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fluloa · 1 year

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Si fpom

Jake Sully x reader [series, part one]

Home.

That's what your mother whispers to you, mouth stretched into a warm grin as she holds you in her arms. A baby so small, crying in choked whines and all she can do is wipe a hand through your thin threads of short hair. She's exhausted, spent of the hours of pushing and crying and screaming. Ongokx. To be born. Here you were, settled in her arms with a face so sweet and skin so teal. Ronal feels tears dry up on her cheeks as new ones overlap them, "Ma ite. Ma txon."

My daughter. My night. The fire beside her crackles, warming her sweat-dampened legs as Tonowari supports her from her back. The moon's light shines in from the slitted open flat of the tent, highlighting the side of your face. Born in a night. Her little night.

As you grow older, so does your curiosity. You're drawn to the ocean, to the outside of the reef, to the outside of your home. Barely the age of three and you're waddling to the sea foam of the ocean, with your father hot on your feet before he's scooping you up. You just manage to pick up a dirtied seashell before it. "Tomorrow, my daughter. Far too dark now."

He starts walking away with you on his hip, and you look over his big shoulder, arm reaching out clumsily. "Go out there." You wave your seashell, and he takes it from your chubby little hand.

He lows a laugh, "This right here is all you need." He gives your belly a small tickle, before gently moving your head to the view of your village.

When you're four, you're gifted with a baby brother. You sit on your knees from afar as you watch the baby in your mother's arms with curiosity, loud cries filling your ears. He looks so odd to you, a face so small and the stripes on his skin like little spikes. You look to your own. Why are yours more stretched out? And why is he crying so much? Is he hurt?

Your mother looks to you, eyes wearing a tiredness but she smiles, flicking a hand in your direction as she beckons you. "Come look, txon."

You slowly crawl your way towards her, eyes trained on the little being in her arms. You kneel neatly beside her, looking up to her and she nods again, smile brightening as a few chuckles leave her lips. "You can touch, ma eveng."

You warily reach your hand out, placing your palm on the soft skin of his belly. You're fascinated with the way your hand covers most of it. You shift your hand again, instead feathering at his cheek and your mouth cracks into a little smile.

"Tonowari," Ronal quickly whispers, pointing her head to the scene in front of him. His face beams with joy at the sight, placing a hand on her arm as his chest swells with warm pride. At such a young age, you held a sense of maturity, of wiseness. Destined to be a leader. A tsahik. But that didn't mean you didn't have a snap of childish fire in you.

"Ao'nung!" you hiss, refusing to unlatch your grip on the seashell he's desperately holding. He whines, tugging again but it's useless to you. Six and two is a big difference in strength. "Give it— give it!" you scream.

You finally pull, and it's a hard pull. Whipping it out from his grasp and the force sends him to the ground butt first. Hearing the frustrated hisses morph into big cries makes you grin in victory, but the expression drops as soon as you hear the angry thud of footsteps against sand and see the angry look on your incoming mother's face.

During your sixth cycle, you rode your first ilu. Sure, it was a bit on the messy side and you did squirm a bit before connecting your tsaheylu, but as soon as your fingers grazed the wet scales of the animal's neck and you settled comfortable on her back, you were gliding through the sea. Ronal was scared for you at first, but Tonowari's hand placed on her shoulder gave her enough reassurance.

Once you come back up to your parents, your smile is bright, water dripping from your face. Your mother leans over and flicks a few wet stray hairs out from your face. "How was it, txon?"

"Really, really good!" you gasp, earning a chuckle from both your parents. "Can I go further?" you point your finger out, almost reaching to the deeper fill of sea.

Tonowari shakes his head.

"Let me go further!" you whine, dreaded that your father had caught you trying to sneak an ilu after sunset. His grip on your forearm is tight and unforgiving, dragging you away from the coldness of the sea's start and to the dryness of the hot sand. Even if you were twelve, you still held that childish fire.

"I will not let this continue," he snaps out your name. "Foolish girl. One of these days, you'll end up dead."

Your fingers claw at his fist wrapped around your damp skin, tears burning at the rim of your eyes. "I would rather that than be stuck here!" you cry.

He suddenly stops, looks back to you with his face still. "You disappoint me."

He lets go of you, and you slump to the ground, finally letting the tears break from your eyes and drool down your cheeks. You wanted more. More than this land, than this village. But it was out of reach, and you couldn't even attempt to stretch out your hand to catch it.

You feel a hand warm at your shoulder, and you numbly look up, seeing your grandmother eyeing you with a soft sympathy. You clumsily crawl to her, clutching her legs in a hug and a soft chuckle leaves her. "Come," she murmurs.

You're sat at her tent, arms wrapped around your knees as she gently unfolds your braids, drops of water sliding from your hair and sticking to your back. Your eyes are wet, tiredness taking over your body little by little. "What is the matter?" she starts, her tone casual.

"Why am I so different?" you mumble, eyes trained on the ember fire in front of you. "I feel as if I am so apart from everyone else."

"You are your father's daughter," she responds. "He sees himself in you, and he is afraid of that."

"I am nothing like him." You bitter, playing with a cuticle of your nail as annoyance from the events of before settle deep in your heart.

Your grandmother laughs, "You would be surprised. But, ma eveng, you are not apart from everyone else. Different, maybe, but it is not bad. It is a gift."

She takes the final braid out from your hair, humming as she cups your chin with her fingers and turns your face to her gaze. "Lor evenge," she awes. Beautiful girl, she calls you, something that you can't seem to believe each time the words leave her mouth as much as you try to. Her eyes graze over your hair, using a soft hand to comb through it. "You must wear it like this more often."

Your eyebrows crinkle, a smile making its way to your lips. She grins back.

"Come," she takes your hand, bringing you up with her and she skims past her tent, dragging you with to wherever she's going to. She sneaks you past the village, away from the people and fires and leads to you a thick land of rock that's mended through the sand and is perched at the edge of the sea, as flat as the sand beneath your feet. She slips her hand away from yours, stepping onto the rock surface. You watch her with curiosity as she starts to move her arms, and then she turns to you, curling her hand toward you.

You swallow steadily, stepping onto the rock and feeling the gravelly surface graze the bottoms of your bare feet. You begin to follow her movements, unable to fight the grin on your face as she smiles in your direction.

"Dance with the water," your grandmother whispers, voice blending with the soft sway of the ocean. "Feel its waves. Its undertow. Feel it within your body, and move with it. Move with the water, ma evenge."

Your grandmother grows ill when you're fifteen. You can tell in the way her face softens and wrinkles, the way her voice croaks, and the way her movements slow.

Dancing with her at your designated spot, the flat chunk of rock. The night's air cool as it breezes through your unbraided hair, beads jingling on your body as your hips sway. A sudden stop to her motions has your head whipping towards her, rushing to her just before she falls to the ground. "Grandmama," you murmur, pressing a few fingers to her head and worry shocking through your system at the intense warmth that you feel against them.

You yell out desperately, holding her to your smaller body as she begins to slump against you. A few people come, and take her from your arms, rushing her to the healers pod. You follow after them, hot on their heels as you silently beg Eywa for a miracle. You could not lose her. She was your source of peace, your light in the pitch black darkness. She was the only thing that made sense to you.

They lay her out on a blanket layered bed, dipping a bowl of misty green liquid into her mouth. You don't pay attention when the thin curtains of the marui pod whip apart, your parents swarming beside you.

"Mother," your father whispers, kneeling down to her form and rolling a hand over hers. His head suddenly slumps, mouth dipping in a sadness and your heart plumbers.

"Let me see her," you rush, attempting to push past the little crowd of people that surround her. "Let me see her! Grandmama!"

Your mother wraps a hand around your arm, but you immediately shrug it off, forcing your way past everyone as your eyes begin to fog. You drop to your knees, eyes trained on the still, dead face of your grandmother. You suck in a rasped gasp of air, hand pulling on her arm wretchedly as you cry. You scream out, only to be forced away by the rough arms of your father, shoved into his chest as your wails of pain begin to muffle. He lets you cry, lets you hit at his body as despair fills your being. A new tsahik would come forth; your mother.

A little while later, you held young little Tsireya in your arms, allowing her tears to run at the skin of your torso. You push your own need of comfort aside, instead focusing on your younger sister that reaches for the comfort that you need to give. You comb your fingers through her dark hair, just like your grandmama, and mumble a soft tune. "Mawey, hi'i ilva. Aku tikeftxo, teya si fpom."

Calm, little drop. Take away sadness, and fill peace. The beginning of your songcord, the first little bead of your chain.

Past your teenage years and into your early adulthood cycle, you were fierce. A force to be reckoned with. You held that fire within you, and it had only blossomed into a bigger wrath of ember. A gifted dancer, a strong hunter, but a kind heart. A kind heart that your people grew to know, to adore. Wise beyond your years, people said, but a wild, curious and adventurous young girl deep inside. Your father's daughter, just like your grandmother had once said.

"A tsahik in the making," your mother tells you, fixing the crystal woven crown on your hairline. Your head juts up, your chest risen with pride as she then traces your newly tattooed back.

A tsahik in the making that you hope could live up to your grandmama.

— sooo here it is!! ik this chapter isn’t that big but trust me, next chapter will be FAT. lol. pls be kind. <333 also idk if this will get attention or not

to be in my tag list for this series -> here

PART TWO

#jake sully x reader #jake sully smut #avatar the way of water #jake sully #dilf jake sully #jake sully imagine #james cameron avatar #avatar 2 #avatar 2 jake sully #avatar imagine #avatar #avatar smut #reader is a badass fr #tonowari avatar #ronal avatar #aonung avatar #tsireya avatar #angst

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mysillyside · 3 months

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What if Death Note was shown to us from L's perspective?

Imagine a version of Death Note where we the audience didn't know with certainty that Light is Kira. Could we fully trust L's deduction if we weren't shown Light's actions or given access to Light's thoughts?

We'd have to figure it out slowly, as L does. And I'd think the story would make us doubt L's theory during many points. This might sound strange but hear me out. In the actual story, we know Light is Kira, as we follow his point-of-view, and therefor it feels silly when the task force denies something that seems so glaringly obvious to us.

But when you really think about it, from their perspective- there are many holes in L's theory, and to believe that Light is Kira, they'd have to blindly believe what is essentially mostly a hunch of their (self-admitted) stubborn, childish boss who hates losing and being wrong. No wonder they aren't completely onboard.

In short, it would have not only been different viewing experience, but more importantly- a different emotional experience.

Had the story been told this way, I think it would have worked better as a mystery thriller, and in my opinion, been waaay more chilling to watch.

Though, I do think the story would lose a lot of its appeal and entertainment value. It definately wouldn't have been nearly as popular, that's for sure. So I'm not saying it would have been better at all, I don't even think that! But it would have been different and interesting in its own way.

So lets talk about how the plot would unravel had our point-of-view character been switched from Light to L:

Suddenly, seemingly out of the blue, criminals all over the world start dying, getting mysterious heart attacks. Nobody knows the cause, who is behind this if anyone at all. Perhaps it is some sort of divine punishment.

L, the world's greatest detective, and our protagonist/pov-character, starts investigating immediately. It's been awhile since he was this interested in solving a case. We would learn that L isn't someone invested in justice from the getgo. To him, this atrocious act of mass murder is an exciting challenge to solve. We would get non-stop insight into his internal thoughts on everything. Learn that L is a childish person, a very stubborn man that hates losing and being wrong. We'd also see how willing he is to go against basic human decency and moral code in the persuit of his investigation from the get-go.

I cannot stress how different emotionally it would have been to watch L, essentially go into a seemingly unsolvable case blind. And bit by bit, get a clearer picture of what's happening. Scenes like the Lind L. Tailor TV stunt or the To-Oh Entrance Ceramony would have been chilling, had we been following his perspective.

Additionally, we can goof on the taskforce for not picking up the fact Light is obviously Kira, but from their perspective, it does seem a little sketchy and absurd. Light is a 17-18 year old college student by the time L starts suspecting him. By everyone's accounts, he's a hard working, extremely intelligent, upstanding, polite and friendly young man. A good son, brother, student and friend.

But L has a hunch this young man in specific is Kira. Can he prove it? Well there's weight to his theory. Light often seems to be in the center of several key events pertaining to the investigation. His father works on the task force for the case, the fiancee of the FBI agent who was investigating him seems to have gone completely missing. He is also perfect. Too perfect, he almost doesn't seem real.

But is this really enough? L from the getgo seems immedietly drawn into this idea that Light is Kira, as soon as he lays his eyes on him. As said before, L hates being wrong and is known to be stubborn. Everyone around him is telling him he's being absurd.

We the audience would obviously be on L's side, don't get me wrong. L is the greatest detective who never failed to solve a case, besides we have no other useful suspects besides Light.

But what would happen when there'd seemingly be holes in L's theory? When Light was being monitored on camera in his house, he was doing homework and not watching TV while criminals who's names and faces were broadcasted started dying. If Light is Kira, how is he able to do something like that? In canon, L never learned how Light pulled this trick off, therefor, had we been watching this from L's point-of-view, we wouldn't have known either.

Thankfully then Misa would appear, and once we learn that her DNA is on the tapes sent by the second Kira, this would strengthen our hunch that L is right.

But then Light would even turn himself in, saying that "maybe I'm Kira but unaware of it", and the solitary confinement would begin. After a few days, this young man starts panicking and saying he must have made a mistake and that he is clearly not Kira. He seems incredibly genuine, even L is taken aback.

A little bit into solitary confinement, criminals start dying again. But L still refuses to let Light and Misa go. L imprisoned two teenagers, one of whom has barely any proof he has any connection to Kira, and the other is detained in a questionable way, making her scared and believe a perverted stalker has kidnapped her. All this, while L is still insisting to keep them confined against all reason. Only allowing the confinement to end if Light's father pretends to shoot him, just so L can test out his theory.

In short, L would be extremely unlikable during so many points in the story. The only reason why many ppl currently can't process the fact that L is a very immoral character, is due to us knowing that Light is guilty. But had the story been told like this, we'd have to consider the possibility that L could be wrong, and that he's essentially traumatizing two innocent young ppl over nothing.

During the Yotsuba arc, we finally get to see what Light is like. And it appears people's descriptions of him were right. He's an upstanding, caring young man with a strong moral compass and sense of justice.

