#AND NOW IN MONSTER HE'S GIVING THAT UP ENTIRELY

[fishymom-art]

Little observation i have, while awakened Shadow Milk look like a prince, Corrupted PV is a princess. It's really give Prince must save the Princess but with a twist cause PV call himself a monster. Is he a trap ? A foil for the prince ? A wolf in sheep clothing ? Or the prince must simply save the princess from herself ? Shadow milk is tearing up demanding to get the one he knew to be bring back to him but PV is just apathetic to his word. Without his staff can he even see him ? Can he even hear him or does everything seems just so foolish. It's so interesting, and I'm wondering with all his souljam with him and his staff gone how does PV perceive the world now ? Is he like truthless recluse or has he became a whole entire new person ?

He’s still the same old Silly-Vanilly, what do you mean? :)

He just embraced the “monster”. For the better, of course. And he’s gotten much much better!!!

(Got I need to make a post with all the comics in a chronological order)

((Also god i am in love with how you phrased all of this))

[imaginedreamwrite]

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZT2mLP1kL/

Omega and König

"I need a stool." He stops and turns to look at you over his shoulder, his eyebrows knit together. You're standing behind him with your hands on your hips and your eyebrows furrowing in thought. Your eyes are narrowed slightly as you look him over, gauging and judging his size in comparison to your own, deep in thought.

"Why?" He asks so innocently and curiously, now turning to lean back against the counter's edge. The heels of his hand rest against the rounded edge, and one ankle is crossed over the other as he stands just feet away from you.

"I'm short." You give the most basic and ordinary answer, shrugging in a way that makes it seem so casual. "I need a step stool to be able to look you in the eyes."

Ah, now he understands. Now he knows why his pregnant omega wants to risk death by standing on a step stool while pregnant.

"Nein." Konig immediately turns the idea down with a shake of his head, as if the idea is absolutely preposterous. "No stools."

"I really don't think-" he shifts as you talk, stretching his legs out in front of him as he lowers his stature, bringing his eyeline so much closer to your own. "-really..?"

When you laugh and roll your eyes at him, he feels a natural urgency to scoop you up and take you to the bedorom. You are so beautiful, so charming and ethereal and you don't even try.

He truly doesn't know how some cold hearted and brutish alpha bastard like him could ever had gotten an omega like you. He was a monster on the battlefield, he was an arrogant and cocky brute, but here within these walls...

He was nothing but a fool in love.

"You're ridiculous." You laugh again and step over his legs to straddle him, and electricity pulses from your hands when you touch him. And when you lean in to kiss him? He swears the entire galaxy stopped in it's place the moment your lips meet.

"No stools." He mumbles against your lips, moving one hand to rest upon your back. "Let me handle it."

[misshoneyimhome]

“You’re not wearing anything under that, are you?” When the OC surprises William wearing nothing underneath her Jersey and explore voyeurism/exhibitionism x multiple orgasms. I love your Willy series.

Thank you, babe! Alrighty, I know we’ve had plenty of teasing reader content lately—what can I say, William has truly created a monster 😉🤭 But I felt it was only right to give him a well-deserved shoutout for all the incredible modeling work he’s been doing! (Not me gasping and drooling over every single shoot he’s in… 🙈) - And I did try to add a touch of romance, though 💍

I do apologise if I didn’t quite capture the voyeurism/exhibitionism aspect perfectly, but I still hope you enjoy this chapter! 💕

Tropes & warnings: Inexperienced!reader x Willy, established relationship, 18+ smut: semi-public - dressing room, oral sex (m receiving), fingering, light chokehold, unprotected vaginal penetration, overstimulation, cum inside

word count: 4.5K

➼｡ﾟ

Flaunt It, Own It I Inexperienced!Reader x William Nylander ✐☆

The air crackled with tension the moment you stepped into the studio, the dim lighting casting a golden glow over the sleek set where William had spent the last hour posing for yet another magazine cover. The entire room felt thick with energy—an intoxicating mix of camera flashes, murmured instructions from the photographer, and the quiet hum of admiration from the crew that surrounded him.

And he looked infuriatingly good—like he was born for the spotlight.

Standing under the studio lights, William exuded effortless confidence. His sharp jawline, dusted with the perfect amount of scruff and his moustache, caught the glow just right. His hair, still slightly damp from the stylist’s hands, was perfectly tousled, a deliberate kind of mess that made him look even more devastatingly handsome. But it was his eyes that got you the most—those deep, piercing blues, the ones that smouldered into the camera with an intensity that had your stomach flipping in ways you couldn’t control.

Dressed in a loose tailored suit, the crisp white shirt beneath was unbuttoned just enough to tease at the toned chest you knew so well. He had the sleeves rolled up, exposing his strong forearms, veins prominent from the way he’d been flexing through poses. His posture was relaxed but commanding, like he knew exactly the effect he had on the room—on you.

And he did.

You weren’t the only one noticing.

Around him, a cluster of people flitted about—the photographer directing him into effortless poses, the stylists making minor adjustments to his collar, the makeup artist stepping in now and then to dab at his cheekbones. But it was the way the female journalists and assistants lingered that had your stomach churning. Their eyes drank him in, filled with admiration, a few biting their lips, whispering amongst themselves whenever he sent them an easy grin.

They weren’t just admiring him. They were fantasizing.

And you knew what William was like. He was charming—he thrived under attention, under adoration. He smiled back at them, laughed at their jokes, even held eye contact for a second too long.

Normally, you’d be unfazed. You were secure in what you had with him. You knew that at the end of the day, he was yours. But something about the way they looked at him today, about the way he leaned into the attention, made a fire ignite deep in your belly.

If they could fight for his attention, so could you.

But you wouldn’t do it like them. No, you knew how to get to William. You knew exactly what drove him wild.

So instead of throwing yourself at him like the others, you did the opposite.

You ignored him.

The next few hours, you made it a point not to look at him. Not once. Instead, you busied yourself with checking your phone, casually making conversation with Pablo and Banksy, petting them as if they were the only things worth your time. When assistants tried to chat with you, you laughed a little too hard, smiled a little too wide—just enough for William to notice.

And he did notice.

You could feel it—the way his gaze kept flickering in your direction between takes, the way his jaw tightened slightly when your laugh rang out a little louder than necessary. William wasn’t used to being ignored, least of all by you.

Still, he played it cool.

For a while, at least.

From the corner of your eye, you saw him roll his shoulders back, adjusting his stance slightly as he prepared for the next set of shots. His suit jacket was long discarded, his casual sweater zipped down even further, exposing just a hint of the sculpted chest beneath. He looked effortlessly sinful, and he knew it.

So did everyone else.

The stylist brushed a bit of lint from his sleeve, her fingers lingering longer than necessary. Another assistant offered him a bottle of water, her gaze flicking down to his lips as he drank. The female journalist interviewing him hung onto his every word, playing with her hair, tilting her head just enough to make it obvious she was interested in more than his answers.

William soaked it all in, thriving under the attention—but his eyes kept searching for you.

And that’s exactly what you wanted.

You continued your act, shifting slightly so your leg brushed against the assistant beside you, offering a bright, flirty smile as you tucked your hair behind your ear. The guy grinned back, clearly intrigued by the sudden attention.

That was all it took.

The moment the next set of photos wrapped up; William was on the move.

His strides were purposeful, his entire frame radiating something dark and possessive as he made his way toward you. He didn’t stop to acknowledge the lingering stylists, didn’t spare another glance at the journalist who had been subtly touching his arm just moments before.

No.

His sights were set solely on you.

Your heart pounded as he reached you, his presence commanding as he came to stand directly in front of you. The subtle cologne he wore—deep, musky, with a hint of something clean and citrusy—wrapped around you, sending a shiver down your spine.

He didn’t speak at first, just studied you, his head tilting slightly as if trying to decipher your little game. His eyes flickered briefly to the assistant beside you—the one still sitting a little too close—before he returned his gaze to you. And the assistant got the hint to ‘piss off.’

“You’re enjoying yourself,” William mused, his voice low, amused.

You blinked up at him innocently. “I don’t know what you mean.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, his lips curling in that slow, knowing smirk that made your stomach flutter and your thighs press together instinctively.

“You’ve barely looked at me all day,” he murmured, stepping closer—so close that you had to tilt your chin up to meet his gaze. “Even when I was right in front of you.”

You shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “You seemed busy.”

William’s smirk widened slightly, but his eyes darkened.

“Not too busy for you,” he murmured.

The way he said it—the way his voice dropped just slightly, that unmistakable edge creeping in—made something tighten low in your belly.

But you weren’t going to give in that easily.

You merely hummed, shifting slightly as if to brush past him. “Well, don’t let me interrupt—”

Before you could take another step, his fingers curled around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. His grip wasn’t forceful, but it was firm—just enough to remind you who was in control.

“Enough, älskling.” His voice was quiet, just for you, but laced with a warning.

Your pulse stuttered.

His fingers trailed along the curve of your ass, barely brushing against the fabric, but it was enough to make your breath hitch. The sensation sent a shiver racing down your spine, the heat of his touch searing through you despite the minimal contact. He knew exactly what he was doing—reminding you who you belonged to, who you’d been teasing all day.

“You’ve had your fun,” William murmured, his voice a low hum, teasing but firm. His fingertips skimmed over your hip before gripping it lightly, his thumb brushing slow, deliberate circles. “But you know how this ends, don’t you?”

You swallowed hard, your pulse hammering in your throat.

The moment was cut short as voices drifted closer; members of the crew moving about, discussing lighting adjustments and final shots. You barely had time to steady your breath before the sound of footsteps signalled their approach. William’s grip on your hip tightened for the briefest moment, a silent warning, before he effortlessly slipped back into his composed, charming demeanour.

You, however, felt anything but composed.

As the crew members passed, one of the assistants flashed William a bright smile. “Hey, Willy, they’re setting up for the last few shots. Shouldn’t take long.”

He nodded, offering that easy, friendly grin—the one that made everyone feel special, like they had his full attention. “Sounds good.”

Then, as if he hadn’t just been moments away from completely unravelling you, he turned back to you, his expression unreadable. But the dark glint in his eyes told you this wasn’t over.

You’d won just a bit more time.

And that meant you could keep playing your game.

So, you straightened your spine, smoothing your shirt as if nothing had happened, meeting his gaze with feigned innocence. “Guess you should get back to work,” you murmured, letting your fingers brush against his wrist in a fleeting, teasing touch before stepping back.

William’s jaw twitched.

You knew you were pushing it, but that was the point.

As he turned toward the set, you bit back a smirk, knowing full well that you weren’t done yet. You still had time to keep teasing him, keep making him work for your attention.

Your move was borderline cruel, and you knew it. But after watching William charm his way through the day—smiling a little too easily at the female journalists, letting the stylists linger a little too long—you decided he needed a reminder.

A reminder that he was taken. 

And what better way to do that than by playing the oldest trick in the hockey book?

You always kept a spare Nylander jersey in the car, part of the “always be prepared” go-bag you and William had for spontaneous plans. So, while he was finishing up his final shots, you slipped away, retrieving the jersey, and pulling it over your head.

The second the fabric settled against your bare skin; a slow smirk curled at the corners of your lips.

Because for all the modelling shoots, the tailored suits, the perfectly styled hair—at his core, William was a hockey player. And nothing made him lose his mind faster than you wearing his jersey.

Especially when it was the only thing you were wearing.

With the oversized fabric hanging loosely around your body, the sleeves swallowing your hands, and the hem barely grazing the tops of your thighs, you made your way to the dressing room. It was quiet now, the buzz of the shoot slowly dying down as people began packing up. You perched yourself on the wooden bench inside, crossing one leg over the other, anticipation thrumming in your veins as you waited.

It didn’t take long.

You heard his footsteps first, steady, purposeful. Then the door creaked open, and the moment his eyes landed on you, everything shifted.

William froze.

For a long second, he just stared, his blue eyes dragging over your form, taking in every inch of exposed skin beneath the familiar navy fabric. His jaw tensed. His fingers flexed at his sides. His tongue flicked out, wetting his bottom lip as his gaze darkened.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” His voice was lower than before, thick with something dangerous.

You tilted your head, feigning innocence. “What?”

William inhaled sharply, stepping into the room, and shutting the door behind him. He moved slowly, deliberately, his gaze never leaving yours.

“You’re not wearing anything under that, are you?” His voice was a rough whisper, the last thread of his patience hanging by a thread.

You smirked. “Does it matter?”

His response was instant.

One second, you were sitting on the bench. The next, you were caged between the mirror and his body, his hands gripping your hips, pressing you back against the hard surface, clouding every last rational thought.

His chest pressed firmly against yours, the hard lines of his body moulding perfectly to your softer curves. His breath was uneven, warm against your cheek as his fingers slipped beneath the hem of the jersey, his rough palms trailing up the bare skin of your thighs.

“You’re playing with fire, älskling,” he murmured, his voice thick with restraint, a warning laced in every syllable. His fingertips teased higher, barely grazing the curve of your ass.

Your breath hitched, heart pounding. “Maybe I want to get burned.”

The deep, guttural groan that rumbled from his chest made heat coil low in your belly. His forehead rested against yours for a brief moment, his grip tightening as if he was fighting for control.

Control he was losing.

“You wanted my attention?” His voice was nothing but a rough whisper now, his breath fanning across your lips, teasing you with the promise of a kiss he hadn’t yet given. “You have it.”

His lips brushed along your jaw, agonizingly slow, trailing lower, finding that spot beneath your ear that always made your knees weak. His tongue flicked out, soothing the spot before he nipped at it, a quiet moan escaping your lips in response.

His smirk was pure sin. “That’s right,” he murmured against your pulse, his hands gripping your thighs, his thumbs pressing possessively into your skin. “I’m going to remind you who you belong to.” His voice was hushed but filled with promise, the weight of his words sending a delicious shiver down your spine.

“On your knees.”

You obeyed, the heat between you thick with anticipation. You had always loved teasing him, relishing in the way you could make him unravel with the slow drag of your tongue, the way his breath hitched when you took him just a little deeper. But tonight, William wasn’t going to let you be in control.

You started slow, your tongue tracing along his length, savouring the way he tensed beneath you. You licked, tasted, teased, wanting to take your time, but William had other plans. His fingers tangled in your hair, not rough, but firm—guiding, demanding.

“You can do better than that,” he murmured, his voice a low rasp above you.

Your eyes flicked up to meet his, and the intensity in his gaze sent a shiver down your spine.

Before you could tease him further, he pushed forward, easing himself deeper into your mouth with a steady, deliberate motion. You gasped around him, your hands gripping his thighs for balance as he filled you completely, the weight of him heavy on your tongue.

“Just like that,” he groaned, his thumb stroking along your jaw, his other hand still in your hair. He wasn’t forcing—no, he was guiding, taking what he wanted, making sure you gave him exactly what he needed.

