of their vans, windows tinted and the front closed off that it’s safe to assume that the driver can’t hear you—perfectly convenient. He probably doesn’t know you’re even there. 

It’s inside the car that you finally become familiar with each other. YooA, or as she’d prefer you to call her, Shiah, and you have this light bulb moment where you put it all together. You bring up this collection of photocards in your friend’s book holder; you recognize her face on some of the cards. She laughs. Heartily. Her face lights up, honored at the thought, and it’s a sincere look. Other artists would simply wave it off and move on, but she appears intrigued by the effort to obsess over her.

She calls it a bias, and you call it an obsession. In the other’s eyes, you’re both strange. To you, it’s unhealthy and strange; to her, it’s part of the appeal, part of the culture.

So it’s all the more surprising when you admit you’re simply there because of him, that you would have looked the other way otherwise. And in response, she has this warm, wholesome smile; she doesn’t appear offended by your candidness. You don’t know a thing about them, other than they’re delicious eye candy.

“So this is your first foray into K-pop? I hope it was a good one,” she says, flashing you a cute pout. “That means a lot for all of us.”

Yeah, you nod, your eyes wandering down her slim body, draped in darkness, only brought to the light by passing street lamps. You notice how slender and lanky she is. It doesn’t change the appeal; she’s unreal. “I should go more often if that’s the case.”

Shiah chuckles. “You didn’t pay, then. I bet you’re getting more than what he bargained for.”

To which you nod, barely holding in a particularly uncharacteristic grin. She catches it. An opportunity to twist the knife.

It’s a casual affair when you reach the hotel. There’s a surprising lack of fanfare upon your arrival. You assume idols have as much popularity as any other celebrity, but you’re both left alone—and without security, walking past the front desk without a care or a question. Tension gradually builds as you climb floor after floor, until you step out that elevator and into her room, away from prying eyes. 

What welcomes you inside Shiah’s bedroom catches you off-guard.

“What the?”

The person sitting at the center of the bed turns to your direction, shouts out your name. You can recognize that voice anywhere.

“Hey! There you are!”

You immediately turn to Shiah, who replies gleefully, “Of course I knew. Your friend told me everything. He wanted me to invite you along.”

Forget that your friend orchestrated the whole ordeal. It’s the fact that he wants you to join him in a threesome. You expected him to be greedy with the rare opportunity to have a beautiful idol all to himself, but instead, he’s somehow still involving you in the action. There’s a lot to take in, and you don’t exactly know where to start.

“Is this even allowed?” you ask, unsure of your place in this room. You’re slowly soaking up the scenery; none of it makes any sense. Scattered on the bedroom floor is Your friend’s shirt and his bag, freebies and personal belongings alike,, while Shiah casually saunters around the mattress, gradually removing pieces of jewelry from herself and placing them on the nightstand.

“Of course, dude!” says your friend. His energy hasn’t waned in the slightest. You’re amazed his voice hasn’t changed at all, let alone his ability to speak. He had been screaming beside you for the entirety of the show, you’d probably go deaf because of him if not for your earplugs. “I wouldn’t have asked her if she wasn’t allowed to, or if she didn’t feel it.”

“He’s right,” adds Shiah, unbuttoning her jeans. Looking at her again, she grabs your attention with the casual stripping of her pants, pooled around her ankles, leaving only pale colored panties that leave nothing to the imagination. “Plus, I haven’t tried having a threesome before, and tonight seemed like a good idea to try that.”

Surely, you’ve heard weird things before, but none were as out of pocket as this.

“C’mere dude,” says your friend, gesturing to you to take the spot beside him on the bed. “We’re going to fuck an idol tonight. And not just any idol, my freaking bias!”

Your eyes continue to linger on her. Shiah, now undoing her top, candidly tossing them aside. The one time you regret not having your phone on hand to capture without obstruction. Her tits are bite-sized handfuls, nipples firm and on full display, and her figure is so paper thin, you’ll break her when you hold her by her ridiculous proportions. The only thing missing is some fragile warning label plastered on her skin as a reminder to handle her with care.

This is the most awkward you’ve been with your friend since you first met, when he first moved into your dorm. Seated on the mattress, you’re anxious of what’s about to happen. You worry she won’t be able to handle you two; he worries that he won’t be able to ruin her to the fullest extent. 

She meets you at the center in nothing but panties. She scans you both from head to toe, and notices your contrasting expressions. Facing you, she says, “Hey. I wouldn’t do this if I wasn’t confident about the idea. If you don’t make me unable to walk after tonight, I’m gonna be quite disappointed. So chin up.”

Reassuring of a tone it may sound, it doesn’t ease your worry even a little. It doesn’t discourage her either; it’s part of the challenge.

She drops to her knees, and that’s when you come around on the idea. Her fingers make work of your pants; yours first, then your friend’s. With eagerness written on her face, your hard cocks hang between her tiny face. Pausing, undecided, she takes a moment to think which one to satisfy. The way she eyes both yours, then your friend’s—you can tell how hungry she is: how she wants them shoved inside her mouth, down her throat, taking all that delicious load. If she could fit both at once, she certainly would.

“Which one should I take first, boys?” she asks, innocuous sounding, her doll-like eyes pleading up with a playful pout. Knowing full well she already has this whole thing already planned out. You and your friend swallow hard, telepathically aligned, thinking of the same idea, based on the rather silent response.

Shiah has your eyes fluttering, hands already gripped to the edge of the bed, lips letting out a string of delightful moans. It sounds like relief, agony, and ecstasy all at once. She’s leaving soft kisses on your tip, her tongue running circling around your length, and her fingers slowly pumping at your base. All your doubts and hesitations, gone in an instant. The very few glimpses you catch of her, her eyes speak to you, staring, telling you to take it all in.

She feels so good, handles you deftly, as if she’s already acquainted with your cock, even though it’s the first time. Pushing all the sensitive, perfect spots and getting you into a steady rhythm. 

“See? I told you it was gonna be—fine—fuck—” 

Your friend folds just as quickly as you do, if not faster. His words, instantly reduced to echoed grunts, groans, and curses, his hand palming Shiah’s scalp. She’s focused, taking turns with each cock, kissing and teasing you both with the prospect of shoving it down her needy, thirsty throat. One hand on your dick and the other on his, stroking you at near-synchronized tempo, then vice versa. You wonder exactly why she’s even hesitant and nervous about taking two at once when she’s clearly a natural at satisfying cocks. 

She’s well aware that she has only one mouth to fulfill her craving for cock. There’s a look of regret every time she stops sucking one cock in place of the other. It’s almost as if she’s failing, even though the pleasure-ridden expressions on your faces say otherwise. “I hope this is good enough,” she frowns, taking a moment to plant another direct kiss on each cockhead. “I wish I could fit you both in my mouth, but I—”

“Shhh.” Your friend interjects, tugging harshly at Shiah’s dark locks, then rubbing his hand around her forehead. “You’re doing so fucking well, so much better than we hoped—”

Suddenly, he finds himself slowly crumbling. Precum coating around her dainty fingers, while he loses grip on his consciousness, lying flat on the bed. If there’s anything you’ve learned in the very short time you’ve had Shiah on her knees, it’s that she’s particularly gentle. You can feel she’s not going to ruin you instantly and that she’s nowhere close to crushing your cock, unlike some of the girls you’ve known in the past. 

This is all new to your friend, after all. It shouldn’t be surprising.

Still, she continues to pleasure you both, taking a moment to slip his erection inside her throat, slurping and swallowing his cock whole. Her eyes instantly slam shut, mumbling a songful hum, finally soaking in the taste after intentionally restraining herself from her lust. Turning to your side, your friend clearly can’t take her; his mouth agape, his chest heaving, breathing heavily, his eyes widely staring at the ceiling in a useless effort to distract himself. In his mind, she’s relentless, overwhelming, cruel.

Her eyes slide in your direction, brows furrowed, apologetic. You shake your head, smile lightly, perfectly understanding of the situation. It’s not that she’s ignoring you; her other hand’s pressing on the base of your cock, down to the underside, pressing on your balls. She’s already left her mark on you even though she’s doing the bare minimum. The layer of precum on her fingers is clear proof. That should be more than enough. 

And when you find your friend completely unresponsive, breathing through his mouth, you tilt your head at an angle and make this poor sleeping impression—something he hasn’t had in over 24 hours. It’s the command that causes Shiah to slip his cock from her mouth with a silent pop, his dick throbbing with her spit dripping from the tip. Her focus turns over to you; her eyes meeting yours, her hands pressing on each knee, and your fingers brushing loose strands of hair aside to see her pretty face, flushed but flawless. It’s now just down to you two. 

She gives your head a playful swirl, and you lift your brows in approval, subtly biting at the lip to show her you like it. Her eyes lock in, scanning through each subdued wince, waiting for the go ahead.

It’s the slightest head motion that nearly ends you. You’re uncertain if you even said yes or no.

Shiah looks so much better with your cock in her mouth than anyone else’s. She knows, too. You pause to take the sight in—your length buried deep in her mouth, occasionally poking her throat, her cheeks hollow, her eyes looking wide at you with a fiery glint, begging you to take her, use her, ruin her. You’re perfectly positioned to work her; your hand is palming the back of her head, giving her this assertive stare that appears demeaning, but you can tell she prefers to be seen that way. It would be criminal to have her on her knees and not have your way with her.

And you do just that.

You hold her still, using the little increments of strength to motion her into a bobbing motion. She surrenders herself into your control, moving her head back and forth with the grip of your hand. Like the swing of a pendulum, you watch your base disappear and appear between her lips. You’re nowhere close to burying yourself entirely in her mouth, but she feels so incredible, so intoxicating, she may as well be deepthroating you.

It’s not the firmness of her luscious lips kissing your cock nor her lewd expressions that shake you, but her suction. She hums this wistful note while sucking your cock—a song of satisfaction. In contrast to the steady rhythm you’re attempting to impose, she drags your length along her tongue, forcing you into this playful tug-of-war whenever you draw your cock back, directing where your cum should land. She envisions it: the notion of your hot load collected on her cheeks. Her fingers point where she wants them, using her pleading eyes and brows to entice you. 

