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#*dreamy sigh*
plumadot · 1 month
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Your art is like honey and marshmallows. It makes me feel so giddy! I love it! If you don’t mind can you do desert duo?
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can we still be friends?
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oneswordstyle · 11 months
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Art History major Grayson my beloved.
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callmearcturus · 4 months
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fanfic author thinks about nothing but emotional devastation all day
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mysicklove · 3 months
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first time you put on pretty lingerie Yuuji just stares at you, covering the bottom of his face with his hand while his entire body flushes a shade of red. he is so gentle with it, tracing the thin fabric with the tips of his callused hands, and peeking up at you so often that you have to nod at him to reassure him what he is doing is alright. he keeps it on for as long as he can because he loves it so much, and the second he (very gently) pulls the lacy undergarments off of you, he is thinking about how much money he is about to spend to buy you the prettiest sets :/
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basement-buddy · 4 months
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Fabulous and ferocious!
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taintedcigs · 3 months
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eddie's ringed fingers save me....
save me eddie's ringed fingers....
eddie's ringed fingers... please...
please eddie's ringed fingers... save me...
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mattymartin · 22 days
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↳ NICO HISCHIER PRACTICE RAW | 3.6.24
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drowzymutt · 7 months
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thinking abt that first push in.. that hiss as they feel the stretch, so good because they've already finished once. hot and tight around my cock, can hardly keep myself still to let them adjust to the entire length..
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touyangel · 1 year
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promised
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tags: 18+ MDNI, choso x fem!reader, jjk royal!AU, princess!reader & prince!choso, childhood friends to lovers, arranged marriage, slight angst, fertility mention, suggested virginity loss, reader wears a dress, alcohol consumption, masturbation, soft dom!choso, teasing, unprotected sex
wc: 5.5k // crossposted to AO3
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In your kingdom, there has never been a shortage of other children for you to build friendships with. You bonded, played games together, and you had not wanted or asked for more. But you had never considered that one could be ranked as an equal. He comes from elsewhere, somewhere you’ve yet to hear of, but you’re told it’s a place that the Throne has put its trust in. From an upstairs window, you watch as his horse-pulled carriage glides up to the entrance of the castle, and as he steps out with his parents and a smaller boy.
You dash down the staircase, quick, but quiet, and peer from behind a pillar while he and his family are ushered in by royal guards. From here, he looks to be a head taller than you, and you guess he is probably less than three years older. The younger boy, who you assume is his brother, cannot be older than four. The two of them hold hands as they bow low and politely to their appointed guide. 
When he introduces himself, you hear that he is titled with the name of prince, which matches yours of princess.
A nearby staff member snickers at your hiding, and she leans down to whisper in your ear that he is your betrothed. You turn your head to look at her with furrowed brows, and she reads the look of confusion on your face as disbelief, and only nods, but doesn’t offer any explanation as to what she means. 
You let her go without asking, instead choosing to examine the boy from behind the column again. His hair is black, and short, and he’s dressed in deep purple satin robes, so long that the bottom hem sweeps against the floor. You’re not sure how you feel about him yet, and scurry from the hall before you can form any sort of opinion.
Later, he is sent outside to find you while you sit under your favorite tree. You had evaded him, his family, and your duty to meet them as a host. But he locates you quickly, standing tall in front of you, casting his long shadow on your face and blocking you from the sun. The wind blows, and you stare at each other for a few long moments.
“My name is Choso,” He finally says.
You blink, “I know.”
That seems to be enough for him, because he turns to sit down next to you, uninvited. 
It doesn’t bother you as much as you thought it would. You fold your hands in your lap while he gets situated, and think of what to say next.
“Someone told me that we are- that you are my- bre…” You can’t remember the sound of the word.
“Betrothed.”
“Betrothed,” You repeat, and side-eye him for an answer to a question you haven’t asked, but he’s too busy admiring the colorful hydrangea bush in front of you to notice, “Do you know what it means?”
He looks at you with a neutral face, “We are to be married.”
Your eyes widen, and jaw drops, and he smiles when you ask, frantically, “Today?”
