Worbjorb - Tumblr Blog

went to a bingo night at the pub with mate from uni, we all do bacholar of fine arts and the anouncer was a lovely very funny drag queen and my mate won and the queen asked “so what do you do darling?” and she said “BFA, bachelor of fuck all’ entire place blew up

jack of no trades. master of fuck all

Active, Legitimate Fundraisers: Please Share and Donate

Due to the amount of requests in my inbox, I have decided to make a masterlist for active and vetted campaigns which desperately require aid. I implore my followers and those who see this post to please donate even $5 or $10 to at least one of these campaigns. We owe it to the people of Gaza who have trusted us enough to ask for our help.

🇵🇸 Islam ( @eslamsuhail ) - verification (Islam is a relative of Hazem, whose account has been verified) - donate here - €9,825 raised of €50,000

🇵🇸 Ashraf ( @ashraffamily ) - verification ( #391 on verified fundraiser list managed by @/SaifQuadri on twitter, also #74 on the @gazavetters spreadsheet) - donate here - €7,764 raised of €20,000

🇵🇸 Rehab (@rehabsh98 ) - verification (shared by @bilal-salah0 who is #132 on the Vetted Gaza Fundraiser List) - donate here - $37,515 raised of $40,000

🇵🇸 Ola ( @olaferwana1 ) and her husband ( @abedallhferwanagaza ) - verified (#60 on @gazavetters spreadsheet) - donate here - €8,157 raised of €35,000

🇵🇸 Anas and Ahmed (@anas12a ) - verification - donate here - €263 raised of €29,000 EXTREMELY LOW ON FUNDS

🇵🇸 Ahmad (@ahmadallouhahmad ) - verified by association on previous account - donate here - €4,509 raised of €50,000

🇵🇸 Doaa (@free-gaza2 )- verification (previous account) - donate here - $6,776 raised of $12,000

🇵🇸 Eman (@emanfamily3 ) - verified by association on previous account - donate here - $719 raised of $5,000 EXTREMELY LOW ON FUNDS

This will be the first in a series of masterlists of accounts that have reached out to me. Please donate what you can. Every dollar counts!!!!!

ig im insanly autistic cuz i just straight out say ‘im kinda crushing on u’ to them and just see what happens cuz i need me a man that matches my energy so

Wtf people actually tell their crushes they like them??????

WATER SONG [PT. 1]

merman leon x gov't researcher reader

word count : 7k+

warnings : female reader, reader has a sort of type A personality and some mild anger issues, talk of medical experiments, he's referred to as a subject and specimen quite a lot, descriptions of predatory behavior (animal kind, not the sexual kind), slow pace, sfw, lots of yearning for touch

okay part one isn't terribly exciting im sorry ajdgakab I just wanted to establish a connection between the reader and him in the setting n such before developing any deeper connection. also like 1% research went into this so im sorry if you're knowledgeable about oceanic research this'll probably piss you off lmao. also all credit for this au idea goes to @/bunnivievve tysm for letting me write a lil interpretation of your idea! this was inspired by this post of theirs as well ‹𝟹

JUNE

Subject Zero. 

Male, combined characteristics of humanoids and aquatic species. Captured by a trawling vessel, out in deep waters usually traversed by cargo freighters but occasionally by commercial fishing vessels. A freak happenstance. When the net had been dredged up in a fantastic spray of salt water, the hoard of tuna quickly spilling into the sorting containers, the men on deck had spotted something much larger than white fin tuna thrashing in the net. 

Upon careful inspection they feared they’d pulled up a man, some poor unfortunate victim of a seafaring disaster. A capsized or otherwise destroyed vessel, a near drowning victim that had fallen overboard perhaps. 

Until they spotted the flashing of sharp teeth, and the thick, muscled tail slamming against the wet metal under their feet. 

Thankfully their transmission to the Coast Guard was intercepted, a naval craft catching the broadcast and setting course as fast as possible for the trawler. 

And now Subject Zero finds respite in your “office”. If an office can be counted as more of an observation space, nevertheless. A part of you feels bad, the less scientifically trained and inclined part that is, for keeping such a clearly intelligent creature within a tank inside a black site. The initial placement had been… difficult. It was clear the subject missed the open ocean, and you did feel sorry that it had been so unceremoniously plucked from its home and deposited in such an alien space on land. But there was nothing to be done about it. 

He was far too valuable as a research opportunity. The cold, clinical part of your mind understood that. He was a marvel of nature, flesh and blood proof that man could be intermixed with seafaring species, it was one of the single greatest events in modern marine biology. And an immense privilege for you, the scientist chosen chiefly to study the subject. 

A dream. The government all but telling you to do whatever you deemed necessary, no concern over the expense. Gone were worries of securing grant funding for more piddling projects or the endless anxiety of thinking you would be stuck as one name in an endless list of names relegated to ordinary oceanic study. Not that your peers' works weren’t valuable, but you always held the selfish desire for notoriety. Had dreamed endlessly throughout your undergraduate program of the day your name would be the one filling up library indexes and publications with impressive, weighty studies. Discoveries so undeniable you would join the ranks of the most noteworthy in the field. 

And seemingly, your wish had been granted. Subject zero would be the gravel that paved your road to success. It’s just a pity it has to be such an intelligent creature. 

You sit back, uncuring from your hunched position at the desk, rolling your shoulders and wincing as you hear your joints popping. Documentation was a never ending pain in the ass but it had to be done, if you wanted to keep the convenience of not having to answer to nor justify your expenses to an overhead department. Ordinarily that work would be relegated to a lower priority researcher, but you preferred being able to sign off on it all yourself, comforted by the fact that there were no unforeseen surprises lurking in the documents or spreadsheets or data tables. Nothing anyone would be about to point out as a discrepancy, leaving you humiliated and floundering. 

As you close your eyes you can feel it, the hair on the back of your neck slightly on edge. The feeling of being observed. 

He seemed to prefer watching you when your back was turned or if you were otherwise unaware. If you were facing the ten foot thick glass of the massive elcousure he would recede into the farthest corners of it, shying away into watery obscurity. In a way it was cute, an obvious curiosity for the beings around him but he seemed stricken by shyness, didn’t know if you were trustworthy. Which was understandable. You were the one keeping him there, at least to his limited viewpoint. The one that denied him reentry into his former home. 

That irritatiningly scentimental part of your mind whispered to you again. 

What if he thinks you’re cruel?

So what? We don’t even know to what extend he does think. 

You say that but you do care, at least a little. Thats why you sneak him extra food. 

You sigh to yourself, pushing up from the familiar desk, palms flat on its slick glass surface before rising to your full height. Out of the corner of your eye you catch the white coat you don most of the day, every day, slung carelessly over the back of another chair at a separate station. Your badge attached via a shiny, silvery little clip. Walking over you purposefully keep your eyes directed away from the elcousure, your movements slow. This is a good opportunity to see how long he’ll watch you as long as he believes you aren’t paying attention. 

The badge is solid, though lightweight as you pick it up, bringing it closer to your face. It’s hard to believe you look so excited in the small picture in the upper lefthand corner. Your name in bold typeface as last name, first name all neatly lined up next to the photo. In it’s reflection you can see him, one hand perched against the glass, that thick midnight blue tail swishing up and down in a soft, rhythmic motion as he stays still. Ever watchful. 

Its hard to see in the little reflective glimpse but subject zero does have more… handsome features. You smile to yourself, recalling one of the other researchers giggling while telling you it wasn’t weird to note that because it was true. What man on land, with two legs, had eyes that shade of blue or a jawline that impressive? None that aren’t using photoshop or filters. 

Maybe if the discovery of the subject was publicized there would be throngs of people banging on doors trying to find out where he’s being kept. It did make you huff out a laugh, the idea that a half fish man who couldn’t speak was more appealing than the majority of men on earth. 

Maybe we should open an instagram page for him. 

You shake your head to yourself, still smiling, as you set the badge down. 

The office slash observation room remained quiet save for the occasional sound of sloshing water. It was late, well past time fo anyone other than the usual armed military guard to be roaming the facility. Well past time for you to go home. 

At that moment you turn, just enough to peek over your shoulder and as soon as your eyes fix on the spot he occupied all you catch is a low flash of dark blue, retreating into the shadowy depths encased in glass. 

~

OCTOBER

Three months of observation. 

Hardly enough to form any evidence based conclusions, but enough time to get started on the right path. You had approximately nintey days of solid data on his diet, his presenting condition each day, endless notes on his observable physiology. He preferred deep water fish, clearly an omnivore as he also didn’t mind the addition of oceanic plant species mixed with the fish when it was introduced into the tank. In fact he seemed to greatly enjoy the sudden introduction of variety, although still preferred to eat his meals in a semblance of solitude. 

His distrust was only natural, you had to remind yourself. Until such time as he’s fully used to his new environment you’re unlikely to observe any great variation in his behavior. 

At least he wasn’t showing signs of aggression. That had been a legitimate concern, and still was, of course. All proper safety precautions were followed to the letter when it came to subject zero, and absolutely no one was to physically get in the tank, not until further tests could be done on his temperament and how he reacted to certain stimuli both pleasant and unplseant. 

You grimace seeing a newly sent email notification, the little computerized ding signalling that your attention was required. 

When isn’t it?

You put the sleek desktop into split screen mode, keeping the charts on the subject to the left while your email opened to occupy the right side. Amid the usual low importance emails from general staff there was a new one, at the very top. The name made your stomach twist in preparation of the message. Dr. Gregg had, for lack of a better phrase, a raging hard on for the opportunity to remove the subject from the tank and getting it into a smaller one in order to sedate and extract genetic material. It didn’t matter that he’d already been sedated and had samples drawn when he was initially transported here, no. The good doctor wanted more than that, but you couldn’t accommodate the request in good conscience. 

