#(on his lap ideally)

[hikeyzz]

draining his balls making him cum over and over again just so he'll pass out and finally get a good night's sleep >>>>

[qiu-yan]

wei wuxian vs. pragmatism: what MDZS intends to say about righteousness

copy/pasting most of my rather bitchy reply into its own individual post because i think it deserves to stand on its own.

so i think we can all agree that MXTX intends for us to read MDZS and conclude that wei wuxian is ultimately a deeply heroic and righteous person. whether you as the reader agree with this assessment of wei wuxian's moral character is another question entirely, but at the very least it is fairly obvious to all of us that MXTX intends for us to read him as a good person.

so why does MXTX call wei wuxian a good person? what aspects of his character and which of his choices make him a good person? what moral framework and what definition of morality does MXTX employ in order to call wei wuxian a good person?

i posit that MXTX argues that wei wuxian is heroic precisely because he is not pragmatic - because he adheres to his moral ideals despite the consequences, and because he did not make moral sacrifices at critical junctures of his life. the first half of this post will argue that wei wuxian is not pragmatic. the second half of this post will argue that this is exactly why wei wuxian is heroic, and that the moral framework employed by MXTX is deeply idealistic instead.

so let's begin.

let's start by establishing two things.

first: what MXTX argues about morality through the narrative of MDZS and the reader's own beliefs about morality are two different things. me saying "MDZS argues that xyz is righteousness" and me saying "i think xyz is righteousness" are two different statements. the following analysis is concerned not with what i myself consider to be righteous, but rather what MXTX argues through MDZS is righteous.

second: wei wuxian is not pragmatic.

what does it mean to be pragmatic? unless we are speaking about the school of philosophy specifically (which i am not here), being pragmatic means being grounded in reality and focused on practical outcomes. it means being result-oriented and considering the consequences of your actions before you act; it means acting only after you have considered the potential consequences of all possible courses of action and have then decided which outcomes are acceptable. being pragmatic also means recognizing when achieving everything you want is impossible. and, in such situations, being pragmatic thus entails compromising to achieve a desired outcome, even if that means you don’t get everything they want. to put it in edgier terms, being pragmatic means being able to make moral sacrifices.

an idealistic person attempts the impossible. a pragmatic person recognizes when something truly is impossible.

wei wuxian is not pragmatic.

first, wei wuxian is not someone who carefully considers the consequences of his actions before he acts. in fact, he displays a startling lack of consideration for consequences. it repeatedly falls upon other characters to either try (and fail) to hold him back.

when wei wuxian punched jin zixuan for insulting first jiang yanli and then jiang cheng, did he consider that jiang fengmian and jin guangshan might then dissolve the betrothal, and that jiang yanli might have wanted to make a decision regarding that on her own? no. he just punched jin zixuan because he was mad that jin zixuan had insulted two people he loved.

when wen chao threatened mianmian, and lan wangji and jin zixuan stood up for mianmian, and then wei wuxian stood up for them by holding wen chao hostage in turn - did he consider that there might be consequences for humiliating and threatening the life of the son of a warmongering great sect leader who has already proven capable of attacking other sects? no. did he stop and think "alright, wen ruohan has already attacked the cloud recesses, which proves that he's willing to wage war against the other sects. threatening the son of a sect leader is an easy way to earn any sect leader's ire, and since i'm the first disciple of the jiang sect, this puts not just me but the entire jiang sect on wen ruohan's shitlist"? no. it would be one thing if wei wuxian weighed this possibility and then decided that rescuing an innocent girl and the people who defended her was more important was worth the risk - that would show that he considered the consequences and then made his choice. but the thought simply never entered his mind. he acted simply because he wanted to save mianmian, jin zixuan, and lan wangji from the wens; he did not think beyond that.

when wei wuxian busted the wen remnants out of the qiongqi pass labor camp, did he have a clear plan as to how he was going to weather the political fallout? did he have a plan more detailed than "live quietly in the burial mounds until everyone forgets about us"? no. when jiang cheng challenged him as to how he was going to survive the situation, he did not in fact offer anything more concrete than "we'll just wait for everyone else to forget about us." he blustered about being a once-in-a-generation genius who could accomplish the impossible, but he provided no actual plan as to how he was going to do it. this leads me to conclude that wei wuxian did not in fact have a long-term plan for handling the consequences when he went ham at the qiongqi pass camp - that, instead of weighing the consequences and then making his decision, he instead decided immediately that this was something he had to do, consequences be damned.

and then - on top of this - all of his following actions then point in the exact opposite direction of his stated plan of waiting for everyone to forget about them. because instead of doing anything to fade into the background, everything wei wuxian did instead just convinced the jianghu he was an intolerable threat.

and this was not a sustainable strategy.

one thing i really appreciate about MXTX is that she does not make the rest of the jianghu into one-dimensional villainous morons. it's quite easy for lazy writers who want a persecution plotline to have the rest of the story's society magically start hating on the protagonist for no good reason, to make every background character in the story's world a three-braincell moron. but MXTX is not that author. it speaks to MXTX's skill as an author that, from the perspective of the rest of the jianghu, fearing wei wuxian as a mortal threat was an entirely reasonable conclusion for them to come to.

first, the gentry's most recent direct interaction with wei wuxian during this time period is him threatening to kill all of them. when jin zixun doesn't give him the information he wants, wei wuxian straight up says: "if i want to kill everyone here, who can stop me? who dares stop me?" this is a threat! and - surprise - threatening to kill people naturally makes people think that you want to kill them! 

next, wei wuxian refined wen ning's dead body into the first sentient fierce corpse in history, and also the strongest fierce corpse in living memory - and then took wen ning with him on night-hunts. that's where the reputation of "the yiling patriarch and his ghost general" comes from. this very naturally made the rest of society fear him even more, because now the guy who has just recently threatened to kill you has demonstrated even more of the power to easily do so! the unparalleled power to do so, which no one else possesses and it would be very hard for anyone else to counter! add in the fact that wei wuxian's activities were also attracting prospective disciples - people gathering outside the burial mounds because they wanted to learn demonic cultivation - and naturally the public is even more frightened, because now it looks like the guy who threatened to kill all of you is also gathering the political force to do so!

the public is incorrect about wei wuxian's intentions, of course. but what does wei wuxian do to correct these misconceptions? to rehabilitate his public image, because now his public image has the life of not just himself but also all the wen remnants under his protection riding on it? to prove to the public that he isn't an active threat to their lives - that he does not seek to murder them all in their beds - that it is safe for them to allow him to live, and that they can in fact survive if they don't kill him?

nothing.

it would be one thing if the story mentioned how wei wuxian tried to correct the malicious rumors about himself and failed. but that is not what happened. what happened is that wei wuxian sat on his corpse mountain and let everyone else say what they wanted to say. and when he left his corpse mountain, it was to bring his one-of-a-kind unparalleled sentient fierce corpse with him on night-hunts, which of course just fanned the flames of the rumors instead. he doesn't even tell the prospective pupils camped on his front door to fuck off - he just sneaks in through the back door.

this is not pragmatic behavior. though you can argue that wei wuxian's strategy here was to become so powerful and so scary that no one would dare try to fight him, anyone with a brain can tell you that this is not a sustainable solution in the long-term. first, if you want to use threats to keep someone from attacking you, you also need to promise stability - you need to give people the reassurance that if they don't start shit with you, then you'll leave them alone too. if you drive the "threat" factor too high, as wei wuxian did, you instead end up convincing people that if they do nothing you'll kill them anyways - that they have no choice but to kill you if they want to survive.

second, if you want to use threats to keep someone from attacking you, you also need to prepare for the inevitability that, if someone does end up getting hurt, everyone will blame you first and no one will want to hear your side of the story. after all, if someone gets hurt, then the first suspect everyone looks towards will be the guy who's been consistently saying "i'm strong enough to hurt you! i'm strong enough to hurt you! don't start shit with me because i'm strong enough to end you!" for the past few months. this is basic common sense. and yes, the society of MDZS is unfair - wei wuxian deserved a proper trial and investigation after the death of jin zixuan. but the fact that society is unfair is something a pragmatic person would have recognized and planned for.

wei wuxian did not recognize and plan for this reality. even after he accidentally kills jin zixuan, wei wuxian still insists that if only the jianghu investigates jin zixun's hundred holes curse, they'll see that wei wuxian didn't cast the hundred holes curse, they'll see that there was more scheming going on, etc etc. wen qing has to directly spell out for him that, at this point, society no longer cares about the truth of the matter. it seems that wei wuxian was actually oddly idealistic about the true nature of his society all the way until the very end.

all of this leads me to conclude that, when wei wuxian busted the wen remnants out of the qiongqi pass labor camp, he did so without considering the consequences of his actions. he assumed that he could improvise and weasel his way out of this situation, as he's always done in the past with his typical genius - only this time, he was wrong.

wei wuxian acts without considering the consequences of his actions. he does not make a decision only after carefully deliberating over all of the potential outcomes - not at all. instead, he acts in the moment - not out of any rational consideration of potential outcomes, but rather because it is simply something he must do. this by definition makes him a deeply unpragmatic person.

to put it into more familiar terms, for wei wuxian, the righteousness of an action comes not from its consequences, but are rather inherent to the action itself. even if he were doomed to fail, he could not give up on the wen remnants.

second, at critical junctures, wei wuxian is unable to make moral sacrifices. to be pragmatic is to know when you have to sacrifice: to know when, in order to achieve the most inalienable of your goals, you have to give up on some of your other goals. this is something wei wuxian is consistently unable to do.

of course, when it comes to his own wellbeing, wei wuxian is all too willing to sacrifice. he'll carve out any number of his internal organs to save those he loves. but this honestly speaks less to wei wuxian's moral framework and more to his lack of self-worth from a troubled upbringing.

because, when it comes to any moral cause, wei wuxian is entirely unable to sacrifice anything, even if being unable to sacrifice entails more negative consequences. wei wuxian could not sacrifice mianmian, jin zixuan, and lan wangji to wen chao and his goons, so he took action and took wen chao hostage himself. to sit back and do nothing as wen chao threatened the lives of those three was simply unthinkable for him - even if it meant taking a course of action that put yunmeng jiang in danger.

wei wuxian's relationship with jiang cheng deteriorated because jiang cheng did not know about the golden core transfer: because jiang cheng did not know that wei wuxian could no longer cultivate, from jiang cheng's point of view, it looked like wei wuxian was just refusing to help out and fulfill his promises for kicks. wei wuxian could have made things a lot easier for himself and also any wen remnants he chose to rescue had he simply told jiang cheng the truth - but he knew that finding out the truth of the golden core transfer would make jiang cheng miserable, and [jiang cheng's happiness] was not something he was willing to sacrifice.

wei wuxian's single most prominent moral decision is his refusal to allow the wen remnants to be sacrificed. anyone with a shred of political sense had to know that rescuing the wen remnants and then protecting them would be near impossible - that it entails making an enemy of the jin, and due to the jins' power, the entire jianghu. wei wuxian himself knew this; he is no moron. wei wuxian also had no long-term plan, no allies, and significantly less power than the rest of the world believed. yet, despite this all, he acted anyways, because he could not let the wen remnants be sacrificed.

the wen remnants wei wuxian rescued from the qiongqi pass labor camp included both regular civilians and cultivators. perhaps wei wuxian could have negotiated a proper release for the non-cultivating civilians, such as granny wen and a-yuan, had he chosen to give up on the cultivators. but - the question of whether this would have worked or not aside - this was not a sacrifice wei wuxian would be willing to make.

nor could wei wuxian sacrifice the safety of yunmeng jiang. i am firmly of the belief that, had yunmeng jiang formally stood by wei wuxian's side after wei wuxian attacked the jin-run labor camp, lanling jin would have eventually declared war on yunmeng jiang, and yunmeng jiang's would inevitably be destroyed. both wei wuxian and jiang cheng understood this as well - which is why wei wuxian told jiang cheng to let him go.