The heat between you burned hotter as you hollowed your cheeks, taking him deeper, letting him use your mouth the way he wanted. You loved this—loved the way his breath turned ragged, the way his muscles tensed beneath your touch, the way he was slowly losing his composure, unravelling under you.

William let out a shaky breath, his voice strained. “Fuck, älskling… you’re so good for me.”

His words sent another rush of heat through you, your own body responding to the way he praised you, to the control he held over you.

But you knew William—he wasn’t satisfied with just this.

And judging by the way his grip tightened in your hair, he was only just getting started.

Before you could respond, he guided you up again, flipping you around to face the mirror propped against the wall. His body pressed firmly against yours, his warmth wrapping around you like a vice, keeping you exactly where he wanted. “Look at you…” His voice was husky as he traced a slow, deliberate path down your spine, his fingers trailing just enough to leave a rush of goosebumps in their wake. “Such a good girl for me.”

Your reflection stared back at you—eyes dark with desire, lips parted, skin flushed with heat. The way William towered over you, his body pressed tightly against yours, made your knees weak. He knew exactly what he was doing, how to completely unravel you with just a few words, a few well-placed touches.

His hands smoothed over your waist before sliding lower, his fingers teasing over the curve of your cheeks before gripping firmly, spreading you open. “Mmm so pretty,” he murmured, his tone dripping with amusement and control.

You barely had a moment to respond before he spit, letting the warm slide of moisture trail down the valley between your cheeks. The act alone made you shudder, made you whimper, made heat coil deep in your belly. His fingers followed, spreading the slickness, teasing without giving you what you needed.

The anticipation was intoxicating.

Then, without warning, he pressed two fingers inside your core, stretching you with ease. Your gasp filled the room, loud and needy. Your fingers gripping onto anything. The intensity of his touch sent a shiver through you, your body instinctively pressing back against him, chasing more.

William chuckled darkly, his free hand gripping your hip, keeping you exactly where he wanted. “I want everyone to hear you,” he murmured against the shell of your ear. “To know you’re mine.”

His fingers moved with purpose—slow and teasing at first, then curling, stroking, pushing deeper until your legs trembled beneath you. Every movement sent shockwaves of pleasure rippling through your veins, the pressure building so fast you could barely think.

“Willy, I—” Your words broke into a moan as his other hand found its way between your legs, his fingers expertly circling your most sensitive spot. It was overwhelming, intoxicating, consuming.

“What’s wrong, baby?” he teased, his lips brushing against the side of your neck as he quickened his pace, pushing you closer to the edge. “Is this not what you wanted?”

Your body tightened, every nerve in your body alight with sensation as the pleasure built to an unbearable peak. The tension coiled tighter and tighter, a wave about to crash over you. And to your luck, he let you have it.

“William!” you cried, your voice breathless and needy as your body trembled. Your hands pressed against the cool glass of the mirror, your fingers splaying wide as you fought to ground yourself. But there was no escaping him. No hiding from the way he controlled every inch of you, from the way he pushed you right over the edge.

He groaned low against your skin as your release washed over you. He held you through it, his other hand slipping between your thighs to prolong the pleasure, his fingers teasing, coaxing more out of you even as your legs threatened to give out beneath you.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his breath hot against the nape of your neck. “So pretty when you fall apart for me.”

Your body trembled in his hold, still pulsing with aftershocks, but he wasn’t done.

William smirked at your reflection, watching the way your body responded to his every touch. “One more,” he murmured, his fingers dragging lazily along your oversensitive flesh, his own hardness pressing firm and hot against your lower back. “Think you can handle it, älskling?”

Your answer was a desperate whimper, your head falling back against his shoulder.

William chuckled darkly, his teeth grazing your pulse as he murmured, “Good girl.”

William didn’t give you a moment to recover. His hands were already moving, his fingers trailing over your trembling thighs, teasing the sensitive skin still warm from your release. You barely had time to catch your breath before he nudged your legs farther apart, pressing his body firmly against yours.

In the reflection, you could see everything—your face flushed, lips parted, eyes half-lidded and hazy with pleasure. And then there was him. Towering behind you, his hands gripping your figure like he owned you, his darkened gaze fixed solely on you.

“You look so fucking pretty like this,” he murmured, dragging his lips along the curve of your jaw. 

Your body jerked as his fingers found your swollen clit again, his touch slow and deliberate. The overstimulation sent another sharp wave of heat crashing through you, a desperate whimper escaping your lips.

“Willy—” Your voice broke, your body already sensitive, but he didn’t let up.

He grinned against your skin, clearly enjoying the way you squirmed beneath him. “You can take it,” he murmured, his fingers slipping out a little, but not too far,  teasing your entrance. “Can’t you, älskling?”

You swallowed hard, nodding shakily, because there was no point in denying it. Not when your body responded so eagerly to him, not when the fire inside you reignited at his words.

“That’s my girl.” His voice was thick with approval, dripping with something possessive as he replaced his fingers with his throbbing hardness, lining himself up behind you. He dragged the head of his cock along your slick folds, teasing you, making you feel just how much he wanted you before he finally pushed in.

A sharp gasp left your lips as he filled you again, stretching you in a way that had your nails scraping against the mirror. His grip on your waist tightened, and he exhaled sharply, his restraint hanging by a thread.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groaned, his forehead pressing against the back of your shoulder as he bottomed out. “You feel perfect.”

You whimpered, your body still sensitive, but the slow drag of his cock inside you had you melting all over again.

William pulled back, just enough to watch the way you moaned for him in the reflection, his hands sliding down to grip your hips. “Look at you,” he murmured, his voice thick with admiration. “Taking me so well.”

Your eyes flickered up, meeting his in the mirror, and the heat in his gaze sent another shiver down your spine.

Then he started moving.

The first thrust was slow, deliberate, but the next was harder, deeper, sending a jolt of pleasure through your entire body. He set a punishing rhythm, each snap of his hips forcing you against the glass, your breath fogging up the surface with every desperate moan.

His hand slid up your body, gripping your throat, tilting your head back so you had no choice but to watch yourself unravel. “See how pretty you look when I fuck you?” he murmured, his voice rough, almost reverent.

Your fingers curled against the glass, trying to hold yourself upright as he drove into you harder, his movements relentless, precise. He was everywhere—his touch, his breath, the way he filled you so perfectly, the way he made you feel like you were completely and utterly his.

“I can feel you,” he groaned, his grip tightening. “You’re gonna come again, aren’t you?”

You could only whimper, your body on the verge of another orgasm, your legs shaking from the force of it.

William smirked. “Come for me, baby,” he ordered, his fingers pressing against your clit, rubbing tight circles that sent you spiralling over the edge.

The orgasm tore through you, so intense it left you gasping, your entire body trembling against him. Your vision blurred, your moans breaking into breathless cries as pleasure flooded every inch of your being.

And William wasn’t far behind.

With one final thrust, he buried himself deep inside you, his grip turning bruising as he came with a low, guttural groan. His forehead dropped against your shoulder; his breath hot against your skin as he rode out his release.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, the only sound in the room your ragged breathing.

Slowly, William leaned forward, pressing soft kisses along your neck, his touch suddenly gentle as he smoothed his hands over your waist. He let out a breathless laugh, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple as he gently pulled himself out. “You drive me insane; you know that?”

You smirked, still trying to catch your breath. “You love it.”

William grinned against your skin. “Yeah,” he murmured, brushing damp strands of hair from your face as he turned you in his arms. “I really do.”

As he kissed you, slow and deep, there was no need for words—no need to remind each other that you belonged to one another. It was an unspoken truth, woven into every touch, every lingering look.

A few moments later, once you were dressed, cleaned up, and settled in the car, the air between you had shifted.

William’s fingers drummed lightly against the steering wheel before he glanced at you, a smirk playing at his lips. “You know… I love seeing you wear my name.”

You smiled, already knowing where this was going. “I know.”

His gaze flickered back to the road; his voice softer now. “I know, I’ve mentioned before…you know, that maybe one day, it’ll be more permanent than just a jersey.”

Your heart skipped a beat, but you kept your voice soft. “You have mentioned it.”

“I mean it.” His grip on the wheel tightened slightly. “I want you to be mine. Not just when we’re doing… all of that. But always. I don’t want you worrying about anyone else. I’m yours. In every way.”

The sincerity in his tone stole your breath.

You reached over, lacing your fingers with his, squeezing gently. “I’m yours too, Willy. You know that. I only tease you when guys flirt with me.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “I know, älskling.” His thumb traced circles over your knuckles, his expression softening. “But maybe it’s time I put a ring on your finger… since wearing my number around your neck doesn’t seem to keep them away.”

A warmth spread through your chest at his words, the sincerity in his voice melting away any lingering tension from the day. You turned to look at him, his hands gripping the steering wheel casually, but his knuckles flexed slightly, as if he was waiting for your reaction.

“You think a ring will keep them away?” you teased, raising a brow.

William smirked, his gaze flicking to you before returning to the road. “I think it’ll make it clear to everyone that you’re mine.” His voice dropped just slightly, that possessive edge creeping in, the same one that made your stomach flip. “That you always have been.”

Your heart thudded in your chest. You’d had conversations about the future before—light-hearted, dreamy talks curled up in bed, murmuring about forever in sleepy whispers. But this… this felt different.

This felt like a promise.

“You really mean that?” you asked, your voice softer now.

William scoffed like it was the easiest thing in the world. “Of course, I do.” He reached over at the next red light, his fingers finding yours, playing with them absentmindedly before lifting your hand to press a kiss against your knuckles. “I’ve known for a long time, älskling.”

You swallowed thickly, overwhelmed by the sheer weight of his words, the way they settled so perfectly in your heart.

He gave you a small smile, his eyes full of warmth. “But… you don’t have to answer now. Just know that when you’re ready, I’ll be too.”

A breathless laugh escaped you as you squeezed his hand, your mind spinning, your heart bursting with emotion. “What if I’m already ready?”

The light turned green, and William’s grin was boyish, full of something unfiltered and raw as he squeezed your hand back, his eyes crinkling with pure happiness.

“Then I guess I better start looking for a ring.”

[mapoeggplant]

skip to loafer chapter 68 + shima analysis // spoilers

acceptance of the monster: how facing the past is necessary when the goal is a brighter future

i think that those who have been following me for a while have seen all my analyses and random insights about shima. i have immense affection for him and he will always be one of my favorite characters ever. and chapters like this remind me of how important he is in my life. 

chapter 68 is very straight to the point, but it also hides some small and big changes that started to bubble up from previous chapters. for the first time, we no longer have small, not very explicit scenes from shima's memories or him being so afraid of finally facing the past: now we have the naked truth, laid out in front of us, so that we can understand a little more about how the childhood that shaped shima's entire life until now was.

unlike what i imagined, i didn't get angry with taiga now that he was introduced. of course, i don't think his actions were right or that he didn't influence shima in a negative way, but his appearance at that moment served as both a salvation and a tragedy for shima's life.

there are many layers to be analyzed. we know very, very little about taiga, but we can understand that he didn't have a very good relationship with his family either — the moment he talks about his parents' disappointment in him for giving up acting shows us that he was probably also forced to do something he didn't want to do. he is also the result of a desire imposed on him, causing him to rebel as the years went by.

in a way, meeting shima is like meeting your past self. i don't see much evil in his actions or see it as something malicious. i think he recognized in shima's face the same nervousness that he himself felt every time before his rehearsal, thus proposing that he also have an act of rebellion to feel a little freer.

however, the evil of all this is that taiga, without knowing anything, ends up entering shima's life at a time when he is most fragile and hurt by everything he has been facing (whether it be his abusive relationship with his mother or his growing fear of acting). shima sees taiga as an equal, someone who understands all the pain he has faced but managed to escape from it, while he’s still a prisoner. he sees the older boy as an inspiration, as a friend he longed for, who would show him what a life away from cameras and rehearsals would be like.

shima is still too young to understand everything that is happening around him, and too young to see any kind of problem in following his new friend. having a destructive act at a time of such fragility gives him a certain strength, because he understands this as the only way he has to face his mother and go against everything that is imposed on him. going out with taiga, even if secretly, is a message to his mother: you no longer have control over me.

unfortunately, we have known the result of these escapades for a long time. ririka, also worried about shima, decides to follow him and ends up being targeted by several online attacks. even though shima was the one who “took” her there, ririka, a beautiful and successful girl, is the perfect target.she is the one who suffers the direct consequences, and of course this is closely linked to the sexism that is rooted in society and how much people wait for a girl to make a small mistake so that they can destroy her in some way (i talk more about this in my exclusive ririka analysis).

now shima no longer has to face just two monsters: they have now multiplied into a thousand, becoming even stronger. the consequences of his rebellion come in an aggressive form, with his mother’s abuse and the new tarnished image he obtained in his artistic circle. his mother’s anxiety comes from the fact that shima would no longer get big roles, either because of this transgression or because he missed so many rehearsals, which did not lead to any improvement in terms of acting. blinded by all the anger she feels inside, shima's mother's direct response is no other than to attack her son.

child abuse is extremely common in the arts, whether by parents, the press, the public or co-workers. shima is just one of many young actors who have had to suffer the wrath of a parent who is disappointed by a dream that they themselves forced their children to have. and of course, this would result in years of being afraid to be who they are, to speak out and to live a normal life without carrying immense guilt. the prison that he has placed himself in for all these years is the evolution of the bonds imposed by his mother.

the turning point does not happen in this chapter itself, but in a sequence of long events that led him to where he is. it is impossible for shima to change overnight: it takes a lot of work and a lot, but a lot of analysis (even if it is self-analysis) to finally understand and be able to heal all this pain that he has been held hostage by for so many years. and the second part of the chapter shows exactly that.

shima is no longer afraid to face the monster of the past because he is no longer alone. he finally understands that there are people around him who care about him and fight to stay by his side. having people's support and love gives him the strength to move forward and continue this arduous battle of growing up. shima now understands what it is to be loved to the point of being happy about a past fight, as it resulted in an even closer relationship with mitsumi. he understands that being loved is being able to look back on the past and no longer feel pain or guilt, but to recognize the one who suffered so much, with no one by his side.

he now takes on the role of the monster, but no longer to affirm his guilt, but to be able to show his past self and all the other monsters around him how it is possible for him to be happy. how it is possible to decide things for yourself and follow your heart. how it is possible to love so many people and be loved in return. how it is possible to look at a person and feel an immense warmth, an inexplicable desire to keep fighting, all so that he can be by their side. 

shima is finally reaching out to his past self, so that they can form a new future together.

before i finish, i would also like to touch on an important point that i see the possibility of being discussed in the future: shima's current relationship with his mother. chapter 67 brought something very important, which was shima's recognition when he admitted that he felt a certain pity for his mother, due to all the comments he heard about her. deep down, he feels a certain empathy for his mother and no longer sees her as an unbeatable villain. he has been slowly trying to change his relationship with her, and the first step is to invite her to watch the play he chose to be in. this in my opinion shows shima's desire to forgive his mother in order to move on, but also seek some kind of forgiveness from her (which can be a result of many years of manipulation, since he still thinks he is guilty for a lot of his mother’s pain). i feel that we will still see a type of closeness between them and a deeper conversation, so that shima can finally feel like he belongs to a family again. this can be a triggering moment to a lot of readers, so if it does happen, please be mindful of it. 

the layers that not only this chapter but this whole new arc has are much deeper than we imagine. building a character requires love, patience and conversation. you need to listen and understand what your character wants. respect is needed so that the story can grow. takamatsu misaki has a huge affection for her characters, for her story and for everything she has been building since 2018.

we're so lucky to be able to follow such amazingly beautiful story.

thank you so much for reading 💛💛!! don't forget to support sensei if you can! always here to discuss more about the chapter!