Or rather, you were worried about the effect it would have on him. It could set back the last nintey days of progress, or worse, inspire severe mistrust and heightened aggression towards all researchers. There was no way, even with sedation, that cutting into him wouldn’t cause pain. And a source of pain that a creature like subject zero had no way of understanding would only lead to problems. 

The two of you had been butting heads over the issue for the last week, culminating in an argument yesterday where you all but told him to get fucked. You were the lead on this, you made the decisions and he wasn’t going to usurp your authority. Your credit. 

But as your eyes scan the email you can feel yourself getting physically hot, your blood pressure threatening to rise. 

You may be the lead, the head researcher on this project, but do not believe for one moment that I will not go above your head. You are not CIA, doctor. You don’t call the final shots here, and it would do you well to remember that. Whatever your personal feelings on subject zero, you cannot stand in the way of necessary elements that better out understanding of the creature. 

With shaking fingers you close the window, not bothering to respond and not trusting yourself to either. Every fiber of your being wanted nothing more than to march down that hallway and wring his wiry old turkey neck. Who does he think he is? He’s just some physiologist, some ancient fuck. Who is he to threaten you? If his contributions were so invaluable wouldn’t he have been made lead?

You squeeze your eyes shut, hands clenching in your lap as you breathed deeply in through your mouth and out through your nose. The meditation app you’d been using had provided you with some useful tools, being that your temper had plagued you since you were small. Always the first to fly off the handle at even the idea you could be questioned, your competence or credibility casted in doubt. 

Inferiority complex, a nasty voice giggled in your head. 

It’s not that it wasn’t true, and it was a bit of an achilles heel for you. But what took priority now was holding Gregg back, keeping him away from the subject and minimizing the risk that he could fuck it all up before you even had a chance to really begin. So, once you felt that initial flashpoint of rage quelling you reopened the email application, setting your shoulders back as you began typing. 

Under no circumstances are you permitted to sedate nor perform any surgical procedures on subject zero. You have not been given any formal authorizations, so it would do you well to remember not to threaten your head researcher in the contents of easily retrievable emails. You are free to broach the topic with any superior officer on sight, and I am more than happy to entertain a line of questioning from said superior officers on why I do not believe it to be prudent at this juncture to allow for another extraction of material. Research is not a race, Doctor. 

You can’t help but smile smugly to yourself, imagining his fury at opening your reply. If he thinks just because you’re young that you’re easily pushed around he is sorely mistaken. Nothing and no one is allowed to jeopardize the most important work you may ever do. 

With that you abandon the desk, it’s dull and mind numbing work, in favor of standing in front of the tank yet again. It was nice, having a portion of it extending into this area as an offshoot of the main tank where all the feeding and the bulk of physical testing was done. He seemed to enjoy it too, which despite yourself you did place some importance on. 

It was important to ensure he was as comfortable as possible. He was still a living being, despite his status as a research subject, and you took no pleasure in the idea of him suffering in any way. It was definitely a slight drawback, you could begrudgingly admit, that you tended to get… overly attached to the species in your care. You’d done the same in both undergrad and postdoc, although it was more important than ever before to keep a tight hold on those tendencies now. 

How would you feel, if you knew that man was so hell bent on slicing you open? 

Probably afraid. 

What are you feeling now?

It would be so much easier if he were capable of speech. The bridges that had to be built between what was known and unknown had to come from the very foundations, things that required occasionally unpleasant experiences in order to build their understanding of him. But if he could just explain some of it, that would be easier. A half formed bridge is faster to finish than one from scratch. 

Uselessly you peered into the clear, clean water. Between swaying stalks of plants there was nothing to see except the seemingly endless expanse of water. Several mind boggling tonnes of it, all kept nicely contained in ten foot thick military grade glass. Bulletproof. Shatter proof. Even if subject zero were to ram it with intent, crack it even, it would still hold. 

You couldn’t help but wonder, as you remained staring through that glass, if he was lonely. Seeing so many strange, upright walkers but being unable to even touch them, even consider the act of doing it. 

As you frown at your own reflection, you feel it again. 

Duel observation.

~

It was bizarre, to him. These two legs, tall men. He knew they existed, they’d always known a different sort of being lived on the land, domineered it and then took to making attempts at dominating the sea as well. It had all become so noisy, so very nearly unbearable thanks to their hulking monstrosities of shining metal and the things they constantly kept dumping into the water.

Every day there were new threats to avoid. Long gone were the days of simply worrying about other predators lurking in the open waters or within the sediment and foliage. 

He hadn’t seen the net, as they called it, until it was too late. Had been too caught in the euphoria of finding such a gigantic school of gorgeous, meaty tuna, that his mind switched off to everything but pure instinct as he’d circled them quickly, calculatedly. His jaw had felt the ache of hunger so viscerally it was like the bones themselves were vibrating with it. 

And then they’d all begun moving. Swept up, trapped in an upward drag that he’d been powerless to fight against while overwhelmed by the wriggling, frantic fish flashing across his vision, no way to know what was forwards or backwards, up or down. 

Then the shock of air. His lungs had seized up painfully with it, the feeling of being constricted by nothing at all yet everything all at once had been horrific, beyond frightening. 

After that it was too messy, too jumbled in his mind. Harsh sounds, their sounds, were prevalent in his memory but just beyond his grasp. Far too loud without the water to act as a buffer between, softening the blows of each reverberation against his eardrums. 

But her sounds were different. Or, it was that she didn’t make many to begin with. The look of them all was mostly similar from behind the thick material they kept him in, in this unknown space. At least they offered readily available food, although not nearly what he was used to hunting for himself and his webbed fingers itched at the thought of clawing through water in pursuit of some darting piece of prey. It would feel so, so good to sink his teeth into flesh, to feel it rip and catch in chunks between his teeth, the iron rich scent of blood swirling around. The roar of adrenaline in his ears. 

It was difficult to keep his focus on much here, save for her. The best parts were when the others disappeared but she would still be in that corner, down the long corridor of water and he would be able to see her, sitting and doing wholly alien things with her hands at something large and flat, but vaguely shiny. Hers didn’t have webbing, none of them did from what he could tell. How did they ever swim competently? 

She was softer than the rest and he enjoyed watching her do her strange tasks, sometimes she would pace around holding a sheet of paper in her hands, chewing on her bottom lip. Her teeth didn’t seem all that sharp, since she never seemed worried about cutting her flesh on them. What did they eat, with useless teeth? 

Just like at the present moment, with her back turned it was easier to look at her fully. Usually he wouldn’t approach openly like this, unsure of the intentions of everyone here, but this space seemed to be reserved for her only which put him at ease. That and none of those harsh spotlights were present, if anything she seemed to prefer it half dark which was fine by him, preferable to that loud bright area behind him back through the water corridor. But she seemed tense, the set of her shoulders curled forward, almost in on herself. Something in front of her was clearly upsetting and in some odd way he felt offense on her behalf. She was kind, gave him extra food before she would disappear through the night, always seemed to be keeping a close watch over him and how the others were with him. 

He may not be able to speak, but he’s pretty sure she was the reason he wasn’t suffering in this place. And that was good enough, at present, to make him feel a sense of kinship with her. Closeness. 

As she carried on with whatever it was that kept her so occupied his mind wandered to what it would feel like to touch her. They seem to enjoy touch, most of them being very casual with the way they interacted. How did she like being touched? Or would she dislike being touched by him outright? Would she find his webbed, clawed fingers disgusting, would she flinch away?

He frowned behind the glass. Hopefully not, but there really was no way to know. They seem intent on keeping a wide distance from him, which wasn’t unwelcome. The only one he was at all curious about was her anyway, not that he would purposely antagonize anyone who ventured inside his new domain, though he certainly wouldn’t circle them like one of the friendly, if a little dumb, nurse sharks do occasionally out in open water. 

He was so caught up in that worry he nearly failed to catch her movement, but his reflexes are faster than hers. Before she could approach the glass fully he’d already retreated a safe distance away. Watching as she stared into the expanse of water, her face unreadable but the set of her eyebrows told him she felt some kind of stress, strain. 

His fingers twitched at his sides, thinking about reaching out to touch her again.

~

You smile to yourself, a soft hidden kind, at the now familiar feeling. It was like there was a strange sense of understanding between you two, although you could just be ascribing things to him he doesn’t possess. Thats always something to keep in mind, as a researcher but more often than not lately you’re coming to resent that line of thought. It was clear subject zero was intelligent. Maybe not to the degree of a human being, but he was close enough evolutionarily speaking, that he was like a cousin in the chain. An offshoot of the formerly solidly established line of human life. Theres no reason, as yet identified, that he wouldn’t be able to communicate if given the chance to learn how. 

You aren’t thinking of him as a subject anymore. That’s dangerous. 

You know it is, know that voice is right. But it doesn’t account for everything. The odd push and pull, hide and seek game you two play here in this office every single evening. Its to the point now that you feel tense, uncomfortable if you don’t sense him behind you, watching you work or pace around nonsensically. You’ve spent over an hour before reading and rereading the same observational notes and data sets because you kept grinning to yourself like a fool feeling those eyes burning holes in your back. 

