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nightshiftnotes

TUMBLR TROUBLE #3 — MEGUMI • TOGE •

the Jujutsu Kaisen men you’ve been reading about… again.

✦ SUMMARY You accidentally leave your tumblr open… and the Jujutsu Kaisen men you’ve been reading about on Tumblr discover your fanfiction.

✦ NOTE: this is set in a college AU where all characters are 18+

✦ FEATURING: megumi fushiguro and toge inumaki.

✦ CONTENT WARNINGS: mdni. explicit sexual content, x reader, mutual pining, accidental confession, friends to lovers, kissing, heavy petting, oral (f receiving + m receiving), fingering, handjobs, penetrative sex (p in v), unprotected sex, creampie, multiple orgasms, dirty talk, praise, body worship, breast play, nipple stimulation, hair pulling, light choking, spanking/ass slapping, rough sex, possessive affection, dominant behavior, throat fucking, cumplay, overstimulation, squirting, cursed speech used sexually, consensual magical compulsion/body control, forced orgasm via cursed speech, voice strain/blood mention, emotional intimacy, aftercare, fluff, humor, happy endings.

✦ WORD COUNT: 8k words / ~35 mins

author’s note ♡ originally this was supposed to be one giant part two with yuji, megumi, yuta, and toge, but tumblr said absolutely not. so i had to split it into two parts!!

this one is megumi + toge. also yes, you may guess which ones were my favorites based on the word counts lmao. hope you enjoy ♡

wafflefries13

Hands On Learning (Pierrot x Reader x Harlequin)

Summary:

It's a dark and stormy night, and a human is with her two monsters. The Reader and Pierrot are ready to finally turn things more physical, but too bad they really have no idea what they're doing. Good thing (or not) that they have a way too smug partner eager to show them the ropes.

Warnings: AFAB! Reader, smut, poly relationship, oral (fem receiving), frottage, slight restraint kink, virgin reader and Pierrot, slight virginity kink if you squint, aftercare

AN: First time writing smut! Or at least the first time publishing it. Falling down a rabbit hole of my new hyperfixation with this game that's not even finished yet. Cross posted on AO3 at TheGhostInTheKitchen

Rain was beating gently against the window paired with the soft roll of thunder somewhere in the distance. Not that the two of them paid any of it any mind, of course. Pierrot and his darling (Y/N) were much too preoccupied with each other to give the oncoming storm a second thought.

Sequestered in the bedroom of her apartment, the sound of rain was quickly drowned out by the small gasps, moans, and sounds of their kisses. Gently, like handling an antique porcelain doll, Pierrot lowered (Y/N) down to rest on the plush pillows of her bed. He hovered over her, resting on his forearms, caging her in from either side. His back bowed as he leaned down to kiss her again and again and again. Not that he minded their difference in stature at all. In fact, there was something even more tantalizing in the idea that he towered over her.

softpillowprincess

ᯓ˚✗୨୧ — tobacco & mint [18+]

ᢉ𐭩Enjin x f!Reader

.｡.:*☆ wc ≈ 16.5k | beta read | proof read

SYNOPSIS Enjin didn’t know you were hiding all that under your somewhat baggy cleaner‘s uniform until one day August gets a new whiff of inspiration to cook you up the possibly hottest uniform among the cleaners yet.

CONTENT nsfw / fluff / sexual tension / porn with plot / resolved sexual tension / mutual pining / slow burn / friends to lovers / coworkers to lovers / service top!enjin / praise kink / submissive reader / cursing / oral f!receiving / fingering / sadist!enjin if you squint

WARNINGS nsfw / weed / usage of she/her pronouns / mdni

PT2 >>> detergent & sweets

nyxessence

bitable. ۶۟ৎ your boyfriend is very bitable. — around 800 words, just domestic cuteness aggression. gender neutral reader.

“You’ve been staring at me for a while now,” Dan Heng’s voice is quiet and gentle as always, and it’s accompanied with a slight smile and a soft fondness to his eyes when you look up to meet his gaze. He tilts his head, a small gesture to encourage you to speak. “What’s on your mind?”

When you shrug, he puts down the book he was reading to fully turn towards you—and you are sure he notices the way your eyes follow the gentle way he places his bookmark and closes it to preserve the spine before it is set aside to on the coffee table.

“Speak, please,” Dan Heng rolls his eyes fondly when you shake your head no. “I’m quiet enough for the both of us already.”

dreamgardenficrecs

me with him always

#I NEEEEEEEEEDDD. DAN HENG CHEW TOYYYYYYYYYYY IN MY MOOOOOUYTTGHHHHHHH #NOM NOK JOM NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM #thought so relaxing it’s making me sleepy #i love him so bad man #dan heng #hsr #comfort

luminaryorbit

₊˚ ✧ ⊱⋆ cover me. ───── caleb x afab!reader. 5.3k words, hurt-comfort, smut. this fic is part of the youtiful series.

tags: porn with plot, porn with feelings, established relationship, strong portrayals of codependency (reader is very reliant on caleb), emotionally vulnerable reader (going through a rough patch), caleb in kinda a caregiver-reminiscent role, cuddles, kisses, praise and reassurance, fingering, cuddle sex, use of pet names "pips" "pip-squeak" "baby". lmk if i missed any tags!

premise: 4 times caleb takes care of you, +1 time he does a little extra. or—everything feels a little more difficult to you on your off days, but luckily, caleb is around to help you through them.

note: its been kinda terrible for me lately and when it gets like this i *am* the kind of person who says fuck being strong and independent i need to be placed in a 'please care gently' box and doted on 😭🤲 in lieu with how acts of service coded caleb is, i was also thinking that i'm def not the only one out there who finds comfort in him the same way... so this fic is for me, but also for those of you who might identify a lil with it, too <33

ao3 / ko-fi / vgen / fic masterlist / youtiful masterlist / taglist sign-ups

#caleb my beautiful problematic princess #loved this it felt like a warm hug #caleb #smut #lads

sugarwarachan

marriage of convenience w/ sakusa where you both agree to a fwb type set up and the next day you get a calendar invite on your phone for the month's "dates" -- but by the fifth time, when he's gasping and panting into your neck, your breathy little kiyoomi falling next to his ear, he tells you to delete the rest.

"why?"

you don't want it to end, not yet. not when he's just started to open up to you -

"the schedule's ruined anyway." he flips you over, kicks your knees apart with one strong thigh. he rocks back in with a grunt. "'i won't be done tonight until - " he consults his watch - "well past midnight."

he leans down, presses a kiss between your shoulder blades.

"and that just throws off the rhythm of the week. doesn't it, baby?"

dreamgardenficrecs

#put me in a cage to protect him from me before i tear him to shreds with my teeth #i’m so freak about him #sakusa #smut

wri0thesley

rescue and release - flins x fem! reader (7.5k)

flins saves you and pulls you into a fate . . . far better than death.

cw: chubby fem reader, not sfw. sex pollen, breeding kink, mentions of pregnancy. reader is in danger from the wild hunt. reader and flins are in a relationship. dub-con due to the nature of sex pollen.

this was a commissioned work.