[morsmortish]

i think we as a fandom need to stop villainising barty crouch senior. that man was put through HELL and back. imagine doing nothing wrong your whole life and then getting everything blown up by your sociopathic son. you lose your family, your career, then your life! poor, poor man.

it’s a common consensus within the fandom that barty senior was some sort of monster, controlling and abusing his son to the point of insanity, and whilst i acknowledge this is a compelling and accessible way of constructing barty as a morally good character who did Bad Things because of this traumatic childhood, i personally find it so much more interesting if bcj is just. a bad guy. there is equal amounts of canon evidence to the idea that that barty had a good childhood and that he had a bad one (none). sure, it’s easier to gravitate towards the latter, but for me, the idea of barty being raised in a loving??? environment makes his character so much more interesting. imagine these two well-to-do, respectable members of wizarding society who have followed all the rules, done everything ‘right’ their whole lives (including the way they raised their son), and yet. and yet they end up with this morally drained, completely unredeemable sociopath of a son. and it’s no one’s fault, he’s just Born That Way.

reducing a character down to their Trauma is such a limited way of thinking about it. saying that every evil character is actually inherently good, just desolated by circumstance, is not that interesting! humans are all flawed, and some more than others. thinking of barty as someone who is just a Bad Person, for me, makes him so much more powerful. and therefore, thinking of barty senior as less of the villain, and more of a victim, also makes him, and the father-son relationship, much more interesting. we know barty senior isn’t perfect- absent father is probably the most reasonable read of his parenting skills- but in my opinion, if there is any character in this dynamic who IS the inherently good one corrupted by circumstance, it’s not bcj, but his father. to me, it’s not plausible that the man who went against his entire belief system out of love for his wife (and to some extent, his son) is the same man who abused his kid. barty’s trial scene becomes so much less interesting if he had been harmed by his father prior- to give him a ‘reason’ for his actions, to say he was lashing out or rebelling against his abusive father, is changing the core of his character! he did it because he felt like it! he’s simply just Not A Good Guy!! and whilst barty senior might also not be a good guy, it makes much less narrative sense for him to be the one assigned the role of ‘villain’.

yeah, he kept his son under imperio control for years, but who can really blame him? the dude was an absolute menace. and even if we do acknowledge his actions as morally wrong, surely the logic that barty joined the death eaters and committed horrible crimes because of things that happened to him in childhood, surely that logic can also be applied to barty senior? let’s say he controlled his son BECAUSE of the things that happened to him- barty betrayed him, turned out to be a monster, destroyed absolutely everything in his life. the trauma of that is surely enough to justify imperio.

i’m rambling on now, and so. to conclude. barty crouch junior as a much more two dimensional Bad Guy, and his father as the unsuspecting victim of his son’s betrayal, reprehensible actions, and complete heartlessness, makes BOTH of them more interesting. argue with the wall!!

[the-violet-diaries]

Broken Backstories: A Theory on the Past of the Wanderers in Love and Deepspace

Is it just me or has anyone ever thought about the bounty hunt Wanderer Heartbreaker's origin? Like, what would this tear drop-shaped creature have gone through to become what it is today? And what about the other Wanderers?

Maybe this is actually already true and i havent picked up on it yet because im just dumb, but here's my theory so far on the Wanderers in the game: They were once ordinary humans with ordinary lives that were unfortunate enough to come in contact with some type of disease or physical or mental obstacle in their lives that transformed them into these "monsters."

One of the best examples I can think of to compare this scenario with is the kdrama Sweet Home. The drama is set in a completely ordinary human world like ours. Some strange, seemingly transmittable disease causes people to start becoming monsters, turning Seoul into a complete dystopia.

It is later revealed, however, that all these demons were once human beings that reincarnate into the embodiments of their deepest and darkest desires or fears.

For example, the monster that can't see properly but has the sharpest hearing:

SPOILER:

An earlier scene shows Cha Hyun Su (Song Kang) trying to "distinguish the monster inside" before he himself gives in to the transformation.

This pattern or theme of a seemingly dystopian world where the battle is between humans and another species framed as "dangerous" by the humans is reoccurring in many books, shows, and movies. So, my thought process is that the same might apply for some Wanderers in LaDs, if not all.

I was fighting Hearbreaker, the tear drop-shaped Wanderer in Bounty Hunt the other day, and this entire idea just came to me and I literally cannot unthink it now. Like, it makes so much sense!

The battle seems ordinary at first, with a gorgeous amusment park-themed setting and nice bg music. But then the Wanderer up for bounty appears. A droplet of water, shedding tears and following you around with pain in its eyes as it begs for you to accept its love. Sound familiar? Yes, sadly, most of us can relate. The longing to be accepted.

And what is our mission? To get rid of it.

Now, im not trying to hate on the LaDs team or anything. I love bounty hunt and its something i play often. But i just find it sad that a bounty is placed above a harmless creature which clearly seems to be suffering from loneliness and, as the name suggests, heartbreak.

The other Bounty Wanderers each have their own distinct qualities. And the saddest part is that even if they may not have all once been human like MC, they are hunted and killed for their weaknesses, and will likely never recover.

Well, anyway, that was kinda weird i think i took that a bit too deeply that was just a quick idea dump lol. 😅😅 I may be misunderstanding some details but I've played LaDs for quite a long time so I'm not so sure because so far nothing much has been revealed regarding the origins of the Wanderers besides Ever and its affiliations but i may be wrong. there are so many other theories out there we'll just have to wait and see! but anyway I hope you guys enjoyed! lots of luv 4 u i know u need it ❤️❤️❤️

[eldritch-spouse]

thoughts on vesper possessing the queens body and messing with lacai

TW: Consensual possession; Temporary body modification

Lacai isn't stupid.

He's a demon. An imp, but still a demon. He knows a possessed human when he sees one. Especially when the being pupeteering said body is as powerful as an Icon.

You're exuding a certain volatile, static energy from how much infernal influence is running through your body. Your eyes are much wider and your sclera is swiftly becoming as pink as that of the King's.

There's no hiding it, probably because both you and Vesper are producing stupid amounts of lustful energy as of now.

He couldn't take his eyes off you this morning, neither could the entire staff team, in his defense. Your breasts looked swollen, nipples stiffened and poking insistently through the sheer lace you chose to don as a top, connected to golden chains around your neck and the budding little horns you've been developing. Your own wetness clung to your inner thighs invitingly, and your clitoris seemed to have enlarged in an inhuman way, standing constantly at attention.

There's no doubt in Lacai's mind that, as Vesper pilots your body through the mansion ever so sensually, your soul is inwardly drowning in a fog of perpetual euphoria. You have access to everything the King does, Lacai knows the demonlord would never deprive you of such a novel voyeuristic experience.

You -well, you and Vesper, probably mostly Vesper- have been picking random imps up and draining them wherever, whenever. One passes by, suddenly they're bent beneath you, ridden to exhaustion. Another crawls towards you and is rewarded with equally generous attention. Many of them get dragged to you by their tails and horns.

Even the guards outside! That stupid bimbo and her equally knuckleheaded coworker that only ever bully people around- The two of them got to spitroast you!

Never him though.

Lacai is just about foaming with jealousy over the fact that he's being willfully ignored.

The imp smooths his hair and bites his own arm to stifle his frustration in a blatantly animalistic display, before pushing his way through the ornamented doors to Lord Vesper's meeting room. Which are also one of his bedchambers. Then again, what part of this mansion isn't?

" My Queen, the confectionery and drinks you requested. " He mechanically offers, unable to help the slight crease of his eyebrows when he stops a slight distance from your figure on the chaise longue.

You lay on your side, looking up deceitfully lovingly at the massive monster holding one of your legs to his chest as it slams into you ravenously. Some sort of gargoyle hybrid, if Lacai had to guess, heavily pierced and dark in pigmentation.

He looks entirely infatuated with you, unblinking pinpricks blazing holes into your face while he pants and huffs, desperate to empty himself inside you. The racket of skin on skin and heavy balls clapping against the rim of your wet holes is equal parts delectable to the imp as it is torturous. He wishes he were that monster, getting his cock squeezed by your warm, tight walls and losing his mind to the all-consuming need to give himself to you.

In all likelihood, the currently lovesick guy breeding you like cocksleeve is a monster that has sought Vesper's aid. The sentient side of gargoyle-kin tend to be lonely folk, you might be the first human he's ever gotten to stick his dick into. Must be quite the experience.

Lacai guesses it'll take about ten or so minutes before this poor stud erupts into a final load and collapses from overheated dehydration.

" Thank you so much, dear. " You coo. Lacai feels the strands of hair he tried so hard to keep together stick out again. " My hands are a little tied at the moment, could you please be a darling and let me taste the chocolate blossoms? "

Sure, 'tied'. Your hands are very much 'tied' to the heavy weights dangling off the gargoyle's stone tits.

" Of course, my Lady. "

Lacai prides himself in keeping his composure, in spite of all odds being against him. Vesper and you are winning this stupid little game, and every second that passes he comes closer to begging, but his prideful heritage demands that the imp put up some kind of resistance to the wicked charms of his rulers.

He wheels the cart closer, somewhat disgruntled by the fan of the monster's wings, which blows hot air towards the servant's face. One chocolate blossom is poised right in front of your mouth, you accept it with plush lips and a deliberate little bite to his gloved finger.

Instead of eating it, however, you tug your current paramour down until he takes the hint and accepts your treat, swallowing it without even chewing, if Lacai had to guess. In the state he's in, nothing matters except drilling into you. It's proof enough that he hasn't reacted to Lacai's presence at all so far.

You bloat with the volume of the gargoyle hybrid's latest load, the last of it seeping between you in a gradually growing pool. It glazes on your thighs, the same way Lacai's eyes glaze with disappointment.

Lacai suffers through offering you at least two more blossoms, beads of sweat already forming on his forehead, teeth grinding behind carefully neutral lips, until the male atop you finally shudders.

It was a violent motion, hard leg muscles spasming, his upper body curving forward in an almost agonized fashion as he belts out a sound that Lacai can almost call a bray. Your toes curl, he gets to see you writhing from the high, Vesper generously letting you experience his own power, a positive feedback loop he's very envious of right now.

Humorously, you have to nudge the monster off you, since he's almost non-responsive, unwilling to move much at all after an orgasmic high the likes of which he's never had before, and probably won't ever get again. The male simply flops onto the chaise-lounge like a deflated sack of potatoes, while you get up with all the elegance and sensuality you've always seemed to sport.

Another sweet treat goes into your mouth, the imp gets to see drops of your previous activity stain the floor when you bend over a decorative table, ass to him. Never has a view made his mouth feel so dry.

" Lacai... "

He wishes he could ram his head through a wall, but the only part of him that moves is a barely twitching eyelid.

" Help me clean up before the next visit, will you? "

The imp drops to his knees.

" You're sooo good to me... "

You might just kill him today.

[virginiaisforvampires]

There is something I think the creators of the show never really thought when it comes to the change other than the obviously ugly ones: Lestat being a vampire for so long in the show as opposed to a few decades in the book kind of seemed deliberate to up the power-dynamics between him and Louis. There is a line Louis says in the first book about how Lestat had human problems (his dad needing csre and how it was difficult for them to live in NOLA according to Louis), which quite the opposite from Show Lestat being all suave and flaunting his riches a lot more. This is why Louis' supposed fear of him in the book was contradictory, he kept repeating he couldn't escape him him and yet at the same time he threatened to kick him out of the house like five times per day 😂.

I wonder if it was to give a true appearance of malice, despite further books. As if since he is a century older he would look like he was 'trapping them' or holding information out of malice instead of well-intentioned but failed protection (also the fact that Louis and Claudia thought he was an idiot at the time and weren't really afraid of him). What do you think? For me it feels like Lestat being an older vampire took a lot more from his personality than him being physically older.

Not exactly.

@nalyra-dreaming has already discussed Lestat's age in the show in relation to his behavior here, and I concur with all of her points.

The thing is the writers didn't appear to think that aspect completely through either, because Lestat's age isn't actually the factor when it comes to the alleged power dynamics between Louis and Lestat. Again, not exactly, and that gets into the constant arguments about Lestat, as you mentioned, seemingly trying to deliberately wield power, and that was never truly the case.

The writer's demonstrated Louis holding the power and demonstrated Louis and Claudia were not afraid of Lestat at any point. Those elements are always forgotten, because the tale attempts (and fails) to gloss over them for a very specific effect i.e. why Lestat was the monster who needed to be "inevitably" killed.

So no. I don't think the writers were trying to make any statements about the relationship itself by aging up Lestat, because everything they subsequently wrote pretty much contradicts that notion. The only time Lestat's age was a true factor was during Claudia's turning and like Nalyra pointed out, it was meant to depict Lestat as no longer being the naïve youngster fledgling who just "wanted to see what would happen" and to serve as the motivator for Lestat warning Louis of what Claudia would be, because the writers wanted to give more culpability to Louis — not Lestat — in Claudia's turning. That was one of their big gotcha reveals of S2, and it's unfortunately flown right over people's heads.

Now it could be argued Lestat is older and therefore should know better, but that isn't the point the show was making with that revelation. It was about Louis and how he wielded power and how it wasn't ever about Claudia and how Louis downplayed his hand in everything. It went hand-in-hand with the revelations about the fight and again, people missed the point(s) entirely.

It's another creative choice by the writers with which I'm not completely thrilled, because it's also led to drama and accusations due to the fact people are stuck on the filtered tale and can't engage with what the writers are truly saying.

[mama-frog]

Rewatching NPMD so I decided to jot down all the biblical references in the show I find (at least that I think are relevant and not just super common phrases) and my thoughts about why they were included

Calling High School "Hell on Earth" at the beginning of High School is Killing Me

"Is God the one giving the test?" The morality test that starts the entire plot moving

"And we pray, and we pray" in Literal Monster. This is to set up Max's God complex

"I am only one man's girl, Max, and his name is Jesus Christ" First of all this is the funniest fucking line ever written. Second of all, girl he thinks he is God. You're just affirming what he already believes

"Forbidden Fruit, dickhole" Once again God complex

"You can watch as I rise" this man is likening himself to Jesus rising.

