New Megumi Writing Coming Very Very Soon… Its Quite Short, But It Will Be A Good Work ^^

Junpei... its been 3 years... come back to me please.. junpei... come back to me PLEASE I MISS YOU SO MUCH PLS COME BACK TO ME JUNPEI MY LOVE MY SWEETHEART MY DARLING MY BABY PLS COME HOME BABY I MISS YOU JUNPEI *sobs* I will rip out my heart PLEASE. JUNPEI I LOVE YOU SO MUCH IM GOING INSANE MY BABY

ʚ Campus asshole scara x fem reader

ʚ BEFORE READING: Fem reader, reader is just trying to get 5 minutes away from their annoying roomie. Take note of warnings.

ʚ WARNINGS: Use of drugs, implied laced weed, scara smokes a little, dub-con, shotgunning.

Scaramouche has always been known for his ill temper among the students on campus, always having something mean to say and getting into trouble for doing shit he shouldn’t be doing. Today was no different as he found behind the campus dorms, sitting against the wall as he had a quick smoke despite knowing there was a no smoking on campus policy. When did he ever listen to authority though?

You found yourself behind the dorms as well, just looking for a short escape from your loud and annoying roommate who wouldn’t seem to leave you the hell alone. You grimaced upon seeing Scaramouche there too, but tried to ignore his presence as he simply sat against the wall as far from him as possible.

That wouldn’t stop him though, he made his way over to you, looking down at you as you sat there silently. “Don’t see people coming back here often unless they’re up-to no good, so what’s your deal?” He spoke, his tone coming off like a demand for answers rather than a question.

Waving the smoke from his cigarette out of your face “I’m just trying to get a break from my roommate, promise I won’t bother you or tell anyone I saw you.” You responded, hoping he’d just leave you alone if he knew you wouldn’t go snitching about his smoking.

“Sounds like shit” he said, followed by pause as he considered his words carefully. Kneeling down in front of you he spoke again, his words coming out almost silky smooth. A sign of his manipulative intent which you seemed to miss “can come to my dorm, I don’t have a roommate, and nobody will suspect you’re there.”

With a small sigh you hesitated, considering his offer, but it didn’t take long for you to agree. Staying in his dorm for a few would be way nicer than sitting on the dirty floor behind the dorms, so you nodded eagerly. Following close behind him as he led you to his dorm.

“You shouldn’t smoke in here” you said as you stepped into his dorm, taking off your shoes. You didn’t really care that he smoked exactly, but you also didn’t want to have to smell the smoke the entire time you were in his dorm.

He moved closer to you suddenly, taking the cigarette from his lips as grabbed your face between his index and thumb and forcing your mouth open as he leaned in. Forcing your mouth open while his lips were mere millimetres away from your own, exhaling the smoke into your mouth in a twisted display of attraction.

You breathed it in instinctively before taking a step back, coughing slightly. “Don’t be fucking weird” you exclaimed, watching as he smirked and put his cigarette out finally, taking another step closer to you.

“Calm down, it’s just a little smoke. You should loosen up a little.” that devilish smirk still upon his lips. “Maybe you should try getting high, calm those nerves of yours a little.” He said as he moved over to his bed, pulling out a small bag of pre-rolled joints and holding them up.

Stammering a bit you responded “you can’t have that shit on campus- what if they find out??”

“They won’t find out, unless you tell them. But you wouldn’t do that to me, would you?” His tone was sweet, sickeningly so but it made a swirl of emotions run wild within you. Were you seriously considering getting high with the campus asshole?

You were, you absolutely were. You didn’t know why, maybe it was the fact he was nice to despite being rude to everyone else, maybe it was because you just wanted to relax after having your roomie pester you all day. Either way you found yourself sitting beside him on his bed, passing a joint between the two of you, not seeming to consider the fact that he may have laced it.

As you breathed in the smoke you felt a slight burn in your chest, coughing slightly at the sensation, but also felt a great sense of relaxation wash over you finally for the first time today. “This feels nice” you said quietly, eyes glued to the ceiling as you enjoyed the tranquility. You didn’t seem to notice how he never actually smoked any, he just held the joint for a second before handing it back to you.

“Yeah? I could make things feel better.” He added as he sat up, looking down at you with a sly smirk as he slowly moved his hand to your hip, His fingers gently caressing you over your clothes.

He held your chin between his thumb and index as he leaned in, kissing your lips hungrily, like he just wanted to devour you. You didn’t care to try and fight back or stop him, you were in such a calm state that you couldn’t even care, so you kissed back.

That only emboldened him further as he trailed his hands up your shirt, caressing from your waist down to your hips. He just wanted you so bad, and he had you right in his grasp, so high that he could truly just have his way with you.

Quickly he snaked his fingers beneath the waistband of your pants, tugging them down with ease without breaking the kiss. Next was your panties, which were also no problem for him. He quickly pulled them off and tossed them aside, landing somewhere on the floor in his messy room.

Finally he broke the kiss, moving to sit at the edge of the bed for a short moment as he took his own pants and boxers off. He was already so hard for you, he just couldn’t help but get excited when you were so easy to catch.

He quickly moved back to you, situating himself between your legs as he began rubbing his cock against your pussy. You grew wetter and wetter as he rubbed against you, small whimpers escaping your lips every time he brushed against your clit. He loved the sight, you beneath him, exposed and drugged out.

Pulling back slightly he angled his dick at your entrance and slowly pushed in, groaning at how good you felt, “Fuck” he breathed out “you’re so fucking tight”. After a short moment of letting your body adjust to his size he began moving, thrusting his cock deep into you before pulling out fully, just to slam himself back inside of you.

You couldn't help but moan out beneath him, his cock filling you so well, hitting the deepest parts of you which made you see stars. The drugs in your system only made it all the more better, making you more sensitive to his touch. The sounds of his groans and your moans echoed through the room, accompanied by the erotic sound of skin slapping together as he harshly pounded into you. He knew you could probably be heard through the walls, but that only made him more excited.

Suddenly he pulled out of you and grabbed you by your waist, pulling you to the edge of his bed and pushing your face down into the blankets as he entered your pussy again, fucking you hard and fast from behind.

He tangled his fingers into your hair tightly, pulling harshly as he leaned down and whispered darkly into your ear. "I wanna hear those pretty moans of yours". With that he snaked his hand down your stomach and to your pussy, beginning to rub quick circles around your clit.

You gasped at his touch as it sent waves of pleasure washing through your body, your legs going weak beneath you while you felt your orgasm growing close. He could tell how close you were by the way you moaned so desperately, and that sent him reeling.

His thrusts became faster and sloppy as his fingers moved faster, finally making the knot in your stomach snap as you came on his cock. Gummy walls spasming around his cock while you moaned out his name.

"fuck- yes!" he moaned as he too came, the combination of the way you moaned his name and the way your pussy felt twitching around his cock sent him over the edge. Releasing his warm cum deep inside your pussy as his grasp on your hair grew tighter.

Finally after a moment he pulled out, releasing the grip on your hair and giving you a moment to catch your breath, looking down at your weak form beneath him. Watching as his cum slowly leaked from your abused pussy he scooped it up with two fingers, then leaned over and shoved his fingers into your mouth.

He could spend all night watching you suck and choke on his fingers if he could.

『♡』 In the Ring

♡ featuring: boxer!wriothesley x manager!reader

♡ summary: its hard managing a boxer full time. maybe it's time you relieve that stress. wc: 6.8k+ (???>":>?)

♡ cw/tw: mentions of trauma, mentions of violence, rough sex, overstim, face-sitting, size kink, unintentional edging, hair pulling, mentions of choking, argument, confessed feelings, slow burn, kinda toxic?

notes: can u tell how down bad i am for wriothesley. also do yall like the smaller text cause I do. jing yuan fluff next :)) art by sxnalien on twitter! <3 comments and reblogs are appreciated!

For a second, the crowd stills. Bright intense lamps illuminate the sweltering squared circle, buoyant under the nimble movement of the boxers. They trade blows, bobbing and throwing each devastating hook with an even deadlier counter. No one took a hit for the past minutes, and the audience scoots to the edge of their seats at the sheer stamina of the two. Both dripping sweat, barely holding on between the merciless clock and their steadfast opponent. You can almost hear the breeze of swift jabs cutting wind against their jaws. The one with blue gloves can barely manage to guard himself, with a swollen face and wobbly legs, while the crimson gloves deal relentless punches. The crowd shouts. Unintelligible echoes, some that pray for the win, others grieving the money they’re about to lose. He’s caught on the ropes, and attempts a wild swing to save himself, to save his career. Red gloves weaves effortlessly and delivers a brutal crush to his bloodied nose and possibly busted mouthpiece. The crack is resounding, it makes the commentators cringe. His skull flies back, and he comes crashing down from his dizzying tower. The head-first fall vibrates beneath the feet of investors in proximity. 