“No, not today,” He turns his face to his lap, “When we are older.”
You let out a breath of relief, and lean back into the tree behind you. Your shoulders brush, but neither of you flinch away.
Unceremoniously, you tell him your name, and age, as you should have before, but he doesn’t seem like the type to turn up his nose at informalities. You learn that he is thirteen, and a little less than two years older than you. With introductions out of the way, you can offer to teach him your favorite garden game. He accepts.
That night, as you sleep, the silk of royal purple robes drape over the background of your dreaming mind, elegant and sleek. Dark eyes stare at you through a curtain of black hair, and though you only see tiny hints of his pale skin, you know you are looking at the Prince.
When he’s away, back at home, he sends you letters. At first, they’re simple, like someone instructed him to send them, and because he thought that it was what he was supposed to do. Over time, the more you learn him, you start to read them in his voice rather than your own, like you can feel his intent through each character scribbled onto the parchment. His handwriting is thin, and gracious, but it never changes throughout the years, even as he grows into a man who looks too big to write so delicately. You save all of his letters in a little ornate box beneath your bed.
Through these letters, he tells you in detail about home, and all the things he wishes to share with you one day, like the kind of food they are served, the types of flowers planted in their garden, the view from his window. It’s strange that he always comes to you, considering you will be the one to marry into his kingdom. Because you are not the eldest heir, and the throne would seat too many other relatives before the line ever reached you. But Choso is a king in waiting, next to inherit the throne, and you were the one chosen to stand beside him when it happened. For now, you’re satisfied to learn all about your future home through him. 
Once, he writes about how he misses you. How he wishes you were there with him. You don’t understand why it makes your cheeks burn the way they do.
Another cycle of spring brings him back into your castle with it. Each of your parents had agreed that building a relationship before your marriage would be beneficial for you both. Choso’s visits become annual, and your fondness for each other grows each time. After a certain age, he comes alone, no longer accompanied by his parents or brother. The weather on the scheduled day of his arrival is bright, and breezy, and you wait for him beneath your tree, until you can hear his carriage crunching over the gravel of the roadway.
He’s dressed differently this time, with a white robe that has flared sleeves, under a purple gi-like vest. More casual than usual. He let his hair grow longer, as is tradition in his family, and it nearly brushes his shoulders now. He tends to push it from his face by running both hands through it, so it sits back and leaves his face unobstructed. 
For a few moments, you consider this change in silence, but ultimately decide that it suits him.
You drag him by an arm to show him everything that has been altered in his absence, and he obliges without protest. A small smile lingers on his face as he follows, as he nods and hums while he listens to you speak, content to lend you an ear. He has always been the quieter one out of the pair of you, but neither of you had ever minded.
Minding his manners, he greets your family as you pass them, bowing and thanking each of them for inviting him back into your home. They bat you away, like you’re still children and not teenagers, but you lead him back into the garden like you are anyway. You assume position beneath your tree again, but with him beside you this time.
Your head rests back on the bark of the tree while you silently pick out all the extra things that have changed about him, things you couldn’t have spotted if you weren’t close enough. He looks older, more grown, and you can't help but feel like he’s leaving you behind. You want him to stop so you can catch up. 
He glances sideways at you, and lifts a brow when he catches you staring.
It prompts you to say, “You look different.” 
He pouts, and reflects for a moment, “Is it my hair?”
“Yes,” you reason, “But not only that.”
He waits for you to continue, but you don't, “Then what?”
“I’m not sure,” You answer, brows furrowed, like you’re thinking.
He chuckles, “Is it a good different?”
You don't know why you smile, “Yes.”
“Okay.”
You bump your shoulder against his, and poke, “What about me?”
His eyebrows raise, “What about you?”
“Have I changed at all?”
A slow grin breaks out on his face, fond, and knowing, like he’s heard a joke that you haven’t, “Not one bit.”
By the time you get up, the scent of grass is woven into the fabric of your clothes. 