"I don't know what gave you the idea that you could break bread with Stephanie Lauter" Max gets to decide who is worthy of entering his house of worship

"I willed it into existence. I bring order to Hatchetfeild High. Light to Darkness. I'm your God" Ok the lighting change in this part is SICK the spotlight on Max really makes him feel so much bigger and scarier. but also the genesis reference is top tier on Max's part. He really makes it easy for anyone to understand his God complex

"Now on your knees, bitch. It's time to say your fucking prayers" Still just reinforcing the complex

The Chastity's "Amen" is comedic gold. Grace ending the prayer that Max started is lowkey symbolic of her ending his reign of terror later in the show

"I only believe in one ghost, the holy spirit that resides in all of our hearts" Papa Chastity my beloved

Max wearing a cross during Grace's sexual fantasy is so fucking funny, but also says a lot about the purity culture she grew up in

"I am expecting you to betray me" Grace later becomes the Judas to Max's Jesus when she has sex with him

"Dirty girl will you pray for me" Grace doesn't fully understand his God complex and has a savior complex of her own so this is how Max talks in her mind

"The trinity is more than two" LeAvE rOoM fOr JeSuS

"I'm singing a sacred song. On your knees pray along" unknowingly playing into the God complex there while also feeding her savior complex

"He's more than a boy, he's an idea. One that strikes fear in the hearts of the meek" God complex once again

"I am Jägerman! I am God!" He spells it out for us so much

"It was an act of God" ...Grace no

Max dying and coming back to life is so Jesus coded of him (I hate that I just typed that phrase)

"Who will pray for me" Dear lord Max is making Richie a prayer

"Or is this the eternal dark without a dawn?" TBH I don't think this is biblical I just love this line

"Relax ye of little faith" Love how Grace's savior complex is starting to morph into Max's God complex so she can take his place as the ruler of the school at the end of the show

"We're at Hell's gate" more like the black and white but yeah

"GOD'S PLAN" Grace is so unintentionally funny

"The Devil has won" The Lords in Black are really speaking directly to Grace now

"YOU FUCKING JUDAS" see the irony is that Grace is his Judas

I am not transcribing the bible flirting...just know it's to feed the God complex

"I AM JÄGERMAN I AM GOD" We know, bitch

It took me to the bottom of the list to realize that Grace's savior complex was to set her up to be a priest of the church of the starry children. So in conclusion, Max has a God complex

[stormbreaker101]

I still can't get over the Circe Saga.

Hermes gives Odysseus a tool to even the playing field. He anticipates and encourages Odysseus to overpower her on a physical, magical, and sexual level. He phrases this help as "us[ing] more than words." He wants Odysseus to give up speech and mercy as much as the other gods do.

But ultimately it's Odysseus's words that save him and his crew. It's him telling Circe about his faith to Penelope that convinces her to help him.

There are other ways of persuasion, indeed.

[inkykeiji]

every time someone calls caleb their ‘childhood friend’ i die a little inside

[tonycries]

Green-eyed Monster

Synopsis. He knows it’s not your fault they’re all over you - but that doesn’t stop him from fúcking you like it is.

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Gojo x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, established relationship, jealous séx, spítting, exhíbitionism, bréeding, chokíng, degradatíon, cúmplay, Nanami’s a bit mean, squírting, overstím, oral (female receiving), semi-public, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 5.4k

A/N. It’s my birthday month yippeeeee

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - “Talk to her?”

It takes you a second to even register those words - let alone the phone being pressed against the side of your face - Toji’s cock too big, the stretch too sinful, so utterly relentless as he fucks your sloppy pussy into the mattress. 

“Hellooooo? Anyone there?”

And it takes you even longer to hear that familiar tinny voice. Too familiar. 

“T-Toji- what ngh-” you let out an obscene gasp - one you were sure that Toji drew out of you on purpose. Dragging his thumb all over your throbbing clit, lips curling in a way that already told you who was on the other end of the line.

“C’mon, doll. The mans been blowing up your phone all day.” his words are hot against your lips. Giving your swollen lips a loud peck, once. Twice. “S’rude to keep someone waiting on call.”

He only huffs out a laugh at how cute you looked underneath him, all breathless and fucked dumb. Jaw slack, teary eyes rolling to the back of your head, words slurring and barely coherent.

“Hngh- what-” you squirm, words so heavy as Toji continues his movements. “Oh my god-”

Your boyfriend had you exactly where he wanted you - and since he couldn’t take a hint, Toji was about to let that annoying little ex of yours know too. Knowing that whatever comes out of your pretty lil’ mouth would definitely stop that loser thinking he still had a chance.

“Is she there? Baby, are you there?”

Oh, well, Toji didn’t like that. Not one bit, as he pushes your legs further apart to ram into you even deeper. Unstopping. Unforgiving - like he was taking his irritation out on your poor, ravaged cunt. 

“Yeah, speak up ‘baby’.” he pants into your open mouth, hot tongue licking up the stray tears rolling down your cheeks. “Use those words now.”

And because he was such a shameless bastard, Toji’s rolling your swollen clit between two large fingers. Lips twitching up into a smirk as he drinks in all those cute little whines that startle out of you. 

“Hn-hngh-” you cry, bowing your body deeper into Toji’s. Clawing at his arms - his shoulders - his back to desperately contain your obscene moans. What a shame, they were so pretty too - he wouldn’t mind the entire neighborhood overhearing. “Fuck, Toji…”

“Awww, what? Can’t even speak?” Pulling himself closer to catch your lips in a hot, open-mouthed kiss he hopes would ring through the speakers on the other end of the line. “My poor baby’s gettin’ nervous?”

God, that asshat better take a hint now.

And shit if he thought he was going insane because of that bastard interrupting his precious time with you, then he was definitely not ready for the way you get wetter - tighter - as he does. Putting on a sinful little show that had Toji’s hips stuttering, knuckles white on your phone as he fights not to drop it. 

“Oh-” Toji’s head drops into the crook of your neck, fingers bruising on your hips while he fucks you back harder into him. ”Ya like this? Like being so dirty in front of someone else?” Difficult with the way you were squeezing so tightly around his swollen cock. “Actin’ so innocent but you’re such a slut, huh?”

You give him such a delirious little nod of your head, batting your lashes so deceivingly innocently and- shit, did you even know what you were doing? How fucking sexy you were being right now? Shit, he was fucked. He was so fucked.

“Is this you playing hard to get?”

Ah, right. Forgot about that bastard.

Droning out into the phone, “Seems m’girl is busy right now.” And as if to prove his point - maybe to that scrub on the other end of the phone, maybe to himself - he’s slamming into your heavenly cunt faster and faster. Making sure to angle the speaker just right to catch all those lewd little squelches as your sweet sweet juices soak Toji’s achingly hard cock. Voice as ragged as his hips as he grunts, “Very busy.”

“I can hear her - let me speak to her!”

Well, what your ex was hearing were probably those fucked-out whines spilling from your lips. Just as out of control as your hips bucking up for more more more- “Ah! Toji, wan’ more- hngh- fuck fuck fuck.” 

It made all the blood in Toji’s body - especially his brain - rush straight down to cock to watch you go from pretending you weren’t affected to being such a good little whore for him. And, hell, that was only for him to hear.

“Wait- that noise-”

So Toji’s snaking up his hand from its relentless abuse on your sensitive clit to shove two fingers into your mouth. Huffing out a dark little chuckle at the way you gag and choke so prettily around him, moaning like you couldn’t help yourself.

Though, that doesn’t mean he’s going to be any nicer to your cunt though. Toned pelvis slamming against yours - so hard he’s sure it would leave some nice little bruises to brag about - maybe even send that asshole ex a few pictures if he still keeps calling.

“What the fuck- is she…?”

“Told ya, she’s busy.”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - “You deserve it.”

“Do I really have to do this to teach you a lesson each time?”

You gulp, eyes flitting between his yellow tie wrapped around your wrists pinned above, and the man in-between your legs. Eyes glassy, strands of blond sticking uncharacteristically to his forehead, such a cruel little smirk playing on his lips as he positions himself in-between your legs. 

Smack!

A breathless gasp leaves you as Nanami’s hand comes down on your ass. Hard. 

And he only huffs out a low chuckle at the way you keen, hips bucking wildly in- defiance? Need? You didn’t know, the only thing you were sure of was that you wanted him to do something - anything - right now. 

Because one look at that classmate who you were just a little too close with earlier today, and Nanami’s been so mean ever since then. All but ripping off your clothes as he tied you to the headrest, fucking you over and over until he could see you all bloated with his cum. And even then - Nanami wasn’t done.

“Y’should answer me when I ask something, my love.” he licks a long, languid stripe up your swollen folds. Pressing softly on your tummy to watch his seed gush down your legs, so fucking filthy as he pools it on his tongue, tipping his head back, back, back to let it slide down his throat. “Or is it that you just listen to what he says now?”

God, he was being so sinfully irrational right now. Teasing. Taunting. 

“No, tha’s not it-” you sob, big fat tears rolling down your cheeks at how you wanted to cum again so badly despite how sensitive your poor pussy was. “J-jus want-”

“Want what?” 

Oh how Nanami loved you like this - that pathetic little whimper leaving your mouth as he teases you with his mouth. Hot tongue going all the way up from your base, just underneath your swollen clit. Not even bothering to fuck into your sloppy hole yet. 

“To make me-” the words die in your throat as he grazes your clit. Ever-so-slightly. You just wished you could free yourself and give in so badly. “Cum! Wan’ you to make me cum.”

Your back arches off the bed, legs wrapping around Nanami’s head to pull him closer to where you needed him the most. Thighs quivering, his cum dribbling out of your sloppy pussy and into a lewd little pool below.

And it seems to work - perhaps temporarily. Because he’s echoing against your glistening lips, “To cum?” smirking against your cunt as he dips his tongue past that first ring of resistance. “You should ask-” Before pulling away completely. “-that friend of yours.”

“Noooo!” you’re letting out a strangled gasp, and if you were in any better state of mind maybe you’d have been embarrassed about how pathetic you were being right now. Tugging uselessly on the tie. “Please, Ken.”

God, how he would love to bully you some more - to have you crying and shaking on just the tip of his tongue until all you could remember was how he couldn’t have you like this. Ruin you like this. 

But, no, Nanami can’t deny that your adorable mewls of his name have him feeling lightheaded.

“You little minx.” he manages out, pulling away mere millimeters. Purposely letting a tense beat pass, one. Two. Before spitting on your fluttering cunt, adding to the absolute mess of cum and slick below. Missing on purpose - of course - to let it splatter all over your thighs. “Usin’ the dirtiest tricks, huh?”

“I didn’t oh-” Nanami doesn’t let you plead your case - he doesn’t want you to. Instead, shoving his face nose-deep in your overfilled pussy. Lapping at all your - and his - sweet sweet juices.

“Asking me to do this.” he hisses into your cunt, trying for the life of him to sound like he isn’t in heaven right now. Murmuring around your throbbing clit, “Shoulda asked that friend. Didn’t need me when he was around.” 

You hiccup, face burning at how mean he was being. “He’s just a c-classmate.”

Smack!

Maybe to shut you up, maybe to stop you from talking about that loser with those pretty lips of yours, Geto’s giving you a quick, sharp smack to your ass. Smoothing his palm over the sting like a little warning. 

“Oh yeah?” he questions, muffled around your dripping cunt. So deep that his nose was rubbing tiny, sinful little circles on your poor clit. “Didn’t seem that way with how he was flirting with my wife. N’ now you wanna cum on my tongue? How needy.”

“M’sorry!” you’re grinding your cunt deeper onto his face, a rapid, sloppy little rhythm to match his own. Geto’s tie now digging into your wrists with how hard you’re pulling. “Shoulda known- m’sorry- hngh, fuck fuck fuck.” 

Rewarded with a gentle smack! and his tongue - hot and deftly massaging all the right spots. So expert in the way he’s teasing and pushing you closer and closer to the edge. Dragging your pussy so sloppily all over his face, tonguefucking you with such reckless abandon. No rhythm or technique - just to show off. To show you.

Close - too close. 

Close enough that you could almost-

Let out a broken whine as Nanami pulls away, delicate strings of cum and spit snapping as he does. So pretty and filthy all over his kiss-bitten lips, ones that curve into a mocking smile at your state. 

“Who said you could cum, gorgeous?” A hand reaching down to fist his swollen fist, pumping up and down. Slowly. “I was jus’ cleaning that pretty pussy up for the real fun.”

♡ GETO SUGURU - See the mess

It was too much - everything was too much. From the way Geto had you shoved into your empty office room, strong arms spreading your legs so shamefully on the desk, to the way he’s stuffing his achingly hard cock in-between them.

Hips so well, and dangerously intent. Like he had something to prove, and didn’t mind whether he would break you in the process. 

And he did - to prove himself to those incessant coworkers of yours that hit on you in front of him. As if they had a chance? To prove that he’s the only one to that can make you cum over and over and- 

Dragging you on his cock, veins throbbing in a maddening thump! thump! thump! Against your walls. Edging you closer to - which number orgasm was this, again? You weren’t in the right state of mind to calculate. 

“Oh, this? Might the seventh.” he murmurs, fingers stuttering on your throbbing clit and- oh shit, had you said that out loud? “Mhm, you did.” Geto grins up at how pretty you were like this - tear-streaked face, lips wobbling, such cute moans leaving them each time he gave a long, languid strokes. “But s’alright, I love it.”

“B-but-” you whine, words slurring together in a way that has all the blood in Geto’s body rushing painfully to this dick. “Someone might-”

“Come?” he circles around your sloppy entrance with a fingertip, stretched so fucking obscenely around his cock. Shifting to flick at your sensitive nub. “Guess you jus’ better hurry up then, my love.”

Your head spins, both from the way Geto was dragging your pussy so sloppily all over his cock - bouncing you like such a slut - and from how mean he was being. Nothing at all like the caring, gentle boyfriend he usually was. Throwing your legs over his shoulders to fuck you even deeper.

“Fuck shit shit shit-” you buck your hips wildly as he bullies his heavy cock faster into your plushy walls. One hand on your hips, keeping you still while he massages every crevice and spot he knew would have you seeing stars. The other, drawing frenzied little circles on your ravaged clit. “S-Sugu, someone’s gonna hear- gonna walk in.”

“Good.”

Mouth dropping into a soft oh! you snap your head up to meet his darkened gaze. Man bun so messy already, brows furrowed, lips swollen and curling ever-so-slightly into a cruel, fucked-out little smile.

“Squeezin’ me so fuckin’ tight,” he grunts, hips getting sloppier. Faster. “Almost like you want someone to come.”

Unconvincingly, “N-noo, hah- I don’t”

“Y’sure about that?” Your sweet sweet juices glossing his lips so prettily from where he tongue-fucked you to insanity right here not to long ago, and if you angled your head just right you could see the way it trickled down his jawline. An even bigger mess at his hips, cock soaked and glistening in the dim lighting. “Don’ want any of those friends to see you all filthy like this?”