DING DING DING 

Mass uproar ensues. They jump out of their seats, flailing their arms, joy and pain in equilibrium. 

“And he is out! It’s all over!” the commentator yells. Confetti floats golden dust from the ceiling. The victor stalks the ropes before hopping on them, his gloves raised in the air. Glistening, high off elation, but somehow composed in his attitude, akin to a wolf. 

“A savage knockout from the untouchable world champion, the king of the ring, Wriooothesley!” 

“Wrio, Wrio, Wrio!” they chant. You’re standing near the ropes, already identifying which joints you’ll need to observe after his victory lap. It’s hectic, and you’re jotting down the state of his figure. Past experiences sew through each deep scar carving his rugged biceps and abs, the bruises display early signs of discoloration. He’s tall on the unseen throne, it feels like you’re there with him. A million eyes in that vast stadium, and yet, those midwinter eyes ebbed in silver only look at you.  

Your beginnings as a manager were tumultuous. You could barely comprehend how out of your league you were working for a renowned agency fresh out of college. Though you found quick success in your ability to grab the attention of investors through public relations, you weren’t equipped just yet with the hindsight in preparing for scandals. The other athletes you worked with served no problem, and so you never had to worry about their appeal. Higher ups praised your extensive portfolio, and at such a young age, it was even more commendable. You earned it, fame and respect, interviews and gossip—a delicate dance. You were always busy, assisting your clients throughout the day and maintaining their presence while they slept. It was hard work, but you loved doing it. 

That was until you worked with amateur boxer, Childe. 

A snappy, overconfident lightweight fighter with no regard for anything or anyone. He had an unmistakable void in his eyes, but you fought for him ceaselessly, to prove that he wasn’t the cold person he portrayed himself as. You bore with his flirtatious compliments and innuendos, the need to focus him whenever you documented his afflictions, and he’d not-so-subtly flex his biceps. Childe was unnecessarily violent with underhanded tactics. The media knew this and did everything to amplify that bellicose story. You’d combat it, negate it, but he only fed the flames with threats of retaliation. Taking his phone wasn’t enough, and you couldn’t get through to him. It was only a matter of time before he went off the deep end.  

The day you slept, you discovered a restlessness you’d endure indefinitely. The flickering glow of your device woke you at midnight as hundreds of notifications congested your screen. 128 missed calls from your agency, 50 from news sources, and none from Childe. When you processed the damage from his deplorable stunt, you nearly hurled your phone out the window. He posted revenge porn, and evidently turned off his phone. Surely, there’d be a way to fix this. The chances seemed to dissolve with each text turning green. You started pacing, battling with morality and loyalty and anger. What he did was disgusting, but it’s your job to save him, right? Is he worth saving? You spoke with 4 managers at once, switching through motives and bickering until morning. As you flipped through the television, another emotion struck you. 

There he was, on a tasteless gossip channel. An interview you didn’t arrange, with a man you’ve never seen before. And he was...crying? The sob story emitting from his deceitful lips was almost impressive. Childe went on about how “demanding and horrible” you were backstage. The crocodile tears dried up through dodgy anecdotes, but it was enough to have people hooked. You were allegedly physically and emotionally abusive. He was too scared to speak up due to your position and he just couldn’t bear it any longer. Then he dropped the bomb; he blamed you for his post. You forced him to do it, jealous of his previous partners, emphasizing how enamored you were of him. The questionable tears began to fall again, but this time he covered his mouth, withholding the duping smile crawling on his face.  

You were filled with blinding rage, unable to control the fury at which your remote connected with the screen. It was everywhere now, social media websites booming with live opinions. He had no reason to slander you, and you couldn’t pinpoint why he chose to hurt you like this. You cried for him, shared stories of childhood and family. The knife you used to protect him was firm in your back, twisting and digging with each disgusting message in your inbox. You had no game plan to conduct, and no tears left to cry.  

Within a week, you finally understood how cruel this industry could be. Within a week, you were no longer on top. You lost clients fast. It spread like wildfire and not a single outlet spared an ear for your side. People you called friends, coworkers, hadn’t replied to your messages. When you got back to work, the rooms were silent as you passed. You could feel their judgement, whispers rattled with rumors and accusations. They waited for the tiniest slip-up and pounced like hyenas—you were eaten alive by their pitiful stares. You attempted to tell your truth multiple times throughout the week, but it was consistently rejected. The headlines were eye-catching: 

“Manager From Hell: Childe Tells All!” 

“He Cries: A Story of Love and Jealousy” 

Your stomach churned to the magazines being shown. Despite the great amount of loss you suffered, you were thankful for the one person that believed you, your boss. 

“Childe is a lying little snake. The media knows that, too.” 

“Then why is this happening?” 

“Money. That story is making bank right now. But I know for a fact you wouldn’t do this” he reassured.  

“Thank you, sir. But...I lost everything; I just don’t know what to do.” The weariness was heavy in your voice. 

“I have someone you can manage. It won’t be easy, but if anyone can do it, it’s you.” You were unsure of yourself now, and he continued.  

“You’re one of my best. If you want to climb out of this, now’s your chance.” Yes, you were unsure, drowning in doubt. But if the only way to get above water was to keep swimming, you wouldn’t give up so easily. 

Wriothesley wasn’t exactly known for his kindness. Crude, cocky, maybe even spoiled were descriptions that circulated in the tabloids. He had a knack for pissing reporters off by not answering questions or humming over their voice with a shit-eating grin on his face. Women loved him, however, throwing bras and phone numbers written on scrap as the condemned “bad boy” departed post-game. They screamed his name at once, and he’d done nothing to deserve it. He relished infamy—that way, it was much harder to pry into his private life. 

It had to be a coincidence that it was someone you fangirled over. In college, your eyes were glued to the screen every Sunday, waiting for Wriothesely’s post-conference and behind the scenes interviews. He didn’t speak often, but just the sight of those inky strands streaked with ash made your heart flutter featherlight in your chest. 

When you first approached him, he was just as arrogant as you’d expect. 

“Good evening!” you beamed. You caught him outside the gym, and he still had his headphones in. Full volume and blankly staring as you went on about the opportunity, silent under the blaring music. He took one earbud out when you finished. 

“Hm? Who’re you?” 

You were slightly annoyed. “Let me reintroduce myself, I’m (Y/N). Your new manager.” 

“No. Bye.” He began to walk past you without an ounce of care. You couldn’t lose it like this. 

“Ah, wait!” He turned half-heartedly. 

“Listen, I get it. You don’t want to be bossed around. But honestly, your reputation is shit. That can’t be good for business.” you persuaded. He towered over you, the figure of a Greek giant peeked through the compression top as he lazily watched you. 

“So? Why do you care?” he remarked. 

“I’ll help you. Sponsors, advertisements, whatever you want. You’re good, but you can be so much better. Let’s make money together.” You held your hand out, awaiting a handshake of approval. He merely glanced at your limp wrist. 

“Help? You’re obviously not doing this for free.” 

“Of course not. Give a little, take a little. I don’t do charity cases” you shrugged.  

He groaned, raking his fingers through his thick mane. At the very least, he hadn’t walked away yet. “I'd prefer for my life to be private.” 

“Then I’ll guarantee your privacy.” 

“Really?” he scoffed. “What can you give me besides empty promises?” 

“Anything you desire. Work with me, and I’ll make it happen.” That offer enticed him. No one had been this persistent with him yet, he scared off any manager that dared succor him. It was slightly entertaining, the way you burned ambition in your eyes, you were so easy to read. Most people wouldn’t look directly at him, and here you were, ready to follow him home if that’s what it took. He chuckled, and his massive hand reached for yours. 

You shook hands, and your fates were sealed.  

That was a year ago, and ever since then he’s been a thorn in your side. Nonstop drama and rectifying consumed your life. You didn’t think a man who spoke so little in public could talk so much around you. Whenever you argue—which is a frequent occurrence—his smirk grew wider at your frustration. You weren’t sure why you ever liked him in the first place. He only puts in effort when it comes to sparring, but you’re determined to ameliorate his standing, and in turn, yours.  

The minute you open the doors to the hall, the sound of pummeled sandbags, clanking metal, and sneakers skidding across the floor roars in your ears. Some men are dialed in on abusing the inanimate objects, the rest tense through repetitions of dumbbell curls with a hiss. You're in quick strides, the phone arm's length away from you as the sponsor on the other end screams. Another petty drama surrounding Wriothesley grabs the attention of the internet. Luckily, you have thorough experience remedying this. 