In the early years, your relationship is nothing but copacetic. However, things start to change when you reach your late teens. For reasons you can’t articulate an answer for, you start to resent him. You suppose you’re angry for your lack of choice, and instead of directing it at your parents, you take it out on him. He’s felt what you’re feeling before, but being older, he’s made his peace with it already, and the idea of never having to look far for a spouse had grown on him. Since childhood, it’s been clear that you were a good match, even if not perfect. You can see the hurt in his eyes every time you push him away, but for some reason, it doesn’t make you stop. 
It’s unrelated, but when your relationship with him starts to turn prickly, you’re both rounded into the conference room, to talk about a potential wedding date change. The royal advisor had apparently suggested moving the marriage up sooner, for reasons you deem less than savory.
“They’re young, and the Princess must be fertile. They could make the strongest, healthiest heirs at their age,” He explains to your parents.
Your cheeks burn at the mention of your fertility – you had never thought about it that hard before. But you knew it was expected of you to give Choso an heir, eventually. You catch him peeking at you from the corner of his eye, but you don’t look anywhere but forward, squaring your shoulders back in a subconscious show of confidence that you don’t actually feel. Thankfully, your parents come to your rescue.
“They have their whole lives to bless the kingdom with heirs. We were not married until we were twenty-one, ourselves,” They agree that it’s still too soon, and you and the Prince breathe an audible sigh of relief. You don’t speak when you’re dismissed, and walk out opposite ways from the room.
It’s not until dinner time that you hear from him again. But instead of seeing him at the table, as you usually would, he barges right into your room while you dress.
He’s lucky he didn’t walk in when you were entirely bare, and you were dressed enough to cover everything that should be, though you never were squeamish about that sort of thing with each other before. You don't jump, you don’t scream, only glare from over your shoulder and scold, “Weren’t you taught to knock?”
He looks down and away, towards the floor, embarrassed for something he doesn’t have to be, “I was sent to collect you. Dinner will be served soon.”
“Fine,” You huff, turning back to your mirror, but he still stands in your doorway, “Will that be all?”
He doesn't say anything, just continues staring at the floor. It concerns you, and makes you soften.
“What is it, Choso?” You turn, approaching him, corset only half-laced.
“I don’t like how you’ve been treating me.”
You didn’t, either, “How have I been treating you?”
“Like a nuisance,” He admits, meeting your eyes, “Like an inconvenience.”
Guilty, you stay silent.
“Is that how you feel about me?” He asks.
All of your breath feels like it's being compressed from your lungs, and you can’t keep yourself from frowning, “Of course I don’t.”
“Even when I felt what you’re feeling, it was never because of you. We shouldn’t go through with the marriage if you… Do you not want me?”
For the first time in your life, you feel your heart break in your chest. It wouldn’t matter if you didn’t want him, you both know that. He’s not asking as a prince, but as Choso.
“I do,” You reassure quickly, because you can't stand to let him feel it for a moment longer. You step closer and grab his hand into yours, squeezing, “I do, I’m so sorry. My emotions- I just- I’m confused.”
He breathes a quiet and shaky breath, then nods, understanding, “I will help you.”
You smile at him, for the first time in too long, “Okay.”
Neither of you make a move to step apart, so you ask, closer to his face than you realized, “Will you finish lacing my corset?”
He blinks quick, like he wasn’t expecting it, but agrees. You turn to face the mirror again, and as he moves closer you can feel his breath puff over the back of your neck. He towers behind you, and as he reaches for your laces, you can see the bulge of his bicep beneath the sleeve of his robe, his expression soft as he concentrates. His jaw has sharpened. He’s big, bigger than you remember, and you guess you missed when he crossed over the threshold of boy to man. You quite like the look of him behind you.
You watch as he circles the ties around each of his hands, and pulls them taut, cinching your waist and making your breath hitch for an entirely different reason.
“Too tight?” He asks, sounding as breathless as you feel.
You guess you missed when your emotions crossed over the threshold of fondness to affection.
“Just right,” You answer.
He finishes it with a bow, and lets it hang down your back in big loops. Then his fingers run along the top of your corset, and the touch of them against the bare skin of your shoulder blade makes you want to shiver.
“All done,” He whispers.