There are still some things in Nod-Krai that you cannot get used to.

It is not that it is so different from your home nation - there are only so many ways that a place can exist, after all - but that there are so many unspoken rules and regulations, so many secrets hidden beneath the glow of the moon, that you cannot quite keep on top of all of them. You have just about gotten to grips with the concept of kuuvahki, though you sometimes struggle to understand what it is that makes it so different from the elemental traces you are more used to - but the other things--

There are many places where it is not advisable to walk after dark. You knew of certain alleyways, for instance, that were always rumoured to be bases for cutpurses and knaves and one should not walk through after nightfall. But even at home, there was nothing quite like the Wild Hunt.

And oh, you know you should not let yourself walk alone. You know you should find yourself a Lightkeeper (your heart swells at the thought that you have a Ratnik of your own, too, one who would never turn down a chance to play protector no matter how busy he is) - but you have done this journey towards his lighthouse a hundred times in the light. It would be an unfortunate piece of luck indeed that the one time you endeavoured to surprise Flins yourself and made your way to his dwelling in the night, you were beset upon by the very things he works so hard to protect civilians from.

So you had packed your bag and thought about Flins' smile when he saw you waiting outside of his lighthouse, knowing that you were to spend the night with him, and you had thought that surely you could make it there without ever coming across the Wild Hunt.

You had even gently wheedled from him the location of the most recent Wild Hunt outbreaks, so that you could plan your route around them! If he had guessed what you were doing, he'd given no indication (you're sure if he had, he would have dissuaded you - but you do so long to surprise him, to give him the same excitement you feel when he shows up at your door with a pretty piece of jewelry he thought you'd like or a book about the history period you two were talking about last time you were together).

You had thought yourself plenty prepared! Your path mapped out, your overnight bag on your arm, your walking shoes upon your feet and the thought of Flins' face at the end of it, coming home wearied from a night protecting Nod-Krai to see you ready to welcome him with a smile on your face and the thought of his bedsheets tangled about the two of you to warm him.

But the best-laid plans of mice and men, and all of that.

For although you had carefully considered the places the phenomenon had been most recently observed, you had forgotten that sometimes life can be cruel and random. Just because one path is safe the night before does not mean it will be safe the night after.

But . . . there are things in Nod-Krai that you do not yet understand. There are parts of it that are little-tread for a reason. A little while into your journey, you realise that the air - that was once evening-cool, with a crisp breeze - has grown hotter and balmier, as if you are in the middle of a summer's day.

The flowers that grow in the grass have changed colour, too; you do not recognise the blooms that decorate the landscape, though you're struck by how bountiful they seem. That they are open despite the evening, turning towards the moon as so many others turn towards the sun. You can sense that they perfume the air with some kind of strange, heavy scent - but you cannot name what exactly that scent is.

Your limbs feel strangely heavy, and you have the slightest headache at the back of your eyes. But you persevere, one foot in front of the other, sure of yourself that you have made the right decision following this little-used path.

But you have not - for more reasons than you yet realise.

And so, far sooner in your journey than one could ever have expected, you had let your foot fall onto grass glistening with dew-drops in the moonlight, and suddenly you had found yourself surrounded by fallen soldiers glowing with an unearthly purple light. Their bodies twisted in their corruption, their faces wiped blank by the abyssal magic of the Wild Hunt - and no thoughts in their head but to attack the strange newcomer who has stumbled into their midst.

(And you have indeed stumbled, you realise; that same heavy perfume that is leaking into the air seems to have robbed you of your balance, your body not following your orders the way it is supposed to. Even taking a breath feels laboured. It is almost like some heavy curtain has fallen over you; your skin prickling, your heart rate slowing, your breath catching in your throat).

You are not a fighter.

You do not have a vision or a moonwheel on your hip to help; you do not have a weapon in your bag. You had been prepared to rely on your careful wits and your planning. And surrounded on all sides by the Wild Hunt, like baying bloodhounds eager to see your life spilling out like so much moonlight over the grass, you do not know what you could possibly do to stop your impending death.

But you are lucky.

You are loved, and cherished, and protected - and it seems that Flins has indeed realised why it is you were asking him with a faux innocent air where he'd found himself most busy these past few nights. Because as you are resigning yourself to the end of your life, you see a lantern cut across the dark and hear a cultured voice murmuring to you;

"Stay back, darling. I'll handle this."

The relief that you feel at the sound of his voice cannot possibly be measured; the hope that flares in your heart is like the blooming of a flower, and you stumble backwards as Flins' figure elegantly cuts across the grass. Your breath catches as his polearm arcs through the air, as his lantern glows with an unearthly light and the figures that were converging upon you are banished back to whatever abyss it is they came from.

You're almost mesmerised, as you watch that graceful arc; he moves like a dancer, like someone hypnotising you with every stretch and lunge. He's beautiful, lit by the feral purple glow of the Wild Hunt and his own Electro, and you feel suddenly dizzy with want for him.

Violence has never before truly excited you in this way, but something about watching Flins be the one to enact it, in this particular situation . . . you can barely keep yourself upright. You stumble towards a likely-looking bank of grass replete with those strange flowers, and sink into it on your knees. You take in a deep breath of the perfume, your gaze not tearing away from where Flins is quickly dispatching the few final members of the Wild Hunt.

He turns to you, and there is no sweat upon his brow; but there's a strange look in his golden eyes, one that you've usually only seen in far more intimate moments. He blinks, as if he's trying to rid himself of an unpleasant thought, but he cannot fully make it go away. Instead, his voice sounding somewhat clipped, he takes one step towards you and whispers in a voice that is full-throated;

"Why did you come here alone? Why not . . . wait for me?"

You cannot help the pout that alights on your face at this. Flins gives a smile to see the pout, but his smile wobbles at the edges.He falls to his knees before you and reaches to your face, his gloved thumb stroking over the soft apple of your cheek.

"I wanted to surprise you," you whisper, surprised by how dry your voice comes out when you manage it. You try to blink back the sticky miasma of desire you're feeling yourself; you don't know what it is about everything that's just happened that has so driven you to your baser instincts! But Flins is all the more handsome in the moonlight, all the more desirable after seeing him quell the abyss for the sake of your safety. "I wanted to show I was . . . capable . . ."

He lets out a soft chuckle of laughter, breathless, and you feel your skin flush in embarrassment. It feels as though you've done precisely the opposite of that tonight.

"But why here?" He asks, pressing onwards. You're all the more aware of his palm against the side of your cheek, of his surprising bulk beneath his Ratnik uniform - and about what you'd hoped would lie at the end of your journey, when Flins returned home to you. You'd envisioned such a thing taking place on Flins' bed, but suddenly the soft grass beneath you does not seem so bad a consolation prize. "Do you . . . not know what you've stumbled into?"