“What are you going to do? You’re fucking with my money!” you hear the faint voice. You bring the phone back to your ear. 

“Don’t I always deal with it? He fights, I make up for the other half. Give me a few hours.” 

“I’m not going to wa-” You hang up at the response. 

You propel the double doors free into a large room with a boxing ring in the center. A group of trainers swarm the perimeter, you can barely see through.  

“Don’t be scared!” one of them taunt towards the sparring partner, who has an unthinkable panic creeping in goosebumps dotting his skin. Each sloppy dodge tilts him more and more off balance against the strikes. Wriothesley has a powerful stature, with his back curving in a way that accentuates the rough muscle shaping his spine. You drone an annoyed sigh at the commotion and push yourself through them.  

“Move it, move!” you yell, before jostling your way to the front of the ring. 

“Wriothesley! Times up.”  He turns his head to the side, unintentionally sparing his partner and glares at you. 

“Two minutes.” 

“No. Now.” you command. He looks up at nothing, as if considering his options if he cusses you out. Then he begrudgingly drops the gloves and pulls himself under the ropes. The group disperses from the lack of action and he’s mere inches from you now. Sometimes you forget how to breathe in his half-naked presence.  

“What the fuck is your problem?” He mumbles while drying his head with a towel. His colossal forearms are raised over his head, highlighting the happy trail thick down his abdomen and tufts of hair on his armpits.  

“You. How many times do I have to tell you not to train during recovery?” you seethe. 

“Damn. Must’ve slipped my mind.” He doesn’t sound convincing in the slightest. 

“Well then, I’ll be sure to remind you hourly.” 

“Nah, I’m good. Hearing you once a day is enough.” He tosses the towel to you like his dutiful servant and grabs his water bottle. The liquid drips down his chin and on his shorts, hanging below his v-line. 

Your eyebrow twitches from withheld vexation. “If you don’t want to hear me twice, I suggest you do what I tell you. We need to talk.” A heavy sigh leaves him as he stretches, and he passes you the water bottle. If you had the strength to collapse the bottle with one hand, you would. “Lead the way” he goads. 

Wriothesley follows you through the backdoor of the gym to a secluded alleyway. When you get there, he immediately pulls out a cigarette you didn’t know he had. You were aware he smokes occasionally, but seeing it physically coaxed a strange worry in your gut. You twist your phone to him, to display evidence of him instigating an argument with Childe on social media. He reads in silence, briefly laughing at the recollection of his own comebacks, then lights the cigarette. 

“What’s this? Didn’t I say keep a low profile?” you reprimand. 

He drags in a deep breath of nicotine, and you eye the foul scent with distaste. He blows it above your unhappy face. “Calm down. Once a month thing. That fucker's testing me.” 

“This can’t happen again, Wriothesley.” He ignores you to continue his mumbling. “I should break his neck like a twig. He’s lucky he didn’t say that shit to my face, fucking punk.” he grouses. You're struggling to gather your thoughts, the cigarette compacted between his thick fingers irritates you. 

“We all appreciate your restraint, however-” you get closer, and yank the stick out his hand. 

 “No-!” Before he can finish, you promptly smudge it underneath your shoe. You aren’t sure how he’d react, but you didn’t expect him to sulk like a puppy. 

“You aren’t doing this shit while I’m here.” 

“Oh my god” he pouts, throwing his hands into his face and pulling them down.  

“You’re lucky I don’t report it to the doctor. None of this, ever again.” 

“Fuck, alright just...” he lets out a defeated sigh. “What do you want me to do about it? Apologize publicly?” You need him to do nothing; neither agency wants controversy, and it’d most likely be swept under the rug in just a couple days. You point his water bottle to him. 

“Nope, I’ll handle it. Just sit there and be pretty.” you reassure. He leans down to your height with a sweet smile and even sweeter gaze. 

“I do that well, don’t I?” he quips. 

“You manage.” He latches onto the water bottle, and drinks from it in your hand while looking at you. A soft heat envelops you beyond words that never reach your lips. 

“Listen to what I’m saying. Low. Profile.” Wriothesley comes up from thirst, dragging his tongue along the straw to the top, and licks his blushed lips. He delights in your flustered reaction. 

“Low. Profile.” he repeats in a sarcastic drawl. 

Later in the week, you receive a call in your office. It was fairly busy today, with coworkers constantly “checking in”, more so to see Wriothesley sitting across from you. He had no reason to be here, and you were surprised at his arrival. Be it boredom or a certain longing, a dull swell pulsed in his chest once he saw your overworked smile. 

“Hello, this is (Y/N) of Boxe Association. May I know who I’m speaking with?” Wriothesley’s ears perk up at your sudden professionalism, and he mimics your cadence. 

“Good afternoon, it’s Isadora.” Isadora was an event coordinator you previously worked with before your controversy. You understood that she stopped communicating to protect her business, but the pain lingered. You twirl the phone cord around your fingers, and meet eyes with Wriothesley, who’s laid back in the chair, his arms behind his head. 

“Oh. Hey, it’s been a while.” you say. You turn your swivel chair away from him to continue the conversation. His eyebrow twitches slightly with an unconscious scowl, and he walks towards your chair. 

“It has. I’m calling because I have a proposition that might interest you. I believe a meet and greet would be appropriate for your client. A large chunk of his fanbase are young adult women, however, he’s also popular with children.” He spins the chair around with a firm hand and presses his cheek against the phone. 

“That’s true.” You side eye him, and without skipping a beat, mush his nosey face away. His hot breath on your digits makes your skin tingle. 

“Who is that” he mumbles. You'd never seen Wriothesley interact with children, and you have every reason to be hesitant. 

“Hmm...any positive activity with children is good publicity. I’ll consider it. I’ll let you know by tonight.” The second you hang up, you release his face. 

“Why are you being annoying-” 

“Who were you talking to” he chides.  

“Isadora. She’s an event coordinator.” His clenched jaw unwinds. “She wants to do a meet and greet with you and a few kids. If we go through with this, I’ll have a camera crew and some reporters there. It’ll be good for your image.” 

“Okay.” he agrees. That was quick.  

“...Are you sure? Kids are loud and obnoxious a lot of the time.” 

“So? Fine by me. I can teach them how to fight.” Your skin crawls at the thought of Wriothesley launching a child through a wall. “That won’t be necessary.” 

“It’ll be fun.” The more he assures you, the more uneasy you feel. 

“Wriothesley, I’m serious. Don’t screw this up” you plead. He holds his pinky out. “I won't.” His loose interpretation of promises was dubious at best, but you had no other options, and this might be your only opening. You curl to his word. 

After parleying the finer details, you broadcast a raffle for young fans to meet Wriothesley. The traffic to the website was overwhelming, and you quickly began sorting out tickets for the favored winners. 

 Fortunately, the next couple of weeks were par for the course. 

It’s the night before the event, and you’re getting ready for bed. You sit at your desk in a big T-shirt and do your daily review of personal data. As you're scrolling through and identifying what needs improvement, you get a notification on your phone. 

“Breaking News: Boxer Bar Fight!” Curious, you open the tab to a video. It makes your breath stall, sweating frantically. You can’t think clearly, and your shaky hands can barely increase the volume. Unidentifiable noises and wobbly camerawork made it impossible to catch anything besides those familiar inky black strands, throwing punches in a drunken stupor at a defenseless man. Your previous conundrum flashes through your memory in a horrific stop-motion; the duping smile on his face. 

No. It’s happening all over again. Why is he at a bar? You messaged him before he went to bed. He never goes to bars. Why now, the night before the event? It’s late, he doesn’t go anywhere without telling you. 

He promised. 

None of it made sense as you threw on any sweatpants in your drawer and ran out the door. You can’t wait until morning. Disaster punctures and tears any rational decision you contemplate. Shouting silently within your mind, a crashing rage—or sadness—boils in your nervous stomach. You’re tunnel vision in a taxi on the way to his address. 

When you get there, you bang on the door with a fury that vibrates throughout the archway. His home is extravagant, with two cars and an expansive driveway. You bang again. 

“Wriothesley!” He finally opens the door. He’s still half asleep, pajama pants low on his waist, groggily leaning against the arch.  

“(Y/N)? Uh, what’s up?” He slurs in a deep slumbering voice through heavy eyelids. You barge in without saying anything. “Make yourself at home, I guess.” 

The interior is just as opulent as the exterior, it almost looks untouched. Every corner has a case or shelf stacked with ornate trophies and medals of excellence. It was the home of someone who achieved peak perfection and reveled in it. He follows you to his living room, bewildered at your furious expression. You play the video in front of him, and he watches with that same puzzled attitude that makes you angrier. You try taking deep breaths to compose yourself, but they halt shallowly. 

