#Raven’s plush pile | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

frenchkisstheabyss · 10 months

Text

*.·:·.✧ｖｅｎｕｓ✧.·:·.*

✧ This Jongho fic comes courtesy of another request from a super sweet anon who loves her some him. I'm so happy that you trust me w/ your hubby. Hope you love it! ✧

Pairing: boyfriend!jongho x chubby!fem!reader

Summary: Your boyfriend's obsessed with your curves and wants to show you just how much he loves them.

Genre: smut but make it sweet

Word Count: 880

Warnings: oral sex (f receiving), multiple orgasms

Your clothes fall away like the leaves of a sugar maple tree at the edge of autumn. They collect at your feet---your dress, your bra, your panties---in a pile of tangerine fabric. You step out of them, approaching the end of the bed where your boyfriend eagerly awaits you. Brushing the hair away from his face, you position yourself between his legs, smiling down at him like the sun herself. His hands raise to your caress your hips delicately as if he’s preparing to touch something priceless. There’s a low hum of release from somewhere deep within him when he finally touches you.

Your body. So curvy. So perfect. So plump and warm to the touch. His hands ride the ins and outs of your shape, feeding you every drop of passion needed to make you feel how intensely he worships it. Worships you. Jongho rests his cheek against your belly, breathing in your scent as his hands squeeze your plush ass. You smell of jasmine and orange blossom, of patchouli, like some rare flower blooming for him and him alone. “Love---you” he whispers, sensual kisses trailing down your stomach, “Love---all---of---you, y/n.” “I love you too,” you say, the air tingling as it leaves your lungs.

Tucking his arm behind your left knee, Jongho brings your foot up onto the bed so that your thigh kisses his cheek. His eyes fall to your exposed core and his mouth begins to water, “Fuck. So pretty.” His thumb drags along your slit, dipping into you unexpectedly. It emerges seconds later glistening with juices that he spreads between your silky folds. You whimper, eyelids fluttering, as his thumb circles your stiff bud. Jongho plunges two more fingers into your depths, “Baby, fuck, she’s so juicy for me. So tight.” “Jongho!” you gasp, thighs quivering as he spreads his fingers against the tightness of your walls.

“Mmm, louder” he coos, adding a third finger and quickening his pace. You throw your arms across his shoulders, gripping the back of his shirt while you ride his fingers. “Jongho! Oh my god! Yes. You fuck my pussy so good. So---” “That’s it” he grins, tucking his thumb away to rest his tongue on the underside of your throbbing clit. He flicks it upward sending the butterflies in your stomach into a frenzy. He does it again and pleasure jolts through your stomach. Over and over he teases your clit just enough that you keep dripping into his palm like fresh honey. For a fleeting moment, your knees give out and he sweeps you onto the bed, diving face-first between your legs.

“You’re trying to kill me” you whine, catching one quick breath before his tongue’s flexing against your clit. He nods, confirming your suspicions, and spreads your legs wider. The room’s still spinning when he loses himself in the sloppy French kisses he applies to your pussy. Your taste floods his senses, so intoxicating that he finds himself pitifully, ravenously craving more. Jongho’s hands dance up and down your body. Palming your succulent breasts, flicking and twisting your beautifully perky nipples to trigger that high-pitched whine of yours he loves so much. He grips your love handles, hands feasting upon your curves the way his tongue does your needy pussy.

Touching you. Tasting you. It’s getting him hard enough that if his cock brushes against his pants like---

his breath hitches, precum shooting from his swollen head at the slightest bit of friction

---like that, he knows he’ll come. “Shit, baby. Too good. Mmph. I’m gonna---ah!” you moan, cotton sheets twisting in your fists. Jongho grabs your hips, burying his face so deep into your pussy that even his nose is drenched. With your clit pulsing between his lips, he rocks his head up and down making all the satisfied noises of a starving man whose hunger has just been satiated. You twist and wiggle, an entire galaxy shrinking and expanding inside of you. He clasps your thighs around his head, his curved tongue gathering your come as it leaks out of you.

“Hold---on” you pant, noticing that he’s yet to ease up on you. Your words do nothing and the overstimulation begins to drag you under. Jongo reaches up, fingers interlocking with yours, “One more. She just tastes so good. Fuck, y/n.” “I don’t know---I” you stutter, attempting to protest but the room’s spinning again. Your body collapses. Heat rushes over you. You’re squeezing his hands tight enough to leave nail marks on his knuckles. He can tell by the way your walls shiver that you’re seconds from another orgasm. This time it hits you like a shot of adrenaline. Overwhelming every nerve in your body. You’re kicking. Screaming. Losing control of your limbs altogether.

“Again” he hums, reaching for your hips once more. “No!” you cry, slipping away from him, “You really are trying to kill me!” Jongho just laughs, crawling up the bed to kiss you, “At least I didn’t lie.” You kiss him back weakly, sharing with him what’s left of you on his mouth, “You’re lucky you’re cute.” “I know” he smiles, taking you into his arms knowing that he’ll want you a dozen more times tonight but content with just feeling your body against his for now.

#jongho x y/n #jongho x reader #jongho x you #ateez x chubby reader #ateez x reader #ateez x y/n #ateez smut #plus size reader #chubby reader

411 notes · View notes

ewanmitchellcrumbs · 9 months

Text

Perzys se Rūkla (Fire and Flowers) - Chapter Six

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x original female character (Melessa Tyrell) Warnings: Mentions of infidelity, angst, strong language, mentions of pregnancy, childbirth, smut. Word count: ~3k

Chapter summary: Daemon makes two life changing discoveries. Series summary here.

Endless thanks and all the love to my absolute ride or die @em-writes-stuff-sometimes for cheerleading, beta'ing and just generally being the bestest fandom boo a gal could have.

Author's note: No tag list - please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Only scabs community label fics. If you find yourself tempted to slap a label on this, please block me instead.

Header by the insanely talented @em-writes-stuff-sometimes

Maester Orwyle drops heavily to his feet once Daemon’s grip on the front of his robes loosens. He scurries away fearfully, scarcely even sparing a glance behind him.

Daemon’s temper still burns hot within his veins. How dare she hide this from me?

The force with which he throws open the doors would be enough to wake Melessa up ordinarily; but under ordinary circumstances, she wouldn’t be under the influence of milk of the poppy. Thus, she remains asleep.

He softens upon taking in her appearance, his anger leaving him as he watches her laying there. She’d look peaceful were it not for the tear tracks upon her cheeks—tears he has caused her. His wife.

The mother of his child.

She does not deserve his anger any more than he deserves her forgiveness, as much as he yearns for it. He sits carefully on the bed next to her, longing to reach out and brush his fingers against the peachy softness of her face. He refrains. She has expressed a wish for him not to touch her. He owes it to her to respect that, even in sleep.

Whether she is prepared to allow him to make amends now or not, he knows he cannot permit her to return to Highgarden. Not now that she carries his child. She has given him a reason to do better, to be better.

He wants to watch her grow round and full with his offspring, to see the effects that he has had on her body as it adapts to the life nestled within. He feels his cock stir at the thought and swallows thickly, attempting to push the urge away. Perhaps her shape had begun to change already and he hadn’t noticed. He finds himself thinking back to the last few times they’d been intimate. He had been so rough, so hurried, so desperate for fulfillment that he had barely registered her beneath him. If he had the opportunity to go back he would take his time with her, run his hands over her curves and appreciate them, notice the subtle swell to her breasts and the added plushness to her hips.

There is an ache in his chest as he continues to look upon her. He has to make this right. A child of his own is something Daemon has never thought about; never wanted, until now. And now, he does not think he has ever desired anything more desperately.

He has no idea how long he continues to sit there for. Soon, the sky is breaking into vibrant hues of yellow, orange and red upon the horizon, indicating dawn’s approach. He hadn’t seen Melessa eat since Rhaenyra’s coronation feast the previous afternoon. She will awaken soon and surely feel ravenous with hunger. Daemon cannot abide that, not when their child relies upon her nourishment.

Reluctantly, he rises from the bed and makes his way to the kitchens. There is plentiful food left over from the day before; he orders the few staff that are awake and working already to put together a platter. Salted meats, pies, bread, hard cheese and tarts are piled high upon the tray, enough to feed both him and Melessa for today and the day after that. He knows it is too much, but this is as much to prove a point as it is to give his wife breakfast. Even in the wrong, Daemon cannot resist the urge to maintain the element of surprise.

Melessa is stirring, sleepily rubbing her eyes as he re-enters her bedchamber, setting the heaped tray upon the foot of the bed. She sits up, her brow furrowing as she looks upon the food that’s been placed before her.

“What’s all this?” she asks, voice thick with sleep.

“Breakfast,” Daemon tells her with a smirk, leaning against the bedpost and folding his arms as he watches her.

“There is so much of it…” Her blue eyes glance up towards him before dropping back to the spread of food.

“Yes—I suppose there is,” he says. “It was tricky for me to know how much to have brought up to you… considering you are eating for two now.”

Her hand that had been reaching towards the food pulls suddenly back into her lap. She stares at him, brows raised in shock. “You know.”

It isn’t so much a question as it is a statement. Daemon simply nods, attempting to mask the satisfied smile that spreads across his face. He may have caught her out, but ultimately he is still in the wrong.

“How?” she asks, pressing her lips into a tight line.

“I caught Maester Orwyle sneaking out of your chambers in the middle of the night,” he tells her matter-of-factly.

“Oh gods. Daemon—what did you do to him?”