"The Wild Hunt, it seems," you whisper, and Flins laughs again - but there is a darker edge to his laugh. Something hungry. Something full of want. It is a laugh that reminds you that Flins is not merely human - that within his handsome guise lies something that has existed for far longer than you ever will.

"Didn't you recognise the flora?" He asks. "Didn't you wonder why nobody else ever seems to take this path?"

You're embarrassed to admit that you had not wondered such a thing; you had been too proud of your own cleverness in planning this route. You had not asked questions, and you are far from a botanist. You look to one side, to the fragrant pale purple blooms that litter the grass.

"What are they?" You ask him, your throat dry, and Flins smiles again.

"Do you feel that?" He asks you, instead of answering your question. It's a peculiar quirk of his to not enjoy answering straight questions; to like to dance around them and play games with you. You sometimes find it exasperating - but right now, his eyes glowing warm and golden, his hand so comforting on your skin as it slides from your cheek and down your jaw and down your neck - right now, it's terribly endearing. You feel a pang of wanting, deep inside of you. "How warm it is? How much you want me?"

"I--I suppose so," you say, skin going hot. Flins' tongue flicks out, wetting his lips.

"I feel it too," he whispers. "Everything within me is just shouting at me that I ought to pin you down and have my wicked way with you right now, right here on the grass, and damn anyone who gets in the way." You gasp as his fingers slip under the neckline of your shirt - his fingertips are cool upon your heated skin. "My instincts are whispering that I should take you right here; fill you so full up with myself and my seed that you're never again in doubt of who it is you belong to. So that no filthy abyssal creatures would dare touch you, you would smell so much of me. So that you I'd never need to worry about you traipsing off to do something as dangerous as this. All round and fertile and bred, with my child - so unmistakably mine."

You realise exactly what it is that the great flowers are giving off. You've read about it, but you've never once encountered it in real life - usually it's the fodder of those Inazuman light novels that nobody wants to admit to reading.

Something to do with aphrodisiacs in the pollen, making those who breathe in the fumes from the flowers lose their sense of propriety and stimulating the parts of their brain and body that lead to arousal. The particular kinds you've read about are only active at night, when their flowers open - but until then, you and Flins will both be at its mercy.

In other words--

"Sex pollen?"

And Flins laughs, and pulls you into a kiss, and you know that the two of you will not be leaving this particular spot - this particular mound of grass, surrounded by these particular flowers - until the sun rises once again, and the two of you have gotten the spores of pollen out of your system.

He tastes cool, like fresh spring water on a crisp autumn morning; it's a salve to lips that you hadn't yet realised were burning for it. And he kisses you, too, like a man who is starving but still wishes to preserve his dignity; a man with a feast before him who intends to take his time savouring it instead of gorging himself on it. You gasp into his mouth as his teeth - just a touch too sharp to be fully mortal - bite into the soft, plump flesh of your lower lip. He stops just before the pressure becomes painful. Ordinarily, he'd pull back now - check to make sure that you were both happy with the way things were going - but with the pollen addling both of your brains, he does no such thing. Instead, his tongue pushes into yours with a possessive motion that makes the space between your thighs throb, and you find yourself whining helplessly into his mouth.

Your hands come up to tangle through his indigo-dark locks, and Flins - feeling spurred on by the touch - kisses you deeper, harder. His tongue traces your teeth, learns your mouth as though it is something to be studied, and you are powerless against him but to sigh and whine and whimper. You feel heat as it rises into your stomach and tingles to each extremity; to your fingertips and your toes, need in a sense that you've never experienced. You've wanted Flins before - of course you have, this is far from the first time the two of you have been intimate - but you have never before felt as though you might die if you didn't pull him into you. That without the feeling of him on you and in you, taking you and claiming you, you would simply cease to be.

You know it is the spores of the pollen that is muddling your brain so, but you can't bring yourself to care when something so simple as a kiss is capable of pulling forth this depth of feeling in you.

Flins pulls away from your mouth with a wet pop, only to immediately begin to rain kisses upon your cheek, your bare neck. You arch your back for him so he can reach more of the skin there, and you cry out into the cool, dark night as he sucks a love-bite directly into the hollow of your throat. The slight push-pull of the bruising pain is the most intense sensation that you have ever felt, you think - up until Flins' hands reach up and begin to undo the buttons of your shirt, and he's able to drop more and more kisses down your collarbone and onto the plush curve of where your breasts are held in by your undergarments.

Every new love-bite that he sucks into your skin feels like a new plane of Celestia; a new discovery of parts of your body that you didn't realise were so sensitive right up until Flins excavated them, an archaeologist expert in all things you.

(Once, back when you'd first met Flins and you were hesitant when things turned intimate, you had shied away from him and held your clothes closer to you. His voice had been patient as he had told you he would wait, but reminded you that he had seen many great beauties in his wanderings in Snezhnaya and Nod-Krai, and you were still his favourite. You were still the one who haunted his dreams. You hadn't known then, just how old Flins was and how many others he must have seen - but knowing that now just makes his impassioned plea and the warmth of those golden eyes as he had reassured you seem all the sweeter. Of all of the people in Snezhnaya, in all of the candlelit ballrooms and the snow-swirling landscapes and the old merchant's shops and every other place Flins has haunted, you are still the most beautiful. You are still his favourite. Right now, with the hunger that Flins stares you down with in his gaze and the heated feel of gloved fingers running over bare flesh, you would be foolish to think otherwise).

Cool air on your bare skin as Flins covetously pulls your shirt off completely, and then works his thumbs into the waistband of your skirt to pull that down and over the soft valley of your stomach, the curve of your hips and the roundness of your thighs. You're in practical clothing, for the walk you'd intended to take - but Flins still acts as though he is pulling off the priceless jewels of a queen, and under his gaze (no matter how heated and hungry the pollen has turned it) you cannot help but feel like one.

"You're beautiful," he says to you, his eyes caressing every inch of you as if this is the first time he has seen you. Your underwear is plain yet serviceable, much like the clothes you had worn for the journey - but again, under Flins' eyes you feel as though you are clad in strips of ribbon and lace, silk and satin and pearls and jewels. You cannot even bring yourself to care of the grass behind you, where it presses into your skin - it will probably leave stains of mud and leaves and grass tomorrow, but all that seems to matter is Flins, and his body against yours.

He seems to be able to think through the haze of the pollen a touch better than you - though with his physiology, you suppose that is to be expected. Still - he has enough patience to stop there, to look at you and admire you and whisper compliments even though his throat sounds thick. You reach up one hand to cup his cheek, his skin cool.

"You're beautiful," you tell him - and then, because you can barely stand the distance between you. "Please kiss me more. Please touch me more."

A strangled laugh escapes Flins' throat, and his gaze once more roves over you. Soft flesh, all curves and plump spillage - your hips, your stomach, your thighs and your upper arms. They're all places that you've silently cursed and pinched at and frowned at in mirrors, but under Flins' gaze you are entirely transformed.

