#im sorry but also i am not but also i am DEW WTIH UR BLOODY GUITAR AND HAND DRAGGING OVER YOUR FACE AND BODY GET OUT OF MY HEAD | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fortheharbingers · 2 years

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characters: dewdrop/sodo, gn!reader

cw: blood ment, finger sucking, suggestive content – minors dni

a/n: the bloody guitar thing? he did it for the blood kink girlies he did it for me he is all my mind can think about right now have this short little thing<3 (also hi i still dk whether to call him dew or sodo LOL)

you can hear the sound of a guitar long before you make your way to the familiar chambers, the front of the door you've grown a bit too accustomed to and the firey ghoul residing there.

when you knock on the door firmly, once, and open it right after without even waiting for a reply however, you do not expect for the sound to triple– much more passionate ...and aggressive, enough so that you can feel your ears, your head and hands hurting.

and in the midst of the chaos, stands tall and proud Dew, as always, either unaware or uncaring of your arrival.

the sudden shift of his playing morphing into a mini impromtu guitar solo and you think 'yep, definitely the latter.' whenever he has the opportunity, he makes sure to show off, especially to you at all times– maybe top it off even, with a hand sliding down or fingers moving in ways not a single soul could deem 'innocent'.

walking past him, making sure to brush against his side, reeling in the fact that his playing stirs, even if just for a second; you make yourself comfortable on his bed and enjoy the show.

in his element even off stage, he holds your attention on him and him only, hands trailing down his body, his arms, the way he bounces his legs in sync with the melody, how he sways and moves and lovely, lovely fingers working their magic–

red.

your eyes spot it once and that's all they can see now, reminding you why you've decided to pay the ghoul this early visit in the first place.

jumping from his bed and rushing all the way to him, you catch the ghoul off guard with how sudden your mood shifts.

okay, maybe you should've been a little more careful and not haste because grabbing his hands and pulling them down to yourself, all the while on your knees certainly do not make up for the best of sceneries.

and he makes sure to remind a tiny partion of your mind that, with a low chuckle and quick joke about how you're so eager to kneel before him tonight.

sending a stern look his way gets him to shut up quickly, and so does the worried look on your face maybe.

though the worry is appreciated, ('aw, you like me that much, sweet thing?'), he brushes off all your comments to follow– about how he should be resting his hands, take it easy, let them recover and so on and on... and oh dear satan, doesn't that hurt? sting? demon or not you've got to have some pain receptors, no? well, what about making a mess, huh? surely it should be tedious to clean all up all that blood–

"you can always help with that, you know."

and he brings your train of thought, more like train of rambling off apparently, to a stop abruptly.

"well? no?" he speaks up when you stay silent for too long, "and here i thought you'd always be here to help– from what you've told me countless times before, at least." he teases you.

you'd probably hit him on the bicep or nudge his belly and trail off to find a first aid kit of sorts in regular circumstances.

but being on your knees in front of one fiery ghoul, his hands in yours, the scent of blood so sharp, heavy and delicious and his equally bloodied guitar as well as the crotch hidden behind it now– the circumstances are far from what your usual requires.

your grip on his hands loosen but gets more preceise. he can feel your fingertips ever so slowly moving against his skin now, tracing the bleeding areas, the lines of his palms, every small curve and vein– have you hands always been this cold?

and if so, why do they seem to burn now?..

raising your eyes from his hands to hold his gaze, you look up, not even needing to bat your eyelashes, parting your lips oh so slightly, donning that innocent look... oh no, the sight of you on your knees, with some of his blood already smeared on your hands, making you smell like him, is more enough to send him off.

"you're right, my apologies." your soft words fill what little space left between the two, ah, the pleasantries, always the pleasantries with you when you know you've got him hooked.

"i am a person of my word, after all. please," your words clouding him, your fingers going up and down his hands all the way to his wrists leaving him wanting. "allow me to help you."

he settles for a nod when words seem to fail him– your scent mixing with his not helping the situation at all.

he has had you in positions more obscene than this, surely, so what is it with now that has his senses overdriven with you, you and only you?

slight movements abandoned, you stroke a hand over the back of his hands with a hum, seeming to inspect the current damage his hands have endured. "we should get these cleaned up first, no?" you inquire, no caring for his replies.

turning his hands up and down, letting your nails slightly graze against the skin, dew watches your every move intently. "i doubt you have anything lying around to help with that." you talk more to yourself than anything.

"guess we've got no choice but to–" before he can ask 'but to what?' you bring a hand you were holding to your face and suck on a finger, he watches as two phalanges get lost behind your lips.

if your breath hot and fawning over his skin wasn't enough, your lips closing around the digits and rolling a tongue over certainly does the job.

dragging the fingers out, you turn the hand a little again, a frown making its way to your face. "what is it, pretty thing?" he finds himself asking.

"it's not working as efficiently as I've hoped," you say with a pout, now holding the hand with both your hands and dragging a tongue over the knuckles, slowing your movements when you taste the blood, eyes closed and your face carrying an expression he knows to be of 'content'.

at the contact of skin and saliva, your tongue and his bruises, open wounds, dew barely holds back a hiss.

opening your eyes, you look up to him again, a faint smile forming on your now blood stained lips.

"i'm afraid this will take longer than i anticipated."

bringing his other hand to cup your cheek and letting it fall slowly, his index linger a tad longer, dew tilts his head to the side.

"it's a good thing the night is young."

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