you know that trope where itâs princess + knight, but theyâve both been captured by the bad guys and the princess is now gripped by the jaw by the villain, receiving a thin cut to her cheek while remaining completely still with a defiant look in her eyes even as a droplet of blood begins to trickle out of the wound, all while 3 people AT THE VERY LEAST need to have their hands locked on the knight because heâs thrashing around like a wild animal, trying so so so desperately, violently, to get to her?
synopsis ⊠you tell your roommate, satoru, that you're going on a date. he doesn't like that, so he convinces you to stay home in the best way <3
You and Satoru are close.
Part of it is because you're roommates, the other part is because you're also good friends. Friends who have seen each other naked countless times during your experience living with one another. Friends who casually wear one another's clothes and do each other's laundry. Friends who casually talk about sex and hookups.
Roommates who occasionally hear each other moaning the other's name through thin plaster and then moving on to the next day like it never happened.
Casual, normal roommate things.
So, logically speaking, you thought it'd be fine to tell Satoru that you were planning to go on a date. You've talked about worse, so what's a little date? You haven't been on one in a while; there's no harm. It's light, fun.
And, assuming you know Satoru pretty well, you thought he'd cheer you on. Maybe make a crude joke about getting laid or using protection.
But thinking back on it, you don't think you should've told Satoru that you were going on a date. Not when your roommate is Gojo Satoru, aka the man who has always been oddly possessive of you.
So it really shouldn't surprise you when he interrupts you while you're getting ready for your date. You just didn't expect him to interrupt you like this.
"C-c'mon, babyâŚ" Satoru's breath is hot on your ear, voice rough and breathless. His thrusts press you further over the edge of your vanity, jostling the plethora of products, "Who's that bastard, huh? Who's getting a date with you?"
"I-I, oh fuck, right th-there!" Your words catch in your throat, little huff and puffs of pleasure escaping rather than answers. You can't even think straight when his hips angle just right, threading his name from your lips with every drag of his cock gliding through your cuntâthe noise adds to the already obscene mess between your legs.
"Yeah? Here too, huh?" Satoru purrs and presses closer to you, slithering an arm between your thighs before his fingers roll expertly on your clit, moaning in delight when your legs buckle. "Jus' needed someone to fuck you? Could've just asked, no need to meet some weirdo. Not like they can fuck you like this, huh?"
You squeal as you nod mindlessly, pushing back on every roll of his hips, and he somehow reaches even deeper like that. Every ridge and every aching throb of his veins rubs perfectly in you as he moans your name like a hymn. Hot against your ear and unabashed in its wanton way. And it sounds better than you can imagine. Clear and bright from the pleasure, unfiltered through plaster walls.
You're off no better than he is. It feels good. Really good. Satoru's skin sticks against yours, hot warmth spreads between you two, pressed close until you can't tell when he ends and you begin. It all whirls into a warm overindulgence of Satoru in ways you never thought you'd have him in, and the only thought that blares through the void of ecstasy is 'Satoru, Satoru, and Satoru.'
And you moan so prettily in his arms, drool slinging down your chin, smearing the glossy stain of your lipstick. Just a glance in the mirror and you can tell that you look ruined. Because of him. Because he's the one making you moan, and he's the one fucking you deep with every thick inch pulsating as it slips inside.
"'Toruâ!"
"Yeah, baby, fuck, sa-say my name like that," his voice wobbles, hand trembling around your hip, grabby and desperately pulling you back to meet every cervix-kissing hump. âWho fu-fucking you this good. Not going anywhere tonightâshit,â
His lips find yours at the same time. Sloppy, messy, but almost gentle touches of delicate lips, completely different from the stuttering pace of his hips that reveal how close he is. The difference in sensation makes your mind go white, body shaking before you choke out Satoruâs name again, succumbing to the pleasure tearing through your system.
And, damn it, youâre so beautiful when you cum. You're utterly perfect when you let him fuck you through your orgasm, even as your legs give out, and heâs the only one holding you up like a lifeline. So pretty when you drool his name and your cunt flutters and squeezes around him like you donât want him to pull out at all.
So Satoru doesnât.
He doesn't even think he can when he's hurtled right down the edge with you. He cums hard. Thick and hot as it spills in flooding ribbons. His head whirls with the force of his climax, and he presses you both through it, breathing heavy into the curve of your neck until all he can register is the heat of you and the rush of passing ecstasy burning through his blood.
Itâs only when you stop quivering in his arms and turn to kiss him that he relaxes. Despite it all, Satoru kisses you smuglyâyou can practically taste the pride on his lips as he slants his mouth against yours, tongues sliding, tasting the remnants of your lipstick for whatever man you were planning on seeing tonight.