And you’re not going to deny her request. She’s too charming and expressive to turn down. Even more so when your cock is lodged between her lips. 

You utter this particularly incomprehensible mix of a groan and a grumble while your throbbing cock unloads the warm cum she desires. Without wasting a single drop, she takes it all, puffing her cheeks with your seed while carefully pulling your cock out her mouth. Your hand is no longer resting on her head but rather around her shoulder and collarbones. She plays with the load in her mouth, gargling, swishing, before swallowing it all. Afterward, she sticks out her silky tongue, face completely flustered, showing you the aftermath: leftovers of your cum painting her mouth.

“God, Yoo—I mean, Shiah—” you breathe, lightly falling back on the bed as your legs go numb. Your flaccid cock isn’t enough to show how much she’s drained you in one fell swoop. “How are you so—”

“I told you I wouldn’t be doing this if I wasn’t so confident about it,” she remarks, rising to her feet before pushing you down on the sheets, straddling herself on your lap. Her energy remains steadfast. It’s infectious. Winking and pouting, she adds, “Now fuck me till I can’t walk.”

You’re completely sold on the idea, but you can’t do it alone.

Pushing Shiah off you, you shake your friend back into consciousness. You’re holding her by the shoulders, giving her lips a quick kiss. A soft gesture telling her to be a tad patient. Her eyes clue you in; she’s dying to be fucked, to be used, to be ruined. Your friend looks around, feeling hazy, completely unaware of what transpired, even though it’s only been less than 10 minutes. 

“What’d I miss?” he asks, still trying to make sense of things. The last thing he remembers is Shiah on her knees. Now he sees you and his bias in each other’s embrace. Surprisingly, he’s not fazed in the slightest. The bed’s tremors—rumblings—are good enough indicators.

You’re unable to completely look him in the eye, and you don’t know what to answer, so she does it for you: “Your friend blew a nice load inside my mouth. We were just about to have round two. Join us.”

To her amusement, the reply has you staring at her utterly gobsmacked. It’s not the fact that she’s telling it straight, with zero sugarcoating, but her candid, conversational delivery and deadpan expression, as if they’re close friends catching up on lost time. He doesn’t seem bothered, nor does he ask any further questions. Knowing him, he’d be disappointed if you didn’t. 

Really, what’s there to question when given an opportunity to fuck an idol without any conditions or red tape. He’s not making the most of the moment as you have, and the hurried jump off the bed to take position behind her indicates he’s not going to waste any more time. You’re scared you might get into a confrontation over how you’ll take her.

“Say the word and I’ll move aside,” you tell him, calmly. 

“Let me have her tight ass,” is the reply, straightforward. Chalk it up to tension, but there’s a hint of harshness in his voice, as though some bitterness is leaking. He subtly pulls her away from your side, prompting you to let him take full control. 

You aren’t surprised at where he ends up taking her. The bed is the comfiest option, but in his mind, the safest and the most cliche. A shower to ease the tension and stress in the muscles—that’s a good one too, on top of having her possibly pressed against the panels and the idea of soaping her tits while fucking her in the wet. This luxurious suite, which feels like walking from the one end of a parking lot to the other on weary legs, has a handful of mirrors to watch her get railed on. None are as captivating and inviting as the biggest one—the large glass windows that overlook the city, lit up by lights from nearby skylines and the illumination from the living room. 

He presses her tiny frame against the window, then on air, giving her tiny butt a firm slap. Followed by another. Something about Shiah with her back arched, yelping with each spank, arouses him. Her too. She whines, biting on her lip, hands trying to latch to anything. There’s plenty to claim—from her bite-sized chest, to her slinky waist, to her soiled panties. Something he slips down to her ankles. 

In the moment, your friend doesn’t acknowledge you. He’s all up in her hair, licking the shell of ear, a set of clenched digits digging into her warmth. Her eyes fluttering, she whines, pressing a hand around his waist, mumbling, begging, “Fuck me, please, fuck me.”

You can tell she’s apologetic, wants to be punished and manhandled like a naughty girl. Your friend has this glare in his eyes—a look of hunger. His fingers pump away at her core, without care for pace or comfort, just the satisfaction of hearing her cries and the need for her to cum. Bumping her against the window, he’s kissing her, claiming her as his own. Red marks form everywhere on her neck, collarbones, and back. Her entire body. All his. 

You let him. You watch. Not out of guilt, not out of arousal. It’s his moment.

He looks over his shoulder and finds you just watching. “C’mere,” he growls between muted groans, tone low. It should be awkward (it is) but all that tension disappeared the moment she got on her knees. Approaching the twosome in such a strange fashion, he continues to finger Shiah, shifting her away from the window, binding her from behind by one hand. He’s suppressing his tongue, teasing his cockhead against the entrance of her pussy, barely able to restrain himself. 

When you’re in front of her again, you’re greeted by a hot mess. Her juices are dripping down her thighs, pooling around her feet. His coated fingers line around her warmth, around her tight hole. His lust is on full display, cussing out a storm about how incredibly wet and tight she is while she prepares herself to get fucked into oblivion. It’s not the first time you’ve heard him say these things; he talks a loud talk about how he’d fuck his biases in explicit detail, writes particularly concerning essays about the positions they’d be railed in, how they would cum, and how many times he would make them cum. 

At the end of the day, it was none of your business.

And ultimately, he might have been onto something.

You let out this loud unsuppressed moan burying yourself inside her tight cunt. She’s suffocating, overwhelmingly tight—the kind of heat that can make you cum almost immediately. You’re still recovering from your first orgasm, putting you on the backfoot. Still, her walls are too inviting not to get hard again. Meanwhile, your friend, who’s been eager to fuck Shiah’s ass for the longest time, is in no rush. His cock is barely entering her tight hole, slowly easing himself inside her with deep breaths. He’s grabbing a handful of her flesh, openly moaning and grunting taking her.

“F-fuck, Yoo—” he mutters, grabbing at her petite cheeks with an ironclad grip. Pulling her closer to his body so his cock can split her in half. He’s growing greedy—and desperate.

Everything you’re doing to Shiah can be seen in the window’s reflection: you pounding into her tight cunt, your friend’s cock spearing her from behind, her body practically sandwiched between your twosome. The combined weight is more than capable of crushing her slim frame, her skin like tire marks on both your chests. Neither of you move with an understanding of working as a team, and it shows; your collective strokes are unsteady, erratic, chaotic.

This isn’t good for your back—at all. Shiah’s bent forward in part to your friend’s slow, deep thrusts into her delicious ass, rippling with each stroke. She’s clutching to your shoulders for support, screaming from the absolute depths of her lungs getting doubled up. The uncomfortable position is mostly clouded by the overwhelming sensation of your cocks tag teaming on her two sensitive holes. You’re leaning, steadily falling back. That inescapable warmth—that intoxicating heat—keeps you coming back for more, friction be damned.

God, Shiah’s pussy is so fucking perfect.

And that’s what you end up muttering. In an endless choir of ecstasy-charged moans, profanities, and wet sloppy slaps of skin against skin, you throw those words out to the wind. So good, so tight—those doubts you had entering the room, now just thoughts from yesterday. She’s everything you want in a satisfying fuck; your hands intertwined with her waist, rocking her frame with every plunge, savoring each entry into that needy womb.

It’s no surprise then that she cums so soon.

It’s been slowly building to this moment. The signs were there all along; the blink and you’ll miss it patch on her jeans, the phallic object in her purse, the wet puddle forming on her panties, the not so subtle gestures she’s giving fans between performances—she’s been desperate to cum on a cock and her wish can finally be granted. 

In dramatic fashion, she’s all over you. Clinging to you like her lifeline, showing you how you’ve ruined her. Body trembling, legs quaking—the ripples send shockwaves through your body, also in the process of falling apart. Throwing out her hips, a new layer of juices coat both cocks, dripping to the floor. You’re there to break her fall, but you have nothing to stop yours. 

Passing through deaf ears, her screams revert to soft pleas. “Cum, cum in me—please—fuck—” she whines in bursts, riding out her climax in waves, waiting for you two to join her over the edge. You’re preoccupied with the raging fire in your loins, restraining your urge to release your seed inside her needy cunt prematurely. At this point, you’re almost done, holding onto the last of your resolve not to spurt right then and there. The layer of her slick coating your cock doesn’t do you any favors, either.

Propping her body straight, your thrusts remain relentless. Steadied pace, at your own will, rocking her senseless—that’s how you want to finish inside her. You want to keep her in that position: cupping her tiny chest, wrapping an arm on the neck, resting a hand on your light shoulder. Shiah’s body is the perfect plaything.

All of that is too good to be true.

“Cumming, gonna cum—” you mutter, rather ashamedly, though you’re holding up better than anyone ever expected, especially after already orgasming once. You press her to your friend, almost a flat out shove. The line couldn’t be any thinner. “Shit—”

Your legs are on the cusp of crumbling, but at least they’re generous enough to let you savor this moment. Spilling your pent up need, you fuck that remaining cum into her. It’s fulfilling, euphoric. All the proof is down there, dripping between her legs and on your cock. The sight of her splayed, wrecked hole, oozing with seed, tempting you to stick a thumb around her slick core. She squirms at your sensitive touches, still needy and in want.

Only after the orgasm does your vision clear again. It’s an amusing scene; your friend is still pounding into Shiah’s tight ass at a feverish pace. Last one in, last one out—at least you think, that’s how the saying goes, until he lets out this guttural groan, indicating he’s reached his own climax too. If not for the setting, it’s an accomplishment worth cheering, the kind that’s worth a celebration of a life milestone. Cocks buried to the hilt, the sight of her holes spilling seed never grows old. 