He’d even made appearances in your dreams a handful of times over the last month, flashes of deep, endless blue that clung to the soft corners of your mind as you went about your morning routines, ruminating over his appearance as steam from your coffee curled around your hands, ghostly fingers clawing at the air. Tension crept up your beck, spreading out over the tops of your shoulders and trapezius muscles prompting you to stretch against the back of your office chair, rolling your joints and hearing their familiar cracking in response to hours of sustained poor posture. Lazily you grasp your phone from the desk, thumbing open the music app and scrolling a bit through your shuffle playlist before settling on something bubbly, but easily tuned into the background. 

You wonder if he enjoys music, what his preferences would be if he could swipe through your library of songs. It makes you smile to yourself thinking about it, maybe that would make for a good test of his thinking abilities, how he responds to different genres, different artists. Standing, you bend slightly to make a quick note on a half discarded sticky tab: musical testing?

And suddenly a somewhat mad thought grips you, what if you tried right now? Whats the worst that could happen, he lurks in the background while you sway around the dim office like a fool? At least the only people who could see would be the guards, not that they’d say anything either beyond thinking to themselves that every researcher here must be insane. That makes your smile grow wider, giggling to yourself a bit as you take slight steps in time with the beat, giving a little spin on your toes to face the take. 

It only somewhat shocks you to find yourself face to face with him, that he hasn’t retreated to the safety of the shadowy corners. His eyes, a remarkably similar color to the water surrounding him, track your movements with abject curiosity as you follow an imaginary path, one foot placed delicately in front of the other to carry your body with the faint sound of the music. All the while his eyes never stray from you, even when he has to move to keep you in his sights, even when you come right up to the glass and offer a little spin in front of him, giggling to yourself a little more freely now. 

And to your amazement, at your laughter, he smiles. He smiles and it makes your chest feel light, like a ten pound weight you hadn’t even been aware of was finally lifted off. Some might find his fanged appearance frightening, to you it was boyishly cute. A toothy little grin, the tips of his elongated enscisors catching against his bottom lip, and his thick, muscular tail began to move. As if, had he possessed legs like yours, they would be moving in tandem with you. 

It felt like a genuine breakthrough, making you hug your arms around yourself as you stopped moving, still laughing and feeling just a tad bit lightheaded. He genuinely smiled at you. 

He was moving with you. 

That was a major breakthrough, even if just a personal one. Increased rapport meant things would be easier going forward, for both of you. 

With a contented sigh you pressed one hand to the smooth, icy surface of the glass, your fingers stretching over the sleek glass and he does something that makes your breath freeze in your lungs. Gingerly, the way people stretch out their hands to scared animals, inch by inch his own rases to be a perfect mirror of your own. One larger, webbed, hand pressed to the glass right behind your own. It felt silly but you were too afraid to even exhale with any effort, for fear even the barest noise would ruin the moment and he would flee right back into the far corners, beyond your reach. 

But he doesn’t, doesn’t stop holding your gaze for a single second and you marvel at the way his blonde hair sways in the water, like the finest strands of silk-

“So, thats why you keep refusing to allow any progress of this “research”?”

You nearly jump out of your skin at the voice from behind you, a signature grating tone you could pick out anywhere. As your head snaps to the side, body following the movement only a second after, you see him standing in the door way with his arms crossed nearly reeking of smugness. 

Fuck. 

~

One week. 

You have one week to figure out what to do. 

After shattering your late night revelation with subject zero, who has been increasingly attached to you ever since, the resident pain in your ass physiologist had made sure to fire off emails riddled with concerns and accusations addressed to the operatives truly in charge of the site. Questions of your ability to continue in any capacity with the project, the nature of your relationship to the subject, insinuating you had some kind of perverse intention, even going so far as to insult your credibility. Not only cc-ing yourself but “mistakenly” sending those emails to every person working on site.

It had effectively turned you into a pariah with regards to your peers. Whispers of conversation that would be cut off as soon as you set foot into a room. Strange looks from your coworkers, ranging from disgust to perverse curiosity. It felt like you were continuously on fire, every minute of every day. There would be a meeting in one weeks time, and until then you were relegated to nothing but the paperwork in your office, per the tense instructions given to you.

But your panic had less to do with your professional reputation, surprisingly, and more to do with feeling very nearly physically sick when you recalled how fixated he was with the idea of getting to cut into subject zero. If you were removed completely from this project there would be no one else to act as a roadblock, to keep that from happening. 

Your eyes slide over to the observation tank, noting the worried way he’s been watching you for hours now. You wished you could haul him out of there, explain what was happening, the risk of what could happen to him. Maybe he would have some idea of how you both could get out of this. But was there any way out? Or is the only option allowing yourself to become a laughingstock, a professional embarrassment and to allow subject zero to languish in whatever horror would surely be inflicted on him? 

You can’t say if desperation is the only thing motivating you, but your mind becomes mostly blank as you leave the office. Its early enough, after you’d been practically climbing up the walls all night, so maybe the choice was fueled by sleep deprivation. Whatever the case may be, you find yourself moving as if through a dream: down the cavernous corridors, turning and twisting to follow the slate grey concrete all the way to the impossibly large main observation chamber. 

With a swipe of your ID card, forcefully and defiantly, the locks give a little beep before disengaging. Mechanically you make your way to where the suits are stored. Specially designed, one of a kind. Made of an interwoven, enmeshed material not unlike chainmail to prevent sharp teeth from being able to puncture both cloth and flesh, and featuring only the best in terms of diving design. The manufacturer had created them after winning a defense contract from the governenment and you wonder if they ever would have guessed someone would be stripping and tugging the suit on in order to come face to face with something most people would assume only existed in a fairytale. 

But here you are: yanking and adjusting the suit before prepping the oxygen tank, also designed to be compact but sacrificing the amount of time one could spend fully submerged at any depth. Either way it would work for this application, although no one had been given clearance to dive yet. 

You knew doing this would come back to bite you far worse than just those vendetta fueled emails. Diving without any clearance, using untested equipment. It was beyond insane. But the circumstances felt insane enough on their own to justify it. Subject zero was overwhelmingly likely to be just as intelligent as you were, and just as likely to feel physical and mental distress in similar ways. Trying to communicate was step one and what better way than face to face. Then you could form step two: proving beyond a reasonable doubt that he was intelligent and thus, could be advocated for medically even if he couldn’t advocate for himself. 

That was the only way to halt the now speeding train of decisions being made on his behalf and without his input. If he could even write out the most barebones statement, even that would work to prove they needed consent to continue with any of this. Tomorrow you could wake up in a whole new world, one where there is technically a second legal classification of human being, one with a tail and gills. The though made you smile despite the tense circumstances. 

What you were doing was a halfcocked, absolutely batshit attempt at a hail mary but it was worth a shot. Your reputation was already in tatters on site, how much worse could it be? If you fail in this all that happens is you’re dismissed and removed from the site, doomed to be a whispered footnote for future researchers. Did you ever hear about the lady that went crazy with one of the subjects? A cautionary tale about getting too attached to your work. 

But fuck that. If you’re not at least a little attached to your work then do you even really care at all about any of it? You would argue that the resident physiologist holds no love for the work, only a love for the idea of something else experiencing pain.

With a deep breath you sit carefully on the steel ledge that runs the length of the tanks open ceiling. Easy, you just flip backwards and hit the water, reorient yourself and try not to get eaten by one potentially pissed off subject. Yeah, a real piece of cake. With that you decide theres no more time to waste, it’s probably already flagged in the system that you accessed the main deck, they’ll be here any minute. 

Good, that means they can all see I’m not insane or inappropriate. He can comprehend things just like we can, the music wasn’t a fluke. 

In the span of a second your worldview dips, swirls, and the splash of water hits your ears at the exact same moment the shock of cold does. The water is kept at approximately the same temperature as the water he was captured in, frigid Atlantic delights. As bubbles envelop you, you manage to get yourself turned right side up, carefully circling your arms to tred water and remain mostly stationary. This would be the key moment, you have to exercise extreme caution. 

You’re another predator that has invaded the territory of a fellow predator. In the natural world, it’s a killable offense. But you keep your eyes open, sweeping the dimly lit, wide expanse of saltwater around you. No sign of him, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t here, watching you, gauging the situation. As you continue to keep your breathing even, your movements slow enough but steady enough to keep your body afloat, you catch sight of something in your peripheral. That intimately familiar midnight blue tail. He was moving behind you now, one webbed, clawed hand slicing through the water like knives as the rest of him came into your view. That sandy, dishwater blonde hair floating in fine tendrils around his face, framing piercing blue eyes that took you in critically, curiously. 

You allow him to keep circling you, doing your best to calm your nervous system that felt on high alert, panic just on the cusp of overriding your sensibilities. Allowing that would spell disaster, you would certanly be killed if you started thrashing or spinning wildly, it would scare him, you could both be injured in any kind of violent altercation. They would kill him if he killed you. 

But your worries abate as he slows to a stop in front of you, and despite your eyes staying locked together you’re conscious of the audience you have on the other side of the glass. The feeling of being watched by many people is something quite unique, it’s also unnerving. You wish you could apologize to him, you hadn’t realized before how uncomfortable literally living beneath a microscope was. 

You raise your arm, hand extended, in a painfully slow movement that makes the muscles in your forearm ache. His attention goes to the appendage now how hanging between you two, eyeing it with equal parts suspicion and what seems to be excitement. The physical equivalent of a high pitched alarm happens in your body as he moves closer to you, the air suddenly locked in your lungs as you wait. This was another critical moment. Would he grasp your hand? Rip it off? It was entirely unknown, beyond dangerous. 

