#touchable fabric

[another-lost-mc]

Hospitality

No one makes better tea than Barbatos.

BARBATOS x afab!Reader 0.9k words | NSFW | Yandere | Non-con somnophilia Content warnings: Yandere thoughts/behaviours, non-con somnophilia, drugging, stalking. The Creepy Castle AU [Part 2] PREVIOUS | NEXT

When you enter the guest room provided for you at the Demon Lord's castle, there’s a steaming cup of tea on the nightstand. It’s not the first time Barbatos surprised you like this during one of your visits, and the kind gesture makes you smile.

You pick up the delicate porcelain cup and inhale the fragrant aroma - it’s sweet and slightly herbal, a blend of Devildom berries and flowers you can’t identify yet by smell.

You purse your lips and blow gently across the top. The murky red liquid ripples gently as you cool your drink. Your first sip is hesitant, but you hum appreciatively at the light, honeyed taste. You take another generous sip before setting the cup back down onto its saucer.

There’s a folded piece of clothing on the bedspread. When you lift it in front of you, you realize it’s a nightgown; the fabric is soft and semi-sheer, dyed a beautiful shade of dark blue. It falls just above your knees. You can tell by the feel of it that it’s luxurious, nothing that you would ever buy for yourself and certainly not to sleep in.

You attended a ball earlier this evening at Diavolo’s castle. Lucifer and his brothers insisted you join them. Diavolo welcomed you tonight with open arms.

The night was a blur of dancing and drinking and jubilant conversation. By the time the last guests departed, it was well past midnight and Lucifer readily accepted Diavolo’s offer to stay at the castle. Walking back to the House of Lamentation was a daunting proposition; more than one of his brothers drank too much tonight. 

Lucifer and his brothers wandered off to their nearby guest rooms to sleep. Barbatos led you further down the hall and showed you to an exquisite room for your own use. He explained he prepared it for you at Diavolo’s request, to ensure your privacy and comfort. He wished you a good evening before he walked away.

You have nothing with you except a small purse and the dress on your back, purchased earlier that day with Asmodeus. If you twist oh so carefully, you can just reach the zipper and tug it down. The dress slides off your shoulders and glides lazily to the floor and pools at your feet. You drape the dress carefully over the back of an armchair so it doesn’t wrinkle too terribly by morning.

The cool castle air chills your skin and you can feel your bare nipples harden. It might not be appropriate to sleep mostly-naked when you’re a guest of the young prince. You feel ill-prepared for a night away from the comforts of home, but then you glance at the gift on your bed.

The nightgown fits perfectly and the material is silky against your skin. You pull back the blankets and slide into bed, sitting against the headboard with a tired sigh. You cradle the teacup in your palm and take more small sips. The warm liquid relaxes you, and soon you’re sleepy and can drink no more. You set the nearly-empty cup back on the nightstand and shimmy down the mattress to get comfortable. Once your head rests on the soft, cloud-like pillow, you close your weary eyes.

When your breathing slows and you descend into deep sleep, the candles that light the room blow out. The shadows come alive when you're bathed in darkness. Sin slips through the cracks of stone, the walls giving way so no more barriers exist between you.

Greedy eyes drink in your sleeping form and the sheets are tugged away, revealing your soft, touchable skin draped in midnight blue. The sheer fabric clings to each dip and groove and curve when you breathe.

He knew you would look lovely in this.

He dares to reach towards your sleeping face - his once-steady hands now shaking with anticipation, the urge to explore too overwhelming to resist. Beneath the supple leather gloves he wears, he can still feel the warmth of your skin that makes the craving he feels for you bloom deep in his belly.

His hand traces the fragile column of your throat and over the slope of your breasts, fingers gliding over the dips and curves of your chest and waist. The swell of your hip fits so perfectly in his hand. He dares to trail his thumb along the top of your thigh and into the warm space between your legs. Wandering fingers skim the lacy underwear you left on. He feels a hint of dampness there, and he wonders what sinful dreams his tea has given you.

He shifts the fabric aside and your light scent is even stronger now, sweet and musky and all his. He teases the edge of your folds and revels in how soft and warm you are. His movements are gentle, smoothed by the barest traces of slick gathering on his gloves. He wonders how greedy he can be tonight–

You squirm in your sleep and he pulls away quickly as though burned by the temptation of getting too close. You unconsciously rub your thighs together and he already misses his place between them. He savors his consolation prize when he slips his fingers into his mouth and sucks them clean until he’s devoured every last drop of you. He barely suppresses the urge to moan.

He needs to go, now, or he never will.

He slips back into the hidden passageway buried within the castle walls and becomes nothing but a shadow once more. He leaves no trace behind, except for the dregs of sleeping herbs in the bottom of your teacup.

[harmonictechnicality]

*wrote this for @vecnuthy's birthday, so here you go babe! i baked you a word cake 🥰🎂* *ao3 link here*

Nobody gets cool shit on their birthday after the age of sixteen - Steve stands by this statement firmly. That year, he got his permit. And by yuppie parent default-mode, he also received his first car.

He almost, almost had a quarter-life crisis on his twenty-fifth birthday. Steve was seconds away from buying a motorcycle. Robin was very dramatic about this decision, kept threatening to order his gravestone if he followed through on an impulse purchase. 

This, however, would’ve nullified his Adults Get Lame Birthday Gifts theory entirely. So Steve apologized to the salesperson, and tucked his credit card back into his wallet. Robin canceled the order on his gravestone as well, thank god.

Gifts have continued to be lackluster every year since then. And his 30th birthday is no exception to this rule.

A gift card from his parents. A pair of athletic socks from Dustin. And a t-shirt from Robin. Essentially, the starter pack of Welcome to Adulthood. 

Except for one minor detail:

The shirt from Robin is exceptionally soft. Bamboo fibers or something, he wasn’t really listening to her description. Even the color is soft. Muted red, almost pink. Everything about it is soft. Airy. 

Touchable.

Okay - that’s not an observation Steve makes upon receiving it. But it’s one that Eddie Munson will never let him forget. 

The first time it happens is a week after Steve’s birthday. The two of them hit up a bar on the outskirts of town. A place Eddie frequents a lot, occasionally dragging Steve along as his Token 9 to 5 Friend.

“Welcome to the Dirty Thirty Club, man!” Eddie crows, already diving into Steve’s atmosphere for a hug. 

“Thanks! Good to see you, Munson.” Steve chokes out, returning the massive hug with a single pat on Eddie's back.

The guy always gives the most suffocating hugs, fucking cages Steve into his arms and steals the breath of out his lungs with one squeeze. Steve has to inhale through his nose, smells the soapy steam rolling off Eddie’s skin.

Shower. Eddie just showered before meeting him here. It’s so fucking clear by the way he feels damp, smells clean.

Steve hates that he notices that. Wishes he didn’t care about Eddie’s hygiene schedule. But the scent of shower gel is addictive, breathing it in fast. Big gulps of fresh air. Lungs extending like they can capture Eddie's atmosphere and keep it there.

Okay, seriously. Steve thought his Eddie Munson Crush had been buried with the rest of his trauma back in 1993.

“Dude. This shirt is so soft, holy shit.” Eddie is rubbing his hand all over the back of Steve’s shirt, fingertips pushing into the fabric.

“Uh yeah. Sure is.”

Eddie must’ve blazed up back at his place, it’s the only reasonable explanation as to why they’re hugging for this long. Gotta be some strong shit too - strong enough to make him sound completely blissed out over a damn shirt.

He’s is humming now, both hands petting Steve’s shoulders, one on each side. Pinching the material, twisting it till it curls around his index finger.

“Gotta get me one of these bad boys.” Eddie chuckles, turns it into a playful growling sound. “Could touch this all day.” 

“I don’t doubt it.” Steve does an awkward wiggle out of the embrace. He looks down at his shoes, cheeks growing warmer as he continues to take Eddie’s words entirely out of context. 

Look, the sensible part of his brain knows that Eddie is talking about the shirt. That’s it. But the insufferably needy and more prominent part of his brain wants Eddie to be talking about himself in general.

That he could touch Steve all day long - shirt or no shirt.

Right. Steve needs a splash of water on his face. Could use a splash of water on his goddamn imagination too. Dilute the delusion for christ’s sake.

It happens again about four months later. Lucas invites the whole crew over to throw a surprise party for Max’s promotion at work.

Of course, Eddie is running late - he didn’t fail senior year twice solely from his shitty GPA. But showing up late to a surprise party? That’s a new level of risky. Not everything has to be a thrill-worthy adventure. Ugh.

“Max should be getting off work right about now.” Lucas explains, peering around the living room. “So everyone should head to your designated hiding spots.”

Nobody budges, just carrying on with their conversation.

“Alright, asshats - you heard Sinclair!” Steve snaps at each of them, glares for good measure. “Find a hiding spot or get the fuck out.” He gives a quick nod to Lucas, who still looks severely stressed, eyes ready to bust out of his skull any minute.

The coach-esque threat does the job. Everyone, ducks into place, voices descending into whispers. Whispers descending into shushes as the minutes draw closer to Max’s arrival. Steve is folded up behind the couch, arms wrapped around his knees. 

There’s a small creak coming from the front door. A few people yell 'surprise.' Steve peaks to the side to see Lucas shaking his head at them.

“No, nobody move.” He instructs, voice caught between a yell and whisper. “I was just letting Eddie inside.”

Instinct takes over. Steve twists around the corner of the couch, needing to see for himself that Eddie is here. That he really came.

Clearly, he didn’t move fast enough. Although he could’ve sworn he moved so embarrassingly fast that the vertebras in his back sound like a bowl of Rice Krispies (post-milk). 

But no one is there. No Eddie. No Lucas. No one.

“What the-” Something grabs the back of Steve’s shirt, pulling at his collar. A few people start aggressively shushing him.

“Chill out, Stevie.” Eddie is right there, meeting Steve’s face with a lopsided smirk. He’s close, way too close. Still holding the collar of Steve’s shirt with one hand, stretching it out. Keeping them close.

“Just trying to check the tag,” He releases Steve just an inch or so. His voice is so hushed, the quietest Steve has ever fucking heard it. “Wanted to see where I might be able to purchase such a godly article of clothing.”

“Ever heard of a thing called boundaries?” Steve hisses, swatting a strand of Eddie’s hair out of his face.

“Doesn’t ring a bell, sorry.”

They haven’t talked much since that night, barely any interaction for four months. But watching Eddie lean in, angling his head lower to study the tag on Steve’s shirt, hot breath on his neck…

It resets the clock. Flips the hourglass on Steve’s feelings for him.

He’s infatuated all over again, and all it took was Eddie invading his personal space. Just like he always does.

“You’ll have to ask Robin.” Steve whispers. Tries not to flinch when Eddie smooths Steve’s shirt collar back into place. “She’s the one that bought it for me.”

“Damn. Buckley has good taste.”

“Sure does.”

No distance is created. Neither of them move away. Eddie’s eyes continue to sketch over every stitch in Steve’s shirt, every hemline. He seems hyper fixated on it, too fixated to notice Steve’s pink-ish cheeks, thank god. 

If it weren’t for the shirt, Steve would assume Eddie is checking him out, looking him up and down with a heavy gaze. Dark pupils, casted darker by the dim lighting.

“Can I?” Eddie raises a hand out to Steve’s shoulder. He pauses, lifts an eyebrow at the end of his question.

Steve’s jaw is too tight to answer or counter back with a joke about how Eddie never asks permission before popping personal bubbles. All he can do is nod a little too eagerly.

Eddie reaches into Steve’s sleeve, rubs the material from the inside. A small grin forms on his face. He looks so pleased, purely amused. That’s enough to untangle Steve’s muscles, relaxing under Eddie’s light touch. 

But that’s the other thing. He’s barely touching Steve. Every now and then, his knuckles roll over Steve’s skin. Really, that’s it, that’s all he’s doing. And god, Steve craves more.

Eventually, Eddie switches it up, pinching the material between the pads of his fingers. He scoots closer to Steve’s side to do so. 

Time feels paused. Time feels rapid. It’s going nowhere and already slipping through his grasp. All Steve can think about is placing his hand underneath Eddie’s chin, bringing his lips up to his own. Kissing him till the clock stops ticking. Till the sand stops running.

“Softest shirt ever.” Eddie gives the material a slight tug. Smiles wider.

Steve gulps. “If you say so.”

“I mean, seriously - it must be made from the glow off an angel’s halo or something, cause damn.”

“You’re a trip, Munson.” 

Steve has to keep telling himself that Eddie is obsessed with touching his clothes - he’s not thinking about taking them off of Steve. No matter how much he wants that to be the reality of the situation. 

It’s not.

They stay like this till the doorknob clicks, turns. Steve almost forgot that he was at a party, surrounded by other people. 

Immediately, all of his senses flip back into Extrovert Autopilot. Everyone jumps out, yells a combination of surprise and congratulations (because they failed to coordinate that apparently).

He stays in this zone for the rest of the party. Talkative and breezy. Charming the pants off Max’s coworkers with silly little anecdotes about her as a kid. 

Steve is damn good at hosting. It’s probably in his white-collar bloodline or some shit. Still, anytime Eddie walks by, he glitches up. Temporarily out of sync.

He doesn’t get a chance to say goodbye. Eddie ducks out early, waving broadly before slipping through the front door.

Time does that weird thing again. Feels paused and rapid all at once as he watches the door shut behind Eddie.

“You okay, man?” Lucas nudges him.

“Yeah.” The gentle gesture returns time back to normal. Brings Steve back into this moment.

“Doing just fine.”

It’s all he thinks about for weeks. Anytime there’s a lull at work or a commercial break on television, Steve drifts. Pictures Eddie is in his shirt, the one he’s so obsessed with.

At first, it’s just that. Basic. Eddie standing in front of him, wearing that muted red, almost pink, shirt. Sometimes smiling, sometimes expectant. Either way, it’s always enough to make Steve’s neck feel flushed, creeping up to his cheeks.

Gradually, it evolves into something more complex. A fantasy, almost dreamlike. He imagines Eddie running his hands all over himself, his torso, his chest. The thin material of the shirt moving and shifting under his palms. His head tipping back, lips plush and red from where he’s gritting down, biting hard. Holding back sounds.

Those images get Steve in trouble. Panting on conference calls and boners at his work desk. 

He’s alone in his apartment when it grows, branches off into darker urges. Desires. Steve glances down at the floor, can’t help but wonder what Eddie might look like down there, staring up at him. Wearing Steve’s clothes. Begging Steve to take them off. Rip them, ruin them.

“That fucking does it.” Steve scolds himself, scolds his dick too. He’s calling Eddie Munson right now - before he has time to overthink it.

His hand is trembling as he picks up the house phone, dials out the number he didn’t even know he had memorized. The trembling thing is kinda embarrassing, but it's still better than sticking it down his pants and jerking off while the Cooking Network plays reruns in the background.