“What the fuck is this?” you accuse. 

“What? I don’t know.”  “Like hell you don’t know, this shit is on every homepage. Are you serious?”  

The cranky boxer pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. You show up at his house, and it’s to badger him about a rumor. Your temperament only heats the smoldering ember fueled by incessant claims. He covers his mouth, physically stopping the involuntary response. 

“Okay” he says, and blurts a facetious chuckle. Your heart thumps in your chest and ears.  

“Oh, It’s a fucking joke? I bust my ass to save your career and you’re laughing?” you snap, voice increasing in volume until it reaches a broken peak. He returns with the same energy. 

“When did I ask you to fix anything? Did you ever think that maybe I don’t fucking need you-” 

“You can barely control your smoking habits you pompous ass-” 

“I would if you didn’t nag me all the time. Whining and complaining, it’s fucking annoying!” he yells. Neither of you meant the words spilling out the bubbling surface, but your tongues were solely seasoned with the next spiteful jab. 

“Yes, whining! Because all you need to do is be on the straight and narrow, but you take nothing seriously, Wriothesley, and that’s exactly why-” 

“Exactly why what? Why your career went to shit so you’re piggybacking off mine?”  

Your battle stops. You can’t find the words to rebuttal. All the opinions of your colleagues, the media, Wriothesley, and yourself coagulate into a lump that fills the tightening throat. Pride comforts tears brimming your eyes. 

He pauses, as though he came to reality. An apology attempts to form on his lips, but it never manifests. “(Y/N), I didn’t-” 

“See you in the morning” you choked. You walk to the door, and he reaches out to the infinite space thick between you two.  

You didn’t sleep the entire night. It’s morning, and you’re exhausted. You consistently replayed the quarrel in your head through the taxi ride home, and when you strived for rest, it plagued your mind. Your coffee is untouched during your morning routine, a movement comparable to zombies. You don’t bother to confirm if Wriothesely is at the building—either way you owe it to the event holders to be there. 

You arrive just before the children file into the training room. Thankfully, Wriothesley is there in the center. Live cameras from reporters and parents border the walls; if something were to occur, it would be irreversible. Your head suddenly hurts. 

Perhaps playing it up for his reputation, the smile stretched across his face is a sunny warmth you’ve never seen from him. He waves to them, and they erupt with screams. To your astonishment, he gets on his knees to be eye level with them. They all jump into his arms at once, and he topples over onto the mat.  

And he’s laughing. This grumpy asshole fighter is laughing. A hearty, genuine laugh as he wraps his sturdy arms around all of them and picks them up at once. He whirls them around and they orchestrate high-pitched giggles. “Ready to have some fun?” he chortles. They say yes to varying degrees of excitement, and the meet and greet proceeds. 

You can’t help but smile when he frolics with the kids. They chase him with boxing gloves, he pretends to fall dramatically. Dogpiling him, he lets out a shrill scream of defeat. He manages to work in proper defense techniques while they jump him like a test dummy. He tosses each kid in the air whenever they ask, and never tells them no. You receive another call from Isadora amid your admiration, and you step outside. 

“Hey! Good news, these views are off the charts and the internet is really in his favor right now” she congratulates.  

“That’s great...what about the video from last night? Did you see it?” you ask. 

“Video...oh, that! Don’t worry, it’s confirmed fake.” What? Oh no. Immediate regret stirs in your blood, and you force the phone away to catch your breath. You feel utterly stupid. 

“Hello?” You quickly bring the phone back to your ear. “Yea, sorry. I have to go; I’ll call you later.” you insist. You can’t facepalm any harder. You make your way back to the training room, where the kids decorate his gloves with iridescent stickers. Wriothesley occasionally looks at you, but you can’t bear to show your guilty face. 

When the event is over, you both make sure to hug every child on the way out and thank the parent for coming. You’re sorting through mountains of requests people made to see Wriothesley again, and you mute your phone over the influx of emails. Peeking at the broadcast, under the footage in bold letters:  

“(Y/N) Back from the Dead?”  

It wasn’t the most flattering title, but it proved that public perception was salvageable. You emit a sigh of relief, for you and Wriothesley. As you’re packing your things to exit, he blocks the door with his body. 

“Can we talk?” You were dreading this discussion, but agreed, nonetheless. The ride to his home is silent, you grapple with a proper apology. 

You lean against the kitchen bar, while he’s laxing on the couch. Sleep deprivation torments you, causes you to wander as you fill in papers from sponsors. You can’t see the way Wriothesley steals glances at your slack figure curving to the marble. He eventually spoke.  

“So, um.” 

“I’m sorry, I forgot to tell you. You did a good job today Wriothesley, you should be proud.” You flash a meek smile. He fumbles with his thumbs uncomfortably. 

“I am. Aren’t I the best?” he boasts. 

“You are” you say. The lack of sleep beckons you to a spur of honesty as you scribble. “You have stunning form, perfect accuracy, and immeasurable talent. Not just anyone can do that.” you return. He gazes at you, that dull swell pumping in his veins again. The cozy radiance of lights brightens your tired eyes. 

“You’re a big fan, huh?” he chuckles.  

“Of course, I used to watch you in college. I had a major crush on you” you snort. “Everything you are is amazing, but you know this. So cut it out.” He sits on the armrest, swallowing your confessions. The room is entirely too hot, he needs alleviation—he needs you. 

“Sorry. For what I said.” 

“Forget it. It's my fault, I was careless. I apologize.” you admit. 

“You know I didn’t do it, right?” 

“I know.” 

“I didn’t.” 

“I know.” you reassure.  

“What if some other bullshit controversy comes out. Then what?” You stop writing to give him your full attention. 

“Then, I’ll trust you. We’ve gotten this far. Even if no one else does, even if for some reason I lose my job and I’m not your manager anymore, I’ll trust you, Wriothesley.” you reveal. He doesn’t move. Wriothesley knew he wasn’t deserving of trust, and he’d made a plethora of mistakes throughout your arrangement. You had every right to leave him long ago. Nobody gave him the time of day or cared for his wellbeing like you did, but he couldn’t reciprocate. Even so, here he kneels, at the feet of an angel that shows him undying mercy. 

Wriothesley stalks at you, but you remain. He looms over you, pinning you to the counter with both arms, inches from your face. It isn’t a threatening force, but one that begs for confirmation. That slated storm searches for a specific craving, you feel his chest rising and falling laden with yours. 

“You’re too close” you quiver. The bitter musk and vanilla enveloping your senses makes you foggy, it lingers through the whole house. 

“Tell me to leave.” His mouth slants to you, and he waits expectingly. You ogle his features, the scratches of a warrior celebrated across his hardy torso. His hair brushes against your forehead, imperfect and uniquely beautiful. Why were you mad, again?

“Tell me to back off, (Y/N)” he pleads. The pads of your fingers lightly caress his ear, then his jaw. 

“Please” he whispers. Your thumb grazes his bottom lip, and he succumbs to the urge. 

You collide fervently, lips coated in definitive desire. Dancing with rough, bruising kisses that don’t make space for air. It smears on your face, dips down your neck and swiftly returns to your lonely mouth. The pressure of the counter bar burns across your lower back from his weight, but those mind-numbing kisses soften any injury. You bite his lip when he pulls away, and he groans. Suddenly, he lifts you effortlessly with his hands on your ass, and you clash teeth and tongue in a passionate challenge. He demands entry, and you moan into the wet mass intertwining through sloppy kisses. It explores your mouth, sending throbs to your nerves and subdues any control you have left. Your arms are wrapped around his neck, but you yearn for deeper contact. He licks up the organ, and spots moist, hungry kisses on your jaw. You both take a fleeting breath before converging again. You find passage in his hair and suck staining rose-colored marks on his neck while he carries you to the bedroom. 

“You’ve been waiting for this, hm? Slutty groupie” Wriothesley moans. You drag kisses along the shell of his ear. He tosses you onto the fluffy bedding and haphazardly strips to his underwear. The wide mirror opposite his bed gives you a glimpse of his thighs and shapely bottom hugging the briefs. You’re supposed to be undressing, but that thronging bulge made for a titan makes you nervous for what’s to come. He palms the erection to soothe the ache and climbs over you. He’s somewhat gentle, careful with the bulk of his body as he cradles your face for more kisses. The way he looks at you, a covet softness or misted lust tantalizing the wetness pooling in your panties. He moves to your neck, French kissing down your throat and on your collarbone. You feel like a virgin again, heart racing from every graze of his fingers and lips. His calloused digits grope the plush fat of your thighs, and gradually reach the hem of your skirt. You snake your hands over his pecs and abs and read the muscles. Moaning into each other's mouths, indulging every part of your bodies as you’ve wanted to do for months. He pulls your skirt off and you hold your button-down over your exposed panties. Heat spreads in your body, and he amuses at your sudden bashfulness. 