But none of those things happen. The painting, god touching adam, comes to mind as he raises a clawed index finger delicately up to yours. They don’t touch but rather hover in proximity to one another before a grin works its way across his face, those sharp incisors catching against his bottom lip as his eyes flick back to your goggled face. 

You hope he can see that you’re smiling too, but you hope its not like it is with monkeys where grins are signs of aggression. But it seems that fear is unwarranted as his tail twitches erratically, the wispy bits of filigree flesh on the split end swirling through the water in a gorgeous display of deep blue and white. Like sheer fabric winding through the air. 

The ecstasy that floods your brain is a feeling like no other, a full body sensation that spreads from the tips of your fingers to your fabric covered toes. His tail moves to brush against your kicking legs, the heft of it is shocking. You can immediately imagine the sheer power of it kocking into you, it would feel like being hit by a freight train no doubt. For something that looked so elegant and otherworldly, it was still a threat. 

But you couldn’t get distracted you needed some display of his intelligence, and you needed it now. 

So you shake off the awe, do your best to refocus on his face. Carefully you draw back your hand, pointing to yourself and then at him. You repeat the gesture several times, hoping to receive a reaction that displays understanding. 

And he doesn’t keep you waiting long. 

In a flash one clawed, webbed hand encircles your wrist and halts your movement. 

It’s like time suspends, a complete and total pause as you feel a different kind of chill within the suit. It’s like you’re watching in third person, your throat seizing as your fingers intertwine hesitantly. It’s an oddly tender gesture, and then your body is tugged through the weight of the water, pushed against the solidness of his chest. Your arms came gingerly around him, and his enveloped you in turn. He was all firmness, so solidly built it shocked you. You hadn’t properly appreciated the sheer mass of him, the way his body had been crafted for underwater pursuit, hunting. But also to accommodate displays of affection, just like your own. 

And as you two embrace you can’t help but smile again. It wasn’t perfect, but it was enough to form one hell of an argument on his behalf and you would shout until your face was blue that going forward, communication would take priority. Worrying about the innerworkings of his physiology could wait until later.

In one week's time this blog will be gone.

I've given it a lot of thought and there is nothing left for me here on Tumblr, on Izuwus. The joy of creating and sharing, of community and safety has been stripped away from me by a group of individuals that go around acting like highschool bullies. While there is so much I've grown to love about this app there is just as much I hate. It's heartbreaking to let go of this space I've created and say goodbye to those who've supported and enjoyed my works, but as I've said before there is truly nothing left for me here.

The joy I felt while writing and sharing on Tumblr has disappeared. All I can think of when I log into my account is how isolated I feel, how alone it is now that someone's decided to ruin my reputation. It hurts to see people I once called friends turning their backs to me, believing someone else's words above my own. It feels like primary school all over again, I feel alone, outcasted, bullied. This entire ordeal shouldn't have awakened so much past trauma but it did and it's been a silent struggle to cope with the memories I've been so intent to bury.

I shouldn't have to moderate my blog to keep people with hateful intentions away. I shouldn't have to fight tooth and nail for people to believe the truth. I shouldn't have to sit through online abuse while those who've wreaked all this havoc run free. I've been on Tumblr for long enough to know that nothing in these fandom spaces have changed. Hate anons still run rampant, cliques exist and they will never vanish, favoritism and bullies will remain here until this app eventually dies. And I can't do anything about it.

After everything that's happened there are still a handful of good people on here — and for those people I ask that you never change. Keep spreading love, support your content creators. Please keep shining a light in the darkness and prove to others that it's worth staying here.

I genuinely cannot see myself on Tumblr in the future. Perhaps somewhere down the line, maybe a year from now, I might join AO3 and publish my writing there. If you run into me there come say hi, I hope that maybe our paths can cross in the future. But for now I'll be erasing myself from Tumblr and my other socials. I see no point in forcing a creative process I've come to hate or participate in a fandom that's dictated by bullies.

Thank you for the memories, they've been bittersweet. Thank you for loving and supporting me, even if it was for a short while. I wish you all the best. Take care.

Logging off for the last time.

Lili.

Their Little Nest

In which MC reorganizes their house over time and Sylus, because of an offhand comment from the twins, thinks she's nesting.

Sylus x fem!MC fluff

Pregnancy thoughts and talk.

-0-

It started with the little things.

Tiny potted plants sat prettily on his shelves, the many side and coffee tables in the manor, their little pops of green and brightly colored petals brightening what once was a corner of shadow.

It wasn't like Sylus didn't keep plants in the house, no. It was just he didn't pay them any mind besides making sure the staff was taking care of them.

So it really came as a surprise when he suddenly found himself watching you and the twins hauling boxes into the house, chattering about plant growth and such as you took out several lamps.

"Kitten," he said from his position by the doorway, strong arms folded over his chest as he leaned against the frame. "With that much light, you're going to start to photosynthesize."

You turned, smiled at him as you tilted your head up to nuzzle into his chin when he strode towards you. You held up two different types of lamps for him to see. "They're lamps."

"I can see that."

You chuckled, leaned against him when he reached over to fiddle with the lamp in your hand. "I didn't know if I needed sun lamps or grow lamps for the plants so I got a lot of both."

"Mm." Sound logic enough, he thought. He patted her head. "Let's set them up, then."

And so they did.

(Even though both of you did bicker about adding a grow lamp - not the sun lamp - in his office for that tiny desk succulents you graciously added to his massive workspace.)

(He conceded, of course.)

But it didn't stop there. Not that he expected it to stop, knowing you.

It was a rough day. A negotiation that Sylus needed to get done didn't pull through as the moron representing the offending faction decided to get flustered and pulled out a gun at him, voiding the deal and thus resulting in a gun fight.

The situation was dealt with easily enough, but the cleanup needed his attention particularly because they had several protocores that he was aiming to acquire and wasn't going to leave without them. Alas, as they refused to make it easier for everyone involved, they had to waste not just his time but his ammo as well as his perfectly cut suit.

Sylus landed on the couch with a groan, relief finally flooding his bones as the tension in his body started to dissipate. He wasn't bleeding any longer, but the aches remained, a dull thrum consistently buzzing so much that it prevented him to experience the relief of sleep.

While the fog enveloped the N109 Zone to obscure it from the wrath of the sun, the instinctual yearn for daylight annoyed him. The mere ghostly memory of the sun on his skin made him purse his lips, the mere thought of it sapping his already drifting energy.

He turned his head, buried it into the pillow-

He blinked, propped himself on his good arm as he stared at the pillows. Gone were the hard blocks of stone that posed for a pillow that he just never bothered to replace, seeing as he was in pain often enough that the uncomfortableness of them barely registered to him anymore. What sat under and beside his head were soft, the slight fur on the covers lightly tickling his cheek as it cradled his head, rapidly easing his throbbing headache.

Long fingers flexed, his brows furrowing when softness once again surrounded his senses.

There was a thick blanket beneath him, separating his battered body from the worn and cold leather of the couch.

Now, Sylus is a perceptive man. Being observant of his surroundings and having the ability to react accordingly is part of his job description, his lifestyle. One misstep, a single moment of carelessness, and he could end up dead.

He was sure these pillows and blanket were not here before he left the house no less than eleven hours earlier.

"Sylus."

He turned, alert eyes softening at the sight of you, drinking up the image of you in one of his long-sleeved button-ups that hung over your significantly smaller frame, your hair mussed in multiple directions.

A lazy, crooked smile adorned your face as you hummed his name, your eyes still drooped with sleep. The adorable crow plushie was cradled lovingly in your arms.

You took your time to cross the room, loved the way he settled back onto the couch as he watched you, those wonderful scarlet eyes not once leaving you. You accepted his outstretched hand, your laugh softly lilting in the air when he pulled you into his embrace.

"Hi," you purred, your body molding perfectly into his.

"Good morning." There was a tenderness in the room, blanketing the both of you as you cuddled on the couch. You cherished moments like this. It's not so often that Sylus would get home when you wake, and while you know that your beloved wasn't all too fond of the mornings, you also know that the man made sure to make time for little moments like this despite his busy schedule.

"You changed the pillows," he muttered, his deep voice rumbling as he nuzzled into your hair.

"Did I?" You kissed his exposed clavicle, trying to hide your smile.

"You did."

"Maybe the twins did it."

He snorted, his fingers digging into your hips before massaging it as his other hand fiddled with the leather that held your knife strapped to your thigh. "They would've have bought a vibrating couch before they get to the pillows."

You laughed. "That's true."

A beat of silence. Just two lovers laying on a couch, sharing whispers and secret laughter as the sun rose far beyond the N109 Zone.

It was peace.

Oh, if only that peace lasted.

It's been a few weeks since that little moment on the couch, and Sylus couldn't fathom how they went from there to where you were at this moment.

He sat on a stool on the kitchen, watching you clean what seemed like the eighth room in the manor and you didn't have any indication of stopping soon.

None of them knew why you were in such a frenzy to clean, but you knew it was important do it Right Now. He offered to help you, of course, after having a quick round with him arguing that you should just leave all the cleaning to the staff, seeing as that's one of the primary reasons why he hired them in the first place.

"Sweetie," he said, exasperation leaking into his usual smooth voice. "If you keep at it any longer, I'm gonna have to clean you up from the floor."

You scoffed, hissed when he tried to grab the mop from you. "You better sit your ass down before I dismantle all of your guns again."

"Oh?" His voice, sickly sweet, as he trailed the tip of his fingers up your neck, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. "Will you, now?"

Your eyes glinted, lips curling into a menacing smile as you passed the mop to your other hand, completely dodging his attempt to take it from you as you pressed your body sensually to his. Deft fingers from your now free hand lightly tapping playfully against his chest. You crooned. "You know I will."