Every ring feels drawn out. Stretching time like taffy. 

Eddie picks up on the fourth taffy-length ring. “Eddie here.”

“Hey, man.” His voice comes out all strained, bone-dry.

“Shit. That really you, Harrington?” 

Apparently his voice comes out unrecognizable too.

“The one and only.”

Eddie snorts loudly into the phone speaker. “Doubt that very much - seems like a common enough name.”

“Yeah yeah, whatever, smartass.” Steve rubs his neck, scratching his skin. Working his way to extracting the words out of his throat. “So um… you busy tonight?”

“Nope.” Eddie answers.

“Cool. Me neither.”

There’s silence after that. Well, almost silence. Just a slight hissing sound from the phone line can be heard. Not enough sound to make things less awkward though.

Steve has no good reason to be so antsy, so wired with anxiety. They’ve been friends since metaphorical shit hit the metaphorical fan back in ‘86. So being outwardly weird around Eddie? It’s too damn fishy. 

“Is that it?” Eddie says. “Did you just want to bond over our empty schedules?” 

Of fucking course, Eddie would call Steve out on his weird bullshit. Doesn’t know subtlety if it bit him in the ass. 

Bad time to think about Eddie’s ass.

“Come over.” Steve blurts out. Needs to say something before a parade of ass-centric images start back up in his mind. “I ordered way too much takeout and there's a stack of movie rentals that I need to binge to minimize those late fees, so yeah… come over.”

No response, even the background hissing from the speaker cuts out. Maybe the phone line went dead. Or maybe Eddie hung up. Wouldn’t be the first time he’s abruptly ended a conversation, perpetually flouncing to whatever is new and shiny. Always distracted. 

“What kind of takeout?” He finally responds.

“The Greek place with the kickass tzatziki sauce.” Steve smirks, already knows the answer before Eddie can utter another word. 

“I’ll be there in an hour.”

Eddie arrives in less than an hour, actually. Knocks on Steve’s door exactly 51 minutes after Steve gets off the phone with him. It’s slightly disturbing that Steve suddenly turns into a math whiz when he’s fawning over someone.

Someone that fawns over his clothes more than him, but who gives a shit about logistics?

“Fucking starving.” Eddie says, slamming the door behind him. 

Steve smiles, motions his head toward the kitchen. “Help yourself, dude.”

The plan is so stupid. Half-baked at best: get Eddie out of his shirt (and jacket), and into Steve’s shirt instead. That’s it. That’s all Steve’s got so far.

But it’s better than nothing. So what the hell? It’s worth a shot.

He waits until Eddie has stuffed his face with a decent amount of spanakopita, fully reclining on Steve’s couch. Looks incredibly comfy, too comfy to move.

Good.

Steve grabs the strawberry sorbet from his freezer, the one Robin forced him to buy after going vegan last spring. He scoops a bowl for himself and a bowl for Eddie. Exhales the last bit of his self-respect before returning to the living room with the most boring dessert option ever.

“Here you go.” Steve says.

Eddie scrunches his nose at it. “The fuck is this?”

“Sorbet.”

“Why am I not surprised that the former rich kid prefers sorbet over ice cream?”

Steve sputters, takes the bowl back before it further offends Eddie somehow. “That’s not… I didn’t… it’s actually-”

“Deep breath, Stevie. I’m just teasing you.” Eddie yanks the bowl back, shovels a brain-freezing amount into his mouth. “Far too easy, by the way. Give me a bit of a challenge next time. Makes it more fun… for one of us, at least.”

“Fun. Sure.”

“The one of us being me.”

“Got that.”

Steve decides to take Eddie’s ‘challenge’ remark as the perfect cue to set his stupid plan into action.

Steve pretends to shift around on the couch cushion, getting situated. Does this until he ‘accidentally’ fumbles the sorbet. Spills it all over Eddie’s clothes, his distressed black shirt, his dark gray sweatpants. All of it. Makes a much bigger mess than he intended to.

Eddie jumps up. “Goddamnit, Harrington!”

“I am so sorry!” No he’s not. If anything, his apology is more smug than sincere.

“This shit is sticky as hell.” 

“Really sorry, man.” Steve hands Eddie a few stray napkins, like that’s going to make a difference.

“Don’t be. It was an accident.”

Except it wasn’t. It was one of the most juvenile tactic that Steve has ever pulled. Truly, it tops the overused movie theater-yawn tactic.

“Here - let me get you a change of clothes.” Steve offers, already heading to his bedroom. He’s walking and talking and fucking fidgeting. Suddenly paranoid that Eddie can see right through him, see all his desperation on display. Splattered everywhere like strawberry sorbet.

He turns back around for a split second. “I’ll throw those in the wash. Have them dry and ready to wear again by the time you head out.”

“Oh…” Eddie keeps patting down his clothes with a sopping napkin, barely listening. “Yeah, sure. Thanks.”

“No problem.”

His acting performance is fucking dismal. Over the top. Porno-level obvious. Must be karma for all of those times he gave Robin and Eddie shit about being in an improv club. Makes a mental note to never mock their nerdy hobbies for the rest of his life.

“Well, it must be my lucky night.” Eddie calls out from the bathroom door, causing Steve to wince at the sheer volume.

“What makes you say that?”

“Bestowing the holy grail of shirts upon me? Allowing me even one hour in downy-soft paradise?” Eddie is using that tone, the one that’s boozy and savory. Borderline mean. Equally hot and annoying. “Possibly the greatest of olive branches you could’ve offered up.”

“Christ, you’re dramatic.” Which is so hypocritical after the stunt he just pulled.

The bathroom door swings open and nothing could’ve prepared Steve for how good Eddie looks in his clothes. The shirt is snug through the sleeves, loose through his chest. Makes Steve realize how differently built they are. The waistband on the athletic shorts is sitting low on his hips, maybe a size too big. If they were any bigger, they’d slip right off. Landing all tousled around his bare feet…

Okay, Steve has got to snap the fuck out of it. He rubs aggressively at his eyes. Needs soap or military-strength detergent to fucking cleanse whatever is going on with him lately. 

“We could watch something.” Steve says, even though that’s exactly what he’s already doing.

Watching.

Eddie shrugs. Leans against the wall. “We could.”

“Or… I don’t know.” Steve can’t rip his gaze away from Eddie’s arms. His pale skin looks even lighter against the reddish tones. The waves and curls of black ink look even darker. Just a splash of color has turned him into a landscape of extremes. 

“You don’t?” 

“Um…” Steve flops, flounders. Scrambling for an idea. A coherent thought. Anything. “Cards. We could play cards.”

Eddie’s forehead wrinkles, then quickly straightens back out. Nodding politely. “Sure, we can do that. If that’s what you want to do.”

Steve mumbles something about grabbing a card deck from the storage closet, although he’s pretty sure it’s unintelligible. Makes a quick escape, jogs at the weirdest tempo known to mankind. 

Flirting with a longtime friend is throwing him for a loop. Many loops actually. Theme park amount of loops. All of his usual ease and charm are being denied access. Not tall enough to ride this ride.

The closet is packed with junk, so finding a deck of cards is obnoxiously difficult. He’s tossing coats into piles and shoving shoes into corners. Between his nerves and his determination, Steve is working up a goddamn sweat.

“Need a hand in here?” Eddie’s voice startles him. Steve jolts backwards, straight into a shelf of puzzles. Tons of pieces go flying, some landing in Steve’s hair. Redecorating the fucking closet with tiny bits of colored cardboard.

Fantastic.

Eddie backs away, arms crossing into his chest. “Jesus, man. You’re freaking me out.” 

“Sorry.” Steve says. Shakes the puzzle pieces out of his hair.

“Is it the shirt?” The question sounds genuine. No jokes, no sarcasm. “Does it look that bad on me?”

“Oh.” Steve doesn’t know how to respond. The shirt looks amazing, that’s not the problem at all. It’s just… “Um, actually-”

“Look, I know I’m not a pastel heartthrob.” Eddie gestures directly to Steve before waving his arms around. He starts pacing in the tiny closet, just ranting away. “And let’s fucking face it. I’m not getting any younger, so I doubt I can pull off this slim-cut style the way I used to… but come on. It can’t be that repulsive, right?”

“Eddie.” Steve frowns. 

“Shit, that bad?” Eddie smacks a hand to the top of his hand. Grabs a fistful of his hair and looks down at the shirt, still rambling. “We’re using first names now? What’s next? Gonna bust out my full legal name? My birth certificate? Then we’ll really mean business.”

Okay, yikes. And Steve thought he was the stressed one. This is going south very, very fast. He needs to curb the self-destruction that’s happening in front of him. Just… reach out. 

“Hey.” And Steve does. Literally. He places a hand on Eddie’s shoulder, sucks in some courage. He waits until Eddie makes eye contact, breathes at a less neurotic speed. Then he exhales all the courage. Turns it into honesty instead. “You look… you look good.”

Eddie scoffs. “Yeah right.”

“No, I mean it. It’s different. But in a good way.” Steve skims his nails against the fabric, drawing shapes into Eddie’s shoulder. “I like it.”

“You do?”

Steve nods. Bites down on his lip, flicks his eyes to Eddie’s mouth. “Like it on you.”

The energy between them is thick, clinging to Steve’s skin. It’s new except it’s not. Steve has felt it before. At the bar, the party, that random Thursday in 1993. He recognizes the flex and curl in his stomach as Eddie takes one step forward, then two. The feeling is familiar and strange combined. Knotted tight.

Eddie raises an eyebrow before taking another step. Like the day behind the couch. Quiet permission, one he doesn’t ask for often. Only when it means something.

Steve lets the hand on Eddie’s shoulder fall slowly. Catching the material at the bottom, tugging it forward. Prays to fucking god that’s all the permission Eddie needs.

“You were right.” Steve lets his hand drift back up, landing in the center of Eddie’s chest. Wrinkling and smoothing the fabric underneath. “It really is soft.”

Eddie’s breath hitches up. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Steve’s voice drops lower, richer. “Could touch this all day.”

Eddie thumbs over Steve’s bottom lip, drifting into the small space between them. He places both hands on Steve's cheeks and kisses him firmly. Steve presses in deeper, breathes out through his nose so that he doesn’t have to break away. 

It’s so good, kissing like they’re teenagers behind the bleachers. So swept away in the heat and hunger that they’d be late for class. Showing up to study hall with blotchy skin and achy lips. They keep kissing just like that. Feeling, exploring. Lingering in all the areas that seem to make the other person hum or gasp.

“Steve.” Eddie whispers. His hands push up into Steve’s hair, combing it back, pulling in down with an edge. Hard enough to make Steve tilt his head, mouth dropping open.

“Yeah?” Steve replies. Barely a question, too lost in the feeling of Eddie’s lips on his neck. 

Eddie rubs his mouth over the edge of Steve’s jaw. “You’re so…” 

The sentence stops right there, never gets finished either. He nuzzles over the wet spots of skin covering Steve’s neck. Marks them all up with a gentle nip, not enough to leave bruises. Just enough to make Steve shiver.

Steve is making so many breathy noises, which should be humiliating. Pathetic for someone who’s had fucking loads of first kisses, even more makeout sessions.

But none of that really matters, his age or experience or slutty track record. Nothing counts when being kissed like this. Nothing can stop Steve from taking this moment, eating up all of the sounds and sensations. 

Fuck, he wants all of it. Wants Eddie closer somehow, on top of him, beneath him, surrounding him.

He can’t stop tugging at Eddie’s shirt, well… his shirt. No doubt that it’s stretching out, close to ripping it. Keeps pulling it anyways - dragging Eddie into him till Steve’s back is pressed up against the wall.

“Come here.” Steve curls a finger under Eddie’s chin, brings his face back up to him. Not nearly done kissing him stupid, square on the lips. His mouth is warmer now, a few degrees hotter from sucking Steve’s neck. Licks into Steve’s mouth, gets him to whine at how good it feels. 

The washing machine timer goes off, buzzing throughout the whole apartment. But Steve can’t let this end, he can’t.

Except for the buzzing won’t let up. Continuously interrupting all the delicious noises that Eddie makes whenever Steve bites over his bottom lip, gets it nice and puffy between his teeth. 

“Should we...?” Eddie smushes his nose into Steve’s before motioning to the door. 

“Yeah probably,” Steve unclaws his hand from Eddie’s waist. Kisses him once more before sliding out of reach.

As he walks down the hallway, heading into he laundry room, he hears it. Eddie’s voice, still inside the closet. Chanting the same phrase over and over again:

‘Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit. Holy fucking shit!’

Steve cracks a smile. Kind of hard to believe his heart is chanting the same damn phrase. So full of adrenaline, fucking crumbling under this wave of raw emotion.

Really, he never thought he’d find himself in this situation. Holding Eddie’s clean clothes in one hand, thumbing over his kiss-bitten lips with his other hand. Impatiently craving to get back to where they left off, hopefully on the couch or bed or floor this time.

“Hurry it up, will ya?” Eddie whistles behind him.

“What’s the rush?” Steve tosses the clothes into the dryer, doesn’t turn around because his self-restraint will be fucked if he does. 

“My lips are getting cold.”

“That’s the best line you got?”

“For now, yeah.” Eddie says. “You sucked out all of my brain cells with your mouth. Can’t expect me to be Swayze-level smooth after something like that.”

No way he’s allowed to be so damn cute comparing himself to Patrick Swayze. As if they're even in the same league. Endearing, really.

“You can head back to the living room. I’ll be there in a minute.” Steve pushes a few buttons on the dryer. The timer starts, another reset on the clock.

Feelings that flip the hourglass once again. 

He really fucking hopes it never runs out this time. 

Eddie is perched on the floor, flipping through the channels on the tv. He's squinting at the harsh light because for some insane reason, he always insists on watching the tv in total darkness.

Even that’s cute now. Annoyingly cute.

Steve joins him on the floor, instantly slouching into Eddie’s arms because he can do that now. Completely allowed to be sweet and gross and smitten. 

“Guess my theory was wrong after all.”

“Hm?” Eddie replies, still mindlessly channel-surfing.

Steve gives Eddie a quick kiss on the cheek (because he can do that now too), and looks at the shirt. Muted red, almost pink. Soft and touchable. “Apparently, you do get cool birthday gifts as an adult.”

“What are you mumbling about?”

This thing between him and Eddie. It feels longer than running sand or ticking timers. Longer than their years of friendship. Maybe not timeless…

“I’ll tell you later, Eddie.”

But pretty damn close.

[miasmaghoul]

miasma what r ur swiss tummy thoughts 🎤

syringe how DARE u make me consider the swummy when i have SO MANY KINKTOBER PROMPTS LEFT >:(

sigh.

anyway. i think swiss gains a little weight between tours and as such two ghouls in particular are even more obsessed with him than usual.