He's been put through hell and back, 50 days of solitary confinement, having to live through the horror of having his own father pretend to shoot him and now being chained 24/7 to the same detective who made him go through all that. And he is still doing his best to be being patient and understanding. While L is moping over the fact his deduction could be wrong. No, actually he's moping over the fact that he has no way of proving his deduction is right, and is refusing to let go of his innitial theory, even though people are dying!

Throughout the arc, L and Light interract and Light consistently has the moral highground. And by the time the Yotsuba group appears and is comfirmed to have involvement with Kira in some way, I do think the audience would start genuienly doubting L.

Perhaps Light really was just at the wrong place at the wrong time, perhaps everything really had just been a coincidence and Light really was an innocent young man who didn't deserve to go through any of this.

When Higuchi is caught, I think it really would have felt like a triumphant moment.

I know that L lied through his teeth when he called Light his best friend. I do not think he considers Light a friend. But he definately considers Light someone he respects in many ways, both on an intellectual level but also personal intrigue. Light always intrigued L, from the moment the man heard him speak.

I don't think L doubted his hunch that Light is Kira for a second. I also don't think L wanted Light to be anything but Kira.

But I do think L (at least anime L), felt like he lost something when Light reverted back to Kira.

Light was never his friend, but he could have been. Losing a human connection you had that could have potentially become a real genuine friendship with someone you relate to, find interesting and consider your equal, would be upsetting to anyone. (Don't get me wrong though, if Light wasn't Kira, L would have thrown a pissy-fit, but two things can be true at once) I know L is a person who doesn't crave or desire emotional connections or any connections really, but he's still a person at the end of the day.

Finally they uncover the murder weapon. A Death Note, a small black notebook that can apparently kill people. After L gets hold of it, he sees the monster attached to the notebook, a shinigami. They are real after all.

Finally, Light gets his hands on it. And screams louder than anyone else.

And in that moment, L realized that Light is once again Kira.

Ok, I know the manga and anime diverge during episode 25. The anime adds a lot more extra content to the story that wasn't present in the manga. But I adore episode 25 (it's just a hauntingly beautiful episode, I love how it's directed, even if it's clearly different from the rest of the show), so I will go with what happens in the anime version.

Kira is back.

There's only two things that can happen from here.

Either Light is going to be arrested, or L is going to die.

L is acting irrationally this episode. Perhaps he's afraid to die. Perhaps he's afraid of what will happen when Light is arrested, and what emotions that might stir in the detective. Either option is scary on its own. His ears are ringing from the bell. A bell only he is able to hear it seems.

Light finds him on the rooftop in the rain. In a last ditch attempt to form any sort of human connection, L rambles to him nonsensically, finally asking Light if he's capable of being truthful.

Light lies again. He always lies. L smiles to that. They are both lying monsters.

They go inside to wipe themselves clean. And have a suprisingly gentle, human moment. We don't know what's going through their minds, just like in the original. But this care and tenderness shown between them, we can buy it being genuine.

Perhaps Light really isn't Kira. Maybe L's paranoia and suspicion have rubbed off on us.

The moment is interrupted when Watari calls L informing him that the plans to test out the Death Note have been made. If this is done, there's a possibility Light's innocence will once again be called into question.

L announces his plan in front of the taskforce.

And suddenly everything goes red. L is calling out to Watari, not able to reach him as the old man is withering in pain.

In an instant, all the computer screens around them change, spelling out the words: "ALL DATA DELETION".

Watari is dead.

L tries to give out orders and suddenly a sharp pain pierces his chest. He drops the spoon he's been using to eat with, as he falls from his chair.

Light catches him, gently holding him in his arms as L stares into the young man's face.

A face that distorts into a mocking sadistic grin.

All this time. He had been right. He was right all along.

His eyes close and the show ends.

#(basically my fanfiction of how I think experiencing the plot would have felt if we switched POVs)#death note #l lawliet #light yagami #💬 katposts #✒️ katwrites

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factual-fantasy · 10 months

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FNAF Recap/Repair project Update: (Moon Malfunction is stinky now) :’}

Okay, so I have a pretty bummer update about my fnaf recap project. So in my Recap/Repair Project explanation post, I commented this, 👇

This post was basically going to say “The next part in the timeline is this comic that I already made months ago called “Moon Malfunction”. I went through the comic and only 1 bubble of dialogue needs to be corrected. Other than this one text bubble, the entire comic fits into the canon. Here’s a link to Moon Malfunction so you can go read it! :DDD”

I worked so hard on this comic, and it took me weeks to complete. I thought it was beautiful and I was so proud of it when I made it. So I was very glad I was able to reuse this comic for my timeline, and not let any of that hard work go to waste..

..But I cant reuse it.

I wanted to salvage this comic so much, that I brushed past most of the inconsistency's and said “good enough”. But the truth is, its not good enough. Not to me.

This comic is majorly outdated. As much as I love it, DJ and Moon aren’t acting quite right. DJ would respond to this situation differently now that I have re-written his character. And now that the nature of the virus has been thought out properly, Moon would be acting different too.

Also the comic as a whole is just, not how I would make a comic nowadays. My artwork has improved since then, and my ability to make coherent comics even more so. I can see where I would have drawn scenes differently. Where I would and would not have done close ups. AND this comic was shortened quite a bit. Because of how much drawing I had to do, I trimmed it down, so the pacing is kind’a rushed. Nowadays I’m not afraid to take some time and let the comic drag on to get the story across better.

Basically. Because I completely re-wrote this AU. This comic just doesn’t fit quite right anymore. Which sucks that I have to scrap it.. but its worth it. I love FNAF. And I really care about the quality of my storytelling in my AU. I want to make it good. I want my love for FNAF to be seen in how much effort I put into making my AU as great as I can possibly make it.

Which means I’m going to take the time to sit down and re-make this comic. The next part of the recap project will not be a short post. Its going to be a giant comic called “Moon Malfunction 2.0″ (probably). And once its done, THEN I can get to game night and the rest of the au.

Also during this time. A lot of other time sensitive projects I have are becoming.. well. A problem. I’m running out of time to get them done-

So while I’m writing Moon Malfunction 2.0, I’m going to be working on some time sensitive IRL projects, amongst other beloved projects that I refuse to abandon,

BUT! Not to worry! I plan to not leave ya’ll without any content. I’m gonna do my best to drop a sketch or meme here and there, whether it be FNAF, TF2, OCs or otherwise. So just sit tight, for now, I’m gonna try to get through these projects 1 by 1 and get Moon Malfunction 2.0 out as fast as I can. See ya’ll soon!

Hopefully-

#fnaf security breach #:'}#my bby #I worked so hard on that comic this is such a bummer #but I value a strong story over strong visuals

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modelbus · 11 months

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Hello!! I LOVE your writing, like I’m obsessed! So, I can’t tell if your requests are open, buttt if they are, I would DIE for some fluff turned to angst of a fem!reader who is in a group with cc!Ranboo, cc!Tubbo, cc!Wilbur and cc!Tommy nicknamed the chaos squad by the fandom, where she is the least popular in the group and a rumour spread that shes only in it for the popularity, so they slowly stoped inviting her to streams and vlogs and ghosting her.

it could start with like three two sentence stories about the group (or something), how it was formed just fluffy moments, and then be like “but it didn’t stay like that for long..” and explain why she was subtly kicked from the group before a scene where shes streaming and gets asked about why shes not been in any videos anymore.

PHEW that was ALOT, if its to long you can obviously shorten it or just not do it- but if requests are open and you like the idea, I would love to see something like this!! <3

PS. You are super cool, keep up the amazing work!! (When you want to ofc)

-✨🌌🌙 Anon

Thank you so much! I tried my best to include everything :D This literally took me out of my writing slump

Part 2 :)

Pairing(s): cc!Ranboo, cc!Tubbo, cc!Wilbur and cc!Tommy x Fem!Reader (Platonic)

Cut Chaos

The feeling of belonging was something nearly everyone chased after. After all, being out of place was simply… lonely. And, somehow, you found yourself slotting into the weirdest place in the world.

A handful of stupid friends.

You always found yourself drawn to dumbasses, in the most affectionate way. Like looks for like, you suppose. And shit, did you find some people that could make you cry laughing even on the worst days.

Ranboo, Tubbo, Wilbur, Tommy. Four people that made the sun rise every day, that dragged you out of bed for the stupidest vlogs to ever exist. Fans adored the five of you together so much that you got a group name for the first time in your career: the Chaos Squad.

Truly, it was a fitting name. The things that the five of you got up to, you’re certain no normal sane person would do. But, well, your job as a streamer already set you apart from the category of “normal” a long time ago, so you definitely didn’t mind the messes you got into with them.

From Tommy dragging the group to an abandoned island, saying it’d be fun to try to escape (you fell out of a tree and Wilbur sprained his ankle), to screaming along at Lovejoy concerts, it felt like the five of you were unstoppable.

And God, did you love them. It didn’t matter how many times Ranboo hit his head on things, you’d still laugh. It didn’t matter that you literally passed out from laughing so hard once, you were still happy. Pure, unfiltered love.

The five of you against the world, forever. You could see it, in those sunny days where you grinned so hard your cheeks hurt (they were the first ones to make you do that—the realization only made you grin harder). The perfect idea of happiness.

Was it any wonder things didn’t stay that way, that perfect, for long?

A rumor.

It always seemed to start with one of those, nowadays. A simple murmur among fans that grew and grew, until you were closing out of twitter at 2, 4, 5 AM, debating if you should just delete the app and put your status on “Do Not Disturb.”

You accepted the fact that being a female content creator was going to be a struggle a long time ago. It was a fact, something you knew you couldn’t avoid, especially in gaming. Having rumors about you online wasn’t new. It would never be new, not as long as you were yourself.

But you thought you’d be past caring about them by now. You thought the tight panic that gripped your heart, made it hard to breathe, was a thing of the past. So stupid.

One private account turned into multiple threads, turned into trends on the trending tab.

Everyone thought you were using your friends, the chaos squad as a whole, just to boost your career. To leech off anyone’s subscribers, just for some money in your pocket.

The idea made you sick to your core.

How dare they? How dare they ever think you didn’t genuinely care for the four? That they were anything less than the lightness in your heart, the freedom on your mind?

Rumors.

You ignored them. Even the thought of addressing them made you feel pissed off like you’ve never been before. It was such an absurd idea! At the very least, you knew your friends would see past the hateful people.

Right?

It starts with an unanswered message in the group chat.

Unanswered messages weren’t new. A stray comment tended to get lost in the general mess that the group chat was, so you weren’t concerned. Just laughed to yourself quietly; it wasn’t important anyways, just a photo of a cat you saw.

Until it happened again. And again. Until more of your messages went ignored than responded to, until the group chat had less and less messages each day.

When the first vlog comes out, the process repeats. It’s on Tommy’s channel, of course. Him, Ranboo, Tubbo, and Wilbur. The chaos squad, just without you. It surprised you, because you never even realized they filmed a video, and normally all of you share upcoming videos.

All the warning signs were obvious, and you were too much of a damn fool.

You filmed one vlog with them after that, exploring a supposedly haunted house, before you woke up a month later and realized you hadn’t talked to them in a week.

One week turns into two, two into three, until you’ve realized what’s happened. You were gone, out of the picture. Happiness had slipped through your fingers faster than you could’ve ever comprehended, and now you were in a dark room—literally.

But what could you do? If they didn’t want you, there was nothing you could do to stop the unraveling of your universe.

So you did the same thing you did before them, defaulting back to what was safe: streaming alone.

Today, it’s just a mindless game. Yesterday was the same, and fuck, this isn’t the same anymore. Not when you don’t have Tubbo in the chat sending messages, or Wilbur using Text-To-Speech.

But you’re here, still streaming. Still going, no matter how tempting it is to just shut off your computer and pretend the last months of your life never happened.

There’s always fans though, and if anything cheers you up, it’s them. So your donations are on, allowing them to be read aloud while you play the silly little unpacking game.

“Where am I putting the diploma guys? Where does this go?” You ask, mouse hovering over the virtual object. “Maybe I’ll just put it under the pillow…”

“StarEmojis donated $15! If up is down and yes is no, how many sides does a triangle have?”

“Thank you, but… uh...” You narrow your eyes at the message. “None, it’s a circle?”

Shrugging, you drag the diploma in the game to under the pillow. The riddle sounds familiar, but not one you know the answer to. It sounds like something Wilbur would send in the group chat at 2 in the morning, honestly.

With that thought in mind, your eyes flicker over the user that donated it. StarEmojis. Not Wilbur.

You’re so stupid for hoping. For the jump in your heart, for the frantic searching.

“StarStarMoon donated $20! Why aren’t you in any Chaos Squad videos anymore? Love you!”

Air catches in your lungs, dread swelling in your chest as your hands still on the mouse and keyboard. That shouldn’t have gotten past the moderators, but it did.

And now you have to answer it.

It wasn’t like you could tell the truth: that you weren’t good enough. That even your best friends didn’t believe you over rumors from strangers online.

Any lie would have a chance of getting back to them though. Not that you can imagine them caring, not anymore.

You swallow past the lump in your throat that’s killing you, taking a breath in before answering. One chance to get the fans to move on, one chance to find the impossible balance between the agony inside of you and cool indifference.

“We’re all just busy.” You say, forcing a smile on your face.

It’s true, at least. Everyone is busy. Everyone except you, that’s it.

“Just scheduling problems. Wil- Wilbur has Lovejoy practices and performances.” You stumble over his name. Did you even have the right to call him Wil anymore? “And Tommy is just always busy. He’s the busiest person, I swear.”

Is that true anymore? You don’t know. He used to be, but you used to help force him to take breaks. Was he taking breaks? You’ll never know.

With another forced smile, you give a half-hearted shrug. “So yeah, just busy, don’t worry guys.”

It’s with baited breath that you wait, eyes scanning chat to see if they bought it. From what you’re seeing, they have.

“Now we need to reorganize these clothes, because they’re killing me like this—“

Your discord pings quietly on another monitor, and you scramble to open it. Just your mods apologizing for letting the donation go through. You send a quick message back to them before pushing the donation to the back of your head just like everything relating to the group you’re no longer part of.

What could you do, anyways?

This was out of your control.