But it doesnât matter if you look a mess now, itâs not like you could meet anyone in this state.
With a sweet kiss to your temple, Satoru shoots you a toothy grin through the mirror, already rocking himself into your warmth again.
âGuess youâre not going anywhere tonight, huh?â
⢠tags: fluff, qifrey and reader make dumplings, olly is away on work, apprentices being apprentices, kissing in front of the sink
⢠a/n: can you tell i'm hungry đ (but i also wrote this to make up for whatever misbehaviour was đŤ i hope i haven't forgotten how to write fluff!)
The atelier's kitchen feels different, at night. Far removed from the usual chatter of dishes and voices, the fire burns low in the hearth, leaving only the soft glow from the phantasmal fireball lamp on the table. More hushed and still, a quiet ghost of its bustling self in the daytimeâbut it's not a bad thing.
Especially not when he's in it.
"Have the girls gone to bed already?" Qifrey looks up from the kitchen counter when you finally emerge from the stairs. You'd sent the girls to their beds right after dinnerâit'd been a long day out in Kahln, with shopping errands, a sudden sunshower that had sent everyone running for cover, and far too many distractions along the way. But what had really stirred up the evening was the book Tetia had found in a corner bookstore: a romance novel with a battered pink cover, secondhand, and a title so flowery Qifrey had raised an eyebrow at you the moment he saw it. Tetia had firmly refused to sleep unless someone read it to her, and even Agott had lingered at the doorway with the other two girls, despite her insistence about having "no care for silly, sappy lovesick tales".
"It took quite some time." Between light threats, repeated goodnights, and one overly dramatic reading of the first page, bedtime had turned into a battle of attrition you hadn't agreed to participate in. "But they agreed to sleep after I promised you'd read the rest to them tomorrow night."
Qifrey lets out a soft laugh, turning to glance over this shoulder as you round the table to stand by him at the counter. The soft blue of his visible eye catches in the firelight, your figure faintly reflected in the surface of his glasses.
"Me?"
"Yes, you."
"You committed my efforts without first seeking my agreement?"
"It was easy when you weren't there to defend yourself," you reply lightly, leaning in to inspect the vegetables beneath his knife. They're a little limp, colours dulled and beginning to brown at the tops. "Besides, Coco is very excited to hear you do all the voices. You wouldn't say no to her."
"Both that child and you severely overestimate my talent and willingness," Qifrey huffs, though you can see him fighting to keep the corners of his mouth from turning upwards. "Still, as a reward for successfully getting those little terrors to sleep⌠would you like some dumplings for supper?"
It's almost embarrassing how quickly the fatigue leaves your body. "Dumplings!"
Qifrey laughs quietly at your immediate enthusiasm. "Yes, yes. I'm making some now." He sweeps the chopped vegetables into a bowl with practiced ease, and only then do you notice the rest of the ingredients spread across the counter beside him: minced flying shrimp and meat, a little dish of carefully measured seasonings, and a neat stack of dumpling wrappers lightly dusted with flour. So that's what he'd been doing the entire time you were upstairs battling the girls into bed. "I was taking stock of the kitchen earlier and realised these vegetables needed to be used soon. But I haven't wrapped them yet, so you may have to waâ"
"âdo them with you," you finish for him, already reaching for the wrappers before Qifrey can protest. "Double the hands make for half the work, don't they?"
Qifrey just sighs. He knows better than the argue by now. The sound is touched with quiet amusement despite the air of resignation he tries to maintainâhelplessly fond, in all of its indulgences.
The two of you stand at the kitchen counter to wrap the dumplings. Quiet nights like these are often your favouriteânot that you don't enjoy the company of the girlsâbut moments like these are made all the more precious in their rarity. Little stretches of time where it is only you and Qifrey, where he can simply be himself and not the witch or the master, the two of you sharing in the stillness of the sleeping atelier together.
Your hips bump together every now and then in the cramped space between the counter and kitchen table, and your fingers brush with murmured apologies neither of you truly mean when you reach for the same wrapper more than once. You watch Qifrey's hands while you work; long fingers pleating the dumplings shut with practiced ease, each one cradled lightly in the cup of his palm before being placed in neat rows upon the tray. There is something strangely tender about the motionâcareful and familiar in the same way he handles all fragile things.
The same way he handles your heart.
By the time you finish wrapping the dumplings, the water on the stove has come to a rolling boil. Qifrey lowers a handful carefully into the pot while you gather the rest, sliding them neatly into the cold box to keep for another day.