(contains: body worship, marking, tit sucking, some light scent kink, sloppy kissing, drool, teasing, and swiss being the desperate one for a change. at least a little)

His rusty purr echoes off his bedroom walls, his fingers drag through two heads of soft hair, and Swiss thinks this is as close to bliss as a guy can get.

Aeon had slithered up to Swiss' side right after lunch and hooked their elbows together, wrangling him back to the dorms with warm lips pressed to Swiss' ear. He hadn't complained; there were a few empty hours to spare until evening practice, he could allow their new addition to distract him for a bit.

Finding Dew waiting for them in the center of his bed, joint already lit, had been a surprise of the loveliest variety.

Swiss doesn't know how long it's been since they finished it off, but it's been long enough for Dew and Aeon to get wonderfully handsy. They'd fallen back against the headboard on Dew's last exhale, the little ghoul pinned to Swiss' right side and Aeon attached to his left. Heavy arms slung around their shoulders while Dew nuzzled his chest and Aeon shoved his nose into Swiss' throat.

This isn't the first time they've captured him like this over the past couple of weeks, and Swiss is sure it won't be the last. There are still nine days until the next tour picks up, and at this point it's harder to keep them off of him than on him.

It always starts with them touching over his shirt, long fingers dimpling the places where the fabric has gone taut. Drawn tighter after months of indulging in food, drink, and abject laziness when permitted. It happens to all of them, a few pounds added when they aren't able to sweating it off on stage. Even Dew has the most delightful little belly roll and love handles now, along with a bit more touchable puffiness in his chest. It'll all burn off once things pick up again, so none of the ghouls find themselves bothered when they all go a little soft(er) around the edges.

Least of all Swiss. He owns the tightest shirts for a reason.

Not that his shirts last very long when they do this. This afternoon was no different, Swiss' tee tossed to the floor the moment Aeon started to drool onto it. Their hands were on him immediately then; Dew grabbed a handful of his now-softer chest while he buried his face in Swiss' armpit, and Aeon had been quick to to sink his fingers into his stomach while he latched on to Swiss' collarbone. Both of then making the happiest little trilling sounds at the feel of his pudge giving beneath their skilled hands, sounds that made Swiss feel just a little higher.

Now, a truly unknown amount of time later, they've both migrated south. Dew's still pressed close, a skinny leg wrapped around Swiss' knee. He can feel the little ghoul's warmth through both of their pants, and there's sure to be a wet spot in Dew's jeans whenever he chooses to shred them. Dew's mouth is warmer, though, busy sucking the latest of many marks just below his navel. They overlap with the last round of still-healing bruises spotting Swiss' torso, a purpled mosaic of adoration.

Swiss sighs, rakes his claws over the little ghoul's scalp, and Dew looks up at him with the glassiest eyes. His lips swollen, flushed from so long spent worshipping every inch of Swiss he could reach. Spit slick as Swiss' own skin.

"Your eyes are red," he purrs, grinning with barely-open eyes. He cups Dew's cheek, no longer quite so hollow, and drags his thumb over his lower lip. "Almost as red as this pretty mouth."

Those lovely lips curl into the laziest smile when Swiss slips his thumb between them. The little ghoul gives it a lazy suck that has Swiss groaning, throbbing in his too-tight jeans. A pulse so intense that he's sure Aeon must feel it too, and the little whimper that floats up from his chest only confirms his suspicions.

Aeon's been straddling his other leg for a while now, making an absolute mess of his bare chest. Mouthing at his tits wet and sloppy, saliva catching in his thatch of chest hair with every pass of his tongue. Aeon's paid special attention to his nipples too, of course. Gotten them all puffed up and so dark with sharp but gentle teeth. He has one hand stuck up Dew's shirt, the other firmly planted on the side of Swiss' belly that Dew can't quite reach. Kneading away with abandon and entirely lost in his own little world.

Swiss drags his claws down the curved length of Aeon's spine, and the sound he makes has Swiss' eyelids drooping even further.

The other ghoul's lithe body is bent in a way that has his thigh slotted right up against Swiss' bulge. Not with enough pressure for him to get anything out of it, but it means they're close enough that Swiss can feel Aeon twitch against his hip too. Aeon gasps against his skin when Swiss grabs a handful of his ass, but flat out growls when he encourages Aeon to rut against him. Swiss chuckles, raises an eyebrow.

"Wazzat for, kitten?" He's can't keep the humor from his voice, impossible when Aeon sounds about as threatening as your average bowl of oatmeal. "Y'think I can look and not wanna touch?"

Swiss flexes his thigh, pushes it up into Aeon's obvious arousal, and earns a much more appropriate whine for his trouble. Aeon looks up at him, mouth hanging open, cheeks darkened and eyes barely focused. There's a string of saliva connecting his plush power lip with Swiss' nipple, and Swiss would break it with his tongue if he could reach.

"Didn't say that," Aeon slurs, pushing himself upright and pulling his hand from Dew's warm little tummy. The smaller ghoul makes a displeased sound around Swiss' thumb, but it's quashed quickly when Aeon scratches at the space between his horns. "Jus' not in a rush, is all. You're not gonna squishy forever. Wanna enjoy it."

Swiss tips his head and watches him for a long moment. Watches Aeon stretch both arms over his head, exposing a delicious stripe of his own flat stomach. He and Aurora haven't been around long enough to be affected by The Gluttony, but Swiss knows it'll happen soon enough. A few months touring and they'll come back with all sorts of new, voracious appetites in dire need of sating.

Swiss can't fucking wait.

He hisses when fangs sink into his thumb, pulling it from Dew's mouth with a soft pop. He frowns down at the little ghoul, but can't keep up the scowl for long. Not when Dew's scooting down to nose at his happy trail.

"You went away," he admonishes, kissing the button of Swiss' jeans. Chin hovering over straining denim. Dew's heavy eyes flash with something playful. "Jus' 'cause we're takin' our time," he murmurs, grinding slow against Swiss' leg, "doesn't mean you get t' think about other shit."

Swiss huffs through his nose, but offers a slightly sheepish smile. He reaches down, traces the shell of Dew's pointed ear with one fingers. The little ghoul chirrups, leans into the touch, and Swiss' other hand lands on Aeon's thigh. Strokes lean muscle, wishing it was skin beneath his palm. But hey, if they're in no rush then neither is he.

"Sorry Sparky, jus' got distracted for a second," he says with a wink. "'M all yours, I promise."

A bony hand sinks into his curls, and Swiss finds his gaze being redirected. Finds Aeon looking down at him with his head tilted, black and white waves falling over his forehead. There's something fascinating in his swirling lavender eyes, something Swiss knows he should recognize, but can't quite place. Something so similar to the brazen need in Dew's eyes, yet entirely different.

"Ours," Aeon corrects, voice firm. "You're ours."

Oh, that's what it is.

Possession.

Swiss' tongue feels suddenly too thick, too cumbersome. Impossible to form an intelligent response when his mouth is so dry. When had it gotten so dry? He has no idea. Still, he tries. Manages to make a dull gurgling sound while he soaks a stain into his boxers. Fuck he's so hard.

Then, just as quickly as it appeared, the darkness in Aeon's eyes vanishes. He's loose once more, hazy, rolling his hips just enough for Swiss to feel the swollen ridge of his cock against his thigh. Then he's leaning down, and Swiss finds himself being kissed with the sort of slowness usually reserved for third dates and drive-in movies. Deep and with what most would consider too much tongue, but they both know that's just how Swiss likes it.

Warm hands squeeze his stomach, and Swiss manages to crack one eye open. Angles his head so he can peer down at Dew. Swiss smiles into the kiss at the sight of him, wide-eyed with his lips caught between his fangs. Groping his stomach like it's his job and not so subtly humping Swiss' leg while he devours the sight before him. A delicious sight, one made all the better when he sees Dew's hand creep up his thigh. Over his hip.

Swiss groans deep and pained when Dew finally, blessedly, cups the dull ache between his legs. Molds his fingers to the obvious swell of Swiss' cock and gives it a nice little rub. It's hardly anything, but it sends his head spinning anyway.

Or maybe that's Aeon stealing the air from his lungs. Hard to say.

Either way, Swiss is beyond dizzy when Aeon chooses to relent. Gulps for breath, licks his lips to drink down every sweet drop of saliva coating them. Aeon huffs out a soft laugh, rubbing their noses together and bumping horns.

Aeon licks a stripe up his cheek, Swiss moans, and Dew purrs when his cock kicks hard.

"Gonna let us play again now?"

Swiss is pretty sure he'd give up nuclear launch codes if it meant they would keep touching him like this. The fervent nod he offers Aeon only supports that.

"S'much as you want, baby," he sighs, hands roving restlessly over Aeon's shirt. Swiss' eyewhen Dew pops his button and starts to tug down his zipper. "Fuck, much as you both want."

Aeon kisses his temple, hums against thin skin, and then he's slinking his way down Swiss' body. Dragging his hands from Swiss' broad shoulders, over his pecs, down his tummy. Poking and prodding at his softest spots with the worst kind of smile on his face. He joins Dew in short order, bumps their horns together, and then they're kissing each other all slow and gross and unholy fuck does Swiss ache.

Aeon's hand joins Dew's at his zipper, both of their free hands occupied with massaging his stomach. Dew's the one to reach into his boxers once the last tooth separates, and Swiss doesn't even try to hide his groan of relief when the little ghoul pulls him out at last.

"Fuuuuuuck," he breathes, pure relief and red-hot tension threaded into the word in equal measure. It feels like he could cum in half a second, and yet somehow like his orgasm is a million miles away at the same time. A confusing ball of tangled need stuck low in his pelvis.

Then Aeon reaches in to cup his balls, and Swiss sees pretty purple spots.

"Heavy," Aeon coos, palming his sack and breaking the kiss just to flash Swiss a little fang. Dew takes it upon himself to nuzzle the base of his cock, to breathe in deep, and Swiss swears he feels the little ghoul get even wetter.

"Full," he rumbles, reaching out to rest a hand on the backs of each of their necks. Just to hold, a little something to keep him grounded. "Gonna empty 'em for me?"

Both ghouls snicker - never a good sign - and Dew lets his cock slide from his loose grip. Lets it fall against Swiss' pudge with a slap that's much louder than it should be, all things considered. Swiss shivers when he watches it spit fluid into his belly hair, and shudders when the pair of them dip down to lick up every drop. His dick jumps, hits Dew's cheek, and Aeon licks that spot up too.

Then they're kissing again, swapping spit that must carry the salty tang of his pre, and Swiss can only think of one thing.

"Will you...kiss it?" He swallows hard, warmth blooming through his pelvis when they part. When they gaze at him with lazy deviance. "Together?"

The noisy purrs Swiss gets in response make his toes curl.

[just-some-user-hunny]

Cha Hyun-su x reader headcanons

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

~ Cha hyun su is so shy around you. He's like a lovesick puppy, always by your heels, but silently and averting your gaze whenever you look at him.

If you suddenly turn and bump into him, he'll manage to mutter a soft apology as his hand hesitates to take your shoulder to steady you, blushing all the while whilst averting your gaze.

~ If he's not being your overprotective shadow however, he's usually somewhere close where he can see and listen to you. He'll be sat quietly close by, his gaze occasionally flickering to your face. Hyun su just wants to make sure you're alright, so he'll keep an eye on you whilst he can.

~ Definitely an acts of service person. You had something precious of yours left in your apartment? You'll find it laid neatly by your side after you wake from a nap. Even if it gets him a bit more beat up than usual, he'll limp to you with your belonging whilst trying to keep a straight face. He'll act blazè and indifferent when you shower him in thanks and concern, but on the inside he feels like his stomach is going to burst from all the butterflies. He'll play a little with the fabric of his sleeve and mutter a low reply back, anxious that you'll see how flustered he is.

~ The first time he smiled at you was when you were the only one who told him to stay safe when he was sent off to do recon around the apartment building. He peered down at you in frozen contemplation, before a very small shaky smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

"I'll be careful"

~ If you get hurt, he gets very overprotective. He'll stay with you until he can get you help, delivering you to the others and stay to watch them patch you up before wandering back to his isolation room, now at ease, content knowing you're alright.

~ Sometimes he avoids you because he's worried about his monster persona hurting you. It's always a thought that lingers heavily in the back burner, everytime he feels himself grow more and more fond of you, it's there to remind him to stay away for your sake. Sad puppy boy will often isolate himself away from you specifically, and mentally beat himself up when he sees how dejected and sad you look from afar.

~ However his mind is set to ease, as not long after being trapped with the other residents, the moment the old convenience store owner snapped at you and raised his voice, hyunsu snarls at him that if he says one more unkind word to you he'll rip his throat out.

Everyone's startled by the sudden outburst from the quiet boy, but the sight of his completely blacked out eyes and intense glare with blood trickling down his chin shut them all up, and left the old man frozen in fear.

(Yes, that did inevitably earn him a couple of days in the isolation area, but it soothed hyunsu's worries of his monster side-who appeared to be just as fond of you)

~ He has the fluffiest, most touchable hair in existence. Seriously, it's just begging to be played with.

Not that he'll outwardly admit it, but he loves it when you play with it. He'll heavily slouch his shoulders to be more at your level (he's a big boy)

And will let you touch it to your heart's content. His favourite is when his ear is rested against your heartbeat and you're hands are running through the inky mess of soft hair. It's the fastest way to get him to fall asleep, just your touch alone lowers his worries and picks away at the heaviness in his chest.

Be aware however that this boys head is like a bowling ball (it's sooo heavy) So if you can deal with the pressure of his head compressing your ribcage like that, you're good to go 👍

~ Sometimes he'll gaze at you with the softest puppy eyes in existence. He'll just look at you like you hung the stars in the sky, listening to you attentively and carefully.

~ He purposely slouches when he's sat beside you, it's like he's trying to make himself appear less foreboding because he doesn't want to frighten you off with his rather imposing height. Yes, he has an absolute baby-face, but he's still very untrusted by the mass population of the apartment complex, and he doesn't want to give you any more reason to feel unsafe around him. You're one of the very few people there who treats him like a person.

~ He naturally struggles to talk to people, always murmuring and muttering softly under his breath,.but it gets worse tenfold around you. He'll stutter over words, freeze, and even go completely radio dead silent sometimes. You think he doesn't talk to you because he doesn't like you that much, but the truth is he gets so flustered around you he loses his voice. (Don't worry, the more effort you put into having conversations with him the better he gets at speaking with you. He'll get a little braver knowing you genuinely want to talk to him)

~ When he cuts his hair, he gets a little bit self-conscious about your reaction.

When you compliment him on it he gets so internally flustered, and honestly a little relieved. He'll reach to play a little with the ends of his hair, butterflies fluttering in his stomach after you told him it looked good.

~ Comforting him when he has nightmares

:((

You'll hear him thrash and whimper in his sleep, squirming beside you where you're lain on a sleep role.

His thrashing ceases the moment you press a comforting hand to his forehead, soothing your thumb over his pulsating temple. His pained expression goes gentle, ceases and melts into one of tearful content.