"Just let me look at you," he says, and you cannot believe his patience. Does he not know that your stomach is roaring? That your chest is beating a rhythm that seems almost unnatural in your breast? That with every shift of your body you can sense the slickness that has saturated through your underwear, the ache of emptiness inside of you? "You're not often presented so . . . exquisitely." The back of one gloved hand trails over your body, and you feel your nipples peak even through the soft fabric of your brassiere, and a shiver runs down your back. "You can't blame a man for liking to look at what's his." A smile quirks the corner of his lips. "Though I suppose I am no man . . . Still. You're so lovely, laid out like this for me."

"You should see how lovely I can be without the underwear," you say, far forwarder than you would normally be - but oh, the pollen! The ache inside of you! Flins had said that the flowers would close when dawn came, but it is still the middle of the night and your need still seems to echo through your bones, a ceaseless chant that can only be quieted by Flins filling the ache inside of you.

Another laugh falls from Flins' lips.

"Yes," he agrees, his voice mild - though you let your eyes stray to his crotch, and you can see that there's a noticeable stiffness pressing against the fabric. You try to make them focus on the rest of him through the hazy gaze of need, and swear that you see, too, the faintest flush high on his cheekbones. The way his pupils are just a touch more blown out than usual. The fact that his lips are slightly swollen, as if he's been biting them as a way to keep himself pulled back. "I rather think I'd like that."

But he still does not hurry himself - though now you're attuned to it, you can see the tremble in his fingers as he reaches behind you to unclip your brassiere. His fingers are tender as they slip beneath the straps, where they dig into the plump flesh of your shoulders. As he lifts it away and your breasts, your nipples hard, are revealed to the same cool air, he takes in a great shuddering gasp of want.

He takes a moment, before he moves to your stockings, to once more make his mark on your now bare breasts. His mouth encircles the nub of one nipple, his tongue lapping across it until it strains and pebbles, before he takes it entirely within and suckles. His teeth graze along the sensitive bud and oh, that sensation is just too much for your fraught body to handle - you buck beneath him, whining, the emptiness inside of you all the more pressing as pleasure suffuses first one of your nipples and then the other as Flins repeats the ministrations.

He is not the kind of man who would leave his work undone; he lavishes both of your nipples and your breasts with attention, the same lick and suck and graze and nibble until you feel utterly helpless and you wonder if it is possible to come just from having your breasts and nipples played with. Flins has always been conscientious about such things, whether it be his jigsaw puzzles or his gems or other things in his collection - and though you should hate the idea of being owned, of being part of such a thing . . . you cannot help but be honoured that Flins wants to treat you in the same careful, thorough way he treats other things that belong to him.

You remember what he'd said, earlier, and a shiver of delight runs through you. You want to belong to him. The idea of being filled with him, of being claimed by him--

Does he not realise how his words have taken root inside of you until you will settle for nothing less?

He works off each of your stockings next, your shoes coming with them - you hadn't even realised you still had them on! It is so easy to forget such banal things when your head is full of the promise of the night, and the touch of Flins' mouth and fingers. As he rolls the stockings down your full, generous thighs he smiles at you and murmurs;

"You have no idea what the sight of this," and he pinches, gently, the flesh of your upper thigh, "over where your stockings dig in does to me. Just the reminder of how . . . ripe you are for the taking. Oh, darling, it's a wonder I get anything done when you're always running rampant in my thoughts. Sometimes when I'm on a long patrol I get myself through it imagining your thighs clamped either side of my head when I get back to the lighthouse--"

Your face goes hot. Flins doesn't often confide his desires in you out loud - this is a new development, no doubt spurred by the pollen on the air taking away some of his exhibitions. Knowing that Flins has thought such things about you, though, when he's supposed to be at work--

"I'll make sure that you're suitably rewarded, then," you manage to get out, breathlessly. "Next time you get home late--"

Flins laughs, and then his hands are on your underwear and he's pulling those down.

You see that a sticky web of your own slick clings to the gusset of the underwear as he pulls them down, unwilling to be separated - but as it breaks, Flins lets out a low groan in the back of his throat that ranks amongst the most animal noises you have ever heard from him. You swear that you feel your insides clench, that you feel another pump of your own slick slide down your channel to web at your entrance.

"I can smell you," Flins whispers, and now when he looks at you those golden yellow eyes seem to burn like fire. "Oh, dearheart. You have no idea what it is you do to me. I fear . . . I fear I may not be a gentleman for much longer."

An exhale into the air. Your eyes meet his. You wonder what they look like in turn - if your own gaze is lit by the same kind of feral fire as Flins', or if your pupils have gone wide and dark and blown.

"Good," you whisper, and you spread your thighs like an invitation. "I don't want you to be a gentleman with me."

When he smiles, once again you see the flash of teeth just a little bit away from being human - but then, he bends, and you see the flick of his tongue, and his tongue is pressing against your sex and you lose the ability to do anything else but enjoy yourself.

It feels as though every nerve ending you possess has had its sensitivity magnified by a hundred, and such a thing is half-pain and half-pleasure but, more than that, it goes some of the way towards easing the ache inside of you that the pollen in the air has created.

Flins knows exactly what he's doing with his tongue - you can see the glow of those yellow-gold eyes if you look down, but you do not have the facilities to look down right now. In fact, all you can do as Flins' tongue licks and sucks at you, his thumbs parting the plump lips of your labia as he works you over so he can learn your sex as thoroughly as he earlier learnt your mouth, is stare up into the starlight-scattered night and gasp and whine and let your eyes roll back into your head as Flins once more lays claim to another secret part of you.

Oh, when he has done this before it has been good - but to describe this occasion as merely 'good' would be to do it a great disservice.

Flins does not start with your clit, though it aches and throbs to be paid attention. He starts with the sides of your sex, kissing and licking, nibbling and grazing his teeth. He swirls his tongue over the hood of your clit and around your entrance, but does not yet breach those most sensitive parts of you. He alternates broad strokes and soft flicks, kisses and rolls of his tongue, until you are so wet between your thighs you can't tell what might be your own slick and what might be his saliva.

By the time he does move onto your clit, you let out a noise that sounds more like a sob at the relief of it all - but he still starts slowly. He pokes at the swollen nub with the very edge of his tongue, teasing you. He rolls his tongue around it, not quite brushing against the pearl replete with the nerve endings that might make you finally tumble over into a bliss that you can feel hovering over you like a physical thing.

Then, he gives one slow, certain lap over your clit and you cry out his name, your nerves feeling as though they white-out. It is not an orgasm, but it is as if a promise has finally been fulfilled, and it's so pleasurable you feel as if you might cry.

He doesn't leave it at that. Once the dam has broken, Flins has no qualms about continuing his assault over your clit, and what started as one slow lap becomes a complicated dance of his tongue, skilful flicks and laps and swirls that have your hands finding purchase in his hair and tugging and your voice whispering out his name like it's a magical spell. You swear that it seems as though Flins does not need to breathe, the amount of time he spends between your thighs, working his magic on your clit (and you realise, later on, you've never thought to question if indeed a fae would need to draw breath). He sucks it into his mouth and works it like it's the most delicious thing he's ever tasted, he drinks down your slick like ambrosia - and when he pulls back, he reaches for your face where it's tipped up to the sky and angles it towards him.

