owlespresso

[owlespresso]

He’s back

[owlespresso]

Ao3 does not need an algorithm, you're just lazy

Ao3 does not need a 1-5 star rating system, you just want to bring down authors writing for FREE

Ao3 does not need automatic censorship, it is an archive, therefore anything can be posted

Writing or reading about something illegal does not mean the author nor the reader condones it, if that were true, you could never read a story involving anything negative

Purity culture is ruining fan culture and you all are fucking annoying

[owlespresso]

(michael kaiser x reader // 18+ MDNI // cws: yandere kaiser, stalking, reader smokes cigarettes, toxic behaviors // wc: 2.2k)

"so you really did it?"

"did what?" you ask, exhaling a puff of cigarette smoke into the frigid air. your fingers are numb.

"break up with him!"

"kaiser?" you snort, taking another drag before speaking. "i guess? i called things off earlier today, but we weren't actually dating. so it's not like it's really a breakup."

"... sure."

your friend on the line hardly sounds convinced. but it is... true. you and michael kaiser never dated. you never had a label, never discussed any type of commitment or potential future together. though you had spent more than one weekend (try a dozen plus) at his apartment, oscillating between cuddling, fucking, and being in each other's presence's in a way that was distinctly not platonic—

you and michael kaiser were never dating. you were not together. (Regardless of him flying you out to one match in Vienna, and the another in Rome—) you weren't dating.

you never were.

you never expected to either. michael kaiser was transparently damaged, and handling it in an unproductive, destructive manner. you saw this from a mile away, but entertained your chemistry regardless. maybe it was the influence of a few drinks and a few heated arguments that got you in bed with him to begin with, despite clocking his toxic tendencies early on.

you fought a lot, for not being a couple.

care made kaiser squirrely and angry. kindness made him snap. aggression, biting and clawing— angry sex that metastasized into something carnal and closer to a fight resonated with him far more than little affections. you only saw moments of vulnerability from him when you were both fucked out and exhausted. or, when he thought you weren't looking. you felt him pet through your hair while he thought you were asleep, more than once.

you broke up with kaiser because you couldn't handle things as they were anymore.

maybe you wanted to be loved. maybe you wanted to be held, openly and tenderly. maybe, you wanted a partner and not a man with an ego problem who fucked like a god and treated you like invasive creature nine times out of ten when you showed him affectionate.

(you just want to be loved.)

the luxuries and innate chemistry of your relationship simply wasn't worth it.

so, you broke things off. over text, because it seemed the least messy.

[you]: hey, what we have isn't working for me anymore. i don't want to see you any longer. i care about you a lot, but what we have is not sustainable. i wish you all the best, michael.

(you try not to be too affectionate with your message, lest you rile him up. you want to be gentle, but not too... emotional. it's better this way.)

you block him after sending the text. clean breaks— it's kinder in the long run, isn't it? even if it hurts more in the moment.

you sigh into the receiver, tossing your cigarette butt to the side, "i mean it, we weren't ever serious."

"if you say so."

you kick at the snow beneath your feet. there's an inch or two of it on the ground, coating the cobblestones of the path you walk on. the river that cuts through your city runs, despite the cold. there's no one around, and it's peaceful beneath the amber-tinged street lights.

"you don't sound convinced."

"because i'm not." your friend pauses. "... have you seen his instagram story from today?"

"nope," you pop the word from your lips. "i blocked him."

"already?"

"immediately."

"damn. that's cold of you."

"you don't know kaiser like i do," you shake your head. it's better this way, to be cleaner.

(you have always been able to foresee the way that man would tear you apart, if you misstepped too grievously.) 

"well regardless," a notification comes up on your phone. your friends has sent a screenshot of kaiser's story. "look. he flew out to your city."

your stomach drops. sure enough, the screenshot has a location stamp over a photo of kaiser's deft hands, twirling a flute of champagne from what is clearly a first class seat.

"... maybe he has a match."

(he doesn't. you know this; there's no league that plays in your city.)