You feel him move further into your space, and when you turn your chin towards him, you find that your faces are inches apart.
“Thank you.”
“Of course.”
You haven't been this close since you were children. He looks so pretty from here.
You think you lean in first. It’s softer than you would have imagined it would be. He’s softer than you imagined he would be. For a few seconds longer, you keep yourself pressed to him, and can only wish that you could have more.
You break away first, and he’s stolen your breath, “We should go.”
Choso nods once, curtly, “We should.”
“One more,” You lean in again.
His eyes flick to your lips, “One more.”
When you make it there, you sit side by side at the dinner table, stiff, like the evidence of your lover’s kiss is written plainly all over your lips. But no one seems to notice, and it remains a secret for you both to keep.
During his next stay, once you’re both in your twenties, and less than a year from your marriage date, the Ball of the Spring Equinox falls right in the middle of Choso’s visit. There’s lots of chatter about it around the kingdom, of what fabrics and stitches and styles will be best suited, and it makes you more excited than usual to attend. Naturally, your mind wanders to Choso, and what fabrics and stitches and style he’s chosen to dress himself in. Perhaps it will be his signature royal purple, the color you first met him in, the color you’ve known him for. Or maybe black, to match his shiny dark hair and eyes of pitch.
But he surprises you, and meets you in your corridor dressed in white silk robes. His hair is tied up in two buns, and pieces of it stick out in a way that isn’t messy, but intentional. His collarbones peek out from either side of his neckline, and the skin of his chest is pale and blemishless, milky as the cloth that covers him, and you can’t be sure where the fabric ends and his skin begins.
He looks beautiful, and elegant, like the image of a man meant to be a king.
A tiny smile plays on his lips as you approach him, “Hello,” he whispers.
You smile back, bashful, but true, “Hello.” 
“You get more beautiful every time I see you,” He tells you, like it’s the truest thing he’s ever said. He grabs your hand into his before the blush has a chance to consume your cheeks, “Shall we go?”
Choso escorts you into the ballroom with your arm laced into his, the two of you shoulder to shoulder. Everyone is sure to compliment the Princess and her intended, calling the two of you a vision, a sight for sore eyes. As a couple, you’re seen as a fresh breath, an image of youth that the people are not used to having the opportunity to gawk at.
The ballroom is a mosaic of baby pinks and bright yellows, and everyone in it is garbed in pastels to welcome the spring season with open arms. Large arrangements of flowers are meticulously placed all around the room, draped over door frames and sitting in ornate vases. Your dress just brushes the floor, tailored perfectly to your height, cinched and flowing in all the right places. You knick a pair of champagne flutes off of a platter for you and Choso to share, both of you tapping your glasses together before taking a sip. Your cheeks are still plump with a grin while you drink, eyeing him from the side while he downs his glass until it’s empty.
“Slow down.”
“I’m nervous.”
You raise a brow at him, “Nervous?”
“I don’t like dancing,” He confesses, looking straight ahead.
You pause, “You liked it plenty when I was your partner.”
When you reached the age to learn ballroom dance, Choso was always made to practice with you, considering you’d be partners for a lifetime.
He turns red, “That was different.”
“Different?” You clarify.
“Yes. Different.”
“Different how?”
His mouth shuts before he answers, “There weren’t any people around,” He chooses to say, but you can tell that it’s a half-truth. You open your mouth to respond, but he cuts you off, “Our instructor doesn’t count.”
Your shoulders visibly slump, and he chuckles. He plucks another flute off of a passing waiter’s platter and knocks it back, then looks at you with a newfound confidence. 
“I’m ready,” He breathes, “Come on.”
“That’s all it takes?” You tease, but he’s not listening, already dragging you forward by the arm.
Others make room for you in the lineup, and you stand across from Choso as he shoots you a lidded gaze. It’s almost inappropriate for the setting, but you don't think anyone can even feel it besides you, because no one else knows the usual look of his eyes just as well. It’s a dance that doesn’t call for much touch between partners, but that doesn’t matter, not with the way he’s studying you. You feel hot all over, like he’s branding you with his stare, and you almost feel yourself get burned when your chests brush together.