(you can argue - successfully - that wei wuxian did in fact sacrifice [his obligations to yunmeng jiang and his promise to jiang cheng] by leaving yunmeng jiang to protect the wen remnants. this is true. but i think that - from wei wuxian's point of view - this was not much of a sacrifice, because due to wei wuxian lacking a golden core, he already viewed himself as mostly useless to yunmeng jiang. so him leaving - in his view - is not really that much of a loss for yunmeng jiang.)

wei wuxian promised wen qing that he would return wen ning's consciousness to his corpse. when wei wuxian made this promise, he had no idea if he could actually pull it off or not. but then he did - and, in the process, created the most dangerous weapon the jianghu had seen in living memory. wen ning specifically, or moreso wei wuxian's inability to control him, leads to so much of wei wuxian's eventual downfall: wei wuxian loses control of wen ning and accidentally kills jin zixuan; when wen ning goes to turn himself in at jinlintai, he ends up going berserk again and killing another 10-20 jin and lan cultivators, which leads to the nightless city pledge conference. frankly, wei wuxian could have avoided a lot of trouble - or at the very least, a lot of the public's fear - had he not raised wen ning from the dead. it's not like he'd be completely defenseless without wen ning, either. but wei wuxian promised wen qing he would resurrect wen ning - and he could not sacrifice his promise to wen qing because of what wen qing had already done for him.

a pragmatic person is able to make sacrifices, including moral ones. at the very least, a pragmatic person recognizes when sacrifice is inevitable, when all paths lead to something being lost. a pragmatic person, put in the trolley problem, would recognize that there were only two options and that both options involve sacrifice: either he must kill one person, or he must allow five people to die. there is no path forwards in which all six people live.

wei wuxian is unable to make moral sacrifices. he clings on to all of these moral causes, all of these promises and obligations, and it is precisely because he attempts to hold onto all of them that he ends up losing everything. to reuse the previous example, wei wuxian in the trolley problem tried to save all six people because he could not accept any of the sacrifices made inevitable by the trolley problem.

to put this all together - wei wuxian is not a pragmatic person. he makes decisions with his gut, not his head - he does not consider the consequences of his actions before he acts. nor is wei wuxian able to make sacrifices - even necessary ones in order to avoid greater tragedies.

but. none of this means that wei wuxian is not a deeply heroic person. rather, to do what you believe to be righteous and attempt to live up to your ideals despite the consequences is exactly what MXTX lauds as moral. and to be unable to make a moral sacrifice when everyone else in your society easily does so is in fact deeply heroic.

it is precisely because wei wuxian is not pragmatic that MXTX declares him a hero.

some people, including myself, favor a moral framework that centers pragmatism and reason as virtues. to us, the ideal moral character is someone who makes decisions based on reason and not emotion, who considers the potential consequences of every course of action before making a decision, and who then, based on these inferred future consequences, uses reason to deduce which of all of the possible outcomes is the most preferable.

but this does not in fact describe wei wuxian, nor is this how wei wuxian views ethics. and to be honest, i don't think this is how MXTX views ethics either.

in all three of her stories, MXTX repeatedly comes down harder on the characters who make pragmatic decisions, the characters who are willing to sacrifice. in fact, killing sunshot soldiers while acting as wen ruohan's spy, and then killing nie mingjue's men in order to ensure a chance at killing wen ruohan and saving nie mingjue, was the pragmatic thing for meng yao to do, because that was the least bloody path forwards towards a sunshot victory over qishan wen. in fact, cutting ties with wei wuxian after he attacked the jin-run qiongqi pass labor camp was the pragmatic thing for jiang cheng to do, because it was the only path forward that did not put yunmeng jiang, his first and foremost responsibility, in the line of fire. and yet (though the situation is less clear with jin guangyao), MDZS as a narrative criticizes both jin guangyao and jiang cheng for these decisions - because, to MDZS, righteousness does not lie in pragmatism.

(this is a statement i personally disagree with. but we are here to discuss what MDZS wants to say about pragmatism and righteousness, not what i want to say about pragmatism and righteousness.)

by contrast, the one single act for which deeply controversial jiang cheng is ultimately lauded for in the narrative is also his single least pragmatic, most emotional act. the one single act of jiang cheng's that MDZS does not criticize is when, after the fall of lotus pier, jiang cheng ran out from his hiding spot to distract the wen soldiers from seeing wei wuxian. from a filial, duty-based point of view, this was a deeply stupid and unpragmatic course of action: jiang cheng's first and foremost duty, as the sole surviving jiang and new sect leader jiang, was to survive, rebuild his sect, and avenge his parents. from a consequentialist point of view, this impulsive choice is also what led to the domino-fall of tragedy that followed, since jiang cheng then got captured and had his golden core melted, which then led to everything else. yet this stupid, unpragmatic, and impulsive decision is ultimately the one act MDZS considers to be jiang cheng's single most heroic.

the key as to what MDZS considers to be heroic, what it considers to be righteous, lies in the jiang family motto: 明知不可而为之, attempt the impossible. this line, taken from the analects of confucius, can be considered to be a deeply deontological ideal. i find this twitter thread (warning to my followers: does kind of dunk on JC) to be rather helpful in elucidating this line's meaning. 

to attempt the impossible, to try what shouldn't be tried. "ask yourself not whether you can do it, but whether you should...consider not the result but rather the journey - have a clear conscience regardless of outcome." in other words, what matters is less whether you succeeded or failed, or what sort of outcome your actions brought about - what matters is that you tried. what matters is that, in the face of overwhelming odds, you tried to do what you think is right. and even if you end up failing - even if everyone you sought to protect ended up dying - the fact that you tried still has moral weight.

this is why it was righteous of wei wuxian to save the wen remnants - even though the ultimate consequences of that decision were overall negative, even though everyone wei wuxian tried to protect died. in fact, if wei wuxian had died immediately - if he had been shot down by jin archers at the qiongqi pass labor camp the moment he came within their range - if he had died before any wen in the labor camp realized someone wanted to save him - he would still be a righteous person. because, for MDZS, what makes an action righteous is not its consequences. for MDZS, what makes a person righteous is not what impact their actions have on the world, but rather that they have the sort of moral character that leads them to never give up on their ideals.

wei wuxian does not consider the consequences of his actions before he acts. or, should i say - wei wuxian makes decisions despite their consequences, because despite the consequences there are simply some moral causes he simply cannot give up on. wei wuxian did not save the wen remnants because it was pragmatic to do so. it was in fact deeply unpragmatic to do so. no - wei wuxian saved the wen remnants without a concrete long-term plan, without having thought through anything beforehand, with the knowledge of how weak he was in reality - because he could not give up on the wen remnants, consequences be damned.

to have some moral causes you simply cannot give up on, no matter the consequences - to MXTX, is deeply heroic. in this sense, MXTX's moral philosophy is not pragmatic at all, because to be pragmatic is to be concerned with practical consequences. instead, both wei wuxian and MXTX herself are deeply idealistic, because what matters to them are ideals and principles that extend beyond consequence.

as the linked twitter thread notes, this is why MXTX waits until the very end of the book to reveal that wen yuan, now lan sizhui, lived. this is why wangxian only meet mianmian and her family at the end of the book. this is why all of the cumulative positive impacts of wei wuxian's resurrection -  jin ling forgiving wei wuxian, jin guangyao, and wen ning, for one - are kept to the end of the story: because MDZS needs to move away from the consequentialist argument. MDZS needs to establish that wei wuxian's righteousness is separate from the impact of his actions: that wei wuxian isn't righteous merely because his actions had a positive impact for which others can thank him, but rather because the actions he undertook were inherently righteous on their own. that even if none of these positive impacts existed - if wen yuan had also died, if mianmian hadn't made it - then wei wuxian's choices would still be moral.

this is also why MDZS ultimately comes down harder on characters like jiang cheng and jin guangyao, even though a more results-oriented moral framework would instead laud such characters. both jiang cheng and jin guangyao are deeply pragmatic characters: they put concrete results before abstract moral ideals, and they're willing to compromise on their ideals in order to achieve better results. i am a JC stan and a jiggy apologist because of these exact traits. but MDZS is a narrative that criticizes such pragmatism and instead holds up wei wuxian's idealism as a moral ideal - so, in order to advance its themes, the MDZS narrative ends up criticizing both jiang cheng and jin guangyao.

ultimately, this idealism - this criticism of pragmatism - lies at the heart of MDZS's themes. wei wuxian's righteousness is directly connected to the fact that he is not pragmatic. the fact that wei wuxian makes moral decisions despite the consequences, and that he is unable to sacrifice any moral cause - is all part of what makes him at once deeply unpragmatic and deeply heroic.

---

you see, the funny thing here is that i personally disagree with this theme. as i've said before, i'm a utilitarian. to me, the morality of an action does in fact arise from its consequences; to me, someone who compromises on their ideals to achieve better results is preferable to someone who adheres to all of their ideals and then loses everything. the character i consider to have had the greatest positive impact on this story's world is jin guangyao. the character i consider to have most dutifully fulfilled his obligations is jiang cheng.

therefore, i disagree with basically everything i wrote up there about "trying": i think that if you try to do the right thing, fail epically, and in the process of your failure get a bunch of other people killed as well, the fact that you failed this badly does in fact matter quite a bit. the bulk of my more haterish posts are born from this fundamental disagreement with what MDZS posits is righteousness.

however. as a reader i must recognize that [what i consider to be moral] and [what the author of this story considers to be moral] are two different things. my own moral philosophy may be heavily results-oriented, but MXTX's is much less so. therefore, regardless of what i think of wei wuxian, i conclude that MXTX ultimately intends for us to read wei wuxian as a heroic figure for the exact reasons i gave above - and that fact must then inform every analysis of MDZS i write.

[petrichorium]

also on my hands and knees dying to know about ur divorce (and perhaps reconciliation maybe…) with sir croc

Firstly I wanna say croc is THE reason for the divorced tier I had everyone in the husband/fiance/bf (and cusp + complicated) tiers I had the list downloaded and then I looked at croc in the husband tier and I was like no. Divorced………

Anyway I think you’re a marriage of convenience at first. Crocodile needs a wife to look more like An Upstanding Citizen Ready To Settle Down for his plans in Alabasta, you need the stability and rapport for your own reasons. A deal was struck (including a nice shiny prenup and an easy way out for both of you), the wedding goes off without a hitch, and now you’re cohabitating.

You’re all but a stranger, truthfully, though he’ll admit you were one of the most beautiful brides he’s seen walking down the aisle. And he finds your presence in his home less distracting than expected—you stay out of his way mostly, though the pair of you eat meals together and sleep in the same bed and you are always expected to be on his arm for formal occasions. You’re more than decent company, slowly warming to him and growing more open; willing to give advice on occasion, even, and it’s good advice he’s prone to heeding.

Which is why he’s blindsided when you drop the papers on his desk. There’s little he can do—they were practically already signed before the wedding, and in the surprise he can’t compose himself enough to think up a proper protest. All he can do is fold his hands together as you turn to leave, clear his throat, and call out, “Might I ask why?”

You shrug. It almost seems sad. “I want something more. You’re a very busy man, I don’t think you can give that to me.”

And those words haunt him, all the more because every trace of you is gone in the span of a few days. He lays in his bed, alone, pondering how much you truly lived in his home and how much he truly had to give you. He thought he made sure you wanted for nothing—but, clearly, that wasn’t the case. And if he’d known you’d be gone in the span of a few years…

In hindsight perhaps he’d been a bit distant. His work took up the vast majority of his time. All those meals were more often than not spent in silence, with Crocodile leaving long before you finished your food; you were often asleep before he came to bed, still slumbering when he woke; he’d arrive to those formal events with you on his arm and part ways almost immediately, drawn to meet with some politician or another and leaving you on your own.

The bed feels empty.

And then he gets a report about Nefertari Vivi. It all goes downhill from there. The empire he spent years building crumbles beneath his feet, toppled by that godforsaken princess and the upstart pirate with a straw hat. And as he’s carted off to Impel Down… he still thinks of you.

It’s perhaps a good thing that you left when you did. In a certain sense it saved you, severing ties with him when you did. But foolishly he wonders about the timing—wonders if it would have happened at all if you’d stayed. Logically he knows the rationale is anything but sound.

Instinctively… whenever he gets out, whatever he intends to do next, he thinks he needs you at his side again.

So when the break-out happens, and Crocodile is given a freedom he’d nearly given up on, the first thing he does is begin to track you down.

It takes more than he thought it would. His web of informants isn’t half of what it once was, and his name no longer pulls as much weight, forced to remain in the shadows as he now is. You, meanwhile, catch onto the mystery person trying to keep tabs on you far too quickly for his liking—flighty thing, never quite setting down roots, quick to flee at the first sign of danger. A trait that has only seemed to worsen in his absence, it seems.

But it’s only a matter of time. He’s Sir Crocodile after all, back from banishment to the depths of the ocean, sure to see the sun again. His men close in on you within a year as he builds up his numbers again, but Crocodile ensures he’s the first to make contact.

He intends to show you immediately how things will be different this time.

You’ve made temporary home on a quaint little island, sharing a house with a little old granny who lets him in eagerly when he presents a bouquet and says it’s for you. There he waits, served tea and biscuits that he doesn’t taste.

And then the door opens. You pause when you see him, eyes wide—donning a breezy sundress you’d never have worn for him in Alabasta, your hair wind-tousled so unlike the meticulous updos he always saw you in, with a basket of produce under arm—and the sight of you has his chest unwinding. It’s like he can breathe again.

Not that he had any intentions to before, but the smell of your familiar perfume steels his resolve to never let you disappear again.

[dynamitekansai]

THE BLOODLINE WWE RAW (DECEMBER 23, 2024)

[etherealspacejelly]

revising for my exams with a plushie in my lap because its that kind of day

[wildsaltair]

not pictured: me lying at his feet in a melted puddle of desire

[quietwingsinthesky]

no i gotta say one more insane thing about them before i go to bed. she’s gotta be so touch-starved, right? like, she’s Always careful, she’s Always covered up, and that one moment where she allows herself to kiss bobby in x2, she goes in so hard and fast and hungry for it that she starts to drain him. but that’s it, that’s as far as she gets to sate it because it’ll always either end with her being pushed away for that person’s safety or with her hurting them so badly that they can’t come back from it.

except. well. that won’t happen with logan. because he’s not scared of her, and he won’t shove her away. he’d let her take and take and take and take. has.

so think about marie getting to feed her touch-starvation bit by bit with him. coaxes herself into hugs where she’s a little less careful, presses her face to his neck for a moment. rolls her sleeve up so he can hold her upper arm. gets to lay in his lap and get her hair pet, little shocks of her power latching onto his fingers as he runs fingers over her scalp. because he’s the only one she can have this with, so he has to let his own barriers down to give it to her. he can’t just let her starve. he wouldn’t. so the wolverine learns how to cuddle. for her.