“Oh…you’re shy?” he teases, before popping the buttons off with a brutal rip. “Wrio!” you yelp. That’s the first time you called Wriothesley a nickname; he must’ve died and went to heaven. The lace gift wrapped around your breasts taunts him, and he buries his face immediately. He nips the sensitive skin and snaps the clasp off. “Cute. Need to feel you” he husks. He twirls the bud in his mouth, while manipulating the other between his girthy fingers. Alternating among loving hickies and harsh tugs of his teeth on your nipple. You whine, and his laugh tickles your raw skin. He flips over on his back and steadies you on top of him. Discards the rest of your top, and let’s out a shaky groan.  

“You’ve never been this speechless” he says. You smile and kiss his puffy lips, your hands kneading his chest. “You’re so pretty” you coo. He huffs while rubbing circles on your waist, eyeing your inner thighs covered in juices.  

“Then come fuck my pretty face.” He slips under the waistband and tweaks the fabric, but you grip his wrists. “Wait! Let me shower first- “ 

“You said you'd give me anything I desire, remember that? Keep your promise." He yanks the thin material down your legs in your weak clutches, trailing a string of drool that sticks to your labia. “C’mere” he grunts and lifts you towards his face. Your thighs are soft on either side of him, and you still in his grasp. He lolls his tongue out, but you’re reluctant to fully sit. “I’m heavy” you murmur.  

“Shut up.” He embraces your body, and you have no choice but to settle in his warmth. He keeps you flush with his flat tongue, swiping up and down the squishy flesh molding to his mouth. You writhe in his grasp, but he continues to lap at your clit with a starving lust. Wriothesely soaks in your velvet skin and perfumed essence dribbling down his chin. He doesn’t come up for air, and your brain is mush over him, his lips slurping your quivering cunt. A buzzing intensity courses through your twitching stomach. You rut your hips against his mouth, and he maintains his position while you use him. You’re grinding on his tongue, absent-mindedly biting your lips and mewling endlessly as you bring yourself closer to climax. He hums while sucking the nub and the vibrations make you cry out.  

“Wrio, ‘m coming” you whine. You hump his mouth until you come undone in a pulsating finish. His hands restrain you, greedily devouring the newly found honey as it pours out. You ride it through while he curls the tip of his tongue at your opening. Without warning, you feel the pink muscle push in your recovering vulva. “S-Shit, Wrio” you whimper, trembling on him as he drives inside. He seizes the back of your thighs and begins to bounce you up and down the mushy appendage slowly stretching you. The sensation is overwhelming, his nose skims your oversensitive clit each time you drop, and you sob. Wriothesley moves faster, your hands entangle in his hair. You babble please’s repeatedly, gazing sensually at each other as the coil winds in your gut. More, more. Then it snaps, an abrupt shock, clenching on his tongue as you cream. He raises your lower half; the wetness collecting in your convulsing heat makes his cock strain more than it already suffered.  

“Such a cute slut” Wriothesley husks. Your numb legs can’t navigate on their own, so he places you on your stomach. “We’re not done.” He springs his throbbing length free. The veins are consistent, prominent up his shaft to the angry red crown—9 inches begging to be inside you. Fresh precome trickles down his tip and he sighs at the bloated pain in his hefty balls. You arch your back, presenting yourself to his awaiting size. When he doesn’t enter you turn to him impatiently and he smirks. 

“Put it in” you whine. Wriothesley spreads your backside, and watches you clench around the ghost of him. He glazes himself with your slick, and moans from the feeling of your puffy lips cuddling his cock. “It’s not every day a fan gets to sleep with me. Be grateful.” he teases. He pumps through your squashed thighs, the head prodding your nub while he forces your chest flush with the bed. After he thoroughly coats himself, he nudges the bulbous tip to your entrance. 

Wriothesley sinks into your sex. You’re gripping him like a vice despite the searing soreness of your body accommodating the scale. The fevered sleeve nearly makes him crash to the hilt, but he stutters gradually to relieve your discomfort. He hits the base and shudders. You feel unbelievably stuffed, as if it’s squirming in your cervix. Then he starts at a savage pace. He’s using you like a flesh-light, balls smacking your overwhelmed tender nub with a carnal impulse. His moans spill uncontrollably as he watches your rippling ass and viscous webs blend together, clinging to his cock and forming a cloudy froth at the base. Your knuckles turn white on the sheets; you can’t think or feel anything that isn’t him, core surging with intense want. 

“Fuck, you’re so tight, gonna snap my dick off. Ah- gonna make sure you can’t walk t-tomorrow. Then- hah- then you won’t be able to find anyone who fucks you like this, who makes you come like this.” He’s rambling and stuttering, completely incoherent the closer he gets. He glances at the mirror, then at you. You feel your hair jerked back by his massive hand, and lock eyes with Wriothesley in his drunken haze. “Stop, it’s embarrassing!” you slur. You’re both sheened with sweat, disheveled bodies satiating the hunger in any way you can. 

“Shh, you hear that?” The squelching slam of passion echoes in the room, sopping down your leg through his pummeling thrusts. Your back bends unnaturally as though it were folded in half. “You’re so fucking hot, so needy for me.” His veins adorn your walls, you start to tear up from the mixture of pleasure and pain. He notices your tears and holds you up so that your back is flush with his chest. 

“It hurts?” he questions, stalling his movement. You feel him twitch. “No, feels s’good Wrio. More” you mewl. He chuckles, and gently wraps his hand around your throat before pumping again.  

“Too good? Am I the best you’ve ever had? Say it.” He moves faster, free hand rubbing your clit. Your knees buckle and eyes roll back to your skull, he takes in the scene of your convulsing figure in the mirror. “S’best I’ve ever had, please ‘m so close!” you rasp, matching the rhythm of his thrusts. He chases his high, panting animalistically in your ear.  

“Shit- look how desperate you are. Want me to come inside? Y-yea, I bet you fucking do”

“‘M coming!” you babble.

“Good. Make a mess.” he commands. Fire trails up your limbs, and you tighten before falling apart. Fluttering around him, taking him deeper while you come on his sack. Wriothesley pursues his sputtering hips, spurting thick globs that paint you white. He whimpers as you milk his spasming length dry and presses tired kisses along your shoulder blade. When he comes down from his apex, he turns you over on your back. It’s hard for him to not be proud of your boneless existence sprawled on his bed. You’re both breathing hard in silence, and he leaves for a couple minutes. You’re stunned when he returns with a damp rag to clean you up, and some dark substance in a mug.

You find the strength to sit up while he wipes your lower areas. “Where are my clothes?”

“...For what?”  he mumbles.

“To leave?” It seemed like common sense to you—boxers usually don’t go for long-term relationships, and so you assumed it to be a one-night stand. You dip over the edge of the bed and locate your skirt, but Wriothesely hops up and snatches it before you can. “I’ll put it in the wash. Relax.” 

“I didn’t know you were so hospitable. Do you do this for every girl?” you tease. He gets visibly upset, and shoves the cup from the dresser in your hands. “Don’t piss me off. Now, drink. I’ll order food.” 

Multicolored sunset flaking through the sheer curtains frames his stature while he’s on the phone. You sip the tea, it’s a vile grainy taste. For a moment you imagine what life could be like with him by your side—poor quality tea and an awful temper. In your pleasant aftermath, it doesn’t seem bad at all.

Hi everyone !

I’m back here to say that i am okay. However, a lot of things happened, the main one being that i found out i have a pretty low blood pressure.

I’ll pretty much be okay as long as i take my meds and dont over exert, so please don’t worry.

I’ll be back to writing in about a week or so, however my classes will start soon, so i’ll be busy with those as well. So please be patient.