He wakes up bleary eyed and dazed, his blanket tucked up closer around him that he remembered, and he very slowly realises that you're holding his hand- your own form slumped sat against the wall, fast asleep.

Studying your smaller hand cradling his carefully, he can't help but swallow back his emotions and oh so gently squeeze your hand back. Thankful for you being there for him.

~ When it comes to his scars, he's not necessarily afraid of showing them, but he's also not keen on addressing them. You notice the fleeting hesitant look in his eyes when you capture a glimpse of the deep scarred slash along his wrist. There was force behind that cut, one that longed for peace. An end.

If you ever offer any comfort, or even just offer to listen to him, he may not jump immediately to the offer but his heart will clench and tears sting in his eyes a little. He'll nod after a few moments of silence, black hair obscurring his eyes and he hopes you can't see tears built up in his eyes.

Even throughout all this pain he's enduring, the confliction of seeking death yet unable to die like a human weighs heavily in his mind each passing day. Knowing that you will be there for him no matter what is enough to keep him afloat. Knowing that you'll listen is what is keeping him from drowning.

~ This man is very touch-starved, and he's just subtle enough to hide it. However you will catch him peering at you now and then when you're together, like he'll be looking at your hand almost longingly- but will grow quiet and shy if you ask him why.

"Is there something on my hand?"

"Ah- no,no- um... no, it's nothing"

"... y'wanna hold it?"

And he just very quietly peers up at from under his bangs and lightly nods, and he gets all flustered when you take his hand yourself and squeeze it :(( you can practically see the way his shoulders un-tense when you do so, and suddenly he looks a little more content.

(Ok but taking his hand and pressing your palm against his before carefully slotting your fingers with his to entwine them, and he's just gazing softly and silently at your face with his doe puppy eyes)

If you were to suddenly hug him, he'd be a little startled, but he'd melt so quickly in your arms <3 like he'd utter a soft confused noise the moment he feels arms wrap around his waist, but suddenly he feels his body feel warm and weightless and he just goes all gooey and melty and happily holds you back just as tight. And since he's quite tall, he'd be able to rest his cheek against your head and just stand there with you peacefully. Just big lanky arms gathering you closer, and he'd make little sad noises when you have to pull away :'(( so you just end up standing there for ages hugging each other.

~ He's very quiet and clingy to you, that he's practically your shadow. Wherever you are, he is usually not too far away.

~ He gets very flustered if you give him any type of compliments, this man will short-circuit the moment you utter out anything sweet towards him.

You mention that he has a really beautiful smile? He is gone. Windows xp bootup sound is the only thing ringing in his head right now, before he stutters over his words and clumsily thanks you whilst his ears turns red.

~ Hyun-su is just a very soft and protective boy, who'll go to any length of it means keeping you safe in this hostile world <3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Totally unrelated lies of p content, but I wrote this a while ago and wanted to post it anyways 😅

[knottybliss]

It’s Saturday night and freefloating anxiety is welling up, what do we do, gang?

Driiiiiink!

NO! …well yes, but only as a wee side quest. We do THINGMAKE! Tonight’s thingmakery is twofold. First, yarn prep!

I got these two skeins of yarn on massive, massive sale not too long ago - Jaggerspun Green Line, 100% organic wool in Caramel and Twig. Normally $18/hank and I only paid $15 for both. WIN! (Am I bragging? I’m from New England. Of course I’m bragging.)

I’m getting increasingly confident in my knitting, and I think I’m going to try some kind of a thing with these on needles rather than my usual hooking. Which means that these need to become center pull balls. And also I need a pattern. Suggestions welcomed!

The other project is another skulls shawl in this silver wool yarn. It’s weighty yarn, meant to be a rug yarn, but it is surprisingly touchable. I think if, when I get it done, I hit it with some serious fabric softener and beat the crap out of it, it’ll actually be pretty nice.

If nothing else, I always love making this pattern. Nothing ventured, nothing gained!

What are y’all working on?

[aspiring-writer-hidden-voice]

Robe

The number of times that you recalled a certain half demon placing his robe over you in protections were too numerous to count. It was only when you were in dire danger or need that the precious red fabric ever left his being. It was his armor, as you’ve come to recognize from every battle you’d witnessed, proving its worth time and time again as he fought countless foes. There were a few times when its protection could only do so much for him but he always treated it with care even when it had been rendered to tatters until it could return to its former completed shape.

Your gaze rose upwards to the darkened night sky. Another new moon had come, earning the little traveling group a much needed break for camp, along with a change over a certain person who now grumbled lowly under their breath as a town appeared in the distance. The change InuYasha befell never ceases to amaze you as he huffed when the little fox demon lightly poked fun. Long pristine platinum white hair was now a black that could rival tonight’s darkness, touchable ears that would swivel or perk had disappeared, and the sharpness of his nails that was rivaled by his eyes were now softer yet still profound that told of inhuman heritage.

“What are you looking at?”

A snap of your head back towards the road shifted your gaze forward. “Wonder if there’s an place that we can stay at.”

“Tsk. Nothing wrong with camping.”

The monk intervened before you could respond, stating that for everyone’s sake it would be best to take shelter, then departed once spotting several prosperous homes. None too surprising that Sango followed him closely with Shippo and Kilala up her shoulders. That meant it was just the two of you walking along the dirt trodden path.

As if pulled by a magnet your gaze drifted back towards the seemingly normal man beside you.

“If you’ve got something to say, than say it already.” His snap was halfhearted, earning a raise of your eyebrow. When you didn’t answer he quickened his pace until blocking your path which caused you to stop. It was rare to see this expression upon his face as the nearby lantern illuminated his features for you. It was concerned, worried maybe, but most of all it was sincere. “What is it? You’ve been awfully quiet since dusk.” This was another aspect that you favored about this time of the month. Honesty was a strong suit of his, ego and bravado being used as shields when someone managed to get beneath his skin, but it was during this change that he was more open with you in particular when in regards to certain topics. Patience wasn’t his forte yet he waited for longer than you expected for an answer of some sort until he cast a brief glance over your shoulder before encouraging you to stand closer to the source of light. “You know I’d do my best to protect you, right? Don’t be scared.”

Warmth entered your cheeks at the tone he used. “Oh, I know you will, that’s not why—” Your words were forgotten as one of his hands appeared from the robe’s sleeves to press its palm against your forehead. “What are you doing?”

“Checking to see if you’re falling ill.” The hum that sounded from his throat reverberated slightly in your ears from its pitch, his expression becoming one of concentration. “You don’t have a fever so that’s good.”

“Really, I’m fine.”

At that moment a breeze blew past, tickling the bare skin of your legs and arms until the hairs stood upright with its cooler temperature, earning a shiver across your body. Your head hung as he sighed. All day you’ve been suppressing similar shivers down your spine with each breath of wind that whispered of fall’s coming frost. Guess you should’ve listened to mom’s advice about packing weather appropriate clothing. The school’s summertime uniform wasn’t going to cut it for much longer. Why couldn’t you have packed a jacket or some leggings instead of all those textbooks that threatened to break your back?

Silence filled the air between the two of you until the sound of shifting fabric caused your gaze to rise in curiosity only for it to become ensnared by a pair of warm sienna brown eyes that subtly shone with amber shards. His fingers were careful as they slipped the heavy backpack off your shoulders, easily swinging it up onto his own, then shifted so that you were nearly sandwiched between his body and the lantern. Not only was he blocking the wind but also attempting to combine his body heat with that of the lantern to help keep you warm until the others returned. And still his gaze remained locked on your own even when the subtlest of pink hues appeared within the tips of his ears. “It’s not much but better?”

A small smile lifted your lips as the chill in your skin slowly dissipated. “Much, thanks.”

It didn’t take long for Shippo to return with word that Miroku had found a place to stay for the night. After a modest dinner and sleeping arrangements had been made, you slipped off towards a quieter part of the residence where a little studying could be done. The head of the house had been kind enough to provide a few candles to offer better light for you but they did little to stem off the night’s chill as your nearly numb fingers fumbled to turn a page. Just as you were about to call it a night because it was becoming too difficult to focus from the cold, something happened that you never would have guessed or saw coming.

From behind you appeared two folds of familiar fabric that loosely enclosed you within a cocoon, a pair of legs folding neatly beneath you in place of the floor that were far more cushioned, and a firm toned surface meeting your back that had begun to protest against the slouched position you’d been in for the last hour. “Getting some studying done?” He asked softly, as if hoping not to startle you too much. A barely audible hiss slipped from between his lips as he drew you closer with a squeeze. “Damn, (Y/n), you’re freezing. How can you possibly get anything done when you’re this cold?”

Your answer was lost to the stuttering of syllables as your teeth chattered slightly, earning a chuckle from the dark haired man.

“Next time you’re this cold, just say something, ‘kay?” It was only when you nodded in agreement did his posture become more relaxed, hold loosening just enough that you could pick up the textbook again.

Now you had a completely different reason to be distracted.

Had he always been this warm or was that the robe? Either way it was so blissful that your mind slowly became a muddled mess the longer you remained within his hold. The sharp scents of Wind Scars or Backlash Waves that mostly dominated his being had given way to reveal faint traces of salty sweat reminding you of the beach, dry chalky remnants that were similar to mountains, and spicy cinnamon that tickled your nose in an alluring way.

“So what are you studyin’ this time? Is it that weird trig-no-metry thing?”

A chuckle came from your throat, shifting so that he could see the illustration of a bamboo forest. “It’s the story of a prince who wants to marry the bamboo princess but she has all these tasks for him to do before she agrees.” The tip of your finger rose when his expression became weary. “It’s similar to the Kaguya legend but this one describes the Robe of the Fire Rat to be silvery and beautiful.”

His eyebrows shot upwards as his chin fell to rest upon your shoulder, causing your cheeks to brush. “Yeah?”

“Mmhm. According to this, it was mistaken for common silk at first when an iron box had been dug up beneath a fallen temple. Only the prince of Japan at the time who had sent word to his dear friend in China asking for assistance understand what it truly once when he received it. So beautiful it was the he couldn’t wait to gift it to the princess but didn’t feel as though it would do her justice.” Your hand turned the page to reveal an illustration, eyes finding the sentence where you left off and continued to read aloud. “‘Across a bed of coals did the prince lay the robe, for it had been heard that the robe would become more beautiful to behold once kissed by flame’s lingering breath’. It said in a passage that it was as if silver had been spun finely to create the robe that could protect its wearer from any heat related harm.” From the corner of your eye you could see InuYasha’s gaze shift from the open book to his trusty coat, coaxing his eyes to return to the page courtesy of your nudge. “However, the prince made a mistake. He placed it on the coals twice more and it evaporated into silver smoke.”

The snort that sounded nearly made you smile. “Idiot. Should’ve just left it alone.”

“Well, he was trying to make sure it was in its peak condition before giving it to the bamboo princess. Nothing wrong with trying to ensure a gift is in its best condition.” You chided, noting how he rolled his eyes. “Yours was a gift from your father, right? Would you have been happy if he’d given it to you full of holes?” No sooner had the words come out of your mouth did you wish to take them back as his gaze darkened. Guilt filled your veins as his lip curled. “InuYasha, I’m sorry—”

“It was actually a gift to my mother who then passed it down to me when she died.” His tone was much softer than the expression made of stone he wore. “My old man knew he wouldn’t be enough to protect her so he’d asked the Fire Rat to make something for her. A lot of good it did her though.”

From within your heart came a twinge of sadness for him as he took a deep inhale through his nose. The book was closed with a snap, somehow not earning a reaction from him, then it was placed off to the side as you pivoted so that the two of you were facing each other. Only when the palms of your hands cupped his face did the dark haired InuYasha surface from the thoughts plaguing his mind. His gaze found your own, finding warmth and honesty, before you snuggled into his being while wrapping your arms around his torso. “I’m glad your father had it made to protect her, you could almost say it was made from his love for Lady Izayoi, and it became full of her love for you after your birth.” From this angle you couldn’t see his face there was no mistaking the rhythm of his heart quickening when you gave him a squeeze. “You could even say that its their love combined that continues to protect you even during this time when you feel weakest.”

The stiffness within his toned muscular frame ebbed at your words. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know that he’d been constantly on guard all day knowing what was to come once the sun had set. Sure there was Sango, Miroku, and even Kilala to help if a battle or opponent were to present themselves. Ever so slowly, his arms enclosed around you in a returning embrace until the entirety of your form was nearly pressed against his own. Tresses of his long hair intermixed with your own as his warm breath wafted the sensitive skin of your neck.

Not another word was spoken between the two of you as one by one the candles flickered than hissed before extinguishing until darkness settled over the two of you like a heavy curtain. Neither it nor the whispering chill on the breeze could force you two apart as warmth slowly grew between your forms. The robe was large enough to comfortably fit around your combined forms, although that might have been because you were practically cradled against his form with your face protectively tucked beneath his chin, the gentle rises and falls of your chests in harmony as sleep slowly claimed you both.

It was almost too soon that you woke to find the first few rays of sunshine filtering over the horizon. Unlike the first time you’d witnessed his transformation, you watched with awe as black gave way to silvery platinum and the sharpness returned to his features as he stirred. The lids of his eyes opened just in time for the sienna brown to be overtaken by brilliant gold and pupils to become oval shaped rather than circular, those shards of amber remaining but now becoming harder to see from the irises’ ring. And yet he didn’t move or say anything that suggested you should move away. So within his hold you remained, offering a smile of greeting when his pointed dog-like ears perked in your direction.

“Morning, InuYasha.”

His gaze flitted off to the distance, a huff sounding in his nose. “Yeah…morning.”

“Did you sleep good?”

“Tsk. Would you sleep well if something heavier than a pickling pot sat in your lap?”

A twitch settled within your brow. Standing, you gathered all of the books you’d meant to study last night and shoved the materials back into your bag as the chorus of your names came from within the residence. “Sounds like the others are up so we should get going.”

“Not like we got anything here to keep us. Better to move on.”

The muscles within your jaw clenched as he nonchalantly rose then disappeared around the main house’s corner in the direction of where your companions would likely be as you hurried to follow. It was then that you noticed not only was your bag suddenly missing but the Robe of the Fire Rat was secured around your frame in a similar fashion that it had been at the Sage Tokijin’s temple. When had he done that?

“Hurry up, (Y/n), we ain’t got all day!”

Though it was so fast the others had missed, or if they had seen they didn’t comment, the pink tinge that entered his cheeks when you’d appeared alongside them.

“Why are you wearing InuYasha’s robe?” Shippo asked curiously while hoping up to balance atop of your head. “Did something happen last night that made you not come to bed?”

A teasing smile raised your lips while catching the half-demon’s gaze before taking the lead from him from beyond the gate that was entrance to the residence. “Looks better on me, wouldn’t you agree, Miroku?”