His wife knows him too well. He is unable to help the upward tug at the corners of his mouth. “Nothing he won’t recover from. Eat.”

Melessa sighs and reaches for a piece of bread, tearing it apart with her hands as Daemon resumes his earlier position beside her.

“How long have you known?” he asks after a few moments pass between them in silence.

“Since we arrived back in King’s Landing,” she replies between bites.

“And how long since you last bled?”

He can see her considering his question as she chews, trying to recall. “About three moons.”

Daemon can feel his mood darkening and draws in a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself. His voice is tight when he asks his next question. “And not once did it occur to you to tell me?”

“I was going to,” she begins softly. “There was so much going on already, with your brother passing away. I had planned to tell you after Rhaenyra’s coronation, but then…”

She trails off, her bottom lip trembling slightly and Daemon feels his heart squeeze at the sight.

“Then I fucked it all up,” he says sadly.

“Hm.” Melessa places her half eaten bread back on the tray, leaning back against the headboard. “You’re not going to let me leave, are you? Not now that you know.”

Daemon feels like he’d be serving another blow to her, to admit this aloud, true as it is. He wants nothing more than to comfort her, to pull her against his chest and breathe in the sweet scent of her golden hair.

“I need you to know that nothing happened…with that girl,” he tells her. “I won’t deny that I tried, and I cannot begin to explain why I did, but I couldn’t…because she wasn’t you, petal.”

“Am I supposed to be grateful?” she asks bitterly.

“No, but it is proof of the fact that I care for you.”

“And yet you have never told me you love me.”

“I’ve never told anyone that before, not even my own brother. Perhaps that is my mistake.”

“But do you love me?”

He is determined not to leave the pause that he did yesterday, to not make her doubt his feelings for her any further than he already has. He takes a breath, steeling himself against his impending vulnerability. “Our time on Dragonstone together was the happiest I ever remember being. I hated having to give that up to return here. Everything in this wretched place serves as a reminder that I am not good enough for you, not good enough to be Hand of the King.”

“And yet, you are my husband and Hand of the Queen,” Melessa reminds him.

“I stole you from my nephew. My niece made me Hand because my brother would not.”

“Perhaps you ought to spend more time appreciating what you have, rather than resenting the reason you have it.”

He huffs through his nose. She is right and he despises it, but it is one of the things he has grown to love about her. Yes. Love.

“I think about you all the time,” he tells her. “I find myself wishing for your presence when you are not by my side. Your scent is imprinted upon me in such a way that nothing else satisfies; I yearn for you more than I ever have for anyone. If that is love, then—yes. I love you… as much as I am able to love another person.”

She stares straight ahead as he speaks, her expression unreadable. The quiet hangs heavy between them when he finishes. Daemon’s heart races, worried she’ll reject him despite him having opened up to her.

Melessa shifts slightly in the bed. “Can you take the food away?” she asks. “The smell is making me feel unwell. I will not return to Highgarden, but I would appreciate some time to myself. I need to rest.”

Daemon nods, standing and removing the food from the end of the bed. He hovers by the door as Melessa settles back down to sleep, debating whether to try to kiss her or not. Deciding against it—he sees her eyes flutter closed—he pushes the tray into the hands of a chambermaid and makes his way out of the Red Keep.

He expects that Rhaenyra will summon him at some point today. It is her first official day as Queen; she will no doubt want a meeting of the Small Council. It is still early, however, and with yesterday’s festivities, he doesn’t anticipate her being ready to call everyone forth until the afternoon. He decides a ride on dragonback will help clear his mind. He has much to think about, though he is glad at having convinced Melessa to remain in King’s Landing without the need for force.

As Daemon approaches the Dragonpit, he notices excited commotion amongst the Keepers. The head of them gives him a beaming smile when he spots him and hurries over, staff in hand, to clap Daemon on the shoulder. He scowls at the overfamiliarity. Before he can enquire as to what the meaning of all of this is, he hears what the Keeper has to say.

“Syrax has laid a clutch! Her first in two decades!”

Daemon raises his eyebrows, the perceived slight immediately forgotten. “Dragon eggs?”

“Yes, Your Grace. We hadn’t known she was gravid. It appears the return of Caraxes has been fruitful for her.”

“Show me,” Daemon commands, excitement fluttering within him.

The head Dragon Keeper guides him through the gloom and humidity of the Pit until they reach a mucus-coated membrane upon the earthen floor.

Daemon crouches, breaking apart the protective layer that coats the top of them. Beneath lay four dragon eggs. His eye is immediately drawn to one that is iridescent shades of orange and red, fading into a vibrant green towards the bottom.

Carefully, he lifts it, turning it over in his hands, feeling the warmth of its hardened scales against his fingertips. “Perzys se rūkla,” he whispers.

Two Keepers approach, a steaming pot meant to incubate the eggs carried between them.

Daemon rights himself, keeping a hold of the egg he’s taken. “You may take those three.” He nods towards the ground. “And inform the Queen of Syrax’s clutch. I am taking this one.”

Melessa is still dozing when he returns. This time, he has no hesitation in waking her. He grins down at her as she grouses to herself, blinking her eyes slowly open.

“For the babe,” he tells her, holding the egg out.

She gasps, reaching out to place her hands over it, her fingers overlapping with his.

Daemon releases a steady exhale at the contact, the first physical touch they’ve shared in what feels like an age. He leans forward, resting his forehead against hers as they hold the egg together, the aroma of almond oil and rosewater flooding his senses. Finally, it feels as though everything may work out exactly as he wants.

This time, he does not fear it.

**SIX MONTHS LATER**

Daemon paces the room. Each of Melessa’s pained screams cause him to wince as they echo off of the vaulted ceilings. A gaggle of attendants rally around her, mopping away sweat and blood as she produces each fluid anew.

Should there be so much blood? Is she going to be alright?

His throat constricts at the possibility he might lose her. He has ignored the pleas for him to leave the room, does not trust that she will not meet the fate of his brother’s first wife, Aemma, should she fall into difficulties.

He will not have her carved open like some roasted hog, just for the sake of some squawking brat. He will end this child’s life long before he ever considers taking hers.

He longs to brush her dampened hair from her temples, to hold her hand and encourage her through her labours, but he has not been allowed beside the bed. The birthing bed is no place for a husband, he is told. Daemon thinks that is utter shit.

He stills when he hears the first wails, too high-pitched to possibly be his wife’s. He turns to see Melessa exhausted but still very much alive, panting against the pillows as a bloodied, squirming mass is lifted from between her legs.

“A boy,” announces a voice from somewhere. He barely registers it, everything seeming far away as the child is separated from his mother, swaddled, and placed into Daemon’s arms.

He has never held anything so fragile before in his life. His arms wrap instinctively around the tiny bundle, a lump forming in his throat as he gazes down at the scrunched up, reddened face that looks up at him with apparent displeasure.

“Ñuhus trēsȳs,” he whispers. “You have a face I’m sure your mother will love.” My son.

He walks around to the side of the bed, and places the child in Melessa’s waiting arms. “Well done, petal,” he murmurs, kissing her temple. “You have given me a son.”

Daemon’s heart swells at the adoration with which she looks down at the babe with, her fingers tracing over his tiny cheek.

“What shall we name him?” she asks, voice hoarse from her labour pains.

“I was thinking Viserys, after my brother,” Daemon says, perching on the edge of the bed and wrapping his arm around her shoulders.

“A fine name, indeed.” She smiles. “Little Viserys.”

“Avy jorrāelagon,” he whispers, pressing his nose to her hair. It is a sentiment he ensures his wife and child will never go without hearing from him ever again. I love you.

**SIX WEEKS LATER**

Daemon’s hands wander over Melessa’s nightgown, pawing and squeezing at her flesh as she lays beside him. Under instruction from the Maesters, he and Melessa have not laid together for six weeks in order to allow her body to heal from having given birth. The wait has felt agonising to him; the last time he had been inside of her had been during the last few weeks of her pregnancy. Towards the end, Viserys had sat too low in her womb for them to be intimate without it causing her discomfort.

The wait has been maddening for Daemon. His fist will never satisfy him the way that the warmth of her cunt can.

She squirms uneasily against his touch. “Daemon— please,” she whimpers. “My body has changed since I became a mother.”

“And what is your point, petal?” he murmurs, his hand cupping her breast through the flimsy cotton that covers it.

“I do not look as I was before. I worry that you will not want me anymore, that you will seek out the comfort of another again…”

Daemon takes a gentle grip of her chin, tilting her face towards him. “There is no one that I desire more than you, sweet wife.”

He grasps her hand, guiding it towards his hardened length. “See what you do to me? Even in that oversized sack you insist upon wearing to bed.”

She giggles, and he captures her lips in a searing kiss, pulling at the lacings that keep her shift fastened as he does.

When she is bared beneath him, his eyes travel over the fullness of her breasts, the tautness of their hardened peaks slightly ruddier than they used to be. Her stomach bears the markings of having carried life, her hips more rounded, plusher than they used to be.

A low growl of approval rumbles in his throat. She is irrevocably marked as his and has never looked more beautiful to him.

He inhales a sharp breath upon finding her wet and wanting when he snakes a hand between her thighs. He wants to spend more time preparing her, but the way his cock aches painfully does not allow for such endeavours this evening. He needs her too badly.

When the tight heat of her walls envelope him, he groans in relief. It is like returning home after a lengthy absence. She sobs with pleasure at his every thrust, his hands vice-like against her waist as she eventually shudders and comes apart around him. He follows her over the edge soon after, white hot pleasure licking at his lower spine as he spills himself deep inside of her.