"or, he's coming to see you!"

"that would be insane," you laugh. that bastard... wouldn't, would he? he is... was halfway across the world.

"it would be romantic."

"it would be insane," you repeat.

you turn on your heel, back the way your came through the parkway. your apartment is... about a mile away, maybe. it's dark and cold, but you can probably get back there quickly. you're not sure where this particular sense of haste comes from—

but it's a frantic sort of feeling.

your friend pouts, "you have no sense of romance then, i guess."

(and your friend doesn't know michael kaiser.)

anxiety pitches around between your stomach and lungs. you swallow, and it feels too dry.

"i promise i do," you shake your head. "that's the problem."

"sure. tell me more about it later, 'kay? i gotta get ready to go out. let me know if your man shows up!"

your stomach rolls. "gotcha."

"bye bye!"

the line goes dead. your drop your arm to the side, your phone like a deadweight in your hand. you take a few steadying breaths, looking out at the rush of the river. the roar of it is just far enough away to not be overstimulating. the rest of the night is blanketed in snow and stillness.

you nearly trip as you begin to walk again, panic unfurling in your chest with each step.

(there's no way michael came all the way to your city, on a fucking last minute flight no less, for you. there's no literally no fucking way.)

why would he anyway? to try and salvage your not relationship? that hardly logical. there has to be another reason— his team has had him in a few PR campaigns lately, maybe... maybe that's it.

(you know that you are lying to yourself.)

you slip, just for a step or two, on some ice that's beneath the layer of fluffy snow. barely, you keep yourself upright, your arms flying up to find your balance once more. you take a steadying breath, pressing a hand to your chest.

"you should be more careful."

the blood in your veins freezes, numb and chilled like the air around you. your head jerks up.

kaiser sits on a bench, about ten paces in from of you. his arms are spread out over the back of it. he regards you with a tilt of his head, almost playful.

he looks you up and down, voice full of poison, "you could have hurt yourself."

"why the fuck are you here?" your voice barely manages to stay steady.

"why wouldn't i be?" kaiser shakes his head, a laugh bubbling in his chest. the cadence of it makes you feel nothing but unease. "i've got a match in London. i'm just picking you up."

"what are you talking about?" you swallow, audibly. you know that he hears it.

"don't be obtuse." he stands up. your stomach fills with leaden dread.

"you don't be obtuse," you snap back. "we're done. this—" you point between the two of you, "— is over."

"that's a mutual decision." he steps toward you.

you step back. "no, it's not."

kaiser is faster than you, he's up against your front in a moment. it makes you stumble back, nearly falling on the same patch of ice as before.

deftly, he gets an arm around your waist. the force of it is immediately too much, too tight, too hard. you're pulled against him, chest-to-chest. you brace your hands on his shoulders, some attempt at distance, but he doesn't budge. he stares down at you, the cold heat of his own presence engulfing you effortlessly.

"i-it's not," you whisper, voice wobbling. "you need to leave."

"you're an idiot."

"please let go."

"now, you're doing this on purpose, aren't you?" kaiser smiles, something acidic that you can almost taste.

he bends the two of you, so your back arches. you scramble against him for some purchase.

"there's nothing to 'let go'," his sneers. you hit your fist against his shoulder. "you're coming with me to London, and you'll stop throwing this tantrum now, or along the way."

"it's a not fucking tantrum!" you snap at him. your voice matches the roar of the river. you meet his gaze, angry slipping into your tone as it so often does with him. "we are done. i don't want anything to do with you, michael— especially now. i can't believe you hopped on a fucking plane to, what, harass me on my own turf?"

his palms circles your jaw in a swift, uncomfortably fast movement. the pressure of him is unyielding. you can't look anywhere other than him.

the way he looks at you scares you, now more than ever. the frigid blue of his eyes is haunting and as hollow as it is full of vitriol. anger. all directed at you.