It’s a dance you’ve stepped through time and time before with him. But he’s right.
This is different.
Your prince is light on his feet, skillful in his step, and he leaves you feeling ruffled after only a couple of minutes of practiced dancing. The number ends, and everyone on the floor scatters off, but you remain with him for a second longer, to try and make sense of what you’re feeling, as if his face alone could provide you with the answer.
You do your duty to make your kingdom proud, and politely dance with your people when they ask. It’s quite fun, bonding with them through movement, sharing dialogue without any words. It goes this way for hours, because the people love their time with the Princess, but they respect that there’s someone who loves their time together more.
They give you back to Choso when they feel you’ve had enough, and you fit yourself into his side easily, watching as the crowd moves in waves, singing and shouting in joy. 
“Having fun?” He asks.
“Much.”
He glances at the gloss over your eyes, “Are you tired?”
You smile, “Quite.” 
Everyone’s too distracted to watch as you nudge into him.
“We could slip away right now,” You whisper, as close as you can get to his ear, “No one would notice.”
He turns his face to look at you, and you see his eyes flick to your lips, even if only for a nanosecond.
“Lead the way,” He rasps.
The halls are empty, besides the guards, but none of them interrupt while you pull Choso to your room. You practically push him into it before shutting the door behind you, then the two of you size each other up, like animals do when something is foreign to them. You take a step towards him, and he doesn’t move, just lets you press your bodies together like you did on the dance floor and pet his chest while you purr up at him.
“Can you kiss me?”
One of his fingers raises to trail on the line of your jaw, “I can,” He affirms, smirking, not giving you what you want on purpose.
“Please?”
His eyes soften on you, then he’s leaning down into your space.
For the first few moments, your breaths intermingle, lips touching, but not locked. Your eyes fall shut right before you purse, connecting to him, and your belly flutters in delight beneath your dress. You move your lips against his, gently introducing your tongue, and together, you learn a new dance. You wrap your arms around his neck and both of you pull the other in deeper to get a better taste of what you’ve never had before. He kisses you messy, but soft, and if he wasn’t clutching you by the waist you think your knees would buckle from under you.
You break away, but you don’t go far, and you look up at him through eyes he’s never seen before. 
Wanting. Needing. Lustful.
Your hand moves to lightly fist into his collar, using it to pull him even closer to you, “Soil me, because I am yours,” You kiss him once, twice, and plead with him,“I have always been yours.”
That night, Choso loves you in a way he’s never shown you before.
Days pass, and every night Choso finds himself in your bed, and every morning after you two have to pretend like nothing has changed between you, even though everything has. You spend time wherever you can get the most privacy, but never cross the line of intimacy, not until you’re in the confines of your bedroom. The fleeting touches under the dining table aren’t enough, and there’s an endless longing in your gut until the moment he can get his hands on you again.
Everyone around you is none the wiser, and you’re lucky that the guards are sworn to secrecy. Once again, he slips through your door after nightfall, and lets you press all the kisses you want into his skin.
“We can’t keep meeting like this, my love,” Choso tells you, but falls into your open arms easily, with a smile plastered on his lips.
“Sure we can,” You tell him, equally jovial, because you know he doesn’t mean it. After all, something keeps him coming back every night. You kiss him again for good measure, “Come lay with me.”
He walks backward with you until you fall on the sheets, where you quickly and familiarly mold yourselves together, nestled in close like you need him for warmth. He pecks you again.
“You taste sweet,” He says, licking his lips as he pulls away.
“Don’t I always?”
He chuckles, “What’ve you eaten?”
“They brought me plums for dessert.”
“Did they?” He leans in to brush his tongue against yours again, unabashedly chasing after the flavor on you, “And you didn’t think to share with me?”
“Is this not sharing?” You speak into his lips.
He entangles one big hand into the hair at the nape of your neck, and his nails scratch into your scalp, making you shiver. With gentle force, he pushes you forward, meeting you in another wet and sticky french.
Between kisses, you try to tell him, “If it makes it any better,” smack, “I thought of you as I ate them.”