She is almost asleep against his chest when the piercing wails of Viserys startle them both into wakefulness. Melessa sighs, moving to leave the bed when Daemon places a steadying hand on her shoulder.

“Allow me, petal,” he says, brushing his lips against her temple and rising from the bed.

Viserys cries in his cradle, little handles clenched into fists. The moonlight that streams through the gap in the curtains shines upon what has disturbed his slumber.

The dragon egg that lays beside him—vibrant hues of red and orange that fade into a brilliant shade of green towards the bottom—has begun to crack apart.

Daemon’s lips part as he watches it. A little dragon for his very own little dragon.

Perzys se rūkla.

FIN.

203 notes · View notes

xxlady-lunaxx · 14 days

Text

Don't leave | {SaneGiyuu}

Theme: Angst/Fluff/Angst

Note: I think SaneGiyuu's turning into my comfort ship again ;-;

Why do Sanemi's ears looks like elf ears 💀

×××

"Don't do this to me," Sanemi whispered, his voice hoarse and broken. Tears threatened to pour over and his hands trembled as he held Giyuu's limp body in his arms. "Don't leave, I swear to God, please... I'll do anything but please, please don't leave me alone."

Giyuu's body remained cold, unmoving. Lifeless. He was gone, and that was that. Blood stained his mouth, his usually plush, pink lips splattered with inky red, a cruel contrast to his pale complexion. A single tear dropped onto his cheek. Not from his own eyes, however. He had lost the capability to cry. To smile, to breathe, to live.

"Giyuu..." Sanemi mumbled, his breaths shaky. "Giyuu, Giyuu, oh, Giyuu, please, PLEASE!!"

His pleading was fruitless, simply dispersing into the cold, February air. He sobbed over the body of his lover, snowy hair swinging forwards as he bent down, clutching Giyuu tightly.

The sudden image of Giyuu, alive and happy, flashed before his mind.

"You should pin your hair back, it keeps covering your eyes," he said, laughing. He had cut his hair, had been unable to continue tying it back once he'd lost an arm.

"Hell no. I'll look stupid like that," Sanemi retorted, rolling his eyes. He propped himself up on his elbows, glancing over at his boyfriend who lay next to him, buried under a pile of blankets.

Giyuu smiled over at him, reaching forward and brushing Sanemi's bangs from his eyes. His hand was rough from a decade of fighting, calloused and hardened. Yet his touch was gentle, soothing in a way. His fingers brushed over Sanemi's jaw and he sat up, scooting closer.

Sanemi looked up, a sense of tranquility befalling over him at the sight of Giyuu, an easy smile wavering on his lips.

Giyuu bent down, placing a kiss on Sanemi's forehead, brushing against one of the many scars written into his skin.

"I love you, you know that, right?" Giyuu said, tugging Sanemi onto his lap. Sanemi rested his head on Giyuu's thigh, turning his body to look up at him. Their gazes met and, for a moment, Sanemi lost himself in the beautiful, deep blue eyes of his boyfriend's a small smile curving his mouth.

"You tell me every day," Sanemi murmured, a burst of laughter escaping his lips.

"It's because I love you so much," Giyuu declared, pressing fleeting kiss on Sanemi's smile.

"You're cute, did you know that?" Sanemi asked, sitting up. He turned, pulling Giyuu onto his own lap this time, hand brushing Giyuu's neck, grazing his jaw.

"No, I didn't," Giyuu said. "Am I?" A teasing smile betrayed him.

They had played this before. As low as either of their self-esteem's were, both adored to be praised. To be seen as something other than what they saw themself as.

"Very," Sanemi agreed matter-of-factly, tangling his hand in Giyuu's short, raven-black hair and pulling his head towards him. He kissed him slowly, tongue skimming over Giyuu's bottom lip.

Giyuu pulled away, breath caught in his throat. "Really?" he asked, eyes flickering over Sanemi's face, searching for any hint of a lie.

"Truly," Sanemi assured him, bending down slightly and, tugging on Giyuu's kimono, pressed a kiss on his lover's collarbone. "You're lovely, too. So, so pretty. Most handsomest of the land. Girls, boys, even demons. They're all falling for my boyfriend."

Giyuu laughed gently, though he sounded breathless as kisses were peppered up his neck, trailing to his jaw. "You're being ridiculous now," he said, leaning against Sanemi.

"Never."

"Be reasonable, Sanemi," Giyuu ordered, a mock frown playing on his lips.

"Can't, I'm overwhelmed by my love for you," Sanemi teased, grinning.

"I hate you," Giyuu huffed, rejecting kisses that tried to follow, though his cheeks were tinted pink.

"I thought you loved me?" Sanemi said, faux gloom flooding his expression.

Giyuu turned back to him, horrified. "I do!"

Then Sanemi broke character, a smile spreading on his lips, and Giyuu stammered, stumbling over himself for a response. When he couldn't think of one, he settled for a frown, drawing his features for his previously-normal expression, eyes disinterested and ignorant.

Sanemi kissed him anyhow, changing their position to pin Giyuu to the futon, kneeling above him.

Giyuu went back to his flustered state, weakly trying to push Sanemi back before submitting to the kisses, his eyes fluttering shut.

"God, I love you so fucking much..." Sanemi murmured into his boyfriend's lips, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against Giyuu's.

"How much?" Giyuu whispered.

Sanemi opened his eyes and sat up—or, sat on Giyuu's lap—surveying the breathless mess of his lover. He slipped back onto the futon, picking Giyuu up and cradling him in his arms. He smiled at the pleasant expression that took over Giyuu's face, soothing his features. He dipped his head down for a kiss then pulled away by a breath, their lips brushing against each other as he spoke.

"Too much," Sanemi said, gaze focused on Giyuu's blue-bell eyes. "More than I could contain."

He held him in his arms still, whole attention purely on Giyuu. Only it wasn't

Giyuu. He wasn't... He just wasn't anymore. He was gone, had sucked in a harsh and shaky breath but never let it out.

He couldn't believe it. Couldn't believe that once, only months ago, he had held Giyuu in this exact position, but Giyuu had been well. Had been smiling, had been content, had been... alive. That he was no longer, eyes half-lidded, glazed over, skin paler than snow. His body was cold and limp, useless. He had died there, in Sanemi's arms.

Yet his lips held the ghost of a smile. How could he smile? How could he be happy when he knew that he would be leaving everyone behind, be leaving Sanemi.

Then it caught up to him. Everything.

"I love you, Sanemi," Giyuu had said, barely able to form words. But he had said this to him with the last of his strength. He had smiled, then, hadn't he?

"Your smile isn't half-bad. You're overreaction, it makes you look young. I guess you are young. But still," Sanemi said, rolling his eyes. "You shouldn't be so nervous."

"...Kocho said it was unsightly. She said she'd rather be devoured by a demon then see me smile," Giyuu mumbled.

"Kocho spews a lot of shit," Sanemi said simply. "Smile, won't you? Do it more. Maybe people will befriend you then."

"If you say so," Giyuu assented, though not without slight perplexity.

Giyuu had done it for Sanemi's sake. He had loved him so dearly, had shown his feelings through actions day after night after day, no matter what. To his very end, his affection didn't crumble for a second.

This realization only enveloped Sanemi with grief all over again, feeling the unconditional love towards him too great. He didn't deserve this. He didn't deserve to have met someone so devoted, so perfect like Giyuu sitting in his memories. But he would cherish it all. He would recount each day he'd had with Giyuu over and over until the day he could be laid to rest beside his lover. Giyuu was everything to him. He would never let himself forget that.

×××

« Word count: 1181 »

goshh i love them too much

21 notes · View notes

hellfiresmanicfae · 5 months

Note

Baby Wednesday accidentally getting lost in the woods with little Raven and she starts freaking out!!

This turned out to be a little more angsty than I was planning for it to be, but I hope it’s good. Also sorry it took me so long to reply to your ask I was having serious issues with energy and motivation.

This story is based off of posts made about vampravenwolf by @caitlynskitten, @rachelsfav-queer , and @stirthewaters

Lost and found

Today was one of those days where both Wednesday’s mommy and daddy were busy with work, and auntie Bianca had a prior engagement. Nobody was free to give the little raven the amount of attention she craved, so now it was up to her to keep herself busy and keep her mind from wandering into troubling places. Wednesday had been looking outside from the balcony in her room admiring all the colorful falling leaves coming from the trees in the woods on the outskirts of Nevermore campus when she got the bright idea that right now would be the perfect time to go explore the forest and bask in the cool autumn air. The tiny terror grabbed her best friend raven before making her way to each of her mommy and daddy’s respective offices to tell her each of them that she was heading out for a short walk in the woods. “Be careful okay? I don’t want anything to happen to you, and you need to be back before it starts getting dark, understand?” Enid said, slightly worried but she knew the small girl could handle herself, things aren’t like how they were last year, Jericho’s crime rate had significantly gone down. Still the colorful wolf couldn’t help but worry. Yoko had a similar response about the girl going out in the woods alone. “Stay safe and be back before dark” Yoko said giving her girlfriend a hug while sneakily slipping an air tag into the young ravens pocket, to track her, just in case of an emergency. With that Wednesday went out on her way to wander through the woods with the company of her raven.