Because Geto wasn’t afraid of getting messy - or showing it off. He loved it in fact. 

Loved your slick just smearing dangerously close to the strands of hair framing his face. Loved ruining you because he was the only one that got to - and anyone else can come in and watch if they wanna flirt with you so badly. 

“Fuck them.” you flinch at how uncharacteristically mean he was being. “Fuck them all. Only I can make you feel like this-” Hitting that one spot again and again. “-right?”

“Sugu- f-fuck s’too deep.” you arch off the desk, fingers carding through his locks to pull him even closer. Eyes watering as you feel that familiar knot in your stomach. “I’m hah- shit.”

“Who’s cock are ya gonna cum all over?�� Geto questions, muffled around your dripping cunt. So deep that his nose was rubbing tiny, sinful little circles on your poor clit. “Who’s making you- hngh- f-feel this good?”

It’s all you can do to let out such whiny, cockdrunk replies. Ones that only make Geto rock his hips harder, sloppier with each word falling from your lips. “You- Sugu- Shit s’too much.”

 “Yeah? Gonna cum f’me again? All on my cock?” breathing ragged now. 

“I- I don’t- hngh. Know if I can!” You were barely lucid at this point, barely even registering the way you’re so sloppily jerking your hips all over. Using him in exactly the ways Geto wanted. 

“You will.” Pace only picking up, so rough that a little part of Geto almost feels bad - almost. Your entire body is twitching with each flick of his finger on your clit. Cock hitting all the right spots. Making such a mess of slick and precum below you that you can only pray your office isn’t used for a meeting today. “You can- hngh- do it. F’me.”

“For you?”

“Yeah.” he’s pulling you close enough that you can feel his breath hot against your lips. “You can do it, right? Can cum for me? Squirt all over my cock?” Licking at the seam of your mouth - forcing you to taste him and yourself and him- “F’me. Only me.”

It’s sudden - almost violent, and you don’t even realize when you’re cumming at first. Just that, with a strained scream of Geto’s name, nails raking down his sculpted shoulders, leaving pretty red marks for him to remember. 

Juices squirting all over his abs, staining his t-shirt. Glistening against his milky skin, snug cunt squeezing his rock-hard cock while he fucks you over and over and- 

“So messy f’me, my love. So fuckin’ messy.” His eyes darting to the now slightly-ajar door - as expected. “Hope no one else sees the mess too, hm?”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - The needy

He knows it’s not your fault that they hover around you - those pathetic losers that think they have a chance - but that still won’t stop him from fucking you like it is. 

“Baby- ngh. Why the f-fuck did you have to look so hah- good, today?” he’s gasping against your lips, hips out of control, voice a pitch or so higher than it usually would be. “Had so many lookin’ at my girl like ngh- you’re theirs.”

And God - it was so hard to look at Choso too, flushed your favorite shade of pretty pink, stray strands of hair sticking to his forehead - so utterly wrecked already. Though, you weren’t any better. 

“S’for you, Cho.” you whine, jaw dropping at the sudden gush of cum that oozes down your legs as Choso pulls out completely - like a little punishment. Lips curling into a fucked-out little smirk at your adorable pout. “D-did it for you.”

Those simple words break him. You break him. 

And Choso doesn’t even dare to give himself the chance to compose himself before bullying his swollen cock all the way back inside you again. Heavy balls smacking your ass hard enough to leave marks - good, let them leave marks. Milking himself over and over. 

Groaning, “Shit- you don’t know what you do to me, baby.” 

And your eyes flicker down at the hands suddenly all over you - everywhere, anywhere that Choso could reach. So that maybe next time when you wear such a sinful little sundress, everyone else will know to keep their eyes to themselves. Cupping your stomach to press down on where he was right there-

“Hngh- oh my god. So deep, ah-”

“Look s’fuckin’ gorgeous.” he spits into your mouth. Fingers bruising on your hips, your ass, kneading and groping every inch of skin. “Unfair- shit shit- they don’t have the right-” Tweaking your nipples, branding your neck, he runs a thumb under your swollen lower lip. “Don’ have the hah- right to look at what’s mine, right?”

“Y-yes.” you whimper, rutting your hips up pathetically to meet his merciless cadence. Hard abs so painful - maybe even bruising against your skin. 

Choso’s tugging open your lips, and you let him. Way too drunk on his cock - his massive, unforgiving cock - to even think of stopping him. 

Before you know it, he spits in your mouth, once. Twice. And you don’t even realize that this is what you’ve been waiting for - perhaps ever since you put on that slutty little sundress to tease him this morning - because you’re moaning half-lucidly. Eyes rolling to the back of your head as you let his saliva slide down your throat.

And Choso just looks like he could pass out right then and there. 

He doesn’t know what’s more obscene - this or that little pool of cum spreading all over the sheets right now. Seeping into your skin, dribbling down your legs each time he moves in and out in and-

“Hated their s-stares. Their whispers.” Jaw falling slack, cock twitching wildly inside your tight walls. Words hurried and slurring together as he whispers, “Mine right?” Biting down your neck, licking hotly - almost as sloppy as his hips, “Only mine, yeah? Who does this pussy belong to?”

“You!” you manage to sob out, jolting at the fingers starting up quick, erratic little circles on your poor clit. “Ngh- only you.”

“Mhm? I make you f-feel this hah- way?” he leans closer, cock ramming in and out of you so animalistically. “Only I get to paint this pretty pussy white.” Nibbling on your ear, “To s-stuff you full, hm?”

Honestly, Choso doesn’t even know if he could cum again but he had to - needed to. Balls squeezing while he fights to cum again - once more, to prove to himself, and you that you were his inside and out. And he tells you - a little over twelve times as he babbles into your lips.

“Mine. Shit shit shit- all f’me. Fuck, m’so close” And he could tell by the way you were squeezing so sinfully around him that you were too, moans getting all breathy and incoherent the way it did just before you were about to cum. “Gonna cum? F’me? H-hah- All f’me?”

“Yes! Yes yes yes- m’gonna-”

You don’t get to finish the sentence - Choso doesn’t let you.

Instead, drinking up all your sinful moans while he angles his hips just right to hit that one spot, at the same time he presses down against your clit. Hard. 

You see stars as you cum, toes curling, legs pulling Choso by his toned hips so he could spill into you with an almost-pained grunt. Cock too sensitive, tears springing to his eyes as he cums and cums so hard he thinks he sees the gates of heaven. 

And you, of course, are an angel.

An angel he’s pressing impossibly closer to. Biting up your collarbone, hips so filthy with the way he’s fucking rope after rope of hot seed into you. 

Whispering hoarsely in your ear, “Ya finally know you’re mine or do I hafta ngh- teach you again?”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - Listen up!

“I could always get you off right here, y’know. Right now.”

And that’s exactly what he does - one look at his underlings sends them running. The door barely even slamming shut before Sukuna has your drenched panties in tatters on the floor, straddling his thick thigh, trying - desperately - to get yourself off with all that he would give.

“Y-you said you hngh- get me off.” you hiccup, bottom lip wobbling so pathetically as you drag your sloppy pussy all over Sukuna’s thigh. 

And oh you sound so betrayed - so needy - that it might just be opening up a whole new realm of possibilities for the man himself. Doing nothing more but watch the way you ride his thigh like such a slut. 

“So what if I said that?” he crosses his arms, intentionally blocking the mouth-watering view you had of his pecs. “Do it yourself. Think m’gonna be intimidated by a whore like you?”

You know he’s doing this to infuriate you, to get you to break and beg him for mercy. And all you can do is let out a soft gasp as Sukuna shifts his leg, the friction so good against your sensitive pussy. Having you see stars behind your eyes. 

“Heh, too fucked out to even deny it?” he coos, making you whine and stutter your hips right where that sinful little thigh tattoo was. Pressing down. Hard. “You really are a whore. Is that why you let my ministers get close with you like that?”

“I-I didn’t-” your hips are out of control now, sliding your throbbing clit on the dips and curves of his leg. Absolutely soaked in your juices. “They jus’ asked me how to get to the-”

“And they think they can talk to their queen that way?”

Irritation is bleeding into Sukuna’s words now, eyes dark and hooded in a way that makes you wonder whether he realizes the iron-hold grip on your hips now. Hard. Nails sharp against your soft skin, rocking you harder on his thigh. Faster.

With a soft whimper, you let him pull you into a desperate desperate kiss. Just a clash of teeth and saliva and pure need. Pure intensity. 

“Fuckin’ vermin.” You flinch as he spits out little profanities into your open mouth. “Should kill ‘em for even looking at you.” One hand digging into your hips, pushing and pulling them like you were too slow, the other shifting his robe. “Gonna kill them all.”

And maybe because you’re too stupid - or too cockdrunk - to think otherwise, because you gasp out little pleas of mercy. Letting Sukuna drink up your delirious little, “D-don’t kill them…”

“Ha?” Sukuna breaks the kiss, immediately stopping your lewd little movements on his leg. Leaning in close enough that his hot breath fans your face. “The fuck did you just say?”

Oh, shit. You were fucked. You were so so fucked.

“Nooo, Kuna I was so-”

“Close?” And oh, you should’ve known that would be a sign. Should’ve gotten an inkling by the way that Sukuna immediately lifts you from his thigh as if you weigh nothing, immediately hovering you right over his achingly hard dick - you won’t be making it out alive. “Who the fuck gave you permission to cum, brat?”

Nothing more is said before he’s making you sit so prettily on his dick - already soaked in precum and so so angry. Not even a hint of care or concern in the way he splits you apart on his swollen cock with barely any preparation. If you were gonna act like such a slut - might as well take it like one.

“I didn’t give ya permission to cum yet.” Sukuna grunt, lacing his fingers on top of your head to push you down, down, down his cock. “Did they?”

You can’t even form proper sentences at this point, the stretch too much. Too good. Letting out incoherent little babbles of what sounded like disagreement, or, that’s what Sukuna took it as anyway.

“Thought so.” Smirking at the feeble resistance, “Was defending you against that trash and you just had to fuck- go stand up f’them.” He fucks up into your tight pussy in quick, methodical grinds just to squeeze his thick cock inside. “S’like you wanted me to fuck you up right here. To have them hear how I fucking ruin this pretty pussy on my cock.”

You’re scrambling to grab at the chair, his bulging biceps, settling for clawing at his shoulders. Too desperate to even think of a better reply other than a teary little, “N-no- don’ wan-”

Which was useless, really, because any pathetic excuse Sukuna cuts off. Unable to help himself from giving one, harsh thrust that finally has your sweet cunt fully wrapped around his dick. Heavy balls smacking against your ass, squeezing him so tightly. 

“Oh? What a shame.” His whisper is hot against your ear, sending goosebumps racing down your spine. Two fingers squishing your cheeks together into a pathetic pout, forcing you to look at the closed door. “Because they’re right outside listening to ya.”

♡ GOJO SATORU - The show-off

The Kyoto exchange event isn’t always fun and games, Gojo thinks - ever since that new prick from Kyoto’s teaching staff started making eyes at you, that is. 

How unprofessional! Conduct between teachers should definitely be reprimanded - no matter that Gojo had you snuck into his room, shirt hitting the floor faster than the door closes. His hands everywhere, throwing his blindfold around your neck, pulling you to bed so you can ride whatever remaining sanity out of him. 

“T-Toru, what are you doing?” you squeal, as he starts bucking his hips wildly underneath you. Reeling his head back to watch the way his thick cock slides in and out of you. In and out in and out in and-

“Don’t you worry, sweetheart.” he fumbles with his phone, that familiar ping! ringing out over those lewd squelches below you. You and Gojo were no stranger to recording your little trysts - but why did he seem so eager about this one? “Jus’ do what you always do. Take it- fuck take it all f’me.”

And it’s all you can do - thighs shaking with effort as you desperately try to keep up with Gojo’s pace. 

“Yeah- fuck yeah yeah. Feel so good- God I never get used to this.” And it’s true, he thinks - knows, he could never grow used to the heady feeling of wrecking your tight little pussy. Of drawing those cute lil’ whines of his name out of you. “N’ I know no one else would either.”

Gojo’s no stranger to running his mouth when he’s pussydrunk - and the way your plushy walls were squeezing him so tight, body curving into his as you milk the soul out of him - how could he not be?

“C’mon, sweetheart. Make a mess f’me - and him.”

All it takes is for those simple words for you to realize what he’s doing. And Gojo’s long fingers are becoming erratic on your clit, rolling his thumb over the sensitive nub. Hips sloppy like he was trying to fuck any and every rationality out of you. 

It works, probably - because you know you should stop him recording. To tell him to put away that phone and just ruin you how he usually does. 

But no, instead you’re only getting wetter. Knees spread, sopping hole so messy as you rock your hips even harder down Gojo’s throbbing cock. “So th-that’s what this is about.” 

With a throaty groan, Gojo pulls you to him by his blindfold dangling around your neck - easy access, of course. Grip just a little tighter than it should be. 

Looking up at you through his long lashes, eyes hazy - almost glowing in the camera flashlight. You see the way his lips curl into a satisfied grin. 

“C-can you fuck- blame me?” he sounds so wrecked already. Hand growing tighter and tighter with each cute lil’ whine leaving your swollen lips. “Fuckin’ loser thinks he has the ngh- skills to pull you.” Toned pelvis now bruising against your own, words strained and you wonder whether he can remember to breathe - whether you can breathe. “N’ the skills t-to-” Hips jagged, filthy. “-fuck you.”

“Oh- shit shit shit. God, it feels too good-” 

You’re wondering just how useful the video will actually be, because Gojo’s drawing out such slutty, loud moans from you that you’re half-sure most of campus can hear.

“He can never get you this wet.” Bullying his cock into your heavenly cunt like he was fucking addicted on the feeling. Thumb trembling as he tries to get the camera to focus on all the best parts. “This messy.”

The way your glistening pussy is stretched so obscenely around his cock, sucking him up so well. Disappearing into your dripping wet heaven. Your tits bouncing so enticingly in front of his face - marks littering your soft skin like you’d been thrown to the wolves. But, no, it’s just Gojo.

Just him that can ruin you like this, split you apart on his cock, have his blindfold wrapped around your cute neck.

“Jus’ me.” he gasps, blindfold tightening, phone so shaky. “He can’t compare to me. Fuck- fuck he can never compare.” His heavy balls sting your ass, merciless. “Can never be me.” Hips stuttering and so so sloppy, like he was running on pure adrenaline and the need to prove to the camera that he could ruin you like he promised. “Never. You’re mine. Mine to fuck. Mine to ruin.” Tightening. “Mine to break.”

“Sh-shit- you’re too much, Toru.”

“You agree, right?” he suddenly sounds so serious. Knuckles whitening against the blindfold. “No one can hngh- do it like m-me?” Blood roaring in your ears, vision getting spotty, like he wouldn’t let up until he hears what he wants. “No one?”

“Hah- fuck, no one-” you wheeze through his grip, “Only you, Toru.”