"I'm going to make you come," he tells you, your gaze locked on his. You realise that as he's been working at you with his mouth, he's undone his own trousers - his cock is in his other fist, slender and pale and flushed, as beautiful and graceful as Flins himself. The thought that he has been working himself whilst he's been using his mouth on you makes you go hot all over, that emptiness and dizziness inside of you twirling around one another until you can barely think. "And then," he says, his voice low and throatier than you've ever heard it, a reminder that he was once a nobleman and an aristocrat who is used to having his whims obeyed, "I am going to claim you."

Neither of these things are phrased as questions. They are both orders; certainties of what will happen. But as Flins drops your chin and the hand formerly on your face finds your entrance, his fingers quickly saturating in your slick (at some point he must have taken his gloves off, you realise, for his hand was bare around his cock too), you cannot bring yourself to care.

As one of his fingers pushes inside of you and finally - finally! - the emptiness inside of you is somewhat sated, you drive your hips against it to pull him in, and as Flins' tongue once more finds your clit to suckle at it, you can feel that those nerve endings deep inside of you are sparking with some kind of magic.

You come.

Two of his fingers inside of you, curled, to pet at that special spongy spot inside of you that Flins has always been able to find without thinking about it. His tongue flat against your clit. The soft slick sound of flesh on flesh, as he works his cock (though you do not think he will come. You think that there might be something in the air - in the spores - that prevents you from finding release at your own hand).

It feels as though your entire body is on fire; like you are a wick that has been eaten at so quickly it can barely register and has burnt down in order to set fireworks off. You imagine yourself exploding; you imagine sparks from every finger, every toe. You feel the way that the orgasm takes over you until it feels as though you're not in control of yourself. You feel heat and warmth coil inside of you, and you expect to find some kind of relief when it is over - as though you have finally beaten the monster inside of you that is begging for more.

But when Flins pulls his fingers out of you and his mouth pulls off of you, when you watch him lick his fingers of your arousal . . . you still feel as empty as when you started. Perhaps even more so.

A noise escapes your mouth; frustration warring with desire. Flins smiles at you, his own arousal only sharpening his features - he has not yet even gotten to come once.

"Shh," he murmurs, as he leans over you and takes your hips in his hands. He manhandles you as though you weigh less than nothing, despite the fact that the way his fingers dig into your generous hips proves that wrong. "It won't abate until we've fulfilled the terms it wants."

"Wh-what?"

Oh. He's brought you to exactly the right position to be able to enter you; moved you slightly up on the little hill you've been splayed out on, so that your crotch and his are level. When he moves so that his slender hips are between yours, you feel the head of his cock (silky and wet and red-hot) brush against the bare flesh of your thigh, and you almost lose the thread of your thought.

But Flins - his face lit by a feral need that is mirrored only by the one that you can feel inside of you - smiles at you, even as his cock brushes over your slick sex. You feel the head bump your clit, before he rearranges his hips and it catches on your entrance and your mouth drops open with a gasp. It is just far enough inside of you that you feel the way you open for it - but not yet far enough inside for it to do anything to ease that empty ache.

"When the dawn comes," Flins murmurs, "and you've been thoroughly claimed. When you're leaking my come. When I've fully made you mine."

Your throat goes dry at the same time as you swear you feel your mouth water, Flins' earlier promise coming back to you threefold.

"Please," you say, helpless, needy, wanting. Addled by the pollen in the air and the way he had looked when he was saving your life, by everything you've done and spoken about since the moment you stepped foot in Nod-Krai. For Flins, who is so gentlemanly and handsome and polite, so strange and yet so sweet,- and all of his secrets.

He's pulled out before, neither of you willing to chance it, letting his release spatter over your stomach or your chest. When he'd said it earlier, he must have seen how it had made you react - but now, with his cock almost inside of you, the very real reality of what he's saying hangs over you.

Flins holds himself back, and you realise he is waiting for you to give him your blessing, despite the animalistic lust in his eye and the curl of his teeth that seems to almost hold back a snarl.

You realise exactly what you want.

"Yes," you breathe to him, and you shift on the mound you're laid upon and the head of his cock pops wetly inside of you. "Claim me. Make me yours."

Flins does not need to be asked twice.

It is as if you have given him full permission to finally embrace the animalistic side of himself, and once more you are reminded that you have at least gotten to come tonight, even if it has indeed done nothing to quell the want inside of you. But the way that Flins flexes his hips and his entire length slips inside of you makes you shudder in full-body pleasure.

It is a tight fit, and yet at the same time it is a perfect fit, and he slips into the shape of you as if he was made to go inside. You feel yourself cling to him like a silk glove, and your fingers come up to cling to his shoulders in turn. He is still mostly dressed in comparison to your nakedness, and yet that somehow makes it seem all the better - the difference between him in his Ratnik uniform, lost to his lust, and you in nature amongst the blooms of Nod-Krai shod in nothing but moonlight and starshine.

You cannot express the relief you feel, to be full - but Flins lets out that chest deep groan, his hips still tilted towards you as if he wants to be even deeper inside of you than his not-insignificant length will allow. You wonder how he felt this; if, instead of an empty ache, he felt the need to be inside of something (inside of you) - two halves of a whole.

He moves backwards, though, his cock dragging along the velvety inner sleeve of your sex, and you lose the ability to think. You lose the ability to do anything but revel in the sensation of having him inside of you. You're suddenly aware of his body over yours, the tickle of his hair where it drags against your bare skin, the feeling of cool breath against your heated body. You put an arm around his neck and pull him down to kiss you deep and hungry as he fucks into you, and as your gaze meets his you feel perfectly at peace.

You are meant to be here - and Flins is meant to be here with you. His cock dragging inside of you, his hips bumping against yours, his lips upon your lips. This is perfect. This is what the night has been building towards since the moment you stepped foot into the territory of the Wild Hunt.

Flins groans out your name against your lips as he continues to move his hips in and out of you, as he finally finds a rhythm and slides into it. On other days, at other times, you would call the rhythm 'punishing' - certainly, it's faster and harder than any other time you and Flins have made love. But for this moment, it is perfect. For this moment, with need and want and heat coalescing inside of you and the heavy fragrance of the sex pollen blooms hanging in the air, it is exactly the rhythm that you need him to be fucking into you.

The drag of his cock sets your nerves on fire once again, reawakening the need and desire for orgasm. This time, you realise, it will be quicker - whatever magic is at work within the flora of this area of Nod-Krai is pleased that he is inside of you, and it will reward you with a sooner orgasm. You wonder if you'll get to come again before Flins has come even once - and that leads you to think about where Flins is going to come, and the sensation of being filled with his release when he does reach his peak--

"Perfect," Flins has whispered against your mouth, and he is looking at you with his pupils blown wide. "You're perfect," he says to you, and you feel it. You feel right.