“Oh,” The side of his mouth quirks up, before you fall back into each other, “That fixes it.”
When you break away again, he gives you his rapt attention as you divulge, “There’s never a moment that I’m not thinking of you.”
The color of them reminded you of his royal robes. Of the purple veins that trail and twist under his pale skin. If you looked at the insides of his wrists, you’d be able to see them where they sit, violet underneath milky white, like the roots of a tree, alive and pumping. All of the small things that fill your day make you think of him – he is everything you ever dream of.
“You are precious to me,” You admit, nearly inaudible, as you lay a hand on his cheek.
Choso breathes in a shaky breath, like he’s just suffered a blow, and nuzzles the side of his face into your grasp. He squeezes his eyes shut when he feels his nose prickle with emotion, though he doesn’t want to spend one moment not adoring your beautiful face. He settles with laying a kiss on your open palm, and hopes it can tell you everything he can’t.
When he feels strong enough, he kicks a leg over your hips to straddle you, and playfully pins both your wrists on either side of your head, taking care to not drop his full weight down. You see him peek at you through the hair that falls in thick strands over his face. You’d brush them back for him, if you could. 
You're clad only in a nightgown, with thin straps, and nothing underneath. In this position, it’s smothering your breasts, and one right move can make them spill out of it. He’s dressed in a simple robe, and you feel giddy when you realize that with one pull, you can have him undressed beneath your hands. By now, you’ve seen him bare countless of times before, but getting him naked under your stare never seems to lose its appeal.
“I stretched myself for you,” You tell him with an innocent smile.
“You- You what?”
“Put my fingers inside to prepare. Got myself wet and ready, so you didn’t have to,” You’re about to continue, and tell him all the filthy details, until you see the look on his face, “Why don’t you seem pleased?”
“I don’t mind doing that for you,” He says, brows furrowed, because he’s worried he’s made you think otherwise, “I like it.”
You blink, “Okay. I didn’t-”
“Don’t do it again,” He commands, stern, “You know that I’m not the type of man to neglect your needs.”
Your voice is small when you apologize to him.
“Really?” He leans down, and fits his face into your neck, until you can feel his hot breath puff over your warming skin, “Show me how sorry you are.”
His tongue drags along the side of your throat, and you pant, “How?”
“Do it again. Let me watch.”
“N-Now?”
“Oh, we can wait, if you want,” You hear him purr right beside your ear, “But I thought you were ready for me right now. Unless you did a lousy job.”
You have to stifle a shudder when his lips start to run along the shell of your ear. You knew he was working you up intentionally, but you let yourself get annoyed by his shallow attempt at teasing anyway, “I am ready,” you try to bite, “I’ll show you.”
He takes his cue, and sits up to shuffle off of you, lounging to the side, watching as you spread your legs quickly and waste no time burying two fingers in to the hilt.
“S-See? I’m-” Your face contorts in pleasure when you can't help but curl them up inside you, “All ready.”
You’re about to slip them out, but he swiftly catches your wrist in a big palm, and pushes your hand down, forcing your fingers in deeper and making you keen.
“I didn’t say you were done.”
He’s never been so strict with you, but you couldn’t say that you dislike it. In fact, it’s making you feel hotter than ever, and your pussy drips under his stare. You hook your other hand around your hip to rub at your clit, keeping the other where it stuffs you. You work fast, because you think he’ll give himself to you sooner that way. It doesn’t take long for you to start panting to the room, and you’re close again, like before, when you were lamentably alone. It’s hard to deny, especially when you feel his lips graze on the calf he lifted up to his face.
Choso watches you work yourself until you cum, and holds the leg in his hand tighter when it starts trembling against his mouth. For a few beats, he lets you cool down, then moves to untie his robe and push it off of his shoulders, gifting you with the view of all of his delicious ridges and curves. His shoulders are broad, his biceps are thick. His tummy looks hard to the touch, but you know that the skin is as silky as the robes he wears. He pushes his underwear down, freeing his cock, barely giving you an eyeful before he’s manhandling you to lay on your side and fitting himself right behind you.