Wednesday had reached the entrance into the abundance of trees, yellow red and brown leaves scattered the ground with some of the colored leaves still hanging onto branches. As she wandered through the forest a small dark figure caught her eye. As she got closer she noticed a raven that looked just like her best friend only this raven couldn’t hold a conversation with her, and that was not for lack of the little storm cloud trying. If she were in her older headspace she would have already known that the dark bird could not talk to her, however the young seer had regressed after about five minutes of wandering through the forest and jumping into leave piles. In her much younger her state of mind she had believed that If her best friend Raven could talk to her so could this raven. First she tried talking in English, then Italian, then Spanish and German and when none of those worked she tried to talk to the bird using the sounds that the raven was making to her. The bird then flew up and landed on her shoulder before taking flight deeper into the woods. Wednesday figured the raven must be telling her something and began to chase after it leading her to a part of the woods she had never been in. And worst of all she lost the dark bird that was supposed to be her new friend, not her best friend of course but nevertheless she felt betrayed by the flying raven.

“Uh oh” Wednesday said quietly looking all around her for something familiar, but it all just looked the same colorful leaves and many bare branches, nothing seemed to stick out to the regressed girl. As a single tear fell down Wednesday’s cheek lading on the plush raven in her arms, the young Addams best friend began to try to sooth her. “It’s okay Willa mommy and daddy will find you, they always do”. Wednesday then plopped onto the ground crying “I want mommy and daddy” the tiny terror began to cry harder. The fear of never seeing the people she loved again was the worst fear of all. Her mind began to wander to the scary places that she was trying to avoid by going on this walk. Many thoughts of never seeing her mommy and daddy again, what ifs of if they never find her or if they don’t even come looking. “They’re gonna come for you Wednesday, your mommy’s a wolf and is great at finding lost people and things, when you lost me in a store how did your mommy find me?” Raven asked. “She could smell you” Wednesday answered sniffling while trying to stop the tears. “See if your mommy can find me in a busy store, I bet she can find you out here” raven said proving quite a logical point. Even when regressed the seer couldn’t fight with her friend’s logic but she was still scared, just a little less so with her best friend by her side to make her feel okay. At least she wasn’t alone she thought she had Raven and hopefully mommy and daddy would find her soon.

Wednesday had been sitting on the same spot for over an hour and was starting to get hungry and tired. The sun had set and the air had gotten significantly colder. As the young girl laid down on the cold hard ground holding Raven close to her keeping her best friend safe in her arms. As the little Raven laid there the exhaustion began to catch up to her making eyes slip shut as she fall into a restless slumber.

Back at Nevermore Enid had begun pacing the room worried sick about their girlfriend, wondering if something happened and why she was not home yet. Yoko then slipped out of her office, “where’s Wednesday?” Yoko asked upon noticing that their girlfriend was not there. “IDK AND IM FREAKING OUT, WHAT IF SOMETHING HAPPENED WHAT IF SHES LOST , WHAT IF SHES HURT” Enid said pacing the room even faster then before, panicking about all the possible reasons their little Raven had yet to return. Yoko walked over to the wolf stoping her in her tracks the vampire rests her hands upon Enid shoulders saying “ ‘nid relax it’s okay I took a precaution before she left and slipped an AirTag into her pocket we just need to check where she is and then we can go find her” . “Okay that’s good I’m sure she’s fine, right, please say right or I’m gonna freak out again” Enid said originally calming down before starting to panic again. Yoko pulled her colorful girlfriend into a hug while also pulling out her phone to check their little ravens location. The vampire looked at her phone over Enid shoulder. Enid pulled out of the hug asking “where does it say she is?” Enid questioned “it looks like she’s in the woods about 30 minute walk from here, and it says she hasn’t moved in an hour and a half” Yoko said. With that the two girls grabbed their coats and made their way to the woods.

The two girls wandered through the woods steeping over sticks and fallen branches, leaves crunching beneath their feet. “We’re almost there, it says she’s about five minutes away” Yoko said looking at her phone to make sure they stay on the right path. “ I really hope she’s okay” Enid said as she shivered from the cold air. After about four minutes of walking they could see a dark lump on the ground up ahead. “Oh god, is that Wednesday” Enid said in a worried voice before grabbing Yoko’s hand as she began to run to their girlfriend. As they got closer they say the little ravens sleeping figure with dried tear tracks down her checks as she clutched her Raven plush between her arms. Both Yoko and Enid knelt down lightly shacking Wednesday’s shoulder “baby” “little raven” “wake up” they said trying to get the small girl to wake up. Wednesday rubs her eyes whining at being woken up, her whining was soon cut short upon realizing her mommy and daddy were there. She then threw herself into the both of them “mommy, daddy I sorry didnt mean to not come home” the little raven cried just wanting to be held after that scary experience of being lost. “It’s okay little raven we were just worried, why were you sleeping in the woods?” Yoko questioned. “Got lost and I stayed here so I didn’t get more lost so you can find me, Raven said you’d find me”. Wednesday responded trying to stop the tears. “That was very smart of you little raven” Enid said addressing the regressed girl. “And thank you for helping our little raven, Raven” Enid said addressing Wednesday’s best friend. “Yoko wiped the tears from Wednesdays face while saying “that was scary huh” as Wednesday sniffled and nodded her head “it’s okay mommy and daddy got you, your okay now” Enid said giving the smaller girl a kiss on the head. Upon hearing that her mommy and daddy have got her and the reassurance that she was okay now she slipped deeper into her headspace letting out little babbles of incoherent words. “Let’s get you out of the woods and back to Nevermore” Enid said while picking the seer up and carrying her as the three make their way out of the woods and into the warmth that is their room.

#baby wednesday #age regression #vampravenwolf #enid sinclair #wednsday addams #sfw agere #wednesday #yoko tanaka #angst with a happy ending #fluff

27 notes · View notes

attic-club-sandwich · 10 months

Text

Lullabies from the Sky

The final prompt for @ombrotherlylove2023 is finished! Omg. Thank you so much for putting on this event, it's been so fun and i've loved reading and seeing everyone's creations! And thank you to everyone who has been reading and commenting on all of my fics! I'm going to make a masterlist of them all here very soon so they are all in one place. I really hope that you enjoy the final one!

A/N: I decided to do the prompt with Belphie (of course), Beel, and Lucifer because something about the oldest taking care of the youngest just warms my heart you know? Plus I love the throwbacks to the Celestial Realm days when they were Angels. Lucifer is such a dad hehe. Also towards the end, it kind of switches POVs a little, I hope that's okay.

Summary: Lucifer is beginning to grow agitated when Belphie doesn't show up to breakfast one morning. When he hunts him down to scold him for sleeping in late, he realizes that the sleepy demon isn't his usual self at all.

Day 7: Sick Fic (& Lullabies) with Belphie, Beel, and Lucifer.

Taglist: @amberrskiies, @obey-me-posts, @sassykattery, @delphi-dreamin, @bite-sized-devil, @flemmingbamse, @a-hidden-gem, @otomefoxystar, @siofrantic, @todothedodo, @marvelous-maniac, @nonbinary-disaster, @selfmadender, @animeismyhappyplace, @vampire-tr4mp, @meiloorun-tea, @ana-dear, @gaychaosgremlin, @sidgethegamer, @jasper-s-phantym

floral divider by @/saradika

Lucifer has called Belphegor’s name several times now, and his little brother still hasn’t made his way downstairs for breakfast. It wasn’t unusual for Belphie to be the last one at the table in the morning, but it didn’t usually take long before his rumbling stomach (or Beel’s) pulled him out of his deep slumber. The rest of the brothers have already finished eating and Lucifer had ushered them out of the house to get to RAD early to make up for the fact that himself and Belphie were clearly going to be late today. “I swear, Belphegor and his sleeping habits.” Lucifer muttered to himself, climbing up the stairs to make his way to the Twin’s room at the end of the hallway. He didn’t even bother knocking, as he was well past annoyed at this point. “Belphie, please get up this instant, we’re going to be-” he began to scold, but noticed that Belphie was not in his bed amongst the piles of plush pillows and lavish blankets he is always spending his money on. Lucifer sighed, figuring that he must be up in the attic. He really didn’t have time for this.

As he made his way up the winding staircase, Lucifer was growing significantly more frustrated. Belphie knew he was to set several alarms in the morning for this exact reason. The raven haired demon pushed his way through the attic door, and entered the room to finally find Belphie passed out on the bed. Lucifer growled, making his way over to the bed to shake him awake. “Belphegor, get up. This is ridiculous.” He said, shaking Belphie’s shoulder. However, he noticed he was reverted to his demon form as he laid curled into himself, his long, cow-like tail wrapped protectively around his body. Lucifer gently rolled him over to get a look at his face when he noticed how much paler than usual he looked. His forehead was also covered in a sheen of sweat, his long, navy bangs plastered to his face. The Avatar of Sloth was shivering, even though he was wearing pajama pants and a long sleeved sleep shirt where dark patches formed from him sweating through his clothes. “Oh, Belphie.” Lucifer sighed, slipping off his glove and placing the back of his hand against his forehead. He definitely had a fever. As he contemplated what to do next, Belphie began to stir. He whined as he stretched, and his black and white eyelashes fluttered against his freckled cheeks. Lucifer sat on the edge of the bed as Belphie’s violet eyes finally met his. “Lucifer…” he rasped. “I’m sick.” Lucifer chuckled. “I can see that now. I’ve been yelling for you.” Belphie groaned, moving his arm to rest over his eyes, blocking out the low light of the attic. “Everything hurts. There’s no way I'm going to RAD today.” Lucifer nodded, reaching to pull his D.D.D. out of his pocket. “No, you are to stay here and rest. I’ll be informing Diavolo that neither of us will be there today.” Belphie moved his arm, blinking at Lucifer. “You aren’t going either?” Lucifer shook his head. “No, I’ll do some work from home while you rest. I want to make sure that someone is here with you in case you need anything.” Belphie gave him a small smile. He’s not sure if it's because he’s half delusional from the fever, or if Lucifer was actually being nice to him right now.