[mielmoto]

It was rare when Monsters, especially from the Underworld, traveled this far out, but that's why, under Palutena's love and grace, she sends help from above… And that help was getting the ever-living crap beaten out of him.

Pit didn't expect the ambush, and even though he was vastly outnumbered, it did not deter him from protecting what appeared to be their target. Already, he made a mental note that this wasn't just a run-of-the-mill attack; there was an agenda behind this.

"I'm glad you're okay-icus! "

The Captain of Angels was able to gasp out before one of the leftover Mik's wet tongue wrapped around his ankle, the thick appendage pulling him away from the beautiful stranger.

"DON'T WORRY-ICUS, I GOT THIS!! EVERYTHING IS UNDER CON- WHOOOA!"

He is pulled into the thick of it, behind clustered shrubs and overgrown trees—invisible to the naked eye but not soundless. Sounds of monsters screeching and heroic, tired battle cries echo, and the ample foliage shakes and trembles, but all fall into silence and stillness. Heavy panting can be heard behind, ruffling the leaves and twigs as he stumbles in her view, bruised and bloody but victorious.

"Hah...ah... s-see? They didn't know-icus, what hit em'!"

He puffs out his chest in pride, acting as if nothing had happened, despite blood dripping from his nose to his soiled chiton, and then he faints.

The air shimmered, split, then sewed itself together again in less than a moment, depositing its traverser on the other side. A shape which is surreal, sublime, and nigh incomprehensible for only as long as the flicker which delivered her; the girl restored in all her unassuming, delicate glamour. If there'd been any mortal there to witness the affair, they might have thought their eyes played a trick on them, but be otherwise none-the-wiser...bar the fact that a pretty little lady had seemingly appeared out of nowhere.

Thankfully, she'd been careful enough to choose a spot to cross back into the Overworld where even that wouldn't be a concern: quiet, even remote by most standards.

A decision which may prove a little annoying—thinking of how long it would take to trundle her way back to the nearest town on newly-restored legs—but all for the better, as traces of the planes beyond still clung to her edges; an aura, a scent, which might still beguile minds and cause a haze in curious eyes...

...and, perhaps, attracting far more than just that. It felt as though she'd hardly concealed her wings and started navigating the mossy glade when the birdsong dissipated, an unusual quiet ushered in. Mid-day sunlight trickling in between leaves suddenly feels less bright than before, and she feels their arrival before she sees anything: a thick, baleful, fetid pall which assaults the senses and sets the freshly formed baby hairs on the back of her neck standing on end.

The feyling kept on for a few more paces, but fell still as the noxious aspect mounts to a peak. It seemed, despite all her best efforts, she was not as alone in these woods as she'd hoped.

As if on cue: the brush stirred with sound and presence; more sinister, by far, than the average predator lying in wait. Misshapen figures seeping out from the shadows, appearing to manifest from whatever blind-spot or crevice they could; uncanny in a way so much less enchanting than her own kind. Grotesque: all eyes, tongues, and bone; perhaps the occasional tentacle or spider-like limb for decoration.

There is a distance between them. Enough to get a head start if she wanted to run? Maybe. Maybe they'd done it intentionally, so they could enjoy a little chase before descending upon her. Either way, she wasn't about to make it easy on—

❝Ah!??❞ Stars above—what now?

What now? Why, the natural foil to the looming threat, of course: a flash of light from the sky, a visible spark, and the near-blinding glow of glittering wings enchanted by the Goddess, herself; all-but crashing into the space between. Golden flourishes and stark white cloth draped around an athletic (if a bit humble?) figure, and a weapon held tight in his hand. Why, he's the very image of a divine hero, isn't he? Down to the assuring smile he flicks her way, a confident look in his bright, blue eyes.

She's sure he was about to say something equally brave and inspiring, but his being yoinked away, rather unceremoniously, into the fray of battle sort of ruined the moment.

Not that he was going to let it fully stop him, it seemed.

"I'm glad you're okay-icus! "

He'd tumbled just close enough to chirp over a bloodied lip, gasping, only to be rewarded with a baffled blink of long lashes and a rather slimy pull back into the absolute beating at hand.

Some part of her thinks—as she watches (mostly listens) to the angel getting his blessed ass handed to him—that maybe she should try and help him... but she wouldn't want to hurt his pride, now would she? Not with him shouting assurances like that, (desperate for breath and between outbursts of pain), giving his all to the battle...

And, besides that: when the din fades and the thicket stills once more, darkness vanquished, and her 'hero' stumbles out from the brush looking like he just got trampled by a heard of wild beasts—

"Hah...ah... s-see? They didn't know-icus, what hit em'!"

—falling into a graceless, unconscious heap on the mossy floor; the fairy can only think one thing.

Oh. He's perfect.

[bumblingbabooshka]

Ok. Get closer why don’t you.

[im-still-watching-anime]

my dog has decided that this is how we should sleep tonight and ngl i love him but i have some critiques here

[normal-with-adhd-is-a-joke]

I also pet a sheltie today and the lady was talking about how he's super smart and friendly and rarely sheds and doesn't need brushed super often and I was like "I want to take your dog"

[chososcutie]

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡ HONEYMOON OR BUST ⸝⸝ .ᐟ⋆

pairing ── satoru gojo x reader

teaser ── after being forced into an arranged marriage, you're expected to have heirs, with a husband who hates you! will a honeymoon that leaves you stuck with him in a snowy cabin for a week filled with awkward moments and charged tension change that? or will it reveal the harsh reality of the cold, loveless marriage you've been forced into?

content ── fem!reader, angsty ending, spitting, degrading, rough fucking, hate sex, forced proximity, masturbation, fingering, breeding kink, oral (fem!recieving), teasing, pregnancy, mention of cheating, thigh fucking, pussy slapping, slight misogyny, name-calling, one bed troupe, accidental indecency, enemies-to-lovers

count ── 8k

PART I

heirs.

the word lingers in your mind as the banquet ends, as you walk out in your too-tight wedding dress, even as the carriage comes that was to take you to your honeymoon.

it wasn't fair.

they had never told you that this was expectation.

not only had the monarchy stolen your life, your future, your dreams, but now they were forcing you into a mother?

your face darkens, shadowed by the veil, as you walk beside your husband, the send-off for the honeymoon commencing.

"long live the king!"

"may the crown forever be bound upon your brows!"

"may god bless you with a fruitful womb!"

next to you, satoru's jaw tightens ever so slightly, his haunting silence, coupled with his formal white robes sweeping behind him giving him a ghost-like illusion.

you didn't know what he was thinking, but at least you knew he had been out of the loop too, judging by his cold expression.

from the sounds and looks everyone around you were giving however, you knew that they were assuming you were both just itching to rip off each other's clothes and consummate the marriage, but you didn't even know if you could stomach to look at him let alone touch him, and from the storm brewing in his cerulean blue eyes, glinting with something dangerous that warned not to be messed with, you sensed he felt much of the same.

you're snapped out of your thoughts by the sound of hoofbeats and a heavy, latched door creaking open halfway, revealing the mode of transportation you were to take.

and oh, was it a sight to behold.

fully decked out in lace, satiny curtains draping over the windows, it was painted a pinkish rose gold and pearly white hue, adorned with golden wheels that seemed to swell under the light of the fading twilight sky.

it was a love carriage, meant to bring feelings of romance and tension into the air, perfect for a couple heading to their honeymoon.

but unfortunately for you, however, this arrangement was anything but romantic.

the terse quietness between the two of you only thickens tenfold once the doors slam shut behind you, the loud clapping and cheering of the people watching you two abruptly cutting off as you're left alone together for the first time that night.

and for a long moment, no one speaks.

but just as you think you’re in the clear, starting to relax into the seat, you hear satoru's hollow voice, tinged with bitterness as he continues looking straight ahead. "did you know?"

you quickly turn to face him, shock creeping its way into your words. "how could i have known? i told you that i didn't want this either but you seem to believe it's all my fault."

“i never said that.” he says dryly.

you both lapse into silence once more, your hands curled into neat fists in your lap while satoru sits stiffly, back straight as a board.

the nerve of this man. for him to assume you wanted this marriage, that you wanted his kids, that you even wanted to be queen.

you shook slightly beside him, infuriated and wondering how you were ever going to get through this cursed honeymoon.

from the bits and pieces of this arrangement you had been made aware of, it was to take place in a distant, secluded cabin, decked out with a master suite and hot tub, in a mountainous taiga.

when you thought of an ideal honeymoon, you had always dreamed of going somewhere faraway and warm, a nice contrast to your own dreary kingdom with its blustery weather and snowcapped peaks. but that, along with everything else in your life, had been stolen from you, snatched out of your control and decided for you.

just like him.

you look over to satoru again, only to find him as far from you as possible, sulking while he stares out the window pointedly. his arms are folded across his silky white monarch robes, the contrast between his royal lineage and childish antics almost jolting.

finally, a couple hours later, you arrive at your secluded honeymoon estate: a big wooden framed cabin with high cobblestone chimneys, with a roof topped in powdery white, and heavy log walls awaiting you both.

the idea was to have a completely deserted, isolated cottage in the middle of the woods all to yourselves so you can focus on.. indulging in each other, and sealing the marriage forevermore so to speak.

and it was half working so far because the second the carriage set off again back the way it came, it was just you and satoru.

alone.

together.

"i.." you begin uncertainly, but he quickly interrupts, voice brisk and cold.

"you take the left side rooms, and i’ll remain on the right. over the duration of this week you are not to bother me, until i decide fit." he says crisply, before walking away from you toward the estate, his robes swishing behind him.

oh. so that was how it was going to be?

you stare after him for a moment, hurt creeping into your senses for a brief second before you shake it off. just when you had thought you two were finally getting to have an understanding of each other...

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ ── DAY ONE ── ۫ ׅ ✧ ⊰

on first sight, the cabin looks large, at least enough to fit two people and still be spacious, but the truth was the inside was tiny. cramped, even.

the second you enter, you’re instantly slapped in the face with the heady scent of loud, sensual perfume and rose petals making a pathway across the planked wooden floor.

irritatedly, satoru ducks his head through the doorway. he was too tall to even fit!

“well.” his gaze sweeps around, making mental notes of what your arrangements would be. “it seems to be.. smaller than i imagined.”

it was a three-room cabin to be exact, with a bed, a bathroom, and a cramped kitchen. the only saving grace was the bubbling, frothing hot tub outside with more rose petals decorating the top along with two flutes of champagne set beside it romantically.

“let’s see how big the bed is..” his broad frame disappears into the room, with you following suit as you take in the obnoxiously overdone romantic setting.

there’s candles, dimmed lights, the works. it was like they were begging you to fuck each other.

the bedroom was even worse.

a king size, with curtains draping over everything dramatically, it was a sight in itself, maroon red covers highlighting the seductiveness of the room.

“looks like we’re sharing a bed again.” you come behind him, trying to suppress the scorn in your voice unsuccessfully, watching as his shoulders tense in agitation.

“they told me it was bigger..” he mumbles, eyebrows furrowing with a scowl.

with a small sigh, you flop onto the bed, your overly exuberant wedding dress you were still wearing billowing around you, and lifting up slightly.

you didn’t realize how much however, until you hear satoru’s soft inhale of breath and look down to see your delicate lace garter exposed, wrapped on your plush thigh with a pretty white bow.

you had forgotten your wedding dressers had made you wear one for the purposes of tradition, and you had relented solely because of the fact you were certain that, garter or no garter, satoru would not touch you either way.

noticing his visible reaction, you can’t help the urge to sling your leg further upward to reveal more of your tantalizing skin, his eyes devouring every inch you offer him.

before you can go any further however, he reaches for you, warm calloused hands skimming across your skin, and igniting a fire low in your stomach as he pulls the poofy tulle of your skirt down to cover you again. his hands linger for a moment longer than necessary before he draws back, a firm little scowl gracing his pink lips.

“it's not ladylike to showcase yourself off like a slut, princess. didn’t your kingdom teach you that?”

he spits 'kingdom' out like a foul tasting word, not giving you the chance to respond before departing again, the bathroom door slamming closed behind him.

the second he leaves, you let out a breath you hadn’t known you’d been holding, the ghost of his searing touch still fresh in your mind as you lay back against the covers, eyes wide.

later, as you're tucking yourself into bed after changing out of your stuffy wedding clothes, satoru finally reappears.

his hair is sticking up in wet little spikes, and he’s wearing a baggy shirt and sweatpants. leaning against the doorway with his hands folded across his chest, he's the epitome of effortless beauty.

"god, so eager to be in bed with me already, hm?" he tilts his head at you, sharp blue eyes boring into yours, his tone cruel and mocking.

you scoff, turning on your side to face away from him. "yeah, you wish."

he hums softly in disagreement, before the mattress dips under his weight as he slides in to bed next to you.

with all the lights off, and flickering candles casting the room in a warm glow, the moment becomes more intimate, the press of his body to your back causing you to become sleepy beneath the covers.

pathetic, you think to yourself ruefully.

you should hate the man for everything he had said and done, but all you seem to do is just let him have his way, complying like the good little wifey you’ve been reduced to.

but before you have time to further evaluate and let shame overwhelm you, you begin to drift off, the promise of dark surrender claiming you.

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ ── DAY TWO ── ۫ ׅ ✧ ⊰

when you wake up in the morning, the bed is empty with nothing but rumpled sheets left in satoru's place, and after eating some breakfast, you decide now is as good a time as any to take some time to yourself, and try out the hot, new bubbling jacuzzi in all its glory, before he gets back.

luckily, along with the cottage you were staying at, clothes and swimsuits had been provided, curtesy of the royal family, and should be in the drawer right.. there!