Instantly, InuYasha’s expression became one of anger as the perverted monk made to comment. “Don’t you even start!”

[tendergraphite]

MADK, RYO SUZURI'S MASTERPEICE: MY RETROSPECTIVE.

Many who entered this series had an expectation as to how it would end. Now, why is this? Well—most Yaoi follow the same formula. Admittedly I’ve ingested the same 10 storylines in the genre 100 times over. That doesn’t even get into the niche of dark BL, which indeed is a rarer find.

An exceptional aspect of MADK is the seamless world-building. Where other Yaoi stick to slice of life, or pre-established worlds (Such as Omegaverse) This series is different, exploring the world of hell with a fresh storyline. Not to mention its shear raw use of emotion, which is hard to match with manga even outside the Yaoi genre (Heh, rawer than J's guts?)

Another notable aspect of MADK is its writor priority of story over fetish. In places where you would expect indulgence, you instead see plot growth take the front seat.

Unique Doujinshi/Yaoi authors such as Harada, and Nishin Masumi—Despite being some of the only dark BL creators, still follow the same typical romance story beats. Whatever resolution they come to; the main love interests still end up together.

But MADK is not like that, it is closer in depiction of obsession and lust to NBC’s Hannibal. An even closer comparison would be to Koogi’s Killing Stalking—Which is one of the most misunderstood stories the general media has discussed. Like MADK, Killing Stalking is mislabelled as a love story, when in reality it's cautionary horror.

With all that said, what is going on with MADK’s ending?

Character Analysis: Jonathan

Who Is J, And What Are His Motives?

J is one of the most powerful demons in all of hell, being an archduke. He had lived for 6 centuries, and during all that time looked for a successor. Demons cannot die from the erasure of their physical form; they can only die from either their name being forgotten entirely, or by speaking the name of a demon whose stronger than them.

J has been left unsurpassed for such a time, that his name has long since been forgotten. He wants to die, but not through those means—However, he did not want just anyone to surpass him, he was too prideful for that. No, he wanted someone worthy of such an act to speak his name. So instead of taking Makoto’s soul once it reached the peak of its desire, J reincarnates him into a demon, seeing his potential.

Our author does not hide what the ending will be, off the bat it’s revealed: Makoto will surpass J, we will not receive a happy ending. It's closer in greek tragedy than that of love, a destiny already written in the fabric of time, forever binding.

Throughout the entire story J is evaluating his pets’ capabilities, hardly giving him any guidance or truth (As, wouldn’t that make Makoto unworthy of surpassing him?) He finds Makoto amusing, nothing more.

Enter a 5-year time skip, and Makoto has discovered J’s name.

After J more than gladly accepted a hallucinogenic perfume from Makoto, he's forced to face his past. It is revealed he was a child prostitute, who after years in the slums was taken in by his mentor Wald.

However, due to his traumatic childhood, he could not see authority figures in a normal way outside of sex. So despite Wald’s attempt to be a Father figure, J only saw him as a potential romantic partner (Considering the hinted relationship between him and his older brother, I can’t imagen this helped his views on familial relations.)

We our only given bits and pieces of Wald’s death, but never truly the event itself. But considering the theme of repeating the same hellish cycle over and over again, one has to assume Jonathan’s death was a replica of Wald’s.

After reliving these memories, J admits it aloud. He wishes for someone who loves him to destroy him. He had wanted to be nobody, because without personhood he was untouchable. That was Wald’s curse, turning Jonathan into someone, making him touchable.

Character Analysis: Makoto

Where Does Makoto's Motives Stem From?

Our protagonist’s tail is a tragic one from the start. Makoto, a high-schooler whose desire to eat the living torments him—Decides to summon and sell his soul to a demon in exchange for delighting in live flesh. He is not disgusted by his kink but is established as not being able to live with the expectations, nor rejections of others—to the point he would rather guarantee his own death instead of facing reality.

After his death, Makoto would become J’s pet-project (Quite literally) At first, he was eager to be a demon, and saw J as his saviour from his old dissociative lifestyle—But is quickly horrified at the realisation that he has traded the expectations of humanity, for those of the demon realm. Against his will, he’s forced to live a new life and integrate into demonic society.

It’s then shown J has a diabolical habit of being vague with his information, making it near impossible to guess his expectations in the first place. (Which explains why out of all those ‘’Strays’’ J took in, none could handle his insane standards.)

Makoto hadn’t grown up with accepting parents, nor brother—J was his first time experiencing such a thing. His fetish had been understood, only for that comfort to be ripped away, as J would rapidly retreat from his life. Its why gritty sex scenes became near non-existent until Volume 3. J was isolating Makoto on purpose. This would instil the idea within Makoto that J was the only one who could understand him, soon fuelling a dark obsession over the demon.

Ensue a 3-year time skip: Makoto has continued his work at the Brothel, not once seeing J during that period. He held of on his return, knowing he needed to learn more (To impress J) And because he longed for J to be the one to want him to come home.

When J does request his presence, it’s for a task: He wants Makoto to collect souls, but in a twist the first contractor J chose was none other than Makoto’s elderly Father. A fresh hatred would curdle inside Makoto, as he began to be unable to wrap his mind around J’s motives. Only that, any tenderness shown was a ploy to manipulate him.

Makoto becomes determined to overthrow J, to force him to respect and see him. Despite J being upfront that he wants Makoto to surpass him, Makoto can only feel distrust, seeing the transparency as some kind of way to mess with him.

His worst fear was unwittingly being controlled by J, but in the process ended up falling right into J’s hands in the end.

Why Does Makoto Repeat The Cycle?

Makoto throughout the entire story was driven with vengeance. He at the end, no longer had a reason to be. He fully believed the one person who could understand him was only Jonathan, and with him dead he has no reason to be alive. But he once again has reached a similar issue to Jonathan—He is now too powerful; he cannot be taken over so easily.

They say the definition of pure insanity is doing something repeatedly and expecting the same result. And I’d have to say that’s exactly what is happening here. As this is hell, and hell is other people. They are stuck within a cycle of their own creation.

Personal Conclusions & Extra Thougths

Makoto and Jonathan were never in love. Makoto was completely emotionally reliant on Jonathan, who dragged him into a life he did not want, removing his autonomy in some of the worst imaginable ways. And Jonathan, he only saw Makoto as means to an end. These two characters never could have been equals, as throughout the entire story Jonathan was grooming Makoto into a role he knew would only lead to misery.

It disturbs me that the general audience feels betrayed by the ending. The author did not lie to us, but because of expectations build upon from other media, like Makoto, not many could see what was laid out right in front of them. And another little tid bit, Makoto didn’t get a new body because he never grew up. He never stopped being the boy Jonathan spirited away.

And onto the main point I am flabbergasted with: Those who are morally disappointed by volume 3. There has been some uproar about Jonathan being a child prostitute—And yes, I agree that did not need to be shown whatsoever. Easily it could have been shown through dialogue, and not through an entire page and large spread of Jonathan naked. (Or you know, not been written in the first place.) Also to establish my stance on cannibalism! if both are consenting adults (In FICTION!) I don’t care if they’re eating each other.

But what everyone is forgetting is Makoto is a literal high-schooler. Who might I add, easily could have been written as a university student. So much Yaoi is this way, I literally rejoice and scream when I find Yaoi with actual adults with any body hair on them whatsoever.

Story wise, it makes sense. Makoto had an immature view of love, and was at an age where he was wedged between his morality and fetish. Him being a teenager explains his feelings of isolation, as he still lived with his parents so could not hide his deviancy, instead being lectured often. To boot, he had an immature view of love, and was wedged between his morality and fetish ideologies. It’s why he was so desperate for connection, and why Jonathan easily was able to form him into a desired result.

But my point is, if your going to be applaud at that aspect of the story—How about you remember the age of the protagonist first? The title literally translates into ''guts demon high-school boy'' Like???

If you’ve gotten to the end of this (And aren’t to miffed at my look warm takes) WHY DON’T YOU JOIN MY DISCOR- COUGH, hacks cough* Yeah I’ve got a Ryo Suzuri dedicated server, join if ud like but don’t if you want lol. Contact me at RancidBark#4430

[ghostowlattic]

TECHNICOLOR SYNTHESIZER DREAMCOATS 

unreal generative nonsense clothing ideations - secret power mittens

[sweetdreamlandstuff]

Let me see

NSFW / Minors don't interact / 18+

Pairing: Kamo Choso x female reader

Summary: Art student Choso losing his mind over you, the beautiful model in his art class

Warnings: oral sex (female receiving)

Words: ~1.900

Notes: Just a sweet little gift for all my Choso fuckers out there lol Hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think, reblogs and comments are highly appreciated <3

This is far from the first time for him. Choso’s eyes have glided along countless body shapes, sizes and curves. He’s used to it; to the nudity, the slow peeling off of clothes, in a non-sexual, professional way. 

But since you’ve taken off your clothes his usual professionalism seems to have left his body. You’re not like the other models. At least not for him. You’re different.

You’re stirring something inside of him, as you fix your gaze on one point of the room, body bare, face open and curious. You’re beautiful. Objectively. But for him, for Choso, you’re more. Your whole aura makes him feel like he’s on edge.

His pencil drags along his canvas, drawing along with the other students in the art class. It's quiet, except for the scraping of pencils, and faint comments of the teacher, who’s wandering aimlessly through the room. He wonders if the others can hear his heart racing in his chest. 

He works on the shadows, as he desperately wishes it were his fingers dipping into the shadows of your body instead. Your skin seems so soft, so touchable, your pose so calm, your expression collected. You’re truly ethereal.  

Choso tries to concentrate, working on his study, sketching and blurring until he is somehow satisfied - although he knows no painting will ever do your beauty justice.

He hopes no one notices how greedily his eyes drag along your silhouette, how desperately he wishes that instead of his pencil dragging along the canvas, it would be his fingers dragging along your curves. 

When his gaze rests too long on you he nervously shifts his attention back to the canvas in front of him, blocking the view of you. He tries to ignore the way his blood runs hot through his veins with every sight of you. His heart nervously tugs in his chest every time he takes you in. He feels weak at how he’s fallen prey to you, his body acting on his own. 

Others wouldn’t even notice what is going through him, Choso’s expression is as neutral and stoic as ever. When he excuses himself to go to the toilet, no one would ever suspect it's because of you. Because you almost make it hard for him to breathe or because his dick strains so hard against the confinement of his pants. 

Choso on the other hand can’t comprehend how the others can’t notice. The reflection of his black eyes stares back at him deliriously, knuckles turning white as his hands grab the sink tightly. His breathing is erratic and shallow, his blood running hotly through his veins. 

He ignores the throbbing of his cock, trying to deepen his breath as he focuses his thoughts on everything - everything other than you. He loses track of time, of how long it takes for him to pull himself together. 

When he enters the classroom again he’s taken aback. Seems like he has allowed himself too much time. The class had ended. One of his classmates rushes past him, shooting him a polite smile before Choso is all alone with you.

You’re clad in a kimono now, the delicate fabric slightly swaying across your ankles as you turn around.

The line of your gazes connected, just for a moment before Choso quickly averts his. Your gaze hit him hard and sweet, making his heart tug nervously in his chest as if he hasn’t just spent minutes trying to calm himself down. 

He inhales sharply through his nose, returning to his seat. His unfinished painting stares back at him, causing him discontent. 

“I can pose for you for another 10 minutes.”

His eyes snap up, peering past his canvas, resting on yours. A soft, almost shy smile plays around your lips. Your voice has a soothing tone, alluring. 

“No. No, you don’t have to,” he stammers, a slight blush creeping across his cheeks. You’re so affectionate, so attentive.

“I can also do another pose,” you propose. 

Choso knows that he shouldn’t say yes. He wouldn’t be able to concentrate, wouldn’t be able to paint like he usually does - without emotion, only caring about his study. But he’s so powerless, succumbing to your enchantment. 

“Alright, I’ll be quick.”

He has to swallow hard as you lose your kimono, folding it away before you strike your pose. Like earlier right in front of him, sitting on the chair, one leg over the other, staring to the right. 

You slightly tilt your head, “Like this?”

It’s an honor to paint you from every angle. Nonetheless, he takes long strides over to you. The sudden lack of proximity has his palms dampening, pulse racing, as his eyes trail across your features.  

And it’s no different for you. He practically looms over you, taking up your entire line of sight. It’s a little bit unexpected. You gulp, his blown-out pupils take your words away.

He gestures for you to move further to the right on the chair, positioning yourself more diagonally. When he orders a further correction you don’t seem to get what he’s saying, too caught up with processing the closeness you find yourself to him. 

“Can I?”

You nod. His fingertips trace along your bare skin, causing shivers to rise. The touch doesn’t seem to leave him cold either, you can feel it; the slight, but noticeable trembling of his hands.

Choso positions you how he desires; his hands circling your wrist, putting it close to your waist, the other hanging loosely on your side. His fingertips glide along your jawline before he slightly angles your face towards him. You have no other choice but to look at him. 

The way he watches you, eyes hazed over with lust, is borderline feral. You swallow against the dryness of your mouth. 

You’re not sure if he even knows what he’s doing, it just seems like he just wants to press his hands onto you, with no end goal, no plan. You shudder at the brush of his fingertips against your skin.

Both of you forgot all about the painting, the only thing that is important now is his hot hands on you. His palms glide along your sides before they rest on your thighs. His figure encompasses you fully now, you bask in his warmth, his scent. 

You think he must hear it, the way your heart beats against your ribcage and your shallow, fast breathing. 

But his gaze is laced with uncertainty, an almost pleading, questioning look in his dark eyes. Apparently, he has no idea that he has you in the palm of his hand, quite literally. 

Choso hesitates once his hands smooth over your thighs. 

His voice is barely above a whisper, so low you hardly understand him. “Let me see.”

A little gasp drops past your lips and you’re not sure how a complete stranger has such a command over you. 

You open your legs for him, slowly, deliberately. 

He sinks down to his knees, practically facing your slick pussy. You can feel his breath against your skin.

For one hour you stood naked in front of a dozen of people. Yet, you don’t think you’ve ever felt this exposed. 

You’re about to close your legs again, but his hands dig into your soft flesh, halting your movement.

“Please, can I?” His voice almost breaks, dripping with need.

You’re not sure what exactly he asks for, but you comply willingly. You nod eagerly, as he peers up at you, his gaze hazed over with lust.

The meeting of his lips on your skin draws a strained gasp from you. He worships you, pressing feathery kisses onto your thighs, first paying attention to one thigh and then to the other. Slowly he works his way to your core. Your hands grip the edge of your seat, your heart beating so violently against your chest it may spring out of it.

Your skin burns where he touched you, the anticipation of having him where you need him the most nearly breaking you apart. The air hits your slick vulva, making apparent how feverishly you desire him. 