Then you’re cumming. 

And Gojo’s not far behind as he buries himself deeper to stuff you so full of his seed, chasing peak after peak and the sinful feeling of your gummy walls being so dripping wet - with him. 

And what a view it was - his girl’s poor pussy so overfilled. You catch the way it drips down the side, cum pooling at Gojo’s twitching balls. Such an obscene white, that it makes Gojo him about painting it all over again. Yeah, his favorite view - and the camera’s too.

“Almost too good of a view.” he grins, looking up at you with twinkling eyes that definitely didn’t bode well for your poor, ravaged pussy - or your sanity. “N’ I just exchanged numbers with that new Kyoto teacher…”

A/N. Also happy pride month hehe.

Plagiarism not authorized.

[phiniusandjelly]

Vaguely inspired by that one post where Danny gets summoned by the JL and keeps throwing his shoes and stuff at them bc HE might not be able to leave the summoning circle but his clothes sure can!

I think the twist for that was that the circle doesnt effect him at all because hes a halfa and he was just goofing with the JL.

But imagine if the summoning and containment WORKED.

Like, he gets summoned and its startling, but once he realizes hes been summoned hes mostly annoyed.

Its a school night! He has work to do! Sure he wasnt DOING it, but it was still a possibility!

And hes trying to banter with the JL. Which for him just means being vaguely-obnoxious-but-somewhat-charming.

But then he tries to leave.

Maybe hes worried about his friends reaction to seeing him disappear.

Maybe the JL are saying some anti ghost/demon/whatever they think he is nonsense.

Maybe he changed his mind about doing that homework.

But either way, it doesnt work.

He drags his hand along the edge of the spell. It doesnt give, and he realizes hes not sure what this spell is supposed to do.

Its all along the floor beneth him, he cant fly through the floor.

He tries to get away from the walls and floor, worried whatever spell makes up the container can be triggered to hurt him or brainwash him or SOMETHING.

Its not his best guest, but he has never been summoned before, at least not with this type of barrier, and he doesnt know what to expect.

He barely gets a few feet off the ground when he hits the spells invisible roof.

And he is trapped.

And now this fourteen year old child is caged in a room with clearly dangerous adult strangers.

After hes been more or less kidnapped.

He’s suddenly regretting insulting them.

And its not his first time beimg kidnapped. Or his first time being in danger in general (obviously).

but its usually some ghost! Or Vlad “Loser, I hardly know her!” Masters!

Both of whom explain literally everything they plan in long ass evil monologues! It usually takes danny five minutes tops to learn their entire life story Dr Doofenshmirtz style!

He knows most of them personally! They hang out sometimes! Heck! even the local ghost hunters are either literally related to him or someone he’s dated!

He knows their powersets, their strengths, their weaknesses.

Most importantly, he knows their goals

But now hes trapped. In a room of clearly superpowerd strangers. With magical abilities strong enough to trap him for real.

And has no idea what they want

And Danny just freezes up

This could be super angsty if the JL were told that he was evil and think his panic + young features are only done to manipulate them.

You can also add angst with a language barrier/translation issue

I imagine the JL would be trying to get information about ghosts/ are trying to get someone to fight a villain they can’t defeat

Its going to scare the shit out of Danny either way- like imagine fourteen year old you gets kidnapped by strangers and they start asking you about your weaknesses or say they will only let you out if you agree to fight this monster.

And if Danny doesnt know this villain or how tf hes going to fight them he might feel like hes being sent off to get his ass kicked.

I can just imagine Danny being told he has to fight this supervillain and being like “…if i like..die…trying to fight this guy…what are you going to do with my body? Like will you send me home? Cause my family will freak if my corpse is teleported into the living room”

JL would not be happy about any of his responses.

Im begging someone to write this please have a nice day

[hoshiros]

—✯ TRY IT, BITE IT, LICK IT, SPIT IT

cw. 18+ mdni. all chars 20+, pro-player!rin, afab!reader, oral (f!receiving), praise, petnames, established relationship, inspired by that one leaked panel of rin because what the hell

When ITOSHI RIN wins a game, your face is always the first one he wants to see.

Oftentimes, he'll search for you in the crowd with your embarrassingly noisy neon poster boards cheering him on. Other times, you'll already be waiting for him at the gates with your arms opened wide for him to run into.

For the last four weeks, though, he’s had to suffer the agony of your absence.

Rin called you incessantly while in France, reminding you of how many days separated him from being in your arms. "Wait for me. I'll be home soon," he said. "And be good," he'd add on, almost cheekily.

His promises were always sincere and lethally calculated. He wanted you to need him so badly that you'd fall apart on his tongue in minutes. Then he'd do it again, and again, and again, until he was satisfied.

When he finally came home, you barely had time to breathe before his lips were crashing into yours. You wanted to ask him if his flight was alright, if he had dinner yet, but then he licked himself into your mouth and the entire thought vanished.

And now you're being devoured by a monster.

Rin's been between your legs for so long that you're dizzy, head airy and light as he fucks into you with his tongue.

"Stay still," he warns sharply, words muffled as he stuffs his face closer into your sopping cunt. His warning is followed with his hands circling around your thighs, palms flat against the skin and leaving seas of heat along it.

You whine pathetically when he presses your hips down into the mattress, forcing you to be still for him.

"Can't—" you choke, spine curling from the bed so far that your head tilts backward. "Slow down, Rin!"

"Slow down?" He murmurs roughly. Rin furrows his brows, like he genuinely can't comprehend your request. "Actin' like it's your first time," he mocks, finishing his sentence by wrapping his lips around your clit.

You squeal, hand shooting down to shove his head back. He almost laughs when your weak attempt only pushes the bangs out of his eyes, giving him an even better view of you.

Rin pulls back enough to click his tongue, amused by your squirming but equally frustrated at your protests. He draws away from you. You feel cold as he does, the space he occupied suddenly devoid of his warmth.

"M'sorry princess," he coos, trying to coax you into relaxing. Peppering light kisses up your thigh until he gets to the spot resting on his shoulder, Rin can feel every shiver as you recover. "Too rough?"

You take a moment to catch your breath, waves of overstimulation crashing in your stomach. Finally, your gaze slowly drifts down to him, roaming over his face.

Your pussy clenches around nothing at the sight.

Sweat gleams across his forehead, stray strands of hair stuck to the skin as he also finds his breath. The entire bottom half of his face is so wet. You did that. You did.

"Hmm?" Rin hums, trying to get an answer. He looks so fucking cocky. So hungry. His tongue runs across his lips as if he can't stand not tasting you for even a second longer.

You shake your head, fingers still in his hair tugging lightly until he groans. "I can take it," you sniffle, guiding him back down closer to your heat.

"I know, baby. You're so good."

Rin dives back in as if he's starving for you, lathering your cunt in rough, long licks until you're shuddering. His hands travel down to the base of your thighs once again, pulling your body closer so that he can finish his meal.

You cry out softly, aching hole desperately trying to squeeze his tongue. He was the one who was so good to you. You dare to gaze at him again, just to admire his beautiful face.

Your breath hitches.

Rin has that same look on his face as he does on a football field—like a winner chasing a goal he knows he'll always get.

[thriftedtchotchkes]

how do you sleep?

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

summary: joel's always there to comfort you with his words and a warm bed after a nightmare, but tonight, you need a little more

warnings: 18+ MDNI, jackson era, soft!joel, comfort, undefined relationship, getting together, mentions of nightmares & insomnia, smut, unprotected piv, slow/intimate sex, creampie

word count: 3.3k

“Whas’wrong?”

You didn't mean to end up here again. It's the third night this week you swiped Joel's key from under the doormat and found yourself standing in his bedroom doorway.

"Can't sleep," you reply, barely above a whisper. Exhaustion seeps into your voice, permeating your limbs the longer you remain standing.

He already knows why you're here. Ever since you, Joel, and Ellie arrived in Jackson and were offered homes of your own, rest evades you more than it ever did on the road. It's too quiet here, and your racing mind fills the silence with the horrors of a life lived in constant fear.

You know you're safe now. You know that, but it's not enough to convince your body or quell the ever-present tightness in your chest telling you to run, to hide. Your fears are more potent in the dark, and the shadows creeping from wall to wall have sharper edges. Teeth that threaten to tear you apart and rip away everything and everyone you've fought so hard to protect.

The walls and floorboards creak with life that shouldn't be present in an empty, two-story home—too big for a single person, and yet still yours—and quickly begin to sound like impending death.

Nowadays, more often than not, you seek out a different kind of shelter. The familiar, comforting embrace of the man who kept you warm and protected through harsh winters and from monsters prowling in the night. That's where you belong.

Crisp bedsheets rustle in the dark and then you hear Joel pat the mattress twice—an invitation to occupy the space beside him, the one he always leaves empty just in case.

"Well, c'mon then. Hurry up," he grumbles, still half-asleep. But he isn’t frustrated. He's tired, just like you, and he'll probably sleep a lot better knowing both of his girls are resting soundly under his roof.

You trudge over and waste no time burying your face in his bare chest, breathing in pine and cedar wood shavings before exhaling a heavy sigh of relief. Throwing a leg over his thighs, you mold into him, rubbing your cheek into coarse curls and marveling at the calm, steady rhythm beneath you.

It feels good to be home. You're not sure why you let Maria give you an entire house to yourself when everything you could ever want or need was right across the street. Every time you end up back here, you wonder. And every time you leave, you wish you'd stayed.

He wraps you up in his arms and tugs you into his side, murmuring your name with soft lips that tenderly caress your forehead. They're so warm, just like the rest of him, and you find yourself aching to feel them on yours. It's a line neither of you have ever crossed, but tonight's been rough.

For what felt like days, you were forced to watch as your worst nightmares came to bloody fruition. You were dragged through the most brutal outcomes of events you already survived and could do nothing more than pray you'd wake up soon. When you finally came to and checked the clock, it had only been an hour and a half since you'd passed out. The moon was still high in the sky, taunting you with the promise of more. More dread, endless brutality.

Joel can make all of that go away, if only for a few hours. He always does, but tonight...you don't want to talk about it tonight. You don't want to think about it, about anything at all. You just want him.

You'd feel selfish asking for more if there wasn't already something between you. Something nurtured and gradual that's been building for months, beginning on your travels across the country and coming to an unignorable head here in Jackson.

Back then, it was stolen glances while you bathed together in streams and fleeting touches in your shared sleeping bag under star-filled skies. It's more intimate these days. He holds your hand when you're anxious, and you kiss away the frown lines and frustrated wrinkles that mar his skin.

Every day, you skirt the line between platonic companionship and whatever's starting to simmer below the surface. You're scared to hope he feels it too, but the thought of remaining in this undefined middle ground scares you even more.

The furnace drifting in and out of consciousness next to you radiates with an addictive heat you've told yourself to ignore for a long time, but it's quickly becoming an impossible feat. Pressed into his side, you're trying and failing not to writhe against him. But he's starting to notice.

His hips jerk every time your core drags against his bare thigh, a slow, repetitive grind you really shouldn't continue, but feels so fucking good combined with the slick pooling between your legs. You should stop—really, you should—but his breathing's changing and hitching, catching in his throat every time the growing tent in his boxers meets the friction of your inner thigh.

Then, he gasps something cognizant and urgent, and you know you've been caught. His hand snakes down to your ass and traps you against his side with a grip so firm, plush skin spills between his fingers.

“Woah, hold on there," he breathes out heavily, and his gaze drops to yours curiously. His eyes are wide open and alert, shining with the faint reflection of moonlight streaming through an adjacent window. Bright and yet pitch black as his sleep-addled brain struggles to catch up with his body. "What's goin' on with you tonight?"

You worry your bottom lip between your teeth, debating whether or not to ask for his help. His expression is gentle but otherwise unreadable, and there's a chance this could go very, very badly. Maybe you'd be better off apologizing, but you don't want to. You're not sorry for needing him.

And the longer he waits for an answer, the more his body convinces you that he wants the same things you do. His hand is still on your ass, kneading as he urges you to rock into him, but he doesn't seem to realize he's doing it. Then, his thigh flexes and a rush of wetness coats your already soaked underwear. His expression falters, and you know he can feel it.

His voice is tighter when he speaks again, but that tinge of concern is still there. He wants to make it all better, but he can't unless you tell him how. Your hand tenses where it lies on his chest, and he covers it with his own.

"What can I do? Just tell me how to help you—whatever it is, I'll do it," he murmurs, brushing his thumb reassuringly across your skin. You tilt your chin up and suddenly you're close enough to breathe his air. Closer than you've ever been and yet still not close enough.

"I need you to...," Fuck me. But it sounds too crude. A quick fuck isn't what you need right now. You need to be full of him, to hold him deep inside you and keep him there for as long as this night will allow. "...make me feel safe again."

"Tell me how," he repeats as you struggle to bite back a moan. He's working you against him intentionally now, encouraging you up and down his leg, and it's making your brain go a little haywire. "What do you need, baby?"

"Joel," you whine at the endearment, an intense heat building at the apex of your thighs. That's new. You want to hear him say it again, to devour every word as he buries himself inside you over and over. You will him to understand. "I need you."

He sucks in a harsh breath through his teeth, steeling himself before nosing into the hairs at your temple. The gesture is so tender and affectionate even as he bucks into your thigh, and it's painfully obvious how hard you're making him. He nods slowly and plants a soft kiss on your forehead, his chest rising and falling more rapidly than before.

"Okay, baby. I got you," he murmurs, his lips trailing down to your eyelids, then the apple of your cheek. "I'll make it all go away, alright? M'gonna take care of you."

And you believe him. He rolls you onto your back and you gasp as his entire weight presses you into the mattress. It's more than just comforting. You feel protected. He's shielding you from this horrible, broken world, somehow managing to prove that there's still goodness to be found. And it's on top of you, broad and strong, and wanting you just as badly as you want him.

Big hands cup your cheeks and his lips meet yours, so much different than the familiar press against your forehead or the top of your head. You're in unknown territory, but he guides you carefully and moves slowly, taking the time to explore and savor. The taste of spearmint begins to overwhelm your senses as the kiss deepens, and you lick into his mouth impatiently, already craving more.

But after years of quiet observation, Joel knows better than anyone how to temper you. Ducking down to bury his face in your neck, he kisses along the underside of your jaw, regaining control of the pace with a sharp, halting suck. And while he refuses to let your urgency rush him, he still allows your hands to roam his skin and tug at his boxers, letting you take what you want—like his only goal is to make sure this lasts long enough for him to fulfill his promise.

A disgruntled groan bubbles in your throat, and you feel him chuckle. "Y'know, patience is supposed to be a virtue," he mumbles, amused, his beard scratchy and grounding against your skin. You huff in response.

Tonight doesn't feel like a night for virtues. Not when things are finally changing in your favor. After so much time, so much running, you actually have somewhere to go—and stay. You're not running away anymore. You're moving towards something that feels real, and dependable, and safe, and you're doing it together. And now that you're so close you can taste it, you're done waiting.