Thank you for your support ^_^

i just went to check, and my first ever piece of writing got 30 likes, and I currently have 9 followers. Thank you all very much, I will be working hard to improve...

dreams come true

[art cr: @343_sashimiiiii on twt]

sub xiao x sub adeptus! gn reader ft tentacles

SUMMARY = inspired by an inazuman manga, you and xiao make use of your powers to summon a tentacled cyptid in your dreams...to have sex with of course

WARNINGS = smut, penetration (reader receiving), oral (reader + xiao giving), tentacles, bondage, dacryphilia, double penetration, overstimulation, reader calls xiao their "poor little bird" once, dream sharing and then dream fucking, both reader and xiao gets fucked by tentacles and then the tentacles make them fuck each other, their relationship is very wholesome they just fuck a lot too :)

W/C = 2k

A/N = i burnt the midnight oil for this please be proud of me :( also thank you to @vermillionbun for betaing <3

TAGS = @edenialucas, @huboi, @nejibot, @lovediluc, @yumixxn, @teallapril, @xiaoflwrs who asked me to tag her (you fucking whore)

The ability to bend and manipulate dreams is not a skill unfamiliar to adepti. But it is a skill you have long forgone in favour of your other adeptal arts. Thankfully, your partner has much experience in the art. If you could just convince him to–

“Outrageous. We are adepti. Our duty is to use our abilities to protect Liyue and its inhabitants. To use those abilities in such a sacreligious manner–”

“Would be perfect! Just think about it, Xiao! All those slimy tentacles…groping and touching every part of your body…so long and bulbous…filling up all your holes…”

You rub your thighs against each other as you conjure up that image in your head, while Xiao furrows his eyebrows. Although he would ask himself how in Rex Lapis’ name someone with your carefree personality became an adeptus, he already knows the answer to that. Having fought alongside you in the Archon War, he has witnessed firsthand your dedication and your steadfast attitude, purging enemies of the Great Lord of Geo with your weapon in tow. Truly, the ferocity in your eyes was a sight a behold, a terrifying side of you that made monsters cower in terror.

And this…is another side of you.

Ever since the Lord of Geo handed his control of the nation to the Qixing, you decided to acquaint yourself with mortal customs and activities, although your interest led you to questionable territory. Particularly, a type of illustration-focused literature known as manhua; which is a compelling concept in itself, worthy to capture the interest of an adeptus. The baffling part is that all the books that you have collected…are from the erotic genre.

Out of curiosity, Xiao once picked up one of your books and flipped open to a random page, only to find a detailed drawing of a naked couple having sex on a beach staring back at him. The worst part is, you weren’t even ashamed when you returned and found out that your s/o had discovered the true nature of your hobby, even pulling him down to sit beside you as you rambled on and on about the contents of your favourite books, all while Xiao fought — and failed to — suppress the red overtaking his face and ears.

He couldn’t look you in the eye for a week after that.

He eventually grew accustomed to your strange interest and upon your suggestion, started using your books for inspiration in sexual activities; though everything from the novels in that area has always been proposed by you.

This is just one of those cases. Upon learning of your newfound interest, an old acquaintance from across the ocean sent you books from her publishing house — apparently they go by the term manga in those parts — claiming it may come in handy. A few days have past since then, bringing you to today, with you shoving a book about an erotic love story between a tentacled-monster and a girl and begging Xiao to make the story a reality. Or close to reality.

“Your ability is adequate to form such a dream.” Xiao crosses his arms. “I don’t understand why I need to be involved.”

“Because it would be a nice bonding experience, don’t you think?” you insist. “Come on, it would make our sex life more interesting! And I can tell by that look in your eyes that you’re curious.”

Xiao scoffs. “Preposterous.”

“Oh well,” You shrug, laughing. “I won’t force you if you really don’t want to. Sex is supposed to be fun and it’s no fun if you’re doing it reluctantly.”

Fun…

That concept would have been lost from his mind eons ago if it wasn't for you; you who always pestered him, you who would bring him almond tofu and other human cuisine. Food which he would have instantaneously turned down if only it wasn’t made by you. You, the adeptus who welcomes change and dives headfirst into it. You, the person he would suffer through another millennia’s worth of torment for, just to protect your blinding brilliance. He takes one more look at the book in your hands as you skim through the pages, recalling the soft smile on your lips after the first time the two of you had intercourse together, the bliss that washed over him and cleansed his soul just for that one moment.

“It baffles me how you would find amusement in such an obscene thought.” He wets his lips, thinking of the vivid image you had described to him and the matching illustrations. “But I would like to know more.”

Your head shoots up. “You… you really want to try it? You really don’t have to force yourself if you aren’t interested…”

“You said it yourself didn’t you?”

You tilt your head.

"And I can tell by that look in your eyes that you’re curious."

Oh.

Oh.

“Xiao!” You jump into his arms. “I love love looooove you so much!”

The yaksha grunts, trying to suppress the glowing pink blossoming at the apples of his cheeks.

—

The first thing he sees when he opens his eyes again is an empty cavern. He awoke on a circular platform surrounded with water, thankfully with you beside him, just like the both of you imagined. You stir awake, gasping upon realising that your plan worked. “We did it, Xiao! We did it!” 

He stares at the scenery in awe, before tensing up at the feeling of movement under the water. A lone tentacle spews out of the water, greeting the both of you. You step forward, beckoning the creature closer. It rubs against you and you laugh, returning the gesture with a kiss. Xiao takes slow steps, approaching the creature with the stiffness of a startled cat. A tap on his shoulder forces him to whip his head around, particles floating to form his spear, when he realises it’s just another tentacle. It backs away, whimpering.

“It senses your nervousness, Xiao,” you say. “Relax, I told you that this is supposed to be fun. We’re both in control.”

Heeding your advice, Xiao awkwardly pats the creature. After some hesitation, it nuzzles against his hand, wrapping itself around his arm to the exposed skin on his bicep. The texture is slimy yet comforting. No surprise there, since you imagined the slime to have a calming effect when the both of you did the ritual. Just to ensure that the experience would be smoother.

More tentacles pop out of the water, surrounding the both of you. Xiao holds his breath as they wrap around him — around his legs, waist, arms — and hoists him several feet off the ground. One of them smears his crotch with its slime, another climbs up his chest to play with his sensitive nipples. Amber irises dart to you in panic, widening at the sight of your aroused expression as a thick tentacle moves in and out of your mouth while the others peel off your clothing. He watches one of your legs being pulled up and you choke as a phallic-shaped tentacle penetrates your hole. In this dream, it doesn’t hurt as much as it normally would and the excessive slime provides enough lubricant for the pleasure to undermine the pain.

Xiao’s attention is brought back to himself at a sound of fabric ripping. The tentacles waste no time in toying with the newly exposed area, smothering his pristine body with stickiness. A smaller tendril circles the base of his bare cock, stroking it to hardness. The adeptus’ body shivers, unable to withhold the soft moans coming from his mouth.

Most adepti either have high sex drives or have little to no desire. Xiao happens to fall in the latter category; until you pursued a romantic relationship with him, of course. As such, thousands of years without receiving or giving any kind of intimacy made his body — especially his nether regions — especially sensitive. He couldn’t stop himself from cumming immediately the first time you gave him a handjob, and even after sleeping with you for so many nights, he has to use his entire willpower to stop himself from ejaculating right then and there.

A light caress at his tip nearly sets him off, forcing a gasp out of him that is immediately silenced by another cock-shaped tentacle filling his mouth. Xiao struggles to take it in at first, so it waits for him to get adjusted. The adeptus gives himself a second to quell his nerves, breathing in through his nose before he begins sucking on the appendage. The size is…a lot to take in — literally and figuratively — and he couldn't help the tears forming in the corner of his eyes. It's long too, the shaft-like part of it hitting the back of his throat with little to no effort. How in Rex Lapis’ name are you able to take this thing so easily?

Still, Xiao does his best; spurred on by the tendrils toying with his dick and your muffled moans echoing through the cave. The yaksha has to restrain his gag reflex when the appendage in his mouth starts picking up speed. The contrast of the cold tendril and his hot mouth feels intoxicating, not to mention he is literally ingesting that calming enzyme mixed into the slime. In the midst of the lewd noises and the pleasure, his brain turns into mush and he barely registers the thick fluid gushing down his throat. He coughs as the tentacle retreats, viscous white spilling down his chin.

Xiao hears coughing beside him and he turns to see the creature has moved the both of you next to each other. Instinctively, the two of you lock lips, tongues intertwining and exchanging the monster’s cum through your mouths. Archons, he didn’t realise how much he misses your lips. If his arms weren’t bound at the back, he would have reached out to hold you. The two of you part, and you stare into Xiao’s cat-like amber irises; sharing a longing gaze as your chests rise and fall with exhaustion. The moment is interrupted when the tentacles shift the two of you again. This time, Xiao is underneath you while your legs are lifted up to your chest. 

“Wha– oh!”

A cry — yours, his or both, he wonders — resounds off the walls as you were slammed down on Xiao’s cock, before being lifted up and slammed back down again, over and over again at an inhumane speed. Hot tears stream down Xiao’s cheeks, overstimulated by the sudden euphoric cruelty brought upon by the creature. He tosses his head back, delirious at all the sensations he’s experiencing. The wet tentacles on his body, your tight hole clamping down on him so earnestly, his dick ploughing inside your deepest parts. It feels too unreal. 