"Please," you reply to him, your voice weak with wanting. "Please, Flins. I want to be yours. I want you to claim me."

And Flins delivers.

He pushes that rhythm further and further, his body fitting inside yours; until it is almost painful, the way that he fucks into you. Your body bounces with each thrust, but under Flins' gaze you cannot find it within yourself to be ashamed of the curve of your stomach or the bounce of your breasts - not when his eyes keep straying to them when they move, as hungry as a starving man can possibly be. You feel his cock inside of you, keep track of the cadence of his breath - and as he fucks you, you lose time.

The moon seems to float across the sky quicker than it possibly can, as Flins continues to fuck into you - you should feel exhausted, you think, for if the movement of the moon is anything to go by it ought to have been hours. But each thrust feels as velvet smooth as before, even in the punishing pace that Flins is using - and you long for it to continue forever.

You think you would be happy here, beneath him forever, with his cock pumping into you and your flesh tingling with pleasure.

But as dawn begins to tinge the air pink instead of lavender, something changes. His breath comes out more as a growl and you feel the way that he loses his rhythm, and you know that his peak is coming.

Your body has surprised you; you have felt as though you were trembling on the edge of an orgasm this whole time, but another has not rocketed through you. You realise as Flins' thrusts become messy and hungry that this is by design - that the two of you were always meant to come together, at the behest of the pollen that clings to your lungs. You are not angry about it.

Flins' mouth smashes hungrily against yours. The quickness of his hips moves to fever pitch - and you find yourself automatically wrapping your full, plump thighs around his waist as if trying to pull him in ever deeper. Flins groans, hungry, wanting - and you whine, your teeth biting into his bottom lip, the fluttering inside of you reaching a fever pitch.

His cock twitches once, twice. You break the kiss to cry out, and it breaks the morning like dawn light.

"Mine," Flins whispers, more animal than you've ever heard him - and then he is coming, and you are coming, and everything seems to be right with the world.

Every experience you have had on this strange night feels as though it could be described as 'indescribable', but the one you have as you feel yourself let go, as your sex constricts and loosens and pulses with the peaks and waves of your orgasm, as you feel Flins' cock inside of you release his seed and fill you up . . . that, perhaps, is the hardest feeling to grasp again.

For you do feel as though you are his. You feel claimed by him in every way, from the pleasure that is emanating through your body to the thick warmth settling inside of you that has issued forth from him. From the lovebites on your throat to the grass stains on your skin. And when you look up at him, your breath coming in slow gasps, your eyes heavy with a sudden tiredness - Flins smiles at you, and for the first time since you breathed in the scent of that strange flora you feel full.

The empty ache inside of you has gone, and it has been replaced by the feel of Flins' release - his claim on you. Thicker than you thought it would be. Warmer. But exactly right.

His hand rests on the soft flesh of your stomach as he pulls out of you, but you do not move just yet lest any of his come should slide out of you. His hand does not move. There is a strange smile on his face; something proud and happy and shy, something almost afraid.

"Do you regret it?" He asks, and his voice is back to normal now; there is no baying desire at the back of his throat save for the desire that is always present when he looks at your body. That golden gaze ruefully travels up to meet yours. "If you do--"

"No," you say, surprised by your own certainty. "This feels . . . right."

Flins is gentlemanly as he gathers your clothes - he does not try to put them all on again, but he pulls your shirt back on as you lay there, and fastens your skirt back around your waist. You do not have his magical physiology; your night of passion has left you gasping and exhausted, but fully satisfied. He does not make an attempt at your stockings.

"Then," he says, and a faint smile plays at the corners of his lips. "You would not object to me . . . staking my claim again? Tonight, perhaps?"

You finally deign to allow yourself to be pulled up onto your feet, and you find yourself terribly glad that none of the come that Flins fucked into you slides down your inner thigh. You imagine yourself, flush and round with child; the heaviness of your breast, the way that Flins would look at you with hungry eyes, the way his voice would pitch lower as he took you to his bed, like the way he had spoken last night describing what he wished to do to you--

Flins wraps his coat around your shoulders to hide the dishevelment of your clothes, the grass stains that have marred the fabric as well as your skin - and you look up at him and smile.

"I would not object at all," you say to him, your own voice low and hungry. "Perhaps you might need to do it twice more. Maybe even three times. Just to make sure that nothing like this ever occurs again."

He laughs, and presses a kiss to the top of your head.

"Believe me, dearest," he says, and though there's the lilt of laughter in his voice you still believe him completely, "every creature in the whole of Teyvat will know who you belong to by this time tomorrow morning."

You think of the warmth between your legs and Flins' body above yours and how full you feel.

"Mm," you say. "Still. Perhaps you ought to stay at it for a while longer. Just to make sure it takes."

#RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA NEEDTHAT #flins #hsr #smut

sunee-syrup

pedestal. [akaashi keiji x f!reader]

» Akaashi Keiji is the image of deference. Of worship.«

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TAGS: friends to lovers, fluff, down-bad akaashi, experienced akaashi x inexperienced yn, "teach me" trope, cunnilingus, penetrative sex, akaashi not knowing how to communicate because hes so smart yet so so dumb

a/n: thank you so very much to the person who commissioned this fic!!! i had a crazy amount of fun with this, you literally have no idea <3333

[commission honee here!]

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#everything u write. it’s like discovering religion this shit is sacred #once again. it’s nearly 2 am. i’m supposed to go to the grocery store tomorrow. and what am i doing instead?#thanking god for whoever commissioned this bc ur writing is earth shattering. and i am earth #thank u for existing and blessing us with ur talents #hq #smut #favfavfav

summer-oil-inactive

SYNOPSIS: You don’t like it when Suguru takes care of you. As your boyfriend, he takes offense to that.

WORD COUNT: 8.2k

CONTENTS: suguru geto x gn!reader, hurt/comfort, early relationship hurdles, reader is unaccustomed to suguru’s self-sustaining brand of caretaking: inner spiral ensues, jealousy and all that good stuff, reader has an established ct. non-sexual nudity. reader is referred to by their name exactly once, but it’s blacked out (<- guy who didn’t want to slam [Name] in there). sugu-typical intensity and yearning; he’s silly and boyish and in love.

A/N: this was commissioned by my dearest @loverducky !! 💗 thank you so much for your patience and kindness ily very much… please enjoy 8k of suguru geto Going Through It <3

When your technique sputters out, Suguru feels a cold wash over his bone-marrow.

It's a warm evening in April, and you're standing in front of a First-Grade cursed spirit: an onryō, if his instincts are on the money, clinging to the presence of a nearby well. Five-yen coins click together in her palms, catching streaks of light with every movement she makes, the rest of her body blotted in shadow. Underneath her bare feet, crushed glass stains the grass crimson.