“You’re such a good girl for me,” He says into the skin of your shoulder, nosing his way upward, “I can't wait to start our life together.”
“We already have,” A long time ago, goes unsaid.
You feel him smile against your neck, “You know what I mean.”
His fingers snake over the dip of your waist, and he slides his hand between your thighs to push them apart, holding the top one in the air and slipping his own leg between them, instructing you to keep yours open for him.
He leans back to watch as he uses a thumb to drag his cock through the slick your cunt is leaking. His tip catches on your entrance, and he takes the deepening stretch of your leg as an invitation inside. He accepts, pushing himself in until your pussy is stretched to capacity and his balls are buried in your pubes. His hips halt, stopping while he’s pressed deep, to let you adjust, to force you to feel it.
To make use of this time, he pulls the neckline of your nightie down and sucks the side of your tit into his mouth, latched with intent to mark. He listens to you struggle to inhale a full breath in, and he kisses up to your face messily, leaving tacky trails of saliva as he goes, until he can nibble on your earlobe.
Atop the sheets of your bed, Choso squeezes the fat of your thigh in his hand, merciless, and thrusts once inside you so hard that you think it’ll bruise. He has to use the other hand to cover your mouth and keep you from whimpering. You clench around him, and his fingertips caress the soft skin of your face as he starts to make love to you.
Afterwards, he softly pinches the hem of your nightgown between two fingers and sits it back in place on your thighs, then shimmies the neckline he pulled down back above your breasts for your modesty. He coaxes you to fall asleep on him, while you’re snugly tucked into the crook of his arm, murmuring to you until you’re asleep and breathing lightly. He refrains from running his fingers over the plush skin of your face again. 
Choso uses one hand to clear your hair from the concave of your neck before he fits his face into the dip of it. He noses over your pulse for a few beats, inhaling the scent of your skin, before he lays two unhurried kisses onto you.
“Rest well, my sweet girl,” He whispers, but you only sigh in your sleep. He names you with ownership, disregarding technicalities, because you were promised to him long before you’ll be bound by law. His lips pucker delicately to blow out the last of the candles on your nightstand, leaving your room to be engulfed by darkness and taking the two of you with it.
In the morning, he’ll scramble to get up, and you’ll kick him out with more of your kisses and a smile on your face. He’ll have to sneak out from your corridor, careful not to be seen, and at breakfast, you’ll sit apart, like he’s still not yours. He’ll wink at you from his seat and watch as it flusters you, but no one will catch it. And at night, the cycle will repeat.
For now, he’ll curl over you, and listen to you breathe until he falls asleep, too.
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zhongrin · 11 months
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thinking about mundane daily things with zhongli...
zhongli absentmindedly giving you back scratches when you feel that itch but your arm can't reach that specific spot.
holding back zhongli's hair when he eats and he forgot his hair clip.
brushing your teeth in the morning with zhongli, side-by-side, your free hands holding onto each other.
zhongli randomly passing by a rather beautiful wildflower on his stroll and he proceeds to pick it up so he can slip it behind your ear when he meets you.
helping zhongli trim and polish his talons and in turn, he helps you clip your nails (he gives you a bonus hand massage after).
zhongli just naturally coming up next to you when you wash the dishes so you can give him the empty plates to wipe and arrange on the drying rack.
going into the shower with zhongli and him gently washing your hair because he knows you're tired.
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fla-t-line · 2 months
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ishcliff · 4 months
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i don't think heathcliff is an idiot at all. not in his source, nor in limbus.
in limbus, heathcliff keeps things direct and to the point, and dislikes spending a lot of time dwelling on what to do. none of these alone are indicators of a lack of intelligence. impatience and impulsivity, sure, i can concede. but with heathcliff, what i think is even more the case is he already feels like he understands the world well-enough. he's spent a lifetime living, both in the best and worst of the city. he offers insight in moments where the other sinners have little to offer. in a lot of ways, he is deeply comparable to roland, except (funnily enough) perhaps a little healthier.