#dsmp #mcyt #mcyt imagine #tommyinnit x reader #tommyinnit x you #wilbur soot x reader #wilbur soot x you #ranboo x reader #ranboo x you #tubbo x reader #tommyinnit #wilbur soot #tubbo #ranboo

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lifeandlies-of-regulusblack · 5 months

Text

Sickeningly Sweet.

ship: moonwater, regulus black/remus lupin, remus x regulus

tags: sugar baby!regulus, sugar daddy!remus, dry humping (even though regulus is the farthest thing from dry in this scene)

A quiet Friday night finds Regulus sitting on Moony's lap while he's on a call with "important people from work". And he has to keep quiet: humping, grinding, — making small desperate motions to get himself off using his daddy's leg. Remus is so good to him, taking care of such a needy brat. He promised he wouldn't make a sound.

Regulus finds himself a suitable rhythm, and he knows the lace he's wearing is soaking wet and staining the pants beneath him. He's so close, he can't help but let out the tiniest whimper. With how close he is to the phone Remus is holding, immediately, he feels shame flood through him, and he slaps a hand on his mouth, looking up from his daddy's chest. Regulus, hips still moving, wants to say sorry but all that happens is the presence of a soothing hand rubbing his back, warmth radiating even through his shirt. Daddy's not mad. To show thanks, he gently kisses Remus' jaw and focuses on grinding down harder, pressing his face back to where it once was.

When his thighs quiver, his composure breaks and his wraps his arms around his daddy, careful not to jostle the phone in his hand. He thinks Remus is on the way to seal yet another investment, wrapping up yesterday's work.

His daddy feels so good.

Quivering, like the little slut he is, he squeezes around the leg underneath him and rides out an intense orgasm that has his hips spasming, thrusting down in uncoordinated bursts that his body wrings out of him.

"I'd love to take you next week to meet the team. As much as I'm able to tell you what we're working on right now, just as we are, we're a small business." A hand grips at Regulus' waist, drawing him closer as the leg he's grinding on shifts up, ever so slightly, putting firm pressure on his clit. Bright white sparks fill his vision despite his tightly shut eyes, he wants to stay quiet, he was told to stay quiet — but his Daddy's making it so hard. The pants beneath him are soiled. That much he knows.

"I go to the lab every Monday and Wednesday to talk to the R&D department. And I know you've been waiting to hear from Ms. McKinnon, herself. She should be there this Monday. Trust me, you're going to love what you see."

When Remus puts his phone down, Regulus gasps loud and desperately, trying to ride the rest of his orgasm out. Arms wrap tightly around him while Remus proceeds to whisper in his ear, "I could feel your cunt pulsating, squeezing around nothing the entire time."

Regulus moans.

He's drawn back and away from the embrace so Remus can take a good look at him. Flushed. Sweaty. Eyes, half-glazed over.

"You still came so prettily," Remus says, brushing hair away from his face.

"Thank you, Daddy."

A kiss on his temple.

"I have another call to make but it's the last one for tonight. You can go ahead and shower— I promise I'll join you before you finish.

"No, I wanna stay." Daddy looks at him like he answered correctly. He smiles at Remus shyly, knowing he did well. "C- can I have another one?"

Can I ride you until I cum again? Will you hold me while I do it?

Regulus takes delight in the way his eyes dilate, the way Remus is barely able to hold back a possessive growl. Daddy grabs on to his hair and pulls him roughly towards a hungry kiss. He moans just as Daddy swallows every sound, lost to Remus' clear hunger — maybe they can forget about the call, he thinks. His pussy throbs as it aches for a cock inside its walls, he wants Daddy to hammer his way in, to grind a permanent space inside his cunt.

The kiss ends abruptly as Remus gains control of himself leaving Regulus pouting.

"You're too much for me. I can eat you up, just as you are," Remus says. Lust and devotion marking his every word. "You can have another one. If you can make yourself cum, twice, before I end the call, Daddy won't have much of an excuse not to spoil his pretty little star for being such a good boy."

Delighted, Regulus starts moving his hips.

#regulus black #trans regulus #trans regulus black #remus lupin #moonwater #moonseeker #marauders era #regulus headcanon #remus x regulus #regulus smut #regulus fanfiction #remus smut #remus headcanon #hp marauders #marauders fanfiction #mrauders fic #hp fanfiction #my writing

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ioniansunsets · 6 months

Note

may i please have some heartsteel yone/f!reader? i haven't seen much of my beloved producer 🥺

✖ Heartsteel!Yone x Reader ✖

✖ Word Count: 2k

✖ Tags: Long Term Established R/S

✖ A/N: You get together with Yone 10 years ago in Japan. HC Yone as someone who started out DJ-ing at clubs before outgrowing the scene and fading to obscurity online before Heartsteel picked him up.

---- Meeting Him ----

- You met him back in Japan, back when you visited clubs and actually managed to catch his DJ-ing before he quit. It was underground but it was unique. Experimental stuff that just somehow still sounded so damn good to you. You found yourself drawn to him and eventually going up to talk to him during a break between sets. He fell in love with you shortly after, he had a small but loyal fanbase and having someone like you appear at every single one of his performances really weakened the walls around his heart.

- You spent college dropping by any of Yone's appearances throughout your fall quarter and as school went on and as winter break came over, you finally found the time and energy to hang around and visit his other appearances too. Some fun mall gigs, cute online streams in the day, even managing to land a dj-ing gig at a local dance competition. You could tell it was hard, he had a distinctive style that was as much a pro as it was a con and eventually he faded away from performing at all in person.

- It was his 'Final Performance' so the speak. That late night in the club, a drink in hand, bright smiles as you had fun with you friends while watching the elusive masked dj on his little stage. It was his final performance. Now or never to confess your love for both him and his music, your nerves straight ice as the night slowly drew to a close. Unbeknown to you, he too, felt exactly the same as he watched you from the stand. The passing comments and small conversations the two of you shared over the months left him yearning for something more with you.

- And it was sweet when it finally happened. Uncharacteristically gentlemanly coming from a DJ. You stayed as the club begun to close, Yone walking up to talk to you just like any other time a friendly conversation before he offers you a small giftbag, softly telling you its a personal Christmas gift for his most loyal supporter, telling you to open it when you're home. You thank him, pushing yourself to exchange numbers with him so you can give him feedback when you're home safe. You curse as you miss your chance to confess in the heat of the moment.

- As you return home, you pull a thin package beautifully wrapped in the little bag. You unwrap it to find a homemade mixtape, all of your favorite songs from him paired with special unreleased works that he think you would like. How he even managed to know which were your favorites shocked you honestly. As you look into the bag further a sweet handwritten note confessing his budding love for you neatly written in decorative paper falls out. Poetic words with the neatest handwriting, you could swear the paper itself was scented too. Your heart races as you listen to the CD while reading the pages of his feelings. The first thing you ever messaged him was a cute " Yone, I love you too." Which Yone has graciously screenshotted and looked back on often over the years.

---- Heartsteel / Dating ----

- You two are the loving parents of Heartsteel, the comforting consistency, the caring confidants of the group. There was just something nice about seeing Yone and his partner of almost ten years still going strong in such a stable relationship that causes all the boys to look at you with such respect. You have fun with them all, you work hard late nights supporting Yone and his work, you look out for him as he looked out for you. You were as much part of the gang as he was.

- Surprisingly Yasuo loves you just as much (platonically), he's happy to see Yone just genuinely be so at ease around you, to have someone be there for his brother that can actually make the man relax? You have his approval. After moving on and joining True Damage, Yasuo would worry seeing Yone so alone, so having you appear and provide his brother with such companionship made him happy. Though, Yasuo does tease Yone a lot, every time you meet him he always asks you if Yone has proposed. He can't understand how you two have been together so long yet not gotten married.

- Dates with Yone were always so calming. Bringing you out to hot spring inns during stressful times, inviting you to cute hidden cafes to work together, comforting jamming sessions late night at his place if money was tight. Nothing embarrassingly over to top yet not so casual that you felt like the two of you weren't doing anything special. There was just something about the way he just knows what you need. As the years went by you realized it was just how Yone was, he was an attentive guy and especially so when it came to you.

- Also it was no secret that Yone looked at self care as a priority and slowly you picked up on his little habits too. Simple yet small adjustments to your own habits. The way you two would go through the motions of burning incense and making tea early in the mornings for a quick meditation and mindfulness session. The loving way he would cook healthier meals for you, how he would be the one buying bath and beauty products, how he would motivate you to follow him to Kendo lessons to exercise, how he would leave books filled with comments on post-its around the house for you to read when you had time. The softest part was how he never seemed disappointed even if you said no to any of this, he was caring and patient after all, he'll win you over into self help eventually.

- The biggest change with the new popularity of Heartsteel was seeing the sheer number of fans Yone started to get. You almost forgot what it was like being his fangirl honestly, so used to your life with him after his semi-retirement, it was weird suddenly being thrown back to your college days of being in love with that DJ at the club. Sure things were different, you came home to him, you slept by his side every night, you heard all his music before it was released, but still... There was something about the way your heart thrums as you stand in the audience watching Yone lift his mask to throw you a charming smile. There was something about the way you knew when he laughed softly on stage, when he waves to the fans, when the crowd cheers, that the cool DJ standing up there was all yours. Oh it made you smile just as bright.

---- During Touring Season ----

- Being together for so long had its perks and its downfalls, for one, you two had a really nice house together, a place you truly called home. Little bits of Yone all around you all the time in the way the bed smelt like him, the way you see his drinks in the fridge and his things around the room. As much as it all comforts you when he is away, it all also oh so depressingly reminds you how lonely you are without him. At the least, Yone was a man of conviction and strict schedules, without fail every day at midnight where he is, when the concerts over he would always contact you somehow. Be it a call, a message, and photo. He would always make sure to send you at the very least, something, once a day. Lovingly checking in on you to make sure you were ok.

- Sure you had your own life outside of being his loving girlfriend but yet, being by Yone's side was such a commonplace that the emptiness of the house felt foreign after all these years. Yone did his best to make sure you weren't alone though, leaving little notes hidden around the house for you to find and read, leaving you a playlist to fill his study with music so you could feel like someone was still there. Of course he still called you when he could but there were other things too, like how he kept ordering meals for you, secretly asking your neighbors to keep an eye out to make sure you were safe at night, how he actually sent you postcards so you could have a physical reminder that he was thinking of you. It was all so sweet.

- If you could make it to a concert? You had the VIP treatment, he was very secretive, not really having social media, no one really knew he was in a long term relationship with you. But for Heartsteel? Everyone close to Yone knew who you were. No questions asked, a VIP pass thrust into your hands courtesy of Alune who excitedly dragged you backstage to say hi to your partner before and after the performance.

- During the actual show it was crazy, for someone whose style was so underground it was exciting and certainly different to see how wild the crowd was compared to your hazy memories of small secluded rooms in the fringes of Tokyo all those years back. Heartsteel was good for him you had to admit, seeing him on the international stage, seeing him having so much fun with the other boys, seeing the way he was just glowing with joy when people actually hollered and cheered at his beat drops. A warm bubbling feeling rises up in your chest as you see him smile the way he does around you, only this time it was on the big stage. You knew he was happy with his own small fanbase of loyal stans but you two knew better, a tiny fanbase wouldn't pay the bills, being so wildly loved, being able to make music, his passion, for work. Having so many new people hear the same style of mixing that caught your attention years back and actually love it? Heartsteel was a blessing to you both.

- When you run backstage after the performance to congratulate all the boys on the successful performance Yone stands further back. A warm smile on his face as he pulls off his mask to watch you hug and high five everyone else, a mix of feelings as he watches you talk to his bandmate. As the initial greetings pass, you finally walk up to him, everyone leaving to settle their own post performance maintenance. For Yone, that was a little habit of searching for you and reaching out to pull you into a hug. A habit that he once had all those years back, the nostalgia after every performance always hitting him so hard his usually calm and cool demeanor would crack. The lightest tinge of a blush could be seen rising up to his ears as he finally makes eye contact with you. Slowly he walks over, a hand reaching out to beckon you to come over and hold him.

" You were amazing up on stage, I almost forgot how charming you always looked in the DJ booth."

" And I almost forgot how exciting it was to search for you cheering for me in the crowd. Especially when the crowd is that big."

Yone laughs softly. A deep melodic noise that sends shivers down your spine. Oh the way the corners of his lips curl up, his sparkling emerald eyes gaze down at you. His right hand reaching up, the back of his fingers lightly brushing over your cheeks, pushing your hair back behind your ears.

" Just like old times my love?"

" Just like old times Yone."

Carefully, doing his best to make sure his hair doesn't tickle you, the same hand that pushed your hair back now rises to hold his own messy fringe up as he leans down. Gently, just like always. His lips press against yours. Nothing too affectionate, you two were still in public after all, but still you could feel it, the way the softest kiss from your lover fills your chest with such overwhelming love. As you pull back you look up to see a smile so bright that it causes his eyes to close. Ah, you were truly loved.

#THIS WAS EXCITING i cried a little writing it cos a man this perfect doesnt exist #Yone #Yone x Reader #Heartsteel!Yone #HEADCANONS #SCENARIOS #Half half?#anon answer #YONE IS SO....UGH. he would take care of you oh so well.....................my heart..............it flutters............#Yone League of Legends #Yone LoL #Yone Heartsteel #man would bring you to pottery class and then actively use whatever you make #I hope you love this cos I SURE LOVED WRITING IT...........

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allmoshnobrain · 19 days

Note

ok hear me out 7) possessive sex with 80s james where he's kinda inexperienced with his own feelings so he gets really jealous bc some other guy has been flirting with you and just gives you the most possessive sex ever with lots of love bites and hickeys instead of communicating and you end up having to ask what's gotten into him and reassuring him in the end

tysm for the request, lovely! hope you like it <3

from this prompt list │requests are open! send yours here

𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

james hetfield x reader │ word count: 2,6k

But James was also freaked out — what if you found someone cooler than him? Someone who wasn't as awkwardly shy as he was — I mean, he had waited a whole year before he mustered up the guts to ask you out. Dwelling on this wasn't doing him any favors; he needed some way to convince himself you weren't gonna ditch him, not for some dumb sound tech, not for anybody.