At least you both can agree on one thing: staying inside the welcoming warmth that is Shiah’s heat. Neither of you want to leave, even when you regain mobility in your legs.

You’ve got the rest of the night to ruin her, leave her room hobbling or crawling on her feet. Your friend has a bucket list of positions to fuck her in, so it’s the least of your worries. Besides, both of them know you have no intention of leaving. And in the middle of this non-existent conundrum, while your friend is leaving soft kisses all over her back as a victory lap, she takes a moment to glance at you both. Noticing the similarity of smiles on your faces and your supportive nature towards your friend, she’s reminded of something she shares with her members, apart from the fact they’re getting railed at this very moment:

True friendship.

—————

(A/N: Expect a bit more crowdedness aka more-somes over the next few fics. I also haven't written an Oh My Girl member since Arin in over a year, so that's one off the list! This one took a while, had a whole other story involving roadtrips and hitchhiking, which I ultimately scrapped. Thank you for reading!)

(P.S. If you want to have your own story/idol written, you can ask for a commission :D)

[lucysarah-c]

~ Holy Ground ch. 1 ~

Summary:

"Alright, get comfortable because this is going to be a long, crappy tale. Join me as we travel down memory lane, back when Erwin wasn't yet a commander, when Mike and Nanaba couldn't keep their hands off each other, when Hange was… well, Hange. And Levi? Well, Levi was a twenty-four-year-old man who didn't give a damn about the rules. Are you ready?"

Warnings: This story contains age gaps, time period misogyny and mentions of homophobia, strong and offensive language, underage sex, alcohol, smoking, implied/referenced of drug use. This is a very slow burn so everyhthing takes a while to happen. Explicit sex content. Virginity, loss of virginity, cheating, mentions of cheating, pregnancy but no by the main character, consensual sex, consensual underage sex, underage kissing.

Pairing: Levi x Reader x Erwin. Levi x Reader are end game. (this is not eruri). This story takes place after ACWNR but BEFORE season 1.

-> Masterlist to all the chapters! <-

Just after Historia's coronation but before the expedition to Wall Maria, this story took place. Everything was coming to an end after a long and exhausting day of duty in the legion. The night had already fallen, and dinner at the mess hall was over. Our lively group of cadets had planned to sneak out after curfew to enjoy their youth. Well, that was the plan IF a certain short black-haired captain didn’t catch wind of it.

The plan was simple: they would all wait in their respective shared rooms and beds until the last superior left the public areas. It wouldn't be too difficult if Sasha and Connie could refrain from cracking jokes, or if Eren and Jean could postpone their petty arguments. They were just a few meters away from the front door, with the gates right in front of them. They were so close that they could already feel the cold autumn air brushing against their faces. However, their intentions and dreams crumbled like water slipping through their fingers when a throat was cleared loudly in the room. Some of them bit their bottom lips and closed their eyes, while others, like Eren and Jean, clenched their teeth, as if bracing for impact. On the other hand, Mikasa, with her usual calm demeanor, turned to confirm her suspicions. Sure enough, Y/N was leaning against the doorframe, holding a cup of tea in her hands. Her arched eyebrow silently questioned the cadets, who knew they better answer soon.

"It's not what it looks like!" Jean was the first to attempt a convincing response but faltered flatly.

"Really? Then what does it look like?" the superior took a sip of her freshly brewed tea and followed up with a verbal question this time.

Armin was next in line to offer an acceptable excuse, but before he could even finish, the woman shook her head with closed eyes.

"Oh, sweet summer child, you can't hold a candle to me," she said with a tired voice, followed by a loud sigh.

The group of teenagers looked at each other, trying to gauge how many hours of punishment awaited them. It wasn't too much to ask, after all! The fair was in town, and wanting to have some fun during one of the few nights when the town came alive in the late hours shouldn't be a crime. Truth be told, they didn't know what their superior could actually do to them. They were accustomed to the captain's cold treatment, but Y/N's? Not really, since she had recently returned to work.

"Well? Are you planning to stand here all night or what? Come on, follow me," the young woman ordered, making her way in the opposite direction of the main door.

Without a doubt, the famous group followed closely behind her. They didn't dare make a sound as they walked in an unknown direction. The clock in the common area struck midnight as the group navigated the halls of the Scouting Legion's building. During their expedition (not precisely outside the walls), the young men in the group couldn't help but notice their superior's revealing outfit. She wore an oversized grey shirt that clearly didn't belong to her, along with a pair of shorts that left little to the imagination. She wasn't even wearing shoes, walking through the halls barefoot and without any source of light. It was as if she knew the corridors like the back of her hand. Armin, the clever one of the team, was the first to notice that he had seen that shirt before, and his blue eyes shone with his brand-new discovery. It was (Y/N) who broke the silence.

"Allow me to give you a few tips for next time," she said, walking and turning around to face the team.

"Never try to sneak out through the main door. Why? All the superiors' offices are on the upper floors, and none of them go to sleep so early. Conclusion: you're going to be heard. Second, never wait until everyone is supposed to be asleep. You may think that the darkness of the night will protect you, but it only makes things worse. Next time, try to do it right after dinner. Everybody is still walking around, so it won't be strange if you're out and about. But don't all go together; that's suspicious. Plus, the superiors usually stay a bit longer, chatting about life or whatever."

The 104th promotion was in shock. Since when do the superiors give advice on how to break the rules? However, they were all taking mental notes of this valuable information. Every wise word that came from the woman's lips was pure and solid gold.

"Last but certainly not least," she said as they turned the corner and entered an old storage room for forgotten equipment. "Use a hidden door."

She walked straight toward the stone wall at the end of the room. She moved the old boxes, covered in dust, and muttered to herself, loud enough for the rest to hear, "the fifth brick from the left," then pushed with all her strength. Suddenly, a secret door opened, revealing the cold night sky.

The teenagers were completely overwhelmed to see such an awesome secret hidden behind that old, mossy wall.

"When you want to come back, there's a small leather handle on the other side. Just give it a gentle pull, and you're in. It's as heavy as it looks," she clarified, so the team could return without being seen. "If I were you, I wouldn't do it tonight. Tomorrow, you have an intense practice session with Levi, and you'll regret this. But nothing like the present, right? Come on, let's go! I have better things to do than freeze to death here."

After the last sentence, all of them rushed out in a hurry, except for Armin, who looked at his superior with curiosity. She could easily tell that the blond short kid was her favorite; his wisdom and curiosity reminded her of herself when she was still a little girl.

"Why?" he simply asked.

"Because I was once young too," she replied, crossing her arms on her chest. "And just because I'm having an awful and boring night doesn't mean you have to as well. Go on! Have fun, get drunk, enjoy it while you can."

The group was expecting various resolutions to this outburst of rebellion, but this was certainly not one of them. Of course, they didn't waste any time and went out. While the young ones were having the time of their lives, (Y/N) made her way back to her room with her now cold tea. If someone could have seen her face, they would have noticed that she wasn't the happiest woman wandering around that night.

Lost in her memories, she tried to recall the last time she used that secret door. As she pondered, another memory burst into her mind like a firework: the very first time they had discovered that secret door. A nostalgic smile appeared on her face, resembling that of a mother watching her child play in the backyard.

The voice of experience never seems to fail when it comes to predicting the future, better than any oracle ever created.

"For fuck's sake! What the hell is wrong with all of you today?!" The unmistakable voice of Captain Levi echoed in the training area as his team seemed to be devastated that morning. "What a shitty performance you're all giving today!"

The woman, who was supervising the training, hid her laughing face behind the notebook where she took her notes. The short man turned around to see what was so funny, and she tried to regain her composure in front of him, but failed miserably. The only sounds coming from the cadets were yawns and tired attempts to reply "yes, sir" with enthusiasm.

"Let them go, Levi. They can't even keep their eyes open," she tried to convince the black-haired man.

Not at all pleased, Levi chickled his tongue and rolled his eyes. He knew she was right; training in this state was pointless. However, he wanted nothing more than to kick all those brats' asses for making him waste his time.

"Alright, you shitty brats, get the hell out of the area before I kick each and every one of you so hard that you'll stay awake for an entire week," he pronounced with an irritated tone.

He couldn't even finish his sentence before his team was already making their way back to their rooms. But they weren't the only ones trying to escape from humanity's strongest soldier. The woman gathered her things and attempted to sneak away before he could notice.

"This better be the last damn time you let them sneak out during training days. Am I making myself clear?" Levi turned around and said to the young woman who had been sitting next to him just a few minutes ago.

"Oh, come on, Levi! Let it go this time," she replied, chuckling. "We were young once too."

She tried to ease the tension with a sweet smile, glad that they were talking like usual. However, the look he gave her caused her to lower her gaze with sadness in her eyes. She wondered when everything would go back to normal. She missed him and the warm, small smile that he only had for her.

"It won't happen again, sir," she said, not even attempting to conceal her sorrow as she walked away.

Reader’s pov

The day went without any problems and was relatively peaceful, as peaceful as a day at the scouts can be. We had a little meeting with the remaining superiors. Levi seems to insist on giving me the cold, silent treatment. Last night, I tried to change things a bit, hoping that after nearly six months of chilly nights, he would warm up to me. I even went ahead and offered him a massage, wearing nothing but his shirt. I know how much he likes it. But even the freezing marble floor beneath my bare feet felt warmer than him.

I wonder if this is as difficult for him as it is for me. After enduring his cold treatment, the words slipped out of my lips. I couldn't hold back, I needed to ask him.

"Are we breaking up? Just tell me so I can stop making a fool of myself in front of you. Come on, muster the courage to say it," I said, feeling tears welling up in the corners of my eyes.

"Don't shout. You'll wake up the entire legion," he replied without even looking up from his paperwork. "Whether we break up or not, it's not my decision. I'm not the one hiding information here."