When you turn back, Qifrey is already holding a single bowl in his hands, waiting for you. Steam curls upward lazily from the broth.
You glance up at him. "You're not having any?"
"Hm?" Qifrey hums lightly as he sets the dumplings down on the table. "I assumed we could just share. It'd be less to clean up."
The easy casualness of his words makes something warm unfurl quietly in your chest.
The two of you eat the dumplings at the kitchen table, shoulders brushing every so often as you pass the spoon between you. The dumpling skins turn almost translucent in the broth, pieces of shrimp glowing a faint pink under the lamplight like small crystals. Qifrey nudges the bowl slightly closer when he notices you slowing down, waiting patiently for you to take the next one before reaching for his own. Between bites, the bowl slowly empties until there is nothing but broth, and then, even that too, is gone.
"I'll do the dishes," you say as you gather the bowl and spoon, already beginning to rise from your seat. The quicker you get it done, the sooner you can return to his side. Qifrey's brow furrows behind his glasses.
"It was my suggestion to cook, so I shouldâ"
"Qifrey." Your hands slip over his shoulders before he can stand, fingers idly combing through the soft hair at his nape as he peers up at you. "You already stayed up late last night preparing snacks for us and Olly's lunchbox. Let me."
He tries, regardless. "Butâ"
"Qifrey, dear," you interrupt, voice dropping into something unbearably sweet. You can already see the first signs of impending embarrassment creeping across his face. "My love, my moon and stars, the apple of my eye, the keeper of my heart, won't you please let me have the honour ofâ"
"Oh, stop it." Qifrey pulls away from you halfheartedly, one hand coming up to cover part of his face as though it might hide the warmth gathering there. His voice is exasperated, but weakly soâfar too flustered to carry any real force behind it. "Do as you like."
You think you want to kiss him, then. Desperately, a little. But experience has taught you the moment your lips touch his, neither of you will accomplish anything you intendâso instead, you settle for a light peck to his cheek before carrying the bowl over to the basin. Warm water laps softly against your hands as you scrub at the porcelain, the quiet clink of dishes filling the kitchen.
Even so, you can still feel Qifrey's gaze lingering on your back. A few quiet moments later, there's the soft scrape of chair legs against the kitchen floor, and you barely have time to glance over your shoulder before his arms are slipping around your waist from behind, warm and loose. He folds himself against your back with a quiet sigh.
"I missed you," he murmurs into the crook of your neck.
"I was with you the entire day."
"Not like this."
Qifrey's lips find your neck first, trailing warm kisses along your skin unhurriedly in a way that makes your breath catch. Your head tilts back instinctively to give him more room, and you feel the gentle nip of teeth against the sensitive underside of your jaw before he finally turns you just enough to kiss you properly.
It starts off slowâsoft, familiar in a way only Qifrey can be around you; careful without restraint, gentle without hesitation. Your breaths mingle warm and wet in the spaces between each kiss as your mouths part and meet again, his glasses nudging lightly against your cheekbone as he leans closer. To your dismay, your hands remain suspended awkwardly over the sink, dripping wet and a little soapy. You want to touch him properly, to turn fully into his arms, card your fingers through his hair, and tug just enough to earn that quiet little sound he always tries and fails to swallow.
Instead, you make a helpless noise against his mouth and Qifrey laughs softly into the kiss, like he already knows what you're thinking. He's leaning in again whenâ
There's a sudden creak from the staircase. The two of you freeze instantly, Qifrey's fingertips still gently cradling your jaw. A second later, you hear the unmistakable sound of whisperingâpoorly hushed, at thatâfollowed by the muffled shuffling of feet retreating back up several steps in frantic succession.
You and Qifrey slowly turn to look at each other.
ââŚWere they spying on us?â you whisper, more amused than anything.
âI am choosing,â Qifrey says with an immense attempt at dignity, despite the lingering flush across his face, âto believe they merely came downstairs for water.â
Another loud whisper drifts from the stairwell.
âI told you they were kissingââ
"âreally just like in the bookâ"
"âcan we go back to bed nowâ"
âShh!â
The last one is definitely Agott. You bite down hard on your laughter, glancing up at the man behind you. Qifrey closes his eye with the exhaustion of a man enduring profound and arduous trials, one hand coming up to rub briefly at his temple before he leans in to steal one last kiss.