✦ on this fic: NSFW!!!, james hefield x female!reader, +18, language, romance, mxf sex, unprotected sex, creampie, oral sex, a bit of cockwarming at the end if you squint

Hanging out with Metallica had its perks, one of them being that you got to kick it backstage before and after their gigs. Those nights with the guys were always a blast, packed with music, drinks, and laughter. It was rad seeing how much they loved playing and watching their success grow in the Bay Area metal scene.

Another cool thing was getting to hang around your boyfriend, James. You hadn't been together for too long; after almost a year of crushing on each other, you had finally made it official just a month before. Of course, Lars, Kirk, and Cliff were already in the loop — they greeted the news with smiles and a playful "well, finally!" from Lars. But you weren't exactly shouting it from the rooftops, even though it wasn't hard to notice how James was always by your side, cracking silly jokes and flashing those easy smiles that showed just how much he adored you.

You grinned as the guys finished up yet another gig. The crowd that night had been wild, probably one of the craziest yet, leaving everyone pumped to celebrate. The band made their way backstage, chatting and laughing up a storm, and you trailed along, feeling James hook his pinkie with yours, a sweet gesture you were still getting used to.

"You good?" he asked, and you nodded. "Just gonna hop in the shower real quick, then we'll kick off the party, alright? Back in a jiffy."

You watched as James, Lars, Kirk, and Cliff headed towards the showers, a little smile dancing on your lips before you decided to snag a beer while you waited for them to return.

"Hey, can you grab one for me too?" you heard, glancing up to see one of the sound crew guys grinning at you as you fetched your beer from the fridge. You couldn't quite recall his name, but you remembered seeing him around backstage, always chatting mostly with Kirk and Cliff.

"Oh, sure thing. Here you go," you handed him the beer you were holding, reaching back into the fridge for another one for yourself.

"So, you liked the gig?" he asked with a grin.

"Absolutely, it was killer!" you replied, a smile spreading across your face. Metallica's shows always got you pumped; you just loved seeing your boyfriend and the boys tearing it up on stage. "How about you?"

"Yeah, yeah, it was cool. But I'm always more into the after-parties," he said, edging a bit closer with a smile, and you blinked, a bit confused. "Y'know, the drinks, the fun, the pretty girls..."

Oh. Was he hitting on you? Well, that was unexpected. You blushed, caught off guard, trying to figure out how to politely tell him that not only were you already taken — you were taken by James, and you knew he wouldn't be too thrilled to see someone from his crew making moves on his girl.

"Oh. I, uh, I'm sorry, but I'm..." you began, but your attention was quickly drawn elsewhere when you locked eyes with James, his blue gaze fixed on you from across the room. You smiled at him, unaware of the slight frown creasing his brow, a hint of annoyance in his expression. "Excuse me," you said, darting off to James.

"Hey, babe," he grumbled, pulling you close and wrapping an arm around your waist. "Having a good time?"

"Not really. It's kinda dull without you," you replied, giggling as he leaned in and planted a kiss on your lips.

James was usually pretty low-key about showing his affection, but seeing some other guy blatantly trying to hit on you had stirred up more insecurity than he cared to admit. He didn't really know how to handle it — everything was still so fresh, how you could make his heart skip a beat with just a grin, how he would always find himself wanting to be around you, but also how he'd feel that knot in his stomach whenever he caught someone else checking you out with that look in their eyes.

You were his. He'd wanted you to be his for so damn long, and now that he finally had you, he was determined not to let anything mess it up. But James was also freaked out — what if you found someone cooler than him? Someone who wasn't as awkwardly shy as he was — I mean, he had waited a whole year before he mustered up the guts to ask you out. Dwelling on this wasn't doing him any favors; he needed some way to convince himself you weren't gonna ditch him, not for some dumb sound tech, not for anybody.

"Come with me," he whispered against your lips, and you giggled as he took your hand, pulling you along through the backstage corridors.

“Where are we headed?” you asked, intrigued, but he didn’t answer. “James!” you laughed as he swung open a door to one of the dressing rooms, pulling you close against him, his lips eager for yours.

"Need you so bad," he groaned, his fingers eagerly tracing over your body. He lifted your shirt, and you gasped as he kissed you again, more fiercely this time, his tongue delving into your mouth, his teeth lightly nibbling at your lower lip. You moaned into the kiss, tangling your fingers in his long blonde hair.

"Jamie..." you breathed out, feeling your cheeks heat up as he unhooked your bra, cupping one of your breasts in his hand and giving your nipple a gentle pinch. He kissed you once more, this time trailing his lips along the tender skin of your neck, and you let out a gasp as he sucked on it, marking you with love bites all over your sensitive skin. You leaned back for a moment to tug his shirt off, giggling when he swooped in to kiss you again.

"Tell me you're mine," he grunted against your lips, lightly nipping at your lower lip before planting kisses on your cheek, your neck, your collarbones. You sighed contentedly, closing your eyes as he took one of your nipples into his mouth, gently sucking and nibbling while his hand caressed your other breast.

“I’m… I’m yours, James, oh…” you panted as he bit down on your nipple, kissing and sucking on your soft skin until he left yet another red mark. He'd never been this intense before, a wild possessiveness that made you shiver with excitement, but it also made you a little uneasy. Up until now, James had always been gentle with you, like he was afraid of hurting you if he wasn't careful enough. This wasn't his usual vibe; you knew something had to be up. "James," you moaned, trying to ease back a bit, but he just grunted, pulling you closer as he hungrily sought out your lips. "Jamie, hold on," you panted, and this time he paused, looking at you with somewhat unfocused eyes, his lips slightly swollen and his cheeks flushed. "Babe, what's going on?"

"What?" he frowned, a slight anxious smile quirking up his lips. You ran your fingers gently over his face, and he caught your wrist, pressing a soft kiss to your palm. "Do you want me to back off? Don’t you want me?" The way he posed that last question made your heart clench with concern.

"Why wouldn't I?" you whispered. "It's just... Don't get me wrong, I love it, but... You're usually... gentler with me," you blushed, averting your gaze.

“Oh, shit. Did I hurt you?” he asked, concern lacing his voice, and you shook your head no. He let out a relieved sigh.

"I just wanna know what's up," you pressed, and he sighed again, glancing away, a light blush dusting his cheeks. "Did I mess up?"

"Of course not. You're amazing," he assured you, cupping your face in his hands. You smiled, laying your hands on top of his. "It's just... I..." he bit his lip, and you gave his hands a gentle squeeze, urging him on. "I think I'm jealous."

“Jealous?” you echoed, surprised. He grunted.

"I know it sounds dumb. But when I saw Rick hitting on you after the show, I... I couldn't help but wonder if you'd prefer me more if I was just a bit more confident. Like he is," he whispered, avoiding your gaze. You blinked, caught off guard.

"Babe," you whispered, and he met your eyes again, his blue gaze clouded with worry. "You know I'm with you because I like you, right? I don't want anybody else."

He nodded, a wave of relief washing over his face as a small smile crept onto his lips. You returned the smile, wrapping your arms around his neck as you leaned in to kiss him gently.

"I want you," you whispered, pressing yourself against him, and he let out a low groan, drawing you nearer. You blushed, releasing a soft sigh as he trailed kisses along your neck once more, this time with a gentleness that sent delightful shivers down your spine, his lips lingering over your love bites. "I'm all yours, James... Want me to show you?"

“Yes, please,” he mumbled against your neck, and you giggled as he guided you to the couch, settling down while you stood between his legs. You slipped off your skirt, kneeling down between his knees. He unzipped his jeans, lifting his hips a bit to slide off his pants and underwear. You blushed when you caught sight of his hard cock, the tip slick with precum as he wrapped his hand around the base, stroking it slowly.

You watched him touch himself for a bit, your lips parting slightly as you felt your anticipation building, warmth spreading between your legs. You looked up when he took hold of your chin, meeting his blue eyes as he pressed the tip against your lips. You obediently opened your mouth, sucking on him gently as he nudged his hips forward, easing his length inside your mouth. You moaned, tears welling in your eyes as you took a deep breath, doing your best to accommodate him.

He tangled his fingers in your hair, and you gripped his thighs, your nails leaving little marks on his skin. You shut your eyes as he guided your head up and down, taking it slow. You knew James was trying to be gentle, but he was so big it was tough not to choke on his length. He groaned, his other hand finding its way into your hair, gripping it as he rocked his hips. You moaned, breathing through your nose as he thrust into your mouth, and gasped as he pulled back.

“Fuck,” he gasped, and you let out a soft giggle as he lifted your chin, locking eyes with you. You licked your lips slowly, trying to catch your breath as a single tear rolled down your cheek. "C’mere," he moaned, and you stood up, straddling him, wrapping your arms around his neck. You let out a little moan as you felt his tip pressing against the damp fabric of your panties. James gripped your hips, guiding you in slow, circular motions, grinding his cock against your wetness. "You're so wet," he moaned.

"It's all your fault," you whispered, planting slow kisses along his neck. He gripped your ass with one hand, lifting it to slide your panties off. He took hold of his cock, pressing the tip against your clit and rubbing it gently, eliciting a moan from you against his skin.

"Tell me you want me," he whispered, and you moaned as he pressed his cock against your entrance, teasing it in small circles without pushing into you. He groaned your name, and you kissed him, your lips moving languidly against his.

“I want you. Only you, Jamie,” you whispered against his lips, and moaned as he eased into you slowly, guiding your hips down as he filled you up. You felt your pussy tighten around him, panting as you adjusted to his size. “James…”

"You're so gorgeous," he whispered, holding your chin as he kissed you again, his tongue exploring your mouth leisurely. You moaned before you started to move, slow at first as you felt him stretch you open, his cock filling you completely. He was so damn big you didn't know how you could handle it all, but it felt so, so good. James seemed to be feeling it too; he tilted his head back with a low groan, offering you access to his neck. You kissed him, taking your time as you left your own little marks on his fair skin; if he was gonna mark you as his, you damn well were gonna mark him as yours.

You moved a little faster, moaning as he matched your rhythm, thrusting up into you. Finding a steady pace, your breasts bounced a bit as you rode him, your arms locked around his neck as you pressed your forehead against his, locking eyes as you both moaned, moving as one. You kissed him again, passionately, as you sped up, gently nipping at his lower lip.

"James..." you whispered, and let out a sharp moan when he pressed his thumb against your clit, circling it fast and making your pussy tighten around him. "James, I'm so close..."

"I know. I can feel it," he whispered, a smug grin playing on his lips that made you groan, burying your face in his neck as you blushed. He gripped your hip with one hand while the other teased your clit, and you cried out softly as you rocked your hips faster. "That's it..." he moaned, and you knew he was close too by how tightly he held you, his hips moving against yours harder. "That's it, babe, fuck..."

You whimpered, tangling your fingers in his hair while your other hand gripped his arm, his lips moving against yours as he moaned into your mouth. Bringing one hand down to your clit, you felt the slick wetness with your fingertips, gently massaging your sensitive bud in slow circles as you rode James' cock, bouncing up and down while the tension in your body built more and more.

You could feel your peak coming in slow waves, your pussy tightening around James as he moaned and whispered incoherent praises in your ear. Burying your face in his neck, you let out a little cry of pleasure as the tension in your body unraveled, causing you to shake and contract as James picked up the pace, thrusting eagerly as he chased his own release. You moaned shakily as you felt him release his warm load inside you with a grunt, kissing him softly as you gradually stopped moving.

“I’m all yours,” you whispered, running your fingers over his face gently, and he smiled at you, his gaze unfocused as he drew you in for another kiss. "Only yours," you murmured against his lips, and he smiled back.

"I love you so damn much," he said, his voice husky. You grinned, kissing him again and again, soft little kisses that made him sigh contentedly.

"I love you too," you replied, and let out a soft moan as you felt him grow harder, still deep inside you. "Are you seriously getting turned on by me saying I love you?" you giggled.

"Damn right, I am," James chuckled, gripping your hips and moving his own hips slowly. You laughed too, feeling your cheeks flush. "Say it again."

"I love you," you said, feeling a blush spread as you felt his cock grow even harder inside you. "Just you," you whispered, and James grunted as he thrust slowly. "Fuck, James..."

"You ready for round two?" he asked with a smug grin, and you nodded with a giggle before wrapping your arms around his neck, your lips finding his again as he began moving inside you, filling you with that same sense of love and warmth all over again.

#metallica #metallica imagines #metallica headcanon #james hetfield #james hetfield headcanon #james hetfield x reader #james hetfield x you #james hetfield smut #metallica x reader #metallica x you #james hetfield fanfiction #metallica fanfiction #ada writes fanfiction

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beesmygod · 7 months

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when the cursed princess club does it it's good because it suits the story perfectly, at any point any of the people working on it could google what a possum looks like and improve their portrayal of them, but the way they are drawn right now is already perfect, why "fix" that? I love when the characters do actions and you see the little sound effect of the character doing it, it works so well in there. Also you can see the art has been evolving through time For me I think when that kind of things don't work at all in that type of webcomics is in the a) licensed ones, b) the ones that you know could try to do better and do nothing

one of my favorite panels in CPC is an establishing shot of a hospital that the club is doing volunteer work at (god, long story). you know its a hospital because there's a big red cross outside on the building BREAKING THE GENEVA CONVENTION!!!! god i think i need to actually go find it. the first time i read it i just flew past it because i was invested in the story.

someone actually pointed this panel out and thats when i really looked at it

no windows. no doors. set on a patch of vertical gradient. first of all, this is hysterical. i love this. second, this is the perfect amount of effort required to convey information to a willing audience. i didnt even fucking notice this was taking place in jigsaw's torture hospital while reading it. the art has, at all points, been the bare minimum required to tell a good story. this scene did not require lavish realism or detail because it's a cartoon universe where silly things happen in service of a good joke. i have never been confused about where an event is taking place because the information i need is successfully conveyed to me through the most recognizable icons and things. red cross and building. got it.

i think the sincerity of the work also shines through. this is hard to describe, but there is a large contingent of comics in genres that they believe will make them money either because webtoons the company trends toward financially rewarding it or the perception that those audiences are more willing to spend money to create never-ending streams of emotionally empty sludge. their lack of investment in anything other than clout/$ results in a vapid, hollow shell of a comic with an attractive exterior. but a quick glance through the work exposes the author's lack of investment in their own creation.

the willingness of cpc to draw things fucked up and weird sometimes is charming. its actually taking some risks in going against the aesthetic grain of the sea of webtoons comprised of mostly the same few pre-generated assets. its not like cpc DOESNT use assets, but the light touch and geocities ass fire in the fire place just endears me to it more.

its just Right.