As he finished his cold-hearted sentence, I quickly put on the first pair of shorts I could find and ran out of the room. I needed some tea to calm my mind. This was all too much for my weary body. While I was in the kitchen, I overheard Levi's squad attempting to sneak out. Initially, I considered walking away, but I knew Levi would catch them. However, he wouldn't dare intervene if I were with them, not after our little argument in our shared room. So, I made a decision. I helped them out.

And now, here I am. I just took a shower in the common area because Hange's bathroom is dirtier than any titan's mouth. I walk down the corridors, wondering if I'll have to sleep on Hange's sofa once again. My lower abdomen is throbbing with pain. A comforting cup of black tea made by my wonderful boyfriend would be a dream, but dreaming of freedom for humanity seems more realistic than that. On my way, I notice a group of cadets stationed at the watch post outside the building. Among all the scouts, I recognize those faces—it's Levi's team. I bet they're being forced to pull an all-nighter for night watch duty as punishment. Typical.

"Well, well, look at that. Not only do I grant you a free pass, a free morning, but also a night of bonding with friends at the watch post," I say, making my presence known among the group. This causes Jean to spit out the liquid he was drinking, and all of them turn around with pale faces.

"Calm down, guys. I'm not here to punish any of you."

They all let out a collective sigh of relief upon seeing me.

"For a moment, we thought you were a real hard-ass superior," Connie says, chuckling, which surprises me and widens my eyes.

"Excuse me, brat?! What do you mean by 'real superior'?" I ask, irritated by the tone in my voice.

"We didn't mean to offend you! It's just, it's just…" Armin tries his best to salvage the situation after his comrade messes up.

I can't help but burst into laughter as I struggle to sit between Eren and Jean. I clutch my lower abdomen, right where my bandages are. I wonder when the pain will finally subside.

"It's alright, I was just teasing all of you," I say, observing their puzzled expressions as they exchange glances, trying to decipher why I'm here. I wish I knew myself what the hell I'm doing here. But honestly, anything is better than going back to my room and pretending that everything is okay when it's not. "Do you mind if I spend the night with you? As a token of appreciation, you can ask me anything you want."

I enjoy the way their faces change upon hearing the last part, especially Armin. That little blondie's blue eyes gleam with curiosity. But Jean isn't far behind; his expression screams, "I'm going to confirm all the juicy rumors." However, to my surprise, it's neither of them who asks the first question.

"Do you know how to do Captain Levi's spin?! Can you teach me?" Eren enthusiastically shouts the first question.

"I'm afraid I don't, sorry sugar cube," I reply, oblivious to the numerous protocols I've just violated with a single response.

I'm not accustomed to dealing with cadets; my work has never involved interacting with them. I can tell they're taken aback by my pleasant demeanor, especially Eren, whose face turns crimson at my nickname.

"Are you Captain Levi's girlfriend?" Armin's question feels like a stab to my injured heart. Everyone gasps at the question; I suppose they all had their own speculations.

'Right where it hurts, Armin, right where it hurts,' I think, while I try to come up with a realistic reply. Technically, I'm still Levi's girlfriend. ' His freaking five-year-old girlfriend.'

"I am, but I'm guessing you already knew that, didn't you?" I respond with elegance, attempting to sound confident.

Immediately after my reply, the entire group starts bombarding me with question after question. It's as if “Levi's girlfriend” title has opened a door they've all been yearning to enter. I can't help but let out a small laugh at the situation I've gotten myself into. I'm like that bold friend who's been intimate before the rest of the girl group, and now everyone wants to know every detail about the brand-new topic.

"Whoa, calm down, guys! One question at a time," I say, gesturing with my hands for a momentary break.

"Is it true that he was from the Underground and he was a rebel?" Eren once again fires off a question, a quick kid armed with surprisingly accurate information.

"Where did you hear all that?" I inquire before answering, unable to contain my laughter. "It's true, he was quite the rebel when he arrived from the Underground. He even used to wear a black leather jacket during his free days. I must admit, it suited him."

They take a brief moment to process the new information, mouths agape, before the barrage of questions resumes. I do my best to respond to each of them to the best of my ability before Jean asks the one million dollar question you should never ask someone whose personal relationship is falling apart.

"How did you two start dating? He doesn't strike me as the dating type," Jean wants to know the most challenging information that has ever existed.

"Well, it's a long story that goes way back, even before Wall Maria fell," I reply as casually as possible. "And trust me, none of you wants to hear it."

"I do!" is the only thing I hear amidst that chilly autumn night. I know I shouldn't because it's not just my story; it's Levi's too, and I know how reserved he is about his private life. But I'm heartbroken and nostalgic, surrounded by a group of teenagers. Nothing good could happen tonight, so…

"Alright, get comfortable because this is going to be a long, crappy tale. Join me as we travel down memory lane, back when Erwin wasn't yet a commander, when Mike and Nanaba couldn't keep their hands off each other, when Hange was… well, Hange. And Levi? Well, Levi was a twenty-four-year-old man who didn't give a damn about the rules. Are you ready?"

Author's Note: This was the very first long fic I ever decided to write, and it's the reason I opened a Tumblr account back in the day. I deleted the chapters here because it felt like nobody was reading it, and I decided to focus my account on other things. Now that I'm rewriting the old chapters to finally finish the last five of a story spanning over 40 chapters, I've decided to give it a second chance and post it again!

I'll be posting all the new chapters every Friday! The banner was made by me, and the little "dividers" I add have a purpose—haha! The story advances through Levi's entire first year as a scout, so we'll go through all the seasons, starting in autumn. I don't usually ask for much, but Holy Ground has always been my baby, and if you guys decide to give it a try, I'll be forever grateful. <3

Link to my masterlist and my other works if you feel like checking them out. Tags!: @nube55 @justkon @notgoodforlife @nmlkys @humanitys-strongest-bamf @quillinhand @thoreeo @darkstarlight82 @aomi04 @levisbrat25 @fxnnyackerman @secretmoneybearvoid @trashblackrainbow @l3visthighs @hannieslovebot @flxrartsstuff @feelingsandemotionsnotexplored @starrylevi @rithty @mariaace @ackrmntea @emilyyyy-08 @levisfavoriteteashop @katestrophes @katharinasdiaryy @ackermanswifee @levistealeaf @an-ever-angry-bi @youre-ackermine @searriously @blackdxggr @storiesofsung @abiatackerman @braunsbabe @moonchild-angel @galactict3a @lemonsupernova @hyuckwon-my-husbands @heyitsd1yaa @sydneyyuu @love-for-faeries-go-burrrr @mandaax @sugacor3 @r0ckst4rjk @vegetasgirl2799 @catiwinky @pinksaiyans @sparklykeylime Wanna join my tag list? Here!

[raginglesbian2006]

Ne Me Quitte Pas

Alastor x angel!reader

Chapter 1: The Song is Ended (But the Melody Lingers on)

Chapter Warnings: Murder, Mentions of rape, Death

The song is ended

But the melody lingers on

You and the song are gone

But the melody lingers on

Masterlist

"Have you ever been in love, Alastor?"

The radio static screeched to a halt. Charlie winced at this, covering her ears.

"What brought you to question this, dear?" Alastor asked after recovering from the initial shock, his ever-present grin looking a bit strained.

Charlie chuckled awkwardly. "Well..," she pointed at the pendant that hung around his neck, sitting atop his garments, "I see you with that beautiful pendant around your neck all the time and you're very protective of it.... so I was just wondering," she trailed off.

Alastor let out a laugh, "Oh my dear, this is nothing," he lied, "Love. What a ridiculous notion!"

Charlie could not help but not believe him, but she let it go anyway; bidding farewell to the radio demon to search for her girlfriend.

Alastor was left alone in his thoughts. His hands reached up to touch the little trinket he sought to wear religiously around his neck.

No, this wasn't nothing. This was everything.

As he walked through the halls of the hotel to reach his room, his mind lingered on you. You were the one who gave him this pendant. You were the one who stole his heart.

Yes, he was in love once. Still is.

He remembers the time he met you- when you became his safe haven. He remembers when you had to leave, far from him and he could do nothing about it.

He also remembers meeting you again- the memory etched in his mind.

It was a bright sunny morning in Louisiana. Alastor was in his studio, narrating the tragic news of the New Orleans Boogeyman striking again. This time, hunting down and killing the nation's "hero", the son of a military veteran. Arnold Miller had followed in the footsteps of his father and had joined the army. His brilliant feats of achievements served as a source of inspiration for every lad in America, more importantly in New Orleans, since it was his place of origin. To everyone else, Arnold was a good soul, always ready to help out people, never backing down from serving the nation he loved so much.

Everyone, except Alastor. Alastor knew of his true nature. Arnold was accustomed to luring in girls - often against their will- taking their dignity, ripping them to shreds, and leaving them to pick up the pieces in front of the ever-scrutinizing society. He used to brag about his "escapades" to his pals, unafraid that anyone would turn against him. Everyone loved him after all. Moreover, he saw no fault in his actions.

Alastor was more than willing to show him his flaws. He regretted not taking care of him earlier, jeopardizing the safety of so many women. But at least he was gone, having faced the end of Alastor's blade. No one would have to deal with another scum like him anymore.

His radio show went on as usual, after the initial murder reports.

He talked about the daily humdrum around the locality, cracked a few jokes on the ever-changing economy, and suggested stores that sold excellent formal wear. This was a routine he'd come to love during his time as a radio host. He was satisfied with the predictability of his shows, and his life by extension.

All in all, he was happy with the hand he was dealt with.

"That is all for today, folks! Be sure to lock your doors tonight and refrain from walking alone at night. You never know when the Boogeyman might jump up behind you!" he chuckled, "And don't forget to smile! You're never fully dressed without one!"

He turned off his feed and sighed as he slumped against his chair. He couldn't wait to go back home already. His ma, although sick, had pestered him to never skip a day of his work. She'd told him he looked miserable whenever he did skip work and she wished nothing but happiness for him.

He assured her that he was happy to stay at home to take care of her but her stubbornness knew no bounds.

"I suppose I do get my grit from her," he wondered.