"aha!" triumphantly, your fingers feel the stretchy elastic texture of a bathing suit, pulling it out only for your eyes to practically pop out of your head at the sight before you; a matching white tiny tube bikini top, paired with minuscule thong bottoms.

"no no.." you murmur under your breath, quickly rifling through the drawer for other options, but of course, that's the only bikini there is.

you sigh to yourself. naturally, your tits were going to be popping out of this top, and your ass would be exposed, but you would just have to make it work.

squeezing into it proved to be a bit of a challenge as they obviously hadn't taken your sizing into consideration, but you manage to do it with minimal cleavage being pushed up though more than you would like.

and finally, finally, you get inside the jacuzzi, the water steaming hot and bubbling, your head lolling back with pleasure as the jets do their work.

"ughh, this is just what i needed after.. satoru?"

you startle as you see the familiar white-haired man standing in front of you, widened azure eyes taking in the way you're sprawled in the hot tub, foam surrounding you in your skimpy little bikini and leaving practically nothing to the imagination.

instinctively, you slink down into the water, hoping he can't see you too well.

"can’t a girl enjoy herself alone? i’m trying out the jacuzzi."

his eyes rove over you intensely, expression unreadable. "your tits are out."

after a moment of silence where you clear your throat awkwardly and shift, he doesn't get the hint, brazenly going on. "hah.. but you knew that, right? you probably want me to look at you, yeah? show off those pretty breasts because they're all you have to offer.."

"oh just shut up! leave for god's sake!" you growl, teeth gritted so tight you're surprised they don't crack.

but instead of relenting, his brows furrow, as if contemplating something.

“hold on, i think i have a swimsuit too..”

that led to a few minutes later when a very shirtless satoru, wearing swim trunks that look a size too tight, slides in beside you.

you try to look anywhere but his muscular chest, but it proves difficult with the way his arms reach up around his head, biceps prominent and pale pink nipples tantalizingly close to your face.

instantly as he gets in, his shorts plaster themselves like a second skin to his muscular thighs, revealing a very big bulge straining against the fabric, the sight so erotic your cheeks flush as you look away.

he sighs softly while the steaming hot water laps around his body, tilting his head to look at you. “so about that swimsuit.. is skimpy the look you're going for, or do you enjoy whoring yourself out..?"

you wave him off with a scoff. “yeah, yeah. you're the one wearing speedos.”

satoru moves slightly at that, shifting into a manspread, with his hips lifting up and his cock so noticeably outlined, you can’t help it when naturally your eyes are drawn toward him, mouth going dry at his pure size. you only manage to tear yourself away when you hear his soft hum of amusement next to you.

"well clearly you like it, you dirty little slut."

guiltily, you glance up, about to stutter for a response when his eyes search yours, heat swirling in them for a second as his lips hover over yours.

just a little closer and..

“are your nipples always this hard or is it just for me?” smugly, he glowers at you and with a horrified glance down, you find he’s right, your nipples pebbled and standing at attention, almost see-through in your flimsy excuse of a swimsuit.

you quickly get up, water rolling off your sheened body, glaring daggers at satoru. screaming out a “shut up perv!” before disappearing back into the house, satoru watching your ass jiggle in the tiny microthong you had on with curved lips and a growing boner.

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ ── DAY THREE ── ۫ ׅ ✧ ⊰

after yesterday’s disaster of a tranquil time in the jacuzzi, you decided today that you would take advantage of the wintry landscape you had become stranded in, and hike through the taiga trees alone.

it hadn’t seemed like a bad idea at first, it’d do you good to get out of the house and away from that royal pain-in-the ass, but now two miles in, frozen cold, shivering, and more than a little lost, the idea wasn’t as appealing.

"f-fuck.." you shudder, blowing on your hands and rubbing them together while peering around at the haze of trees, each so similar you can't tell if you've been walking in circles this whole time or not. "s-so c-cold.."

and then, just as you go to step, twigs cracking underfoot, your ankle twists, your heart dropping as you hear a snap! before pain washes over your entire leg, and you tumble down onto the icy ground, everything going black.

── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・

when you regain consciousness again, you feel yourself being jerked and jostled around, still heavily disoriented.

you're moving, you realize, and someone is holding you, a toned chest radiating heat pressed firmly against you, along with arms looped underneath your legs, carrying you bridal style.

he huffs softly in your ear, and instantly, you recognize his breathing patterns from the nights you had spent in the same bed.

satoru.

for a second, you let yourself slump into his tight grip, your leg aching, and eyes half-closed, but then the hand he's using to support underneath your legs tightens, squeezing you, and you feel your breath stutter.

“i know you’re awake.”

dropping the act, you blink your eyes open to stare at his looming figure. how did he find you? when you hadn’t returned, had he been worried about.. you?

“don’t read too much into it.” he says gruffly, shifting you in his arms as he opens the door to the cabin, and carries you to the bedroom to lay you gently down.

“now where does it hurt?”

you sniffle, trying to sit up to show him, but quickly he pushes you back to lay down, his hand splaying across your chest and shoving roughly, the action almost provocative.

“words.”

“m-my ankle. i think i twisted it, and when i fell, i heard a snap.”

his gaze is focused on your foot, and he nods, before holding it up to examine.

“it doesn’t look broken. i’ll get some ice and wrap it, but it’s probably just a sprain.”

he stands up, but before he can leave, you grip onto his sleeve, stopping him. he looks back, eyes raking over your face.

“hey. thank you, for saving me.”

his eyes linger on your lips for a second before he turns back around. “it was nothing.”

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ ── DAY FOUR ── ۫ ׅ ✧ ⊰

with your sore ankle, you hadn’t been able to move around as much, and as a result, had been cooped up in the stuffy cabin with satoru, his habits getting increasingly more and more annoying as the hours went on.

"sa-toru! put the fuckin' toilet seat down, damnit!"

you hear his voice lilted with mockery as he calls back, "oh my, what a filthy mouth you’ve got on you.."

you want to slap him. you're going to slap him.

in an effort to calm yourself, and keep yourself occupied, you decide to take a bath, thinking the hot water will soothe your violent urges, and your achey ankle.

a few minutes pass, with you wallowing in tepid water, cold and wet, and with a frustrated groan, you get up, realizing this isn’t helping. silken droplets roll off you in beads, as you prepare to grab a towel when suddenly..

creeeeak!

"you wanna take a little longer? c’mon some of us gotta..”

satoru stops in his tracks, head poking through the door when he spots you, completely naked, your body dripping wet and glistening. his blue eyes immediately rake up n’ down, and you swear his pants grow bigger, heat rising to his cheeks.

“satoru! i’m.. get out!”

your hands fly to cover yourself, while he’s left checking you out shamelessly, practically drooling as he eyes you like a dog in heat.

“get! ouuuut!” you slam the door in his face before slumping down, staring in disbelief as your hands slowly fall to your sides.

oh. my. god.

this man really was going to kill you.

── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・

you realized that in your marriage, you would have to see each other intimately eventually, especially now that you were expected to have heirs, but it was still so unexpected for him to barge in on you like that..

you cover your face with your hands in embarrassment at the memory as you lie in bed, waiting for satoru to come to your shared room, and poke fun at you.

but.. the moment never comes as seconds stretch into minutes and then to hours, and darkness steadily overtakes the room.

maybe he had finally decided to sleep on the couch..

huh. you turn over, eyes beginning to droop in the quietness of night. oh well. at least you had the bed to yourself!

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ ── DAY FIVE ── ۫ ׅ ✧ ⊰

two big, calloused hands come to your plush thighs, pushing them apart with a soft sigh, already fucked out just by the sight of your drenched pussy, glistening with strings of your slick arousal running down between your legs.

he murmurs something too low for you to hear, before two thick fingers come to glide over the slippery sheen of your cunt, causing your hips to buck up instinctively, the space between your thighs widening. he obediently lowers his head before nuzzling it between you, and staring up at you with big azure eyes that practically beg for you to let him eat your pussy.

“toru..” you manage to breathe out through small heaves, and that’s all it takes for his hot, slithery tongue to run up your folds before beginning to lap sloppily at your pulsing core, uncaring of the pools of spit and drool he’s leaving in his wake.

“hah.. s-shit, slow down..” you whine, eyes scrunched closed tightly at the foreign feeling, and building heat in your abdomen. no one had ever touched you like this before.

encouraged, his head presses further into you, soft mussed hair tickling you as his nose bumps your clit with every kitten lick on your throbbing nub, until you feel hot all over, and a weird sensation fluttering around in your stomach.

you feel satoru moan into you, hands coming to your hips to press you harder into his eager mouth as you grind your pussy sloppily on his face, chasing the feeling of the very tips of white pleasure starting to blacken the edges of your vision.

your walls clench as his tongue pushes in to you, before he pulls back, smacking his lips together and taking your puffy bud into his mouth and sucking hard, groaning out at your sweet candied taste.

your mouth drops open, a hoarse moan spilling out as your legs tighten around his head, and then you’re cumming harder than you ever have.

── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・

you tear your covers off, body covered in a glistening sheen of sweat, and panting heavily, your panties absolutely soaked through.

a wet dream. you had just had a wet dream about satoru.

fuck.

you slowly swing your feet from the bed, placing them down gingerly on the creaking floorboards, praying he wasn’t up.

you needed to clean yourself up after the embarrassing mess you had just made, so you head to the bathroom, being as quiet as possible.

and just when you think you're in the clear, pushing the slightly ajar bathroom door to open wider..

plap! plap! plap!

satoru, in all his glory stands before the mirror, head tilted back and panting softly with his tongue lolling out of his mouth and a hand wrapped tightly around his cock, stroking himself off furiously.

and the first thing you think is that he’s huung. absolutely enormous, his reddened length twitching and oozing with sheens of glossy precum dripping all over his hand and down his wrist, veins thump thumping! an erratic tempo as you watch his throat bob in a swallow.

he must already be close, judging by the soft grunts he's letting out and the increasingly filthy noises his hot, pulsing member makes as his hips thrust in and out of his hand, fat cock just weeping with syrupy slick.

schlick! schlick!

in fact, he's juuust about to cum, his breath picking up speed as his thrusts get sloppier, squeezing his veiny base hard when you finally speak.

“satoru.”

that single breath of his name is all it takes to finally snap his attention toward where you’re staring at him, his cerulean eyes widening as his hand instantly stills.

but it’s too late.

his drooling slit is already gushing ribbons n' ribbons of hot, sweltering seed, oozing out in creamy little pulses as he shudders, trying to fight it even as his eyes roll back and his hips twitch pathetically.

his half-lidded eyes make their way over to you, and the sight of him is almost pornographic: muscular hulking frame with splatterings of cum pooling all over his abdominals, and seemingly endless spurts of his load continuously spilling out of the reddish divot on his thickened tip.

it's then that you're finally able to make yourself move, tearing yourself out of your trance as you slam the door hard, sprinting away to anywhere but where he is.

── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・

you don’t see satoru for the whole rest of the day.

at least, not until it starts snowing, and snowing hard.

a blizzard, would be the only way to describe it, as flurries of icy white swirl around in frenzies, the snow on your door piling up inch by inch, until at least a foot blocks the doorway.

of course, satoru finally reappears right before the snowing worsens, and the weather condition becomes severe.

you swallow thickly, looking up at his impassable face, wondering what you're going to say to break the silent tension before suddenly..

BZZZT!

the lights flicker, before shutting off entirely, leaving you both in utter pitch-black with the snowfall steadily increasing outside, raging against your windows with growing intensity.

the electricity.

“shit..” you breathe, the darkness discombobulating you as you try to find yourself, hands waving around only to encounter something thick and hot, jumping beneath your touch, and an involuntary noise caught between a groan and a whimper leaving satoru’s mouth.

oh god.

“that was my-”

“yep got it..”

before he can say more, you start walking away, cheeks burning and glad that he at least couldn’t see your face in the dark.

you needed to fix the electricity before you could worry about satoru, and so you try to make your way toward where you knew the power box was located, stumbling and tripping as minimally as you could manage.

just as you think you’re about to make it though, your head knocks hard against someone else’s, practically rattling your teeth with the force of it.

“oh my god, try and be a little more careful, why don’t you? fuck.” comes a slightly raspy baritone, as familiar as it was infuriating.

“satoru? uungh ow..” you rub your head sorely for a few seconds, before starting to place your hands around to locate the circuit breaker.

“what do you think you're doing?” his hands brush yours for a second as he reaches across you to start fiddling with the panel you had just found.

“fixing our electricity, how about you?”

he chuckles, the sound condescending. “just back up, let me take care of this. it’s a man’s job after all. you probably don’t even know what a fuse looks like.”

your jaw drops open. “you misogynistic fucker. you’re saying that because i’m a woman, i can’t do it?”