#cursed princess club

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rin-fukuroi · 2 months

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𝐏𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐈 𝐛𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐞? [𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐞]

Hey! This is just the beginning of a voluminous work, the full version of which can be read on my Boosty. This job was very hard for me, and I have never seen any other work that would touch on such a terrifying topic in its plausibility. I'll be glad if you want to read it in its entirety~

Fandom: Honkai: Star Rail

Pairings: yandere!Blade x fem!reader

Warnings: NSFW, NSFL, dark content, Red Room*, captivity, illegal broadcasts and filming with scenes of cruelty and violent acts of a sexual nature, physical violence, gang rape, dry sex, rough anal and oral sex, cumshot, detailed descriptions of blood and bodily injury, mention of necrophilia and murders (both strangers and the reader), Stockholm syndrome, the reader has pronounced mental abnormalities from the beginning to the end of the work.

*Red Room — hidden sites on the darknet that host interactive live broadcasts with torture, violence and murder of people, where anyone can donate any amount in cryptocurrency and order any torture or method of murder via chat, thus telling the executioner exactly what he needs to do with the victim.

The Red Rooms, of course, are closed, and the average user will never be able to access these broadcasts.

Until now, the existence of such broadcasts is questioned, but there were also real cases that indirectly had something in common with the description of the Red Room. However, scammers mostly use such a legend, deceiving people for considerable sums, promising to give them access to a cruel event.

art by Dakotchi

Darkness, through the thickness of which a dim light occasionally breaks through, so weak that every time it loses to the darkness, dying somewhere in the distance of a spacious but empty room. The rotten smell of dampness and metal, causing nausea. Plaintive screams, begging to stop… You're not entirely sure if you're actually hearing them, or if they've already settled in your head, depriving you of sleep day after day.

Day by day… More than one day has passed behind the high metal doors, and you don't even know when the sun rises and sets again.

The darkness and the cold from the rusty metal bars scratching your cheek. Rot and screams. Then only silence and nausea. Even the outlines of your own body are gradually blurred, swallowed up in pitch darkness, in which you can't even see your own hands. It's so cold, so lonely and so scary. Even the dreams that you see when you disconnect from impotence and hunger repeat what your eyes see, your ears hear and your skin feels in a disgusting reality. Or are they not dreams at all? Have you slept at all since you got here?

The steps. Every time you hear that heavy clatter of boots on metal, it is drowned out by the frantic pulsations of the heart in your ears. When will these steps catch up with you? What will their owner do to you? Even the most heart-rending screams that reach you from somewhere far away outside the cage in which you are locked, at some point subside. They dissolve into a deafening silence that greedily swallows them, forever erasing them from the face of the Earth.

It will consume you, too, won't it?

No, no, there must be some way out of here. People are never abducted for no reason, right? If the person who locked you in here needs something, all you have to do is give it to him and everything will return to its place. Your little apartment, friends, family… Daylight. You'll see it all. It's going to be very soon.

Humans are such strange creatures. We are afraid of the unknown, but we are inevitably drawn to it. Your body shudders instinctively, and a chilling shiver runs through your skin every time you hear someone approaching this room, but you still hesitate.

«Come in here, please...»

«Let me go...»

«No, don't come in...»

«I'm hungry, I want to talk to someone, please...»

«ENOUGH!»

Your own voice in your head sounds so loud, contradicting yourself. Over and over, he whispers, screams and grates. When will he shut up, when will he leave you alone? You want silence, the very silence that carries away the voices of strangers begging for mercy. Why can't that drown out your voice? He is unbearable, so annoying that you want to crack your skull, pull it out by the roots and throw it into the dense thicknesses of darkness that slowly absorbs your feet and fingers.

«Enough… Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up, please...»

— Help... someone…

Chapped lips stretch, trembling flesh tingles with burning pain from salty tears rolling down your cheeks. What have you become? Why can't you just calm down? The sharp claws of fear dig into the frantically pounding muscle in your chest, drawing blood from the throbbing flesh. Red-hot metal spreads under the skin, and a hand reaches for the wounded organ, clutching the fabric of a tear-soaked shirt in desperation. So you still have clothes on…

The disgusting vibrations of the grinding of metal on metal make your spine shiver, and bright light obscures your eyes, forcing you to squint, reflexively hiding even deeper into the corner of the cage. The sound of boots now sounds so close, driving chaotic thoughts out of your head with each new step. Has someone come to save you? Really come? Won't you be alone anymore?

You sniffle, crumpling your shirt tighter with your fingers before hesitantly opening your eyes. The unfamiliar silhouette triples and blurs in a blinding glow, and you blink several times, trying to focus your vision on the figure standing in front of you. The first thing you see are dusty black big boots and long legs in gray trousers splattered with something dark. A man, right?.. His gaze slides higher over the slightly rumpled fabric of a black shirt with sleeves rolled up on muscular scarred forearms and long fingers adjusting leather gloves on his wrist. Long dull maroon strands wave slightly at the level of the man's hips before he crouches in front of your cage. Your heart constricts in fear, and you look away, afraid to look into his eyes, but then slowly turn your head back, noticing a black mask hiding his face on the stranger's face. Even the eyes are hidden behind a thick shadow, and only the disheveled ends of the hair scatter over the matte surface when the man tilts his head to the side. You can't see his face, but you can feel his gaze with every nerve in your body. Heavy, piercing, as if seeing through you.

The mere presence of this person in the room makes your blood run cold, and the words do not add up to sentences in any way, leaving your mouth open and your lips trembling in pathetic attempts to close back. Can he... help you in any way?

— Get up, — the man's voice is even darker than the oppressive aura surrounding him as he pulls the keys out of his pants pocket with a loud ring of a bunch that makes you flinch with fright when opening the cage door.

— You... — you mumble incoherently to yourself, hugging your knees to your chest. — What do you want from me?..

How difficult it was for you to ask this short question. If this stranger has the keys to the cage, then he locked you in it. If he heard the same screams that you heard, then at least he didn't do anything about it, or worse, he was the cause of these people's suffering. If his trousers are covered in blood…

The man ignores your question by reaching into the cage and casually grabbing your shoulder. The grip is so strong that you feel the blood rush with a painful burning sensation to the place where his fingers roughly squeeze your flesh, and your body reflexively shrinks even more, tearing a dissatisfied clucking from the stranger's tongue.

— NO! PLEASE! — it's been so long since you've speak, that your voice already sounds hoarse and pathetic, as loud as the constricted lungs allow it, desperately spitting out air while the man indifferently pulls you forward. Your head hits the rusty threshold of the cage, and your screams are replaced by stifled sobs.

— Stop it, — the man spits out irritably, picking you up by the hand from the floor like a doll.

For a moment, the stranger is silent, staring intently at how a thin trail of blood slowly flows from the scratch on your forehead as you tremble in his grip, unintelligibly repeating «please» over and over again, making weak attempts to get back into the cage.

— Please… I'll give you everything you ask for.… Let me go…

How many times had he heard something like this before? Even in this state, you feel how deeply he doesn't care about your meaningless babble, but what else can you do? You are so weak that you can barely stand on your feet, keeping your balance only by a painful grip on your shoulder until it forces you to drag yourself towards the open door.

— Wait! Where are you taking me?!

The corridors outside are so narrow and stink with an even more nauseating metallic smell, which only gets worse as the stranger takes you further away from the cage, which now seems to be the safest place in this endless maze-like building. You stumble, almost falling, still hoping to escape from the grip of a man who absolutely doesn't pay the slightest attention to your pathetic attempts. No matter how hard you try to cling to the walls, you don't have enough strength to make yourself at least try to stop. The tenacious grip of a large gloved hand is so strong that it seems as if a stranger's fingers are pushing through your skin and flesh to the bone, pulling out more and more screams and sobs from your strangled throat.

Through the tears blurring your eyes, you catch the outlines of large open doors somewhere far ahead of a long corridor, and panic even more strongly engulfs the poor heart, ready to break ribs, tear flesh and fly out onto the dirty sticky floor under your feet.

— Please don't be silent… Just tell me what you need, and I'll...! — a salty-sour taste accompanies a sharp pain when you bite your tongue from a sharp blow on the cheek, forcing you to shut up instantly. The skin burns and throbs in the area of the red thumbprint that has appeared, and the lungs contract painfully, unable to take in air.

— Shut your mouth, I don't need anything from you.

«Don't need anything...?»

Are you a hostage? Is this man blackmailing someone close to you? No. He lets you see the place where he's holding you, doesn't even handcuff you, and doesn't bother to bring you at least water.

It's been so obvious all this time, but for some reason a terrifying realization is covering you with an icy shiver just now.

You'll only get out of here in a black bag.

#headcanons #hsr #hsr x reader #honkai:star rail #honkai:star rail x reader #hsr drabbles #blade x reader #blade x you #blade #blade smut #hsr smut #dark content

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ghouljams · 9 months

Note

does ghost ever tap love anymore this far into the relationship

Oh yeah he does! Mostly when she asks him to, but sometimes he gets an itch and taps her.

You blink at the city around you. Did you take a wrong turn somewhere? You look back at the road behind you. You thought this was a straight road, there shouldn't be a wrong turn to take. Yet you couldn't recognize a single thing around you. The world is hazy, you can't focus on anything around you long enough to get a read on where you are. Familiar surroundings completely unrecognizable. You've lived in this city for years, yet you have no earthly idea where you are.

You take a stumbling step forward, eyes darting around at the buildings on either side of you. Your head is spinning. Other people pass by, but they hardly seem to notice you. Either too preoccupied with their own lives, or too uncaring about yours. The trees that dot the brick street in their little square gardens tip their branches precariously towards you as you walk by. You flinch away from one of them and knock into someone. Their hands grip your shoulders hard.

You elbow them hard in the gut on instinct and feel them double over as quickly as they release you. You take a step away from them, breath coming quick. How did you get here? You don't remember how you got here. Wherever here is. What you do remember is you're not supposed to hurt people.

You do your best to quickly and calmly flee the scene. It's no problem if you don't know where you are or where you're going, it just makes it harder to follow you. After all you're not really going anywhere. The streets twist and turn in on themselves, the buildings expanding and contracting with your breath. If you don't look at anything too hard nothing spins, but the haze is still clouding your ability to actually pick out details.

You stop to try and read a street sign, squinting at the shifting letters. P- no B? Maybe an O? You make a frustrated noise, try to concentrate harder on reading it. You know you should be able to, so why is it so- You huff and give up, not willing to waste energy on something that probably won't help you anyway. You press your hand against the brick, try to ground yourself in a tactile feeling. The rough brick scratches your hand in a dull, distant, way. It's not helpful in the least.

Something is... missing. Missing from you. Missing in a way that feels- you can't describe it. Like millions of time holes, like air passing over your skin too close, not a missing limb but a missing soul. A puppet with its strings cut.

You turn the corner and bump into a solid mass. This time the hands that grab you are bigger, gentler with you, they tip your head back to meet black ringed eyes, somehow fearsome and affectionate. What a contradiction this one, you think. Or, hm, is that you thinking? He nods your head, yes it is, just a different you.

"You are slippery, Love," He almost sounds impressed, leaning down to kiss you and oh. That's something you know. Soft and a little wet, the slow drag of his lips against yours pulling you a little further out to see, a little more of a little less. He parts from you with a sigh, smoke trailing from his lips, drawn from you, you think. He hums, "That's my girl," and turns you around, "go on, Love, start running. Wouldn't want me to catch you."

And you think you do. You think catching you is the point of this game, but you can't remember. So you take his advice, and run.

#i havent posted anything for Ghost and Love since July #like ewrly July #that is a CRIME #ive been neglecting my faves boohoo #cod x reader #simon ghost riley #x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #1fae1 #simon ghost x reader #ghost mw2 #fae!Ghost #oc: love #the kinksters are at it again using magic for their play #i think Ghost gets the urge to hunt Love down sometimes and she fucking loves it #but she is given no warning for it lmao #tw altered mental state #pred/prey dynamics

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ghoulangerlee · 1 month

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are you watching me with eyes of a predator ; swiss/ifrit

commissioned by @wrathofrats, this one got to be so out of control from what I originally planned but I do have to say I'm very happy with how it turned out haha.

7k of sloppy sex featuring newly summoned Swiss and Ifrit who's in charge of his surface acclimation.

content: wing/feather kink, Just The Tip, cunnilingus, Wet&Messy, multiple orgasms, vague play at Innocence kink, Ifrit-bimbofication, Swiss has a cunt in this one though he's not explicitly mentioned to be trans (cunt and clit and folds are used for his anatomy).

read it here on ao3!

fic under the read more:

The summoning chambers are always cold, mostly dark—the ceilings high and grand in a way that makes it feel less like a basement and more like a chapel.

At least, that’s what Ifrit thinks as he stands off to the side, watching Cardinal Copia putter around the chamber, the circle is pristine and stark in the center of the room and each candle corresponding with the elemental symbol sits in its place—it's all too perfect really, so much different from the other summonings he’s been a part of.

He’s only here to be part of the welcoming crew, as his place in the band had been dissolved, much to his own relief. There was an ache in him after Terzo’s death, something about going back on stage with a new face didn’t sit right with him, made him feel jumpy and nervous—he's not sure why, but he knew that once Cardinal Copia became part of it all, he’d need to step back.

So, he did.

But he’s been helping with a few behind the scenes things for now, practicing with Dew, who’s taken his spot in the band, working with Rain, the new water ghoul that Cardinal Copia had summoned—and while it wasn’t the exciting life that Terzo had promised him when he was first summoned, it was definitely different.

The Cardinal is speaking, reciting Latin from a book he’s holding, chanting through stanzas of words as the circle on the floor starts to come to life—around them, the others are waiting with bated breath to see if the offering, if the request is enough to entice another ghoul forward.

It can be tricky sometimes to find the ghouls who want to come to the surface, and while it's supposed to be voluntary, he knows that sometimes it’s not, and in the past, it had been such a big thing within the church.

He likes to think that Cardinal Copia is on the right side of history these days, but it’s always hard to tell—he'd been summoned and promised so many things, only for his summoner to be murdered and his station in church be questioned by the very people who’d carried out the murder.