He took off his headphones and stood up from his chair, stretching his long limbs in the process. He started cleaning up his station, when suddenly he heard a knock.

"Come in," he said, not looking up at the opening door.

"Mr. Alastor!" a chirpy voice greeted him.

It was the young lad he had hired for the smooth running of his little business. Oliver had been thrown to the streets having been unable to pay his rent and Alastor had found him shivering in a corner of the street. Taking pity on him, the radio host offered him a job and a place to stay near the studio. Since then, Oliver had become a rather loyal help to him. Had it not been for his astounding marketing skills, Alastor's radio show would've been far from popular.

"Ah, Oliver!," Alastor hummed, still not looking up at him. He was rather busy making sure his studio was left prim and proper, "Do tell me, how can I be of service?"

Oliver was jumping with excitement, "Well, remember we were having a chat on how the radio station needed a few more hands to handle it, given its booming popularity?"

Alastor hummed as he repositioned the antiquities his mother had gifted him when he opened his studio.

"Well, I found someone willing to take on the ever-daunting task!" Oliver exclaimed and stepped aside, "Meet our newest employee!"

Alastor, still stuck in his own world didn't look up until he heard a sweet voice ringing through.

"Greetings, Mr. Alastor!"

His hands paused for a second. This voice... he'd recognize it anywhere. He turned around abruptly and finally looked at his overexcited acquaintance and the recently recruited employee.

It was you. His breath got caught up in his chest.

"Salutations," he said softly, his mind still not having caught up with the fact that you were in front of him, alive, "May I ask what your name is?"

You uttered what he had wanted to hear. His eyes could not believe it. After all these years, he was finally able to see you. The very person who'd become his safe haven when he was young, the person who'd comforted him during those dark times- when he ran away from home, when he felt scared and alone, the person who'd given him the pendant he wore religiously around his neck before they left.

"Oliver, " he glanced at the boy, "Do go get them a drink. It is quite unsightly for us to not treat the newest addition to our business."

Despite your protests, Oliver nodded his head and ran out the door, eager to please his boss.

When the door closed shut, Alastor let out the breath he was holding in since he saw your face.

He muttered your name, "Dear, is it really you?"

Your eyes blinked for a few seconds before they scrunched up with your growing smile, "I was wondering if you'd forgotten me, Al."

Alastor laughed in disbelief, "Forget you? What utter nonsense. Forgetting you would be a sin so great that even Lucifer would shy away from it."

He slowly approached you, "Besides, " his hands went up to the pendant, "How could I afford to forget when you gifted me this?"

Your eyes shone and you giggled, "You still have that!" Your hands reached out to touch the pendant, but you hesitated and they stayed frozen in the space between the two of you.

Before you could apologize for invading his personal space, his hands drew yours closer. You stumbled forward, placing your hands on his chest, right over the pendant that lay atop it. You blushed at the sudden proximity. His hands slid up to your waist, holding you close. You dared to look up at him.

"By golly, you seem to have gotten much taller," you chuckled, pushing up his glasses that had slid down the slope of his nose, "Last I remember, you were still shorter than me."

His eyes and smile had grown softer, far from his usual demeanor.

"And you still look as beautiful as the day I lost you."

As if your face couldn't possibly get more heated, he managed to make it boiling hot. You tried uttering a response but stuttered halfway through. Taking pride in how he made you speechless, Alastor asked, "When did you arrive here?"

You finally found your voice, "O-oh, I just moved in yesterday! I needed a fresh new environment after having finished my schooling and I decided to come here. I was looking around for a job this morning when I stumbled upon Oliver and he offered me a position at your radio station!"

Alastor tsked, still holding you close, "Cher, you cannot just accept some stranger's proposal for a job. What if he lured you into something dangerous?"

"He told me about your radio show and I trust you with my life so...." you trailed off, looking sheepish.

Alastor chuckled as he shook his head. Letting go of you, he stepped back to pick up the coat that was hanging on his chair. Just as he was doing so, the door burst open to reveal Oliver with a piping hot kettle and a mug.

"I do apologize. Mr. Alastor here only likes drinking coffee so we have no other beverages available," Oliver explained, as he placed the utensils down on the nearby table.

"That won't be necessary now, dear boy," Alastor continued, "I'll be showing them around our city. Do keep the studio prepared and the articles ready for the evening broadcast."

And with that, he offered you his arm, "Shall we?"

You grinned and looped your arm around his and the two of you walked out, leaving behind a very confused Oliver.

"What just happened-"

Alastor's smile widened at the memory. He vividly remembers spending every waking hour with you beside him, now that he'd found you again. He had grown terribly attached to you, but you did not mind it one bit. You enjoyed the attention he showered you with and his company was something you looked forward to each day.

Oliver always joked about the two of you getting together. So it wasn't a surprise to him when you two eventually started courting each other. All he did was lament about being the miserable third wheel.

Alastor remembers how his daily "escapades" had reduced significantly with the more time he spent with you. He did not even realize that fact until the newspapers reported on the disappearance of the New Orleans Boogeyman.

His smile had strained when he'd read the article, his anger growing by every second. How dare they think of him as a coward?

However, all those thoughts dissipated at the sound of your voice. Oh, how you had captured his mind, body, and soul.

He introduced you to his ma soon after he started courting you. Although she couldn't see you properly, given her ailing health and age, she still welcomed you with open arms.

As he stopped going on his "hunts" frequently, his relationship with you grew stronger. You were there with him in every new chapter of his life. When he celebrated his 100th broadcast, you were there celebrating with him. When he experimented with his own twist on his mother's jambalaya, you were right there tasting his creation. When his mother eventually passed away, you were right there comforting him as he sobbed into your shoulder.

On his 30th birthday, you gave him a gift he'd treasure for the rest of his life. He had been complaining about how only one of his eyes had problems with vision and that wearing a pair of glasses proved to be detrimental to his other healthy eye. Taking that into consideration, you had gifted him a monocle. You apologized for how small the gift was and told him that he could return it if he wasn't pleased with it. He had silenced you with a kiss.

You were all he thought about. A life with you beside him was everything he wanted. That is why, he stood there in front of the jewellery shop, inspecting and choosing the perfect ring to propose to you with.

When he was satisfied with his pick, he had stored the little box inside his coat pockets. Oh, how he wished his ma was there to witness all of this. She had always wanted to see him married to someone, happily living the rest of his life under the love and care of his spouse.

Things were just perfect, more than ever before.

Until karma came knocking on his door. Literally. His dead heart still pains at the memory.

Alastor had never lost control of his life after he "took care" of his father. He prided himself on that. It was the control he was after, once he landed in hell and that is what made him a formidable overlord.

But the day he lost you? He'd never felt more helpless.

Alastor brushed some dirt off his clothes as he hummed to the tune of the radio playing in the background. His calm demeanor would fool most but he was undeniably nervous.

Today was the day he would ask you to be his, forever.

Alastor had called you to the little cabin he'd bought in the forest, which also served as his hunting ground- be it for deer or despicable humans.

No matter the atrocities he committed, one could not deny how beautiful the forest looked at night. Fireflies would scatter across the expanse of the land, making nighttime all the more lovelier.

Alastor had planned to get down on one knee with the night sky lit by stars and the glow from the fireflies. He believed it would be the perfect romantic atmosphere to propose to you.

Not long after, he heard a knock at the door. His smile grew impossibly large as he giddily opened the door. Instead of seeing you, however, his face was met with the end of a gun.

"See you in hell, murderer."

Alastor quickly ducked out of the way, letting the bullet whiz past him and hit the wall. The man who held the gun let out a grunt, displeased that his shot missed. Although the man was twice his size, Alastor was able to tackle him to the ground. Still, the man would not let go of his gun, leading the two of them to struggle for the weapon.

"You fucker- you deserve to die for what you did!" screamed out the man.

Alastor let out a laugh, his face looking strained, "I just did what those scums deserved."

In the middle of their struggle, the trigger was pulled once more and Alastor heard the gunshot. The bullet missed him again, this time shooting toward the entrance of the cabin. He hadn't looked away from his opponent for a moment, fearing he'd take advantage of the situation and kill him. However, his ears picked up a singular gasp.

His eyes widened as he looked towards the door, left ajar.

It was you.

Bleeding out of your skull.

Your eyes were wide as saucers, staring at Alastor. Your body trembled as you slid down the door, blood profusely dripping from your head and onto the wooden floors of the cabin. Then, with a loud thump, you fell back, taking your last breath.

Alastor felt his soul leave his body.

no...no...surely this was a dream, right?

Taking advantage of Alastor's vulnerability, the man shoved him aside and got up on his feet, pointing the gun at Alastor.

"Too bad the little missus had to go. It wouldn't have happened if you did not do what you did," the man sneered.

Just as he was about to pull the trigger, Alastor took ahold of his gun and with all the strength in his body, pushed it out of the man's grasp. The gun flew to the side of the cabin, leaving the man unarmed.

Alastor stood up slowly, his facial muscles stretching in a maniacal grin. The man backed down slowly, his body trembling slightly.

"YOU. MADE. A. GRAVE. MISTAKE."

With that, Alastor pounced on the man and started beating him relentlessly, laughing all the while. He did not stop till the man's face had become red and blue beyond recognition and his chest stopped heaving.

Silence enveloped the cabin. In it was Alastor- his hands covered in blood, and two bodies. Alastor walked away from the dead body of the man and moved towards your lifeless figure.

Despite his maniacal grin still present, his eyes welled up with tears as he held your body close. His heart throbbed with immense pain and his mind turned foggy. All he could do was cry into your shoulder, wishing this was all a dream.

The night he was supposed to end with you as his spouse-to-be had now turned into him burying the love of his life. When he was done, he reached out for a stone and carved your initials on it, placing it atop your grave. He sat there for a while. His hands reached into his pocket and he pulled out the ring. He placed it on the stone.