"i 'hopped on a plane' to take you home," kaiser dips you further. if he wasn't holding you, you'd crash to the ground. "i should've done so earlier, but i didn't expect that you'd lose your shit so quickly."

you weren't—, "i’m not—"

his grip on your jaw grows tighter. from a distance, this may look romantic to an onlooker.

from your position, you are in the jaws of a beast that you thought you had escaped.

"you're mine—" he pats your cheek, hard, as he tells you. the angle is bad, given it's with the same hand that's holding your jaw. your brain rattles inside of your skull. "don't think you can run away just because you get a bit scared."

"that's not why i broke up with you—"

"but, it is."

you want to cry, run away, jump in that goddamn fucking river. "no—"

"i get it," kaiser noses into your cheek. he's just as cold as you are. "it's scary, loving someone. i'm scared too"

"i—" you don't love him, you can't love him—

he pulls back just enough to dip your body as far as it can go, and look into your eyes, his own pupils blown.

"let's be scared together," he says, just above a whisper, before slotting his lips against yours.

you slam your fist on his shoulders, his chest, the back of his head— you don't fucking care. whatever you can reach. kaiser doesn't relent. instead, he licks into your mouth. kisses you filthy in a public park just because he can.

maybe his words seem romantic, if you were to recount them to someone else. maybe. maybe someone could read his plane ride to you as a grand, romantically-driven gesture.

but, as he holds your head squarely in place, and fucks your mouth with his tongue, stealing your words and breath in tandem— you know, so lucidly, that none of kaiser intent here is 'romantic'. not in a way that's normal, that's sane.

no, this is the only way a deeper connection can exist for him, you think. the hand on your jaw slips down to your throat, holding you there. it's a collar and kaiser's holding the leash.

you whimper; you feel so foolish. you feel so fucking stupid for thinking you could disentangle yourself from him so easily.

"do you get it now?" kaiser says against you lips.

all you can do is nod, it's all the action he allows you.

all of the fights and tension that made connection between you before so intoxicating— it evolved into this. it was always destined to. you've been ensnared since day one, but didn't have the foresight to see you.

kaiser did, though.

as he pulls away, you're light-headed. he rights you and steadies you at the waist. he pats your head and even coos at you.

"are you done now?" he begins to walk you with a hand at your lower back— back in the direction you came. probably toward the nice hotel in the center of town where he undoubtedly has a suite. where he'll fuck you stupid into the king mattress. "if you cry, i'll just make it worse."

'worse'.

you shake your head, hard and fast, and suck down any tears beading at the corners of your eyes.

he seems pleased. "good."

there's nothing you can do but walk by his side. this has always been his design, even if you couldn't see it. regardless of any attempts to sever things and run off, even cleanly, this is where you'll end up.

hip-to-hip, with his hand on your lower back. with the promise of pain and pleasure doled out to you in equal measure.

as you step through the doors of the, as expected, upscale hotel, a wave of warm, fragranced air hits you. and with it, some part of you sags, defeated so simply. crushed. you sniffle and rub at your eyes.

(you don't see kaiser smiling at your side. you don't see the way he slips the concierge a wad of bills with the understanding that he'll be given a room far away from others, and that you won't be disturbed.

he has work to do. you— were going to fucking leave him? he— he needs to make sure that you understand that that is not your choice to make.

and, as he sees you, stifling tears and shaking like a leaf, your little act shattered so seamlessly, he thinks you really are starting to get it.)

you are his.

[owlespresso]

I'm just saying if your game is rated M, you might as well get mileage out of it

God I feel that so hard, I feel like the most elegant way to handle the situation is to make the throuple options really obvious with not a lot of catty (ha) shit. But man I just want the evil fox to myself :/

I seem to remember them saying there would be no poly options. Which is some pussy shit, in my opinion. But adding poly routes would probably just be more work idk it's their game

[owlespresso]

God I feel that so hard, I feel like the most elegant way to handle the situation is to make the throuple options really obvious with not a lot of catty (ha) shit. But man I just want the evil fox to myself :/

I seem to remember them saying there would be no poly options. Which is some pussy shit, in my opinion. But adding poly routes would probably just be more work idk it's their game

[owlespresso]

ur latest post is so real. like i am not competing with VERE are we kidding. I WOULD NOT WIN HES SOOOOOO CUNTY AND GORGEOUS. also like its an overdone trope i think

both of these things. but mostly the fact that it's overdone. i hateeee it when mc has to compete for a love interest in visual novels/dating sims. like a guy is NOTTT worth that kind of turmoil and i dont want to fight other girlies!!!