Just like a dream. 

“X-Xiao! Xiao!”

He hears your calls for him in the sea of lust, hidden beneath the other vulgar moans and sloppy sounds. 

“(Name)…!”

He can’t take it anymore. The intimacy and pleasure of the moment completely overtakes Xiao's mind and he unravels at that moment, gasping as he gives all of his precious cum to you. Spurred on by his orgasm, you squeal as you tighten around him, reaching your climax a few seconds after. Xiao heaves, trying to catch his breath while the tentacles shift the two of you back to the ground. The moment they return back to the water, your body collapses on top of your lover

“(Name)?” He panics.

“Hnnn…it’s okay, I’m fine,” you assure him. “Just tired.”

Xiao calms down immediately, and wraps his arms around you. “Let us return.”

—

“Hah…that was fun!” you yawn, stretching your arm. “Let’s do it again some other time.”

It’s like the tiredness in your body vanished the moment you woke up in reality — you look even more invigorated that before — while Xiao could barely even move, only managing to grunt in response.

“Aww my poor little bird…” you coo, kissing your lover on the cheek. “Was it too much for you?”

“Ugh…because I was the one who had to stabilise that dream,” he mutters, shooting a half-hearted glare.

You laugh. “Okay, okay. Did you have fun, though?"

“...Hmph, I suppose.”

“Good.” You smile, kissing him again.

Should’ve read the fine print...

Minors DNI

Warning(s): NSFW, dubcon

Fem!Reader

Authors Note: First time; necessary feedback, pls! Taking requests!

It’s been about a week since you’ve moved into your new apartment. Everything about it was perfect except for one thing: you’ve explored every room but one, which was locked for some reason. (If only you had read the entire catalog ad, you would’ve understood why and that all past tenants never stayed too long). You complained about it to your landlord, who hired a locksmith free of charge, thankfully. This is what your actions have come to, sadly: you, standing before hundreds of slimy, purple tentacles, coming from all around the mystery room.

You try and back away quietly toward the door in hopes of being able to leave unnoticed. Pitifully, the floorboards creek(damn, this shitty building). The tentacles immediately move in your direction as you run for the door, only to be blocked off by more tentacles. They push you to the ground and squeeze around your arms and legs, probing at your torse.

They’re not hurting you; they seem pretty curious, actually. The tentacle's touch is soft and gentle. One tentacle stops at your face...it’s...caressing your cheek? Their touches were seemingly affectionate at first but quickly became provocative. They began to slip under your clothes, feeling you up.

Again, their touch was gentle but still violating nonetheless; they groped your breasts, sucking on your nipples and coiling around them. You try and keep as much dignity you have left, biting your lip to hold back your moans. The tentacles seem to sense your defiance and dislike it very much. They tear through your clothing, leaving only your thin panties to cover you. They curl around your thighs, spreading your legs to tease you, rubbing against your clothed cunt, and nuzzling your clit; their suckers find it and abuse the little bundle of nerves.

A blissful whine escapes your lips; you can’t remember the last time you felt this good. The tentacles stroke your body with satisfaction, assumingly rewarding you for your submission. You can feel yourself getting wetter by the second. Your sense of dignity is long gone by now; you’re a wailing mess. Hair sticking to your sweat-coated skin, tear-filled eyes rolled up into your head, and while your mouth hangs open with a bead of drool leaking from the side.

The tentacles can sense your arousal, not to mention your drenched underwear. They move your panties to the side and continue to toy with your aching pussy, stroking your wet hole and sucking on your sore clit until you cum.

The tentacles let you catch your breath, lovingly massaging your body. Soon enough, you’re suspended in the air as more tentacles hold you, creating a makeshift bed to place you comfortably. Another tentacle approaches your face again, latching itself to your mouth and pushing past your lips to curl around your tongue. Is this its way of kissing you? Is it showing affection?

It’s a bit gross, but the tentacles mean well. Your body suddenly jolts as you feel a tentacle push against your sopping hole. It uses its suckers to tease you again, but as you grind yourself against it, the tentacle penetrates you, pressing against your walls to search for your sweet spot. The tentacle in your mouth begins to thrust in and out as you feel another tentacle enter your ass. The tentacle in your pussy moves rhythmically with the others as it’s sucker hit your g-spot. At this point, your mind is nothing but mush. All you see are white spots as your legs quake under the tentacles, unable to hold yourself up longer.

The tentacles wrap around your waist and lift you. You’re now ass up, face down, and being fucked mercilessly in all three holes. You can’t take it; it’s too good, too much, too many. You feel more tentacles enter your already full holes. Doesn’t this monster know you have a limit?

It doesn’t care, really. All it wants is to see you cum, and cum, again. You can feel yourself getting dizzier after each orgasm, one after another. Before you know it, you’re waking up from your fucked out haze. The tentacles seemed to have stopped fucking your brains out a while ago; they’re all curled up around your protectively, some still inside you. You try and crawl towards the door, but you’re body is useless at this point.

The tentacles drag you back to them, curling around to massage your worn-out body. It seems you won’t be leaving this room any time soon...or ever.

...

Might as well move your stuff in here.

First fic i've ever written has been posted ! Give it some love ^^!

An angel disguised in pink!

Aged up! No curse AU!Megumi Fushiguro x Jirai Kei! Reader

Summary : Megumi just turned 21, and has already received an invite from Gojo Satoru - to go drinking. It's Gojo, after all. He's seeing faces he vaguely remember from college, but fresh faces were uncommon, even in a Gojo party. You, dressed like an angel in pink, piqued his interest.

WARNINGS : people getting DRUNK, you can tell i've never been to a party and drank, mentions of addiction to host clubs, a smudge of angst maybe if you squint really hard, mostly fluff though

Word count : 1.4K (it's so short!!)

AUTHORS NOTE!!: Hello everyone... I started writing this like yesterday and wasn't aware today was his actual birthday..... ALSO this is my first time writing and i'm not 100% in my english..!! I'm not familiar with posting on tumblr as a whole, so with the layout and all that, i'm not quite familiar. Please give me some leeway with that kind of stuff. also, my laptop kind of broke while i was trying to post this, so im typing this from my touchscreen ipad. It's a little annoying, but oh well..

This was also LIGHTLY inspired by @lokissweater 's mlb megumi... i know its not anything close to their levels of writing, but i was kinda inspired to write megumi for my Landmine reader from her and how she writes Megumi.

I talked too much, i'll just let you read it already ^^"...

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶

The club Megumi found himself in wasn’t particularly big, but it buzzed with energy. The space was packed with familiar faces—classmates, acquaintances, and a handful of people he’d crossed paths with at one point or another. As soon as he’d turned 21, Gojo had dragged him along to this club, boasting about it being owned by one of Geto’s many “connections.” What Gojo failed to mention was that it was a private party. Not that it mattered much; Megumi realized he wasn’t exactly out of his element.

Most of the crowd blurred together as people he vaguely recognized, but there were a few exceptions. Two were Shoko’s friends, chatting animatedly by the bar. The third was a girl—you—whom Megumi didn’t recognize at all. The strobe lights bathed the room in eye-numbing neon green, but even through the haze, the soft pink of your blouse stood out.

You caught his gaze from across the room, and when your eyes met, you offered a small, awkward smile accompanied by a polite nod. Megumi’s eyes widened in surprise, his cheeks warming with the faintest blush—thankfully hidden by the poor lighting. Still, he managed a curt nod in return, stiff and reserved as ever.

Nobara, watching the interaction from her spot by the bar, smirked to herself. She’d invited you along partly because she knew you enjoyed the club scene, but mostly because an idea had begun forming in her head. You… and Megumi… Yeah, that had potential.

While most of the party (including a very drunk Gojo and Shoko) had taken over the dance floor, Megumi stayed firmly planted at the edge of the chaos, arms crossed. He sighed, his gaze flicking between the reckless dancing and his untouched canned beer.

Adults.

Gojo, currently in a drunken dance battle with Itadori, was reason enough for Megumi to swear off drinking tonight. Witnessing the sheer level of intoxication his mentor had achieved was enough to keep him sober.

Lost in thought, Megumi didn’t notice you approach until he felt the chill of a bottled green tea press against his arm. He startled slightly, turning to find you standing beside him, a tentative smile on your face.

“Figured you might want this. You didn’t touch your beer all night,” you said, holding out the tea.

For a moment, he just blinked at you, caught off guard. Then, taking the bottle, he muttered a quiet, “Thanks. Uh…”

“Oh, right. Um, I’m Y/N.” You dug into your pink MCM bag before pulling out a similar bottle of green tea for yourself.