“no, i’m saying that a prissy little bimbo like you can’t do it. that has nothing to do with women.” he opens the panel with ease, arms casually stretched around you as he works.

you’re practically shaking with anger now at his almost constant undermining remarks of your stature and capabilities. it was all getting to be too much.

unaware of your oncoming rage, his hand feels around inside before you hear the soft flick! of a switch, and the lights turn back on.

satoru turns to you, mouth smugly curved up as he mock-dusts his hands. “easy-peasy.”

you’re on him in a heartbeat, face inches from his as you curl your hand around the collar of his shirt, pushing him hard against the wiry boxes and circuits littering the walls. “why are you so determined to treat me like some commonplace whore who can’t even separate her right hand from her left? why can’t you treat me like a person? i’m your wife for god’s sake, you’re supposed to have heirs with me and lead this kingdom to prosperity at my side, and you can’t even let me flick a goddamn switch?!”

he pauses, and it surprises you when you feel his chest shaking beneath your palms, mouth wide and laughing, almost maniacally. “god. why does everyone keep talking about heirs?”

you swallow, watching him go on, giggling with hysterics, the sound almost chilling.

his head slowly falls back, looking at you then, crystalline eyes wide with something dangerous and rough glinting in his pupils.

“they want heirs, huh? let’s give it to them then, sweetheart.”

you gasp as in an instant, he has you against a table, flipping you effortlessly as his hot, pulsing cock presses up against your ass, his hips rolling forward with a small groan.

you can’t help the way you buck back into him, body begging for more as your breathing increases and your core pulses with need.

“you like that, huh? heh.. fighting so hard to say you’re not a whore yet you melt at the slightest touch..”

“oh s-shut up.” you grit out as his grinding increases, clearly getting more n’ more worked up by your arguing. “you’re the one who.. ah.. was jerking off.. ngh.”

he growls at that, forcing your head back with a sharp tug to your hair. “that’s just a natural physical form of release. was just a bit.. hnngh.. pent up, is all.”

you arch your back and tantalizingly begin to sway your ass against his throbbing boner, his head tipping back with a hoarse grunt. "you're sure it wasn't a coincidence that you just happened to see me naked before that?"

his hot breath huffs against you as he humps into you with fervor, grabby hands making their way to your hips to pull you harshly against him, forcing you to bend over more as his fat cock nestles into your clothed cunt. "j-just shut up, and take off your pants.."

without wasting another second, your fingers hook in the waistband, shoving them off you as you let clothing pool to the ground before shifting to widen your legs.

“fuck, you’re dripping princess..” he moans softly as his thick fingers come to dip inside your panties, smearing globs of your sloshing slick around.

you whine, trying to move yourself back into him for more but he quickly pulls his slender digits out, popping them into his mouth and sucking your essence off with a groan.

“oh c’mon, just fuck me already!” you pant, getting impatient as you curl your fists tightly around the edge of the table.

“stupid.. hah.. kingdom forcing me to marry a fuckin’ brat..”

you mewl then as you feel him coming to wedge his hot, weighty shaft pulsing and throbbing against you bare, his soft breaths becoming sharper in your ear as he slathers his oozing, slippery sheens of glossy precum on you.

“they wan’ a heir so bad, i’ll give ‘em a heir.. now, open those slutty legs..” he whispers roughly, sounding strained and desperate as his hand snakes between your thighs to part them enough to slide his cock in between, slowly fucking into your tantalizingly plush skin.

and then, you’re gasping for breath, your body feverish as his thickened, angry mushroom head is bumpin’ hard against your pussy, causing you to clench around nothing.

chuckling hoarsely, he grips his weeping length tightly before roughly slapping it against your cunt, again n’ again until you’re practically sobbing, “please, sa-toru! god, ngh.. put it in, put it in..!”

teasingly, he swipes his thickened cock head against your entrance, collecting your generous slick, before pushing juuust the tip in, enough for your walls to tighten harshly in an attempt to suck him in further but to no avail.

“you ready to give the crown a baby? yeah?” his hand comes to wrap tightly around your throat, almost choking you as he purrs into your ear. “gonna be all pregnant swollen up with my kid? these pretty tits filled with milk?”

for emphasis, his other hand roughly grabs at your breast, squeezing tightly, and making you cry out, bucking back into him.

"yes! just.. give it to me 'toru fuck!"

he snickers, and then, in one harsh, ruthless thrust, buries himself to the hilt deep inside you, until his tip is pressed up right against your cervix, and heavy, twitchy balls slap your ass with his sheer force.

your tight, gummy walls instantly clamp hard around him in welcome as you practically scream, clawing at the table desperately.

"yeahh sweetheart, milk me dry.. you want this fuckin' baby, don'tcha?" he reels back his hips, before harshly plowing into you, the slap! of skin against skin echoing as his brutal pace makes your mind go blank, eyes half-lidded and jaw slacken with drool seeping from the corners. you were already cock-drunk!

his nasty hips only grow rockier as you pant out a dazed, "toru.. hnngh!" and he quickly reaches a hand to pull back your head, tapping on your cheek meanly. "open."

you do, and his eyes flicker before he leans forward to spit a heavy wad of hot, pooling saliva into your awaiting mouth, watching with satisfaction as you swallow instinctively.

you feel his hands reach down, both of them curling around your stomach to hold you steady, as he heaves out a, "ohh-h, i'm.. ah.. allll the way in here."

his palm slides to your abdominals, just above your belly button, where the veiny outline of his girthy cock is barely visible, disappearing and reappearing obscenely with every punctuated thrust.

his curved dick hits directly into your cushy, sweet spot and you can't help but squeal, trying to both grind on him and move away from the huge, twitching member absolutely ruining your insides.

"stop.. hnngh.. squirming!" satoru's eyes are rolled all the way back in his head as he continues to hit even deeper into your poor, abused cunt, landing a sharp smack! on your twitchy clit, your pouty sheened lips opening in a small o'.

he rocks himself steadily into you, before you're sobbing out so brokenly, your tummy knotting tighter n' tighter until achingly you register the way you're cumming and cumming hard, so much slick gushing out of you, the force of it pushes satoru's cock back a few inches, small heaving gasps coming from you as your vision turns black and spotty.

he groans then, cerulean eyes peering so hazily at the messy sight laid before him as sloppily, his pace is increasing with an almost primal kind of need, his textured, washboard abs bumping against your back while he mashes his thickened tip into your cervix repeatedly.

and then, you feel him shudder behind you, dragging his hefty, swollen cock languidly deeper into your pulsating walls, as loads n' loads of sweltering hot, glossy white seed are oozing steadily into you, so much of it that it's pooling below you, your overspilling cunt gaping as it trickles down between your thighs.

"take it, take it all.." he's heaving out from behind you, hands coming to splay out on the table in front of you as he pushes his hips experimentally forward, watching the way more creamy filth instantly sloshes down your legs.

and then, he's spinning you around and lifting you by the hips to lay flat against the table, roughly shoving your legs up by your head, heavy cock still oh so hard and swollen inside of you.

growling a sultry, "damn kingdom wants me to fuck a baby into you so bad then that's what they're gonna get.."

⊱ ׅ ۫ ׅ✧ ── DAY SIX ── ۫ ׅ ✧ ⊰

the next morning, you wake up so sore and battered from the night before you can barely move.

after going for several rounds, satoru taking you in every position imaginable, you both had collapsed onto the bed in a tangled heap of arms and legs, your sweaty bodies molded together stickily, and now with morning sunlight filtering through the window to shine brightly onto your face, you open your hazy eyes to find satoru's face nuzzled into your neck, snoring softly.

because even after all that rough sex and hate-fucking as he spat on you, degraded you, and cooed at you mockingly while you struggled to take all of his monstrous cock on your own, he was still cuddled up to you like a sleepy puppy, his soft white hair tickling you as his arms wrap around you, holding you tighter.

"satoruu.." you poke his cheek, shifting in his arms.

he only lets out a small whine of protest before moving his pale freckled face away from you in irritation.

oh for fuck's sake. you manage to free both hands from where his heavy body has you pinned, before shoving on his chest as hard as you can.

thump!

he groans, cerulean blue eyes instantly opening to glare up at you as you peek over the edge of the bed at him.

"fuck was that for?" he demands, toned back and muscles rippling tantalizingly. he was still naked from last night.

you blink at him innocently, tender doe-eyed gaze growing even more sickly sweet. "need you to get up. i want a bath."

he grumbles, rubbing a hand over his face in annoyance. "yeah? why can't you do it yourself?"

you pout at him, glossy lips sticking out dramatically. "you were the one who made me all messy n' sticky! s' only fair!"

"well who said they wanted me to cum all over her t-"

he's cut off as a soft pillow comes sailing in the air toward him, hitting him straight in the head with a small "oomph!".

"shut up, and make me a bath." you say plainly.

he grabs you so quick you can only squeal as he stands and grips the soft skin of your hips tightly, pulling you toward him and pinning you while his mouth huffs above yours.

"wanna say that again? i don't take demands from naughty princesses like you." his eyes narrow, flickering with heat. "and what you did last night was naughty."

you try and push his broad frame off you, but when that doesn't work, decide to instead try another tactic. "yeah? help me remember, was it when i rode you just like this..?"

you make an effort to squirm and grind your body under him, adding a few overexaggerated moans for effect, watching as his eyes turn half-lidded, his breathing coming in faster pants.

"orrr was it when i sucked your cock so good, you were almost in tears..?" teasingly, you let your eyes roll back, mock-gagging while faintly bobbing your head.

he swallows thickly, and you look down to see his length, leaky and hard, pulsating to life right before you.

"oh oh! i know! was it when i.."

quickly, he slaps a hand over your mouth, groaning out a, "fuck just shut up!" before his mouth is on yours, and he's claiming your tongue in a hot, sloppy kiss, as his hands find their way dragging down your body lower n' lower until his heated kisses and rough touches are all you can remember, teasing and mocking long-forgotten.

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ ── DAY SEVEN ── ۫ ׅ ✧ ⊰

today was the day that you both would return to the kingdom, escorted by horse-drawn carriages, and royal banners waving in the air, welcomed to the palace as official monarchs.

it was a big day, and you tucked your lip between your teeth nervously as you laced your corset up, fluffy tulle skirt sweeping around you.

after today, you would be queen of the gojo clan, forever dutiful to the throne up until the day you died.

you swallow thickly, making some last minute adjustments to yourself in the mirror when suddenly you feel a sharp, stinging smack! to your ass.

before you can react, satoru is already sidling up behind you, pressing his front flush against you, thick girthy outline prodded into your back as he whispers, “that dress is so tight on you.”

“toru, you pervert!” you wheel around, scowling firmly as you push him back, trying not to reveal how dizzy his touch makes you, watching him stumble back with mouth curved in a smirk, his eyes heavy and lustful.

“quickie before we go?” he steps forward again to close the distance, hand wrapping around your waist as his hips roll forward temptingly, causing you to suck in a breath, restraining yourself.

“no! they’re close, i can see the carriages in the distance!”

it was true. faintly outlined in the horizon, a whole army of royal steeds were quickly approaching, trumpets distantly playing with the stamp of the gojo clan drawn up high.

“fine.” he huffs, dragging you to him to spin you around and catch you in a dip. “how ‘bout a kiss?”

your eyes narrow on him suspiciously but you relent nonetheless, his glossy, candied lips crashing onto yours in a craze as he takes much more than a kiss from you.

he sucks your top lip into his mouth loudly, groaning softly at your taste before his tongue lewdly tangles with yours, pools of hot saliva mixing together.

in fact, you’re so caught up in him, you don’t even realize he’s moving you both until he slams you against the wall, one hefty thigh slotting its way between your legs to hold all of your weight, never breaking the kiss.

“toru.. mmph!” you try to break away to speak but he doesn’t let you, fervent mouth sliding against yours as he slowly lifts his leg higher, until he’s applying pressure directly to your pulsating core, an instinctive moan drifting its way out of your mouth.

you drag yourself along his thigh urgently, grinding back n’ forth and letting out small whimpers into his mouth, but suddenly, he stops, breaking the kiss with strings of saliva stretching between your lips as he peers at you, panting softly.

the moment turns more intimate as he hesitates, hand coming to caress your cheek almost softly, his eyes studying you with something you can’t quite decipher. “you know things are going to be different once we return to the kingdom, right?”

you hesitate. “different..?”

at the furrow that appears between your eyebrows, your eyes drifting to the fast-approaching carriage, he kisses you on the lips, this time softer, gentler, as if he’s apologizing for something you don’t know about, his hands drifting around your waist to press you firmer into him. “come, my queen.”

and with that, his hand comes to curl at the small of your back like he hadn't said anything, ushering you out the door and toward the carriages awaiting you, leaving your mind to spin with a complicated mess of emotions.

a few weeks go by following you and satoru's arrival to the kingdom, and you had slowly begun to see him less and less, as the demand for his presence steadily increases, his duties causing him to be away from the palace almost constantly.

and though you hated to admit it to yourself, the times he would come home, hurried and barely sparing you a glance before being rushed away, something different and unexpectedly warm would blossom up into your chest at the sight of him.

sometimes, he would sneak away to find you in your room, his eyes heated and low as he quickly pinned down your plush body, his chubbed cock already grinding against the softness of your stomach while he would kiss you tenderly like there wasn't anyone else in the world but you.

and, in the deep, achey recesses of your heart, that longed for something resembling affection without ever truly receiving it before, it felt like making love.

always by the time you woke up in the morning though, he'd be gone, nothing but rumpled sheets left in his place and the clinging scent of his cologne.

and as time passes, he appears less and less, until you never saw him at all, stuck lording over a lonely castle with nothing but the servants to keep you company, as even then your mind was clouded with thoughts of that familiar, infuriating smirk and enchanting blue eyes.

until one fateful day, it happened.

you had woken up, your head pounding and more than a little dizzy, feeling acid rush to your throat and fill your mouth, running to the toilet to gag over it, before slumping back down defeatedly.

you had been feeling sick lately, a little out of sorts with your body, and had also noticed how you were beginning to grow softer in some parts, more plush and chubby where you had once been less so.

and as you sat, with your head in your hands, leaned over the ceramic toilet bowl, you felt it.

a kick.

just barely, but you knew then, that you were with child.

you felt tears beginning to prick at your lashes, the joy of life setting in as you imagined how satoru would react, hoping that this would at least mean he could stay home more frequently, caring for you and cooing over your belly with a fatherly smile on his lips.

as soon as you're done cleaning yourself up in fact, putting on a sheer silk gossamer that showed off your tummy's newfound plumpness, you're already sending the servants off to retrieve satoru at once, sitting primly on the bed as you wait, with thoughts of his face when he found out already running through your head fondly.

finally, you hear the tell-tale creak of the door, and then rapid footsteps approaching as a slightly rumpled satoru appears, running his hands through messy white hair, looking as beautiful as ever.