Lucifer began to text Diavolo, taking his eyes off of Belphie for a second before hearing him groan, attempting to get out of bed. “Belphegor, just stay in bed for now okay? I’ll get you whatever you need.” Belphie stubbornly shook his head. “I want to go to my room, I’ll be fine.” Lucifer rolled his eyes, unsurprised by his little brother’s stubbornness. “I’ll carry you, come here.” Belphie was about to protest as he was scooped up into Lucifer’s arms. “H-Hey…!” he attempted to shout, but his throat was too sore and he decided to give up. He felt like a little kid again, being carried to bed after falling asleep somewhere after being too tired to go to bed himself. Lucifer began carrying him down the staircase, feeling the dampness from Belphie’s clothes. As they approached the twin’s room, he saw a familiar demon standing outside, about to enter. “Beel, what are you doing home?” Lucifer asked as Beel’s violet eyes widened at the sight of his twin in his arms. “I came home because I felt something was wrong with Belphie. Is he okay?” Lucifer nodded, stepping through the door and carrying Belphie over to his bed. He had started to fall back asleep on the way downstairs, most likely caused by the gentle swaying motions from being carried. Lucifer gently placed Belphie back down into his spot in bed, and stepped away to allow Beel to sit down next to his brother. “I thought something felt off this morning, but I didn’t think too much about it. I’m sorry Belphie…” Beel said, reaching out to move the bangs out of his eyes. Belphie whimpered at the touch, most likely sensing the presence of his twin. “I’ll leave you to him for now, I’m going to grab some medicine and a few other things.” Beel nodded, grateful that Lucifer had been here to care for him. “I’d like for you to get him a new change of clothes and get him settled. I’ll also grab a cold compress for his fever.” Beelzebub began to jump into action as Lucifer left the room.

***

Beel wasn’t sure why, but he just had a gut feeling that something was wrong with Belphie that morning. But his twin was notorious for oversleeping, and he didn’t really give it much thought. That is, until he got to school and began to get a dizzying feeling in his head and his legs wobbled as they began to grow weak. Satan and Asmo noticed the change in his behavior immediately, and rushed to his side to steady him. “Beel! What’s the matter?” Asmo asked, his voice filled with concern. The only thing he could manage to get out before rushing home was, “Belphie.” And that’s how he ended up back at home by Belphie’s side, helping to bring down the intense fever that burned through his body. Belphie sighed as Beel placed the cool compress that Lucifer had brought by on his forehead. “Is that better?” he asked as he noticed Belphie begin to relax. “Yeah. Thanks Beel. I’m glad you’re here.” Now that Belphie was in a dry pair of pajamas and had some medicine in his system, he was beginning to perk up. Devildom medicine usually worked wonders, instantly clearing up most of the symptoms that were plaguing the body. “I’m glad I'm here too. I’m sorry I didn’t realize right away.” Belphie shook his head, hugging his cow pillow to his chest. “It’s okay, I didn’t realize how sick I was until Lucifer woke me up.” Beel nodded as he crawled into Belphie’s bed next to him. “I’m really glad that Lucifer was here for you.” Belphie let out a snicker, glancing over at his brother. “I hate to admit it, but…. Me too.”

***

After sometime, Lucifer entered the room again to check on Belphie when he noticed that Beel had joined him in bed, and they were both sound asleep. He sighed, walking over to place another bottle of water and a packet of medicine on the nightstand before taking a seat on the edge of the bed. Beel, you’re going to get sick too, he thought. But he knew that Beel didn’t care, just as long as he was by Belphie’s side to take care of him. He sat in silence for a moment as he watched them sleep, thinking back to the old days in the Celestial Realm. When they were little, they always managed to get sick at the same time. Always together, he smiled. He remembered having to have Mammon help him carry them to their rooms, one twin in each of their arms, just as he did a little bit ago with Belphie. He remembered that Lilith was always doting on them when they were sick, cooking them warm meals that were gentle on the stomach, and constantly checking in on them to bring them anything that they needed. When they couldn’t sleep, she’d sing them a lullaby, her voice light and angelic. Even the memory was enough to send his spirits into the clouds, allowing any worries or troubles to be lifted from his shoulders. Lucifer closed his eyes, channeling the song that he always used to hear Lilith sing, and he began to hum. His voice was low, but smooth. Lilith always told him how much she adored his singing voice. As he hummed, he began to feel peace wash over him, blanketing the room with Lilith’s song. When he was finished, he opened his eyes to see Beel and Belphie still asleep, peaceful expressions on their faces. The song must have helped, since Belphie was no longer tossing and turning. Lucifer gave them one last smile before standing up and heading towards the door. “I shall return soon to check in on you both. Sweet dreams.”

#ombrotherlylove #ombrotherlylove2023 #obey me #obey me writing #my writing #cass writes #obey me belphegor #obey me lucifer #obey me beelzebub #obey me brothers #obey me fic

41 notes · View notes

meowzfordayz · 1 year

Note

Hiii! Hope things are well!

For the event can i request: Sanemi + I love you!

Sfw or nsfw, it’s up to you

Thx :3

MILESTONE 15.0

Heyo !! 😁 Things are well for me; hope they're well for you too. 🤗 Tyty for participating in my event — lucky last❣️

Song Inspo: Elysium by Mars Mignon

CW: 18+NSFW, explicit language, Fem!Reader, oral

"Beautiful," Sanemi murmurs, breath warm on your inner thigh, firm arms wrapped around your legs, "So fucking stunning."

"You know what would be even more stunning?" you hum cheerfully, fingers tangled through his hair, tugging affectionately, "Less staring, more doing."

"Don't fucking rush me," he mutters, nipping lightly at your skin, smirking when you yelp, "Thought you liked me sappy and shit?"

"Yeeeah," you huff, thighs attempting to squish him closer, eyes narrowing as he refuses to budge, not even straining, "But I prefer sappy time separate from sexy time."

"You're impatient," he snorts, thumb sudden and smooth as he spreads your folds, low rumble in his chest at the sight of your body rippling, "Now let me admire your perfection in peace, fuck's sake."

Hoping you don't sound too breathless, you manage to quip, "If this is your idea of admiring, then I'm five seconds away from going to the bathroom and admiring myself, alone."

Rolling his eyes, he flicks delicately at your clit, smugness filling his stomach as you whine loudly, "You do that, and I'll barge through the door."

"Not the poor door," you protest weakly, head tilting backward, pile of pillows plush beneath you, "Could you please do something."

"Are you thirsty?" he chuckles, feathery kisses along your slit short circuiting your frustration, lips sticky as he inhales your scent, "I can get you a glass of water."

"That's not what I meant," you grumble, hips bucking gently, "Could you please use your tongue to play with my clit," tacking on gruffly, "And thank you in advance."

Swallowing amused laughter, he acquiesces, familiar, delicious heat sliding wet and languid between your folds, your essence tart and viscous as the tip of his tongue slips teasing and coy around your clit.

"Did you forget where it is?" you snap, gasping at his immediate, scolding pinch to the crook of your knee, "I said please."

"Say it again," he demands, hovering over the slight swell of your clit, satisfied smile nearly touching it.

"Again?!"

"Beg."

"Nemi," you pout, cheeks darkening, pussy clenching at the bite in his voice, "I..." faltering as his index finger smears the slow drip of your pleasure, retort caught in your throat.

"Hm?" he prompts, fixated on the flutter of your pussy, resisting the traitorous itch to devour you whole.

"Please use your tongue to play with my clit," you exhale shakily, legs parting wider, back arching, pretenses forgotten as desire coats your veins, "I want you, need you, to make me cum."

The prettiest fucking cunt is his only thought as he promptly obeys, tongue sloppy and ravenous as he worships the squelching mess of your pussy, spit dribbling down to your asshole, hardly breathing as he melts into the rhythm of your moans Gonna make you cum and cum and fucking cum again, gonna break my fucking record for sure.

#milestone event #15.0 #sanemi shinazugawa #shinazugawa sanemi #sanemi x reader #shinazugawa x reader #wind hashira #drabble #modern au #demon slayer smut #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer

66 notes · View notes

gabessquishytum · 10 months

Note

Okay, so more thoughts on trophy husband!Hob because everyone here are wonderful enablers.

Hob wanting to do a photoshoot with some cool clothes he found at charity and vintage shops (sure he could pay a designer to hand stitch him something now, but thrifting is about the hunt. Besides it's fun to put on his "just some guy" aura and go out among normal people.) and Dream being super normal about anything Hob mentions wanting books out a whole ass historic manor for a day. Hob is used to filming and photographing himself and keeps to it now that it is all for fun and not his main source of income, so it is just the two of them. Dream may have also become obsessed with taking photos of Hob and bought the phone with the best possible camera after he tried taking Hob’s picture the first time and didn't manage to fully capture Hob's beauty. The fancy camera didn't help Dream's skills at all, but the thousands of photos he's taken since then certainly have.

The last photos of the day are of Hob's prized finds and have him dressed up in a lacy negligee slip covered by a diaphanous robe with billowing sleeves and an even wider skirt all trimmed in feathers. The kind that an old school Hollywood starlet playing a bereaved wife would wear when assuring the officer that she just didn't know anyone who would wish her husband ill, and she'll just have to go cry in the piles of money he left behind about it. The color of the robe is rich in the fading light of the sunset and beautiful against Hob's skin, contrasting well against the wooden banister he is leaning languorously against.