There’s a hush in the room and Ifrit’s drawn back to the present in enough time to see a ghoul claw its way out of the portal—stark black skin and shining mismatched eyes, the ghoul has feathers but smells strongly of fire, of burning wood and ozone.

Ifrit is almost immediately enamored.

His name is Swiss, at least, that’s what he settles on after the others gather round and toss out name suggestions—they all have names, but some of them are harder for humans to vocalize, most of them unable to properly speak Infernal in a way that’s understandable.

It’s just easier to choose a new name, rather than be referred to as ghoul all the time (though this doesn’t discount the ghouls who do want to be called ghoul; it’s their prerogative, but Ifrit doesn’t like the way the word sits on a human tongue, sounding more like an insult than a name.).

When Swiss grins at being called Swiss, Ifrit has to look away from that sharp yet bright smile, the sparkle in his eyes—one is a soft lavender color and the other a warm brown, because suddenly he wants to be the reason that Swiss is smiling.

Cardinal Copia calls him forth and Ifrit goes, while the others are still fawning over Swiss, he ignores it in favor of focusing on the human, standing with his hands clasped behind his back in front of him.

“I know you’re probably tired of this,” Cardinal Copia says with a wry sort of laugh, “But do you have the bandwidth to acclimate one more ghoul?”

Ifrit grins, looks back at where Swiss is standing in a half-formed circle with the others, then back at the Cardinal, he shrugs, tries not to show his excitement at the prospect of it all, “I could move a few things around.”

The worry lines on the Cardinals face seem to melt away and he smiles, reaches out and gently pats his gloved hand against Ifrit’s sleeve covered arm, “Thank you, I’ll make sure to requisition pay for this,” he says as a promise—and yeah, the money is good, but the idea of having a newly summoned hybrid ghoul almost outweighs it.

Well. He’s getting a bit ahead of himself.

“No worries, Cardinal. I know the song catalogue too; do you know what you’re going to have him do yet? We can work on that once we finish with the acclimation.”

Cardinal Copia looks thoughtful, “I’ll need to think it over first, but I’ll let you know. If you could get him familiar with it all though, that’d be wonderful.”

“No problem,” Ifrit says with a casual indifference that he’s somewhat proud of, “If there’s anything else just let me know. I’m going to go ahead and,” he breaks off, waving his hand in the direction of the other ghouls—they've got Swiss wrapped up in a cloak now, hood pulled over his head, but despite that, Ifrit can still see the glow of his eyes. “We’re going to head up to the den now if that’s alright with you.”

(Expecting a newly summoned ghoul to glamour so soon can backfire sometimes, can be messy and horrifying if they’re not used to the surface, if their magic isn’t attuned to everything, if they’re without a proper pack—not that Swiss had been summoned packless, he’d been, by default, initiated the moment he accepted the offerings, but still, it was better safe than sorry.)

The Cardinal pats Ifrit’s arm one more time before stepping back, “Yes, of course, thank you again. I’ll be in touch about the rest of it all. And you should expect payment within the next week. I trust that you’ll take care of him.”

Ifrit smiles sickly sweet, “Of course, Cardinal, only the best care for the band ghouls.”

Swiss is different, Ifrit learns as the two of them spend a lot of time together—almost immediately after the pack whisk him away out of the basement and up to the den, the tense line of his shoulders goes loose and the drops the hood down from over his head.

He grins at Ifrit, cocking his head to the side—his tightly coiled curls bouncing with the movement of his head, “Didn’t realize there could be two fire ghouls in the band.”

There’s something melodic and mesmerizing about his voice and Ifrit blinks a few times to clear the sudden fog in his mind, “There’s not,” he answers, “I’m not in the band, I just help with the administrative stuff.”

Swiss cocks an eyebrow at him, “So I’m administrative stuff then?” he asks, shifting the cloak around his shoulders enough that the front of it opens just enough for Ifrit to get an eyeful of dark, bare skin; the flash of lavender further down.

He clears his throat, “Acclimation falls under administrative,” he says, knowing how stupid he sounds as he says it, but unable to stop his mouth from continuing the thought, “I’m pretty good at it. Acclimating new ghouls to the surface.”

“Oh?” Swiss asks, his eyes shining in amusement, tugging the front of the cloak together again, “Well, then I’m glad that I’m in your capable hands,” he purrs, stepping further into Ifrit’s space, “I’m sure you’ll teach me all about life on the surface.”

He does, or he tries to, but Swiss is so distracting—on purpose it feels like.

It takes Swiss several days to fully form his glamour, so he spends a good portion of the time before mostly nude; not uncommon because Rain had been completely nude for the first few weeks of him time here, but Ifrit hadn’t wanted to drag Rain to his bed in the same way that he wants Swiss there.

And Swiss seems to know it too, if the way he preens whenever he catches Ifrit watching him, the way he seems to purposely run his fingers through the no doubt soft feathers that Ifrit can see peeking just above the waistband of the slacks he’s wearing.

Unfortunately, Ifrit knows just how far those feathers go down as pants were a new thing for Swiss within the last day, now choosing to mostly walk around shirtless within the den—he’s less feathered below the belt, he’d explained, and every shirt he’d tried on thus far just felt constricting to his feathers.

Again, everything was fine.

He was sure that this was a very normal thing that air ghouls went through, he was summoned after Zephyr, so he hadn’t had a chance to see if this was just how they were on the surface or not, too focused on his own acclimation.

He was sure that his own mind made things worse because of how attractive he found Swiss, because the others seemed less enamored by him, though no doubt just as friendly, like pack were.

Like Ifrit should have been.

Instead, he was here trying his best not to scare off Swiss—sex was a natural thing, as natural to them as breathing most of the time, their nature as ghouls meant they had less reservations about things than humans did so it should have been no problem, just bring it up to Swiss and then it’d be done.

They could fuck about it and move on with the acclimation.

But maybe, just maybe Ifrit had been around humans for too long and now he’s here, reconsidering everything; thinking about going to the Cardinal and letting him know that he’ll need to get someone else to help with the acclimation because he couldn’t do it with a clear head.

Not when his baser instincts were nearly screaming at him to take Swiss to bed, to make him his.

Maybe, if he could just ignore the voice inside his head, telling him that every little thing Swiss was doing was Swiss opening up to him, accepting him as some sort of sexual partner even though he hadn’t asked—well, if he could ignore it, then he wouldn’t feel so awful about the focus he was putting on trying to make sure Swiss understood what life on the surface was like instead of putting his focus on pack bonding.

(If he focused too hard on Swiss and pack then his mind tended to get possessive. The urge to take Swiss and hide him away, the need to be the one to make Swiss smile, laugh, happy.)

Swiss however, was no idiot.

“You smell like you want to fuck,” Swiss says bluntly, head tilted as he corners Ifrit—he's taller, by only a few inches, taller, but not as broad as Ifrit, except when he’s got Ifrit backed up against the wall of the den, Ifrit feels small.

Ifrit makes a noise, presses his hands flat against the wall, “Oh, it’s...almost time for. You know how ghoul biology works,” he says, though it's a flimsy excuse, about six months too early to really mean anything—the pulse of heat under his skin has nothing to do with anything other than the way Swiss is looking down at him.

“Mmhm,” Swiss says, somewhat like he barely believes him and well, fair, even Ifrit barely believes the things he’s said. “I’m beginning to think you don’t like me all that much, firebird,” he plants a hand beside Ifrit’s head and leans down into his space, “But your scent tells me that you do like me and it’s very confusing.”

That’s all fine and dandy because Ifrit is also confused.

“I’m supposed to help you acclimate,” Ifrit says carefully, not wanting to reveal too much about himself or the entire situation, “Cardinal Copia asked me to do it because the others are preparing for the tour coming up, easier to delegate to the guy who’s not going on tour.”

Swiss tilts his head, his mismatched eyes look bigger up close, shiny and wide as he stares into Ifrit’s eyes before leaning back, “I’ve been on the surface before,” he says slowly, “I...am almost certain I mentioned that before. I know how this whole thing works, just not the glamour bit cause I didn’t need one of those where I was last summoned.”

Swiss may have mentioned it once, maybe twice, if Ifrit thinks about it too hard and pushes past the weird feelings he has around that, not that Swiss being summoned previously is a problem—it's actually the opposite of it, it’s something so grand that Ifrit almost wants to propose they fuck about this whole misunderstanding.

(Is it really a misunderstanding if only Ifrit misunderstood?)

“You’ve been really weird this whole time, you smell like you want me but then you shy away from touching me,” Swiss stares hard at Ifrit’s face, almost enough to make Ifrit squirm, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you have some sort of weird thing about wanting to fuck me but not wanting to fuck me because I’m new.”

It’s a little judgmental, his words, and Ifrit can’t help the stir of shame, the flood of arousal, he swallows heavily, works his jaw a few times trying to find the right words, “Well,” he says, “I just don’t want to come on too strong or anything.”

Swiss laughs then, it’s a loud and boisterous sound and it fills Ifrit with warmth, “Too strong?” he asks, and then he reaches up, shuffles his fingers through his own hair, lower down towards the back of his neck, works something free—a feather, it’s soft purple on the ends, the color fading into a warm chocolate brown towards the base.

Ifrit watches somewhat dumbly as Swiss brings the feather closer, drawing the tip of it against his cheek, down his jaw, ticking his throat, “I think when you figure out your little shame thing, you should come find me,” he whispers.

He flushes, pale pink against his gray skin, eyes fluttering a little as Swiss drags the tip of the feather across his collarbones, “Maybe we can work something out,” he continues, speaking in a near whisper now as he finally straightens, pulls the feather away from Ifrit’s skin.

“But you’ve got to be the one to make the first move, baby,” Swiss murmurs smoothly, reaching down to take Ifrit’s hand, rubbing his thumb against the center of his palm before he presses the feather into Ifrit’s hand, a clear sign of his intentions.

“Too strong?” he asks as he takes a few steps back, a satisfied grin on his lips as he watches Ifrit for a moment. “You know where to find me, baby.”

Before Ifrit’s able to form a proper sentence, Swiss is gone, melting into the shadows like some kind of apparition, leaving behind a feather and the lingering scent of burning wood and ozone.

It takes him decidedly less time to get over himself as Swiss had put it in not so many words, the feather held delicately between his fingers as he paced the length of the den, sure that if he were to walk any harder or any faster, he’d wear a hole in the stone.

“Oh, he finally told you, huh?” Dew asks, coming into the den, carrying a basket of laundry, “We were wondering if you were ever going to catch on that he was trying to get your attention.”

Ifrit stops walking, turns to look at Dew, who’s stopped by the door, watching him, “You knew?” he asked, “Why didn’t you say something?”

Dew snorts softly and hefts the basket of laundry up higher on his hip, “What? And miss a chance to watch you fumble around? You were the one who decided to think too loud with your dick and ignore what Swiss was saying to you.”

“I’ll admit that I’ve been handling him too carefully,” Ifrit says, only mildly insulted by Dew’s insinuation, “But, the last thing anyone needs is being accosted by the person helping them acclimate when they’re first summoned.”

Unimpressed, Dew finally moves further into the room and places the laundry basket down on the couch, “Yeah, he made it very clear that first week that he wasn’t new to the surface, and one could argue that he made it clearer by accepting your advances, however unconscious those were,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Seriously though, and I mean this in the nicest way I can muster, you smell absolutely disgusting to me right now, will you please go take care of that so things can go vaguely back to normal.”

It’s not a question and there’s an undercurrent of annoyance in Dew’s tone that Ifrit’s not too keen on pushing, “Yeah, sure, I was just thinking,” he holds the feather up, twirling it between his fingers, “I’ll get out of your hair, take care of everything and you’ve got nothing to worry about, big guy.”

Dew levels him with another unimpressed stare, “Just go,” he says, “Satan help me, you’re the one acting like you’ve never bedded a new summon before.”

A fair point that Ifrit doesn’t try to argue on, choosing instead to leave the communal den and to leave Dew to his chores, heart pounding as he heads down the hallway towards the separate dens each ghoul has—the whole time Dew’s words bounce around in his head.

Accepting your advances.

“Was I really that obtuse?” he asks himself out loud as he hurries further down the hallway until he comes to a stop in front of Swiss’s room.

The door’s ajar, just slightly, and there’s low humming coming from inside.

Ifrit pauses there with his hand raised to knock, biting his lower lip. He could knock, could push the door open and announce his presence—he could, but he stops for a moment, steps back and takes a deep breath.

“You can come inside, you know,” Swiss’s voice calls out, amused, “I won’t bite unless you ask first.”

He pushes the door open just enough to slip inside and closes it quietly behind him—Swiss's room smells strongly of the multi-ghoul and little else; the scent of smoldering wood permeates the area, filling Ifrit’s senses, calling to him; there’s an undercurrent of something fresh, the smell of open air on a sunny day.

Swiss himself is lounging on the bed, blankets haphazard like he’d been sleeping; he’s wearing sweats and a cropped t-shirt, only glamoured enough that his wings aren’t visible, and Ifrit feels ravenous all of a sudden.

“My eyes are up here, firebird,” Swiss says, amused, a grin stretching across his lips when Ifrit’s eyes meet his instead of where they’d been glued to his feathery happy trail.

Ifrit’s mouth feels dry and there’s heat coursing through his veins, “I don’t have feathers,” he says, somewhat dumbly.

Swiss pushes himself into a sitting position and reaches a hand out towards Ifrit, “You don’t,” he agrees easily, beckoning him forward with a finger, “Come here and I’ll show you mine.”

A choked noise leaves Ifrit but he shuffles forward, letting himself come to a stop as his knees hit the foot of Swiss’s bed—not that he stays there for long, because Swiss is sitting up further, reaching out and fisting a hand in his shirt, dragging him up onto the bed with little to no preamble.

“Dew said you had a thing for newly summoned ghouls and that once they’re acclimated, you like to invite them to bed with you,” Swiss murmurs in the space between them—this close, Ifrit can make out the specks of white and gold in Swiss’s brown eye, like constellations. “Probably threw you off that I’ve already been up here, huh?”

“A little bit,” Ifrit agrees, his voice low as he plants a hand on the bed beside Swiss’s hip—he's so close to him, half leaning over him, “Doesn’t mean I’m any less interested though, if you’ll have me.”