"You're really gonna start caring about virtues now?" you ask skeptically, slipping your hands past the waistband of his boxers to grab his ass.

He hesitates, then huffs out a quiet laugh. "Fair enough."

And with that, you both know the time for talking is over. Something shifts and you're on the same page, ready to take as much as the other is willing to give.

Joel begins to drag your shirt up to reveal more, but suddenly feeling stifled, you take over and remove it completely. The look on his face makes it more than worth it. It's not the first time he's seen you naked, but as his eyes rake over your bare curves, it feels like it could be. Reverently, he returns his lips to yours, kissing you deeply before charting a path lower.

His mouth feels hot as he laves and nips across your collarbone, and he shimmies further down the bed until he's just barely ghosting the swell of your breasts. You gasp, burying your fingers in his hair as he sucks a bruise below your nipple and soothes the sting with his tongue. Licking a wide stripe past the darkening mark, he captures the bud between his teeth, another hand sliding up your stomach to cup your other breast while he alternates between swirling and sucking.

Your entire body feels like it's on fire. The ache between your thighs worsens the longer he continues, but instead of squeezing them together for relief, you wrap your legs around his waist and tug him onto you. By now, you're so wet, there's no way you're not soaking right through your underwear and into his boxers, and you hope he can feel it. If your increasing volume isn't enough of an indication that you need him inside you, then maybe this will be.

He lets out a pained groan into your chest, and you clench in satisfaction. He immediately grinds down, thrusting into you like he's forgotten about the layers of clothing still separating you. You don't bother to remind him.

Bucking him off, you quickly wrench down your underwear then reach for his, yanking them off while he sheds his t-shirt. Your fingers close around his cock before his shirt hits the floor and he startles before melting into your grip, eyes fluttering shut and lips parting around a cross between a sigh and the neediest whine you've ever heard.

You feel that telltale whoosh between your legs again, and after pumping him a few times, you guide him toward your entrance. In the back of your mind, you know you're taking a risk without a condom. You should be safer, more responsible. But it's Joel. It's always been Joel.

His eyes shoot open once he realizes where you're leading him, but you only bite your lip and nod, your expression uncharacteristically vulnerable. An unspoken agreement passes between you, a quiet understanding cultivated through years of friendship and now something more. Then, he presses inside and your mind goes blissfully blank.

No more horrors, no more fear. Just Joel keeping his promise and doing exactly what you trusted him to do. He encompasses you entirely, pressing the length of his body flush against yours as he works himself into you. The stretch was nothing you ever could've anticipated, but it grounds you in the present moment. It's everything you told yourself not to hope for when you showed up on his doorstep tonight.

His movements are slow but powerful, and he rests his forehead on yours, eyes alert and acutely aware of every change in expression. The intensity of his gaze and the slick sound of him burying himself to the hilt should make you self-conscious—it's all you can see and hear, but that's the point, isn't it? To get lost in the way he drags so perfectly against your walls and grinds his hips into yours on every thrust, slow and steady.

He's attentive, cataloging whenever he makes you moan a little louder or your eyes roll, and repeats it again and again until you're writhing underneath him. Your nails rake down his back and scratch at his scalp, and he jerks forward whenever you're a little too rough, hitting so deep, it feels like he's grazing your cervix. But the longer he continues to give you everything you want, the more his body trembles with the effort of holding himself back.

You know Joel, and you can tell when he's resisting an urge. His biceps tense where he's propped on his forearms, bracketing your head, and there's so little space between you, you can feel his abs flexing every time he plunges back inside you. He needs more and you want to give it to him.

Lifting your head, you bridge the tiny gap to meet his lips. "Joel, c'mon. You can fuck me harder than that, I'm not gonna break," you mumble between open-mouthed kisses. That catches him off guard.

He accidentally lets himself go for a thrust or two, and you're cut off by a moan, your walls squeezing him so hard, it's painful. Somehow, you manage to recover just long enough to gasp out the rest. "It's okay if you need something from me, too. Just take it. I trust you."

For an agonizing moment, Joel pauses to observe you, waiting for something in your eyes to contradict the permission you just gave him. But when he doesn't find it, he shakily exhales the breath he'd been holding and his head drops to your shoulder. The groan that follows rumbles so deeply in his chest, it makes your stomach drop. Then, without warning, his hands are gripping your thighs and he's rutting into you like a caged animal finally set free.

There he is. The man who never hesitated to gun down anyone who threatened the safety of his loved ones and did whatever it took to bring his girls home.

Recognition washes over you and fills you with a familiar feeling of security. It's something only Joel has ever been able to give you. You wrap your arms around his neck and bury your face into his hair, hoping to return even a fraction of that feeling.

As he gives into his body, he starts to ramble, his words muffled and lost to your delicate skin. But you don't need to hear him to know what he's saying. With every thrust, the bed frame rattles and gets the message across loud and clear. Your heels dig into his back, encouraging him forward, begging him to keep going, and he obliges, quickly reduced to helpless grunts and curses.

The room gets increasingly hotter and more humid, and the cool air flowing through the window isn't nearly enough to provide relief, but neither of you seems to care. You're a little in love with the way your bodies slip together, sweat and slick intermingling seamlessly.

Everything is so wet, and it feels incredible—your skin against his, your walls pulsing around his cock. He's molding into you, so close that you can't do much more than swivel your hips into his, and it's sending you hurtling toward the edge faster than you can fully process. The coarse hair at the base of his cock rubs your clit just right, and when he adjusts the angle to fuck you deeper than before, you hit your peak.

You dissolve into a whimpering mess beneath him, desperately riding out your orgasm as he groans and abruptly bites down on your shoulder. Releasing your legs to grab your waist, he forces himself impossibly further inside you and grinds into your spasming walls until he's coming with you. He gasps his way through it, stilling while he lets you milk him dry, then collapses on top of you and gathers you in his arms.

For a while, you both struggle to catch your breath. The mattress is bare save for the fitted sheet, your clothes, pillows, and blankets having been kicked or tossed onto the floor. It feels nice like this—to savor the winter air cooling your bodies and to just be held. Without letting you go, Joel lifts his head to kiss the teeth marks he left on your shoulder apologetically and then shifts higher to press his lips against the underside of your jaw.

"You alright?" he asks gently, his voice a little gruffer than usual from the exertion.

"Mhm," you hum, nosing into his temple. "More than." He sighs and almost sounds relieved.

The thought makes your heart ache. If he's worried he crossed a line, well. He did. You both did, but it was a long time coming and you don't regret a thing. You squeeze him a little tighter as if to tell him, and he allows himself to melt into you briefly. Then, he draws back to cup your cheek and guide your lips to his.

He kisses you slowly, taking the time to appreciate the sensation of your mouth against his without any urgency. "Feel better?" he murmurs after reluctantly parting from you. You keep him close.

"I don't think we have to worry about any more nightmares tonight," you reply with a small smile. He returns it, eyes crinkling fondly, then rolls you onto your sides to settle in for a good night's sleep.

As you start to drift off, you hear him chuckle and mutter something under his breath that you don't quite catch. But it sounds a lot like, "Might be time for you to finally move in."

thanks for reading!

[keferon]

“I've done something wrong again. It's not moving.”

There was a lot of stuff spread out in front of him. Old spare parts, pieces of armor, tools. Lots of warped plates.

And his creation. A real golem. An entity woven of metal and magic.

Shockwave walked around the table and stopped right above the head of the figure lying on it

“Golems exist to serve, my friend. It won't move unless you ask it to.”

Orion clutched his servos. The figure remained stone still. There was no ventilation noise, no engine sound, not even the barely audible spinning of a spark. It could just as easily have been a long-cooled dead body lying in front of him.

“Wake up.”

___________________ Part 2->

Magical Golem Prowl anyone? ‘,:) This story exists in the same universe as Spellbound au. and Monster hunter au and ties them together so I highly recommend you read all of them.

The fic under the cut⤵️

He seemed to be nothing.

The emptiness that infinitely defined his nonexistent self bounced off the metal plates and glinted in the droplets of still-warm energon. He was nothing, but there was so much around him that the space was like an infinite buzz of cluttered noise. The voices above him sounded excited. The metal slab beneath him was cold and hard.

“Good. Now you need to put a piece of your armor on this. Somewhere it will be in plain sight and easily reachable.”

“Oh...wouldn't it make more sense to hide it under the armor? I mean, it's an obvious weak point.”

He idly thought, his hands felt numb.

“No no, that's the whole point. You're using an artifact you haven't fully studied and you don't know exactly how it's going to turn out. If it goes crazy and becomes dangerous, you should have an easy way to destroy it. Where's the artifact by the way?”

The tinkling of metal.

The sound of a crystal clattering against armor.

Warm hands on his head.

“Here.”

“Excellent. Now. This will be the base on which the entire spell will be held, so you want to hide this artifact very well and secure it carefully so it doesn't break by mistake.”

Did he have hands too? He was nothing, why did he have hands? It didn't make sense.

Orion took a couple steps away from the table and stood pensively.

“I've done something wrong again. It's not moving.”

There was a lot of stuff spread out in front of him. Old spare parts, pieces of armor, tools. Lots of warped plates.

And his creation. A real golem. An entity woven of metal and magic.

Shockwave, hitherto distracted by an almost invisible spot on his shoulderplate, glanced leisurely over Orion's shoulder

“Golems don't need much to function. You made a good shell. The magical structure is strong as well, I see.”

Orion hesitantly pointed to the golem's forehead, decorated with a neat sharp chevron.

“I added some things that weren't in your instructions and I think I made a mistake somewhere.”

“Golem making is a complex skill, don't give up if it doesn't work right awa...you know what, actually no, you did everything right.”

Orion shrugged in frustration.

“Then why won't it move?”

Shockwave walked around the table and stopped right above the head of the figure lying on it

“ Golems exist to serve, my friend. It won't move unless you ask it to.”

Orion walked back over to the table with a quiet “oh” and nervously clutched his servos. The figure remained stone still. There was no ventilation noise, no engine sound, not even the barely audible spinning of a spark. It could just as easily have been a long-cooled dead body lying in front of him.

“Wake up.”

The emptiness that forever defined his nonexistent self stammered. He wasn't nothing. He had a purpose and that purpose shaped him, put strength into his numb limbs and molded his lack of thought into naked intent.

He wasn't nothing. He was a void, but suddenly that void had a direction, no matter how meaningless it sounded.

He stopped being just nothing. He became his purpose. And it felt so right that it was unclear how he could ever have been anything else before.

He opened his optics.

Orion, who apparently hadn't expected that the thing he'd made specifically for it to move would move, jerked back with a funny sound.

On the opposite side, Shockwave nodded proudly, returning to the spot on his armor that even in the bright lights of the workshop only he could see.

“I believed in you.”

_________

“Oh my god! How do you sneak up on me so quietly every time?”

He wasn't nothing anymore. He was a whole long list of instructions and rules. His creator sat him down at a table and meticulously listed everything he could and could not do. Handed him many books and ordered him to attend a huge number of lectures. He now knew who to bow to if he passed them in the hallway and who to avoid. He had learned hundreds of names and thousands of titles. Learned how to pretend to be a real Mech, even though he wasn't.

The world around him was complex and confusing, but he found that this complexity had its own patterns, linked together in a bizarre web of systems and sequences. It was worth pulling on the right end, and the meaningless facts organized themselves into something much more manageable.

Everything made sense. The planet revolved around a star. Mechs rejoiced when they got something that improved their quality of life. Energon burned, producing energy. Big things tended to be heavier than small things.

The world was divided into Mechs and monsters...and him.

He was inclined to be...quiet.

His creator - he'd asked to be called Orion - twitched when he found his creation standing right behind him.

He was very talented at finding Orion wherever he was. And very light compared to most things his size. Like everything else it made sense. He wasn't a Mech, he was just an empty shell. An armor summoned to life by magic. His footsteps were as quiet as a mini bot's. Whatever Orion called it, he wasn't 'sneaking' on purpose.

A few cycles later, Orion accidentally bent one of its finals when he turned around too quickly, startled by the quiet footsteps behind him.

He named him Prowl. It was...not exactly logical, but there was a certain sense to it. Prowl nodded and agreed. He always agreed with everything Orion said, even if it didn't make sense at all. Orion's opinion took a higher priority than anything else.

Until it didn't.

Until Orion gave him a focused look and told him that he should argue if he thought it was necessary.

Until Orion put the servo on his shoulder and said something along the lines of....

“You can disagree with me if you think my opinion is wrong. I'm not asking you to go against me. I'm not perfect and I can't be the one absolute point of reference for everything. You can and I'm sure will be smarter than me about many things. I want you to tell me if I'm wrong and what I should do about it.”

Like…well….like an absolute fool.

This concept was new. Prowl wasn't built to argue. He was made to obey orders and to serve a function.

Orion smiled slyly. At least it was probably a smile behind his mask that made the corners of his optics lift.

“It wouldn't be considered a disobedience of my order if I ordered you to disobey it. Don't you think?”

Prowl opened his mouth to agree out of habit, but then changed his mind mid-motion and closed it back. It...it didn't make sense. It made sense that was breaking under its own weight. It was mercilessly mixing up all of his pre-learned patterns for talking to Orion. If he agreed with that logic now, it would mean accepting its use. If he protested, it would also mean accepting it, but in a bit more embarrassing way. Just when he was thinking of simply retreating silently to the nearest shadow and banging his head against the wall, he heard a quiet chuckle and realized that Orion had been amusing himself for some time now, watching him struggle.

Prowl decided that verbal responses might be overrated and frowned his face in the most believable expression of displeasure he could portray.

Orion broke out into laughter.

________

“What exactly is my goal?”

Orion looks. Curious. He stops talking to Shockwave and leans back on the bench.

“Right now, to study these journals. I already told you.”

Prowl nods to indicate he heard him and continues

“Studying serves a future purpose. Studying for the sake of studying would be meaningless to me. What is my final goal?”

“To assist me” Orion says slightly confused. ”Within the best of your ability of course.“”

“Аh. Assist in the fulfillment of your goal.”

“Well. I'd say so, yes.”

Prowl nods

“And what is your goal?”

Shockwave, who has been sitting next to them the whole time looks like they're a couple of previously unknown to science species he's just personally discovered.

Prowl ignores him.

“I...you remember the separation between Mechs and monsters, right?” asks Orion cautiously.

“Yes.”

“Mechs...are unfair to monsters. Monsters are cruel to Mechs. It's a needlessly violent situation that I want to...try to. Fix.”

Prowl frowns to indicate that the information isn't completely clear.

“You're a member of the order of hunters. And...” he shakes his head toward the nearest window ”...you have a considerable number of hunters under your command. Your job involves destroying monsters.”

Shockwave makes some sort of quiet amused sound and props his chin up with his hand.

Prowl ignores him harder.