The photo is taken from the bottom of the staircase looking adoringly up at Hob who has his hand brought up to his mouth as if caught mid gasp, his wedding ring smeared with blood red lipstick from where it rests against the plush of his bottom lip. Hob would have pulled the shocked expression off, if it wasn't for the ravenous look in his eyes as he stared down at the photographer.

When Hob posts the photo up on social media the conservative press goes wild saying it's a clear sign that Hob is planning to kill Dream off for his fortune, they wonder if it would be admissible evidence in court if Dream were to meet an untimely end. Anyone else with two brain cells to squeak together know that the look Hob was giving means that the only way he is killing Dream is accidentally from heart failure mid-fuck. It becomes a bit of a meme to tweet at Dream to keep up with his cardio. Hob can't stop laughing every time he sees it.

Of course, Hob and Dream took full advantage of having the manor all to themselves. They might not have been able to fuck on the historic furniture, but the kitchen counters were sturdy enough. While all that marble was a bit uncomfortable it made an appropriate enough altar on which to worship each other.

-💥

Skskdkfjfjg everyone thinking that Hob is some kind of femme fatale when he’s actually THE most devoted spouse in the world?? Hilarious. You just know that he plays up to his meme and changes his bio to “looking for my second husband” or something djdjdjf.

During the photoshoot they’re totally doing a little elaborate model x photographer roleplay. Hob is making Dream work hard to seduce him, making sure that the photos are perfect and that Dream is absolutely at the end of his rope before Hob finally allows him to touch. They fall on top of each other and fuck on the floor in the hallway, knowing that potentially anyone could walk in and find them there. Dream takes a minute to take a few private pictures, just for his own future enjoyment. Hob looks absolutely perfect spread out on an antique floor rug, his legs wide and inviting Dream in between them. Dream has to pay an extra cleaning fee to the owners of the house, but he can afford it and frankly, he doesn’t give a shit. He even offers to buy the manor, just in case Hob wants to come back for a second shoot.

When the (fully dressed, public-friendly) photos come out on Hob’s social media, no one can fail to see the fresh indentations of Dream’s teeth on his throat. Hob scolds him for it, but Dream couldn’t help but lay a proper claim on his husband. If people are going to be able to see his beloved in his beautiful clothes, then Dream wants to make damned sure that nobody gets any ideas about who he belongs to.

(Hob retaliates by finishing off the photo set with one of Dream in the middle of getting re-dressed, his back to the camera and his t-shirt halfway over his head. He’s all about showing off his husband, as well as his husband’s money <3)

#💥 anon #the sandman #dreamling #nsft

47 notes · View notes

ravenkiddo · 4 months

Text

I took Bones for a walk in the woods today!

#plushie: Bones #raven’s stuff #Raven’s plush pile #plushies #plushblr #age regression #age regressor #agere

119 notes · View notes

dine-on-darling2 · 11 months

Text

He was starving, but this craving was pretty particular. She'd been gone all day, and during the day he'd started to feel the familiar hollow hunger, deep and needy. He tried to ignore it, because obviously he was fully aware he wouldn't be able to satisfy that hunger for several hours. But the more he wanted to not think about that hunger, the more insistent the sensation became. Fuck, he was just hungry, super, incredibly, ravenously hungry. His stomach rumbles practically made his seat vibrate underneath him. Swallowing his piles of thick drool only reminded him of how empty his stomach was. He needs her. He needs his precious meal to completely fill him.

Though he can't eat his preferred morsel for now, maybe he can substitute. Just for now, until she's back at home. He gets a bag of his favorite food, the cashier probably giving him a look with the hunger on his face. Though, if anybody did look at him weirdly, not like he could pay them any attention, not as his mind insisted on picturing all the different ways he could eat her.

When he gets back to their room, he tears into the bag. The food is delicious, but as he finishes his first he just thinks that she's much more delicious than any food he could eat. He imagines its her each time he swallows a little bite. With each one he eats, his bites get bigger; none of these give the same satisfying stretch of his throat that she gives him, and they can't wriggle and move inside his esophagus. His cheeks puff and he barely chews the bites he takes, not paying attention to the taste he normally enjoys; how could he, not when it's not as sweet as her. He silently says sorry to the person who made these for him that their creation isn't getting appreciated this occasion.

He basically gorges himself on the food. Quickly, the bag is empty, and he just softly sighs, a pout on his face. He pats his semi distended stomach and stares lower at it. It's gotten round with all the food stuffed into it that quick and it rumbles and groans beneath his hand as it tries digesting all of it. He gives it a little squeeze. Its not near as big as when she's inside his belly. His hunger feels nowhere near satisfied from that food.

Hes just distracted by his imagination of cramming her, far more roughly than he'd actually readily treat her, into his stomach, that that's the spot she soon finds him sitting in. He'd barely registered their door opening, but his eyes quickly catch her standing there. He swallows, saliva instinctively pooling. He sees that she raises an eyebrow, spotting his rounded stomach and the empty bag near him.

He avoids her eyes, embarrassment burning all across him. She questions him, of course curious. He just wants to grab her and stuff her in his mouth, draw her into him until she's curled inside his stomach. It takes a few minutes of asking, before he admits to his maddening hunger. When he looks at her, that feeling is plain in his stare. She coos, and it's promised that she won't let him be hungry any longer.

She stands before him. Stripping off a few layers of clothes, ensuring he can taste as much as he wants to, she gives him her hands. He tries being a gentleman like typical, though he can't make himself act patient with his awaited meal right here. He practically groans in ecstacy at the taste of her on his tongue. Her hands soon delightfully provide that stretch in his throat he wanted, and with each longing gulp she's rapidly drawn further into him and gives him the full belly he had needed. He burps, long and noisy, in appreciation. He apologizes for the food she's squished inside along with and also thanks her for being his meal. She tells him she's perfectly alright sharing with his food since that's what she is and says she's always glad to satiate his stomach. They both settle in. Her curling into the plush kneading walls of his belly, him leaning back and cradling her and his stomach. He'd let her out later, probably a long few hours later, but neither of them mind no matter how many hours he chooses to keep her in there today. He's satisfied. His stomach groans with the fullness.

#safe vore #soft vore #v0re #vore talk #vore thoughts

47 notes · View notes

mrsoharaa · 4 months

Text

Ꮺ ❥ 𝑻𝒐𝒏𝒈𝒖𝒆 𝑻𝒊𝒆𝒅

characters: Geto Suguru x Reader

content warnings: pure filth, MDNI, female anatomy, female reader, overstimulation, oral (f recieving), hair pulling, soft dom! Geto, squirting, piercing play (idk if that's a thing but...yeah lmao???).

"S-Suguru! w-wait! no more...I c-can't!" you squeak through another rippling orgasm torn from your shuddering, sweltering body. Back arched, head tossed back as your hands swindle roughly through the silky strands of his raven tresses.

The touch of his languid, long fingers holding around the plush of your thighs, pressing into you, holding you against his greedy mouth for as long as he can. His tongue lapping up the spewing juices that pooled out from your pulsing, swollen cunt.

You tense tightly at the feel of his newly pierced tongue piercing grazing over the swell of your throbbing clit. Hissing sharply as he draws out yet another mind blabbering orgasm from you, your hips stuttering as tears began to stream down the plain of your puffy, heated cheeks.

"N-no mor--oh!" you cry out in agonizing bliss, drowned out with another wave of overwhelming euphoria. His long tongue pile driving deep into the clenching velvety walls of your spasming hole.

Hums deliciously against your fluttering lips, eyes closed softly as he relishes in your abrupt wetness drenching his beautiful face.

His nails dig into your plushy fat, holding you steady and firm against his mouth as he drives you into a deep, sinful abyss of sheer ecstasy and pleasure.

Your lips part widely, silent screams filling through the thick, musky air as your hips instinctively buck into his skillful mouth. Strained moans stammering at the back of your throat with every caress, brush and tap his metallic ball on his tongue would apply to you.

Your body quickly relaxes into the satiny sheets crumbled up beneath you, your dire grip in his ruffled, soft hair loosening in pressure as you gradually collect your heaving breaths. Coming down from your powerful, soul shattering bliss.

He chuckles almost darkly, but amusingly against your right inner thigh, giving it a tender kiss, he slowly makes his way up closer towards your beat face.

Lidded eyes of chestnut carefully studies your trembling, adorable stature. More entirely, your cute embarrassed, covered face.

He grins against your collar bone, tracing his lucid lips up the stride of your neck to your jawline and finally at the corner of your tremoring lips. Lightly removes your nimble limb that shielded your flustered face, thoroughly admiring the aftermath of his doing.

"So...do you like it, L/n?" his calm, smooth voice reverberates against your skin, watching you slowly nod with a bitten back lip. He snorts with a eye roll.

"Words baby, I need to hear your pretty voice, angel" he whisks heftily, pecking a chaste kiss at the corner of your fumbling lips.

"Y...Yes Suguru...I do like i-it" you blabber over your labored breaths, eyes finally opening to meet his looming gaze. Your heart flutters violently against your chest, as you steal a glance at his glimmering piercing settled at the base of his warm tongue.

"Good," He smiles, giving you one last loving kiss to your lips before cupping your cheeks and diving his tongue deep into the drooling cavern of your panting mouth. The taste of metal and your immense slick wrangling with your own tongue, drowning you completely into the depths of erratic rapture and gratification.