The effects of her technique aren't physical. It has something to do with the coins— with each clink, a different bone in his body feels out of sorts. Whatever conditions are needed for it to root itself into the innermost parts of him, they've already been fulfilled. Must be connected to these grounds themselves. The crushed glass makes her scream, and the bottom of his throat twists. One coin scrapes against the other, and his limbs feel like lead. Suguru isn't worried, because this cursed spirit isn't as hostile as she could be; lashing out in defense but never making a direct move to kill him. Some vengeful spirits are like that. They want to be left alone.

His curses aren't responding to him properly, though. That's worrisome.

#GRAGHHHGGHGGG IM SO CEAZY #geto #jjk #comfort

bangedmygenshins

bleeding heart on your sleeve

Glimpses of you through Alhaitham's eyes throughout the years...

"Are you really being forced to do something if you say yes?" Into young adulthood, this was Alhaitham's philosophy. It colored his view of others, including you, tinging that bright laugh you somehow never lost and painting every traitorous curve of your lips in an unpleasant light. A doormat like you reaped what you sowed. You allowed yourself to be treated poorly, so the outcomes were obvious and expected. He hated your type; you were too eager to please others who would never reciprocate. But after a chance event pulled you two together, an unlikely friendship blossomed. Years passed, and the closer you grew, the more the dislike was a front put on, a disguise for his thinly veiled concern. In your time of need, his prior words would come to haunt him. tldr: Alhaitham changes his mind about you.

word count: 12.7k... I'm so sorry lol please give this a chance if ur willing :') and disclaimer this is only part 1 oops

(cw: abusive parents, arranged marriage; read the tags for all disclaimers/warnings**)

Dear Alhaitham, Congratulations on your acceptance into the Haravatat darshan of the Akademiya. This was the most competitive year in this darshan in over a decade, with only a select few rising to the occasion. Haravatat welcomes you wholeheartedly and would like to extend an invitation for you to join its ranks.

The crisp sound of paper tearing was the only sound to fill the air. With precision befitting of his character, he cut through the paper so cleanly than the incision was nearly undetectable by the naked eye.

Dear Alhaitham, Congratulations on your acceptance into the Amurta darshan of the Akademiya. Amurta welcomes you and would like to congratulate you on your efforts.

He wielded the letter opener calmly, each movement purposeful. He sliced open the next envelope in one fluid motion.

Dear Alhaitham, Congratulations on your–

And the next.

Dear Alhaitham-

And the next, until all six letters had been opened.

He scanned the acceptances calmly. From his first glance at the letters, there wasn't a single flicker of surprise in his eyes. It would have been more absurd if he hadn't gotten in. And yet his expression beheld no satisfaction or joy at the discovery of his success, remaining that blank canvas with just enough sharpness in its edges that it unnerved others.

He collected the acceptances into a neat pile. If one observed closely, perhaps the distant look in his eyes could be detected as he stared at the far wall and absentmindedly began to thumb through the pages.

When he had begrudgingly sent in his applications to the Akademiya months ago, he had anticipated this result. And yet, it was still irritating. The acceptances sung his praises, yet they were empty words. They meant nothing. Neither did the acceptances.

Yet he showed no reaction, no single crease of tension on his face to denote his annoyance. Why anyone was so desperate to receive these letters was beyond him.

A small puff of air left his mouth, the only sign of his displeasure. He wasn't eager to return to the Akademiya, remembering his less than ideal experience from when his grandmother had enrolled him over a decade ago—the whole thing was so irksome that he only lasted half a day. But he didn't plan to withdraw again. He couldn't, not when his grandmother had made him promise to give the Akademiya another try before she passed, and not when it was the most direct way for him to make a livelihood.

Admitted with top marks, he had a clear plan: to keep his head down and focus on his studies to graduate in as little time as possible. He wouldn't know anyone there anyway—his social circle more closely resembled a dot.

Or at least, he hoped he wouldn't know anyone.

#(im)patiently waiting for part 2 after that cliff hanger #alhaitham #hsr

yinyuedijun

PERFUME | zanka nijiku x f!reader

After living his entire life as a beta, Zanka goes into his first rut at the age of twenty-two. This complicates his relationship with you—the only omega in all of Cleaners' HQ.

13.8k words of a/b/o romance and smut! nsft tags: solo, multiple orgasms (zanka receiving), piv sex (reader receiving), knotting, shamelessly horny rut sex. warnings: themes of gender-based discrimination, briefly mentions trafficking and pregnancy/fertility (not in a kinky way). a/b/o worldbuilding notes here!

notes: kei urana revealed that zanka smells like incense and within 7 business days I wrote 14k words about it... man.

Zanka should have been an alpha.

His father had never said that in so many words, but he isn't stupid. During his last days at the Nijiku Estate, he could sense his old man’s disappointment with his disposition. Zanka was supposed to graduate at the top of the Academy like Kyouka and Goka. He was supposed to serve in the Hell Guard like Kyouka and Goka. He was supposed to present, at some point between the ages of thirteen to sixteen, as an alpha—just like Kyouka and Goka. Like everyone else bearing the Nijiku name, Zanka had been meant to dominate Kamuatari district in every way possible: as a genius, as a martial artist, as a leader.

As an alpha.

But Zanka never graduated from the Academy, and he never became a Hell Guard, and he also never, at some point between the ages of thirteen to sixteen, presented as an alpha. He ended up a beta and a Giver, and he ran away to join the Cleaners—an organization that is ironically full of alphas. He’s unusual for being a beta, and he guesses he's also unusual for being an all-around mediocre guy surrounded by alphas like Enjin and Tamsy and Semiu. Which should be fine. He's made peace with what he is.

Except you're an omega.

#GRAHGHHHGHHHHGGYRYG #WOLF RIPPING SHIRT #ZANKAAAAAAA #dumbass made me physically face palm and say dumbass out loud TWICE #he should change his name to tom foolery #zanka #smut

knightjpg

proxima centauri

Caleb invites Gideon to spend his birthday with the three of you.

tags: 🔞f/f/m, piv sex, anal sex, double penetration in two holes, voyeurism, fellatio, no y/n. calebmc's usual pseudo-incest, now with gideon flavour.

“I’m headin’ home for the weekend,” Caleb tells Gideon casually. “Want to come with?”

Gideon pauses, bent over his boots, then continues to tighten the laces. “Yeah, sure thing.” Equally casually. His voice doesn’t waver anymore, even though Caleb has always kept his invitation confined to the privacy of their shared dorm room. Still Gideon’s fingers fumble the knot. Sweaty. He has to start over again from the bottom.

“You sure?” Gideon looks up. Caleb is standing over his bed, back turned to Gideon. He’s folding his clothes into his duffel bag. “It’s gonna be your birthday. You don’t wanna visit family?”

“No, they’re travelling for work right now.” And even then. Gideon can never say no to Caleb—or to you, for that matter. The yes is implicit. Taken and given without question; Gideon can tell from Caleb’s tone. Even if he asks he already knows.

#IM SO SICK OVER THIS IM VRAXY #/POS #GRAFFHGGHHGGHGHHGHHHH #caleb #lads #smut

showhay

germs

sakusa kiyoomi x f!reader

love is real because kiyoomi would fight influenza like it insulted your mother and stole your lunch money.