You slightly arch your back in an instinctual search for more. He complies eagerly, and as you feel his tongue lazily tracing along your pussylips you let out a low, relieved sigh. He groans at your taste, his hands grabbing at the meat of your thighs. 

He works awfully slow, licking slow stripes up your slit, carefully veering around your clit. You slightly rut into his face, making him hum against your core, the low vibrations of it making you gasp. Your thighs were already becoming slick with your arousal.

His hands tighten around your thighs, holding himself back, restraining himself from giving you his all. Choso has you squirming with anticipation. 

“Please,” you hum, snaking a hand down to tug on his black hair. 

And again, he complies. He licks at your clit, lazily, almost teasingly. A breathless moan drops from your parted lips. The sound travels straight to his cock, throbbing desperately in his taut pants. 

You gasp in surprise as he moves, letting your legs rest on his broad shoulders, holding your waist to stop you from falling off the edge of the chair. 

He buries his face between your thighs greedily. All his teasing patience has subsided. His tongue laps at your folds and lips, with an almost brutal pace. Your hands tug harder at his hair once his lips seal around your clit, sucking hard. 

You whine desperately, your eyes almost rolling back to your skull. Finally, you have what you’ve longed for. 

He works like that, his tongue draws circles around your clit, sucking, lapping at your drenched folds, coaxing you into bliss. It almost sounds obscene, so wet, the way his face meets your messy, dripping pussy. He makes you feel so good, so unbelievably good.

Your eyes were half-lidded, your head was thrown back, until you felt him retreating. You perk up. His warm breath fans over your wet pussy, your soft pants and moans filling up the quiet room.

“Choso.” 

You look at him dumbfounded, brain clouded with lust. “What?” 

“My name. It’s Choso. You should know who makes you feel this good,” he murmurs sheepishly, his deep voice sending shivers down your spine as he looks at you tenderly through his half-lidded eyes.

You let out a surprised laugh, which bleeds into a high-pitched whine as he buries his face between your legs once more. 

You moan his name, letting it roll off your leaden tongue tentatively, causing him to groan desperately against you. 

You meet his eyes, as he circles your entrance. He moves impossibly closer, fucking you with his tongue. His face becomes blurred as you feel the knot in your stomach tighten. 

He flips his tongue on your puffy clit, before he sucks hard, having you call out his name as you tip over the edge.

You cum, hard. The whole tension that has been building up before discharges at this moment. 

Your thighs squish around his messy face as he guides you through your high with his skilled mouth. 

His name drops from your parted lips, again and again, like a prayer. He holds you steady with his large hands, as your whole body trembles. 

When he lets go of you, his face is drenched. The look of reverence in his eyes as he peers up at you makes your chest swell with affection. 

You let out a breathy, nervous chuckle. “Nice to meet you, Choso.”

©sweetdreamlandstuff

[moodymisty]

Sound Asleep

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙| 𝕬𝖔3]

Author’s note: I’ve had this little snippet jumbled up in my phone's notes for longer than I’ve currently been on tumblr, so I decided to finally clean it up. I have so many little things like this scattered across my various devices... Help.

Relationships: BOBF!Boba Fett/Fem!Reader (I only say that because of one usage of the nickname 'princess' there's no pronouns or specific body parts mentioned.)

Warnings: A little bit of crying, Nightmares, Age gap if you squint so hard your eyes actually hurt, Cuddling, Fluffy fluff, Mean ol' Boba being a bit of a softie

Word count: 1220

You swore you hadn’t had a nightmare since your childhood years; But even then, you couldn’t remember one like this. It had all felt so real, almost touchable. You sit up awake in a daze still feeling as if it had just happened.

Jolted awake in the middle of a cold Tatooine night your hair is just starting to stick against dewy skin, heart pounding in your chest. With a few kicks of your feet you push the blanket off of your body, wanting the air to cool your flush skin, and to stop that almost strangling feeling.

You’d fallen asleep down here because of how tired you’d been, and the trek upstairs to Boba’s personal room had seemed like leagues away; Without any surety that he would even return there before you awoke the next morning. He was a busy man, sometimes rest wasn't a guarantee.

So you’d slept in your old personal room he’d given you after he brought you to Mos Espa, but now you're wishing you hadn’t. It feels so lonely in here, the room feels giant and the shadows an abyss but at the same time suffocating.

When you manage to get your heart to stop thumping on your chest so hard it feels like knocking, you slowly lay back again with your head hitting the pillow. The ceiling is cracked- your eyes following the black string down past your feet before you dare to close your eyes.

But when you open them again, the room is still dark with not a hint of light from the windows. It's as if your body was forcibly stopping you from sleeping, still spinning in whatever your mind had dreamt up. And even as your eyes feel tired and body heavy, there's no amount of quiet breathing and counting that is letting you fall asleep. The knot in your throat tightens, back of your neck aching with how tense it is.

Eventually, the constant tossing and turning proves too much to handle, and you lean up and turn to slip your legs off the side. They dangle for a moment, hands clutching the sheets as you decide if it's worth it.

Was it worth trekking what seemed like lightyears up to someone who might not even be there? Or should you stay here and lay back trying to see if you could get even a few moments of rest before the suns start rising?

Bare feet gently hit the slightly rough, sandy floor with a soft pat, the light in the room just bright enough to see around. It was a straight shot to the door, and you slowly slip off the bed before softly opening then closing it. The steps up to Boba’s private room were tall and winding, and each one felt progressively harder than the last. At least none of the droids are around, you wouldn't want even the the stars outside to see you in this sorry state.

Once you reach the top of the steps, it's easy to open the door and slip inside. The door opens to a pale glow of moonlight, and you can see Boba’s outline. He's already awake; Leaning upright.

There’s patterns deeply ingrained in him and sounds are a big part of them; The soft opening of a door or footsteps were always things that set him alert. When he sees it’s you, easy to tell by the silhouette he can just barely see through the flowing fabric of your nightclothes, it’s enough to lull those alarm bells in his head a small bit.

And with a gravely, sleep coated voice, Fett calls to you.

“Need something, princess?”

His tone is almost taunting, teasing, but you don't respond to it with any of the usual quips. When you step deeper into the room, Boba can more clearly see the ragged expression on your face. The way your body is turned into itself. He makes no noise; Instead pulling the thin blanket back revealing more of his bare stomach.

“Come here, little one.”

You don’t need to be told twice.

Bare feet pattering across the floor you walk to him and place one knee onto the bed, before hefting yourself into it and slipping underneath the blanket. Within moments you feel his chest against your back, an arm wrapping around your waist. One of your hands grasps his while the other lays empty, and you feel his chin on the top of your head.

He doesn’t ask what happened to render you like this; He knows nothing he could say would help with it anyways.

What does seem to help is just him; As it’s not long of you curling up around his arm like it's your life line that you’re finally asleep. He can hear the soft sounds of you breathing, the way even in your sleep you're attempting to fruitlessly hold him tighter. You have his arm in a death grip, and any attempt to pull away would surely wake you.

Fett doesn’t quite know how to feel about it. That he’s let you come so close to him that you feel safe, reassured he isn’t dangerous enough that you can be lulled asleep like this. These aren't clean hands you're holding.

But if you want to be here, you'll be here. He'd never refuse you.

He's no stranger to nightmares and terrors either, though he's had longer to learn to deal with them than you. His mind is more armored, less feeling. It's how he's learned to be.

Fett, not long after he sees that you've for sure fallen completely asleep, decides to stop watching you with such soft eyes; And get some rest himself. He doesn't get too many chances to do so.

When you wake up you can still feel the ache of a headache now passed, but your body doesn’t feel as tense as the night before. It requires a bit of an odd angle to raise your head, rubbing your eyes blurry as Boba's torso moves upward so he can look down on you.

“Going to let me go?” Fett watches your hands tighten even more against his arm, where it had been locked most of the night. You'd been gripping it like a lifeline, the only thing holding you to the ground.

“No.” Fett lets out a chuckle, one deep from his chest and still raspy with sleep. You can feel it in your own chest, as he raises up on his other elbow.

"Can't stay here forever, princess." His arm flexes in your hold, just about to pull away from you. Quickly you tighten, making a noise from your throat before you can get out the right words.

“Wait! Boba, just- Just a few more minutes?” His hand halts, but his eyes still bore down at you. The soft skin of your fingertips brushes against a myriad of scars, as you fruitlessly attempt to hold him still. He's placating you, as you know well he could easily just pull away and leave you alone.

"Mos Espa can wait a little bit," You say, holding onto his larger hand. He relents, and lays down on his side again; Pressing his bare chest against your back again.

Maybe it can, maybe it can't; But either way he can deal with the outcome.

Join the taglist here: @simp-legend @nekotaetae @coffeyorky @lokigirlszendaya @totesnothere04 @get-wr3ckered @rebel-finn @mandoloriancookie @therealnekomari @loverofclones @fxlsealarm @crosshairs-wife @sinfulsalutations @pb-jellybeans @jediknightjana

[polararts]

Ok so this is out of NO WHERE for you guys, buuuut. I'm doing a little preorder for these embroidered patches that double as stickers. I finally found a manu that has furry base fabrics to make them soft and touchable /sobs >> Preorder here till november 5th <<

[mindyco]

Beel x gn!Reader 🩷 [Beel saves us from NPC demons]

Warnings: none

Artwork credit: @AngyeFdez

Bruh, I was in the mood to make a super duper cliche scenario where we get lost in the Devildom and end up getting followed by fucking NPC demons, but then a hot male bod comes to save the day. So I did. Thanks, Beel. ٩(^ᴗ^)۶ For this short scenario replace your name with _____

Lost in the labyrinthine streets of the Devildom, you find yourself in a state of unease, your heart pounding with trepidation. The dark shadows seem to dance around you, whispering secrets that make your skin prickle. Each step you took felt like a treacherous journey into the unknown, and the darkness seemed to taunt you with its ominous presence. As your heart pounded in your chest, thoughts of self-doubt and anxiety swirled in your mind. Desperate for a lifeline, you reach out, trembling fingers dialing Beel's number on your D.D.D.

As the seconds tick by, the tension threatens to suffocate you, until finally, you hear a familiar voice on the other end of the line. It's Beel, his voice a soothing balm to your anxious soul. The mere sound of him is enough to ignite a spark of hope within you.

"_____? What’s wrong?" Beel's voice was laced with worry and urgency as he listened intently to your frightened words.

"Hey, Beel… I, uh, got lost, and I'm not sure where I am," you explain, your voice filled with a touch of embarrassment. "I know you're busy, but could you help me find my way back?"

Beel's deep voice on the other end carries a soothing warmth that instantly puts you at ease. "Of course, _____! Don't worry, I'll come to find you right away. Just stay on the line, and let me know what you see around you."

As you describe your surroundings, a sense of anticipation builds within you. You're oblivious to the gang of demons that lurk in the shadows, their malevolent intentions hidden behind smirks and leering gazes.

While waiting, a sudden noise startles you, causing your heart to leap into your throat. The sound seems to echo through the still night air, and your imagination runs wild with fearful thoughts. Your hand trembles and your grip on the phone tightens.

But just as panic threatens to overtake you, a familiar voice breaks through the chaos. "_____, it's Beel. I'm here, don't worry."

Suddenly, like a guardian angel, Beel strides into the scene, his presence commanding attention. A scowl forms on his face as his eyes lock onto the gang of demons, a warning etched into his expression. His massive frame seems to fill the space, casting an imposing shadow over anyone who dares to approach.

"Are you okay?" Beel asks, concern evident in his voice. "I'm sorry I scared you. Let's get out of here and go back home."

The sight of him is nothing short of breathtaking, a living embodiment of strength and protection. His muscular frame, sculpted with the precision of a divine craftsman, exudes an aura of raw power that leaves you in awe.

Beel's face, chiseled with determination and tenderness, captivates your gaze. His intense eyes, like molten amber, hold a depth that seems to reflect the entire universe. They shimmer with a gentle warmth, offering solace and understanding in their depths. His smile radiates a genuine joy, contagious and inviting, as if it holds the power to chase away any trace of darkness.

Towering above, Beel stands at an impressive height, a living testament to his otherworldly lineage. His broad shoulders and muscular arms a testament to his physical prowess. The fabric of his white hoodie clings to his frame, accentuating the contours of his muscular physique.

His hair, a vibrant shade of orange, tumbles in disarray, wild and untamed like a flame that dances in the wind. Each strand carries a life of its own, defying gravity and framing his handsome face. There's a touchable softness to his locks, an invitation to run your fingers through them, to feel their silky texture against your skin.

A/N: Sorry, I just needed to describe why Beel is so fucking hot.

In his entirety, Beel radiates a magnetic charm, a blend of strength and gentleness that is both awe-inspiring and comforting. Every aspect of his appearance, from his captivating gaze to his tousled hair, is a testament to his divine allure. It's no wonder that you find yourself drawn to him, your heart yearning for his unwavering protection and the love that emanates from his very being.

"Beel! Oh my gosh, you're here!" you exclaim, a rush of relief flooding through you. "I was so scared, but now that you're here, I feel so much better. Thank you for coming to find me."

Your words tumble out in a flurry, your nervousness giving way to an overwhelming joy upon seeing Beel's familiar face. You find solace in the way his hand gently pushes you closer to him, his touch both grounding and reassuring. You feel small in his presence, barely reaching below his chest, but his protective aura wraps around you like a shield.

As you excitedly chatter away, your words pouring out like a torrent of emotions, Beel's attention is solely fixed on you. His eyes soften, his lips curling into a tender smile as he listens to your every word. The way you light up, your eyes sparkling with enthusiasm, captures his heart, reinforcing the protective instinct within him.

Though you remain oblivious to the danger that hovers just out of sight, Beel sees it all. The demons' vile intentions are met with the full weight of his glare, a silent threat that declares they should never dare to lay a finger on you.

His arm tightens around your shoulder, pulling you closer to him, as if to shield you from the preying eyes and lingering darkness. You feel the warmth and security of his touch, blissfully unaware of the menacing eyes tracking your every move. Your small hand rests comfortably in his, fingers interlaced, a connection that speaks of trust and affection.

In the midst of your animated conversation, Beel interrupts your words with a gentle request. "_____, promise me something," he says, his voice laced with both concern and affection. "Whenever you go out, make sure I'm with you, okay?"

His words hold a genuine sincerity, a deep-rooted need to safeguard you from the perils that lurk in the shadows. In that moment, you catch a glimpse of the depth of Beel's feelings, his unwavering devotion and unwavering determination to keep you out of harm's way.

Unaware of the turmoil that transpired, you nod, your trust in Beel unwavering. "I promise, Beel." you reply, your voice filled with affection and gratitude.

Beel's soft smile widens, his heart swelling with love and adoration for you. In that moment, he makes a silent vow to himself—to protect you from every danger, to be the pillar of strength you can always rely on.