"I got it just for you, sweet thing"

#tongue pierced geto is just.....! GIMME 😩🤲🏼#geto suguru x reader #suguru geto #jjk

9 notes · View notes

amphiptere-art · 4 months

Note

The KEs do not use their Star, so everyone gets simpler gifts from them.

Ravenous gets a collection of facemasks and a bunch of plushies and chew toys.

DH Earth gets several homemade plushies of herself and Ravenous (everyone made one, and Toddlunar and Babyblood’s are easily identified) and an Ikea so she can better customize her room.

Blue Moon gets nanomachine cookies and giant blankets sized for them. Plush plushies of everyone except Earth.

Black Star gets a blank blueprint sheet, with a sticky note saying “Design your own body, and I’ll have Computer build it” from Mama Sun, and a himself-themed computer, headphone, gamer chair, and controller from everyone.

Again, Blue Moon and Black Star are completely caught off guard by Christmas gifts. As it has completely skip their mind plus the gifts are so big. The kind of have forgotten that Christmas is usually about giving personalized gifts.

Ravenous is completely clueless as to what Christmas is. So they just kind of take it like a child they figure it's a nice gift for no other reason other than getting a gift.

Ravenous is happy to have a collection of different types of face masks. Happily picking out their favorite and putting it on. They also deeply enjoy the plushies. Adding them to their pile of fluffy things. Also testing out the chew toys. Hopefully made out of a metal that was discovered or made to not melt to their saliva.

DH Earth is happy with the plushie collection. Happily laughing at the different levels of quality. Placing them up on a shelf for display. She is happy to customize her own room with the IKEA. Probably shifting it to something less nature-based and more dark city based. Also probably noticing that she's a collector.

Blue Moon will happily eat the nanite cookies. It is not common that they come across something sweet that doesn't scream. The fact they have blankets that fit them makes them extremely happy. Probably settling into them pretty quickly. Also enjoying the plushie collection. (Plus it is helpful that there is not one of Earth.)

Black Star is quietly very happy about the fact he gets to design a new body. (Or at least feel like he is) Happy to go against the dragons ideas and do something he wants for himself. Quietly setting out on a table and starting to design. (I will figure that out later.) The gamer setup is appreciated. Especially since it makes it easier to play with family. Cautiously asking mama Sun It's the family can have a gaming session in the afternoon.

#more Christmas!#crossover story #red blue and black #kid eclipse au #desolate hunger

6 notes · View notes

dragcnflame · 1 year

Text

@pehters

A hand reached up rubbing her eyes as Bloom tried once again to remind herself why exactly she was awake at the moment. The why being the raven haired boy sitting across from her, a bass in his lap while an acoustic guitar sat in her own. She was beginning to regret the whole ‘I’d do anything for you, you’d do anything for me’ understanding that came with having shared a womb with someone. Tired eyes skated over the notes scribbled down in front of her. She’d never had her twin’s talent for music, while they’d both picked it up as small children she’d eventually leaned towards art now only picking up the guitar in her room when pestered. Cracking her neck for a moment Bloom’s hands fell back into position on the strings. “Why do we need to do this at 3am?” The redhead asked a yawn escaping her at the same moment. She felt just about ready to fall over onto the plush carpet always possessing a talent for falling asleep just about anywhere be it a classroom desk or random pile of laundry on the floor. “Can’t genius strike at a better hour?” She didn’t mind echoing back the guitar lines for while he wrote the bass lines of whatever song his band was working on next but her finger tips were starting to ache without the necessary calluses. Even so she continued fiddling with the chords, written on what she was now positive was a napkin, absentmindedly.

#pehters #twins verse tbd #i lied i'm putting out one starter ✌️ now time to do life stuff

1 note · View note

allieisasleep · 2 months

Text

loving you was like loving the dead

pt. I : songbird on puppet strings

fenrir : tiny little peanut forest elf, they/them w/ femme nouns

eliza : vampire goth bad bitch awooga, she/her (irl's character :3)

Wearing Eliza's bare figure on their back, Fenrir's overcome by the familiar feelings she never fell short of casting upon them; love so sugary it could stop their heart, cut with lust deep enough they could only dream of seeing the bottom. Never had they thought, though, that the night could have come to such—a mere hour prior they’d been drifting off within the crook of Eliza’s neck as she sipped a glass of wine.

From behind, Eliza drags her frigid fingers over her poor elf's chest, wells of plush skin spilling out from betwixt her joints.

“Guð minn, Eliza ..” icelandic, “My god, Eliza ..”

Fenrir's spine trembles and sputters with a chill that seizes their body from joint to joint, a sharp wince escaping their lips. Adrenaline surges through their veins, dilating their pupils and sending their vision into a mild haze. Despite Eliza having revealed her desires just moments before, Fenrir's ache for her had been building to a fever pitch under her touch, a volcanic intensity that threatened to erupt at any moment.

“Liniște, Fenrir al meu.” romanian, “Quiet, my Fenrir,”

Though erupt at the seams Fenrir just couldn’t find the right chance to do; The vampire’s not long to quip back at them, her cold crow rendering Fenrir silent in her prowess. The elf powerless to resist the touches and grasp death herself laid on their figure, she grabs at their breasts firmly yet so simultaneously teasingly, jet black nails akin to a raven's talons as they dig into freckled skin.

“You speak when asked to. înțelegi?” romanian, “Do you understand?”

“Ye–es .. ma’am.”

At that point, Eliza had completely come over Fenrir, her head resting atop their shoulder dead center in the spotlight of the moon—painted a blood red by the high rising stained glass decorating her chambers—and the elf had come to a rest in her vampirish chill, crystalline gaze towards Valhalla—the Valhalla they fear she’d locked them out of already. With Fenrir in her grasp, Eliza wanders further down their plush figure, now feeling their shivering breaths beneath her fingertips as she slithers atop their stomach.

A sheen having come over their inner thighs over their time wrapped in each other’s lust, Eliza’s quick to notice Fenrir’s eager shifting about where they sat at the edge of the bed. Devilishly curious, she prods at slicked thighs until they reflexively open. Fenrir, easily humiliated as they are, can’t help the hands which come up to secrete their face once their visible desire for Eliza’s grace had been revealed, features having gone brushed such a rosy hue.

“My my .. Give me this one chance, won’t you?”

Eliza begins to croon in Fenrir’s ear, pointed tips twitching against her cheekbones at the breathy tease towards their need. Fluids string seemingly endlessly from Fenrir’s thighs to Eliza’s fingertips as they trail through their mess, which had begun to drip onto the satin sheets beneath the pair, painting fine red a muted, deep maroon.

“Whatever you may wish will be my command.”

The blunts of Eliza’s lithe joints eventually find a resting place within Fenrir’s slit, their walls clenching in need beneath as she creeps up and down between them. Fenrir wholly attempts to answer Eliza’s offer with wanton pleads piled on their tongue trying to fall into the air so messily, though all they can manage is to hitch their breath in Eliza’s ear—a whine teetering on the border of blackened lips.

At Fenrir’s silence, porcelain thighs are deeply dug into with Eliza’s hand opposite, and the elf jumps as if their soul had been stolen through skin threatening to break beneath her fingernails. An icy sigh is blown in Fenrir’s direction, Eliza ready with force if push came to shove in getting them to confess their ardor clear and true.

“Speak.”

However, no such force, she’d find, would be needed in breaking them in, as:

“Y—You.. God, I profess it—I need you, Eliza.”

“Fata buna.” romanian, “Good girl.”

an older work of mine, from about november of 2022. not my favourite ever, though still worth posting i suppose? it hurt rereading it oml

#writers #writing #writeblr #my writing #writer #authors #literature #prose #smut #vampire #vampires #elf #elves #fantasy

1 note · View note

whirlybirbs · 2 years

Note

BIRBS WRITING FOR SILCO??????? (SLAMS THE BUTTON) WEE WOO WEE WOO

HOBBYISTS & FINER THINGS. ; silco / reader

summary: perhaps all this trouble is worth it. or, you come into ownership of the lilac lounge and after a business inquiry, find you've earned silco's interest.

word count: 2.1k

pairing: silco / f!reader

a/n: a little something i've been stewing on. enjoy what will undoubtedly become a little series, knowing me. this pretty gif is by @aestheticsicrushon from this set here!

read me on ao3 | next chapter >

"Tea?"

You're beginning to think this whole thing was more trouble than it was worth. By 'thing', you quite candidly mean the fact The Lilac Lounge — one of three brothel's residing along the Lanes' main strip — was now under your ownership.

You'd be lying if you said it hadn't come as surprise.

(The sort of surprise that had riled half the Lanes the next morning — your screams of disbelief had ricocheted down the strip, the squawk sending whatever poor gutter rats and ravens fleeing from their morning meals. WHAT?!)

You and Yeleni — the previous owner — had never really seen eye-to-eye. She was a disgruntled, old courtesan who could rarely admit a single fault, and yet you stuck around. Be it loyalty or stubbornness, you're still not quite sure. You were one of her best girls; you've spent the better half of your life working in that plush, little brothel.

Those rooms have seen your maturity sharpen.

Whatever. Fuckin' Yeleni. She put your fuckin' name on the deed. Then, she up and croaked. Slipped away in her sleep. Not exactly the way you'd imagined her going, but it happened. You always thought there would be more screaming, more clawing — a last, desperate cling to life just like she clung to her vanishing creams smuggled from Topside.

Eugh.