A stare down. Something not too uncommon between the two of you. A pair of strong, stubborn people unwilling to yield.

Most of the time.

"Alright," he conceded. Sylus knew, even without peering into your desires, that you will not budge on this matter. So he sat, admitting full well that this isn't an issue that's worth having an argument over.

It only took one look from him to shut the twins' guffaw from the other side of the door. He could ignore the snickering, however.

"This is like the third time she cleaned this room," Kieran whispered to his brother.

"Fourth," supplied Luke as he enjoyed the way their boss was sulking at the counter. He didn't look like he was sulking, Luke knew that full well, but he just had that feeling. "You were too busy buying detergent when she cleaned this last Monday."

"Ah."

"Hm."

"Maybe she's nesting or whatever."

Luke hummed, shrugged. "Maybe."

Sylus was a man of composure. Not even the most lethal of situations are able to get a rise out of him, and even if it did, no one would be able to tell from his perfected poker face.

That was the only reason why he didn't fall out of his stool.

Could you be pregnant? But you two have been so careful, so sure that the both of you have done the necessary things to have safe sex. But it wasn't impossible, he knew. It was also possible for non-pregnant women to exhibit nesting behavior. Surely, you'd tell him immediately if something was amiss or... if you were experiencing some symptoms.

Children, huh? He didn't think he'd be a great father. If anything, he'd be a horrible one considering the simple fact that he brought danger with him anywhere he went.

He was hard lines and violence, bloodshed and death. The sins that he's committed - and will commit - was unfit for a father. A good father.

But... he supposed it would be nice to have children running across the house. His and your kids. A physical manifestation of your love.

It's not that he needed to have a mini version of himself. As far as he knew, he never had any inclination of even desiring to have them. That avenue of conversation hasn't opened up between you too, either. He didn't know if you even wanted to have children.

Children with him.

And he wouldn't mind it if you didn't want them. They were a commitment, not just some playthings to be discarded once the novelty wore off. It would take a lifetime.

Yet... It's a nice thought.

"Darling?" It was well into the night. You and Sylus were already snuggled up in bed but you knew something was off. Ever since your little event in the kitchen, Sylus has been drifting, sometimes zoning out into space. It was very uncharacteristic of him.

So you waited. He'd tell you eventually.

Yet you have to admit to yourself that you can be impatient.

Those eyes of his, momentarily dazed, focused on you. The room was dark, the steady thrum of the air conditioner droning in the background. And still you felt his eyes on you, focusing, focusing, his arms pulling you in closer to his body.

"Yes?"

"What's wrong?"

Of course you'd see it. Not that Sylus even attempted to hide it, seeing as you'd peer through him eventually. You waited for him to speak, frowned when you felt the spiking of his evol. "Sy?"

"Are you pregnant?"

You sputtered, pushed up from your position on the bed. Your hand quickly tapping the button for the lights.

Warmth illuminated the room as you stared into his eyes. You thought he was joking, thought he was pulling your leg, but the emotion that stormed his eyes moved you, surprised you.

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"Sy." There was distress in his voice, something that you thought you'd never hear. "My period finished a few days ago."

He closed his eyes as he let that information sink in, nodded. Released a breath. "Okay."

"Sylus." You nudged him, urged him to open his eyes. "Sweetheart, what brought this on?"

Sylus sighed, feeling as though the energy was tapped from him. Well, there was no reason to beat around the bush on this. "Kieran mentioned you might be nesting."

For all the time you've spent with Sylus, you knew that man rarely blushed. But the pink that dusted his cheeks and ears endeared you, the heartbeat that you loved listening to spiking.

"I'm sure, Sy."

"Right."

He didn't know if it was relief he felt as he held you, fingers kneading into the dip between your hips. He sighed. Gave you the smile that was only reserved for you.

"Why did you change the pillows?"

You tilted your head, smiled back, leaned down to kiss his nose. So it came back to the pillows.

"I wanted you to be comfortable whenever you collapse on the couch."

"The plants?"

"This place is stuffy without them."

"And the cleaning?"

"I don't like the way the staff cleaned our house."

He stared at you, those gorgeous garnet eyes of his looking at you with a mix of adoration and complete and utter confusion. He blew a breath.

"I was overthinking, then."

"You think so much all the time, I'm surprised it's taken you this long to short circuit."

"I didn't short circuit."

"You don't have access to seeing your expressions, darling."

You laughed when he pinched your sides before your hands slip up and cupped his face. "I love you, you know that?"

"I know." His voice dropped down an octave as he trailed open mouthed kisses from your shoulder to your neck. "I guess that's why you're making me insane."

You snorted. "You never needed my help with that, dumbass."

He nipped your neck, nuzzled. "I love you, too."

"Mm." But you took his hand, pressed it to your stomach, stared deep into his eyes. "Do you want to have children with me, Sy?"

Your eyes were impossibly deep that he couldn't look away. Couldn't even think of attempting it.

"Yes."

Straightforward as ever, Sylus is. You blew a breath.

Swung your legs over him and straddled him in one swift move.

"Maybe we can start trying now, then?"

-0-

this has been running in my brain for days and i just had to write it asfsdg

check out my other sylus fluff fic!

i need leon with a size kink pretty please!! 🥺

-🌼

HNNNNGHHHH

“you alright, honey?”

you can’t reply. you can’t even think of a reply. not when your face is shoved in the pillow like this, all your guttural moans being muffled by the soft material. not when he’s pressing all of his fucking weight down on you, his huge chest pressed against your back, big beefy arm under your neck; basically, you’re in a chokehold.

and fuck he’s reaching so deep inside. his tip is pressing against that spot inside you, and you can’t fucking breathe, choking on your own spit and sounds… and you’re being suffocated by him literally lying on top of you.

so, you just weakly nod. well, it’s more of a twitch of your head. he breathily chuckles, pressing his lips to your shoulder.

the lewd sound of his hips slapping against your ass is deafening, louder than even the squelching of your drenched cunt around his cock… and he’s grunting quietly, but you hear it, you feel it. he’s cursing, whispering little fuck, fuck, fuck’s under his breath.

and it’s so sloppy. you’re drooling all over the pillow, and your own face.. and he’s slobbering all over your shoulder, hot breath fanning the skin there. his thrusts are growing uncoordinated as he grows closer, his grunts becoming little groans and tiny whimpers.

“fuhhck, baby, that’s it..” and you’re not doing anything, really, you’re just lying there and taking it. “ohmy— shit, gonna make me… gonna make me fuckin’ fill this tiny lil pussy, hm? you want that?”

he’s babbling, as he does when he’s close. your eyes roll back into your head, and you just let more moans spill from your mouth. if you had the mind to, you’d say yes, beg him for it, but you can’t form coherent thoughts right now, let alone sentences.

“yeah, yeah i know my girl wants it,” he knows he’s pressing his whole weight on you, and he’s so smug, you can practically hear the smirk in his voice. “always does. my girl wan’ be filled? yeah? want me to fill that tiny cunt?”

you tried to nod, but you’re cut off by your own body jolting by him reaching a hand between your front and the mattress and swiping at your clit. “thaaat’s it, mhm… don’t need to speak, jus’ cum for me… my good little girl, hm?”

you’re already cumming, though. you’re pretty sure you actually pass out for a sec, just feeling the sensations of his cock twitching against your gummy walls and vaguely hearing the sound of him moaning over the ringing of your ears.

“ohmygod— fuck, i’m— baby..” he can’t even finish his sentence before you feel him fill you with those hot spurts, and your eyes close tiredly with relief. it feels like it belongs there, and now you’re utterly spent.

he’s panting hard, head dropping into the gap between your shoulder and neck.

you’re ready to fall asleep, with his cock keeping his spend plugged inside of you, and his whole weight suffocating you. your head shuffles against the pillow, moving to the side so you can finally breathe. your lips brush his, and you smile contentedly.

just as you’re about to lose consciousness, he twitches inside. your breath hitches, and you gasp, head turning to look at him confusedly when he sits up slightly.

and his hips are already moving slowly, shallowly fucking his cum into you.

“what, you thought we were done?”

just a little something for zayne's birthday <3

cw: mild smut (mentions of sex, oral sex), fluff

“You said you would be by my side.”

You watch as Zayne yawns, his hand running through this messy hair. He gives you a sleepy smile, his eyes drooping slightly. You hadn’t meant to wake him, simply rolled out of bed and away from the warmth of his embrace to prepare his birthday breakfast.

“Not every second of the day,” you correct, giving him a smile as you wave the spatula at him.

You figured pancakes would be the safest choice, with some chocolate chips sprinkled into the batter to satisfy Zayne’s sweet tooth. 

“That won’t work,” he murmurs, his arms wrapping around your waist as he presses up against you from behind.

A soft sigh leaves you, head falling back against his shoulder. Zayne nuzzles into your cheek, his lips pressing a soft kiss onto your skin. You can feel him smile against your skin, his chin resting on your shoulder as he watches you flip the pancakes.

“Do you have anything else planned for me?” he asks, arms tightening around your waist.

“I’m afraid that would ruin the surprise,” you reply.

Zayne hums, and you stay silent, not wanting to spoil what you had planned for the rest of the day. His hands have begun to slip, squeezing at the fat of your thighs before smoothing up under the shirt of his that you’re wearing.

You’d been more than eager to wish Zayne a happy birthday last night, with one kiss turning into two and then three until he’d eventually lost his composure and picked you up and dumped you onto the bed. He’d fucked you dumb naturally, his lips ravenous and touch unrelenting as he had pounded into you, with low groans pouring into your ear. 