âTomorrow,â he murmurs against your mouth, âI'm teaching my apprentices the concept of privacy.â
thinking about⌠alpha caleb x beta reader⌠and everyone canât figure out why caleb, the most desired alpha keeps hanging around this nobody with no scent but they dont know that alpha! Caleb is obsessed with his little beta.
he doesnât care that everyone thinks he should get with a pretty and cute omega with a nice scent. doesnât care that they think heâs too good for you because they donât know you like he does. in calebâs mind, heâs chosen already. fuck biology and what everyone else thinks.
and he always stands just a little too close to you like heâs trying to scent you even though he knows he canât, presses himself a little closer like the pheromones will linger. and even though he knows that no one will likely pursue you anyways because all anyone wants is an omega or alpha, that doesnât stop him from subtly claiming you in any way he can.
youâre his, even if you donât know it.
then rolls around his rut. that damn rut that makes everything smell too strong and potent and makes you look a little too perfect and he just canât hold back.
so donât blame him when he has you folded under him and taking his fat cock, pressing you so close that it drowns out your weak natural scent, and prints his on you instead. donât blame him when he cums deep in thick, heavy ropes. teeth sinking into the tender flesh of your neck in a possessive bite that wonât last as he tries, god he tries, to stuff you full of his knot and breed his litter into a womb that just wonât take.
he curses biology. and instead, he focuses on making you feel good, makes you feel so achingly good as he is delirious. groans repeated mantras with his nose pressed into the crook of your neckâa mix of, âgonna breed you, baby. pump you so full of me.â and, âtake it so good, gotta let âem know youâre mine.â he says it so confidently, with such certainty that you can almost believe it and the intense pleasure he gives you so willingly is prove of it too.
it doesnât matter though, as along as youâre his. and he has the rest of his rut to show you just that. youâll see, heâll find a way.
"you can have my heart if you have the stomach to take it."
᯽ flame reaver x finality! reader
᯽ or: in one desperate bid to keep you alive, khaslana does the unthinkable.
᯽ Tags: Angst, Hurt/No Comfort, Cannibalism, it as a metaphor for eternal love, khaslana is acting a little delusional, shshsh he's mourning and in love and losing his mental function, MDNI, please mind the cannibalism tag hearts are literally being eaten
I know the White Day art just dropped but @meltedcoco and @elysiumae reminded me of the classic 'cannibalism as a metaphor of love' idea and well. Here we are!! Also tagging @gingerbreadmonsters because you are the original cannibalism love in my heart.
Please mind the tags and do not read if you are sensitive to this and/or a minor.
To love is a fickle thing. To lose is devastating.
Khaslana â with his mind too far gone â held your dying body in his arms. It was another cycle where he failed once again, another iteration of this loop where nothing changed.Â
The Black Tide (or Destruction if Lygus was to believe) infected your body, your skin cracked and orange light bleeding through. Despite how many times he had seen this scene, it hurt his heart all the same to see you like this. Once so full of life and fire, now dulled by a curse that wasn't yours to bear. One day, he would be strong enough to take this burden away from you. Today is not that day.
Out of sentimentality, or maybe it was guilt, he took his mask off. Khaslana wanted to make sure that he didn't miss a single detail of your face, already feeling the memory degradation because of the coreflames inside of him. It was a shame, they gave him as much power as they were killing him.
Maybe that's what he deserved. To die and be forgotten and have someone else take the Deliverer title from him.
In your scuffle, your clothes were ripped, exposing parts of your body that he once showered in love. His eyes continue to mourn the virus forcibly implanted into you, until he notices something peculiar.
The Destruction hadn't reached your heart yet, but it was getting close.
There was something left untouched it seemed like, and it was your source of strength. Your heart so full of love that it helped you persevere through the darkest night. The coreflames inside him burned inside of him, an idea sprouting in his head. He wondered if maybe he could have some of that strength for himselfâŚ
Khaslana's claws brushed over your chest, where your still heart lay. He felt dirtyâ a monster for even thinking about doing this. But he remembered something that you once told him, many cycles ago.
"Sweet boy, you're free to use any part of me if it means that you won't give up in this long fight."
(Were those even his memories? So many cycles and iterations of him have lived drastically different lives that he couldn't discern what was his and what wasn't. It didn't help that your memories were spilling into his as well, the more time he spent within the memoria of this world. Perhaps he was just looking for some flimsy excuse to act on his darker thoughts, mind looking for some justification to truly become the monster he knew she should be.)
In theory, if he absorbed your heart the way that he absorbed the coreflames, maybe that would help him keep his sanity for a little while longer.
Khaslana dug his golden claws in your chest, as gently as he would. He tried to make this moment of sacrilege go as quickly as possible. He knew that you couldn't feel plain anymore, but that didn't stop him from wanting to make sure you weren't in pain.