There's a whole pile sitting on your desk back at The Lilac Lounge. You can't seem to get rid of them fast enough. You thought handing off a dead woman's half-used beauty regime would be easier. Turns out it's quite the contrary.

...Perhaps Silco...?

You silence the intrusive quip with a quick flash of your lashes.

You have to admit — you anticipated the man before you to be a bit more... garish. From the way Yeleni had spoken of him, it seemed as if he was a pain to look at. From her stories, every interaction between the two verged on violent. Though, you suppose that eighty-six-year-old whore rarely had any sort of functional relationship with any of her coworkers, patrons, or protection. It was charming... in a twisted way.

His back is to you now. He is in the corner, by the phonograph. There's a cart there with a myriad of pretty little bottles and pretty little spirits. The offer of tea comes as a surprise.

From your place between the two of his enforcers, you shift in your chair. Your cross your legs and rest your knotted hands on your stockinged knee when your coat has parted.

"Sherry," you speak slowly; the point in your words remains pleasant if not professional, "If you have it."

Across the room, Silco takes pause. His own drink is forgotten for a moment — and he's suddenly struck with the fact you are not Yeleni. You're... well, little old Yeleni would have already threatened to castrate him for suggesting he didn't have her tea ready on her arrival.

"Not a fan?"

She'd been a mythic woman. Quite small, but mighty. Respected.

Why she left The Lilac Lounge to you remains to be seen.

He moves, the lip of the crystal tinkering neatly against the glass. He turns back, both drinks in hand.

"No," you explain lightly, "I can never get past the sting of the water."

You get a good look at him then, backlit by the jade windows that suck in the dim light from the Lanes outside. Your chin is held high, posturing rigid as a board. Silco is a bit surprised to see you've kept your coat on. The high collar brushes your cheek.

He offers the sherry and your gloved fingers brush his.

He holds your gaze.

You're a pretty thing. Beautiful, even. Not in a delicate sense, but in a pointed sort of way. Sharp. Perhaps it's the wicked way your eyes narrow ever so slightly when they meet his.

Hm. No, not bad to look at. Not at all, you reason.

His eyes lift and with a wave of his hand, he gestures for his men to wait outside. You watch, sherry raised to your lips, and only sip once the door has clicked shut. When your head swivels back, he's still watching you.

Finally, he leans back and ventures around the center table to his rouge loveseat.

The spirit stings your throat. It's nice.

"You know," comes the slow drawl as he leans and gathers a cigar before dropping down to the sofa, "Your predecessor would have threatened me four times over at this point in our meeting..."

You snort into your drink. Quiet. Lady-like, still. Your voice echoes in the crystal as you hesitate a sip.

"Would you prefer I begin now or later?"

Silco almost laughs. Almost. The corner of his lips tug. You see a flash of intrigue narrow his good eye. The other, burning bright as embers, stares on.

"Hardly," he leans forward, elbows on his knees. Gracefully, he clips the cigar and procures a heavy, gilded lighter from the same box. He snaps it open with a satisfying tink before lighting the expensive piece of tobacco. It's a gesture. Reminding you where you are.

"Yeleni thought highly of you."

It's Silco's turn to snort. "Did she now?"

"No," you cut it down, resting your glass on your knee as you watch him extend back like a cat. He props his arm up and takes a long drag of the cigar; your smile is cunning, "But, she never thought highly of anyone but herself. So, perhaps let me rephrase: she respected you."

Silco lets that settle in the air between the two of you.

"And you?" he asks after a moment.

You swirl the glass. Your gloves are sheer. Dashed with glimmer little bits of woven metal. It flashes silver in the jade light of the office. When you lift your eyes, they inadvertently land on a painting over his shoulder. Your face snaps, a tension breaking, at the sight of—

"A Friedlingmer?"

Silco blinks.

His head turns, following your gaze.

...Ah.

The painting of the idyllic topside pasture has ensnared your attention long enough for Silco follows the trail of your figure. The glitter along your cheekbones catches the light as a stream of light filters in from the afternoon.

"It was a gift," he speaks into his whiskey, ignoring the stroke of admiration that blooms in the wake of your interest.

"It's beautiful," you speak slowly, eyes still trained on the intricate frame holding the painting, "And rare. He only completed eight paintings in his time spent Topside. You're the sole owner of one, it seems."

"...You're an academic, then?" Silco prods, "It's not often I have the pleasure of holding company who can speak on Friedlingmer's residencies."

Your laugh is melodic. Like a diamond. Pretty and rough and rare. "You flatter me, Silco."

His name is honey-sweet on your tongue. It rolls off easier than you mean for it. Silco's lip tugs again.

"It was merely an honest inquiry."

"No, no, I — I'm a hobbyist, if you will," you wave it off, your attention turned back to the man before you, "But, at the end of the day, we all chase the beauty of things we cannot have, don't we?"

Oh.

Lights alive, you're something.

...He gets it now.

This is dangerous. This little feeling that's nibbling at his heartstrings. This is — fuck.

Silco clears his throat after a long moment.

Stick to business.

"Yeleni and I had an understanding," he speaks carefully as his cigar burns between his fore and middle finger. The smoke rises up, dancing in fine lines of smoke around his face, "I take it you were aware."

"I'm looking to extend the terms of the agreement."

Silco almost chokes.

He smothers his surprise, masking it as a clearing of his throat. He leans forward, a hand falling along a crossed knee. He's a lithe man — but long. Tall. Lean and sharp. Handsome, still. You can't help but feel a bit of a bitterness creep up. Yeleni should have warned you as much.

"Our agreement was extensive—"

"I want security present for twelve hours every other day," you say sharply, as the web of the conversation begins to unravel just as you'd hoped, "For an increase to ten percent of our earnings."

"I don't have the men for that."

"Lying is unbecoming."

Your gazes connect and it's white-hot. Like gasoline on open flame.

Silco almost snarls.

"Twenty percent."

"—As if I'd give you anything more than eleven."

...

He misses Yeleni.

But, it seems you're not finished — and for yet another time in the ten minutes, he realizes just why Yeleni left The Lilac Lounge to you.

"We're vulnerable. Shimmer puts us in a dangerous position. The work we do is sought after and demand hits a new peak with every month. Protecting us puts good faith in you. It's a mutually beneficial arrangement."

Silco exhales. Then, he takes a long drag of his cigar.

"Ten percent," he affirms after a stretch of contemplation. His yield is granted with a small tip of his head; his eyes are roaming your face, "And I'll give you ten hours, three men, everyday."

Your brow lifts ever-so-slightly.

"...That's kind of you, Silco."

"Consider it good faith," he remarks dryly before lowering his voice, "I... owe Yeleni as much. She... She was a good woman. And I'm sorry for your loss."

His lips quirk when you bark out a laugh. This one is less lady-like. Honest, maybe.

"As I said before," you harp, "Lying is unbecoming."

"Please," comes the rather comedic urge for a shred of composure, "She's dead—"

"Isn't that a blessing?"

Before Silco can split the air with his own dry laughter, you continue.

"We'll settle, then," you offer your hand across the gap, "Eleven percent for ten hours, three men, every day."

A hum of appreciation settles in Silco's chest. Your insistence on a fair settlement is... different from his day-to-day. Based on principle.

He sets his glass down, drops his cigar to the ashtray, and leans. He catches your hand in a warm shake. Firm. Sturdy. The foundation of a great partnership.

He ignores the burn that clings to his skin when you pull away.

"I appreciate your time, Silco."

The sherry is slipped back and finished in a swallow. His eyes follow the gesture.

"You're a busy man — I won't keep you," you explain as you gather yourself up and gently offer the empty crystal glass to him. The rim is stained with the painted color from your lips. Your perfume threatens to drown the office in a delicate femininity that's all but lost on the space. It stokes a frightening sense of longing in him.

He stands quickly and rounds the table.

"Regardless, I appreciate your time, madame," comes the courteous reply, holding more poise than the official title; and while not entirely unwelcome, the title of madam is still one that you're not used to. Madam of The Lilac Lounge. It has quite the ring to it. You're not too sure of the tune, though. Not yet.

Then, a slow reach for your hand. You allow him to take it.

He offers a chaste press of his lips to your knuckles. The sheer material there does little to save your skin from going alight at the heat. His eyes, all the while, bore into you.

Your expression flits into something akin to interest. It's fleeting. It's replaced with a slow kiss of your lashes to your cheek. You bow your head.

"Be well, Silco."

"Until next time, madame."

When — a handful of days later —a carefully wrapped parcel arrives in the arms of two of Silco's men, you find yourself smothering surprise. It's big, and as the two muscle it through the brothel at the earned attention of nearly the whole house of staff, you can't help but hiss and ha at the roughness with which they treat it.

There's a note attached, tucked into the pretty blue twine.

FOR YOU, A GIFT. REVERENTLY YOURS, SILCO

You pull back a torn corner, and then immediately slap it back.

Your head snaps to the doorway of your office, where a gaggle of your workers have gathered. They stare at you owlishly. Your eyes are a mile wide, you reason, because you're met with an excited chatter of gossip. They leer in, rushing forward in a sea of masked, painted-on lovers.

It's a Friedlingmer.

Perhaps this whole thing was all the trouble it was worth.

By 'thing', you quite candidly mean the fact you're now the owner of an original pasture piece by Friedlingmer and The Lilac Lounge.

And apparently the interest of Silco himself.

#arcane netflix #silco x reader #silco/reader #silco reader insert #silco x oc #silco imagine #arcane x reader #arcane imagine #here u go besties #hobbyists & finer things #silco league of legends

2K notes · View notes