But Zayne was always gentle at heart. He’d held your hand after, fucked you again to make sure you knew that you were his, with your legs wrapped around his hips and words of praise leaving his lips as he’d taken you ever so sweetly, so gently. 

“The pancakes are going to burn,” he whispers, bringing you out of your thoughts as his fingers graze the underside of your breasts.

“Then you shouldn’t be trying to distract me,” you protest, trying to swat his wandering hands away, squeaking when you feel him pinch your nipples teasingly, “Dr. Zayne!”

“Back to being the doctor, hm?” Zayne sighs, acquiescing your request as his hands slip back down to pet at your sides affectionately. “I thought last night was enough to remind you of who I was to you.”

You roll your eyes, reaching behind you to push at his bare abdomen in an attempt to get him to unlatch from you. Zayne does no such thing, instead presses himself impossibly closer and nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck.

“I love you,” he whispers, voice muffled.

Your heart warms at his sincere words, a smile spreading across your face, his affection making you feel giddy.

“I love you too,” you say in kind, turning off the stove as you finish the last batch of pancakes.

Zayne smiles and you turn in his arms, letting him lift you up onto the kitchen counter. You drag him closer, letting him step between your legs, arms wrapping around his neck to kiss him. Zayne lets out a low groan, his hands squeezing at your waist as he deepens the kiss, tugging you to the edge of the kitchen counter.

“I love you,” Zayne says, his lips drifting across your face, “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

A laugh breaks out of you, hugging him to you as you rub your hands across his warm back soothingly.

“I love you too, Zayne. A whole lot, really… more than you could ever know.”

He kisses you again, soft and tender, nuzzles his nose against yours and sighs contentedly. 

“Let’s go back to bed,” he announces.

You scoff, pointing to the pile of pancakes that you’d made along with some fresh fruits you’d cut up earlier.

“You’re going to eat every last piece!”

“How unkind,” Zayne chastises, “isn’t it my birthday?”

You send him a playful glare, fingers grabbing for a strawberry before pressing it up against his lips. Zayne opens his mouth obediently, eats the strawberry and licks his lips. Your finger prods into his chest when he opens his mouth for more.

“Such a child,” you murmur, shaking your head, but you feed him all the same because Zayne is yours and you love him too much to deny him anything.

He carries you back to bed before long, buries his face into your chest and holds you close. You run your fingers through his soft hair, dropping little kisses to the crown of his head. Zayne moves soon, his body slinking down the bed as he spreads your thighs. You bite your lip, smiling at him as you caress his cheek, letting him hitch your legs over his shoulders as he pushes the shirt up to expose your panties.

“Isn’t ah- isn’t it your birthday?” you whisper, using his words and playing with his hair as he noses at your panties.

“It is,” Zayne says softly, pressing a kiss to the little bow on your panties. “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted and more, love. I’ll always be yours… in every life.”

You smile hazily, utterly love-struck (you have been since you first met him). Zayne lowers his head and a satisfied sigh escapes you, thighs spreading open a little wider for him as he licks over the fabric of your panties.

Zayne’s mouth is always wonderful, knows exactly what you need all the time and you let yourself sink deeper, letting go of yourself completely for him.

It’s almost perfect, if not for the loud thud that sounds outside and the panicked slew whispered curses that manage to seep in through the walls of the villa. You scramble to sit up, flushing when you see a stunned Greyson standing just outside on the decking, the bag of hiking supplies spilt at his feet.

Ah. You’d forgotten about the little plan you’d made to go hiking. Zayne moves over you, tugging his shirt back down over your hips.

“I- you were late and- and Yvonne was impatient and so I-” Greyson begins to ramble and you wince. 

“We were getting ready,” Zayne says smoothly, sitting up as though nothing were wrong.

“With your face between her thighs?” Greyson blurts out, his cheeks flushing. 

“Sorry, Greyson” you say, shooting him an apologetic look, your own face beginning to heat up. “We’ll be ready in a moment.”

Greyson looks as though he wants to say more, his eyes darting before you both before he simply nods and walks briskly away, hiking supplies in tow. 

You groan, flopping back down onto the bed and bury your face into the pillows.

“That was horrible!”

Zayne lets out a low laugh, and you can feel him move, your brows furrowing when you lift your head and realize the room has gotten darker, the curtains pulled shut.

“Zayne?”

“I’m not in the mood for hiking,” Zayne responds, “there are other activities that provide the same amount of energy expenditure.”

You don’t know whether to laugh or to snap at him, letting him pull you closer, this time his fingers grasping your hips as he tugs you up onto your knees, ass in the air.

“I don’t think-”

You gasp when he grabs at the fat of your ass, his lips landing soft kisses to the cheeks of your ass before your panties come off for good and his face delves between your thighs.

“Z- Zayne,” you drag out his name whiningly, fingers grabbing at the sheets as you drool into the pillows.

“My perfect girl,” he whispers into the heat of your cunt, “pretty, little love.”

“I love you!” you wail, heart lurching and hips swaying back.

Zayne groans at your declaration, his tongue working faster as he slips two fingers into you. 

So much for hiking.

oh so im going to kiss this man so hard

LAUNDRY STORIES WITH ZAYNE

pt1 headcanons. sfw

ZAYNE WHO RETURNS TO YOUR CROSS-LEGGED FIGURE ON HIS BED HOLDING THE WHITE LATTICE-PATTERN LAUNDRY BASKET. He gives you a small smile as he comes through the doorframe and sets the basket on the bed and takes a seat himself on the mattress, already getting a start on folding the clothes freshout the dryer.

There’s a gentle light coming in through the window, and the sky such a pure light blue shade for the autumn.

The t-shirts and sweatshirts get neatly folded quite quickly with your two pairs of hands, and Zayne begins stacking them to store them. All that’s left in the apple-pie-latticed basket are a sea of mostly white socks.

Zayne turns back to you after storing everything where it should be in the wardrobe, quite inquisitive at the scene he’s now watching.

He flumps down again at the bed and already curiously grabbing one of the rolled pair of socks.

“Well this is unusual,” he says piqued in his hypnotic velvet voice, rotating the sock like if studying it will uncover something new. “I didn’t know you organised your socks this way.”

“Mhm. Foolproof for finding the right sock,” you comment.

Of course he won’t tell you that you can just make piled matching pairs. It’s cuter this way anyway.

He lets the little snowy ball smelling of fabric softener rest in his palms between his opened thighs as he queries back to you, looking a bit distracted making the little rolls.

Before you know, the side of your cheek is met with a small bun of white against your cheek, making you look up to Zayne extending his arm to a v-shape to let it reach you.

“It’s look like a little snowball,” he remarks, with his signature little smile on his face.

Now you’re clearly piqued by his behaviour, which you let know with a breathy smile.

IT’S VERY EARLY IN THE MORNING, AND THE SKY IS STILL GLOWING DARK INDIGO IN THE WET WINTER WEATHER.

Zayne is already risen for work, finishing with what he needs to get done before heading off to the hospital. He’s in the kitchen under only the dim white light of the range hood, looking at his phone for any updates in his schedule. He already transcribed a doodle response and short phrase to your mess on his wall-hung calendar, which he had to complete under the very same scarce light source because it’s so dark outside it illusions night time. There’s leftovers suitable for breakfast in the fridge in case you doze in for a few more minutes and don’t have as much time to prepare it.

The reminder to not forget his watch jolts to his mind, and so he enters the bedroom very quietly, so very slowly turning the door handle and slowly lifting it back up to lessen the recoil sound.

In the same cautious manner he slides open his wardrobe to find his watch. He can’t find it for a while, and turns his head around to where you’re still sleeping.

From his viewpoint looking at you, he can see a little further behind you something silver shine on your bedside table. Ah, he remembers now: when he came home last night, very tired, you insisted on giving him a well deserved hand massage before he head into the shower. With the both of you sat at the foot of the bed when he’d just come in the bedroom, gently kneading his hands…; you took the watch off him then.

But, then you did put it back in its correct place, because he remembers finding it there as he dressed into his loungewear whilst you took your own shower followed by him.

However, before closing the closet door, Zayne quickly began missing your touch on his hands again; which led to him fiddling with his watch, his favourite watch, engraved with his name in your handwriting and a heart.

Then he recalls how he had the watch on during dinner, and how you took it off him again when he settled in bed with you and you continued on his hand massage for a little while. That’s how it wound up there.

Zayne quietly steadies to grab his memento of you on your bedside table, and a very rumbled and near silent thunder brings a streak of light between the small gap of the closed curtains.

From the short-lived light source, he was able to catch glimpse on how your fluffy house slippers now appeared a bit stained and discoloured. He surveyed it was likely from the night you crept to the garden, still in your pijamas and slippers to let a collar-clad cat inside the solarium for the night; who was well received with food, water, and a woolly blanket. It was cold and the grass damp that late night, which is the reason why you let the cat come in and why your slippers got soiled.

Zayne grabs a page from a handy small notepad handing ‘round, clicks his pen once and starts writing on it. He clicks it once more and puts it away.

Zayne follows by lifting your hand that’s almost hanging off the bed and bringing it to his lips with a kiss, settling it back down gently, and turning to fasten his watch clasp secure on his wrist.

Your lover then bends down to pick up your slippers, his flexed index securing one slipper, and a flexed middle finger securing the other. Then he makes a job of toeing off his own slippers.

You wake up a few hours later, and notice the little note by your bedside: “Your slippers are in the washing machine. Wear mine.”