His chest pained as he walked away from your grave. He would come back soon, he just had to dispose of the scum that decided to take his light away from him. Just as he started to turn the wheelbarrow that contained the remains of the man, he heard another gunshot.

This time, it did not miss.

Alastor fell to the floor of the forest. He sidled up to your grave painstakingly, abandoning the wheelbarrow. Blood poured rapidly from his head. Those god-awful hunters had shot him under the cover of this grim night. He somehow managed to rest himself against the tree that was situated right beside your resting place.

"Oh cher, " he wheezed out, "I suppose I wouldn't mind dying next to you."

As if things couldn't get worse, he heard the growls of the hunting dogs close by. His grin widened. So this was how karma came around, taking everything away from him. All that was left was himself.

His bleary eyes followed the imposing figures of the hunting dogs as they surrounded his dying body.

He reached out his hand towards the pendant.

Alastor couldn't even scream when the beasts tore into his body.

"Alastor?"

The radio demon turned towards the princess of hell, her hands laden with plans for the hotel.

"Yes, dear?"

Charlie hesitated, "You seemed a bit lost there. Are you ok?"

Alastor let out a laugh, "Just as jolly as the day I came to hell. Haha!"

Taglist: @yumiburrito , @candyladycry , @sleepykittycx

[w4w4lycsss]

CLUMSY WIZARD | MORGIE LE FAY

summary: Morgie lets you use him as a test dummy for your new inventions or spells pairing: Morgie Le Fay x male!wizard!reader a/n: It's no secret to anyone that I'm obsessed with Hook, but I'm very offended that Morgie doesn't have fanfics! It's an experiment, if you like this kind of content I will upload more things

Your greatest desire since you were a child had always been to be a recognized and talented wizard, when you entered Merlin Academy you were sure of yourself that things would turn out well. You were positive and had your eyes in front of you when it was necessary to face a problem with your magic. You liked the idea of sitting in the schoolyard with your book on your lap and memorizing as many spells as possible to be the best.

During one of your boring personal classes on 'how to undo a crush' one of the VKs caught your attention; Morgie Le Fay. There was something about him that made you laugh and have a good time when you watched him crack jokes with Hook and Maleficent.

You didn't expect him to come up to you so suddenly one random day to ask what you were reading about as if you had known each other all your life, which took you by surprise. Somehow you got out of your bubble and started talking to him about the basic spells you were trying to memorize, and he offered to help you just because 'he was bored.'

From there a bond of friendship was formed that gradually grew in trust and affection to the point that the two of you seemed like a couple. He liked to lay his head on your shoulder, take your arm when you walked together or give you small gifts from time to time, he had even made a scene of jealousy when he saw that someone was harassing you.

Right now Morgie was in your laboratory (room) sitting in a chair with his hands tied with a rope and a strange apparatus on his head, but he was calm. Too quiet. Accustomed. It had reached a point where it was so common for him to have to carry strange objects on him in order to be with you that he had already gotten used to it, he only had to wait for you to finish to go out and make mischief with his friends.

"My dear, what am I supposed to have in my head now?" He frowned in confusion and followed youwith his eyes as you walked from place to place with a book in your hand.

"A lie detector! Or well, the prototype."

"And why do my hands tied?"

"The last time I put one of my machines on you, you took it off halfway through." You frowned and pouted angrily.

"It was scary."

You ignored his words and left the book on the table. You folded your arms, looking at him as you thought. "I already got it!"

You approached him, releasing the safety that surrounded his neck and removing the non-machine from his head, leaving it on the ground and releasing his hands. You excitedly approached him and gave him an affectionate kiss on the cheek, quickly turning to your desk to jot down your new idea in your book.

Morgie froze, analyzing the situation and eventually smiling broadly as he processed what had just happened, putting his hand on the side of the kiss you gave him. It took him several seconds to stand up and go to your side, sitting on the table where you were standing.

"Do you remember you told me that when you saw me out of the corner of your eye for the first time you were reading 'how to undo a crush'?" He tilted his head towards you, although you did not notice it because he was immersed in your writings.

You let out a sound of affirmation. "I never had the opportunity to use it with practically anything."

"You can use it with me."

You lowered your pen and slowly raised your head at what he had just said. You slowly frowned in confusion, causing him to smile proudly.

"What do you mean?"

"What do you believe?" He smiled even more, getting off the table and coming closer to you. "I'm in love with you. Actually, I like to be."

The sudden way in which he confessed it to you did not give you time to react, when you least expected it he had already placed his hand on your cheek and approached to give you a shy kiss on the lips, waiting for an answer. When the two of you parted your lips you let out a long nervous laugh, tripping over your feet and almost spilling scientific and magical liquids from your lab/room.

Morgie laughed as you said so many inconsistencies in a row when some were not even words. The two of you clasped your hands and looked at each other with longing and love as the laughter of both of you ceased.

[thot-writes]

[repost bc i messed up] i’ve noticed that despite the fact everyone makes jokes abt astarion being a bottom i’ve yet to see anyone actually write him like one… and like a bat signal in the sky…. i am here to save the day

sub!astarion (aka canon astarion) headcanons for the girlies and the babes (NSFW) (spoiler warning!);

Astarion appears to be a top-leaning switch. not necessarily out of preference, he likely performs sex differently depending on the partner, but more often than not is the one who has to do everything.

being with a dominant like yourself isn’t anything he hasn’t already done a thousand times before, but he must concede that sex with you has always felt somehow different. is it because you’re more skilled in the arts of intimacy than the vast majority of people he’s bedded, or simply because he had the choice in seducing you?

it could very well be both. you are a dominant of great talent, after all.

the first time you sleep together, it quickly becomes apparent what your intentions are and he readily submits to them. you toy with his body, cradle it, worship it while you ravish him. you can sense a performance from him, but that’s nothing you’re not used to— occasionally you’ve been with subs who think the louder they are the better the sex is. you’re accustomed to breaking past that wall.

astarion is no different.

he seems a little too eager, a little too excited by simple touches— you can tell he’s exaggerating. you want his real reactions.

you map every part of his body and take keen notes on parts of genuine arousal, his yelps of surprise, his deep sighs, his involuntary twitching.

it’s a challenge, and you doubt you’ve scratched the surface with him, but you accurately deduce some of his sensitive spots:

the points of his ears, his nipples, his collarbone.

it’s intriguing to you, how his most sensitive places are those that are far from the most obvious ones.

the first time you fuck, he cums with an intensity that he can’t remember having had before.

and all while you were going easy on him.

you sympathetically cringe at the thought of all the god-awful encounters he must’ve had with people before this, if one of your tamest nights was one of his best.

during your sexual encounters, you slowly notice more and more about his genuine enjoyments. but you notice one more thing too, one thing infinitely more important:

he’s unsure if he truly enjoys any of it at all.

he confesses to you his issues with sex, and like the good dom you are you cater to your sub’s— no, your partner’s — needs. it’s months before he’s ready to try again, but your patience is infinite for those you love.

once you resume your sex life, you start off tame again. tamer still than even your first night together, just to test the waters and make sure he’s comfortable.

astarion has learned to trust you in a way he’s never trusted anyone before, and likely won’t ever again. as the intensity begins to ramp up, he finds himself doing things with you that (given his backstory) he should probably balk at.

he lets you collar him, tease him, punish him, and occasionally even degrade him— because he knows it’s you. he knows you. there may not be many places where he’s safe, but by your side is a guarantee.

astarion is very vocal in bed. it starts out as dirty talk, but as he gets closer to cumming he talks less and moans more. whines more. pleads more. by the time he’s about to finish, he hasn’t said a word to you yet he’s told you everything you need to know.

whenever you go too far (which isn’t often), he pulls away a little. he’s not too good at using the safe word yet, but he’s improving. you know enough of his body, his mind, to know when he’s telling you to stop even if he’s not forming the words.

after every sexual encounter you have, without fail, you clean him up and rest with him. you cradle him in your arms and stroke your fingers through his perfect curls. you make sure that he’s okay with what you’ve just done, and reassure him that he can stop this at any time with no judgement.

it’s kind of annoying how nice you are to him, honestly. you’ve just given him a mind-blowing back-breaking orgasm, and you’re still coddling him? just how in the fuck is he supposed to pay you back for everything you do for him? he’s racking up one hells of a debt.

astarion has never had someone like you before, someone who seems to know him even better than he does. he loves that you’re patient and caring, that you’d give up sex entirely if he’d only ask, that he feels safe enough with you to relinquish control while knowing he still very much has it.

a submissive astarion is one that has reconciled — or has at least started the process of reconciling — with his past. one that has developed a trust so deep with his lover that he can feel comfortable with even the most scandalous of acts.

it will take time until he’s ready for the more aggressive side of being dominated, if he’ll ever be ready at all. but a soft dom is one he can very easily get taken from behind.

he knows that even though he submits to you, he’s the one being served.

[bredstick]

Artist! Male reader x Architect! Kaveh

You draw Kaveh as one of your frienchgirls~

NSFW! SoftDom!Kaveh x Sub!Reader

During these 3 months of dating Kaveh, he has already grown accustomed to you asking him if he could pose for you, show you his pretty delicate hands, and in general his face. He was your official muse.

But he wasn't thinking ahead of time, what else you'd like him to show you to fulfill your, specifically said, anatomy knowledge.

When you came to Kaveh's place stressed from work, all you wanted to do is lay in your lover's arms all night. But you also wanted to ask the big question that you weren't sure when the right time would be for it, but you were impatient. "Would you please undress for me?" sounds a bit perverted, while even telling him about you wanting to draw his body makes you quite concerned that he'd be creeped out by the idea. But you were ready to risk it all, Kaveh is understanding and it wouldn't be a problem, would it?

When you made up your mind, you opened the bedroom door and upon seeing those bright red eyes, there was no way nervousness wouldn't crawl through your body. You felt sweat forming in your clutched fist, your throat closing up as Kaveh looked at you with a gentle smile, happy you came to visit him. You see, he gave you another spare key so you can come to his place freely- it took a while to convince Al Haitham to trust you with the access to their home though.