“So… you’re not a fan of alcohol?” you asked, idly adjusting the lace on your skirt.

Megumi shrugged, taking a sip of the tea. “Not when Gojo’s around. Someone’s gotta stay sober enough to drag him home.”

“Fair enough. He does seem… like a lot.” You cast a concerned glance at the “honored one” himself, doing the Worm on the floor.

“That’s putting it mildly,” Megumi said, the corners of his lips lifting subconsciously. For the first time, he felt like he was actually enjoying himself that night.

A comfortable pause settled as you both observed the other guests.

“You’re… friends with Nobara, right?” Megumi turned his attention to Nobara, who was on the dance floor with a cocktail in hand, her face flushed red from the alcohol she’d ingested, and a feather boa draped across her shoulders like something out of a ’90s movie.

“Yeah. She dragged me along tonight. Said it’d be fun. And I just figured I’d come over and say hi since you looked kind of… out of place.” You laughed softly, his plain shirt and baggy jeans a stark contrast to the vibrant, flashy outfits in the room.

“Is it that obvious?” he asked with a small sigh, running a hand through his hair he hadn’t cared to style.

“A little. You’re the only one here who looks like they’d rather be anywhere else.”

“I’m just not big on crowds. Or neon lights. Or drunk people.”

Another moment of silence passed as you nodded in understanding, observing the dance floor growing even more chaotic.

“You seem like you’re enjoying this,” Megumi said, cocking his head toward the unfolding disasters (Geto spilling his drink onto a very pissed-off Nanami).

“I, uh, I’m used to the nightlife. I used to frequent a lot of bars and nightclubs.”

Megumi raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. “Used to? You don’t anymore?”

You hesitated for a moment, swirling the green tea bottle in your hands. “Not as much, no. I… got addicted at one point, I guess. I was filling a void in myself. But I realized it wasn’t healthy.”

Megumi’s expression softened, his usual guarded demeanor giving way to curiosity. “Addicted?”

You hesitated before nodding. “Yeah. Not just clubs—host clubs, mostly. I’d go out all the time, spending way too much money just to be around people who’d tell me what I wanted to hear. For a while, I thought it was fun, but… I guess I was filling a void. They hook you in, you know? They leave you alone, and when you start getting desperate, you spend more.”

He frowned slightly, tilting his head. “Host clubs?”

You glanced at him, gauging his reaction, and let out a small laugh. “Yeah, I know. It’s not the most… admirable thing. But when you’re feeling empty, it’s easy to get addicted to the attention. They make you feel special, even if it’s just an act.”

Megumi took a moment to process your words, his gaze steady but without judgment. “What made you stop?”

You smiled faintly, your expression a mix of self-awareness and vulnerability. “I realized it wasn’t real. I was paying for affection, not earning it. And honestly? It wasn’t making me happy—it was just a distraction. So I quit and started focusing on myself. It’s not easy, but… I’m trying.”

He nodded, his eyes thoughtful. “That… takes a lot of self-awareness. Most people wouldn’t even admit they were doing it to fill a void.”

You looked at him, surprised by the sincerity in his tone. “Thanks. I’m not sure if it’s self-awareness or just running out of money.”

That earned a soft chuckle from Megumi, and for the first time that night, the tension between you eased.

“What about you?” you asked, shifting the focus. “You don’t seem like the type to… well, pay for attention.”

He leaned against the wall, thinking. “Not really my thing. I guess I’ve always been more focused on the people I already care about.”

You nodded, impressed by his grounded perspective. “Must be nice. Knowing you’re enough without needing to hear it from someone else.”

He glanced at you, his expression softening. “I think everyone needs to hear it sometimes. Just… not in that way.”

A quiet moment passed between you, the chaotic energy of the club fading into the background.

Finally, you broke the silence with a teasing smile. “So, if clubs aren’t your thing, what is? What would you do for fun?”

“Honestly?” Megumi said, his lips quirking in a rare smile. “Probably stay home with a book or go to a quiet park. Somewhere peaceful.”

You grinned, leaning closer. “A book and a park? You’re a walking cliché.”

He rolled his eyes but didn’t seem annoyed. “And you’re not, Miss ‘Host Clubs for the Guys’?”

“Touché,” you said, laughing softly. “But hey, if you ever get curious, I can recommend a few places.”

“Pass,” he said, shaking his head, but the amusement in his voice made it clear he wasn’t dismissing you.

“Your loss,” you teased, taking another sip of your tea. “But seriously, thanks for not judging me. Most people wouldn’t be so… understanding.”

He looked at you, his expression earnest. “Everyone’s got their reasons.”

Your chest tightened slightly at his words, and you found yourself smiling in a way you hadn’t in a long time. “You’re a lot deeper than I expected, Megumi.”

“Don’t get used to it,” he said, but there was warmth in his tone.

And just like that, the club felt a little less overwhelming, and the two of you felt a little more connected. Fein by Travis Scott played in the background of the packed bar at 1:23 a.m. Gojo and Geto slumped over each other groggily as the alcohol took its toll. Itadori darted around, still inexplicably full of energy, while Nobara stood barefoot, heels in hand, complaining to Maki. 

Somehow, amidst the chaos, this moment felt peaceful.

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶

(I hope everyone liked this... I probably will write a continuation or maybe make it a series when i have the time to.)

Reblogs are greatly appreciated !!

「 ### : 」 reader knows how to paint nails !! Established relationship <3 ya this is inspired by that one reel i saw on my feed and saved to my notes haskdjnajs

You're so focused, Wriothesley thinks. You're seated across his work desk, hand holding his and the other being oh so careful with the brush of black nail polish that you're painting his nails with.

"Black polish is such a pain," you had groaned to him earlier. "Like, it looks good and anyone can rock it, but you have to be so careful to not fuck up because the black will make it so obvious, you know?"

Wriothesley did not, in fact, know. Your nails had always looked well-painted to him to the point that he used to think that you would get them professionally done. Whatever color they were, black or blue or red, or with some intricate designs or stickers, your nails always looked cleanly done. Clearly, they were not for any lack of effort, either.

He had done his best to be a model client (?) the entire time you've been doing his nails. You were so focused on your job, scrutinizing frown on your face as you worked, and he would hate to be the reason to mess up all your hard work. But he can't deny how smitten he was with you in the moment, all your attention on him (his hands, technically.) He just really really wants to kiss you right now.

Like you hear his thoughts, you just about finish one of the coats of polish and look up at his face, a small smile on your own. If you're surprised by how he's looking at you, if you're wondering how long you've caught his attention, you don't let it show.

"Hi," you tell him, not wanting to disrupt the peaceful quietude of his office.

Wriothesley grins. In as equally a small voice: "Hey."

You gaze at him inquisitively, and his eyes never leave your face. "You okay? Bored already?"

"'m not bored," he chuckles with a smile. "I just like looking at your face is all."

It's your turn to chuckle, glancing away from him bashfully as you dip the brush back into the polish. "Mm. That so?"

Wriothesley hums, the curve of his smile growing wider when he sees you get flustered. "Mmhm. You're nice to look at. And I like looking at you."

And oh you have to will your hand not to shake as you keep painting his nails. You have to will your palms not to sweat, you have to will your eyes to not tear up at how sweet the bastard in front of you is.

"You can't just say that while I'm trying to focus," you whine to him, still too shy to look him in the eye, trying to divert your attention back to your work at hand. "If I fuck up your nails, it's gonna be your fault, Wrio."

"Sorry, sorry," he says, not sounding very sorry at all. "I'll be sure to let you know how much I love you after you do my nails, sweetheart."

ahhh just some wanderer brain rot not proofread!! and reader wears a skirt :3

"be quiet... and stay still." he whispers as you squirm a bit in your place. he has you sitting on his lap facing him in the library of the sumeru akademiya, the house of daena, while he's working on his vahumana papers. the few passerbys simply think that you're both just a cute couple that wanted to be near each other at all times. little do they know you're actually cockwarming him. thankfully, your skirt had enough length to cover up the truth of it all. "why do i have to do this again?" you ask him, "because it help me focus, now hush." he wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you even closer to him, resting his chin on your shoulder to peak over and read the text written on his papers.

whenever someone is nearby, he'd tease you by lifting your hips up a bit and thrusting up. it takes every fiber of your being to hold back that moan, archons, why does he always have to hit that one spot at the perfect angle each time too? and whenever you clench around him, he lets out quiet groans directly into your ear. sometimes even with a small whimper, calling you a tease and all that. if you were being good throughout it all, rest assured that you'll get a reward from him right after that. oh he's gonna fuck you sooo good, don't you worry.