[owlespresso]

god i hope ais's route doesn't include a rivalry with vere over him. i love him but i am NOT fighting with another girlie for him

[owlespresso]

Just wanted to say I keep rereading your fic 'a strange horse' and I just LOVE it so much. The way Kuras and Horse interact is just so well written, perfect rapport, and I could honestly read a full length story of them it's so damned good. I come back to read it routinely, and the last line of 'Kuras has a feeling, a sensation he cannot ascertain the origin of, that he has just released something onto the streets.' is both hilarious and effectively sums up the entire piece. Long story short, this continues to live rent free in my head. Thank you for your writing <3

FDGHGHFGH THANK YOU! OC fic usually doesn't get much attention so this makes me very happy. Horse is just a silly little guy! I had something with her and Vere written but I'm not sure if I ever posted it.

[owlespresso]

For all those who complain about explicit “smutty” books or smut in fic in general:

Just be aware that a bill has been introduced in Oklahoma’s state senate (SB 593) that would make writing/publishing/owning an explicit romance book a felony.

So, when you come on here to espouse your “anti pro-ship” nonsense, or moan about how hard it is to find fics/art/books that aren’t “smutty” — know that this is the effect. You are being used as mouthpieces to help feed and perpetuate censorship. There is no room for censorship in fiction because it will never stop at what you deem morally “right”. It is about control and the restriction of speech. Your discomfort with sex in media does not make it wrong, and it certainly doesn’t mean you get to advocate for its restriction.

Do not be pawns in the far-right’s game. Do not call yourselves allys of any kind if you are willingly feeding into a pillar of far right extremism. It will not stop where you think it “should.”

[owlespresso]

flash comms (1.5k for $18)

Hey! I'm in need of some extra cash, so I'm offering 1.5 word comms for $18. If you're interested, DM me. Payments will be through paypal.

Fandoms: Fire Emblem (Fates, Awakening, Three Houses), Honkai Star Rail, Genshin Impact, Twisted Wonderland, Final Fantasy 14, 15, 16 & 7 (+ Crisis Core), RWBY, Fields of Mistria, others (just ask if you want something not listed here!)

What I will Write: NSFW, dubcon, noncon, yandere, femdom, maledom, reader-inserts, canon/canon pairings, most kinks tbh just ask What I won't write: Anything to do with human waste, bestiality, necrophilia, snuff, OCs

[owlespresso]

Cottony Fresh Water. Clive. tags: spice beneath the cut, femdom, riding, soft for the lovely @kianaflame23

There is heaven in this home, which sways above the lake waters like reeds at shoreline. There is heaven in the bedroom. Watery, cloud-filtered light peeks in through a thin gap in the curtains.

The gaps between the planks of the walls were padded with thick insulation months ago, at your behest. It’s dim inside, but it feels nicer, this way. Less exposed. In the shade you find shelter from the prying glare of the midday sun. 

Clive’s cornflower eyes almost glow in the dark, half-lidded. His face has grown lax, caught in hazy half-sleep. He’s been lulled by the warmth of your body, curled next to him, and your hands, which stroke up and down his sides. The air is suffused with his scent, all warm skin and masculinity. Fresh from a bath. The edges of his wet hair fan out on his pillow. 

He had redressed after washing. For nothing, in the end. As soon as he returned to your shared chambers, you’d all but clawed the shirt off of him, wrangling him into bed in a whirlwind of impatience and desperate need to feel your skin pressed against his own. He had obeyed with wry amusement once he overcame the initial surprise, both falling into bed and allowing himself to be arranged to your liking. A simple, easy obedience that goes to your head, the more you think about it. 