You slowly walked over to him, trying to hide your nervousness by smiling back, sitting down on his bed and letting out a big sigh. Kaveh looked at you intently, sitting at his desk with many architectural blueprints, leaning back against his chair. "How are you? There seems to be something troubling you." He says in a soft tone, fiddling with his fingers.

"Ah, it's nothing! It's just been a very tiring day for me so far.." you look away, a slight blush coating your cheeks. You were always easy to read, Kaveh thought. Deciding to know more about the true intention of your actions, he stood up from his desk and stood right infront of you, his hands on his waist.

You look up at him, feeling even more nervous by the proximity of your bodies, unable to speak at all. The most you did with Kaveh in these past couple of months was hold hands and kiss, but nothing else other than supporting eachother's lives. You weren't sure how to take a more intimate approach.

"Tell me, it can't be that bad. I hope you're not keeping anything from me!" he says, slightly pouting while looking down at you. You looked down again, your cheeks burning with embarrassment, as you mumble out your question; "Can... can you help me out with anatomy practice...?" your voice was shaky as you spoke, looking at his feet. There was a moment of silence engulfing the room, making it seem like he hasn't said a word in hours until he softly spoke up;

"Why didn't you tell me sooner? I'll always help you with your practices, no matter how embarrassing the pose may be," he chuckled lightly, looking down at you with a slight blush on his cheeks. He kneeled down, looking into your eyes as he mumbled; "Just tell me what to do. If you need any part of my clothing removed, I'll do it." Kaveh was always the one who was passionate about art, why were you even nervous?

Your stomach has never had this many butterflies floating around, looking into his eyes excitingly as you gripped your sketchbook on the bed, smiling up at him as you opened up your sketchbook.

-

Kaveh is now sprawled against his white silk bedsheets, almost naked if it weren't for his boxers. He looked like sleeping beauty, his little stretchmarks across his hips glowing and his soft pecs and milky toned skin, not to mention his soft pinkish nipples begging to be touched, all on display for you and you only to draw every curve and outline of his body. Your mind was racing, looking at every inch of his body, praying to god that you can imprint it into your brain forever.

"Tell me when you're done, I've thought about a pose you might like." he told you while fiddling with his boxer strap. You were too busy drawing to realise how innapropriate that sounds, humming in concentration, sitting on the bed next to him.

When you were done, you looked up at him with a smile, turning your aketchbook around to show the drawing you were very much proud of- your innocent smile dropped when you locked eyes with his- his pupils blown wide as he looked at you, biting his lip anxiously.

Your heart started beating faster, immediately realising why he was looking at you like that. Your stomach was doing backflips, trying to control yourself. "...Why aren't you saying anything?" you mumble, blush spreading across your cheeks by the sudden silence.

Kaveh sat up close to you, kooking at the drawing closely. He blushes a deep shade of red, observing every pencil stroke carefully. "You're an excellent artist, the details are perfect- and you did it in such short time!! How long has it been? Twenty minutes??" I guess he snapped out of his previous mood, you thought, as you smiled at him thanking him for the compliments.

Suddenly he took your sketchbook out of your hands, carefully putting it on his nightstand. As your face contorted into confusion, he kissed you softly.

As you were opening your mouth in protest of you not processing it at all, he quickly shoved his tongue down your throat. The sounds of heavy breaths and soft moans filled his bedroom, as he slowly pushed you down, hovering over you, not breaking the heated kiss.

Once you fully processed the situation, heat started to spread across your body, knowing what Kaveh wants. This is the first time you'll do it together. It makes you a bit nervous, but you trust him.

As you two break the kiss for some air, he looks at you softly, holding your hand as he whispers; "Do you want to... take the next step? Tell me,.." he waited in anticipation, seeing you nod loosely, "Say it please, I want you to be completely sure." "Yes," you said quickly, the nervousness taking over you yet again.

-

Your loud moans were heard all across his room, biting your hand to shut yourself up as every part of your body was flushed in embarrassment, your legs spread wide open with Kaveh inbetween them, fingering you skillfully.

"You're taking 2 of my fingers so well dear," he looked down at your face, gripping one of your thighs, "Can you take three for me darling?" he says slowly, your dick twitching at his words, Kaveh rubbing your tip in a circular motion. You were so immersed in the pleasure that all you could do was say a couple of words mushed up together- he slowly added another finger, causing you to whimper softly, feeling more needy every dying second of the experience. At this point you didn't care how needy you sound, so all you were mumbling about was you needing him inside of you. Kaveh found this quite adorable, looking down at you with a smirk and kissing your neck, suddenly biting down and stroking your cock quicker.

"Puh-please!! Please- hnn.." you muffled out nonsense as a big wave of pleasure danced across your body, pulling Kaveh closer by hugging his hips with your legs, making his obvious erection rub against your ass as he whimpered slightly.

As he finally put it in, he waited for a moment waiting for your plea to start moving- eventually bottoming out and gripping your hips tightly. He kept thrusting fast then slow, trying to find a good rhythm- which you weren't even focused on. You were focused on his chest, going up and down as his pretty and soft looking nipples were encouraging you to touch them- to make them swollen.

Kaveh let out a loud gasp as he picked up his pace, your mouth working wonders on his left nipple and fondling with the other, occasionally letting out whimpers and moans yourself. This is heaven, you thought, arching your back and making him hit your prostate several times as you release his nipple- he hugs you tightly, burying his face into your neck letting out high pitched whines as his hips started to lose their pace, signalling that his orgasm is near.

You grip his blonde locks as tears start forming in your eyes, whining his name repeatedly as both of you came undone at the same time, your breaths rigid as he was still buried inside of you and holding you tight, not letting you go.

He props himself up on his elbows, looking at you with pure adoration;

"You're so incredibly divine," he exclaims, and starts thrusting into you again as you take a sharp breath from the overstimulation, gripping his forearms in protest. "I-I wanna ride you please- I wanna draw you from underneath me," you breathed out, making Kaveh slightly flustered as he pulled out of you, allowing you to go on top.

The whole night consisted of both of you trying out different positions, while you got the best anatomy practice drawings you'll ever need- maybe they can be used for the time your boyfriend is on a long trip away from you~

[cenorii]

In 2021, dirty secrets about the use of bioweapons are revealed inside BSAA + there are direct hints in Umbrella Corps that Wesker is alive. I just combine the two puzzle pieces together in my head. So let's look at another interesting post-2009 scenario.

AU - ELEGY OF FREE RADICALS

Chris was once careless about eliminating Wesker. Knowing his nature, he still didn't check Wesker's presumed place of death properly. Relying on his own luck, Chris left the place of battle and never returned there. But he had to go back. It has become his mistake.

Chris reported the scene of the victory to the BSAA. Rotten BSAA could have used that data in any way they wanted. Like going back there and checking out the volcano. They could have indicated on the documents that they were headed to clear the area of the remnants of Uroboros, but in fact to search for Wesker's remains to get rich off the sale and study of his unique biomaterial. But what they didn't expect was to find him alive. Badly injured, helpless, but somehow alive.

Taking advantage of the weakness of the still living organism, he was taken to the secret laboratory of the headquarters. Now Wesker could be under the supervision of BSAA scientists for a very long time. He's much more useful alive than dead. His knowledge, skills, all of it could be utilized. And it was also possible to conduct endless experiments on his unusual body... Testing the limits of his abilities, testing various poisons, looking at the lethality of their new weapons, and etc. He was once again a puppet, as he had once been in Spencer's hands, from which he had miraculously escaped.

The BSAA kept Wesker's abilities under strict control, he was trivially stripped of any PG67A/W injections, replaced with an alternative that was only necessary for his body to regenerate damage after the battle in the volcano, but didn't provide any additional benefits. So he would remain weak but healthy.

Another remedy was also applied to him, eliminating the consequences of merging with the Uroboros, which modified his body in a volcano. It was discovered in 2011, after the events of Revelations 2. It was rude to call it just a serum, it was something more, because it did not remove the virus itself from the body, but brought it into a more stable form, allowing Wesker to take his ordinary appearance. With him, in this form, it became easier for employees to work.

The BSAA restored Wesker, stripped of his strength, any dignity, as well as his freedom. He was bedridden for several years and various weapons were tested on him, then recorded how his body reacted and at what rate it recovered. An immobilized lab rat, a deserved punishment for someone like him? Perhaps. It was thanks to his "sacrifice" that the anti-regeneration weapon was invented, which had once come in handy for Chris in the battle against Mold.

Just think… how many things could the BSAA have invented using the infinite resources of Wesker's body? He was terrified of these thoughts. Terror at the realization that he had no chance of escape, that he was trapped here forever, that he would continue to have his organs taken out of him and be forced into endless pain. He reflected that he hadn't actually managed to do so many contradictory things to deserve eternal torment. And it's better to let him die than to endure this hell. But his own body played a cruel joke without dying. It was an expert on regeneration. His pride was trampled when he begged for death.

BSAA absolutely did not spend any painkillers and sleeping pills on Wesker, absolutely all experiments were carried out when he was conscious. They had already spent a lot of money on him during his recovery, it was a waste to spend even more on someone who could repair any of his damage.

Pain and terror haunted him for six years. He cursed what he used to idolize in himself.

And then he was forced to work for them. In 6 years he had grown accustomed to the constant pain and had already learned to see himself as nothing, sending his consciousness into free floating. Deep in his thoughts, he created a place where he learned to ignore the endless physical torment. But when he was put on his feet and pulled out of this place… Wesker was even more devastated.

It was unusual for him to suddenly return to normal work, all this created a mess in his head, reality seemed to be nonsense. The usual paperwork after hell? Are you kidding me?!