#MY MANNNNNNNN U DONT GET IT #I LOVD HIM MMMM #sakusa #fluff

emmyrosee

Kiyoomi has to leave.

It’s well past his time that he’s comfortable leaving for practice, it’s tiptoeing past the time he should leave for practice, now it’s creeping up to a time where he needs to leave for practice if he wants to make it remotely close on time.

But you won’t budge. Every time he tries to pull his bicep from under your head, you mewl and curl closer. When he tries to slink his leg out, you’re wrapping your arms around his torso tighter. When he tries to tell you he has to leave, you respond with a swift “nuh-uh,” into his chest, the vibrations of your words tickling against him.

“Baby,” he says, pressing kisses to your head as if to satisfy you. “I have to go. Like, 15 minutes ago.”

“If you’re already late, stay with me,” you mewl.

He sighs and extends a hand to cup your cheek, thumb stroking over the swells, “you know I can’t do that. Especially when I have a brat at home who loves that expensive pastry shop down the street.” He pinches your cheek, and you giggle and shake out of his hold. He smiles as he thinks you’re faltering, but sure enough, when he tries again to get up, you whine and tighten your hold. “Baby, I’m getting up.”

“Like hell you are.”

His brow cocks at your challenge, immediately whipping his body out of your exhausted hold while you groan sadly into the air. He chuckles as you’re quick to immediately get up and reach for him, and he makes a beeline for the bathroom to shower- he’s never gotten undressed so fast, the water is cold from the immediate turn on and jump in, your feet stomping in just three steps behind. At him being wet, you cross your arms.

“Kiyoomi!” You pout. He smirks at you as water cascades down his body. You reach a hand out to paw for him, “let me come in with you?”

“Sorry baby,” he shrugs. “I need to be in and out. But you can shower with me tonight and help me wash my hair.” At his compromise, you put the lid to the toilet seat down and watch him shower, not saying much as he bathes.

You're not happy he's leaving. And in your defense, he's not thrilled to be leaving either.

You stay planted to him while he finishes up, watching him closely, as if soaking in every detail.

Like it's the last time you'll ever see him.

You stay in reach while he throws on his clothes. You're glued as he makes his lunch. You sniff intensely at the nape of his neck, and he hikes up his shoulders and scolds you when you gently try to bite him.

He finally, with you less than two inches behind him, gets ready for the day, he tells you softly to "come here" as to pull you in a tight hug and a kiss to your head. He wondered, briefly, if that would be enough to satisfy your need to be close to him

Unsurprisingly, it's not.

You won’t budge. Standing in your kitchen with your head buried in his chest, fingers twirling the strings of his hoodie, his hands run up and down your back again before pulling back to look at his watch.

“My love-“ his heart breaks as you offer him a swift ‘mhm-nm’ back, your non-verbal cue of ‘no.’ He sighs, “yes, baby. I have to go.”

“No you don’t,” you murmur, shaking your head against him. “You just say that.”

He chuckles and presses a kiss to your head, “you know if I could stay here all day, right here, holding you I would in a heart beat. But,” he finally pulls back, moving a hand to cup your cheek. “I can’t. Not if you want to keep buying from that ridiculous pastry place.”

“Hey,” you huff. “They’re a small business and their stuff is delicious. You know that.”

“I do- and I need money, so we can enjoy those pastries.” He presses a kiss to your forehead and finally, you let him go, moving your arms to hug yourself. “I’ll be home before you know it. I promise.”

You simply nod. He ducks down to give you a kiss on the lips-

Only for you to reel back from the affection.

He clicks his tongue and, immediately, spins you to hold you in his grip, relishing in the giggles you spill. “Don’t be a brat,” he says, peppering kisses to the sensitive spot on your neck. "Don't you ever duck away from my kisses. Never ever."

“I’m won't!” You whine. “Okay! Fine! Go!”

"Give me a kiss," he says. You're smiling now, as you rise on your toes to meet his lips in a kiss. It's quick, Kiyoomi hates how fast it is, but when he pulls back, you're still beaming at him like he used to dream about.

He's living the future he used to dream about.

"I'll see you tonight, angel."

"I'll be here," you whisper.

"I love you."

#dear god please give him to me #to tag

xiaowo

TIGHNARI X GN!READER ┊͙ rated sfw ⸝ comfort ⸝ for the days you feel entirely unlovable ( he loves you, always, regardless of it all ) ݂ ໋. cw for mild angst at the start & deep-rooted feelings of insecurity

It’s moments like this when you wish Tighnari wasn’t always so attentive when it came to you.

“Are you thinking that… just because you’ve had a bad week, you should retreat to your room instead of seeking comfort?” Tighnari observes sharply, ears twitching when he notices the nervous wobble of your lip.

You shake your head, instinctively. “I’m just… tired.”

(You tell yourself that you are not sad. You are not sad now, and you cannot ever be sad, because if nothing else, you at least want to be someone capable of making those around you smile.)

He sighs softly. “Don’t lie to me.”

He’s not smiling.

And neither are you, when you avert your gaze from him and down to your hands twisted in your lap, unsure of where to begin formulating a lie that would convince the only one who sees all of you, to believe you’re merely feeling a bit sleepy.

#umm no lauren commentary tonight folks i fear ill start crying. and maybe never stop

meowdei

aphelion and perihelion — ft. alhaitham

synopsis: you are the daughter of the man alhaitham brought down, bound to him by the soul mark that feels more like a curse than fate. somehow, one letter at a time, he finds his way into your heart—until you can no longer pretend you don’t ache for the man who ruined your life and saved you all at the same time

word count. ❤︎ 14.4k words—give it a chance. PLEASE I BEG give it a chance and i will venmo u a penny

before you read. ❤︎ female reader ; soulmates au ; somewhat enemies to lovers (it’s a bit one sided) ; reader is azar’s daughter ; reader is a rtawahist scholar and wields an electro vision ; reader is going through it guys. cut her some major slack okay ; YEARNER alhaitham ; soulmarks as the soulmates trope ; sumeru plot is heavily referenced and i hope it’s all accurate it’s been 3 years ; male masturbation ; vaginal fingering ; protected sex (use condoms!) ; praise kink ; getting together ; implied moving in together in the end ; this is not proof read. i am tired and hungry

commentary. ❤︎ read the extended author’s note here

The Akademiya admissions form includes the following overview for Rtawahist:

Rtawahist is one of the Six Darshans of the Akademiya that students may select to study, specializing in illuminationism and the pursuit of truth through the study of the stars. Its scope includes, first, astronomy—the mathematical observation and mapping of celestial bodies—and second, astrology—the interpretation of their patterns as signs of destiny. Students who pursue this Darshan will train in celestial observation, star-mapping, and the interpretation of cosmic patterns, combining scientific precision with philosophical inquiry.

#i need to squish him #grhsggagsgdhhdkfhghhhhRARAAAGGGGGGGGGHHHH #alhaitham #hsr #smut #fluff

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