Your fingers comb through the dark strands of his hair, idly toying with the ends. 

“Tired?” you ask, smoothing your palm his stomach, savoring the way the bunched muscle tenses. 

“Content,” Clive corrects you, his voice a low rumble. Despite his insistence otherwise, he looks to be hovering between sleep and wakefulness. Moments like these make you endlessly grateful for the Hideaway’s steady, stable existence. Rarely could he get such sound rest on the road.

“Good,” you hum, pressing your lips to the round of his shoulder. A first, innocuous peck followed by another at the crook of his neck, and a third at the base. He sighs and shifts beneath you, all splayed out and loose and relaxed, watching you through half-lidded eyes. He’s somehow sunk further into the sheets, head tilted back to provide you more room. Sweetly obedient as you crawl atop of him, a hand coming to rest right above his heart.

One of your knees sneaks in between his thighs, gentle lips spreading a line of kisses below the sharp line of his jaw. His stubble prickles at your skin. Diverting your path to the plush surface of his chest prompts him into further wakefulness.

“If you want me, all you have to do is ask for me,” Clive informs you. Underneath that surface statement lies the sentiment “Just say the world and I’ll take care of you–I’ll do all the work” which is charming and delightful, but over the course of your relationship you’ve come to crave a rarer taste.

“Oh, I’ll have you. Just be patient and lay back for me,” you say the words into his skin, unable to part from his living warmth for even a moment.

In your silken robe you slither down the length of his body and core him with the sweet succor of your love. Your kisses become love bites. Your tender caresses become adoring squeezes. The delicate cup of your hands around his heavy cock becomes an appraisal. He’s already hard in your barely-there grasp. He makes wispy little sounds, sighs and soft breaths and when you reach the tenderest parts of him–whimpers. His cock is throbbing in your grasp and his balls are heavy beneath your other hand as you steadily work him.

His body follows your ministrations, chasing his own pleasure with each self-indulgent roll of his hips. It doesn’t take him too long to work him to that point–the one that has him writhing and fisting the sheets. His expression is taut with pleasure, eyes shut and lips parted, skin flushed red all the way down to his shoulders.

When he finds he can no longer bear it, he reaches for you and the nightstand at the same time. “Wait–” he gasps, voice gone raspy with his pleasure, “‘M close–come here, let me–” His half-statement is punctuated by the sound of the drawer opening. You don’t need to look to see that he’s taken out the oil, lathering it across his fingers with less finesse than he would perhaps like.

Even with his currently limited vocabulary, you can tell what he wants. You scoot forward, straddling him with your knees. You hum in delight as his broad fingers pet through your wet folds. He spreads your slick across your waiting cunt. His fingers slip inside of you, petting at your velvet walls. He works you open with crooked fingers, calloused thumb rubbing at your clit with each slow pass.

Your toes curl and your head tilts back, eyes fluttering shut. He works you until the pleasure builds and collapses into your first orgasm. It’s not a breath-stealing, whiplash of feeling. It’s a gentle wave of sun-dappled feeling which laps at you from head-to-toe. 

“Good?” he rumbles, unbearably tender.

A few breathless moments pass. His cock throbs, neglected, against your inner thigh. That’s what stirs you back into action–the realization that he’s not yet been fulfilled. 

Your fingers curl around the base of his cock, angling his head towards your folds. The tip kisses your entrance, the beginnings of over-sensitivity playing across your weary nerves. He fills you hot and heavy, cock rutting against every inch of your throbbing insides. It’s not a single, bold push inside. He fucks himself in, inch-by-inch, and steals your weary pants with open-mouthed kisses. A soft, broken little sound leaves you as he reaches home, leaving you so delightfully full.

Your hands find his shoulders and push, sending him back down against the pillows. He looks up at you with fat pupils, a man in the midst of rapture.

“So good, Clive,” you murmur, “You’re so lovely for me.”

You hadn’t thought it possible, but he flushes even more beneath the praise.