“My job is to bring peace.” says Orion “You don't have to kill monsters to do that. You can negotiate with them. Find a compromise. Coexist. I...I guess basically, I'm trying to make the world a little better?”

Prowl doesn't look impressed. He's actually making a special effort to not let Orion think in any way that he might be intrigued by the whole endeavor.

“You do realize that's a disproportionately large goal for just one Mech, right?”

Orion shrugs awkwardly

“That's why I made you.”

__________

Ratchet puts aside his tools and critically examines his work.

“Don't touch that and it will heal normally.”

Orion smiles gratefully

“Thank you.”

Ratchet is important to Orion. They are close and very valuable friends to each other. The two of them look peaceful now, despite the fact that Ratchet threatened Orion when he first showed up in Sick Bay, so Prowl decides it would be a socially acceptable moment to start talking

“Orion, you're wanted at the Council.”

The second half of his line is drowned helplessly in two startled exclamations at once. Orion, to his honor, calms down almost immediately, but Ratchet continues cursing for a while.

Prowl doesn't wait for him to finish. The Council meeting is earlier than usual today and Orion has already had a few occasions of misbehavior. It's in his best interest to at least show up on time this time.

“Shockwave asked me to tell you to hurry. I will add that showing up at the last minute will not be good for your reputation if you are still hoping to convince the council to let you take more units.”

Ratchet .....stares.

“Primus' rusty hinges, Orion, who's that? Did they assign a nanny to you?”

Orion twitches his finals playfully and immediately crinkles in pain, remembering that one of them should have been left to heal.

“Remember when I wanted to find an assistant? Well...”

Ratchet casts an increasingly more suspicious look at Prowl. Prowl decides that friendliness is overrated and limits his expression to a barely perceptible tilt of his head in response.

“...Shockwave recently helped me figure out how to create golems and I figured if I couldn't find anyone I could trust, I might as well...make one. So. Ratchet meet Prowl.” finishes Orion awkwardly.

Ratchet glares at Prowl for a while longer. Then he turns away and starts tidying up Sick Bay.

“I'm not buying it. I don't know where you found this guy, but you're not playing me. Nice poker face by the way.”

One of Prowl's wings twitches

“He wasn't lying.”

Ratchet snorts grumpily.

“Those...” he waves toward the next room ”...are golems.

There, behind the wall, several golems scurry around. They have medical staff symbols painted on their shoulders, and there is not a trace of thought in their eyes. Two are scrubbing the floors, another wiping the shelves and window sills clean of dust. They occasionally mumble softly under their noses or utter an inane “excuse me” every time they accidentally bump into each other. Prowl knows that if you ask any of them a question with more than one variable, they start babbling guiltily and shrugging their shoulders. They're stupid, but they themselves don't seem to care about that at all. They are their purpose. And their purpose is to keep things clean. They are pride because they are good at their job.

Prowl frowns. He's a headache. Because his "purpose" has been distracted by his conversation with Ratchet and will probably add another tardy to his list in the near future.

Orion begins (thank goodness) to move toward the door

“I've made improvements. There might have been...some not exactly allowed artifacts.”

Ratchet rubs the bridge of his nose tiredly. Prowl can see that his face is already starting to wrinkle in that spot. Patient antics probably age Ratchet far more effectively than the passage of time itself.

“I...you know what...go before the Council sends a search party to look for you.”

Orion sighs and without further distraction finally walks out the door.

Prowl decides that Ratchet might be a good ally when it comes to managing Orion.

He nods politely goodbye before leaving.

______________

“I am different from them. Why?”

Orion puts down the document he's been working on and looks first at Prowl and then, over his head, at the other golems scurrying down the hallway with brooms and rags. He doesn't need to interject exactly who he thinks Prowl is different from.

“Do you want a philosophical answer or a technical one?”

Prowl reaches out and pokes somewhere in Orion's document

“ You missed a comma. Both.”

Orion obediently puts the comma in and folds up the document. His finals are twitching faintly. It could be a sign of concentration as well as distraction. Prowl has already figured out that Orion's body language is a double-bottom trap. For a Mech with this level of expressiveness, Orion is surprisingly difficult to read.

“Sometime quite a while ago during one of my expeditions, I found a unique artifact. A fascinating item, granting wisdom to anyone brave enough to use it.”

“I have a feeling a ‘but’ is coming.”

“You're right. The artifact's unique gift was also its curse. It fed so much information through the Mech's heads that it literally caused the processors of its owners to melt.”

“Oh. Good thing I don't have a processor then.”

Orion laughs quietly

“Indeed. You won't have that problem. And about the other part....Think of all the Mechs you know who are savvy enough about politics and available to work together at the moment.”

Orion gives him a moment before continuing.

“ What is the likelihood that the most trustworthy of them would betray me, for their own gain or out of fear?”

“ Twenty-eight percent,” Prowl informs.

And then hesitates a moment.

Orion is obviously a smart Mech. Not smart enough to single-handedly dominate the political arena, definitely not with his ideals and ideas of what's right. But smart enough to realize it. He knows what he wants and he also knows he can't achieve it alone.

Prowl looks at Orion, who just stands there, eyeing him, without in any way trying to continue the conversation.

Orion is idealistic, and therefore often mistaken for stupid. He isn't. Orion doesn't just know that he can't succeed alone, he knows that everyone else knows it too. He thinks this knowledge will be used against him when the opportunity arises. He's right. By Prowl's count, at least three suspiciously clever Mechs were going to sweet-talk their way into becoming Orion's assistant one way or another before... he appeared.

One of the janitor golems runs past them down the corridor. He doesn't turn around, doesn't even slow down or cast a curious glance. His only goal, his only interest is cleaning. The rest of the world might as well not exist at all.

Prowl thinks he's not that different.

Orion apparently reads the understanding from his face, because he nods contentedly and starts walking further down the hall.

“You didn't take yourself into account when you made the statistics, did you?”

Prowl follows him silently on his heels. Not close enough to be familiar, but not so far away that the conversation stops being private.

“The sampling condition was all mechs. I am not one.”

“That's true” Orion shrugs “You have no loved ones that the Council could use to influence you. You have no desires to be bought by their fulfillment. And while I cannot say with absolute certainty that you will never be capable of going against me...” Prowl starts to open his mouth to object but Orion gestures him to stop, “...no no no no, let me finish. And while I can't be sure you'll never betray me, I at least know for sure that before you met me you had no reason to do so. Do you understand?”

Prowl understands. It makes sense. He still feels the need to argue back, because it is part of his function to do that.

“I would never betray you. I'm not capable of it.”

Orion twitches his finals. Without seeing his face Prowl assumes it is a sign of doubt.

“You are a creature of intellect, Prowl. I am a Mech of ideals. Those two things don't always combine well.”

______

“Foolish and presumptuous.”

Prowl ponders that his function could be much easier if he didn't have to constantly try to balance what is right and what is right in Orion's eyes.

“If you were spotted, the Council would have good reason to assume this isn't the first time you've done something like this.”

“No one noticed,” Orion tries, but Prowl doesn't let him finish that thought

“No one has seen you, because you're lucky. You can't count on it being a permanent occurrence! You undermine your own position by giving the Council grounds for suspicion, you...”

Prowl stops, still pointing his finger accusingly somewhere on Orion's chin. Shockwave, who has witnessed the scene, makes an impressed face and steps closer.

“I swear, you're probably the most capable golem maker I've ever had the pleasure of teaching, Orion. If I hadn't seen that guy on your assembly table, I would never know.”

Prowl takes the statement as a compliment, but doesn't feel the need to show it outwardly. Shockwave, as one of the few who knows about him not being a real Mech, doesn't take offense to it in any way.

“Did I interrupt something dramatic?”

Prowl snorts, because the gesture maintains just the right amount of judgment for his situation.

“Orion is once again harboring a monster instead of killing it or letting it escape.”

This news immediately enlivens Shockwave's posture. Prowl knows he's an even bigger fan of collecting suspicious side projects than Orion. Their friendship, frankly, will one day bury either one or both of them. Prowl just hopes his presence will be enough to sway the percentages when that happens.

Orion doesn't try to deny anything.

“One of my squads encountered a ghost near the northern border. I couldn't... listen Shockwave, he's a good guy. He just needs to be given a chance to show it.”

“Can he talk?” there's almost visible stars in Shockwave's eyes..

Prowl slumps his shoulders helplessly, already knowing what's coming next. These two have done this dance a hundred times before. One of Shockwave's favorite side projects was a school for, as they called them, magically gifted and extraordinary Mechs. In fact, it was the largest den of various monsters that Prowl had ever seen. Every time Orion's hunting squads found a monster that could even remotely resemble a normal Mech, Orion would rush with happy optics to hand it over to Shockwave for care. There, the monsters were taught everything they needed to fit into the society of normal Mechs, but more importantly, they were given documents. Precious pieces of paper that granted their holders rights, freedoms, and protections as Shockwave's apprentices.

Prowl could appreciate the noble endeavor. He could also see clearly that with each addition, this school would become more and more of an inconvenient thorn in the Council's side. Just like Orion, Shockwave was happy to paint a brighter and brighter target on his own back for many cycles.

Orion, insensitive to danger that is not immediate, cheerfully begins to recite

“Can read, write, speak, even makes music.”

Shockwave nods happily

“Introduce us?”

Prowl wonders how far Shockwave can stretch the definition of “magically gifted Mech”. One day Orion will pick up a Kraken on the street and then they'll both probably have to do a lot of mental gymnastics to make it's documents. Ugh.

When Orion had asked him to calculate the probability of betrayal, the most reliable mech he was evaluating at the time was Shockwave.

Twenty-eight percent...

Prowl wonders how many students must be on the opposite side of the scale from Orion for Shockwave to choose in their favor. Speculation is actually useless. If the Council decides to nail Shockwave, they will of course use his entire school at once.

In fact, they probably won't even have to force Shockwave to choose between the school and Orion, because Orion himself will choose a bunch of monsters over himself.

This ridiculously dangerous social construct they call friendship rests entirely on their reputation as honest and honorable mechs. Prowl stares at Shockwave's back and wonders how one mech could have so much charisma, that he gets away with keeping a huge number of Council enemies right under the noses of that same Council.

_________________

Orion gently lifts the now graying shell of what was once a monster from the ground

He doesn't even turn toward Prowl.

"Did you kill him?"

Killing...it's a stretch. Does the act of helping a murderer qualify as murder? Or the lack of action that could have saved the now murdered person? In most cultures and languages, “murder” refers to the act of ending someone else's life, but the context implies a physical act. Did you put a knife in his back? Did you push him off a cliff? Did you cut him with a sword?

By those criteria. Well. Prowl never killed anyone. Nor is he likely to, for he has neither the skill nor the strength to do so.

Did he cause death? Absolutely.

Orion's always had this heroic streak that wouldn't let him just pass by the distressed and disadvantaged. Orion has always had a great spark of kindness and principles as strong as titanium alloy as to what is right and what is wrong.

In Orion's world view, murder is wrong. And murder in conditions where it was possible to solve everything by peace is immoral and unacceptable.

Prowl's worldview tells him that Orion could do much better if he stopped wasting his potential on helping those who will only drag him down in the long run. Orion's life depends entirely on the Council's opinion of him. A Council that has been watching him closely lately. Even if Orion doesn't like it, it's Prowl's job to make sure they like what they see.

Orion turns to him, shaking him out of his thoughts.

"Prowl. That mech tried to escape. Past you. And now he's dead. Were you the one who killed him?"

"No," says Prowl, "he ran into one of the patrols."

That statement is missing a good half of the details. Like mentioning that the patrol wouldn't have been there in the first place if Prowl hadn't sent them an anonymous lead.

Orion doesn't need to know that. Orion lives under the idea that every life is precious and, even more inconveniently, equal.

Prowl sometimes feels like yelling at him for it. Because that shiny perfect picture is simply unsustainable outside of Orion's head. The monster, whose graying body now lies on the ground, would be of little use to society. Likely left free, he would have simply continued to attack and kill travelers.

Whereas Orion spends his life making the world a better place. This is an objective fact confirmed by numerous observations.

They are not equals. And they probably never will be. Orion's life is much. Much heavier on the imaginary scales of statistics.

Orion squints at him suspiciously. He's clearly hesitant.

"You could have just let him go instead of killing him."

The trap is honestly too obvious.

"I didn't kill him" Prowl repeats "he ran into a patrol. You can't blame the hunters for doing their job."

Orion places a hand on the dead creature's forehead in a respectful gesture of regret while simultaneously averting his gaze. It's a habit by now.

Look the other way, don't let the council know what you're doing. Sympathize but not in plain sight, help but in secret.

"They had no right to attack him.This is neutral territory. He has the right to run wherever he wants."

Prowl's mouth is twisting with the urge to argue. To say that according to existing information, this monster would have just continued the attacks if he'd stayed free.

He says nothing. Orion is clearly in no mood to argue right now, and he's already questioning Prowl's claim. It's not worth pushing any further.

Prowl only nods, showing that he's heard Orion's point of view.

__________________

He is surprisingly good at lying.

Of course the skill doesn't just come naturally, but he's been known for his straightforwardness. Mechs automatically expect him to either remain silent or tell the unpleasant truth.

All he has to do is give only certain bits and pieces instead of coherent information without changing his usual behavior in any way and the mechs won't be inclined to verify it, filling in the gaps themselves. As a golem, he can't lie, but he can get others to lie to themselves.

He exploits this a lot. Probably more often than Orion would approve, but Prowl doesn't ask him to confirm. Conversations with Orion tend to narrow down his list of options. Because Orion is a real living mech. With a spark. With feelings. And his complex moral code revolves entirely around what he feels to be right.

Prowl has no spark. Prowl has an empty armor that he considers his body and a wisdom artifact that he considers his worth. Both his and Orion's understandings of what is right...overlap...sometimes.

Not always.

______________

"I saw a demon in person for the first time today."

Prowl politely shifts his posture to show he's listening

"A …demon?"

"Demon" Orion repeats "When...when a mech commits especially terrible crimes against the will of Primus, the very magic of their spark rises up against them and turns them into a demon. And I just learned today what a...demon looks like."

Prowl remains silent, waiting for a continuation that never comes. Orion seems gone in his thoughts....

"And what does it look like?" prompts Prowl.

"Creepy. It looks creepy and unnatural and terrifying. Primus' wrath has a very ugly shape..."

"Ah...I see...what did that mech do to be met with such punishment?"

Orion frowns

"I'm not sure. But what we're doing can't go against Primus' will, right? I mean, all beings are his creations! He can't condemn us for trying to make peace between mechs and monsters..."

Prowl is familiar with the concept of punishment for wrongdoing. But something about the very idea...the idea that punishment will find you no matter how well you hide because you can’t run away from your own spark...he has to admit it's disturbing.

"I hope he doesn't."

——————————

Thoughts?👁

Ahsjfjfj

This is the first half of the fic btw because I don’t have enough time to translate the whole thing in one day. I’ll try to post the second half tomorrow🤞