Swiss grins up at him, “I let you in here, didn’t I?” he asks, rhetorical, “I hope my experience isn’t off putting,” he murmurs then, tilting his head a little bit, lower lip brushing the curve of Ifrit’s in the barest hint of a kiss, “I can pretend to not know what your intentions are, let you show me what it’s like if that’s a deal breaker.”

Ifrit snorts in amusement at Swiss’s words, though the idea is enticing in a way, he shakes his head and brushes their lips together, finally, properly. “We can compare notes,” he mumbles, “Can I see your feathers now?” he asks, ignoring the way his voice goes a bit airy towards the end, like he’s whining.

A hum and Swiss’s hand comes up to the back of Ifrit’s neck, finally drawing him into something more than just a brush of lips—he's a little rough with it, a little bit overeager in the same way that Ifrit feels; sharp teeth catch on his lower lip for a moment before Ifrit’s opening his mouth, Swiss’s scent spiking up sharply as their tongues brush.

The hand on the back of his neck squeezes and it draws a sharp moan from Ifrit, Swiss easily swallowing the noise as the kiss continues, as it deepens further—and it’s different, bedding a freshly summoned ghoul who knows what they’re doing, still smelling of brimstone and ozone, still so in tune with their own instincts without the interference of humanity.

The kiss breaks and Ifrit’s immediately assaulted with the feeling of Swiss’s mouth on his jaw, down his throat, teeth sharp and dangerous against the delicate skin—the rush of it all makes Ifrit lightheaded. Swiss could easily incapacitate him if he wanted to, and Ifrit wouldn’t even try to stop him.

“What are you thinking about?” Swiss mumbles, dragging the sharp point of his canine over where Ifrit’s pulse is beating heavily.

Ifrit swallows thickly, eyes fluttering closed as he tilts his head back, bares his throat more, revels in the low, approving purr that comes from Swiss, “Thinking about you biting me,” he answers easily, breath hitching when Swiss fits his teeth against his throat, just pressing them there. “Shit, yeah, just like that.” he says, feeling nearly faint.

There’s a rumble of a laugh and Swiss’s teeth press inward; the shock of pain draws a moan from Ifrit—he feels shaky and loose, grabs at Swiss’s shoulder with one hand to keep himself centered, “That’s it, pretty bird,” he slurs, shivers when Swiss pulls away and drags the flat of his tongue over the indentions left by his teeth. “Fuck.”

“Who knew all I needed to do was get you in my bed for you to actually be normal around me,” Swiss mumbles, amused, and then he’s nudging Ifrit back onto his knees properly, so Ifrit’s kneeling in front of him on the bed. “It was cute watching you try to be careful though, all while smelling like you wanted to jump me.”

Ifrit groans, brings both hands up to cover his face, “Can we not talk about that, I’m here, aren’t I?” he asks, his voice going whiny again, and Swiss takes pity on him, prying his hands away from his face to kiss him again.

Somehow, at some point, they end up horizontal on the bed, side by side for now, sharing kisses, open mouthed and messy—Ifrit’s fingers find the shock of lavender feathers above the waistband of Swiss’s sweats, and he whimpers into the kiss as he drags his knuckles over them, the soft and downy feeling making him feel as if he’s going to burst.

There’s a laugh, the sound pouring into his mouth right before Swiss pulls away from the kiss, pressing a closed mouth kiss against his lower lip, “You want to see more?” he asks softly, biting at his jaw again, “Wanna feel more?”

Ifrit whimpers again and lets Swiss shove a leg between his thigh, giving him something to grind the hard line of his cock against, “Please,” he mumbles, begs as his other hand claws at the waistband of Swiss’s pants, “Let me see.”

“You’re so hot when you’re like this,” Swiss says reverently, shifting forward to press Ifrit back into the bed, hovering over him, “Begging to get in my pants,” he coos, head tilted as he smiles down at Ifrit, “Never had some beg like this, for me,” he adds and then he’s pulling the cropped shirt off, tossing it aside, allowing Ifrit a moment to feel along the hard planes of his chest, his stomach, fingers immediately going back to his happy trail.

He laughs then, “Oh baby, I think you’ve got a thing for my feathers,” he says, sitting back properly so he can shove his sweatpants down—there's nothing under them and Ifrit’s mouth waters as more skin, more feathers are revealed; they’re a little darker the further down they go, a bit curled and damp with Swiss’s arousal.

Ifrit makes a punched-out sort of noise, hands grasping at Swiss’s hips in desperation—he wants to taste him, wants to get his mouth on Swiss’s cunt, bury himself there until he can’t breathe.

“Can’t say I’ve ever made anyone speechless,” Swiss jokes, shifting around atop Ifrit until he’s able to properly kick off his sweatpants, laughing again when he’s suddenly being pulled forward until his thighs are spread wide over the width of Ifrit’s chest. “See something you like?” he asks, humming a little when Ifrit digs his fingers into the meat of his lower back, a clear sign of restraint.

“These your feathers?” Ifrit asks, the words sticking heavily to his tongue as he lets go of Swiss’s hips and presses his thumbs into the patch of feathers framing his cunt, “You lure all the ghouls you sleep with into bed by flashing them?”

Swiss shudders above him and Ifrit can feel the way his muscles move just under his skin, how they jump at the touch, the feathers ruffling, “Nope,” he says, his voice surprisingly steady, “You’re the first I’ve met that’s wanted them out.”

Something about that makes something inside Ifrit preen, a first—and yeah, okay, he may like being the first at things sometimes, but even the knowledge that Swiss has slept with others in the past does nothing to quell his thoughts.

Ifrit takes a moment to peer up at Swiss, his thumbs still carefully massaging into the feathers—Swiss is watching him with heavy eyes, the black of his pupil thin slits among the color of his irises before they expand and Swiss blinks down at him slowly, rolls his hips forward, trying to encourage more.

Ifrit licks his lips and watches as Swiss’s eyes drop to his mouth, digging his knees into the bed for leverage as he rocks forward again, and Ifrit lets his thumbs inch closer to his core, where he can see the barest hint of dark pink nestled among the feathers.

He lets out a sound, something incredulous, pressing a thumb inward and feeling as if Swiss himself had taken the air from his lungs, wanting nothing more than to fit his mouth over that pink nub, drink from him until Swiss is shaking and begging for it.

When Swiss shifts his hips backwards, Ifrit curls his thumb into the soft, silky skin of his cunt, spreading his lips just enough to make his own want surge—he's so pink, he’s so pretty and Satan, he must say that out loud because Swiss makes a noise, jerks forward until Ifrit’s thumb slides right up into his clit, warm and wet and pulsing.

There’s a flush on Swiss’s cheeks, a constellation of dusky pink and gold, coloring down his throat, towards his chest, his mouth is open, he’s panting, grinding his hips forward in a tight circle, all but manipulating his clit against the pad of Ifrit’s thumb.

The color of his eyes swallowed up by the black of his pupils.

“Up here,” Ifrit manages to get out, grips at one of Swiss’s thighs while pressing his thumb harder against Swiss, “Up, sit on my face,” he gets out, letting loose a tortured noise when Swiss scrambles further up, thighs bracketing right around Ifrit’s head as he settles down there.

Swiss’s scent is thicker here, Ifrit’s nose pressed into the tuft of feathers right above his cunt—he takes a moment to breathe him in, grips both of Swiss’s thighs and pulls him down, and sure he’s eaten others out before, knows he’s got skills, an oral thing he’d been told by past partners, but he’s never had someone on his face with feathers.

It’s not much different to the coarse hair, the scales or the other ghoulish traits he’s had previous experience with, but it makes him feel heady in a way that he can’t describe, the gentle tickle of feathers against his cheeks as he nudges Swiss’s lips apart, licking into him eagerly.

Swiss’s hands immediately come to rest in his hair, one gripping the short strands tightly while the other cradles the side of his head; he’s moaning, a low and happy sort of thing as he grinds down onto Ifrit’s tongue, thighs spasming.

Ifrit makes a noise, shifts his head so his nose nudges against Swiss’s clit, licks deeper into him wondering if this will be the first time Swiss has gotten off since being summoned this time; it’s always easy and quick the first time, getting someone to the edge, that is. The rearranging of their genetic makeup to exist on the surface doing something to them.

It’s why he’s always keen to get a new summon in bed, to bring them to the edge over and over, a pleasant welcome to the surface.

He wiggles a hand in between their bodies for a moment, uses his thumb to hold Swiss open as he works his jaw, presses his tongue in as far as he can get it—in times like these, he wishes he were the type of fire ghoul who could lengthen his tongue, he’s not though, but he manages; using his grip on Swiss’s thigh to hold the ghoul down against him.

Swiss makes a noise in outrage, trying to break Ifrit’s hold on him, wanting to move, but Ifrit just holds him still, keeps him there as he takes his fill, and then he’s shifting his touch from holding Swiss open to drawing slow circles around his clit, his tongue doing something inside Swiss that has his thighs shaking around Ifrit’s head.

And Swiss comes, of course he does, he can’t help it—can't help the way he tightens his grip on Ifrit’s hair and tries to drag his face closer, closer, closer (even though he’s as close as he can be without being inside Swiss), Ifrit’s name falls from his lips as he pulses through his orgasm, gasping almost painfully as Ifrit keeps licking and licking and licking at him until he’s shaking, coming again so suddenly that he makes a wounded noise and tries to shove Ifrit’s head away.

Ifrit’s grip on his thigh loosens and Swiss shifts back and away from Ifrit, still shaking the slightest as he settles back onto the bed to catch his breath.

Ifrit is, of course, grinning this satisfied sort of thing, the lower part of his face a mess of slick; his eyes are glowing as he looks at Swiss—and he’s hard in his pants, a fact that doesn’t go unnoticed by Swiss.

“Insatiable,” Is the first thing he’s able to say once he’s caught his breath, splay-legged and lying beside Ifrit, “Absolutely disgusting.”

Ifrit laughs at that and rolls onto his side, bullying his way close to Swiss, throwing an arm over his waist and nuzzling into his jaw, rubbing the scent of Swiss’s slick and Ifrit’s own pheromones into Swiss’s feathers, matting them down and making the two of them reek of each other. “Didn’t hear you complaining,” he murmurs, mouths at Swiss’s jaw for a moment before pulling back to look at him properly.

Swiss turns his head, peering up at Ifrit with his mismatched eyes; watching him for a long moment before he smiles, something small and secretive, “Sounds like you’re fishing for a compliment,” he says, and then he’s reaching up, cupping the back of Ifrit’s neck with one of his hands—big and warm against his already overheated skin, dragging him down into a kiss that tastes like the two of them.

Ifrit’s the one who separates them first, panting softly against Swiss’s mouth as he does it, “Not fishing,” he mumbles, presses another kiss to Swiss’s lips, “But I wouldn’t say no to a compliment if you have one.”

“Of course,” Swiss says with a laugh, scratching his nails through the short hairs at the base of Ifrit’s neck, “You do have quite the mouth on you,” he adds after a moment, leaning in and biting at Ifrit’s lower lip, leaving behind the barest hint of teeth marks.

A moan, low and pleased, both from the bite and the compliment, it’s praise to him, knowing he was able to satisfy Swiss with just his mouth does things to his brain, makes him feel a little floaty and happy, makes him want to do more and draw more praise from Swiss’s lips.

Content to lie there while Swiss comes down, he nearly forgets about his own need until he feels Swiss’s hand tug at the buttons on his pants, “If you’re the type to not need reciprocation, let me know now,” Swiss is mumbling, “But I really want to touch you, been thinking about getting my hand around this from the beginning.”

“Beginning?” Ifrit asks, shifting back so he can help Swiss get his pants undone and pushed down, “Shit, no, no, please, you can do whatever you want to my baby, I’m real easy.”

Swiss hums softly, pleased and happy as he gets Ifrit almost fully nude, “Shirt goes too,” he says, shifting to push Ifrit onto his back again, hands pushing the material up until Ifrit’s able to get it off, “And yes, the beginning. Do you think I just show my feathers to anyone?” he asks, incredulously before he’s climbing into Ifrit’s lap, settling across his thighs. “You really are out of practice with how air ghouls show they’re interested, huh?”

Ifrit feels a bit dumb as Swiss settles his weight down on him, he can feel the heat coming from Swiss’s cunt again, hovering so precariously close where he’s hard and curled up against his belly, “Oh,” he says, and then he laughs about it, because he can’t believe he’d been blind to it, the first flash of lavender, the suggestive tilt of his mouth, “Now I feel a bit silly,” he manages to say as his hands go to cradle Swiss’s hips.

There’s a sly sort of grin on Swiss’s mouth, the corners curling upwards, the points of his teeth pressing into his lower lip as he presses his knees into the bed for leverage, moving from his perch on Ifrit’s thighs, “You are kind of dumb,” Swiss says as he settles his weight on Ifrit’s lower belly, cunt right over his cock, “But in that really endearing way. Chivalrous and concerned about my wellbeing all while denying yourself something you really wanted.”

Ifrit gasps at the sudden weight on his belly, at Swiss’s heat right where he’s hard and sensitive, “Oh Satan,” he says, digging his fingertips into Swiss’s hips, “Yeah, fuck, baby, I’ll be as dumb as you want me to be if you keep doing what you’re about to do.”

Swiss laughs at him, leaning down to kiss him quiet as he rocks his hips, slow and steady, reaching down between them long enough to spread himself, choking back his own moan when Ifrit’s cock slips right between his folds, hot and hard and right against his clit with each thrust forward.

At some point, Ifrit pulls away from the kiss, tossing his head back as he holds Swiss down against him, digging his heels into the bed and letting himself get lost in the slick heat he’s grinding against—he almost misses it, when Swiss shifts a little bit more, bends over him properly and right against his ear, murmurs, “Wanna put it in me?”

Ifrit moans, loud and unbidden, hips stuttering a bit as he tries not to come, he’s nodding trying to tug Swiss onto his cock, feels it slip down just a bit, nudging against where Swiss is wet and open and warm, and he makes a sort of pained noise when Swiss lifts up so suddenly and they’re not touching anymore.