You look down and sure enough, Zayne’s slippers are facing outwards from the bed, just where your feet would naturally go to stand.

my first ever fic… aaahhhhuuuurrrggggg!!!!!!!!

obsessed with the sea PART 1 - sylus x rafayel - started as a drabble.. then i kept going HEHEHEHE

WARNINGS [nsfw-ish (will get there dw), kidnapping, obsession]

Because Sylus would see Rafayel, elegantly dressed with those beautiful pearlescent eyes and think

I just have to have him.

─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───

He would begin with buying and collecting Rafayel’s work anonymously, no matter the price.

“Rafayel, I am please to say another one of your works has been sold to that secret admirer of yours.” Thomas remarks proudly, standing behind the seat Rafayel is currently occupying, watching the current sale close. It’s safe to say that Rafayel was quietly freaked out.

Well, not that quietly.

“No, I have no idea who this nut job is-

“Rafayel I’m sure whoever it is just feels happiness when they see your art. Isn’t this a good thing?”

Dragging a hand down his face, Rafayel whines, “MC Listen, I’m getting a really weird feeling about this. My newest work was exhibited to the public for less than 30 minutes, and poof! Gone! THIS IS THE 5TH WORK.”

A exhausted sigh is all that can be heard from the other end of the line.

“And they’re sending the checks in with red handwriting and a black feather- god I’ve caught the eye of a damned vampire.”

MC’s sigh could be heard again from the speaker of Rafayel’s car. “Just relax okay? If anything feels ‘really weird’ again just text Thomas to cancel the sales.”

“Alright, alright, but Lumerians have the best gut feelings!!” The call ends and Rafayel spends his drive back to the studio in what can only be described by him as ‘anguish’ (dramatic little shit). But what greets him at his door step gives him more reason to be on edge.

“Oh good grief.”

The sight of 12 bouquets of red roses causes Rafyel to cringe, while cautiously leaning closer to peer at the card-

A card written in red handwriting with an accompanying black feather

-causes a string of elegant curses to fall from Rafayel’s scowled lips.

─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───

Once Sylus feels he has gotten Rafayel’s attention, he decides to stop playing with his food and make a move. But oh, busy is the leader of Onychinus. With deals to make, bodies to bury and fine wine to drink, he got his devoted twins to catch him his little fishie.

“I can walk you know-OW!” The masked man adjusted Rafayel on his shoulder, he must have jostled the poor prince of the sea a little too much. Hearing his discomfort, the other comes up beside him. “Sorry Mr Rafayel, but we need to make sure you don’t make a run for it.” The man holding him nodded, “Yeah, boss will be pretty mad if we have to spend extra time hunting you down again. Oh and expecially if-”

“For the love of the sea just shut up.”

Rafayel was then buckled into the back of a van, with a bag shoved over his head. “HEY! My hair!”

Oh little fishie, no need to be so dramatic~

─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───

A room would be prepared for the God of the Sea, big and glamorous. Sylus wanted only the best for his guest. He would leave an equally suited… outfit.

Rafayel found himself in a bedroom, somehow bigger than his own.

‘Oh god… they’re filthy rich.’

He gawked at the finely painted detailed of the ceiling, swimming fish in an aquamarine pond trailing down to the windows that felt like glass walls towering over him, blinding him with the light of the moon. The sheets beneath him calmed him. He could feel each hand stitched detail under his fingertips, silk as soft as bubbles dancing along his face from eons ago. But it only calmed him for a second, before his eyes saw what he assumed was his pre selected attire for the evening.

‘Oh’

Rafayel strutted to the locked door and slammed his fist to it. “IM NOT WEARING THIS- YOU CANNOT SERIOUSLY EXPECT ME TO WEAR THAT AFTER YOU KIDNAPPED ME!” He looked back at where the clothing lay on the bed. A sheer black dress shirt with cuffs at the wrists sat folded atop a pair of black slacks. A blush rose upon Rafayel’s cheeks.

A soft chuckle from the other side of the door nealy ripped a shriek from Rafayel’s lips.

“Sweetie, if you expect to eat tonight I suggest you put those pretty hands to good use, and get dressed.”

Steam may as well have erupted from Rafayel’s ears. From the anger or.. something else- but he wasn’t about to ponder on that.

When Rafayel responded with a huff, another chuckle rumbled from the stranger outside the door.

“Good. Dinner will be ready in 10 minutes. I’ll be expecting you.”

With the sounds of shoes on marble fading, Rafayel skinks to the floor, purple waves clutched between his fingers.

Not in anger.

Nor in sorrow.

Not even in regret.

He wished he felt fear, the need to escape. That any bone in his body would compel him to see reason because for great seas sake he had been kidnapped.

But he didn’t.

All he could feel was thrill. A feeling he hadn’t felt for a long time.

He finally let out the breath he was holding. And the tingle that rolled down his spine to the base of his cock ripped a curse from his lungs.

“O’ great seven seas give me strength.”

─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───

Looking at his reflection cased Rafayel to flush the deepest shade of crimson, to the point the noted down the shade for a possible work, if he got out of this ordeal alive. The sheer black top sculpted his shoulders and waist like a greek vessel, all the while the black slacks cupped his behind as if it was plastered to his skin.

‘good lord, when will my stylist ever fit me like this?’

Before he could slap himself on the hand and remind himself of the situation, a knock came from the door. “Dinner is ready for you Sir, the Boss hopes you will accompany him.” Rafayel sighed. What choice did he have? After all, if he was being treated so well, surely they weren’t going to harm him, and may the Gods remember that he himself was also a God. He could handle whatever this was.

“Fine, but let your boss know that I am unhappy with my treatment.” The door unlocks from the outer-side, and opens to reveal the same two who had captured him. “Oh c’mon not you guys again.” The two masked men straighten themselves at the sight of Rafayel in his new luxury attire. Expecting the twins to squander on, they remain quiet, to Rafayel’s surprise. He’s not sure if he should be relieved or not. While being led to what he expects to be the dinning room, Rafayel takes his time to admire to decor and architecture of the place he was so quickly whisked away to.

He notes the abundance of white marble with black veins swirling within them, draped in various shades of crimson cutrains. Ash wood accents line the doorways and ceilings while black leather furniture seems to be in every room with the space available for it. He makes a conscious effort to remember which doors are open. Those that are not seem to loom with a mystery he doesn’t wish to know. His escorts stop infront of a grand double doored room, and they each take a door and swing it open.

Rafayel is honestly disassociating.

Busy trying to understand why someone would love such ugly ultra-modern decor, when the room he found himself in before was a complete contrast. While stroling into the dining room, he continues to admier the ceiling skirting and stays completely unaware of the broad figure seated at the end of the long dining table. The door shuts behind him with a boom.

Rafayel whips his head back at the doors, and then (finally fucking hell this airhead) looks to the head of the table.

─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───

Part 2 maybe..?

obsessed with the sea PART 1 - sylus x rafayel - started as a drabble.. then i kept going HEHEHEHE

WARNINGS [nsfw-ish (will get there dw), kidnapping, obsession]

Because Sylus would see Rafayel, elegantly dressed with those beautiful pearlescent eyes and think

I just have to have him.

─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───

He would begin with buying and collecting Rafayel’s work anonymously, no matter the price.

“Rafayel, I am please to say another one of your works has been sold to that secret admirer of yours.” Thomas remarks proudly, standing behind the seat Rafayel is currently occupying, watching the current sale close. It’s safe to say that Rafayel was quietly freaked out.

Well, not that quietly.

“No, I have no idea who this nut job is-

“Rafayel I’m sure whoever it is just feels happiness when they see your art. Isn’t this a good thing?”

Dragging a hand down his face, Rafayel whines, “MC Listen, I’m getting a really weird feeling about this. My newest work was exhibited to the public for less than 30 minutes, and poof! Gone! THIS IS THE 5TH WORK.”

A exhausted sigh is all that can be heard from the other end of the line.

“And they’re sending the checks in with red handwriting and a black feather- god I’ve caught the eye of a damned vampire.”

MC’s sigh could be heard again from the speaker of Rafayel’s car. “Just relax okay? If anything feels ‘really weird’ again just text Thomas to cancel the sales.”

“Alright, alright, but Lumerians have the best gut feelings!!” The call ends and Rafayel spends his drive back to the studio in what can only be described by him as ‘anguish’ (dramatic little shit). But what greets him at his door step gives him more reason to be on edge.

“Oh good grief.”

The sight of 12 bouquets of red roses causes Rafyel to cringe, while cautiously leaning closer to peer at the card-

A card written in red handwriting with an accompanying black feather

-causes a string of elegant curses to fall from Rafayel’s scowled lips.

─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───

Once Sylus feels he has gotten Rafayel’s attention, he decides to stop playing with his food and make a move. But oh, busy is the leader of Onychinus. With deals to make, bodies to bury and fine wine to drink, he got his devoted twins to catch him his little fishie.

“I can walk you know-OW!” The masked man adjusted Rafayel on his shoulder, he must have jostled the poor prince of the sea a little too much. Hearing his discomfort, the other comes up beside him. “Sorry Mr Rafayel, but we need to make sure you don’t make a run for it.” The man holding him nodded, “Yeah, boss will be pretty mad if we have to spend extra time hunting you down again. Oh and expecially if-”

“For the love of the sea just shut up.”

Rafayel was then buckled into the back of a van, with a bag shoved over his head. “HEY! My hair!”