You clench around him, hot and wet and tight–and then you start riding. One of your hands braces on his shoulder, the other on his slightly bent knee. Your eyes shut, your brows knitting together in fierce concentration as you grind. No matter how many times you take him, he feels impossibly big. The kind of big that almost makes you panic on the first thrust, the kind you feel in your throat. 

He’s making soft little sounds underneath you. The entirety of him is flushed warm, blessed by both the Phoenix and the mighty Ifrit, but his palms are scalding where they find purchase on your hips. He restrains himself to the best of his ability, devoutly does his best to not to move you and grips hard enough to bruise in the process. An ache you’ll feel later, when you’re fucked out and fill of him.

“Let me move,” he gasps into the crook of your neck, lips scrubbing your skin. Goosebumps roll up your skin at the scratch of his stubble. “Please.” He sucks a smarting hickey onto your throat. hips giving an aborted little jump. 

You coo mockingly at him. “You always do all the work, Clive,” you mumble, thighs flexing. “You must be tired. Just lay back and–oh!” You jolt as his calloused thumb flicks your swollen clit. The throbbing bundle of nerves grinds against his pelvis with each sluggish pass of your hips, sending molten sparks jittering up your spine. 

“Let. Me,” Clive reiterates, but the desperate rasp he makes his demands in belies just how affected he is. You curl your legs back a little, lay your calves over his knees to make it even harder for him to get any purchase. Then, you press your foreheads together. There’s something molten, deadly determined in his iron stare.

“No,” you giggle, and ride him until you’re hitting that precious pleasure point. The tip of his cock strikes your G-spot, crackling your composure. A string of rapid curses and pitchy little noises rattles from your lips as you clench tight around him, tipping over the edge.

Clive, lost in the sweet grip of your spasming cunt, loses his inhibitions and bounces upwards a few times. It only takes a few, good strokes for him to reach his own climax. And then he’s spilling inside you, aimlessly mouthing at your collarbones and breathing in your scent.

It ends just like that. You, slumped bonelessly into the mattress and Clive with his arms braced around your waist, pulling you to his chest. Back to the position you’d started in. You fumble a hand up to his abdomen to stroke the skin there. Like you’re petting a particularly well-behaved hound. 

“You did well.” you hum, and Clive snorts.

“I hardly did anything. I laid there limp as a fish,” Clive sasses, resentful of his perceived lack of participation. He doesn’t quite understand it. He wants to be of service. He wants to draw orgasms from you like water from an abundant spring thaw. His frustration is part of the game. You could tell him, but he might give you a bit of an attitude about that. And you’re not quite in the mood to argue with him.

“And you looked so good while doing it,” you mumble. He huffs, but brokers no further arguments. Instead, his big hand settles between your shoulder blades and rests there, simply content to hold you.

[owlespresso]

Since I was right about the catacombs, I also want to mention that I think the Seaspring either runs under the city or it effects the groundwater there. There's some oracle path dialogue that lends credence to the theory. I'll see if I can find it later.

[owlespresso]

sometimes the sexiest fics don’t include any smut

[owlespresso]

omegaverse au where beta reader and alpha getou are just classmates until you're hurt on a mission one day and you snap at him when he goes to try and help you and he realizes that you don't trust him at all. so he begins to fixate on changing your mind and it starts out as an "i just can't stomach anyone thinking of me as a bad person" kind of thing but it gets more serious for him really fast

[owlespresso]

It kills me that erin hunter said "all of our pov characters this time around are women and two are beloved long time fan favorites :)" and we were like "oh great old woman yuri" and Erin fucking Hunter went "Crowfeather 4th divorce!!!!"

They fr have to kill off Crowfeather. I CANT DO THIS ANYMORE

[owlespresso]

They fr have to kill off Crowfeather. I CANT DO THIS ANYMORE

[owlespresso]

some of us felt some sorta way about this 1 am post huh

Desperate need for a man with the vibes of a sad shelter dog to crush me under 200+ lb of warm muscle