Morally, he was destroyed. His psyche was severely damaged. Wesker from the "torture room" was locked in a cell that looked like a combination of a room and a laboratory. For fear of being put back on the operating table again, he dutifully began to work and develop various things that BSAA would use in the future. But it wasn't life either. Weakened body, lack of abilities... he wanted to die, but he couldn't afford it, because he was practically immortal. Although, even if he used a weapon that stops regeneration on himself... he still wouldn't kill himself.

«Not here»

«Not like this»

At times he thought he was balancing on the fine line between normalcy and insanity. He saw people at best once every two weeks who came to check on his work and were not at all talkative. Wesker had always been convinced he didn't need company, but 12 years without socializing had made him question his beliefs.

Once a month he was provided with food, and then carelessly, because he didn't need food. His body, experiencing hunger, could devour itself and regenerate immediately.

The only reason he was given a room and released from the operating table was because the organization wanted to see what he could offer them. Of course, they didn't stop studying his unusual body and conducting experiments, but Wesker was already in charge of the process himself. Independently amputated his limbs and so on. Only closer to 2019 were these experiments stopped, because they had extracted all possible benefits from his body.

Wesker remotely, horrified, realized that thanks to his body he would live much longer than the average person, if not forever. Which led him to believe that he would be kept in this cage for centuries. BSAA would close, others would take their place, find him, torture him again. And so on in a circle, for all eternity, as long as human society and greed existed. This had to end... but how? A plan was needed, a complex one that could not be unraveled.

His life and existence was a BSAA mystery from 2009-2021. For 12 long years he was not allowed out of the walls of this cell.

Of course he wanted to escape, he had many unrealistic thoughts in his head about it. He was also interested in meeting Chris, aged, changed. To see his reaction, genuine shock rather than the anger he'd reacted to Wesker's earlier 'resurrections'. Is Chris even still alive today? What year is it now?

But this life couldn't go on forever, the BSAA was cracking at the seams. In 2021 it was revealed that they were using B.O.W. soldiers, something Chris couldn't ignore. So he headed over to European headquarters to deal with it - right where his nemesis was located, a complete headache. Chris couldn't accept that his organization, which was fighting biological weapons, would use them. It didn't fit in his head. He had long ago stopped trusting the BSAA, but this was the last straw.

Arriving there, Chris did not expect to meet someone in the basement laboratories whom he had buried a long time ago.

What was he going to do with him? Shoot him in the head without any thought? That would have been logical and in Redfield's character, but over the years he'd stopped being a complete hothead, learned to think first and then act. Gained a little equanimity.

It will turn out that it was Wesker who was involved in the creation of the B.O.W. in BSAA. Especially since these soldiers are improved clones of Chris himself. Who else could have come up with such an idea? Only to a man who thought Chris was "one of his best men".

For the past 6 years, Wesker has been forced to be an advisor to BSAA, sharing all the knowledge and ideas. He might have been able to pull it all off, if only to get back at that organization, turning Chris' anger on it, and turning his attention to himself at the same time. After all, only this "one of his best men" was the only one who could save him. Yes, Wesker was pathetic. He felt he wasn't even worthy of his former name, being so pathetic as to enlist the help of his enemy. But it was the only option. There was no more talk of pride.

However, it didn't matter now, Chris had come here to punish the founders, so their prisoner, their chief counselor, might prove to be the best informant. And an ally.

Natural intuition made Chris believe his former enemy, the biggest manipulator of them all. As if he was definitely not lying now, because he was in such a big asshole that he couldn't let his words sound unconvincing. Earlier, Chris would have easily recognized his lies, but not now. Right now, completely honest and dull eyes were looking at him from beneath translucent glasses. So damn pitiful that Chris automatically assumed the role of the hero rescuing the damsel in distress.

Chris was quickly combine the information together in his head: the situation, the physique, the setting... His opponent had been held hostage by his own ambition, it couldn't help but bring a smile to Redfield's face. But he hid it in his thoughts, because he deemed it inappropriate once he read Wesker's imprisonment papers. Chris had some free time to devote to the situation.

He read about what had been done to Wesker. About all the torture. And Redfield clutched his head, when he got to the description of his ammunition that he'd used against Mold a couple years ago. He was terrified that this weapon had been created in such a gruesome way... through the suffering of his enemy, who, even considering all his guilt, didn't deserve all this. Chris felt that Wesker should have died and rid the world of himself rather than suffer endlessly. Even for him, he thought it was inhumane.

The first thing Wesker said to Chris was: - Now you've taken on the role of captain of the «alpha» too. This jabbed Chris slightly, but he noticed how the hostage said it without malice. Redfield involuntarily remembered 1998, the mansion, the betrayal, the deaths of the Alpha and Bravo group...

The compartment Wesker was in was to him both an office and a laboratory, and a room. A kind of prison, which he could not leave on his own because of his weak physical condition. He was weakened by the daily injections putting his viruses inside his body to sleep.

Releasing him and examining him at arm's length, Chris made sure that in the state Wesker was in now, he posed no danger, just an ordinary disgust. He resembled only a pale copy of his former self.

The BSAA operative dragged him carelessly behind him like some sack of garbage, concerned only with keeping the information in his head intact. But in his mind Chris still held images of what the BSAA bastards were doing here to Wesker. He didn't want to feel sorry for him, but he couldn't control it, Redfield had never been heartless. Initially he had only cared about information, but it wasn't long before he didn't even notice how protective he had become of him. As if a friend, which in truth, he never was. His captive's behavior was different from what Chris remembered. It was different, like a throwback to the past. Perhaps 12 years of imprisonment had had that effect on him.

He was docile, which wasn't surprising, since Wesker had been treated like an object by the organization, and the operating table had been a good teaching moment. Chris couldn't believe that after so many years of hell his former enemy's mind was still intact, that he hadn't lost his mind and was capable of dialog.

Time passed unnoticed during the proceedings with the BSAA about B.O.W., eventually the organization was destroyed and all its equipment, along with Chris's squad, transferred to TerraSave.

Chris during all of this had to sign Wesker into the Hound Wolf Squad as either a prisoner or an advisor. To keep him from getting shut down again, that was the deal. He helps them, they help him. Over time, he was getting back to normal. The food and good company had done their job.

However, Chris didn't know that his new ally hadn't lost all of his strength, and the ones he had were sleeping under the influence of the medicament. But time passed, the medicament slowly stopped working without new doses, and Wesker understood it perfectly well. And felt it. It didn't affect his appearance, so he could play his role for as long as he wanted. But was it a role? Sure he was portraying a courtesy that annoyed Chris to the point of nausea, but it was partially sincere. Having broken with his past at the fault of the BSAA, Wesker could only hope to find a new purpose. After all, as Spencer had raised him, there is no life without purpose.

Therefore, was it so necessary for him to betray Hound Wolf Squad? Would it be beneficial to him? Chris is a strong point. He has no doubt that if he kills Redfield - another will take his place, and will definitely get him into the basement wheel of samsara. So Wesker had no grand plans yet. After all, any of them would be doomed to failure as long as there was anyone in the world capable of resisting.

But Chris risked to give him a goal, which, however, called impossible - to become the best version of himself. To help the Hound Wolf Squad, to work with TerraSave, to use his knowledge for something other than endless failed experiments. Stop being Spencer's failed experiment. The only option Chris would give him a chance at.

Those words stuck in Wesker's head for a long time. Mentioning the old man was like a low blow. Chris knew where it hurt the most.

It had been several years since Wesker had joined Redfield's team. All that time he'd been hiding his abilities so as not to lose the fragile trust in his person. But the truth couldn't help but surface one day....

On one of the missions connected with B.O.W., the blade of an exploding helicopter blew off Wesker's head, and then another piece of debris cut his body in half.

But he didn't die.

Chris was enraged. With resentment, he felt cheated. What else could he have expected?

First, the black mass connected the body, restoring functionality to it, and then this silent carcass picked up the head. It was slow. It looked helpless and creepy. Chris's squad was on edge, but he ordered to wait. The black substance emerged from the base of the neck and attached the head to itself, then the calm expression on the reanimated head changed to horror. Was he in unbearable pain from the newly received oxygen? Or from the fusion of tendons?

When Wesker recovered, he couldn't at first think of a response to Chris' "explain yourself!"

Everyone's fragile trust collapsed, but not Redfield's, for he knew that if his former adversary had wanted to betray him, he would have betrayed him long ago, he wouldn't have let himself be so ridiculously exposed. Especially after all the torture he'd endured. Chris could understand why Wesker was hiding his powers. Redfield had stepped on the same rake of trust again, convincing himself that he had everything under control.

Wesker, ever since the prototype had merged with Uroboros in his body, had acquired a number of flaws, chief among them an unbearable sensitivity to pain. The only time he could not feel pain was when he was BSAA injected with force restraining drugs. But without them, all the disadvantages came out.

Whereas before he could recover from any wound without feeling anything but minor damage, now the pain was so obvious that every regeneration was accompanied by agony. Especially if it was a burn, for heat is a major weakness for Uroboros. The healing places on his body, after that helicopter situation, hurt like hell.

He was closer to human now than he had been before, and Chris seemed to realize that. That was why he hadn't killed him a second time, but had accepted him back into his squad. It was not only a gesture of goodwill, but also a precaution, a way to keep a dangerous object as close to him as possible so he wouldn't do anything.

How long will they have to cut off the heads of hydra in the face of the creators of bioweapons?

- Why do you trust me, Chris?

- I still believe that anyone can become the best version of themselves. We should prioritize fighting for the future to give someone a quiet life that you and I have been robbed of. I know about Project W. Together we can stop new organizations and prevent many tragedies like this from happening again. And you can help us, Wesker. BSAA took away your choice, but I'm giving it to you now.

Wesker at first couldn't find the words to respond, but after a moment he barely audibly whispered: "Thank you."

From a man who never thanked anyone, Chris was shocked to hear that. And he was proud of him. Had he forgiven him? No, his deeds were unforgivable. But Chris wasn't the kind of man who would turn his back on his one chance to make things right, to make things right on Earth, to save someone's life. In this truce, he sees a future that's bright for everyone.