“sorry, was busy.” his eyes dip down to what you’re wearing before flicking away, seeming almost distracted and out of it. “did you need something?”

you shift, smile slightly dimming. “yes, actually, i was just going to tell you.. well.. i’m expecting.”

he doesn’t even react to your words, nodding briskly like this was planned all along as he turns to leave again. “good, now that we have the heir, it’ll make a lot of things easier.”

he’s halfway out the door when you pull him back by the sleeve, eyes searching his.

“you aren’t going to stay with me?”

he sighs, turning back as if talking to a confused child. “of course not, i have kingly duties that need immediate attending. you will stay with the child, until its of an independent age to be comfortable on its own.”

your eyes narrow on him. “why are you treating this like a business transaction? i’m your wife, your queen, and i’m carrying your future child. don’t you care about that more than your kingdom?”

he rolls bored, blue eyes, the conversation obviously too dull for his tastes.

“i told you this was never going to be anything more than a marriage of convenience.” he moves to leave again, but you block the door, tears starting to brim in your eyes.

“so all of this meant nothing?”

he stares at you hard then, his next words ones you would repeat to yourself for the rest of your life. “it never was something to begin with.”

in a final attempt to get him to stay, you whisper hoarsely, “i-i love you, doesn’t that mean something?”

his cold, mountainous eyes that have never been more distant from you turn mean then, into something harsh, something angry. “you don’t get to fucking say that. not after everything you’ve done to ruin my life.”

you shove him slightly then, tears starting to spill down your cheeks. “what have i ever done to you besides be your wife?”

he looks away, swallowing angrily. “before you came along, i had a wife. a very pregnant wife. she wasn’t royalty but she was mine. and then my stupid father found out about us, and arranged a marriage immediately in place of her, to avoid scandal and protect the gojo clan name. bringing you.”

you can do nothing but stare, eyes wide as your body seems to cower before him. “w-what? you have another woman?”

he rubs a hand over his face in frustration at his inability to get through to you. “don’t you get it? you’re the other woman. this..”he gestures between you wildly. “.. is nothing more than publicity and a cover-up.”

you sniffle softly, as he roughly pushes past you to get out the door.

that was the last time you ever saw him.

© 2025 CHOSOSCUTIE. please don't copy or translate any of my works. all rights reserved.

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[julymusings]

simplicity

out there they're afraid even of the killer's shadow, and here i reside in his heartbeat like a home

or; the big bad red hood has a soft spot only for you [3.4k]

jason todd x fem!reader; tiny bit of angst but mostly fluff; aggressive unwanted advances, implied roofie attempt, violence & blood, slut-shaming; Jason “my girl can wear whatever she wants I can fight” Todd; in da clerb, we all fam ⎯ based on this !

series masterlist

A humid, crowded, upscale club isn’t the most ideal way to spend your Friday night, and Jason knows this. Frankly, it’s not his either, but as the owner of the humid, crowded, upscale club, he had to make some appearances at his own business.

“It’s a night out,” he had said. “Let’s make the most of it.”

If you’re being honest, it’s also not the worst way to spend your Friday night. Not when Jason dressed up so deliciously, in a fitted t-shirt, jeans, and his leather jacket. Not when he took you to a booth in the corner of the club and had them bring over your favorite drinks and snacks with the order to keep them coming. Not when you got to wear that cute little black dress that’s been hanging in your closet for months with your favorite strappy heels, the ones with ribbons that wrapped around your ankle and tied into a bow in the back. Not when Jason sat you on his lap and settled a large hand on your thigh, where it stayed the whole night.

All in all, you would say you’re making the most of it. 

You’re sipping on your drink, chatting about something or the other with your boyfriend. He’s half listening, half drawing circles on your thigh and pressing kisses to your shoulder when one of the employees finds you. She’s freaking out because one of the performers hasn’t shown up, and there’s no one else to go in her place.

Jason huffs. He lifts you off his lap and sets you down on the seat. “I’m sorry, baby, I just gotta take care of this. I’ll be right back.”

“It’s okay. I’ll be here.” You smile over the rim of your glass.

He looks around for a moment, then gestures to someone across the room. One of the bouncers make their way to you.

“Just keep an eye out,” he tells him. “I don’t trust these entitled country club fuckers.”

He gives a curt nod. Jason leans in close, smirking, and says, “Especially not when you look like that,” and gives you a quick kiss before disappearing into the crowd with the employee.

A couple minutes later, a crash snaps your attention towards the bar. A young, college-aged-looking man is berating a waitress while a mess of shot glasses litter the floor around them. The waitress looks about to cry.

“Jesus Christ,” the bouncer says to himself. Then to you, “Gimme a second.”

You move to the edge of the booth to watch as he goes over and tries to pacify the man, but that only seems to make him angrier. He shoves the bouncer, yelling about “shitty customer service.” 

You don’t get to see what happens next, though, because your field of vision is obscured by an enormous, very shiny, and very douchey silver belt buckle. You look up for its owner, and a greasy-looking, white-haired man looks down at you. 

“Hey there, sweetheart.” A fake gold tooth catches the flashing lights and it glints in your eye. Uninvited, he slides into the booth across from you. He places a drink on the table, sliding it towards you. “You look thirsty. Got this for you.”

“No, thanks. I’ve got one.” You hold your own glass up.

He rolls his eyes. “Pretty thing like you should be takin’ advantage of all the free drinks you could be gettin’.” His smile sends a chill down your spine.

“Again, I’m fine,” you say, a little harsher. “My boyfriend has brought me plenty of drinks already.”

He laughs. It’s a high-pitched, scratchy, wheezing sound. Like a kazoo. “I don’t see this boyfriend of yours anywhere. He should know better than to leave you alone. I’d treat you much better than him.” His eyes travel down your neck and stay there. You stand from the booth and take a big step back. It’s not entirely personal; no matter how much of a threat he may be, Jason is a worse one. And if he’s still in this neighborhood, never mind this building, you fear for this man’s safety much more than your own. But the man follows, bringing the cup with him. “Come on, honey, it’s a compliment. Show a little thanks. I don’t bite.”

You don’t have to be the world���s finest detective to know that is most definitely a lie. Or to know to avoid that cup at all costs.

You could just rebuff him, walk away. But you’re willing to bet he’d just move on to the next woman. One who’s probably a little less sober, and a little less aware of her surroundings. You feign a stumble and knock the drink out of his grip. It tips toward him, drenching him with its contents. He chokes out a shocked gasp.

“Oops,” you deadpan, not at all trying to hide your indifference.

“You bitch,” he snarls. He lunges forward, snatching your wrist. You try to pull it back, but his grip is iron and bruising. “I was doing you a favor. Do you see anyone else here looking at you?”

You’re suddenly grateful you didn’t put up much of a fight after Jason came home from patrolling one night insisting he show you some self-defense moves. Far be it from you to cause a scene, but this guy isn’t giving you much choice. You employ the cardinal rule of women’s self-defense: go for the crotch. You shift your weight to your non-dominant side and launch your dominant knee right into his groin. The sharp metal edge of his belt buckle slices the skin just above your knee, but it shocks him enough to release your wrist and double over. The same leg used in your attack plants itself on the ground, and you use the momentum to pistol your opposite fist forward. It collides with his nose in a bone-cracking cross. Your stacks of studded rings didn’t do him any favors, either. He cries out in pain. His hands fly up to cover his nose, and the cup falls from his grasp and shatters on the floor, garnering the attention of some surrounding patrons. Blood seeps between his fingers.

“You’re gonna fucking pay for that.” His tone drips with poison. He reaches into his coat pocket and brandishes a switchblade (because of course. You’re not surprised, though. It is Gotham). You look around in a panic, hoping to find Jason towering somewhere over the crowd. He’s not there. A few guys who work for him, though, have since taken notice of the commotion and are making their way towards you. You know they won’t make it in time. You weren’t scared a moment ago, but you definitely are now. Jason only briefly covered disarming techniques, and you didn’t have his practice to stay calm in situations like these. He steps closer, shoes crunching over the glass shards, and you step back. You’re backed into a corner, literally. Your back is pressed against the table. His eyes are glassy and void of color.

There is a resounding pop when the man’s knife-wielding hand is yanked to the side. Too fast for your brain to register, he thuds against the table next to you and the knife clatters to the ground. You look over and see Jason, one hand pressing his face into the table and the other twisting the man’s arm behind his back. 

When his men finally reach you, Jason is seething. They look almost as afraid as the man, whose whimpers are muffled by the pressure with which he’s flattened against the table.

“Who the fuck let this happen,” Jason glowers. Uncomfortable glances are shared between the men, all sharing the same sentiment; we fucked up big time.

Jason’s livid gaze flits back and forth among them. His veins flex against his forearms, rippling with effort. It looks like he’s putting all his strength into incapacitating the man, but you know better. He’s putting all his strength into restraint. The look on his face is cold and steely, with hardened, venom-green eyes and a clenched jaw. This isn’t Jason, the sweet boyfriend, or Jason the easy-going yet respected club proprietor. This is Jason the crime lord. Jason the anti-hero. This is the Red Hood. Who makes his own rules and kills anyone who breaks them. It’s a bit off-putting for you to see him like this; he’s never like this with you. He’s always just…Jason. Your Jason.

One of his men speaks up. “We’re sorry, Boss, we were keepin’ an eye like you asked, but there was trouble up at the bar.”

Jason scowls. “Trouble that required all of you?”

At their silence, he rolls his eyes. “Idiots,” he says under his breath. He jerks the man up to stand, the hand that was pressing him to the table now gripping the back of his shirt collar. “Someone take care of this.” He shoves the man in their direction. Hard. One of them catches him. “And for fuck’s sake, check him for anything else.” 

While they’re busy patting him down, Jason turns back to you. You get whiplash from how quick his demeanor changes. Though still tense, the rigidity of his expression is long gone, replaced with tender concern.

“Are you okay?” His wide eyes scan you up and down, searching for any signs of injury. You manage a nod, still a bit stunned by his apparent shape-shifting abilities. “I’m so sorry, honey, this is my fault. It’s my fault for leaving you alone.” He pulls you close for a hug and kisses the top of your head, murmuring further apologies into your hair.

You pull back and cup his face in your hands. “It’s okay, Jay, I’m fine. I promise.” You lean in to kiss him and feel his shoulders relax.

“Jesus, man, sorry! Wouldn’t’a come on so strong if I knew she was your whore. How much did ‘ya pay for her, anyway?” His voice rings from behind. Jason tenses up again. When he pulls back from you, he’s gone. He’s like Jekyll-turned-Hyde when the combatant that lay dormant inside him reassumes his body.

He turns around, but his large frame shields you from seeing the scene unfold. You place a hand on his arm, a silent message of support, and you can feel him vibrating with anger. His hand comes to rest over yours and gives a reassuring squeeze.

“You know what?” You can’t be sure who he’s speaking to, but you can hear the eerie smile in his tone. “I’ll take care of this.” He faces you. “Can you give me a minute? Is that okay?” His voice is calm.

You know he would stay if you asked him to. And you never would, but you know he would go outside and kill that guy if you asked him to. And maybe you’re feeling a tad vindictive after the whole ordeal, so you just say, “Okay.”

He kisses your forehead, squeezing your hand once more. “I’ll come find you,” he says, stepping away, and you nod.

“Ross,” he commands. “Take her to the office. Get her whatever she wants.” Jason then speaks to all of his men. His tone drips with disdain. “Tomorrow we’ll talk about who’s getting fired for this.” You catch some of his men flinch.

He grabs the man by the collar once again and stalks towards the exit, dragging him along.

You’ve met Ross once or twice, though never exchanged more than a few words. He smiles at you. It’s amiable, if not slightly nervous. You know where the office is, but you’re still grateful for the guide. The mesh of moving bodies under dim lights makes all four corners of the room look the same. With the adrenaline wearing off, your hands ache and you become acutely aware of the stinging shock that shoots up your knee when you walk on it but, persevering, you follow him to the back. He holds the door that reads ‘RESTRICTED - DO NOT ENTER’ open for you, and you smile in thanks.

Various employees, servers and performers alike, mill about in the back hallways. You know some of them, having met in passing during other visits to the club, and offer polite greetings as you walk by. When you arrive at Jason’s office, Ross unlocks the door for you and you step inside.

It’s a nice office, noticeably homier than it was when you and Jason met. The first time he brought you back here it was just a desk, a chair, and a filing cabinet. You perched yourself on his desk while he sat in his chair and you teased him for not having a place for guests to sit, saying something about ‘men and their awful interior designing skills.’