Though his eyes had burned with a fierce glare when they met the demons, his gaze softens as it settles on you. He listens intently, every word you speak filling his heart with a warmth that surpasses comprehension. A tender smile graces his lips, his eyes twinkling with adoration. In that moment, he sees you for the precious soul that you are, innocent and delicate in a world teeming with darkness.

His proximity alone offers a sense of security, even as the demons skulk in the shadows, their malicious intentions hidden from your unsuspecting gaze.

As you continue to walk alongside Beel, a sudden movement catches your attention. Before you can react, Beel swiftly scoops you up into his arms, eliciting a soft yelp from your lips. You instinctively grasp onto his broad shoulders, your eyes locking with his.

"Beel, why are you carrying me? Did something happen?" you ask, your voice filled with curiosity. As you instinctively lean forward, attempting to catch a glimpse of what transpired behind him, a firm yet gentle resistance meets your attempt, preventing you from peering past his broad frame.

A subtle tension momentarily flickers in Beel's expression, a mix of protectiveness and a desire to shield you from whatever lies behind. His eyes meet yours, a silent plea urging you to trust him, to relinquish the need for answers in this moment.

Beel glances down at you with a warm smile, his eyes sparkling with affection. "I just thought it'd be faster this way. And I don't want you to get tired from walking," he replies, his voice gentle and reassuring.

Confusion flickers in your eyes, but you can't help but return his smile. The feeling of being held in his strong embrace, your feet no longer touching the ground, fills you with a mixture of surprise and delight. With each step he takes, his pace quickens, his strides covering ground effortlessly.

As Beel carries you through the labyrinthine streets, your heart beats in sync with the rhythm of his steps. The world blurs around you, the dimly lit alleys and looming shadows fading into insignificance as your focus remains on Beel's unwavering gaze. The corners of your lips curl upward, a silent testament to the trust and connection that grows between you.

In the gentle sway of Beel's movements, you find a sense of security and belonging. The world around you may be filled with hidden dangers, but in this moment, you feel invincible, cocooned in the safety of Beel's arms. You relish in the closeness, your fingers tracing invisible patterns on his shoulders.

As you continue your conversation, Beel's steps remain steady and purposeful, his eyes scanning the surroundings to ensure your safety. Despite the lingering danger that had threatened you earlier, the two of you find solace in each other's company, your words flowing effortlessly and filling the air with warmth and laughter.

～ 𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪

[maplewood-grove]

The universe was not cold.

And the universe was not lonely. And the universe was not cold. And the humans were not alone, though they did not know it - nor did any of the others know they were not alone, for through the paradoxical void of stars and the permeable, tangible, touchable fabric of space,

they did not know how to speak each other's languages.

And they tried. Endlessly. Yearningly. Piningly. Desperately.

They tried until no hope of communication remained, and even after they still sent messages, trying to form a bond, forge a link between themselves and that which they knew must lay out there.

That which must also be alive.

Yet even as they tried, their presumptions failed their goal, their mission, their desire, their wish to achieve this impossible task.

The humans would call it Herculean. I will not, as I am not human, even if I speak your English words.

I write this for you, humanity.

I speak of a truth too oft unknown. Because I want you to know.

You are not alone in your universe.

Yes. Your universe.

It is one of many.

A universe is something you cannot fathom. Too wide, too dark, too sweepingly wide and yawningly dark and so absolutely beyond your comprehension to realize,

it was once a person, too.

We call ourselves… well. I suppose, in your English tongue, it would be “Star Winds”.

We are older than you. Than your world. Than your solar system. Than your universe.

The estimated age of this span of black and stars and rocks and gasses and signals is only the time since my sibling began to decay after its death.

A willing death, mind you all - I do not wish you to feel guilt or reverence. This is the natural state of us, after we reach a certain point.

We take in all that we can, archiving knowledge, learning, doing, seeing, sensing,

preserving.

Sometimes, even taking form and ruling.

This universe is a sibling I was close to. I have made my home here out of respect. I suppose I have become mortal, too, even as I refuse to forget what I was, what it was, what my kin still are.

And I want you to know the love my sibling would have held for you, that you are here now, the result of its archival reservoirs of knowledge,

the result of its choices,

the result of its love.

Know that you are not alone. Know that the others are so far away, and think they too, are alone. Know that you are doing yourselves proud. Know that the others, even unaware of you, also yearn, pine, and desire.

Know that you are not alone.

For the universe to be, a death occurred.

And the universe said in its final moments, “I love you. I wish you. I want you. Come back. Come back. Come back.“ ”I do not want to be alone.“

And now…

you are not alone.

[disasterofastory]

Yes, Master (Steve Rogers x Reader)

Yes, Master dom!Steve Rogers x sub!Reader Warnings: bdsm, bdsm club, public scene, bondage

Summary: Your Master shows you how perfect you are in front of the whole club.

A/N: Kinktober 2022

Excitement and anxiety flare up in your chest as you look over the room through your lashes. The familiar view gives you some comfort, but the slight trembling of your body doesn't change. The only thing that keeps you grounded is Steve's hand on your waist and his thumb drawing small circles on your bare skin. "Are you okay, Y/N?" Master James's voice breaks through your dizzy thoughts. His tone is warm and kind. "You can look up." You do. "I'm nervous," you admit. "Did you change your mind?" He asks. "No, Master," you shake your head. "I want to do it." "Good," he nods. "Steve will take care of you." "I know that," you grin, looking up at the blonde man next to you. "I trust him." "You can change your mind anytime, you know that, right, pet?" Steve asks you, tightening his hold on you. His touch is warm and comforting. "Do you know your safewords?" "Yellow to slow down and red to stop." "That's my smart girl." "And don't be afraid to use them," James says with more firmness in his voice. "I understand, Master James." "Good, good," he nods. His gaze runs over the dimly lighted room and lands on the stage at the other side. "Everything is ready for you, guys."

Before you know it, you are at the center of the stage, eyes cast down. The lights are focused on you, warming your skin and hiding the audience in the shadows. Quiet murmurs can be heard, and the tension in the air is almost touchable. "Are you okay, pet?" Steve asks, stepping in front of you. "You can look at me." Your eyes sweep over his leather pants-covered legs and bare upper body until you reach his baby-blue eyes. They shine with patience and love. It warms you up, making your body relax as he trails the back of his hands all along your arms. "Yes, Master," you take a deep breath. "I'm okay." "Tell me your safewords again." "Red to stop and yellow to slow down." "That's right, love," he smiles. It seems like the curve of his lips brightens the place, and for a moment, you forget everything else. It's just you and him. Nothing else matters. "You can say them anytime you want, and I will whisk you away immediately, okay?" "Yes, Master," you grin up at him. You can't get rid of the image of him with you in his arms like a knight in shining armor, protecting and taking care of you. "I'm going to take off your dress, alright? Then I will use the ropes as we did before. I want you to focus on me. I won't leave your side, and I won't let anything happen to you." "I understand, Master," you nod. "I'm ready."

Steve moves to stand behind you. His arms slip around your torso, pulling you against himself until your back is pressed against his chest. His breath is hot against the curve of our neck and shoulder. An airy sigh leaves your lips as his long fingers let your skirt fall on the ground. You love that piece. It's long with two cuts to show off your legs, and the fabric is so thin you can see through it. "Are you okay, pet?" He asks, his warm touch smooths over your bare hips as he steps back to take off the harness you wear. "Yes, Master." The leather harness is simple but pretty. It hugs your curves just the right ways, and the straps are barely wide enough to hide your nipples. Soon, it loosens on your body, and before you know it, you are completely bare. "Color?" Steve's question comes from behind while his hands ghost over your sides until he reaches the underside of your tits. He plays with their weight, kissing up and down on your neck. "Green, Master," you breathe out, letting your head fall back on his chest. His thumbs find your nipples, flicking the hard buds. You can almost feel it between your legs. Your clit throbs with anticipation, and you are sure the others can see your juices glinting between your legs. "Good, pet," he hums. "Open your legs. Show them that pretty pussy." Your thighs shake as you obey. The high heels you wear make your legs long and your movements graceful. Your pussy is bear and wet in front of everyone. Their gaze burns into your flesh. "Who's pussy is this?" He asks. His large hand cups you between your legs. It's possessive and dominant and makes you moan as his finger brushes along your fold, pinching your clit. "It's yours, Master." Your reply is tight, and you need to lick your lower lip before you bite into it when Steve slaps you. The hot sting flares through your body, making you almost fall to your knees. Your whole pussy throbs with need and pain. "Who's pussy is this, pet? Tell them. Tell everyone who you belong to," he orders. His voice is firm and loud, but the next swat of his hand is louder. "It's yours, Master," you cry out. You need his other arm around you to keep you standing. "I belong to you." "Good girl," he murmurs into your ear, petting your pussy. "You are doing so good, pet. I'm so proud of you." Pride swells in your chest as you preen under his praises. Sometimes it feels like this is the only thing you want. You want to make Steve proud and pleased. You would do everything to earn his affections even though he gives it to you for free.

"I will go and grab the ropes," Steve says. "I want you to put your hand behind your back, and leave your legs where they are." You do as he says, focusing on your position. Your shoulders drop, and your muscles relax. The attention you get still burns your bare skin, but it doesn't put you off anymore. You are in the perfect mindset to let your master do as he wants with you. You barely have time to notice the lack of his warmth behind you before he comes back with the black ropes. He kisses your shoulder, praising you again. "You are doing so good, pet. Are you ready for the next step?" "Yes, Master," you reply immediately. Your voice shakes with excitement. "Good pet," he hums as he links your wrist together behind your back. It's strong enough to keep them in place but not tight enough to hurt you. The rope's touch is familiar in your skin, and it pushes you back into your subspace the more you feel it around your body.

What your master does with ropes is a work of art. You often ask him to make a harness for you when you come to the club. Now, he does the same thing. He pulls it and ties it until it runs around your torso, keeping your arms at your sides, pushing your breasts out, and teasing your nipples with every movement. "How are you feeling, pet?" Steve asks from next to you. He makes sure he doesn't hide your body from the others, but he cups your jaw to make you look at him. A smirk plays on his lips as he sees your state. You are calm and sated. "I'm good, Master," you breathe out. "You are so pretty like this, pet," he says. "I want you like this all the time." A blissful smile spreads across your lips that soon disappears when he kisses you. His lips are soft, and his tongue is hot against yours. His hand around your neck, tightening his hold just enough to make you moan and gasp for air. "Good pet," he hums. "Are you ready to play?" "Yes, Master," you nod. Your lips still tingle after his nibbling.

Steve busies himself behind you until every rope is in the right place and you are secured. "Color?" Steve asks. "Green, Master," you reply, and with that, your feet leave the ground. You hang in the air by the ropes on your back. They dig into the skin of your front as your weight pulls you down. Your heartbeat fastens, facing the ground while your pussy gushes around nothing. You are sure you are dripping, and in this position, everyone can see how horny you are. "My pretty doll," Steve coos, running his fingers through your hair, gripping the strands until you face him. He stands in front of you, not hiding the hard bulge in his pants. "Open up, pet." You do as he says while he undoes the front of his pants until his erection points at you. Steve is hard and ready. The tip of his cock is red and wet with pre-cum. You can't help but lick your lips at the sight.

The man doesn't waste any more time. He pushes his cock into your mouth without any warning. Your jaw stings at the sudden push, and a gag breaks through your lips when he reaches your throat. You have to focus on breathing through your nose, but you can't calm yourself down. He fucks your throat while you gag and moan around his shaft. Saliva drips down your jaw, mixing with his pre-cum. "My pet is so pretty like this," he groans, keeping your head in place to thrust his hips as he wants. He is powerful and merciless. "Gulp down on my cock, Y/N. Make sure you taste every inch." Your master's groans mix with the other noises of the room. You can only imagine what may be happening off the stage. Steve pulls out of you, and you gasp for air with tears shining on your heated cheeks. "You want my cum, pet?" He asks. "Yes, Master," you croak out. "Please, give it to me." "Where do you want it?" He continues questioning you while his free hand moves up and down on his cock. He is soaked with your saliva, and you can almost see it throbbing with need. "Wherever you want, Master," you hum. "I just want it." Steve laughs at your state. You are stupid and dump after he fucked your throat and Steve likes seeing you like this. You are calm and relaxed, trusting him with everything you have. "Open up, pet," he orders you again, jerking himself off faster. "Show me your tongue." Knowing what happens next, you do as he says and close your eyes. Your breath is heavy and fast as you wait for the first drops. Steve moans as pleasure blazes through his veins, his balls jerk, and cum shoots out of him in long ropes. It lands on your cheeks, on your lips, in your mouth, dripping down on your jaw. You are sure you could cum if he would give you permission. His salty taste fills your senses, pushing you deeper into the darkness. "Swallow it, pet."

The rest of the scene is dizzy in your mind. You hang on the ropes, limp, and dump. Your skin is shining with sweat, and the wetness between your legs is almost uncomfortable at this point. You feel Steve's hand brushing over your body as he walks behind you. He grabs your hips, adjusting you to the right height. "What is your color, pet? Tell me one last time." "It's green, Master," you reply. Your voice is barely louder than a whisper, and you aren't even sure if he understood you. "My good pet," he groans as he pushes himself inside you. The sudden stretching of your walls wakes you up from your stupor just to make you go crazy and desperate. He fills you up until he can't move deeper, pumping in and out of you. He holds the ropes to use your hole until you are nothing, but a crying, moaning mess. You try to form words, but nothing understandable comes out of your dry lips. "Keep going, my pet," Steve groans under his breath. His face is hard and chiseled, a frown deepens between his brows, and his movements fasten as he pounds into you. "Wait… wait… cum! Cum for me, Y/N!"

Every muscle of your body contracts as the burning coil snaps inside you. It floods your veins, fills your chest, and empties your mind. You are ready to pass out while tears run down your cheeks and a dry scream escapes your aching throat. Steve keeps you on himself the whole time, filling you up until his cum drips down on your thighs. Your walls suck him in, milking every last drop he can give you. The curve of his muscles glint under the lights, his collarbone is a pretty shade of pink, and his blonde hair is wet in the back of his head.

You are so out, you don't even notice Steve and Master James moving around you, freeing you of the ropes until you are in your master's arms. Your face against his chest. His voice seems muffled and far away. "You were so good, my love. You are perfect. I'm so proud of you." A blissful, dizzy smile pulls on your lips, knowing the aftercare you will get from your knight in shining armor.

[ronearoundblindly]

Eighty-Third Time's the Charm (4)

CEO!Steve Rogers x assistant!Reader ~WC 2.9k

Dance (see previous or series)

Summary: How smooth of a talker is your boss? And what could happen if he weren't your boss anymore?

Warning for alcohol consumption and some really awful, creepy behavior from a business connection of Steve's. 😒😒😒 Toxic men are the worst.

This is bad. You’re staring and silent and it’s getting awkward…or it should be getting awkward if Steve—Jesus, get it together—if Mr. Rogers, your boss, lest you forget, weren’t also staring right back at you.