“Just the tip,” Swiss says, firm, there’s a teasing grin on his face as he says it, hovering over Ifrit, “Do you think you can do that? Only the tip baby, don’t think I can take the whole thing yet,” he lowers his voice, pitches it in a way that ties knots in Ifrit’s stomach. “S’my first time, after all.”

He nods, several times, mouth open in shock—it's not Swiss’s first time, something that he’d made very clear from the beginning, but hell the implications of it, the way Swiss plays into it has Ifrit all frazzled, “Baby,” he says, managing to find his words after a moment, “I’ll take such good care of you. Let you control what you take, how much.”

Swiss makes a happy little trill in the back of his throat, settles back down over Ifrit’s cock, rocks his hips in slow circles for a few moments, “You’ll have to teach me how to take all of you,” he murmurs, still in that faux innocent tone, and this time, when he lifts up, it’s so he can reach down between them, “’m so wet, I can take you without any prep,” he continues, wrapping a hand around Ifrit’s cock with one hand and Ifrit has to watch, eyes trained on the feathers, on the part of his cunt, the dusky pink of his hole as he shifts back on his heels, guiding Ifrit’s cock into him.

Ifrit’s sure he passes out, his grip on Swiss’s hips so tight he’s pretty sure there’ll be bruises there, indents of his fingertips left behind, he’s only coherent enough to not let his claws pop, though he’s sure Swiss would have no problem with that—Swiss's cunt is so tight, so warm, squeezing around him like he’s trying to milk him, like he wants more.

“Oh,” Swiss says, high and breathless, stills and just lets Ifrit stay inside, “You feel so good,” he praises, “So big, s’not that much in me but I can feel you stretching me, gonna take a lot of practice to get you all the way in here.”

Ifrit finds himself purring, something he doesn’t do often, but the rumble starts low in his chest as he slowly but surely loosens his grip on Swiss’s hips, instead, running his palms up Swiss’s sides, “We’ve got time, baby,” he says, hoping his voice is steady, “Can take as long as we need. Can do it as many times as you want. Could spend hours stretching you out for me.”

Swiss smiles down at him, shifts his hips a little bit after another few minutes, clenching around the tip before he grinds backwards, fucking himself on just a couple inches of Ifrit’s cock, moaning low and happily in his throat as he does, “You feel so good,” he finds himself repeating as Ifrit drags him down into a kiss.

They kiss for a while, open mouthed and panting as Swiss works himself on Ifrit, almost as if he were trying to chase his own orgasm and not worry about Ifrit’s--and well, that thought does a lot more to him that he realizes, hazy and hot and cunt drunk as he is.

It’s why when he feels himself nearing the edge, he’s barely able to get out a warning, the slide of Swiss’s cunt against his cock and then the way he sinks the tip into him every few thrusts—he doesn’t know the proper thing to do here, if he should make an effort to not come inside Swiss or if he should—how far does showing ones feathers go when it comes to sex?

He’s thinking, probably way too much about this, so when Swiss sinks down onto the tip of his cock one more time, he’s surprised when Swiss just stays there, his own answering purrs much lower than Ifrit’s rumbling deep in his chest, he grinds a little, another inch slips into him and Swiss clenches around him so suddenly it draws his orgasm out of him with very little warning.

Ifrit grasps at Swiss, only at the last second not pulling him down any further, so instead he curls his upper body upwards, pressing his face into Swiss’s heaving chest, shaking under him as he empties inside Swiss—all the while Swiss is milking him again, clenching rhythmically around him until Ifrit’s making soft little uh, uh, uh noises against Swiss’s skin, shivering at how it starts to tip over into the too much territory.

When he slips out of Swiss, spent and softening, Ifrit barely thinks as he grabs at Swiss’s thighs and hauls him upwards, mouth open, tongue out, hoping to catch the leak of his own come out of Swiss’s cunt before any of it gets on the sheets under them.

Swiss has a hand in his hair again and this time, Ifrit lets Swiss fuck down onto his face, riding his tongue, letting Ifrit lick his own come out of him until he’s arching, his own hand coming down to rub at his clit only a few times before he’s spasming around Ifrit’s tongue, coming in such an explosive manner than Ifrit’s sure he’s going to be tasting him for days now.

Which, good.

Good.

Swiss slips off of him this time, curling on his side and pressing his face into the side of Ifrit’s neck, panting heavily as he does so—Ifrit wraps an arm around Swiss and holds him close, holding him through the aftershocks and murmuring softly into his temple.

When Swiss is only mildly coherent, he lifts his head enough to share a kiss, moans at the taste of himself and Ifrit on the fire ghoul’s tongue, before he pulls away and hides away in Ifrit’s neck again—and while Ifrit wants to ask him if it was good again, the tease on the tip of his tongue, he holds back.

He waits, patiently.

“Disgusting,” Swiss mumbles into Ifrit’s neck this time, slurring just a little, “Absolutely filthy, disgusting ghoul. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

Ifrit laughs at his words, can hear the undercurrent of humor, the hint of awe—it's a compliment and he takes it as one, rolling them until he can properly cuddle Swiss, letting his warmth seep into Swiss’s skin as the cold chill of the room starts to settle over them now that they’re basking.

“That tongue thing you do should be illegal,” Swiss mumbles with a shake of his head. “I’m fucking inconsolable, right now.”

Ifrit glances down at the top of Swiss’s head, quirks an eyebrow, “You okay?” he asks, a little hesitant, but mostly amused.

When Swiss lifts his head, he looks exasperated, a little hazy eyed, sated, “You fuck, I want to go again,” he says, “I’m so fucking sloppy right now but I just want more.”

That draws another laugh out of Ifrit, surprised and pleased that he’s good and makes Swiss feel insatiable, “Well, if you’re done being in charge, maybe let me take care of you this time?” he asks, rolling Swiss onto his back, looming over him with a glint in his eyes, “Let me make you feel good.”

Swiss covers his eyes with his forearm, lets Ifrit bully his way between his legs properly until he’s got one of them up over Ifrit’s shoulder his cunt spread and exposed—but he’s grinning, biting his lower lip, “Fuck, yeah, yeah, okay, do your worst. Make me feel good, firebird.”

Ifrit makes good on his word, keeps Swiss in bed for the rest of the day, pulling orgasm after orgasm out of him until they’re both too tired to continue.

#Swiss/Ifrit #the band ghost fic #my writing #this goes about as you'd expect a swiss centered fic by me to be written #please enjoy!

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demonslayedher · 3 months

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Things that went through my head while watching this episode: --"it's so nice to be able to get wrapped up in this and know about I'm about to get new content" was certainly something that went through my head by the end of the episode, but I was also reminded of how it felt a little too drawn out and over saccharine, and how the extra long length of this episode did not feel it served it fully well. I've come to be more forgiving of the excess happy fluff at the end of this season, and I will defend it as follows, but I still would have preferred they reign it in a little so we don't forget about how hard-won that battle was with how chipper and energetic everyone is.

--But you know what? They deserve it. They are functioning on the rush of relief, and it took a while for them all to gather down there on the grass. Like, it's kind of sweet that the people who first got to celebrate this victory with the Kamado siblings were a trio of swordsmiths who would have felt awful if Nezuko had to die on their accord. These weren't even swordsmiths whom Tanjiro hung out with much, but their lives were just as worthy.

--It was nice to see the group celebration expanded on a bit, but I think what got me feeling like it was overdone was seeing Mitsuri be overwhelmed with gratitude specifically on Nezuko's behalf too, since she was the one not to witness the peril Nezuko was in. I feel it was enough to have have Mitsuri be relieved on everyone's behalf, and to have her be shocked that Nezuko is there in sunlight, which is cute and funny. No need to quite rehash what Tanjiro has just momentously been through. And this is coming from some who really, really loves Mitsuri & Nezuko interaction. It would have been totally in-character to have left Mitsuri blissfully unaware of how awful Nezuko's experience was unless someone point-blank tells her that Nezuko almost didn't make it. Then the extra gratitude specifically for Nezuko would feel earned.

--And my gosh, Ufotable, you sure sold Nezuko's pain. I am still so impressed.

--I also initially did not like just how playful it is to have Nezuko and Tanjiro running away from Haganezuka, because it takes me out of how much peril they were just in. But hey, if there are two characters who are totally fine, it is Nezuko (the being the point that she is way more than fine) and Haganezuka (who will always have energy for enacting sword justice).

--But hey, besides that? Sure, it's pleasant to see them be so happily relieved. This isn't even "we defeated two Upper Moons" triumph, it's just "we're alive, Nezuko is in the sun, Muichiro remembers things, we're alive, we're alive, we're alive." Like, a littttle bit more "WHOA, THOSE WERE UPPER MOONS" like after defeating Gyutaro & Daki would have been nice.

--And like........ that whole final scene... it has its very cute points, just getting to see the swordsmiths interact more since this was their season to have some well-deserved spotlight, both for the work they do and as characters. But it played that "everyone loves Kamado Tanjiro (but he never takes the credit)" note a little too loud. Some things play more nicely with subtlety, but hey, Ufotable wanted to go out with a triumphant statement. I want to be forgiving of that, but... those villagers were busy trying to hurry out of that village. : / And I really hope that Genya, Muichiro, and Mitsuri got the same treatment, but I doubt anybody went collecting confetti each time.

--So anyway, setting those grievances aside!!

--MUZAN MONOLOGUE. Like, it was good, but it always give me flashbacks to Nomura Mansai's Muzan monologue in the Noh rendition, which was chilling. Still, this anime version was great, and I love me all those extra touches they expanded his Heian life with. Muzan isn't all that complicated of a villain. He was always spiteful human who wanted to take out his frustration by destroying other people. Then he got power, but spending half of his time on the brink of death for a thousand years is like being spit in the face. Sure, you're powerful, buddy, until somebody opens a window. And I like that Muzan is uncomplicated. It's his utter disregard for others that made him a villain in the first place, and he has never and will never change.

--And that is why one of my favorite Muzan moments ever is how he doesn't even both to pick his feet up or step around the two corpses on the floor as he exits the room. Other people really are nothing but furniture to him, and that little action--or lack of action, rather-- speaks so loudly about his character.

--Imagine how different the rest of the series would have been if Hantengu's head didn't spin in Nezuko's direction?

--Nezuko's victory over the sun deserves how much it got milked, because in the context of the series, she had in fact made the greatest achievement of any character in this series. Sure, Tanjiro has just killed Upper Moon Four, but it only took the Corp a little over a hundred years to accomplish killing an Upper Moon. Nezuko, within three years of being turned into a demon, has accomplished what Muzan has failed to do for over a thousand years. What's more, this is entirely through Nezuko's own power; there was no one who could have helped her accomplish this. Tamayo could only observe with wonder.

--Truly, Nezuko has "prioritized" this over, say, reattaining her sense of self. I see Nezuko's demon development as being a bit infantile. When she was first "born," so to speak, she was not aware of herself as an individual being, only that she hungered, and that she had just undergone some terrible loss, and that Tanjiro was all she had left. After a little sleep it got easily to process that Tanjiro was someone who she understood, and even as she started to gain some sense of self, it revolved around Tanjiro and his welfare. Listening to Urokodaki and Tanjiro as she slept, and perhaps seeing memories of her family as she dreamed probably put together something more basic, but she probably did not remember anything more than her family's faces and how deeply she cares about them. I think little by little as she started gaining more of an awareness of others as individuals and appreciating that there is more in the world she enjoys than just her brother's wellbeing, she probably gained more and more of an understanding of being someone named Nezuko and having a mission to fight demons with everyone else she has come to care about, and with, a high level of ability to understand language, but because she had the muzzle this whole time, she had no need to try to use words herself, so she didn't prioritize this either.

--I bring that all up just to say that she might have (without words) been thinking, "oh, I know what this is called. This is 'morning.' People are supposed to say something, what it is? Oh, right! Gu--gOoD mOrnNinG~"

--And then it's like, "OH, I CAN COMMUNICATE!!! THIS IS FUN!!!!! NEW POWER!!!"

--So proud of you, Nezuko

--I like that Ufotable stressed her daytime eyes still looking very inhuman. It stresses how something is still very off about her existence. Nobody is used to seeing a daytime demon. (I prefer her nighttime eyes, though.)

--But also that is such Kimetsu Logic to do a thing and then explain the thing without spoiling it. Thank you for your letter, Tamayo-san.

--Now, Tanjiro, though. You know that he's making it harder and harder to uphold Corp rules about what makes a Pillar. Haha, no, Tanjiro is no Pillar! He only cut the heads off those Twelve Moon demons because he had Pillars helping him! Haha, somehow he is still the same rank as Zenitsu and Inosuke after chopping the head off Upper Moon Four! (Zenitsu and Inosuke, what the fresh hell have you two been up to in order to match rank with Tanjiro???)

--But also, it is wicked cool how Tanjiro is just turns the Mark on now like a lightswitch, and that Ufotable switches up in the animation in a way that shows he's going at full throttle. (Meanwhile, our Marked Pillar friends looked just a little more blithe than their usual blithe selves.)

--I find it totally legit that he could suddenly use Thunder Breath, since Sun Breath is the source of all of them, so the concepts would be the same anyway.

--Those last hits Tanjiro gets in on Hantengu too, very cool. I love how many tries it takes to get that hit, too! Hantengu is full of surprises and I have come to appreciate him a lot more over the course of this rewatch. If I ever, say, get a skiddish hamster, maybe I'll name it Hante or something.

--Love the sound design on the mountain setting, especially when Muichiro calls out to Tanjiro from up on the cliff. That sounded SO GOOD in the theater.

--Also, just, a huge shout out to all of Ufotable's construction of settings. Really, really, wonderful.

--And the sounds on SUCH A REALISTIC PANIC ATTACK, and movements, right now to how Tanjiro's fingers shake. Man, way to stress me out. I sort of what to speed it all up to see how quick this all went down as Tanjiro was panicking, but the only parts that were really slowed down were watching Hantengu run. It was all so painfully slow and was all happening too fast. What an awful moment.

--and I can't wait for Tanjiro to reflect back on that when talking with Himejima

--This episode was Nezuko's biggest triumph, but at least for a few moments, it was also Tanjiro's biggest loss.

#KnY Rewatch #my art #Kamado Tanjiro #Kamado Tanjirou #Kamado Nezuko #the sun #yeah it is a character sometimes fight me #no don't fight me I'm going to bed #that's all my rewatch for now!

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