“It’s not ‘bad skills,’ it’s cost-effective. ‘M runnin’ a business here, baby. If you need a place to sit that badly, you can sit right here.” He joked, patting his lap. And he said it with such conviction you believed him, but the next time you visited there was a brand new, plushy suede couch pushed against the wall.

You find a seat on said couch and try to get comfortable despite your protesting joints. From here you can spot a framed photo on Jason’s desk; the two of you smiling while bathing a shelter dog at the Wayne Animal Sanctuary. But while you smile at the camera, his gaze is trained on you.

 Ross stands in the doorway, stoic as a bodyguard should be. “Do you need anything?” He asks you.

“No, I’m okay. Thank you, though.”

“‘Course. I’ll be outside. Just yell if you need anything.” He moves to exit, but pauses. “Look,” he says, “We’re all really sorry about what happened. It was our fault. You have every right to hate us.” He chuckles self-deprecatingly. “God knows the boss does.”

You purse your lips, unsure how to respond. Technically Jason did instruct them not to leave you alone. But really, the only person at fault is that horrible man, and he was currently getting what he deserved.

“It’s okay, Ross,” you say, and you mean it. “I don’t blame you. And Jason’s not gonna fire any of you, okay? I won’t let him.”

He exhales. “Okay, you—yeah. Okay. Thanks.” He loiters awkwardly in the doorway for a moment. “Listen, Todd’s always been a great boss. But it’s no joke when it comes to you. Don’t know exactly what happened, but after meeting you, he’s just…different. Not sure if I believe it, but after the first time you were here, one of the bartenders swears they heard him whistling. Anyway, just mean to say…we’re glad he has you.”

His sincerity warms your heart. You thank him, and he assumes his post outside, closing the door. 

At last in decent lighting, you take the time to examine yourself. Your knee, knuckles, and wrist are splotchy with bruises. A small scrape rests just above your knee from you were scratched. There’s a splattering of blood on your knuckles and on the rings you’re wearing. You grimace, the reality of what just happened settling in. Someone pulled a knife on you. If Jason hadn’t been there…the thought leaves you cold.

There are voices on the other side of the door, then receding footsteps. After a few seconds, a knock.

“Baby? Can I come in?”

“Yes,” you call out. Jason enters, locking the door behind him. There are some smatterings of blood on his hands and face, and he’s holding a first aid kit. Your immediate instinct is that he’s the one who needs first aid.

“Are you okay?” You ask as he kneels on the floor in front of you. “Did he hurt you?”

Jason tilts his head like a confused puppy, eyebrow raised. Just like that, The Red Hood is gone. He’s Jason again. He speaks softly, with a hint of his usual boyish charm. “Should I be insulted by you asking me that?” He picks up your un-injured leg and places the foot on his thigh, beginning to unravel the ribbon wrapped around your ankle. He removes the shoe and places it to the side, then repeats with your other foot. But when he moves it, your knee twitches and you wince. He frowns but doesn’t say anything. He sees the way your eyes travel between all the spots of blood. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, none of it’s mine.”

You sigh in relief. “You didn’t…kill him, did you?”

He chuckles, lightly massaging your foot. “Nah…did you want me to? ‘Cause I can still—”

“No.”

He smirks at you, before leaning down to press a kiss to your bruised knee. It’s so gentle, so loving, it completely contradicts the bloodstains that adorn him. As his hands move up to your calf, your hand moves to his hair, fingers threading through the white streaks and pushing them back so you can get a better view of his eyes. They’re a silky teal, bordering on sea green. They remind you of lake trips in the summer, and ice skating during the holidays.

“How bad is he? Like, on a scale of ‘he can walk it off’ to ‘he needs to go to the hospital.’”

Jason pauses his movements, looking thoughtful for a moment.

“He…he’s walking himself to the hospital.”

There’s not much you can say to that. After all, you gave him to okay to go fuck that guy up.

From the first aid kit, he retrieves a box of Band-Aids. They’re the children’s ones, decorated with cartoons and various characters. A specific one catches your eye, and you pick it out of the carton.

“Robin? Really?”

Jason breathes out a small laugh. “One of my guys’ daughter loves him.” He unwraps the bandage and sticks it over the scratch. You admire the small red plaster. Jason traces a finger over the emblem in the center, a black and yellow ‘R’.

He moves from your leg to your hand, gingerly laying it in his palm. One by one he slides each of your rings off. They’re not particularly special, but you still like them and you try to protest when he tosses them in the trash. He’s quick to assuage you with promises to buy you new ones with, hopefully, less blood.

"Did you see how good I got him?" You suddenly feel shy asking such a question. Like a child seeking validation.

"I did see," Jason says. And there's not a hint of condescension in his tone. "I'm proud of you. You remembered what I taught you."

You beam under his pride.

He uses a sanitizing wipe to remove the droplets of blood from your knuckles, kissing each one along the way. He reaches your wrist last. There’s a purple hand-shaped mark that wraps around it, and he stares at it. You can see his thoughts race at sixty miles an hour, and you know he’s beating himself up about it.

“Hey.” The hand in his hair moves to stroke his cheek. “It’s okay. It’s not your fault. I promise. I love you.”

He leans forward to press his forehead to your wrist. “I’m sorry,” he breathes. “I’m sorry.” He places gentle kisses on the purple skin. “I’m sorry. I love you.” He moves to the scratch above your knee, pressing more kisses, repeating the words like a prayer. Your hand is still enclosed in his hands, and his cool fingers soothe the throbbing swell. You pull his head up, holding his chin in your fingertips. His eyes close as he soaks in your warm touch.

You reach for another wipe and begin wiping the blood from his face. Some of it has dried, so you press the wipe a little harder, and blood rushes to his cheeks to give him an adorable flush. You repeat the process on his hands. Blood erased and wipes discarded, you pull him up to the couch to lie down with you. He stretches out, so large that his feet hang over the armrest. You snuggle up to his side and your head rests on his shoulder. He wraps his arms around you and kisses the top of your head. It’s surreal, how utterly soft he is, and just for you. How no one else gets to see him like this. He goes out at night as a fighter, a crusader, a deadly threat. And then he comes home to sleep in your arms. In your bed.

You place your hand against his chest, right over his heart to feel it thrum beneath your palm. It beats simple and steady, and just for you.

am i the only one who likes the whole jason owning the iceberg lounge storyline (aside from the whole penguin prisoner thing but i only write according to canon that i like and leave out the things i don't! whoops🤷‍♀️);

the feminine urge to write more fics that take place within the universe of this one...

divider is from here

[dearlenore]

DAUGHTER IN LAW • S.REID

SUMMARY: after Spencer gets out of jail, he is determined to find the perfect caregiver for his mother. However, to his surprise, she seems to have already found the ideal nurse herself.

PAIRING: fem!nurse!reader x spencer

tags: reader is a cutie pie, reader wears makeup, reader is flirty bombshell, mentions of schizophrenia, Alzheimer’s, canon cm violence

a/n: so much medical!reader x Spencer, if you are waiting on a request please be patient! I’m trying to knock out all my drafts before writing new things🥹 love u all!!

w/c: 1.5k

“MOM, I’M HOME!” Spencer called out from the front door, tossing his keys into a bowl and his satchel onto the couch. “Mom?” His voice rose with concern when no reply came.

He moved to her room, frowning as he realized the door wasn’t fully closed. Knocking lightly, he pushed it open.

“Oh! You must be Doctor Reid?” you said with a warm smile as you stepped out.

Spencer’s hand shot instinctively toward his holster.

“Woah! Please don’t…” you stammered, raising your hands in surrender. “I’m definitely unarmed.” You let out a nervous laugh.

“Spencer!” His mother’s sharp voice cut through the tension. “Where are your manners?” She shook her head in annoyance as she appeared behind you. “She’s my new nurse — since you insisted I needed one.”

“You can’t just invite random people into my apartment!” Spencer protested.

You quickly stepped forward, balancing on your tiptoes to peek over his mother’s shoulder. “I’m really sorry,” you said sincerely. “She sort of…chased her last nurse out of the building, and I saw her outside. I figured I’d help her out. Plus, I brought groceries?” You smiled sheepishly, pointing to the bags on the counter.

Spencer narrowed his eyes at you, clearly trying to size you up. After a moment, he exhaled heavily and dropped onto the couch, burying his face in his hands.

“Sorry… I’m sorry, I just… had a long day,” he mumbled.

“I get it,” you said, sitting beside him — not too close, but close enough that your knee brushed his. “Caretaking’s no picnic either. Your mom’s been telling me all about your job.”

“She did?” Spencer’s head lifted slightly, surprise flickering in his tired eyes.

“Mhm,” you nodded. “She’s amazing — kind, patient, funny. And for someone who was in a care home just a month ago… she’s awfully aware.”

Spencer rubbed his eye and gave you a confused look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That maybe…” You paused, your smile turning a little playful. “Maybe love’s the best medicine.”

He snorted softly, the corners of his mouth quirking up. “That sounds like something from one of those feel-good hospital dramas.”

“Oh, totally,” you agreed with a grin. “But hey… if it works, it works.”

For the first time that day, Spencer’s shoulders seemed to relax. “Maybe you’re right,” he admitted.

“I usually am,” you teased. “But hey, if you’re skeptical, I could always prescribe you some fresh air — maybe a coffee run? Strictly professional recommendation, of course.”

Spencer looked up at you, and for a moment, he wondered if you were in the wrong profession. Caretaking? Really? With your warm smile, soft voice, and effortless charm — not to mention that gorgeous figure (which he tried very hard not to stare at for too long) — you seemed more like someone who belonged on a stage or in a room full of admirers.

And yet here you were, fussing over his mother with gentle patience, helping her get comfortable in her armchair. You draped a cozy blanket over her lap, making sure she had her tea close by. His mother never let anyone take care of her without a fight — but with you, she seemed calm, even content.

“She’s the kind of girl you should marry,” his mother murmured suddenly, her voice low but unmistakably firm.

Spencer blinked. “Mom…” He shot her a look, but she just raised an eyebrow.

“I’m just saying,” she added with a shrug, before turning back to her book.

Spencer lingered in the doorway for a moment, watching you hum softly as you wiped down the kitchen counter. The sight of you — moving so comfortably in his home, sleeves pushed up as you puttered around like you belonged there — made something unfamiliar twist in his chest.

“Hey,” you called out, breaking him from his thoughts. “Are you hungry? I was thinking I could make dinner… if you don’t mind some experimental cooking.”

“You cook too?” Spencer asked, stepping into the kitchen.

“Well…” you shot him a teasing smile. “I can read a recipe. That’s basically the same thing, right?”

He chuckled. “Yeah, something like that.”

The two of you moved around the kitchen, bumping elbows and brushing past each other in the small space. Every time your arm grazed his, Spencer felt his pulse jump. At one point, you reached over him to grab a pan, your hair brushing his shoulder, and he nearly forgot what he was supposed to be doing.

“You know,” Spencer said, clearing his throat, “I’m… surprised my mom’s actually letting you take care of her. She’s usually pretty stubborn.”

“She’s sweet,” you replied as you stirred a pot on the stove. “A little feisty, but I like that. Besides…” You glanced over your shoulder at him. “I have experience with stubborn people.”

“Oh?” He leaned against the counter, smirking. “And how do you deal with them?”

You grinned. “Patience. And charm.”

“Seems to be working.” The words slipped out before he could stop them.

Your smile widened, and Spencer felt a wave of heat crawl up his neck.

After dinner, once his mother had gone to bed, you lingered at the door with your bag slung over your shoulder.

“So…” you said with a smile. “About that coffee?”

“Yeah,” Spencer replied, a little too quickly. He swallowed, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck. “I’d love to… sometime.”

Your smile softened, and you reached up, brushing a stray curl away from his forehead. “Good. It’s a date,” you said, giving him a playful wink before heading out to put dinner on the coffee table for him, yourself and his mom.

Spencer stood there for a long moment after you’d gone, still feeling the ghost of your fingertips on his skin.

Come eat, Doctor Reid!” your voice called out, breaking Spencer from his trance once more.

You were sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the coffee table, arranging plates like it was the most natural thing in the world. The soft glow from the nearby lamp lit your face, and Spencer wondered how you managed to look so effortlessly put together after such a long day.

He shook off the thought and quickly walked over.

“Where are my manners?” you said, standing up and dusting your hands off on your scrubs. “What would you like to drink, Mrs. Reid?”

“Oh, just water is fine,” she replied with a gentle smile.

“You got it,” you said, brushing past Spencer on your way to the kitchen. Your arm briefly grazed his, and he swore his brain short-circuited for a second.

He sat down beside his mother, still a little distracted. “So… you like her?”

His mother gave him a pointed look. “I like her more than that last nurse you sent.”

“Well, yeah,” Spencer chuckled. “That guy quit before his second shift.”

“Because I chased him out,” Mrs. Reid said with a sly smile.

“You’re impossible,” Spencer muttered, but his mother’s chuckle made him smile.

When you returned, you handed Mrs. Reid her water and passed Spencer a glass of iced tea.

“Figured you could use a little sugar,” you said with a wink.

“Are you trying to convince me to employ you?” Spencer asked, raising a brow. “But don’t worry about that

“Maybe,” you teased. “But only because you seem like you’re worth the effort.”

Spencer felt heat crawl up his neck again, but before he could respond, Mrs. Reid spoke up.

“You know,” she began, spearing a piece of roasted potato with her fork, “this is lovely. It’s been a while since I’ve had a proper home-cooked meal.”