Oh little fishie, no need to be so dramatic~

─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───

A room would be prepared for the God of the Sea, big and glamorous. Sylus wanted only the best for his guest. He would leave an equally suited… outfit.

Rafayel found himself in a bedroom, somehow bigger than his own.

‘Oh god… they’re filthy rich.’

He gawked at the finely painted detailed of the ceiling, swimming fish in an aquamarine pond trailing down to the windows that felt like glass walls towering over him, blinding him with the light of the moon. The sheets beneath him calmed him. He could feel each hand stitched detail under his fingertips, silk as soft as bubbles dancing along his face from eons ago. But it only calmed him for a second, before his eyes saw what he assumed was his pre selected attire for the evening.

‘Oh’

Rafayel strutted to the locked door and slammed his fist to it. “IM NOT WEARING THIS- YOU CANNOT SERIOUSLY EXPECT ME TO WEAR THAT AFTER YOU KIDNAPPED ME!” He looked back at where the clothing lay on the bed. A sheer black dress shirt with cuffs at the wrists sat folded atop a pair of black slacks. A blush rose upon Rafayel’s cheeks.

A soft chuckle from the other side of the door nealy ripped a shriek from Rafayel’s lips.

“Sweetie, if you expect to eat tonight I suggest you put those pretty hands to good use, and get dressed.”

Steam may as well have erupted from Rafayel’s ears. From the anger or.. something else- but he wasn’t about to ponder on that.

When Rafayel responded with a huff, another chuckle rumbled from the stranger outside the door.

“Good. Dinner will be ready in 10 minutes. I’ll be expecting you.”

With the sounds of shoes on marble fading, Rafayel skinks to the floor, purple waves clutched between his fingers.

Not in anger.

Nor in sorrow.

Not even in regret.

He wished he felt fear, the need to escape. That any bone in his body would compel him to see reason because for great seas sake he had been kidnapped.

But he didn’t.

All he could feel was thrill. A feeling he hadn’t felt for a long time.

He finally let out the breath he was holding. And the tingle that rolled down his spine to the base of his cock ripped a curse from his lungs.

“O’ great seven seas give me strength.”

─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───

Looking at his reflection cased Rafayel to flush the deepest shade of crimson, to the point the noted down the shade for a possible work, if he got out of this ordeal alive. The sheer black top sculpted his shoulders and waist like a greek vessel, all the while the black slacks cupped his behind as if it was plastered to his skin.

‘good lord, when will my stylist ever fit me like this?’

Before he could slap himself on the hand and remind himself of the situation, a knock came from the door. “Dinner is ready for you Sir, the Boss hopes you will accompany him.” Rafayel sighed. What choice did he have? After all, if he was being treated so well, surely they weren’t going to harm him, and may the Gods remember that he himself was also a God. He could handle whatever this was.

“Fine, but let your boss know that I am unhappy with my treatment.” The door unlocks from the outer-side, and opens to reveal the same two who had captured him. “Oh c’mon not you guys again.” The two masked men straighten themselves at the sight of Rafayel in his new luxury attire. Expecting the twins to squander on, they remain quiet, to Rafayel’s surprise. He’s not sure if he should be relieved or not. While being led to what he expects to be the dinning room, Rafayel takes his time to admire to decor and architecture of the place he was so quickly whisked away to.

He notes the abundance of white marble with black veins swirling within them, draped in various shades of crimson cutrains. Ash wood accents line the doorways and ceilings while black leather furniture seems to be in every room with the space available for it. He makes a conscious effort to remember which doors are open. Those that are not seem to loom with a mystery he doesn’t wish to know. His escorts stop infront of a grand double doored room, and they each take a door and swing it open.

Rafayel is honestly disassociating.

Busy trying to understand why someone would love such ugly ultra-modern decor, when the room he found himself in before was a complete contrast. While stroling into the dining room, he continues to admier the ceiling skirting and stays completely unaware of the broad figure seated at the end of the long dining table. The door shuts behind him with a boom.

Rafayel whips his head back at the doors, and then (finally fucking hell this airhead) looks to the head of the table.

─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───

Part 2 maybe..?

AAAAWWWWWWWWWWWWWW

bakugou is the type of guy to show up at your door with flowers in his hand and shoo you out of the way with his hips and rummage through your kitchen like he owns the place (maybe he bought the building just to know you’re safe) and before you know it he’s whipped up a three course meal (“none of that small ass portions!”) and you ask why such a fancy dinner date on a random thursday

“We held hands for the first time two years ago today, you idiot,”

i have something to say…

Please tell him this I hope he finds out someday about this dream

had a dream last night that jerma tried to convince everyone that he died so he could secretly come back out of retirement and stream again and the disguise he used so people wouldnt know it was him streaming was just a png of a triangular prism instead of a facecam and also he insisted that his name was 'geronimo' and he was totally convinced that nobody knew it was him even though the whole chat would yell at him every time he streamed that we all knew who he was and to prove us all wrong he shared his own address and said that 'the real jerma wouldnt live here, he hates this city!!' and finally people convinced him we knew who he was by comparing audio files of him sneezing to prove that he was jerma and then he cried for like an hour straight uninterrupted and then i woke up.

SCREAMED SO LOUD LOOK WHAT I GOT ON SILVER GALAXY

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ݁ ˖ RISKY BUSINESS | A ZAYNE & SYLUS MINI SERIES.

࣪ ִֶָ☾. synopsis : everyone knows that internships can suck. but you might've just gotten your big break this summer, working under none other than the infamous doctor zayne at akso hospital. it's a once in a lifetime opportunity for you to learn from the best, however not all is what it seems. dr. zayne isn't known for his kind hearted nature or easy going attitude, keeping up with him will be a feat in itself, especially in such close quarters where nothing can be hidden, not even your most sacred secrets. not only that, but an anonymous investor seems to be intent on ensuring this internship, that somehow landed in your lap, is used to the fullest, even if it means going out of their way to ensure you make the most of it in all sorts of ways.

ִֶָ☾. genre : smut, porn with plot and lots and lots of feelings. minor angst and some fluff sprinkled in here and there

ִֶָ☾. content warnings : each chapter will have it's own designated warnings at the top, however please note that this mini series will contain various content ranging from nsfw to some minor angst to some tooth rotting fluffy moments. because of the nature of this story it will be rated nsfw/mdni.

࣪ ִֶָ☾. lili's notes : WAAAAH GUYS IT'S HERE IT'S FINALLY HERE .o(≧∀≦)o I've been sitting on this idea for so so long and I'm so ecstatic to finally announce it!! this was originally only going to be a one part fic, as part of the interstellar-in's summer collab, however as I started writing zayne's piece I realized that there's a far bigger story to be built and I couldn't help myself. thus we ended up here (ㅅ´ ˘ `) I truly hope you guys will love this series as much as I do and I can't wait to hear what you all think!! <333

please leave a comment below if you'd like to be tagged in the first chapter — expect it to be realising sometime this week!!

CHAPTER ONE

THE BEGINNING OF THE END.

CHAPTER TWO.

A WOLF IN SHEEPS CLOTHING.

CHAPTER THREE.

FINALITY.

might be this guy idk

𝗙𝗔𝗩𝗢𝗥𝗜𝗧𝗘 𝗠𝗔𝗟𝗘 𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗥𝗔𝗖𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝗫 𝗙𝗘𝗠! 𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗘𝗥. ⌇ 18+ content + mdni. petnames. choking, spanking, marking, a lil rough.

❛❛ YOU'RE TAKING IT LIKE SUCH A GOOD GIRL BABY, I'M SO PROUD OF YOU. JUST A LITTLE MORE, YEAH?❞

Your toes curl and your falls into a painful, pretty arch for him as he wraps one thick bicep around your throat, securing you in a headlock as he pounds you from behind. His hips snap forward with calculated force, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips as he watches your ass bounce against his hips with every hard thrust he gives you. You're dripping everywhere, over his cock, onto the sheets, your thighs stained with his cum from your shared previous orgasm. Your clit aches and your muscles burn in an effort to hold yourself up on your hands and knees.

You take and take and take it, like his good girl. Cause that's what you are. You love it when he gets a little rough with you, when he makes you lay down and take it — when he scatters deep bruises across your hips, painting you in his marks, when he ensures your soft skin of your thighs and ass would remember the imprint of his hand for days to come.

The sweetest praise always falls from his lips when it comes to you, honey coated words that send a surge through your heart and ignites heat beneath your skin. But when it comes to fucking you he's ruthless and unashamed, he'll bite, bruise and break however he pleases because he knows you can take it. He manhandles you in whatever position he sees fit and fucks you until you're seeing stars, until you're crying those pretty little tears that he loves so much, begging and pleading that you can't — but somehow he'll always find a way for you to give him one more.

You whine, nails scratching at the thick muscle of his forearm, your head spinning pleasantly as he continues to pound you, cooing in your ear, "There you go. That's my girl. Can feel that pretty little cunt squeezing around me. You like it when I get a little rough with you, huh? Yeah you do... Yeah, listen to how you're dripping for me. Nasty little thing."

JERMA BURGER PLUSHIES NOW FOR SALE! 🍔

HERE

I think the idea of getting mad at Raf and taking him into a pet shop and saying ‘I’d like to return this’ is really funny

I think the idea of being mad at Rafayel and eating a fish-based meal in front of him is really funny

the things id let this man do to me are diabolical

ahem

So this fic turned from drabble to more than Drabble thing so :0 it’s coming dw :>

writing a sylus x rafayel fic

Just thought anyone interested should know hehe

MC : oh shut up

Sylus : you shut up

MC : make me

Sylus : I will

Sylus : but you might moan a little