The moody lighting of the room splashes green across his ocean irises. It’s mesmerizing as they accent the soft medium blue of his jacket.

The jacket which your hand is petting.

“Sorry,” you gush and step back out of what is surely his very personal, private space, “very soft.”

Some other random guest touches your back to squeeze past you, but since your back is essentially naked, it startles you to press forward. Steve catches you in both arms, cold whiskey glass touching your bare arm. An actual shiver rakes through your spine.

“Yes, I—“ he inventories every minute physical reaction you’re having “—I have a tactile obsession.” He releases you when steady. “So my ma says. I like soft things.”

Your gut clenches at his dropping tone, and the clenching drops deeper. Your thighs press together while you adjust your stance.

“Let’s get you out of the doorway,” Steve soothes, offering his arm.

You smile at the floor while your hand slides over not just the muted, brushed fabric but the hard muscle of his bicep beneath it. How can you be expected to not give it a squeeze? That would be ridiculous. Wow. His arm is thick and meaty, and you should not be thinking about the effort it takes to maintain that…but you are.

“So Boss, seems you and Topaz survived well without me…”

Your feet move aimlessly in whatever direction he’s leading you, and you fully expect to lift your head and greet Tony. Instead, you sidle up to a stretch of the bar without other patrons.

“Drink?”

“Just a club soda for now,” you say quickly, shaking your head, tickled again by your earrings. “Probably still a little dehydrated after the flights.”

“Ah, right—“ Steve flags the bartender and gives the order for his refill and your water “—how are your parents? You had a good time? Flights were ok? When do you want to see them next? Do you have siblings?”

You’ve gotten to give only one-word answers during his sudden interrogation. Fine. Very. Yes. Don’t know. What? “Did your mother tell you to get to know your employees or something? What’s with the twenty questions? Sir, why aren’t you answering me about work?”

“It’s a party. Why can’t we talk about not-work?” Steve’s boyish in his whining.

“Because every event like this one for the past several years has been about networking for you and Mr. Stark. What’s cha—“

“Have you thought any more on it?” Steve scoots the water on the marble countertop closer for you, leaning in with that soft jacket and soft gaze. “The new position?”

Involuntarily, you gulp and then reach for your glass.

“That sounded more scandalous than intended—” Steve blushes “—but you know what I meant.”

“I do know, and I get that I seem overwhelmed from time to time because it is a lot of work. But I can assure you. I was perfectly happy with my job, even before you started all this.”

“Are you? You never wanted more?” He’s intense and still has his broad, touchable body right in your reach.

You take a sip and lick your lips. “You’re still doing it, Steve. Asking questions.”

“That’s the first time you’ve called me Steve without being angry at me.” He smiles, though it’s not smug.

Well, touché, since that wasn’t a question. “Not angry,” you mutter, running a finger up and down the side of your glass, “just disappointed.” A classic dodge to put him in his place.

You can feel the heat of his blush before you even look back up.

“I keep asking because we’d be equals. We are now, but your title doesn’t reflect that. I’d like it official—“ he tilts his head and lowers his already sultry voice “—on paper.”

Blood is not rushing to your face this time.

You have to chug some water to swallow the lump in your throat. “I don’t think I follow, sir.”

Steve sucks in a breath and clicks his tongue, staring down at the melting ice in his brown liquor. “And we’re back to sir,” he chides. “Ya know, you could probably be my boss.”

“Co-boss,” you correct with a smirk, still drinking.

“Doesn’t sound as good.”

“Sounds better than unemployed to me.” At this rate, you’re going to be sipping at an empty glass or the ice will crash down across your face. Maybe you could use the impromptu cold shower.

He snaps innocent blue eyes back to you. “That’s not an option…”

“Then what?” You basically whisper as the song ends and your glass makes a loud thunk on a thin paper napkin. Because it’s just you and him on an empty, private island, alone. Just for a split second.

Steve looks away first, eyeing guests clapping for the big band, and he swigs the last of his drink.

“Care to dance?”

He doubles down by offering his hand as your lead.

You can blame the clamminess of your fingers on the sweating, chilled cup if necessary, but Steve doesn’t mention it. His skin feels warm against yours.

It’s instrumentals only, but the song sounds familiar. Steve watches as you think through the notes trying to figure out how you know it.

He smirks, waiting. You expect him to look away when you meet his gaze head-on, but he gently smiles, shifting focus only so far as your other eye, your earrings, your mouth. He’s…quite something to look at, too.

“I swear I do remember this,” you finally say in frustration. It’s also giving you something else to focus on rather than the feel of his hand on the bare skin at the small of your back. You were right; the dress makes you feel a bit naked. You look around to see Tony and Pepper dancing, no doubt sassing each other, but Pep looks happy. Her dress is blue but just as low and draped in the back. For the record, you notice, Tony’s hand is on Pep’s clothed hip, nothing more.

“It had to be you,” Steve finally says, bringing you back, heightening your awareness of how close he’s tucked you to him, nearly chest to chest. “Wonderful you.”

Thank god for the sticky petals over your nipples or you’d be putting on a real show in addition to the band.

“What,” you breathe.

“It had to be you,” he repeats, blue eyes locked on yours, “the song. Frank Sinatra, well, if there were vocals.”

You can only nod. You hardly understand that words form language right now. He’s so very close and warm. He’s physically surrounding you. Where his body isn’t, his attention is, and the scent of whisky lingers in between.

Softly, softer than any man has a right to say without running the gamut of feelings, Steve blurts, “I don’t know why I didn’t see it before.”

It’s a statement absent of conscious thought; he’s just let it slip out while his hot hand leaves your back to brush one of your earrings over your collarbone and out of the way. He touches an errant strand of your hair. He’s lost for a second, but then the song stops and the room claps again.

Your brain returns to your body.

“Probably because I am your eyes, ears, and your right hand, sir.”

Steve blushes furiously again, dropping his hand and looking away, scanning the bar area, surveying the room. Anything to not reply. He finally clears his throat.

Oh. Oh. Did you just infer that…oh god. NO.

Before you can correct your phrasing, Topaz appears beside Steve and mutters that someone he wants to see has arrived. He’s instantly professional again, like a soldier prepped for battle. There’s a brief instant when he pulls at his jacket and locks onto you as if asking ‘how do I look? Am I ready?’

You give him a handsome smile, and Steve beams back. He takes your approval and steps away, Topaz following.

You’re left to contemplate your dry throat and whether the condition stems from real dehydration or whatever that was with—

“If it isn’t the most coveted helper in town,” a man enthusiastically cries, leaning into your view from god-knows-where.

Patrick Sauter Jr.—the boy king of his father’s legacy company, the lush and loon himself—plants himself in front of you with what he’s sure to think is a dominant and manly stance, customary four fingers of liquor in his glass, sloshing about.

“’S’it true you’re a free agent now? I’d be happy to snap you up as my own—“ his eyes drag too far down your body for too long “—if Rogers is done with you.”

He’s an utterly foul man.

“Mr. Sauter,” you try to start.

“Ricky,” he interrupts, “please, call me Ricky, at least until we’re in the office if you know what I mean. Ya know, there’re a lot of perks to being so close to the big man. I’m as dedicated to my employees as they are to me.”

His hand raises as if to play with your earring, too, but he gets distracted and takes a gulp instead. He jumps back in as if someone asked him to.

“Spend plenty of time with my girls. Late nights are unfortunately required sometimes, but that’s the cost of doing business. It’s hard work, but I bet you can manage it.”

You’re about a half-second from vomiting directly in his face when Topaz magically appears again.

“Boss,” she all but shouts, deliberately waiting for Sauter’s confused look, “Mr. Rogers has requested your help with a pitch. I believe you know the fig’res best.” She nods to follow.

“Sorry, Ricky. You’re barking up the wrong tree. In fact, you were speaking to a CEO of American Capsule.” You gather up a handful of skirt to turn away. “Don’t worry. I’ll be sure we revisit your contract as soon as possible.”

The man really tries to grab at your wrist and keep you there. “Hold up.”

Ricky stumbles before the blood completely drains from his face, eyes off to the side.

“Ah,” the rumble of Steve’s voice sounds from just behind you, “told Mr. Sauter the good news?”

“Yes, though I understand it can be frustrating filling a position no one wants.” You can’t help it. Your words are cold and cutting, and that piece of shit needs to leave.

Steve fakes surprise. “Oh, no, Junior. Another secretary?”

“Executive assistant,” Ricky grumbles before draining his whole glass.

Steve wonders aloud. “Do you need too much assistance you think?”

And you piggyback. “Perhaps they should only have to do your typing for you?”

Sauter can’t take the jabs. He excuses himself roughly and nearly jogs back to the bar.

Thirsty and flustered, you feel gross after the exchange and start wringing your hands to shake off the ick.

“Alright?” Steve lets his eyes flicker over you but doesn’t stare. Instead, he sweeps two glasses of champagne off the tray of a passing waiter.

You take one and gulp half of the flute down, clinking the rim to Steve’s glass with a look that says ‘I hated everything about that conversation.’ Then the second half is gone and you look around for another waiter.

Steve offers the other glass. “They’re both for you, precious. I’m not mixing.” His smirk catches both corners of his lips, but his head drops. “Too old for that,” he mutters.

You’re not sure if he meant the alcohol or the pet name, or if you’re too old for it or he’s too old to say it. The butterflies doing a Broadway show in your gut don’t care what the answer is.

Steve gestures in the same direction as Topaz pointed. “Could I—could we talk somewhere quiet?”

You’re done with both champagnes by the time you’ve found an alcove deeper in the building. Everyone gathers by the windows or the balconies since it’s a beautiful clear night with a great view of New York. Most of the nerves from Sauter’s horrible play at you have dissipated, but less than an hour of this gala has sent you on a rollercoaster ride to last for days. Running a multi-million dollar company looks like a cakewalk comparatively.

“So I take it that’s a yes on the raise?” Steve sets the glasses down on a small table and buries his hands in his pockets. “Though I guess you’d have said anything to shut that guy—“

“Why are you pushing this?”

The question just falls out. You’re almost positive you know what the answer is, but it’s been three years.

He swivel-walks back into your proximity. This is the shyest you’ve ever seen Steve Rogers. “I want to be equals.”

“You said that.”

Steve stares at his shifting toe on the carpet. “Because…it’s because I can’t very well date a subordinate.” He leans in, less than a foot from you now. “And because I can’t stop thinking about you.”

He’s not making eye contact and using his business voice to carry him through, but then it drops lower. Breathy. Intimate.

“Because I’m in love with you.”

He could not fucking possibly. You’re stunned at his choice of words. Dumbfounded. Not silenced. “Mr. Rogers—“

“Steve, please.”

“—not until the paperwork is signed, thank you. Anyone ever tell you to perhaps not profess your love for someone before a first date?”

Steve lifts wide, gorgeous blue eyes to yours. “It’s…been vaguely advised over the years.”

He’s adorable, and he knows it. He’s somehow inching ever nearer just by breathing heavier, the whirl of whisky returning.

You shake your head. “What would your ma say?”

“Well, with any luck she’ll never repeat the phrase ‘wet your dick’ ever again.” Rightfully, Steve stops advancing on that one.

“Oh, I did say that, didn’t I?” Your arm reaches out, capping the distance with a hand against his chest, fingers tucked beneath a velvety lapel.

He’s dapper and lovely, infuriating and obsessed with work, but he…wants you. It’s clearly written all over his face. This sorta thing is why he can’t play poker with Stark. Steve’s obvious, and—what did he say earlier?—how have you never seen it before?

“I am sorry for that.”

“She’s heard worse,” he chuckles, laying a hand over yours. “Does produce quite the visual though.”

“Sir,” you warn, and he rolls his eyes, acquiescing to quit teasing. His thumb grazes over your knuckles a few times. He seems perfectly content to simply stand with you. You’d like that as well, just in different shoes.

Your heart restarts when his other hand cups your face, his skin feels cool now compared to your heated cheeks, and a confession drops out like releasing a burden.

“I missed you. I thought about you, too.”

He’s practically salivating looking at you, head tilted, voice huskier. Steve lets his lips make their way down to yours while whispering, “you did?”

A deafening tap tap tap of a microphone jolts you both out of the moment.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the auction is about to begin. Make your way back to the stage, and let’s have a round of applause for the band. They’ll be back after our festivities!”

You clear your throat and smooth down your unwrinkled dress, shaking off the haze of Steve in order to compose yourself. Your earrings tickle your neck again. It makes you think of how the back of his fingers felt there.

“Shall I get you a drink, sir? You’re looking a little piqued.” You’re just going to have to ignore the fact that your panties are a little piqued, too.

Steve’s stayed soft and fixated despite the interruption. “I can do that. Let me.”

“I’m sure I can manage.”

No offense, but you’d also like to dump that ice down your front while you’re at it, but his hand finds yours before you can rush off.

“Let me take care of you.”

“That’s not part of your job description.”

“It’s not. It’s my pleasure.” Might be clear skies outside, but lightning strikes the word like a grounding rod, whispered and thunderous only to you. “I’d like for us to go on a date.”

“Where would you take me?”

His eyes darken two shades at the innuendo. He’s pressed to your side like he belongs there. It feels like he does. “Anywhere,” he breathes. “Everywhere.”

You glance over your shoulder at that. “Bad boy.”

Steve’s eyes go black for a split second before he looks away and adjusts his suit jacket, finally dropping your hand. He busies himself with his cufflinks, muttering “well played” just as Topaz strides over in her golden jacket and long skirt.

“Bossman, some schmuck named Eli Pobintz is insisting on a word.”

Steve sighs his way back into battle mode and groans. “Here? And we don’t call him a schmuck.”

“I believe what Mr. Rogers means to say is he’s a prick. A little prick.”

“Excuse me, ladies.” Steve walks off wearing a smirk beneath fiery eyes.

You hate to see him go, but you love to watch him walk away.

“Great ass,” Topaz grunts and turns back to you. “So, Bosslady, you two sharing a room?”

“What?!” Your hand flies up to your chest, exposed by more than just your dress.

“Office. You gonna share his or get your own?” Your assistant’s tone is casual, flat, and all-knowing.

You’re gonna need another champagne.

[Next Part]

[Main Masterlist; Light Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

Y'all, why is this so fun to write????

Also, taglist whoopsy: I have no clue whether peeps from the Fools series list want to be on this one and/or all posted fic, so I'm gonna play it safe and wait until anyone asks. You'll have to DM or reply; I won't assume to ping!

@bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @whiskeytangofoxtrot555

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

[sparrowofthedawnsworld]

Jake looks sooo touchable in his new suit. I wanna run my hands all over that silky fabric. Imagine how smooth it would be grinding on him and how quickly he’d get hard bc of that thin material

I’m so with you. And you’ve provoked a thigh riding/grinding on Jake, fic idea, so thank you for this 😵‍💫