“Glad you like it,” you said, smiling proudly. “I wasn’t sure if I remembered the recipe right.”

“It’s perfect,” Mrs. Reid assured you. “Spencer, you’d better keep her around.”

“Mom…” Spencer muttered, shooting her a look.

“I’m just saying!” she continued. “Smart, sweet, patient — and she cooks?” She gestured toward you with her fork. “That’s wife material right there. Your—“ she cut herself off before she could mention his father which you didn’t notice.

You laughed softly, looking down at your plate as your face warmed. “Wow, no pressure,” you joked.

Spencer groaned, dragging his hand down his face. “Please ignore her. She’s —”

“Right,” Mrs. Reid cut in. “I’m right.”

“Be nice! She wants to be able to see you get married someday,” you teased, flashing Spencer a grin.

He could only shake his head, but the smile tugging at his lips was impossible to hide.

By the time dinner wrapped up, the conversation had flowed easily — you sharing funny patient stories, Spencer rambling about obscure facts (which you seemed to genuinely enjoy), and Mrs. Reid chiming in with her own dry humor. It felt… comfortable. Like this was something that had been happening for years.

“Thank you,” Spencer said as you started gathering the dishes. “For dinner… for helping my mom… for everything.”

“Of course,” you said softly, your eyes meeting his. “I’ll be back tomorrow?”

“I’ll be looking forward to it,” Spencer said before he could stop himself.

You paused in the doorway, shooting him one last smile. “Goodnight, Doctor Reid.”

“Goodnight,” he murmured, watching you leave.

His mother cleared her throat dramatically from the couch.

“Wife material,” she said again with a smug smile.

[meo-eiru]

Day 3 of Character Trivia Night!

For tonight we have Lavi

Lavi is the son of two high ranking demons

Beauty and power makes you attractive to other demons, so Lavi who had both right from birth was spoiled like no other his whole life

Due to his power and rank it's really hard to summon him so when you did it he assumed you went out of your way to do it and was targeting him specifically

His ideal partner is someone who does what he says and spoils him, if you don't fit that description he'll forcefully make you fit the mold

He likes to stay up late and laze around in bed until lunch time, he'll also force you to follow the same schedule as well

Out of all the boys he's the most likely to visibly get angry at you and take it out on you physically

A lot of stuff makes him angry but there are levels to it and each level brings out a different type of tantum

Low level ones are not including him in something you're doing, not watching the show he wanted to watch, complimenting animals and/or inanimate objects when he's right there, not kissing him as soon as you wake up etc. These don't cause big outbursts but will cause him to act extra needy

Mid level ones are going out without him, forcing him to wear something he doesn't like, not praising him properly, being in a room with other men, not having sex with him as soon as he shows signs of wanting it, not responding when he's talking to you etc. These ones will cause bigger outbursts, often public. He'll be crying, screaming and stomping his feet. He might pull your clothes or hair or physically attack someone near you

High level ones are actually sleeping with someone else, actively ignoring him to pay attention to someone else, badmouthing and/or insulting him, attempting or managing to summon another demon, attempting to exorcise him and/or physically hurting him with holy items etc. With these he'll be mad. It's pretty much over for everyone around. If the offense is tied to someone else like a man you were with or a demon you summoned he'll personally make their face unrecognizable, drag their bloodied body around in hell and hang it on a high spot to set an example. When it comes to you he won't be screaming like his normal tantrums, he'll just grab you by your hair and drag you to a bedroom. If you try to protest he'll pierce your skin with his nails deep and leave bleeding scratch marks to make sure you remember what he'll do to you forever. He might also dig his heels into your skin depending on how much you're fighting back.

He can burn others, charm them or suck out their life energy. He's small but does have inhumane strength and speed

His blood can work as a light aphrodisiac but is addictive

No matter what type of personality you have he'll force you to be on top of him during sex

He really likes it when you mark his skin and if it's for sex you're allowed to choke him too. The next day he'll run out half naked just to make the people around see the marks

Once you tried going to work/school while he was still asleep but he unfortunately raided the building as soon as he realized you were gone and threw the desks around until you let him sit on your lap as you worked

His wings and tail can be quite sensitive

He likes to wrap the tail around your leg while you two are having sex and squeeze it hard

He likes being manhandled if it's for foreplay

He wants you to spoil him and buy him all the clothes and accessories he wants and hasn't asked for yet, he doesn't really care if you end up in debt or something, he can always just drag your soul down to hell with him

But he lowkey enjoys watching you struggle to take care of him

He doesn't need to eat but he loves anything sweet, if a normal human tried eating the desserts he eats on a daily basis they'd die from sugar overdose

He loves to publicly shame anyone who shows interest in him while he's already with you and expects you to do the same

His skin is completely spotless, not a single scar which is something to proud of as a demon. It's one of the reasons why he exposes so much skin

[rafayelxsylusho]

LADS men and their kink$.

Xavier🌟

Hair pulling: He loves it when you take charge, especially when his face is buried in between your pretty thighs, he thinks there is nothing better than feeling your fingers tangling, tugging, holding him in place as he eats your pussy The slight sting of pain as you grip tighter, urging him closer, demanding more.. and when he is buried deep inside you, he wants your nails digging into his scalp as he takes you hard and fast.

Face fucking: He loves seeing your pretty lips stretched wide around his cock to take him in, the softness of them against his shaft, taking him so deep and feeling your throat swallow around him, fighting to take him deeper even as he fucks into your face. Seeing tears spring to your eyes, your makeup running down your face as he fuck your throat raw. Knowing he reduced you to a sloppy, desperate mess.

He likes hearing the obscene sounds of his cock pounding your throat, the slick, sloppy noises of you choking on his dick, t's the headiest fucking turn-on.

Cockwarming: Feeling your soft, pliant body mold around his hard, aching length, It's like your pussy is welcoming him home, embracing him, enveloping him in the most exquisite way possible. He loves the way your walls flutter and clench around him, like they never want to let him go, like they're trying to keep him deep inside you. He likes this especially when he just needs to feel you, if he is exhausted after training he just wants you sitting on his lap, cock buried deep inside while he savours the feeling.

Cunnilingus: We all know he is a thighs man, he loves the feeling of your thighs trembling against his ears, hearing your breathy cries and needy whimpers echoing off the walls as he devours your pussy like a starving man at a feast. He takes pride in reducing you to a writhing, mewling mess, in knowing that he is the one driving you to the brink of ecstasy with just his mouth and tongue. But most of all, he loves worshipping you like this. Showing you with every lap of his tongue, every press of his lips, every suckle and nibble, just how much he fucking adores you. His deep blue eyes never leave your face.

Zayne🥼

Orgasm denial: This man will give you the world if you ask him to but ooohh how he loves knowing that he has the power to unravel you, to push you to the very brink of madness with pleasure, and yet hold you back, keep you teetering on that edge. He feels there's a certain thrill in pushing you to your limits, in watching your body tremble and your face contort as you beg so sweetly for release. He likes knowing that he is the one in control, the one dictating your pleasure, that with a word, a touch, he can either grant you the explosive climax you crave or deny you and leave you aching, wanting, needing. After all it's like he says "Patience is a virtue"

Bondage: Its the rush of knowing that he can do anything he wants to your body and you can only lie there and take it. Bondage is about trust and he loves knowing that you entrust yourself completely to his care, his guidance, his mercy, even as he pushes your boundaries, even as he takes you to the very limits of your endurance, you still have faith in him, faith that he would never truly hurt you, that he will always keep you safe, sated and utterly, completely satisfied. And he also likes to see your wrists and ankles bound, the delicate skin flushed and slightly chafed from the friction of the rope or satin ties.

Dry humping: Dry humping you in that damn rocking chair. It's the perfect combination of intimacy and tease. Having you straddled across his lap, your soft, pliant body pressed against his. The rocking chair provides the ideal rhythm, the constant, sensual undulation of bodies grinding together, building a delicious friction and pressure that sets your nerves alight. The way your cunt grinds against his cock, the damp heat of your arousal seeping through to soak his pants, marking him and letting him feel how fucking desperate you are.

Temp play: The contrast of heat and cold, he likes the way it makes your skin flush and your nerves sing, your body both yearning for and recoiling from the sensation. Watching your nipples harden and your skin prickle, seeing your body's instinctive reaction to the temperature shift is a fucking erotic spectacle to him. He loves the way the heat makes your cunt drip and your juices flow, your body preparing itself, readying itself for the pleasure to come and the way the coolness makes you clench and flutter, your greedy hole aching to be stretched and filled and stuffed full. The contrast is like a drug, a high like no other.

Caleb🪐

Uniforms: He likes the way the uniform looks on him, the way it showcases the power and the strength of his body, the way it screams that he is a man of action, a man who can protect you, cherish you, and fuck you in equal measure. The uniform represents a part of his life, a duty, a responsibility and the thrill of defiling it, of marking it with your touch, your scent, your juices drives him crazy. Besides he knows you like the way his uniform looks when it's slightly askew, his hair tousled, his shirt unbuttoned, as he pins you against the wall and fucks you hard, fast and deep.

Spit: Maybe it's the depravity of it, the absolute filth, the way it marks you as his, desperate for any taste of him, no matter how degrading. He loves watching you open your pretty mouth, your lips part and your tongue flick out to catch the first drop of his saliva, it drives him fucking crazy to know that you're so fucking eager, so hungry, that you'll take whatever he gives you, no matter what it is. Once he feels your throat under his thumb, swallowing, he is done for.

Overstimulation: He knows that even as you beg for a break, for a moment to breathe, you still crave more. Knows that your body is so hungry for it, greedy for every touch, every kiss, every thrust. He gets a rush knowing that he can take you to the edge of oblivion and back again, as many times as he wants, that he is the one dragging you kicking and screaming into a world of ecstasy you never even knew existed.

Brat taming: He hates it when you get all defiant and bratty, but he loves seeing you go from mouthy and defiant to a begging, cock-drunk mess in his arms. He loves every second of taming your fiery spirit, of breaking you down and building you back up exactly how he wants you. Every time it's like a red flag waved in front of a bull, a fucking challenge he can't resist taking up.

Rafayel 🐡

Choking: He gets hard the moment he sees your eyes roll back, your cheeks flushed, your mouth open and your tongue lolling out, it's like watching a piece of art come to life, a masterpiece painted in the colors of desperation and need. He loves feeling your pulse jump and race beneath his fingers, knowing that he is the one making your heart pound, making your lungs burn, making your world narrow down to the simple, primal sensation of his hands around your throat.

Semi public: He likes playing with fire after all, that's why he loves the thrill of it, the adrenaline that races through his veins when he has you pinned against a wall, or bent over a desk, knowing that anyone could walk by and see him claiming you, fucking you, ruining you in broad fucking daylight. He knows that no matter where you are, no matter who might see you, all you can focus on is the feeling of his cock splitting you open and claiming you.

Eye contact: Looking into your eyes while he is buried inside you, while he is claiming you, ruining you, wrecking you it's the most intimate and the most erotic work of art he could ever create

He needs to see your face when you come undone. He needs to watch the way your eyes glaze over with pleasure, the way they flutter shut and then fly open wide as you cum. He needs to witness the way your pupils dilate with each thrust, each push, each drag of his cock along your walls. And the way you look at him when you're coming, the way your eyes go blank, the way you just stare at him like he's the only thing that matters, the only thing that exists in that moment.

Wax play: He loves seeing the way the hot, molten wax paints your skin, watching it drip and slide over every dip and curve of your body, it's like an artist watching his masterpiece come to life, and the way it feels, the way it coats your body like a second skin, trapping your heat, your desire, your desperation. He likes to know that he's the one shaping it, the one molding it, the one creating something beautiful and erotic and completely for his pleasure.

Sylus 🐦‍⬛

Size: He is big in every sense of the word, he likes to see how small your hand is compared to his, how his much larger hand wraps around your slender throat, feeling your pulse race beneath his fingers as he squeezes, it's like holding your life in his hands, owning your very existence. He loves the way his cock splits your little mouth open, stretching your jaw wide, forcing you to take every inch of his thick, hard length. Seeing you gag and choke on his size, feeling your throat convulse around him as you struggle to take it all.

Body worship: He likes to map every single inch of your body with his hands, his lips, his tongue, he wants to learn it by heart, to know it better than he knows his own name. He want to worship at the altar of your flesh, to offer up every single sinful, delicious prayer he can think of to the goddess that is your body. This man could spend hours, days, fucking years just exploring your body with his hands, with his mouth, with every inch of his being.

Dirty talk: He loves to watch your eyes widen, see your cheeks blush, hear your breath hitch, knowing that he can reduce you to a needy, desperate, wanton mess with just his words alone turns him on. This man tells you exactly what he is going to do to your body. He wants you to hear every filthy, depraved, utterly fucking obscene thing that crosses his mind as he imagines all the ways he is going to claim you.

Breeding: he wants to fuck you full of his cum, he wants to pump you so full that you're dripping with it, that it's leaking out of you, that you're drenched in the proof of how thoroughly he bred you, but even better is the idea of pushing it all back inside with his fingers. And just the thought of putting a baby in you, of watching your body change and grow and blossom with new life is enough to drive him insane.

ALL 5 OF THEM 🐦‍⬛🐡🪐🥼🌟

Marking: He loves the red imprints of his fingers on your hips, ass and thighs, teeth marks littering the lush curves of your tits and neck, it's like a brand, a tattoo of his ownership etched into your flesh. He wants the world to look at you and know that your body belongs to him.