despite his contempt for authority, heathcliff has accepted his role and the unspoken laws of the land, being witness to and on the receiving end of what happens when one goes against them. he seems to understand the whims of the city for what they are and can follow them intuitively. though, his knowledge is entirely practical; the theoretical and reasoning behind everything matters little to him, because the way he sees it, as long as he can continue to do as he pleases, it's of no consequence. he is in constant survival mode, seeking the rare moments where he is allowed to thrive.
his knowledge base is given ample time to shine in the main story. he is often positioned as a voice of reason and an appeal to the majority.
in canto II, he comes up with a plan that essentially works flawlessly when no one else could.
in canto III, he correctly points out ishmael's lack of comprehension of social stratification in the nest entry point. then, he rightly calls out meursault for his aiding and abetting of a religious-fascist regime.
in canto IV, he's proven correct about his critique of certain mindsets of the K nest, and his insight and cleverness are recognized by more than one person (importantly, including ishmael, his biggest critic).
he is just as intelligent and capable as everyone else; he simply doesn't care about the bigger picture. it's not like the bigger picture cares about him.
and yet...another point on the more superficial side: heathcliff has an identity where he is a capable, well-spoken scientist and political activist. while his political standpoint is reactionary anarchoprimitivism, it still matters that he's clearly capable of analyzing greater social class structures and realizing they are bunk.
this leads me to discussion of heathcliff in wuthering heights. i don't think it can be overstated how much of heathcliff's capabilities as an antagonist post-timeskip are due to his intelligence. in just three years, he cultivates enough wealth through what is assumed to be key-timed investments and intelligent brokerage. he makes a name for himself despite lacking even a proper surname. through his influence, knowledge, and cold determination, heathcliff decimates two families and claims their estates for himself. this is all in spite of the way he was forced out of school when he was a preteen and into slavery. the danger of heathcliff is not just in the depths of his cruelty, but his calculating nature and ability to chart out a years-long revenge campaign with contingency plans. and he almost entirely succeeded.
tying back a little to the context of limbus company, heathcliff's backstory has been heavily implied to be mostly similar to his childhood in his source material. in summary, he was raised under constant scrutiny under threat of beatings and/or losing the only person he ever cared about. every single one of his actions and assumed mindsets were called into question, and this is something he later internalized against himself.
i've talked about it on this blog before, but i believe one of the most important elements of heathcliff's childhood in wuthering heights for his characterization in limbus company is when he instinctively saved the life of his abuser's child. heathcliff swooped in and saved the child from a fatal fall without hesitation or thought. it's his nature to follow his heart and do what he believes the right thing to be. however, heathcliff realized a moment later that he had just done a good thing for his abuser, thus further distancing himself from catherine. he second-guesses his own instincts and is filled with transparent hatred and regret.
this is also related to his conflict with catherine and other social systems at large. catherine obsesses over her status and dwells on the ramifications of a union with heathcliff. heathcliff, however, loves her and believes that to be more important than everything else. her disagreement and casual disregard for his personhood in favor of her ability to get everything she wants pushes him out of the estate to begin with.
in limbus company, however? heathcliff doesn't have the dynamic with his abuser looming over him, nor any implications of threats to his status (beyond vergilius, but at least that isn't personal). he doesn't have to second-guess himself for the sake of his survival and getting what he wants anymore. in canto IV, those very instincts save gregor's life. he can just do what he wants, and even if he messes up and dies, he can just immediately be brought back to life with no consequences. he is freer now than he's ever been in his entire life, and he knows better than everyone the joys of not needing to overthink every single thing he does.
so no, heathcliff is not an idiot. i speculate he's just gotten a taste of freedom he's rarely known and he is relishing it.
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orionsnotcanon · 1 month
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I think NL!Darlin would keep a spare set of pjs on them at all times :) too bad they’re human sized
my beloved Mono belongs to @heartfullofleeches
IDK HOW TO DRAW ITS FACE MAN HELMETS ARENT MY FORTE
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mikufanclub · 2 years
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i think abt this dialogue sometimes
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wince77 · 7 months
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she's snoring and drooling all over the place but i wouldnt mind it either
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paper-lilypie · 11 months
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au of an au where gregory and susie get to grow up together and fall in love
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