His hands wrapped around your heart and pulled it out in all of its bloody glory. Your golden ichor dripped from his hands and over his arms. He held up the still organ to his lips, tongue gently flicking to lap up the blood that fell. It was sweet and comforting, exactly what your love felt to him.
Khaslana took a deep breath and said a prayer, before digging his teeth into your heart. He chewed on it for a little while, getting used to the odd texture of it. But it was delightful he realized, before devouring it all like a man starved. In some ways he was, desperate to keep your love alive, even if it was inside him.
He swallowed the last remaining bits of your love, feeling your strength wash over him. For a minute, the unbearable weight and burn of the coreflames inside of him felt lighter and cooler. It was exhilarating, like he could reach beyond the false sky of Amphoreus and take on the God that sent him on this long road.
With a kiss to your forehead, he carried your body to your shared home. Or at least it was in the first cycle. Khaslana laid you in bed, pulling the blanket over your mutilated body. If he squinted and listened to his delusions, maybe he could imagine you sleeping in bed.
"I will come back for you, Starlight," his raspy voice spoke up, leaving the house and ready to prevent the prophecy being fulfilled again.
You had once claimed that your love was too much, that no one would be able to handle the solar flares that you give off. But he wouldâ he can. He will prove to you that he was worthy of carrying your weight, even if that meant carrying you in a more physical sense than he thought.
Š @zozo-01 est 2025 - any plagiarizing, modifying, reposting and/or feeding my work into ai is prohibited. i will stalk you and make your life hell if you try any of that shit with me <3
@trash-bin-witch and @space-queen tagged me in this cute picrew game! This was adorable, so thank you both!
Tagging: @crazycatsiren, @apocalyptasaurus, @thisladyisawesome, @l0nely-an9el, @justinamaxina, @gardenspells, @fuckmags, @skyholdlibrarian, and @slewfootwitch!
Zayne's words make you pause, having just placed a few steamed carrots on your daughters' plate.
"What do you mean no?" You echo in confusion, checking to make sure the pieces are soft enough for your 8 month old. It's only when Zayne's slightly disgusted face peaks through his usual mask do you start to understand.
"She doesn't need to eat carrots. They're a choking hazard." Is what he comes up with, trying to use the doctor voice that has long since stopped scaring you.
"They're practically mush! And they're good for her, and we have to introduce her to solids." You pay him no mind as you set the plate on your daughters high chair, smiling to yourself as she grins in excitement. But before she can grab one, Zayne pulls the plate from her grasp.
She laughs as if they're playing a game, but you raise a brow at his childish actions.
"She doesn't like them." Zayne states, so matter-of-fact. You have half a mind to smack him.
"Zayne, let her try them at least!" You push the plate back into her reach, and the two of you watch as she manages to grasp a piece, bringing it to her mouth.
"This is all your fault. You and your stupid genetics." You sigh heavily as you wipe her tears of what you assume is disgust. Zayne is already reaching for the plate that's been tossed to the floor, gingerly picking up the carrots as if they'll jump into his mouth. He hums in that stupid tone of fake-agreement, clearly trying not to gloat.
a/n: idk what this is but it wouldnât leave my head so hopefully now that I wrote it out, it will. ig zayne with foggy glasses as he eats you out is something my mind likes to think aboutâŚ?
so⌠zayne takes the glasses off during sexy time but I like to imagine that he keeps them on.
so thinking about Zayne who keeps the glasses on. Your normally composed and calm lover on his knees, lapping at your folds and watching his glasses fog up and staring at your flushed face with his love sick gaze as you writhe in pleasure from his tongue. your image is blurry from the condensation that piles up upon his glasses but it doesnât stop him as he ruts against your leg, seeking his own reprieve.
his heavy breathing would cause the lenses to fog up, practically panting against your cunt, heâs having to readjust his glasses that slip down his nose and pleasing you at the same time, you don't make it any easier by squirming. you tug at his inky strands, whining about how you're so close, and how his tongue suckles so perfectly around your throbbing bundles of nerves or occasionally dips onto your squelching hole.
he doesnât stop â he canât stop â not when the taste of you is so addicting. he wonât stop even when his glasses are slipping down, only supported by your flesh thatâs so pressed against his nose that it prevents the poor spectacles from falling. he canât stop when heâs moaning at your taste, drinking in all of you when you come undone so beautifully on his tongue and clumsily pushing up the pair of lenses that sit on his cheeks.
and with his misty glasses sitting haphazardly on his cheekbones thatâre flushed a pretty shade of pink, supple thighs on either side of his head, and panting softly against your twitchy cunt with a salacious string of saliva that webs between his tongue and your soft folds... this might just be my favorite zayne.
To the moon, and never back @solxlune - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
